by Chris Turney
Annette is soundly sleeping next to me. She’s still taking sea-sickness pills, and they’re proving highly soporific. Kneeling on the bed, I rub the condensation off our porthole and look out. We’re passing a large berg, and in the distance I can make out some rocky outcrops. The Shokalskiy is already over on the eastern side. Igor’s made good time.
I throw on my clothes, grab the laptop and satellite comms and leap up the stairs to the bridge.
Greg is already up, searching the horizon with a pair of binoculars. “Morning,” he says cheerily and points off the port bow. “They’re over there.”
The sky is overcast and there’s a light offshore breeze. Following Greg’s direction, I can see the islands just a few miles away, a small archipelago sitting in front of the ice sheet. We may be only fifty miles to the east of Cape Denison, but Adélie penguins seem to be everywhere. A constant stream of birds is moving between the islands and the sea-ice edge. It’s far busier than anything we saw around Cape Denison. The penguins are thriving here. It looks like Kerry-Jayne was right about B09B: The berg is giving the Cape Denison Adélies a killer commute.
Over the next two hours, Igor pushes and probes his way along the edge of the sea ice, looking for somewhere to lock the Shokalskiy in so we can get the team and gear off. He has no luck.
We have to come up with another plan. We want to get the team onto the islands, but how? We could push the Shokalskiy into the sea ice long enough to drop the quad bikes over the forward side, but not for anything else. We’re going to have to transport the Argos and team from offshore.
The idea is simple. Using the ship’s rear deck crane, we put the Argos over the side and drive the amphibious vehicles the hundred yards through the water onto the sea ice. The team can then be delivered from the ship to the sea-ice edge by Zodiac as normal.
The weather forecasts and sea-ice imagery show open water and a low-pressure system arriving tomorrow. We’ll have to be away by then. That means a day to work around the islands.
After breakfast, I give the briefing in the lecture room. The place is packed, the scientists and volunteers talking excitedly to one another. Upstairs, Greg and Chris organize the unloading of the vehicles.
While I’m getting my presentation plugged into the projector, Andrew, the BBC man, comes up for a quiet word. He’s already heard about our plans and asks if he can be on the first convoy out to the islands. He wants to get as much audio as possible.
“No worries at all, Andrew. We’ll keep you out there as long as possible,” I reply. He’s been understanding about not going to Mawson’s Huts, and I don’t want the BBC to miss out on getting to the Antarctic continent altogether.
Over the next half-hour, I show the team where we are on the map and outline the program for the day: three convoys made up of Argos and quad bikes will operate between shore and the islands. I go through the weather forecast. The winds are expected to strengthen in the evening, but we’ll be long gone by then.
An Argo can “comfortably” take five people plus emergency gear, food, and shelter if the Shokalskiy has to leave. Each convoy will therefore take a total of eighteen people, the first primarily made up of scientists, but also some media and volunteers. The estimated five-mile journey from the islands to the ice edge should take around twenty minutes. Chris will lead the first convoy, and Greg will stay with the Shokalskiy to coordinate the relays. The first team will be left on the island with the science leaders. The vehicles will then return to pick up a second group, which will rotate with most of the first team upon arrival at the island. And so on. If all goes to plan, we should have everyone back on the Shokalskiy some four hours after the first group heads out.
“Long enough to count all those penguins, Kerry-Jayne?” I ask.
She smiles back at me. “I suppose it’ll have to do, Chris.”
On the whiteboard, I draw up a list of who will go on which convoy; those who made it to Cape Denison will be on the final trip if time permits. A call will be made over the ship’s tannoy system for each group to go to the lounge twenty minutes before departure.
Finished, we head up to the main deck to see how things are progressing. While I’ve been giving the briefing, the two quad bikes have been delivered onto the ice and parked up a couple of hundred yards from the edge. The first Argo has just been put into the water by the ship’s crane and driven slowly to shore by Eleanor, its eight wheels effortlessly negotiating the sea-ice edge to ride up on the surface and park alongside the quads. The second Argo follows with similarly little bother.
The tracked Argo is a whole different affair, however. What was an advantage driving over broken sea ice is a limitation in the water: The tracks slow the progress of the Argo. Looking through my binoculars, I can see Greg alongside in a Zodiac, watching as Ben Maddison—conspicuous in his bright red dry suit—maneuvers his vehicle at a snail’s pace. After several minutes of little progress, Greg connects the Argo to his Zodiac with a rope and tries to pull it to shore. The nose of the vehicle immediately dips and takes on water, lots of water. Poor Ben scrambles to the back of the vehicle as near-freezing seawater pours over the sides and into the engine.
“Oh, hell,” I call out involuntarily.
The Argo is almost certainly buggered; there’s no way it’s going to be able to drive this afternoon. We need to get it back onto the Shokalskiy to dry out, and the number of convoy trips will have to be increased from three to four.
Furious instructions are relayed on the VHF radios as the stricken Argo is dragged unceremoniously through the water with Ben perched just above the surface. I can see Chris on shore, quickly shoving stakes in the ice, ready to help drag out the stricken Argo.
The team on the Shokalskiy are watching with bemusement. I can’t share their good humor. I don’t like delays in the Antarctic, and we’ve just lost our best machine on the ice.
The now-dead Argo is dragged up beside the others. I call Greg up on the VHF. He confirms what I feared. The Argo is out of action. The engine won’t start, and he’s not sure what the damage is. It could be the carburetor.
What a pisser. It was all going so well.
“What do you want to do, Greg? Are we still all right to proceed?” I ask.
“Yes, we’re still good. We’re just going to have to run another convoy. Rearrange the order of who’s going in each party, and we’ll get underway.”
I look at my watch. It’s eleven o’clock in the morning.
Okay, that’ll work.
I call another briefing and re-organize the groups. Everyone seems happy enough. It’s all part of the adventure.
The first convoy heads off at midday. The wind is gusting, but the sun soon breaks through the clouds. It might actually be a good afternoon.
Robert is excited. Annette has said she’s happy to hold back for the fourth convoy, and let the volunteers go ahead. But Robert is champing at the bit to get on land, and there’s space on the second convoy.
“All right, mate, but you stay with the group. I’ll be driving out in the next convoy and I’ll bring your mum and sister after.”
Before I’ve finished the words, he’s grabbed his down jacket and gone, off on his own adventure. I’d have loved it at his age.
Forty minutes later, my VHF announces the second convoy is heading back. The next group meet in the lounge and once ticked off the list, go out on deck. Graeme and Ziggy have their gear for drilling the sea ice around the islands to repeat the work they did at Cape Denison. They’re chatting with some of the volunteers. Terry, Kerry-Lee, and Pat are talking excitedly about the prospect of reaching the continent.
“How is everyone?” I ask.
“Excellent, Chris, thank you,” replies Terry happily.
“All name tags turned?” I ask. Nods of agreement confirm they’re ready to go. The system is now second nature.
Greg comes out on deck, ready to shuttle our group out. “Everyone ready? Good.”
I turn my name tag and adjust the GoPr
o camera set up on my chest. I should get some great footage driving across the sea ice. From her post at the top of the gangway, Nikki checks over my life vest before I join the rest of the team in the waiting inflatable.
It’s about three o’clock in the afternoon. The sun has disappeared behind some clouds, but there’s plenty of blue sky about, and the water is calm for the short journey. Everything is looking good.
It takes just a few minutes to reach the sea-ice edge, and I jump out first to help Graeme and Ziggy with their gear. A handful of Adélie penguins approach, peering inquisitively at the boxes piling up on the sea ice. Although we’re not meant to get any closer than fifteen feet to the wildlife, the Adélies can’t seem to help themselves. You start off with the best of intentions and keep your distance but in no time at all they invariably shuffle over to find out what’s going on. After twenty minutes of avian inspection a single Argo arrives from the islands. Ben Maddison is driving and has three volunteers with him, one of whom is Mary.
“What’s going on, Ben?” I ask. The two Argos should be traveling together.
“Mary’s leg fell through a crack in the sea ice. She was getting cold, so I’ve rushed her back,” said Ben.
“Are you okay, Mary?” I ask, concerned.
“Oh, fine, Chris. I just missed a step. It’s nothing really.” She cracks me an embarrassed smile.
“Well, you get on board and warm up.” To be honest, this didn’t need a solo return. If Mary was cold, they could have easily put up one of the tents and used some of the spare clothes from the emergency kits.
This is not ideal. The convoy system is out of balance, but it’s done now. We’re just going to have to modify our plans to meet the new situation.
I hear Greg talking to Ben about the return of the single Argo. He’s in charge of this operation, so I need to check that he’s happy.
“Greg, are you all right with me taking a team out or shall I just go on my own and return with a full load?” I ask.
“The visibility is dropping, but you should be fine, Chris,” he replies. “Take your team out and expedite the return of those on the islands.”
“Okay, out,” I reply.
* * *
International events threatened to overtake Shackleton’s expedition before it began. A few days before the Endurance was due to leave, war was declared on Germany. Shackleton immediately offered his vessel and men to the national effort, but within an hour Winston Churchill responded from the Admiralty with a single word: “Proceed.” The Endurance sailed for Argentina and then on to the Norwegian whaling station of Grytviken on the south Atlantic island of South Georgia. On the way they discovered a castaway, nineteen-year-old Perce Blackborow. Furious but short of a man for the expedition, Shackleton challenged the young lad: “Do you know that on these expeditions we often get very hungry, and if there is a stowaway available he is the first to be eaten?” Blackborow was quick to retort: “They’d get a lot more meat off you, sir.” Shackleton choked back a smile and offered Blackborow a place if he proved useful on the remaining part of the voyage to South Georgia, but just in case not, “Introduce him to the cook first.” Blackborow soon lived up to Shackleton’s high expectations and remained with the expedition.
Reaching South Georgia in November 1914, the whalers gave Shackleton the news he dreaded most: the Weddell Sea was unusually thick with ice. In fact, it was so bad they recommended waiting until the “end of February or the beginning of March” or even delaying a whole year. Hurley wrote: “Its waters were so congested with ice as to be almost unnavigable . . . According to the whalers, the ice fields extended as far north as the South Sandwich—an indication that the season was unusually severe.”
Shackleton faced a quandary. He didn’t have the time or money to wait, but the Weddell Sea had developed a fierce reputation in recent years. In 1903, Swedish explorer Otto Nordenskjöld had lost his ship, the Antarctic, to the crushing pressure of sea ice in the Weddell Sea and was forced to spend two winters there, extremely fortunate to lose only one life. In 1904, William Spears Bruce and his Scottish National Expedition had narrowly escaped being trapped in the Weddell Sea when a change in wind direction opened up the pack ice and allowed the Scotia to beat a hasty retreat north. And more recently in 1912, the German Antarctic Expedition led by Wilhelm Filchner suffered a Lord of the Flies experience when his vessel, the Deutschland, was trapped in the Weddell Sea for eight long winter months, the men close to mutiny with allegations of fighting, duels, and attempted murder. Filchner himself chose to sleep on the floor of his cabin with a loaded rifle so that the medic “can’t shoot me through the walls.”
No one entered the Weddell Sea without serious pause for thought. Shackleton knew this, but was also aware the Antarctic summer is notoriously short in the best of years, and they had a job to get done. He was already low on funds, and if they waited as the Norwegians suggested, there was a very real risk the Endurance would not be able to drop everyone off and get back out before the sea ice closed in for the winter, with the possibility of getting trapped like the Antarctica and the Deutschland. Shackleton decided he was going to try. Under ominously gray clouds, the Endurance left South Georgia on 5 December.
* * *
I take five volunteers in my Argo, leaving Graeme and Ziggy to get to the islands in the next vehicle on its return from the Hodgemans. It’s nearly half-past three in the afternoon, and I’m keen to rotate the team on shore. Annette and Cara are waiting patiently for the fourth and final convoy. The sooner I can turn around the waiting group at the Hodgemans, the sooner I can get the rest of the team out from the ship.
I start up the engine and turn my back on the Shokalskiy. The high clouds make for poor contrast. One moment everything looks good, the next we’re nose-down in a snowdrift. We bog twice. Both times everyone disembarks and good-naturedly push and dig the vehicle out with spades. It takes over twenty hot, sweaty minutes before we reach the islands, passing Ben Fisk as he drives the second vehicle back to the sea-ice edge. This time the vehicle is filled and on board are Andrew from the BBC and Laurence. I promised the two media guys they would get as much time as possible on the continent. They should have plenty of film and audio now.
I pull up along the nearest of the three islands where the rest of the expedition are working. Chris greets us as we arrive, his bright orange jacket visible for miles around. This is a world away from Cape Denison. Adélie penguins are everywhere. Some waddle across the ice in groups, others jump from rock to rock, many sit on the nests that litter the island, surrounded by mounds of creamy brown guano. As soon as I turn off the engine, the smell hits me. Even with today’s cooler temperature, the place stinks. Penguins have a keen sense of smell; how they live with it is beyond me. On the lower slopes, I can make out Kerry-Jayne completing the bird count on the island with volunteers. They’ve clearly found a thriving colony.
My passengers climb out of the Argo gingerly, a little worse for wear from the journey.
“Kerry-Jayne is over there,” Chris points out to the recent arrivals. “Go ’round to the left and you can climb up, but just be careful stepping over; there’s a small lead of open water.”
Robert sees my arrival and runs excitedly toward the Argo. “Hi, Dad!”
“Hi, Robs. Are you having a good time?”
Even with big ski glasses and a thick scarf over his face I can tell he’s having the time of his life. “It’s awesome here. I’ve been up on the island with Sean looking at the penguins.” He runs off to re-join Sean. I can’t help but smile to myself.
As soon as everyone’s gone, Chris turns to me.
“Ben Maddison went off on his own!” he exclaims. “He passed me with only a few passengers.”
I nod in sympathy. “I know, I know. He was worried about Mary.”
Ben has done the best he can for Mary but it has thrown things out. “I’m just going to load up and head straight back.”
The contrast is getting better. The clouds
are breaking. There’s some blue sky; even the odd ray of sunlight. It’s almost pleasant, Antarctic pleasant. But we do need to get the next convoy of people back. Most of the team are on the island, but Chris tells me some are behind a nearby pressure ridge of ice with Medic Andrew and Tracey. In the Argo, I soon find Andrew helping Tracey collect blubber samples from two unsuspecting seals lying near a breathing hole. Tracey has taken the final shot of the day and is packing up the dart gun and samples when I arrive. With a cheery acknowledgment, they load up their quad bike and direct the others back round to the departure point.
Returning to the island, Chris makes an important suggestion: “Rather than you taking a group straight back, why don’t you wait here until Fisky returns with the other Argo? We can then re-establish the convoy. If anyone gets bogged, they can be dug out quickly. It’ll be quicker and safer.”
I like it. Chris has years of ice experience and I don’t feel comfortable maintaining a broken system. In the Antarctic, anything can go wrong. If my Argo breaks down on its own, it will only add more delays.
I dismount my vehicle and head toward the island, encouraging others to make their way down for the returning Argo.
I meet Kerry-Jayne halfway up the slope. She’s just finishing the penguin survey. “They’re loving it here, Chris. Completely different to Denison. They’re even aggressive.” She steps toward a nearby nest. The occupying penguin gives a warning squawk and snaps its beak. “See what I mean? They were almost comatose up the coast.”
It’s so unlike what we saw a couple of days ago. It’s telling just how energy-sapping the commute must be for the birds at Cape Denison.
I hear an approaching engine and see Ben Fisk’s Argo pull up. He speaks to Chris, who calls me on the VHF.
“Chris, Greg wants to get everyone back to the ship now. Conditions are changing out there.”
There’s urgency in his voice. I shepherd the remaining few down, helping some of the less-agile navigate the slippery slopes. I don’t want anyone to fall. I hope Annette and Cara won’t be too disappointed they haven’t made it to the islands.