Iced In

by Chris Turney

  After sitting with the kids last night, I went up on the top deck to clear my head and ran into Terry and Janet. They had some ideas that have got me thinking,

  “Chris, it’s not that we don’t think you’re telling us everything, but the uncertainties are playing with people’s heads,” offered Terry.

  “Yes, it’s not just what we do know,” said Janet, “what would really help is what we don’t know.”

  I hadn’t thought of this.

  It’s not just what we plan on happening but what other factors might yet come into play. A sort-of list of unknown knowns. It’s a brilliant idea, though I’m not sure Donald Rumsfeld would approve.

  Chris loved the idea and offered to put the key points together for this morning’s briefing. From now on, we’ll have a series of slides specifically addressing what we know and don’t know.

  The briefing in the next hour is make or break. Last night unsettled a lot of the team and we need to present a clear plan of action that gives hope. But there’s no way in hell I’m going to draw attention to the chance a rogue berg may suddenly appear along the starboard side.

  We need to run our ideas past some of the team to get a sense of how they’ll be received by the wider group.

  We call in Nikki, Erik, and Ben Maddison. Nikki and Erik look exhausted; I’m not sure they’re getting much sleep either. Ben seems remarkably chipper, though, apparently unfazed by all around him. Nothing seems to unsettle Ben.

  We go through each of the scenarios. To start with, I lay out the weather forecasts and charts across the table. “The last few days have consistently shown the same thing: easterly winds. The barometer on the weather station is nudging a little higher than the pressure charts, suggesting the low may be tracking a bit farther north than forecast, though it’s nothing to write home about. It looks like the easterlies are here to stay.”

  With little chance of a westerly opening up this pack, we’re stuck and likely to remain so. We look at alternatives: the Xue Long breaking free and releasing the Shokalskiy, the Aurora Australis or Polar Star getting here. If the icebreakers can’t reach us, we’re left with the prospect of an aerial evacuation, especially if Igor feels there’s a real risk to those on board; it’s our only other chance of rescue. This could happen any time after the Aurora Australis arrives along the sea ice edge about thirty-six hours from now.

  Visibility is forecast to be poor tomorrow; after that there could be a window of good weather.

  We can still get everyone home.

  It’s not ideal. Helicopters don’t have the safest record in the south. Earlier in the season, the Australians lost a helicopter at their Antarctic base Davis. Thankfully no one died, but the accident received a lot of media attention at home, which means some of the team will probably know.

  Not a great thing to take into the briefing.

  If an aerial evacuation is called, we’re going to need to be ready. Bags have to be packed and a landing area prepared. We’ll have to start thinking about a helipad on the ice.

  Ben chips in: “The large ice floe the guys are exercising on next to the Shokalskiy would work. It must be a hundred feet across.”

  Great. We’ll check it out later this morning.

  If we get taken out by the Australians, they might return to Casey and finish off their resupply before heading back to Hobart. If so, we could be looking at a late January return: that’s three to four weeks from now. It seems a minor inconvenience compared with other possibilities, but better to warn everyone now in case it does happen.

  I turn to Nikki. “Will the team cope with this news?”

  She hesitates for a moment before responding. “Yes, I think so. The general feeling is surprisingly good.”

  That’s a relief.

  Greg stresses the Russians won’t leave regardless. Igor has made it clear his team will remain on the Shokalskiy. This is their home, where they will stay, wait, and hope. If the sea ice hasn’t released the Russians by the end of the summer in late February, the French could evacuate them through Dumont d’Urville. The Russians may even remain on the Shokalskiy over the winter. If so, they’ll need a resupply from the two years’ worth of food kept on the Aurora Australis for this kind of eventuality.

  Jesus, with icebergs moving around? Really?

  In the meantime, we’ll open the phone lines again for calls. It’s important the ship’s communications aren’t disrupted for long, but we need to give access to anyone who wants a few moments on the telephone. Nikki will print off a new schedule for people to sign up.

  Finished, we head down to the briefing. I’m willing the Shokalskiy to make its escape. Damn this wind; just change direction and take us with you. After all we’ve been through, it feels wrong to even be talking about leaving the ship and crew behind.

  The lecture room is packed.

  I give a morning welcome. The mood is markedly somber. Everyone is tense. What a difference a few hours can make.

  I briefly describe the latest situation and then pass over to Greg, who presents the slideshow.

  It’s important to show this is a team effort. After yesterday’s blow-up, it’s important everyone sees Greg is onboard. The last thing we need is rumors we’re divided. And Greg’s experience counts for a lot.

  Greg talks about the latest sea-ice images and stresses we’re in a highly unusual situation.

  “The sea ice has plastered onto the fast ice surrounding B09B. The Shokalskiy could be stuck here for a very long time indeed.”

  Greg goes through the scenarios we discussed upstairs. There’s a concerned murmur when the end of January is mentioned as a return date, but I’m sure they’ll cope. Everyone needs to get their heads around being away from Australia for a whole heap longer.

  After Greg’s finished, I continue. “Of course, the best-case scenario is that the sea ice breaks out and we make our escape tomorrow. If so, only ten days’ sailing and we could be home by 9 January, just a week after we’d planned.” It’s something to hold on to.

  There are a few smiles.

  Terry puts up his hand and asks: “And what about the French? I understand they may have left.”

  There’s no beating about the bush. I’m not sure how they’re going to respond, but best be out with it.

  “Yes, Terry. They’ve gone.”

  There’s a surprising roar of laughter. The mood in the room instantly lightens.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. Igor’s scepticism over the Astrolabe ’s ability to reach us has given the team a confidence boost in our captain. It’s not a shock the French vessel has left. It shows to any remaining doubters that Igor knows what he’s doing. Another valuable lesson learned: give everyone the uncertainties early on. There’s less fallout if things don’t work out later.

  The briefing ends in a completely different mood to the start. There’s idle chatter, even some banter among the crowd. A full schedule of events is planned for the day. Lots to do, lots to keep everyone busy.

  I see Peter walking up to the front of the room. He has a smile on his face. He offers his hand to Greg and apologizes for the previous night’s disagreement. Greg returns with an embarrassed apology for his outburst. They shake hands.

  That’s helped clear the air.

  We’re back together as a team.

  What a difference an hour can make.

  * * *

  The wreck of the Endurance lying nearby was a ghostly reminder of what might have been. The men were alone on the sea ice, tired and frightened. Shackleton immediately took control of the situation. He never wasted energy on things he couldn’t change: “A man must shape himself to a new mark directly the old one goes to ground.” The men needed hope, to be reassured all was not lost. They were 350 miles southeast of Paulet Island on the Antarctic Peninsula, where Nordenskjöld and his Swedish expedition had been trapped by sea ice ten years earlier. After this near-disaster, Shackleton himself had been hired by the Argentinian government to stock the hut there with suppli
es. The sledges, provisions, and dogs were the last things taken ashore from the Endurance. They were now going to be used to try to reach Paulet.

  Shackleton spoke to the men and told them of his plan to march west. As scientist Reginald James remarked, Shackleton was adamant:

  that if we all worked together it could be done . . . At heart we were probably glad that the time of anxiety as to whether or not we should save the ship was over, and that the job was now up to us.

  Shackleton’s talk had an instant effect on the team. “It brought us out of our doldrums,” wrote Hussey, “our spirits rose, and we had supper.” Shackleton may have been a picture of calm and determination on the outside but inside he was seriously worried, confiding in his diary: “I pray God I can manage to get the whole party to civilisation.”

  They spent three nights on the ice preparing for their journey. The loss of the Endurance meant the men had little in the way of food to support them. Shackleton immediately introduced strict rationing. Because food was so short, the weaker dogs and ship’s cat, Mrs. Chippy, were killed to save on supplies. Weight was going to be key. For the journey, Shackleton told everyone they were to carry a very specific and limited kit: six pairs of socks, one spare pair of boots, one pair of fur gloves, a packet of toilet paper along with a pound of tobacco or cocoa and another pound of personal gear such as soap and toothbrush. Shackleton led by example, publicly throwing away fifty gold sovereigns, his gold watch and the Bible given to him by Queen Alexandra—only tearing out the personal dedication on the front page and a section from the Book of Job. The men followed his move and dumped all their other gear.

  Action of any kind was better than none. Two of the lifeboats went with them, dragged on the sledges over the rough and broken ice. A path was hacked though the blocks, ridges and dangerously angled pinnacles of ice. The dogs helped, but relays were necessary to transport the ton of supplies. Progress was painfully slow. With the summer sun, temperatures went over 25F. The snow became soft and the men regularly sank up to their hips, cursing as everything became wet. Two days later, hot, sweaty and badly dehydrated, they realized it was hopeless. The best they had managed was three-quarters of a mile in one day, far off the four to five they needed to cover. Dragging the boats was taking far too long. The men were exhausted and using precious energy to achieve nothing of worth. Shackleton called it off.

  They weren’t going anywhere fast. They set up their tents on an old floe and christened it Ocean Camp.

  * * *

  I leave the lecture room an hour later, hearing hoots of laughter upstairs. There seems to be a party going on. It’s only eleven in the morning. Shouting, hollering, and cheering are coming from the upper deck. The lounge?

  Ben Fisk and Colin are giving a class in knots, aren’t they?

  I climb the stairs, curious. The corridor is packed with people. I see Annette nearby.

  “What’s going on, darling?” I ask.

  She turns to me and smiles. “Ben and Colin have been teaching everyone how to make a rope stretcher. They’re testing it out now.”

  Over the heads, I can make out Ben and Colin smiling as they carry a nervous patient buried under sheets toward the medic room.

  “Whoa there,” cries out a muffled voice as the would-be chair-bearers stagger along the narrow corridor, encouraged by shouts of approval.

  Moments later they ceremoniously deliver their charge to the door. Standing upright, Ben puffs triumphantly: “And that’s how you use a rope stretcher.”

  There’s a chorus of laughter and a round of applause. With slaps on backs, the group returns to the lounge to resume the lesson. It’s been like this every day. Lessons, gentle conversations, private words. Almost everyone has had a worried moment at some time or other, but there’s always been someone around to talk things through with, if not in the lounge then on the deck or in the privacy of a cabin. No one’s been left alone.

  It’s wonderful to see the spirit on board. Looking around the tables, I see Robert with Sean and Pat across the room. They’re busy tying new knots, helping one another when they get stuck. I’m so proud to see my son. He came on the Shokalskiy a boy, but he’s fast becoming a man. For Sean and Pat, adventure, good humor and fitness have been the order of the day. Robert has spent every waking hour with them, and they’ve taken him under their wings without batting an eyelid. He’s looked up to them in admiration. For a young man of twelve, he couldn’t have had better role models.

  Cara is in another corner, sitting with Eleanor, Kerry, and Mary. With a hot drink, she’s talking happily to the other women as they tie a respectable bowline, something Cara would never have known how to do before. Cara has really come out of her shell, mixing with people outside of her normal teenage circle. Annette and I have always encouraged the kids to talk to adults, but they’ve both found a new confidence on board. And I’m aware they’ve helped when some of the other team members have been struggling. You know you have to step up when children are in the room with you.

  I look at Annette standing next to me. I don’t know what I would have done without her. She’s always been the one I’ve relied on, but this has been far, far more. We’re sharing our biggest adventure, and she’s kept me together. There have been times I’ve nearly imploded, when I’ve wanted to go and hide. But knowing Annette’s close, that she’s within reach, that there’s someone I can always talk to and depend on, has given me the strength to get through this awful week. A smile here, a touch there, has made me feel anything is possible.

  I reach out for Annette’s hand and look on. We have a long way to go yet, but I know we’re going to make it.

  * * *

  While the team is busy, journalists are contacting us at an increasingly frenetic pace, wanting to know how everyone is coping and whether there’s any news on our rescue. Alvin is doing his best to manage the requests, but it’s now in the hundreds since we were trapped.

  “It’s intense,” warned Alvin. “They’ve gone crazy for news. I’m struggling to keep up, but we’re managing.”

  Communication is important, but there are so many other things to do on board. To stop it taking over our lives I’m scheduling two-hour windows that best map onto key time zones around the world: mid-morning for Australia and New Zealand; late afternoon for the U.K. and Europe; early evening for the United States and Canada. For the television networks, Skype is the preferred means of interview; for radio, satellite phone. Every interview I give, I drop in details on the science work we’re doing. If we aren’t available, family and friends are being called on by journalists desperate to fill their time slots. My brother William has found himself on several news shows in London, while Ziggy’s father is now a local celebrity in Buenos Aires. It’s as intense as Alvin promised, but we dare not stop, given the confusion when we first became trapped. Overall, the press has been positive, particularly the American networks, sending messages of support. It’s really helped on board, reassuring the rest of the team that others are thinking of us.

  But there’s been a worrying development in some of the reports. Over the last twenty-four hours, I’m being increasingly asked to respond to comments made by climate sceptics, a group of people I have little time for in the best of situations. With more important things to worry about I didn’t give it much thought at first; you may as well concern yourself with Flat Earthers or Moon landing conspiracists. Now they’re becoming particularly vocal, drawing attention to our situation. At first, I’m at a loss to understand how our predicament informs on the science of climate change.

  Fox News is apparently leading the charge, claiming: “They went to study climate change, and they froze solid! This proves there’s no global warming.” It seems a snap freeze is to blame for our plight; more sea ice around the Shokalskiy means the world must be getting colder. Another is claiming we have no weather forecasting capability; that we just came south hoping for the best. As a scientist, I’m all for healthy scepticism but they must be soft in the head.
I know these guys are perverse, but they can’t claim they don’t have information on the expedition. We’ve been posting about the science every day, and we have described how we’re using weather forecasts and satellite imagery to guide our program. The journalists are asking me what I think. I have to remind them we’re trapped on a vessel, 1,400 miles from New Zealand, that there’s yet another blizzard raging outside, and icebergs are surrounding the vessel. All we’re focused on is making sure everyone is all right and gets home safe.

  The social media is worse, especially Twitter, which seems to be posting all sorts of personal crap. Chris looked over my shoulder and saw a particularly vicious tweet about my family. “Don’t read that, mate. It’ll just screw with your head.” I nod dumbly and shut it down. It seems incredible that with everything that’s happening around us, some people are venting their spleen at us. The comms we’ve been using to reassure folks at home and report our science could suddenly destabilize things on the ship.

  A big part of this expedition was the desire to share the excitement of scientific discovery. The message was, you don’t need to be a scientist to think like one. You make an observation, you test your ideas as honestly as you can, and the simplest explanation is most likely the answer. It’s not a new concept. In fact, the principle behind it is known as Occam’s razor, and it’s been around since the fourteenth century. There’s no way a snap freeze can trap a ship behind twenty miles of sea ice. The Day After Tomorrow movie wasn’t real. It takes a month of winter temperatures in the Antarctic to build up a foot of sea ice. We’re surrounded by at least ten feet. It’s clearly been driven from along the coast into our path—something we’ve posted online with the satellite images to show what happened. More generally, there’s a wealth of material on the web about the changes happening in the Antarctic today, provided by learned institutions in easy-to-understand language. Ignoring all this, idiots are publicly celebrating their ignorance and somehow think they’re scoring points by mocking us. It’s hard to comprehend.