Just as expeditioners at Casey were adjusting to the absence of their most unlikely comfort companion, a small but squeaky miracle waddled its way back into their lives. The Emotional Support Goose, presumed lost after its inaugural wash, was discovered shortly before the last flight departed from Wilkins Aerodrome—reunited with the community just in time for the long winter ahead.
Its return sparked a wave of quiet joy across Casey research station. As the last link to the outside world vanished over the horizon and the long Antarctic night began to close in, the goose re-emerged – not just as a toy, but as a symbol of continuity, care, and quiet solidarity.
For those wintering at Casey, isolated now until the sun begins to rise again in months to come, the goose is more than comfort. It is communication. In the often-unspoken emotional landscape of station life, the goose has taken on a subtle, powerful role. When someone is struggling – homesick, burnt out, or simply having a bad day – and words fail, the goose steps in. It is passed gently to them, with no need for explanation. Sometimes it is left hanging quietly on someone’s hook in the cold porch, an anonymous gesture that says: “I see you. I’m here.” In these small, thoughtful acts, the goose has become a part of the station’s emotional infrastructure.
Its presence now offers warmth during the most psychologically demanding time of the year. The lead-up to the winter solstice is marked not just by darkness, but by reflection, solitude, and emotional endurance.
In true expeditionary spirit, it has continued to venture far and wide across the icy frontier. From Jack’s Donga to Browning’s Peninsula, the goose has made a guest appearances at every recreational hut in the area. Most notably, it recently took up residence – if only briefly – at the famous Wilkes Hilton, where it reportedly got a bit too close to the fire while roasting marshmallows. Now slightly smoky (and perhaps more seasoned than ever), the goose wears the scent as a badge of honour, a plushy veteran of Antarctic leisure.
Despite its many adventures, the core purpose of the goose remains unchanged. It squeaks, sometimes awkwardly, during team meetings. It listens without judgment. It smells vaguely of smoke and marshmallows. And it’s a little lopsided from love. It’s perfect.
Whether tucked under an arm in the Red Shed, squeaked for comic relief during all-hands briefings, or waiting silently in the cold porch, the Emotional Support Goose has proven its resilience, just like the people who rely on it. As the winter darkness wraps around Casey Station, the goose is once again exactly where it needs to be – soft, squeaky, and here.
Lachlan Smith
Station Mechanical Supervisor (SMS)
Casey Station
