By

Susan Ellis

 
The Weddell Sea, at the eastern side of the Antarctic Peninsula, has grey skies, strong wind and huge icebergs today. Antarctica is presenting me with her harsh face. But she offered an invitation to join her, at my own risk, allowing my soul to be rewarded with unique experiences. Am I up to the challenge? The yearning I feel inside is the response. This was the purpose of the journey.



We anchored off Snow Hill Island. We have already learned of its geological significance made famous by the Nordenskjold Expedition, which left Sweden in October 1901. The team came on the Whaling ship The Antarctic Captained by the famous Norwegian C.A.Larsen. The plan was to spend two summers and one winter studying the geology and geography of the eastern peninsula for as far south as possible. They built their winter hut on Snow Hill Island in February 1902, earlier than expected as the ice conditions were bad that year in the Weddell Sea. There were 6 men in the hut that measured 6.3 x 4 m. They came with 12 dogs to an island rich in Tertiary fossils. As a result of their discoveries fossil evidence proved that at one time the southern African continent had been part of this land mass.

Unbeknownst to them, the ship to pick them up was lost in the ice and her crewmembers wintered in stone huts they built. The Nordenskjold group therefore spent a second winter in the Snow Hill Island hut. In his group there was fortuitously an Argentinean and it was for him that the Argentinean Navy sent out the Corvette, Uruguay, to rescued both the expedition team and the ship’s crew in November 1903.

Fast forward 106 years from the time the expedition team started building their winter hut and we are about to set foot on their beach and view their hut. The hardy ones amongst us will climb the hills to view fossiled rock.



Large ice bergs were dancing in the bay and smaller stranded ones line the shore. Sculptured by the tide's waves they formed weird shapes on the beach. Dark cliffs loomed above and many of our early landers  scaled the hills side to find fossils and look down on us.

I climbed to view the Nordenskjold hut and on reaching it I had to shelter from a blizzard that has descended. I felt blessed that I had not made the climb up the cliffs, which now were providing a slippery descent. The land was turning white; the horizon had vanished with visibility just off shore. The ship was nowhere to be seen. I secured my camcorder in a zip locked bag and other protection with my tripod in my packsack. With snow blown horizontally in my eyes I made it back to the beach. I grabbed a lifejacket and stood in line. Most of us didn’t talk. We shrunk inside ourselves, literally and figuratively. We were covered in snow. The earth at waters edge was muddy. We kept moving on the spot, stamping our feet to keep warm. We stood in line rather than huddling.  The first 10 in line would get on the next Zodiac. It took a long time to come. We could not see it till it was almost on shore. Suddenly a Zodiac appeared out of the white moving curtain. Into the water the first group waded and clambered aboard. Suddenly I was at the front of the line praying “let there be room for one more.” My prayer was answered and I was the last one aboard. I did not look back at those lined up behind me, sinking back into their parkas to await the next Zodiac.

Was that a good idea? It meant I had to sit at the bow. We were told the waves were high but we were going to try to make as straight a run as we could. This would mean spray would cover us and for me in the bow I would be bouncing higher than people sitting further back on the inflated sides of the Zodiac. It was only then that I made the connection. If we couldn’t see the M/V Polar Star – how were we going to reach her?

The ship had radar. The ship could see us on the radar. Our Zodiac crew was in radio contact with the ship and was guided by voice command in the direction of the ship.

There is a rope tied to the outer edge of the inflated sides of a Zodiac. I sat on the side facing in, holding the rope behind me. We hit the first wave. My backside rises from the seating and because I am holding so tightly onto the rope I come crashing down jarring my whole body. A wave hits me from behind. My mitts were filled with water. My hands were frozen trying to maintain hold of the rope. Another hit, another crash another soaking. My glasses were covered with spray.

I sized up the situation. How does one choose to react to such a situation? After all my reaction, my attitude is my responsibility, my choice. My intellect had a discussion with my emotional self and reached a compromise.

Although on land I am famous for being a back seat driver, I knew I could not drive this Zodiac to the ship. I put my trust in my crew. The journey was beyond my control. But I was responsible for myself. It was my duty to hold on. I was not going to fall overboard and put others at risk. I would focus on leaning forward over my knees, hold onto the rope and endeavour to bounce back down onto the Zodiac's edge. I would focus on willing blood to pump to my hands to keep them mobile and workable. I would follow orders. The outcome was not in my hands but I did share in the success of the process. Having chosen my reaction and agreeing to honour it, I was aware of a calm. I was not plagued by "what if?" questions. I had a sense that we would make it to ship safely. All I had to do was last. It was painful. The bouncing caused spinal pain, my arms were tiring, my hands were frozen   But I focused on where my responsibilities lay.

Someone told me later they heard "Hail Mary" being shouted to the storm. I was not wearing my hearing aids and all I could hear were the sounds of the Zodiac, it's motor and it's battle with the elements.  But ultimately I heard "there's the ship" and then I ceased to hear the motor. The movement changed. We were no longer pushing through the swell; we were floating on the top of it. The gas tank was empty. The backup was stored in the bow of the Zodiac. We were asked to keep our eye on the ship while the gas tanks were exchanged. I held my breath, the engine came to life immediately and we reached the side of the M/V Polar Star without incident. Despite non functioning hands, I made it up the steps to the deck. I looked out to sea. Large looming icebergs, white capped grey waves and a curtain of flying snow. We were being told to leave.