An Antarctic Adventure
Thursday, January 15th, 2009
It was November, a summer’s night in Antarctica. At our camp some 2000 metres up in the polar mountains it was minus 28°c, but in the snug warmth of my tent it was only minus 23°c. The sun would be up soon, only 3 hours after it had set, and its heat would raise the temperature to a more friendly minus 15°c, warm enough to lure me out of my sleeping bag for a steaming hot breakfast of powdered porridge with hot water. Yum yum.
We had flown from Cape Town on an ex-military now-cargo Russian Ilyushin - no windows, and seats clipped in only to match the number of passengers. The burly steward had offered us ear plugs, which proved wholly necessary, and a spam bun, less so. Six hours later we had landed on the Antarctic continent at Novo, an air-strip 500 metres above sea level, and 100 kms from the sea. A modified tank drove us an hour away to Whichaway Camp which was to be our home for most of the next two weeks.
“We” were a disparate group of eight antarcticophiles on an adventure holiday, looked after by five mad professionals. We lived and slept under canvas. Our days were spent walking and climbing, kiting and skiing, abseiling and cramponing, and various combinations of all of them. We felt like real adventurers, but the next guests at Whichaway, Bear Grylls and his team of hard-core explorers, would have made us look like the rank amateurs we were.
We were there to experience what Captain Robert Scott had described as “this awful place”, or what his fellow-explorer Cherry Apsley-Garrard had called “the most beautiful continent in the world”, a description I am more inclined to agree with. It is a continent of stark beauty, of endless blue and white vistas, of silence and isolation, with a cold so cruel that nothing can live there except for seals, penguins and a couple of visiting types of bird. No plants, just some lichens. Only ice, some rock, and lots more ice.
I was keen to see what evidence there was, if any, of the great polar melt. I had read Nigel Lawson’s careful and balanced commentary on climate change (An Appeal to Reason: A Cool Look at Global Warming), and had judged that the natural sun-induced cycle of changes to our climate was all there was to it. Well, I now know this to be only partly true.
On walks down to a nearby glacier I had noticed lines and numbers painted onto some rocks. I later discovered these were the work of the nearby Indian research mission, who had tracked the retreat of the glacier each year since 1982. At that time the glacier was melting at half a metre a year; today the rate of retreat is 2 ½ metres a year, and accelerating.
The mission scientists have cut out cylinders of ice in some local lakes which allows them to examine in detail the perfectly preserved carbon (and other) deposits that have landed on these lakes each year for the last 200 years. I asked Dr Arun Chaturvedi, head of the Indian mission, what this meant. “Well”, he said in a disarmingly straightforward way, “The rate of the glacial melt and the evidence of the ice cores show that the rate of natural cyclical climate change is being increasingly exacerbated by man-made warming. If we don’t stop contributing to this process, the polar icecaps will melt and the sea-level will rise more than 5 meters by the end of this century. It could be sooner.” (Take a look at http://flood.firetree.net/ to see how this would affect coastlines around the world.)
“What can I do, as a private citizen, to slow down this process?” I asked. “Easy”, he replied. “Don’t drive a big-engined car, and don’t drive when you can walk or cycle.” He was so succinct, so certain and so convincing that I have had my old bike repaired. I’ve even started using it locally when before I would have used my car - a side-effect of my Antarctic adventure I was not expecting.
Nigel Johnson-Hill, January 2009


