Post the Finalth

Well.

After three months (and 51 blog posts!) this is it - the journey is over.  And, as Judith Durham would have it, so is the carnival.


And what a carnival it has been!  Ups, downs, and lots of bits that go sideways and jiggle incontinently for a while.  I have seen some truly remarkable things, many of which I have attempted to share with you.  I have spent some time with some remarkable people, and had a whole slew of remarkable experiences.  A slew, don'tcha know!

Best of all, I now have a cornucopia of stories and pictures with which to bore my grandchildren witless.  And anyone else who comes within striking range of my tedium until such time as I am in possession of grandkids.

Actually, that is not the best thing.  The best thing has been this blog.  Seriously.  I have taken an absolute delight in writing these posts, knowing you have been reading along.  It made me feel that I could share all of the exciting stuff with friends.  For what good is a thrilling moment in your life if you cannot share it?  What indeed?  This blog has given me the sense that I could regularly plug in to a group of old friends, new friends, and friends as yet unmet, and share the joys, and jollity and the jokes.  That has been the cherry on top.

Nah, screw that.  It has been the cherry, the chocolate sprinkles, the whipped cream, the chocolate icing and in fact the whole top half of the cake.

But before the curtain descends gracefully (or, more likely, disgracefully) upon my little drama I want to intrude onto your computer screen one last time.  So please stick around for just a little bit longer, and join me on what was perhaps the most exciting part of the entire adventure - coming home.

So here we are on the 22nd of February, sliding up the Derwent Estuary, with Rosy-fingered
Dawn getting all rosy and fingery all over the place.

Ah, that Dawn.

I recognise this place...

We'd all be up for a while - well before first light, in fact.  Aside from the fact that we had to have vacated our cabins very early, everybody was fizzing with excitement about our return to Oz.  Fair fizzing, we were! 

In the darkness the first hint (aside from the vibrant glow in the distance from Hobart's lights) of land was the smell of dried grass.  Do you know that smell that dead grass has in the heat of summer?  I could smell that even out at sea.  Incredible.

I tried to take some photographs earlier of certain Derwentine landmarks (watermarks?), but unfortunately low-light photography is one skill I have yet to master.

Yeah.  One skill.  Riiiight.

(I'm taking it as read that nobody really wants to see a series of grey-ish and blue-ish blurs.  So I am not posting any of those).

So by the time there was sufficient light to mask my atrocious camera-wielding, there wasn't much left of the estuary.

There was enough, though.

Like this view of my old, old friend.

An old mate.

Isn't he a sight?

Those of you who aren't Hobartians will just see a big lump of rock.  Those of you who are Hobartians will see one of the sweetest sights there is to see when you've been away for any length of time.

And to welcome us the Mountain had donned his finest coat of Sunrise.  Thoughtful!

Is there a better sight to begin your day after 3 months away?  Well yes, probably, but not the sort of thing I would put in a family blog...

 

Swim-Swim was almost frothing at the beak with excitement; not a very attractive look it must be admitted.  I was taken by surprise about his eagerness to be home, but I suppose that secretly he had been missing Xanthe (my daughter, and his mummy) quite a bit.  Kept a stiff upper beak about that, he did!

He was very keen to have his photo taken with the Mountain in the background.  I was not averse to acquiescing.  So I acquiesced.

A jolly pair.  Being jolly.

As I have intimated, the returnees were all abuzz with the return home.  Some had been absent for nearly 18 months.  I was pretty darned chuffed to be back after just 3 months, so I can only guess at how the winterers were feeling.

(I did try to feel some of the winterers - just to find out - but they objected in the strongest of terms).

There was a steady traffic to the upper decks of people coming to check on our progress, maybe take some photos, and then return to whatever task it was they had to do.

"What are those tall green things?"   "Trees."  "Ah yes.  I remember those."

One of the tasks that we all were required to do was to bring all of our baggage to the helideck and lay it out in rows.  In case you find rows of baggage difficult to visualise, I have helpfully included a photo of it here:

Doing lines.

Has that made things simpler for you?  Good.

The reason for the rows of baggage is that Quarantine were going to be coming on board with their sniffer dog, and it's easier for Mister Beagle if the stuff is laid out in rows.

Lord knows what they imagine we might possibly be smuggling into the country.  They are aware of where we've been, right?  Antarctica is hardly known for its opium farms, or its pest-infested fruit orchards.

Perhaps someone at Customs had heard of all the 'ice' that's in Antarctica and wanted to make sure we weren't smuggling any back to sell at nightclubs or whatever.

And still there was a steady stream of people coming up to have a look at The Australia.

The Australia

Unfortunately the timing for our docking at port clashed with another very important - nay, momentous! - event:  breakfast.

This was to be the last of the series of free feeds that we were having on board.  The standard maintained by the Aurora's galley was very high, and meals were generally very popular affairs.  Even in big seas they were well attended events.

So, the choice was there for everyone:  watch the docking, or turn up to the very last cooked breakfast.  Ooooh, decisions, decisions...  Docking or breakfast?  Docking?  Breakfast?  Docking?  Breakfast?

In the end it was a no-contest.  Naturally.  See for yourself.

OM NOM nom nom nom nom!

Yep.  The docking could go hang.

So we came alongside while everyone was tucking into their eggs and bacon.  Or croissants.  Or porridge.  Or cereal.  Or mushrooms.  Or sausages.  Or hash browns.  Or... well, you get the picture.

You do get the picture, right?

After brekkie we all remained in the mess, passports and Customs forms at the ready, waiting to be given permission to be Australians again.  Or for those not fortunate (or silly) enough to be Australians, to be given permission to pass through to their abode of choice.

Waiting.  Something we were all very practised at.

Ah, bureaucracy.  It is a thing of very great beauty.  (I am, after all, a public servant).  But the rituals must be observed, and it wasn't too long before we were called before the high priests of Australian Customs.

So, with the gods of customs appropriately propitiated,  it was then time to wait.  Again.  Of course.

"Wait for what?" I hear you ask.

Well, just wait.  Wait to be told that we were allowed to get off the ship, mostly.

So while I waited I found the time to enjoy one last cuppa courtesy of P&O Maritime (Purveyors of Fine Antarctic Shipping to Her Majesty's Australian Government).

Nummies.

Filter feeding.

At least, I got to enjoy two thirds of the cuppa.  The other third was soaked up by my now luxuriant facial hair.  Facial hair whose use-by date was very quickly approaching, I might add.  Very quickly.

The waiting didn't go on for too long, however.  Soon enough the announcement was made that we had outstayed our welcome on board, and would we very kindly please bugger off now.  Buggering off being an activity that was conducted with both alacrity and relish.

Here is a photo of us conducting the buggering-off.

Buggering off.

Because the port is a high security area, we were not permitted to make our own way off.  Evidently they were frightened we'd steal a shipping container or something.  So we hopped onto waiting buses which drove us the remaining 326 metres of our journey.

At the end of which I had waiting family.

Importantly one member of my family, Xanthe, had no idea that I was returning today, or why she had been taken down to the waterfront.  It was all be kept as a surprise for her.

She's in the picture below - you can see a small girl in a blue top and red shorts.  She has nooooo idea.  None whatsoever.

Tee hee.

And then...  she saw me.

Awesome.

Beautiful.  It was the loveliest welcome home a Dad could ask for.



And so, I was home.  Home at last.  The best part of the whole thing.

It has been a once-in-a-lifetime experience and utterly worth it.  Thank you once more for allowing me to share a part of it with you; I hope I was able to give you even some sense of how remarkable the place is, and what a unique life is led by those who venture south in the name of SCIENCE!   And cuisine.

A fond adieu, then, from your friendly neighbourhood (ex)Uber-Slushy and Photobombing penguin.  This is it for Jeff of the South!





Or is it....?