Antarctic Discovery: Lost at Sea
by Bob Ballard
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: The burial cairn of Captain Robert Falcon Scott is rediscovered on the Ross Ice Shelf in Antarctica, 100 years after his fateful expedition.
Swearwords: None.
Description: The burial cairn of Captain Robert Falcon Scott is rediscovered on the Ross Ice Shelf in Antarctica, 100 years after his fateful expedition.
I was back in Antarctica, on the hard-cold ice. A savage blizzard blowing off the Plateau. It was October, despite being spring in the southern hemisphere, we were down to -25 centigrade, frozen air sucking the breath from our lungs. My mind drifted to Scott and Amundson, struggling across the high Antarctic Plateau, reaching out for the South Pole that year of 1912. Our three-man expedition was down on the Ross Ice shelf, challenging as well as unforgiving, however, a different beast to the Plateau. Those early Antarctic explorers could barely imagine the complex kit we now had at our disposal; snowmobile transportation, GPS, satellite phones, high tech clothing. They had been an altogether different breed of men.
I could just about make out the tail light on Sam’s Ski-Doo. I knew that Ben Atherton’s snowmobile was even further on, slowly, carefully inching forward, probing for crevasses or ice bridges – one misjudgement and all three of us would vanish into the abyss!
That June, I was in Cambridge, visiting the British Antarctic Survey. It was high summer in England, balmy evenings sitting outside country pubs, enjoying friends. So very far from that extreme Antarctic environment I was so familiar with. I was enjoying my pint of ‘Taylors Best’ ale when my mobile rang.
‘Pete, this is Sam Stuart, heard the famed Kiwi is gracing the northern hemisphere with a personal appearance no less!’
‘Sam, well hello,’ I laughed, ‘BAS said you were at Summit Camp in Greenland?’
‘Was, flew into Glasgow today, back in Cambridge tomorrow. If you can spare the time Pete, love to see you. Got something for you, however, not for the networks!’
‘Sounds compelling Sam. Okay, how about food and real ale, at “The Eagle”, tomorrow evening?’
‘You’re on! Should give me time to get out of this polar kit and have a shower before dinner. Smell like an old donkey, two weeks on the Greenland ice with barely a lick!’
‘Spare me the detail Dr Stuart…... Anyway, so how long has it been, two years?’
‘Yep, be about that, since we ran into our old friend Titus!’
‘That’s enough Sam, maybe it’s prudent not to awaken old ghosts.’
‘Might have to Pete, something of interest has turned up in the Antarctic. Information comes from a reliable, secure source. Will reveal all tomorrow!’
‘Well, that might suggest intrigue, could even be sinister Sam?’
‘Way beyond sinister! See you tomorrow Prof.’
Ours was also a particularly sinister story. Dr Samantha Stuart and myself had been on expedition in the Queen Elizabeth and Queen Alexander Ranges in Antarctica two years previously. We are both Glaciologists. Sam is working with the British Antarctic Survey. In the Antarctic summer I’m working out of New Zealand’s Scott base at Hutt Point, around the corner from the huge US McMurdo station.
Four days into our expedition we’d discovered a human corpse, frozen into a rock face, perfectly preserved in the hard-blue ice. He was Captain, Lawrence, Edward, Grace, ‘Titus’, Oates. A member of Captain Scott’s South Pole Expedition. He was presumed to have died on 12th March 1912, on the return from the attempt to reach the South Pole. It was documented, suffering from gangrene and frostbite, he’d walked away from the expedition tent during a blizzard. This selfless act enabling his exhausted colleagues to travel faster, without him as an encumbrance. He walked to certain death. For his courage, ‘Titus’ Oates, walked into history. His body had been entombed in the ice for over a hundred years.
For Sam Stuart and I the discovery had been both shocking and traumatic. It also hurled us into a scientific, as well as an emotional, vortex of confusion. Should we announce it to the world, endure the inevitable deluge of ‘media’ onslaught, or just hold on to the history - the mystery of ‘Titus’ Oates’s fate? It was our joint decision to walk away from the good Captain and leave him at peace. An easy decision for myself. For Sam it was a sacrifice - much scientific kudos would have accompanied disclosure of our discovery, not to mention career, plus commercial benefits. Sam was the best kind of scientist though, she always sought knowledge and truth. She was no attention seeker, Samantha Stuart.
‘The Eagle’, that splendid historic Cambridge pub. The English were ‘accomplished’ at pubs. Sam sat opposite, it was good to be in her orbit once more.
‘That’s some tan Dr Stuart, I guess a high-altitude Greenland Ice Cap tan?’
She smiled, ‘Sure is. Some place Summit Camp, stuffed with scientists this time of year. However, I was working with the East-Grip team. Have they got some ice coring kit!’
‘Go down deep?’ I asked.
‘They are down to 2000 metres. Interesting data being retrieved. Scary levels of ice melt across the Ice Cap, Pete.’ Consternation clouded her face.
I raised my eyebrows, I knew all about the ice melt on the Greenland Ice Cap. However, I was intrigued to hear the Antarctic ‘news’ she carried.
‘Okay, so what’s so big you hot foot back from Greenland to see an ancient Kiwi Professor?’
‘Ancient, Pete?’ she half laughed. ‘Look, got a call from an old colleague, Ben Atherton. You’ll know about the fracture that’s opening up in the Ross Ice shelf?’
‘Sure, the “Ross T1” calving away from the main Ice Shelf. It’s a considerable piece of ice. Lots of high tech equipment on the case, regular satellite passes etc. Got us all concerned Sam, it’s an unusual event.’
Sam continued, ‘Ben is currently working out of McMurdo. He’s been taking a serious look at the fracture area. He was monitoring the separation zone along the Ross Ice Shelf, calculating expansion between it and “Ross T1”. He was belayed on a rope right at the edge of the division. The rest of his team were a hundred metres or so in his rear, for safety’s sake. Ben said there was a gap of 90 meters of ocean between the two ice sheets, that’s when he observed the anomaly!
‘Anomaly, Sam?’
‘A cross constructed from two wooden skis, poking out of the ice cliff, about thirty metres below him. The cross protruded from an ice formation that was “wholly incompatible” with the local ice topography, according to Ben. He got a position fix, didn’t relate what he’d seen to the rest of the team. Those skis, in the form of a cross, they can only mean one thing! Robert Scott, Wilson and Bowers are nearby, it has to be the remains of the ‘burial cairn’ Pete!’
On that ill-fated Antarctic expedition of 1911/12 Evans had died first, then the inimitable Oates. Scott, Wilson and Bowers had struggled on, growing ever weaker, supplies almost exhausted, in appalling weather. All three perished in their tent sometime towards the end of March 1912. They were just eleven miles from ‘One Ton depot’, a cache, containing reserves of food and fuel.
Their remains were discovered in 1913 by the ‘Relief Expedition’ which set out to search for them after the long Antarctic winter. An ‘ice cairn’ was raised above the tent containing the bodies. The cairn was topped by a cross made from two wooden skis lashed together!
‘One question Sam, why did Ben Atherton convey his discovery to you only?’
‘Pete, Ben’s been researching Titus Oates and where his body might be located for several years, always keeping things to himself, least he be accused of being a ‘basket case’! He was at Uni with me, we go back a long way. He read our joint paper relating to our field expedition, calculated we’d been in the area where Oates disappeared. I didn’t mention our discovery. However, he suspects we found something, he’s known me too long. That’s why he contacted me, I think Ben wants a trade off! He will share his data about Robert Scott, if we come clean about Oates. Excepting yourself Pete, there isn’t another scientist I trust more. Ben’s utterly trustworthy, utterly discreet, totally Antarctic centric!’
I didn’t hesitate, ‘Then, we should meet the guy. He wants to find Oates, we’d like to find Robert Scott. That’s the only qualification Sam!’
Ben Atherton impressed me way beyond my expectation. He was above all an ‘iceman’. Whilst his scientific qualifications were exemplary, he had a forensic understanding of the Antarctic. He also happened to be passing through Cambridge, another reason to re-visit ‘The Eagle’!
At the meeting which subsequently occurred between the three of us, Sam and I took a calculated risk, we disclosed our discovery of Oates’s body, the whole story, the whole truth.
Ben was incredulous; ‘I can’t believe you both feel you are able trust me with this. It’s incredible, you’ve located Titus Oates! I’m astonished. It’s a profound discovery for the whole Antarctic world. None-the-less, please be assured your discovery is beyond secret, you have my word. Perhaps I might be given the opportunity of visiting the location of his grave at some point?
‘Don’t worry Ben, a solemn promise, we’ll take you to Titus Oates!’ I said.
We agreed to join Ben on the ice, at the start of the Antarctic season, in October. Whilst assisting Ben carry out genuine, serious research on the ‘Ross T1’ separation, we’d also be seeking Robert Falcon Scott’s final resting place. At a future date, as promised, we’d take Ben to observe Oates grave.
Sam’s brake lights shocked me out of the cold, we drew alongside Ben, riding our powerful Ski-Doos. He pointed ahead, ‘GPS is telling me we should be right on station, confirms yesterday’s satellite data. The Channel between the Ice Shelf and ‘Ross T1’ is about half a kilometre ahead. Okay, so really slow on the throttles for the next couple of hundred metres. Then we’ll stop, set up a camp and we’ll also do a brief recce along the edge of the ice. All okay with that?’ We held up thumbs in the ice numbing air.
The great thing about modern day polar kit is how fast it can be utilised. Once we’d halted, a functional camp was created within minutes. Out of the frozen air, in an insulated tent, we all revived, our tired limbs easing, the steaming coffee and high energy snacks restoring our countenance. Ben was keen to go though, half an hour only, then back out into the cold. However, there were signs the cold front was finally moving through; a hint of sun, less wind, temperature rising.
Three days later we were still searching. We’d worked our way laboriously along the fracture line between the ‘Ross T1’ and the Ice Shelf – nothing! Ben had systematically re-examined his calculations, checking his original position fix - accounting for ice drift, we had to be in the right area. Also, the fracture between the ice sheets was clean, any foreign object protruding from the ice cliff would be immediately observed from above. Our doubts assailed us; was it possible that the cairn had already collapsed into the gulf between those vast ice sheets, vanishing for all time into the Southern Ocean?
Today it was my turn to ‘walk’ the fracture line. The weather had cleared totally. This morning there was a stunning vista, a blinding white cliff edge, plunging vertically into the ink blue ocean. A gift of a day, just a clear blue sky, no wind, silence - a spring day in Antarctica! However, in this ‘land of white’, everything will change within seconds, you can leave nothing to chance.
At one precise moment in time I was carefully moving forward through the silence, the next there was a cacophony of chaotic sound. The snow beneath my feet collapsed, a gaping fissure opened around me, swallowing me whole. I saw blue ice as I plunged down into the dark depths. I heard my rope screaming as it ripped across the edge of the crevasse. My world grew dark as I felt myself free fall into the endless void, then a sickening jolt as my rope was finally belayed from above by Ben and Sam. They’d managed to arrest my fall. I was swinging in space in near total darkness. Then more cracking, more horrendous sound as the ice around me collapsed. A great slab moved away from the cliff, calving into the ocean below, there was a flash of blinding light as the sunlight found me again. The sound of the ice slab, weighing thousands of tons, hitting the water was immense, the shock wave swung me around wildly on the rope, mercifully still firmly attached to it. Then silence as the swinging decreased, I was slowly turned back to face the ice cliff. There lay before me a poignant horror and tragedy from those early days of Antarctic exploration.
Most of the cairn had broken away in the collapse. The tent within it had been torn apart, now resting on a small ledge. All three, long frozen bodies faced me, no more than twenty feet away, as I hung on my rope. Scott lay on his own, his ice marbled face still written with his last agony, nonetheless, a profound, courageous nobility apparent. Wilson and Bowers, arms locked in a final embrace. It was an identical description the Relief Expedition had given in 1913, prior to raising the cairn around the bodies.
There was a sanctity to this precious moment, in this place of lonely and remote sadness, however the ice began moaning again. I barely had time to bow my head in a brief homage to three great men of history. The moaning now morphed into a long continuous roar. It was obvious the final fate for all four of us lay in the cold deep ocean. A last consolation, my grave would be truly amongst heroes.
Suddenly, a massive jolt and I was carried ever upward at considerable speed. At the top, on the cliff edge, Ben. Sam, further back on her Ski-Doo, it’s engine roaring, my rope firmly lashed to it.
Ben hauled me onto his machine. ‘Pete, don’t have time to check your injuries, just hang on my friend, we have to get out of here fast, the whole section is calving into the Ocean.’ Sam cut the rope, both Ski-Doos rocketed away from the edge with seconds to spare as a vast explosion of ice fell away into the ocean, carrying all and everything with it.
Captain Robert Falcon Scott, Doctor Edward Wilson, Lieutenant Henry Bowers. Three renowned explorers from a distant Antarctic age, now simply ‘lost at sea’!
I could just about make out the tail light on Sam’s Ski-Doo. I knew that Ben Atherton’s snowmobile was even further on, slowly, carefully inching forward, probing for crevasses or ice bridges – one misjudgement and all three of us would vanish into the abyss!
That June, I was in Cambridge, visiting the British Antarctic Survey. It was high summer in England, balmy evenings sitting outside country pubs, enjoying friends. So very far from that extreme Antarctic environment I was so familiar with. I was enjoying my pint of ‘Taylors Best’ ale when my mobile rang.
‘Pete, this is Sam Stuart, heard the famed Kiwi is gracing the northern hemisphere with a personal appearance no less!’
‘Sam, well hello,’ I laughed, ‘BAS said you were at Summit Camp in Greenland?’
‘Was, flew into Glasgow today, back in Cambridge tomorrow. If you can spare the time Pete, love to see you. Got something for you, however, not for the networks!’
‘Sounds compelling Sam. Okay, how about food and real ale, at “The Eagle”, tomorrow evening?’
‘You’re on! Should give me time to get out of this polar kit and have a shower before dinner. Smell like an old donkey, two weeks on the Greenland ice with barely a lick!’
‘Spare me the detail Dr Stuart…... Anyway, so how long has it been, two years?’
‘Yep, be about that, since we ran into our old friend Titus!’
‘That’s enough Sam, maybe it’s prudent not to awaken old ghosts.’
‘Might have to Pete, something of interest has turned up in the Antarctic. Information comes from a reliable, secure source. Will reveal all tomorrow!’
‘Well, that might suggest intrigue, could even be sinister Sam?’
‘Way beyond sinister! See you tomorrow Prof.’
Ours was also a particularly sinister story. Dr Samantha Stuart and myself had been on expedition in the Queen Elizabeth and Queen Alexander Ranges in Antarctica two years previously. We are both Glaciologists. Sam is working with the British Antarctic Survey. In the Antarctic summer I’m working out of New Zealand’s Scott base at Hutt Point, around the corner from the huge US McMurdo station.
Four days into our expedition we’d discovered a human corpse, frozen into a rock face, perfectly preserved in the hard-blue ice. He was Captain, Lawrence, Edward, Grace, ‘Titus’, Oates. A member of Captain Scott’s South Pole Expedition. He was presumed to have died on 12th March 1912, on the return from the attempt to reach the South Pole. It was documented, suffering from gangrene and frostbite, he’d walked away from the expedition tent during a blizzard. This selfless act enabling his exhausted colleagues to travel faster, without him as an encumbrance. He walked to certain death. For his courage, ‘Titus’ Oates, walked into history. His body had been entombed in the ice for over a hundred years.
For Sam Stuart and I the discovery had been both shocking and traumatic. It also hurled us into a scientific, as well as an emotional, vortex of confusion. Should we announce it to the world, endure the inevitable deluge of ‘media’ onslaught, or just hold on to the history - the mystery of ‘Titus’ Oates’s fate? It was our joint decision to walk away from the good Captain and leave him at peace. An easy decision for myself. For Sam it was a sacrifice - much scientific kudos would have accompanied disclosure of our discovery, not to mention career, plus commercial benefits. Sam was the best kind of scientist though, she always sought knowledge and truth. She was no attention seeker, Samantha Stuart.
‘The Eagle’, that splendid historic Cambridge pub. The English were ‘accomplished’ at pubs. Sam sat opposite, it was good to be in her orbit once more.
‘That’s some tan Dr Stuart, I guess a high-altitude Greenland Ice Cap tan?’
She smiled, ‘Sure is. Some place Summit Camp, stuffed with scientists this time of year. However, I was working with the East-Grip team. Have they got some ice coring kit!’
‘Go down deep?’ I asked.
‘They are down to 2000 metres. Interesting data being retrieved. Scary levels of ice melt across the Ice Cap, Pete.’ Consternation clouded her face.
I raised my eyebrows, I knew all about the ice melt on the Greenland Ice Cap. However, I was intrigued to hear the Antarctic ‘news’ she carried.
‘Okay, so what’s so big you hot foot back from Greenland to see an ancient Kiwi Professor?’
‘Ancient, Pete?’ she half laughed. ‘Look, got a call from an old colleague, Ben Atherton. You’ll know about the fracture that’s opening up in the Ross Ice shelf?’
‘Sure, the “Ross T1” calving away from the main Ice Shelf. It’s a considerable piece of ice. Lots of high tech equipment on the case, regular satellite passes etc. Got us all concerned Sam, it’s an unusual event.’
Sam continued, ‘Ben is currently working out of McMurdo. He’s been taking a serious look at the fracture area. He was monitoring the separation zone along the Ross Ice Shelf, calculating expansion between it and “Ross T1”. He was belayed on a rope right at the edge of the division. The rest of his team were a hundred metres or so in his rear, for safety’s sake. Ben said there was a gap of 90 meters of ocean between the two ice sheets, that’s when he observed the anomaly!
‘Anomaly, Sam?’
‘A cross constructed from two wooden skis, poking out of the ice cliff, about thirty metres below him. The cross protruded from an ice formation that was “wholly incompatible” with the local ice topography, according to Ben. He got a position fix, didn’t relate what he’d seen to the rest of the team. Those skis, in the form of a cross, they can only mean one thing! Robert Scott, Wilson and Bowers are nearby, it has to be the remains of the ‘burial cairn’ Pete!’
On that ill-fated Antarctic expedition of 1911/12 Evans had died first, then the inimitable Oates. Scott, Wilson and Bowers had struggled on, growing ever weaker, supplies almost exhausted, in appalling weather. All three perished in their tent sometime towards the end of March 1912. They were just eleven miles from ‘One Ton depot’, a cache, containing reserves of food and fuel.
Their remains were discovered in 1913 by the ‘Relief Expedition’ which set out to search for them after the long Antarctic winter. An ‘ice cairn’ was raised above the tent containing the bodies. The cairn was topped by a cross made from two wooden skis lashed together!
‘One question Sam, why did Ben Atherton convey his discovery to you only?’
‘Pete, Ben’s been researching Titus Oates and where his body might be located for several years, always keeping things to himself, least he be accused of being a ‘basket case’! He was at Uni with me, we go back a long way. He read our joint paper relating to our field expedition, calculated we’d been in the area where Oates disappeared. I didn’t mention our discovery. However, he suspects we found something, he’s known me too long. That’s why he contacted me, I think Ben wants a trade off! He will share his data about Robert Scott, if we come clean about Oates. Excepting yourself Pete, there isn’t another scientist I trust more. Ben’s utterly trustworthy, utterly discreet, totally Antarctic centric!’
I didn’t hesitate, ‘Then, we should meet the guy. He wants to find Oates, we’d like to find Robert Scott. That’s the only qualification Sam!’
Ben Atherton impressed me way beyond my expectation. He was above all an ‘iceman’. Whilst his scientific qualifications were exemplary, he had a forensic understanding of the Antarctic. He also happened to be passing through Cambridge, another reason to re-visit ‘The Eagle’!
At the meeting which subsequently occurred between the three of us, Sam and I took a calculated risk, we disclosed our discovery of Oates’s body, the whole story, the whole truth.
Ben was incredulous; ‘I can’t believe you both feel you are able trust me with this. It’s incredible, you’ve located Titus Oates! I’m astonished. It’s a profound discovery for the whole Antarctic world. None-the-less, please be assured your discovery is beyond secret, you have my word. Perhaps I might be given the opportunity of visiting the location of his grave at some point?
‘Don’t worry Ben, a solemn promise, we’ll take you to Titus Oates!’ I said.
We agreed to join Ben on the ice, at the start of the Antarctic season, in October. Whilst assisting Ben carry out genuine, serious research on the ‘Ross T1’ separation, we’d also be seeking Robert Falcon Scott’s final resting place. At a future date, as promised, we’d take Ben to observe Oates grave.
Sam’s brake lights shocked me out of the cold, we drew alongside Ben, riding our powerful Ski-Doos. He pointed ahead, ‘GPS is telling me we should be right on station, confirms yesterday’s satellite data. The Channel between the Ice Shelf and ‘Ross T1’ is about half a kilometre ahead. Okay, so really slow on the throttles for the next couple of hundred metres. Then we’ll stop, set up a camp and we’ll also do a brief recce along the edge of the ice. All okay with that?’ We held up thumbs in the ice numbing air.
The great thing about modern day polar kit is how fast it can be utilised. Once we’d halted, a functional camp was created within minutes. Out of the frozen air, in an insulated tent, we all revived, our tired limbs easing, the steaming coffee and high energy snacks restoring our countenance. Ben was keen to go though, half an hour only, then back out into the cold. However, there were signs the cold front was finally moving through; a hint of sun, less wind, temperature rising.
Three days later we were still searching. We’d worked our way laboriously along the fracture line between the ‘Ross T1’ and the Ice Shelf – nothing! Ben had systematically re-examined his calculations, checking his original position fix - accounting for ice drift, we had to be in the right area. Also, the fracture between the ice sheets was clean, any foreign object protruding from the ice cliff would be immediately observed from above. Our doubts assailed us; was it possible that the cairn had already collapsed into the gulf between those vast ice sheets, vanishing for all time into the Southern Ocean?
Today it was my turn to ‘walk’ the fracture line. The weather had cleared totally. This morning there was a stunning vista, a blinding white cliff edge, plunging vertically into the ink blue ocean. A gift of a day, just a clear blue sky, no wind, silence - a spring day in Antarctica! However, in this ‘land of white’, everything will change within seconds, you can leave nothing to chance.
At one precise moment in time I was carefully moving forward through the silence, the next there was a cacophony of chaotic sound. The snow beneath my feet collapsed, a gaping fissure opened around me, swallowing me whole. I saw blue ice as I plunged down into the dark depths. I heard my rope screaming as it ripped across the edge of the crevasse. My world grew dark as I felt myself free fall into the endless void, then a sickening jolt as my rope was finally belayed from above by Ben and Sam. They’d managed to arrest my fall. I was swinging in space in near total darkness. Then more cracking, more horrendous sound as the ice around me collapsed. A great slab moved away from the cliff, calving into the ocean below, there was a flash of blinding light as the sunlight found me again. The sound of the ice slab, weighing thousands of tons, hitting the water was immense, the shock wave swung me around wildly on the rope, mercifully still firmly attached to it. Then silence as the swinging decreased, I was slowly turned back to face the ice cliff. There lay before me a poignant horror and tragedy from those early days of Antarctic exploration.
Most of the cairn had broken away in the collapse. The tent within it had been torn apart, now resting on a small ledge. All three, long frozen bodies faced me, no more than twenty feet away, as I hung on my rope. Scott lay on his own, his ice marbled face still written with his last agony, nonetheless, a profound, courageous nobility apparent. Wilson and Bowers, arms locked in a final embrace. It was an identical description the Relief Expedition had given in 1913, prior to raising the cairn around the bodies.
There was a sanctity to this precious moment, in this place of lonely and remote sadness, however the ice began moaning again. I barely had time to bow my head in a brief homage to three great men of history. The moaning now morphed into a long continuous roar. It was obvious the final fate for all four of us lay in the cold deep ocean. A last consolation, my grave would be truly amongst heroes.
Suddenly, a massive jolt and I was carried ever upward at considerable speed. At the top, on the cliff edge, Ben. Sam, further back on her Ski-Doo, it’s engine roaring, my rope firmly lashed to it.
Ben hauled me onto his machine. ‘Pete, don’t have time to check your injuries, just hang on my friend, we have to get out of here fast, the whole section is calving into the Ocean.’ Sam cut the rope, both Ski-Doos rocketed away from the edge with seconds to spare as a vast explosion of ice fell away into the ocean, carrying all and everything with it.
Captain Robert Falcon Scott, Doctor Edward Wilson, Lieutenant Henry Bowers. Three renowned explorers from a distant Antarctic age, now simply ‘lost at sea’!
About the Author
Birmingham-born Bob Ballard has lived and worked in Scotland for more than three decades. Having worked in the UK publishing industry for forty years, he is now retired. He is a member of Perthshire Writers.