Week 3 - Slushy for a day and refuelling and resupply
Slushy for a day
 Precarious rope ladder exit from the Aurora Australis. |
 Kirrily Moore and Wendy on the barge heading to Casey. |
It's Sunday morning 20 December and I'm up early preparing for my first step on the Antarctic continent. Along with three others, I'm on 'slushy duty' in the Casey kitchen. We're told to put on our Antarctic survival gear – thermals, polar fleece, wind-proof jacket and pants, warm boots and socks, beanie and gloves and of course, sunscreen. At 7.30 we put on life jackets and, encumbered by so much clothing, waddle to the port-side exit where a wooden rope ladder swings a few metres above the barge. Willing myself not to fumble or trip, I descend safely and then we're off.
A few Adelie penguins greet us at the Casey wharf and then we walk up a gravel track towards the station, stopping every five metres to take photos. My first impression is surprise at the large outcrops of what look, to my non-geologist eyes, like pink granite boulders – perfect snow petrel habitat. Later in the day we discover that in fact many pairs of snow and storm petrels make their nests in rock crevices around the station and are the source of much distant chattering and squawking.
 Walking to Casey station. |
|  Adelie penguins greet us on our arrival at Casey. |
|  Snow petrel. |
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As we arrive at the colourful Lego-land of shipping containers that house the services and residents of Casey, I'm struck by the ski-village feel of the place. A few people trudge up and down the snow-covered paths, a network of pipes snake between buildings, a hägglund rumbles past and old building materials, stacked on scaffolding, sit partially buried in snow. Inside the 'red shed' – the main accommodation and eating area – clothing and boots fight for space in the small atrium allocated for outer-wear. Another door opens into the heart of the building, where people go about their business in socks and t-shirts. A small reading area is illuminated by large, picture windows with a view to Newcomb Bay, a few people are playing darts, and some upbeat music emanates from our next stop – the kitchen.
 Hagglund rumbling past. |
|  The red shed - the main living quarters on station. |
|  Aurora Australis in Newcomb Bay at Casey. |
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Four of us have been assigned slushy duty today and within minutes we're up to our armpits in washing up and food preparation. Two of my colleagues from head office are working as slushies for a few weeks and introduce us to the chefs, 'Rocket' and Steve, and start assigning duties. My first task is to make up two 5 litre buckets of milk and some juice (the station uses only powdered milk and concentrates of fruit juice and soft drink to reduce packaging waste). Next I slice year-old potatoes for the night's roast and then, foolishly, I volunteer to bone some trout.
 Melanie Pike peeling potatoes on slushy duty. |
|  Roger Springthorpe lends a hand in the kitchen. |
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 Trout waiting to be de-boned. |
Steve presents me with a large tray of the cooked fish and demonstrates the boning technique; chop off the head and tail, remove the skin, gently open the fish to expose the spine and, with a little care, lift the spine and a million tiny rib bones off the flesh. Easy. After the first five or so fish I start to get some kind of technique happening, although it's not exactly how Steve showed me. I worry about the expeditioners who will eat this fish in a terrine on Christmas day and hope they don't choke. It's slow going but at fish number 15 I start to feel a sense of achievement as I remove increasingly large pieces of flesh from the bone. As the last fish goes under the knife I look forward to a rest. My clothes and hands are covered in fish oil and fish bits and my back aches from hunching over looking for bones. Steve brings out two more trays of fish.
Some time later I have a chance to walk to Reeve's Hill, overlooking Newcomb Bay, where the ship is anchored. A large cross on the granite slope serves as a memorial to Deputy Station Leader, Geoff Reeve, who died of exposure on 6 August 1979 after becoming lost in a blizzard. It's a stark reminder of where we are. As we gaze across the mirrored surface of the bay, it's hard to believe this oasis of calm can disappear in a howling whiteout for days.
 Wendy at Reeves Hill. |
|  Wendy taking in the sights at Casey. |
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Back in the kitchen I vacuum seal some freshly prepared meals for expeditioners in the field. The chefs do a fantastic job creating nutritiously balanced and tasty meals every day, especially as the supply of fresh food dwindles. It's been about 13 months since the last resupply and everyone is keen for the fresh food containers to be unloaded from the ship. In the meantime, tinned and frozen supplies and station-made bread, keep stomachs full.
After snatching a meal it's time to wash up, sweep and mop floors, repackage all the left-overs, which will be transformed into something completely different for tomorrow's lunch, and wipe down tables. I'm impressed by the people who do this tiring and endless job every day for weeks or months, and by the chefs who patiently supervise people like me and turn out huge quantities and varieties of food for breakfast, morning tea, lunch, dinner...and field trips. Perhaps my desk job isn't so bad after all.
Refuelling and resupply
On Monday, day four at Casey, we begin pumping fuel between the ship and the two 'fuel farms' at Casey. According to our Voyage Leader, Doug, about 1.5 km of fuel hose is deployed from the ship, across the water, to a point on the shore and then to the station's fuel tanks. Once pumping starts it doesn't stop, and constant vigilance is needed to monitor the hose for any leaks and protect it from ice moving into Newcomb Bay. Teams of people in small inflatable rubber boats (IRBs) patrol up and down the line in four hour shifts throughout the night, nudging bergy bits away from the hose, while others monitor tank levels on shore. At 40 000 litres of fuel per hour, the transfer takes about 17 hours.
With the refuelling complete the resupply team turns to the enormous task of unloading all the cargo for Casey and the Wilkins Runway. First priority is an 18 tonne sled for Wilkins, which has to be moved before we can access all the other important stuff, like the fresh food containers. To do this some large floating platforms called Uniflotes are assembled first. We have five of these 5.2m x 2.4 m platforms lashed together, each capable of supporting eight tonnes, and which are manoeuvred by the barge or another work boat called the 'Pagadroma' (the scientific name for snow petrel). Once the Uniflotes are in place, the ship's crane lifts the sled over the side of the ship and lowers it onto the Uniflote.
 Unloading a refrigerated fresh food container from the ship |
|  Onto the Uniflote |
|  Off to Casey. |
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 Trucks in the 'tween' deck. |
With the top deck clear of the sled, the next layer of cargo – in the 'tween' deck (between the upper and lower decks) – can be accessed. Two refrigerated shipping containers of fresh food finally make their way to Casey, followed by a snow melter, a snow groomer and a tracked vehicle for Wilkins, a Toyota hilux, and containers filled with equipment relating to 'infrastructure', 'plumbing', 'telecommunications', 'science', 'mechanical' and intriguingly, 'mixed groups'.
Once the majority of cargo has been removed, various containers required for Davis (our next stop) and our next marine science project will be reshuffled to more suitable locations, and space made for cargo being 'returned to Australia' from Casey.
