Punta Arenas

Sorry about the little pause in blogging everyone; I had a very nice few days away from the ship when we arrived in Punta Arenas. It was absolutely glorious. I stayed in a hotel called La Yegua Loca (the Crazy Mare- make of that what you will) which was great. All the rooms seem to have been themed. Mine was “El Lechero” which means The Dairy and not “The Lecher” as my father rather unkindly suggested. It was all very tastefully decorated though, so rather than calling it cowboy kitsch I’m going to call it gaucho-chic and just say that it was wonderful to have an enormous double bed even if, after months at sea, I huddled in a corner of it and didn’t starfish as planned. I had a shower that I could use without handholds...Luxury indeed.

Gaucho chic or estancia style?

Our first evening in Punta Arenas was great. I went with a number of the scientists to the Sky Bar in Dreams hotel. The bar is several floors up in the hotel which means that it commands a beautiful view out to sea or over the city. The toilets were no exception to this; the wall of the cubicle was glass from floor to ceiling with a lovely view of down-town Punta Arenas. This led to the slightly anxious hope that the glass was definitely one-way only. Or it would have been an anxious thought, had I not just had a negroni and a White Russian and was therefore more amused by the fact that I had coined the phrase “a poo with a view.” I shared this with everyone and kept nudging them until they smiled gently and told me, “yes, it was very witty Helen.”

As to the White Russian, I have absolutely no idea how The Dude drank so many of them in the Big Lebowski because they are exceptionally sticky and sickly. But we followed that up with an amazing meal of steak and shell fish at a restaurant across the road and I retired for the night sated and giggling quietly to myself. The food in Punta Arenas was incredible. The galley staff do a wonderful job of preserving the veggies that we get on board so we do have fresh vegetables for a long time.  However, after two months at sea...suffice to say that this salsa thing that Chileans eat with bread at the start of every meal? Well the fresh tomato and garlic was like a poem on my tongue.

I inflicted my Spanish on a lot of people. Our first night in Punta, we were on our way out of the security gate at the port when an irate security guard began shouting at the scientists ahead of me. Regrettably he didn’t speak English and they didn’t speak Spanish, so things were getting a trifle fraught until I sauntered forwards, a devil-may-care smile on my lips and enquired “Hay una problema?”/Is there a problem? (I may have been slightly less cool than that. But hey, this is my version of events!)It turned out that our security guard, possibly after clocking our nationality, was requesting that we try not to return to the port completely trashed. I may have mis-translated at first- I thought he was telling us not to bring alcohol back to the ship which seemed like a reasonable thing to say in view of customs- but I worked out later that he really meant not to come back intoxicated. What a lovely reputation Brits abroad do have!

And it’s really just a shame that GCSE Spanish didn’t prepare me to have that conversation. I remember how to planchar mi ropa/to iron my clothes, but strangely no one ever taught me how to say “Honestly, we won’t come back trolleyed.” What a gap in my education. And to continue on this theme, I have never had to discuss ironing my clothes with a Spanish speaking person; I am morally at peace with being crumpled. However I do like a grilled steak, and the word “planchar” means both to iron and to grill which does make me wonder if Spanish speakers think that they are grilling their clothes or ironing their steaks.

Regardless, I had a wonderful time babbling in Spanish at the poor defenceless populace. Mostly they were very kind and tried not to be too visibly distressed by the way I was mangling their mother tongue. I don’t like to acknowledge defeat though, so even when the people I was speaking to could clearly speak English very well, I still insisted on using Spanish. To the slightly crazy point where if I had forgotten a word I chose to mime it rather than just give way and speak English. Yeah, I know. I’m strange.

I visited a Chilean cemetery which was oddly enjoyable. Lots of mausoleums in which to wait out eternity.  

Mausoleums in the cemetery

Peace in your tomb

And I trundled around the Silesian Museum of Patagonia which was like a homage to the taxidermists’ art. The first floor was filled with slightly unnerving glassy stares from stuffed Patagonian wildlife. But I wasn’t able to linger for long because I was chased along by an exceptionally noisy family who clearly failed to grasp the meaning of the word “silencio” on the walls. I contented myself by sighing heavily and glaring at them in a wonderfully English-passive-aggressive fashion. The lower floor of the museum is devoted to the natural history of Patagonia. The upper floors have some interesting information on the indigenous populations whose numbers were decimated by “first guns and then syphilis and tuberculosis.” Patagonia had gold and lots of animals with nice skins and so people flocked to Patagonia and the locals didn’t stand much of a chance.

In the days that followed I went for very nice walks, ate a huge amount of food and finally succumbed to the cold that one of the Rothera doctors so kindly bequeathed me when he hugged me goodbye. He is dead to me. (Only joking Tom!)

I ate a lot. Like, a very lot.

I then returned my snotty self to the ship and was made aware of just how lucky I am. Waiting for me were a few surprises; parcels from my Mum and Dad; chocolates from the deck engineer’s mum, Elizabeth; chocolates from Victoria’s Dad, and finally a massive parcel from Kerri, my buddy from the first cruise. Thank you very much to those kind people; it means a huge amount to me. It’s surprisingly hard each time a crew change happens and the people that I’ve grown to know get off the ship and head for home whilst I keep sailing. I wouldn’t change this for the world; this is my choice and it is a wonderful job. But to know that people were thinking of me meant a huge amount and I just wanted to say a very heartfelt thank you. Thank you.

The Relief at Rothera

A month later than originally expected, and feeling a trifle beaten and battered, the James Clark Ross finally made her way to Rothera station. We arrived at Adelaide Island on the Tuesday of last week, one or two days after the science work had terminated and spent the day steaming with eager anticipation towards Rothera point. Despite the cold temperatures, wildlife was abundant in those waters and the humpback whales came to investigate us on several occasions. With almost depressing predictability, I was sat at the stern end of the ship admiring humpbacks gallivanting perhaps as little as a quarter of a mile away, when something from the bow end of the ship caught my attention. I looked along the side of the ship and spotted the humpbacks which had apparently been feeding happily just beneath the bow. Immediately they felt my eyes upon them, they became bashful and dove before resurfacing just out of camera range. Thanks guys. I was later told by the scientists that they’d all been happily watching the whales for about half an hour. People really like rubbing salt in the wildlife spotting wound!

An elusive humpback whale

 The arrival into Ryder Bay was spectacular. I went up onto the Monkey Island early (for me anyway) and just soaked in the views. I was surrounded by a ring of mountains that reached down to the grey-black waters of the bay. The mountains themselves were painted with pale blues and purples in the early morning light. Their peaks were wrapped with milky white clouds that lent the scene an otherworldly feeling.

Views in Ryder Bay

Our day was not to be as straight forward as a simple arrival and unloading however. Strong winds blowing at about 40 knots kept us off the berth and ultimately the decision was made to go a-hunting for a mooring that was somewhere in the bay instead. The mooring housed data recorders that had been making continuous observations for the last year and was firmly anchored to the sea bed. The ship traversed the bay, “pinging” the mooring and when we finally received a response, the mooring released and the data recorders floated up to the surface with a big colourful buoy. In practice things weren’t quite that straightforward and we had to criss-cross the bay several times, always with the nagging worry that our data might resurface somewhere awkward...like under an iceberg. Still, I wasn’t complaining and I spent several happy hours on the deck, liberally coated in a sticky film of suntan lotion and enjoying the feeling of warmth on my face.

Searching for our mooring amidst all the ice

It gave me a lot of time to focus on my camera work too. I’ve been concerned that so many of my photos look horribly washed out and I was wondering how to correct for the brightness of the light down here. I struggled manfully with the camera manual and harassed my fellow seafarers until someone kindly explained that dropping the ISO might help. Apparently the ISO tells the camera how sensitive it should be to light. In Antarctica the light is so very bright that actually it’s better if the ISO is very low indeed. Happiness has resulted and my next task is to grapple with something called “f-stop”. Not a clue what that is, but it sounds deeply impressive.

All this meandering around the bay gave me a wonderful chance to watch a Twin Otter plane flying in to Rothera. These planes are painted a bright shiny red and they provide a vital link to field stations further out in the continent. They're fitted with skis which means that they can land on ice and snow. The Dash 7 planes by contrast provide the air link between Rothera and airports in Chile and the Falklands. They're also capable of landing on the blue-ice runway at Sky-Blue station which is one of the remote field stations.

The Twin Otter plane

The wind finally dropped and we were able to moor up at Biscoe Wharf and begin the serious business of the relief. Or rather the station personnel and the sailors were. I just sprinted down the gangway and into a massive hug from Jen, my opposite number in Rothera. There was a lot of squealing- there are dogs in Punta Arenas that still feel their ears are ringing- and then I was taken on a tour around the station. No doubt at all, Rothera is a beautiful place. I feel that the view into Ryder Bay would go a long way to reconcile you to whatever the inconveniences of living in such a remote location might be!

The station itself has the interesting feeling of a building site mixed with a healthily austere campsite. The buildings seem to be predominantly painted a dull khaki green, with the windows picked out in red. My favourite building had to be Fuchs House where much of the equipment for field operations is stored. The tents, skis, sleeping bags, climbing gear, rescue equipment and field rations all live here. As does the climbing wall, a field library and a small impromptu cinema! My tour of the station complete, Jen took me on a walk around the coastline which led me up onto a promontory overlooking Biscoe Wharf. As she pointed out, we didn’t need to go far from the station to experience utter quiet. In some ways it was almost eerie as I gazed at the enormous icebergs; it felt as though nothing so vast should be so still and so quiet.

Rothera station

The following days were spent in a flurry of activity. I helped Jen with unloading the medical supplies and the supplies for the Rothera shop. It made me giggle quite a bit; it’s fairly surreal to be stock-taking with your mate in Antarctica! But as a result of my activities, I’m now branded from head to toe in Rothera gear. It’s just a mercy they didn’t sell Rothera knickers- although I may suggest it to BAS for next year! If only to see the look on their faces...

The high point was definitely being taken cross-country skiing. I’ve never done any sort of skiing before so this was very exciting. I bounded up the slope behind Jen, waving a hand merrily at her whenever she turned back to check how I was getting on. The instant she turned away I doubled over, wheezing and fighting frantically with my skis which seemed to have a desperate urge to spring from my grip and fling themselves back down the slope. But we made it eventually and I think my voice was only marginally more high-pitched than normal at the top... It was awesome. The most beautiful view I’ve ever had, and once I got used to the concept it was a bit like roller-blading. But with sticks. Regrettably I wasn’t quite as talented at coming down the slight slope on our way back to the station. I couldn’t really work out how to stop so I just settled for flinging myself on the ground. This did, as JK Rowling would say, arrest momentum but is probably not the elegant technique that experienced skiers use! Still, despite my technicolour bruises, I will definitely be doing that again. And how many people get to say that their first skiing lesson was in Antarctica?

Explorer poses

On my final day I walked up to Rothera point and looked out at the friendly bulk of the JCR tied up with the mass of the mountains behind. I then turned and regarded the memorials that lie on the promontory. They serve as a sobering reminder that even in the modern age, Antarctica is still fantastically remote. It would take less time to get someone down from the international space station than it would to try and rescue someone from the continent in the middle of winter.

Memorials at Rothera Point

And then that was it. We were pulling away from the wharf; off for further adventures. We’re now Punta Arenas bound and I’m very much looking forward to some pampering activities. Like a pedicure and a swim in a hotel pool...

This little Adelie desperately trying to get an entry into a seals only club...

Zombies and Lanternfish

A researcher in an American University recently published a paper stating that were the zombie apocalypse to arise, mankind would be overrun within 100 days. I feel that this raises way more questions than it answers. To begin with is the entirely serious question of what the mode of transmission is; are we talking zombie nibbles here or is droplet infection a concern? And do we presume a 100% infection rate on exposure? Is there a 100% rate of mortality? I’m not sure that even the sweating sickness boasted those stats. How soon after infection does zombie-dom start? All films and literature seem to indicate seroconversion within minutes; that would tend to limit the disease to one geographical area. Zombies are notoriously bad at catching flights. The final concern to be addressed is whether or not our zombs are super-speedy as in 28 Days Later, or if you can go out armed with a cricket bat to do your grocery shopping as in Shaun of the Dead. “Barbara, I ran it under a cold tap.”

In short, our American researcher has made some huge assumptions in order to generate that figure of 100 days. So my advice is to read this research with a pinch of salt when preparing for your very own zombie apocalypse.  But this did make me think that possibly I should talk about some of the research that is being done by scientists on our very own research vessel.

Recently I’ve been talking to Tracey Dornan about her myctophids. Otherwise known as lantern fish, for the light generating organs on their bodies, these fish are of particular interest because of the key position that they occupy in the Antarctic food web. They prey upon zooplankton and in turn are preyed upon by the seals and the penguins. Many people will tell you that the Antarctic food chain turns on a tiny, shrimp like organism called krill. The young krill feed on the algae that bloom under the sea ice. If the sea ice melts or shifts further out to sea, the krill either diminish in numbers or shift with the ice. This is a major problem for land based predators that rely on the krill; penguins and seals have their young on land and the worry is that as the krill numbers dwindle or move they may struggle. Enter the lanternfish. Recent studies have shown that lanternfish may be more numerous than was previously supposed and they may well be able to fill the niche previously occupied by the krill.

Lanternfish (the small things that look like ball bearings are the light organs!)

The other interesting aspect of the lanternfish is their role in the carbon cycle. Lanternfish come up to the surface in the night in order to feed on the zooplankton which live in the top strata of the water. Having fed, they then descend with their carbon load to the deeper waters that form their day-time home. The carbon-bearing material that they have consumed is then digested and respired in these deeper waters and the carbon is thus locked away into the deep ocean.

Tracey’s work looks at the use of acoustics to identify lanternfish in the water. Up until now, scientists have relied on trawling for fish and then picking over the catch to see what species predominate in the water. This is a corner stone of marine research and is necessary to ground truth acoustics (i.e. verify by another source) and to analyze marine community composition. However this can only ever give a snapshot in space and time.

 Acoustics refers to the process by which the ship generates a sound wave which is then bounced back to the ship by any surrounding bodies. It’s pretty much like an underwater echo. The theory is that different organism types produce a different acoustic return according to their typical density or size. And so it might be possible to infer what type of fish are out there over much larger areas without actually needing to pluck every single animal out of the water. Regrettably lanternfish are a challenge to identify with acoustics. When the fish are young some species have large swim bladders which are filled with air and therefore they have a strong acoustic signal. As they get older and bigger, their swim bladder shrinks. So although their size is greater and therefore their acoustic signal should be correspondingly bigger, it isn’t. Tracey’s work is to try and characterise the acoustic properties for the lanternfish that she has caught so that in future we can use the acoustic signal to recognise similar types of organisms in the water. Being able to spot these little guys in the water should mean that we can estimate their numbers more effectively and to see both if they will be able to fill vital niches in the Antarctic ecosystem and their role in the carbon cycle in the face of climate change.

Returning to the theme of today’s foray into academia, I have to consider my plans for any future apocalypses. Many years ago, after reading a glut of science fiction novels, my sister and I came up with the JONES MASTER PLAN FOR SURVIVAL. She will be raiding a library for books on farming whilst I do over a hospital for medical supplies. We will reconvene and, grabbing my parents en route, head for a lonely island with a windmill so that we can have electricity. We’re taking my parents because neither of us is quite brave enough to face the wrath of a zombie-mother. Regrettably I don’t think the plans were updated since we finished reading all that John Wyndham so frankly the boyfriends are likely to be left behind unless they’re present as the outbreak happens. This IS survival people. And no; I’m not telling you the name of our island. Get your own windmill!

 

*I promise; I’m not actually crazy. I don’t have a survival pack. Nor do I watch Bear Grylls/Ray Mears reality TV shows excessively.

**As I type we’re rounding Adelaide Island and heading for Rothera!

Icebergs

Icebergs off Adelaide Island

Adelaide Island filling the horizon

Backstreet Boys Make an Appearance...

Dagnabbit! The fates really do seem to be conspiring against us. Two nights ago the weather was so bad that we ended up hove to (that means staying still but facing into the weather so that it isn’t so rough) which meant that we were pretty much going the wrong way to get to Rothera. We took a very exciting 35 degree roll which made life rather fun for a while. I was actually on the phone to my other half and all the poor man heard was expletives followed by loud banging and then the phone cut out. Interesting.

On my side of the Atlantic, the chair that my patients use was thrown across the room and hit the wall cupboards. My chair went sliding, with me on it, across the deck and away from the desk. And then the autoclave (that thing has always had it in for me) seized its opportunity and leapt for me. It was foiled by the fact that my chair had flung me away from the desk and it ended up hitting my computer screen instead. All I could do to try and control the chaos was cling onto the desk with one hand and pin the autoclave down with the other whilst desperately hoping that the rolling would stop! Luckily I’d finished my tea because my mug and my paperwork were strewn liberally across the floor. What fun we had.

I called the other half back and told him to cancel the coast guard and then sallied forth to see what had happened to everyone else. Luckily the biggest injury seems to have been a carpet burn (I told him we’d need to amputate at the neck) but one man had to break into his own cabin because his chair had plunged across the room and lodged itself under the door handle. I’m sure that he didn’t enjoy that John Wayne moment at all... I nearly decked the radio officer who appeared in the bar clutching at his elbow and whimpering “I think I’ve broken it doc.” And then when I sighed and said “Let’s get you into the surgery then” he straightened up with a cheeky grin and laughed at me. Evil beggar. He would have been well served if he’d turned around and walked straight into the door. And how I would have laughed!

We did some major incident drilling today. A major incident is one in which the number or nature of casualties attending outstrips the ability of a unit to cope with those casualties. So in a major A&E that might mean that 50 patients had descended on the hospital at once. On board the ship it means 3 or more casualties at once because my little surgery and first aid team would be completely overwhelmed. It was actually good fun in a weird sort of way. I triaged my “patients” and then they were treated by the first aid team in the casualty clearing station (Otherwise known as the bar because alcohol is wonderful for sterilising wounds, you see.). So I had two “patients” that had severe burns and varying levels of consciousness, a few walking wounded and one scientist whom I tasked to be as irritating as possible and demand assistance for his minor injury constantly! He did stellar work and is currently expecting an Oscar. Perhaps we could call it a Jimmy?

My first aid team handled things really well and I was very impressed with them. We’ve definitely come a long way from the days in which we ripped our dummy’s arm off when transporting it to the surgery and then had to staple it back on!

I engaged in some bullying behaviour yesterday which was quite enjoyable. One of the engineers had told me of his deep and undying love for the Beastie Boys. Apparently he’s even altered a poster of the Beastie Boys so that the heads are replaced with the heads of the engineering team. I ruminated on this for about five minutes and then found the cheesiest picture of the Backstreet Boys that I could. Cut out pictures of the engineering department’s heads and then glued them in situ. And then I laminated it so they can never get rid of the thing! Naturally they were thrilled but it’s simply a fair retaliation for the picture of Jeff Goldblum hugging a gorilla that arrived on my cabin door a few days ago! I actually think this may be the best piece of artwork I’ve ever made....  Backstreets Back, alright!

Humpback Whales!

Hello Possums! Welcome to 2017. I hope you all had a stellar festive period. My services as a doctor have been marginally more in demand than my skills as a seamstress recently which is refreshingly different. Nothing scary I hasten to add; it just means that the other seat in my surgery has been put to a slightly different use than being the receptacle of my knitting wool.

And this has shaken me out of the post-Christmas sloth! I was sinking into a certain level of torpor; failing to do any exercise and eating many, many biscuits. Things had reached the point where I was starting to blame the snugness of my jeans on an over-powerful tumble drier setting. Denial is great! But having to move out of my comfy doctor chair (it doesn’t swivel. It really should swivel) has done me a huge amount of good and I’ve actually hit the gym twice this week.

Very wisely, however, I’ve decided not to burden myself with too many changes at once so I’m still eating quite a lot of rubbish. I became very upset today when I realised that one measly day after the new chocolate bar selection had been put out in the bar, some horrible little individual had bought all the Bourneville chocolate at once! Hoarding it in fact! I was very close to losing all sense of perspective. How on earth am I supposed to cope when I’ve run out of my own supplies? But then I attempted to recover said perspective and thought about the fact that I have formed the resolution of becoming a new and better Helen this year. A Helen 2.0 in fact. Rock hard abs are an integral part of this beautiful inner vision; on a slightly lower level of priority I might think about trying to read more medical papers. But obviously the abs are the most salient point and so someone buying up all the Bourneville probably isn’t that terrible...

I think part of my inertia recently has been down to a slightly glum mood that has settled over the ship. This cruise has been tough psychologically for everyone. Bad weather and the thickness of the ice around Rothera have meant that the end of the cruise has been put back a number of times. Understandably people are very keen to get home to their families and friends; the delays are frustrating for everyone. The fact that this particular science cruise has no fixed destination is also quite difficult to deal with. I think it’s easier to cope with the idea of a cruise that is going somewhere; if the ship is constantly tacking backwards and forwards over the same patch of ocean then there is nothing to look forward to (however valuable the scientific data acquired is).  My dad was looking at the ship’s tracker and asked me if the captain had dropped something as we just seem to meander back and forth!

We should have something to look forward to soon though. The science should shortly come to an end and then we can start to make for Rothera. By now the onset of summer should mean that the ice has started to break up and the relief of Rothera can begin at last. I’m very excited by the thought of seeing my Rothera buddy; I’m told that I have a painting in return for the quilt that I made her! And I’ve got my fingers very tightly crossed for some cross country skiing. I also have an excellent quiz planned for the day after the science finishes which will mean that everyone can at least focus on trying to lynch me for asking such ridiculous questions instead!

It hasn’t all been doom and gloom though. Two days ago we were lucky enough to be visited by a pod of Humpback whales. We were sat on station and the whales obviously wanted to take a closer look at us. I was standing on the Monkey Island with the idea of getting an excellent view from above but one of our scientists clearly had a better idea than that! She was up on the bow just as one of the whales surfaced and exhaled. The poor women was enveloped in fishy breath and I could hear her shrieks from up on high. I may have sniggered a little bit. The whales circled us for fifteen minutes or so before deciding to head off into the ocean, one of them lazily flipping a fin in what seemed like a farewell salute to us.

Photo taken by Alexander Burton-Johnson

Photo taken by Jeremy Robst

Photo taken by Jeremy Robst

The friendliness of our humpbacks is probably not that unusual. Humpbacks have been known to interact playfully with bottlenose dolphins and they’ve apparently been seen in mixed-species groups that involved minke, fin and sperm whales. Wikipedia also tells me that humpback whales have been known to defend other species from the predations of killer whales. They’re clearly intelligent hunters using something termed as the “bubblenet” method of hunting. A group of cooperating whales swim beneath a school of fish and blow bubbles in ever tightening circles around them. The fish are unable to escape from the whales because of the bubbles and eventually one of the whales will pop up through the centre of the bubbles and take a big mouthful of all the fish!

In the context of their obvious intelligence, curiosity and social behaviours, it’s heartbreaking to note that they were hunted to the verge of extinction by whalers. Estimates suggest that the global population of Humpbacks dropped by as much as 90% during the height of the whaling years. Their stocks are now recovering and in some areas their numbers approach their estimated levels before the days of whaling.

Other than looking at sea mammals and doing a bit of doctoring, I’ve spent a lot of my time crafting. I felt that I needed a wee break from sewing after doing the quilt, the fishing net and the strange red canvas sock that lives on the monkey deck so I’ve been knitting instead. I rashly agreed to knit my other half a jumper before I left the UK. I’ve resisted making him anything for a long time because...I’m a deeply selfish knitter. When people ask me to make them something my usual response is “No, but I’ll teach you how to knit.” Strangely most people’s enthusiasm for the item seems to wane at this point! (Although I have also become a strange sort of knitting Johnny Appleseed, spreading knitting clubs wherever I go.) But I felt that as I was disappearing for nine months, my good girlfriend points might need resuscitating so he’s getting a very snazzy cardigan. The lucky son of a gun!

Anyhow, that’s enough babbling from me. I shall leave you with the advice that if you wish to look at some very pretty pictures of Antarctica you should go to www.richardturnerphotographs.co.uk. Rich is the purser on board and apparently something of a dab hand with the old camera...