Twenty-two years is a long time by anyone’s standards – but as a gap between Antarctic winters? That’s something else entirely. It raises a natural question: what’s changed in all that time? And perhaps more curiously, what hasn’t?
Back in 2003, I spent a full winter at Mawson research station. When the opportunity to return came up more than two decades later, it was simply too good to pass up. So here I am, this time at Casey Station, surrounded by a new blend of expeditioners – some fresh to the ice, others returning for another round. I suspect I now hold the informal title of 'elder statesman' of the group, and possibly the only one whose Antarctic timeline starts back in the early 2000s.
Naturally, I’m often asked what’s different these days, and truth be told, I ask myself the same thing. The contrasts – both subtle and stark – have started to stand out the longer I’m here. Take getting to station, for instance. My first trip south was aboard the legendary Aurora Australis, waved off from Princes Wharf to the sound of a brass band. Four of us crammed into a tiny cabin, hoping the seasick among us kept it together for the two to three week journey across the Southern Ocean. Once we arrived, a chopper dropped us on station. It felt like a proper expedition.
This time around? A short drive to Hobart Airport, a smooth five-hour flight on an A319 to Wilkins, followed by a bumpy but brief bus ride to Casey. The contrast in effort is striking. What was once an ordeal now feels like an unusually cold commuter flight.
Once here, the stations themselves don’t seem too different. The core buildings, built in the ANBUS style, are still standing firm. The ANARESAT domes and converted shipping containers are still being put to creative use. There’ve been tweaks and comforts added over the years – enough to make life more livable – but not so much that it feels unfamiliar.
Jollies are still a highlight, but how we go about them has changed. Gone are the days of jotting your name on a whiteboard, grabbing a quick chat with comms, and swinging by the kitchen for a scotch fillet before heading out on a whim. These days it’s all about forms, sign-offs, detailed itineraries – sensible measures of course, but a far cry from the carefree Fridays we used to know.
The field huts remain beloved constants – weathered havens tucked into remote corners of the ice. They’ve had a few upgrades: solar panels now power radios and lights and generators keep the warmth going. The old tilly lamps and green lanterns have largely disappeared but the charm of roughing it hasn’t. If you find yourself tenting out in the field, the old polar pyramids have been replaced with lighter polar domes. Practical yes – but they don’t allow for standing up, stretching out, or gathering four around a heater the way their bulky ancestors did.
Transport around station has evolved, too. The humble quad bike, once a mainstay for both station use and jollies, is now largely restricted beyond the perimeter. The Hagglunds are still going strong – more numerous these days – and Polaris vehicles have joined the mix for quick runs around base. The gear hasn’t changed dramatically, but the regulations and usage certainly have.
There’s been a notable shift in cold weather clothing. The old freezer suits, ventiles, and mukluks are out, replaced by Gore-Tex layers, Carhartt gear, and proper insulated boots. Tradies now sport high-vis gear as standard. The clothing is lighter, warmer, and frankly a lot more stylish.
Technology, unsurprisingly, has seen the biggest leap. Back in 2003, we were just starting to experiment with digital cameras – one to five megapixels if you were lucky – and every station still had a darkroom in case you preferred film. Each bedroom had a landline phone for expensive calls home, and the internet was basic at best. Sending a single photo in an email could slow down the entire station. Now? Mobile phones are the go-to tool for photos, videos, messaging, and free calls home via wifi. People are streaming movies and sport from their bunks. Even drones have arrived, offering stunning perspectives for anyone keen to capture the vastness of our surroundings.
Despite all that, the most important constant remains: the people. The faces change, but the quality doesn’t. The AAD has always had a knack for finding good humans – resourceful, kind, funny, and capable. I made lifelong friends back at Mawson and I’ve no doubt I’ll do the same here at Casey.
So, after all this time, what’s the verdict? In many ways, not much has changed. The essence of Antarctic life – its beauty, its challenge, and its profound sense of community – remains untouched. No matter the technology, the vehicles, or the paperwork, it’s still the same incredible place that we, for a little while, are lucky enough to call home.
Oh and yes, the wind? Still howling. Still unforgettable.
Col Heaslip
Winter Chippy
Casey Station
