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.
Wednesday 27 February 2013
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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This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
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.
----
This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
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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This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using GMN's XGate software.
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.
----
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.
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