Post the Thirty-Third

This is the day we actually left Davis.  For real.  I mean it!

In the last blog post I mentioned how bizarre it was to have spent the night on the ship while it was parked at Davis.  And it was quite discombobulating to have left without actually leaving.

However on Sunday morning the resupply (THE RESUPPLY!!!  daahm daahm daaaaaahm!!!!) quickly got back under way, and within a couple of hours it was all wrapped up and preparations could be made for our (genuine) departure, which was scheduled for midday.

As the appointed hour approached I made my way to the oddly-named monkey deck (which is the deck above the bridge) in order to photomagically capture our exit. 

If you have read Post the Eleventh you will have seen that I have already taken part in the traditions revolving around the sailing of the Aurora from Davis.  If you haven't yet read it, please go and do so.  I will wait here for you until you've finished.







Back now?  Ah, good.


On that occasion I was a part of the festivities ashore as we farewelled her.  This time I was going to witness that spectacle from the ship's point of view and, as I arrived on the monkey deck (so oddly named) I pointed my camera back to Davis and zoomed to maximum.  Surely enough, there they all were: the winterers lined up in preparation to see us off.

Making sure we go.

They must be filled with all kinds of emotions as they stand there waiting.  On the one hand they are looking forward to settling in to their new lives, with a much smaller, more tightly knit community.   On the other hand, as they watch us sailing away the sense of impending ineluctable isolation must be quite overpowering.


Once they could see the anchor had been raised and that the ship was under power they lit off their flares and smokepots.

At least... I hope they are flares and smokepots.

In response, the captain sounded the ship's horn three times in salute.

And yes, I was standing near the horn when it sounded, and yes, it did take me by surprise.  Fortunately I have been well brought up and I know my manners, and did not utter any words that would have brought shame upon my house.

But...  farewell fellas.  Have a good winter.  Go well.



Then the ship began to make its way toward the band of icebergs outside the harbour, and we were treated to an impromptu iceberg cruise.

Ooh!  We're going to get to see some icebergs!

Although it has to be said that there are some significant differences between an iceberg cruise in a Zodiac and an iceberg cruise in an icebreaker.  These Adelies certainly thought so, anyway.

Agh!  Run!  RUN!!!

They would have exhibited either indifference or mild curiosity had we passed them in the Zodiacs.  For some reason, however, the approach of a clunking great big noisy orange thing prompted them to leave.  Adelies, eh?


But, there are similarities, as well.  The same brilliant colours are on display and, had I either (or both) a superb camera and halfway decent photographic skills, I would be able to share those colours with you.  Instead, you get this...

Trust me... the colours really were beautiful.

There has been one notable iceberg which was visible from Davis that has been hanging around all summer.  It has moved back and forth in the currents, and has been spun around with the tides presenting different aspects to us, but it has not gone anywhere. 

Here is a photo that I took the day after we had arrived at Davis in early December - you can see it behind and to the right of the Aurora.  I think of it as the Twin Peaks iceberg (for obvious reasons).

It appears in every picture... spooky...

Here it is again in a photo I took early in the new year.  You can see in this photo it had spun around a bit from the earlier shot.

Creepy...

It seemed only fitting, then, that I should get one last photo of our frigid companion as we sailed past it.  It had moved further away from the station by the time we left, but it was still hanging around.

Boo!  Wouldn't surprise me if this thing appeared at Mawson.  Or Hobart.

And yes, you have just witnessed me getting sentimental about a lump of ice.  Dear oh dear.



Once clear of the icebergs it was time to have an emergency muster drill.  This was to ensure that we had all remembered how to survive in the event that something cropped up that could make us dead.

As instructed by the Bee Gees:  Stayin' alive.

So there we all were, surviving admirably. 


Just to make certain that we were all not being dead, the Voyage Leader (Tony Foy) read out our names from a list.  Survivors answered when he called their name, and he was thus able to determine that there weren't any dead people there too.

Is anyone here dead?  Anyone?  Anyone?

What a relief!