Many times, we at Davis (the Riviera of the south) have heard the distant rumours of cyclonic winds and ferocious gusts that are meant to normally be associated with this vast distant isolated continent dwelling at the bottom of the Earth. Mawson is renowned for it. The Casey crew have just spent days huddled in their hove’s.
Until now only the occasional tepid fall of snow and weary feeble breezes have braced our walks around our adventure playground at Davis.
It certainly remains firmly cemented in the psyche when you can’t see out of your goggles, let alone spot the person standing not even a meter away. Dragging every foot, one in front of the other, just focused on the retreat and warmth of the Living Quarters waiting for our return from the torture of this Antarctic blast.
For 24 hours or more we were confined to the haven of the Living Quarters and Sleeping Medical Quarters while the winds howled their discontent at our safety. It was an opportune time to catch up on computer work, stock reorders and research on the 48-hour Antarctic film competition that will soon be upon us in August.