The Admirals – Myff Leading, Kovik on the right (Photo: Steve Wormald)
Doggie Memories – Brian Hill
Intro
I took over the Admirals from Steve Wormald at the end of his summer trip in February 1971. It was an easy transition for I had been with Steve and Sledge Tango for the previous 7 weeks. Heading south on the Biscoe in 1969/70 there were 3 of us GAs slated for Stonners. As we neared base and virtually at the last minute a GA was requested at Fossil Bluff in support of the glaciology and survey program. Neil MacAllister was the one originally ‘volunteered’ to go but in the end I agreed to a swap and was assured by HQ that I would still have my second year at Stonners. So, nearing the end of the field program at the Bluff I was flown out via Adelaide and Stonners, picking up 2 new dogs, brothers Sam & Kursty, for the Admirals, and joined Sledge Tango on the plateau in mid-December ’70.
I maintained the team much the same and in similar configuration as when Steve had it. There were few teething problems in the Autumn trip in the Arrowsmith and what there was mainly due to a pupping Myfanwy (“Myff”) and a loose Kovik. The team escaped the foot disease which plagued so many other dogs that autumn. It proved to a very powerful team with the three siblings Myff, Dai & Waldo being a key ingredient bolstered by the brothers Sam & Kursty but the others were stalwarts also. As the season progressed into the summer plateau trip ailing arthritic Jim had to be replaced by Ari and the troublesome Kovik was eventually replaced by Slioch.
Kovik Hardships
A few days after our 6 teams and stores were unloaded from the Biscoe on the Jones Ice Shelf on the Arrowsmith Peninsula towards the end of March ’71, and after getting ourselves organised we started our ventures into our work areas. During one pause as we negotiated a route up the Heim Glacier and as I moved through the dogs I thought I could hear a hissing sound. Not the kind of sound you would expect to hear in the middle of nowhere. Tracking the noise down it appeared to be emanating from one of the dogs – Kovik. He had whimpered earlier in the day and not pulled well. I had briefly examined him but found nothing obvious. Now, tracking the hiss it appeared to be coming from the top of his head, and there obscured under the fur was a large suppurating wound.
I left him on the trace till we camped and as we did I saw his partner, Jim, go for his head – blood everywhere – I waded in to break up the fight getting a punctured knee in the process – from Jim, I think. Sched with Doc Holmes at Stonners that evening and a big sewing up job on Kovik’s wound with 4 fresh punctures. But it didn’t quite end there. Kovik responded to the antibiotics and the swelling around the head went down but the flesh around the wound was still rotting, the stiches pulled out and we had another sewing session a couple of days later. Kept up the antibiotics and about a day after the last dose observed that the wound was opening up again. A long day of surgery in the tent cutting off all the dead flesh around the wound leaving an opening 3 ½ by 1 ½ inches. Closed it with 3 blanket stitches.
The trouble still didn’t end there. Kovik was left on span at camp while we did our day’s work in the field and being the escape artist that he is he had worked his way loose by the time of our return. Gwynn Davies, owner of the Ladies dog team, with three bitches on heat was not amused, but they were given three sterile dogs for companionship while efforts were made to capture Kovik. Then Myff started pupping and the unwanted pups removed and culled as they appeared. Over the next day or so Gwynn captured Kovik with an ace lasso, a technique which by necessity he had perfected over the previous months, only to find that the head wound had been rived open yet again and thus required another couple of blanket stitches.
By now, it was mid-April. Kovik’s problems were almost over. He escaped again a couple of days later and again it was almost impossible to catch him. Over the next couple of days he developed a limp, no doubt the result of another altercation. He was eventually caught after 4 days with fresh puncture wounds to his legs but at last his head wound was on the mend. He was yet to escape again.
Other problems had risen by this time as a foot rot disease swept through the Stonington dogs. The Admirals were unscathed but 5 of Gwynn’s (Ladies), 2 of Nick Culshaw’s (Terrors) and 2 of Neil’s (Debs) were affected. This limited activities somewhat by having to quarantine the sick dogs spanning them out on the Jones’ Ice Shelf, (and later to Blaiklock when sea ice made it accessible) each sledge unit taking turns in caretaking them. A few of the healthy dogs were redistributed amongst other teams so that we could still run teams but with 7 dogs to a team.
Another painful event that occurred during about this time was that Neil developed a tooth abscess. With the radio mike to Doc Holmes in one hand and a bradawl in the other, sledging partner Malcolm dexterously brought grateful relief to Neil’s suffering.
Our return trip to Stonington was delayed by the lack of sea ice forming in the fiords and along the coast but which gave time for the affected dogs to heal. Malcolm McArthur and Rob Collister were eventually to force a route through on the sea ice but not without adventure (see Rob’s account on the https://margueritebay.org/stonington/ page) by which time the others were able to reconoitre an overland route via the Swithinbank Glacier thence to the Northeast Glacier and home on August 1. Our Autumn survey had lasted 4 months with 1000 miles travelled.
Teamwork
For most of the time on the Arrowsmith I worked with Nick Culshaw, geologist. By mid-May we had worked down to the foot of the Antevs Glacier on the northern side of the peninsula. As was normal, once camp was set up we worked alone during the workable days with Nick going off to chip rocks somewhere and me carrying out the plane-table survey. On one particular day we were a little delayed in starting and Nick headed off to the east side of the glacier while I and the plane table headed off to the west to survey into the Bruckner Glacier then up and around Bentley Crag to the col to the south bringing me back into the Antevs. Visibility was not the greatest but enough to see the surroundings and navigate.
All went reasonably well though there were pockets of mist here and there and it took a second attempt to find a route round the crevasses up to the summit of the col behind Bentley where it was clear again. Thence down to Antevs and into mist again which began to thicken as night began to fall. We had been at this campsite for a couple of days by then so there were various tracks leading to and from camp and as we neared the bottom of the glacier we met tracks leading east and west. By now, visibility was almost nil. I was pretty sure we should turn to the right and head east but wasn’t totally 100% convinced. We stopped and I lit up a smoke. The dogs sniffed the air. “Are your ready, dogs?” It was obvious which way they wanted to go and without giving the word for direction, “Huit!. We bolted off to the right and after some minutes were safely back at camp.
Not so much teamwork
It was mid-July ‘71 and Gwnn Davies and myself were camped in the Forbes Glacier trying to find an overland route from our Arrowsmith work area back to Stonners. The sea ice had been slow to form, even in the inner fjords, and we had just had news that Rob Collister and Malcolm MacArthur had just gone through the ice at Camp Point trying to get back. The remaining two of our party, Neil MacAllister and Nick Culshaw were at the Blaiklock hut with the quarantined (footrot) dogs and ready to move to Horseshoe. Gwynn and I had found a feasible route to the Swithinbank Glacier from the Trough Glacier via the snout of the Perutz Glacier but still checking to see if any of the other small glaciers outlets might provide a more direct access to the Trough.
My journal for the day outing 13 July reads:
“Very dull overcast morning with poor viz but left ~9:30 & travelled up the Trough & into Dog’s Leg Fjord. Soft surfaces which worsened going round the corner but eventually improved again. Headed straight down the glacier near its left side but encountered large holes & retreated. Went down on the extreme left but snow soon gave way to chossy glare ice ~ ½ mile from ice edge. Not sledgeable but access could be got on foot. Returned again & started to cross to right side – more holes encountered & Kovik dropped into deep crevasse [Myff had dropped into another just a couple of days previously and maybe Kovik was smart enough to not slip his harness this time]. Good progress down this side but several small lurky holes. Could get to ice cliff but ~50 ft high. Left ~3 pm for return journey. Manking in steadily very slow going, surfaces softer, runners icing up & track covered over. Headed on bearing on torch light nil viz. Steady snow. Stopped at 6 pm unable to distinguish anything. Erected pup tent between 2 sledges & spent comfortable night with meat bar, Primus & single bag. 18 mls.”
In fact, I was leading that day and it was an evil trip back. It was getting darker and darker and runners were continually icing up slowing progress. Could no longer see where we were going and I was following the compass and the relief of the land. The wheel indicated almost distance run to get back. The dogs were looking to the left and I was beginning to sense we were getting into crevasses. Except for fumbling around in a crevasse zone in the darkness the only other choice was to camp with the emergency tent. It wasn’t an uncomfortable night and at first light in the morning there was our camp perfectly visible not a quarter a mile away to the left.
Mutiny
I did have a mutiny once. I forget where it was but suspect it was in the Trough Glacier area when we were trying to find an overland route to the Swithinbank Glacier after the autumn work in the Arrowsmith area. It may well have been in the Dog Leg Fjord Glacier or perhaps the Forbes. The weather was foul and white-outish and the route uphill fairly steepish when Myff just gave up and sat down. Then of course the rest of the dogs sat down. A strike!! So I made my way up the centre trace to have a discussion with Myff and of course the dogs on either side sensing my temperament scattered to either side tails down. When I got to Myff she was cowering down but staring me dolefully in the face. Looking just beyond her and over a small ice hump which I could not see previously from below was a dirty black hole. We made up with lots of hugs and kisses, and you know, to this day I can still smell that sweet hairy fur. After looking around some more I retraced my way along the centre trace, the rest of dogs now somewhat reassured and tails beginning to wag. “Up dogs, Irra, Irra” and we wheeled away to safety.
A proud moment
It was early September and the teams were lining up at the bottom of the ramp getting ready to leave on the southern journey to the work areas. My journal records four teams, maybe there were more, or perhaps other teams had left earlier but the designated lead team for the day wouldn’t leave. After 2 or 3 attempts with the lead team just shying away and wheeling around every time, I moved up and with words of encouragement upped the dogs on and without hesitation they hauled away up the slope. It was a fine moment to be sure, just knowing with confidence that we could work as a team on command. But then, also to be sure, we had already trained together for months with a thousand miles already under our belts and harnesses. Many other drivers had not been so fortunate especially with the foot-rot epidemic limiting travel opportunity.
Worst Moment
In the summer I was working with Bob (Rocky) Wyeth, geologist, in the area to the east of the Wordie Ice Shelf. By early November we were working in what we called the Trident Glacier just to the north of Kelvin Crests. We were camped near its northern end where it merges into an unnamed glacier flowing into the Wordie. The morning of the 3rd was snowy and overcast with almost nil visibility. It began to clear but I just had a heavy feeling about that day. I was reluctant to get going. From aerial photographs I knew for my next leg of plane-tabling I would be heading through a crevasse field, but that in itself was nothing particularly unusual. I just felt an unusual lack of enthusiasm. My journal records:
“Snow & nil viz again in morning but gradually cleared away & after a false alarm improved sufficiently for work. Rocky went off to do a rock station & I left ~12:30 & went to my 1st station ~ ½ miles down camp towards the next glacier to the north. Quite sunny now but coldish. Some of the peaks on the north side of the glacier manked in before I could finish, so I packed up & set off down the glacier for a run & look see. Hadn’t gone very far when suddenly a crevasse (hitherto unseen) opened up & swallowed the front 5 dogs. It was running on a parallel course to us, was about 12 ft wide & ~100 ft of it gave way.”
The whole lid of the crevasse blew. Myff and the front pair dropped out of view, and as I threw the sledge over sideways to act as a brake the next pair were also dragged down. I secured the sledge with pickets and dead men, and after securing myself cautiously approached the edge of the crevasse. I have to admit it was one of the worst moments in my life. I had heard so many stories of dogs wriggling out of their harnesses I just did not know what I would find. I looked over the edge and could have leapt for joy. Not only were they all safe but they were all sitting on various parts of the now jammed snow bridge. It was pure luck. However, they were all several feet down and it would take a bit of work to get them out. The closest were about 6 or 7 feet down so I figured if I got down there I might just be able to hoist them over my head. I lowered myself down and lifting an eighty or so pound dog over my head with outstretched arms and over the lip of the crevasse proved to be more problematical than I had first thought. I was still assessing my next line of approach when Rocky’s face suddenly appeared squinting down over the lip of the crevasse. From his vantage point higher up the glacier he had noted the black hole in the ice and an overturned sled and thought I might be in need of some assistance. With his help it was just a matter of handing up each dog in turn. By the time we had everybody out it had manked in again so we returned to camp and lay up. It was enough for one day anyway.
A gratifying moment – compass work on plateau
I noted in my BAS Admirals Dog Report that leader Myff, “In thick mist and whiteout when on compass bearings, she tends to make straighter lines than in other conditions. Once, when in such conditions I didn’t have to give her a command of direction for over 2 hours”.
At first reading 50 years later, I was taken a little aback as it was not quite what I remembered for I could remember days when I nearly went hoarse from constantly yelling “Irra”, “Irra”, or “Auk’, “Auk”. If there was not much to see the dogs could often get bored and follow their own noses so to speak. It was quite different when there was something to look at, or crevasses. When there was something they could focus on they responded more obediently and in crevassed areas almost immediately. They probably sensed the danger too or perhaps it was just the added tension to one’s own voice. However, my notes in the report refer specifically to thick mist and whiteout so maybe they were more obedient then for some reason or maybe they have their own built in compasses. (Recent findings with foxes show that when pouncing on mice they are almost always aligned in a north south direction which does suggest some kind of magnetic influence.)
Certainly, travelling on the plateau necessitated frequent compass navigation due to the sometimes featureless and often misty and whiteout conditions. I do remember one occasion when we travelled for over 2 days all on dead reckoning by compass and sledge wheel all without seeing a thing. This included a number of turns to circumvent known crevassed areas or other obstacles and we called a halt at the end of the third day estimating that we should be next to the aptly named “Snow Mound”, some 43 miles after entering the fog. A clear morning next day showed that we were exactly where we thought we were.
A sublime moment
Reading through my old journals and diaries, the first time in 50 years, I am amused by the number of entries that include statements like, “a most memorable day,” or “a day I’ll never forget!”, only to realise that, of course, those days are long forgotten. Being a lover of crags and rugged mountains those diary entries were likely inspired by huge precipices and towering pinnacles, but for most part I do not recall them. However, perhaps unusually, looking back one of the finest days I do remember is not one of towering craggy mountains but of rolling softly snow and ice contoured hills and valleys. Though my memory of that day is clear it took me a little while to figure out where it was and with the help of the journals it appears to have been in the upper part of the Clarke Glacier leading into the “Ring Route Glacier.”
“Rocky” Wyeth had concluded his work in the area just to the east of the Wordie and we had spent the last 10 days laying the depot at Elton Hill for next year’s work with supplies being brought in by the aircraft. On the 16th Jan. we broke camp and headed up the Clarke for a journey up to the plateau and southwards. We made good progress in excellent weather though perhaps a bit cold with a slight breeze and I remember the lenticular clouds above the highest hills. We swung slowly round into Ring Route Glacier climbing steadily. I am not sure why that day stands out so special. Maybe it was just a beautiful sledging day in beautiful Antarctic scenery in perfect Antarctic weather. Although there were hills on either side one could sledge just about anywhere, and for once, there was little threat of crevasses. I wonder, too, if it was the realization as we climbed up the valley that I was now nearing the end of my two year tour and that a different and unknown horizon lay ahead.
A final reflection
Some dogs are just naturally more appealing than others and when working with them one tries not to show any favouritism. However, thinking back now to the Admirals team inevitably means thinking back to the triplets, Myfanwy, Dai and Waldo. They were the brains and brawn of the team and without them the team would have been totally different. The other dogs had their own characters too and while maybe not quite so eccentric both Sam and Kursty were loveable and hard working dogs. “Kursty” is really a girl’s name and that I named my own daughter, Kirsty, I maintain is just coincidence and that it is a lovely name. Steve Wormald had The Admirals just before me and it would imprudent of me to give away the name of his son.