Chill Out: An Antarctic Odyssey

By Brian Gaull

As a small boy, the protagonist dreams of the ultimate adventure of sailing to Antarctica as a researcher. This book is about how this dream came true many years later. It tells the story of the struggles leaving his young family in Australia and his subsequent survival in this extreme environment. It relates to the reader that scientists are no different from anyone else in that they have physical, emotional and sometimes spiritual needs. It provides a unique insight into the minds and lives of the several inimitable characters that are entwined into the story.

In his role as geophysicist at Mawson Station, Big Dee strives to make a difference; he is not happy with just routine collection of seismological and magnetic data. In his quest, he seizes an opportunity to demonstrate that peoples lives are at risk every time they venture onto the sea-ice that surrounds the continent: some of the gigantic outlet glaciers into the Southern Ocean are not easily identifiable to passing traffic. Consequently, when he showed the link between the signals portrayed on the Mawson seismograph and catastrophic iceberg calving events from such outlets, he felt vindicated. He knew that this link could provide an early warning signal to those wanting to venture out across the sea-ice near to these potentially dangerous sites.

His relationship with some of his fellow Antarcticans provide plenty of amusing anecdotal material, but underneath this apparent success story, is a gripping and tenuous relationship back home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Oct 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781469162010

Brian Gaull

Brian Gaull started his long career as a geophysicist in Papua New Guinea and Australia before his Antarctic experience. He has a Master’s Degree in Geophysics and has enjoyed the varied lifestyle of being a teacher, field scientist, researcher and consultant. His publications include papers on earthquake hazards, some of which were used as the basis for the 1993 Australian Standard’s Building Code for Earthquake loads in Australia. In later years Brian has been honing his creative writing skills and has already enjoyed success with the short story genre. In this memoir, the science is understandable and interesting and is counterbalanced with his very personal journey which demonstrates the humanity within us all. Brian also discusses his research on catastrophic iceberg calving in Antarctica and proposes how the seismic signals from them just prior to collapsing, could be used to warn people to avoid walking in their vicinity. He also suggests that the historical data seen on past seismograms may be used to ascertain whether East Antarctica is also warming, like its counterpart in the West.

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Copyright © 2013 by Brian Gaull.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 11/13/2013

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Contents

Dedications

Acknowledgements

Preface

Foreword

Prologue

Chapter 1: The Voyage

Map of "Big Dee’s travels 1979-1980

Chapter 2: My First Taste

Part I: Fold Island

Part II: Mawson at Last

Chapter 3: Learning the Ropes

Chapter 4: The Mountains

Chapter 5: The Islands

Chapter 6: Coldest Mountain

Chapter 7: End of an Era

Chapter 8: The Traverse

Chapter 9: Catching Up

Chapter 10: Mid Winter

Chapter 11: Return of the Sun

Chapter 12: Dog Trips

Chapter 13: Last of Winter

Chapter 14: The Dream

Chapter 15: Spring Sprang

Chapter 16: Friendships Deepen

Chapter 17: The Return of Life

Chapter 18: Last Days at Mawson

Epilogue

Endnotes

Appendix I: Lyrics/Cartoons from the Traverse

Appendix II: Estimating Icefall location from P and S arrival times

Appendix III: Weather Summary for the Year 1980

Appendix IV: Example of Monthly Newsletter sent back to Families in Australia

Appendix V: Poems written in June.

Appendix VI: Mawson Seismograph Specifications

Appendix VII: Mr Snow Petrel

Glossary

Bibliography

Dedications

To Matthew and Joshua.

I realise now, my sixteen and a half months away from you must have seemed like an eternity to you. If I could somehow banish the pain of separation, I would. In reality, my hope is that you see in this story that I dedicate to you, my love for you remained steadfast; and please remember it always will.

I am so happy that you have both moved on and risen above this pain.

Bri Bri

To Helen

Although you didn’t know me at the time of my adventure, you were there to help pick up the pieces soon after my return. Without your constant and enduring love and support, none of this could have happened. I am indebted to you for everything.

Fozzy

To all ANARE expeditioners

I also dedicate this book to those who have contributed so much to the history and knowledge of the great southern continent. Without them, nothing could have been achieved. To me, these are the real heroes: the extraordinary ordinary blokes in every expedition.

Big Dee

Acknowledgements

Syd Kirkby

Thanks for your indefatigable help in this long and winding road to publication. You have been there right from before the Nella Dan left the Melbourne dock. It was during the years, both in Antarctica and Australia I have seen your many talents. You have somehow managed the hazardous waters between being a fine leader whilst extending the hand of comradeship. Thanks for your patience with the many drafts you read and for the Foreword! May I also thank Jude for volunteering to review later drafts? You are a gem!

Noreen Jones

I am very grateful to you Norn for your invaluable advice and the friendship that has developed during the compilation of this manuscript. Without your wisdom and encouragement this manuscript would have stalled long ago.

The Bunbury Writers’ Group

You have all been invaluable in your support, expertise and encouragement with this publication. I am especially indebted to Lyn Gornall who took me under her wing and provided both encouragement and literary guidance. I aspire to be as good as you one day Lyn.

The late Ian Everingham

Thanks for showing me the Humanity behind Science: you were my mentor and my mate! Your wonderful legacy was the enormous enthusiasm for work which you uniquely combined with the fun of life. What a journey we all had with you and June!

The late Dr Don Adamson and Dr John Pickard

When we met aboard the Nella Dan, who could have known the other voyage we eventually shared? I would like very much to acknowledge you both for the significant contributions you made in helping unravel the many pieces in our milestone paper on iceberg calving. You are both indelibly etched into some of my favourite memories.

Barry Sloane

Even though our combined journey was brief, we faced such a steep learning curve together. You made some of the most difficult times tolerable and for that I am enormously grateful. You saw my soul and yet rather than knock it, you grasped it with both hands! Thanks also for helping me with my aging memory. I hope what I have written of you is as treasured as it is for me?

The 30 men of Mawson (1980)

You were the greatest team I have ever experienced in my entire life. A friend asked me why I wrote this story, and I know it is largely because of our special connection. Hopefully, I have captured some of this connectivity. Rather than single out anyone for special acknowledgement, I just say: ‘see you at the next Reunion fellas!’

Everyone Else

I sincerely thank everyone that is named or nicknamed within these pages. They include my fellow ANARE expeditioners from the 1979 through to 1981 expeditions, the crew of the Nella Dan on all voyages, my supporting family back home, including my original In-Laws (the Fic’s), my friends, my associates from the Antarctic Division (especially Mrs Robb), the Bureau of Mineral Resources and the Australian Taxpayer who financed our expedition. I hope you all enjoy the story that you have helped to create!

Brian Gaull

Midwinter, 2013.

Preface

This book has been written as an attempt to answer the age-long question about Antarctica: What’s it like?

Another reason that drove me to write the story was I wanted to dismiss the myth that scientists are different than the rest of society. After reading this book, I hope you agree we are more than normal: we have just as many hang-ups and problems in life as anybody else.

But my main reason for writing it, is to try and encapsulate the magic of this land in such a way, that most readers will be able to grasp. I have realised over the years, I have had a very rare opportunity to do something very special, and consequently, have felt it almost my duty, to share these experiences with you. I just hope I have captured enough of this magic in my words and photos that appear throughout the text, for you all to really have a much better idea of what it is like to live and work in this extreme and foreign land with a whole bunch of testosterone-enriched Aussies.

By the very fact that I have written this story from a normal expeditioner perspective for most of the time, and sometimes as a geophysicist, I believe it is unique. It is my first attempt at narrative writing and hence, I hope that readers will be lenient in their judgment of its literary merits. I have attempted to write for many types of readers, including tourists, thrill-seekers or adventurers, students of science, social science, or history, and the general public, so it may not suit everyone all of the time. My advice is simple: just scan through the parts you may find irrelevant, and look for the remainder that does interest you.

I trust you enjoy it for what it is: a memoir of probably the most exciting time of my life. Your feedback will be appreciated.

Brian Gaull

Foreword

By

Syd Kirkby

During the early years of Antarctic expeditions, from the Heroic Era, to about the mid 1980s, expeditions were generally small, Spartan and dedicated mostly to the exploratory sciences. When Australia opened Mawson station in 1954 about 85% of the huge Antarctic continent, a continent almost twice the size of Australia, was un-explored—and in the Antarctic context, unexplored meant something it has never meant anywhere else in the world: unseen by anyone, ever.

By coincidence 1980, the setting for Brian Gaull’s story Chill Out, is at about the broad cusp of the transition from old style to modern Antarctic expeditions. At this time expedition members still lived in cramped conditions lacking privacy or much in the way of recreational facilities, they ate in communal messes and shared utterly inescapable and very close and exclusive daily contact with a handful of others with whom they initially shared almost nothing but membership of the expedition. Each one’s competence, diligence and behaviour was constantly on view. The level of exposure was brutal. Given the huge demands and conditions prevailing in old style expeditions it was always a wonder that they generally turned out so very well as they did.

In the early days there was almost no realistic personal communication with the outside world. Such contacts as existed were by Morse code transmitted cables which were necessarily read and on forwarded by many persons between originator and recipient. The monthly ration per person of 175 words was eked out by the use of a standard set of five letter code groups. They worked well for things like telling one’s correspondents that the station had just endured a blizzard and fine snow had penetrated all the buildings; or that he wished he and they were together on this special occasion, and so on, but fell well short of being able to convey the nuances of an intimate relationship.

Once the ship sailed away expeditioners were for the next almost 12 months as remote from outside help as will be the first astronauts to land on Mars; and in an environment very much less seen and known.

Into this daunting, alien, awesomely grand, exquisitely beautiful, intimidatingly powerful environment were thrust some of the most unlikely combinations of people it would be possible to assemble. A quiet, gentle, deeply religious scientist juxtaposed with a tradesman given to calling a spade a bloody shovel; dogmatic atheists with future missionaries; young undergraduate scientists full of keen minds and enthusiasms and dreams but little knowledge of a life outside home and school and university. We all had much to learn at the outset. In the early years there were many ex-servicemen, often carrying the invisible scars of mental trauma which no-one should have to undergo. There were men who already knew the world in its temptations and tantrums and there were boys who could scarcely imagine that their mothers had actually conceived them.

Some jobs, like those of cooks, radio operators, and the sciences with high observatory components made particularly relentless demands. They had to be performed every day. No weekends, no provision for sickies, no public holidays or even annual leave—even help was only available by some comrade taking on an extra burden of work. Many of these jobs were attended by very real physical and mental demands. For example, Brian’s job required that EVERY morning he traverse 400 metres of exposed bare rock from his sleeping quarters to the magnetic hut to change records.

On a rare nice low wind summer day it was a delightful stroll, though still pretty cold. In the depths of winter, in the deep dark, with perhaps a raging blizzard blowing and the air so full of driven snow that, even had it not been dark, visibility would have been about a metre; with wind driven snow tearing at one’s face and being driven in to one’s clothing, it was a nightmare. Doing this alone was not only hugely physically demanding but was often downright frightening. And the fear was of the worst kind. Not the obvious fear of injury or death but the far more terrifying fear of inadequacy. Yet records from blizzard days are quite as important as those for balmy summer days, and for each day he failed, two day’s records would have been lost. Sometimes there was no real option but to seek the help of a comrade, and I don’t imagine he ever asked for help in vain; indeed I imagine he often didn’t even need to ask. What explains his remarkable determination? What explains a mate getting out of a warm bed and secure hut to help?

I think perhaps the only discernible common characteristic that expeditioners shared was a high level of individuality, and rather well settled personal values and a measure of confidence in their ability to handle whatever might come along, yet it all worked brilliantly well, socially and from the productivity perspective.

Parties typically produced huge outputs, especially in the light of the real impediments to work and very considerable incentives to cut a few corners. Socially, it worked not on the basis of tolerance, with its overtones of condescension, but rather because each genuinely respected and valued others. Men became comrades with all that wonderful word connotes of mutual trust and respect, shared endeavour and deep, deep affection. 30, 40, 50 and more years on from the days when they wintered together most parties are still bound by this comradeship and care and look out for each other. They still have reunions and the gulfs of time and distance slip away into easy and companionable banter or vehement but deeply respectful disagreement, just as years ago. Only very few, I think, moved much from their own values and precepts towards anyone else’s. I’m sure even fewer did not grow greatly in personal stature.

Something led these uncommonly individualistic people to set the interests of our expedition above my interests or my job. It is a remarkable experience to hear a tradesman who has spent all night helping a comrade, (an upper atmosphere physicist) sort out an apparatus problem quietly speaking of our upper atmosphere program while grabbing a quick breakfast before getting on with his own designated work. He knows of course, that as he toils, gritty eyed and near exhausted on his job, he is likely to look up at some stage to find someone, perhaps the doctor or the station leader, quietly helping him.

By 1980 some things had changed. The science was becoming more sophisticated but was still highly reliant upon individual commitment. The rebuilding programme which was soon to transform accommodation to, totally private, luxurious motel style had begun but its benefits were not yet available. Communication was much improved and it was possible to speak by radio telephone between the stations and the world. It was costly and still quite unreliable and available only during short time windows. Worst of all the voice links sounded awful and conversations were conducted in a phone cabinet in the radio room with generally, a couple of impatient fellow expeditioners standing outside willing the present caller to get it over and done with before the link dropped out and they missed out. Food was hugely better. No longer did expeditioners eat large amounts of seal or penguin eggs in the absence of other fresh supplies.

For as long as I can remember, people have wondered what made those old expeditions work so very well when everything seemed to stack up against them doing so. Modern expeditions, with superb accommodation and food and amenities, with significant expenditure on psychological profiling, with practically unrestricted communication and with the requirement only to work more or less office hours do not have either the social cohesion or productivity that once prevailed. Some suggest the selection process was the key, and that idea had some attraction during the days of the first Director of Antarctic Division, the late, great Phillip Law whose finger prints were all over every aspect of every party during his incumbency. But since Law’s time, the Antarctic Division has had as Directors its share of career public servants; men and women of diligence and adequate ability but certainly not the visionaries and inspirers that Phil Law was, and yet the expeditions continued to work long after he went on to other things in 1966.

Some suggest the leadership of the parties was a major factor, but party leaders were quite as diverse as other party members. There were leaders of towering personal authority and achievement and there were easy laid back facilitators whose presence could scarcely be detected. Others brought the style and demands of a military background to the job. Very rarely there was a poor leader, yet, remarkably, in these situations the parties almost always righted and stabilized and led themselves and ended up little different to the norm. Bad parties were very rare, indeed.

Some suggest the wondrous place itself, and the demands it places upon expeditioners, the total absence of commerce or class or privilege, together with the opportunity to live an altruistic life, without distractions—or indeed even the more mundane responsibilities of society—and with daily evidence that merit can, indeed, be its own reward—works the unlikely magic. Nearly 60 years on from first being caught up in the mystery I still cannot explain it.

Here is one man’s account of his year with an expedition during this important transitional era. It is not the account that I or any other expeditioner could have written, and that is part of its value. The 1980 Mawson ANARE party was about as mixed a bag as most and it was also as good as—or, I think, a bit better than most, and Brian was a good member of it. The key to why this party and so many others worked so well is probably somewhere in Brian’s account. Read it and see if you can identify the mystical ingredient.

Syd Kirkby MBE.

ANARE Mawson 1956/57, 1960/61, 1980/81

Oates/Victoria Lands 1961/62; King George V/

Wilkes Lands 1962/63; Kemp/Enderby Lands 1964/65; Enderby land 1979/80

15th July, 2013.

Prologue

When we married late in 1966, Franny and I were in love: she meant everything to me. She was young, vibrant, intelligent, articulate and attractive. Her long red hair sparkled in the sun and cascaded over her shapely body. It had me drooling, and at times speechless: I just had to touch, taste and smell it. However, well before we found true marital bliss, I learnt the hard way that you don’t mess with her emotions. My attempt to cool things down between us came unstuck when she had teamed up with her father and played hard-to-get which had me scampering back like a panting puppy with tongue limply hanging.

Franny liked being in charge and like me, she also liked pushing boundaries. But this made her different from her peers, and for me, this added to her appeal. The first few years of our marriage there was enough excitement with work, study, building a new home in Perth’s southern suburbs and having a baby. But when I was offered a job as a Geophysicist in Papua New Guinea (PNG), it was all too much to resist. Compared with life in suburbia, mowing lawns and propagating the species, this was really exciting. We were hooked on life.

We arrived in Port Moresby in mid 1971 and soon after I realised I needed a Master’s Degree to advance my new career and so I enrolled at the Geology Department of the University of PNG. Unwittingly, this decision meant our lives got out of kilter: I became preoccupied with study and work, whilst Franny struggled with motherhood to 3-year-old Matthew, tropical heat, isolation and being pregnant with our second child (Joshua). Her life had become exactly the opposite of mine: unchallenging!

Franny was never going to accept this boring life and quickly filled her days with a new job at the hospital, which came with a new set of friends. Being preoccupied with our respective lives, we didn’t notice we drifted apart. To exacerbate this situation, there was no one to turn to for help: our families were back in Australia. Instead of talking about our differences, it was easier to socialise with other young ex-patriot Australians. We didn’t even have washing up to share as such duties were done by our hired help.

It was like being on a continuously accelerating carousel that flung us in different directions. Our pride stepped in and prevented us from resolving our differences. Her independent nature was now working against me as I didn’t know how to stop her from going out on her own. Her motivation to pursue her social life was such that on one occasion she injected me with pethidine for my sore stomach and left me lying in agony.

So, when the carousel music stopped, it was with a thud and we left PNG, changed forever. We were no longer innocent Babes in the Woods and had some deeply embedded marital issues to resolve. Franny returned with both boys back to Australia in mid 1975 without me. But, when things didn’t work out for her, she enticed me to return home by sending recent photos of our pride and joy: Matt and Josh.

Without the distraction of the exciting colonial culture of PNG and with the stabilising influence of our families, we slowly constructed a relationship again. After a session with a marriage-guidance counsellor, we became a family again. Conveniently for me, at that time, there was a suitable geophysicist position available at Mundaring Geophysical Observatory (MGO), near Perth in Western Australia, and I was transferred into it in January 1976.

To facilitate this new phase of our lives, we bought a cottage in the forested hills of Perth, near to where I now worked. Although we suffered from a big dose of culture shock, and subsequent toning down of our lifestyle, at least we were together again and the kids had some stability. When the truck delivered our personal effects from PNG, Franny raced outside into the driveway only to be disappointed that our wonderful and loyal domestic servants, Sally and Gerome, were not amongst our goods.

Despite being a challenge, our lives seemed to return to normal, or as normal as it gets living with Franny. Matthew was growing up and continued his education at the school across the road from where we lived. But, I knew that Franny was never going to be happy being a housewife again and soon worked casually as a nurse, whilst I adapted to a new management style at work.

In PNG, our boss emphasised the importance of obtaining good quality earthquake and magnetic data and then encouraged us to use them for research. He made us feel a part of the team looking for that elusive missing piece of information. I remember when we bounced along corrugated Highlands Highway on a field trip together, and I asked him: ‘Do I get paid for this huge big adventure?’

He just looked at me with a cheesy grin and answered: ‘Yes mate, someone has to do it,’ he laughed.

I incorrectly assumed it was going to be like this elsewhere, but soon discovered this was not the case. It took me a long time to realise our working environment in PNG was rare. But because we needed money to pay for our new mortgage, I knew I had to adjust. As a junior scientist I knew it was unlikely I would be able to change things. I quickly found that working in Australia was far more bureaucratic with a less friendly atmosphere, but I was determined to make a go of it.

It was at about the same time when some old friends returned from the United States and set up a nearby commune. As this was the latest new social wave to hit Australian shores, it attracted more than just a cursory look from us. The thought of living simply and sustainably in eucalyptus forests that covered the Darling Scarp, east of Perth, appealed to us. So, rather than move into their commune, we decided to create our own paradise where we would be self-sufficient and practice the Love, not War! philosophy.

The lifestyle was too intoxicating for us to ignore: people sharing in the fruits of their labour. It was like an aphrodisiac. However, we found that putting things into practice was so much different to theory. I hadn’t allowed for the fact that Franny was never going to accept living in the mulga without shops. Money was always going to be an essential and central commodity and so she abandoned any part of hippy culture that didn’t appeal to her. Properties at that time were affordable, so we just kept the new bushland as a hobby-farm and lived in the civilised part of the hills.

I will never know for sure, but maybe she learnt from her dear Polish father, who worried his Scottish wife with his spending sprees and generosity. Her shopping list included an expensive dog (Old English Sheep-dog called Lisa), an albino kangaroo fur skin coat (the Aussie equivalent of mink), antique furniture, a new car and heaps of plants and ornaments for our garden. This reduced boredom for Franny, but the lifestyle that came with it, had us paddling against the financial torrent again. Worse, I hadn’t linked her spending habit with a symptom of unhappiness.

I must have been a slow learner, as I didn’t seem to notice we were soon heading down the same old well-worn path of dinner parties, entertaining and generally being far too social. It was the culture we had learnt from PNG. Friends came out of the woodwork: lovers of hairy pooches, commune dwellers, Sensitive New-Age Guys (or SNAGS) and plenty of neighbours joined the throng. To complicate our life further, Franny commenced her Mid-Wifery at King Edward Memorial Hospital. The upshot of this was we shared less and less time together, and the boys were spending more time playing cricket in the driveway and watching TV.

I began to realise what was happening and knew that no-one else was going to stop this self-destructive lifestyle. As a husband, it was becoming more and more intolerable and imagined what it must have been like for our lovely boys. It had become like a monster on the loose and I was at a loss how to tame it. Something untoward was always going to happen and was only a question of time. Furthermore it was becoming abundantly clear that I wasn’t in favour anymore, so over a cup of tea in our living room one day my wife announced she no longer wanted to share our house with me and that she wasn’t the one moving out. She had planned it all and orchestrated it like a symphonic movement. She asked the boys to join us down on her latest acquisition: an expensive wall-to-wall red carpet. We all held hands like it was a game of Ring-a-Rosy and she dramatically made the announcement that would change us forever as a family: ‘Daddy is moving out, but will continue to see you and love you,’ she enunciated with precision. She had outsmarted me again. Check mate! Except for a strong verbal protest and sobbing from the two boys, it all went according to (her) plan.

Before I knew what had happened, I was now a border at the local commune. I soon realised, however, that this development wasn’t necessarily all bad in that I was at a loss to know how to manage our marriage anyway. Soon after, Franny’s plan reached its fruition when she replaced me with what she thought was her soul-mate. It was becoming abundantly clear that with all her bravado, she had some innate need to have a man about the house.

Some months later, when she discovered that other ladies were attracted to me, she began to show interest in me again. Furthermore, as I drove our family car over Canning Bridge, I told her that I had applied to go to Antarctica. Her retort shocked even me: ‘But I still love you Brian,’ she said with a tear in her voice. She had hardly taken a breath when she continued: ‘If you insist on going away, I will kick out my new man when you return!’ And then: ‘You know I couldn’t manage all that time on my own, Dear’.

As I tried to digest her bizarre offer, the car veered across the double line and I struggled to regain control. Drivers of nearby cars gesticulated and tooted in protest. It was a scene reminiscent of Smoky and the Bandit.

I looked at her face and she didn’t even notice the strange look on mine; nor my lack of driving prowess. What she did know, however, was that I was hooked on our two beautiful boys, and at least for them, the proposal should be considered. Somehow, amongst this explosive relationship, I thought, maybe it was still possible to reconcile the marriage. The conformist within me wanted to believe that reuniting into a nuclear family, was in everyone’s interests and for that it had some appeal. So, she dangled the carrot yet again and for me it looked very tempting. But at least, this time, I was more realistic in my expectations as I realised that it would be difficult, especially given the vast distance and limited communication technology at that time. Furthermore, I was aware that I would have absolutely no control (or even knowledge) of what was happening at home.

I realised that this was not the ideal way to commence a journey with so many uncertainties and unknowns, so I deliberated for awhile and soon decided it was better the devil you know than the possible alternative: a stream of uncles for the kids. So, I agreed to her unusual proposal, knowing that it was always going to be a gamble. However, I honestly thought it was the best bet at that time for all of us. But I had no idea how well I would cope with another man leaving his shoes under my bed.

That part of the agreement resolved, I remembered it would only be fair to explain to the boys what my plans were, in the hope they would understand and grant permission for me to set off on my odyssey. At that time, I was a disciple of Transactional Analysis (or TA). This new psychology argued that all people, independent of age could behave as a child, a parent or an adult. So when I asked them for permission to go to Antarctica, I appealed to their adult component of their personality. I realise now, it was pretty naive of me to think they would be able to rationalise what I was asking them. Of course they agreed that I should do it: they didn’t want to let me down!

But on the other hand, it was never as black and white as that. My ego had taken a real beating since my eviction, and I honestly thought that the kids would probably do better without me anyway. It wasn’t a happy home as it was, and I knew my fatherhood was floundering. I needed time out to gain confidence by doing something well on my own. I wanted to find out if I was up to it. I wanted to test my inner mettle to improve my self image. To achieve this, Antarctica was the best place: it was desperately cold, it was inhospitable, it was so isolated it was like a prison, as once there, I couldn’t return at a whim. I thought that if I could survive a year of deprivation, I would regain confidence and think more clearly through my current sea of problems.

Also, I thought that it was possible that this separation could be the catalyst that drives us back together. I was gambling a little on the wisdom (or otherwise) within the old adage: absence makes the heart grow fonder. We had been together for over a dozen years now and maybe a break is what we all needed.

I also reasoned that if the kids slipped back at school, I could draw on my years of experience as a maths and science teacher to bring them back up to speed. As far as Franny was concerned, I thought it would give her a chance to become more independent and grow into a mature person, and perhaps the mother she could be, especially when she realised that, for the kids, she was it!

I also thought the whole scheme might just work, given that in the past, many women have risen to the occasion when their partner’s were away for years at war.

CHAPTER 1

The Voyage

A s we sailed under the new Westgate Bridge in Melbourne, on board the iconic Nella Dan , I panicked. I knew what I had done was irreversible. This was it for the next year! My mind focussed on the incident which had occurred a few days earlier at Perth airport, when 10 year-old Matthew jumped into my arms and cried: ‘Don’t go Daddy, don’t go!’ Matt had finally realised what my departure meant for him, and his protest moved me. It made me ask myself again whether I was doing the right thing. My eyes became hazy, partly through sadness and partly through guilt. After I kissed him and tried to reassure him, still upset, I passed him back to his mother. When I turned and picked up his younger brother, Josh , for a cuddle, I noticed his control. This gave me the strength to look away and walk down the ramp to the waiting plane.

My eyes lost focus and I had to deliberately bring myself back to the present. Despite my efforts to control my thoughts, questions echoed in my mind: What have I done? Did I have the right to do this? Could I survive without the love of a woman? Would Franny keep her part of the bargain when I returned? And would I return to two lovely, well-adjusted kids?

Instinctively, I looked away from the hard, grey, steel bridge slowly passing above me and turned to face foamy blue waters ahead. I shivered and buttoned up my jacket in a sudden brisk breeze. I tried to compose myself because I knew if I was to survive the forthcoming adventure, it would take all the skills I had