Iced In

by Chris Turney

  When the Chinese reach us, the idea is that the Xue Long will carve a path around the Russian vessel, cutting a doughnut shape that will relieve the pressure on our hull. Igor can then start up the engines and follow the Xue Long back to open water.

  At least, that’s the plan.

  If by some extraordinary good fortune all this works, we’ll be out of here by the early hours of tomorrow. We’ve been trapped for four days and survived miles of sea ice, drifting icebergs, a blizzard, a rip in the hull, the threat of being dashed against the coast and some crazy newspaper reports. That’s enough for one lifetime. With the very real threat of choral singing on tomorrow’s schedule, I’d like to leave now.

  My earlier doubts about the Xue Long are fast disappearing. I’m feeling quietly hopeful.

  Some of the team have joined us on the deck, looking expectantly off the starboard side. Andrew calls me to attention: “Right, Chris, we’re just about there. London should be calling any moment now.”

  Suddenly I hear a roar of excitement and cheers. “It’s here!”

  I turn to see a small red object on the horizon: the Xue Long. I can make out the Chinese ship surging forward, fighting its way through the ice.

  It looks like we’re going to get out of here after all.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Frustration

  We’re still trapped.

  I can’t believe it.

  It was all looking so positive yesterday. I almost completely forgot the A-Factor and chose to let myself hope. Bad mistake. The Xue Long appeared on the horizon and seemed to rapidly make progress against our icy prison. There was lots of cheering. I could almost feel the movement of the ocean swell again. Then the Chinese vessel ground to an agonizing halt.

  You can never take anything for granted in the Antarctic. If we’re going to get through this roller-coaster, we have to remember to hope for the best but anticipate the worst.

  I look out over the windswept ice toward the Xue Long. I can make out so many details: the red hull, the bridge, the forward crane.

  It’s so close.

  I hope the Chinese are all right. It is reassuring to see them there. But the Xue Long does seem ominously still.

  There’s a fresh north-easterly breeze of over thirty knots. I’m on the top deck uploading the latest blogs and science reports. With windchill, it’s 10F, and the weather forecast and charts seem to be taking longer than normal to download. I pull my hat firmly over my head and rub my arms strenuously to keep warm. Finally, the charts appear on the screen. Easterly and southerly winds for at least the next five days with the possibility of snow later. Nothing expected from the west. On the plus side, though, no big storms are forecast.

  That’s something, I suppose.

  I pack up the comms and head down to the bridge.

  It’s wonderfully warm down below. And quiet. On the desk, there’s an email from Captain Wang on the Xue Long. They’ve struck sea ice ten-feet thick. They’ve pushed as hard as they can but have only made two miles in the last eleven hours. That’s tough going. No wonder the Chinese ship has stopped. It’s a relief to read they’re all right—I was starting to think they were actually stuck or worse, damaged in some way. The captain’s email ends in a wonderful flourish: “So we propose a more powerful icebreaker could come to support this situation and help MV Akademik Shokalskiy to get out of stuck. We will stay here and standby in case of any unexpected situation.” What a lovely man.

  The Chinese have done their best. The Astrolabe remains standing by in open water but we’re going to need something at least the size of the Aurora Australis to break out. And the Australian icebreaker isn’t due to reach the sea ice edge for another three days. We’re going to be here for some time longer.

  The view from the bridge is brilliantly white. From the corner of my eye, I catch a large ice block collapsing off our port side. It may be beautiful, but the sea ice remains under tremendous pressure. It’s all too easy to get lulled into a false sense of security. We’re in a dangerous situation and I feel myself becoming resigned to almost anything.

  Remember the A-factor.

  I look off the rear of the ship and an alarm goes off in my head. I turn to Vlad, beside me on the bridge.

  “Vlad, have those moved?” I point to the half-dozen table-topped bergs a couple of miles off the rear of the Shokalskiy. “They seem closer.”

  Vlad comes over and studies the radar screen. The Russians are responsible for keeping watch, but after the delay raising the bridge on our return from Cape Denison I need to be reassured someone is definitely looking out.

  “I think okay, Chris. But we watch.”

  There’s not a lot we can do about the bergs. It’s just good to know where they are and that they’re being monitored. After Shackleton’s experiences, we know stalled bergs can suddenly start moving again in a completely different direction from before. Constant vigilance is needed.

  I drop down the stairs to my cabin. There’s no one around. The smell of cooking food tells me it’s breakfast time. Our room is empty. I take off my jacket and fall into a chair.

  God, I’m shattered. I’m used to a good eight hours of sleep. Over the last few nights, I’ve been averaging three to four. No wonder I feel so lousy.

  There’s a knock on the door.

  That’s my lot.

  “Hello?” I call out.

  It’s Alok who pops his head around the door. “Chris, can we talk?”

  In spite of my tiredness it’s always good speaking with Alok. He’s worked tirelessly the whole voyage, and his good humor is a welcome antidote to everything that’s happening. His face is flushed from the cold after an early morning spent on the top deck.

  “Sure, come in. What’s up?”

  “Laurence uploaded his report to The Guardian last night, and I’ve just gone online to check it.”

  Even in twenty-four-hour daylight we still talk about night and day; it’s just easier that way. Since news of our predicament broke, Laurence and Alok have been posting articles at all hours, accompanied by stunning photos and movies. I’m amazed at their energy.

  “Chris, you might not realize it, but we’re in the middle of a media storm. The world’s woken up to where we are. It’s gone crazy about your social-media posts and the reports we’re doing. The tweets, the Vines, the YouTube movies. The media are recycling them in their reports around the world. The story has really captured people’s imaginations; trapped on a ship a thousand miles from home, posting photos and movies, blogging about what’s happening. The Boxing Day blizzard has lit a fire under the whole story.”

  Alok rattles off a list of networks wanting interviews: CNN, CBS, ABC, BBC, Al Jazeera, SBS, Channel Seven, MTRK, the Weather Channel . . . the list goes on. I haven’t heard of half of them.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s so big we’re even on Buzzfeed, and that’s just made it bigger.”

  “Really? It’s actually been picked up by them?” Buzzfeed looks at what’s trending on social media and then pulls it together into a news report. It’s big news if it’s on Buzzfeed.

  I’m incredulous. As a scientist, I’m used to writing press releases on research and having hardly anyone pay attention. I haven’t heard anything back from my email request to the Antarctic Division, but after our social-media blitz and Alvin’s hard work coordinating interviews, the tone of the reports has changed. Now journalists seem to have realized we’re scientists and have turned their focus to reporting what we’re doing and how we’re coping. We’re on the edge of the known world, scientists and volunteers trapped on board a ship surrounded by icebergs. It isn’t an everyday news story.

  I hope our reports that the bergs have stopped moving are helping calm nerves at home, but I’m concerned about the media interest getting out of control.

  “So what do you think, pull back what we’re reporting?” I ask Alok.

  “No, absolutely not. You’re telling your story. Now you’ve engaged, you’re
going to have to keep going. I’ve seen this before. If you stop now, there’ll be a news vacuum, and everyone else will fill it. The world is hungry for news, and if you don’t take control, others will—and they’ll make up the details if necessary.”

  My heart drops.

  “Surely after we set the story straight on that Australian report we’re okay now? The media can now just report what comes through the official channels.”

  “Seriously, Chris, they’ll report anything. The world wants to know what’s happening on the Shokalskiy and if you don’t do it someone else will. On the plus side, everyone is waiting to hear what you have to say. You just have to keep up the conversation.”

  There’s only so many hours in the day, and my priority has to be the team. We can’t risk people getting scared and that fear spreading. Everyone needs to be seen around the ship; if Chris, Greg, or I disappear for too long it could be interpreted as a major problem happening behind the scenes. That’s how rumors start. Everyone is working hard to try to maintain normality or be as close as we can get to it.

  “That might sound easy, Alok, but I can’t do much more. I have to keep on top of things here.”

  “Well, it’s also a human-interest story now. How about a video diary? Film one team member a day, telling their story with a message for home. Can you give the job of filming and editing to someone on the expedition?”

  Laurence would be obvious, but he has a job to do for The Guardian.

  I know straight away: Taylor. He’s young, enthusiastic, and studying media at university. When we did the last Hangout on Air he was asking all sorts of questions. Yesterday I was concerned he seemed a little quiet, a bit more reserved than normal. Taking ownership of the video diaries will give him and everyone else on board a welcome distraction, as well as help to reassure families back home we’re all right. Shackleton would have liked the idea.

  We go down to the dining room and find Chris and Greg discussing the day’s tasks over breakfast. Alok explains the situation and gives his opinion that we need to do more media, not less. They both agree.

  “We need to keep everyone busy,” says Chris. “The guys want to know what the world’s saying. We can screen the daily videos in the lecture room before the evening movie. It’ll help keep their minds off things.”

  Great. We have a plan. I find Taylor straight after breakfast and ask him whether he’d be willing to make the video diaries.

  “Sure, Chris. It would be good to do something.”

  We have our director.

  * * *

  The morning briefing is a salutary lesson in handling disappointment, Antarctic style.

  I was worried the failure of the Xue Long’s attempt might have dampened the spirit on board, but everyone could see what happened. A new situation has developed and psychologically they’ve moved on. Already the A-factor is being accepted as the way of things.

  It crystallized something in my mind that the men on the Endurance were all too familiar with: Don’t build up everyone’s hopes unless you are 100 percent certain. And in Antarctica, that means promise absolutely nothing. Jack shit is certain when it comes to logistics down here. The sea ice can change, the weather can become violent. Instead, embrace the A-factor. Prepare for the inevitable delays, warn everyone what might happen and be ready to move if it does. The key thing is keeping everyone together, and for that you need to give people time to get their heads around a situation. Well, most situations. Highlighting the worst-case scenarios isn’t going to help anyone. Then things will quickly go to shit.

  I scan the room. The fifty-one team members look expectantly up at me for news. This isn’t a bunch of testosterone-pumped adventure-seekers, or even experienced explorers. Instead, we have an eclectic mix of scientists, expeditioners, and amateurs, all with their own personalities, needs and demands. We’re one of the most diverse groups ever trapped inside twenty miles of crushing ice. Now I’m speaking to the “lucky” ones—the ones Chris and I chose for the “adventure of a lifetime.” At the moment, everyone seems to be hanging in there. But for how much longer?

  “The Xue Long is standing by to offer help if we need it. In the meantime, we’re going to have to wait for the Aurora Australis to reach us, which will take a few more days. We’re keeping an eye on the weather and maybe, just maybe, the wind will shift round to the west.”

  Jon from the Mawson’s Huts Foundation puts up his hand. “Is the Chinese ship stuck? I’ve been watching her this morning, and she doesn’t seem to be moving.”

  I’m surprised Jon is asking a question like that. He’s been visiting the Antarctic for more than thirty years. If the Xue Long is indeed stuck, that won’t help morale on the Shokalskiy. Some in the room are genuinely scared, and I don’t want to give them any more reason to worry.

  “No, they’re all good.” I try to sound confident. “Captain Wang is in regular contact with the bridge and keen to help in any way he can. By holding their position, they will be able to help more quickly with their helicopter if we need it.”

  Jon looks unconvinced, but I move on quickly. Dwelling on potentially bad news isn’t helpful. I switch focus on to the media interest and ask Alok to say a few words. It helps divert attention from any uncertainty that’s arisen from Jon’s question. There’s amazement that we’re on the front pages of the world’s newspapers.

  “Well, it’s good to hear we’re no longer being described as a tourist ship,” Mary says, and there’s a chorus of laughter.

  “It’s true. Laurence and I have never seen anything like it. The thing is, we need to do more or others will start telling the story.”

  Alok describes the idea of video diaries, and there are nods around the room. Here’s something to do, an opportunity for everyone to tell their story. I introduce Taylor as the director of this new series of films, and he bows at the back of the room to a spontaneous round of applause. There’s a show of hands for volunteers, and we have the next week’s worth of video diaries mapped out.

  We’re on.

  * * *

  “We are now six months out from England and during the whole of the time we have all pulled well together and with an almost complete lack of friction,” Worsley wrote after the Endurance became stuck. “A more agreeable set of gentlemen and good fellows one could not wish for shipmates.” Incredibly, Worsley wasn’t the only one to express this sentiment.

  The secret on the Endurance was teamwork and optimism. Shackleton encouraged the team to work and play together. He actively discouraged negative comments, recognizing it could poison the atmosphere and morale on board, with Orde-Lees remarking: “Pessimistic prognostications are not popular.” Shackleton united what was a disparate group of individuals by rotating tasks so everyone was capable of working in almost any role. Quarrying ice for fresh water, scrubbing the floors, exercising the dogs, making scientific measurements—it made no difference if you were a BA or an AB, everyone had to take part. He encouraged team spirit at all times and took part in jobs, however menial.

  Shackleton spent time talking to the men individually. As Macklin later wrote, “He would get into conversation and talk to you in an intimate way . . . This communicativeness in Shackleton was one of the things his men valued in him; it was also, of course, a most effective way of establishing good relations with a very mixed company.” Sometimes he would fool with the men. When Orde-Lees asked about his interview, Shackleton lamented the officer had come at all; he told Hussey he was only accepted because “I thought you looked funny.” But if needed, men were also indulged. When Orde-Lees was struck down by a particularly bad case of sciatica—a complaint Shackleton also suffered from—the expedition leader personally nursed the officer in his own cabin for two weeks, giving up his bed to do so.

  It wasn’t all chores on the Endurance, though. Spare time was spent playing football and hockey on the ice, in the evening cards and slideshows. Alcohol was frequently allowed, just enough for everyone to enjoy but not to get drunk. Satur
day was enjoyed with a toast to loved ones: “To our sweethearts and wives, may they never meet!” Another time they experienced what Hurley described as a “form of mid-winter madness” when all the men shaved their heads, with Shackleton the first to be cropped. Singing, that much-sought-after ability in interviews, was a regular part of each evening’s entertainment, accompanied by Hussey playing the banjo. During their time trapped, Hurley would take the most spectacular photographs of his career, capturing the frozen Endurance on glass plate negatives, the men helping him set up the shots that would go on to define the expedition.

  Celebration was also a significant part of life on the Endurance. Birthdays and anniversaries were big events, something for the men to look forward to, a focus away from the ship’s entrapment. The midwinter feast on 22 June was a major deal; surrounded by sea ice and roaming icebergs, the men partied in the heart of the winter darkness. A meal of delicacies with roast pork, apples, peas, and plum pudding must have tasted like heaven after months of eating penguins and seals. In the evening, a concert of skits, songs, dressing up, and banjo-playing completed the day’s celebration.

  Even those who did not enjoy all the activities recognised their value. A self-confessed bad singer, Orde-Lees complained in his diary about being forced to join in with the others: “I suppose it’s all right for those who smoke and appreciate the liquor but for those who don’t it is a nauseating penance.” But he grudgingly admitted, “There is no doubt though that teetotalism and conviviality are somewhat incompatible and it is probably this that has mitigated more than any other factor against the ab-stainee’s propaganda.”

  The result was a remarkably content team who seemingly reveled in their situation. An amazing example of this was a conversation Macklin had with Third Officer Alfred Cheetham during a sledding trip around the ship. Reflecting on their situation, Cheetham asked the doctor whether he agreed they were better off than the king. Macklin was surprised at the question, so Cheetham explained, “Well, I’m happy, Doctor, and you’re happy, and here we are . . . looking at the wonders of the world; it goes into your soul, like, don’t it, Doctor? The king with all his might and with all his power couldn’t come here and enjoy what I’m enjoying.”