Chapter 14 
Try to stay positive: even the stormiest seas eventually subside
My supplies for the year were packed into a 1-metre cube, as were those of my fellow 120 expeditioners. It was surreal to watch the crane lift our gear on board. There would be no chemist, Target or David Jones to duck into and replenish my supplies. I hoped anything I had overlooked or undersupplied wouldn't be critical.
At the dock
My whole family came down to wave us off from the dock. It was a highly emotional occasion for all the expeditioners, but particularly for Stan.
Stan, a 65-year-old carpenter from Adelaide, was one of my summerers and was returning for his seventh summer expedition. He had just celebrated his fortieth wedding anniversary with his gorgeous wife Madge, who adored him. They were an old-style couple and she did everything for him. She would pack his lunch everyday and make a thermos for smoko. At home, dinner was at 6 pm and lights-out at 9 pm. Each trip, Madge would come aboard with Stan and make up his bunk for him, and they would sit together and quietly say goodbye away from the hubbub of the dock.
But things changed after 9/11. Now only expeditioners and ship's crew were allowed on board. No general public and no relatives meant no stowaways or sabotage, no sneaking bombs on board. I wasn't happy with this, no one was, but these were the rules. It was hard for Stan and Madge, though. I tried to bend the rules for them and spoke to the captain, but he was firm. Welcome to the 21st century, Stan and Madge. I made an effort to get close to Stan over the next few days. Although his special routine had been disrupted I wanted to make sure his final trip to Antarctica was memorable for the right reasons. I asked him if he was okay with the fact that his wife hadn't been allowed on board.
He told me, ‘Yes … eventually. It took ages but eventually I worked out how to put on those damned fitted sheets by myself.’
We set sail
As the lone piper played ‘Amazing Grace’ and families threw brightly coloured streamers, I stood at the stern and watched my loved ones slowly shrink to small dots on the wharf. Even when I couldn't distinguish one from another, they never stopped waving the banners they had made for the occasion. Everyone was teary and as we exited the Derwent River and crossed into Storm Bay the decks were empty. Everyone had gone to their cabins to regroup.
Wednesday 17th November
Well we are sailing. What a roller-coaster day of emotions. I didn't sleep at all last night because I was just so excited. I can't believe it's almost two years since the breakfast that changed my life. I'm feeling all sorts of emotions as I sit here on my bed on the Aurora Australis. I'm tired but happy.
Saying goodbye was awful. I completely lost it when the piper played ‘Amazing Grace’. But I wasn't alone. Mum and Dad cried. Dad more than Mum. He tried so hard to say something poignant but it all came out mumbled. Jane was probably the most upset I've ever seen her. She wanted to cuddle me all day — and I wished she could too.
When we were sitting at the Chancellor Hotel waiting to board a ladybird flew in and landed on her shoulder. Ladybirds are our all-time favourite things. We watched it and smiled. For two people without a religious or superstitious bone in our bodies we still felt it was a good sign.
Friday 19th November
On board the AA and we're all settling into a routine which revolves around eating and sleeping. I was feeling quite sick with mal de mer today — what a quaint name for such a horrid affliction! We're out in the Southern Ocean but it's calm and the seas slight.
The captain came on the speaker and ‘invited’ us to a ‘compulsory muster’. What an oxymoron. I almost declined his kind and thoughtful invitation just for the fun of it, but didn't. For entertainment tonight Frederique gave a fascinating talk on longline fishing and the effects on the albatross. It's bad news for these amazing creatures.
P.S. Saw my first wandering albatross today — beautiful bird.
Monday 22nd November
Groundhog day. Have played all the songs on my iPod four times and finished the Chocolate Royals.
We start planning meetings for the resupply tomorrow and I'm looking forward to the change of pace.
Seas are big and wind howling. Difficult to write. Sick as a dog. Are we there yet?
The Southern Ocean
The calm seas had given way to a raging storm, 60 knots over the deck combined with 11-metre swells — this was a true Southern Ocean experience. It's why they call it the Roaring Forties!
The good thing about icebreakers is that … they break ice, which is particularly handy when you're headed to Antarctica. The bad thing about icebreakers is that in order to break ice, they have a unique set of design specifications. Icebreakers must rock up and down, they must have a very round hull and they can have no external protuberances. The 7000-tonne ships break thick ice by sliding up onto it, allowing the weight and shape of the ship to crack the ice beneath and the momentum of the ship to cleave a path through. At the next piece of hard ice, up she slides up again. To achieve this rocking motion the vast bulk of ballast is centred fore and aft. Think of a pendulum — that's how they move.
And protuberances, such as the side stabilisers that enable a large ship to keep an even keel without rolling from side to side, have no place on an icebreaker. They cause too much friction and are easily damaged by the ice.
Take away the fore-and-aft stabilisation and the side-to-side stabilisation and you've got a very uncomfortable ride. We're not talking about a gentle list from side to side, we're talking 30 to 45 degrees either side of upright! The resulting motion is like a corkscrew, but maybe not so predictable. Perfect for ice. Very, very uncomfortable at sea, particularly in big seas, particularly after a week of storm-force wind, driving rain and absolutely massive seas!
Wednesday 24th November
I can't move. My tongue is thick, my head is throbbing and I ache all over. What the hell have I done?
Into Antarctic waters
The ship came through the storm intact and we settled back into some form of normalcy. The first thing we all did was have a good clean-up. Bunks, bedding, bulkheads (walls) got the once over with bleach; clothes were washed and we all showered ready to resume our preparations. It was peaceful, we were out on deck watching the Antarctic birds. Excitement and anticipation filled the air.
Our days were filled with planning meetings for the resupply. I used the relative lull to connect with my winterers, both individually and as a group. We talked about our hopes and aims for the coming year. We talked about our roles and responsibilities, and our relationships on station. I made a particular point of ensuring that my winterers understood one another's personalities, preferences and styles. I didn't know if I would have another chance to do this and wanted to make the most of the time we had. I figured that if my expeditioners could predict how each other would respond to any given event it could only be helpful.
Friday 26th November
ICEBERGS!!!!!
Today is the first time I really feel like we're in Antarctica. As I sit here in my bunk it's surreal to watch the icebergs going past my window. They are various shades of blue and white and all shapes and sizes. The size and scale of the bergs is incredible. Antarctica is just awesome, the colours are so vivid — I thought icebergs were white but they're not. They pick up every hue from the sunlight and ocean and range from deep blue through to jade to stripes and everything in between.
It is simply breathtaking to stand at the bow and look out onto this huge expanse of ice ahead of us. When I look at it I get a fierce urge to protect the place.
The ship made rapid progress deep into Antarctic waters. The temperature plummeted and we all scurried to fish out our brandnew cold weather gear, freezer suits and glacier boots. The ship had the atmosphere of a six year old's birthday party. We had people acting the clown with excitement.
Our excitement reached fever pitch when we saw our first penguins. We were punching through thin pack ice, easy work for the icebreaker. There was no sea swell and our ship was steady as a rock, carving its way through the ice above the Antarctic water. The constant throb of the diesel engines and the thin plume of black exhaust were the only reminders we were on a ship. We spent every available moment on deck watching the amazing scenes unfolding before us.
Saturday 27th November
‘Keeping watch’ on the bow was something none of us had to do but we all did anyway. I had just ducked down to change my camera memory stick when I heard Kirsten squeal ‘Penguins!’
Right in front of us, about 100 metres away, were 30 or so Adélie penguins. We were heading straight for them as they sat on a large piece of ice about 2 meters or so above the pack ice. They just looked at us as we got closer. They didn't move a muscle. When I thought it would be too late they must've said ‘Shit, let's get out of here’ and madly scrambled off the mini-berg and hit the ice. We laughed until we cried, but it was a mixture of terror and humour … Cookie reckons Adélies invented the ‘chicken’ game just to mess with people.
Towards dinner time we came across some emperor penguins. My god they are huge and playful! I could have watched them playing for hours!
Gradually we started to hit serious ice and we were able to see the icebreaker finally doing its thing. It was fascinating to watch the ship slide, slip, crack and part massive chunks of ice. As I sat in my berth one afternoon I heard an almighty tearing sound and looked out to see a huge chunk of ice flip on its side and grind its way down the side of the ship. A normal ship would have been torn open like a small tin of tuna, but the Aurora Australis didn't miss a beat. I finally appreciated the strength of the double hulls, round belly and funny shape of the icebreaker.
We were now two weeks out of Hobart but it already felt a lifetime away. We had a rhythm, our own tone; it felt like we'd been together as a team for years. But not everything was running smoothly. Unbeknown to me, some issues had been fermenting on the voyage.
What I learned
- Focus on the positive. When you feel like giving up focus on what you have, not on what you have given up. Look forward to the time when the worst will be over.