Journal of Sir Hubert Wilkins (being an extract from his upcoming autobiography, reprinted with kind permission of the author)
14 November 1933
At last I have returned to this vast white land. I must confess that each time I depart, I ask myself if it will be forever. I wonder whether I shall manage to find more patrons willing to support explorations of new frontiers. Is this simply an addiction? All I know is that I never feel truly alive except when I am amongst this immense grandeur, with all of nature’s secrets beckoning to be found out.
After finally making our way through the ice pack that choked the Ross Sea, we entered clearer water and were confronted with the Ross Ice Shelf. Rising above the bordering sea ice, it forms a last icy barrier before Antarctica proper begins. It may be the world's largest body of floating ice, 600 miles long and rising in places to 200 ft. Before us there have been other visitors – Ross himself, Amundsen, Scott and Byrd, but still this place is so unknown.
The large wooden ramps were lifted from the hold of the Gabrielle and used to unload our expedition equipment onto the sea ice to establish our first camp. This was only a temporary affair as our base camp was to be set up on the Ross Ice Shelf. The rest of the day was filled with the work of unloading equipment from the hold.
15 November 1933
It is a striking contrast – the almost routine activities of unloading the ship which one might see in any port, surrounded by the scapes of ice and sea and the strange perspectives of the horizons. Behind us Mt Erebus looms over Ross Island, wisps of smoke rising from its volcanic peak. Those who fear the wilderness would be further confirmed in their beliefs after witnessing both the fire and ice of hell alongside one another. Amongst the noise of the tractors, men and dogs, there is the occasional crack of the ice shifting underneath us. Emperor penguins stride regally past our activities as though it was all an everyday occurrence here on the ice.
Gregor Pulaski and Enke Fiskarson led a dog sled team to find a suitable route over the sea ice and up to the ice shelf. On this important task they were accompanied by Gunnar, Neil, and Dr Salmonrun. Back at the camp, news was received by radio that Acacia Lexington’s expedition had made a successful flight (non-stop) over the South Pole. While quite an achievement, it still does not accomplish my desire to fly across the entire continent.
By mid afternoon, the two seater Fairchild had been unloaded and assembled under Reuben’s close supervision. A rough airstrip was cleared and, accompanied by Ralph Dewitt, I made the first flight of the expedition. Our initial task took us across the sea ice and up, over the ice shelf, to make a visual sighting of the sled team. The sight of men and dogs, so tiny, amongst the vast white plain, reminded me of the challenge of the task ahead.
It had been a hard task to take the sleds up to the ice shelf (particularly for Neil, who nearly fell into a crevice), however the team had reached the plateau by mid afternoon, in time to look back towards the ship and see us take off in the plane. Pulaski reported back by radio that a good area had been found for the first base camp.
We took the plane down low, with a little waggle of the wingtips, to say g’day, before setting off to find the Lexington Expedition base camp. I think some of the men below were a little worried by how close we flew, however they need not have been, as everything was well under control.
We turned the Fairchild E.N.E along the edge of the ice shelf, and it was no long before we were over the Lexington Expedition base camp – little more than a couple of hours sledding from our own location. The camp appeared well organized, with a good airstrip. We made a circuit, and then with a wave and tip of the wingtips, we set off back to our base camp.
16 November 1933
The nights are so short at this time of year, one must become accustomed to sleeping with bright sunlight leaking around the tent flaps. So it was early morning when the first tractor made its way up to the shelf so that it could begin work on the airstrip for the Boeing 247s that were being assembled next to the ship under the supervision of Reuben and Colt Huston. By afternoon our frozen tarmac was ready and the Boeings assembled. Shuttle runs commenced between the two camps, ferrying our supplies. I have observed that William Moore is in his element here, overseeing the organisation of the various tasks.
17 November 1933
Unloading of the ship was completed by the end of the day, and the ship made ready to move away from the ice and stand-off at sea for the duration of the expedition. We bid farewell to the captain and crew, and were gratified that Captain Vrendenburg took the time to thank our group for our efforts to find the saboteur on board.
18 November 1933
The shuttle flights continued, with everything on track until the sea ice began to break up. A great crevice opened near our first camp, running more than 100 yards inland. The cold dark sea that sloshed about within reminded us that we were not on dry land yet. Moore called a meeting of the relevant experts, and the general consensus was that the outlook was not good and greater speed was required. As the crack widened, we gave priority to the transport of food, shelter and food. At about 3pm a new crack opened up in front of one of the tractors. Thankfully the men were able to leap out before the heavy machine plunged into the icy sea.
With time against us, Neil suggested to Moore that a call be made to the Lexington expedition to request assistance. Moore agreed, and the call was made, however the reply was that their aircraft was away conducting a survey. A call was also made to the Gabrielle, which began moving in, but was two hours away.
My initial thoughts on our two pilots were reinforced during this effort – Ralph Dewitt appeared to thrive on the challenge, while Douglas Halperin appeared to find the pressure less enjoyable.
Despite our best efforts, by mid afternoon, the rest of the fuel was isolated on a floe, which then began to break up.
19 November 1933
The Gabrielle arrived in time to pick up some of the barrels from the floe, and we launched one of the life boats to pick up a few barrels still afloat. In all, it is estimated that we lost 30% of our fuel. Before retiring exhausted to the base camp, we searched for any evidence that the breakup of the ice was caused by some intervention, however this time our misfortune appeared to be simply down to nature herself. The afternoon saw Pulaski and crew set off in the sleds to lay out 250 miles of supply caches.
That night, as Neil and I slumbered in our “ANZAC” tent, we were awakened with a feeling of unease, to hear a bell – the radio’s alarm. By the time that we had stumbled over to the radio shack, Starkweather and Louis Laroche were already there. Laroche tuned the radio in and we listened to an anxious voice:
“Help! If you can hear me, land a party at once! This is Tony Hopewell, calling Tallahassie … Mac, can you hear me? Wait a minute, they’re …” And then we heard two loud bangs, before the transmission went silent. Laroche tried to raise them again, but without any luck.
With Starkweather’s agreement we readied one of the Boeings for a rescue flight. In the meantime, Laroche managed to raise the Tallahassie to learn that those on board could see that the Lexington expedition fuel cache and mess hall were ablaze. The Tallahassie reported being unable to land a party, and requested our assistance. After further debate, James decided on an overland expedition rather than one by air (although a follow-up flight was organized). I volunteered for the trip, along with Neil, Reuben, Dr Salmonrun and Gunnar. We were further delayed while James tried to convince Dr Piper that such a mission was no place for a woman. As with all previous attempts, Dr Piper failed to see reason and accompanied us.
Loaded up with guns, radios, and Reuben’s dynamite, we set off across the white ice and contrasting dark shadows. There was no trouble with navigation – the plume of smoke was an easy landmark. We halted out of sight of the Lexington camp. Reuben used binoculars to survey the scene – figures were moving around the camp, the radio mast had fallen and the radio hut was alight. One familiar blond haired Nordic figure (Henke Binch) strode around with a crowbar in hand!
James insisted on simply walking into the camp, although I argued against such a strategy. Reuben and Neil followed him in the sled, while Gunnar, Dr Salmonrun and I fanned out and took up positions in the snow, ready for any adverse response.
Henke bid Starkweather welcome in his strong Danish accent, saying that he had heard we were on our way, but that there was not much left to do. He did say that Acacia Lexington wished to see James in her hut. James strode over to knock on the door, while Reuben questioned some of the Lexington expedition about what had happened. He was told that two men - Bradbury and Doyle - had gone crazy and had had to be locked up in one of the huts, but not before they had caused a lot of damage and injured the radioman. The conversation was interrupted by the rising voices of James and Miss Lexington:
“Imbecile woman! I should have never allowed you to proceed!”
“You ignorant man!”
“Viper!”
“Buffoon!”
“Hold your tongue woman, or I’ll put you over my knee!” etc etc.
James finally stormed out of the hut shouting to us “Right, we’re going, we have been told we have nothing to contribute!” Whatever fondness there once may have been between the two now appears to be as dead as this frozen landscape. We did however catch a glimpse of Miss Lexington through the open door, and for the record, the men agree that she is a good looking sheila.
The rest of us were not quite ready to leave. Reuben and Dr Piper went in to see the two troublemakers. One man was curled up comatose, while the other sat and stared blankly ahead. The expedition’s doctor – Anthony – stood watch over them with a gun. The one who sat murmured “I hate spiders, I came here because there were none here, but now they are everywhere. I tried to burn them, I just got carried away.”
Dr Anthony reported that the two men (Bradbury, a cook and Dinsdale, a pilot) has been fine until that evening (working on moving fuel and equipment) when they claim they saw spiders coming out of boxes in their tent. Dr Piper’s professional opinion was that they were nutcases. Gunnar was also of the view that while the spiders were not real, the man genuinely believed that he had seen them.
Reuben questioned Henke further, but found that he was not particularly cooperative. In the meantime, Dr Salmonrun and I scouted around the perimeter of the camp, and spoke to one of the men cleaning up the mess – Chip Hooper, a filmmaker. Chip told us that the two men had run around calling out “They’re here, they’re here!” setting fire to fuel tanks and generators before they were brought to the ground. In response to my questioning, Chip told me that both Bradbury and Dinsdale had been on the flight over the South Pole. I wonder if the stress of such a dangerous journey had taken its toll. Dr Salmonrun also took the opportunity to ask whether the Lexington expedition had experienced any trouble such as sabotage before that night. Chip replied that things had been fine.
As I stood there amongst the charred and smoking debris scarring the purity of the white snow, I was reminded how precarious our presence on this continent is, and how dependant we are upon our tools and machinery to keep us alive.
Hubert
14 November 1933
At last I have returned to this vast white land. I must confess that each time I depart, I ask myself if it will be forever. I wonder whether I shall manage to find more patrons willing to support explorations of new frontiers. Is this simply an addiction? All I know is that I never feel truly alive except when I am amongst this immense grandeur, with all of nature’s secrets beckoning to be found out.
After finally making our way through the ice pack that choked the Ross Sea, we entered clearer water and were confronted with the Ross Ice Shelf. Rising above the bordering sea ice, it forms a last icy barrier before Antarctica proper begins. It may be the world's largest body of floating ice, 600 miles long and rising in places to 200 ft. Before us there have been other visitors – Ross himself, Amundsen, Scott and Byrd, but still this place is so unknown.
The large wooden ramps were lifted from the hold of the Gabrielle and used to unload our expedition equipment onto the sea ice to establish our first camp. This was only a temporary affair as our base camp was to be set up on the Ross Ice Shelf. The rest of the day was filled with the work of unloading equipment from the hold.
15 November 1933
It is a striking contrast – the almost routine activities of unloading the ship which one might see in any port, surrounded by the scapes of ice and sea and the strange perspectives of the horizons. Behind us Mt Erebus looms over Ross Island, wisps of smoke rising from its volcanic peak. Those who fear the wilderness would be further confirmed in their beliefs after witnessing both the fire and ice of hell alongside one another. Amongst the noise of the tractors, men and dogs, there is the occasional crack of the ice shifting underneath us. Emperor penguins stride regally past our activities as though it was all an everyday occurrence here on the ice.
Gregor Pulaski and Enke Fiskarson led a dog sled team to find a suitable route over the sea ice and up to the ice shelf. On this important task they were accompanied by Gunnar, Neil, and Dr Salmonrun. Back at the camp, news was received by radio that Acacia Lexington’s expedition had made a successful flight (non-stop) over the South Pole. While quite an achievement, it still does not accomplish my desire to fly across the entire continent.
By mid afternoon, the two seater Fairchild had been unloaded and assembled under Reuben’s close supervision. A rough airstrip was cleared and, accompanied by Ralph Dewitt, I made the first flight of the expedition. Our initial task took us across the sea ice and up, over the ice shelf, to make a visual sighting of the sled team. The sight of men and dogs, so tiny, amongst the vast white plain, reminded me of the challenge of the task ahead.
It had been a hard task to take the sleds up to the ice shelf (particularly for Neil, who nearly fell into a crevice), however the team had reached the plateau by mid afternoon, in time to look back towards the ship and see us take off in the plane. Pulaski reported back by radio that a good area had been found for the first base camp.
We took the plane down low, with a little waggle of the wingtips, to say g’day, before setting off to find the Lexington Expedition base camp. I think some of the men below were a little worried by how close we flew, however they need not have been, as everything was well under control.
We turned the Fairchild E.N.E along the edge of the ice shelf, and it was no long before we were over the Lexington Expedition base camp – little more than a couple of hours sledding from our own location. The camp appeared well organized, with a good airstrip. We made a circuit, and then with a wave and tip of the wingtips, we set off back to our base camp.
16 November 1933
The nights are so short at this time of year, one must become accustomed to sleeping with bright sunlight leaking around the tent flaps. So it was early morning when the first tractor made its way up to the shelf so that it could begin work on the airstrip for the Boeing 247s that were being assembled next to the ship under the supervision of Reuben and Colt Huston. By afternoon our frozen tarmac was ready and the Boeings assembled. Shuttle runs commenced between the two camps, ferrying our supplies. I have observed that William Moore is in his element here, overseeing the organisation of the various tasks.
17 November 1933
Unloading of the ship was completed by the end of the day, and the ship made ready to move away from the ice and stand-off at sea for the duration of the expedition. We bid farewell to the captain and crew, and were gratified that Captain Vrendenburg took the time to thank our group for our efforts to find the saboteur on board.
18 November 1933
The shuttle flights continued, with everything on track until the sea ice began to break up. A great crevice opened near our first camp, running more than 100 yards inland. The cold dark sea that sloshed about within reminded us that we were not on dry land yet. Moore called a meeting of the relevant experts, and the general consensus was that the outlook was not good and greater speed was required. As the crack widened, we gave priority to the transport of food, shelter and food. At about 3pm a new crack opened up in front of one of the tractors. Thankfully the men were able to leap out before the heavy machine plunged into the icy sea.
With time against us, Neil suggested to Moore that a call be made to the Lexington expedition to request assistance. Moore agreed, and the call was made, however the reply was that their aircraft was away conducting a survey. A call was also made to the Gabrielle, which began moving in, but was two hours away.
My initial thoughts on our two pilots were reinforced during this effort – Ralph Dewitt appeared to thrive on the challenge, while Douglas Halperin appeared to find the pressure less enjoyable.
Despite our best efforts, by mid afternoon, the rest of the fuel was isolated on a floe, which then began to break up.
19 November 1933
The Gabrielle arrived in time to pick up some of the barrels from the floe, and we launched one of the life boats to pick up a few barrels still afloat. In all, it is estimated that we lost 30% of our fuel. Before retiring exhausted to the base camp, we searched for any evidence that the breakup of the ice was caused by some intervention, however this time our misfortune appeared to be simply down to nature herself. The afternoon saw Pulaski and crew set off in the sleds to lay out 250 miles of supply caches.
That night, as Neil and I slumbered in our “ANZAC” tent, we were awakened with a feeling of unease, to hear a bell – the radio’s alarm. By the time that we had stumbled over to the radio shack, Starkweather and Louis Laroche were already there. Laroche tuned the radio in and we listened to an anxious voice:
“Help! If you can hear me, land a party at once! This is Tony Hopewell, calling Tallahassie … Mac, can you hear me? Wait a minute, they’re …” And then we heard two loud bangs, before the transmission went silent. Laroche tried to raise them again, but without any luck.
With Starkweather’s agreement we readied one of the Boeings for a rescue flight. In the meantime, Laroche managed to raise the Tallahassie to learn that those on board could see that the Lexington expedition fuel cache and mess hall were ablaze. The Tallahassie reported being unable to land a party, and requested our assistance. After further debate, James decided on an overland expedition rather than one by air (although a follow-up flight was organized). I volunteered for the trip, along with Neil, Reuben, Dr Salmonrun and Gunnar. We were further delayed while James tried to convince Dr Piper that such a mission was no place for a woman. As with all previous attempts, Dr Piper failed to see reason and accompanied us.
Loaded up with guns, radios, and Reuben’s dynamite, we set off across the white ice and contrasting dark shadows. There was no trouble with navigation – the plume of smoke was an easy landmark. We halted out of sight of the Lexington camp. Reuben used binoculars to survey the scene – figures were moving around the camp, the radio mast had fallen and the radio hut was alight. One familiar blond haired Nordic figure (Henke Binch) strode around with a crowbar in hand!
James insisted on simply walking into the camp, although I argued against such a strategy. Reuben and Neil followed him in the sled, while Gunnar, Dr Salmonrun and I fanned out and took up positions in the snow, ready for any adverse response.
Henke bid Starkweather welcome in his strong Danish accent, saying that he had heard we were on our way, but that there was not much left to do. He did say that Acacia Lexington wished to see James in her hut. James strode over to knock on the door, while Reuben questioned some of the Lexington expedition about what had happened. He was told that two men - Bradbury and Doyle - had gone crazy and had had to be locked up in one of the huts, but not before they had caused a lot of damage and injured the radioman. The conversation was interrupted by the rising voices of James and Miss Lexington:
“Imbecile woman! I should have never allowed you to proceed!”
“You ignorant man!”
“Viper!”
“Buffoon!”
“Hold your tongue woman, or I’ll put you over my knee!” etc etc.
James finally stormed out of the hut shouting to us “Right, we’re going, we have been told we have nothing to contribute!” Whatever fondness there once may have been between the two now appears to be as dead as this frozen landscape. We did however catch a glimpse of Miss Lexington through the open door, and for the record, the men agree that she is a good looking sheila.
The rest of us were not quite ready to leave. Reuben and Dr Piper went in to see the two troublemakers. One man was curled up comatose, while the other sat and stared blankly ahead. The expedition’s doctor – Anthony – stood watch over them with a gun. The one who sat murmured “I hate spiders, I came here because there were none here, but now they are everywhere. I tried to burn them, I just got carried away.”
Dr Anthony reported that the two men (Bradbury, a cook and Dinsdale, a pilot) has been fine until that evening (working on moving fuel and equipment) when they claim they saw spiders coming out of boxes in their tent. Dr Piper’s professional opinion was that they were nutcases. Gunnar was also of the view that while the spiders were not real, the man genuinely believed that he had seen them.
Reuben questioned Henke further, but found that he was not particularly cooperative. In the meantime, Dr Salmonrun and I scouted around the perimeter of the camp, and spoke to one of the men cleaning up the mess – Chip Hooper, a filmmaker. Chip told us that the two men had run around calling out “They’re here, they’re here!” setting fire to fuel tanks and generators before they were brought to the ground. In response to my questioning, Chip told me that both Bradbury and Dinsdale had been on the flight over the South Pole. I wonder if the stress of such a dangerous journey had taken its toll. Dr Salmonrun also took the opportunity to ask whether the Lexington expedition had experienced any trouble such as sabotage before that night. Chip replied that things had been fine.
As I stood there amongst the charred and smoking debris scarring the purity of the white snow, I was reminded how precarious our presence on this continent is, and how dependant we are upon our tools and machinery to keep us alive.
Hubert
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6:41 PM
