Of noddies, humpbacks, tubeworms and sea mats

Late last year I wrote an essay about the science and history of the Kermadec Islands for a gorgeous new book, Kermadec. I was just getting an excerpt from it ready to post when I heard that a Department of Conservation volunteer was missing off Raoul Island, presumed dead, probably the victim of a freak wave. Awful. Mihai Muncus-Nagy was from Romania, he was passionate about conservation and had always wanted to visit New Zealand and its beautiful outer islands.

These islands are wild. Another Department of Conservation worker died there in 2006 when the Raoul Island volcano erupted while he was taking temperature measurements at Green Lake.

I’ve never been to the Kermadec Islands, but when I was writing my essay last year, I immersed myself in the topic, and spent several days sitting in a glass-fronted house in Seatoun, while it rained outside, seabirds dived in the wind and waves crashed against the beach across the road.  A perfect setting to be writing about a group of islands and the marine sanctuary around them. There are calls for the Kermadec Islands and the waters around them to be made an ocean sanctuary, to protect the entire area from fishing and mining, and Pew Environment Group, who published the book, are leading the call.

You can buy Kermadec at Unity Books and Parsons Bookshop if you live in Wellington or Auckland or directly from Pew Environment Group if you don’t. It’s a beautiful book, with photographs as well as art from the group of artists who travelled to the islands last year – Gregory O’Brien, Phil Dadson, Bruce Foster, Fiona Hall, Jason O’Hara, John Pule, John Reynolds, Elisabeth Thomson and Robin White – hard cover, full colour and only $40!

Here is a slightly abriged excerpt from my 3000 word essay that appears in the book. Unusual for me, this time I got to write about critters.

A line in the ocean
On Raoul Island, tuis and red-crowned parakeets forage for nectar and insects in the pohutukawa and nikau that blanket the mist-shrouded slopes. Near the centre of the island, a caldera – a depression formed by land subsidence after a large eruption – holds three lakes that are home to the island’s grey ducks and pukeko. The smallest, Tui Lake, is a pond nestled in the bush, but Blue Lake is large enough for swimming and, until a 1964 volcanic eruption deposited sediment in the lake, was a fresh water source for the island’s meteorological camp.

Green Lake 2011, Elizabeth Thomson, acrylic, optically clear epoxy resin, glass spheres on wood panel, 1200 x 1200 x 30mm

The eruption came from Green Lake, Raoul Island’s steaming volcanic crater, where it’s said that the alkaline water will erase your fingerprints in 10 minutes. The Raoul Island volcano remains active. In 2006, a Department of Conservation worker was killed when the volcano erupted while he was taking a temperature measurement from Green Lake. The 30-minute eruption – the first in more than 40 years – came without warning and deposited metres of ash, mud and rocks around the lake. There have been no eruptions since, but earthquakes are an almost daily occurrence.

Raoul, with its fresh water and cloud forests, is the only island in the Kermadec group with a human settlement. The rest of the islands belong to the seabirds. Six million birds breed on the islands, and twice that many – representing more than 40 other species, including albatrosses, prions, petrels, and frigatebirds – frequent the area. While some seabirds make annual visits to the islands from breeding sites in Siberia and Alaska, 14 species breed in the islands, building their nests in branches of trees, high on cliffs, on rocky ledges and in crevices and underground burrows. Three of the nesting species are endemic – the Kermadec storm petrel, the Kermadec little shearwater and the white-naped petrel. Now that the rats are gone, the bird population is growing.

Some birds, the pelagic species, forage widely. A black-winged petrel was tracked travelling to Tonga and the Chatham Islands, a round trip of 3000 km, before returning to the burrow to feed her chick the oily mix of digested squid, krill and fish she had gathered. Other birds, like the small noddies and storm petrels, stay close to the islands, where they feed on tiny fish eggs, larvae and crustaceans from just beneath the water’s surface; or dive for squid, wings outstretched, as if in flight.

The endless sea
The ocean around the Kermadec islands, once a favourite with whalers, is now home to at least 35 species of whales and dolphins, many of them vulnerable or endangered. Bottlenose dolphins now frolic around the islands while families of sperm whales and mother and calf humpback whales pass by in their hundreds on an annual migration to Antarctic feeding grounds. Alongside them, critically endangered giant leatherback turtles, far from their tropical nesting sites, paddle through the deep water in pursuit of their jellyfish prey. Smaller green and hawksbill turtles forage in shallower waters closer to shore.

For 12 nautical miles around each island, the waters are protected, part of a marine reserve from which no species may be taken. These waters provide a sanctuary for a unique mix of tropical, sub-tropical and temperate species of fish. This is a rare ecosystem, where large predators rule, untroubled by fishing lines or nets. In the shallow waters, the Galapagos sharks and the spotted black grouper swim fearlessly. Deeper down the spiny dogfish competes with bass and bluenose for the tastiest prey.

Raoul Island is only the top 516 metres of a submerged giant volcano whose slopes extend for thousands of metres beneath the ocean. On the submerged flanks of the volcano, giant limpets park on the rocks, and anemones wave their multi coloured tentacles in the crystal-clear waters, gathering and grazing on passing plankton. Strange and wonderful species of corals, crustaceans, and molluscs make up a complex ecosystem that scientists are only beginning to understand.

The zone of imagination
Around the islands, deep beneath the ocean, is an undersea world of seamounts, trenches, black smokers and strange exothermic species that stretch the limits of the scientists’ imagination.

The Kermadec Islands stretch over 2 degrees of latitude, or 250 km. But in recent years, exploration of the ocean between New Zealand and Tonga has revealed that these islands are part of a 2500 km chain of mostly underwater volcanoes. This line of mountains – the longest underwater volcanic arc on the planet and the most hydrothermally active – is the result of a collision between the Pacific and Australian Plates. On the east side of the collision zone is the Kermadec-Tonga Trench, a slash in the ocean floor that extends 10,800 metres deep and into which no one has seen. West of the trench, stretching from New Zealand’s Bay of Plenty to Tonga, are more than 50 underwater volcanoes and the Kermadec Islands.

A crown for the Kermadec King 2011, Gregory O'Brien, acrylic on canvas, 460 x 460 mm

Scientists are only just beginning to learn about these underwater volcanoes, or seamounts, which were discovered in the 1990s. Recent underwater excursions, by deep sea submersible, have found widespread volcanic activity in the form of diffuse hydrothermal vents, where gas-rich hot water flows into the surrounding sea, and black smokers, where high pressure plumes of super-heated, mineral-rich water jet out of the rock, leaving chimney-like deposits of heavy minerals like iron and manganese, copper and gold.

Some of the strangest creatures in the Kermadecs exist around the hydrothermal vents. Living so far from sunlight, with no opportunity to photosynthesise, these “chemosynthetic” species draw energy from chemicals and minerals in the hydrothermal fluids. Around the vents are forests of stalked barnacles and clumps of giant mussels that provide food for predatory starfish and gastropods. Tiny orange shrimps swarm towards the warm waters where hot vent fluid mixes with the cool sea. Among the many odd creatures are the giant tubeworms, with their symbiotic bacteria that turn hydrogen sulphide – a poison to many species – into food. On top of the vent mussels, strange and tiny marine animals called bryozoans, whose intricate structures can only be seen through powerful microscopes, form colonies of hermaphrodite clones. Other species of bryozoan are found throughout the Kermadec waters – from the shallow waters around the islands to 8000 metres down the Kermadec Trench. The scientists who first named these creatures had an creative bent, and their names are rich with metaphor: different types of bryozoan are known as lace corals, moss animals, or sea mats.

The first major scientific exploration of the Kermadec Islands was in 1908, when New Zealand naturalist Walter Oliver led a small group of scientists in a year-long exploration of Raoul Island’s flora, fauna and geology. More than 100 years later, visiting geologists and biologists are still making discoveries about this remarkable group of islands and the ocean that surrounds them. Even so, the Kermadec region remains the least explored of all of New Zealand’s waters, and every visit yields new discoveries. In 2011, a group of plant, fish, shark and ecology specialists travelled to the Islands on a biodiscovery expedition that revealed new marine species, like the brilliant orange zebra fish, a small left-eyed flounder and a silver flying fish that landed on the boat in front of a surprised photographer.

Shoot the Breeze, 2011, Fiona Hall, tin and video, 230 x 190 x 30mm

Just as the biology and geology of the Kermadecs have long inspired scientists, who have shared their understanding of this world through scientific articles, lectures and photographs, the islands have now inspired a group of artists, who are sharing their experiences through poetry, paintings, sculpture and music.

Science and art might seem, at first glance, to be two different worlds, but in these islands the disciplines intersect, with both artists and scientists diving into this new environment, driven by a desire to discover, to interpret, to see things no one has seen before. Art and science merge when a scientist lovingly renders a map or an illustration, or carefully frames a photograph, or when an artist spends hours watching a bird or a fish, immersing herself in her subject and obsessively recording every detail. Beyond the specialist languages of science and art, the visitors use a common language, describing the Kermadecs as “exhilarating”, “spectacular” or “stupendous”; “a frontier of wonders” that’s “better than my imagination”; a “classroom”, a “mystic garden” that’s “wonderful and frightening”. But there’s one word that comes up more often that most. Again and again, visitors refer to the islands and the marine ecosystem as “pristine”. To scientists, this pristine, unspoilt environment is a “baseline of normality” that shows us what the world was like before humans began changing the planet.

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For artists and scientists, the Kermadec Islands, where birds fly underwater and fish jump into the air, where black smokers spew into the sea and earthquakes shake the land, are a place of imagination and inspiration. For the seabirds, sea creatures and marine mammals that live on and around the islands, they are a safe passage from breeding grounds to feeding grounds or, to many species, home.

But at the same time as new underwater species and ecosystems are starting to be documented – many of them weird and wonderful, and some of them endemic to the Kermadecs – they are under threat. The Kermadec Islands Marine Reserve, established in 1990, protects the waters near the islands, but outside of the 12 nautical mile no-take zone around the islands, fishing boats gather to net species shoaling above the newly-discovered seamounts, and mining companies fund exploration to assess the seafloor for minerals like gold, copper and lead.

Ghost Net 2011, Fiona Hall, Tongan tapa dye, ochre on barkcloth, 2040 x 2400 mm

Our planet is currently in its biggest mass extinction for 65 million years. If we want to protect our planet’s biodiversity – which scientists believe is essential for the health and resilience of our earth ecosystem – this pristine group of islands, and the expanse of ocean around them, is a great place to start. There are not many “baselines for normality” left on this planet. Let’s protect the ones we still have.

You can find out more about the campaign to protect the waters around the Kermadec Islands at The Pew Environment Group’s Global Ocean Legacy site.

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Antarctic playlist update

Before I went to Antarctica I asked people for recommendations on music to listen to while there, and I put together an Antarctic playlist.

Turned out I didn’t listen to much music while I was in Antarctica. It was too noisy in the C-17 flight down (those in the know were wearing noise cancelling ear muff thingies) and the rest of the time I was too busy being in Antarctica. Around Scott Base and McMurdo the soundscape was helicopters, monster trucks and wind turbines. On walks around the pressure ridges there was the gentle sound of flags flapping and whipping in the wind and the occasional sear roar. On bigger walks, though, when I wasn’t listening to the silence I did sometimes listen to music, and these are the songs that now evoke Antarctica best for me.

1. Glosoli by Sigur Ros for the endless trudging beat that goes through the song that echoed the sound of my boots trudge, trudge, trudging in the snow.

2. Holocene by Bon Ivor for the line “I can see for miles and miles and miles”.

3. A new song, that wasn’t on my list, but Alice played it to me while we were at Scott Base and sent me when we got home: Our Retired Explorer (Dines With Michel Foucault In Paris, 1961) by The Weakerthans. I smile every time I hear it. As well as just being a great song it manages to capture the foolish and fun aspect of our time in Antarctica: sometimes the only response to being somewhere so amazing and incredible – we’re in Antarctica! – was a bit of inappropriate giggling and we managed plenty of that.

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Alice’s Antarctic diaries

On my recent trip to Antarctica, my fellow writer and near-constant companion was Wellington poet and all-round writer person Alice Miller. We shared a bunk room together, made each other many coffees, bought each other many drinks, and went on daily excursions to visit historical huts and remote field stations and to have adventures like camping on the sea ice, cross-country skiing and ice fishing.  Best of all though, we walked. Sometimes with other new friends and sometimes just us, often walking close enough to each other to be safe in the case of sudden whiteout but far away from each other enough to have the sense of being alone in the Antarctic whiteness. I think it was in those almost-alone times that we each did the most writing.

Alice and Rebecca walking on the sea ice near Scott Base. Photo by Dr Nick Golledge.

While Alice was in Antarctica she kept an audio diary. I seemed to be constantly interrupting her while she was speaking but thankfully, that’s not on tape. Her Antarctic diary has been playing on Radio New Zealand’s Summer Nights. I’ve enjoyed listening to them over the last week or so. I’m fully immersed in my Wellington life now and it’s wonderful to be reminded of what we were doing just a month ago – to be reminded that it was real.

Here are links to her audio diary posts. Each entry is just a few minutes long:
Alice Miller Antarctica audio diary 1
Alice Miller Antarctica audio diary 2
Alice Miller Antarctica audio diary 3
Alice Miller Antarctica audio diary 4
Alice Miller Antarctica audio diary 5
Alice Miller Antarctica audio diary 6
Alice Miller Antarctica audio diary 7

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Scott Base, Scott Base, this is Rebecca

When I first arrived in Antarctica I felt like the world had just got smaller. This place that had lived in my imagination for so long was suddenly real and underfoot. I’d now been to the Arctic and the Antarctic, and many tropical and temperate places in between. The world was small. But over 12 intense days a small corner of Antarctica became my world and the endless, limitless, whiteness around us made the world big again.

Ivan the Terra bus, our ride to Pegasus field.

Yesterday morning we were collected early from Scott Base by Ivan the Terra Bus. Inside the bus, a sea of 4am faces looked out at us from red National Science Foundation jackets – Americans. Our group of 16 New Zealanders wearing Antarctica New Zealand’s orange and black coats crowded in to fill the bus. Out at Pegasus airfield, on the Ross Ice Shelf about an hour’s slow drive from Scott Base, we didn’t want to sit in the “departure lounge” – a heated insulated crate with chairs – so stood outside in our ECW boots and coats to wait for the plane to come in. The skies were clear and we could see we were in the middle of a large white plain, with Ross Island to the north, White Island and Black Island to the south, and the transantarctic mountains to the west. Parked alongside us were four red-tailed LC-130 ski-equipped Hercules, which fly to the South Pole and some of the large field stations. One of the Hercs was about to leave. A man pushed through the waiting scientists, calling out, “Who else for the Pole?”. I wish.  A Twin Otter landed, discharging a group of Italian scientists from Mario Zucchelli Station at Terra Nova Bay.

With its military planes, tractors and forklifts, monster trucks, containers and men running around in black carhartts, sunglasses and balaclavas, the whole place looked like the remote top secret headquarters of a nefarious plot to take over the world.

The C-17 unloading people and cargo from Christchurch. These people have just arrived from warmer climes so the bus drives right out to get them.

And then our C-17 arrived. The mostly red-coated American scientists disembarked. Forklifts cleared the cargo and loaded on new cargo – rubbish from the bases, an aeroplane propeller, scientific samples and the bags we’d checked in five days earlier. We boarded, and US Air Force flight ICE 38 bound for Christchurch took off soon after 7.30am.

Christchurch-bound cargo inside the C-17.

Now I’m home I feel like I’ve returned from another planet. I’m back in a world that looks dirty, messy, unkempt. I can’t believe how much STUFF there is in my house. I liked the simplicity of a world that was coloured white and blue, Scott Base green, the volcanic reddish black of Ross Island, and the occasional red or green of a flag. I want to paint my house white and put red flags on the walls.

I know, I know, I was only there 12 days. Many people stay for weeks, months and some stay for more than a year. They get the real Antarctic hangover. I’m sure I’ve got the mild version.

Scott Base green: Resene Chelsea cucumber. I think I'm going to paint my shed this colour.

But that place, that place. I love it. I’m already thinking of ways to get back there. I could continue with my earth sciences study and turn my honours degree into a Masters! If that didn’t cut it I could do another PhD! I could offer my services as embedded journalist cum field assistant on a major science project!

For now, though, I’m going to print out some of my Antarctic photographs and put them on the wall around my desk, alongside a map of Antarctica that’s already there. Alice just sent me a link to the Scott Base webcam, so I can check that every … well, hopefully not too often. I have articles to write for the Listener. I have an anthology of Antarctic science to complete and an essay to write as its introduction. It’s Christmas soon, and summer holidays, and I have a whole other life – a good life – that I need to pay attention to. But I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to get over Antarctica.

Scott Base, Scott Base, this is Rebecca. I’m off the ice. I’ve crossed the transition. I’m home.

Over.

And sometimes it was just crazy Hagglund-driving fun. Ciao! And thanks Scott Base!

Big thanks to Antarctica New Zealand, my fellow writers Alice Miller and James Borrowdale, and to all the Scott Base staff and visiting scientists for making my trip so wonderful and memorable. 

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Be careful what you wish for

A Weddell seal lying on the sea ice outside Scott Base.

When I arrived here, I didn’t want to leave. But now our stay has been extended. By a day. By another day. By two more days. On Thursday we did “bag drag,” where our bags were weighed and driven over to McMurdo for our C-17 flight scheduled to leave at 4am Friday. We decided to stay up for our 2am pickup but it was snowing, and the plane never left Christchurch. Flight cancelled. So now we’re left with the clothes we were wearing and whatever we’d packed into our carry-on bag. I had been warned. “You can check out but you might never leave,” said Matt Vance, media wrangler and our on-ice escort, at bag drag.

The flags, the ubiquitous flags.

National Geographic described the McMurdo Sound ice runway as the world’s number one extreme airport, and given that, I’m happy that they delay our flight out until conditions are good. Since we arrived last week, the runway has been moved from the sea ice to the permanent Ross Ice Shelf, where the ice is thicker. Even so, the plane from New Zealand won’t land if visibility is limited or if visual definition is poor – with white clouds and a white runway on the endless white ice shelf it all becomes too difficult for the pilot to see what’s what.

Last night I went to hear Robert Bindschalder lecture at the Crary Lab at McMurdo Station. His lecture – Poking the Pig – was about his work on the Pine Island Glacier ice shelf. The PIG, as he calls it, is the fastest moving glacier in Antarctica, or in Bindschadler’s words, “this sucker really roars”. Bindschadler says the key to understanding the PIG ice shelf lies beneath the ice, and that’s where they’re going to look. They’re about to set up a field camp on the glacier and are going to start direct observations of what’s going on beneath the ice.

For a science girl like me, hearing a rock star scientist lecture at the Crary Lab in Antarctica – well, it doesn’t get much better than that. I travelled over with Si and Oli, but chose to walk back to Scott Base on my own, on the scoria road over the hill, past the slowly turning wind turbines on Crater Hill. I waved at the red monster trucks and NSF vans that drove the road between McMurdo and Scott Base, while the snow fell around me and Sigur Ros played in my headphones. This place makes me feel so happy and so sad all at the same time. I keep having teary moments – about everything and nothing. I’ve spent lots of time surrounded by people here, but in the moments when I’m alone in all this vastness and flatness and whiteness, emotions seem to start leaking out of me like I’m an ice cube melting on a hot table.

The intrepid reporter at work: interviewing Andrew McMinn about the sea ice algae at Turtle Rock camp.

So now we’re waiting, and it’s nice. It feels completely appropriate to have a bit of melancholia here. I’ve done all my interviews for the stories I’m writing for the Listener and now I’m relaxing – today I did some writing and some walking – and just enjoying this place. I’m so lucky to be here.

Observation Hill is covered in a light dusting of snow. There are a few more baby seals dotted on the sea ice in front of the base. It’s been an incredible 10 days. I’ve been ice fishing for Trematomus pennelliwith Clive Evans and his team. I’ve driven a Haggland. I’ve been camping on the Ross Ice Shelf. I’ve been on a helicopter trip to the Taylor Valley and had coffee and peanut butter slice at an American field camp. I’ve talked to penguins and Weddell seals. I’ve been walking and cross-country skiing in the most incredible place on earth. I’ve made new friends with whom I’ve drunk whisky and discussed poetry, depression, careers, sailing, relationships, science and, what it always comes back to, Antarctica.

And maybe, just maybe, tomorrow I’ll make it home. To my family, my garden, a book I have to finish and to a summer where I can go outside without radioing in my intentions and putting on giant boots and layers of polypropylene, nylon and wool.

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A met observation and a visit to Scott’s hut

I woke up this morning to a happy birthday to Alice announcement over the PA, followed by some very loud Christmas music – Santa Claus is Coming to Town. When I got up there were Christmas decorations and trees everywhere. It was all very cute.

"The weather outside is frightful, but inside it's quite delightful ..."

Yesterday I did a meteorological observation with science technician Nita Smith. This synoptic observation – the same data is collected at met stations all over the world – is done every morning at 9am, 365 days a year, whatever the weather. In Condition One (visibility less than 30 metres or winds over 100kph or windchill lower than –73°C) the technician clings to a rope that runs from the door of the Hatherton Lab to the Stevenson screen outside. Nita says that when it’s really cold, if you have even a tiny bit of skin exposed for the few minutes it takes to make the observation, you can return with a nasty patch of frostnip.

Nita Smith at the Stevenson screen, Scott Base. Check out the wind turbines on Crater Hill behind her.

But no Condition One for us – apart from a bit of fog, it’s been Condition Three (visibility greater than 300 metres, winds less than 89 kph, windchilll less than –60°C) the entire time we’ve been here. Inside the Hatherton Lab we checked the anemograph, which maintains a 24-hour record of wind speed and direction, and the barograph, which records pressure. The instruments told us that there was no wind, the maximum gust over the past 24 hours was a 25-knot gust at 0345 that morning, and the air pressure was 971.6 hpa.

Outside we read the thermometers in the Stevenson screen, which revealed a maximum temperature over the past 24 hours of 2°C – “the highest all season,” said Nita – a minimum temperature of –4°C and a current temperature of –2.1°C, which Nita described as “pretty damn tropical”. The visual observation – 8/8 of cloud cover, light snow flurries – completed the observation. The astronomical observation will be the same all summer: next sunset? February 21, 1.16am.

Even Scott had a Stevenson screen.

Everyone has been talking about how warm it’s been this year. The melting snow has been causing a bit of trouble when it finds its way through cracks in the roof and suddenly starts dripping through to the floor inside. On his journey 100 years ago, Scott and his companions suffered from melting snow. On this day 100 years ago, they was stuck in a camp on the Slough of Despond, 12 miles from the Beardmore Glacier. It was warm, like it is now, but windy and snowing, with the melting snow inside the tents making life even more miserable.

“The storm shows no sign of abatement and its condition is as serious as ever,” he wrote on December 7, 1911. “Surely few situations could be more exasperating than this of forced inactivity when every day and indeed every hour counts. To be here watching the mottled wet green walls of our tent, the glistening wet bamboos, the bedraggled sopping socks and loose article dangling in the middle, the saddened countenances of my companions – to hear the everlasting patter of the falling snow and the ceaseless rattle of the fluttering canvas – to feel the wet clinging dampness of clothes and everything touched, and to know that without there is but a blank wall of white on every side …”. It goes on. And then he talks about the poor ponies, none of whom chose to go on a march to the South Pole. It’s all a bit distressing.

Bottles of chemicals and glass plates in Ponting’s darkroom.

We went to Scott’s Hut at Cape Evans – his last base in Antarctica – on Monday. A few years ago snow and ice build up was causing structural damage to the hut, and a century of freeze and thaw cycles were accelerating the decay of the artefacts inside. But the Antarctic Heritage Trust has now carefully restored the site, excavating snow and ice from beneath the hut and drying and repairing the timber walls and floors. Conservators – camped in a row of yellow tents beside the hut – are now working on all the items inside the hut.

Workbench covered in scientific optical equipment.

It was dark, cold and grim inside. At the end of a group of bunk beds – where Cherry-Garrard, Oates, Wilson, Meares and Atkinson slept – one of the men had pinned a photograph of a woman and two children, I’m guessing it was his family back home. But another of the men, I don’t know who – and it might have even been after Scott’s expedition – had a photo board with pictures of English dogs on it.I imagined that he must be young, with no wife or girlfriend, so he brought dog pictures instead. He missed his dogs. There was too much pathos, and it set me off crying.So I quietly wept my way through Scott’s hut, while still appreciating the jars of potions in Ponting’s darkroom, the optical equipment set up on the workbench, and the much-photographed boxes of Fry’s pure cocoa, Sunlight soap and Colman’s mustard in the kitchen.

Still food on the shelves in Scott's hut at Cape Evans.

Everyone says this place gets under your skin. I think it’s been under my skin for years, decades even. I know my time here will be fleeting and there’s no guarantee I can ever come back, so I’m longing for it even while I’m here. This place feels like coming home. I can’t quite make sense of it.

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