Skiway to Casey Sunday Stroll

Around 10 km up the hill from Casey we have a skiway which operates in the summer for Basler and Twin Otter aircraft that are used in the program. The A-319 and C17 use the Wilkins ice runway a further 60 km away.  Aside from a regular visit by the aviation team to make sure that the buildings on sleds haven't blown away, the skiway is left winterised once the flying season is over. The skiway is linked to Station by a well formed road, or as we know it, the A-line.  Travel off station is restricted to these defined routes, in order that we don't wander off into areas with unseen crevasses.

A couple of months ago now (in late April) a few of us caught a ride in a Hagg up to the skiway, to enjoy a nice stroll back down the hill to Station  to enjoy the lovely afternoon light.  It was a relatively mild afternoon , maybe minus 10C, and no wind.

Looking back over these photos as I write in the late morning darkness here in my room, reminds me of how beautiful and bright it can actually be out there.  These days I almost find it impossible to take photos as my hands don't cope with holding a cold camera body for more than about 5 minutes.

We set out hauling our packs on sleds. The setting sun sinking and reappearing behind the clouds and playing on the forming sea ice was changing by the minute. I quickly fell way behind the group busily taking photos to try and capture the constantly changing light.
I made it back to station just in time to see the sun sink behind Reeves Hill producing the most specaticual sun pillar that I've seen down here so far.

I have posted these photos in order so that you can follow the journey through the changing light with me.

Enjoy

Selfie on the A-line. Photo: Jacque Comery

Getting ready to go. (L-R) Misty, Sealy, Watto, Stu, Mark. Photo: Jacque Comery

Leaving the skiway bound for Casey. Photo: Jacque Comery

Jac at the Jacks sign. Photo: Mark Grainger

Afternoon sun. Photo: Jacque Comery

Survival pack on  tthe sled. Photo: Jacque Comery

Way point marker on the A-line. Photo: Jacque Comery

Casey Station. Photo: Jacque Comery

Golden afternnon light. Photo: Jacque Comery

Shadows. Photo: Jacque Comery

Caneline marker glowing in the setting sun. Photo: Jacque Comery

Jac. Photo: Jacque Comery

Cane. Photo: Jacque Comery

Sunset behind station. Photo: Jacque Comery

Station buildings basking in the sunset. Photo: Jacque Comery

Sun pillar as the sun suns behind Reeves Hill. Photo: Jacque Comery

Dramatic skies.

From a dark and brooding morning, to an evening sunset which set the  ice aglow.
Casey showed me her extremes on the day that marked the end of my first month on Station.
An emphatic reminder that whilst living inside our insulated Antarctic buildings, you need to keep one eye on the great outdoors, even if just from the front door step, so as to not miss the  spectacle that nature unfolds for us every day down here.

Morning cloud over the Clark Peninsula. Photo: Jacque Comery

 This cloud over the Clark Peninsula was like a living beast, visibly rotating, rolling  along towards the north and intensifying in colour as it went. I had just walked out of the red shed to walk to work at the operations building to work, and captured this on my phone.

Sunset from the heli pad. Photo: Jacque Comery

In a scenario which was the reverse of my experience in the morning,  I walked out of the door of the operations building to walk home to the Red Shed, straight into this. I had not seen this sunset unfold from my office window which faces north, until I walked outside. So very glad I chose this moment to  head home for the day!

A week of sunsets from the heli pad.

Everyday for a week, I snapped a photo on my phone on my way home from work. The photos are taken from the heli pad outside of the Red Shed looking back along the road that leads to the operations building.  Interestingly, whilst i took these shots only a week and a half ago, it is already dark now at this same time of day.

Friday. Welcoming the weekend. Photo: Jacque Comery

Saturday. Sky on fire. Photo: Jacque Comery

Sunday. Low cloud on the horizon. Photo: Jacque Comery

Monday. Sun halo. Photo: Jacque Comery

Tuesday. Blue skies and sunset. Photo: Jacque Comery

Wednesday. Sun making a late appearance just as it sets. Photo: Jacque Comery

Thursday. Soft light and pretty clouds. Photo: Jacque Comery

 

Sunsets, sea ice, and sastrugi - a trip to Browning Peninsula Part 1

Last Thursday afternoon I had the pleasure of being invited along by a few of the guys to visit the Browning Peninsulat the south of Casey. Our SCTO (Comms officer) had to make a pre-winter inspection of the Channel 21 VHF radio repeater on top of the highest point on the Peninsula itself, and was heading out with our Instrument Technican and our Bureau of Meteorology Technical Officer (BoM Met Tech)
Naturally, with my freshly issued Hagglunds licence in hand, I jumped at the opportunity to go and explore the local area.
A windy foggy morning cleared to a spectacular bluebird day, and we set out at about 1400hrs in the afternoon. It didn't take long for the antics to begin, as we set upon taking all photos of the trip, of each of us taking photos of each other, on the trip. Confused yet?

Snapping a quick pic on the A-line. Photo: Mark Grainger

 The bright but low afternoon sun displayed a spectacular halo through the cirrostratus clouds. The sunlight dancing off the snow twinkled like diamonds as we forged along in our Yellow Hagg, with me at the wheel. (Such trusting fellow expeditioners I have!). We all wear headsets in the Hagg so that we can talk to and hear each other, but we can also play music through them as well to liven up the trip. Yes, I am considerate enough to turn my mic on mute before I sing along, and the Hagg is so noisy that no one else can hear you sing anyway!
We move around the Station operating area on set routes, and we navigate the Haggs along these routes by GPS and Radar. There is a high dgree of certainty that  there are no crevasses along out GPS routes, and we stay within 15 metres of this GPS line at all times, lest we wander off into a 'slot'.
The A-line which connects Casey to the Wilkins Aerodrome is a well forged path, and is so well packed that it is our Station equivalent of a super highway. Before long we turned off onto the B-line headed for Brownings. We bounced our way along the frozen sastrugi, and our speed reduced accordingly.

Halos and high cloud. Photo: Jacque Comery

Yellow Hagg. Photo: Jacque COmery

We approached the Browning Hut after a three hours drive not long before sunset, and after parking the Hagg into the wind for the night, we dumped our packs in the hut, and scampered off over a few local hills to watch the sunset upon the ice cliffs of the Vanderford Glacier. It was a chilly minus 13C, and colder with a significant wind chill.
The views were breathtaking, and the golden light of the late afternoon played upon the wind blown snow in the most specatcular way. A few photos and many memories captured we headed back to the hut.

Mark and I checking out the Vanderford. Photo: Simon Jodrell

Me and the Vanderford Glacier. Photo: Simon Jodrell

Sastrugi in the setting sunlight. Photo: Jacque Comery

Sunset on the Browning. Photo: Jacque Comery

Vanderford Glacier. Photo: Jacque Comery

Last light. Photo: Jacque Comery

After dinner, some games and a few beers, we all crawled into our bunks and slept soundly!
We awoke the next day to an outside temperature of minus 18C, and minus 13C inside the cold porch of the hut. I was smart enough to sleep with my drink bottle and batteries in my sleeping bag, but left my boots in the cold porch to freeze. Rookie error.

Sometimes you just have to drop everything and watch the sunset...

The windows of our Mess face out towards the north onto Newcombe Bay.
The low sun angle lights up the bergs out to sea and the ice cliffs around the Bailey Peninsula until they  look like they are made of gold.
These colours change fast and are fleeting....
So no matter how delicious the meal.... sometimes you just need to run outside, and watch the painting of the ice by the evening sunlight unfold right in front of you.
That sunset only happens once... you don't get a second chance to go back and see it again.
Rather like life.
Be present. Live it. And soak up every moment.

{Thanks to my fellow expeditioner Simo, who captured me wondering around out there}

Sunset on the Casey helipad. Photo: S Jodrell

Watching the show. Photo: S Jodrell

A very quiet weekend

Having just arrived on station, I am not yet field trained. Meaning I am not yet free to get out and about and recreate in the surrounds of Station.
My winter crew however,  all completed training during in the summer, and have since been too busy with the summer works program to take many field trips.
So in this, my second weekend on Station, there was an exodus.... I won't take it personnally!
Three of the Aviation team are up at the ice runway at Wilkins still winterising the runway and packing up the aerdrome. Six expeditioners planned a weekend to Browning Peninsula 70 kms away, and a further five deceided to spend Saturday night enjoying the open fire of the Wilkes Hilton at the old abandoned Wilkes Station on the Clark Peninsula just across Newcomb Bay from Station.
This left eight of us here on Station. Our on duty fire team,  the on duty Bureau of Meteorology (BoM) observer and myself.
In a station that has the capacity for 100 expeditioners, let's just say that the 8 of us had a lot of quiet time to ourselves!
Our chef was one of the intrepid souls spending his day off at Wilkes, so Ducky, our plumber and I were rostered on as cooking slushies to work the kitchen on Saturday. After putting up a full cooked brunch, we then embarked upon cooking a roast dinner for the crew, helped along by some excellent Slushy FM Tunes. Ducky  prepped the lamb and baked some sour dough bread, and I prepped the vegetables.
The honey mustard and peppered roast lamb, roast potaotes, kumara, roast beetroot with yoghurt and dill dressing, and roast garlic was devoured happily, followed by an icecream sundae bar for desssert.
Four of us retreated to The Wallow, the other four disappeared into the vast vacant space that is Casey Station, and we sat and chatted for a little while, as the last of a specatcular sunset faded away outside.
At the outrageously late hour (!) of 1930hrs, I went to play guitar in the cinema for a little while, and when I emerged at 2030hrs, all the lights were off and The Wallow was abandoned.
Only three weeks ago a Saturday night on Station would have seen the tunes pumping, and Spilnters Bar packed full of people, a line up for the pool table and a fiesty darts competion underway.
I couldn't help but think of all of the hilarious scifi movies I'd ever seen, episodes of the X Files, you name it, where something strange has happened on a remote scientific research station... where the main character wanders in to find station abandoned.
Happily the most sinister thing going on here was a bunch of crew that so overindulged in lamb roast that they'd staggered off to their rooms to digest, watch TV shows, or build lego as the case my be.
I followed suit and did the same, on account of not yet having figured out where the light switches are to turn the lights back on!
Oh Antarctic winter life you amuse me!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Wallow: The lounge area at the heart of Station complete with pool table, darts, sofas, disco ball...you get the idea
Splinters Bar: The Station bar...No idea why it is called Splinters... standby. I have 6 months to find out!
Slushy: The kitchen hand who helps the chef on a rotating roster. Everyone on Station takes a shift. We have 12 shifts each this winter, two of them are cooking slushies.
Slushy FM: The Slushy's job is to program the station FM radio station, which is played in all of the offices, vehicles and workshops. We are all at the mercy of the rostered slushy's musical taste, or lack thereof for at least 10 hours.

Saturday night sunset lights up Clark Peninsula. Photo: Jacque Comery

The Hagglunds fleet back from their weekend adventures. Photo: Jacque Comery

The very vacant muster board. Photo: Jacque Comery

Saturday Slushy Team. photo: Jacque Comery

Lamb Roast night. Photo: Jacque Comery

The first week

I've been here 10 days now, and it feels like I've been here for a month already. The scramble back in Hobart feels like a lifetime ago. Walking about in the snow feels like the most natural thing in the world. I am so very much at home in my cosy living quarters room, my cabin in this big rectangular land ship that I am now Captain of.
In the past week we have had two blizzards clocking 70 kts on both occasions, followed by dead calm 0 kts the next day. The autumn sunshine hangs high in the sky well into dinner time and the windows of the mess offer the most spectacular view of the light on the bergs in the bay, continually changing, but always dramatic.
I've  found my headspace, my daily routine is forming up, I am slowly getting to know the team, and life is settling into a pleasant routine here at 66 south.

The Casey sign. Photo: Jacque Comery

Settlling into another day at the office. Photo: Jacque Comery

Snowy morning. Photo: Jacque Comery

The view to the Red Shed where we live from  the yellow Ops Building, which houses my office. Photo: Jacque Comery

Reflection in the Red Shed door. Photo: Jacque Comery

 

Blizz lines connecting all buildings.  Photo: Jacque Comery

Sunset. Photo: Jacque Comerry