Iced In

by Chris Turney

  Chris seems to read my mind. “I can’t see them flying us out in this visibility though.”

  It’s true. The weather really has crapped out, and the forecast suggests it’s set to remain so. The Xue Long is somewhere out there, but it’s completely disappeared. We’re back on our own.

  The one thing I can just make out are the bergs lurking at the edge of the fog, threatening. They’re an ominous reminder that everything could change in a moment.

  I’m acutely aware our entrapment is playing out in people’s homes. It’s the ultimate modern contradiction. In Shackleton’s day, the public only saw the amazing photographs and film of their plight once they returned home. Now we’re telling our story live. Although we’re in the wildest, most inhospitable place on Earth, we’re sending images and giving interviews around the world. We can be seen and heard . . . but we can’t be reached. It could all end in a matter of hours and no one outside can do a damn thing about it. A-factor or not, I have to blot this one out of my mind, at least for now.

  Yesterday Chris spent the day trying to sort the scientific gear with the volunteers. It was a rushed job just in case the call to evacuate was sprung on us. Now Chris wants some of the team to help him pack the gear properly.

  “Good idea. And let’s keep everyone else busy with sampling. How about we cut up one of the cores we took in Commonwealth Bay? It’ll keep the science program moving forward and help take people’s minds off the conditions.”

  Chris nods. It’s time for the briefing.

  Shackleton once commented to teammate Leonard Hussey that his venture was “to keep the spirit of adventure alive.” We might be on a very public adventure, but I’m not feeling particularly brave about it. I need some rest to get my head straight, but that’s not going to happen any time soon.

  How did the men on the Endurance do this for months on end?

  Repeat the mantra. Remember Shackleton: keep it positive, keep everyone busy.

  * * *

  Just under a month after the men abandoned ship, the ice finally took the Endurance. Late afternoon on 21 November, Shackleton spotted the ship make a sudden movement and called out: “She’s going, boys.” The men rushed across the camp to get a view and saw the Endurance going down “bows first, her stern raised in the air.” It was their last tangible link to home. They were entirely on their own. No more salvaging wood from the ship, no more extra gear. The men shared nervous looks of apprehension. Privately Shackleton was distraught, noting in his diary: “She went today . . . I cannot write about it . . . Sunday always seems the day on which things happen to us.” And to make matters even worse, the nearby icebergs had changed direction and moved closer, threatening the expedition’s fragile refuge. But to the men, he spoke clearly and confidently: “Ship and stores have gone—so now we’ll go home.” An increase in rations that evening “soon neutralised any tendency to down-heartedness.”

  Shackleton continued working his men hard. They had to believe they would make it home. To some, the loss of the Endurance was a relief. Hurley claimed: “We are not sorry to see the last of the wreck . . . being an object of depression to all who turned their eyes in that direction, it was becoming more dangerous daily to those visiting it.” Others were feeling their first real doubt and Shackleton had to be on the lookout for any negative comments. Orde-Lees was told off when Shackleton overhead him saying it was “bunk to say we shall be in England by Christmas this year.” Confiding to his dairy, Worsley commented that “Sir E. optimistically discusses an expedition to the Lands N. of Canada. We . . . wax enthusiastic about our next trip before we can definitely settle how the devil we are going to get out of this one.” There was a whiff of dissatisfaction in the air.

  Three weeks later, the ice floe they called home continued to drift in a northwest direction. But it was erratic. At times, the ice would suddenly veer east before dramatically returning to its original trajectory. There was a very real risk they could start moving away from the Antarctic Peninsula, their only real hope of getting home. Meanwhile, boredom and despondency were threatening. Shackleton had to keep the crew positive and focused on the future. He made up his mind and spoke confidentially to a few of the men that he wanted to march west to reduce the distance to Paulet Island. In no time at all, word swept through the camp. Even though their last attempt to drag the lifeboats and supplies had failed, morale soared. Here was a chance to do something, anything, instead of sitting around hopelessly. Christmas Day was brought forward to 22 December so they could leave soon after. Sledges were packed and repacked to take as many supplies as possible. Not everything could come with them, so the men had the last good meal they would enjoy for eight months: “Anchovies in oil, baked beans, and jugged hare made a glorious mixture such as we have not dreamed of since our school-days,” Shackleton described happily.

  Harnessed up to the sledges and boats at night to take advantage of the colder temperatures and harder surfaces, the men set out at three o’clock on the morning of 23 December. Even though the sun was lower in the sky, they soon started breaking through the surface: “at each step we went in over our knees in the soft wet snow. Sometimes a man would step into a hole in the ice which was hidden by the covering of snow, and be pulled up with a jerk in his harness.” It was backbreaking work to break a path through the icescape. On the positive side, progress was better than before. Sometimes they made more than two miles a day. But for each mile reached, they had to cover three miles in relays.

  During each march, Shackleton would go ahead with Wild to find the best way through the ice and direct the men forward. On the fifth day, Shackleton returned from scouting to find the men were standing around. McNeish had suddenly stopped working, refusing “to obey Worsley’s order, using at the same time abusive language.” There was a standoff. Shackleton was furious. This was a direct threat to everything they had worked so hard to achieve. If the men gave up now, all would be lost. They needed to keep together as a team. Shackleton immediately took McNeish aside and angrily told him to get back to work, even hinting he would shoot the man if he did not fall back into line. McNeish morosely returned to his place, and the men resumed their trudging. At the end of the day, Shackleton called everyone together and read them the ship’s articles: The Endurance may have gone, but they were still under orders and as such they would be paid until they made it home.

  Shackleton knew it was pointless to continue, but more important, the men now knew it too. They had pushed as far as they could. They were only ten miles from Ocean Camp and could go no farther. There was no point anyone complaining about the lack of action. The next day was New Year’s Eve 1915, and with the foggy weather Shackleton stayed put. He was shattered: “Everywhere surface of ice breaking up . . . all cheerful . . . I am rather tired. I suppose it is this brain.” The tents were put up at what became known as Patience Camp and there they remained. With supplies running low and seals in short supply, the remaining dogs were shot. There was precious little else to do now but hope the ice continued to drift north so they had a chance of sailing to land.

  Shackleton was impatient to be off. “Waiting, waiting, waiting,” he wrote in his diary. They had to get out of there, but there was nothing more they could do.

  * * *

  Negative people are a curse. Having people around you who only see problems is debilitating. At home, I avoid them like the plague.

  My grandfather once told me as a young man: “Keep away from the miserable buggers.” It’s a philosophy I’ve taken to heart. You can’t let the negative voices get inside your head. The emotional cost is exhausting. In a group, just one pessimist can destroy a team. If the team start to listen to them, if they dwell on what might go wrong, morale can collapse; if a team loses purpose and stops communicating with one another, what is a bad situation becomes a whole heap worse. On the Shokalskiy, there’s enough to do without thinking the worst or worrying about what others might be saying. Negativity is positively dangerous.

  It
’s the morning briefing, thirty-four days since the expedition began. Day seven stuck. I give the situation report, including the latest weather forecasts and the position of the other vessels. I just want to curl up and sleep.

  Must concentrate.

  Smiling faces look back at me. Kerry is sitting in the front row beaming. Even Tracey seems happier. Word has spread that the Aurora Australis is close. We could be out of here soon.

  I go through the uncertainties. The location of the Polar Star is top of the list. We’ve also just heard Russia might send its own massive icebreaker, the Fedorov, which is at the Mirny base on the other side of the Shackleton Ice Shelf; the downside is if it does come, it won’t get to us before the end of January. The Americans and Russians could even arrive at the same time. That’s a scenario that wasn’t considered even remotely possible until today. I finish off with the schedule for the day and remind those doing their video diaries to make sure they meet up with Taylor. The response to the video diaries has been overwhelmingly positive, and we’ve had messages from family members saying how comforting they are. It’s something we’re going to continue.

  I look around the room. We’ve done well choosing the team.

  All the scientists were hand-picked. Everyone has stepped up and done what they’ve had to do. If we’d been on a government-funded trip, I wouldn’t have had nearly as much freedom.

  One part of the team I had little choice over was the Mawson’s Huts Foundation. Chris and I were keen to have it represented on the expedition. No one had been to the historic buildings for two years, making the conservation work an important part of our program. Ian has been supportive, but over the last few days I’ve become increasingly concerned about Jon. He hasn’t sought me out. Instead, his views have become more vocal in the briefings, his line of questioning more confrontational. What was an irritation at first is now unsettling some of the other team members. The last thing the more vulnerable on the team need to hear right now is what can go wrong, especially from someone with his experience of ice.

  “This could be the worst-ever environmental disaster in the Antarctic,” he boldly declares at the end of the briefing.

  The threat of a massive oil spill if the Shokalskiy sinks is a scenario I just can’t think about at the moment. And judging by the shocked faces on the rest of the team, neither can they. All our hard work yesterday keeping everyone together is threatening to unravel.

  I wanted to do something different on this expedition. To take our own ship south and discover what’s happening in the East Antarctic. And now this. We’re trapped in a highly dangerous situation. Evacuation is a very real possibility, and the Russians are openly discussing whether they might also have to leave. If so, the Shokalskiy will be left to face the elements alone. Jon might well be correct. It would only be a matter of time before a berg struck, causing untold environmental damage. The worst spill that’s ever happened in the Antarctic was the Argentinian supply ship, the Bahia Paraíso, which was caught by sea ice near the American research base Palmer Station in 1989 and sank. One hundred and thirty thousand gallons of diesel smothered the west Antarctic Peninsula coastline, devastating the local wildlife. The demise of the Shokalskiy could cause much worse. Could I end up being responsible for the worst environmental disaster in the Antarctic? It just couldn’t happen. Could it?

  Hushed tones fill the room as people discuss the implications of Jon’s statement.

  The immediate priority is the team. We can’t start thinking about yet another worst-case scenario. We have to hope it will all come right or the group will implode. I have to address this head on or these kinds of statements will become the norm, unsettling the team and making things far, far worse.

  “Jon, there’s absolutely no reason to believe this is the case. The Shokalskiy is away from the coast and all the bergs have stopped moving,” I reply.

  Greg steps up. “The Bahia Paraíso was lost on the Peninsula back in ’89, but that’s a completely different situation. There’s no immediate risk of sinking. The Shokalskiy is okay.”

  Greg sits down quickly to end the conversation. Jon mutters something under his breath but decides against pursuing it.

  I don’t want to dwell on it any longer. I move to close down the briefing, and invite Ben Maddison to outline the day’s events. Ben stands up and enthusiastically encourages any budding writers on board to attend the writing class he’s starting this morning, seemingly oblivious to the very public disagreement that just happened.

  “Alok, I presume you’re attending?” he asks, turning to the Guardian journalist.

  There’s a ripple of laughter.

  The team shuffle out, some of the damage repaired.

  I’m furious. What on earth does Jon think he’s doing? With all his experience, he should know better. A week of pent-up frustration is about to erupt, and I’m ready to put Jon right.

  I watch Annette pass by the door, making reassuring noises to those around her. I desperately need someone to tell me everything’s going to be all right, but I can’t be so selfish.

  Greg stays behind with Chris.

  “What is wrong with that guy?” Greg asks.

  “Let him go. Hopefully that’ll be it now,” Chris says.

  Chris is right. Nothing is going to be gained by losing it and risking an escalation. We need to take the heat out of the situation, not make it worse. After all, everyone is feeling the pressure, even Jon.

  I stagger up to my room and pass out on the bed.

  * * *

  I wake to a knock on the door and look at my watch.

  Fifteen minutes. No wonder I feel so bloody awful.

  “Chris, Chris?” Nikki calls. “The Aurora is at the sea ice edge.”

  I have to get up and find out what’s happening.

  Up on the bridge the news is mixed.

  Since the operation began we’ve been in regular direct contact with all the ships involved in the rescue. Now the Australians have arrived, Captain Murray Doyle on the Aurora Australis has assumed charge of the operation. Unfortunately, the Aurora’s first attempt to reach us seems doomed to failure. Heavy ice and bad visibility are making conditions dangerous. With decades of experience sailing these waters and already having been trapped once this season, the Australian ship is beating a hasty retreat. There’s a very real chance they could get caught again.

  That would be bloody awful. The Xue Long is still on station but remains suspiciously still on the ship’s display. It would be a real mess if the Australians ended up stuck as well. The sea ice report from the Antarctic Division isn’t particularly promising either. The imagery was taken just before the visibility deteriorated. The sea-ice edge remains twenty miles out.

  Greg says Igor now feels there’s a 70 percent chance they will want to evacuate us.

  The odds have just shifted from evens to it being more likely than not we’ll be flown out. The sea-ice images show we’re surrounded by multi-year ice that may well be on the way to becoming fast ice and a more permanent feature of the Antarctic coastline. It doesn’t look like the Shokalskiy is getting out of here anytime soon. The Australians are anticipating they won’t be able to reach us and have asked for the ship’s manifest, including our preferred cabin allocations. If they fly us out, each individual will be allowed sixty-six pounds of personal gear, with a further 1,700 pounds for the expedition’s samples and gear. In the meantime, the Aurora Australis is going to keep trying to find a way through the sea ice.

  I’m amazed at the prospect of us having cabins. I was expecting to sleep on the floor, maybe even in the corridors, anywhere there might be space. Surely the ship is filled with scientists and logistics staff?

  “Apparently not,” says Greg. “Odd, isn’t it?”

  I’m not going to complain. If they have space, brilliant. I just want everyone home safe. In the meantime, keeping everyone busy is the order of the day. With word spreading of a possible evacuation, there’s a new energy on board. Just as Shacklet
on found, with a little bit of hope you can move mountains. The main deck lab is now a hotbed of activity. If we are going to be evacuated, we need to take the samples we worked so hard to get. Eleanor leads the charge, slicing and bagging one of the ocean cores from Commonwealth Bay. Other groups are working on filtering the last of the plankton net trawls, chipping rocks and sorting other samples. Annette is helping gather it all together and compiling the list for departure. Everything is being packed down, ready to go, all under the careful eye of Chris.

  There might still be another way. Chris has raised an enticing idea. The thick ice to the north and east is holding up the Aurora Australis. But what about to the southeast? After all, that’s where we last saw water sky. If the sea-ice edge is closer over there, the Aurora might be able to get in amid the fast ice and free the Shokalskiy from behind. Ironically, it means sailing past the Hodgemans where it all began. Greg heads off to the bridge to call the Aurora and see what they think.

  I leave the lab the most hopeful I’ve felt over the last forty-eight hours. We have a plan that might just work. But Igor is pessimistic. We look at the charts and synoptic charts. The wind is stubbornly forecast to remain from the east. Igor doesn’t think there’s much prospect of the sea ice weakening enough in any direction for the Shokalskiy to be freed soon.

  Okay. If not, we still have the Polar Star. The American icebreaker is starting to look like a serious option. The Australians don’t have a helicopter with them, only the deck helipad. They need the Chinese, and that means taking what is already a complex logistical operation and making it several times more difficult. Two ships, two languages. It’s something that’s rarely attempted even in warmer climes, let alone the Antarctic. The alternative is the U.S. Coast Guard vessel, a beautiful ship four times the size of the Aurora Australis that can effortlessly steam through six feet of sea ice at a steady three knots. It’s even been known to bash its way through more than twenty-one-feet-thick ice when it’s had to. The Polar Star should be able to reach us without any problems.