OHYAT: Alley of Ice

ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO TODAY, as the Terra Nova was steaming her way back to New Zealand, Frank Debenham was bringing his diary up to date in the wardroom when he heard a commotion on deck. When he went up to see what it was, he found they had entered a fog bank so thick the world was an impenetrable white immediately the ship ended.

Or at least ... he thought it was a fog bank ... until he saw shadows slide past.

There was a heavy mist indeed, but the 'white fog' was the sheer face of an iceberg a few yards to starboard, the top of which disappeared into the mist. ... The slab sides of the berg continued to glide past and our course seemed to be steady, but at any moment we might come to a re-entrant corner in the berg and as visibility was barely 50 yards we should have some difficulty in avoiding collision.
    [The crew in command] looked perfectly calm, if perhaps a trifle earnest,so the situation must be well in hand. Still, that berg was beastly close and at times our yard-arms only seemed to clear it by a few feet. So when a fellow-scientist came along from forard I said with a humour which I did not really feel, 'Hullo Charles, we seem to be hugging this jolly old berg somewhat closely, what's the bright idea?' His laconic answer was, 'Have a look on the port side and you'll see'; and off he went to rate his clock or measure atmospheric potential or whatever lawful occasion befitted that hour for a physicist at sea.

It was the same view on the port side – a wall of ice a few yards away, disappearing into the mist. At the start of the adventure the skipper of the watch (Rennick) had deemed it easier to keep going through than to back out, but as the minutes crawled by with no exit in sight 'his nerves of steel must have been strained somewhat.'

"For twenty tense minutes we threaded that channel, praying inwardly that it was a channel and not a cul-de-sac," Deb wrote, but at last the way widened out to starboard so they turned away from "our very large friend, the port berg." Shortly after, though, more bergs were sighted to starboard, or the way was blocked with brash ice, so they had to go back to hugging the wall again. This they did for three hours, the port berg continuous all the time, and the starboard side an unnavigable jumble. Deb estimated the giant berg – or at least the side they followed – to be eight to ten miles long, and they passed over twenty smaller bergs to starboard.

Now the moral of this tale is this: that you must never think you have finished with icebergs until you are north of 55°S.; but the reflexions of those who were in the incident would probably provide another set of morals, each of some value and interest. Possibly if Admiral Evans were asked he would say, "No, next time I see a narrow opening between bergs, I'll not take it; the suspense is too great and it might not be a channel". The reflections of the lookouts would take the form of "Lor' lumme, I never thought there was that much ice in the ocean, and I'm blowed if it didn't seem to get in our way a purpose."
    The Canadian physicist's reflexions would be of no value for they would refer to the adjectival nuisance of bergs interfering with the measurements of the day.
    The reflexions of the author are sage in the extreme, for they are to the effect that it was a very apt and thrilling adieu to the Antarctic Regions, but that he would rather not have it over again.

– Frank Debenham, In the Antarctic

RED BARN

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