Leaving Perth last November on a 12 month stint to the white continent, this wide eyed sandgroper (that’s what we are referred to by eastern staters, yet never heard the term spoken publicly in WA) who lives and breathes white beaches, blue oceans, red sunsets and says the proverbial “it’s a dry heat”, embarked to a place that is the complete opposite and required a little more clothing than the trusty thongs, shorts and Bintang singlets. For the record, I have never bought or worn one of said singlets, it’s a prize for visiting Bali at least 17 times in a calendar year.
I’ve always pondered the question to why I was chosen to go and it finally made sense, being deployed to one of the most isolated places on earth from one of the most isolated cities on earth. I’d be in my element, at least it was a welcome reprieve from the terrible drivers and bitie sharks.
So what does a day in the life of an Antarctic boilermaker look like? I don’t even know what a boilermaker does, do you? I’m from a boatbuilding background. Do we fix boilers? What do boilers even do? Is it a term that has just stuck from the industrial revolution? Anyway I digress.
Leaving my job behind as a fabricator/welder (seems more fitting, less archaic, I’ll go with that) working on public art and sculptures for the past 12 years or so, Casey station was to be my muse. Prepared to put my flair on whatever project came my way and leave my mark, leave an enduring legacy, so I can say “I did that”… (which I have done!). You will not find a better shovel repair technician this side of the Antarctic. It’s an essential piece of equipment down here…for breaking it seems.
Apart from the constant stream of broken shovels that are anonymously dumped in my workspace on the daily, I’m a team of one, helper of many, in charge of my own destiny, worker to at least three supervisors on last count, maybe four, I’m shared amongst all the other trades like a bowl of fried rice on a lazy Susan at a Chinese restaurant to solve problems, weld the un-weldable, fix the unfixable, drill the un-drillable, pretend to know what I’m talking about and perform metal miracles just because I know how to use the settings on a welding machine and I make zap zap noises.
Once it was known what I did for a living back at home, the expectation by my fellow expeditioners is to create art out of whatever I do now, turn Casey station into a walking tour of sculptures and art installations inspired by penguins, icebergs and 70knt blizzards…I’ll try my best.
In all seriousness though, I’ve helped on a range of jobs large and small that have been critical for the day to day running of the station, namely the melt lake pontoon that rose from the icy ashes like a majestic Adele penguin. No matter how small or insignificant some jobs may seem, it all contributes to the bigger picture and keeps the station running for all of us who are down here, the scientists and future expeditioners.
The past 6 months I have had the best time and been a part of some incredible, unforgettable experiences. Living and working in Antarctica truly makes you humble and proud to be part of such an amazing opportunity, never would I have ever thought that I would be down here doing what I am doing but here I am.
That’s all for now, I must go, my skills are required, Chef Nick is asking whether I can make him a set of Crumpet rings…Ohhhhhhhhhhhhkay.
