The 50 knot gust knocked me sideways as it ripped at my overly-full
rucksack. The summit was just 50m away and despite my right skin having
lost all its glue we were going to make it to what we hope to claim as a
first ascent….
Three days earlier
The snow was settling lightly onto the wreck of the Guvernoren as Darrel
scaled its rusting hulk to move the mooring lines so that the stove on
Spirit would burn properly. We were nestled alongside this huge old
factory ship. She was destroyed by fire when 16,000 barrels of
processed whale oil caught fire in 1915. All 85 crew survived, a lot
more than can be said of the hundreds of whales that were butchered and
processed in its state-of-the-art rotary boilers to keep the lights
burning and toast spread with margarine.
This bewitching anchorage mingles history with a gentler more bucolic
side of Antarctica we had hitherto not seen. The new day dawned with a
much welcomed change – the hint of blue sky. Ski packs ready we
embarked in the zodiac to explore Enterprise Island. A small figure of
eight island we soon climbed, skied and traversed every inch of its
pristine slopes. All the while Bruce was surveying neighboring
locations for landing points. Unfortunately these were few and far
between, such were the glaciated sea cliffs that predominated our
surroundings.
By late afternoon the sun was well and truly out. Spirit was covered
with airing sleeping bags, sun tan lotion was in demand and beer
consumed. As the sun began to set the red hulk of the Guverneron glowed
quietly besides us in her long terminal slumber. Listen carefully and
you might even hear a faint echo of the rivet hammers bashing out her
fine lines on the Clyde at the turn of the last century.
The 1st December dawned with clear skies. We found ourselves iced in
with fresh brash ice that had curled in from Plata Passage. Darrel was
unfazed and simply aimed for the nearest soft, flat pancake sea ice
berg, nudged Spirit’s bow into its rump and then used this as a plough
to clear a path through the harsher brash ice into open water.
Free we headed due west for Brabant Island for our first camping
expedition. Bruce had been looking at the impressive Mount Parry. At
2,520m high, this is the highest mountain on Brabant and some 500m
higher than the top of the Antarctic Peninsula at this latitude. We
made for Terrada Point where we could make out a gentle ramp from the
promontory making for a viable access to the glacier above. From a
distance you could clearly make out that the Parry was skiable to and
from the summit.
The three hour crossing of the Gerlache Strait gave us the chance to
pack our camping gear, food and clutter that is a prerequisite for any
expedition. We planned to spend 2-3 days ashore but packed gas and
provisions for 5 in case we became weather-bound.
Disembarked in now tropical weather, the sun beat down. We were all
stripped to minimal clothing and prepared our roped-pulk teams on the
low headland. We were surrounded by sunbathing seals, the ubiquitous
Gentoo penguins and a pair of Southern Giant Petrels. The Gentoos were
busying themselves bullying this pair of gentle giants who were, from
what I could tell, merely minding their own business. A gang of
skirmishing penguins would waddle towards their foe. The petrels would
look round and the troop of penguins would freeze and wave their heads
innocently in the air, like a group of children playing peek-a-boo. When
the petrels looked away the advance resumed.
Enough about nature, back to the skiing. We were all loaded with full
rucksacks and drag bags. Each drag back comprised a 59 litre drybag
attached to our rucksacks on a 3m towing rope known as a trace. The
combine weight of the heaviest set was probably approaching 30kg.
Bruce had set a goal of getting to between 750-1000m for our base camp.
We would then head on up Mount Parry the following day. The gradient,
save for one section, was depressingly slight. Parry was obstinately
distant. My altimeter was not ticking by as I would expect, rather it
was trudging its way higher meter by meter. The heat, sun-tan lotion
sweat, ache of the weight on your hips gnawed away at you. All I can say
is respect to the early explorers who did this into the unknown.
600m, 700m finally, approaching 6.5 hours after leaving the beach, Bruce
announced that we had arrived at camp when my altimeter read 800m. A
vast white amphitheatre of glacier. To the east lay the Peninsula which
we almost looked down on. To the west Mount Parry stood dismissively,
apparently no nearer than when we had started. To the south the
impressive Solvay Range of mountains.
Camp was set up and we all dived into our surprisingly delicious
freeze-dried dinners. Tired each tent shut up shop and drifted off to
sleep. Bruce, Louise and I in the largest tent, Neil and Andy in the
second and Mark and John in the third.
2nd December dawned clear and sunny but the tops of the mountains had
spindrift tails showing that the wind at altitude was strong. Freed
from the burden of the pulks we headed off towards Parry. Unfortunately
Andy’s ankle was sore from previous day’s gruelling ascent so he elected
to stay at base camp.
The ascent was cold, with the wind steadily increasing as we gained
elevation. Mount Parry continued to play its trick of never getting any
closer. After about three hours, Bruce announced a change of plan.
Parry was looking so windblown that he was worried that we would find
the summit scoured, ice blown and unskiable. Scant reward for such a
long toil. He had spotted a subsidiary top just to its south that had a
large bowl below it which looked as though it might have kept some good
snow.
We headed to our new target and after another two and a half hours
skinning made the summit in winds gusting over 50 knots. The views were
amazing as we could look down Parry’s precipitous west face towards
Anvers Island and the Southern Ocean beyond. Mount Parry’s west face
looked like a vast frozen human face that had been blasted with maritime
ice since the beginning of time.
We dropped off our summit into a dip and out of the maelstrom. Food and
a hot drink soon refreshed us. Into skiing mode and we headed down into
the bowl. Bruce was right. Fabulous snow, the best by far and probably
300m or so of divine turns which even I made look easy! A beaming Bruce
later said that it was some of the best snow he had skied in Antarctica.
Sadly this was not to last as we returned to windcrust and a sketchy
but entertaining long traversing descent back to camp where we were met
by a very relieved Andy. He had had been looking at Mount Parry all
afternoon and with no sign of us was beginning to think the worst!
Once we got back to camp, the stoves were on, banter resumed and each
tent crew turned in for the night. Before sleep a satelite call
confirmed that the following day was set fair and so Bruce decided to
stay at base camp for another day and climb the highest of a set of
lower tops about 5km to our south before heading down to the beach where
we would camp.
3rd December dawned in glorious technicolor, well at least every shade
of white and blue imaginable. The wind was gone and the sun was out.
Sun screen was sloped on and the whole group set off for our target top.
The now familiar curiously-long skinning traverse gained the col below
the summit. Skis off and boot crampons and ice axes on we completed the
modest climb to a surprisingly fine iced summit ridge. On the far side
there was a sobering vertical drop to the Hippocrates Glacier some 500m
below. After the obligatory team pics on the top we carefully retreated
to our skis collecting the ice screws placed as a precaution by Bruce
and Mark on the way up.
The return to camp was another skiing traverse over the vastness of the
Mackenzie Glacier.
Back at camp we struck camp, packed out sacks and prepared for the
descent to the beach. Andy, Bruce and I managed, somehow, to stuff,
hang, strap all our gear to our packs whilst the rest of the team used
pulks. Skiing down 800m with 25-30kg of weight on your back is quite
interesting. The descent back to Terrada Point was surprisingly
enjoyable despite probably some of the most atrocious crusty snow
conditions in the final 100m where the high temperatures of the past two
days had played havoc with the snow.
Our final night’s camp on this part of our adventure was on a simply
stunning headland 25m above sea level. The Gerlache was filled with
bergs and brash ice. The Mackenzie Glacier was busy calving more bergs
just behind us. The awesome peaks of the Solvay Range towered to our
south with the pointed Celsius Peak being their highlight.
Our wall built to screen us from the forecast wind, dinner was served
and contact made with Spirit who confirmed pick up the following morning.
4th December arrived with less wind than forecast which was a relief as
it would have been frustrating to have had to abort our return to the
boat. Whilst we had plenty of food, Louise’s socks were now becoming a
serious health hazard and my base layers were beginning to come alive.
The re-embarking was completed in an orderly and stress-free manner and
the grubby, smelly team were welcomed with a lovely dry, cosy boat and
Maggie’s delicious take on an English breakfast.
Never has a hot shower and a shave felt so good.
We are now heading though the Neumayer Channel towards Port Lockroy the
for BAS base now run by the Antarctic Heritage Trust where we will be
anchoring for the night.
Mark B.
You must be mad!
You must all be mad!
Well, I hope you are enjoying yourselves!
Louise, wash those socks please!! I can smell them from here!! If you die from falling down a crevasse or freezing to death that’s one thing but killing off all life forms including yourself, with your stinky socks is just very sloppy!!
More fantastic stuff. Here’s a challenge: invent a SERD (socks energy recovery device) to assist in your next ascent.
Sounds absolutely amazing, recently read Shackleton’s accounts of his exploits in the area, reading your log brings it all so much clearer.
Jeff Clegg
Fantastic word pictures. Thank you for sharing your experiences.
Looking forward to seeing your pictures. I am sure you are all taking care.
Brilliant description & makes for fascinating reading. As I lie in bed all warm & cosy I’m thinking about what makes people become Adventurers & what makes others happy to just read about it… thank you for making it all come alive for those of us not brave or fit or curious enough to experience it for ourselves.
Thank you Mark for writing at such length. It is good to know that Bruce found the best snow for you, and that you are all well and that the boat is comfortable.
With kind regards to you all, and lots of love to Louise from her Mum.