Iced In

by Chris Turney

  “Now, guys, we’ll have scheduled calls at 1200 and 2000 hours so you can keep us posted on your progress,” Greg says to them. “Any problems, remain with the Argos, and we’ll come to you.”

  Outside the dining rooms, Alok is getting himself ready for the journey. They should be leaving shortly but he’s still assembling his gear. Laurence is filming Alok’s final preparations, the light from the camera casting an uncomfortable glare in the corridor. Alok looks understandably nervous.

  With limited space in the Argos, Alok is going to have to do the work of two. Laurence has engineered an ingenious selfie-stick for the camera and given Alok a crash course in filming.

  I feel a little guilty. Poor Alok has no real idea what’s about to happen. He’s going to be away from the ship on one of the most uncomfortable trips of his life. He’s going to be bounced, pushed, and basically thrown about during a torturous twenty-four-hour journey. When they reach Cape Denison, there’ll be no time to sit around. Every moment out there will be precious. Just because we had clear, warm weather doesn’t mean the next group will. The katabatic winds could easily kick up at any moment.

  Alok disturbs my train of thought. “Where are we going to sleep, Chris?”

  I laugh. “You’re not going to sleep, Alok. But you’ll be fine.”

  I’m not sure he believes me.

  The ship is now waking up as the team nears departure. Kerry-Jayne passes by, fully kitted out for the trip, her down jacket filling the corridor.

  “All ready?” I ask her.

  She turns, her eyes burning with intense excitement.

  “Chris,” she says earnestly in her broad New Zealand accent, “I’ve been waiting for this for thirty years. Of course, I’m bloody ready.”

  I smile to myself and follow her on deck with Alok, Laurence diligently filming ahead.

  Making up the last of the team is Estelle, the citizen scientist who won the draw. I’m really pleased she did. Estelle is quiet and confident and more than capable of handling the journey. Kerry-Jayne will need help with the penguin census, and I can’t think of anyone better than Estelle in the fitness stakes for scrambling over all the rocky outcrops.

  Graeme and Ziggy are already on the sea ice with the Argos doing the final checks. Within minutes, the rest of the team are in the Zodiac and casting off from the ship. I wave them good luck, feeling incredibly weary.

  I need some sleep.

  * * *

  During the next twenty-four hours, we keep in close contact with the second team on the ice. Following our route, they make it to Mawson’s Huts in under four hours. The weather is good—even better than the previous day—and they manage to do more than I dared hope. Graeme and Ziggy have drilled holes across the sea ice and taken hours of footage with GoPro cameras. A quick look at the film shows a scene of devastation. After three years of blanket ice, the seabed is now in perpetual gloom. What was once a thriving kelp forest is now in decay, replaced by marine worms and brittle worms that have moved up from deeper waters. There’s been a complete ecological shift in just three years. Even if the sea ice disappears in the future with iceberg B09B, it’s not clear whether the kelp will immediately recover; the scale of the change has been that large. As the guys drill down, they also find the ice is more than six feet thick, enough for the Antarctic Division to land small planes “offshore” and hopefully open up Cape Denison for future visits.

  Alongside these efforts, Kerry-Jayne and Estelle walked almost the entire cape, counting Adélie penguins and noting any skua seabirds. Our worst fears have been realized. With the increase in sea ice across Commonwealth Bay, there are only 11,000 penguins left, a catastrophic collapse from the numbers of just a few years ago. What had been a short shuffle for the penguins is now an exceptional hike of more than thirty miles to open water. Hardly any of the adult birds seem to be returning, and those that have are struggling to feed new chicks. Cape Denison’s entire ecosystem, on land and at sea, is dying. These are important new discoveries, and over the next few days we’ll start posting our findings online.

  Alok has also managed to capture impressive images with his one-man camera team and found time to visit Mawson’s Huts, all to be reported in The Guardian. Ian and Jon are understandably disappointed to be heading back, but they’ve had double the time of anyone else, allowing them to make emergency repairs and set up monitors inside the Huts for collection during the next visit. It will have to do.

  The next day is gray and overcast; the sun we’ve enjoyed is gone for now. The second Cape Denison team made it back at five in the morning. The Argos worked brilliantly well, but their effectiveness came at a cost. Everyone returned sore, beaten up by the journey.

  “My bloody back,” complained Kerry-Jayne, rubbing her spine tenderly. “That Argo shook me apart.” Without waiting for a response, she headed off to bed. I never even saw Alok.

  It’s frustrating not to have had longer at Cape Denison but we can still get one more piece of science done in the area before we leave. While the recently returned team sleeps, Chris is keen to drill the seabed where we’re moored. Before the expedition left New Zealand, research was published suggesting the massive expansion in sea ice in Commonwealth Bay may have caused a dramatic increase in the amount of carbon being laid down on the sea floor. The reason is due to small single-celled organisms known as diatoms that live in the ice, staining it a urine-yellow color. Diatoms are remarkably adept at using the small amount of light that can penetrate sea ice to photosynthesize carbon dioxide dissolved in the seawater. They only live for a few weeks, but in that short window of time can consume voracious amounts of carbon. When the sea ice melts, the diatoms fall to the seabed, making them very efficient at taking carbon out of the ocean. The paper argued that with the sea ice locked fast in Commonwealth Bay, the diatoms should be able to take full advantage of the long summer sun, potentially capturing lots of carbon. But how much wasn’t clear. Over a couple of hours, Serge helps Chris and me drive a succession of four-inch-diameter cores into the muds below. It’s a time-consuming business, but we soon have three sets of tubes filled with fine gray muds from the sea floor. These will have to wait until we get back to the university to be analyzed, but they’ll provide precious data on how much carbon is being locked up under the ice.

  By midday, we’re ready to go. With one last check of the name tags, the Shokalskiy silently pulls away from the sea ice edge and heads around to the east.

  * * *

  Upon returning home to his love Paquita, Mawson received word from his old Antarctic mentor Sir Ernest Shackleton asking a favor. Shackleton was planning a new expedition to the Antarctic, and he needed the Australian’s help. The plan was even more ambitious than Mawson’s venture. It was to be a two-pronged attack on what many now suspected was a single continent. Shackleton’s ship Endurance, named after his family motto “By endurance we conquer,” was built with reinforced timber to take tourists to the Arctic to shoot polar bears. It was ideal for reaching the Antarctic continent. Shackleton wanted the Endurance to drop a team of men at the southern end of the Atlantic Weddell Sea. After overwintering in a purpose-built hut, Shackleton aimed to make full use of the summer sun and complete what many considered the last great journey left on the planet: to cross Antarctica via the geographic South Pole. Leading five men, dogs, and sledges, he planned to cover the 1,700 miles in a hundred days, mapping and collecting scientific samples as they went. Unfortunately, though, they wouldn’t be able to carry enough supplies to complete the trek. Shackleton appealed to Mawson: Could he have the Aurora?

  Mawson was conflicted. He faced crippling debts from the extra year in the Antarctic, and hiring out the Aurora would go a long way to writing off the money he owed. But Shackleton had helped raise a small fortune for the Australasian Antarctic Expedition; without him it would never have happened. After some hesitation, Mawson eventually handed over the ship at a knock-down price. The Aurora would deliver another team to the Ross Sea to put down sup
plies toward the Pole. Shackleton’s team could then pick them up on the way over and complete the journey. It sounded almost easy.

  When the news broke in 1912 that Roald Amundsen had beaten Scott to the Pole, Shackleton wrote a glowing tribute to the Norwegian explorer but remarked: “The discovery of the South Pole will not be an end to Antarctic exploration. The next work is a transcontinental journey from sea to sea, crossing the Pole.” The Anglo-Irishman’s failed attempt in 1909 and his near-death during the Nimrod expedition had made him an international household name. At only forty years of age, Shackleton had another big expedition in him, and with characteristic flair against the backdrop of an impending world war he raised the necessary £50,000, convincing a Scottish millionaire, Sir James Caird, to donate almost half the money with no strings attached.

  Teamwork would form the backbone to Shackleton’s plans. They were heading into the unknown and he needed both experienced expeditioners and fresh faces. His old teammate and right-hand man, Frank Wild, joined him, fresh off the ice with Mawson, while Irishman Tom Crean, recently returned from Scott’s expedition, was also central to the expedition. For filming their adventures, Wild had been so impressed by Mawson’s photographer Frank Hurley that he assured Shackleton the Australian cameraman was the best man for the job. Shackleton immediately wired Hurley, who was in the outback on a job, and offered him a place on the expedition. The Australian jumped at the chance, the “glamour of Polar adventure” too much to resist.

  Shackleton impressed the young Australian in turn. He was quite different to Mawson and had a style of leadership that would prove crucial for success over the next two years:

  Shorter by half a head than Sir Douglas Mawson, in many other ways he bore little resemblance to my former leader. His square chin, strong face, with its masterly nose, and broad brows, was in sharp contrast to the finely-chiseled features of the Australian . . . They had some characteristics in common. Both possessed the fearless, indomitable will of the born leader. Both were strong men physically and mentally, able organisers and accustomed to having their own way . . . Shackleton planned on broad lines, and while exercising the greatest thought for the safety and comfort of his men, delegated the responsibility of carrying out details to others.

  Aside from Hurley, Shackleton knew or interviewed everyone else for the job. A famous advert was reputedly placed in the London Times newspaper: “Men wanted for hazardous journey. Low wages, bitter cold, long hours of complete darkness. Safe return doubtful. Honor and recognition in event of success.” Whether this advert was actually ever used is uncertain, but it has Shackleton written all over it. His plan was audacious, exciting, and completely sensational. Over 5,000 people rushed to join, their applications placed in one of three piles: “Possible,”

  “Hopeless” or “Mad.” Those interviewed considered his methods eccentric, but in hindsight there was a touch of genius. Often pacing the room, he would inquire about an applicant’s expertise, their teeth, their likes and preferences, and, most important of all, could they sing. Shackleton wanted specific skills but also needed people who were optimistic, would work well under pressure and could fit into a team—things you can rarely tell from an application form.

  In no time, Shackleton had gathered a team around him. Serendipity played a large part in the selection. His captain, Frank Worsley, happened to pass the expedition office the morning after having a dream about ice blocks surging through London and applied on the spot. Medical student Leonard Hussey read about the expedition by chance in an old newspaper while in the Sudan. Captain in the Royal Marines, engineer, and skier Thomas Orde-Lees was only released from active duty after the personal intervention of the First Lord of the Admiralty, Winston Churchill. In the end, Shackleton had twenty-eight men, made up, as he liked to describe them, by ABs (for able-bodied seamen) and BAs (for the scientists and doctors). The level of preparation impressed Orde-Lees, who remarked, “in fact nothing was left to chance except the ice, a factor which no amount of provision could regulate.” Happy with his final selection, Shackleton spoke of their chances with good humor: “We are a band of comrades, and, feeling that, we shall feel that we can do our seventeen hundred miles, if not on our heads, on our feet.”

  In a letter to his long-suffering wife, Emily, Shackleton swore this would be his last trip, after which he would settle down with the family:

  I think nothing of the world and the public; they cheer you one minute and howl you down the next. It is what one is oneself and what one makes of one’s life that matters.

  As the Shokalskiy heads north around B09B, the weather turns for the better. The barometer shows the low-pressure system was deeper than forecast but has since weakened, as expected, to reveal a bright, sunny sky. Up on the bridge, there’s a hive of activity. Almost all of the team are there. Kerry-Jayne has snatched some sleep and resumed her post taking hourly bird observations. But most of the volunteers are there to help Tracey, Naysa, and Alicia spot seals. We’ve had to set up a schedule to take it in shifts.

  Mid-afternoon, the Shokalskiy comes to a stop, and I go upstairs to find out what’s happening. Annette and Cara are looking out on the port side with binoculars, sharing a joke. Cara spots me.

  “Hi, Dad. Tracey’s just seen a seal and they’ve gone over to check it out.” She points to a nearby floe and passes me her binoculars.

  I see Ben Maddison driving Tracey over in a Zodiac, her bright red Helly Hansen dry suit standing out against the black inflatable. A moment later, she’s stepped onto the floe, stealthily approaching a dozing seal. In her hand, she’s carrying a rifle. I peer more closely.

  “Looks like a Ross seal.” I pass the binoculars back to Cara and point. “You can just make out the dark streaks on its head.”

  In the distance, we see Tracey lying on the floe about twenty yards from the seal, taking careful aim. We hear a shot and a cry of anguish. The seal looks round angrily as if it’s been bitten. Tracey has shot it with a dart gun that takes a small sample of skin and blubber that then pops out onto the nearby snow.

  The makeup of blubber is strongly affected by what a seal eats, with krill and fish leaving distinctly different chemical signatures. By taking a sample from the seal, Tracey is hoping to find out what this individual has consumed during its life. Previous work has shown there was a massive shift in their diet away from krill across large parts of the Southern Ocean during the 1970s. Some scientists suspect over-fishing may be to blame, others climate change. Tracey needs more samples from the East Antarctic to find out why.

  After just a few moments, the seal seems to have forgotten anything has happened and drops back off to sleep. Tracey gets up and cautiously collects the dart lying a couple of feet from the seal before returning to Ben in the waiting Zodiac. It’s a huge improvement on the old method of killing the creature and taking the carcass home.

  “Cool,” says Cara. “That’s the first one today.”

  I look up from the latest satellite imagery in my hand and smile. The route round to the east is all clear.

  All being well, we should make the Hodgeman Islands and what’s left of the Mertz Glacier tomorrow morning.

  PART II

  TRAPPED

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  An Armada of Ice

  The Antarctic Factor: If anything can go wrong, it will. It’s basically Murphy’s Law on steroids and as frustrating as hell.

  As a scientist, you’re trained to keep uncertainty to a minimum, to have as much control over events as possible. But when it comes to working in the Antarctic, you have to be a lot more flexible. You have no control over the elements, so can’t be too rigid in your thinking. As long as you accept the A-factor is part of the landscape and plan for it, you have a chance of getting home. But as soon as you get comfortable, as soon as you think you know the ice, you’re in trouble. The important thing is to recognize your assumptions; to be alert to the fact that something may not be all it seems; to be open minded about other scenarios and wi
lling (and able) to adapt to them. You should never take anything for granted in Antarctica. It’s the one sacred rule.

  The history books on Antarctic exploration are filled with expeditions that planned for the worst but still suffered for their actions. Overcoming adversity is a common theme in Antarctica, and no one, absolutely no one, embodies this better than Shackleton. His almost superhuman ability to escape the very worst of predicaments on the Endurance made him an inspirational leader in his own lifetime. Scientist and expeditioner Raymond Priestley famously described why you wanted the Anglo-Irishman on your team: “For scientific leadership, give me Scott; for swift and efficient travel, Amundsen; but when you are in a hopeless situation, when there seems to be no way out, get on your knees and pray for Shackleton.”

  If things headed south, Shackleton was the man.

  * * *

  I stir at the sound of the drums. I thrash out and turn off the alarm. It’s five o’clock in the morning. Last night our estimated time of arrival at the Hodgeman Islands was six, and I want to be up to see our approach.

  Although there was disappointment at leaving Commonwealth Bay, news of our planned visit to the Hodgemans was greeted with enthusiasm by the team. Kerry-Jayne was pleased, for one: “Fantastic, Chris. We can check how the Adélies are faring over there. It will be a really good comparison to Cape Denison.” If she’s right, B09B should be too far from the Hodgemans to have any real impact on the penguins. Tracey’s also keen. She’s had the least success of all the scientists and wants to try sampling elsewhere. This will be another chance for her team to find more seals. The plan is to spend a day at the Hodgemans, two if necessary, and then return to Macquarie Island before heading home. After a wonderfully refreshing sleep, I feel alert for the hour. We’re nearing the end of the expedition.