V4 departure, and the arrival of Winter.

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.

Resupply

During the days leading up to Resupply, as if conscious of the generally excited mood on station, even the Sun and moon could not help being drawn into the festivities, putting on a rare show for the expectant crowd at Casey. On the 7th of February we were treated to a partial solar eclipse, which the ever-vigilant camera of Todor managed to capture through a dark plastic bag and a thin layer of cloud. The eclipse lasted for just a few hours in the morning, but was an expedient event to mark, for some, the end of a rather surreal Summer holiday, and the beginning of their journey back home to loved ones. [Aurora Australis at night from Casey]

Being a ‘winterer’ however I must say I felt like something of a bystander to much of the excitement. Watching and hearing the ‘summerers’ talk in sanguine tones about what delights they were going to indulge in once they got home didn’t make the prospect of staying for another 9 or 10 months sound terribly enticing. Nevertheless there was a notably jocular feeling running through the station prior to Resupply, which was at times hard to avoid.

[Tom and Jenn in the Wallow]

Resupply itself however was one of the more chaotic periods we have experienced here to date, and I must say was not something I was looking forward to with great enthusiasm. The more seasoned expeditioners had warned us of this, and that the entire process was estimated to last around a week (dependant, as everything, on weather) by the end of which we would be well and truly ready to welcome the supposedly relaxed Winter with open arms.

[Ice cliffs of Newcomb Bay]

For me, the most concerning aspect of Resupply was the fire board. Im not sure exactly what would have happened in terms of a muster and the fire response team, but I have included here during and after resupply shots of the board to illustrate the relative simplicity we are now dealing with, post Resupply. In short, we had lots of new people on station who may or may not have known where to go and what to do in case of a fire, and others who may or may not have heard the alarm at all. Thankfully though, we had no troubles with fire alarms during this time, and Resupply went off more or less without any problems. Essentially, resupply is about providing the station with enough food, fuel, material (plumbing, building, electrical supplies etc), and winterers’ cargo (the rest of mine and others’ personal luggage) to last until next summer. Bellow is the contents of one-of-five food containers on the floor of our Green Store, which I helped unload with the vested interest that it is to last us/Casey for another 12 months. As an extra however, there are often many A.A.D. (Australian Antarctic Division) head office employees, science related ‘round-trippers’, and others, who visit the stations on these voyages for various reason, and who have certain projects to complete during the Resupply week. I was assigned to accompany one such BoM employee on a trip to the Wilkins A.W.S. (automatic weather station) during this week, giving me a pleasant day away from the station. The only free vehicle at our disposal on station being the Noddy, (Latin name: Warpus speedus), at least 6 hours of our time was spent bouncing up and down therein. It was however one of the clearest, calmest, and most pleasant days of all time at Wilkins – and, being so, we enjoyed a very civilised alfresco luncheon of antipasto ingredients at the Antarctic Circle.

To top off a rather enjoyable break from station life, on our return to Casey, coming back “down the hill” at around sunset, we witnessed one of those phenomena usually reserved for the desert regions of the warmer latitudes. Not knowing exactly what causes such a phenomena in the coldest place on earth I can only assume that the mirages we saw were due to light radiating off the snow and ice, which in turn refracted our view, showing us bergs that were bellow the horizon. Please correct me if I am wrong as this is only conjecture, but bellow is my attempt to capture the event.

Icebergs and cruises

For the most part, although it may seem a little counterintuitive, I think that what has impressed me most about being here so far has been what isn’t here, rather than what is here. Flying in on my birthday; the aurora we saw from the ship’s deck; strolling around amongst the penguins; experiencing a true blizzard, I must admit these were all quite amazing to me, even at the time. But it is the lack of trees, grass, ‘regular’ animals, ‘normal’ weather (rain), insects, certain smells, children, friends & family and other similar things that I find quite strange about being here. I wouldn’t say the lack of these things makes me homesick – although I do sometimes wish I could just go hiking at Barrington tops, or go to a café with friends – but it does give me a new appreciation for these things, and shows me just how much I generally take for granted. Hence, I think my being here will mean much more to me once I’m home again.

However one thing that did really impress me immediately – and yes, I might even go so far as to say something theatrical like, “it took my breath away” – was the recent iceberg cruise I was lucky enough to get in on. We have 3 IRBs (Inflatable Rubber Boat) on station, and for most of the summer only two with a coxswains licence. For some over-precautious reason there is a law that states only coxswains may drive an IRB in Antarctica, and that there must never be only one boat in the water at a time. Since summer was quite a busy period, it was hard work finding an evening after work where both coxswains were free and nothing else was planned.

Here are Tod and "Curly", all smiles heading towards the bergs around sunset.Late in the season however, a 3rd coxswain arrived via the A319 Airbus, and on a very calm and clear evening late in January, we pushed some small bergy bits aside at the wharf, and put the boats in the water for the one solitary boat cruise of the season. One is better than none though, and I must say it was the most amazing 2 hours I’ve ever spent in a boat.

Being only 3 boats and a station full of people wanting to get in on the action there were two groups to go out. I was in the second group, so by the time I got in the water its was close to 9 or 10pm, and the sun was just setting.The soft light, while adding to the beauty, and giving the night a surreal/other-worldly feel, hindered my photography a little. Having by no means mastered the art as yet, I found I was very frustrated with the photos I had taken when looking through them later. I do think a few turned out, but its always annoying to realise that the view other people will have of your experience falls so far short of reality. The main conglomeration of bergs lies around 15kms north of station, just off the coast, on a relatively shallow bank. Medium sized bergs seem to beach themselves here for long periods of time, meaning that we have a constant view of some pretty amazing bergs just to our north. Until now they have been tantalising us, but have always been just out of reach, so it was great to finally get in amongst them!

This one obviously spent some time stranded on the bottom, then broke and turned over. Thats frozen mud facing us.

This wasn’t the only time the boats got to the water however. Something I hadn’t counted on before I arrived was the extent of the summer melt, which meant that any off-station trips (mainly for science reasons by this time) were almost only viable via IRB.I was lucky enough to get an ‘assistant’ seat in an IRB for one such trip, which again just happened to be on a crystal clear and still bluebird day… not a ripple on the water. This was a trip to Robbo’s Hut, sticking pretty close to a section of the coast that doesn’t have too many bergs around, but there was still the odd berg to be seen and photographed. Nothing like the berg cruise proper, but still pretty awesome all the same.

Above is Brad and I on our way to Robbo's. Anyone in an IRB (or flying over water for that matter) in Antarctica has to wear one of these stylish one-piece mustang suits. Its meant to help if you fall into the -1.8 degree water... short of a heated gas-tight space suit however, i'm not convinced that anything would make falling in any easier.

Wilkins Runway

One thing that has taken up a lot of our time and thoughts here at Casey this summer has been the newly opened Hobart to Casey airlink. The airlink, which has been many years in the planning, made its first actual landing in Australian Antarctic Territory this season, and has subsequently made somewhere between 5 and 10 more since December’s inaugural. The runway is some 70kms from Casey, and is situated up on the Antarctic plateau, essentially on a big sheet of ice that moves 10 meters seaward every year. There really isnt a lot up there to see - its a desert. Below we have Farmer Joel standing on the end of the 4km long runway.Nevertheless it is an interesting place to visit for a few reasons. A trip to the runway (I’ve done a few now for aviation observations at the aerodrome) means either a 2 hour bumpy hagglunds ride; 15-20 minutes in a CASA (plane); or around 4 to 5 hours in the ‘Noddy’ (zero to 10km/hr in a record breaking 25 minutes). On Friday, however, Todor is going to attempt the Wilkins to Casey trip using another mode of transportation. He is going to try skiing the 70km, with people sponsoring him per kilometre, and all proceeds going to Camp Quality. Id love to accompany him but unfortunately I have to work…

Whichever way you travel to Wilkins Runway you will pass into the Antarctic Circle. Casey lies at 66 degrees 17 minutes South, just north of the Circle which lies at 66 degrees 33 minutes South. Apologies, but a really lame photo at this point is a unavoidable… Once you actually get to the runway what you see is a whole heap of demountable type containers in a single line running north/south. The logic behind this is that the prevailing katabatic winds - caused by masses of super cooled air on the plateau running via gravity toward the sea - come from the east. In such situations wind scours build up on the eastern face of objects, while blizz tails build up behind the western face. Since the snowfall and average wind speeds are fairly high at Wilkins, the potential for container-covering blizz tails is quite high, therefore no object is ever left directly west of another.A fluctuating crew of around 6 or 7 people have been living at Wilkins over the past 3 months, maintaining the runway, and if you ask me THAT is doing it tough. We are living like spoilt royalty at Casey! Below is their toilet/shower container, which is not attached to their living quarters, so in an 80 knot blizzard you would reeeeeally want to save up those number one's and two's.

But despite all the hardships, the guys at Wilkins have been good enough to construct a lovely Arrivals and Departures lounge for airbus passengers. I think they call it the Quantas Lounge.

Oh, and for anyone wondering, yes, the runway is made of ice… they land an airbus on ice! However it is covered with a layer of compacted snow prior to every landing, and apparently has the breaking coefficient of a wet tar runway… I think someone is having a lend. In any case, after a very busy few weeks with airbus flights bringing some 30 more scientists and the like to station, I think everyone is looking forward to the last flight on the February 1. After this it will be only another week or so before our much anticipated resupply ship arrives (Voyage 4) taking with it all of our summer crew and leaving just 19 of us here for some 8 or 9 months bondage… bring it on!