Call my (Fossil) Bluff

Describing ‘Fossil Bluff’ is a surprisingly difficult undertaking.

Think ‘Little House On The Prairie’ meets ‘One Flew Over The Coo Coo’s Nest’ and you’ll be in the right ballpark. A simple life where you can exist contently with only the very basic necessities of life, then throw in a touch of nutter farm (minus the electric shock treatment) and it’s a perfect analogy.

I would like to leave the details of deep field Antarctic depot responsibilities and leisure to my next post, where I will explain the insight into why BAS have a permanent site in a 22’ by 16’ hut on a glacier over 250 miles away from the nearest human being; what we do work wise; our routine and not so routine tasks.

It is all quite interesting.

So firstly I must apologize for the lack of obvious Antarctic content in this post, but it does give an insight into how the FIDS brain reacts to living in a small shed on a Sound at the edge of a glacier, on Alexander Island, for over two weeks. During this initial time there was an extended period of zero flying between Rothera and Sky Blu, (which is our main flight path) which basically equates to prolonged periods of extensive free time to fill. It is important to note here that zero flying can often be roughly translated into cack weather. Cack weather can often be roughly translated into stay indoors.

As I was not expecting to be manning a depot, I did not bring along any books or music; I was at the mercy of the Bluff library and music scene, but I will give BAS credit, (or more accurately generations of ex-FIDS for leaving their books behind for others to enjoy), as there is always a great collection of books to get stuck into which ever BAS facility you end up in. Fossil Bluff was no exception. The kindest words I can give the music collection is ‘small & dated’, biased greatly towards the eighties and nineties – the genuine cassette tapes enhancing that 25-year-old ambiance. However both the music and book collection proved to be incredibly effective at enriching my Bluff experience, in a very significant manner.

As they proved to be such an integral part of my Bluff time, I would like to say a few words regarding particular books and music that did contribute to life while manning the depot. Indulge me as I start with the books – I read two while at Fossil Bluff.

When critiquing books, even when only to yourself, requires an open mind and the ability to see the hidden depths of the authors minds-eye and feel the actual and (often) latent meaning of the written word, so when quotes from the opening chapter includes such literal flowing poetry as “she waxed lachrymose” and “I began to dream, almost before I ceased to be sensible of my locality”, while the other musters “And no matter what I tried I just could not get the generator to work”, or “We knew what was important, supporting Brian’s studying of rocks” you would think in terms of literal gems this was going to be pretty much an open and shut case. Hmmm.

The two books I read were: ‘Wuthering Height’s, by Emily Bronte (a Penguin Classic in the classic orange spine classical sense), and Cliff Pearce’s succinctly named ‘The Silent Sound: The Story of Two Years in Antarctica and the First Winter Occupation of Alexander Island’.

I’m sure that Pearce never really expect to be judged in the same sentence as Bronte, but I’m sorry Emily… in my humble opinion, Cliff takes it! Now I would like to justify that statement, and say a few words on each:

Wuthering Heights. Am I seriously missing something here? I am a massive fan of the English classics from Shakespeare to George Eliot (Silas Marner, for example being one of the all time best books ever written). I love my classics, so this makes it all the more difficult to speak ill of the “classical” dead, but in this case: Bronte, you what? You Yorkshire oddity! Your book makes absolutely no sense; even in 19th century England no one was as stupid as Miss Linton. Hindley: what on earth were you thinking? Joseph’s character is just utterly ridiculous! Catherine and Cathy… their actions bear no resemblance to anything that would actually happen in real life; and finally: Heathcliffe, just “no”. Like many pretentious literally journalists I would like to discuss his deep and troubled character until I believe it myself, but “no” seems to sum it up perfectly and far more accurately. I know I am in the minority in regards to how this book is acclaimed; there just has to be an element of the Emperors New Clothes here.

And while I’m on a roll, Kate Bush shame on you – strangling cats to promote this book and your singling career simultaneously.

‘The Silent Sound’. What can I say? I’m hope the appeal of this book is not limited only to the people who have actually stayed at Fossil Bluff, (who all read the copy that’s there), but I suspect it is probably a key factor to whether you would be tempted to buy and read it. I’m confident it is never going to hit the NYTimes Best Sellers list, but all I will say is I absolutely LOVED it.

Among other elements contained within the book, it is a diary’est account of how Fossil Bluff came into existence during the early 60’s, and Cliff was one of the first three people to ‘Winter’ there. Reading the events taking place in the very room I was actually sitting in, all those years ago made me feel a part of a living history. I felt I was the latest in a proud 45-year-old line of continual occupancy at the Bluff. The pictures are wonderful, if a little sad when comparing how the glacier has retreated so much in the intervening decades. It is a great thing that stories of this ilk are written and kept for future generations. Should Cliff Pearce ever stumble upon this Blog: Thank you Cliff, thank you for taking the time to write this account. Should there be broadband from the beyond and Ms Bronte has also made it here… sorry mate!

Onto the music – in the age of massive personal music collections, both with CD’s, MP3 and iTunes et al, it was strange to go back to listening to tunes from an incredibly limited collection. It forces you to listen to tracks you would probably otherwise skip over. I was therefore shocked to discover just how good a couple of bands were that I was actually very aware of, in fact they were big during one of my big ‘into music’ eras. As the debates over the best album of the 20th Century raged back and forth between the Beatles and Oasis I was pretty much in agreement with either school of thought. However I, and they, were wrong. Within the first five days in that hut it became abundantly clear to me that Primal Scream’s ‘Screamadelica’ is the best album ever recorded. No discussion. Fact.

The final indoor activity I will mention is cooking. Well, baking. We have an awesome 1960’s aga, just like those found in the ‘ole English farm houses. So, as the advanced equation goes: lack of flights = lack of food. Don’t get me wrong; we would never starve at Fossil Bluff… we could probably live there for 18 years judging by the ‘dry’ food supplies. But freshies are important as much for a healthy body as they are for a healthy psychic. Therefore when the last loaf of bread disappeared down the gullet of an un-named individual action was required. A quick glance on the wall… a bread recipe is there. No excuses. We have the ingredients. We have the intelligence. We have the time. And now, we very definitely, have the inclination.

This is my first ever loaf of bread, and with our last four slices of cheese and two spoonfuls of Branston pickle, it tasted absolutely and utterly, utterly delicious!!!

A 'day' in the field!

Thursday 21st December was a key day, a milestone day even. This was the type of day I joined the British Antarctic Survey for. Co-pilot duty beckoned. BAS has a very sensible policy on ensuring staff do not travel any great distance away from bases unaccompanied. So even if there is no actual need for passengers (or PAX in BAS speak!) a co-pilot is still a necessity in case of emergences and unforeseen circumstances. More on unforeseen circumstances later!

However, a mildly ironic fact is that operations and research in the Antarctic can only occur through proceedings being planned and executed with an almost military style level of precision and detail, often far in advanced. The irony comes in with the fact that detailed logistical planning does not rule in Antarctica; the weather does, the weather in conjunction with ‘unforeseen circumstances’ that is. The Antarctic as a continent glances at the detailed and beautifully coloured Gant chart produced by BAS Operations and Scientific Boards’ and lifts it’s svelte 25,400,000km3 of ice and has a damn good chuckle with itself.

We left base at approximately 9:10am on Thursday, to travel to the ‘Rabid’ deep field site some 1000 miles to the south, to arrive back at base around 11:00pm that night, after successfully completing a straightforward equipment deployment exercise.

I next saw Rothera 14 days later.

The map above shows the locations of the depots and deep field site, Rabid.

Our transport is the Twin Otter, and it is the workhorse of the extreme environment airways. It’s Canadian upbringing making it the perfect plane for Antarctic operations. We have four, affectionately know as Victor Bravo Bravo, Victor Bravo Charlie, Victor Bravo Lima and Alpha Zulu -- Naturally! Victor Bravo Charlie was my bird!

It’s interesting in retrospect the thoughts that stick most in the mind about the first few hours of flight… the memory of grinning like a school kid during take-off; the fact that the doors open by turning a handle (exactly the same as in an old car – none of these large levers and people instructing “… arm doors to automatic and position to cross check please”). You lift the handle and the door will open and this is the case on the ground, or at 10,000ft feet – I found I was always very aware of my elbow position in relation to the door handle! Also, the fact that as the cabin is un-pressurized means you can open the window! Fantastic for photography, no more sticking the lens against the plastic to get a blurry shot consisting mainly of the remains of the previous seat occupants greasy forehead.

But the biggest memory, as is often the case in the Antarctic, was the scenery – flying at a few thousand feet over glaciers and sounds, in between mountains ranges, with nunatak’s sticking out of the sea of white is utterly breathtaking. Photographs and words struggle at this point. This is why I am here.

After landing and refueling at two depots along the route, Fossil Bluff and Sky Blu, we arrive at Rabid. It’s a simple operation to deposit some fuel, a ski-doo and a few other supplies, and it’s completed surprisingly quickly. The realization of where I am then hits. The Ellsworth mountain range is close by; they are stunning. But the predominate thought is: ‘where I am’. I am just shy of 80 degrees south, by far the furthest south I have ever been.

There are no other living creatures anywhere near here, no other humans for several hundreds of miles; the nearest city is in South America.

This is truly remote. And then in a rather surreal moment, Bravo Bravo lands behind us and 5 people get out!

My only sad thought I had there is that there is a significant chance that this will be the furthest south I will ever get to. I am about 700 miles from the South Pole - so close! We do have research sites further south, but the chances of me reaching them personally are probably quite remote, and the likelihood of being sent to the Yank Amundsen-Scott station situated on the pole itself even less likely.

The sad thought lasts a fraction of a second, as the view of a now 20ft buried igloo (yes, the toilet – built several years ago on the surface, but buried a little more each season by the snow accumulation) again makes me smile and brings me back my current location, and how lucky I am to be here.

The Sky Blu depot

The return flight is equally enthralling. Back to Sky Blu for fuel and on to Fossil Bluff for, you guessed it, fuel. The difference here is that I watch Bravo Charlie depart from the ski-way, i.e. I watch Charlie take off from the ground. I am not on the plane; this is not right. The Gant chart states quite categorically that I should be on that plane. I only have one pair of pants!

To cut a long story short, a colleague has slightly knacked his finger, nothing too serious but better to be safe than sorry, he flies back to Rothera and it’s medical facilities and doctors while I hold the fort at the depot. No worries – I’ll be collected tomorrow. The weather came in… Christmas and New Year at ‘The Bluff…’

Going South

Now, I like to believe I am pretty relaxed when it comes to travel and all its associated delays and mishaps, BUT I have say a 34 day commute to work is something pretty special! Not even British Rail, during Jimmy Saville’s “This Is The Age Of The Train” campaign, circa 1975 could rival that! But that is another story… for another day… for another Blog.

I digress; to the present: There is nothing less interesting than a “This is my home…” and “This is my pet…” type Blog entry. Nothing. So my full and sincere apology as this is my: “This is my home” and “This is my pet…” type Blog entry. I feel it just needs to be said, be gotten out of the way, before things of greater interest can occur.

Without further ado, this is the British Antarctic Survey Research Station ‘Rothera’, which is located at Latitude 67°34' S, Longitude 68°08' W (see, this Blog name didn't just make itself up! clever eh?) on Adelaide Island, just off the Antarctic mainland. Approximately 125 people staff it during the summer and that figure drops down to about 22 during the austral winter. I won’t regurgitate all the facts and figures, but please visit the BAS website at http://www.antarctic.ac.uk/ for all the information you could possibly imagine. It actually is rather good.

The last view I had from my office was that of the Chrysler Building... which was OK, and made better by the fact that it had a Starbucks in it, please compare and contrast to my current view! Sometimes things need no discussion (although I do really really miss Starbucks!)

But without question the star of Antarctica is the wildlife, and in particular penguins. They are wonderful, and this is stated having not been remotely influenced by the recent wave of penguin mania to sweep the world. They are fascinating, in a small odd human'ish way. Two have decided to live right on base, and often right under my window, and have now been affectionately named Jude and Dude (within my mind anyway).

A typical day for them as far as I can deduce seems to be floating around on an ice sheet for a few hours then waddle up to you as fast as they possibly can, stop a few feet short stare at you and say “Quark” while continuing to stare. Then eventually waddle away. True class.

This is an Adelie penguin, named after the wife of Dumont d'Urville, the French Antarctic explorer... which is a shame. But they are true Antarctic penguins restricted to the coastal waters of Antarctica. They are also one of the smallest penguins around, weighing in at 5.3kg and have an approximate height of just over 70cm.


Our other common neighbour is the Weddell seal, and is the furthest south living mammal on the planet. Which I believe to be a pretty cool claim to fame. Go Weddell.

Well, I did say it'll be brief, and it was. My first impressions of the base were good, and reminded me a lot of a modern university halls type environment, even down to queuing up at the phones, which really is something I haven't done since my UEA university days! The food is plentyful and good. The library is good. Music and films all good. The wine: dodgy! Just find 'White Rabbit', served from something resembling a large Capri-Sun type foil contain that you stick a straw into, and all will become abundantly clear! But I will go into detail about the activities and work and social base life, and go into yarns about about the amazing wildlife I share this pennisula with, but for now just a taster of where I live... you would be amazed at the number of people who genuinely thought I was going to live in a tent for 15 months, cooking on a gas stove!

Setting the scene (you know what I mean?)

I am not a Blog person. I would also go as far to say that the idea of sharing my thoughts and personal feelings on the web for all to peruse as kind of horrific, similar in fact I imagine, to the pleasure derived from gargling one’s own vomit.

However, after receiving certain pressures from a variety of sources to set up a central one-stop presence on the web where I can share stories, latest happenings & photo’s of my activities, I slowly came around to the fact, and reluctantly agreed that a Blog did fit the criteria and nicely fulfill the purpose of this task. And to be honest now I’ve started, it’s actually quite painless -- even enjoyable. I am hoping the following posts will give you an insight into Antarctica and the life that occurs within Britain’s largest logistic and scientific research base.

So to begin I would like to meditate over the following: It is an amazing truth that life takes on quite radical changes in direction, through either the accumulation of many small decisions taken in our everyday life, through to the more conscious and deliberate large scale changes we deliberately employ.

The affect they have on our future is often unclear until sometime after the event. To personalize this hypothesis, I would never have thought it possible a year ago while celebrating New Years Eve 2006, in my comfortable brown stone Upper West Side apartment in New York City that exactly one year hence the 2007 New Years celebration would be conducted in a 26' by 18' hut on a glacier on a small island just off the Antarctica mainland.

I am still a little confused how the events of 2006 led me from New York to Antarctica. But I have decided not to over analyze it and just accept the fact that life is odd. I like odd.