The Kiwi Kings of South Georgia, Peter, Tony and Dave piloting the 3 venerable BO 105's on a freezing day:
Never was so much bait sown by so few to so many!
Friday 31 May 2013
Tuesday 28 May 2013
More Mad Ratter News. Kiwi Style!
This just in via the Wonderland Rabbit Hole and the Otago Daily Times:
"Six Kiwis, including Wanaka helicopter pilot Peter Garden, are battling the elements in the Falkland Islands and South Georgia as they kill rats in an aerial poisoning operation. As Mark Price writes, they are also keeping a wary eye on the simmering tensions between Argentina and Britain over the disputed islands.
Six New Zealanders are experiencing the ongoing tensions between Britain and Argentina in the South Atlantic but have been instructed not to talk about that.
The six, members of `Team Rat', are on the island of South Georgia, a British overseas territory 2700km from the Argentine coast and one of the islands where there was fighting 31 years ago in the Falklands war.
They have been part of a 26-strong South Georgia Heritage Trust team attempting to eradicate rats from the island.
The project's chief pilot and flight operations manager Peter Garden, of Wanaka, responded by email this week to Otago Daily Times questions about the end of this year's rat poisoning.
Asked what he was able to say about the presence of the Argentine and British navies in the vicinity of South Georgia, Mr Garden wrote: ''At the moment the issue with the Argentinian presence close to the island is still rather tense and we are required not to send emails with details of ship movements.''
That leaves uncertainty over when the rat eradication team's support vessel, the British Antarctic Survey ship RRS Ernest Shackleton, will collect the 11 members who have not left.
The other New Zealand members of the team are helicopter pilots Tony Michelle, of Hanmer Springs, and Dave McLaughlin, of Ohakune, chief engineer Mark Paulin, of Auckland but resident in Britain, Keith Springer, of Christchurch, and Nick Torr, of Te Anau.
The Falklands war, which claimed 649 Argentine lives and 255 British lives, began with the invasion of South Georgia by Argentina in 1982.
In the following 10 weeks, British forces drove the Argentinians from South Georgia and the Falkland Islands.
However, earlier this year, Argentina's president Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner urged Britain to end colonialism and was reported to be reacting to a British decision to name a large chunk of the Antarctic ''Queen Elizabeth Land''.
As well as the dispute over the islands, Britain and Argentina both lay claim to what is now Queen Elizabeth Land.
The Falkland Islands has a resident population of about 3000 but South Georgia normally has just a British scientific presence of about 30.
Mr Gardon said base camp for the rat eradication team, or Team Rat as it calls itself, was an old whaling station, but elsewhere on the island they lived in tent camps, coping with anything from gales, blizzards and -15degC temperatures to ''the odd relatively calm'' day with ''balmy'' temperatures of 10degC.
''We expected to experience cold conditions and all of the team members have been chosen for their ability to work in this type of weather.''
During one night last week while staying at the British Antarctic Survey base at King Edward Point, Team Rat members were roused at 5am by a tsunami warning after an earthquake off the South Sandwich Islands.
''This required us to climb up the hill behind the base in snow and -8degC, but fortunately not much wind, and wait for two hours till the all clear was given. No sign of any sea surge, though.''
Mr Garden said their biggest flying problem had been the wind - ''sudden unpredicted winds of 60 knots (110kmh) are not uncommon and moderate to severe turbulence is common''.
However, using three twin-engine Bolkow BO 105 helicopters, Team Rat has treated 580sq km - 65% of the rat habitat - as planned.
Team Rat hopes to complete the eradication in 2015.
The rats are Rattus Norvegicus (Norway or brown rats) that probably arrived with sealing parties in the early 19th century.
Mr Garden's next destination is Gough Island, off Cape Town, on the other side of the South Atlantic, where he will carry out feasibility work on a proposed mouse eradication."
Link: Otago Daily Times
"Six Kiwis, including Wanaka helicopter pilot Peter Garden, are battling the elements in the Falkland Islands and South Georgia as they kill rats in an aerial poisoning operation. As Mark Price writes, they are also keeping a wary eye on the simmering tensions between Argentina and Britain over the disputed islands.
Six New Zealanders are experiencing the ongoing tensions between Britain and Argentina in the South Atlantic but have been instructed not to talk about that.
The six, members of `Team Rat', are on the island of South Georgia, a British overseas territory 2700km from the Argentine coast and one of the islands where there was fighting 31 years ago in the Falklands war.
They have been part of a 26-strong South Georgia Heritage Trust team attempting to eradicate rats from the island.
The project's chief pilot and flight operations manager Peter Garden, of Wanaka, responded by email this week to Otago Daily Times questions about the end of this year's rat poisoning.
Asked what he was able to say about the presence of the Argentine and British navies in the vicinity of South Georgia, Mr Garden wrote: ''At the moment the issue with the Argentinian presence close to the island is still rather tense and we are required not to send emails with details of ship movements.''
That leaves uncertainty over when the rat eradication team's support vessel, the British Antarctic Survey ship RRS Ernest Shackleton, will collect the 11 members who have not left.
The other New Zealand members of the team are helicopter pilots Tony Michelle, of Hanmer Springs, and Dave McLaughlin, of Ohakune, chief engineer Mark Paulin, of Auckland but resident in Britain, Keith Springer, of Christchurch, and Nick Torr, of Te Anau.
The Falklands war, which claimed 649 Argentine lives and 255 British lives, began with the invasion of South Georgia by Argentina in 1982.
In the following 10 weeks, British forces drove the Argentinians from South Georgia and the Falkland Islands.
However, earlier this year, Argentina's president Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner urged Britain to end colonialism and was reported to be reacting to a British decision to name a large chunk of the Antarctic ''Queen Elizabeth Land''.
As well as the dispute over the islands, Britain and Argentina both lay claim to what is now Queen Elizabeth Land.
The Falkland Islands has a resident population of about 3000 but South Georgia normally has just a British scientific presence of about 30.
Mr Gardon said base camp for the rat eradication team, or Team Rat as it calls itself, was an old whaling station, but elsewhere on the island they lived in tent camps, coping with anything from gales, blizzards and -15degC temperatures to ''the odd relatively calm'' day with ''balmy'' temperatures of 10degC.
''We expected to experience cold conditions and all of the team members have been chosen for their ability to work in this type of weather.''
During one night last week while staying at the British Antarctic Survey base at King Edward Point, Team Rat members were roused at 5am by a tsunami warning after an earthquake off the South Sandwich Islands.
''This required us to climb up the hill behind the base in snow and -8degC, but fortunately not much wind, and wait for two hours till the all clear was given. No sign of any sea surge, though.''
Mr Garden said their biggest flying problem had been the wind - ''sudden unpredicted winds of 60 knots (110kmh) are not uncommon and moderate to severe turbulence is common''.
However, using three twin-engine Bolkow BO 105 helicopters, Team Rat has treated 580sq km - 65% of the rat habitat - as planned.
Team Rat hopes to complete the eradication in 2015.
The rats are Rattus Norvegicus (Norway or brown rats) that probably arrived with sealing parties in the early 19th century.
Mr Garden's next destination is Gough Island, off Cape Town, on the other side of the South Atlantic, where he will carry out feasibility work on a proposed mouse eradication."
Link: Otago Daily Times
Sunday 26 May 2013
Last view of the Island
My parting view as I sailed away. (sorry I didn't quite get you in the frame, Dave)
Safe journey home Guys, not long now!
Safe journey home Guys, not long now!
Wednesday 22 May 2013
Sunday 19 May 2013
2013 Tea Party Complete!
Saturday 18 May 2013
The Madness of South Georgia
(click on photos to enlarge)
Half way up:
Sitting down, at the top:
Looking the other way over Fortuna Bay to the Fortuna Glacier:
The younger "Mad Ratters" interpretation of an afternoon 'hill walking' in South Georgia:
“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to."
"I don't much care where –"
"Then it doesn't matter which way you go.”
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to."
"I don't much care where –"
"Then it doesn't matter which way you go.”
Thursday 16 May 2013
Wednesday 15 May 2013
Tuesday 14 May 2013
Stop Press! Very Latest Tonight From South Georgia.
Thanks to keyboards, satellites and electrons it's possible to bring you the very latest news tonight from the Ratters:
"Husvik pretty much cleared out now, Blue Bar closed, 6 hrs of baiting to complete all baiting, Right Whale bay completed just Hope Valley and 34 pods to go and we are out of here."
Blue Bar closed!...send in the cavalry!
"Husvik pretty much cleared out now, Blue Bar closed, 6 hrs of baiting to complete all baiting, Right Whale bay completed just Hope Valley and 34 pods to go and we are out of here."
Blue Bar closed!...send in the cavalry!
.....waiting.
In solitary tents
on a lonely Isle
beneath the mist capped heights,
Hemmed in by the winds
that grip them a while
They wait in the cold, damp nights.
With apologies to Dr Marshall
on a lonely Isle
beneath the mist capped heights,
Hemmed in by the winds
that grip them a while
They wait in the cold, damp nights.
With apologies to Dr Marshall
Monday 13 May 2013
Latest News From South Georgia Front Line.
This just in yesterday, Sunday 12th, from Tony and the team:
Sunday 12 May 2013
The Language of Laphroaig
“And what is the use of a book," thought Alice, "without pictures or conversation?”
― Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
During the weeks at the Husvik camp the Mad Ratters resolved many operational matters and flight safety issues, during regular meetings at the 'The Blue Bar':
Entry to these meetings was strictly limited by a set of stringent Kiwi rules, posted prominently in the Blue Bar:
Click here for further Blue Bar information.
― Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
During the weeks at the Husvik camp the Mad Ratters resolved many operational matters and flight safety issues, during regular meetings at the 'The Blue Bar':
Entry to these meetings was strictly limited by a set of stringent Kiwi rules, posted prominently in the Blue Bar:
Click here for further Blue Bar information.
Saturday 11 May 2013
Telescope down the rabbit hole.
Now I'm back in the UK, peering through the looking glass to South Georgia to find out what my Mad Ratter chums are up to requires all the magic of Lewis Carroll's imagination.
I've left them as winter encroaches on the Island. I had a little taste of a winter storm down there in March. Life must be pretty hard now for the Ratters, all under canvas at Rosita, patiently waiting for any weather window to finish the baiting process.
They are tantalisingly close to successful completion of this years mammoth task.
Just 12 more hours of flying with the 3 aircraft will get the job done! Talk about a cliffhanger finish.
The Mad Hatter:
"Have I gone Mad?"
Alice:
"I'm afraid so. You're entirely bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret. All the best people are.”
― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
I've left them as winter encroaches on the Island. I had a little taste of a winter storm down there in March. Life must be pretty hard now for the Ratters, all under canvas at Rosita, patiently waiting for any weather window to finish the baiting process.
They are tantalisingly close to successful completion of this years mammoth task.
Just 12 more hours of flying with the 3 aircraft will get the job done! Talk about a cliffhanger finish.
The Mad Hatter:
"Have I gone Mad?"
Alice:
"I'm afraid so. You're entirely bonkers. But I'll tell you a secret. All the best people are.”
― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
Monday 6 May 2013
Wednesday 1 May 2013
Life should be like an healthy ECG trace; full of ups and downs.
So it's the first of May and no update since the 15th of April. What's going on?
We have been having a mad ratters spree on South Georgia but unlike the poor soldiers 'way down South' in Billy Braggs "Island of No Return", we are coming home.
Only not all together.
It's been a roller-coaster ride of unexpected directions for me. On 15th April I found out I was to start the exodus from the Island, sailing from King Edward Point on the 20th April.
The ratting task was not completed. The weather was falling into winter after 10 days of a mad 'Indian Summer' in South Georgia. The bait pods of the NW zone, that we slung ashore in February, were still untapped. With 3 expert Kiwi baiting pilots and only one zone to go, I was becoming an expensive 'spare' pilot. So a berth on the good ship 'Pharos' was decreed the logical place for me.
In one way it was a relief, as having a UK orientated Flight Safety Officer on a helicopter venture in South Georgia was like using an English trained, vegetarian food inspector as health advisor to a tropical open air meat market!
South Georgia is a remote roller-coaster of an island in topography, weather and emotions.
Can the remaining Team Rat complete the task set for this year? I've heard that, so far, due bad weather only 9 of the remaining 90 bait pods have been flown and spread. Just 4 days with 3 helicopters and 7 hours of flying would complete the task. They are in the hands of the Southern weather gods.
The aircraft have been unbelievably strong. The team are stronger still but the fickle weather sprites are the strongest and that's not including the 100 mph South Georgia katabatic winds!
An amazing amount was achieved in the short weather window in April. The 3 Kiwi pilots; Peter, Dave and Tony, each flew 50 hours, low-level, hands on in just 10 days. More hours that most utility helicopter pilots in the UK would fly in 3 months.
There is still time to finish the last zone- but will the Team be thrown a window of calm opportunity? It seems unlikely; even I had to face a wintery 24 hours of 80 mph+ winds and 45 ft waves during my 6 day crossing back to the Falkands.A different sort of roller-coaster ride!
I've left behind an island that grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and showed me what remote, raw nature is like.
I've also left behind an inspired selection of Mankinds best who are still there working, trying to unravel a little of Mankinds worst rodent pollution.
I couldn't help but feel a little like a rat myself; this time crawling up the anchor chain, reversing back to the ship. I wish the remaining team the best of luck.
To all Mad Ratters and Eco warriors and roller-coaster riders of life; adieu and bon voyage!
“Begin at the beginning," the King said, very gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop.”
― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
We have been having a mad ratters spree on South Georgia but unlike the poor soldiers 'way down South' in Billy Braggs "Island of No Return", we are coming home.
Only not all together.
It's been a roller-coaster ride of unexpected directions for me. On 15th April I found out I was to start the exodus from the Island, sailing from King Edward Point on the 20th April.
The ratting task was not completed. The weather was falling into winter after 10 days of a mad 'Indian Summer' in South Georgia. The bait pods of the NW zone, that we slung ashore in February, were still untapped. With 3 expert Kiwi baiting pilots and only one zone to go, I was becoming an expensive 'spare' pilot. So a berth on the good ship 'Pharos' was decreed the logical place for me.
In one way it was a relief, as having a UK orientated Flight Safety Officer on a helicopter venture in South Georgia was like using an English trained, vegetarian food inspector as health advisor to a tropical open air meat market!
South Georgia is a remote roller-coaster of an island in topography, weather and emotions.
Can the remaining Team Rat complete the task set for this year? I've heard that, so far, due bad weather only 9 of the remaining 90 bait pods have been flown and spread. Just 4 days with 3 helicopters and 7 hours of flying would complete the task. They are in the hands of the Southern weather gods.
The aircraft have been unbelievably strong. The team are stronger still but the fickle weather sprites are the strongest and that's not including the 100 mph South Georgia katabatic winds!
An amazing amount was achieved in the short weather window in April. The 3 Kiwi pilots; Peter, Dave and Tony, each flew 50 hours, low-level, hands on in just 10 days. More hours that most utility helicopter pilots in the UK would fly in 3 months.
There is still time to finish the last zone- but will the Team be thrown a window of calm opportunity? It seems unlikely; even I had to face a wintery 24 hours of 80 mph+ winds and 45 ft waves during my 6 day crossing back to the Falkands.A different sort of roller-coaster ride!
I've left behind an island that grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and showed me what remote, raw nature is like.
I've also left behind an inspired selection of Mankinds best who are still there working, trying to unravel a little of Mankinds worst rodent pollution.
I couldn't help but feel a little like a rat myself; this time crawling up the anchor chain, reversing back to the ship. I wish the remaining team the best of luck.
To all Mad Ratters and Eco warriors and roller-coaster riders of life; adieu and bon voyage!
“Begin at the beginning," the King said, very gravely, "and go on till you come to the end: then stop.”
― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
Monday 15 April 2013
South Georgia has thrown us a baiting lifeline. The weather over the last week has been better than when we arrived during the southern summer time of February.
In the last 6 day the mad ratters have achieved more than in the previous 2 months.
At sea level our base camp is enjoying a perfect summer-like day. Blue skies, light airs, sunshine everywhere. The Island is flaunting its wild spirit and basking in its own glory.
I am not required for the baiting work. This spare pilot has no machine to fly; I have simply become a spare person, a human in need of adventure.
I head up into the peaks that crowd up in a semicircle just a mile behind the camp.
Just a 600 metre climb turns the warm day into a sunny winter wonderland, an ice realm of baby glaciers and cool ice-pools decorated with flat slabs of glittering ice blocks. Waterfalls pierce dark tunnels through thick sheets of snow and surreal cold needle peaks jut up to rake the clear azure sky.
This amazing Island of South Georgia slaps reason with an impossible overlay of sensations. They make a mad sense all of their own when put together. Just like the peaceful madness of Spike Milligan's insane and zany humour.
It's time to climb back down from the high and airy ridge back to our base camp, basking in the sunshine at the waters edge.
"I must go down to the sea again,
To the lonely sea and the sky.
I left my shoes and socks there,
I wonder if they are dry?"
On a totally different note I'd like to remember an evening meal we all enjoyed recently at "The Restaurant At the End Of the World", shortly before the main party moved out to 'Purgatory Bay':
Freshly baked breadsticks
Hummus and fresh garlic mayonnaise dips
Sweetcorn risotto with Parmesan crisp
Mutton Putanesca
Polenta
Bread and Butter pudding
Fresh Trifle.
All served with one of the wildest views you can imagine.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
In the last 6 day the mad ratters have achieved more than in the previous 2 months.
At sea level our base camp is enjoying a perfect summer-like day. Blue skies, light airs, sunshine everywhere. The Island is flaunting its wild spirit and basking in its own glory.
I am not required for the baiting work. This spare pilot has no machine to fly; I have simply become a spare person, a human in need of adventure.
I head up into the peaks that crowd up in a semicircle just a mile behind the camp.
Just a 600 metre climb turns the warm day into a sunny winter wonderland, an ice realm of baby glaciers and cool ice-pools decorated with flat slabs of glittering ice blocks. Waterfalls pierce dark tunnels through thick sheets of snow and surreal cold needle peaks jut up to rake the clear azure sky.
This amazing Island of South Georgia slaps reason with an impossible overlay of sensations. They make a mad sense all of their own when put together. Just like the peaceful madness of Spike Milligan's insane and zany humour.
It's time to climb back down from the high and airy ridge back to our base camp, basking in the sunshine at the waters edge.
"I must go down to the sea again,
To the lonely sea and the sky.
I left my shoes and socks there,
I wonder if they are dry?"
On a totally different note I'd like to remember an evening meal we all enjoyed recently at "The Restaurant At the End Of the World", shortly before the main party moved out to 'Purgatory Bay':
Freshly baked breadsticks
Hummus and fresh garlic mayonnaise dips
Sweetcorn risotto with Parmesan crisp
Mutton Putanesca
Polenta
Bread and Butter pudding
Fresh Trifle.
All served with one of the wildest views you can imagine.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Friday 12 April 2013
Happiness is Helicopter shaped
After weeks of horrid weather, including 2 days of an Antarctic freezer blast, the weather on South Georgia has changed. It's now almost like an sunny autumn day in England.
The research vessel 'Ernest Shackleton' was just off South Georgia during that Antarctic blast, 6 weeks ago. The Captain later told me that in thirty-five years at sea, that particular 'force 12' night rated high up in his top 10 of 'perfect storms'.
So we go from one extreme to another. Blizzard to balmy. Or should that be barmy, as in mad? Mad ratters on a mad-weather island?
So finally the wind-sprites have given us a break. Sun, blue sky and nil wind. The northern coastal zones of South Georgia we had been waiting so long to finish, have been flown and baited. The southern baiting zones, so fickle to get to due the massive interior ice fields, are begun. It's time to move the camp in order to save transit time.
The 3 aircraft, the 3 Kiwi expert baiting pilots and the loading teams decamp to the south side of the Island. To Peggotty Bluff or as the pilots have named it, due to the turbulence and cold they have experienced there, 'Purgatory Bay'.
Not everyone leaves; there is redundancy built into the plan. One doctor remains behind. A chef. Spare manpower for general duties and bait loading and me; a spare pilot.
The helicopters flew off and suddenly what I knew would occur, when the camp moved, had actually happened; I'm now a pilot without portfolio. Man without machine.
The 3 Kiwi baiting pilots, Peter, Tony and Dave, quite rightly, have flown the 3 helicopters across the Island. I am now the reserve pilot in the reserve camp. I'm so far from the action; I don't even have air traffic type flight following to keep me busy. The camp seems empty to me; my pilot colleagues, new aviator friends from distant lands, have departed.
The core of personnel left with me has a wealth of skills that have been honed in some of the most extreme environments in the world. Construction, software development, engineering, hard core Antarctic living. What can I learn that could be useful to me back in the UK? Glacier crevasse extraction? Building a camp on floating ice 500 foot thick?
Perhaps not.
Learning to quad bike? Yes. Essential to our base camp and we have a quad kindly loaded by the South Georgia Government. Essential for collecting our fresh water. Time to get to grips with it. Massively long grey graveled beaches, old glacial moraine, perfect for the quad bike ab-initio student!
What next? Software lessons…..hmmm. Basic engineering………….I don't think so.
But who else is here? A chef (actually a professional landscape photographer) who has worked in 2 star Michelin restaurants back in the UK. Now we are talking useful UK skills!!!
I eat eggs a lot now since I trimmed 50 pounds of excess body fat in 2008. OK, eggs are in short supply in South Georgia and rationed for special days. A few weeks ago Oli the photograper chef served a few of us still at the camp one lunchtime, absolutely perfect poached eggs.
The kitchen our Michelin trained landscaper photographer chef works from is a 4 metre by 4 metre red and white plastic tent. From the door one can see, just 20 metres away, an inlet of calm water full of cavorting seals and just a mile from jagged mountain ridges that soar from the waters edge to sapphire skies.
Time to learn. Vinegar in the water? Nah. Swirl the water in the pan? Nope.
I now know the trick. And like the answer to a magicians trick, I am sworn to secrecy. An 8000-mile journey to the perfect poached egg. Mad ratter's tea party indeed.
The weather is like a glorious summers day. Mirror-glass, azure blue water. Sunbathing seals. Shimmering mountains in the background. Blue, blue sky. But no flying at the base camp. At the moment I'm like a spare bridegroom at a wedding. No escape for me. No helicopter flight to help me put out my hand and touch the face of God.
We get news from the baiting frontline. A fantastic day! More done than on any other day so far. A triumph. The capricious island had held us ransom for so many days, but the team is on a roll.
Tomorrow the forecast sounds better than today. The prayer is that the sea fog will not roll in on the south coast and the baiting will continue at breakneck pace. But what will we do at base camp?
We have a mountain guide, and a doctor to boot. An expedition leader with worldwide mountain experience.
Those peaks just behind our base camp are calling.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
The research vessel 'Ernest Shackleton' was just off South Georgia during that Antarctic blast, 6 weeks ago. The Captain later told me that in thirty-five years at sea, that particular 'force 12' night rated high up in his top 10 of 'perfect storms'.
So we go from one extreme to another. Blizzard to balmy. Or should that be barmy, as in mad? Mad ratters on a mad-weather island?
So finally the wind-sprites have given us a break. Sun, blue sky and nil wind. The northern coastal zones of South Georgia we had been waiting so long to finish, have been flown and baited. The southern baiting zones, so fickle to get to due the massive interior ice fields, are begun. It's time to move the camp in order to save transit time.
The 3 aircraft, the 3 Kiwi expert baiting pilots and the loading teams decamp to the south side of the Island. To Peggotty Bluff or as the pilots have named it, due to the turbulence and cold they have experienced there, 'Purgatory Bay'.
Not everyone leaves; there is redundancy built into the plan. One doctor remains behind. A chef. Spare manpower for general duties and bait loading and me; a spare pilot.
The helicopters flew off and suddenly what I knew would occur, when the camp moved, had actually happened; I'm now a pilot without portfolio. Man without machine.
The 3 Kiwi baiting pilots, Peter, Tony and Dave, quite rightly, have flown the 3 helicopters across the Island. I am now the reserve pilot in the reserve camp. I'm so far from the action; I don't even have air traffic type flight following to keep me busy. The camp seems empty to me; my pilot colleagues, new aviator friends from distant lands, have departed.
The core of personnel left with me has a wealth of skills that have been honed in some of the most extreme environments in the world. Construction, software development, engineering, hard core Antarctic living. What can I learn that could be useful to me back in the UK? Glacier crevasse extraction? Building a camp on floating ice 500 foot thick?
Perhaps not.
Learning to quad bike? Yes. Essential to our base camp and we have a quad kindly loaded by the South Georgia Government. Essential for collecting our fresh water. Time to get to grips with it. Massively long grey graveled beaches, old glacial moraine, perfect for the quad bike ab-initio student!
What next? Software lessons…..hmmm. Basic engineering………….I don't think so.
But who else is here? A chef (actually a professional landscape photographer) who has worked in 2 star Michelin restaurants back in the UK. Now we are talking useful UK skills!!!
I eat eggs a lot now since I trimmed 50 pounds of excess body fat in 2008. OK, eggs are in short supply in South Georgia and rationed for special days. A few weeks ago Oli the photograper chef served a few of us still at the camp one lunchtime, absolutely perfect poached eggs.
The kitchen our Michelin trained landscaper photographer chef works from is a 4 metre by 4 metre red and white plastic tent. From the door one can see, just 20 metres away, an inlet of calm water full of cavorting seals and just a mile from jagged mountain ridges that soar from the waters edge to sapphire skies.
Time to learn. Vinegar in the water? Nah. Swirl the water in the pan? Nope.
I now know the trick. And like the answer to a magicians trick, I am sworn to secrecy. An 8000-mile journey to the perfect poached egg. Mad ratter's tea party indeed.
The weather is like a glorious summers day. Mirror-glass, azure blue water. Sunbathing seals. Shimmering mountains in the background. Blue, blue sky. But no flying at the base camp. At the moment I'm like a spare bridegroom at a wedding. No escape for me. No helicopter flight to help me put out my hand and touch the face of God.
We get news from the baiting frontline. A fantastic day! More done than on any other day so far. A triumph. The capricious island had held us ransom for so many days, but the team is on a roll.
Tomorrow the forecast sounds better than today. The prayer is that the sea fog will not roll in on the south coast and the baiting will continue at breakneck pace. But what will we do at base camp?
We have a mountain guide, and a doctor to boot. An expedition leader with worldwide mountain experience.
Those peaks just behind our base camp are calling.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Friday 5 April 2013
Sienna Miller Request
We continue to dig in and grit our teeth. Each day we awaken to beautiful dawn skies but bastard wind.
The polar vortex and the core of the jet stream have, this season, chosen to lie right over the sub Antarctic island of South Georgia.
We are teased by the elements on a daily basis with random turbulence and downdraughts too intense to risk helicopter-baiting operations.
We are attempting to help return this remote iconic landscape to pre-European conditions. Removing the hardy mainland-evolved rats before they rid South Georgia of the delicate fauna they maraud, is akin to trying to get an invading Attila-the-Hun and his Hordes off an unarmed innocent Polynesian idyll before they kill all the local inhabitants.
Only it's not Polynesian sun here but an icy blast that the elemental sprites use to hold us, in the grip of a windy vice.
A request for urgent resupply comes into the main base via satellite phone text. One of our forward weather observation posts at Peggotty, (or 'Purgatory', as we all call it), a couple of hardy lads, Roger and Dickie, with single man tents, brave the primitive elements to report back the local wind conditions.
Peggotty requirements:
1. Another water jerry can.
2. Butter
3. Sienna Miller
We will be able to supply 2 out of the 3 of those when a helicopter manages to get up there.
If she had braved conditions at Peggotty 2 nights ago, Sienna would have had to survive the 80+mph winds that whistled through that exposed bluff.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It is amazing just how rugged our 3 Bolkow helicopters are. It has proved impossible to anchor them to the ground here but so far they have survived everything the vortex has thrown at them.
These aren't youngsters either; the 3 helicopters have over 51,000 hours on the clock between them. They are all 40 years old. Born in the '70's they have been "Rockin' All Over The World" since then.
However I think I can guarantee that in their long flying life none of these 3 helicopters have previously been landed on a tiny sloping slipway (avoiding the tame seals underneath) and been winched up the gradient into a small, well-equipped and warm boat shed, for routine maintenance.
Extreme conservation sometimes calls for extreme measures.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If by any unlikely chance you read this blog, Sienna and can help, the address of Roger and Dickie is:
No 1 and 2 The Tents,
Peggotty Bluff,
King Haakon Bay,
South Georgia.
Many thanks in advance.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
The polar vortex and the core of the jet stream have, this season, chosen to lie right over the sub Antarctic island of South Georgia.
We are teased by the elements on a daily basis with random turbulence and downdraughts too intense to risk helicopter-baiting operations.
We are attempting to help return this remote iconic landscape to pre-European conditions. Removing the hardy mainland-evolved rats before they rid South Georgia of the delicate fauna they maraud, is akin to trying to get an invading Attila-the-Hun and his Hordes off an unarmed innocent Polynesian idyll before they kill all the local inhabitants.
Only it's not Polynesian sun here but an icy blast that the elemental sprites use to hold us, in the grip of a windy vice.
A request for urgent resupply comes into the main base via satellite phone text. One of our forward weather observation posts at Peggotty, (or 'Purgatory', as we all call it), a couple of hardy lads, Roger and Dickie, with single man tents, brave the primitive elements to report back the local wind conditions.
Peggotty requirements:
1. Another water jerry can.
2. Butter
3. Sienna Miller
We will be able to supply 2 out of the 3 of those when a helicopter manages to get up there.
If she had braved conditions at Peggotty 2 nights ago, Sienna would have had to survive the 80+mph winds that whistled through that exposed bluff.
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It is amazing just how rugged our 3 Bolkow helicopters are. It has proved impossible to anchor them to the ground here but so far they have survived everything the vortex has thrown at them.
These aren't youngsters either; the 3 helicopters have over 51,000 hours on the clock between them. They are all 40 years old. Born in the '70's they have been "Rockin' All Over The World" since then.
However I think I can guarantee that in their long flying life none of these 3 helicopters have previously been landed on a tiny sloping slipway (avoiding the tame seals underneath) and been winched up the gradient into a small, well-equipped and warm boat shed, for routine maintenance.
Extreme conservation sometimes calls for extreme measures.
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If by any unlikely chance you read this blog, Sienna and can help, the address of Roger and Dickie is:
No 1 and 2 The Tents,
Peggotty Bluff,
King Haakon Bay,
South Georgia.
Many thanks in advance.
----
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Tuesday 2 April 2013
The Brighter Side of Life
Easter Sunday was supposed to be a normal working day for the mad ratters temporarily established on the permanently uninhabited island of South Georgia.
Instead the weather gods decided we would have yet another day free of aircraft operations. Almost teasingly the day developed a brilliant blue sky with hardly a cloud in sight. The wind however was very strong.
After a breakfast made disappointing by the dawning of yet another unworkable baiting day, a few of us settled down round a laptop screen to watch the only film we had that made any reference to Easter.
Monty Pythons 'Life of Brian'
Lunch helped us celebrate in a more traditional way. We each had one fresh egg, fried, to go with the tinned produce; baked beans, tomatoes and mushrooms.
The afternoon bought no abatement to the biting icy wind but with a glorious and inviting blue sky, most people headed out in various directions to walk in the hills around our camp.
I set off solo up the Karrakatta valley, just to the west of our base. This valley climbs up about 1000ft, to a pass westwards into Fortuna Bay. Near the top is a magnificent waterfall. It is a short steep walk with a little scrambling over loose scree in some places. I climbed past the waterfall and crossed to the west side of the valley to descend on a different route, out of the wind and bathed in sunshine.
On the way down I found the beautiful views began to stimulate many thoughts as I looked out and down across Stromness Bay to the rippling, saw-tooth Jason Ridge, across the azure blue, ice cold waters.
I had to stop every few steps simply in order to enjoy and take in the stunning vista. Massive blocks of soft colour reminded me of those giant Rothko paintings and the guidance presented in those compositions to help focus the minds eye, in order to perceive the route to infinity.
All contained in just one panoramic gaze were huge monochrome sections of mountains, lakes, rivers, waterfalls, mossy moorland, cliffs and sea, each a particular colour.
A simple two-hour walk had turned into a spiritual reconnection to the natural world, an enjoyable and uplifting outdoor experience.
This Island is no God forsaken place and I found there was no need to escape and fly to some higher plane this Easter Sunday in order to touch the face of the Almighty.
Back down to earth I walk in to the camp at 4pm, just in time for tea, to discover the chef had just baked 'Hot Cross Buns', as he forgot to make them on 'Good Friday".
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Instead the weather gods decided we would have yet another day free of aircraft operations. Almost teasingly the day developed a brilliant blue sky with hardly a cloud in sight. The wind however was very strong.
After a breakfast made disappointing by the dawning of yet another unworkable baiting day, a few of us settled down round a laptop screen to watch the only film we had that made any reference to Easter.
Monty Pythons 'Life of Brian'
Lunch helped us celebrate in a more traditional way. We each had one fresh egg, fried, to go with the tinned produce; baked beans, tomatoes and mushrooms.
The afternoon bought no abatement to the biting icy wind but with a glorious and inviting blue sky, most people headed out in various directions to walk in the hills around our camp.
I set off solo up the Karrakatta valley, just to the west of our base. This valley climbs up about 1000ft, to a pass westwards into Fortuna Bay. Near the top is a magnificent waterfall. It is a short steep walk with a little scrambling over loose scree in some places. I climbed past the waterfall and crossed to the west side of the valley to descend on a different route, out of the wind and bathed in sunshine.
On the way down I found the beautiful views began to stimulate many thoughts as I looked out and down across Stromness Bay to the rippling, saw-tooth Jason Ridge, across the azure blue, ice cold waters.
I had to stop every few steps simply in order to enjoy and take in the stunning vista. Massive blocks of soft colour reminded me of those giant Rothko paintings and the guidance presented in those compositions to help focus the minds eye, in order to perceive the route to infinity.
All contained in just one panoramic gaze were huge monochrome sections of mountains, lakes, rivers, waterfalls, mossy moorland, cliffs and sea, each a particular colour.
A simple two-hour walk had turned into a spiritual reconnection to the natural world, an enjoyable and uplifting outdoor experience.
This Island is no God forsaken place and I found there was no need to escape and fly to some higher plane this Easter Sunday in order to touch the face of the Almighty.
Back down to earth I walk in to the camp at 4pm, just in time for tea, to discover the chef had just baked 'Hot Cross Buns', as he forgot to make them on 'Good Friday".
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Saturday 30 March 2013
Patience is a Virtual reality.
We wait and kick our heels but it's not all 'doom and gloom' at the Mad Ratters Tea Party, down here in South Georgia.
We always knew that for just one days baiting we might have to wait on average 4 days for the right weather, to safely operate the bait buckets and the helicopters.
The Mad Ratters hadn't baited for 10 days--- until yesterday! A weather window of opportunity opened up to the west in Possession bay and the team launched.
This time all 3 helicopters were available and 4 hours later an effective 12 hours worth of bucket baiting had been carried out.
This one afternoon brought our total score up to 48% of the rat-infested zones from the 42% we had been holding on to 10 days. 6% of the whole rat task in just one afternoon!
10 afternoons like that could have the mission complete! Just 5 full days with 3 serviceable helicopters we could nail the job. As little as that! It's worth the waiting.
It's not technology and specialist aviation that will save South Georgia from ecosystem collapse and 'ratmageddon'.
It's plain old patience!
Bear with us! Smoke us a kipper; we'll be home for breakfast.
Only just not tomorrow!
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
We always knew that for just one days baiting we might have to wait on average 4 days for the right weather, to safely operate the bait buckets and the helicopters.
The Mad Ratters hadn't baited for 10 days--- until yesterday! A weather window of opportunity opened up to the west in Possession bay and the team launched.
This time all 3 helicopters were available and 4 hours later an effective 12 hours worth of bucket baiting had been carried out.
This one afternoon brought our total score up to 48% of the rat-infested zones from the 42% we had been holding on to 10 days. 6% of the whole rat task in just one afternoon!
10 afternoons like that could have the mission complete! Just 5 full days with 3 serviceable helicopters we could nail the job. As little as that! It's worth the waiting.
It's not technology and specialist aviation that will save South Georgia from ecosystem collapse and 'ratmageddon'.
It's plain old patience!
Bear with us! Smoke us a kipper; we'll be home for breakfast.
Only just not tomorrow!
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Tuesday 26 March 2013
The Blue Bar
We are being held to ransom. Not by renegade seals but by the appalling weather!
We have been delayed for at least a week now, plans on hold, while the wind and clouds tease and taunt us. Sometimes we enjoy clear blue skies and calm air in the location where we are waiting but we have completed our task here and no further bait can be sown. 10 miles westward along the coast, on our next sector, the air is howling and bait flying is simply not possible. Other days it is clear in the new target areas (we have lads camping out as forward observers) but we are 'clagged in' at base by low, unyielding cloud.
Everyone is itching to get the job done; the longer we wait the closer real winter edges towards our insubstantial refuge on this unforgiving island.
Slack times mean non-essential tasks can be completed and then 'relaxation and escape areas' can be created. The 4 pilots and 2 engineers are 'housed' in the old radio shack of a disused whaling station. We now have a communal 'rest' area where the sorrows of frustration can be drowned and plans hatched and the world be generally put to rights.
In the middle of this small room is an old pine table that some previous temporary inhabitant of this arcane building has painted with bright blue gloss paint.
The Kiwi pilots have put a label up on the door to name this relaxation area:
"The Good Bastards Club (no tossers allowed)"
With the coloured table taking centre stage, it is known by the rest of the team as; "The Blue Bar".
Conversation in "The Blue Bar" is lively and colourful Kiwi metaphors abound.
When we discuss music and literature, the strange Island of South Georgia seems to take over our train of thought. We do not talk of Michelangelo but enthuse over the lyrics of Billy Bragg, the landscapes of South Georgia, like the 'dark side of the moon' and the links between Pink Floyd and the Wizard of Oz.
I also learn stuff about rats I never knew; that they can tread water for 2 days, climb vertical wires and compress their bodies so they can squeeze through holes the diameter of a UK pound coin.
From my 'pit space' (sleeping area) in the radio shack, I can see into The Blue Bar'. The quiet weather-strangled days have meant that personal supplies of 'medicinal tincture' have slowly migrated to the shelf above the blue table that acts as a bar.
Looking over from where I am typing, I can see on the shelf there are several bottles laid out neatly, just like in the bar of a friendly village pub.
In no order of preference I note:
Whisky:
Highland Park
Macallan Select
Jura 10 year old
Laphroaig Quarter Cask (48%)
Famous Grouse
Irish Whiskey:
Bushmills Original
Rum:
Havana Club
Cockspur Barbados
Captain Morgan Spiced
Gin
Gordon's London Dry Export (47.3%)
Bombay Sapphire
Others:
VSOP Brandy
Kahlua
Taylors Late Bottled Port 2005
Finlandia Vodka
Beer:
Bottles of Grolsch, St Miguel and Fullers IPA.
Tins of Guinness.
2 bottles of Merlot.
Tonic Water.
A container of fresh river water, (filtered for the removal of fly larvae and seal dung)
A Kiwi pilot enters the radio shack and heads towards "The Blue Room". He is an old hand, a veteran of the old venison flying days in New Zealand. He has many thousands of hours flying helicopters in the worst weather the New Zealand Mountains can throw at a helicopter pilot. He has survived all that. He runs his own helicopter company now but has chosen to spend some months in South Georgia on a bit of an adventure.
He had been tasked out in what seemed like a temporary calm 'weather window' this morning to fly some much needed supplies about 15 miles to 2 lads at one of the forward camps at Peggotty, on the South side of the Island.
Peggotty is a very windy spot. Shackleton, the intrepid explorer, chose to name the area after a Dickens fictional destitute family. We have renamed the area 'Purgatory'.
The pilot has just flown back to the base camp. He couldn't delivered the supplies.
He is shaking his head.
"I've just tried to land a helicopter at Purgatory, in the worst turbulence I have ever experienced. Not possible."
The Blue Bar is open.
,
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
We have been delayed for at least a week now, plans on hold, while the wind and clouds tease and taunt us. Sometimes we enjoy clear blue skies and calm air in the location where we are waiting but we have completed our task here and no further bait can be sown. 10 miles westward along the coast, on our next sector, the air is howling and bait flying is simply not possible. Other days it is clear in the new target areas (we have lads camping out as forward observers) but we are 'clagged in' at base by low, unyielding cloud.
Everyone is itching to get the job done; the longer we wait the closer real winter edges towards our insubstantial refuge on this unforgiving island.
Slack times mean non-essential tasks can be completed and then 'relaxation and escape areas' can be created. The 4 pilots and 2 engineers are 'housed' in the old radio shack of a disused whaling station. We now have a communal 'rest' area where the sorrows of frustration can be drowned and plans hatched and the world be generally put to rights.
In the middle of this small room is an old pine table that some previous temporary inhabitant of this arcane building has painted with bright blue gloss paint.
The Kiwi pilots have put a label up on the door to name this relaxation area:
"The Good Bastards Club (no tossers allowed)"
With the coloured table taking centre stage, it is known by the rest of the team as; "The Blue Bar".
Conversation in "The Blue Bar" is lively and colourful Kiwi metaphors abound.
When we discuss music and literature, the strange Island of South Georgia seems to take over our train of thought. We do not talk of Michelangelo but enthuse over the lyrics of Billy Bragg, the landscapes of South Georgia, like the 'dark side of the moon' and the links between Pink Floyd and the Wizard of Oz.
I also learn stuff about rats I never knew; that they can tread water for 2 days, climb vertical wires and compress their bodies so they can squeeze through holes the diameter of a UK pound coin.
From my 'pit space' (sleeping area) in the radio shack, I can see into The Blue Bar'. The quiet weather-strangled days have meant that personal supplies of 'medicinal tincture' have slowly migrated to the shelf above the blue table that acts as a bar.
Looking over from where I am typing, I can see on the shelf there are several bottles laid out neatly, just like in the bar of a friendly village pub.
In no order of preference I note:
Whisky:
Highland Park
Macallan Select
Jura 10 year old
Laphroaig Quarter Cask (48%)
Famous Grouse
Irish Whiskey:
Bushmills Original
Rum:
Havana Club
Cockspur Barbados
Captain Morgan Spiced
Gin
Gordon's London Dry Export (47.3%)
Bombay Sapphire
Others:
VSOP Brandy
Kahlua
Taylors Late Bottled Port 2005
Finlandia Vodka
Beer:
Bottles of Grolsch, St Miguel and Fullers IPA.
Tins of Guinness.
2 bottles of Merlot.
Tonic Water.
A container of fresh river water, (filtered for the removal of fly larvae and seal dung)
A Kiwi pilot enters the radio shack and heads towards "The Blue Room". He is an old hand, a veteran of the old venison flying days in New Zealand. He has many thousands of hours flying helicopters in the worst weather the New Zealand Mountains can throw at a helicopter pilot. He has survived all that. He runs his own helicopter company now but has chosen to spend some months in South Georgia on a bit of an adventure.
He had been tasked out in what seemed like a temporary calm 'weather window' this morning to fly some much needed supplies about 15 miles to 2 lads at one of the forward camps at Peggotty, on the South side of the Island.
Peggotty is a very windy spot. Shackleton, the intrepid explorer, chose to name the area after a Dickens fictional destitute family. We have renamed the area 'Purgatory'.
The pilot has just flown back to the base camp. He couldn't delivered the supplies.
He is shaking his head.
"I've just tried to land a helicopter at Purgatory, in the worst turbulence I have ever experienced. Not possible."
The Blue Bar is open.
,
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Friday 22 March 2013
Restaurant at The End of The World
Driving winds have prevented the mad Antarctic ratters from baiting for several days. The radical conservation, toxic warriors have been kept on the ground by the atmosphere that just seems to hurtle round relentlessly in these latitudes. The cloud base has been fine but the unpredictable 40kt gusts and vicious downdraughts, lurking in the generally manageable 20-25 winds, make flying with the heavy bait buckets simply too much of a liability.
We sit and plan. We also take the opportunity to walk and enjoy the stunning scenery all around us; steep alpine-like peaks running straight down to the sea, vast glacier heads, their blue grey ice fracturing into the sea in colossal blocks.
We also eat.
But not camping food as you might imagine it. For a start, simply for the views from the window alone, the old abandoned whaling station room we are using as a dining area, must rate at least one Michelin Star, in my opinion. Now add our brigade of 3 chefs experienced in the rigours of Antarctic life. Their artistry, skill and imagination all add up to producing some of the most memorable meals I have eaten while 'roughing it'. We are temporally living in a land that is completely uncompromising in regard to safety and rescue but we eat in a 'restaurant at the end of the world'. We enjoy views that few have experienced while savouring high quality food.
Home made, roasted granola at breakfast. Freshly made and baked New York bagels at coffee break. A daube of mutton with puy lentils at lunch. Venison fillet carpaccio with capers and shaved parmesan followed by the rare roast loin with redcurrant jelly, at dinner.
Oh and did I mention the sunrises? Every day a different Technicolor extravaganza as we enjoy our fresh ground coffee, looking out over the bay and headland from our unique 'restaurant', the fur seals, elephant seals, skuas, petrels, king penguins, and gentoo penguins gathered before us on the beach 100 yards away.
----
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We sit and plan. We also take the opportunity to walk and enjoy the stunning scenery all around us; steep alpine-like peaks running straight down to the sea, vast glacier heads, their blue grey ice fracturing into the sea in colossal blocks.
We also eat.
But not camping food as you might imagine it. For a start, simply for the views from the window alone, the old abandoned whaling station room we are using as a dining area, must rate at least one Michelin Star, in my opinion. Now add our brigade of 3 chefs experienced in the rigours of Antarctic life. Their artistry, skill and imagination all add up to producing some of the most memorable meals I have eaten while 'roughing it'. We are temporally living in a land that is completely uncompromising in regard to safety and rescue but we eat in a 'restaurant at the end of the world'. We enjoy views that few have experienced while savouring high quality food.
Home made, roasted granola at breakfast. Freshly made and baked New York bagels at coffee break. A daube of mutton with puy lentils at lunch. Venison fillet carpaccio with capers and shaved parmesan followed by the rare roast loin with redcurrant jelly, at dinner.
Oh and did I mention the sunrises? Every day a different Technicolor extravaganza as we enjoy our fresh ground coffee, looking out over the bay and headland from our unique 'restaurant', the fur seals, elephant seals, skuas, petrels, king penguins, and gentoo penguins gathered before us on the beach 100 yards away.
----
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Tuesday 19 March 2013
King of an Ice Crystal Castle.
I was busy yesterday hauling loads of bait to the Kiwis working hard in an adjoining baiting area. I found myself in the most unusual spot I've ever been in a helicopter. I thought; 'I wonder what anyone back home would think of this?'
The bait layers were short of bait from an earlier depot we had underslung off the research vessel, the Ernest Shackleton, last month. (In 8 days of flying we had shifted 700 heavy loads of fuel drums and bait, between 3 pilots.)
They had called for an extra 'pod' of bait. So I'm in a 40-year-old BO105, an ex-air ambulance, with a 500kg bait pod slung on a 40ft strop. My door is removed, it's freezing cold but I need to get my head right out of the door, shoulder harness off, to look down to 'long line' the load visually and accurately to the waiting baiting crew.
They are 10 miles away over the massive Fortuna Glacier. I'm climbing 2000ft out of a sea level bait dump in the Fortuna basin, bound for Antarctic bay, over a 5-mile wide glacier and snowfield. I'm flying at 60 mph with a heavy 500kg load. Somewhere beneath me on this featureless desert of ice are the remains of 2 Wessex helicopters from '82 conflict. The expansive snow panorama, stretching 5 miles in any direction, is brilliant white in the sun and there are jagged peaks menacing to the south of me, about 2000ft higher. (It is 'safer' for us to fly overland, over the glaciers, than round the steeply sided coast, over a freezing cold sea.)
I am many miles from the nearest person, alone on top of a frozen world it seems, in my little Bolkow helicopter. The world is my frozen oyster. I am king of an ice crystal castle.
I drop down about 500ft over the curving snow dome then almost autorotate, gliding down 1500ft of steep jagged cliff to get to the crew waiting on the beach below.
The Kiwi agricultural pilots are tireless and skilful work horses, flying up to 8 hours in a day, when the weather allows, on GPS/computer guided 'baiting lines', to an accuracy of 5-10 meters horizontally.
I get to do all the other flying, the 'utility' work, which suits me.
Mark and Paul, our Team Rat helicopter engineers, are doing an excellent job keeping the aircraft serviceable. The British Antarctic Survey team, the Government staff and the fine gang of builders (Peckers Antarctic Services) presently at King Edward Point have also been very helpful to our 2 engineers whenever we have had to 'drop in' for essential helicopter maintenance. Their help is much appreciated.
We are more than half way through the areas allocated for this season but now the weather is getting poorer as we move towards the winter months down here. 70kt horizontal snow is not fun! Buried us for two days last week. I'm amazed how the choppers are coping with the elements, parked out, just blades tied down and covers on.
This veteran just hopes he can keep coping with the weather as well as those vintage helicopters can!
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
The bait layers were short of bait from an earlier depot we had underslung off the research vessel, the Ernest Shackleton, last month. (In 8 days of flying we had shifted 700 heavy loads of fuel drums and bait, between 3 pilots.)
They had called for an extra 'pod' of bait. So I'm in a 40-year-old BO105, an ex-air ambulance, with a 500kg bait pod slung on a 40ft strop. My door is removed, it's freezing cold but I need to get my head right out of the door, shoulder harness off, to look down to 'long line' the load visually and accurately to the waiting baiting crew.
They are 10 miles away over the massive Fortuna Glacier. I'm climbing 2000ft out of a sea level bait dump in the Fortuna basin, bound for Antarctic bay, over a 5-mile wide glacier and snowfield. I'm flying at 60 mph with a heavy 500kg load. Somewhere beneath me on this featureless desert of ice are the remains of 2 Wessex helicopters from '82 conflict. The expansive snow panorama, stretching 5 miles in any direction, is brilliant white in the sun and there are jagged peaks menacing to the south of me, about 2000ft higher. (It is 'safer' for us to fly overland, over the glaciers, than round the steeply sided coast, over a freezing cold sea.)
I am many miles from the nearest person, alone on top of a frozen world it seems, in my little Bolkow helicopter. The world is my frozen oyster. I am king of an ice crystal castle.
I drop down about 500ft over the curving snow dome then almost autorotate, gliding down 1500ft of steep jagged cliff to get to the crew waiting on the beach below.
The Kiwi agricultural pilots are tireless and skilful work horses, flying up to 8 hours in a day, when the weather allows, on GPS/computer guided 'baiting lines', to an accuracy of 5-10 meters horizontally.
I get to do all the other flying, the 'utility' work, which suits me.
Mark and Paul, our Team Rat helicopter engineers, are doing an excellent job keeping the aircraft serviceable. The British Antarctic Survey team, the Government staff and the fine gang of builders (Peckers Antarctic Services) presently at King Edward Point have also been very helpful to our 2 engineers whenever we have had to 'drop in' for essential helicopter maintenance. Their help is much appreciated.
We are more than half way through the areas allocated for this season but now the weather is getting poorer as we move towards the winter months down here. 70kt horizontal snow is not fun! Buried us for two days last week. I'm amazed how the choppers are coping with the elements, parked out, just blades tied down and covers on.
This veteran just hopes he can keep coping with the weather as well as those vintage helicopters can!
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Saturday 16 March 2013
Poetry on steroids
As we move the camp further away from the 'seat of civilisation' on South Georgia (King Edward Point, population 10) the land gets divided by more and more glaciers, increasingly steep fiord-like bays and generally inhospitable and extreme terrain.
We hope for the best (task completion without incident) but we plan and practice for the worse case, an aircraft incident. I am pleased to say that our team doctors are 2 of the most knowledgeable and skilled rescue medics that I have had the pleasure of meeting. Dr 'No Problem" Jamie and Dr 'Mountain Queen' Deirdre are both experts in difficult terrain rescue and remote medicine. I feel very heartened that they are an integral part of our 'mad ratters tea party' in this wild land.
Most resourcefully the 2 doctors have doctored our simple, basic aircraft 'first aid' kits. These are normally plastic boxes like you might buy at a garage, containing a few bandages, plasters and pins. They are fitted to an aircraft simply as a legal requirement. The doctors have waved a medical wand over these boxes, transforming them into first aid kits 'on steroids' Now at least if we have to wait a day or two to be picked up we can wait with arterial bleed staunched and pain and infection free.
I am working with a group of wild Antarctic style experts and skilled aircraft engineers on an Island that itself is 'on steroids'. Weather that is hopelessly unpredictable, wild cliffs and mountains rising straight out of the sea. Skies of complex, unbelievable patterns; clouds like anesthetised patients, flopped on a table.
Charles Dickens wrote when he visited the magnificent Glencoe in Scotland that it was akin to stepping into 'the height and madness of fever'. I can tell you with that thought in mind that being in South Georgia is like visiting a whole kingdom of Glencoes at once.
We linger on the fringes of this Kingdom by the edge of the cold sea. The seals are like mermaids, wreathed with seaweed red and brown and the wind blows the water white and black.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
We hope for the best (task completion without incident) but we plan and practice for the worse case, an aircraft incident. I am pleased to say that our team doctors are 2 of the most knowledgeable and skilled rescue medics that I have had the pleasure of meeting. Dr 'No Problem" Jamie and Dr 'Mountain Queen' Deirdre are both experts in difficult terrain rescue and remote medicine. I feel very heartened that they are an integral part of our 'mad ratters tea party' in this wild land.
Most resourcefully the 2 doctors have doctored our simple, basic aircraft 'first aid' kits. These are normally plastic boxes like you might buy at a garage, containing a few bandages, plasters and pins. They are fitted to an aircraft simply as a legal requirement. The doctors have waved a medical wand over these boxes, transforming them into first aid kits 'on steroids' Now at least if we have to wait a day or two to be picked up we can wait with arterial bleed staunched and pain and infection free.
I am working with a group of wild Antarctic style experts and skilled aircraft engineers on an Island that itself is 'on steroids'. Weather that is hopelessly unpredictable, wild cliffs and mountains rising straight out of the sea. Skies of complex, unbelievable patterns; clouds like anesthetised patients, flopped on a table.
Charles Dickens wrote when he visited the magnificent Glencoe in Scotland that it was akin to stepping into 'the height and madness of fever'. I can tell you with that thought in mind that being in South Georgia is like visiting a whole kingdom of Glencoes at once.
We linger on the fringes of this Kingdom by the edge of the cold sea. The seals are like mermaids, wreathed with seaweed red and brown and the wind blows the water white and black.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Monday 11 March 2013
A little taste of things to come.
Mon 11th March
Yesterday, I sat on a rocky outcrop 400ft above a tranquil inlet called Jason Harbour. I over looked the beautiful Cumberland Bay, on the northern side of South Georgia.
I had flown over from our base at Husvik, the old whaling station, to clear up empty fuel drums from a depot site where we had deposited bait pods in the environmental plan to rid South Georgia of its alien rat parasites. 'Wiz' our environmental officer came along to supervise.
At Husvik there had been a few flurries of snow off the mountain top, 2 miles to the south of us, the enigmatically named 'Foxtail Peak' (There are no foxes in South Georgia. There are no indigenous land mammals at all)
In Jason Harbour, a little over 5 miles away eastwards and a mountain pass away from Husvik, the sun shone. There was little wind and the two of us soon had the area cleared. We stood for a while enjoying the solitude, majestic mountain ranges, warm sunshine and the deep blue sea of the Bay.
We flew back to Husvik, a five-minute trip, passing by Diamond Peak; I could almost imagine the sunshine glinting of the scattered jewels of this Treasure Island.
Today I woke to a different scene. A bleak, white realm of suffering.
During the night the fickle spirits of South Georgia changed the tune they had been playing yesterday on that glorious afternoon. No longer a classic "Lazy Sunday Afternoon" it was now a seriously modified "Ride of the Valkyries"
The weather in just a few hours had swung from peaceful pop to full blown pomp. Horizontal, 60mph snow right down to sea level. Serious weather.
From a heavenly life on Sunday to a living hell on Monday.
We hunker down and wait for a break.
The new seal pups, on the beach a few metres from our camp, love the snow. They make slides, like children experiencing snow for the first time and slip and slide into the sea. The skuas open their wings and simply jump upwards to fly backwards across the icy white beach, gliding in reverse through the horizontal blizzard.
Our helicopters stay on the ground however, securely tied down. The snow builds up on our tents and the old whaling station out buildings and outlines slowly blur as the drifts of thick snow build up covering tents, helicopters and sides of buildings.
----
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Yesterday, I sat on a rocky outcrop 400ft above a tranquil inlet called Jason Harbour. I over looked the beautiful Cumberland Bay, on the northern side of South Georgia.
I had flown over from our base at Husvik, the old whaling station, to clear up empty fuel drums from a depot site where we had deposited bait pods in the environmental plan to rid South Georgia of its alien rat parasites. 'Wiz' our environmental officer came along to supervise.
At Husvik there had been a few flurries of snow off the mountain top, 2 miles to the south of us, the enigmatically named 'Foxtail Peak' (There are no foxes in South Georgia. There are no indigenous land mammals at all)
In Jason Harbour, a little over 5 miles away eastwards and a mountain pass away from Husvik, the sun shone. There was little wind and the two of us soon had the area cleared. We stood for a while enjoying the solitude, majestic mountain ranges, warm sunshine and the deep blue sea of the Bay.
We flew back to Husvik, a five-minute trip, passing by Diamond Peak; I could almost imagine the sunshine glinting of the scattered jewels of this Treasure Island.
Today I woke to a different scene. A bleak, white realm of suffering.
During the night the fickle spirits of South Georgia changed the tune they had been playing yesterday on that glorious afternoon. No longer a classic "Lazy Sunday Afternoon" it was now a seriously modified "Ride of the Valkyries"
The weather in just a few hours had swung from peaceful pop to full blown pomp. Horizontal, 60mph snow right down to sea level. Serious weather.
From a heavenly life on Sunday to a living hell on Monday.
We hunker down and wait for a break.
The new seal pups, on the beach a few metres from our camp, love the snow. They make slides, like children experiencing snow for the first time and slip and slide into the sea. The skuas open their wings and simply jump upwards to fly backwards across the icy white beach, gliding in reverse through the horizontal blizzard.
Our helicopters stay on the ground however, securely tied down. The snow builds up on our tents and the old whaling station out buildings and outlines slowly blur as the drifts of thick snow build up covering tents, helicopters and sides of buildings.
----
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Friday 8 March 2013
Weather whinge
Rain. Cold. Miserable. Mist. Wet.
After several days of relatively clear weather and light winds that enabled us to make great baiting progress across 2 large areas of South Georgia, we are now enduring days of torrential rain and low cloud. (Just like the UK, I imagine!) Only down here it is now only just above freezing and the incessant deluge is a relentless drain on our high spirits. We huddle together like the penguins on beaches. We are slightly more protected in the relative warmth of the disused whaling station manager's villa, waiting for a break in the mist.
In this weather even the fur seals seem to spend more time in the sea than basking on the land.
Antarctic fur seals. They are social animals especially the puppies. Playing and cavorting in the water and very agile on the land, considering that they have flippers, in some spots we have even seen them over a mile from the beaches, 400-500 ft. up in the hills.
Another 'animal of the moment' for me here at Husvik camp is the Brown Skua. This is a bird about the size of a very large chicken but shaped like a sea gull (also with very ugly webbed feet) There is a very tame and fearless pair keeping station around our camp, they fly gracefully down then waddle right up to our feet, looking for morsels. These birds predate and scavenge like crows but have the most gorgeous plumage, reminiscent of golden eagles. Altogether an ugly yet beautiful creature, entirely in keeping with the bird
Finally (on a lighter note!) my other favourite, of which I have only seen a few, is the 'Sea Swallow' or Wilson's Storm Petrel. For all the world in size and look like a swallow or swift back home, they dart and hover, dancing across the waves. They all migrate to the North Atlantic in April away from the cold Antarctic winter.
Hopefully the rain will stop and we too will get our job done here in the next couple of months and we can then migrate North again!
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
After several days of relatively clear weather and light winds that enabled us to make great baiting progress across 2 large areas of South Georgia, we are now enduring days of torrential rain and low cloud. (Just like the UK, I imagine!) Only down here it is now only just above freezing and the incessant deluge is a relentless drain on our high spirits. We huddle together like the penguins on beaches. We are slightly more protected in the relative warmth of the disused whaling station manager's villa, waiting for a break in the mist.
In this weather even the fur seals seem to spend more time in the sea than basking on the land.
Antarctic fur seals. They are social animals especially the puppies. Playing and cavorting in the water and very agile on the land, considering that they have flippers, in some spots we have even seen them over a mile from the beaches, 400-500 ft. up in the hills.
Another 'animal of the moment' for me here at Husvik camp is the Brown Skua. This is a bird about the size of a very large chicken but shaped like a sea gull (also with very ugly webbed feet) There is a very tame and fearless pair keeping station around our camp, they fly gracefully down then waddle right up to our feet, looking for morsels. These birds predate and scavenge like crows but have the most gorgeous plumage, reminiscent of golden eagles. Altogether an ugly yet beautiful creature, entirely in keeping with the bird
Finally (on a lighter note!) my other favourite, of which I have only seen a few, is the 'Sea Swallow' or Wilson's Storm Petrel. For all the world in size and look like a swallow or swift back home, they dart and hover, dancing across the waves. They all migrate to the North Atlantic in April away from the cold Antarctic winter.
Hopefully the rain will stop and we too will get our job done here in the next couple of months and we can then migrate North again!
----
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Wednesday 6 March 2013
Rock around the Block
Early morning 6th March, a dense layer of fog hangs just above the surface all around our camp in Stromness Bay on the North side of South Georgia.
At last I have time to catch up here on the keyboard while the helicopters are grounded by the weather.
The final move from our support ship was a whirling flurry of netted loads and containers filled with everything to sustain our team to the middle of June. We are now settled around a sort of halfway house to our fully tented base.
A disused wooden house from the whaling era is acting as our HQ and affording a fair amount of shelter.
The bait-loading experts, led by Nick have been setting out their delivery systems. The GPS wizard; Dave has been feverishly programming and calibrating the aircraft digital equipment. The new Zealand pilots, Peter and Dave, seasoned agricultural application operators, have been 'flying the block'; the boundaries of the grounds to be covered; the coastal, vegetated inland strip and the higher rocky hills and crags, in order to set up the digitally mapped areas to be baited. It is all-skilled, exacting work necessary to get this environmental job done accurately and successfully.
I'm the transport pilot now; loads that need shifting, crew to baiting sites, the odd trip to King Edward Point for our 'management to liaise with the SG Government reps. If someone gets 'crook' I might be given some training time with the baiting buckets and GPS logging system but even I realise it's a real art form requiring a good year of flying practice to produce the required accuracy and economy with the bait!
Meanwhile I've also been helping out transporting ground baiting teams to the disused whaling stations that need bait inserted into buildings dangerously contaminated with asbestos. The roofs of these old buildings prevents the bait, falling from our aerial applications, getting to potential dark, warm rat nesting areas
At Stromness Whaling Station, (the point of civilisation that Shackleton staggered into after his epic journey) we march around deserted, uniformly rust coloured sheds and machine works. We are dressed in protective gear from head to foot, in blue coveralls, hard hats, respirators, carrying buckets of bait.
We insert the bait into likely rat areas. There are thousands of seals all around the spooky collection of buildings and oil tanks. They are more aggressive than at other areas where we have met them. They rush up and snap at our legs, barking and screaming.
I suddenly imagine what I have been transported to; an urban film set; mad scientists, decrepit buildings and rail tracks, wild shrieking animals. I have fallen down a 'Mad Ratters' rabbit hole into the set of "Zombie Apocalypse"
We find fresh rat droppings in only one building. Curiously it is on the floor in the remains of the 'managers villa' just inside the door that Shackleton knocked on after his grueling march to safety over the Island in 1916.
Afterwards, away from the asbestos risk, I take a breather, mask off, sitting down on the dark grey pebbles at the shoreline, about a meter away from the sea. The young seal pups are shooting up and down along the surf line like little porpoises. Suddenly a much larger adolescent seal launches himself directly at me, in a feigned attack from below the surface. I shoot up like a scalded cat and retreat. The team, sitting 20 meters further up the beach, falls about laughing at my sudden seal surprise.
----
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At last I have time to catch up here on the keyboard while the helicopters are grounded by the weather.
The final move from our support ship was a whirling flurry of netted loads and containers filled with everything to sustain our team to the middle of June. We are now settled around a sort of halfway house to our fully tented base.
A disused wooden house from the whaling era is acting as our HQ and affording a fair amount of shelter.
The bait-loading experts, led by Nick have been setting out their delivery systems. The GPS wizard; Dave has been feverishly programming and calibrating the aircraft digital equipment. The new Zealand pilots, Peter and Dave, seasoned agricultural application operators, have been 'flying the block'; the boundaries of the grounds to be covered; the coastal, vegetated inland strip and the higher rocky hills and crags, in order to set up the digitally mapped areas to be baited. It is all-skilled, exacting work necessary to get this environmental job done accurately and successfully.
I'm the transport pilot now; loads that need shifting, crew to baiting sites, the odd trip to King Edward Point for our 'management to liaise with the SG Government reps. If someone gets 'crook' I might be given some training time with the baiting buckets and GPS logging system but even I realise it's a real art form requiring a good year of flying practice to produce the required accuracy and economy with the bait!
Meanwhile I've also been helping out transporting ground baiting teams to the disused whaling stations that need bait inserted into buildings dangerously contaminated with asbestos. The roofs of these old buildings prevents the bait, falling from our aerial applications, getting to potential dark, warm rat nesting areas
At Stromness Whaling Station, (the point of civilisation that Shackleton staggered into after his epic journey) we march around deserted, uniformly rust coloured sheds and machine works. We are dressed in protective gear from head to foot, in blue coveralls, hard hats, respirators, carrying buckets of bait.
We insert the bait into likely rat areas. There are thousands of seals all around the spooky collection of buildings and oil tanks. They are more aggressive than at other areas where we have met them. They rush up and snap at our legs, barking and screaming.
I suddenly imagine what I have been transported to; an urban film set; mad scientists, decrepit buildings and rail tracks, wild shrieking animals. I have fallen down a 'Mad Ratters' rabbit hole into the set of "Zombie Apocalypse"
We find fresh rat droppings in only one building. Curiously it is on the floor in the remains of the 'managers villa' just inside the door that Shackleton knocked on after his grueling march to safety over the Island in 1916.
Afterwards, away from the asbestos risk, I take a breather, mask off, sitting down on the dark grey pebbles at the shoreline, about a meter away from the sea. The young seal pups are shooting up and down along the surf line like little porpoises. Suddenly a much larger adolescent seal launches himself directly at me, in a feigned attack from below the surface. I shoot up like a scalded cat and retreat. The team, sitting 20 meters further up the beach, falls about laughing at my sudden seal surprise.
----
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Saturday 2 March 2013
Bait and fuel delivered. Our support ship has gone.
We off loaded fuel and bait at a little beach carved out of the 400ft cliffs in Antarctic bay. There were many hundreds of baby fur seals, there just sleeping, swimming and playing around, passing the time, the long days, waiting for their mothers to return heavy with fatty milk, from their sea feeding. A seal kindergarten.
On a roll, making best use of breaks in the generally harsh weather. The depot area in Fortuna bay was quickly done and the 3 helicopters were then parked up in the high ground behind the disused whaling station at Leith. Gentoo penguins had made this place their home, enjoying a lake created by the dam of the old whalers hydro power scheme. It was almost like a freestyle zoo or safari park but without fences and with totally tame animals. No fear of man whatsoever. Eden?
3 small helicopters nestling at the base of a ring of 1000ft high hills, glorious sunshine but the ever constant threat of sudden changes in the weather. Sure enough curly clouds twisting and spiralling off the edges of the sharp hilltops signalled a good chance of strong winds coming soon.
I try photographing all I can see around me in the vain hope I can record some essence of this place. High cliff walls, buttresses capped with snow, incredibly tame animals. The aroma of many animals assailing the nostrils. Feral calls of the seals echoing round the cliffs, the sound carried from the colony on the beach over a mile away.
Since 30th January I must have taken well over 1000 photos of this amazing journey. One or two photos are 'ok' in composition; the others simply record the scene. They are easy to check and keep or delete.
But how to capture the 'essence' I feel here? A mental landscape, a memory is easy; just look, listen and feel both sensually and imaginatively. But how to develop that mind photo so that someone else can get a taste, a feeling of what the experience was like. How can the almost overwhelming, monumental beauty and the naïve primitive inhabitants be encapsulated in a message?
It would be all to easy just to sit back and enjoy the experience and not even bother trying to convey a composition.
I guess my 24 colleagues here have each taken many more photos than me. Our group must have generated at least 25,000 images, this month alone, to remind themselves of this Island. I have seen some of their images; there are several talented photographers here. Even so they are keen to read the word pictures of my own experiences. I will keep on trying to capture the spirit of South Georgia as I feel it, in the slim chance that I can convey for my family and friends, in my very limited style, at least some of the enchantment, indeed madness, of South Georgia.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
On a roll, making best use of breaks in the generally harsh weather. The depot area in Fortuna bay was quickly done and the 3 helicopters were then parked up in the high ground behind the disused whaling station at Leith. Gentoo penguins had made this place their home, enjoying a lake created by the dam of the old whalers hydro power scheme. It was almost like a freestyle zoo or safari park but without fences and with totally tame animals. No fear of man whatsoever. Eden?
3 small helicopters nestling at the base of a ring of 1000ft high hills, glorious sunshine but the ever constant threat of sudden changes in the weather. Sure enough curly clouds twisting and spiralling off the edges of the sharp hilltops signalled a good chance of strong winds coming soon.
I try photographing all I can see around me in the vain hope I can record some essence of this place. High cliff walls, buttresses capped with snow, incredibly tame animals. The aroma of many animals assailing the nostrils. Feral calls of the seals echoing round the cliffs, the sound carried from the colony on the beach over a mile away.
Since 30th January I must have taken well over 1000 photos of this amazing journey. One or two photos are 'ok' in composition; the others simply record the scene. They are easy to check and keep or delete.
But how to capture the 'essence' I feel here? A mental landscape, a memory is easy; just look, listen and feel both sensually and imaginatively. But how to develop that mind photo so that someone else can get a taste, a feeling of what the experience was like. How can the almost overwhelming, monumental beauty and the naïve primitive inhabitants be encapsulated in a message?
It would be all to easy just to sit back and enjoy the experience and not even bother trying to convey a composition.
I guess my 24 colleagues here have each taken many more photos than me. Our group must have generated at least 25,000 images, this month alone, to remind themselves of this Island. I have seen some of their images; there are several talented photographers here. Even so they are keen to read the word pictures of my own experiences. I will keep on trying to capture the spirit of South Georgia as I feel it, in the slim chance that I can convey for my family and friends, in my very limited style, at least some of the enchantment, indeed madness, of South Georgia.
----
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Wednesday 27 February 2013
Master Baiters of South Georgia?
It's getting a bit manic here as we get the last of our bait, fuel, accommodation and food loads off the ship. I'm taking a break in Jason Harbour on a spur of land about 400ft above a semicircular bay about a mile across. The usual ring of sea cliffs faintly echo the seal calls from the beach. It is possible to here this as unusually there is not the slightest hint of wind. We are waiting for the ship to sail round the coast from the last depot area. Time to upload what I had written the other day:
Cathedral Cheese
We had been working in a steep-sided 'Tolkien sounding' inlet called Elsehul. We shifted bait and fuel in a complex aerial ballet onto a sweeping wide flat-bottomed plain called Hope Valley. The loads seemed to get heavier as the down draughts increased during the day. We finished successfully however and set course east bound to "Possession Bay" (The point where Captain Cook 'claimed' South Georgia.)
Peter, Dave and I flew along the bay in our trusty BO 105's (one bright yellow, two 'post office' red) arriving and landing under dark grey skies and flurries of grainy snow with a bitterly cold wind from the South Pole.
It seemed at first an inhospitable bay with stark, dark threatening mountain surrounds. Then almost magically (I am convinced this Island is where the weather gods reside!) the sun broke through and the huge bay was completely transformed into an enormous space of wondrous beauty.
The changes in the weather and how these affect my sense of place is incredibly difficult to convey by words. Imagine a grey stone cathedral of vast proportions. You arrive, staggering up to it in a blizzard, unable to make out the size of the building. Inside it is grey and misty and difficult to see in the gloom. It is dark and uninviting, not a place of reverence and quiet calm.
Quite suddenly the storm subsides, blue skies appear outside and sunlight pours through the huge stained glass windows. The whole immense space is lit up, revealing a packed congregation of seals and penguins, from wall to wall a mile across.
Back to reality. In the sunshine the beach can be seen to be a riviera for young seals, acting for the entire world like young teenagers enjoying a day at the seaside. They cavort in groups of about a dozen, racing up and down the surf line showing off to their pals, testing their prowess in the water.
I dip my boot in the cold Southern Ocean for the first time and take a handful to taste the salt of a cold season. I turn and between the monstrous crags a mile behind me 3 huge glacier walls 200 feet high shove their white and crystalline snouts down toward the blue Antarctic water.
----
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Please be kind and keep your replies short.
Cathedral Cheese
We had been working in a steep-sided 'Tolkien sounding' inlet called Elsehul. We shifted bait and fuel in a complex aerial ballet onto a sweeping wide flat-bottomed plain called Hope Valley. The loads seemed to get heavier as the down draughts increased during the day. We finished successfully however and set course east bound to "Possession Bay" (The point where Captain Cook 'claimed' South Georgia.)
Peter, Dave and I flew along the bay in our trusty BO 105's (one bright yellow, two 'post office' red) arriving and landing under dark grey skies and flurries of grainy snow with a bitterly cold wind from the South Pole.
It seemed at first an inhospitable bay with stark, dark threatening mountain surrounds. Then almost magically (I am convinced this Island is where the weather gods reside!) the sun broke through and the huge bay was completely transformed into an enormous space of wondrous beauty.
The changes in the weather and how these affect my sense of place is incredibly difficult to convey by words. Imagine a grey stone cathedral of vast proportions. You arrive, staggering up to it in a blizzard, unable to make out the size of the building. Inside it is grey and misty and difficult to see in the gloom. It is dark and uninviting, not a place of reverence and quiet calm.
Quite suddenly the storm subsides, blue skies appear outside and sunlight pours through the huge stained glass windows. The whole immense space is lit up, revealing a packed congregation of seals and penguins, from wall to wall a mile across.
Back to reality. In the sunshine the beach can be seen to be a riviera for young seals, acting for the entire world like young teenagers enjoying a day at the seaside. They cavort in groups of about a dozen, racing up and down the surf line showing off to their pals, testing their prowess in the water.
I dip my boot in the cold Southern Ocean for the first time and take a handful to taste the salt of a cold season. I turn and between the monstrous crags a mile behind me 3 huge glacier walls 200 feet high shove their white and crystalline snouts down toward the blue Antarctic water.
----
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Please be kind and keep your replies short.
Monday 25 February 2013
Shakespeare or Shackleton?
Right Whale Bay; an incredible huge horseshoe of crags surrounding a flat glacial gravelled dry riverbed. Fur seals and King Penguins abound. Snow in the morning. Actually with a 40 mph wind, more like blizzards!
Then glorious sunshine that feels warm on the face. The wind can stop in an instant and total silence prevails for a minute then a second later a maelstrom of howling wind cracks off almost instantaneously. Summer to winter in the blink of an eye. We work in the smallest weather 'windows', and then move onto new areas.
This Island is very artful and it is enchanting. I have taken shelter from the wind while we wait for conditions to allow helicopter operations to commence again. I'm sitting in a restored wooden villa by an abandoned whaling station. We are now in Stromness bay. Out of the window by the table where I am typing I can see the gravel shoreline a stone throw away. There is a small inlet of water where, in front of the window, a 'school' of young seals, about 50 of them, play like children at the local swimming pool. If I glance left I can see around 30 King penguins staring at the sealy wriggling water fights with disinterested haughtiness.
The bay almost appears to close off at its mouth, about 4 miles in the distance. Beyond that intense white icebergs on the horizon lay serenely on a vivid blue sea. Yet this Island can turn from an idyllic Eden to a howling hell of Antarctic hypothermia in just the seconds it takes to type two words; 'The Tempest".
Shakespeare would have had a field day down here in South Georgia. I do not feel I can conjure and spin the words to adequately describe the intensity of this place, but I will keep on trying. I hope I may indulge and let the spirits set my imagination free.
----
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Then glorious sunshine that feels warm on the face. The wind can stop in an instant and total silence prevails for a minute then a second later a maelstrom of howling wind cracks off almost instantaneously. Summer to winter in the blink of an eye. We work in the smallest weather 'windows', and then move onto new areas.
This Island is very artful and it is enchanting. I have taken shelter from the wind while we wait for conditions to allow helicopter operations to commence again. I'm sitting in a restored wooden villa by an abandoned whaling station. We are now in Stromness bay. Out of the window by the table where I am typing I can see the gravel shoreline a stone throw away. There is a small inlet of water where, in front of the window, a 'school' of young seals, about 50 of them, play like children at the local swimming pool. If I glance left I can see around 30 King penguins staring at the sealy wriggling water fights with disinterested haughtiness.
The bay almost appears to close off at its mouth, about 4 miles in the distance. Beyond that intense white icebergs on the horizon lay serenely on a vivid blue sea. Yet this Island can turn from an idyllic Eden to a howling hell of Antarctic hypothermia in just the seconds it takes to type two words; 'The Tempest".
Shakespeare would have had a field day down here in South Georgia. I do not feel I can conjure and spin the words to adequately describe the intensity of this place, but I will keep on trying. I hope I may indulge and let the spirits set my imagination free.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Sunday 24 February 2013
Chariots of Fire
The main party had improvised while we were stuck with the helicopters on the other side of the island. Using the ships supply boat (like a small military landing craft) they had managed to stock our first 'Team Rat' beach depot, with bait and fuel, ready for the aerial drop.
We flew in with style, arriving like the delayed cavalry finally charging over the hill (the vast iced snow dome of the Shackleton Gap) to see set before us on the beach a Herculean task in progress. We witnessed a gravel beach made smooth with massive sheets of plywood up which a huge 2 wheel trailer, looking for all the world like a chariot from Ben Hur, being pushed by the team ratters, the trailer brimming with pods and fuel. The pods weighed about 500kg and the fuel barrels about 200kg.
Normally the helicopters would be used to sling these loads off the ship to our temporary depots by the shore. In our enfored absence the team had improvised and now looked like slave extras from some religious epic film or Gladiator perhaps, bent under the lash as they forced the giant trolley up the beach, struggling with the weight and slope.
They took 2 days to unload what the 3 choppers would have done in 2 hours flying.
All around were the fabulous peaks of King Haakon bay. The depot was laid at a romantically named area called Peggotty Bluff. An unforgettable location to strain sinews for two days!
We aviators had simply floated down like sky gods over this scene of blood sweat and tears, in our winged chariots. Despite their exhaustion our teammates greeted us with great shouts and whoops of delight. No doubt that 2-wheeled massive trailer had become something of a chariot of torment to them. Here we were at last with our steely machines and shining smiles, ready to leap up into action.
…. And action we gave them. The next morning at a new location we zigzagged over the cold blue water, blades cutting the air in a frenzy of load lifting from the back of the ship where the team again worked hard to keep up with the incessant swooping and hauling of their noisy mini sky cranes.
We were an attacking task force, from the air this time. Ecological warriors. Time bandits ready to roll back the damage caused by invasive alien creatures marauding like pirates, on a primitive magical treasure island.
----
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We flew in with style, arriving like the delayed cavalry finally charging over the hill (the vast iced snow dome of the Shackleton Gap) to see set before us on the beach a Herculean task in progress. We witnessed a gravel beach made smooth with massive sheets of plywood up which a huge 2 wheel trailer, looking for all the world like a chariot from Ben Hur, being pushed by the team ratters, the trailer brimming with pods and fuel. The pods weighed about 500kg and the fuel barrels about 200kg.
Normally the helicopters would be used to sling these loads off the ship to our temporary depots by the shore. In our enfored absence the team had improvised and now looked like slave extras from some religious epic film or Gladiator perhaps, bent under the lash as they forced the giant trolley up the beach, struggling with the weight and slope.
They took 2 days to unload what the 3 choppers would have done in 2 hours flying.
All around were the fabulous peaks of King Haakon bay. The depot was laid at a romantically named area called Peggotty Bluff. An unforgettable location to strain sinews for two days!
We aviators had simply floated down like sky gods over this scene of blood sweat and tears, in our winged chariots. Despite their exhaustion our teammates greeted us with great shouts and whoops of delight. No doubt that 2-wheeled massive trailer had become something of a chariot of torment to them. Here we were at last with our steely machines and shining smiles, ready to leap up into action.
…. And action we gave them. The next morning at a new location we zigzagged over the cold blue water, blades cutting the air in a frenzy of load lifting from the back of the ship where the team again worked hard to keep up with the incessant swooping and hauling of their noisy mini sky cranes.
We were an attacking task force, from the air this time. Ecological warriors. Time bandits ready to roll back the damage caused by invasive alien creatures marauding like pirates, on a primitive magical treasure island.
----
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Sunday 17 February 2013
Rock Music
OK, I’m going to miss out the exact
technical details of how we escaped from the bog by the beach with the mad seal
chorus. Suffice it to say it was an ‘interesting trip’ flavoured with
inpenetratable fog banks, landings on remote beaches of grey glacial gravel and
a final dash through narrow mountain passes to the relative security of the
abandoned whaling station at Grytviken.
Just 20 miles of mountainous terrain and
sea cliffs had separated us from the delights of the BAS research station at
King Edward Point or our base ship on the south coast, but for the previous 2
days it might have been 2000 miles.
A bonus of our recovery to the research
station was that I was able to briefly ‘phone my wife, Jane, on our wedding
anniversary, Feb 14th, Valentines Day.
So, in curious juxtaposition to the recent
meals of dried rations in the back of a 40 year old helicopter parked on a
remote beach, I was celebrating (well, sort of) my 15th wedding
anniversary, dining on a fabulous chicken pie with all butter rough puff pastry,
prepared by Gerard Baker (the writer of most of ‘The Hairy Bikers’ recipes) washed down in friendly company with a
very pleasant 2010 Chilcas Reserve Carmenere, in a mess dining room with mountain,
sea and wildlife views from the windows so stunning you could hardly breathe. Truly the most
fabulous “Restaurant at the End of the World”
The next day, despite low cloud and
outbreaks of snow, we were able to get away to the south side of the Island,
first crossing through the mountains via the curiously named ‘Echo Pass’,then
climbing up the and over the Konig Glacier with its huge, dark striations
making me think of a giant stairway to heaven.
We finally cleared the poor weather at
Fortuna bay and made the south side of the Island, over the famous Shackleton
Gap. The skies, in the fickle and sudden way I’m getting used to down here,
became magically blue and clear. The mountain and rock formations around us were
of such a harsh and powerful beauty that in my head a thundering Led Zeppelin
inspired sound track sound track played. It was a mental musical accompaniment
that I hoped would keep the Islands’ethereal sprites in check as we flew
along. My imagination rang with a Kashmir kaleidoscope of music, mountains
and magic.
We flew like returning warriors down the Gap to the ship in King
Haakon bay that lay bathing in glorious sunshine, landing the 3 helicopters
line abreast on the nearby beach and rejoined the ‘Team Rat’ after 5 days away,
cut off on the north side of South Georgia.
Thursday 7 February 2013
Rip off their wings and stuff 'em in the hold.
We are underway at last on the last phase of our journey to get the "Rat Pack" (25 Team Ratters and three helicopters plus tons of bait) to South Georgia. Our three little birds had been nestling with their 'wings' ripped off in a hangar on East Falkland Island, after a long hot and salty trip in the dark hold of a big ship from the UK.
The three Bolkows had fared reasonably well but had taken some damage due corrosion and thermal effects they endured on the sea crossing.
One chopper was fine but the other two required extensive nurturing and some emergency spare parts flown from the UK.
Mark and Paul, our helicopter engineers, worked wonders in less than ideal circumstances and with just one extra day our little cabs were bladed up, polished, fuelled and flying sweetly.
…..and what did we do then to the happy little birdies? …We flew them onto the Antarctic bound RSS Ernest Shackleton, ripped their wings off again and shoved all three into an even smaller, darker hold.
Now we are deep at sea, heading towards our rendezvous with ecological time reversion.
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The three Bolkows had fared reasonably well but had taken some damage due corrosion and thermal effects they endured on the sea crossing.
One chopper was fine but the other two required extensive nurturing and some emergency spare parts flown from the UK.
Mark and Paul, our helicopter engineers, worked wonders in less than ideal circumstances and with just one extra day our little cabs were bladed up, polished, fuelled and flying sweetly.
…..and what did we do then to the happy little birdies? …We flew them onto the Antarctic bound RSS Ernest Shackleton, ripped their wings off again and shoved all three into an even smaller, darker hold.
Now we are deep at sea, heading towards our rendezvous with ecological time reversion.
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This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Sunday 3 February 2013
Winding up the rat choppers
Back in the Falklands after 19 years. We arrived on Thursday after an uneventful 18-hour flight.
Our three helicopters were waiting for us after their slightly longer voyage in the hold of a supply ship.
Their journey was not uneventful and our 2 helicopter engineers have been working miracles to rectify some unscheduled problems caused by the salt of the sea and the heat of the sun.
19 years ago I was flying Sea King and Chinook helicopters over the wilds of these South Atlantic Islands. Now I'm buzzing around the same countryside in a 40 year old ex air ambulance.
We just need to get the other two choppers up and running and flown onto the research vessel 'Ernest Shackleton' and we will be on our way to South Georgia.
The 60 mph winds forecast for tomorrow (Mon 4th Feb) may curtail our preparations a bit!
On Friday I celebrated my 61st birthday (sadly 8000 miles from my family) and about to spend 4 months in a camp on the remote and beautiful island of South Georgia.
Considering 40% of the human race never reach one year old, at 61 I feel very privileged to be alive.
Our three helicopters were waiting for us after their slightly longer voyage in the hold of a supply ship.
Their journey was not uneventful and our 2 helicopter engineers have been working miracles to rectify some unscheduled problems caused by the salt of the sea and the heat of the sun.
19 years ago I was flying Sea King and Chinook helicopters over the wilds of these South Atlantic Islands. Now I'm buzzing around the same countryside in a 40 year old ex air ambulance.
We just need to get the other two choppers up and running and flown onto the research vessel 'Ernest Shackleton' and we will be on our way to South Georgia.
The 60 mph winds forecast for tomorrow (Mon 4th Feb) may curtail our preparations a bit!
On Friday I celebrated my 61st birthday (sadly 8000 miles from my family) and about to spend 4 months in a camp on the remote and beautiful island of South Georgia.
Considering 40% of the human race never reach one year old, at 61 I feel very privileged to be alive.
Monday 21 January 2013
Working out how to wave to satellites.
More comms testing before I head South. This update via the 'ether' and some little shiny balls in space. I knew the technology was there, I just didn't know how to use it! (I'm not a great technophile. For example my mobile phone is 8 years old....it's definitely not 'smart' ! )
So now (after some brain hurt) I think I've nailed how to update my new blog diary by satellite email, update Twitter and Facebook automatically at the same time and order a pint of milk......all with one compressed email and 30 seconds of satellite phone time.
This entry is the first trial run from my back garden. Satellites don't care where the signal comes from so if this update works from the cosy streets of a Leicester village, it will work from the wild beaches of South Georgia.
All I need do now is learn how to type with more than one finger!
Next update in a few days and 8000 miles from Leicestershire.
Regards.
Latest project newsletter: On the Way.
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This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
So now (after some brain hurt) I think I've nailed how to update my new blog diary by satellite email, update Twitter and Facebook automatically at the same time and order a pint of milk......all with one compressed email and 30 seconds of satellite phone time.
This entry is the first trial run from my back garden. Satellites don't care where the signal comes from so if this update works from the cosy streets of a Leicester village, it will work from the wild beaches of South Georgia.
All I need do now is learn how to type with more than one finger!
Next update in a few days and 8000 miles from Leicestershire.
Regards.
Latest project newsletter: On the Way.
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This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
Sunday 6 January 2013
Warming up the comms.
I'm going on a little adventure, so it's time to set up my base camp diary, here in the Ether.
I'm getting quite excited with the prospect of travelling to one of the most remote, beautiful and wild islands on the Earth, to help turn back the clock on the "Rat Invasion".
Team Rat; time reversal (PDF newsletter download)
Kick off for me is 30th Jan. Stand by.
I'm getting quite excited with the prospect of travelling to one of the most remote, beautiful and wild islands on the Earth, to help turn back the clock on the "Rat Invasion".
Team Rat; time reversal (PDF newsletter download)
Kick off for me is 30th Jan. Stand by.
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