Rabble Field Graduation 5th – 11th July
With only 5 dogs and a limited itinerary, the Rabble had a load of around 450lbs, but that was still going to require a work-rate that was beyond the experience of most of the team. Once the sledges were loaded, the Muskeg towed each of the sledges up the Ramp and the drivers picketed them close to the dog spans. The dogs had picked up on the air of excitement and the last thing we needed was a dog fight, so to reduce that possibility, all of us harnessed the same team at the same time, thus getting each sledge away with minimum fuss. The Rabble was the last to leave, but we then had a good track to follow.
Even the Picts found the pull up to the airstrip on the “sticky” surface a hard pull, so Steve and I had to do a bit of pushing and shoving, but in general terms the Rabble hauled well. As we progressed towards the mountains along the marked route of the Drum-line, the Huns and Picts were getting away from us. Apart from when they stopped for a breather at the Drum-line Fork, we lost sight of them. To have any chance of getting back to them, we limited our own stop to a quick drink of hot lemon from our flask. Even so, with the dim twilight fading and the cloud thickening and lowering to obscure the upper parts of the mountains, we accepted that perhaps we had seen the last of Rod and Curf for the day. By 1500, having covered about 8 miles, we were about 1.5 miles south of Trig 6. It was -16C but the temperature was rising, and it had begun to snow. Accepting the fact that we would soon find ourselves in total darkness and probably into a blow, we saw our best option as camping where we were. Although we did not know it at the time, we were about experience the epic lie-up of the season.
Sure enough, during the night, the wind struck with a vengeance. As expected, it was a Norther, causing the temperature to creep up to around freezing point and filling the air with driving wet snow that begun to bury the tent, the sledge and the dogs. The wind increased steadily over the next couple of days. By Tuesday afternoon, base was reporting a mean 70 knots and a gust of 97 knots. It would be safe to assume that the winds we were getting up on our Piedmont camp were significantly stronger than those on base. The noise was like being about to be hit by an express train. The fabric of the tent was shuddering and clapping. To communicate, we had to shout.
A letter home has this to say:
“Although the tent was well dug-in, you can imagine our concern at the height of the blow. At one stage we put on all our clothes in anticipation of the tent getting blown away… It was 4 days before we were able to move on.”
Feeding the dogs was a grim job. Visibility was 5yards at best and nil for most of the time. It was impossible to stand up, although Steve had tried and was nearly blown away. Feeding therefore involved crawling on hands and knees and groping around to feel for the dogs, which had by this time curled into a ball with their tails over their noses, allowing themselves be buried. Experienced dogs would stand up from time to time to ensure that their trace did not freeze to a depth where they could not get up for air, but inexperienced dogs would try to stay snug in their snow cocoon, unaware that they were risking suffocation. Feeding therefore included digging such dogs out, regardless of the conditions, and the official, Base T Journey Report for Tuesday 8th July reminds me that at the height of the hurricane, both Mary and Polly had to be dug out from the limits of their traces on the night span.
During the next day, the wind slowly abated and backed to the NW as a cold front went through, freezing the damp tent fabric and turning the several feet of snow that had buried everything into icy concrete. Therefore, when we eventually emerged on Thursday, we were faced with a 3-hour dig out, but it was beautiful winter twilight with a temperature of -26C. Steve was Outside Man and began digging at 0900 – when there was barely enough light to do the job. The hard work kept us warm and we packed as quickly as we could.
Fortunately, there was no wind, so when we moved off about 1200, it was relatively comfortable. Keeping warm was never going to be an issue, because the depth of snow and gradient of the Trig 6 slope required both of us to push the sledge. We finally came up to where Rod and Curf were camped about 2.5 miles south of Pinnacle Depot at 1400. They had not started their dig-out until 1130 and were still shovelling when we arrived, leaving us feeling very smug at now being poised to over-take the main teams. We stopped briefly for a council-of-war, but did not hang around because as soon as we stopped, the Rabble started to squabble and the Huns (wanting to join the fun) pulled out their pickets. Hard pushing was punctuated by frequent halts, as Mary (with no trail to follow) stopped for nervous pees that we could not fathom or prevent. But we got to within half a mile of Pinnacle, where we camped. It was now a beautiful, clear evening, with just enough breeze from the SE to set up a low, whispering and snaking drift. For just 2 minutes, the sun peeped over the northern horizon to the west of Depot 5. It was the first time we had seen it since 23rd May.
That night, Steve and I had to make a hard decision about our next move. Our original plan had been to get to Lincoln, but the tough going was slowing our progress and therefore we were eating into both the man and dog rations at a rate that would require us to take supplies from one of the depots. We would undoubtedly do better if we were following a track put in by the main teams, but they had not come up to us and we did not know why. After long discussion, we felt that depleting the depots could not be justified. Tomorrow we would begin our journey back to base.
The following morning, Friday 11th July, we were away before 1100 and moving south on the track we had put in on Thursday. We could see that the Huns and Picts had not got away, but after the ruckus we had precipitated among the Huns the previous day, we pushed the pace, swung to the west, and gave them a wide berth. Maybe the Rabble sensed that with a reduced load (down to 350lbs) and the gradient now in our favour, we could get back to base and a feed of seal. The dogs pulled really well and 4-1/2 hours after setting off we were home. Everyone was surprised to see us back, but even more surprised at the performance of the Rabble. With the main teams away for several months, our few dogs could now be put on a new base span in the gulley to the north of the Tractor Shed, closer to the hut and easier to approach from the Seal Pile.
In spite of the disappointment of not reaching Lincoln, Steve and I were pleased with what had been achieved; in terms of the dog’s work ethic; the testing of our equipment and our field savvy in the severest of conditions; we felt it had gone well. Hopefully, we had turned a corner in the development of the Rabble, as well as getting Adelaide’s dog heritage back on track. We had also turned another corner, for that afternoon, the sun was again visible, this time for a little longer than the day before. Now that I was back on base, I was also aware that while we had been preoccupied with the preparations of the field journey, another personal milestone had passed without my noticing. I had passed my second anniversary of employment with BAS.
Bill Taylor – Met, Signy 1968, Adelaide 1969