Post the Thirty-Ninth

Let me take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London Mawson.

In the last post I mentioned that I had gone a-wanderin' to get some photos.  I had some time up my sleeve in order to do this because [cue: drumroll] I was officially resigned as a slushy!

Bob Jones, the outgoing Mawson station leader, had given me the afternoon off.  Indeed, he had given me the rest of the resupply off!  So that evening I was therefore to return to the ship, there to remain until resupply was over and we had begun our journey home.


Which meant that I had a few hours up my sleeve before my winged chariot jet barge arrived to take me to the ship.  What to do... What to do...

Go and visit the Weddell seals, of course!

As you know, the Mawson environs are crawling with Weddells.  There was a Weddell in plain view at the very moment we arrived, making no attempt whatsoever to disguise itself as a rock.  The bay next to East Arm is filthy with Weddells!



Filthy with 'em!

Here is one impersonating Mae West.

Is that a haddock in your pocket...?

 This one is trying to be cute.

Trying 

As is this one.

Mnaw!

But they don't fool me.  Oh no!  What is their game?  What's with being as rare as uncooked steak at Davis all summer, but crowding me out at Mawson?  It's inconsiderate, that's what it is.

And I won't stand for it.

I hereby renounce my love of Weddell seals, and I refuse to even consider wasting a single exclamation mark on them any more.  So there!

(Whoops)

But they're as common as muck here.  Can't think why anyone would waste a pixel on them.  Weddells, I turn my back on thee!

(Whoops)







Turning my back on the Weddells, here is the view from the shoreline at East Arm back up to the Ops Building (yellow), the Green Store (green), the Red Shed (red) and various other buildings (various).  And the wind turbine (windy).

Various (various).

Mawson is, as I may have spoken of before, named after some South Australian geologist fella.  In honour of this bloke they have gone and had a bust made of him, and it takes pride of place at the flagpoles.

Mawson: busted!

Note how I very carefully arranged for the bust to be juxtaposed against a background of the ship.  This is because I am trying hard to be like a good photographer.  I am the kind of person that real photographers refer to as a 'fauxtographer'.





At every Australian station it is obligatory to have a signpost pointing visitors to various places of note on the globe.  These signposts are, of course, of limited use and accuracy.  It is therefore naturally obligatory for visitors to photograph these signposts.

Here is my obligatory photo of the Mawson one.

It's that-a-way.

This being resupply it is also obligatory for me to record that too, in some small, meaningless way.  This photo exemplifies my inadequate knowledge of what is going on by being just a jumble of activity.

You have to crane to get a better view...

Just looks like a confused tangle of plant and equipment and expeditioners, doesn't it?

If you look in the foreground you'll see two people squatting down.  They're preparing the refuelling hose for the refuelling operation which was due to happen later.

Refuelling at Mawson is a different beast from the refuelling of Davis.  Because the ship can get so close to the shore the length of hose required is significantly reduced, meaning that fewer boat crews are needed to patrol it.  In fact, only one is needed.

Also there's less fuel to pump.  Mawson is a smaller station than Davis, so requires less fuel from that point of view.  In addition to that the wind turbines provide so much electricity that significantly less fuel needs to be burned in generators.

So whereas Davis required 17 hours of fuel pumping, Mawson needs only 6.



Now for something completely different.

This is Noel.  I asked Noel to smile for the camera.  Noel did not.

Noel is a colleague of mine at the Antarctic Division, and (ostensibly) my boss here in Antarctica in his role as the Chefs' Supervisor.  However, Noel is not here in that role.  Rather he is here as a Water Craft Operator on the Aurora for Voyage 3.

I bumped into Noel as he was making his way to the Red Shed and I was making my way... not to the Red Shed. 

Again I asked Noel to smile for the camera.

Again Noel did not.

Cath King was on hand fortuitously to attempt to make Noel smile.  The attempt was, however...

...unsuccessful.  

Aahh, that Noel.


Eventually I made my way out onto West Arm.  Up on the hill there was a lovely view of The Antarctica.  Here is that view of The Antarctica.

The Antarctica

Lovely, no?


Swivelling back toward the station there was this shot...

Similar.

...which, I admit, is very very similar to a photo in the previous post.  *shrug* 
Eh.  If you're on to a good thing...


I particularly like this one - modern-ness set against wild-ness and ancient-ness.

Juxtaposition-ness

That's ye goode olde Antarticke Plateau rising up behind the wind generator, with the jagged peak of Mount Henderson poking through.  Awesomesauce.


Buuut, it was cold and windy.  Very cold and very windy, in fact, and I felt that it would be a good idea to head back to the station before I began to hear the pitter patter of my fingers falling off and hitting the ground.

I didn't go directly back to the Red Shed, though.  Instead I climbed to the top of the hill behind the station.  'Top of the hill' is a bit misleading, though, because there is no 'top'.  There is just the hightest point where the station limits are.

And, at those limits is the Antarctic Plateau.  Right-smack-dab-there.

It starts right there.

Yep.  Just on the other side of that equipment is the beginning of the largest slab of ice on the planet.  Awesomesauce again.


And that was it for my tour of the Mawson area.  From there it was back down to the Red Shed for a warming cuppa. 

And who should I espy in the kitchen, having a pow-wow with Ray?

Yes.  And this time he is smiling.  Sorta.