AntarcticDoctor

Eyes closed, listening intently, I can pick apart the individual sounds.  Random, staccato clicks dominate, like an old and somewhat scratched LP recording played on grandmotherâ??s gramophone.  Behind the clicks lies the chorus.  I am transported to a dark, calm night in some distant tropical forest.  The warm still air is heavy with the sound of thousands of frogs, voices in competition then in chaotic unison, a melodious cacophony.  The mind begins to tune out the clicks and crackles; now I am convinced it is the sound of great raindrops, collected by the forest canopy above, falling onto the tense nylon of my tent.  I lie and listen to the lyrics of lifeâ?¦ but life it is not.  What I hear is not the forest of my imagination, but the stark sterility of the ionosphere filtering and reflecting one of the most violent phenomena known to man.  Iâ??m listening to lightning.

Dr Andrew Collier is a physicist from the University of KwaZulu Natal in Durban, under tenure of the Hermanus Magnetic Observatory.  Two weeks into our voyage to Antarctica, in an old t-shirt, tousled hair, and the beginnings of a russet beard, he is usually to be found in the shipâ??s library at work on a laptop.  Iâ??m hard-pressed to place this multi-faceted gentleman â?? he is at once open and friendly, with obvious enthusiasm for his science, yet his youth and current scruffiness belie the fact that he is a well-published expert in space physics, and the scientific leader of the summer expedition.  Specialising in the dynamics of our own magnetosphere, Andrew is travelling south for the fourth time to update the sensitive equipment at SANAE IV used to monitor iono-and magnetospheric phenomena.  By listening to the radio â??soundsâ?? created by the 45 to 100 lightning strikes occurring around the globe every second, he and his protégé Sherry Bremner are analysing the electromagnetic atmosphere surrounding the planet.

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S 68°14.331  W 002°18.220

Sitting in the passenger lounge during bar hours is definitely not my usual haunt.  Typing away on a laptop could be interpreted as antisocial, but fortunately the precedent has already been set by others.  The lounge is a delightful pot pourri of characters, all seeking entertainment to stave off the growing sense of boredom: although at around 68°S, only 120 nautical miles from our planned destination at the German base, Neumayer, we are currently stuck in the ice.   The floes have been thick, as predicted, but we made good progress until two days ago, when the ship ground to a halt in ice more than a metre thick.  The three nautical miles progress we made yesterday, using all the tricks in the book, has been lost today as the current takes us backwards.  The frustration amongst many passengers is almost palpable.  Scientists whose yearâ??s work rests on data from this season have good reason to be on edge as they attack their laptop keyboards; the Challenger drivers and â??dozer operators, bereft of anything to do, fill one corner of the lounge near the bar with boisterous poker.  For now, we must bide our time – we just aren’t an icebreaker. 

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S 54°24’30” E 003°18’24”

 More than a week at sea, and we now have our first sight of land. Bouvet Island hangs shrouded in mist to port, a dark mass streaked with glaciers running steeply into the sea; we see only the first hundred meters of her height before the cloud conceals the rest.  Sea temperature is 1°C, with the air varying between plus and minus one.  We feel isolated, small, insignificant, a toy boat bobbing on the waves, our warmth an intrusion soon to be sapped by the damp cold.  Bouvet stands resolute in its reputation – this is truly the most remote place on planet Earth.  For a thousand nautical miles in any direction, there is nothing but the cold sea.  Yet, as we emerge at dawn, we are greeted with the greatest richness of life we have seen since sailing from Table Bay.  Birds, numbering easily in the hundreds, continuously circle the ship.  Seals and penguins pass in vast groups, investigating this red-and-white intruder as they head out to sea to feed. There is a vibrancy, a richness, a fervour to the place than cannot be denied.  It is as if nature perceives desolation, chuckles, and in defiance births life abundant.  Read the rest of this entry »