Returning to McMurdo Station control from Little America at this particular
time of the summer operations was like going directly from a quiet church to
a noisy ball game. Although camp life at Little America was not perfect at
least it gave sense of being calm and peaceful. McMurdo was just the
opposite. With people seemingly everywhere and all sorts of unrelated
activities going on at the same time it was Main Street come alive. There
were so many groups, military and civilian, aboard the station and so many
centers of operations that only the Admiral's staff could have understood who
was responsible for what and where it all might be leading.
A much larger contingent of U. S. Air Force C-124 pilots and crewmen than
before had settled down on the station and all were involved with air
dropping cargo to the South Pole Station and other remote sites.
The Navy Seabees had a group of sailors who were slated to assemble the South
Pole Station. While they waited for our R4D's to move them to this remote
location, they took up some more bunk space at McMurdo.
There were also newly arrived fuel systems management personnel on board who
operated the fuel storage for the Antarctic operations and the dog handlers
who were trained to make rescues of downed pilots should an aircraft go down
in an area inaccessible to ski-equipped aircraft.
Next there were the many civilian engineers, news people, meteorologists and
equipment specialists who waited for the Navy to provide them transportation
where their work could be accomplished.
Lastly, there was my own squadron, Air Development Squadron SIX, with five
types of airplanes, pilots, air crewmen and maintenance personnel, all busily
engaged in keeping every flying piece of equipment operational and ready for
flight.
The station mess hall, which was tasked with feeding these several hundred
people, had to be operated twenty-four hours per day, and if that wasn't
enough they had to have several seatings at every meal so everyone could be
served. Everyone had to do their own laundry so as can be expected there was
a long line of waiting to find a free machine. Washrooms, toilets and showers
always seemed to be in use at maximum capacity and waiting became
commonplace. Even the Admiral and the Air Force General had to wait their
turn to shower.
On my arrival at McMurdo from Little America I was told that I should slip
back into my role as Administrative Officer for the squadron. Who the officer
who might have been assigned to care for administrative details while I was
away, I was never able to discover. It was as though they had let the
paperwork pile up waiting for my return. When not flying I was expected to
put in an eight hour day reviewing incoming correspondence, writing letters
and dispatches and, lastly, advising the squadron Executive Officer on what
work was being accomplished by the enlisted office staff. It was
disappointing to find that so much work had been allowed to accumulate while
I spent that month in Little America because there were dozens of officers
sitting around the day room of the Officers bunk room at all times of the day
and night having little to keep them occupied. Many of these fellows
considered themselves to be professional aviators and when routine squadron
work had to be accomplished they either disappeared or assumed a helpless
role. That the Commanding Officer and the Executive Officer allowed this to
happen without taking corrective action was beyond my comprehension.
One day while at one of my meals in the dining hall I happened to meet a
friendly newspaper man from the Boston Globe. This fellow was not your usual
pushy type that abounded at McMurdo but a man with a sense of adventure much
like my own. We discovered that both of us had an interest in the animals of
the Antarctic region and we decided to hike it over to the place on the ice
where the seals were appearing, a distance of about two miles from camp.
Flying has been curtailed out of a fear of using up all our aviation fuel
before the ships arrived to replenish the tanks, so it was easy for us to get
away from camp for a few hours. It was a Sunday and I needed a day away from
the office.
First, we climbed over a small hill to the south of the station and then
proceeded over the frozen sea that surrounded McMurdo Island, to the Ross Sea
Ice Shelf. Where the sea ice and the continental ice met there was a lot of
hummocking, where large sheets of flat ice had been thrust upwards creating a
very difficult area to cross on foot. This twenty-five yard thick rough area
had been created when the tides ground the sea ice against the continental
ice. It was a chancy thing trying to cross this rough area because it was so
uneven and there was always a chance we might fall into an open crack in the
ice and then into the ocean below. It took us quite a while to wend our way
through those large boulders of ice but finally we got through and on to the
Ice Shelf.
As I had mentioned previously the Ross Sea Ice Shelf was usually a cliff
averaging about 125 feet above the sea ice. Here close to McMurdo Station
there was only about 6 feet difference in the height of the two. Also at the
juncture of the two ice fields there were several cracks in the surface in
which we could see water. It was here that the female Waddell seals surfaced
to deliver their pups.
We found about ten to fifteen seals and their newly delivered seal pups,
sunning themselves on the ice surface and since they had no natural enemies
on the Antarctic ice surface they mostly ignored us unless we ventured too
close. Even then they would only bare their teeth and growl a bit, but if we
became motionless they closed their eyes and then ignored us. This placid
tendency has always been an invitation to disaster for them for seal hunters
for hundreds of years have been able to massacre hundreds at a time with no
defenses shown by the seals.
Besides the seals and their newly delivered pups was the remains of the
bloody afterbirth residue which made the surface quite messy. The skua gulls,
which were scavengers, were making a feast of the afterbirth so nature was
being served even here at the bottom of the world. We had to be careful where
we stepped because we could easily slip on the abandoned tissue and blood.
Many of the pups were nursing from their mother seals, while others were
being taught how to enter and exit the ocean through the many cracks in the
surface. The mother seals would find a soft spot in the surface of the ice
and using their upper teeth they would scrape a ramp in the snow surface so
the baby seal could easily slip in and out of the water. The pups were only
about two and a half feet long and too weak to emerge from the water without
help. First the mother seal would push the whining pup into the ice hole and
the two would go off swimming together. When they returned for air the pup
would be guided by the mother seal so that his nose was on the ice ramp she
had made. The mother seal would then get behind the pup and push it up the
ramp, clear of the water. The mother seal would then dive a ways down into
the water then turn around and with a grand push of its tail it would shoot
upwards out of the water and on to the ice surface. Once this four hundred
pound mass was out of the water it was no longer a sleek and swift,
hydrodynamic swimming body but a lumbering and ungainly mass of blubber and
bone. Seeing these wild animals in their natural state was an exhilarating
experience for the both of us and we talked about the experience for hours
after we returned to the base.
As we stood there on the Ice Shelf we looked towards Ross Island, about a
mile away, and since the air was superbly clear we were able to get a view of
Mount Erebus with its smoking volcano. It is a grand and massive thing to
behold and a thrilling sight for the eyes. I had seen the volcano from the
air and was impressed with it but this view from the surface was dramatically
different and worthy of our admiration.
On another day, while flying was still curtailed, Eddie and I decided to
climb the hill behind the base which led up the side of Mount Erebus. For a
short while after leaving McMurdo we were forced to climb up a steep hillside
but once at the top we entered a long smooth ice filled plateau which
presented a gentle climb for about two miles before becoming steep again.
Here, in what would have been a lovely mountain meadow in warmer climates, we
were able to walk in comfort over a smooth icy surface. Ahead of us was a
lovely view of the volcano and we were able to make out the many ridges
leading to the peak of the mountain. The air around us was quite still and
since the snow absorbed sound we could hear our own breathing and the rustle
of our clothing as we walked. We might have gone further up the mountain's
side but we couldn't be sure that the weather would have remained fair.
Sudden changes in the weather are a frequent phenomenon in the Antarctic and
we had no heavy clothing or protective tents with us so it would have been
foolhardy to have ventured further from base camp.
We found a slope along the way which led downwards to the sea ice where we
would be about three miles north of McMurdo Station. Going down the slope was
fun and a lot easier to handle than the stiff climb we had when we set out.
Once we reach the sea ice we had to cross the fractured area between the sea
ice and the rocky shore, taking the greatest precautions against falling into
the open sea. Once we were on the smooth sea ice we came upon a pool of
liquid that was bright crimson in color and about ten yards square. It turned
out to be seal's blood which the camp's dog handlers left when they killed
several seals for dog food. The contrast between the blood and the bright sea
ice was a dramatic site but nonetheless a sad one.
On the walk back to the base over the ice we passed a small Navy ship which
had been sailed to the Antarctic during the previous summer and then tied to
the island shoreline where it froze in the sea ice. The ship contained our
dwindling supply of aviation fuel which we and the Air Force used as we
explored the continent.
Soon we crossed a small hill and there before us was Captain Scott's old hut,
with McMurdo Station in the distance. When Captain Scott and his men departed
on their perilous venture to the South Pole he departed from this small hut,
which looks the same then as it did fifty years before. It was a wind scoured
wooden structure and when we tried to enter it we found that a door had blown
open sometime in the past and all the rooms were filled from floor to ceiling
with snow. I understand that the building has since been cleared of snow and
remains as monument in memory of Captain Scott and his men, who never
returned from that perilous trip on foot to the South Pole.
Outside the hut we noted that there was a pile of broken equipment, supplies
and food. We were able to pry loose a tin of cookies and I tried eating one
of them even though it had been frozen for fifty or more years. It was a
tasteless thing and except for the experience of having tasted it there was
nothing to do but discard the rest.
After a short walk from the hut we reached our home base where we could sit
over a cup of coffee and relish the thought of what we had seen and done.
Here on the distant continent of Antarctica we had taken an invigorating hike
through a desolate but beautiful meadow of ice in an area seen by few men. We
had then traversed over sea ice about seven feet thick, over an ocean several
thousands of feet deep. We had observed the site of the killing of a dozen or
so seals and we had visited Captain Scott's old camp, abandoned fifty years
earlier. In a very small way we felt like pioneers ourselves.
It is always nice to be remembered so it was for me a great pleasure to be
told on my return from the hike that a package had arrived from New Zealand a
gift from a couple I had met there in my short sojourn in Christchurch. My
new found friends, thinking I might need cheering, had sent me a 10 pound
package of Whitebait and fresh eggs. Every spring in New Zealand a small fish
called by the New Zealanders Whitebait, about an inch long, enters the rivers
of the South Island of New Zealand to spawn. Using nets the New Zealand
natives could scoop up dozens of pounds of these fish in an hour. These tiny
fish were a great delicacy and they are best prepared by scrambling them in
eggs in a hot skillet. I had tasted them on my short stopover in N.Z. so
I knew that this gift meant a great treat for me, and also for my friends on
the Ice. I asked one of the camp cooks to cook the fish and eggs for me and
along with my friends we had a unforgettable meal. I am forever grateful to
these N. Z. friends. They don't come any nicer than these kind folks.
Antarctic Facts
- Because it is such a large area of extreme cold, Antarctica
plays an important role in global atmospheric circulation. In the tropics the
sun warm the air, causing it to rise and move toward the poles. When these
air masses arrive over Antarctica, they cool, become heavier, and fall from
the high interior of the continent toward the sea, making some Antarctic
coasts the windiest places in the world. Winds on the Adelie Coast in the
winter of 1912 to 1913 averaged 40 miles per hour 64 percent of the time, and
gusts of nearly 200 miles per hour have been recorded.
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