Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
a bowl of fish soup? It was like some Homeric age in which men larger than ourselves bestrode
the continent, replaced now by the etiolated figures of bureaucracy.
The legends were even more vividly drawn in the collective memory of Kiwi veterans. They
reached their acme in the exploits of the Asgaard Rangers and their bitter enemies the Vandals.
The former were nomadic hydrologists who had been roaming the Asgaard mountains in the Dry
Valleys since the late sixties, and the latter were the sedentary scientists of the Lake Vanda camp
on the valley floor. One of the Asgaards had just arrived at Scott Base, and he was extremely keen
to extol Asgaard virtues and Vandal frailties. Pete was a rogue with a gleam in his eye and an in-
fectiously enthusiastic manner; once he spotted a joke he pursued it like a hound after a hare.
'Tell me about your work,' I said.
'We measure water flows', he replied quickly, 'and compare the rate of glacial advance and re-
treat here with glacier movement in New Zealand. They move much more slowly here.' He didn't
seem very interested in talking about this.
'What you have to understand,' he said, clearing his throat and leaning over the dining table to-
wards me, 'is that Vandals are inferior to Asgaards in every way.'
The passage of almost thirty years had not diminished their rivalry. Mock battles continued to be
staged, and if the Vandals raised their flag from the bamboo pole at their camp, an Asgaard Ranger
would be sure to ski down from the top of the valley and slice it off.
'Asgaards pride themselves on the theft of as much issue clothing as possible,' said Pete, adding
quickly, 'though of course, we Rangers don't actually need to wear many clothes, as we barely feel
the cold.'
'What else rates highly then?' I asked. 'I mean, in the Asgaard-versus-Vandal rivalry?'
'Stealing food from Americans but ratting on Vandals who do the same is highly regarded,' he
said, warming now to the theme. 'I remember hijacking a leg of ham from a helicopter once. We
were only talking about that at a reunion last month.'
'Where do you hold the reunions?' I asked.
'Strip clubs, usually,' he said.
I could imagine how much the bureaucracy and safety regulations of the contemporary Antarctic
programme must have crucified him. The affection with which he recounted his stories made me
realise what an important part of his life Antarctica had been. When I commented on that, he
paused reflectively.
'Well, relationships here are especially close,' he said eventually. 'It's obvious, isn't it - you
can't share it with anyone else. I hardly ever talk about Antarctica at home. No one would under-
stand. There's no place like this, and because of that it becomes emotional.'
Some time later I caught sight of Pete strolling around McMurdo wearing his tatty Rangers jack-
et, and he made me think of an amiable dinosaur tramping the streets of Milton Keynes or the
malls of New Jersey.
On the fourth day the Kiwis went into a huddle, and when they came out of it, a camping trip
had been arranged. As soon as they asked me along, I sent a message to McMurdo to say I wasn't
coming home.
