Antarctic mud

Most people have this image of Antarctica as a snow covered continent—true, but expanses of Antarctic shoreline are rock and volcanic soil, and here at Bellingshausen, on King George Island, E-Base is situated on a rocky outcropping overlooking Maxwell Bay, and we’re fighting a constant battle against mud.

Every time one enters the E-Base there ensues a clumsy ballet as the transition from outside boots to indoor footwear begins. Stomping up the stairs to the vestibule, hopping on one foot while trying to pull off a muddy Sorrel boot, while at the same time not taking a single step into the E-Base, requires a certain skill, and it’s quite tempting just to keep your outside boots on when you simply have to dash in to get a needed tool. Try as we might, mud and dirt always seem to make their way into the E-Base and the E-Home—broom and dustpan duty is one of our many daily chores.

And speaking of mud, our water supply is a snowmelt fed lake about 1/2 mile away from E-Base. Yesterday I accompanied Robert and Kyle as we walked across an alluvial plane to get to the lake with our rolling water containers. Getting to the lake was easy enough, and we refilled our containers and began our way back to the E-Base, where the water would be filtered through our ceramic purification units. I was pulling my water drum through the gravel and sand, and at one point stayed behind at some distance to get a photograph of Rob and Kyle as they made their through a valley and up a hill to the E-Base.

Photos taken, I put my camera back in my canvas mussette bag, grabbed the handle of the water drum, and hurried to catch up with the two. Being aware—not being a complete idiot - that there were muddy areas about, and happy to let others tread before me - I followed in my friends’ footprints. I was paying attention to where I was walking, when suddenly, first one foot broke through the crust skin of the mud, and then the other leg was similarly encased. Within seconds, both of my legs were encased in mud.

Kyle had turned back to see me in this predicament, and came running up to help—he too, became trapped in the mud. This was not as dire as it sounded, as I could have struggled out of my boots and wriggled my way to drier soil, but I knew that I’d have to go back to get my boots—you won’t get far in the Antarctic without boots, and it doesn’t matter if you have to crawl back into the mud to extract them.

One problem was the fact that I was carrying my camera in a decidedly non-waterproof bag, and Kyle, bless his heart, dashed over to lend assistance with his Sony movie camera in one hand, so we were both tying to wriggle our way to freedom with cameras held aloft. Of course, we had the water tank, with its wide footprint, and we could use that to give us some flotation to use to help wrench ourselves from our trap. Suddenly, a Russian, who had been observing us from the shelter of the E-Base, trotted over. Finally, assistance.

With a smile he reached to grab the handle of the water tank. He pulled it free of the mud, and proceeded to walk up the hill, out of sight. Kyle and I looked at each other. What just happened? Our Good Samaritan, no doubt meaning well, just walked off with our lifesaver. And what was the rest of the E-Base team doing? They were chatting a few hundred yards away. Russell asked Rob, “What are Kyle and John doing down the hill there?” Rob glanced in our direction. “I think Johnny is getting some sort of photo and he’s lying down to take it. He does that sort of thing”. And with that, Kyle and I were left to our fate under an uncaring Antarctic sun

Finally, Kyle was able to slooowly pull one foot free, then another, and then he was on firm ground. I tossed him my camera bag, and as I was further away, Kyle tossed me his Pelican camera bag, and I used that as a float to kick my way free of the damn mud. As I lay there like a mud-encased beached elephant seal on the dry sand, I thought this was a moment that should be chronicled. Kyle took my camera and focused it. “Kyle, over there, the sun’s coming from that direction—sheesh, aren’t you a filmmaker?”

That wasn’t the real high point of the day. The real high point was when I had to walk back to the snowmelt lake, take off my pants and boots, and accompanied by a scrub-brush and an ice-cold wind, walk naked into the lake up to my waist to wash off the mud—talk about character building.