Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
a bright frosty morning in England - everything sparkled and the air had the same crisp feel.
There is little new to be said of the return of the sun in Polar regions, yet it is such a very real
and important event that one cannot pass it in silence. It changes the outlook on life of every
individual, foul weather is robbed of its terrors; if it is stormy today it will be fine tomorrow or
the next day, and each day's delay will mean a brighter outlook when the sky is clear.
We were glad to be back on the sea ice after our brief holiday in the science camps of the valleys.
Inspirational as they were, the dry mountainous landscapes did not seem like the real Antarctica.
'It's good to be home,' I said to Lucia as we sat down at the wobbly card table for our first meal
at Cape Evans.
'You called it home!' she said, smiling broadly. Then she added, 'I'm afraid I overcooked the
beans.'
On clear days, when I walked around the new Wooville or looked out from the long window by
my desk, the landscape spoke to me so directly that it no longer seemed to be made of corporeal
ice. It had become a kind of cosmic symbol of harmony and of a peaceful freedom beyond poverty,
gas bills and unrequited love. 'For Shackleton', physicist Louis Bernacchi noted in his diary on the
Discovery
expedition, 'Antarctica didn't exist. It was the inner world that engrossed him.' At last,
I understood what he meant.
We often had storms, and when they came, being drawn by Lucia was an occupational hazard
of Woovillian life. The wind was so strong that we were knocked over taking the few steps to our
pee flag, and in some areas the relentless gusts scoured the sea ice clean of snow. If Scott's hut
disappeared, we knew we were in for a long session. We were obliged to wear our parkas for the
ten-foot journey between huts. To vary the routine, we took turns doing the morning radio sched
in one another's accents. I'm not sure which was worse - my American accent or her English one
- but neither of them ever fooled anyone. If we were isolated for a long time I tried to identify
signs of incipient madness. Would we start using Lucia's paints to divide our bodies into thirds,
like Byrd? In reality, we had never been saner.
∗
On 3 October, Joe from the McMurdo communications hut came to stay with us. A pair of ozone
scientists dropped him off in a Spryte. We went outside to greet him.
'Come on in,' said Lucia as she clapped Joe on the back. He had come to seem like a friend, we
had spoken to him so often.
'Thanks,' said Joe. It seemed odd to hear his voice coming out of a mouth rather than a metal
box.
'Your solar panels are the wrong way around,' he said the minute he got inside the Dining Wing.
'They're pointing into the hut.'
I had been broadcasting our success with the solar panels, especially after I discovered that no
one in the valleys had theirs working. How the radio had continued operating with its recharging
panels the wrong way round I never knew.
