Here is another article from the A.N.A.R.E. AURORA magazine!
CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE WORST KIND
By Allan Moore
THREE BRUSH WITH DEATH IN THE ANTARCTIC
(Mawson - June 1963)
The following item relating to a dangerous incident near Mawson appeared in the Melbourne Sun a few days after June 12, 1963. While the article is brief and straightforward, it did not convey any information about preparations for the trip, and the aftermath of this somewhat ill-fated, mini- expedition.
Our OIC, Ray McMahon (the "Gaffer"), had been on our backs for several days to finish preparing and packing for our sea-ice trip to Taylor Glacier and rookery, using one old, and one brand new Porsche Snotrac. June 12 was not far from Midwinter and of course daylight was minimal. The weather had not been particularly good for several days, and for some unexplainable feeling of uneasiness, I would have been happy not to start out on this trip at this time. (The Gaffer will probably relate this to some difficulty in getting me out of bed). On the other hand, visibility was generally good with no drifting snow, but it was overcast with a fairly strong wind blowing. The sea ice at this time of year, we felt, should have been fairly thick and tough.
Preparation was good in all respects. Bill Edward (Snr. Diesel Mechanic) had the Snotracs running well, and we planned to evenly distribute as much of the supplies and support equipment as we could, between the two vehicles and the small sledges they pulled in the event of forced separation. Each sledge carried their own fuel, two polar pyramid tents, food, and we placed our sleeping bags and clothing in a number of old PMG calico mail bags, with a few spares as well. We had properly functional "Angry 9" radio transceivers onboard each vehicle, with a Morse radio officer (myself) to operate them. And in keeping with our plans, three men were assigned to each of the two vehicles.
We set out for Taylor Glacier during the morning utilising the available light. With a good run we expected to reach Taylor Glacier in 5 - 6 hours, or thereabouts. From memory, Bill Edward drove the first vehicle, and I the second. We kept a reasonable distance of about 100 yards between us and drilled a number of ice-core samples before proceeding on each "leg" as we travelled during those first hour or so. We were several miles out to sea and the Casey Range was easy to see in spite of the overcast, and rather glum weather.
About 11 or 12 miles from Mawson we drilled another sample core of sea ice, and while I don't remember its exact thickness, its condition and depth did not convey any danger signals to us. The terrain we were traversing appeared to alternate between snow- covered and bare blue sea ice. We moved off in our mini convoy with my Snotrac maintaining the agreed distance from the first vehicle. Within a minute or two the leading Snotrac suddenly came to an abrupt halt while moving through an area of snow-covered ice, nosed in and started to sink. Realising what had happened we immediately turned around, retraced our tracks on to hard ice, parked and ran to help our friends. By the time we got to the leading Snotrac, the last of the three passengers climbed through the roof hatch, and stepped onto the unbroken sea ice as the Snotrac disappeared forever into several thousand feet of icy water. By our best guess this amazing incident was over in about 15 seconds leaving the six of us staring dumbfoundedly at a square hole in the sea ice. This was not quite the type of "forced" separation we had envisaged during our pre-departure planning.
Utilising the old PMG mail bags had the effect of reaping us an unexpected reward. While standing around the hole in the ice trying to reconstruct events - and still somewhat shocked - mail bags started bobbing to the surface. Within a short time we had salvaged most of the sleeping bags, all of the bags of clothing, and I think, one polar pyramid tent and a few misce"llaneous items. And everything inside the bags was completely dry. We did not wish to remain here any longer than necessary as it was obvious that the sea ice in this area had broken out during one of the many storms we had had in previous weeks, and the prospect of proceeding to Taylor Glacier could not now be considered.
We returned to the remaining Snotrac and loaded the recovered equipment into the sledge. We opened the roof hatch, left the rear door wide open, and took up appropriate positions in the event of another forced emergency evacuation. With the Snotrac's nose already pointed towards Mawson, we headed off slowly and carefully following our earlier tracks over tested sections of ice. Our little group of six was generally quiet and apprehensive, with not a great deal of talking being done until Mawson was in sight. We were upset about the loss of the new vehicle and our inability to conclude those studies we had set out to undertake at the rookery. We marvelled at the good luck of Bill Edward, Dick Lippett (Medical Officer) and John Vukovich (Weather Observer), and their extremely lucky escapes from what would have been a terrible death.The other two expeditioners were David Cooke (Geophysicist) and Robert White (electronics Technician). Ithe incident also made me ponder why I felt uneasy about going on the trip, at this time, in the first place. I will never know, but one must always respect and try to anticipate the sometimes unforgiving force of nature.
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On our return to Mawson, the Gaffer and our other expedition friends were very supportive and did not "stir" us to any great extent. Obviously grateful that the occupants of the first Snotrac returned safely with us, we did later feel the unfortunate loss of the Snotrac for which a great deal of spring and summer work had been planned. The above recollections are intrinsically linked to another "Close Encounter of the Worst Kind" - and highlight again the fact that while Antarctica is an exquisitely beautiful place, it is patient, absolutely unforgiving, and will take full advantage of an expeditioner's slightest miscalculation or error of judgement. And even with the best of planning, one can still come to grief. Bill Edward and I returned to Mawson in 1965 for another stint, and while we enjoyed some sporting activities on the sea ice, our healthy respect for the vagaries of the Antarctic nature, never waned.