Ship's log - part 2 -
Monday, November 15 Today was a pretty quiet day; nothing very exciting happened. I woke up at seven am, then I went to work at the radio station at eight am and kept working there until six pm. I just took a brief break for dinner. I spent most of my time repairing the transmitter we use to communicate with the different bases interspersed among the vast Antarctic Ocean, from Reunion Island in the north, to Adelaide Land in the South Pole. It has not been working for three months, and it will not work by tomorrow because the breakdown is worse than expected!
Tuesday, November 16 I dedicated all my time this evening to repairing the refractory transmitter, but in vain. After dinner, I decided to go down to the beach with Yvan - the technician I am going to relieve in a few weeks - in order to clear my mind. At this time of the year, the bulk of the beach is occupied by dozens of female elephant seals that suckle their babies, born roughly two months ago. We tried to remain as discreet as possible not to disturb these quiet mammals. Nevertheless, we could not resist scratching the stomachs of the young that were born the past year. They still are reluctant to leave their mothers although they have been weaned for many months. They know they have to make room for the newborn. We left the beach late in the afternoon with some regret. After supper, we attended a slide show in which the scientists explained to us the do's and don'ts when we are exposed to wildlife. Wednesday, November 17 We finally figured out what the problem was in the transmitter, and we hammered out the solution to make it work. As I well deserved a break, I went to the weights room to do some body building. My muscles were pretty rusty for I have not regularly trained since I left France. Tomorrow, the French warship the Albatross is going to moor in the bay just in front of the base. It has been patrolling for many months in the French territorial areas surrounding the archipelago, in order to find and to inspect ships that are fishing illegally.
Thursday, November 18 When I woke up early this morning, the warship Albatross was still mooring in the bay in front of the base. Crew members landed in turn to go to the radio station in order to call their families they have not seen for many weeks. They also went to the repository, to buy some toilet bags, alcohol and souvenirs. The ship left its anchorage in the evening.
Friday, November 19 The wind has not abated overnight, and this morning the base is lost in thick fog and abundant rain. What a sad morning! The main characteristic of the island's climate is that you often see throughout a single day all four seasons of the year. Indeed, just after dinner, Summer came back. Out of the blue, the wind dropped down. A smooth breeze slowly dispersed the last clouds that tried desperately to hang on the highest peaks of the island. The temperature dramatically increased so that I abandoned the treadmill and did cross-country running outside.
Saturday, November 20 There was no wind today, and the temperature kept increasing until late in the afternoon. Unfortunately, I could not take advantage of this unusually mild weather, because I had too much work. Tomorrow, which is our second day off since our arrival, we plan to go to US Bay, a beach made of grey sand at roughly three hours of uneasy walk on stony ground from the base. There are two chalets there, where eight people at the most can be sheltered. We plan to come back before dusk, if the weather remains unabated.
Sunday, November 21 At eight o'clock in the morning, seven people bent under their backpacks at the departure of the hike. Even for a short walk, it is better to bring along some warm clothes. Quite often, at the end of spring, it is like winter, and the temperature can drop very quickly. It is also important to take a few dry clothes because showers are particularly frequent and heavy on this island. You are likely to be caught in a shower at least once a day. Cameras, various energy bars or biscuits, and some canned beverages add significant weight to our backpacks. At eight-thirty, this little brigade went to battle full of innocent enthusiasm. The first hour of walking was done at a brisk pace. However, as the slope went steeper, we slowed down and adopted a ponderous pace. Most of my comrades were not used to such an effort. The way to US Bay is a series of rivers hemmed in by steep hills. At this time of the year, rivers are swollen and, sometimes, it is necessary to walk along their banks a long time in order to ford them safely. Sheer rocky slopes follow, and whether we climbed straight up the slope or we winded our way up, we always had a hard time to reach the top. There generally is a large barren plateau between each valley, and even though the ground is uneven, it is almost flat. We took advantage of this favorable ground to take a break. We quenched our thirst and ate energy bars. Two hours after we left, we were in sight of the two chalets huddled up against a gently sloping hill at the far end of a large beach. The Mobydick River twists and turns across this huge sandy beach, and eventually flows into the sea. When mighty streams encounter the deep green waves of the ocean, whirlpools of foam spread out on the whole width of the river's mouth. Dozens of seal elephants got shaken about in this giant jacuzzi. In a long queue, penguins, with their inimitable awkward gaits, cautiously followed an easier path to the sea. We finally reached the beach two hours and half after we had left the base. The beauty and the peacefulness of the spot compensated largely for our tiredness. We stretched out on the sand to get over the strain. Penguins barely avoided us, and kept parading. They just peeked at us when they passed by. Around noon, we randomly opened the two dozen containers in which food had been stocked for many months. Four or five times a year, the ship which effectuates the turnover of staff also provides goods, fuel, technical materials, and food supplies to the base and to the different shelters spread out in strategic places on the island. The staple food is essentially based on canned goods. With a little imagination, it is possible to cook a full course meal which, in fact, could be delicious. We gave the scraps to the numerous birds - seagulls, skuas, giant petrels, kionis - that were hovering over us, crying stridently, on the quest for something to eat. I have never seen such handy-dandy birds. They are able to stoop and catch hold of food in mid-air, without colliding with each other! Among all the species, skuas are decidedly the most voracious. They can gulp down animals twice as big as my fist. They especially delight in rats that infest the island. Of course, that is something we should not have done because of the eternal "don't mess with wildlife!" of scientists. Some of us spent the two following hours exploring the neighborhood. Others dedicated this time to the inventory of remaining food, and to set the chalets in order. It was such a mess inside! Sometimes, rats happen to enter the chalets - who knows the way they use to get into them - and wreak havoc on wooden furniture and bedding. Other times, former tactless visitors quit the venue, leaving traces of their stay. In this case, it is less tolerable. Whatever the culprits, we could not leave without seriously cleaning up. The chalets are so cramped that there is no room for surplus. The first shed is pretty rustic. Two bunk-beds and a gas heater provide spartan comfort for four people. The two or three free square-meters are used to stock food containers, cleaning products, tools, and diverse beverages like carbonated soft drinks, fruit drinks and wine. There is no need of water; the purest and coldest water winds its way along numerous sheer sides of mountains. The second chalet was built recently, and it is much more comfortable, if not larger than the other. There is no electricity either, but a tiny solar panel provides power to fuel a transmitter. A gas heater provides enough heat to dry wet clothes and keep the inside warm enough even when gale-force winds blow in the depths of winter. One cooks with an antiquated stove stuck between a table and two bunk-beds. At four pm, it was time to come back to the base, so we packed our backpacks and moved on. Once back to the base, I felt a bit sad, knowing I will have to wait for probably many days before the next hike. Nonetheless, this first day out gave me a taste of future exhilarating several-day hikes.
