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<\/a><\/p>\nAlso more common are the days of heavy weather.\u00c2\u00a0 The paraglider pilot locked inside me cannot help watching the wind, and we’ve gradually become more astute at judging it’s strength by the changes visible through the bases triple-glazed windows.\u00c2\u00a0 At around 20 knots, the finest snow flows across the surface, snaking in streams between the rocks and gliding over blue ice.\u00c2\u00a0 At 30 knots, the ground disappears underneath an ocean of drifting snow, writhing, twisting, flowing like the froth of a raging river under the base and over the cliff beyond.\u00c2\u00a0 Above 40 knots, the world disappears as the base is swallowed by the maelstrom.\u00c2\u00a0 At 50, the crockery on it’s rack in the dining hall starts to rattle, the base hums to the tune of the wind, and every object becomes charged with static electricity.\u00c2\u00a0 The power is unmistakeable; we place our trust in the sturdiness of the base and imagine being the warm heart of the storm.<\/p>\n
This past weekend, despite hopes of pleasant weather to allow us to get outdoors for some R&R, brought the strongest wind we’ve yet experienced.\u00c2\u00a0 On Sunday morning I was enjoying a dream of being back aboard the Agulhas, feeling the occasional jolt as she pushed aside a particularly recalcitrant piece of ice, when I realised the shudders were not limited to the world of my dream.\u00c2\u00a0 Awakening, it became apparent that the entire base was shaking in gusts of wind.\u00c2\u00a0 As I looked out through the window, I could see polarised stress lines forming in the perspex as the outer layer deformed.\u00c2\u00a0 Snow striking the window made a pattering not unlike rain – a sound I have come to miss.\u00c2\u00a0 A quick trip to the meteorological office confirmed my suspicions – this was the strongest wind yet.\u00c2\u00a0 Peaking at over 70 knots (130km\/h) and driving every iota of loose snow before it, the wind soon found our weakness.\u00c2\u00a0 A meter-square, thick insulated hatch in the physics lab roof was blown off the building, to disappear into the storm.\u00c2\u00a0 We plugged the hole temporarily, but there were some nervous remarks around the dining room table as we drank coffee thereafter.\u00c2\u00a0 However, it was only later that the bombshell dropped.<\/p>\n
Right after dinner, our mechanical engineer Anton came back from doing base checks to report that the snow smelter was not drawing any current.\u00c2\u00a0 Furthermore, our water supplies had taken a knock during the day, convincing us that no new water had pumped up from the smelter.\u00c2\u00a0 To add final insult, the pumps on the fuel line at the diesel bunkers – used to fill the day tank supplying our generators – had stopped responding.\u00c2\u00a0 One cause for the problems presented itself:\u00c2\u00a0 the static buildup had tripped the ‘smelly’ and fuel pumps.\u00c2\u00a0 The fuel situation was not critical – we could run for another 24 hours with the supplies available – but if the smelter is allowed to freeze it becomes impossible to make water, and very tricky to start it again.\u00c2\u00a0 Expanding ice as the water froze could also damage the system, so it was critical to get down to the smelter, dig out the hatch, and access the control room under the ice to assess the problem.\u00c2\u00a0 I bade the team dress and prepare, and then we met to brief for the ‘mission’.<\/p>\n
Eight were to go out, in buddy teams, following the pipeline down to the smelter.\u00c2\u00a0 I had fortunately fixed a rope for the last section (where the pipe disappears into the snow) during the last storm, so we could reach the smelter with a hand-hold all the way.\u00c2\u00a0 Once there, we would have to dig down through the compacted snow to reach the hatch, open it, and climb down the ladder into the control room.\u00c2\u00a0 Some would have to stay above, keeping the hatch open and clear of snow, whilst the technical team checked the electronic controllers and power supply.\u00c2\u00a0 Strict safety precautions and buddy checks were agreed upon, and we ventured out.<\/p>\n
Underneath the base the wind was accelerated to an incredible degree.\u00c2\u00a0 Touching any object resulted in immediate and repetitive shocks, as the static electricity built and discharged.\u00c2\u00a0 One buddy team opted to turn back immediately; it was a struggle just to walk into the fury of the wind.\u00c2\u00a0 The remaining six slogged over to the pipeline and then fought for every step down to the smelter.\u00c2\u00a0 The true battle began only then; with goggles icing rapidly, we had to dig almost by feel, trying to clear the heavy hatch of snow while the wind snatched at the shovels.\u00c2\u00a0 After a few minutes we managed to open the hatch.\u00c2\u00a0 Saziso and I slipped down the ladder and and were greeted by the happy sight of the machinery lit and working.\u00c2\u00a0 More detailed inspection revealed that the water was at 30\u00c2\u00b0C in the tank – a thick ice bridge had formed, preventing new snow falling in, and the elements had shut down to prevent the water overheating.\u00c2\u00a0 This explained the lack of current being drawn from the generators.\u00c2\u00a0 We were safe from freezing.\u00c2\u00a0 The smelter, protected by thick ice, had not tripped.<\/p>\n
To make certain that the pipeline had not become blocked by ice, we pumped hot water up to the base for around 30 minutes.\u00c2\u00a0 By now, the rest of the team had become very cold, where they waited above, keeping the hatch clear of snow.\u00c2\u00a0 While Saz tended to the machines, I replaced them, sitting in the hatch but holding it closed across my legs to prevent too much snow falling in, and sent the remaining four back to the base.\u00c2\u00a0 Sitting like this, body exposed to the gale, I was grateful for the top-spec First Ascent mountaineering jacket I was wearing, and the thick fleece underneath.\u00c2\u00a0 Completely ensconced, I watched through my frozen goggles as the snow billowed around me.\u00c2\u00a0 Moisture on my gloves from inside the control room froze into solid ice and my breath caused a mask of ice to form across the soft-shell balaclava I wore, which I had to break free every few minutes as breathing became difficult.\u00c2\u00a0 With even very conservative wind-chill factored in, the relative temperature was -40\u00c2\u00b0C.\u00c2\u00a0 Bare flesh would become frostbitten in minutes, but inside my shell of protective gear I cooled slowly.\u00c2\u00a0 Almost like a form of meditation, the buffeting of the gale and roar of blown snow striking my hood became peaceful; my mind drained of thought, breathing slowed, and I found myself as a calm oasis in the cold chaos.\u00c2\u00a0 Perhaps this is why I have always loved foul weather; it shrinks your world down to personal endeavour; it leaves you alone against the elements, but the loneliness, the isolation allows your introspective thoughts to become clear without the sensory overload of normal life.\u00c2\u00a0 For me, sitting in a storm which demonstrates my fragile insignificance defines my very presence.<\/p>\n