Although the season feels distinctively like Autumn (in the Natural sense), for those of us left here on the ice, in a hominal sense, Winter has well and truly set in. Voyage 4, the Aurora Australis, our summer colleagues, and any contact with the outside world (at least physical contact) departed Casey on February 14th. Forgive the dramaturgy, I know it sounds extreme, but the day V4 left us was without a doubt one of the strangest days of my life! It’s a difficult thing to describe: that day, quite literally, 19 of us were deserted in a more or less lifeless place with the prospect of bitterly cold winds, blizzards lasting days at a time, at times constant total darkness, and were told, “stay here, we’ll be back in November”.
As the last barge ferrying people from Casey to the ship slowly pulled away from the wharf, the reality of this finally began to sink in. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so literally deserted.
Having said this, it wasn’t necessarily a sad or scary thing for me… more exciting than anything, which was a little surprising considering there were quite a few people visibly upset that afternoon. Many a tear was shed on the afternoon of the departure, but not before we on station gave the AA its customary send off: apparently flares make a regular appearance as the ship departs at the end of summer.
One of our diesos, Brad, seeing off the AA on departure day.
Me... doing the same.Perhaps it was the strangely calm and eerie weather, or maybe the flares, or watching the AA set off into a silver berg-littered ocean knowing our last chance to change our minds and get onboard was past, and that for the next 9 months or so we would have to learn to like each other if we didn’t already, but I remember the general demeanour of everyone on station that afternoon was strangely very light and friendly. Not an odd thing in itself, but in the context of the day… it all felt very surreal in a way.
Once again the moon seemed to be in tune with the station mood just a few days later, rising auspiciously between partial cloud, marking the recent return of night-time to Casey. Now, almost a month later, we are experiencing around 12 hours without sun each day, and losing an hour or light each week. Things seem to be hastening to the darkness of the true Winter.
The day after the ship left we had a Casey-wide day of rest, to mark the end of the busy resupply. It was a well-earned day off for many, who decided to kick their feet up for the first time in a while. But for some, a day of rest meant we could do what we came for… jolly. The indefatigable Todor, Curly, Doc and I decided a day ski trip to Wilkes was in order, so we donned the survival packs and went. 
Looking across Newcomb Bay towards Casey station on the far peninsula.
Todor, Doc (Heleen) and Curly (Craig).
The 15km round trip took us some 3 hours or so, by memory, but was a great way to see more of the terrain around station. Instead of blasting past all the interesting nooks and crannies on a noisy quad, I really enjoyed the slower pace of skiing. Besides, you actually feel like you’ve deserved a bit of a rest at the Hilton if you’ve used some energy getting there.
Anyway, that’s probably enough of the old-fashioned grandpa in me… take a look at this photo of me and a penguin :)
Now, mid-March, most of the wildlife is starting to desert us. Pretty soon we’ll be the only life-forms silly enough to want to stay here, but for now there are still a few straggling penguins, moulting in preparation for their trip north, the odd weddell seal, and a few elephant seals south of Casey, who are all expected to head off within the next few weeks.Its becoming a cold and dark place, but I must say im looking forward to some wild weather. That is after all a big part of why I came here.
