Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
the door. Knots of scientists sat around marking frustrated time while they waited to get into the
field and start work, delayed by weather, or a broken plane, or both. When dancing broke out, I
noticed Trotsky wobbling around on the floor. Everyone said he was one of the most brilliant sci-
entists of his generation, and in line for a Nobel Prize. When I ran into him at the popcorn machine,
he was yawning.
'I keep waking up at five o'clock,' he complained. 'I've got this new alarm clock, and I can't
work out how to use it.'
At midnight we were still in the Southern Exposure. I hadn't even changed out of my cold-
weather clothes, though several layers had been peeled off, and I was traipsing about in my huge
boots like Gulliver. One drink had slid seamlessly into another, and to make matters worse, or
better, the blond Texan seismic geologist had appeared halfway through the evening. Most New
Zealanders are game for a party at any given moment, and these three were no exception, not least
because there was no bar at Terra Nova Bay and so this might be the last one they'd see for a
couple of months. They obviously felt that it operated on the principle of the camel's hump. As for
Seismic Man, I had never met a more natural party animal.
We left at twelve-thirty, but only because the bar closed, and staggered off to consume several
vats of coffee and numerous slices of toast in the galley. After this the Kiwis were finally induced
to walk back to Scott Base, leaving Seismic Man and me to fritter away what was left of the even-
ing.
∗
The telephone rang at some brutally early hour. We were leaving in ten minutes. I slammed down
the handset, used my absent roommate's toothbrush (mine was strapped to the side of the heli-
copter) and layered up hastily once again. As I careered over to the helipad I saw Seismic Man
running down the hill.
'I heard them starting the helo,' he said. 'I came to say goodbye.'
As I climbed into the back of the Squirrel it occurred to me that I probably ought to tell someone
that I was leaving. I wriggled out and ran up the steps to the National Science Foundation Chalet,
the administrative centre of the base. It had a sign on the door saying it was closed for Thanksgiv-
ing, so I took a pencil out of my pocket and scribbled a note on the sign. It said, 'Gone to Terra
Nova Bay in a Squirrel. W-002.'
