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point in Antarctica and one of the ‘Seven Summits’). The BEAMISH team recently made headlines for drilling over two kilometres through the ice sheet to the underlying sediment bed, a record-breaking achievement that will help to determine with more certainty the future sea-level rise from the melting glaciers of Antarctica.
In my second summer I spent three incredible weeks manning Fossil Bluff, a summer-only, ski way and
Kate Dillon climbing on the North Stork
seconds before the resultant icebergs are actually seen, as thunderous cracks reverberate across the bay. The evolution of particularly aesthetic ‘bergs’ become a topic for discussion over the obligatory daily crossword.
Evenings are spent skiing, watching films, attending science talks, playing board games or practising on the climbing wall. Saturday evenings are particularly special; the chefs prepare a delicious
fillings and the ability to fashion crutches on skis, to imitating the inquisitive squawk of a penguin and, perhaps most importantly, the best way to keep eggs fresh for months on end. More than anything, however, I have learnt just how vulnerable our planet is. It is easy to assume that Antarctica is protected from the effects of mass human habitation by its remote and inhospitable nature, yet it is increasingly susceptible to the far- reaching effects of climate change. The Antarctic Peninsula is one of the fastest warming areas of the planet and the ice cliffs and surrounding glaciers that I stared at every day have noticeably shrunk in just five years. Microplastics have been detected in the bay, despite our small populations and heavily regulated waste disposal. The volume of annual sea ice continually measures below average, disrupting marine ecosystems and allowing the waves’ energy to percolate inland, fracturing the already vulnerable ice shelves. The penguin colonies are failing in devastating numbers. Antarctica is crying out: urgent action is needed to combat the climate change crisis and it is needed now.
It is winter in the Southern Hemisphere. There are no planes, no ships. Just 26 people now live on base. Awaking to total silence, I prepare for the day – thermals, ski goggles and torch at the ready. Icy winds howl across the station, scouring the thick layer of snow deposited during last night’s blizzard, and I hasten across the carpeted white yard with my eyes down and hood up. It is dark and twilight is still hours away; we will not see the sun for another month yet. After a hot bacon sandwich and steaming mug of tea, I trudge to work, indulging in the satisfying crunch underfoot. I find the doorway snowed in, so I reach for the shovel and settle into the daily monotony of digging snow. Sea ice surrounds us, leaving an expansive landscape of never-ending white. I am not needed in the surgery, so I traipse around base looking for work, my radio silent. I am now the only British doctor on the Antarctic continent.
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cottage, where responsibilities include refuelling planes, providing accurate weather observations and general maintenance of the site. Fossil Bluff is historic; it was first established in 1961 as a winter base for just three people and since then has provided a wealth of geological findings through the years.
Back on base, it is not just the sightings of whales that distract us from the humdrum of the summer working day. Petrels, skuas and blue- eyed shags have colonies nearby; Adélie penguins visit to moult and frequently waddle round the station talking to oil drums; and passing ice floes play host to a variety of seals.
‘Seal Watch’ – a sentry post looking out for apex predators (orca and leopard seals) to ensure the safety of the dive team – is a chance to get out of the office, while there are also opportunities to go boating. The ice cliffs can be heard calving
three-course menu, overalls are replaced by shirts and ties, and music fills the bar until the early hours. Weekends allow exploration further afield; trips up mountains, down crevasses or across the bay to nearby islands are not uncommon.
From March to October, however, winter is coming and the face of Antarctica changes drastically. The weather turns wild and a skeleton crew is left to keep the station running through the dark months. We play silly games and wear fancy dress. We mourn the last of the fresh food. We go camping for a week at a time – even Antarctic staff get holidays. Exactly 10 years on from leaving Oundle, I found myself celebrating Antarctica’s Midwinter’s Day with a champagne breakfast, homemade gifts and a dedicated broadcast on the BBC World Service.
I have learnt so much – from ice climbing, crevasse rescue, dental
THE OLD OUNDELIAN 2018 –2019
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