The journey to Antarctica of a coffee bean is similar to that of an expeditioner.
How much food is required to satiate 33 brunch deprived Australians? The answer is apparently at least 62 kg of dried bananas, 2,160 individual 6 inch corn tortillas, 1,888 blocks of unsalted butter and 4 boxes of Twisties. A few items are hot commodities, like our 2.4 per person per week “fun choccy” allocation – think Mars Bars, Kit Kats and Twix. A few others not so much, like gluten free, no coconut muesli, circa 2022. Despite how strange our food mix may seem for those not in Antarctica, we are grateful for the journey each Chicken Noodle Cup, lump of frozen pumpkin, bottle of Tabasco or bucket of haloumi has gone through in order to boost our mid-winter morale.
Pretend, dear reader, you are but a humble coffee bean, imported from our Tasmanian supplier. No doubt you’re unaware that you’ve embarked on a journey of unquestionable necessity. From the farms of South America, you have sailed across boundless oceans aboard a container ship, rattled along highways to be roasted and then sealed in an aesthetic black bag of glory before being boxed up to fulfill your destiny at Casey station.
At a time when us 'Expos' were probably paying $7.50 for a large soy cap in Hobart last year, you rattled within a carton and were loaded into a humble 10 ft container alongside esteemed cargo including Cheds, Lindt Balls and BBQ Shapes, which are undoubtably the true pillars of Antarctic civilisation. You and your bean shaped friends were then entrusted to the mighty Nuyina, crossing roughly 3,400 km of Southern Ocean, before being craned onto a barge, ferried to Casey wharf and hauled up (with only mild skidding) the icy road by Hydrema to the Greenstore – the great warehouse of the South.
There, you enter a period of deep reflection. Carefully unloaded into silver cages, you sit for months in cold, silent contemplation, awaiting the day fate would summon you. Eventually, that day arrives. As the cache of 'Red Shed' stocks dwindle, you, as the chosen one, are loaded into the tray of a Polaris and transported with all the dignity you deserve to your temporary resting place, 'Patagonia'. Less mountainous than its namesake, but equally warm, full of wonder and most importantly, accessible during a blizzard, when the snug expeditioners are unwilling to make the trek to the Greenstore. One morning, the coffee grinder emits its sacred cry of emptiness. Your metaphorical ears perk and are alert to the sound as you’re carefully lifted by a Croc-wearing expeditioner and cradled. Carried down the hallway, you’re on parade like a royal procession to the altar of Casey’s glorious machine.
Much like us, you have now endured ships, cranes, barges, beginner truck drivers, bureaucracy, and months of storage at 1.4°C. In the end, you met your destiny: overpacked into a group head, pushed through a tightly compressed puck and hurriedly blended with burnt milk. But hey, you win some, you lose some and ultimately, you’re providing us with a little taste of home, which gets us expos through till the 10:30 am sunrise – without us having to make small talk with a random barista who wants to upsell us a two-day-old, sub-par cookie, and judging us for not having a Keep Cup.
Also, hello to all the Casey mums, dads, friends and families out there (especially Sarah, Mark, Marie and Vanessa) – we miss you all and hope you’re all enjoying the oceans, trees and bird noises wherever you are! Also, Marty, make sure you finish your deck and eat a smoked almond for me!
Xoxo – Charlotte – Casey Station Supply Officer (SSUP) and 1/4 of the vegetarians on station (thanks Chef Matt for all that you do!).
