Antarctic experience

Robin Perry

ANTARCTIC EXPERIENCE 1958 - 1960

Robin Perry

ANTARCTIC EXPERIENCE

Two years’ field service (1958–1960) for the Falkland Islands Dependencies Survey (FIDS)

The first of October two thousand and seven is the fiftieth anniversary of my departure on a long and memorable journey to Antarctica to serve the science of meteorology for the space of two full years.

We thought then what a long way we had come from the heroic times of Amundsen, Scott, Shackleton and their ilk.

But the BAS of today has made a quantum leap beyond the FIDS of the 1950s.

Imagine! They have women and the internet on base; but no dogs.

I, for one, find that difficult.

Therefore, perhaps it is timely for one more very personal recollection of what life was actually like in our days.

I was lucky that the International Geophysical Year coincided with my late twenties, when I was as fit as I would ever be.

Now the International Polar Year 2007–2008 is coming up.

More prosaically, ‘an intensive programme of internationally co-ordinated, interdisciplinary scientific research and observations focussed on the polar regions’.

This means that the grandchildren of my contemporaries might also have the chance of a paid trip south.

I only hope the prospect is still as appealing to them as it was to us.

Robin Perry July 2006

Robin M. Perry

ANTARCTIC EXPERIENCE 1958 - 1960 ­

Two years’ field service for the then Falkland Islands Dependencies Survey (FIDS) [now the British Antarctic Survey (BAS)],

on the occasion of the International Geophysical Year (IGY)

THE ANTARCTIC PENINSULA

Based on the Directorate of Overseas Surveys 1 : 3,000,000 polar stereographic map published for BAS in 1981 (Considerable areas of ice shelf have disintegrated since then)

ANTARCTIC EXPERIENCE, 1958–1960 Avant-propos After the Second World War, the United Kingdom government maintained a presence in the South Atlantic to protect the inhabitants of the Falkland Islands (Malvinas / Malouines) and guard the large portion of the iced Antarctic cake between longitudes 20° and 80° West, then claimed by the British Crown and known as the Falkland Islands Dependencies. The Antarctic Treaty in 1961 ‘put on ice’ all such national claims south of latitude 60°S. The Treaty had been catalysed by the International Geophysical Year (IGY), a worldwide campaign to co-ordinate and intensify for a limited period observations of geophysical parameters on a planetary scale, making full use of recent advances in measurement techniques. The period chosen was 1 July 1957 to 31 December 1958, coinciding with maximum sunspot activity in the solar cycle. Particular importance was attached to the polar regions, hitherto rarely visited by scientists for any length of time.

The United Kingdom already had a scientific programme in the Antarctic known as the Falkland Islands Dependencies Survey (FIDS), successor to a wartime naval undertaking ‘Operation Tabarin’. The FIDS programme would therefore be intensified for the IGY. In the summer of 1956 when I was working in the met. office at Aberdeen airport, a certain R.H. (‘Dick’) Hillson was sent for a few weeks’ further training in meteorological observing prior to going south with FIDS. I had always wondered what it was like to experience really low temperatures, I was intrigued to see the southern hemisphere night sky (although born under it in New Zealand, I had been brought back to Britain when still a baby), and the very notion of exploration was irresistible. So when the next circular inviting applications for FIDS came round, I applied.

At my interview at the Crown Agents in London, I was rather surprised to see a bloke working at a table in the corner of the room but taking no part in the proceedings. Naïvely I assumed they were short of office space! He was, of course, a psychologist sizing up my aptitude for life on a base. I was deemed fit, and the Meteorological Office agreed to release me for the duration of my contract with FIDS. My orders were to report to Berth 37 at Southampton to sail with the Royal Research Ship Shackleton on Tuesday 1 October 1957 at 3pm, but I must have a certificate from a dentist that my teeth were unlikely to give trouble under polar conditions. So about the middle of September I drove down to Grange in my 1937 Vauxhall Ten and was examined by the family dentist in Kendal. He advised that an impacted wisdom tooth be removed, and by cutting many administrative corners I was accepted for the operation (under general anaesthetic) at Lancaster Royal Infirmary on Thursday 26 September.

All went well, and I was discharged on the Saturday. On Monday 30th I was driven down by my parents and we stayed my last night at an hotel.

The Cunard liner Queen Elizabeth arrived from America that afternoon and tied up at the next berth. The contrast in size between the two vessels was comical.

Our departure did not elicit any great interest in the national press, although regional papers such as the Grange & Cartmel News and the Westmorland Gazette found space when it concerned a local lad. Once we had left the quayside the First Officer handed me a packet containing the 35mm camera and light-meter I had purchased under bond in Aberdeen. The Super Frankarette had a built-in (though manual) rangefinder. Nothing special, but adequate in those days. My first picture was of the Needles (Isle of Wight).

Normally we would have called at Dakar, but because of an outbreak of Asian ’flu’ on board this was not allowed. Quite a few of the ship’s officers and crew went down with it, and we passengers had to give a hand in various jobs associated with running the ship, including turns at the wheel. I did most of the weather observations. We learnt with stupefaction of the successful launch of Sputnik–1 by the then USSR. The achievement was a real feather in their cap.

As usual it was pretty tumultuous crossing the Bay of Biscay, and oppressively hot just before the Equator. The customary rites for those crossing the Line for the first time were very perfunctory. All in all, we had an uneventful voyage, and arrived at Montevideo, capital of Uruguay, on 25 October.

photo LP

Southampton, 30 September 1957: RRS Shackleton is completely hidden by the stern of RMS Queen Elizabeth arriving from New York

Geology, climate and glaciology 200 million years ago the Antarctic continent formed part of Pangaea, with what is now the Antarctic Peninsula fitting between South America and South Africa, then located nearer the Equator.

150 million years ago Pangaea dissevered into Laurasia and Gondwanaland, the latter comprising (a) Antarctica, the Indian sub-continent and Australasia, (b) Africa and the Middle East, and (c) S.America.

100 million years ago the above three major elements of Gondwanaland were separated by oceans.

50 million years ago Antarctica and Australasia had sunk down to around the position of the South Pole while India was pushing northward.

Current thinking is that the break-up of Gondwanaland was associated with Mantle Plumes, the extrusion of lava along dykes thousands of kilometres long. Evidence: In Ellsworth Mountains the lava intrusions through sedimenary rocks are plain to see and are backed up by palaeomagnetic observations from rock cores as well as aeromagnetic readings that show major type boundaries. Mount Erebus, Deception Island and the South Sandwich Islands (active volcanos) may be residual vestiges.

Fossils of trees 100 million years old have been found in Antarctica.

The icecap began to form about 34 million years ago after the Antarctic continent had migrated to high southern latitudes, Australia and New Zealand having broken off and drifted northward and the Andes barrier having been breached and submerged in the Drake Passage, leaving the continent isolated and surrounded by oceans. The East Antarctic icecap has probably been stable since 15 million years ago.

However, other fossil plants have been found, one (dated about 25 millions years old) and another on the Beardmore Glacier (Sirius deposit) only three million years old, indicating that warmer climates have occurred since. In connection with the latter, sedimentary layers revealed in the Rangitikei River valley (New Zealand) indicate a substantial rise in sea-level in the same period.

However, sediments in the Dry Valleys (Transantarctic Mountains, which form the barrier between East and West Antarctica) do not show any marked temperature changes (it remained cold).

The conclusion is that the West Antarctic climate is unstable over a long period. There has been a two degree Celsius rise in temperature during the past 50 years, and a significant spread of vegetation during the past 25 years (e.g. Léonie Island off Adelaide Island). There are two flowering plants native to Antarctica: the grass Deschampsia antarctica and the cushion Colabanthus quitensis. On Léonie Island conditions are at their vital limit.

Sea-level is thought to be rising faster than during the past 4000 years.

If all the Antarctic ice were to melt, global sea-level would rise by 16m; if only that of West Antarctica, by 3 to 6m. Ice-shelfs could be an important buffer helping to maintain the ice cap, which often rests on bedrock below sea-level. Their disappearance might occasion a dramatic collapse of the ice cap. There is plenty of evidence that ice-shelfs are disintegrating, e.g. Wordie (almost gone) and Larsen (lost 1300 km2 in 50 days in 1994).

The position of the South Pole changes by some 10m a year due to normal ice flow due to spreading of the dome. Ice streams are like rivers of ice flowing between walls of slower-moving ice. They may be many kilometres wide, hundreds of kilometres long and one or two kilometres thick. Speed can be up to a metre per day. The theory is that between the base of the ice and the bedrock exists a sandwich layer of till, consisting of rock dust mixed with water that exists due to the ice pressure and geothermal heating from below (the ice cap itself acts as insulation from the low air temperatures); this till could serve as a lubricant to engender ice streams. Evidence indicates that ice streams are not permanent features, they seem to have stopped and started in the past. There are probably cycles of ‘binge’ and ‘purge’, and signs are that a purge may now be in progress.

Based on BBC/TV programme Horizon dated 1997

photo LP

1 October 1957: Visitors ashore! (yes, the lady had to go too).

On the rail, L–R: David Price, Robin, Derek Blundell, John Bibby, Mike Stansbury, Don Hawke.

photo LP

The Royal Research Ship was not much larger than the tug that manoeuvred her from the quayside.

NOTE I took few colour photos during the first winter for the simple reason that I had totally underestimated my colour film requirement.

The style of the narrative varies. The first part is taken from letters written home which my parents carefully archived. These get fewer and further between as we began exchanging messages through the kind collaboration of amateur radio operators. Then, for a few critical weeks in 1960, I found I had time to keep a journal.

RRS Shackleton Sunday 3 November 1957 South Atlantic Thank you very much for the two airmail letters I have received so far. I expect there will be another one or two on board now which, however, I shall not see until officially handed to me in Port Stanley. The engine has been giving a lot of trouble — bearings overheating — which is the reason for our delay. It was most annoying, never knowing just when we would leave Montevideo; shore leave was continu¬ally extended by several hours at a time, and we had hardly any pesos left! I was going to buy a few presents but now that will have to wait until the return. The undefined lengthening of our stay in that very fine city was rather an anticlimax, but all of us are agreed that the first four days there were really and truly enjoyable. The people are friendly and the food we ate was out of this world (however at $10 a time it is no wonder that we ran out of cash).

I made a pig of myself with the succulent steaks and the fruit and cream, and discovered the pleasure of having wine with a meal.

Montevideo

Some of the buildings in Monte are almost skyscrapers; at any rate the view approaching from the sea is certainly impressive, there are about a dozen miles of beaches, but being on the estuary of the Paraná and Uruguay Rivers, the sea is never really blue because of the silt. I gather this does not deter millions from bathing. Apparently there are no sharks.

The first thing that struck me as we walked into town that day of arrival was the method of driving. Montevideo is made up of streets at right angles, and at intersections there is no major road. A blast on the resonant horn is the only

allowance made, hence the almost continual ‘toot-toot’ throughout the city.

No doubt this is typical of other towns. Taxis are cheap, and bus fares standard at 15¢ (about 4d *) for any distance.

The hero of Uruguay, Jose Artigas, is commemorated by a profusion of place-names, statues, etc., and I have just done some research into his history. He led the fight for independence against the Spaniards. Although this was eventually achieved on 18 July 1830 when Uruguay was proclaimed a republic, Artigas died in voluntary exile in Paraguay in 1848, having had his very democratic proposals rejected by the General Assembly in Buenos Aires, which went further and facilitated occupation of Uruguay by the Portuguese in 1816, prompting Artigas to declare war on Argentina. Emancipation was eventually brought about through Brazil breaking away from Portugal and the victory of General Juan Antaric Navellega over the Brazilian army in two battles.

I posted a card to you on Saturday 26 October shortly before it was announced that we would not sail before Monday evening at the earliest. That afternoon, therefore, we had a bus tour of the city, first going to the hill, Cerro, from which it seems Montevideo derives its name. Although very small, perhaps 500ft (150m), it provides a bird’s eye view of the city. At the top is a fort and museum. From there we went on a round of some of the parks, stopping near the enormous clinical hospital, then going on through a magnificent residential area in pine woods and eventually reaching the sea at the eastern end of the long esplanade along which we returned, passing all the beaches. Another thing that impresses one about the traffic on the roads is the large number of old vehicles (1930 or earlier) still in normal usage. There is a very high tax on imported cars; hundreds of new ones are decaying in the docks, having been impounded.

To fill the extra day as cheaply as possible, I booked a coach tour for 17 of us to a place 100 miles (160km) to the east, called Punta del Este. The main road there was comparable to an unclassified one in Britain, surfaced but rather badly, and the ride not particularly comfortable. The buses are about the speediest vehicles on the roads, and their drivers have the rather alarming habit of always disengaging gear on descents. But the journey was, as may be imagined, full of interest. It poured with rain as we left at 7.15 am, and continued on and off until lunch time, but the visibility was quite good.

Punta del Este is a seaside resort and contains numerous chalets in a pine wood, of which we made a tour. These are used during the International Film Congress. It was all most luxurious. Coming back, we followed an unsurfaced track down to a smaller resort in a charming situation with the unexpected name of Piriapolis, where we spent an hour. On the way we saw some ostriches (here called rheas).

* 4d = four pre-decimal pence (or one-eightieth of £1 sterling)

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Those were the only excursions we had, as thereafter we were expecting to sail in a matter of a few hours, and spent all our pesos as they would be useless in the Falklands. It was Friday at 1.15 pm that we eventually cast off and sailed into the middle of the harbour for the loading of aviation spirit (this procedure being prohibited at the quayside). At about 3pm we headed south. The aviation spirit is for the two small aircraft that maintain a service in the Falkland Islands, carrying a doctor when needed, or a patient to hospital in Stanley. We last saw the skyline of Montevideo at about 5pm as we continued south against a freshening wind and increasing cloud.

That evening we had a film: The Seekers, about British settlers among the Maories of New Zealand, and a thunderstorm on the screen coincided with a real one outside. After the show we went on deck to watch the lightning, frequent and fascinating. The seas increased during the night and there were some accidents at breakfast. Mike Stansbury* was in the mess and felt the full force of a wave that came in through an open porthole. In the morning I did a bit of laundry, then after lunch played bridge in the lounge. After I had turned in, Mike came and announced we were ‘hove-to’ as the fuel pump had broken down. Fortunately the high seas of the morning had abated, and it was not too difficult to keep the head into the swell. It was briefly rumoured that the RMS Darwin, due to pass us in a few hours en route from Port Stanley, would have to tow us back to Montevideo, though this would be hampered by the fog that now enveloped us.

The engine is still silent this morning, but we are assured that we shall continue our journey once repairs have been effected. The sea is still gentle but the fog still with us.

Later. Now we have had lunch and are on the move again. It is getting cooler now, but even so the temperature is still higher than it would ever get down at Admiralty Bay**.

Three more joined the ship at Montevideo: Professor Cragg, Mr Llewellyn Chanter, reporter for the Daily Telegraph, and Norman Leppard (see the book Expedition South). On the evening of our arrival in Port Stanley there is to be a party on board for the Governor, etc. About 100 extra folk are somehow to be squeezed in.

All afternoon I played bridge with John Graham (doctor) against Don Hawkes (geologist) and Alan Cameron (ionospheric expert) and we were 8800 up. That included my first ever bid of a grand slam which was made by John. After dinner we had a continuation of the Forum whereat some of us speak about what we shall be doing at the bases. We heard about rock magnetism, glaciology, frostbite, surveying, ionosphere and diesel engines. I said a few words about meteorology. At the end of this conversazione, Dennis Goldring, John and I had three rubbers of bridge with the Skipper. D and I lost 1200.The fog had lifted by 2 am and next morning was sunny with only a moderate sea. * Glaciologist and my cabin-mate ** At that time I still expected to go to Base G

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Port Stanley with the cathedral

Falkland Islands Sunday 10 November 1957 It is now four days that we have been at Port Stanley. Life has been extremely busy since we docked, hence the break. The town, if so it can be called, is situated on an almost landlocked piece of water like a Scottish sea loch, in fact the whole place continually reminds me of the Hebrides or Shetland, although in appearance the town is more akin to Tórshavn in the Faeroes (or so I imagine). There are many red roofs and the houses themselves are either timber or corrugated iron. Only the street along the front of the town is concrete, elsewhere they are unsurfaced gravel tracks, sometimes quite steep, so that shoes and tyres undergo heavy wear. Vehicle index marks are merely numbers, the highest I have noticed being about 350 and the lowest 2. Cars are all British made, with RH drive and LH road rule. There are four stores of any significance, and four bars. The population is about 2000.

Shackleton can only get to the jetty at high tide; when it is out, the ship rests on the bottom with a 30° list to starboard, straining on the ropes. This can make meals rather hazardous. People and dogs are very friendly; there is no distinct accent to be heard in the town, though it may be different in the ‘camps’ as they call the farms scattered over the islands. There are two single-engined Beaver seaplanes that maintain a mail and ambulance service to these isolated communities. Port Stanley has its own broadcasting system; it relays many pre-recorded BBC programmes.

Soon after we had berthed I learnt that plans for my future had been altered.

Instead of going to Base G (Admiralty Bay on King George Island), I am to go to Base W (Detaille Island, further south). This means that I have to change ships here and wait for the RRS John Biscoe which isn’t due to sail for another month. Shackleton is leaving next Thursday. Therefore I have been found digs in a boarding house and will give a hand at the Stanley met. office. This letter will leave with the Darwin around 22 November for Montevideo.

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The evening of our arrival there was a cocktail party on board to which came all the town’s notables, including His Excellency the Governor*, his wife and daughter. I met again Pat Canning whom I had known at Preston, and who is now meteorologist in charge of the local Service. I have been up to his house twice, and also to Joe Lewis, another met. man. The following evening there was another cocktail party, this time in Government House. On Friday evening two of us went to a whist drive in the Town Hall, followed by a dance to which nearly everyone from Shackleton came, as well as the Governor and family.

It was much enjoyed by all. Earlier there had been a soccer match, fids** versus the crew of Shackleton. They won 4-3. Yesterday, fids played cricket against the town and again lost, by about 40 runs in spite of my princely contribution of four. The pitch is on a slope, making local knowledge an advantage.

Today, three of us went to matins in the cathedral, and afterwards to the cenotaph for the laying of wreaths. The Governor was in his regalia. Most of the other fids had gone away for the day, hiring a boat and crossing to Mount Howe where, seemingly, there is some good rock-climbing.

I am afraid the photographs will not have been a great success as various things seem to have gone wrong with the camera and light meter. Also my watch is in for repairs, if the man ever has time to look at it. Watches are comparatively cheap here, as are cameras, records and so forth, since taxes are not levied.

At 7.45pm the explorers returned, having had an alfresco meal of penguin eggs, mussels, etc. Inside the latter they found some diminutive pearls.

A few of us then went ashore to a film show in the Town Hall: Highly Dangerous was the title. There were also some dated newsreels of such events as the Farnborough Air Show and Braemar Games. They have a film once a week, each Sunday at 8.15pm.

RMS Darwin at Stanley

* Edwin (later Sir Edwin) Arrowsmith ** Generic name for those going south with the survey

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On Monday morning I was among those to receive their polar kit. Everyone was most bucked with all the clothing, especially the boots. The value of the kit at current UK prices must approach £150 per man. FIDS sponsored a dance in the Town Hall on Monday evening, not quite as formal as last week, but most enjoyable. On Tuesday afternoon I had an interview with the Governor lasting a quarter of an hour; the conversation ranged from sea birds through the medicine murders of Basutoland to his ridgeback dog (I don’t think I had ever seen one before).

During the evening the lounge pantry was converted into a dark-room and some films were developed and prints made. I finished my first spool of colour film and posted it to Kodak. You may get the results some time in the New Year but, as I said before, there will be some faults.

This morning (Wednesday), I moved my kit (an immense volume now) to my temporary digs at 7 Fitzroy Road. It is a good enough bachelor residence; rather primitive but a nice change of food. We are four inmates at present.

John Biscoe*, now at Tristan da Cunha, will shortly sail for South Georgia and then on to Stanley. We are scheduled to sail on 9 December for Admiralty Bay, then (probably) Hope Bay and Deception Island, before continuing down along the west coast and islands to Base W where I disembark; one of the two Graham Land** bases actually within the Antarctic Circle. No doubt it will be of some relief to you to know that John Graham (the doctor) is also going to Base W, but for now is remaining on Shackleton, changing when we rendezvous, probably at Anvers Island. After that Shackleton returns to Stanley for Christmas and Biscoe continues southwards. If ice conditions are unfavourable it may be February before we reach Detaille Island (Base W).

It is very small, no more than a mile long, in the middle of Lallemand Fjord with mountains of 3000-4000ft (915-1220m) on the west side and 8000-9000ft (2450-2750m) on the east. Of course, the sea freezes over in winter. There is a probability that the base will be abandoned next year.

Stanley harbour looking west. Entrance to the sound is from the right * The other Royal Research Ship, built in Scotland for FIDS ** Now called the Antarctic Peninsula

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Falkland Islands Thursday 5 December 1957 When the John Biscoe arrived on 27 November, it was most unexpected and delightful to find some mail on board for me. Life here in the Falkland Islands metropolis has been enjoyable from start to finish (for we are due to sail tomorrow evening-the Darwin arrives from Montevideo early in the morning with, we hope, mail and a couple more scientists). It is a marvellous day today; I packed up my luggage and had it taken down to the jetty. Biscoe is now moored in the loch-tried to berth at the so—called government jetty but failed because of mud, and must make way at the public jetty for Darwin. So I hope someone read the labels on my effects and took them across in the launch because they have gone! I am, however, staying ashore tonight.

It was on Saturday morning that we heard about the mishap* to Shackleton, and Biscoe immediately prepared to leave, but when the news (which came via the BBC in London) improved, it was decided to remain here and load. I have just been interrupted by a phone call from Joe Lewis who says he can see the Darwin and she should dock in a couple of hours—twelve hours earlier than expected—so maybe we shall be leaving earlier tomorrow.

Our itinerary has been altered and we are making for South Georgia where Shackleton and Protector are. The Assistant Secretary of FIDS, Johnny Green, is coming with us, and future plans will be drawn up at Grytviken. I am sure you at home have more news of Shackleton than we do here. It certainly gave us a shock, but now that everything and everybody is safe, I am quite glad of the change because I ought to see almost all of the bases, and will reunite with the Shackleton party (or most of them—those for Signy Island are already ashore).

Afraid I shall not have time to write much more; have been slack at writing both letters and diary here, and look like being caught on the hop. Anyway, my time has been full and fun. I am in first-class fitness, far too many clothes (yet not enough respectable ones). I am being well entertained. * On 29 November Shackleton was pierced by ice near the South Orkney Islands, and the ship and crew were in considerable danger. News of my change of destination and itinerary had not filtered through, so that my name appeared among those listed in the British daily papers as being in peril.

Even the FIDS London secretariat was not up to date.

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You should receive the first lot of transparencies sometime about New Year; if they are any good you might send them down. Today I posted the second spool; it cost 8s by airmail, will leave on the Darwin Boxing Day and so reach the UK about a fortnight later.

Joe’s sighting of Darwin was a false alarm, but she did get in early this morning (it is now Friday). I have just phoned the FIDS office and they think Biscoe will leave at 6pm this evening.

We had a splendid time last night. Margot has a twelve-year-old daughter who comes to the FIDS office and is cracked on horses, collects seals’ teeth and skulls and other osteo and dental curiosities. You may have noticed that the picture on the stamp is of the old John Biscoe. Neither the new one nor Shackleton thus figure so far.

The Falkland Islands have their own paper currency, but coins are UK. In all houses here, instead of a hearth-brush one finds a goose-wing which are just as effective and easier to find. It is very expensive to import coal, but all households have their own strips of peat-bog (which may be several miles out of town) that they cut for themselves.

I think after all I may not grow a beard while in the south as I have been told of the difficulties they can create, and I have also bought an electric razor which should make shaving less onerous.

Last night we were consulting Old Moore’s Almanack. My horoscope: Boom year ahead!

Love to all.

Our last view of the gentle sex as the ‘John Biscoe’ leaves Stanley

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RRS John Biscoe Saturday 7 December 1957 South Atlantic Yesterday was a great occasion for we received our Christmas mail. I did very well indeed; thank you very much. Darwin arrived early yesterday morning, and when all the mail had been transshipped we weighed anchor at 8pm on a rather misty evening, but the gale that had raged all that morning had fallen to no more than a breeze and the seas were following. So there was not much discomfort, and early today we were doing a record 14 knots. As you know, Biscoe is a larger boat than Shackleton but there are fewer fids on board.

The cabin I am in, No.14, is larger than the last and I share it with a pleasant Welsh fellow, Dr David Jones, who was married only ten days before they sailed. He is going to Base F, Argentine Islands.

I didn’t get done half of what I intended during my stay in Stanley. There was a lot to be done up at the met. office; far more than the one available chap could cope with. Apart from my walk to Tumbledown Mountain and Mount William, I also went eastwards one day to a spot overlooking York Bay which is a favourite place for picnics from Stanley; the sand and rock is intensely white and dazzling.

Stromness Thursday 12 December 1957 South Georgia Although Dave had previously warned me against opening the porthole, it had been so smooth on Saturday and the cabin so stuffy that I had not been able to sleep, with the result that at 3am Sunday the South Atlantic poured into our cabin. The seas increased steadily through the day, and during the night became a southerly gale. Although apparently some people had difficulty sleeping, I had a good night’s rest. On Monday morning I saw my first iceberg; it was difficult to estimate its distance and therefore its size, but probably about 150ft (45m) high with waves reaching almost to its top at times. During the afternoon we sighted South Georgia; mountainous with snow and glaciers all year round. Most of the whaler population is Norwegian, and I imagine the topography of the hundred-mile-long island reminds them of the arctic part of their homeland.

About half-way along the north side of the island we turned right into Stromness Bay, at the mouth of which was HMS Protector. The main fjord has three arms with different shore stations of the Salvesen whaling company at the head of each, from left to right: Husvik, Stromness and Leith. Shackleton was at Stromness, a vessel repair depot with two dry docks, and that is where we tied up at about 7pm. The stalwart fids whose progress we had recently followed with such consternation were awaiting us on the quay and, at a given word, pelted us with snowballs. Needless to say, we had no material with which to retaliate, and no time to man the hoses. After watching Shackleton being towed into a dry dock, we went aboard and a reunion party began.

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There is no town or village at Stromness, merely the marine workshops.

A fairly frequent launch service (free of charge) runs around to Leith which is the whale butchering and processing station with much more activity. Husvik is now more or less derelict.

There was plenty of work to be done, chiefly opening up food boxes from the flooded hold of Shackleton and sorting out salvable and useless items. A lot of the sledging rations—sugar tea, biscuits, oats and pemmican—had to be thrown on to the rubbish tip where even the birds could not benefit because of the packaging. We finished the job yesterday at 3pm and at 3.30 went on the Norwegian two-stroke diesel launch to Leith, about 20 minutes away. To walk over the rough precipitous slopes takes two to three hours; it is hardly ever done and there are no tracks. There was a snowstorm in progress (although when the sun is out it feels quite warm) and we couldn’t see much of the mountains. At Leith we visited the company store, what they call the ‘slopchest’, and bought various articles. I got a Norwegian pullover for 30/6 (almost as good as the four-guinea one) and a sheath-knife and belt. After a visit to the ramp where the whales are cut up (brief on account of the nauseating odour), we warmed ourselves at the furnace of the repair shop until the launch came in at 5.30.

In the evening a bridge match, Biscoe v Shackleton, was arranged in the lounge of the former. Four hands were played in each set: (i) both non-vulnerable; (ii & iii) dealer vulnerable, and (iv) both vulnerable. Partners changed each set. After 16 games Biscoe was 1000 points up.

This morning we were told there was no work for us today; we were free to go out. At about 11am a party of a dozen went up into the mountains, while I pottered about among the elephant seals and penguins. After lunch I climbed to the col between Stromness and Husvik hoping to carry on along either the north or the south ridge, but the former was a knife—edge and the latter soon ended in a wall. So I remained at the col sheltering from the wind which was exceedingly gusty and erratic, hoping it would clear southwards to let me photograph the many mountains and teeth that could be discerned through the light snow, but no luck. I had thought Husvik was abandoned, but in fact there were several boats and signs of industry.

Although climbing the steep snow beds made the muscles ache, treated with respect they were excellent for the descent and I was back down by 3.30pm.

There is a team of nine huskies on a span here waiting to be shipped aboard John Biscoe for one of the Graham Land bases. They are large beasts and can easily knock one over with their enthusiastic greeting. There are two pups as well.

Biscoe’s new tentative schedule is to be: Base D (Hope Bay); Base B (Deception Island); Base G (King George Island); Livingstone Island; and Base H (Signy Island) where we shall meet Shackleton which is leaving in about a week for Stanley. After that we progress south as fast as the ice permits. There have

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been some small changes in personnel movements: those bound for Base G are being taken by Protector. Mike Stansbury may have to stay a year here in South Georgia to do some glaciology, he went round to Grytviken about it yesterday and I have not seen him since.

The highest mountain in South Georgia, Mount Paget, is around 9,625ft (2935m) and has not yet been climbed. Very few have, come to that. The south coast of the island must be stupendous, as the Allardyce range includes many peaks over 6000ft (1830m) whose slopes drop steeply to the sea. There is plenty of work for explorers/surveyors here; I should be happy to stay, but no doubt equally interesting scenes await further south.

I think I mentioned that here we are at the same latitude (i.e. distance from the Equator) as Grange, so give thanks for your Gulf Stream. It is not surprising that near the summer solstice the sun is warm and quickly melts any snow that may have fallen overnight. The temperature of the sea, however, remains around 32°F (0°C), so that bathing is unthinkable. May I please acknowledge through this letter and thank for the welcome mail received from Auntie Nora, Auntie Dorothy, Uncle Len, Roger, Dr & Mrs Campbell (for the card and lovely mint cake), Mrs Potter and Esther & Rex Raworth. I will eventually get something done, but until we reach my destination (and probably even then) there is not much time for writing. It does get slightly monotonous sending the same news to several different addresses. It is now Friday and I am about to embark on the launch for Leith to post my letters. Best wishes for 1958.

RRS John Biscoe Tuesday 17 December 1957 South Georgia A catch of two sperm whales was towed in on Friday (the day we went to Leith), but I don’t think the scroungers who wanted teeth met with any success.

These teeth are a sort of ivory and much sought after for carving or polishing up as curios. Worth quite a lot. One eventually becomes seasoned to the smell, and we roamed around among huge pieces of whale taking photographs*.

Many Cape pigeons (pintado petrels) gathered around the ramp; some were so hogged they had difficulty getting airborne.

In the evening, after seeing a film on the Biscoe, I went over to the Shackleton for Mike Stansbury’s birthday party. Our sailing date had been postponed to Sunday, and on Saturday groups went off into the mountains. In the afternoon I went up to a small peak above Stromness. It was steep and the rock extremely crumbly, but the view was wonderful, looking over the König Glacier towards incredible mountains called the Three Brothers whose summits, as usual, were hidden in the snowclouds. More bays came into view, including Fortuna Bay to the west, and Cumberland West Bay into which flows the mighty Neumayer Glacier and two others. * Unfortunately I never saw the result of this film, posted at Leith

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For once there was very little wind, and it was possible to sit on the small summit ledge without discomfort. Two other fids approached by the east ridge, Duncan Boston and David Price. We ran down the névés together.

Shackleton and John Biscoe berthed at Stromness, South Georgia

On Sunday we left the jetty and went out into the bay while Shackleton came out of the dry dock and took our position. Then we moored alongside her.

It is quite an unusual sight, the two royal research ships side by side, but now recorded on plenty of 35mm film. We were only there for a few hours; at 4pm we said goodbye to our friends in Shackleton and cast off for the short journey round to King Edward Point in Cumberland Bay, a discreet distance (say threequarters of a mile) from the whaling station of Grytviken. This is the site of the administrative offices and the met. office. Here I met again Joe Cochrane whom I had last seen at Inverness airport, and went to his room for whisky and to listen to recorded Shostakovitch. Later the party swelled considerably, engulfing the two fids doctors and other individuals from ashore. One, a customs or police official (not sure which), called Cyril Strougher from York, is engaged to a girl called Ruth from High Frith, and through her had heard of my coming. He has a collection of birds’ eggs which he has blown most expertly. Apparently he has dealt with Hadwins. Mike is staying here this year rather than at Base G, so next morning at 9am we said goodbye as John Biscoe moved away from King Edward Point and sailed out of Cumberland Bay. Everyone was pleased when we turned right, and so could enjoy what we had been told was magnificent scenery at the SE point of the island. We were not disappointed either. The rock changes from the flaky sedimentary type to igneous formations, including gabbro. At the same time the weather improved, and the sight was memorable. In a way it was even more striking after we had

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rounded the tip of South Georgia and set course southwest for the South Orkneys. The south—facing mountain slopes, much more heavily snowcovered, were illuminated by the setting sun which was hidden from us by the clouds of an approaching depression. This gave us quite a rough night and snow most of next morning, but by afternoon the seas were calm again and icebergs were to be seen in all directions.

The whale processing factory at Grytviken seen from King Edward Point

This afternoon we were given our revised schedule. Derek Blundell (palaeomagnetic geologist), Jim Young (met.) and I are to be let ashore at Hope Bay for about ten days to relieve congestion on board while the Biscoe visits some northern bases. Current estimates are that we arrive at Hope Bay on 22 December, and get picked up again on 30th. This letter I shall leave on the Biscoe to be taken to Deception Island where it will be postmarked and put aboard Protector for Stanley.

During dinner this evening we hit our first piece of ice: a dull thud and slight lurch. A mass of pack-ice is on the starboard side with here and there penguins or a seal. There is even the odd whale. We are due to reach the South Orkneys early tomorrow morning, pick up a party from Powell Island and then make for Base H (Signy Island) to the south of the main island of the group, Coronation Island.

RRS John Biscoe Thursday 19 December 1957 South Orkney Is It was not until 9am Wednesday that we reached the Powell Island anchorage and sounded a blast on the siren. Two figures appeared near their tents at the top of a small hill. The pack-ice had been negligible during the night, but a continuous blizzard reduced visibility considerably. The party (which included Fergus O’Gorman and Keith Hoskins with whom I had come down from

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Southampton) knew we were coming, but not that it was to take them off.

They had been put ashore the day of Shackleton’s mishap, and expected to stay a further two months, but now there is a chance that the South Orkneys will not be visited again this season because Shackleton is not allowed near ice.

About ten of us went ashore in the motorised lifeboat (the ship’s proper motorboat was smashed in a storm at Tristan da Cunha) and assisted the five to strike camp and transport their gear down to the shore. Then we went about a mile and a half to the other side of Powell Island to get a small dinghy which we pulled sledge—fashion to a bay, and were collected by the lifeboat.

A tabular iceberg

The penguins are busy laying eggs. Even folk who have been here a year or more still find them a source of amusement. The amount of animal life is astonishing, considering that on land there is no more in the way of vegetation than a bit of lichen, more often than not under the snow. There are Weddell seals, elephant seals (the males are ugly brutes), beautiful pure white snow petrels (we also found a nest with two eggs) and enormous ‘stinkers’ (giant petrels), some sitting on eggs.

After lunch aboard the Biscoe, four of us went back ashore to load the remainder of the gear, and at 4.15pm we upped anchor and set sail for Signy.

The SE extremity of Coronation Island peters out in an archipelago of islets which we had to round before heading WNW for the base. It was then that we encountered thickish pack-ice which we either nudged aside or split, but the going was slow—an average of one knot at most, though there were a few channels of open water where we could make better progress. Then the snow came on again in earnest, seriously reducing visibility. The increasing SE’ly wind was no doubt squeezing the pack-ice, with huge icebergs embedded, up against the main island. There was a film called The Naked Street, typical American gangster movie. During the night it was deemed advisable to hove

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to under the icefalls and rock faces of Coronation Island, still about ten miles short of Base H. We stayed put all next morning, which began to get irksome. I helped Dave Statham* feed ‘Nutrican’ to the dogs and hose down the deck. Finally, at 4.30pm the anchor was raised and we set off down a broad open channel, first south and then south-west. However, as this was not taking us towards Signy Island, which we could clearly see, Captain ‘Kelly’ Johnston tried to force the pack-ice. We advanced desperately slowly for perhaps 300 yards before he decided it was not good enough, and managed to turn little by little to port and eventually break out into the channel again. After ninety minutes we were back at the same anchorage under Coronation Island. At dinner I received a greetings telegram from home which was a delightful surprise.

It is now Friday evening and we have not moved at all. This delay means the schedule we were given is no longer valid. I am unlikely to be at Hope Bay for Christmas. Pity the wind is so persistently from the SE. That said, we are not really jammed; as I write, ice floes are drifting slowly by, sometimes carrying a penguin or a seal. So far we have seen Chinstrap, Gentoo, Adélie and Macaroni penguins. Did you know that when they swim, penguins behave like dolphins or flying fish, leaping in and out of the water? I believe it is to foil the predatory Leopard seal. The penguins have no fear of the other seals: Elephant, Weddell or Crabeater. There are a few Fur seals (more like small sea lions), but they were hunted to near extinction. Also, it may not have occurred to you, but for a penguin to get out of a choppy sea on to an ice floe (or a rock for that matter) can present a problem. Its response is to dive a bit and then shoot vertically up three or four feet out of the water and land either on its feet or its belly. Quite a comical but effective manoeuvre.

Juno’s two pups have reached the stage where they can clamber out of their large crate, so Dave is having to rig up an enclosure with wire—netting, because there is a real danger of them falling overboard. It is Saturday and we actually had a blink of sunshine for the first time since Tuesday, and a glimpse of lofty summits on Coronation Island. With no wind it was quite pleasant on deck. Some of us climbed the foremast to the crow’s nest and took photographs, a few even ventured on to the ice, a rope being left hanging from the rail in case of emergency. One had the impression that the floes were stationary, but if something were thrown overboard, that object would be 100 yards astern an hour later.

I indulged in the luxury of a bath yesterday evening. John Graham (by the way, I now share a cabin with him since Dave Jones went up to the wardroom) often spends most of the night asleep in the bath!

* Tragically, Dave, together with his sledging companions Stan Black and Geoff Stride, were lost in Marguerite Bay at the end of May 1958 when the sea ice broke up.

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RRS John Biscoe Monday 23 December 1957 Scotia Sea Just after breakfast on Sunday, a fine calm morning, the engines throbbed into life and we moved. It took about six hours to reach the small bay near the base on Signy Island where we dropped anchor and went ashore with the lifeboat.

Peter Richards, Alan Sharman*, Geoff Stride, Gordon Mallinson and Brian Beck I knew already. This was the first base hut I had seen, and on such a splendid day everything was alluring. They have five huskies, but only for company, not for working. With Cecil Scotland and Brian I went back to the Biscoe in a dinghy, collected my camera, and then started to row myself back. The bay was starting to fill with ice again which complicated things slightly, and I was a bit irritated when half-way across someone hailed me from the Biscoe wanting me to go back for them.

At about 5.30pm we took our leave of those staying at Signy and returned to the Biscoe for dinner. The sun had been hidden by clouds for a while, but came out again in the evening giving a beautiful illumination. It is midsummer, and our current latitude corresponds to the northernmost islands of the Shetlands, so it was not totally dark at midnight. We weighed anchor at 7pm and with a farewell hoot sailed out of the bay, now almost choked with floating ice. To most people’s astonishment and satisfaction we headed north for the channel between Signy and Coronation Islands. About an hour later there was a dramatic moment when we ran on to something that made us heel over to starboard and scrape along an iceberg. It was a rocky shoal. There was an immediate check for flooding in the lower holds, but luckily Biscoe sustained no serious damage.

The west of Coronation Island is much less rugged, with smooth slopes that looked ideal for pleasure skiing. The low sun set off to perfection two hills called the Sandefjord Peaks. The Adélie penguin gave way to the chinstrap as we ploughed through the narrow strait and, rounding the north of Signy, the view southwestwards was of countless icebergs of fascinating forms. Within pack-ice the sea waves and swell are rendered imperceptible, and stretches of relatively open water permit marvellously smooth progress. But this progress would be interrupted by a long spell of shudders, lurches and constant grating noises on the hull as we forced our way though the pack which had almost certainly originated in the Weddell Sea. I scaled the radar mast to read the temperature at 10.30pm in the lingering sunset that coloured pink the ice and snow in a fashion I was still not yet accustomed to; it was 28°F (–2°C). After midnight the ice became much thinner and Biscoe was able to go at half speed in short bursts. A small group of fids was so entranced by the vista they decided to stay up to witness the sunrise, but were disappointed as it snowed a little just at that time. * Alan Sharman met his death in a fall at Admiralty Bay on 23 April 1959. Concerning Geoff Stride, see previous note.

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During the morning three of us in the prow saw a killer whale (orca); the dorsal fin, back and distinguishing white marks. We had changed course to NW and even N in order to get away from the pack, and kept that heading all Monday morning so that by mid-afternoon we were 60 nautical miles NW of the South Orkneys. Long before any motion was perceptible on board, we saw individual ice floes heaving slightly. Then finally we broke out into open sea and could travel at full speed once more, now towards the SW.

Self portrait

RRS John Biscoe Tuesday 24 December 1957 Scotia Sea It is less interesting today; cloudy and with only occasional small pieces of ice and a distant berg or two, so few people were on deck. After dinner there was a film I believe in you which was rather good, followed by a party at which turns by us all were recorded. Elephant Island was seen in the distance to port.

Hope Bay (Base D) Friday 27 December 1957 Waking at about 7.30 on Christmas Day, the cliffs of King George Island were to starboard when I roused John who was on mess duty, but very few turned up for breakfast. At 8.30 we turned into Admiralty Bay and half an hour later dropped anchor off Base G. There was a fairly strong easterly wind blowing which made the sea choppy. The forward hold was opened up and goods for this base sorted out. At 10.30am Derek Blundell, Keith Hoskins, Fergus O’Gorman, Peter Forster and I got into the lifeboat to go ashore. The tide was high, and the wind had piled up masses of ice against the beach so that landing was difficult. We disembarked and about the same number of Base G personnel got on, assuming that we would change over before lunchtime.

Dennis Bell*, Jim Franks, Allan Gill and Hugh Noble entertained us. After an hour and a half we began watching for the lifeboat to return, but there was no * Dennis (‘Tinker’) Bell was killed three months after Alan Sharman’s accident by falling into a crevasse. Both had come down from Southampton with me on the Shackleton

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sign. So by 1pm it was obvious we would be having our Christmas dinner on base. This was duly prepared, and the eight of us had an excellent meal: ox-tail soup; turkey, partridge, sausages, boiled and roast potatoes; followed by plum pudding, coffee and drambuie. I don’t think we missed a great deal, and I hope the contingent obliged to dine on board enjoyed themselves as much as we did.

After that, five went up Flagstaff Hill to work off some calories. The others fed the dogs and considered going out to the ship as the sea had calmed down a lot, but it would have been too much of a job to get the dinghy over the blocks of ice now that the tide had receded. Finally, at 5.45 we saw the lifeboat making for shore. We all got in and returned to the Biscoe for a cold supper.

While the shore party watched a film in the wardroom, I started sorting out my effects into those needed and not needed during my stay at Hope Bay. We left Admiralty Bay silently at 6.15 next morning. By lunchtime we were approaching Mount Bransfield. Entering Hope Bay there was a very cold wind but bright sun. To the east lies the relatively low Joinville Island. Dominating Hope Bay is lofty Mount Taylor and, on the other side of Depôt Glacier, Mount Flora and the Pyramid directly above the British base. This is located about a quarter of a mile from, and 150ft (45m) above, the sea. We took a dog each and transported them in the scow to the Argentine base (Esperanzo), a large one with about 25 men wintering. From there to the British base hut is about half a mile. Quite a lot of the ground was already free of snow, and the reflected warmth from the rocks was pleasant.

Historical note: In 1948 the original base hut at Hope Bay had burned down and British presence there was interrupted. Early in 1952 a party arrived to build a new base, and found that the Argentines had themselves established a hut nearby. As they went ashore the British came under a hail of bullets from their neighbours. They were ordered at pistol point to re—embark.

HMS Burghead Bay was at Stanley, and the Governor immediately sailed down to sort things out. Not a shot was fired, but the Argentines abandoned their base and retreated inland. It appeared that the Argentine station commander had exceeded his instructions, and diplomacy was resumed. In due course British base leaders were relieved of their uncomfortable obligation to hand a preprinted ‘protest note’ to any ‘foreign’ visitor.

We returned to the Biscoe for supper and found that the crew had already loaded the scow, so after a hasty meal we all came ashore in the scow and unloaded it on to an ice ledge below Trinity House. Some boxes (e.g. those containing tinned potatoes) were jolly heavy, others (e.g. corn flakes) surprisingly light; it was just not done to select one’s load according to perceived weight. Bags of coal, though heavy, were more comfortable to carry on the shoulders than boxes. Worst, in my opinion, was manhandling and rolling 40-gallon drums of diesel fuel.

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Just as work was beginning, there was a loud crunch as a large piece of the icefoot sagged into the sea. By good fortune all that was on it was a sledge, which floated. The transfer of goods was completed by about 9.30pm, after which I assisted in sorting out the year’s incoming mail for the base. There were thirteen bags. Then I returned to Biscoe on a beautiful frosty evening.

Last night I felt slightly unwell and had a bath at 4am. The weather was beautiful. We went ashore at 9.45am. ‘Fritz’ Koerner was introduced to the met. office and I did the midday observation with him. Of necessity lunch was taken straight out of tins; more imaginative meals will be produced once the boat has gone. . .

Trinity House, Hope Bay. One of the original British bases.

Behind are the Pyramid and Mount Flora

RRS John Biscoe Monday 30 December 1957 off Graham Land The previous letter left on the last trip of the launch on Friday. These few days ashore have been a useful introduction to base life. On Saturday I volunteered to be cook. Bacon and eggs for those who were up and about by 10am; a meat and vegetable pie for lunch, with reconstituted potatoes and carrots from a tin.

Canned fruit as a dessert.

After washing up, Jim Young and I went down to the Adélie penguin rookery, or rather part of it. For the evening meal I opened lots of tins; two of potatoes, two of sardines, three of meat roll, one of celery, together with pickles, chutney, etc. With what was left of the pastry I made a jam tart with custard. A few minutes before we sat down a surveyor from Esperanza arrived, so I had to make the meal stretch to nine. Our guest could speak no English, but requested to hear Sinfonia antartica (Vaughan Williams), of which we had David Jones’s record.

After washing up, a couple of us went for a bit of surreptitious ski practice behind the base hut. In summer at Hope Bay water can be taken from melt streams, a far easier process than melting snow blocks. The next day Paul Woodall and I went towards Depôt Glacier to find a gentoo penguin rookery.

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Both species make their nests with small stones, but the Adélie are noisier and more aggressive than the gentoo. We also found nests of sheathbills, a white bird the size of a large pigeon that often chooses to settle near bases. Just as we were sitting down for supper, the geology sledge party returned from the Tabarin peninsula: Derek Blundell, Keith Hoskins, Mike Reuby and Dave Statham, so once again emergency supplements had to be produced. Dave and I unharnessed the dogs, put them on the span and cut blocks of ice for them to ‘drink’. Later in the evening, six of us descended to Esperanza and saw two films, first a Charlie Chaplin silent and then an Italian one with Spanish subtitles. After that we were taken to the mess and entertained; the surveyor played the piano. It was after 1am before we were back at Trinity House.

Towards noon today (Monday) there was a signal from John Biscoe that they would arrive at 15.30. Those of us who were embarking had to start packing immediately. Pack-ice had invaded Hope Bay during our stay, and although we first saw the ship at 14.45 it was another hour and a half before she could drop anchor. Another hour and we had everything loaded on the scow, including some dogs, and said goodbye to those staying at Base D. RRS John Biscoe Wednesday 1 January 1958 off Graham Land The weather changed next day; there was continuous snow all morning, and the following wind gave it a chance to settle on the ship. At about lunchtime we dropped anchor at Port Lockroy on an islet just off Wiencke Island. The base hut (Base A) looked smart and attractive, freshly painted black with red linings.

I went ashore, but there was nothing much to unload and soon had to rejoin Biscoe to sail at 5.30pm. We went a short distance NW to the small Base N on Anvers Island that was about to be closed down.

After the film Special Delivery, a New Year’s Eve party started on board. I felt disinclined for another mammoth binge, so retired to the cabin with a Wodehouse and soon dozed off, to be aroused at midnight by the ship’s siren, telegraph bells and all manner of other cacaphony. Then first-footing started around the cabins, so I felt obliged to join the party. For most it fizzled out around 2am, but my Scottish cabin mate John Graham had to do the Hogmanay thing properly and didn’t get back until 6.45.

I got up at 9 and helped with some left-over washing-up. An hour later we left for Base F (Argentine Islands)*. To get there we sail down the renowned Lemaire Channel between the mainland and Booth Island. On either side the mountains rise with neck-aching steepness. To the north there was a stiff breeze and cloudy skies, but at the Argentine Islands it was calm and sunny.

Not for nothing is the climate of this base known as the ‘banana belt’.

* Later known as Faraday

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We first dropped off a Royal Naval hydrographic survey party under the command of John Wynn-Edwards at Winter Island. There was a massive amount of cargo to transship in the ship’s lifeboat and scow through a narrow channel between a rocky shore on one side and a 100ft high ice cliff on the other. It was so warm that many men were stripped to their vests.

As the crow flies, Base F is quite close, but on another island; there is a highly intricate system of channels in this archipelago. Having seen all the Navy’s stuff and matelots ashore we went in the lifeboat and scow to join Biscoe which meanwhile had moved round and dropped anchor off the main base.

The panorama of mountains from Argentine Islands was superb; they did not overwhelm as at many of the other bases. I decided that at sunset I would climb up to the crow’s nest and take two photos to finish off the spool. Our time zone is that of 60°W and Base F is nearly 65°W, meaning that local sidereal midnight is around 12.20 am. The highest mountain is probably Mt Français (2822m) on Anvers Island, some 50 miles to the NNE. The summit was bathed in a delicate rosy light all through the night. An unforgettable vista to which my poor camera was incapable of doing justice.

Port Lockroy, Base A

RRS John Biscoe Tuesday 7 January 1958 off Graham Land Thursday I woke at 6am to the usual sounds associated with departure.

The plan was to go down to Base J (Prospect Point) for a day, then return to F for about a week to unload the mass of supplies. We were expected to reach my destination, Base W, about the middle of the month.

It was still beautiful weather so I got up and went on deck. The motion of the ship caused a cold breeze that could be escaped in the stern, and there I sat until breakfast time among the dogs, watching the Graham Land mountains, the icebergs and in some places fast ice, meaning a sheet of ice still where it had formed, not yet broken into floes. After breakfast we ran into some of this ice and, after ploughing through some tens of yards, stuck, had to reverse out along the channel we had made and turn north again. We placed a depot for

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the hydrographical survey party on Chevax Island and returned to Base F, starting to unload bags of sand and shingle. The weather had turned cloudy.

Next day I was on mess duty, which has the advantage of avoiding the exhausting work of unloading, transporting and reloading supplies.

Nevertheless we did go into the forward hold in the afternoon, collecting sections of hut, etc. to be hoisted by crane into the scow. That evening we had quite a good film: The Man who loved Redheads.

I worked all day Saturday in the forward hold. The main items were again sections of hut, or rather two huts, and boxes of radiosondes. The weather was cloudy but with little wind.

Sunday was declared a day off. Probably just as well, because drift ice had invaded the anchorage preventing the scow from running. A trip by the lifeboat to Petermann Island where some Argies were having trouble with a generator was impossible. Even crossing by dinghy from ship to shore was hazardous and sometimes impracticable. I made a start on reading Anna Karenin and got through part one. After supper I joined John Graham, Brian Giles and the Chief Steward in the latter’s cabin for bridge.

On Monday no work was possible in the morning because of ice in the harbour.

Listening to Vaughan Williams’ Sinfonia antartica, it was still difficult to realise that we only had to look out of the porthole to see that continent. On land a start had been made on the concrete foundations for the new buildings. After lunch we took ashore drums of diesel fuel, the remainder of the timber for the sheds and a big crate or two. After supper the film Beautiful Stranger was screened, after which we repaired once more to the Chief Steward’s cabin for bridge.

Today was a very busy day. We had to get ashore two generators weighing 25cwt (1260kg) each, 300 bags of coal, more oil drums, hydrogen cylinders, some ciment fondu and other stores. I look forward to an early night.

Peaks to the north of the Lemaire Channel

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View north from Argentine Islands near midnight

RRS John Biscoe Saturday 11 January 1958 Port Lockroy The end of unloading for Base F is in sight. A few of us were down in the aft hold loading boxes, each containing a dozen radiosondes, in net slings. After morning cocoa, we went ashore with all the freight and carried it up to the main base hut. There had been a rapid influx of ice floes and we only just managed to get back to Biscoe. At that moment a small naval vessel hove into view. In spite of the ice she managed eventually to manoeuvre herself alongside. Now the view from my porthole is limited to a lifebelt inscribed Lientur—Chile. Six of the Chilean officers came aboard and a lively party got under way. I was on mess duty again next morning so had plenty to do cleaning up the lounge and dining room.

Lientur is smaller than John Biscoe. At breakfast time on Thursday she left us and headed northward. Half an hour later we did likewise. We stopped briefly at the Argentine hut on Petermann Island to supply them with a sparking plug, then continued through the Lemaire Channel to Base N on Anvers Island which is being abandoned. Although on mess duty, I contrived to get ashore with the lifeboat and scow and see inside the base hut, which is actually round a corner and invisible from the ship. It had a melt stream and pond virtually on the doorstep. The sun had come out, so it was no day to stay in the pantry. We carried down boxes and diverse objects to fill a scow which went back to Biscoe, then took our ease over tea and Christmas cake and looked at the fifteen dogs which will all have to come aboard, joining the dozen there already.

First Officer Mike Smith came ashore with the lifeboat and scow at about 5pm and rounded us up for supper. There was another trip ashore after, but my mess duties had to prevail.

However I went ashore Friday morning for the final visit to collect outgoing people’s personal gear and the dogs, and to close the base. The American observer on board, Ray Butler, recorded on cine film the ceremonial lowering of the Union Jack. Unfortunately the weather had turned miserable, with sleet

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and a raw wind from the west. Making our departure without delay, we headed for Port Lockroy (Base A) and found Shackleton at anchor in the bay. Biscoe carefully came alongside and tied up to her. It was snowing heavily. There was a load of bags of coal, sand and shingle which we carried from the jetty up to the hut. This was finished by 5pm.

After supper I went and brought the few Shackleton fids left to our mess to see a film called All the brothers were valiant. A few drinks in the Biscoe fiddery (the officers and crew of both ships used this term for our respective lounges), and then I went to the Shackleton fiddery for a few more, and finally to the Shackleton wardroom.

After doing his first year at Base G, Dick Hillson* had been taken to Stanley to have his appendix removed. He was now bound for Horseshoe Island (Base Y), and transferred to the Biscoe.

Next morning we worked for a couple of hours carrying coal sacks and bits and pieces. Meanwhile the crew transferred cargo for Hope Bay from Shackleton to Biscoe. Then the wind suddenly freshened from the NE and it was decided that the ships had better separate. Biscoe went to another arm of the bay about three-quarters of a mile distant. With the gale came continuous snow. Thus the planned work programme after supper this evening had to be postponed, and I found myself playing bridge with the Chief Steward, John Graham and Colin Johnson.

RRS John Biscoe Monday 13 January 1958 off Graham Land The gale had ceased by morning but there were three inches of snow on deck.

The scow and lifeboat took us first to Shackleton and then to the jetty. Stores and sections of a hut were the main items to be carried up. With unloading almost complete we expected to sail that evening. However, during the afternoon the wind suddenly increased to force 6 or 7 southerly, with a sharp drop in temperature, and walking became treacherous. The trip back to Biscoe in Shackleton’s motorboat was distinctly unpleasant.

At a few minutes to midnight the engine throbbed to life, the engine-room telegraph was tested and there was a short blast on the siren. Then began the lengthy process of hauling in the anchor; the bell is sounded to indicate the number of cable-lengths still out, and at about ‘one’ the telegraph sounded and the ship vibrated as the propellor chewed into the sea. A few minutes later the telegraph rang again and the engine settled into the regular beat of full ahead and we sailed out of the bay.

At about six o’clock this morning I awoke to the sound of ice scraping along the hull and assumed we were approaching the spot where we had turned back on 2 January. There were some considerable bumps during the next hour, so at 7.45am I got up and went on deck. It was a clear sunny day, and to my * I knew him from his spell at Dyce for met. training

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surprise there was no sign of land in any direction. Colin announced that we had turned about and were heading NW. After half an hour we turned W and later SW and maintained that course for most of the day. There were hundreds of icebergs to port and fairly solid brash which appeared to become pack-ice further in. While we were watching Richard and the Crusaders after supper the ship did a complete turn*. It is assumed we are returning to Base F. RRS John Biscoe Wednesday 15 January 1958 Prospect Point (Base J) Yesterday was another fine banana-belt day. Going on deck at 7.45am we found a grandiose panorama of mountains from Mt Français through the sharp backbone of Wiencke Island to the skyline of Graham Land stretching away faint and blue to the south. After forcing our way through pack-ice for about an hour we came into more open water and sailed in among the Argentine Islands at 1pm.

During the afternoon there were two scow runs: fuel drums, hydrogen cylinders and ciment fondu. We were back on board at 6.15pm, a little late for supper, after which I washed some sheets, pillowcases and clothes. Then Stan Black, John Graham, Dick Hillson, Dave Statham, Jim Young and I adjourned to my cabin and ate some tinned food that John had salvaged at the time of the Shackleton mishap. As we sat discussing dogs, a commotion suddenly broke out on deck producing a rush of fids to see what was happening. Whilst all adult dogs were attached to the rails, the pups were allowed to run free, and it seems that a pup must have irritated an adult, but no harm was done. I learnt that such concerted agitation is a feature of life in a pack. When the members of a team can reach each other (as on a sledge journey) and one dog assaults another, the rest will very likely side with the attacker without bothering to find out why.

This morning we departed at breakfast time and for about 45 minutes progressed southwards at full speed. Then we encountered rather heavy pack and had to reverse on several occasions. We lay immobile for the lunch hour, then found somewhat easier going until 5pm when we ran into fast ice. To carve through about 1000 yards required six runs. We were then in the vicinity of VienguĂŠ and Duchaylard Islands, with the dull flat snowfield of Renaud Island (one of the Biscoes) further out. Negotiating smaller patches of ice, the ship was pushed against a small berg that bent a few rails, but later we found some clear channels and made good speed past a spectacular pointed mountain on Larrony Island, and around 8pm dropped anchor off Base J. With Hope Bay, Prospect Point (or Ferin Head) is one of the few base huts sited actually on the mainland. The majority had to be placed on offshore islands, greatly complicating exploration of the hinterland. This base was only set up * At that point we had been within nine miles of the Antarctic Circle and 100 miles from the coast

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a year ago, but try as they would the six men could find no reasonable route inland, so it is probably doomed. Right above the hut rears a superb mountain prosaically (but unofficially) named Sharp Peak.

RRS John Biscoe Saturday 18 January 1958 Prospect Point (Base J) A very happy birthday Mum! I wonder what you have been doing.

Mess duty again on Thursday. I went over to the jetty in the lifeboat, but returned without going ashore. It was another perfect day. I am tempted to aver that Antarctic summers are an improvement on British ones. Although there was no wind, an iceberg bore down on the port beam of the Biscoe and the lifeboat and scow had to be moved hurriedly. Next time I went ashore with boxes of food and a diesel engine for the generator. More of the same work in the afternoon. Whilst we awaited the loaded scow at the jetty, a skua, one of the parents of a chick reared close by (incidentally, the original egg of this pair had been taken by a pup, but another had been purloined by the chaps on base and put in the nest, and hatched and was reared by the unwitting foster parents), anyway, one of the parents was caught for ringing, but then no rings could be found so it was released. The bird then spent no less than 15 minutes washing itself in the sea.

After supper a film was shown: The far horizons, but it was intensely hot and stuffy in the fiddery because the deadlights had to be fastened down on account of the menacing iceberg only inches away. It was marvellous to go up on deck afterwards and breathe the pure air. But at the same time one’s breath was taken away by the incredible colours painted by the sinking sun, and the complete silence.

Although it was another lovely day on Friday, nobody stirred much in the morning. After lunch Dick and I went ashore and started walking up the hill behind the base, but soon decided it was unwise to continue unroped because of the risk of crevasses. Back on board, Dick wrote a letter and I sunbathed on the after deck—the dogs have now been moved from there to the forepeak.

Bob Ferguson, the bosun, had a rotary converter in his cabin, and after supper we tried out the EAR record-player that Dick had bought in Stanley on behalf of the incoming members of Base W. Everyone found it very satisfactory.

Having nothing much else to do, I spent most of this morning trying to paint a picture of the base and Sharp Peak. It was fine again, only a NNE wind brought many floes and small bergs into our anchorage. In the evening a larger one threatened our stern, then it got grounded a few yards away and others slowly piled up behind it, sometimes breaking with a crack like a pistol shot and forcing their way past. It has clouded over and now threatens snow.

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Base J (Prospect Point) and Sharp Peak

RRS John Biscoe Wednesday 22 January 1958 off Graham Land Promptly at 6am Sunday the departure procedure began. The idea was to sail north to rendezvous with Shackleton at a point as far south as ice permitted her to venture. It was cloudy though absolutely calm, a little snow had fallen overnight; the pack was fairly open. So we passed Argentine Is. and Petermann I. and found Shackleton at the northern end of the Lemaire Channel. As we approached the wind blew harder and harder, so that by the time we reached her it was force 8, though coming from the land there was not a particularly heavy sea. The RNHS launch was with Shackleton, and came over to us with the mail to be hoisted aboard for a free lift back to Argentine Is. as Shackleton turned and ambled away northwards.

We soon escaped the gale, and as usual the seas around Argentine Islands were calm. Harry Nash, engineer with the RNHS, spent the evening replacing the launch’s prop. shaft which had been damaged by ice. The number of times we have bid a definitive farewell to these sailors is ridiculous!

On Monday morning, after replacing the launch on the water, we started down for Base J to give them this new batch of mail. There was no open water at all, and the pack soon became very thick. Everything stopped for lunch, then we continued making some headway until about 2.30pm when we came upon a huge floe, or rather piece of erstwile fast ice, which would have to be sliced through. On the second charge we had got about half-way, then the ice held us fast by the bows so that we could make no sternway. Eventually a bit of coaxing loosened the ship and the third charge got us through this particular floe into the pack again.

The going was better for a while, but then we came to an area of disintegrating fast ice in which we could get nowhere. Visibility was poor since stratus was virtually on the deck. Skipper Johnston took us down a lead that ended in a

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small berg perhaps 50ft high, put the prow against the berg, and pushed. After a while a crack appeared between the berg and the ice to the left, and we forced our way through, grazing along the side of the berg which turned out to be bulkier than expected. We on deck were a little apprehensive, knowing that Duchaylard and Viengué Islands were close by, to say nothing of countless smaller islets. However the bridge was confident that the radar showed exactly where these were, and in mist and failing light we pressed on, reaching Base J at 10.30pm when the mail was ferried ashore. A ‘bergy bit’ blocked my porthole all night.

We left at 9am next morning in snow and mist. Almost at once the snow stopped and the visibility became good. For an hour we made excellent progress SW, passing splendid cloud-wreathed mountains on the mainland to port. Then we came up against a vast area of fast ice. Far away to the south we could see sunlit mountains within the Antarctic Circle. My destination is down there somewhere.

Exploiting a lead to starboard, we were soon obliged to tackle the fast ice.

Three charges gained about a ship’s length, whereupon we stopped for lunch.

Some of us then ventured down on to the ice and cameras clicked away madly.

A little later we were given official permission to leave the ship and exercise the dogs. One by one they were lowered on to the ice. I got a brawny black and white beast called Cocky. He pulled along no bother, in fact some fids put on skis and with a pair of dogs travelled well, but not for too long as there are no harnesses to hand. Inevitably a game of football started in which a couple of Adélie penguins wanted to join. I took the stool from my cabin down to sketch the ship, but it was cold so I did not spend much time on detail. It had been decided that Biscoe would wait here a few days to see how the ice situation evolves.

Bridge in the evening with Colin, John and the Chilean observer who joined us from Lientur. The Chief Steward came and looked on. He thought we would move again in the morning. He was right, but we made very little progress.

People were far less eager to go ‘ashore’ today. An excellent film in the evening: West of Zanzibar.

John Biscoe stuck in ice south of Argentine Islands

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RRS John Biscoe Wednesday 29 January 1958 off Graham Land Next morning, for the first time on this ship, there was grapefruit for breakfast, at least for the first few in. Once again at 9am the engine throbbed to life and after some effort we went astern through the channel we had cut yesterday. Then we turned to starboard and forced our way along a line of weakness caused by icebergs which we scraped along (one bent the starboard handrail which the lamptrimmer did his best to straighten out). After a couple of hours we got stuck trying to force our way through ice to some open water about 100 yards away, and no amount of power produced any sternway. So around noon the engine stopped and everyone had a break for lunch. At 1.30pm action anew, and for twenty minutes the good ship strained astern, then forward, then astern again, but to no avail. John Graham came round the cabins announcing that a party was required to dig her out, so I donned anorak and boots and descended the rope ladder on to the ice where shovels and picks were made available. We soon dug a trench down the port flank that filled with water and the skipper tried again for ten minutes, but the ice was gripping the ship further down than we could reach. We set to again, and this time using a heavy plank with a rope attached to one end which the bosun and John Paisley hauled up and allowed to fall in the manner of a battering ram, guided by a couple of fids on the ice. However, even this was ineffective, so it was decided to call it a day in the hope that the bows would sink a little during the night.

On Friday morning it took only ten minutes to get free and we proceeded westwards towards a knobbly iceberg I remember first seeing on Tuesday.

As usual we got stuck again at about 11. After lunch John Graham, Dick Hillson, Dave McDowell and I went for a walk on the ice and covered quite a distance, disturbing one penguin and two seals. The ship looked a long way away as we started back; it took about half an hour to reach. Starting the engine again at about teatime, the ship came off the ice quite easily and we bashed on for three-quarters of an hour before sticking once more. In that time we had covered perhaps 300 yards and were still short of the knobbly berg, in the vicinity of which was some open water.

At the early hour of 4am Saturday the engine came to life, and looking through the porthole I saw that either the knobbly berg had moved away from us and the leads opened, or else it was us who had slipped off the ice and drifted away from the berg. Anyway, we made good progress past the iceberg in a WNW direction for the best part of an hour until we stuck again. A gale then blew up and the whole ship vibrated, although of course there were no seas to contend with. The knobbly berg was still visible through driving sleet a mile or mile and a half astern. We were immobile from 6am onwards.

On Sunday we made some 300 yards by lunchtime, then stuck again. Derek Blundell, Colin Johnson, John Graham and I played bridge in the afternoon.

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Monday saw us make a quarter of a mile W and the same distance S, so barely a third of a mile progress for the day. The weather became absolutely perfect in the afternoon, it was so warm there was no discomfort walking about stripped to the waist. Large numbers of photos were taken, and some of us climbed an iceberg, Derek planting a notice saying “Target for Tomorrow” on a small berg 200 yards ahead of the ship. Away in the distance to the north we could still see Mount Français on Anvers Island (about 150 miles away) and to the south was Adelaide Island. As the sun went down behind the latter a fog formed and it started to freeze.

Next morning the sea had a film of new ice, but the weather had turned overcast with a light NW’ly breeze. Perhaps this tightened the vice because the churning screw failed to budge the ship at all. Indeed, the ice was buckling against the starboard hull with an occasional bump. So it was a day of inactivity; Geoff Stride taught me the rudiments of cribbage in the morning, and after lunch Dick made up a bridge four with Derek and Colin. By evening the wind was almost, if not quite, gale force, with continuous snow. There were two films: Women’s Prison and one about dockers at New Orleans.

We moved not at all today, but the wind has dropped and ice is no longer piling up on the starboard quarter. The weather is dull. We hear that some ribs up in the bows have been bent slightly, but without serious consequences apparently.

RRS John Biscoe Wednesday 5 February 1958 off Graham Land We have still not got through to Base W. Last Thursday was my mess duty day (serving at table, clearing up and wiping tables, etc.), but the outside scenery did not change. We made perhaps 100 yd in the morning, and then the main engine and generator petered out. There was complete silence on board for the first time. However, the fault was rectified smartly enough and we pressed on until getting stuck at the customary time of 11am. With Derek and Keith Hoskins in opposition we introduced Brian Foote to bridge in the afternoon.

Then at 9pm John came down and asked me to make up a four in the wardroom with the skipper and the Chilean observer. In trepidation I sat opposite Captain Bill Johnston who was reputed to suffer fools badly, if at all.

Luckily on the very first hand I made a tricky five diamonds and we finished up the evening with a small slam in spades. That left us with a modest winning margin of 300 so the skipper was quite chuffed.

After the domestic and mental efforts of the day plus a surfeit of whisky in the late evening, I did not get up for breakfast on Friday, but did notice that at 9am there were not the usual sounds associated with starting the main engine, although the generators had been switched over (it is rather noisy in my cabin when the starboard generator is running). Emerging for mid-morning coffee, I learnt that we had not and would not move today. At lunch we learnt

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furthermore that we were going to abandon the present attempt to reach Base W and return to Deception Island and Hope Bay. But at 5pm, while John and I were playing bridge with Derek and Colin, the main engine started and ran for about an hour during which time we managed to make 30° of our ‘about turn’ before seizing up again. It was raining. The film that evening was There’s always Tomorrow, an American heartthrob.

Next morning we came off the ice immediately and continued our swivel towards a northerly heading, making another 50° or so before becoming immobilised. After supper a mist came down and we took the dogs for a walk across the ice which seemed to be breaking considerably at last.

In fact, next morning (Sunday) a lead had opened up where we had been with the dogs, and the engine started up half an hour earlier than usual. After a few shots we managed to squeeze through a crack into some open water running in a NNW direction. This did not last long, and for the rest of the day we were ploughing through ten-tenths pack which included some huge floes. Each thrust usually allowed us to advance between three and thirty yards. Assuming the cycle ‘full ahead-stop-astern-stop-full ahead’ takes four and a half minutes, we must have rammed about 150 times before we entered another area of open water at about 9pm (we slid off each time without trouble).

At 10.30pm it was ‘Stop engine’ and during the semi-darkness we drifted with the ice.

Away again at 6am Monday and made reasonable progress until 7.30 when once again we stuck fast. Hardly anyone got up for breakfast so the mess duty bloke had an easy time. During the afternoon we played bridge, with a veritable gale blowing outside that plastered all the north-facing surfaces with wet snow. The evening film was Rob Roy, during which Vic the electrician was called to be present at the starting of the main engine. By then it was calm and muggy outside.

After breakfast yesterday John came in to announce that we were going to renew the attempt to reach Base W, as a report of more favourable ice conditions gave grounds for hope. So we turned south and made two or three miles in heavy pack among the Biscoe Islands. I believe we ‘discovered’ some unmapped islets. John, Colin, Derek and I played bridge after lunch. Very little progress was being made through the pack; in fact the drift was now tending to carry us back northward, but with luck that should loosen the pack.

In spite of pushing and shoving all morning, over the past 24 hours our net progress through the ice towards Lallemand Fjord and Base W has been negative. The engine was rested in the afternoon and we resorted to our customary pastimes.

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Lallemand Fjord Friday 7 February 1958 (off Base W) So near and yet so far! We had been warned about the winds at Base W, and here we are at anchor only a hundred yards from Detaille Island on which the base is invitingly built, but unable to disembark because the southerly gale is too strong even for the Biscoe’s lifeboat.

Going back to yesterday morning, we made good progress but snowclouds hid all the landmarks. Around teatime the snow stopped, the clouds broke and the ice became more broken. There was a fine vista of distant mountains. We passed quite close to Detaille Island, but first had to make for the refuge hut on the mainland to the east, a site known as Johnston Point, because four members of the base who had been sledging on the mainland plateau had had their line of retreat cut when the ice broke up. The four who had been living in the small hut for a couple of months or more were Angus Erskine, the Base Leader; Denis Goldring, geologist; John Thorne, meteorological observer; and ‘Ossie’ Connochie, radio operator. Ossie had ordered a new cine-camera from a retailer in Stanley and this was on its way to him aboard the Biscoe. He had radioed instructions to the ship that his package was to be opened and the camera used to record the relief of Johnston Point. For some reason this responsibility fell to me, who had never handled such a gadget before. Geoff Stride kindly provided a film and showed me how to load it and how to shoot.

For the purpose I went ashore on the lifeboat lashed to the scow and filmed as best I could. I never heard whether the results were any good. The four looked impressively wild and unkempt, as perhaps did I until yesterday when I had my first haircut since November.

Arrival at Johnston Point refuge

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6 February 1958—Detaille Island and Base W. Waiting for a lull in the southerly gale to allow us to go ashore

The Johnston Point refuge is sited on a rock outcrop offering the only possibility of access to the hinterland for many miles in either direction. Nearly everywhere the steep snow slopes culminate in cliffs of ice. We loaded their few boxes and then climbed to collect the dogs tethered to a span on the snow above the rocks. Back on board a meal was prepared for the marooned fids as we made our way back towards Detaille Island with the sun lowering in the south-west.

But then we met this gale and so sit waiting for it to abate, and the four have to sleep aboard. How frustrating it must be for those on base to see their relief (and above all their mail) in sight but out of reach! Apart from the wind, the weather is excellent.

Brian Foote

Base W Wednesday 10 June 1958 The months have passed quickly. There was a great deal to do during March and April; Brian Foote (surveyor) is our Base Leader and he appointed me Food Minister, an unexciting and thankless post. The alimentary supply is based on a given rate of consumption per item per man per week, and my job is to dole out appropriate quantities. Parties out sledging have their own special rations, which means that those left on base can guzzle their absent

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companions’ base food rations on top of their own.

There should have been nine of us on base, but for the first half of the year we were only six, namely Brian Foote, Denis Goldring (geologist), John Graham (doctor), Colin Johnson (radio op), ‘Paddy’ White (met) and me (senior met).

Brian and Denis are the only ones who have already done any sledge journeys.

Cook week and ‘Gash’ week (general chores other than cooking) thus come around with a clear fortnight in between.

After leaving us, John Biscoe could not manage to reach Marguerite Bay at first, so made a visit to Hope Bay. But eventually they got in and relieved Base Y, re-established Base E and set down our Blaiklock Island party, then called on us for the last time in mid-March. Some homeward-bound fids held the fort on base while we went aboard for a final meal and film show; true to form a northerly gale set in and we had to sleep the night on board. Biscoe came down as far as Base J at the beginning of April and left some mail for us if we can ever get to collect it.

Those who went on with the ship to Marguerite Bay were Dick Hillson (met), Frank Oliver (diesel mech), and Jim Young (met). They were joined by John Rothera (surveyor) and installed themselves in a refuge on Blaiklock Island, the mountains of which we can see due south through a col occupied by the Heim Glacier*. They were to do survey work in the Arrowsmith Peninsula, which forms the western shore of Lallemand Fjord, before coming to join us once the sea ice had become reliable for travel. Denis Goldring and Frank Oliver are the only two for whom this will be their second year at Base W.

Denis Goldring

* This name is now only applied to the southern (Marguerite Bay) Slope. The northern (Lallemand Fjord) slope is called the Antevs Glacier.

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Denis and John were roped in to help with the meteorological observing programme because we are badly undermanned. Indeed, when the sledging season began we had to request that the three-hourly observation requirement be relaxed during the night. I had no great difficulty in picking up the Morse code sufficiently for dispatching the weather observations, and could help Colin a little in that respect. But reading incoming signals is another matter, unless they are meteorological bulletins in numerical code.

The weather was changeable, colder than last year but with less snowfall.

In fact an April thaw caused the snow to disappear, leaving bare ice or rocks.

The dogs got filthy.

We erected a new anemometer tower on a rock bluff about 80 yards from the base hut, and after the instrument came into use on 27 March there were many days of high winds.

One fine calm day I accompanied John and Denis in the smaller boat to visit some shoals that were to be geologically inventoried.

Colin Johnson

Detaille Island has limited possibilities for recreational skiing. Nevertheless we thrilled ourselves on the few short sharp slopes on the tiny island. John twice lost a ski in the sea so that we had to row around in the small boat and fish for it with an anchor, successfully each time. On the first occasion I was with him, and my vibram-soled boots slipped on the wet fibreglass, projecting me into the sea which was at 29°F (–2°C), but my preservationary instincts ensured that I managed to keep my camera above surface, although the rest of me was well and truly submerged. Later John pulled a knee muscle and gave up winter sports so as to be in form for sledging after midwinter.

We made few demands on John for professional attention so he also took responsibility for the well-being of the dogs, and much enjoyed it. On 2 March he had the satisfaction of presiding over the birth of six pups to Flora. Three males and a bitch were kept, and christened Avon, Tor, Dart and Margot (the latter after Brian’s lady friend in Australia, not Mrs Davies in Stanley). But John insisted on using us as research objects; each Sunday evening he noted

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our weight and ‘fat thickness’ in five locations: chest, upper arm, shoulder, abdomen and thigh. My readings were in excess of everyone else’s!

Colin was an enthusiastic radio ‘ham’ and made modifications to the existing rig that gave good signals throughout the world when conditions were propitious. He had a regular QSO (rendezvous) with a certain Andy Carstairs at St. Andrews in Scotland, and I asked him to convey my regards to Mr and Mrs Victor Elliot, friends of my parents, which he did. The outcome was a very successful voice contact with Mum and Dad on 13 May when they were staying in St. Andrews. Thanks a lot Andy.

Our first real taste of winter was at the beginning of May. The temperature fell below zero Fahrenheit (–18°C) for the first time on 2 May, and the next day’s minimum was minus eleven (–24°C) in a force nine southerly gale. We soon ventured on to the sea ice after that, and John brought back four blue-eyed shags he had shot on the north islet. Denis was cook and prepared two of them for the table; it was fresh meat and welcomed as such, but we had not yet had time to acquire the taste. I preferred Adélie penguin which could, if one gave free rein to one’s imagination, be compared to hare.

Dog training runs as far as Andresen Island began in mid-May, but those southerly gales had completely dispersed the new ice by 30 May. The Blaiklock Island party had an early setback when they lost three dogs in a crevasse on the Heim Glacier, and shortly after a fourth killed in a fight. But far worse news was to come from Marguerite Bay. On 31 May we learnt of the first uneasiness concerning a sledge party of three that had set out four days earlier from Base Y (Horseshoe Island) for the Dion Islets just off the southernmost point of Adelaide Island, to visit the Emperor penguin rookery*. They had failed to come up on any radio schedule and the offshore gales had broken up the sea-ice there too. Our party on Blaiklock Island plus Peter Gibbs, Nigel Proctor and Henry Wyatt from Base E converged on Base Y to form search parties. Some dogs from the missing teams were found in good condition, but fears are growing that Stan Black, Dave Statham and Geoff Stride are lost. This will cast a deep shadow over the midwinter festivities, especially at Bases Y and W. On the eve of my birthday (which was yesterday) I was on met. duty until 3am and as usual stayed in bed until lunchtime. But then I was roused by a cacaphony in the bunkroom: the others singing “Happy Birthday” and ‘playing’ various kitchen utensils. The weather was very bad with a southerly gale and continuous snow, and it was the second day of my Gash week. In the evening we had a minor celebration—sherry, cointreau and champagne, the two smokers (Brian and John) indulging.

* The eggs of this species hatch in winter

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Paddy White

Base W Tuesday 8 July 1958 My second cook week ended last Saturday. I couldn’t say it went better than the first, and just my luck that the weather was calm and sunny each day. On Sunday I went up to the new anemometer site and saw the first seal on the ice.

We had been seeking them for weeks as we need seal meat for the dogs to eke out the blocks of ‘Nutrican’ sent down by Bob Martins. After an early lunch, the 12-ft Nansen sledge and trailer were loaded, nine dogs harnessed, and John and Brian departed in triumph for the first sledging trip, to survey in Hanusse Bay which is west from here around the tip of the Arrowsmith Peninsula. They expected to be away about a month.

When they had gone our thoughts turned to the seal. Colin went out with our .303 and shot it, then Denis and Paddy took the meat sledge with a team of seven bitches (‘the Girls’) to remove the offal and tow the rest of the carcass back. This was something that very soon we all had to become proficient in.

I found that the .22 was perfectly adequate for killing Weddell or crabeater seals.

John and Brian were back for tea! About three miles out they had come to thin ice and, no need to evoke the recent tragedy in Marguerite Bay, they wisely chose to return. We are inside the Antarctic circle and only just after midwinter, so there is little daylight.

Yesterday, Brian and I went out on foot to plot some rocky islets between here and Andresen Island. It simply consisted in walking to each and taking compass bearings of certain landmarks. John and Denis went out with a sledge in the direction of Johnston Point but had to turn back because of much rough ice. Paddy and Colin were also out and shot another seal. At the last islet I suggested to Brian that we would have a better view from the top and proceeded warily across the tide-crack. But with a gentle crunch it gave way and I was in the sea again up to the waist.

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John Graham

Base W Friday 25 July 1958 The Sunday following that incident the air temperature reached a record low for the station of –28°F (–33.3°C).

Denis and Colin departed that day for what we knew as Mist Island, near what is now called Holdfast Point where buttresses of Protector Heights meet the sea. It is at the extremity of Lallemand Fjord about six and a half miles northeast from here.

Monday was overcast with light snow when John and I harnessed ‘The Counties’ and set out with a heavy load WSW for Roux Island, about six miles away, to lay a depot for Brian’s Hanusse Bay journey. Although we had taken a compass bearing, Roux I. came into view before we lost sight of home.

The leads that had stopped Brian and John earlier were just thick enough, and we made the site on Roux at about 2.45pm. John controlled the team from the sledge and I was towed along on skis. At least that had been the idea, but surface conditions were not propitious. The visibility improved a bit for the return journey which, with a light load and our outward tracks to follow, was accomplished rapidly and in seated comfort. We were back by 4.30pm.

Brian and John left for Hanusse Bay on Wednesday morning but Denis and Colin returned the same evening.

Colin and I left the following Tuesday with ‘The Girls’ to go to the refuge at Johnston Point in order to check what provisions were left and to tidy up.

It was a brilliant sunny day with a temperature of –25°F (–31.5°C). Again we had a very heavy load of man and dog food intended for the expedition to the mainland plateau at the end of the year. Even with me walking in front, the team found it very heavy going, and so we dropped off three 68lb (31kg) boxes of dog food on Andresen Island, and made better speed after that, although we had to contend with some horribly rough ice and, as we approached the coast, the snow became deeper and softer, being sheltered from the regular gales that sweep the middle of the fjord.

The distance is about ten miles.

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The hut was in good shape and very little snow had drifted in. But it was cold!

Outside –30°F and inside –15°F (–34.4° & –26°C). We only had a single primus stove and a tilly lamp so remained in our outdoor gear. There was a two-burner primus stove but it was out of action because of a leak. Paddy at base could not hear us when we called on our 5.30pm radio r/v. I made a sort of meal. All the tinned food had first to be thawed out. We had stew and tea, and then started breaking open food boxes left by the Biscoe and stacked the tins around the outer room (the inner room is for living, i.e. sitting, cooking, dining and sleeping). At 10pm I made some Ovaltine and we got into our sleeping bags. We were warm there, but the condensation froze around one’s face and beard.

Colin produced some very good porridge for breakfast at 9.45am. The indoor temperature had fallen back to –5°F (–20.5°C) before he got the primus going.

Then I got up and the work of restocking the larder recommenced. It was finished by 2.15pm when we had some more stew. Before it got dark we went up the steep slope behind the hut to the rock outcrop where the slope eases to the extent that sledges can be loaded. Everything has to be manhandled up that first 250 feet (76m). I floundered in very deep snow with a 50-lb box of sledge rations. From that vantage point we discussed the route back and agreed to start off N before heading west. Detaille Island itself is hidden behind Andresen Island.

‘The Girls’ at Johnston Point

The radio schedule that evening was successful in both directions, but no particularly exciting news. By evening it was just warm enough to sit on the top bunk reading. We settled into our sleeping bags at 8.45pm. As Colin was cook I was on dog duty, and ‘The Girls’ started an uproar just as I was drifting off, so I had to go out and attend to them. After that episode there was no more trouble and I slept well.

I made the porridge next morning in near temperate conditions of + 7°F (–14°C) and found the weather had turned cloudy. We got away before 11am with a lightly laden sledge and headed N on quite a good surface. As we turned west it began to snow and the rock rib on Andresen Island became indistinct, so we decided to make directly for it. However, it got no worse and we found the

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three dog-food boxes we had dumped and I marked them with two sticks.

We kept close to the shore until we were at the point nearest Detaille Island, and luckily just then the snowfall diminished slightly and we could distinguish the black rocks among the icebergs and bergy bits. I was astonished how large the island looked from two and a half miles away. We were back at base at 2.45pm, gave the dogs seal meat and unloaded the sledge before going in for tea.

Base W Thursday 4 September 1958 I’ve got to start writing letters home sometime; leaving it any longer is asking for trouble at the end of the year. The time has gone exceedingly quickly, from which you will rightly deduce that there is always plenty to do.

Our Blaiklock Island party sent a message in mid-July saying that they intended to leave soon to join us, and asking that a depot be laid for their use on our side of the Heim Glacier. Denis and Colin with ‘The Girls’ set off to do this on 24 July in a mild following wind. Paddy and I were thus on our own at base. Next day we went and shot a seal that had come up about threequarters of a mile away. We thought it was enormous for a Weddell seal, and in fact it turned out to be a sea elephant which are not usually found as far south as this. On cutting it up we also discovered it was a cow in calf. It took us four journeys to bring in all the meat; Paddy talks of making something with the skin of the foetus, which itself weighed around 40lb. We had just got it in when the weather turned really bad with much snow and gales and the barometer going up and down like a yo-yo. Denis and Colin got so fed up that at the first opportunity (30 July) they scuttled back to base.

On 2 August Brian and John returned from Hanusse Bay at 5.30am, having crossed from Roux Island by moonlight. They kindly cooked breakfast for us!

After taking its time to establish itself, the sea-ice now seems as if it is here to stay, having withstood many southerly gales, including one on 3 August of force 12-13 gusting to 100 mph (160 kph).

It was on 9 August that our party from Blaiklock Island returned, composed of John Rothera, Frank Oliver and Jim Young. Dick Hillson had had to stay at Base Y because of the traumatic disappearance of Geoff, Stan and Dave (the two latter were met observers). The party had managed perfectly well without the depot. They brought two extra dog teams. These were ‘The Trogs’ (John Rothera’s) and ‘The Komats’ (Frank’s). It was refreshing to see some new faces, although cook week now became a mammoth chore.

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Dogfight. John and Paddy take steps . . .

At last the base was almost at full strength. But not for long. On 10 August Brian and Paddy left to go north on the sea-ice towards Cape Rey. It was decided that John Graham and I would sledge all the provisions needed for the plateau survey expedition to the Johnston Point refuge and spend about a week manpacking it up to the rocks and then sledging it to Buttress Camp, a convenient starting point for the long ascension of the Murphy Glacier* leading to the plateau. That way we could start the actual relay up the glacier when the others returned.

We left on the glorious twelfth, entrusted with ‘The Trogs’ augmented to fill vacancies left by the earlier accidents. The leader, Bodger, has the peculiarity of walking port legs together, starboard legs together (there is a name for it which I ignore). This gives him a characteristic rolling appearance in action, but he is a reasonable leader and does his best to ‘mediate’ with a show of force between any disputing members of the team. His brother Flouk also runs with ‘The Trogs’; it makes Flouk’s day if he can take a playful nip at a human rump unwittingly presented to him. We had with us the double-burner stove that had been repaired on base, and this made life in the hut a little easier. We returned to base the next day.

Then John and Frank with two sledges took across a monstrous load and came back the same day. They had the advantage of existing tracks which the dogs are always keen to follow.

John and I with ‘The Trogs’ left once more for the refuge on 19 August. It was very very hard work carrying up those 64 boxes on ‘Everest’ packs, some fifty but most sixty-eight pounds (31kg). Not an undertaking I would care to repeat. Then we manhandled the dogs and sledge up to the rocks and were ready to relay the load to Buttress Camp. The slope above the rocks was only slightly less steep, and we had to climb it to a level of 800ft (240m), then we continue more or less level before turning to descend to the cairn at Buttress Camp. The snow was deep and soft; to begin with the dogs had to pull even * Named after Tom Murphy, base leader two years ago who pioneered the route to the mainland plateau

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Frank Oliver

going downhill. We only completed four journeys on account of bad weather and the fact that there was much to be done at base, and John R wanted ‘The Trogs’ for a trip into Hanusse Bay. On one occasion we were returning from Buttress Camp with an empty sledge and stopped for some reason at the highest point. The dogs decided there were better things to do than admire the view and decided to press on. With our outgoing tracks for them to follow, we had no hope of catching them up. I was sure they would carry on beyond the rock outcrop right down to the hut, so quite expected to find the sledge shattered and a battle royal in progress. However, they were standing in perfect order at the top rocks.

Life became something of a misery in the refuge hut. With the warmth, the floor became saturated, and we were back to cooking on one primus burner because the other was leaking again and liable to burst into flames. The unfortunate cook would wriggle out of his sleeping bag, put on some waterproof footwear and start the business of melting snow once the primus was going. Porridge could be made quite easily (Quick Quaker Oats), and bacon and beans were served with tea or Nescafé. For lunch we usually consumed a tin of soup and Nescafé. A godsend was a large tin of H & P sweet biscuits which we polished off during our afternoon teas.

The evening meal was a form of stew or fricassée or curry or fry-up followed by a tin of fruit and Nescafé. There were some copies of John Bull, Saturday Evening Post, Reader’s Digest and a few other ancient magazines. John and I played cards with a tattered pack and also a few games of chess.

We aimed to leave for base on 28 August and brought the dogs and sledge down to the sea-ice the evening before. But during the night we groaned to hear a blustery wind shaking the hut. It would surely be very much worse at Detaille Island. A radio sked was arranged at 9.30am for a weather report, when they cheerfully said that the visibility was twenty yards with a wind of 40 to 50 knots. So I cooked breakfast after fixing another sked for next morning.

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It snowed heavily all day, and there was still some wind in the evening.

The morrow’s weather report was much the same. Troughs were passing through very rapidly; a short bright period with light winds often followed the cold front, so we made ready to depart at the first hint of a break in the clouds.

This occurred that same evening, and although the fjord still seemed to be full of drift and driven snow was streaming from all the mountains, Frank assured us at 7pm that the wind was only five knots. So we packed up and loaded the sledge, thankful to be getting away.

Departure at 8.30pm, just as the moon rose above the clouds still hanging over the plateau, and soon we encountered a fairly strong northerly wind with drift.

However, the surface became excellent, the dogs seemed to realise they were homeward bound, and there were no visibility problems apart from the odd lump of ice that destabilised me on skis. Strangely, the wind died out completely as we came abreast of Andresen Island and the snow surface turned soft. We continued at walking pace for a couple of miles, and then things began to happen. The snow surface became very fast but uneven, and we were both hanging on to the sledge handlebars being ski-towed over all the bumps at an alarming rate. It was impossible to distinguish Detaille Island from the icebergs at night, so we trusted in Bodger to see us home. He would have done so eventually, I suppose, but he was going right past in the direction of Roux Island when our mad career was temporarily restrained by a deep soft snowdrift in the lee of what turned out to be our island home. We got back at 11.45 and enjoyed our supper immensely.

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✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

Sledging trip

October 1958 or Seventy-eight feet on a walk in the Antarctic being an account of a very ordinary journey by three men and eighteen dogs Object: To place a depot of man- and dog-food and paraffin on the plateau at the top of the Murphy Glacier for use by the summer survey party Sledges: Two; John Graham with ‘The Counties’ and Frank Oliver with ‘The Komats’ Leader: John Graham Dog teams: Counties: Jaikie (leader), Lance, Freda, Hamish, Hassan, Sleek, Yap, Beds, Herts Komats: Rufus (leader), Till, Dusty, Dawn, Tam, Porgy, Steve, Castor, Rogue After two months of very bad weather we felt we were due for a change.

Brian Foote had been out surveying in Darbel Bay for eight weeks with Paddy White in charge of ‘The Counties’, but during all that time there had been less than five days suitable for observations. The team required seal meat to fortify them before starting on the glacier trip so it was arranged that the three of us should depart for the ‘field hut’ at Johnston Point a couple of days after Brian and Paddy returned. There John would shoot and bring in as many seals as possible (there was a dearth of them around base) whilst Frank and I ferried the depot load up the steep hill behind the hut.

On 4 October 1958 the weather at base was cloudy with a warm northerly wind (temperature 29°F or –2°C) and it was decided to make a start. There had been much snow and high temperatures the previous two days and we were not expecting the surface to be good. The sledges were loaded, lashed up and taken down to the starting point, referred to as the landing stage although nothing of this was visible as the island’s boundary with the frozen sea was merged by the thick snow and only hinted at by cracks an inch or two wide caused by the rising and falling tides. At this juncture, however, it started to snow heavily and visibility was reduced to a few yards, so parts of the loads were removed and we returned inside the base hut. After lunch the snow stopped, although the weather was otherwise unchanged, and in the afternoon the loads were relashed, the dogs harnessed and our departure effected without mishap at about three o’clock.

Once clear of Detaille Island surfaces were better than we had expected so that we could be towed on skis, but when we came level with Andresen Island

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(which we kept on our right) the snow was soft and it was only slowly and laboriously that we progressed, all of us working hard and sweating freely in the unusual mildness. Several seals and some pups lay near the coast of Andresen; in the area of base the winds must have been too fierce for them.

A slight improvement in the surface as we left the shelter of Andresen Island made it necessary to try to slow down ‘The Komats’ who were following in the tracks of ‘The Counties’, so I went and ski-towed while Frank sat on the sledge.

About two-thirds of the way from Andresen to the mainland we passed several large icebergs around which seals were lying, so in case there were none within easy reach of the hut it was decided to kill two and haul them the rest of the way. It was unfortunate that the pupping season was at its height and the only beasts were mothers with babes which nevertheless had to be shot. The surface became worse again as we approached the mainland; I went ahead to make a trail for ‘The Counties’ followed at some distance by ‘The Komats’.

There is a permanent crack in the ice just before the refuge hut is reached which, although presenting no great difficulty to me on skis or to the sledge, caused the loss of a seal pup. After a few crossings in quest of seals (of which, as it turned out, there were several near at hand), the edges of the crack wore away and most of ‘The Counties’ had a swim, and John went in up to the thigh twice.

The refuge hut faces north across a bay some five miles wide into which flows the Murphy Glacier and several minor tributaries. The coastline is mostly ice-cliff, but at the southern extremity of the bay is a rock outcrop backed by a very steep snow slope with a small area of approximately level ground at the foot on which the hut is built. This snow slope is the only known access to the Grahamland plateau from this side of Lallemand Fjord. The glaciers as they reach the sea are a chaos of seracs (blocks of ice) and the practicable part of the Murphy Glacier (some three miles up) can only be attained by working along the flanks of the hills to the south. From the hut, the first part of the route is too steep for sledges so that each box has to be carried up to an outcrop referred to as ‘Top Rocks’ at a height of about 250 feet (75 metres), and then the empty sledges have to be dragged up. The first 100 feet (30m) is so steep as to make crampons advisable. John and I had shared the transport of boxes of manfood, dog-food and paraffin on a previous visit to the hut in August. Above Top Rocks the slope is only slightly less steep for another 500 feet (150m) and the maximum sledge load that dogs and men could manage on an average surface was about 400 lb (180 kg).

On our arrival I went in and prepared a meal whilst John and Frank cut up seal and fed the dogs. For cooking at the refuge there is one good primus stove and an elaborate double-burner of the same principle which, however, is half out of action. The range of food was virtually the same as at base from where it had been supplied, but since there is no oven and visitors are usually only passing through, the range of dishes is not very great. My favoured creation was a

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fricassée made basically with a flour sauce to which is added salmon and lobster or stewed steak from tins plus flavouring and seasoning as available and as my small talent suggested. John was strong on ‘fry-ups’ (bacon, sausages and other meats plus onions and potatoes all thrown into the frying pan). Desserts were generally a simple matter of opening a can of fruit—pears were the most popular. There are only two bunks in the hut so John spent the first night on the table. I was lucky when we selected our used (and abused) sleeping bags because I chanced to choose one that still had a reasonable quantity of down in it. I was never cold in it, frequently too warm in the tent when the primus was burning.

Frank and the Komats attack the climb up from the Johnston Point refuge to ‘Top rocks’

Next day, Frank and I each man-packed three boxes up to Top Rocks and then got ‘The Komats’, their sledge and the one-man emergency tent (‘pup’ tent) up there via the Gully route with much coaxing from me in front. Frank announced his intention of sleeping in the pup tent at Top Rocks in order to keep an eye on his team and to relieve the congestion in the hut.

The five days we spent at Johnston Point are now congealed in my memory into one, but between spells of northerly gales (in one particular hurricane the highest gust of wind recorded at base was 111 mph [96 knots or 179 kmh–1], with snow, sleet and rain and a temperature reaching as high as 37°F (+3°C) we managed to get the depot up to the top of the hill, myself leading to encourage Rufus and ‘The Komats’, with Frank pushing and bellowing behind, whilst John and ‘The Counties’ brought in 15 seals.

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Looking down on to the refuge, with tide crack in the sea ice.

John is off sealing with ‘The Counties’

On 10 October we were ready to start, and the weather looked as promising as could be hoped for. The first job was to get ‘The Counties’ and their sledge up to Top Rocks and it was accomplished without much difficulty. Then we carried up a few items of personal gear, packed the pup tent and went up to the depot at about 750 feet (230m) above sea-level. From there we had an excellent view across the frozen fjord to the mountains of the Arrowsmith Peninsula. Detaille Island is hidden behind the bulk of Andresen Island. Loads were made up of goods for the glacier, leaving half, or rather less, for the second relay. Except for the final leg, even with excellent surfaces we had to cover every inch of the way twice with at least one of the sledges. It was decided that the first leg would be to the middle of ‘Baseline Glacier’ (our unofficial name for a side glacier flowing down from the south); we would make a first trip and set up the tent there, then return for the rest of the load. After about half a mile of comparatively level ground (this had been used by the previous year’s occupants of the refuge for dog-training purposes), we climbed again to a height of about 900 feet (275m) above sea-level and then had to drop to about 400 feet (120m) on Baseline Glacier. Following a straight line the descent became too steep so that a left turn had to be made, and a traverse along the side of a ridge that runs down to the spur known as Buttress Camp. This caused John’s sledge to turn over twice and Frank’s once. After the delays needed to unlash, unload, turn upright, reload and relash, we got down to our planned camp site and pitched the tent (Camp I). It was a brand-new double-walled pyramid tent, spacious and stable, although it seemed rather dark inside (this is probably for those who find it difficult to sleep in the sunny nights of summer). Nevertheless, in normal daylight it is perfectly possible to read.

We then returned up the hill of accidents to fetch the remainder of the depot.

Frank loaded with some goods for Buttress Camp whilst John took the rest of the plateau consignment. He went on alone to the tent and I accompanied Frank on the digression to the Buttress Camp cairn where there was already a pile of boxes brought by John and me during our August visit. As it was only

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about five o’clock when we were reassembled at the tent on the tributary glacier, we decided to push on with loads as far as the Murphy Glacier itself if possible, leaving the tent to return to later in the evening. The surface became good, in fact much too good when we found ourselves on a steep slope, having come too high. Both sledges went over when we tried to turn on the hard-packed snow, and as a northerly wind was increasing and raising drift, with menacing clouds to the north, we took our loads down to what appeared to be the best route on to the Murphy Glacier and deposited them, hurrying back to Camp I without making further reconnaissance.

John appointed himself cook and issued our rations: one bar of Cadbury’s chocolate, one packet of six Symbol expedition biscuits, and cooked our meat bar, packet of soup powder, ounce (30 g) of dried onion and seasonings in about two pints (one litre) of melted snow. To drink, there was tea or Nescafé (the latter we had brought in preference to cocoa). There was a large supply of butter and this was added to almost everything. That night the wind exceeded gale force from the north, bringing continuous snow and not making for peaceful sleep. In the early morning it backed round to west but continued to blow, bringing squally showers that roared on the fabric of the tent. There was no question of moving after breakfast, so we lay either comatose or reading in our sleeping bags until about 4.30 p.m. when the wind died and the sky towards the west became more settled, though still with heavy banks of clouds on Protector Heights to the north. We arose, struck camp, loaded and lashed the sledges and moved on to the depot we had left yesterday and set up camp again there (Camp II). It was Frank’s turn to be cook, so John and I attached ourselves together with about 100 feet (30m) of rope and prospected for a route down on to the Murphy Glacier. With no sun, details of the snow surface were invisible, but we agreed that a good route seemed to exist. We returned to the tent without actually going down because it started to snow with deteriorating visibility.

‘The Counties’ about to start up the Murphy Glacier.

In the middle distance is Andresen Island, in the background Roux I (L) and Liard I (R)

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Next morning, however, we awoke to a scintillating sunny day with a temperature of 15°F (–10°C), just right for these conditions. With Frank cooking breakfast we made a good start soon after nine o’clock, leaving the tent standing. With fairly heavy loads we descended to the Murphy Glacier and found that the surface changed from hard-packed to soft loose snow, making progress slow and exhausting in the hot sun for the dogs, especially the dark ones. Along the left (south) bank of the glacier at this point runs a terrace of level and apparently uncrevassed ice. In spite of its innocuous appearance we decided that I should lead the convoy on a 90-foot (28-m) rope and test for hidden crevasses with a long pole. This had the incidental benefit of giving the dog teams an incentive to pull ahead. I had prusik loops in case anything opened up and let me down, but the visible holes were easily circumnavigated and my prodding never revealed traps. The heat was intense on the glacier and we wore a minimum of clothing, in John’s case a bare minimum from the waist up. The first load was taken some two and a half miles (4km) up the glacier to a point where we encountered a penetrating breeze that made us quickly reclothe ourselves.

Returning through the heat we reached Camp II about three hours after setting out, and had a lunch break, being able to brew up outside with no difficulty.

Loading the tent and the rest of the gear, we made much better progress the second time and soon passed the first depot, intending to carry on as long as possible before stopping for the night. We had to pass beneath seracs poised ready to fall; the slope on our right that culminated in ‘Deuce Peak’ as we then called it (I believe the official name is now Tammann Peaks) is excessively steep and ideal for avalanches. About a mile and a half further on we camped at a point we hoped was out of reach of such hazards which audibly manifested themselves from time to time (Camp III). The mountain soared above us and the sun had set on this position some time before we arrived soon after six o’clock; the snow had readily melted on our mukluks and boots earlier, and now these were frozen stiff and all of us had cold feet. John had much trouble removing his mukluks.The temperature outside was 2°F (–17°C) and the breeze had strengthened somewhat.

It was my turn to be cook. This involves little initiative or effort and is not to be dreaded like cooking at base. Also there is no washing-up. Before settling into one’s sleeping bag, the requirements for both the evening meal and breakfast are removed from the two boxes which are then used as tables down the middle of the tent’s floor space. In spite of their hard day, the dogs were restless at first, possibly sensing danger from the mountain wall. But they settled down, and the night was peaceful.

We had expected an intensely cold dawn, but in fact the wind rose and the temperature with it. The reading outside as I cooked the porridge next morning was 17°F (–8°C). The weather was not so promising, but we could still travel.

So the first thing to do was to return for the depot lower down. This delicate

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passage was effected without mishap, and on returning to Camp III we added the camping equipment and pressed on, with me ahead again. At this point there is no real ascent; the area has been referred to as ‘The Basin’.The main glacier bends to the left and it was necessary for us to leave the terrace and cross into the middle, which meant negotiating a crevassed zone, but it was not difficult. Even with their heavy load, ‘The Counties’ kept catching me up and had to be held every few minutes to let me get to the end of my tether.

Generally speaking, our huskies reacted to only four commands: to start, to stop, to turn left and to turn right. Phonetically, these were respectively: Weet!, Aaaa!, Irrrrra! and Owk! There is no provision for half-speed or reverse.

We were heading into a wind that raised drift to a height of a couple of feet (60cm), and as there were definite signs that it was increasing we stopped and put up the tent at about one o’clock, having passed the area we had been warned might be tricky (Camp IV).

Soon the wind had increased to gale force and the drifting snow was high enough to hide all but the mountain tops. No more sledging today. That evening we had arranged a radio schedule with base, so before entering the tent I erected an aerial in the form of a 100-foot (30-m) length of wire suspended through the hand-loops of ski-sticks and leading into the tent through the ventilator.

Our station call-sign was ‘Altocumulus’, or AC on the key. Even at this early stage a shortage of reading matter was experienced by the others. I take so long reading a book that I was not yet affected. Shakespeare asked rhetorically ‘Who can wallow naked in December’s snow by thinking on fantastic summer’s heat?’ and I was experimenting by reading Desert and Forest (Nesbit) which describes a journey made in Ethiopia where temperatures of above 150°F (65°C) were experienced. When the primus is burning the interior of the tent becomes extremely warm, and comfort can only be found by lying flat while outer garments dry suspended from near the apex of the tent.

At 8.30 p.m. I tuned in and heard Colin Johnson at base calling us and another sledge party, Denis Goldring and Paddy White who were geologising around the coast of Lallemand Fjord. Reception of sledge radios at Base W is notoriously bad, so I was glad to hear Colin answer my call, even though it was too weak for ‘fone’ and transmission from our end had to be by key. I sent a brief note on our position and progress and heard the news from base. Paddy could not make himself heard (he later told me that he had heard me on his set, though not readably).

During the early part of the night the wind roared fiercely around our tent, but at some time in the small hours I awoke to a silence broken only by the heavy breathing of the others. Then, faint but distinct, I heard a delightful tune played on an instrument that sounded a bit like the Northumbrian pipes. I wondered if I had left the radio on, but on investigation found it to be well and truly switched off. The music seemed eminently suited to mountain sprites inhabiting the great corries on Sickle Peak, now called Mount Goldring.

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Once mundane reasoning had established that the melody was created by the breeze in the taut guy-ropes of the tent, it was most somniferous.

By breakfast time, however, the gale had renewed so that nobody left the tent and made the best they could of the available literature until about five o’clock which is the time John and Frank go out to feed the dogs. The wind had abated somewhat, and John came and averred that it should be feasible to return for the depot at the previous camp-site under Tammann Peaks, so I dressed and emerged into the elements which were certainly not as bad as they had sounded from inside. There was no need for both sledges to go, so Frank and ‘The Komats’ stayed at camp. No fresh snow had fallen and our tracks were plain to follow so there was no need for me to be ahead route-finding. It was about 6.30pm when John and I returned to the tent with the load, by which time the wind had fallen almost completely, enough for me to do a round of compass angles on prominent peaks to try to locate our position a little more precisely, though accuracy is a relative matter here where no detailed topographical survey has yet been made. Frank had a meal ready.

Next day there was little wind and the sun was shining through a sheet of cirrus cloud, so we broke camp and, in the usual manner with myself ahead testing, progressed a further five miles (8km) up the valley to the junction with ‘Knight Glacier’ before the wind once again made us put up the tent in the early afternoon (Camp V). Although conditions up the main glacier looked rather ominous, John and I set off to return for the remaining load, hoping to get back to Frank and the tent before the weather broke. I should add that the relay load always included the pup tent and duplicate food and utensil boxes, so that if we were caught out we would forfeit no more than a degree of relative comfort.

The wind around here seemed to be even more boisterous than before, and I am convinced that the tent withstood gusts to hurricane force (Force 12) during the night. They were often preceded and followed by an eerie silence.

At breakfast time it was still blowing hard and nobody ventured outside even though the sun, as we could tell, was shining through the flying drift. By lunchtime, though, we had become so disgusted at lying in our bags, and the wind did seem to have abated a little during the morning, that we crawled out into the dazzling brightness and decided to push on a little further, even though it would be still into the wind. It remained gusty and produced whirlwinds of drifting snow that rose to a height of 70 to 100 feet (20–30m) like miniature white tornadoes. It was unpleasant enough for us, but it must have been much more so for the poor dogs at whose level the drifting snow was driven relentlessly. We left the tent standing and took loads another two and a half miles up, then returned to the camp, dismantled it and managed to repitch the tent at the forward depot without too much difficulty (Camp VI). During the night the gusts diminished in violence and frequency, and by six o’clock next morning it was calm, though cloudy. I know, because I had to get up to attend to a dog that had slipped its chain and was considering eating the tent.

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In doing so I made such a commotion that the others awoke and John felt obliged to start cooking breakfast.

Thus we made a reasonably early start, taking the larger part of the load plus the tent. There was a slow climb at first, but the refreshed Counties on the excellent surface still managed to catch me up with their 900 lb (410 kg) load.

The route then levelled off as we crossed an influent glacier from the left, before starting a long and steep climb that left John and the dogs exhausted and forced Frank to depot part of his load. During the climb we had vertical cliffs on either side, red rock on the left and black on the right, and down these fell avalanches of varying severity every few minutes; although we were well away from them, a cloud of ice particles billowed up as they hit the foot of the crag, and miniature blizzards were produced as these clouds were carried by light winds into the middle of the glacier. When at length the gradient eased off and we could see the route ahead, we pitched camp and had some refreshment, the time being about noon (Camp VII). Our altitude here must have been about 5000 feet (1520m), so that we had climbed about 2000 feet (610m) from Camp VI. At last we felt we were getting somewhere, being able to see the head of the glacier and approach to the plateau. ‘Petrel Nunatak’ rose above us, very close, but we would need to make a long traverse around its southern and eastern flanks to reach the summit from the north. The height of Petrel Nunatak has not been measured, but the few observations that have been made place it at a shade under 7000 feet (2130m). ‘Nunatak’ signifies the rocky top of a mountain rising above an ice cap.

It turned misty during our lunchtime halt but the visibility was still good enough to let us return for the relay loads. It started to snow during the descent, but there was no wind and the precipitation was not heavy enough to completely obscure our tracks for the climb back, although they were only discernable against the sun, which was mistily reappearing. The snow soon eased off, but in the evening we were enveloped in thick fog that deposited some rime in a temperature of 6°F(–14°C). ‘Sked’ night had come round again, so before entering the tent and divesting my outer garments I erected the aerial and brought in the radio. During the gales it had proved not to be drift-proof and I had the job of clearing it out and drying the components over the primus. Greatly to my surprise I gave a strong signal at base and Colin asked me to try the microphone, but this was not up to scratch so I resorted to the key again. Batteries for the ‘sixty-eight’ set were in short supply so we had to keep our transmissions to a decipherable minimum. From memory, my message was: POSN ON GLCR UNDER PETREL NUN ALT ABT 5000 MNI GALES MCH DRIFT. The sked lasted half an hour and was most successful; we answered queries regarding dogs and other matters. At 10.30pm we put out the primus and candle and slept. Although we could tell that the sun was shining brightly next morning we felt, rightly or wrongly, that the dogs deserved a lie-in, so we had breakfast at

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8.30am and were ready to start a couple of hours later. The whole depot could just be managed on the two sledges, leaving the camp to return to after depositing our load on Petrel Nunatak. Almost immediately after leaving camp we came to a crevassed area about which we had been warned, but the route did not seem to pose any great problem as the snow was in excellent condition and any cracks that were open could be easily seen and avoided, and those that were not were adequately bridged. The gradient was slight over the short crevassed region but increased after about a mile as we left the glacier. John and Frank deposited some of their loads, meaning that we should have to make a second journey from here. I was ahead to incite the dogs to an all-out effort as the slope increased further and some more boxes had to be off-loaded.

It was about 1.30 pm when I reached the top and looked around for the rocks which were slightly lower in the direction of the glacier head. The surface was virtually ice, but not smooth. The sastrugi had been hammered by tremendous winds and ski travel was exceedingly difficult and tiring, particularly with skins.

The depot on Petrel Nunatak (2100m)

We added our loads to the three boxes left by last year’s expedition whilst the dogs lay flat. Then we too rested and took photographs; it was still sunny and we went a little way down the rocks to have a view of the tiny pyramid tent below. Many of our familiar landmarks at base were hidden by the high ground forming the northern wall of the glacier, but the visibility was very good except over the fjord itself where a sea of cloud was advancing, obscuring all the low ground. The western horizon was the range of mountains on Adelaide Island; the intervening heights that can be seen from base were hard to pick out since their elevation was considerably lower than our own, but I could recognise the mountain we referred to as ‘L1’ (now I think officially called Mount Lagally) over on the Arrowsmith Peninsula.

To the north rising ground restricted the view to a couple of miles, eastward the plateau was level so that we could see nothing of the Weddell Sea coast, and to the south it stretched away with one peak at a tremendous distance overtopping it. Could this have been the summit marked as 3241m (10630 ft) in the Eternity Range, more than 200 miles (320km) distant ? Much nearer at hand, just across the head of the glacier, was ‘Castle Peak’, 8210 feet (2500m)

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climbed last year by Angus Erskine and John Thorne. It did not appear quite as high as one might have expected, given our own altitude and proximity.

After half an hour rope brakes were put on the sledges and the descent to the lowest of the jettisoned boxes took about an hour, or rather less, then started once more the long toil back to the top. Some 300 feet (90 m) short of the level summit Beds escaped from his harness and was not disposed to let himself be caught, and one can hardly blame him—he and Herts as the back pair are the most consistent and powerful pullers of the team. Without them ‘The Counties’ would not manage much. So with John struggling to do his work as well as his own we eventually reached the summit of Petrel Nunatak for the second time, and there found Beds sitting on the pile of boxes and now perfectly amenable to being reharnessed. Who said huskies are stupid!

There had been very little wind on our first visit but now (about 4.30 p.m.) there was a thickening veil of cirrus cloud and a strengthening north-westerly breeze.

As we were unloading the last of the depot John mentioned that he had dropped an ice-axe as we were approaching the depot and would collect it on the way back. The sea of cloud over Lallemand Fjord had advanced up the Murphy Glacier and appeared to have reached the level of our Camp VI, but did not progress further so there was no trouble on the descent back to Camp VII which took an hour. As we were sitting or lying in the tent waiting for the meal I was cooking, John remembered the ice-axe. So after supper he started off again up the mountain on skis, returning after about two hours with the thing.

The wind had increased considerably and there was some drift; the journey down had not been pleasant since he had not dared to ski down for fear of doing himself some grievous injury with the axe. Actually I had been envying him the downhill run (but not enough to volunteer)!

During the night we had a gusty northerly wind for a while but by morning it was calm, though rather misty. We felt sure that the dogs would appreciate another lie-in and, as the weather looked a bit uncertain, we were prepared for a lie-up day so did not hurry over breakfast. The decision to leave was taken at 10.15am and put into effect a little after eleven o’clock. There had been no snow during the night which was of some surprise to me since yesterday’s portents had been ominous (we learnt that it had indeed snowed at base). The cirrostratus sheet was still there but the low cloud in the valley had gone. Our tracks were clear which was a good thing as it meant that the dogs would not need guiding directions. On the initial steep slope I was sitting on John’s sledge and took a photo of an avalanche that came down the cliff on our right (the wrong side for the lighting). On the more level portion I put on my skis and attached myself to a rope on the sledge with the carabiner of my waist-loop and towed along while John sat. On the whole I preferred ski-towing to riding (it was warmer) but after many hours the muscles behind my knees complained excruciatingly.

Between Camps VI and V we found that a large crevasse had opened up a few yards from our track of ascent; it appeared from the fragments around the rim

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that this had occurred with some explosive force. The phenomenon has been observed before and there is no doubt a glaciological explanation. We came below the level of the thin mist around here and as we approached Tammann Peaks it became very warm. The tracks were still visible through the crevassed area so I did not need to be ahead. The avalanche danger was substantiated by a recent cataclysmic fall of ice and snow. At first it appeared that the debris extended across our track, but a closer view revealed that it stopped just short.

The surface had become very much worse, so that now when we were least anxious to dawdle, our pace was desperately slow. John was convinced that if he bellowed at the dogs it would loosen some of those seracs poised menacingly above. It was probably only a matter of minutes before we were clear of the threatened portion, but the surface then became even worse, skiing being exceptionally difficult in the soft drifted snow. Shortly before the point where we turned up left to leave the Murphy Glacier, John, who was walking and running behind the sledge giving a heave when necessary, was disconcerted when he put a foot through a hole. This hole was right on our route of ascent. So the glacier had staged demonstrations designed to snuff out any complacency or over-confidence.

I had to lead the dogs up the hill, then we had a ride across Baseline Glacier before once more climbing to Buttress Camp. It was now about 4.30pm and the sun had moved beyond the western edge of the sheet of cirrus. The prospect over the fjord was favourable so we decided that after about an hour’s stop at the refuge we would press on for base.

Leaving our excess rations at Buttress Camp we embarked upon the final climb of the trip to bring us to the point at about 900 feet (275m) from where the long descent to the sea-ice began. As far as the site of the depot that Frank and I had brought up, there was no need for rope brake precautions. From there to Top Rocks is steeper and the ropes were put around the runners. It was rashly proposed that we sledge all the way down; it had been done, apparently, in 1956. So after testing and augmenting the rope brakes at Top Rocks I was made to sit on John’s sledge which was in the lead. Was I apprehensive!

The first part of the slope is steep enough, but when the hut comes into view the ground falls away with quite horrifying abruptness. Disaster seemed inevitable. The sledge just about caught up with the dogs, veered to the right, side-slipped and then rolled over and over casting off everything loose such as myself on the first or second revolution.

After cursorily inquiring after my health John hurriedly cleared away the dogs and sledge while I did the same with articles that had been flung off just before Frank appeared over the brow of the hill, doing a superlative descent standing on the back of the sledge, in complete control throughout. Luckily no permanent damage was sustained by us, the dogs or the sledge.

When the teams had been picketed on the sea ice we entered the hut and treated ourselves to two large tins of pears and had a drink. A post-mortem on

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the accident placed the cause as my presence on the sledge but the responsibility as John’s since he put me there.

Having sorted out things as much as possible, we emerged into the calm sunny evening and made ready for departure. I elected to cross the permanent tide crack independently on skis. To me it was no obstacle, but the dogs chose to go by a rough but dry overland route. Clearing the rock outcrop we came into view of Andresen Island which seemed to have a cloud on it, but it soon became apparent that although its elements moved rapidly, the cloud itself remained stationary. It was drifting snow, and obviously we should soon enter the path of the southerly gale. About three miles from the coast it hit us, and immediately necessitated covering as much of our faces as possible. Even that was insufficient as we moved into the shadow of Andresen Island. For the next two miles it was bitterly cold, but on reaching the sun again the wind seemed to lose some of its edge. However, it lost none of its power and mighty gusts roared down the mountain, reinforced by the powdered snow it carried, sometimes in our favour, sometimes in our faces and sometimes abeam.

Keeping close in to the island we came to the rocks that reach out towards Detaille Island and then launched out, feeling dreadfully exposed. We found to our surprise that the wind abated appreciably, although there was still much flying drift and at first it was not easy to distinguish Detaille Island from the many icebergs in this area. However, I had been on this route twice before, once in a snowstorm and once at night, so knew the approximate direction to take. We were disappointed to find when we arrived (totally unexpected) that the wind was technically not even a gale, averaging a mere 35 mph (30 knots or 56kmh–1). Everyone was now on base, nine people including us, and nearly 50 dogs, so our arrival cannot have been a glad sight for the duty cook. But we relished the unaccustomed delicacy of Heinz beans, fried bacon, sausage and tomatoes with real bread. It was 8.30pm when we reached base, having covered a horizontal distance of rather more than 30 miles (48km) in the day.

The beer that evening seemed particularly strong. ✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

Evening relaxation at Base W. L—R: Paddy White, Jim Young, Robin, John Graham, Frank Oliver

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Base W November 1958 There has been no recreational skiing for a long time as the short skis have now been adapted for use with mukluks or snowboots for sledge journeys.

Meteorological records for Base W date back only to 1956 so we did not know quite what to expect. Previously the all-time minimum was –25°F (–32°C), but in August 1958 the temperature fell to –45°F (–43°C) so we were experiencing an exceptionally cold winter. Hitherto a monthly mean below zero Fahrenheit was unknown for the bases on and around the Peninsula, but our average for the month of August 1958 was –2.15°F (–19°C), and –3.3°F (–19.6°C) at Base Y.

Water is supplied in the form of snow blocks

The constant wind is a nuisance as the back door, which we try to keep clear, drifts up with either a northerly or southerly breeze. The front (west) of the hut is free of drifts but the south window of the met. office is under several feet of snow, which also reaches half way up the east window of the kitchen which we try to keep clear in order for the duty ‘gash hand’ to pass in blocks of clean snow for the water supply.

The food is reasonably varied. There is a ration of stewed steak, steak & kidney, brisket, ham, bacon, meat & veg., corned and luncheon beef. Then there are tins of salmon, herring, sardines, kippers and crawfish. Fruit in tins include peaches, pears, apricots, plums, strawberries, raspberries and rhubarb.

There are also dried apples, peaches, apricots, prunes, raisins, currents and sultanas, French beans, broad beans, potato sticks and powdered potato, and egg powder. We have tins of new potatoes and tomatoes and a few of Brussels sprouts. The powdered milk is Nestlé’s Rapilait and butter is the Anchor brand from New Zealand. Our abilities limit us to cooking hot-pots, curries, fricassées, fry-ups and pies. And of course we have to bake bread (using dried yeast) as well as occasional cakes, scones, and other teatime delicacies.

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Weddell seal and pup at Hoodwink Island

Base W Monday 22 December 1958 There is little likelihood of seeing the John Biscoe for several weeks.

The previous two seasons the sea-ice started to break up in mid-October, but so far there are no reports of open water anywhere nearer than beyond Matha Strait (over 30 miles NW from here, between the northern tip of Adelaide Island and the Biscoe Islands). Stanley HQ is starting to weigh up the options if the ships cannot penetrate Marguerite Bay. Originally it had been planned to set up a new hut in Darbel Bay, about 30 miles NE as the crow flies (if there were any) beyond Cape Rey), as a satellite for Base W. The material is on board, but in view of the conditions it seems less and less likely to materialise. Unlike us, the people at Base J have been confined to base since early spring by open water.

Also on board the Biscoe are two aircraft and hangars intended for Base E. My original plan had been to go on the main plateau journey with Brian and John G, but as things are, I decided I had better stay on base as the party may have to be picked up by the ship, and the many end-of-year jobs that fall to my lot would be left undone. Paddy was happy to go instead.

Skua

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My only other significant sledging trip was mostly on the sea-ice of Lallemand Fjord, and lasted longer than the Johnston Point/Buttress Camp one, not by design but due to bad weather. There were two teams, John R (to do some surveying) and Colin with ‘The Trogs’, Jim Young and I supporting with ‘The Counties’. Departing base on 30 October and travelling largely by compass in a snowstorm, we camped near Ermine Point (now I believe called McCall Point), close to some impressive rock faces that we used to call Orford Cliffs after a Base W surveyor of two years ago. For survey purposes it is necessary to have good visibility plus at least a selection of mountain peaks clear of cloud. Usually the visibility is good enough if it is not actually snowing, but we were stuck at McCall Point for seven days before a ‘round of angles’ could be completed. We needed that good weather day because temperatures had been high with sleet and rain, and our sheepskins and sleeping bags were getting uncomfortably damp. But they dry quickly in the sun.

Beneath Orford Cliffs: Colin, John R, Jim and Robin

Then we had eight days lying-up near the Robin Glacier* before we could make observations and move on to the Antevs (northern Heim) Glacier. We got to a point beyond Creag Dubh (now Bentley Crag) before camping, and there we had a three—or four-day lay-up in a blizzard. Finally we got to the highest point and sent Colin and John R on their way down the (south) Heim Glacier to make for the Blaiklock Island refuge, ourselves turning north again for home. We got back as far as Bentley Crag before it started snowing again. The others made the refuge.

We had four days’ food left, but since two travelling days would easily see us back at base we were not particularly worried. However, we were stuck there for two days by a ferocious northerly blizzard. The third day we decided we had to make an effort, and on a compass bearing moved off the shelf-ice, where surfaces were bad, on to the sea-ice where they were atrocious, and camped again after an hour and a half. Nearby was a pool large enough to float the * Named after the Australian glaciologist Gordon Robin

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Biscoe. We were very wet, the paraffin supply was low so we couldn’t dry out properly. In our favour was that we now had virtually 24 hours of daylight of a sort, so resolved to move at any time of day or night, provided we could see something. Leaving next afternoon at 5pm we progressed for three hours before the snow recommenced.

Looking out at 5am next morning it was clear, so I made porridge and we struck camp, although by then it was once again beginning to look ominous.

We had made half a mile in an hour when the snow started. We were making for ‘Moose Point’, half way back to base on the west coast of the fjord where there was a depot which we could use and bring back to base. After lunch the snow stopped abruptly and the sun came out, but it was obvious that it would take far too long to reach Moose Point on these surfaces with no wind and no hard frost to compact the snow. But to the east, behind Hooke Point, the peninsula that juts northward separating the south-east from the south-west arm of Lallemand Fjord, I recognised the low-level blur caused by drifting snow which promised good sledging surfaces. Indeed, as is its wont, the southerly gale was hurling itself down on to the south-east arm, the jet gradually fanning out towards Detaille Island.

So we turned ENE towards it, hoping to find near the fringe hard surfaces and a brisk but not violent tail wind. We felt the first puffs after travelling laboriously eastward for some three miles, and indeed the surface did improve, but not much, so we pressed on until we realised that we had come too far for comfort—it was force 8 or 9—and retreated west again to try to find an area sheltered enough to camp and await developments. Often the dogs were invisible in the flying drift, and orders could not be heard, so one of us had to lead on foot.

We managed to pitch the tent quite satisfactorily in about 30 knots of wind, gave the dogs their last block of pemmican and went in to have something ourselves. The packet soups, tea, onion, etc had been finished long ago. We had plenty of biscuits, butter, a few meat bars (not very popular) and a meagre supply of sugar, milk powder and cocoa. Indeed, we were much more fortunate than the dogs, and prayed that a seal would appear soon.

At about 2am the gale dropped, and although it was cloudy we could see Andresen Island, took a bearing on it and prepared to move off. After a sluggish start we made better progress until about 7.45am although it snowed much of the time. Then there was a sudden burst of southerly wind, and, since we were now bang in the middle of the path of the katabatic, I insisted on putting up the tent before the gale really got going. However it was an unnecessary precaution. The wind died down after half an hour and we broke camp once more. There was continuous light snow, but from time to time we could just make out the dark rocks around McCall Point some four miles on our right.

The surfaces had latterly become good and we made landfall at Andresen

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Island around 12.15pm, three-quarters of an hour before we expected it, which was a wonderful surprise. At that moment the weather cleared and there was Detaille Island, so no more need for compass bearings. We were at base the afternoon of 26 November, ‘The Counties’ extenuated. I must have lost a lot of weight and it was satisfying to bore a new hole in my belt two inches further in.

Needless to say, that state of affairs did not last.

Camp on Lallemand Fjord in ideal conditions

Brian and Denis had left about ten days before, and were believed to be in Darbel Bay, although radio skeds had not been very successful. However, just when needed propagation conditions became excellent, and a radio conference was held between them and the plateau party which was now ready to leave. John G, Frank and Paddy left base on 30 November and made for Johnston Point. The plan now was that they would collect some sledge-boxes from Buttress Camp and then go round on the sea-ice to meet the others at Phantom Point in Darbel Bay. They had a good spell of weather and all went well.

But then plans changed again. Brian (with Denis) decided to concentrate on a survey of Crystal Sound (the channel between Darbel Bay and the Biscoe islands) and then complete the survey of Hanusse Bay, neither of which had been done on account of the vile weather. Meanwhile John, Frank and Paddy would do some routefinding up to the plateau via the West Gould Glacier for next year’s plateau expedition (assuming the satellite base is established), returning down the Murphy Glacier to Johnston Point.

View WSW from Base W with Roux I. and Organ Peak

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Base W Thursday 25 December 1958 They made it, but much of the time enveloped in bad weather, so achieved little.

I have just visited the local Adélie penguin rookery. The first chick hatched on 19 December and now the majority have little grey youngsters that cheep loudly. It was so warm that the adults were panting; of necessity they must present their black backs to the sun and are not at all comfortable with no sea for them to take a dip during their time off. If you sit down quietly among the nests, the birds soon forget you are there.

Now I am wearing a tie for the first time since midwinter. Christmas Dinner (Jim is cook) will consist of stuffed roast penguin, the trimmings, Christmas pudding and rum sauce. In addition I made mince pies and a trifle. There just might be some scraps left for the sledging parties that are starting to converge on us.

I was disappointed to miss part of the recording of the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols from King’s College Cambridge, but had promised to call up the sledge parties and transmit their greetings telegrams. I could hear them both quite well; they were having breakfast at tea-time because at this season travelling conditions are better at ‘night’.

Base W Thursday 15 January 1959 John, Frank and Paddy returned early Tuesday morning.They had travelled 360 miles (575km) but mostly in thick cloud that deposited rime, and only a couple of brief clear periods let them see far out across both the Bellingshausen and Weddell Seas. The same evening Colin turned up with Dick Hillson who replaced John Rothera. It is a relief to have handed back responsibility for both the diesel shed and radio room. When we last heard from John and Denis they were at the top of a hill on Liard Island.

While Colin and Dick were negotiating ‘The Narrows’ between Pourquoi Pas? and Blaiklock Islands, the sea-ice started bending beneath them and eventually parted under the sledge. Dick was ahead and Colin went in, but clambered out with the help of Dick’s glove harness. Half of the sledge was in the water. The dogs were detatched and Colin went to the refuge to fetch a couple of planks by which they were able to approach close enough to unload the sledge sufficiently to get it back on to firmer ice. Unfortunately both their cameras were submerged for a couple of hours and are badly affected.

They lost their only clock!

We were moved to laughter a few days ago by a cable from HQ that informs us we will be visited by RRS John Biscoe on 22 January. The nearest open water known to us is still at Matha Strait, more than 30 miles (48km) away. A more recent rumour has it that an American icebreaker will come and carve a channel for her.

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Nine of Base W in February 1959: L-R: Denis Goldring, Robin Perry, Colin Johnson, Dick Hillson, Jim Young, John Graham, Paddy White, Brian Foote. Frank Oliver in front with Susie.

Base W Monday 2 February 1959 John Biscoe has been unable to get further south than the NE tip of Renaud Island so far, and has now returned north of Base F. It is practically certain that normal relief will be impossible except possibly for Base J. Brian and Denis returned about a fortnight ago, so we are up to full complement again. One very fine day Frank, Dick and I with ‘The Trogs’ went down to Moose Point to collect the depot, but found it was at the other side of a wide tide-crack and therefore had to leave it untouched. There is a serious shortage of seal meat for the dogs, hunting expeditions are getting longer and longer, and are frequently fruitless.

Dick and I visited Andresen Island the day before yesterday. I ascertained that a route existed into the snow scoop on the left of the NW rib of rock and if the weather and ice held I hoped to arouse some enthusiasm among the others for going to the summit (about 2500ft or 750m) which is still unclimbed).

The official thickness of the sea-ice is still one and a half metres, a catastrophic year for the Adélie chicks. None are expected to survive. On the other hand there will be a bonanza for the skuas and Dominican gulls. On land there are plenty of little rivulets and ponds from melting snow but on clear nights the temperature can fall to about 12°F (–11°C), rather offsetting the effects of the strong daytime sun, and the nights are starting to get dark.

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Base W Wednesday 11 February 1959 Shackleton requires dry dock facilities at Montevideo and John Biscoe has returned to Stanley for more cargo. All bases have been informed by coded signal that an American icebreaker will come to help with the relief of Bases J, W, Y and E. Some people have opined that it will be the Edisto, but on what grounds I don’t know. Night-time temperatures are falling fast: down to 2°F (–16.7°C) yesterday. The USS Glacier is standing by the Belgian relief ship some 150 miles N of the Belgian base but has not yet been able to help.

Most work connected with the arrival of our relief ship has already been done, but there are still outside things that are tackled when the weather permits.

Seals are still thin on the ground. We get in the odd Weddell, and occasionally a crabeater which is preferred as having more meat and less blubber.

Two elephant seals have been killed but not a single leopard. Skuas are often joined by Giant Petrels (‘Stinkers’) at the seal pile or among the hapless Adélie penguin chicks.

It has been confirmed that I am to be base leader at Horseshoe Island (Base Y) for the second year if we can get in. Brian is initiating me into the Post Office procedures. It entails much book-work and careful weighing, even though stamps are normally only sold during a couple of months of the year. We have to cancel the mail ourselves with the base rubber date-stamp.

The Argentine base of San Martín (Debenham Islands in Marguerite Bay) will presumably be relieved by their own ship (also called San Martín) with the help of the Edisto.

At Base F (a large scientific ‘static’ base) they had a professional cook last year who has written a book of recipes using the standard items in all our larders.

Useful. This year he is coming down as chief steward on the John Biscoe !

Morning light on Protector Heights from Base W. Sleeping dogs lie

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The novelty must have worn off for my parents, because no copy of letters can be found describing my base changeover in the 1958/59 summer. The fact was, we were by now exchanging messages regularly thanks to the collaboration of an amateur radio operator called Bob Bramwell who lived up the Cumbrian coast at Seascale. I myself got a license for the second year (call sign VP8ET) so as to be able to continue these contacts after Colin had gone home.

The sea ice inside the Biscoe Islands never dispersed at all that summer.

At the end of February the John Biscoe, with the help of the United States Coast Guard Cutter Northwind, placed themselves at the ice-edge in Matha Strait and sent in a tractor towing a large sledge. Since I was the only man going further south (to Marguerite Bay), only I left base then, on a sledge train behind the tractor, without any dogs. Base W would be relieved if possible when the ships returned, otherwise the men with still a second year to serve would be dispersed among bases further north. Likewise the dog teams would be farmed out.

Northwind had a helicopter (in fact two), a great asset for finding the best passage through the heavy pack-ice along the west coast of Adelaide Island.

When the ships eventually reached the edge of the Marguerite Bay fast ice, the season was already advanced, and it was decreed that all exchange would be by air. The base at Stonington Island (Base E) was closed, and the personnel sledged up to Horseshoe Island (Base Y) to await evacuation.

Thus it was that I was flown in aboard a helicopter to Base Y, and almost immediately the first of the homebound personnel were airlifted back to the ships. Among those who came up from Stonington was Nigel Proctor, a geologist, who had been at Trent College with me back in the late 1940s.

We had little time to say more than hello and goodbye. He had done his two years and was going home. The whole changeover was effected in five flights by the helicopters, and on 6 March we watched our last link with the outside world disappear over the low rocky hills to the west. The ships then followed the sun northward, though not without difficulty.

The US coastguard cutter Northwind and John Biscoe at the ice edge in Matha Strait

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There was no miracle. On 31 March it was decided that Base W would have to be abandoned. Men and dogs sledged out to join the ships. Frank Oliver’s team ‘The Komats’ included twins: black and white dogs called Porgy and Steve, notable in having mirror-image markings. In principle they were inseparable. We learnt by radio that, on the way out to the ships, Steve had escaped, and was not at all disposed to rejoin the team or even to continue with the party. In fact he set off back alone towards the now empty base, and had to be given up as lost.

Twins Porgy and Steve of ‘The Komats’ at Base W in 1958

Base Y Autumn-Winter 1959/60 Horseshoe Island Six of us were left to see through the coming year. Only one had spent the previous year in Marguerite Bay: Keith Hoskins, geologist. He had been one of the six at Stonington so knew something about the surrounding region. Then there was Jim Franks, meteorological observer, who had spent the first year at Admiralty Bay (Base G); Malcolm Hunt, also met., who had been at Argentine Islands (Base F); Jim Malden, diesel mechanic, from Danco Island (Base O); and Gordon Mallinson, radio op., from Signy Island (Base H).

But we had neighbours 25 miles (40km) to the south at the Argentine base of San Martín. Like us, they had not been relieved by ship. Apart from Dr Carlos Ramasciotti, they were all military personnel under the leadership of Teniente Gustavo Giró.

As it had been impossible to relieve Base Y in the normal way, we had to live on the reserves. That was no real hardship since each base should have enough for an additional year. But we had to look after no less than five dog teams. Jim Franks took charge of ‘The Churchmen’, Keith had ‘The Admirals’, Malcolm ‘The Moomins’, Gordon ‘The Follies’ and I took over ‘The Spartans’.

Seals were scarcer than ever, and to keep the dogs fed we had to collect boxes of Nutrican that had been placed in depots scattered around northern Marguerite Bay. The base hut on Horseshoe Island looks north across Bourgeois Fjord to Pourquoi Pas? Island, named by the French expedition under Jean Charcot

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in 1910 (indeed, Mrs Charcot’s first name was Marguerite, hence the name of the Bay). Our view is dominated by Mount Verne, six miles (10km) distant and about 5400 feet (1650m) high. So in the depths of winter the midday sun is well and truly hidden. But there are beautiful twilight effects, and occasionally the polar ‘mother-of-pearl’ or nacreous clouds which are in the stratosphere, To reduce our solid fuel consumption we decided to have fires only in the kitchen (the Esse never went out) and lounge. That meant reassembling six bunks in the lounge and leaving the former bunkroom and other parts of the hut to freeze. It also meant doing without a bath all year! Ablutions had to be performed in the kitchen after the cook had finished his duties. We survived.

We were not supposed to do any long exploratory sledge journeys, but local geologising for Keith was in order as were visits to Bases E and W. It was sometime around midwinter that I went with Keith to spend a few days with the Argentines (San Martín is on the Debenham Islands) where we were given a right warm welcome even though part of their building had been destroyed by fire leaving their accommodation somewhat restricted. Dr Ramasciotti spoke English fluently, and Teniente Giró very well. Unsurprisingly, neither Keith nor I spoke any Spanish. Among the other ranks it was Francisco Perez from Comodoro Rivadavia who talked the most, a very friendly soul. On the way down, Gamma of ‘The Spartans’ had sustained a nasty bite in the rear end during a fight. Dr Ramasciotti kindly agreed to treat the wound, so we left him at San Martín where they had some dogs of their own. The doctor also extracted a tooth for Keith.Their hospitality extended to copious glasses of vino, something unknown on British bases in those days; beer and hard stuff was our dosage. We went on to visit Stonington, but preferred to camp in the tent rather than in the snowed-over base hut. We also stopped at Millerand Island and climbed a small glacier for purposes of geology.

Snow nearly covers the roof of abandoned Base E, Stonington Island

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A few days before the feast of Midwinter a strange dog was noticed creating a hullaballoo among the teams out on our spans. I had no difficulty in recognizing Steve. He had been on the loose for nearly three months and seemed pleased to find people again. I attached him among ‘The Spartans’ where he was not exactly well received at first! We found he was a good 20lb (10kg) above his normal weight, and in excellent form. He must have gorged himself on the Base W seal-pile for a while, then felt the need for the company of the pack.

He had done the journey from Base Y to W the previous year, so that may have helped him find his way over the glaciers and sea-ice. The distance had he been able to fly like a crow is about 70 miles (110km).

In early spring he did the journey once more as a member of ‘The Spartans’.

It was decided that Keith, Gordon and I should go up to Detaille Island to see how the hut had fared and to collect a few items, including geological specimens. The trip was uneventful and successful.

Keith also did a few local geology expeditions with one or other member of the base, and of course there were many trips in search of seals. Those poor animals had no great reason to fear humans, and lay languidly on the ice, within easy reach of their escape hole, as we came up and dispatched them with a single bullet.

Also we had visits by the Argentines, usually three at a time. They were delighted at our skiing facilities, though none of them seemed any more gifted at the sport than we were. Certainly the slopes were far superior to those we had at Base W, but the circumstances of our occupation of Base Y left us very little spare time.

The local peak (1761 feet or 537m) has been given the official name of Mount Searle. We used to call it the Gendarme, presumably in deference to Charcot, though I doubt if he had even noticed it. From the rocky top there is a marvellous view over Marguerite Bay right down to the mountains of Alexander Island. The nearest penguin rookery (Adélies) was on Lagotellerie Island, six miles (10km) SW of the base hut.

With the sea-ice having remained all summer in Marguerite Bay, it was not surprising that temperatures at Base Y were unusually low the following winter.

Already in April the monthly mean was 24.2°F (–4.3°C), and July was –9.7°F (–23°C) with a record minimum of –51°F (–46°C). We felt pretty certain that the ice was not going to break up to allow John Biscoe to relieve us this year. We listened in to the radio schedules (‘skeds’) between bases and ships as the stations further north were being visited and relieved. These evening exchanges were popularly known as ‘The Goon Show’, and as time went on they became the paramount event of our day. This year the Danish vessel Kista Dan had been chartered, since Shackleton was obviously not up to these ice conditions. In addition, FIDS now had two De Havilland aircraft from Canada, a Beaver and a single-engined Otter, equipped for landing on floats, skis or wheels. The Director of the Survey, Sir Vivian Fuchs, was aboard

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Kista Dan, so naturally it was he who supervised operations.

By the end of February 1960, we on base had done everything we could in preparation for handing over. The big question: to whom? We just had to wait and see.

Base Y in winter

Now begins the journal

Base Y Tuesday 1 March 1960 Kista Dan has been immobile in heavy ice for the past ten days or so. She is about 100 miles (160km) due west of us. Our Argentine neighbours are no better off, their so-called romphielo San Martín is also drifting with the ice.

Meanwhile, John Biscoe is cruising between Hope Bay and Deception Island with a gravity expert, Professor Griffiths, who must be put down on as many islands and rocks as possible. Of particular interest to us was following the course of the prestigious US icebreaker Glacier which had been in the vicinity of Thurston Island (then known as a peninsula). Glacier’s weather report was currently being included in the Falkland Islands collective. We had arrogantly assumed she would come and give a hand to the two underpowered ships making for Marguerite Bay. But today’s observation showed her to be at 65°S 70°W, in other words she was passing them by!

What irritates us more than anything on the Goon Show is the politically expedient veil of mystery surrounding options and future plans. In fact we have just learnt that the Argies have been flown out to their romphielo. We do not know whether they have been replaced or not, and wonder what fate befell poor Gamma.

The mean temperature for January was 34.6°F (+1.4°C) and the snow is soft and wet. A couple of visiting young Adélie penguins fell victim to the dogs and (Nu and Iota). Malcolm went to the extent of taking one penguin a fair distance out into the fjord, but it came straight back to the spans.

It is looking distinctly possible that I shall not escape another cook-week due to begin on 22 March. Worse, only one and a half bottles of whisky left on base!

The situation becomes critical.

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View westwards from Mount Searle across Bourgeois Fjord to Mount Verne on Pourquoi Pas? Island with Adelaide Island in the distance. Base Y is just above and to the left of my head.

It was from up here that we scrutinised Marguerite Bay for some sign of open water

Base Y Wednesday 2 March 1960 Malcolm set off to climb Mount Searle to see whether any open water was visible, but fell through the rotting ice of Sally Cove and returned to change.

He set off again later with Jim Malden and they reported nothing much changed. Gordon went for a walk and also fell through the ice. Keith worked on the windows and I put some battening on the pup-house roof.

Paddy White is aboard Kista Dan and I asked him to come up on our next radio sked. He was also obviously under the secrecy injunction, but from his innuendos we gathered that Glacier is indeed coming to help the San Martín after visiting Anvers Island. He sounded fed up. They have had to make a tank and collect ice and snow for additional fresh water, accommodation is cramped, and the only place where films can be shown is in the hold, the lounge being too small. He confirmed that the base San Martín had been evacuated, so presumably Gamma had to be shot unless they let the dogs loose. If Steve could do it from Base W, Gamma should be able to get back here easily enough.

Base Y Thursday 3 March 1960 There was rain in the night but it did not amount to much. The temperature reached 42°F (5.5°C). Jim M went up the mountain again, but still no change.

Gordon intercepted a message from Captain MacDonald of the Glacier to Sir Vivian stating they were fully committed to helping the San Martín in her predicament, but were also authorised to assist Kista Dan if required, and asking what sort of support was needed. On the afternoon FICOL* Glacier’s position was west of the Biscoe Islands.

Perhaps we are not so badly off here; we learn that following the Mauritius cyclone there has been a catastrophic earthquake at Agadir (Morocco). * Falkland Islands bulletin of meteorological observations

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Base Y Friday 4 March 1960 Rain turned to heavy snow with a steady fall of pressure but no wind.

We listened in to a radio contact between Kista Dan and San Martín (vessel) and learnt that the Argentine base San Martín had been evacuated, but nothing was known about the dogs. We then heard Sir Vivian Fuchs asking the USS Glacier to lead Kista Dan out of the ice, i.e. away from us. This was a blow because we had been looking for suitable helicopter landing sites and Malcolm thought the islet in Homing Bay near the emergency hut would almost certainly be OK. It seemed to all of us that the best thing would be to fly in six or even only four men to take our place, together with enough dog food to be going on with. Present conditions at base permitted only the use of a helicopter; the sea ice was still too heavily pitted with puddles and pools for the Otter with skis, while the large pool against the southern arm of Horseshoe Island was no longer usable by the Beaver seaplane as a great chunk of sea ice had broken off the main sheet and drifted into the middle, leaving insufficient room to land.

I was enjoined to make our situation quite clear during our evening sked with Kista Dan. We have dog food to see us to the end of March, thereafter a few seals. The ice surface being at present prohibitive for dog sledging, all seals have to be manhauled to base. It is like a maze, keeping on a relatively hard snow surface between the long pools and channels, and trying to map your route so as not to have to retrace your steps and be able to jump any intervening channel.

Teniente Gustavo Giró, in charge of San Martín base

The snow started to settle around base with the air temperature 32°F (0°C) which is slightly encouraging, but still no wind. On the evening sked at 21.45, Sir Vivian told us that they were going to get assistance from Glacier (we could not let on that we knew this, of course). He also said that they (Kista Dan) had been able to move for the first time in thirteen days and were following a crack a little east of north.

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He did not sound very optimistic and bid us be patient a little while longer as they had a lot on their hands, but would see to us with ski or float-plane as soon as possible. I made my point about conditions being suitable for neither, and he said that in that case they would have to drop the dog food. If they cannot reopen Stonington or establish a new base on Adelaide Island, they were going to reopen Base N on Anvers Island where they could apparently use both aircraft. There was also talk of some men using Wordie House in the Argentine Islands that John Wynne Edwards’ hydrographic party used in summer 1957/58.

That is all very well, but to keep all these dogs for another year will require almost ten tons of dog food (at 3s 8d a pound!), and if men are to winter here, more human foodstuffs will have to be brought in (the base was not restocked last year, we have existed on its reserves). From Anvers to Horseshoe Island is about 225 miles, i.e. a good two hours’ flying time each way, so that two flights a day would be possible only on the rare fine days for the next month, after which daylight will restrict them to one. And they cannot start before the sea ice has hardened.

Most of the others on base are convinced that the sea ice is going to break up, but they have all witnessed that happening at other bases, whereas Keith and I have not, so maybe we are too pessimistic. But it is not impossible that we shall have to remain here for another winter.

Immediately after talking to us, Sir Vivian spoke to Captain Bill (“Kelly”) Johnston of John Biscoe giving him their position but not making clear what they intended doing when Glacier sees them into open water. It seems they have not entirely given up the intention of establishing a new base T on Adelaide Island, but at this stage it does seem a little suicidal if they get in there and then let Glacier depart. Kelly Johnston was at Port Lockroy and leaving at 6am for Argentine Islands. He wanted to know whether he should remain at Base F long enough to do the complete relief and rid himself of 300 bags of coal in the after hold (which would make him very nose heavy).

It was agreed he should do this, and then get as many seals as possible in the area south of the Argentine islands.

Base Y Saturday 5 March 1960 It was still snowing when I got up at 8.45am and the temperature had fallen to a little below freezing point. We listened to the Kista Dan/San Martín sked and learnt that the latter was still battling northwards from pool to pool. I did not catch whether the former had moved at all, or the current position of San Martín. The Argentine skipper sent a message of thanks for ‘help’ given by Kista Dan, and Sir Vivian replied in like vein, good luck being wished all round.

Glacier did not enter into the conversation.

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The snow continued throughout the day and there was a cold front around noon which caused the temperature to fall to around 26°F (-3.3°C) by evening.

People are sitting around doing little but talk about the situation. Malcolm has more to say than anyone, a reversal of his usual taciturn disposition. From our point of view his ideas are well-founded, but I do understand Sir Vivian’s reluctance to call upon American aid more than absolutely necessary.

Still it went on snowing.

The evening sked with Kista Dan was brief and we got no satisfaction at all.

They had made about two miles but were again stuck. Glacier had just extricated San Martín and was at last on her way to them, being somewhere west of Sillard Is. Immediately after our sked Sir Vivian spoke to Kelly Johnston on John Biscoe who had now reached Argentine Islands. Veiled references to “Plan Two” which seems most probable, that is the Anvers/Argentine Is project, but a decision will be made when Glacier is on the scene and a message will be sent about it all. There was some nonsense exchanged between the two radio operators, presumably fixing a secret schedule for the transmission of this, and the situation will be reviewed again tomorrow evening. To bed, in a bewildered frame of mind.

Base Y Sunday 6 March 1960 The cold airstreams have no punch. The temperature at breakfast time was 24°F (-4.4°C) and it was still cloudy, though clear. After lunch, with Malcolm’s help, I brought my sledge into the workshop. Jim F looked at it and thought it would be all right with a couple of new bridges, so I removed the old ones and put the new ones in place, but have not yet started the long job of thonging and lashing.

The Base Y rogues’ gallery. Top, L-R: Gordon Mallinson, telecoms; Malcolm Hunt, met; Jim Franks, met & dogs Bottom, L-R: Jim Malden, deisel mech; Robin Perry, met; Keith Hoskins, geologist

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We seal-fed the dogs after tea, and after supper I saw a seal not far from the emergency hut and Jim M responded to my appeal for a volunteer to help bring it in. It was a large cow, and we had the devil’s own job getting it up the snow slope to the cache. A breeze from the ENE was blowing, the temperature about 27-28°F (–3°C) and it felt quite autumnal for a change. Snow had covered a lot of the puddles, though the larger ones remained bare with a crust of ice. After cleaning the · 22 rifle I joined the others to await the Kista Dan sked.

On it we learnt that Glacier had reached them, but there was no message specifically for us. However, the exchange that followed between Sir Vivian and John Biscoe was interesting. They were going to pull out of Marguerite Bay and proceed to Argentine Is and then Anvers. Ted Clapp with five other men would be at Wordie House; the fliers and support would be at Anvers, while Pete Forster with five others would take over from us (and go down to Stonington later). The changeover was to be accomplished by the Otter when conditions permit. We hoped that would be before the ships had left!

Although the prospects were not all that much better, at least it was a relief to be in the picture. After the ‘Goon Show’ was over I got on to Ron Lord, pilot, at Deception to find out what sort of payloads they would be able to manage with the Otter. The reply was reassuring: about 2000lb (900kg). I gathered the Beaver was to have its floats replaced by skis so that both could fly down here.

So things were beginning to look up, though fine weather was essential and there were still plenty of things that could go wrong. On met. duty I made myself an omelette at 2.30am but spoilt it by using ‘Trim’.

Midwinter noon twilight looking north-east up Bourgeois Fjord.

Mount Rendu on the extreme left was also a landmark from Base W and figures on the cover photo as well as on the picture on p.85

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Base Y Monday 7 March 1960 Cloudy and still freezing slightly, though no wind. In the afternoon everyone sorted their personal kit to be taken out which they then weighed, plus themselves! I spent considerable time making a list of things Pete Forster would require to have sent in. The sea ice thickness was measured again: another 10cm less. Nothing much happened in the evening until 21.45 when Paddy White on Kista Dan came up (most of the others, including Sir Vivian, were aboard Glacier seeing a film show). Paddy English, the other pilot, was also there. The only information he could give us was that we would almost certainly all come out on the first flight, and that we could each bring 150lb personal gear with us. He thought that probably all the relief personnel would fly in first time, even though that would leave little room for dog food.

Base Y Tuesday 8 March 1960 Still freezing and occasional snow. The ice was thickening slowly on the puddles. Good! I completed the rawhide thonging of the new bridges on my sledge, then as I was settling down to darn socks Jim F came and asked me to help him weigh and measure the dogs. We started with the ‘Follies’, then ‘Spartans’ and Malcolm joined as extra hand. ‘Churchmen’, ‘Moomins’, by when it was supper time. Murphy got off his chain and went for Harvey, getting a few bites for his pains. Finally after supper we did the ‘Admirals’. The dogs were measured using a wooden calliper that Keith had made for gauging pebbles.

This was on our trip up to the abandoned Base W, showing Mount Rendu and, on the extreme right, the Heim Glacier.

We are travalling on the Jones ice shelf that has since melted

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In the evening I continued repairing my socks and helping dispatch the dwindling stock of spirits: one bottle of whisky, one of gin and some rum; that is all.

The Kista Dan sked had been brought forward so that I could have a longer discussion with Pete Forster. He was rather taken aback that we had got through all the dog pemmican and Nutrican at Stonington. I had expected several flights after our evacuation to bring in stores, etc., but apparently only one more was intended. Sir Vivian was listening all the time (as if I didn’t know), so I wondered if my plea for a meteorologist to be included in Pete’s party would have any effect*. Kista Dan, now free from the ice, was making full speed for Argentine Is and Glacier had gone on her way. Perhaps because of this, Sir seemed in a good mood and came on later to compliment us on our preparations for relief.

There followed another top-level conference between Kista Dan and John Biscoe. The former would go to look at the Bismarck Strait from the west and the latter from the east and they would compare their findings in a sked tomorrow afternoon. After that a sked was arranged between Glacier and John Biscoe for a scientific discussion between the gravity experts.

Base Y Wednesday 9 March 1960 Cloudy and still freezing. The atmospheric pressure was high for these parts (1010mb). Gordon took three airletters, of which one was for me. After lunch I went up Flagstaff Hill and saw a seal; Malcolm killed and collected it. There were a few others a considerable distance away, and now that the sea ice surface was better we would have to go for them. Then I started on the lashing of the sledge bridges. After tea we seal-fed the dogs; Jim F’s latest idea was to have a feeding cycle: Nutrican—seal—day off. I read the synoptic analysis with the whaling forecast which suggested that the coldish weather would continue; a deepening depression was approaching Cape Horn.

We learnt from the BBC that HRH Princess Margaret was to be married, possibly on 16 May. On the ‘Goon Show’ we heard Ted Clapp talking to Base F seeking a secondhand generator for Wordie House. He reported that they (Kista Dan) were off NW Anvers I in broken small-heavy pack ice. Pete Forster came up again talking optimistically about the prospect of feeding 40 dogs on seal, as apparently the Nutrican will be very very limited.Overhearing bases B and G having a conversation, I called G when they had finished and we had an interesting QSO with Mike Stansbury and Ken Kenyon. Ken was at Signy last year and worked the ex-base Y pups into quite a good team (this was the litter with names taken from the book The Long Ships).‘The Girls’ were also at Signy; Jim Young drove them. A moonlit evening and my sealy anorak hanging on a post gave Jim M quite a fright. * It didn’t

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View south from near Base Y. The first spur is the southern arm of Horseshoe I, then Camp Point (part of the mainland) followed by Millerand I.

Base Y Thursday 10 March 1960 The wind increased slightly but the temperature had risen above freezing by mid-morning, quickly affecting all the new ice and snow and dashing our hopes for an early appearance of the Otter. After lunch I worked on the sledge, finishing the bridge lashings and replacing lashloops, rope brake and grommet. Malcolm went to Beacon Head looking for seals but saw none.

Later I went to Flagstaff Hill but also drew a blank. During a ham QSO with Bob Bramwell (on c/w) I learnt that the Daily Mail carried plans for the relief of Base Y by air! I was able to use voice for QSOs with Denzil in Wales, Les (G8KS) and Loulou (ON4RC).

During the ‘Goon Show’ Pete sought information on the food stocks at Stonington, so we gave him the latest information. We heard Stanley passing a weather forecast for the Base F/Base Y area, apparently now a daily routine.

Kista Dan and John Biscoe had joined up at Argentine Islands.

Base Y Friday 11 March 1960 Light easterly breeze and temperature above freezing all day. After coffee break I got Malcolm to help me get my sledge out of the workshop and prepared a three-dog trace. After lunch we all went out sealing; I went to the left-hand tabular berg, then after killing and gutting a seal turned SW heading for the crack where there was another which I killed and put on the sledge. Only Keith was at base when I got back around 6pm. The others had gone off in a NNE’ly direction and subsequently came back with five seals between them. Surfaces were OK (just) for the sledge, dogs sometimes put a foot through, and I frequently did if I was slow in transferring my weight to the sledge. Nearing base on the return I fell right through, but the trio kept up the momentum and hauled me out again, soaked to the waist.

They had found what appeared to be a reasonable landing site for the Otter on

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the sea ice half way to the right hand tabular berg, though the surface was still rather soft.

Clear sky the first part of the evening, but upper cloud increased very rapidly from the west. We did not hear Kista Dan on the ‘Goon Show’, I spoke with John Biscoe but no news except that a recce had been flown from Deception in the direction of Anvers Island. Then Hope Bay came up with a note for me from Teniente Giró (who was aboard San Martín visiting Esperanza).

He confirmed that poor old Gamma had had to be shot along with their own dogs. I sent a reply of appreciation via John Cheek and Esperanza.

The Base Y lounge/dormitory (Robin & Jim M)

Base Y Saturday 12 March 1960 Rain started during the small hours with a freshening NE wind. Once more the sea ice became covered with water. The rain turned to sleet in the early afternoon. After tea the two Jims and I seal-fed the dogs - the nauseating condition of the seal pile did little to raise our appetites for dinner. The Spartans’ span has once more lost its snow cover so the dogs had to be given buckets of water. At 6pm the wind suddenly shifted to westerly and blew hard, but without any appreciable change of temperature.

On the ‘Goon Show’ we heard melancholy news about the Beaver. It had been on the deck of Kista Dan, and it seems that this same squall had put Kista Dan and John Biscoe in danger of collision in the restricted anchorage offered by the Argentine Islands. In a close brush between the vessels, Biscoe had torn off one of the wings which promptly sank. Our eggs are all in one basket now.

I got information from Ron Lord on the surface area of the Otter’s skis, and then Pete Forster came up asking about the Blind Bay depôt. He sounded less confident about his future now, as were we.

Towards midnight the wind fell light variable and it felt very warm outside with the sound of rushing water everywhere (we had 16mm of rainfall today).

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Base Y Sunday 13 March 1960 We now had a gusty wind varying between E and NW and showers of sleet and wet snow. After lunch, Gordon with dogs and sledge went on to the sodden sea ice and got a seal. At 4pm I went in to listen to the FICOL bulletin and the call-sign (CQ DE ZHF88) was interrupted and there was an ‘immediate note’ addressed to HMS Protector et alia. I could read figures in Morse code all right, but I soon got lost in any text, so all I could decipher was 1900Z, 3800 and John Biscoe. So I got Jim M to put on the diesel again and we tuned to 3800kHz and made contact with John Biscoe. Sir Vivian came up and announced that he was now aboard the Biscoe and that they were sailing south from Argentine Islands towards Beascochea Bay looking for a suitable landing strip for the Otter, still at Deception. He demanded information on the state of the sea ice and Shoesmith Glacier. I said we would check again the strip that had looked promising two days ago, and a sked was fixed for 6am tomorrow.

After supper Jim M and I went forth on skis to investigate this site. We walked two miles in a northerly direction until beyond Homing Head. The surface there, though much smoother, had had its snow cover washed off by the rain, and slush patches showed up even out there, so it could not be recommended in that state. It needed frost and more snow; if that happened fairly soon it should be none the worse. The sea ice thickness was 130cm.

We reported all this to Paddy English on the ‘Goon Show’ (Sir was not present).

Then Peter Grimley at Deception spoke to Keith about geological stores, and other people went on nattering until I turned in at 11.30pm.

Late afternoon sun bathes the south-west face of Mount Verne

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Base Y Monday 14 March 1960 Malcolm and Gordon attended to the early sked. The weather was bad everywhere so nothing happened, and another sked was fixed for 4pm.

The pressure was crashing down nicely, the wind gusty northerly with sleet and temperature 35-36°F (+2°C). Jim set to work making marker flags for the landing strip. Keith sorted out his geological equipment in the light of the discussion with his presumed successor. Jim F and Malcolm both found they had exceeded their original weight estimate. Even Gordon started some desultory packing. I formally sealed the mailbags.

But the afternoon sked produced nothing. At its conclusion I passed the latest news to Bob Bramwell. The wind went round to west, and the temperature fell a little, to about freezing point. Not enough to harden the surface very much.

With the two boxes we brought down from Base W and two bags of mail, our total for the first flight comes to 1850lb (840kg). This means that Keith may be able to take some boxes of specimens.

Base Y Tuesday 15 March 1960 Up at 5.30am to fresh westerly wind and temperature 30–31°F (–0.5°C) but quite dry. Sked with Paddy English; Ron Lord reported reasonable weather at Deception but it was not good at the John Biscoe site. Another sked for 8.45am but no developments. There were some showers of snow with a little drifting; a tremendous stream of drift from Mount Verne could be seen when the lowest clouds broke. The newest ice is about an inch thick but still slushy under newly fallen snow.

After coffee break Jim M went up Flagstaff Hill from where he could see the landing strip marked out. A couple of seals were spotted. After lunch Jim M and Gordon went out to the site. Gordon came back via a seal that he killed and brought back; it was a little fellow that I had left on my way to the tabular berg, giving him a chance to make himself scarce. However, it is as well to have all the seal we possibly can. Jim when he returned confirmed that it was still slushy and needed more frost, and said as much to Paddy English on the evening ‘Goon Show’.

Base Y Wednesday 16 March 1960 Light snow stopped and the clouds were breaking at noon although it looked bad to the north. Ron Lord had taken off in the Otter from Deception but had to turn back somewhere near the position of HMS Protector off Brabant Island.

We gather there is the intention to lay a depot at Matha Strait, mainly I think to augment Base W’s stocks for the benefit of the party that is going to remain in Marguerite Bay. (Big question: Them or Us?) After lunch Jim M and I with my front three dogs went out to the landing site taking boxes, more flags and a wind indicator. It was a beautiful afternoon with only a little cirrus and a light breeze from Forbes Glacier. After some trial and error we fixed the runway in the optimal position, length about 700 yards.

The dogs got a bit fed up. We got back at 5.40pm.

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Meanwhile Gordon had been out and brought back a total of four seals, including the one I bopped at the tabular berg on 11th. The ‘stinkers’ (Giant petrels) had made some inroads but there was quite a lot left.

A layer of altocumulus increased slowly from the NW, and when it hid the sun there was a sharp drop in temperature to about 25°F (–4°C) though remaining calm. The ‘Goon Show’ produced nothing new.

Lagotellerie I off the southern arm of Horseshoe I was our nearest Adélie penguin rookery

Base Y Thursday 17 March 1960 When I got up I learnt that Ron Lord in the Otter was taking off from Deception, and a further sked was arranged at noon to check on our weather.

So I shaved (!) and we all made some last-minute preparations. It was cloudy with a few patches of low stratus and temperature 29°F (–2°C). There was some concern when the Otter’s engine suddenly stopped near Brabant Island, but luckily the interruption in the fuel supply was easy to rectify and the aircraft landed safely at the Biscoe at 11.10am.

At that moment we had a heavy shower of snow, but by sked time it was clear again and Paddy English announced his intention of coming on down at 3pm subject to a weather check at 2pm.

I was not very happy about our weather; nimbostratus seemed to be thickening to the north and the movement of the cloud sheet was from there. Paddy took off on time and it began to snow on us. After informing Paddy about this via Biscoe and Kista Dan I sent the routine weather observation to Stanley and then tuned to the aircraft frequency 4040kHz. The snow became heavier and visibility deteriorated, but Paddy pressed on. So at 4.20pm I had to send

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Gordon and Jim M to the airstrip. At about that time Paddy went out of radio range of Kista Dan and I could not hear him either. However, at 4.50pm he was reported to be at Liard Island and estimated arrival here at 5.10. Five minutes later he announced that he was turning back.

As a prearranged signal Jim M fired a magazine of 45s, but it was fairly obvious that the others would not hear it, so Malcolm and his three dogs went out to fetch them. It was disappointing, the turning back, but I don’t think any of us had allowed ourselves to get excited about relief with the weather as it was.

I made a bit of dinner and Jim F hurriedly made a sponge cake and Keith the icing for it. It was the cook’s birthday. After the meal Jim F gave me a haircut and at 9.30pm Malcolm’s birthday cake was produced, but it was not very good. A shade better than my last attempt at sponge cake which had been like india rubber. Little of interest on the ‘Goon Show’ other than learning that the Otter had returned safely.

Sledging on good surfaces along the shore of Ridge Island towards Blaiklock I. (Bourgeois Fjord)

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Base Y Friday 18 March 1960 It turned colder during the night with a strong NE wind, snow and drift; a foretaste of autumn. Only Eric Jones came up for the 7am sked. It was bad at Biscoe and no better at 2pm, so Sir called off any activity for today. An hour later there was an improvement at our end, wind dropping and drift ceasing.

The temperature had been falling while the wind blew, reaching a minimum of 21°F (–6°C), but then went up again. After tea the two Jims, Gordon and Keith fed the dogs seal and I went up Flagstaff Hill but saw nothing in particular.

Jim M reported the flags and boxes still in position.

Sked fixed for tomorrow at 7am. The cloud broke after 10pm with a half-moon rising behind the Gendarme at midnight. Hopes are high for relief tomorrow.

Is it possible?

Base Y Saturday 19 March 1960 In spite of late night met. duty I got up at 9.30am to see what was developing.

The weather here was reasonable: stratocumulus with cirrostratus above.

But not so good at the other end apparently. A sked had been arranged for 10am, when Sir Vivian insisted that at least some of Keith’s rocks be brought out on the first flight. It was considered that 1900lb should be the maximum load for this first flight out. After all, they had no idea what the surface we were offering was really like. Ourselves in clothing came to about 1150lb, the mail 56lb and the two boxes from Base W 110lb. Keith’s minimum requirement for rocks was 357lb, leaving about 38lb (17kg) for personal gear per evacuee. Since we had originally banked on about 120lb (54kg) each, some drastic repacking had to be done. The weather was still not good enough at their end and a further sked was fixed for 2pm.

Due to start my cook week tomorrow, I was particularly anxious not to be still on base. The wait for the next sked seemed interminable even though we had lunch in the interval. The weather at base was holding up although the cirrostratus had become altostratus and the sun was disappearing.

The temperature was a touch above freezing.

The news was that it had improved in the north and Ron Lord would take off at about 3pm. So we put into operation our procedure for departure; it was agreed that I would stay to do the radio, Jim M and Gordon would go out first and prepare the runway, Jim F and Keith would leave when the flight was well and truly under way, and Malcolm with his three dogs and a sledge would wait for me.

This time I could read the plane (Romeo Lima—the pilot’s initials) from about Larrony Island. Around Cape Rey they ran into mist and climbed to 7000ft.

There is the odd mountain above that level en route, but Ron said he could see them. During the climb he reported seeing Base W, but thereafter virtually nothing until over Marguerite Bay. Then we saw him flying down the fjord at a fair height, a high-winged

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monoplane painted the usual polar orange. Ron had some difficulty locating our landing strip, but when he did find it he came down and stopped in a very short distance. I sent a message to Kista Dan announcing safe arrival, and off we went a few minutes after 5pm.

19 March 1960—The first leg of the journey home

With Pete Forster on this flight was Peter Grimley and Charlie Lefeuvre (radio operator). A doctor would be coming with the next flight. The briefest of handovers. Ron asked me for information on the terrain, the map he had was an old DOS edition, and I was put up front to do a visual navigation over the glaciers we had crossed on our way to Base W. We did not need much of the runway for taking off, and flew up Bourgeois Fjord, over The Narrows and up the ‘Midland Valley’ of Blaiklock Island, climbing all the way, so that when over the Jones ice shelf we were about the same level as the Blaiklock ridge (4000ft).

There was open water right across Bourgeois Fjord and The Narrows, so we could not have sledged that way for some time to come.

Visibility became poor over the Heim Glacier so Ron climbed to nearly 8000ft.

I got a glimpse of the cliffs of Bartholin Peak, but over Lallemand Fjord the vertical visibility downwards was nil. Somewhere around Hooke Point Ron did a rapid descent to see if any more ground came into view, and eventually I did make out Neb Bluff and ‘Stack Point’, so Ron sent a message to Kista Dan giving our position as Base W although we never saw it. Now he could pick up the ship’s radio beacon, and the mist thinned revealing part of Darbel Bay. We had crossed the Antarctic Circle. But there was still much low cloud on the mountains and over the Bellingshausen Sea. I changed places with Tom Sumner, the flight engineer, who would try to use the Sarah beacon. Gordon was suffering his chronic travel sickness, Jim M was dozing, the others were trying to see the scenery. We passed Ferin Head and saw Base J looking surprisingly large, but now we had descended a lot.

Open water around and south of Ferin Head gave way to fast ice again, or very

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large floes, and the weather became very bad; wet snow, which froze on the windscreen, and poor visibility made things very uncomfortable up front.

But luckily it cleared just in time for Ron to make out the ships. He came straight in and landed, no fuss.

My first view of Kista Dan had been the name and bright red colour flashing past the window just before touchdown. When we stopped, there was John Biscoe on the other side in its usual dull grey. But such a welcome sight!

Kista Dan, the Otter in its normal element, and the damaged Beaver as deck cargo

We all knew almost everyone who came around the plane as we got out and unloaded, but sometimes names were tricky to recall on the spur of the moment. Paddy White was there. We made a bee-line away from Kista Dan to the Biscoe which was nearer, and I got the lads fixed up with cabins. It may not be for very long though, as we were warned some people may have to transfer to the Danish boat.

A meal was waiting for us, and then the mail was distributed. I had to go through all the requests from collectors for postmarks, and give the acceptable ones to Howard Chapman who was to go on the next flight. So by the time I was able to look at my own mail it was after midnight, so I did not get very far.

Before going to bed I had my first bath for over a year.

RRS John Biscoe Sunday 20 March 1960 In ice south of Argentine Islands I am sharing Cabin 12 with Professor David Griffiths, the gravity expert who is touring the Antarctic Peninsula region and taking readings ashore at various sites. I got up for breakfast at 8.30am, tried to tidy my things in the cabin, read a bit more mail, filled in a few QSL cards for hams, and finally ran to earth the Second Officer and got him to accept our two bags of outgoing mail. So the comfortable and humdrum ship life begins.The weather here started reasonable but bad at Horseshoe, so no flying today. Anyway, it started to snow here later.

We learn that the Biscoe had been somewhat damaged in the Weddell Sea; plates and ribs were buckled and some of the cargo forward had to be prized out with a crowbar! Also a piece of propellor came off. We are told the

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maximum speed on the homeward voyage may be 9 knots unless we can get a refit somewhere. Kista Dan is in a hurry to get north. However, I think two more flights to Base Y are essential for the incomers.

Malcolm has gone to Kista Dan, but at 5.30pm the rest of us plus Howard Chapman went to the stateroom for drinks with Sir Vivian and Captain Johnston. Various things were discussed: seals in Marguerite Bay, Steve’s journey, etc., and we were rather late for dinner. After dinner I went to the radio cabin for the ‘Goon Show’; Sir Vivian spoke to Pete Forster and so did I. There was a film show: Beyond Mombasa, but I only sat through a bit of it.

By midnight the snow had turned to rain.

RRS John Biscoe Monday 21 March 1960 In ice south of Argentine Islands The weather improved in the afternoon, but too late for a flight. At Sir Vivian’s request, I opened up Denis Goldring’s box from Base W to see if there was a petrological microscope in it. After lunch we were back at the old diversion at the bridge table. Alan Cameron insisted he would prefer to watch, so I partnered Denis Wildridge against Paul Woodall and Jim Shirtcliffe; we were 3,400 up. The joust was renewed after dinner in the officers’ mess, but I don’t know how it finished as I had to hurry off for the ‘Goon Show’. Down at Base Y they seem to think we were unduly pessimistic about their situation, so hope that impression will be maintained.

RRS John Biscoe Tuesday 22 March 1960 In ice south of Argentine Islands Snowing hard with quite a wind so no activity. More bridge, this time I partnered Jim Shirtcliffe and we lost slightly. I took interest in an article in the Motor magazine about modifications to the Wolseley 1500 because I had thought of buying one.

RRS John Biscoe Wednesday 23 March 1960 In ice south of Argentine Islands Woke at 5.30am hearing the engine-room telegraph. We manoeuvred backwards and forwards a few times to get stuck into the ice again as the wind had loosened its grip. The Otter was found to be now on a large floe so would have to be moved. Paddy English, Mick Rhodes, Jim Shirtcliffe and I went to prospect for a new airstrip. We had to jump several cracks before we got to the main ice sheet, then walked some three-quarters of a mile from the ships and found conditions that seemed good, stuck in poles, and returned to the ships.

Ron Lord and Sir Vivian had been prospecting in a more southeasterly, direction but found nothing satisfactory.

After a cup of tea, Paddy gave us flares and showed us how to light them.

We were to ignite the things after the Otter had done two runs over the new

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strip. Tony Davies, doctor, is now to replace Howard Chapman as fifth man at Base Y, and he accompanied Ron Lord on the re-positioning flight, which went well. Meanwhile, Biscoe had to move again, so we all got into the aircraft to wait until we could rejoin the ship. The weather was overcast and a bit misty, so a flight to Marguerite Bay today was unlikely. Kista Dan also had to move, and for a time took up a new position about a mile to the north, but later came and stuck her bows in our ice floe.

RRS John Biscoe Thursday 24 March 1960 In ice south of Argentine Islands How much longer can this be kept up? Weather was not too bad here but not good at all at Y. A few of us put on windproofs and boots and went over to Kista Dan. Already a well worn path existed between the ships about a quarter of a mile apart. Ken and Jim bought some trousers and shirts, but after so long without the need to handle money it never occurred to me to take any! The sun came out, and at 2.45pm the Otter took off for Y flown by Paddy English, with Tony Davies as passenger. However, there were unusually large cumulus and they were still in cloud at 10,000 ft (3,050m) over N Marguerite Bay with some icing trouble, so had to come back.

After dinner there was a film called Town on Trial and several boys from Kista Dan came over. Bad weather again in the evening, blowing and snowing, with ice forming on water in cracks of the ice sheet. Spent the rest of the evening talking with Russ and Paddy White.

RRS John Biscoe Friday 25 March 1960 In ice south of Argentine Islands Still bad in the morning. After breakfast I went to the radio cabin to listen to the sked with Horseshoe where the weather was better. Another sked fixed for noon, but there were always weather problems at one end or the other, and no flight was possible. Evidently the officers of Kista Dan are thoroughly fed up with idling. It was already clear they would get home later than originally intended.

I went to see Tom Woodfield (Chief Officer) about our parcels, but according to the manifest they were not on Biscoe. After supper I played Scrabble and then took Paddy English’s place in a bridge four which went on until midnight.

RRS John Biscoe Saturday 26 March 1960 In ice south of Argentine Islands Gordon found the copy of Motor in which I could read up about the Wolseley 1500, before going to give a hand shifting the hanger sections. The weather was showery with a westerly wind, temperature here 24°F (–4.4°C) and at Horseshoe 17°F (–8.3°C). Although conditions were not excellent, Ron Lord took off in the Otter at 1.15pm, by when it had become overcast with a heavy snow shower just after he left. Tom Woodfield asked me to put a span on the sea ice for an assortment of dogs expected from Base Y. There was no proper equipment on board, but the lamptrimmer found bulldog clips and a length of

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wire cable which had to serve the purpose.

When the plane landed at around 6.45pm we found the dogs only had their trace rope leads, so Jim F went over to Kista Dan and got some chains from base stores. Meanwhile the bosun and three of the crew had shot two seals which they brought back on the sledge. Then Keith and I made two journeys with the sledge transporting kit, etc. from the aircraft to Biscoe, by which time it was quite dark. Although the temperature was only 20°F (–6.6°C), it was warm work hauling that loaded sledge without any cooling breeze. So now we had the rest of our personal effects and all the geological specimens except for palaeomagnetic rocks. I spoke to Base Y on the ‘Goon Show’ but they were not reading us very well.

RRS John Biscoe Sunday 27 March 1960 In ice south of Argentine Islands A strong wind was blowing out of Beascochea Bay with drift. Temperature 24°F (–4.4°C). No work. After lunch they thought about another flight, but after having got everything ready it was found to be too late in the day. Played Scrabble in the afternoon and bridge in the evening. Several bods came over from Kista Dan for a film but there wasn’t one. The wind dropped in the evening with some snow.

RRS John Biscoe Monday 28 March 1960 In ice south of Argentine Islands Up at 9.30am and worked in forward hold shifting the hut originally destined for Stonington so as to uncover the hanger which was now to be erected at Deception. Very cold, temperature 5°F(–15°C), with westerly breeze and some fog patches. They cleared, and Paddy English got away mid-morning. Another Scrabble session, then time to go to meet the returning plane which brought three more dogs: Wal, Delta and Chloe. Can’t think why they wanted to send out Delta, poor Epsilon will be heartbroken. [The dogs lifted out of Y are thus: ‘Admirals’- Monty and Wal; ‘Churchmen’- Sis, Joseph, Nun and Taffy; ‘Moomins’- Alma, Yana and Murphy; ‘Follies’- Chloe, Buster, Annie and Kathy; ‘Spartans’—Delta.] They also brought up lots more gear, with some of the stuff left last season.

George Edwards (the official FIDS photographer) was busy with his ciné but apparently only has a limited amount of film left. Kista Dan lost no time getting out of her niche ready for away, and Ron took off at about 3.30pm for Deception.

After giving the dogs a seal feed, we brought them aboard the Biscoe, and at 4.30pm the order was given ‘full astern’. Nothing happened. Although we tried hard for two hours, we were not able to get unstuck. Meanwhile Kista Dan made a clean getaway north-westwards. After dinner there was a film High Tide at Noon, and then I repaired to the radio cabin to speak to those at

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Horseshoe for the last time on the ‘Goon Show’, wishing them heartfelt good luck. Then Ron Lord came up from Deception. Their dynamo failed to charge shortly after takeoff and the radio packed up around Brabant I, and the fuel gauges etc. just as they entered ‘Neptune’s Bellows’. Drama.

Thanks, mate!

RRS John Biscoe Tuesday 29 March 1960 In ice south of Argentine Islands Snowing hard when I awoke at first light to the sound of the engine-room telegraph. After about an hour of effort, we got free of our niche and contrived to turn and head north, but the visibility was not good enough to see from one pool to the next, so at breakfast time we stopped and waited for clearer conditions. This came during the morning to reveal Kista Dan only about twothirds of a mile away and almost always broadside on to us. Another spell of heavy snow after lunch meant another pause, and Paul Woodall, Jim Shirtcliffe, Denis Wildridge and I played bridge in the dining room, attracting the usual casual spectators who had nothing better to do. Then Scrabble in the lounge generated some lively arguments.

The weather began to improve at 4.30pm and the engine started up again.

By sunset the sky was clearing rapidly with fine reflected colouring on the mountains to the east and a falling temperature. We pressed on until nightfall (about 8.30pm) when the lights of Kista Dan (or was it Base F?) were visible on the starboard beam, but she had greatly increased her lead on us.

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RRS John Biscoe Wednesday 30 March 1960 Argentine Islands We started moving at first light and struggled on. The temperature on the compass platform had fallen to 2°F (-16.6°C) during the night, but now it was rapidly clouding over with a stiff breeze from the north. Quite soon we joined up with Kista Dan’s track but progress was not much better because the brash in the channel had frozen into a viscous gummy consistency. At one point we playfully nosed an iceberg out of the way.

Kista Dan had reached Base F sometime during the morning, and we stopped engines outside the entrance to the harbour at about 1.45pm. The weather turned very bad with snow and drifting in the strong wind; in a couple of hours we had drifted back past Stella Creek and had to laboriously regain a mile or so.

Then during dinner we entered the basin and dropped anchor. Some time later a figure came across the ice floes from the island. It turned out to be John Green, ‘Secfids’ as he was known, so a rope ladder was lowered and he disappeared into the upper precincts. Nobody went ashore from the ship.

Mount Scott at the entrance to Lemaire Channel

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RRS John Biscoe Thursday 31 March 1960 Port Lockroy Woken by Barry, the mess boy. Had to be up by 7.15 because today I was on ‘gash’ duty with Jim F. He took the serving and I the waiting. During the forenoon six huskies: Alma, Annie, Buster, Delta, Murphy and Taffy, were put ashore to go to Wordie House. It was a pleasant morning after the passage of a cold front that had lowered the temperature from 30°F (–1°C) to 15°F (–9.4°C).

We started away from Base F at 1pm and made excellent progress through the Lemaire Channel with 2/10 or less loose pack. To let Dr Griffiths take gravity measurements ashore we digressed to the southeastern cape of Anvers Island.

The motorboat had some difficulty in the brash and pancake ice, with quite a current and a bit of swell. Sir Vivian went too, professionally knocking off a piece of rock. Kista Dan passed heading north for Deception Island.

When the motorboat returned, the edges of its propellor were found to be burred, like Biscoe’s. We then headed for Base A and dropped anchor at dinner time. It proved impossible to get ashore with all the congealed brash, in fact the motorboat’s steering gear was bust in the attempt and had to be mended on deck by the light of arc lamps. The barometer was falling again quickly, so the change of wind might disperse the ice.

All of us from Horseshoe now had sniffles. It had been on board before we arrived so there was little chance of escape.

Dr Griffiths, gravity expert, went ashore at various offshore islands to take readings. On deck is our director, Sir Vivian Fuchs.

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RRS John Biscoe Friday 1 April 1960 Bellingshausen Sea At first light the motorboat went ashore with the last mail delivery/collection for the men of Base A, returning at breakfast time. Thereupon John Biscoe, with three prolonged blasts of the siren, left Port Lockroy in peace until next season.

The weather was cloudy and not much could be seen as we headed for Gand Island in the Scholleart Channel between Anvers and Brabant Islands.

The motorboat took Dr Griffiths ashore to make his measurements, and here we really began to feel the Bellingshausen swell. As we went on westwards and the sea ice thinned out, the movement grew from a pleasant pitching to something a little more disconcerting. Lots of crabeater and leopard seals lay on the floes and expressed alarm and indignation when we came close. Some people also saw whales. As for birds, there were the ubiquitous dominican gulls, skuas, giant petrels, silver-grey petrels, Cape pigeons, blue-eyed shags, Wilson’s petrels, Adélie and gentoo penguins.

Dr Griffiths wanted to go ashore near the northern end of Anvers Island, and with him in the motorboat went Bertie the bosun, who killed two crabeater seals and was left bobbing on the floe to gut them while the motorboat continued on its scientific mission. Luckily for Bertie no inquisitive killer whales approached. It was snowing hard when the motorboat returned.

Then we headed due north towards Smith Island, one of the most exposed places in the world. We learnt that Kista Dan had lost overboard a scow containing two generators in high seas. I was annoyed at myself for feeling seasick at dinner time, at which attendance was sparse and rapidly dwindled.

Until I took to my bunk I was nearer to being sick than I ever had been.

My cabin mate also suffered. But once flat I felt fine in spite of the fearful cavortings of the ship: heavy rolling, some pitching and a few seconds dead level. Much crockery was broken, the rubbish containers in the FIDS pantry upset, drawers fell out of chests and some people had difficulty staying in bed.

Oddly enough, I had one of the best night’s sleep so far on board.

RRS John Biscoe Saturday 2 April 1960 Deception Island Although things had eased off a bit by breakfast time, it was too rough for ‘Gravity Griff’ to be able to go ashore on Smith Island, so we turned and headed straight for Deception Island. Smith Island looked most inhospitable; icefalls and ice cliffs all round the mountains which disappeared into the cloud at a couple of thousand feet - the highest point is said to be ~6000ft (~1825m).

I ate a large breakfast in the company of a mere half-dozen others, and did nothing much in the morning; it was still too rough to write, even though the motion was nothing like as sickening as the previous evening. However, most showed up for lunch, which was fish and chips! The strength of the

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northeasterly wind cut down our speed, with the result that we reached Deception an hour later than expected. It was my first visit, having been ashore at Hope Bay during the relief on the way down.

The island is the rim of a submerged volcano, atoll-shaped with only one narrow entrance called Neptune’s Bellows. The lagoon inside (called Port Foster) is between four and six miles (six and ten kilometres) across, and was for long a favourite haven for sealers and whalers. The British Base B was just inside, on the right, where there were the remains of a whale-processing factory (Whalers’ Bay). The Argentines and Chileans each had a base on the shores of Port Foster a discreet distance apart*.

Kista Dan was at anchor, and a top-level conference took place as soon as we arrived. We others formed into work parties to transfer sections of the hut originally intended for Darbel Bay from Kista Dan to the Biscoe for carriage to South Georgia. The wind was still strong and gusty with frequent snow showers, and even in the sheltered lagoon spray froze, making for perilous walking.

I foolhardily volunteered to go into the scow to place the strops around the timbers to be hoisted by the derrick, but to get down Pete Hodkinson and I had to put one foot in a strop attatched to the crane’s hook and cling on desperately, helpless to fend off bumps against the ship’s hull.

It was miserable weather to be exposed to, and they seemed to take longer and longer getting the timber down into the Biscoe’s after hold. Sometimes the larger wall sections were caught by the wind and swung alarmingly over us and the deck. Eventually everything was transferred and we thankfully came aboard to warmth and dinner.

There was a film, to which Base B blokes also came, called Chase a Crooked Shadow. Outside the weather continued vile. Later in the fiddery I chatted with the Base B types and others about Horseshoe. Ron Lord wanted a map with all the refuges and depots marked in case of a forced landing - very reasonable I thought. Paddy English and the second and third engineers were also present. When one over the eight, Ron was hugely amusing.

RRS John Biscoe Sunday 3 April 1960 Deception Island Started work again in heavy snow at 8.45am. Some of us went up to get the lifeboats. Both the port boats were eventually lowered, though the aft one was a long job as the sheath pulleys were heavily iced over. Then it took a long time getting the engine to start - a water-cooled Petter, and the water in the pump had frozen. Thank goodness we were not abandoning ship!

Then, with Bertie the bosun in charge, we took one end of a hosepipe from the ship to shore and put it down the well in order to replenish the Biscoe’s tanks. *In December 1967 there were eruptions towards the north end of Port Foster and again to the east near Mount Pond early in 1969. The Chilean base was destroyed by the first and Base B by the second. Luckily they occurred in summer so there were ships with helicopters in the vicinity to evacuate personnel. No casualties.

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Thereupon the ship’s main pump broke down, but that was not our business.

Next we fetched the scow back from the pier to the ship, and after coffee break Peter Rowe, Paul Woodall, Keith Hoskins and I went down into the hold and sorted and loaded into net slings bags of sand and shingle, and succeeded in filling one scow before lunch. Another scow load after lunch, and then we came on deck to help place some of the girders for the hangar into the lifeboats. After tea back down the hold for another scow-load of sand and shingle.

By then it was 4.30pm, but we hadn’t finished yet. Paul, Gordon, Jim Stammers plus the Second and Third Officers went over to Kista Dan with the motorised lifeboat to collect the rest of the Darbel Bay hut which it was understood was to be taken to South Georgia. Later we learnt that this plan had been scrapped, so it will all be off-loaded again either here or at Stanley.

After a shower we had a very good Sunday dinner: chicken etc. The weather was good today after heavy snow overnight. Not much wind.

RRS John Biscoe Monday 4 April 1960 Deception Island Another hard stevedore’s day. Started at 7am and finished twelve hours ten minutes later, and only because it got dark. Sand and shingle, hangar components, ciment fondu and generators taken ashore. There seems to be confusion in the directorate which is demoralising, but things are gradually taking shape. Biscoe is again on an even keel more or less. It was snowy at first, becoming fair to cloudy and quite chilly (well below freezing all day).

At least some good came out of all this transferring of cargo: parcels for Base Y were discovered in Kista Dan’s hold. So I have at last got a pair of reasonable trousers for recreation, but no more socks.

RRS John Biscoe Tuesday 5 April 1960 Deception Island Breakfast at 7.30am, then worked through until dark again. I was in the hold, which was a pity because it was a lovely day. Nearly all the hangar iron was now out. Base B and Kista Dan boys aboard for film Simon and Laura which was enjoyable.

RRS John Biscoe Wednesday 6 April 1960 Deception Island In the hold again, but this time glad to be, as it was blowing and cold.

The forward hold was cleared of hangar and quite a lot of timber has been sent out. At 5.30pm the hatches were closed and we had dinner at 7pm. Paddy White transferred from Kista Dan whilst Sir Vivian and Johnnie Green both went to the red ship. A fine cold evening.

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RRS John Biscoe Thursday 7 April 1960 South Shetland Islands Sailed at 6am, turning east out of the Bellows. Sorry to have seen so little of Deception Island, including the hot springs that I had heard so much about.

We sailed up the southern coast of Livingstone Island, passed Greenwich Island and put Dr Griffiths ashore on Robert Island. His observations completed, we returned the way we had come, calling at Greenwich Island and again near the Argentine summer refuge at Half-Moon Bay (Livingstone I).

We anchored for the night in the (partial) shelter of the low western peninsula of Livingstone Island.

RRS John Biscoe Friday 8 April 1960 South Shetland Islands Dr Griffiths was called at 6.40am, and the motorboat took him ashore before breakfast. When they returned we pressed on round the extremity of Snow Island and back up the northern coast of Livingstone I where much more rock is exposed than on the other side. There was a good view of mysterious Smith Island, for once clear of cloud.

Quite a large number of big icebergs were stranded in the relatively shallow waters off the South Shetlands. We made a couple more stops for gravity observations, then during the fine moonlight night we cruised at low revs along the northern coast of King George Island. There was a film entitled The Power of the Prize.

One of the South Shetland group suggests its volcanic origin

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RRS John Biscoe Saturday 9 April 1960 South Shetland Islands Stops just before North Foreland, at Cape Melville and Penguin Island.

A pleasant day with gentle seas. We entered Admiralty Bay at 4.45pm and sent in the motorboat for those of Base G who wanted a meal on board. After they had been ferried back we set off in the direction of Elephant Island. Now that we were leaving the ‘populated’ area from the point of view of weather reports, I was asked to organise a roster of experienced observers among the fids to perform the six-hourly meteorological observations (thus relieving the officer on watch of a chore).

RRS John Biscoe Sunday 10 April 1960 Between South Shetlands and South Orkneys ‘Gash’ again with Jim M. Rose at 7am and cleaned out cabin, then went and started cleaning out the fiddery. Cloudy but sea still quite gentle. We saw Elephant I and part of Clarence I—everybody’s thoughts turned to Ernest Shackleton’s heroic exploit of almost 44 years ago—then met some open pack and changed course a bit to the north. The wind strengthened rapidly with sleet turning to snow. It blew Force 8 during the afternoon with a rising sea, but diminished a bit in the evening. Sea fairly rough, but no ice.

RRS John Biscoe Monday 11 April 1960 Signy Island (South Orkneys) The weather improved a little in the forenoon and Coronation Island came into view by coffee break. That finished, about six of us descended into the after hold in order to get out 100 bags of sand for Base H. We managed to extract 99 bags without serious dislocation of the wretched Darbel Bay hut which, of course, had been placed on top. After lunch we opened up the forward hold and took out the Base H cargo which amounted to only about one scowload.

Almost everyone went ashore with the scow. We were three who didn’t.

All the Base H boys except Fergus O’Gorman came aboard for dinner and a film called Safari. They left at 10pm and then Fergus came aboard for the journey home.

South Georgia

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RRS John Biscoe Tuesday 12 April 1960 Scotia Sea The engine started up at first light and the anchor weighed after some difficulty—we hit a rock in the process. It was blowing fairly hard with temperature 30°F (–1°C), and even in the shelter of Coronation Island quite a sea was running.

In Leathwaite Strait (between Coronation and Powell Islands) it got much worse and was quite mountainous as we cleared the north of the South Orkneys. Not surprising I suppose, being an extension of Drake Passage.

There were the usual breakages of crockery and spills—I had no lunch! Things improved slightly towards evening and about eight of us had dinner, but we each had to carry our own plates to and from the galley.

RRS John Biscoe Wednesday 13 April 1960 Scotia Sea During the night the sea got worse than ever and remained high until evening.

However, most people seem to have regained their sea legs and there were plenty for meals even though we still had to get our own. Albatrosses seen.

RRS John Biscoe Thursday 14 April 1960 South Georgia There was a particularly agitated bit of sea as we rounded the southeastern tip of South Georgia in the early hours, then it became fairly calm for a while, but approaching Cumberland Bay we encountered strong gusty headwinds. Mount Paget was visible through the clouds for a short time.

We tied up at King Edward Point at noon and I saw Peter Richards again; he joins us for the rest of the trip home. We also had our first glimpse of the other sex: Mrs Biggs and three children embarked for Stanley. After lunch Tony Hanson and I walked to Shackleton’s memorial and were soon joined by several others. Returning to the pier, Peter took me to the met. office where I met the forecaster, Danny Borland.

We cast off at 2pm and sailed on to Stromness. Be the movement never so gentle, the children were quickly seasick. After tying up at 4pm, some fids went immediately in search of a ferry to Leith. I got one at 5.10 that called at two whale catchers on the way, from one of which Jerry Jennings, formerly crew member of John Biscoe, got on — said he had been making good money with Salvesens.

We sought the slopchest manager, but were told he had just started showing the film at the Kino. It seemed an enormous auditorium to us after the fiddery, but was really no more than a nissen hut. The film was called Rogue River, and had Norwegian sub-titles. It seemed odd—I fancy he got some reels mixed up.

Then it transpired the projectionist was not the slopchest manager after all.

We finally unearthed him and he kindly consented to open up; he seemed to do

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good business.

The factory ship Southern Venturer was in. Our return in the single-cylinder motorboat to Stromness was in the dark without any lights at all. The moon appeared occasionally from behind dark clouds. Back on board the Biscoe we found that some dinner had been left for us in the bain-marie and enjoyed a meal. Then some of us who had been over at Leith went and had a sauna (steam bath, Norwegian fashion) which for most of us was a pleasant first experience. But it made us feel extremely weak—and thirsty!

John Biscoe refectory. The bridge four is (L—R): Alan Cameron, Jim Shirtcliffe, Paul Woodall, Denis Wildridge. The Chief Steward and former fid, Gerry Cutland, is looking on.

RRS John Biscoe Fri–Sunday 15–17 April 1960 South Atlantic We departed Stromness at 7am and met mist and rain on emerging from the bay. It was an uneventful voyage with very reasonable sea conditions.

RRS John Biscoe Monday 18 April 1960 Stanley, F I Cloudy. The Falkland Islands came into view at noon with large numbers of sea birds everywhere. Strong breeze and showers, but entering Port William the sun came out. Although the tide was a couple of hours past full, we managed to get alongside the public jetty and there were quite a few folk there to meet the ship as it was a public holiday (Easter Monday). Very few familiar faces though. We dressed a touch more stylishly than hitherto, and at opening time sauntered out to the various hostelries, returning to the ship for a late supper.

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RRS John Biscoe Tuesday 19 April 1960 Stanley, F I Some light work in the forward hold, but Jim M and I are on ‘gash’. Ashore in the forenoon and did some shopping after visiting the new FIDS offices.

Bought some socks and an ‘Olympia’ typewriter, and collected Agfacolor films that I had ordered. In the evening Peter Richards and I were invited to Eric Ward’s place. Neville Nesbit and wife Marie were also there. Light rain in the evening.

RRS John Biscoe Wednesday 20 April 1960 Stanley, F I Much work today. We unloaded sections of the Stonington hut which were transported by lorry and tractor-drawn trailer up to the met office. A few of us were invited to Irene’s for supper, and listened to records, etc. A new wing for the Beaver aircraft is being flown from Canada to Montevideo, and it is not clear at present whether it can be brought down here by the mailboat Darwin.

RRS John Biscoe Thursday 21 April 1960 Stanley, F I There was a 21-gun salute in honour of the Queen’s birthday, and other people had a holiday but we had to work. The was a dance at Government House for people of quality; Alan Cameron, Peter Richards, Pete Rowe, Eric Jones and I went to the plebs dance at the Town Hall which, contrary to expectations, was not particularly lively.

RRS John Biscoe Friday 22 April 1960 Stanley, F I More pretty strenuous work, though several blokes seem to be sidling out under dubious pretexts. It was mostly transferring the Darbel Bay hut to the warehouse ashore. Fine day. After dinner, by which time it had been ascertained that we were sailing for Montevideo at noon tomorrow to collect the Beaver wing, I sought out Allan Gill and Jim Franks with whom I was to descend on Margot, found them in ‘The Ship’, and repaired all three to ‘The Wee Hoose’. We were early; Mum was still out, but daughter Robina was there. Also present were Irene and Kate (both schoolteachers). From Margot’s we went to Kate’s flat and then Irene’s, getting back to Biscoe at midnight.

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RRS John Biscoe Saturday 23 April 1960 South Atlantic Everything had been off-loaded by noon. It was blowing very hard from the WSW. John Patterson collared Mick Rhodes, Eric Jones, Tony Hanson and myself to accompany the motorboat and scow loaded with petrol drums to the other side of the harbour. ‘Jock’ (Murdo) Tait also came. The sea was pretty rough even with so short a fetch, and the scow banged hard against the motorboat.

We lifted the drums by an ancient and slow crane, then rolled them along railway tracks and across the grass to their storage position. Very hard work.

Crossing back against the seas was rugged, taking half an hour with waves breaking completely over the boat. On our return someone said that Eric Salmon was looking for me. I found him, and learned that the Governor wanted to see me—in working clothes if necessary. I reckoned it was, so that was how I presented myself at Government House.

Sir Edwin was sailing on the next Darwin for the UK, so would not have a chance to see us again. He asked for details about the situation in Marguerite Bay and thanked us for our ‘presence’. They had virtually finished work when I returned. Good.

Time for a quick one at ‘The Globe’ with Allan Gill and Jim Franks, then aboard for lunch. We cast off at 1pm and passed though ‘The Narrows’. Fairly smooth until we were clear of the Falklands, then we rolled horribly.

RRS John Biscoe South Atlantic Rough at first, moderating. Some sun. Good meals.

Sunday 24 April 1960

RRS John Biscoe Monday 25 April 1960 South Atlantic Sunny, though still a strong breeze. Very good film in the evening: Witness for the Prosecution.

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RRS John Biscoe Tuesday 26 April 1960 South Atlantic Towards noon we crossed the fortieth parallel. Fine, breeze dying out. Saw a whale. Showed a candidate fid, currently mess boy, what happens when we do a met. observation. Keith Bell was flying home from Montevideo, and kindly agreed to take my exposed colour films back and post them to the processing laboratory. Two others were leaving the ship at Monte, but nobody else would get to go ashore. Moans.

The replacement wing for the Beaver loaded at Montevideo without docking

Final departure from Deception Island where winter was already closing in

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A dog’s life

Steve in a Base W blizzard (left), and at Base Y (right)

A fine bronze statue by sculptor David Cemmick was unveiled at BAS headquarters at Cambridge on 4 July 2009, together with a plaque listing the 28 dog teams that between 1945 and 1993 had rendered such vital service.

Fids pay In our day, remuneration for service with FIDS was never intended to be competitive. It didn’t need to be. An opportunity to go south with travel, food and shelter provided, and be left to get on with it: what more incentive was needed? Thus one’s salary was effectively pocket money. My annual pay was the standard £500, plus what was called a ‘qualification weighting’ of £50. I accumulated a total of 107 days paid leave for 33 months’ employment, to start the date John Biscoe arrived at Southampton.

To put my earnings in the purchasing power context of the times, soon after returning home I bought a new Wolseley 1500 car for £741.

The journal ends there. We did not berth at Montevideo, a lighter brought the wing out to us, it was trans-shipped and we were away again within two hours, heading for Deception Island where winter was closing in. There too, no time to hang around.

A one-day courtesy call at Stanley on the way north and a brief stopover at Montevideo when at last we were able to go ashore.

After that it was humdrum, the only land sighted being a bit of the Brazilian coast, the rocks of Fernando de Noronha, the island of Madeira, and finally, on Monday 6 June 1960, a cool grey day of squally showers, the Needles and Solent. John Biscoe docked at Southampton’s Berth 37 at about noon. My parents and cousin Margaret Morris were there to meet me.

It took no time at all to pick up the threads. Although those thirty-three months’ service for the Survey soon became a dreamlike memory, they always remained an indelible chronological reference point.

6 June 1960 - Home again!

photo LP

Robin, Fergus O’Gorman and Alan Cameron

Low-key reception at Southampton.

Note attentive customs officers.

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LALLEMAND FJORD

From BAS satellite image map; 1:250,000 (images taken on 18 February & 6 March 1986)

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LALLEMAND FJORD

From BAS satellite image map; 1:250,000 (images taken on 18 February & 6 March 1986)

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PERSONAL EPILOGUE Base O (Danco Island) was a politically expedient foothold established on this small island roughly 50km NE of Port Lockroy. It was a sledging base of five or six men to support surveying and geology, but possibilities for travel over land turned out to be minimal, and the base closed at the end of 1958.

Although dogs were fed mostly seal meat on base, during journeys we relied on special high protein pemmican blocks called Nutrican, manufactured by the firm Bob Martins in Lancashire.

These were delivered in tin boxes of perhaps four dozen blocks, and to minimise damage during the various modes of transport they had to undergo, the boxes were padded with various popular magazines. This was a considerate policy of Bob Martins, because any reading material was something for humans to treasure in winter, since nothing new could be expected until the next relief ship got through. That was life before the internet!

One of the magazines was Woman, and the chaps at Danco decided to write explaining the circumstances and inviting interested readers to correspond. I have no idea of the circulation of Woman in those days, but the response to that encouragement filled at least a dozen mailbags (so I was told). However, when spring and the ships came at the end of 1958, there was no point in them all being delivered to Danco because the base was closing. It was decided to farm them out among the other bases. Base Y received two bags.

Being on met. duty meant staying up to perform the 3am observation. The base was then blissfully peaceful, an excellent occasion to go through those letters. Some correspondents had obviously taken much trouble to write interestingly, posing intelligent questions. I felt that these, at least, deserved a reply. Given our unusual circumstances of isolation, the reply could only start its journey when we did, several months hence. Moreover, I had to indicate a permanent address since we would be all going home. I wrote a short note to between 30 and 40 people, all ladies except one (a dentist). Only half a dozen followed this up.

A certain Swiss mademoiselle, secretary to a Geneva solicitor, had read the letter in Woman while babysitting for friends. Clearly she had an excellent knowledge of English, and was passionately fond of the Alps. We continued the correspondence, met briefly in London when she was over for a wedding, exchanged visits in summer 1961, and were married in December of that year. After a honeymoon at Palma de Majorca and Christmas with my new in-laws at Morges, I had to return to Stansted airport for duty at the New Year. It got colder and colder as we drove north across France to what should have been the Green and Pleasant Land. But everything in the bungalow I had rented at Saffron Walden was frozen, there was no gas for the cooker, and to engender enthusiasm from the open fire needed weeks of close association and a certain kind of fuel. Thank goodness we had electricity and Liliane’s little heater for cups of liquid. Perhaps it was not a bad way to start married life. Things could only get better. And they did.

Robin and Liliane Perry 28 December 2006.

Robin wears his 1957 FIDS-issue anorak, never used for sealing !

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JOURNEYS FROM BASE Y (HORSESHOE I) 1959

These diaries came to light only in August 2007! Nothing very exciting, but for the sake of completeness, here they are.

Maps can be found on pages 114-115

TO STONINGTON Tuesday 18 August 1959 Malcolm and Keith returned, accompanied by three Argentinians: Teniente Gustavo Giró, Sergeant Verón and Corporal Alfonso (with two sledges, each with eleven dogs). It was decided that Keith (with the ‘Admirals’) and I (with the ‘Spartans’) would return with them to San Martín on or around Sunday 23 August.

Sunday 23 August 1959 Got up to do 06.00 observation, but it was overcast with poor visibility and light snow. Nobody else was around which was a relief as I could finish my preparations and bring the met. statistics up to date. Malcolm was base cook.

Monday 24 August 1959 Light air from SSW but clear, so got ready to leave. Gordon first with the ‘Folies’, then the Argies, and finally Keith and I left at 11.00 with the usual brawls to sort out dog hierarchy and span grievances. We all reached Lagotellerie Island about the same time. Gordon then returned to base.

We took on an extra six dog-food boxes for the Argies, but one dropped off as we departed and was left.

We had no really good lead dog between us and, after a period of trials with Pooka, Keith asked if one of the Argies could ski up front, whereupon we made fairly steady progress on rather bad surfaces. It was now calm and the only cloud was a sheet

of cirrostratus low on the western horizon which, as was to be expected, increased during the afternoon.

The Argies took spells of one hour each trail-breaking, and by sunset we were three-quarters of the way across Calmette Bay. Teniente Giró asked me if I preferred to continue in the dark in a similar manner—we had another eight miles or so to go—or camp. As we only had to follow and there were no difficulties, it suited us very well to press on with the prospect of a reception at San Martín base instead of the camping routine.

After the long twilight had finally faded there seemed to be longer delays, and I had continually to stop my team which, although still willing, was showing signs of exhaustion.

About 200 yards short of the base there was a long delay as the Argies’ sledges were sorted out and the other base members apprised of our arrival, and by the time we had picketed and unharnessed it was after 23.00.

Then we were led to our sleeping quarters. Sergeants Rodriguez and Pérez shifted their mattresses to the floor near the stove in the centre of the room so that we could have their bunks. The stove burned a very soft sort of coal, almost peat, leaving much ash, and requiring frequent replenishment. Next we were taken to the other part of the base where sleep four of the seven and where all meals are taken. Here we were served beefsteak and tomato with

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soup and wine at about midnight.

Returning to our dormitory we partook of maté.

Francicso Pérez prepared it—he comes from Comodoro Rivadavia and is a very chatty friendly chap with a few words of English. I found the maté very enjoyable. We all turned in at 02.15 and slept soundly.

Tuesday 25 August 1959 Rose at noon and proceeded to the dining site, but on the way I saw that my team had pulled out their pickets and were lying around the sledge. The battle that must have ensued did not seem to have left much in the way of scars on the dogs, but the trace was most infernally knotted up. Snow and a breeze with the temperature around –4°C was making deep drifts.

Lunch was a mere snack: cold meat, then steak, soup, wine and tea.

We spent the afternoon sitting in the dining place talking and reading Argentinian magazines and listening to their record player. I went out at 17.30 to feed the dogs in much snow and wind.

It was Francisco Pérez’s birthday, and at 20.00 we sat down in front of a mass of plates containing various savouries and glasses of Cinzano. We were each provided with a fork to spear a desired delicacy. After that the meal started in earnest. The main course was chicken, then soup, fruit salad and wines to go with them. Then the cake was brought in: a gargantuan affair with frosting and icing made, we were told, from butter, sugar and gin. Naturally that called for Argentinian champagne. To round all this off we had tea. Dr Carlos Ramasciotti

from Cordoba, the only civilian on the base, was extremely knowledgable on almost everything, and of course spoke excellent English. He produced a road map which I for one found a lot more interesting than the magazines. Teniente Giró also came from Cordoba, Sergeant Miguel Verón from Formosa in the far north (and he looked the part—the only ‘indian’), Raul Rodriguez from Resistencia, Corporal Oscar Alfonso was from Santo Fé, and Corporal Rogelio Monzón presumably hailed from BA. We left table at 23.45 and made for our sleeping quarters for the maté session and a guitar/song recital by Francicso.

Heads were down by 02.15.

Wednesday 26 August 1959 All this time the weather had been bad. When we got up at noon it was still snowing and blowing, but much colder: –21°C. The same light lunch menu as yesterday, then quickly back to the stove for an afternoon maté session. Then, as the wind eased, we ventured out. I was shown the met instruments and saw something of the island (one of the Debenhams), and also fed the dogs. Keith’s sledge was partially buried, mine OK, but dogs had chewed a few items, including my spare gloves and a whirling psychrometer!

Francisco was very excited at the prospect of a trip to Mushroom Island (and hopefully beyond) in the near future. He also wanted to come with Raul to visit us at Horseshoe in early November.

Dinner was an entrée of crawfish, then beefsteak à l’estancia, soup, birthday cake, etc. This evening we were in

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bed by midnight.

Thursday 27 August 1959 Keith and I had considered going on to Stonington in the afternoon, but it was still very cold and also we intended trying to QSO Base Y in the evening. Therefore Keith is doing his local geology now instead of on our way back. After darning socks I visited most of the Debenhams, which seemed a charming group of islets; the Northeast Glacier had overwhelmed some of the easternmost. Adelaide Island was just visible with its impressive Mount Gaudry.

Teniente was opening boxes of meteorological instruments brought from Henkes Islands (south of Adelaide), and I went to get our sledge barometer as a means of calibrating their new ones. Their barograph is daily, other graphs weekly, and all made in Argentina.

Keith came in at 16.15. After dinner I went with Francisco to the radio cabin and we successfully contacted Base Y. Then he insisted that I make a ‘ham’ contact who turned out to be someone in Pennsylvania. It was a very cold clear night.

Friday 28 August 1959 Fine and very cold morning (–38°C) but we had to make a move. Up at 10.00 and packed. Chocolate to drink, some breakfast, then away shortly before 13.00 with me (or rather Epsilon) in the lead. But twice the wretched team turned back and the second time I couldn’t hold the sledge, but Keith and Francicso got them back on their tracks, and we made good progress after that. We set course towards Neny Island in

order to keep outside the bergs and brash created by the advancing Northeast Glacier.

Stonington was reached at about 14.30, where we found that picketing was not good near the hut. Being thoroughly familiar with the base, Keith knew just where to dig a hole to find the entrance, since snow covered all but the chimneys and small bits of the roof. Thus we had to let ourselves down a couple of metres to ground level before we could start clearing snow from around the door, and that snow had then to be propelled a similar distance against the force of gravity.

The temperature inside the hut was uniform and seemed equable compared with that outside. But airless. Leaving the door open for ventilation, Keith got a primus going, and then managed to light the fire. After an initial period of smoking, it settled down well. In the meantime, he took me on a guided tour, pointing out the American huts and the extent to which the snowdrifts had increased since last year. And a Chilean contribution in the form of a sort of broken packing-case with a hand-painted indicatory notice: RIFUGIO (!)

Keith then started digging again, this time to get a sledge for seal meat from out of a nissen hut. That accomplished, we set to chopping the seal meat. At that point, the pickets holding the ‘Spartans’ came loose and a battle royal broke out involving all but Liz and Moose. Poor old Gamma was given a severe mauling. With Keith’s help I got the team on to the sea ice where picketing was more secure, and

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chained Gamma to a radio antenna.

Outdoor jobs completed, I descended into the buried hut where Keith was already getting tins ready for an evening meal. This was stewed steak with meat and vegetables followed by strawberries. Later Keith played records on the wind-up gramophone.

Saturday 29 August 1959 It snowed fairly heavily, then blew from the ESE. Keith fed the dogs.

Otherwise not much was done.

Sunday 30 August 1959 Blowing all the time from the SE with much drifting snow. But we feel and hear little of this down in our bunker.

Monday 31 August 1959 Cloudy with some snow at times, but the wind had dropped. Dogs and sledges were dug out, and the former fed seal. We then collected boxes of Nutrican (dog food) from the hangar and took them to the sledges—ten boxes each. At about 17.00 Raul and Francisco arrived, having come for dog pemmican. They spanned their team at the hangar and then joined us for supper and another record session. The Argies slept in the living room, I had a camp bed in the ‘hall’ and Keith occupied his old bunk.

Tuesday 1 September 1959 Our guests left at about lunchtime.

Despite increasing evidence of drifting snow on the mountains and a rapidly falling barometer, Keith and I made ready to depart. But at 16.30 we decided to remain on base, though doing a minimum of unpacking.

The SE blizzard hit us at 17.30 with spectacular drifting between Stonington and Neny Islands.

Wednesday 2 September 1959 Although the wind still blew strongly, the sun was shining and there was not so much drift. I left Keith in bed until lunchtime, but by 15.00 the gale abated further, so we departed Stonington at about 17.00 and crossed rapidly to Store Point on Neny Island where we pitched camp on glare ice and slept to the sound of the groaning tide-crack.

For some reason I did not keep up the diary after this, or if I did it must have been in another notebook.

Our itinerary was henceforth dictated by Keith’s requirements for geology. We moved from Neny I on 5th to nearby Randall Rocks, then on 8th to Millerand I. where we stayed until Monday 14 September. From my failing biological memory I can only retrieve the day we left the dogs securely picketed on the sea ice and skied up a north-facing glacier that seemed to be dead.

At any rate, no crevasses could be seen. Keith did his geology, and we had an amusing descent that examination of our tracks in the snow would have shown had not been quite straightforward.

Passing San Martín on our way home, we left Gamma in the care of Dr Ramasciotti who kindly agreed to treat a nasty bite at the base of his tail. We must have returned to Horseshoe Island the following day, 15 September.

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TO DETAILLE ISLAND Saturday 10 October 1959 Overcast with nagging NE wind and very light snow as we departed at 10.30: Gordon, then Keith then me.

Surface excellent, like a main road, and the wind soon dropped. Very good progress to Ridge Island where we had a pause. Some trouble getting Ruth to proceed, and Alpha got off after sustaining a going-over by his mates. Beyond Ridge Island the surface became more uneven with patches of bare ice showing; low drift was occasionally raised by gusts from valleys to the SE. As we progressed, higher drift became evident blowing out from the entrance to the Jones Ice Shelf, and later down the face of Blaiklock Island, so we pulled up on to Gnome Island as the first gusts arrived at 16.45.

The tent was erected in a gale-force wind coming straight down the mountain face to the NNW, and soon the drift was compounded by moderate snowfall. The teams were picketed in hard névé. We had travelled 21 miles (35km).

Sunday 11 October 1959 Continuous moderate snow with drift, later the NNW wind died down, but the snow was relentless. Babe was found by Gordon to have pupped.

The 119 radio refused to function, so we decided to dump it here.

Monday 12 October 1959 The sledges were buried under a Christmas card snow scene. The sun was shining, though clouds were moving fast from the WSW. After the shovelling session we got away at 11.30,

the going was rather heavy at first, but improved around the east cape of Blaiklock Island. The surface became excellent once on the ice-shelf where we had a lunch stop at 13.15. Still sunny, but thickening upper cloud.

No cracks were seen until we turned right up the Heim Glacier.

At about 200 ft (71m), Gordon stopped at a series of crevasses, so we picketed, intending to reconnoitre, but the NNW wind increased, raised drift and brought continuous wet snow.

Therefore after circumspection camp was made at 15.00. Only seven miles (11km).

Tuesday 13 October 1959 Lie-up. Northerly gale, snow and drift with a tempera¬ture of 0°C. Improvement in afternoon; dug out sledge at 20.00 but the wind came on again half an hour later. Out of boredom Epsilon set to chewing the main trace.

Wednesday 14 October 1959 Another day‘s lie-up. Severe gale during the night, gradually abating. The sledges were excavated at 17.00. A large drift formed upwind from our camp seemed to offer a useful route across crevasses just ahead. But at 19.00 the storm resumed with more snow and drift.

Thursday 15 October 1959 Lie-up again. The wind blew without any intermission during the day. Keith nobly went to dig out and feed the dogs.

Friday 16 October 1959 It had turned colder, but the wind remained strong and more gusty.

Gordon ventured out at noon, and I exited later to feed and water the dogs and thought I saw a hint of blue sky.

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Encouraged by less wind I began some digging again.

Saturday 17 October 1959 The sun was breaking through! It was almost calm and the temperature was –10°C. Digging everything out—sledges, traces and tent—and breaking camp took all morning, and we did not make a start until 14.00. Gordon attached his team and sledge to the back of mine, and, roped to my main trace, went ahead to probe for crevasses.

But soon we got out of the area we suspected as being dangerous and travelled independently again. There was drifting on all the surrounding mountains, and crossing the long undulating summit zone where the Heim gives way to the Antevs Glacier, visibility was reduced by ice needles in suspension.

Descending towards Lallemand Fjord the drift increased somewhat, and as we had kept too far to the right (east) we came upon a wide crevasse that entailed a long detour. We camped at 19.15, not liking the look of the drift ahead. Temperature –15°C, and ten miles (16km) covered.

Sunday 18 October 1959 Breakfast at 07.30. A veil of cirrus overhead and temperature –18°C. Away at 10.45, keeping to the left (west) side of a depression. It started to snow and the visibility deteriorated.

We struck ENE but came to an area of undulations and occasional crevasses, so turned WNW but camped at 15.10 as the snow became heavier.

Temperature –13°C. Cedric was set upon by the rest of the team and sustained fatal injuries. Sad, but his loss was not serious.

Monday 19 October 1959 When I looked out at 07.00 it was snowing, so I leisurely prepared breakfast. But signs of an improvement made us pack up. There was a northerly breeze and the temperature had risen to 0°C with occasional drift snow, not the most comfortable conditions. We left at noon and could see Humphries Ice Rise, so kept to the right of it and crossed on to the sea ice of Lallemand Fjord at 14.30.

The surface immediately became bad. We made for Hooke Point that forms the eastern limit of the ice shelf in the hope of finding seals for dog food; there were none so we continued north, but camped at 16.15 near a small iceberg some two miles (3km) NNW of Hooke Point. We could hardly see the coast.

Tuesday 20 October 1959 A lie-up day. We had decided that unless conditions were very good we would give ourselves and the teams a rest day to dry out. But as the wind was blowing from the north with the temperature above freezing and occasonal drizzle, we remained humid in spite of the odd bright period. We were hopeful that the surfaces might get better.

Wednesday 21 October 1959 The only difference was that light snow had replaced the drizzle. We got under way at 11.00 on a moist but compact surface that permitted good speed. We saw a flock of about 30 Antarctic petrels. In fact we soon decided at 12.30 to bypass Ermine Point and make directly for Andresen Island. Then from about twelve miles (19km) distance we could see Detaille

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Island, so changed direction towards it. There was the same (or another) flock of Antarctic petrels as we closed in on Base W, but no seals.

Just as we reached the base the wind sprang up to gale force with a blizzard. The customary greeting.

Entry had to be forced as the outer door of the porch had come open allowing snow to enter and later freeze. The beading was prized off and the door opened—outwards. Drifting around the hut was not excessive, the west side was virtually open, and on the east side the drift extended to between the kitchen and living-room windows. No snow had entered apart from the porch. The general snow cover seemed to have reached the level of the floor even at the north end, and in time ice problems will inevitably result. Both diesel engines were eventually started, but No. 2 generator gave only a vestigial voltage. All equipment appeared to work well from No. 1 generator.

In the dental valise all but one of the ampoules of Xylotox had burst or blown.

Spans were all buried or removed except one. The anemometer was continuing to register speed on the dial in the kitchen only. Water had seeped through the floor in the vicinity of the back door and loo, then frozen, and on remelting spread into the passage and ex-met. office.

Thursday 22 October 1959 Weather blowing from N with much snow, particularly after noon. Keith spent the morning digging out the porch and then going through geological records. Gordon was working

on the diesels, and I was cooking and clearing snow from the emergency hut—and doing met. observa¬tions.

By evening we successfully put Base W on the air again. Station 88956 ephemerally reappeared on the FICOL. Friday 23 October 1959 Cloudy. Gordon and I spent the morning excavating and chopping up seals on the North Islet. Keith was occupied by cooking and his geological records. After lunch the first solitary Adélie penguin arrived at the island from the west. Several seals and possibly some pups could be seen to the W, but as we have enough they remained unmolested.

Thursday 29 October 1959 The first skuas had been seen on 28 October; there were many Dominican gulls and the odd giant petrel.

At 07.00 it was snowing, but at 09.00 the sun was just visible, so wheels were set in motion for our departure.

The diesel was dismantled and sledges loaded, but at 10.00 moderate to heavy snow started and I didn’t expect we would leave today. However, after lunch the snow eased off and the wind, which had been light to moderate southerly, dropped and it felt extraordinarily warm, although the thermometer read –1°C. After blocking up the windows our departure was effected at 16.00, Gordon in the lead with 750-800lb (350kg), then me with 1100lb (500kg) and Keith bringing up the rear with a similar load. To start with there was a breakable crust but we made 1.7 miles (3km) in the first 55 minutes, then the crust became firm and we sailed along—Gordon

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literally, with a home-made contraption—pushed along by a fifteen-knot wind down the fjord, and camped at 20.45 as a snowstorm started. We had travelled 14 miles (23km).

Friday 30 October 1959 Lie-up. During the night the wind had changed to southerly and increased with snow and drift. The temperature fluctuated between –1° and –5°C. The wind died out at 17.00 but snow continued.

Saturday 31 October 1959 Snowing and blowing from N until 09.55 when it suddenly became calm and the sun came out. Temperature –1°C but it felt very warm. We dug out sledges and traces, I returned into the tent to brew a cup of tea ‘for the road’, but a NW breeze started and by 11.30 it was snowing once more, with drift.

Sunday 1 November 1959 When Keith looked out at 07.15 it was snowing lightly, but had ceased, with the cloud breaking somewhat, by the time we had finished breakfast. After the familiar exercise of digging out, we were away at 11.35, but my sledge over-turned on the camp drifts and there was a twenty-minute delay. My dogs found it hard going, so Gordon took a couple of dog-food boxes from me, but soon he had difficulty in his turn, so at 16.00 Keith took one box and I the other, but it was still no good.

During the day the cloud had broken and it was blazing hot, so we camped at 17.00 with the intention of making a very early start. We had covered only five miles (8km). Several Adélies were around, generally moving southward like us.

Monday 2 November 1959 I set the alarm for 04.00, but we were not away until 08.00 under an overcast threatening sky. The surface was still too soft, though the sledges ran better. Mine bogged down frequently and Keith took the survey box from me. Snow started at 09.15 and we camped at 09.50 having laboriously covered two miles (3km). We intend to relay tomorrow unless something miraculous happens to the surface.

Tuesday 3 November 1959 Set alarm for 06.00 and found it was calm and clear outside, though the surface was no better. We left with the first relay at 09.40 and by noon had covered 4.6 miles (7.4km), having gained the ice-shelf about a mile back.

For the return to the depôt I took the lead. This was easy with the tracks to follow. Picking up the dumped load, we were back at the advanced depôt on the ice-shelf at 17.00 and camped.

During the afternoon it had clouded over from the NW, but the visibility remained good. Two Adélie penguins were going south across the ice-shelf towards Antevs Glacier.

Wednesday 4 November 1959 Set the alarm for 06.00 and away at 09.45. Weather again threatening with drift in most directions, and the faint roar of wind could be heard. We soon came into it, a strong blow from the SE, laid the depôt after one mile and went back for the remainder of the load. Our tracks were not easy to see. We camped with the full load at 12.20 as the drift showed no sign of abating, and indeed it soon started to snow.

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Thursday 5 November 1959 Alarm at 06.00 and away at 09.50. We had decided to try to cut out the relay, though Keith had difficulty and gave me back the survey box. We made reasonable progress in spite of coming into an area of strong gusty SE winds which raised drift and made life most unpleasant for the dogs. Then I found that the map roll had fallen off the sledge, so the party had to wait in little comfort while I skied back about a mile until I found it. A delay of about 50 minutes. But then the ‘Folies’ went on strike, so I led on skis while Keith contrived to handle the ‘Admirals’ with his sledge, attached to which were the ‘Spartans’ with mine.

Luckily it was not long before conditions improved—the drift stopped and the surface became firmer—and we made good progress to the foot of the Antevs Glacier where we camped at 16.15. One penguin had met his end among the Admirals at our lunch stop, and another was mauled after we camped. We had gained six miles net (10km); the temperature fell from –5° to –8°C. Friday 6 November 1959 Cold night with light southerly breeze; the temperature was –19°C before the sun reached camp. Departure with relay loads at 09.40, Gordon, though trail-breaking, got to the top of the rise half an hour ahead of Keith and I who made very heavy work of it, moreover patches of fog rolling in from the fjord also hampered us. Another penguin was killed by the Admirals before we returned for the remainder of our loads. The fog was then beginning to disperse.

We were back at our deposited goods at 15.00, relashed the full loads on our sledges, had a rest and a drink, and set off again. Almost immediately Gordon came to a crevasse blocking our intended route, so had to deviate westwards losing a little altitude in the process. After rather hard going for an hour, we camped at 17.00 at the summit shared by the Antevs and Heim Glaciers. Monty grabbed a penguin and the Admirals shared a quarter of a pound of best New Zealand Anchor butter. It was overcast with a NW’ly wind and temperature –7°C. I had added the following note: For future crossings of the Antevs/ Heim Glaciers from north to south with loads likely to require relays, there appears to be a troublefree line of ascent near the eastern wall, where the steepest part of the slope is short, probably less than a mile, whereas our route was something over two miles with an additional ridge to cross.

Saturday 7 November 1959 Wind and weather seemed rather threatening in the morning, and it was only after lunch that we decided to strike camp. The wind was from the WNW, but with some gusts from the NE; temperature –6°C. Got away at 15.45 and made good progress across the level summit heading for the twin peaked mountain to the east of the Heim Glacier.

We saw no crevasses until the ground started to drop away, and these we kept on our right. Another penguin was killed. Heading down in the di-

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rection of the ‘Midland Valley’ on Blaiklock Island, we were not aware of crossing any bridged crevasses at all, though they were evident on both sides. We were a little to the west of our route of ascent, and there was no sign of the flags we had left. A strong cold breeze from the SE met us on the Jones ice-shelf, and the surface became very good, so we continued to Gnome Island which we reached at 20.05 and picked up the 119 radio set.

There was a strong easterly wind with drift, but the surface was so good and Mount Searle on Horseshoe Island looked so tempting that we pressed on down Bourgeois Fjord, reaching base at 02.25.

Base Y (Horseshoe Island) with the emergency Hut and entrance to Homing Bay beyond.

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Story of the BAS de Havilland Otter VP-FAK

BAS Club Newsletter No. 31; winter 1993 VP-FAI (FAK) Otter 1959/60 – 1966/67 DHC-3 Otter, construction No. 294, purchased 1959. Registered as VP-FAI but painted and flown as VP-FAK. This and all later aircraft were fitted with wheel-skis. Shipped to Deception Island for assembly, arriving 26 January 1960. Winged and serviced at Deception. Operated summers from Adelaide Island from 1961. Damaged by gale at Deception 6 October 1961 and by crevasse accident at Adelaide 19 December 1964. The first airborne radio echo-sounding in the Antarctic (using Scott Polar Resarch Institute equipment) carried out by this aircraft in 1966/67. Grounded due to extensive metal fatigue in fuselage 26 March 1967. Written off at end of season.

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BAS Club Newsletter No. 50; December 2003 Every year about 10,000 tourists see this abandoned fuselage tucked behind the hangar on Deception Island. Many of them no doubt wonder how it got there and what it did. It is actually one of two single-engined Otter aircraft which the then newly renamed British Antarctic Survey owned in the 1960s.

BAS Club Newsletter No. 51; May 2004 In April this year, as part of the Deception Island clean-up programme, BAS moved the fuselage, and other aircraft remnants, to Rothera (Adelaide Island) where its condition will be carefully appraised before deciding on its fate once more.

BAS Club Newsletter No. 52; December 2004 It transpires that news came of an American who wanted to add the Otter to his collection and, despite being informed that the plane was part of Historic Site No. 71 and protected under the Antarctic Treaty, still wanted to take it away.

RRS Ernest Shackleton was despatched to Deception and fids and machinery poured ashore to bear No. 294 to safety. As well as getting the fuselage on board, the team removed the wings, tail sections, ski and other bits that lay in the hangar. Then they searched a rubbish dump and recovered an engine and another ski.

BAS has decided it is safer to ship it (Otter 294) to the United Kingdom next season. The possibility of depositing it in the de Havilland Aircraft Heritage Centre at London Colney (near Hatfield) where it would become the central exhibit in a new Antarctic aviation display. This would be a loan, with the option of returning it to Deception at a later date.

Otter on ice (26.03.1960)

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BAS Club Newsletter No. 54; December 2005 British Antarctic Survey and the de Havilland Aircraft Heritage Centre at Salisbury Hall, London Colney, have agreed on a long term loan from BAS of DHC-3 Otter VP-FAK. It was originally shipped down to Deception Island, arriving 26 January 1960 before assembly and a flight on 3 February.

The aircraft was flown by aircrew seconded from the Royal Air Force to BAS. It carried RAF roundels. It was damaged a number of times, and made its last flight from Adelaide to Deception on 7 March 1967. Following an inspection it was grounded due to structural problems, having flown 981.3 hours and making 853 landings. It was shipped to Britain, arriving at Grimsby on 8 May 2005.

Now read on : www.dehavillandmuseum.co.uk/dhc3otter/dhc.

Otter comes in from the cold (2005)

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View westward from Flagstaff Hill, Horseshoe Island, in late summer 1960, with Hoskins Peak on the right and Adelaide Island beyond † Keith Hoskins was victim of a tragic accident near Bath in Somerset in February 2004

Réalisation de ce livre Ce livre a été entièrement écrit par Robin Perry et mis en page par sa fille Carol Bussinger; ont également participé à sa réalisation, Liliane Perry, Maurice Perry, Daniel et Françoise Rossi-Perry, William et Patrick Bussinger, Jennifer Tresca, en juin 2009 à l’occasion de l’anniversaire de leur mari, père, grand-père et beau-père.

Impression et édition: Digimagic sàrl 1227 Carouge/GE • Switzerland • www.digimagic.ch

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ANTARCTIC EXPERIENCE 1958 - 1960 Robin Perry