As a newbie AAD Field Training Officer (FTO) with two months of a 14-month deployment under my belt (not including six weeks on a boat to get to Mawson Station) – unsure exactly what to expect when boots hit the ground – these are my tongue-in-cheek practical observations and experiences so far (with some help from artificial intelligence the day before this very important Icy News submission was due).
Jollies
ChatGPT states that the FTO is the recreation provider. Strange that that’s the first thing that comes up, but I’ll carry on. It seems the FTO is repeatedly referred to as the ‘jolly’ master. Banter such as “Arh, back from another ‘jolly’ hey mate!?” is frequently directed at me upon returning to the comfort of the mess (the Station's nerve centre) after days of being subjected to icy katabatic winds and sub-zero temperatures while wiping the slowly defrosting mucus from my moustache – and yes, while yawning at their flippant assertions. But it’s quite simple – they want to be me. Well, that’s a stretch, maybe not me exactly, they just want to be out and about like me. Why? Because it’s fun, diverse, interesting and I do exciting ’jolly’ type ‘stuff’ (clearly). It’s not your typical 7.30am to 4.30pm kind of job though.
Of course, we make sure expeditioners partake in great recreational experiences. For instance, we crank the indoor climbing wall up, and get out and about climbing on local mountains on the ice and rock - and even get them roped up trudging out on crevassed glaciers to the abandoned remnants of a Russian aircraft.
But, as the title implies, the FTO is the pundit that delivers ‘stuff’ like training. Foundational modules of survival, field travel and Hagglunds tracked vehicle (known as a Hagg) all happen in the early days and then lots more as the season progresses. Other ‘stuff’ like technical Search and Rescue (SAR), sea ice travel training, or glacier travel and crevasse rescue training. During this training we get to see what makes people tick (and, well, not tick at all). And that’s exactly what’s its been about so far.
Not all ‘jollies’ are created equal.
Exposing expeditioners to safely driving a Hagg on undulating greasy blue ice on the plateau (while they bizarrely feel the need to drive as if it’s on a six-lane metropolitan highway on a warm summer afternoon – sometimes like it's stolen) has its white-knuckle moments but where else could you do that? What a jolly.
Or, introducing expeditioners to efficiently preparing a delicious ‘nearly out of date’ dehydrated emergency survival ration (which I generously offer at no charge) accompanied by a thoughtful jerry can of pristine glacial water (to be fair, usually ice) during field survival training is just simply another day at the office. Although I’m totally convinced they think it’s a ‘jolly’ at this stage in −25°C and 15 knot winds.
But it doesn’t end there. I even throw in the odd survival ‘knowledge bomb’ by delivering tall stories reciting outrageous high-altitude mountaineering adventures stolen from other people’s Facebook feeds as ‘life lessons’, huddled around a barely-effective gas heater in a cramped field hut after expeditioners feel the onset effects of dehydrated meals on sensitive stomachs for the first time (if you get what I mean). I shudder at the thought of these outings being ‘jollies' … but where else could you do this?
It’s all coming together.
So, this FTO business is more than being the recreation provider. It’s all about assisting expeditioners to develop and hone new personal skills and become effective team members. To achieve goals and outcomes safely in this unique and at times hazardous environment. Whether it’s just observing the ‘low hanging fruit’ of expeditioners cooking that perfect dehydrated beef and black bean meal, or observing them drive a Hagg over the ice plateau precisely following a GPS route in a total white-out blizzard, or witnessing my technical SAR team plan and hoist a stretcher up an ice wall while conducting a vertical rescue exercise, it has been rewarding. It’s actually been beyond rewarding. If that’s the first two months, I look forward to the next 12 months!
Stay icy.
By Lee Warner, SFTO Mawson Station
