More details about our Journey

The 50 knot gust knocked me sideways as it ripped at my overly-full

rucksack.  The summit was just 50m away and despite my right skin having

lost all its glue we were going to make it to what we hope to claim as a

first ascent….

Three days earlier

The snow was settling lightly onto the wreck of the Guvernoren as Darrel

scaled its rusting hulk to move the mooring lines so that the stove on

Spirit would burn properly. We were nestled alongside this huge old

factory ship.  She was destroyed by fire when 16,000 barrels of

processed whale oil caught fire in 1915.  All 85 crew survived, a lot

more than can be said of the hundreds of whales that were butchered and

processed in its state-of-the-art rotary boilers to keep the lights

burning and toast spread with margarine.

This bewitching anchorage mingles history with a gentler more bucolic

side of Antarctica we had hitherto not seen.  The new day dawned with a

much welcomed change – the hint of blue sky.  Ski packs ready we

embarked in the zodiac to explore Enterprise Island.  A small figure of

eight island we soon climbed, skied and traversed every inch of its

pristine slopes.  All the while Bruce was surveying neighboring

locations for landing points.  Unfortunately these were few and far

between, such were the glaciated sea cliffs that predominated our

surroundings.

By late afternoon the sun was well and truly out.  Spirit was covered

with airing sleeping bags, sun tan lotion was in demand and beer

consumed.  As the sun began to set the red hulk of the Guverneron glowed

quietly besides us in her long terminal slumber.  Listen carefully and

you might even hear a faint echo of the rivet hammers bashing out her

fine lines on the Clyde at the turn of the last century.

The 1st December dawned with clear skies. We found ourselves iced in

with fresh brash ice that had curled in from Plata Passage. Darrel was

unfazed and simply aimed for the nearest soft, flat pancake sea ice

berg, nudged Spirit’s bow into its rump and then used this as a plough

to clear a path through the harsher brash ice into open water.

Free we headed due west for Brabant Island for our first camping

expedition. Bruce had been looking at the impressive Mount Parry.  At

2,520m high, this is the highest mountain on Brabant and some 500m

higher than the top of the Antarctic Peninsula at this latitude.  We

made for Terrada Point where we could make out a gentle ramp from the

promontory making for a viable access to the glacier above.  From a

distance you could clearly make out that the Parry was skiable to and

from the summit.

The three hour crossing of the Gerlache Strait gave us the chance to

pack our camping gear, food and clutter that is a prerequisite for any

expedition.  We planned to spend 2-3 days ashore but packed gas and

provisions for 5 in case we became weather-bound.

Disembarked in now tropical weather, the sun beat down.  We were all

stripped to minimal clothing and prepared our roped-pulk teams on the

low headland.  We were surrounded by sunbathing seals, the ubiquitous

Gentoo penguins and a pair of Southern Giant Petrels.  The Gentoos were

busying themselves bullying this pair of gentle giants who were, from

what I could tell, merely minding their own business.  A gang of

skirmishing penguins would waddle towards their foe. The petrels would

look round and the troop of penguins would freeze and wave their heads

innocently in the air, like a group of children playing peek-a-boo. When

the petrels looked away the advance resumed.

Enough about nature, back to the skiing.  We were all loaded with full

rucksacks and drag bags.  Each drag back comprised a 59 litre drybag

attached to our rucksacks on a 3m towing rope known as a trace.  The

combine weight of the heaviest set was probably approaching 30kg.

Bruce had set a goal of getting to between 750-1000m for our base camp.

  We would then head on up Mount Parry the following day. The gradient,

save for one section, was depressingly slight. Parry was obstinately

distant.  My altimeter was not ticking by as I would expect, rather it

was trudging its way higher meter by meter.  The heat, sun-tan lotion

sweat, ache of the weight on your hips gnawed away at you. All I can say

is respect to the early explorers who did this into the unknown.

600m, 700m finally, approaching 6.5 hours after leaving the beach, Bruce

announced that we had arrived at camp when my altimeter read 800m.  A

vast white amphitheatre of glacier. To the east lay the Peninsula which

we almost looked down on.  To the west Mount Parry stood dismissively,

apparently no nearer than when we had started. To the south the

impressive Solvay Range of mountains.

Camp was set up and we all dived into our surprisingly delicious

freeze-dried dinners.  Tired each tent shut up shop and drifted off to

sleep. Bruce, Louise and I in the largest tent, Neil and Andy in the

second and Mark and John in the third.

2nd December dawned clear and sunny but the tops of the mountains had

spindrift tails showing that the wind at altitude was strong.  Freed

from the burden of the pulks we headed off towards Parry. Unfortunately

Andy’s ankle was sore from previous day’s gruelling ascent so he elected

to stay at base camp.

The ascent was cold, with the wind steadily increasing as we gained

elevation.  Mount Parry continued to play its trick of never getting any

closer.  After about three hours, Bruce announced a change of plan.

Parry was looking so windblown that he was worried that we would find

the summit scoured, ice blown and unskiable.  Scant reward for such a

long toil.  He had spotted a subsidiary top just to its south that had a

large bowl below it which looked as though it might have kept some good

snow.

We headed to our new target and after another two and a half hours

skinning made the summit in winds gusting over 50 knots.  The views were

amazing as we could look down Parry’s precipitous west face towards

Anvers Island and the Southern Ocean beyond. Mount Parry’s west face

looked like a vast frozen human face that had been blasted with maritime

ice since the beginning of time.

We dropped off our summit into a dip and out of the maelstrom. Food and

a hot drink soon refreshed us.  Into skiing mode and we headed down into

the bowl.  Bruce was right.  Fabulous snow, the best by far and probably

300m or so of divine turns which even I made look easy!  A beaming Bruce

later said that it was some of the best snow he had skied in Antarctica.

  Sadly this was not to last as we returned to windcrust and a sketchy

but entertaining long traversing descent back to camp where we were met

by a very relieved Andy. He had had been looking at Mount Parry all

afternoon and with no sign of us was beginning to think the worst!

Once we got back to camp, the stoves were on, banter resumed and each

tent crew turned in for the night.  Before sleep a satelite call

confirmed that the following day was set fair and so Bruce decided to

stay at base camp for another day and climb the highest of a set of

lower tops about 5km to our south before heading down to the beach where

we would camp.

3rd December dawned in glorious technicolor, well at least every shade

of white and blue imaginable. The wind was gone and the sun was out.

Sun screen was sloped on and the whole group set off for our target top.

  The now familiar curiously-long skinning traverse gained the col below

the summit.  Skis off and boot crampons and ice axes on we completed the

modest climb to a surprisingly fine iced summit ridge.  On the far side

there was a sobering vertical drop to the Hippocrates Glacier some 500m

below.  After the obligatory team pics on the top we carefully retreated

to our skis collecting the ice screws placed as a precaution by Bruce

and Mark on the way up.

The return to camp was another skiing traverse over the vastness of the

Mackenzie Glacier.

Back at camp we struck camp, packed out sacks and prepared for the

descent to the beach.  Andy, Bruce and I managed, somehow, to stuff,

hang, strap all our gear to our packs whilst the rest of the team used

pulks. Skiing down 800m with 25-30kg of weight on your back is quite

interesting. The descent back to Terrada Point was surprisingly

enjoyable despite probably some of the most atrocious crusty snow

conditions in the final 100m where the high temperatures of the past two

days had played havoc with the snow.

Our final night’s camp on this part of our adventure was on a simply

stunning headland 25m above sea level. The Gerlache was filled with

bergs and brash ice.  The Mackenzie Glacier was busy calving more bergs

just behind us.  The awesome peaks of the Solvay Range towered to our

south with the pointed Celsius Peak being their highlight.

Our wall built to screen us from the forecast wind, dinner was served

and contact made with Spirit who confirmed pick up the following morning.

4th December arrived with less wind than forecast which was a relief as

it would have been frustrating to have had to abort our return to the

boat.  Whilst we had plenty of food, Louise’s socks were now becoming a

serious health hazard and my base layers were beginning to come alive.

The re-embarking was completed in an orderly and stress-free manner and

the grubby, smelly team were welcomed with a lovely dry, cosy boat and

Maggie’s delicious take on an English breakfast.

Never has a hot shower and a shave felt so good.

We are now heading though the Neumayer Channel towards Port Lockroy the

for BAS base now run by the Antarctic Heritage Trust where we will be

anchoring for the night.

Mark B.