Walking in Antarctica with a sledge

I write this post from my quarantine room in the Falklands as I patiently wait to return to Rothera for another year. It was fantastic to have a short break in the UK and absorb the wonders of family and friends, run through the forest and trample amongst the autumn leaves. After leaving Antarctica in November 2021, I found that the strangest adaptation to the ‘real world’ was that my senses were immediately overpowered. I could smell, to a heightened degree, aromas in the warm air and as I walked past a roadside bush of flowing plants in the Falkland Islands, I just couldn’t help but lean in and give them a sniff! After being away from any sort of terrestrial vegetation for a year, it was pretty special to experience the smells come rushing back and hear the callings of songbirds once again.

My aim for the 2022 blog series is to make them more science based as I've had feedback that it looks as if we are just on a holiday camp, ha! I guess I wanted to initially share with you the most exciting aspects of not only working but living in the polar regions. Anyway, here's one more recreation story for the road.

  

This is a retrospective post about a small-scale Antarctic expedition that I embarked on with Ed, a field guide, back in August last year. As I explained in a previous post, as part of learning how to live in the field and explore sites further afield from Rothera station, each wintering team member is allocated two weeks a year with a field guide as annual leave I suppose.

Ed and I taking the coastal route, trudging along with our pulks and a wet tent

Photo credit- Jean Baptiste Chandesris 

In preparation for the August expedition, I had been out on a few weekend training excursions which consisted of pulling a sledge containing several 20 kg jerry cans whilst accumulating some nice blisters and frosted eyebrows along the way!

The day before leaving, Ed and I were packing our pulks (a large open sledge covered with a waterproof bag) consisting of camping equipment, supplies, climbing gear and emergency food). We weighed our pulks to ensure that we distributed the load evenly between us. We racked up close to 90 kg each, and that was before adding personal belongings and water! Items were rationed, such as chocolate and biscuit browns (a staple field biscuit full of calories), which meant that we were going on a serious journey. 

 

The principal of 'hauling' (or Manhauling as it used to be known in the early years of polar exploration, but let's now put women into the equation*!) is a way of travelling across snow and ice on skis fitted with skins (to provide friction to reduce slipping) pulling a load. We don a waist band complete with two pins in order to fix the sledge handles to our waist. And from there, we gracefully (or not) walk with our skis and pull with all our might!

Starting the journey

Photo credit- Andy Hood

It was touch and go on the morning of Monday 23^rd  August whether or not we were going to leave. The wind was blowing unfavorably throughout the morning hours and then started to ease. Ed and I made a run for it when the weather started to settle. It was certainly like being thrown in at the deep end. Our first pitch was a mere 10 km away at the base of a mountain peak called N2. Despite being able to run that distance in a hour,  with a heavy load and undulating terrain, it took us 4 hours. At certain intervals along the way, I felt as if I was going to be blown flat over by the wind. Plains of open land, unprotected by mountains, allowed the wind to rip right through us! It was exhilarating. Icicles as big as what felt like golf balls developed on the ends of my eye lashes, blisters were materialising and my legs were burning. The main saving grace was Haribos, I can't even talk about the view for this leg of the journey because the wind was relentlessly blowing snow particles into our vision.

At the starting line with our pulks

Photo credit- Ed luke

Finally, we made it to camp. Two other members of the wintering team, Station leader Matthew and field guide Andy, were also part of this expedition. As a four, we hammered tent pegs into the snow layer and cut blocks of snow to rest on the sides of the tent, an extra precaution to avoid the tent being blown away! 

The pyramid tents with a backdrop of N2

 

Our pulks filled with snow to stop them blowing away

We got the tents up just in time because that night, serious winds, in excess of 50 knots, ripped through our tent. The storm continued into the next morning and when I poked my head out of the tent, I saw only white. The coastline, lined with magnificent glaciers that I had seen the night before, was gone and so was N2! That afternoon, it cleared and we hiked up a peak just behind our camp, 'Wendy', with crampons, ice axes and all the crevasse rescue gear. 

Climbing up Wendy with sea ice held fast to the land in the background

Photo credit- Andy Hood

Thankfully, the good weather endured and the next morning we set off for Sighing Peak, a 21 km round trip. This is a 640 m peak inaccessible by skidoos and therefore, the only way to get there is with leg power. It was first sighted in 1909 by a French Antarctic expedition. It's probable that less than 100 people have stood on this peak. We pulled our pulks along sloping territory with constantly changing scenery around the coastal plains with Webb island trapped by sea ice in the center of the Laubeuf Fjord. After the last two months without sun, it felt rejuvenating to feel the warmth of the afternoon sun whilst stopping for some hot Ribena!

Ed and myself as small dots pulling our pulks

Photo credit- Andy Hood

When we could pulks no more, we left them tied to a snow take in the ground. Upon reaching the base of the mountain, we planted our skis in the snow, ate some peanut butter on biscuit browns, donned our crampons and began and upward ascent. First, we walked with a rope lengths separating us. Where we reached seep inclines, we would belay our climbing partner.

Andy and Matthew climbing up the face of Sighing Peak

Rothera Research Station is surrounded by Ryder Bay. Moving North North East and changing orientation, a new bay opened up below us- Stonehouse Bay. Sea ice was still holding fast to the land and stretched as far as the eye could see. It was magnificent. 

As we neared the top, snow started to fall and cloud the views. We reached the summit and saw not much of the surroundings. Our hard work was clearly not being rewarded by the Antarctic weather gods today!

The pulk set-up with rope for glacier travel 

 

We made it back just in time before 60 knot winds set in that night. These persisted for the next 3 days and we were confined to the tent. I read a fantastic account of a Uruguayan plane crash which occurred in the Andean mountains in 1974, I highly recommend 'Alive' by Piers Paul Read- an incredible story of victims who survived 70 days in terrible conditions. Reading that made being cooped up in a cold tent feel like a holiday in comparison. We shared the evenings with our tent neighbors, Andy and Matthew, engaging in a myriad of tent based games. We also had Camembert and connect 4, so really, you can't complain.

Our tents and partially buried tents amongst a blizzard

Photo credit- Andy Hood

Ed loosing at connect 4, again.

An intense game of pickup sticks, will Matthew instigate a cascade? 

The Tilly lamp which provided heat to our tent and wet garments

Finally, on Sunday morning, the weather cleared. After 85 hours straight in a tent, we were desperate to stretch our legs and packed up at a rate of knots. The field guides, Andy and Ed, are well accustomed to this routine and I was almighty impressed at the quick turn around. What had been our home was reduced in less than an hour and crammed into our pulks once again.

Taking the tent down is much less fun that putting it up! The tent ways 10 kg and close to 15 kg when soaked with snow.

For the first time in a week, the sun shone amongst an almost uninterrupted blue sky. Forget goggles, it was time for suncream. The 15 km ski back was rather pleasant until we reached the final few km and those wretched blisters started to reappear in all sorts of places.....who gets blisters under their feet?!                          

Looking North, the base of Wendy where we camped

Looking South, the Stork mountain range is in sight

The final stretch

Photo credit- Andy Hood

I'll catch up with you when I'm back on station for some serious science gossip!

*For the past almost four decades, women have not worked in Antarctica as British Antarctic Survey representatives. In 1983 Janet Thomson became the first female BAS scientist to work in the region. In 1986 a team of female scientists worked for a summer season at Signy but it was not until 1993 that women finally overwintered. In 1997, the year I was born, the first females wintered at Rothera Research Station.