A Journey to Detaille Island – Base W – Rick Airey
In each of the ten years I had the good fortune to spend in the polar regions, the best bit was finding companions of equal or greater ability to enjoy journeys which some might not reckon sanest of options but a delight to the soul if you can live to tell the tale, suitably improved with Age.
Continuing from Rothera page….
Though I be Damned to be a W.O.M in records, it’s a misappropriation as while I wore several hats in 70 years the Heart sang of Deep Sea and High Mountains and Higher Airways, ‘til similar Officials Deem you beyond serviceable use, and Stamp Cancelled across your dog-eared licence to fly or Sail for Monetary emoluments.
Dog Eared is a great place to start our Motley crew my third winter, and my chum Geoff Somers first winter, I cast as trainer, he as tyro but the Dogs as master motivation. In hopes of a minor epic journey we had, from the moment the last ice ship left, cracked on with our base chores and work from 5 am to 11 am, in order to split our shared team and exercise the dogs in the twilight till 3pm then back to base work. This ploy worked well as the ice grew around us light sledged actually in my case one sawn in half we cantered far afield in the back coast of Adelaide Island and ventured high up ramps and routes using accessible islands for ice Obs and hunting the odd seal for the teams (Non-PC these days) but as an ancient Hunter-Gatherer my sleep is undisturbed.
The result of this was we had a very well tuned biddable bunch of fur and teeth with two able lead hounds, Geoff having set himself the task to bring on a vivacious pup “Yvonne” who was Marilyn Monroe in Harness to the boys further back. Our Release from base, after the Midwinter major Base work was all in hand, finally arrived and well loaded we set off from Rothera point via North Bay on a crystal crisp day the 30-odd miles to Blaiklock, via scenic bergs, thermos breaks, and team jinking round the odd seal blow hole beyond Pinero Island.
At Blaiklock we left some depot items and picked up some Nutty (dog field rations), stayed the night and using binoculars from a vantage point checked the ramps at the Jones Ice Shelf (whole shelf now long departed). Ramps not available at this point so next day we went south round to Scree Cove then back up over onto the Jones. Scree was a bit of a wind tunnel but the pain was short and surface firm so easy with a heavy load.
We camped in a bay on the Jones with a grand evening view of the Heim Glacier and with glass surveyed our hopeful route up across the Arrowsmith peninsula. Up and away on tea and flapjacks at dawn. The venturi effect in scree was absent of course on the Heim, as it was a lee dumping ground for snow drifted by northerly wind. Deepish uphill sledging ensued after a gambol across the Jones with magnificent views of Mt. Rendu face and its climbable slanting main face ridge, some hours later as light fell we reached glare ice and a sunken bridge crevasse of some size. The wind rising, we sheltered in the pup tent for an hour waiting for an abatement that did not deign to favour us, and so storm pitched the pyramid with a (deadman anchor and climbing rope in the crevasse wall) on the glare door facing south and dogs spanned along in front as we perched between two crevasses, the greater behind, the lesser in front, the valance weighted with all to-hand and iron spiked down. We ran another rope from internal peak to a transverse ski which we piled in on and remaining fully dressed we sat arm locked around bouncing as on a jerky ski tow.
While darkness closed in and wind blasted crystals thrumbed the bar taut canvas with a deafening ferocity, night followed day with onslaught undiminished, till at some point dozing upright we both came awake conscious of some change a semi-silence by comparison. The ice gods in their mercy or amusement had buried us and cognizant of the risk we tunnelled to the surface to ensure ventilation, and check and feed the dogs equally now sheltered, though it was still a whirling maelstrom and we a speck on an ice wave in limbo of gravity defying whiteout.
Brewing up blessed nectar we slumped back still on our ski and slept waking no more till following dawn and silence in drift and crystal immaculate country appearing shyly from the clouds.
Roped up we stomped about looking for a way forwards, I plummeted nicely into a Gothic Cathedral of blue pillars and flying Buttresses, hanging upside down you go head first after the first ten feet I could see the outline of Geoff half on a bridge and the rope crossing a blue ice prow to my bifurcation of a different crevasse. Bless Jumar Clamps ready rigged, I swung upright and departed this pile of loose brick and multiple bridges below. Once head and shoulders emerged Geoff demanded to take a photograph (can’t miss a grip with which to take the mickey later), so I held off telling him just were we shared the seesaw rope , if either went through we could be there all day like some silent movie comedy act. Meantime the dogs lined up like primary school on the span, grinned and yawned as much as to say we could have told you, you’re balanced on the tops of a serac field.
But nothing Loathed, it was the way we had to go so packed up and on ski with 150 foot climbing rope and deadman anchors we edged a quarter nautical mile or so on up to better ground on the glacier top and on to glorious new country, descending from the hard mini plateau into deepsoft powder down to the sea ice and camped in good order with the fjord running to Orford Cliff hut miles away ahead of us.
Dawn Dugout and away in low vis the odd dark cliff skirt in zero contrast, we plod like inebriated ants across a surface unseen , hard sledging in soft on sea ice. We muttered we had hoped for better, when the dogs stopped and no amount of urging would shift them. Focusing in whiteout is like instrument flying and suddenly we noticed the leader was looking down not forward – the penny dropped far from flat sea ice. I staggered forward holding the trace to join furry faces looking down the 200 foot blue sloping cliff face of a huge tabular berg we had blindly sledged up, turning gingerly round we rocketed back down and curving round only then could we see this behemoth against an altered backdrop, it would visit us later but more anon.
Speed increased we tracked on past Neb Dark Cliff and opened Orford Cliff point tucked beyond another sizeable but alpine shaped berg. Just short of the Hut the Rear of the sledge broke through the tide crack floe, so it was unload heave out and reload up to the hut on its tight perch.
Spanned out and an icy night in the hut, unopened for a couple of decades, but would soon improve with a little TLC. Following morning, off easy towards Anderson Island. About Northwest corner Geoff went through the ice, and testing about we decided to lighten the load leaving a depot on a handy reef off that island in a line with Detaille which we could see 3 miles away the old Antenna masts.
And off we went, on hold your breath ice layers slush with bottom or occasionally no bottom , but 2.5 inches while it undulates, hangs in there so long as you go smoothly. Soon thicker ice around the island and we gratefully scrambled up a short cliff throwing dogs and gear bodily up onto terra firma – with the advantage of height we could see the transition areas around us.
Detaille is a Delightful hut, as then unvisited for 13 years, we lightly spanned the dogs and camped in the living room thinking to be away south the next day. But the Gods were laughing and the wind rose to a gale as light departed. Soon it was a shrieking, hut-shaking symphony of impressive proportions. As it continued the next day, we checked the dogs with one of us wedging the battering door holding the trusty rope to the other crawling on belly down the span, counting, feeding and freeing frozen lines, then reeled foot by foot back, and two man re-secure the door raw from flying ice and stone fragments
unable to speak but thumbs up in the Roar of Noise, well over a 100 Kts.
On the third morning it eased down to a 40 kt breeze and pale light edged around us, the flying drift dropped and the Sight was decidedly Awesome. We are an island in 100 square miles of open water, the great bergs like giant herd of buffaloes bulldozing North to our horizon.
We settled in on earnest – checking for fuel and stores, removing a few shutters – soon all was cosy with coal and wood stove and a bunk either side, something of a blessing to be marooned as we had both been through the ice so a lot of our gear was full of salt water which is slow to really dry as the salt attracts etc.
The dogs’ food was a concern but seal was a possibility, and old base tinned food with cans of lard and butter did the trick, and our furry friends were all in good shape. We got some limited radio comms with base and other teams were having exciting times so we variously settled down to await the ice refreezing, which in a week or two it duly did. First we tested it in a light run to the reef to recover our depot which was encased in spray ice from the waves but otherwise fine.
Then closing up the Hut next day (reluctantly as-it had become our home), we sledged 17 Nautical miles south on new ice till we regained the thicker shelf ice and camped. Made the foot of the glacier the following day into very deep snow dumped by the southerly blow, we sledged hard 8 hours to camp about 1500 yards from the last camp, and so on up the Antevs glacier till the mini plateau and hard ground.
Next Day in glorious sunshine we careered down the Heim dodging crevasses, or not, till the dogs sailed over one that yawned. Geoff and I at the rear on donglers yelled onwards, leapt from the top edge met the lower edge at midriff level and one hand spring assist by the levering of the sledge, we popped onto the surface with the hounds at full tilt, grinning from ear to ear. That was the last obstacle and we tore gleefully down onto the Jones and via a steep ramp by Mt Rendu, clattered across the sea ice to Blaiklock, meeting other teams on the homeward haul. A great night at Blaiklock Hut and sorting out gear to leave dog nutty returned etc.
We had a sledge day towards Pinero with a rising northerly blow, and driven off course we rounded south end of the island and battled up through pressure ice, to camp at North End cove as in this gale and direction the ice ahead to Rothera could blow out.
Earlier up we tiptoed away from a snow mobile team and they only caught up as we approached Rothera, lots of laughter at our early Lurk. The dogs, with Yvonne now an old hand, ran us up to the Sledge Store, and stood while we unloaded, then down to the spans without a squeak, much to onlookers general amazement – and quietly ours too. But a Fine finale to a Memorable Trip.
Geoff in the Lake District and I in Scotland these Days, but we meet from year to year over the decades since, and the Dogs Long gone are still strong in our minds eye, Best of Furry Friends.
“On sea ice Fast’
“And Plateau Clear’
“Sledge Dog Days ‘
“Remain Most Dear’
Ric Airey (Ric Airey also returned to Rothera some years later – see Rothera 1984/85)