Phoebe and Louis spot a small dark object jutting up from an icy ridge, Alphonso quickly retrieve a spyglass to get a closer look as if the ship is going to stop, it will have to stop now to get a closer look.
The lens reveals the object to be the splintered prow of a ship’s lifeboat.
The rest of the boat is nothing but a flattened mass buried deep within the ice. The prow still bears a faint imprint of the name of the Wallaroo. There is no sign of crew or cargo. The lifeboat rests, entombed in ice, less than two miles from its mother ship.
Louis stares grimly at the remains of the lifeboat.
"Perhaps this is why so many were stripped of clothing? After they got stuck here they trekked back to the ship over the ice, yeah? Once on board they stripped off their wet clothes and tried to warm themselves." He shakes his head slowly.
"Pauvres âmes."
it is as good of a explaination as any. I see nothing in the boat of any use besides the wood itself and that is buried deep and frozen in the ice. Nothing to do but move on, really Alphonso says with a shrug
Letting out a sigh, "I guess we take what we can from here and get back then." Horrible way to die.
The Gabrielle pushes southward through the pack for five more days after leaving the whaler behind. Fog shrouds the surface of the ice, burning off only briefly when southern winds bring sharp flurries of snow. Each day is the same, an endless grinding succession of thrusts against the icy walls of the lead.
Sometimes progress is made; more often it is not. Forward motion is measured in feet—at best, in yards. On November 14th the last lead closes over, both before and behind. The Gabrielle is trapped in a narrow stretch of water, her hull sandwiched closely between the frozen walls. The pack beyond is utterly silent, save for an occasional sharp report or a long drawn out groan.
Starkweather calls for all hands on deck, “We have only two choices. We either wait for a storm to free us—a risky undertaking at best—or we blast our way free.” He grins.
“I favor the dynamite; what say the rest of you?!”
Captain Vredenburgh's face is pale at the suggestion. Moore is a better poker player than most of you expected as he remains impassive at the suggestion.
Peter Sykes whispers to your group, "This guy is bat-s~%% crazy... but he might be right".
"How likely is the dynamite to damage the ship?"
"I'd say probably as capable as a storm would be," Stanley suggests. "At least with the dynamite we have a chance at trying to control the results. I'd rather roll those dice than bet on the weather."
Louis's eyebrows raise at Starkweather's apparent enthusiasm. He looks to Stanley.
"I trust his judgment, Captain," Louis says, indicating Stanley with a nod. "He'll sort out the best place for the blasting, no doubt about it." Monsieur Starkweather seems a little too eager about the whole thing! He smiles at Stanley and gives an apologetic shrug.
[ooc]The Southern Sea - November 14th 1933 - the Gabrielle[//oc]
Moore remains impassive, the technicians Albert Gilmore and Michael O'Doul back Louis and Stanley.
The Captain sighs when Starkweather cuts in, "The Wallaroo was a lesson, let's not repeat what happened to it eh?"
Finally the Captain nods and the dynamite is broken out. Packard, Sykes,
and Griffith all have a small amount of experience with explosives.
Starkweather turns to your clutch, "You've all taken my explosives class earlier on the trip, any care to get your hands a bit dirty on this one?"
"I'll help however I can," Stanley volunteers.
Alphonso will elect to stay on the boat for this task as explosives do not sound overly fun and he wishes to retain all his fingers and toes and says as much aloud when asked if he wishes to partake.
Packard, Sykes, Griffith, and Stanley are lowered over the side and onto the ice. The rest of the crew watches with anticipation and trepidation as their fellow crewmen head onto the ice for this dangerous assignment.
Climbing the floes, they scout forward and aft, in search of weak spots and clear water. Once where to place the sticks is decided, charges are planted at appropriate places in the floes they will be detonated on long fuses.
Stanley is able to keep his footing pretty well on the ice. The alien nature of the environment, however, defies the academic knowledge of the subject from the lectures, and his uncomfortableness threatens to cloud his judgement.
Despite Stanley's best efforts, he struggles out on the ice and is unable to help his crewmates. His slip and fall is bad but not disastrous and he avoids injury if not embarrassment.
Packard, Sykes, and Griffith all manage to set the dynamite and after three of four return to the ship Sykes lights the fuses and then runs like hell back to the safety of the rope where he is pulled in.
The first explosions seem impossibly loud. Sprays of ice fly everywhere, and puffs of smoke billow upward. The ship is forced forward with the full power of her engines—once, twice, a third time in grinding surges—and the lead groans open with a roar.
Everyone cheers!
Explosives are used a half-dozen more times over the following two days, when the old thick ice seems impassable; each time, after a try or two, the ship pushes through, her wrought iron sides scarred and dented but unbroken.
Confidence in Starkweather becomes as high as it ever has been if not higher and he appears to have turned around the bad blood that the now dead subversive had sewn.
On November 17th the wireless brings news that creates consternation for Starkweather: Acacia Lexington’s party has established their base camp on the Ross Sea Barrier. From the bridge of the Gabrielle the ice stretches unbroken in all directions. The open water of the Ross Sea seems impossibly far away. "How did she manage that!?" rages Starkweather that afternoon.
The next day, however, the ship finds thinner ice. It is a ticklish passage—the pack is loose and the heavy floes slam together without warning, threatening to crush the hull—but Captain Vredenburgh manages to save the ship time and again, nudging ancient bergs forward to thrust others aside with a delicate hand.
On the 19th of November, snow flurries once again close the world to within a few yards of the ship. The expedition pushes forward gingerly with lookouts straining to all sides. Hours pass in the cold wet of the storm; then one of the lookouts calls out, “A sea! A sea!”
The captain orders all engines stopped.
As the rumble and motion ceases, everyone aboard suddenly knows that it is true. The ship is rocked gently in the slow swell of an open sea once more.
For all that night and into the following day, the ship pushes on through the pack. The fog lifts early on a rough horizon of pancake ice and heavy bergs below a water-dark line of distant sky; thick sea mists close in again soon after, locking the world away once more, but the ice is loose and easily shoved aside. At 10:20 on the morning of November 20th, Gabrielle pushes into open water at last, to sounds of celebration from the crew, and turns southwest towards her chosen goal.
Finally, land is sighted to the south. A few hours later, the horizon is filled with the sight of the Admiralty Range humbling the land below them. A tired but elated crew at last reach the Antarctic, and Ross Island. On deck the sun breaks through the thinning clouds.
Moore calls a meeting on deck with the Investigators, standing with him are two familiar faces though they are men none of you have met in anything other than passing this trip, Professor Charles Myers and his assistant Avery Giles, "By this afternoon we will arrive on land, or at least ice anyway. Starkweather has assigned Arnault as an Archaelogy team leader to handle I am not sure what yet quite frankly. I'd like all of you to assist Arnault with whatever it is he needs, most of you know Arnault Charles and Avery I do not believe either of you do but I shall leave all of you to the introductions amongst yourselves.
I know Charles that originally you were to be the lead on Archaelogy but Starkweather is one to play favorites. I assure you that all findings will be joint between you two and any compensation promised you will not be less due to the presence of Professor Arnault. IN fact, if I am not mistaken, he recently was hired by Miskatonic University so you two may in fact know one another already".
Giles, a little green behind the ears (he still hasn't quite grown his sea legs) lifts a hand toward his breast pocket then, with a tsk, casually scratches his chin. The tobacco in his shirt had gotten wet again. He'd gladly push Moore or Arnault or even Myers overboard right now for a dry cigarette.
Sure, he'd known this voyage was going to be long, and cold, and wet. They were, after all, on a ship. But in retrospect, he had allowed his imagination to race miles ahead, constructing a romanticized fable of the voyage as a sort of once-in-a-lifetime adventure quite separate and apart from the adventures that were to be had at the Pole. But these past few days had solidified for him the boreal reality of being trapped within a frozen sea and his absolute disdain for any of it. The cold. The wet. The salt. The explosions. And all of this endless, accursed whiteness. Looking back, it's hard for him to imagine what he must have been thinking, or why he'd agreed to come on this voyage.
He glances over at Myers. It was his fault. He had pulled the wool over Avery's eyes with promises of fame and of unprecedented research opportunities. As though any of that made a difference when your piss freezes to your leg. He wonders about Myers now, and the real reasons he has for being here. Maybe it isn't about what lay ahead, but what the man's leaving behind. But Myers has always been notoriously tight-lipped about anything but his career, leaving the whole of his personal affairs to the realm of mere conjecture and uncertainty.
But one thing's for sure: Avery's tired of all this damned ice.
He looks to the rest of the crew with bleary, red-rimmed eyes. "Lovely day for a hike, ain't it gents? Anyone got a cigarette?"
Myers stood on deck a bit tossled with wrinkeld coat and hair that hadn't yet seen a comb that day. Hecould feel the tenacious cold creeping through his wool socks. He pulled his gold tone from his break pocket and glanced at the time. He was glad to have swallowed some dried figs and stale biscuits earlier--dinner would probably be postponed today with all the excitement. He closed his watch with a prolonged clutch of reminiscence, placed it back in his left breast pocket, and tugged his coat tighter around his torso while gandering at the crew.
Hearing the news of Arnault leading the Archaeology team was expected if not a bit irritating. Arnault, had, after all, had more experience with frigid dig sites. Myers had never met the man in person at Miskatonic as he was off on field research since Myers arrival, but had read some of Arnault's writings on the excavations of indiginous artifcats surrounding Upernavik, Greenland. Arnault was used to numb fingers and digging by flamelight. He resigned himself to Arnault's expertise--at least he had someone here that shared his passion. A quick glance at Avery's sour pucker over his wet tobacco reinforced Myer's annoyance at the young man's flippancy. At least he knows how to use a shovel, thought Myers. He had a sudden longing for sand and camel barks--he would take the heat and sweat of his old days in Yemen over this frigid misery any day--but the appeal of the unknown in this desolate wasteland kept his motivation in check.
"Erm, Hello", Myers awkwardly murmured to the crew. He had tended to keep to himself unless out of necessity needing to interact with the others up until this point, but it seemed he could no longer take refuge in his cabin now that they had arrived. Ugh, people he thought.
Stanley offers a handshake to each of the two new crew. Well, new to him that is. Most of the crew would probably count that way to him except for the mechanics and the small band that Starkweather and Moore keep using like an any-tool.
"Nice to finally put some faces to names," he says. "I'm Stanley, engineer and practicing jack-of-all-trades, it seems." He chuckles a little. "Exciting to finally make it to the bottom of the world, eh? There were a couple times where it looked like we weren't even going to get here. I don't have any smokes, by the way. Never had a taste for 'em."
Moore nods, "Excellent, I will leave your group to get to know one another than, plenty of work to be done this afternoon and tomorrow rest assured".
The SS Gabrielle nears Ross Island in the early afternoon of Tuesday, November 14th, and draws cautiously into the icy waters of McMurdo Sound to the west. Mount Erebus looms overhead, smoking constantly. The region of the Ross Sea between the island and the mainland is still solid with thick sea ice which stands six to eight feet above the surface of the water.
The barrier, easily visible even here, rises upwards like a wall, several miles distant across broken ground. Starkweather is elated. “We have arrived!” he declares. “Captain, anchor the ship. We shall begin our assault from here. Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Antarctica!”
Within an hour the ship is secured to the ice with long mooring lines, the hatch covers on the cargo holds have been removed, and the arduous work of unloading begins. First planks, and later the great ramp, serve as gangways onto the Antarctic ice; both dogs and men press off the ship as fast as they can, eager to be ashore and to see at first hand their strange new world.
The next two days are nonstop activity as the expedition’s cargo is put ashore onto the ice below the barrier. Once the Gabrielle is unloaded, all of the cargo will be brought up and over the barrier by dog sled and caterpillar tractor. The enormously thick barrier ice is very stable even a few hundred yards inland, but the sea ice on which the Gabrielle can unload is only a few yards thick, will weaken day by day, and soon may split apart at any time. Speed is essential also in moving the Gabrielle away from the barrier ice, which now and then calves off icebergs, making abrupt and dangerous waves.
Many of the Gabrielle’s crew lend a hand, laboring alongside the explorers. Boxes and barrels stream down the big collapsible ramp brought up from the #3 hold; scientists and sailors work six-hour shifts! One on and one off, around the clock beneath a sun that never sets. The ship’s cargo hoists never stop moving until all the expedition’s gear is on land.
The men and women helping with the transfer are divided up into four work gangs. Three of these move the cargo off the ship, while the fourth prepares a temporary camp on the thicker sea ice a few hundred yards further inland. The dogs and their sleds are among the first items to be transferred. As soon as possible thereafter, they are divided into four teams and put to work. Two of these, led by Pulaski and Fiskarson, set out across the ice in search of an easy route up to the top of the barrier. The others are used to drag cargo loads away from shore and onto safer ground.
Wafts of sulfurous smoke from the smoldering volcano drift over the teams now and then as they ceaselessly unload.
At six o’clock on the morning of November 16th, the Gabrielle casts off from the ice and pushes free into the Ross Sea once more. Depending on the weather and the ice, she will be idle now for weeks, except for her powerful radio, which will transmit messages to the rest of the world. Of course, in case of emergency, she can come to the expedition’s rescue.
At the temporary camp, tents are assembled and hot meals are prepared. The expedition’s landing plan, put together by Starkweather and Moore with the help of Sykes and the Sorensen brothers during the long trip south, is the first damn thing that's gone right since you all signed up for this Expedition! Things are looking up it seems all that hard work paid off all of the drama of New York and Panama is left behind and the work, the work you all are here to do can finally begin.
Alphonso will bring his bags from his room snsuring the are packed with his camping gear and then as the crew disembarks on the ice Alphonso will congratulate the crew and Starkweather on a job well done and prepare to move inland.
Taking in the two men with her mismatched eyes. We are all trapped on one big floating building but we know so few people. Offering the two men a smile, "I kicked that habit a long time ago. Sorry."
Rubbing her arms, trying to chase away the perpetual shiver, "I'm Phoebe Barrett. I'm the one that jumps off the boat and I am also the nurse that will be traveling with you."
Louis bares his jumble of enormous teeth at the two men in a smile, giving a shake of his head at Avery's request. "I think maybe you were in radio training, yeah? Nice to meet you again."
Louis gives all the radios a once-over before they're packed up and shipped out, and inspects the ship's radio before he leaves the Gabrielle.
He makes sure to securely pack all of his own belongings. Once disembarked he keeps the pistol he retrieved from the wreck of the Wallaroo stowed in his parka's inside pocket, while his rifle is near to hand, slung over his shoulder.
"They say there are no bears here, but I'm not sure i believe it!"
"Figures..." Avery mumbles, extending a gloved hand to Stanley and Phoebe. "Name's Avery. I'm assistin' the professor, here. Ain't that right, doc?"
He grins at Phoebe. "Ya don't scare me. I'm not afraid of needles."
At Louis's question, Avery strains to recall much of anything from radio training, but he recognizes the man from other interactions on the ship--brief chatter over dinner, casual exchanges, and so forth. So he lies. "Right, right! I remember... glad to see you didn't decide to disembark at a warmer port."
Avery stands and watches the Gabrielle cast off, leaving them alone on a frozen shore. It's funny, he'd been thinking once they were finally off the ship, he'd feel a lot better about things. But somehow, watching the ship shrink smaller and smaller against the endless horizon, he only feels more anxious.
Returning Avery's grin, "I was not trying to. Besides I things far more frightening than needles if I feel the need to cause a fright."
---
Spending as much time as she can checking over her things, trying to make sure she does not miss anything. Trying to shake off the little swirling pit of blended excitement and anxiety that has settled in her belly at the idea of being on land again.
The remainder of the day is spent with the group in split duties, Louis and Stanley assembling and testing the aircraft with the balance of the group helping to set up camp, digging basements to avoid the worst of the wind at night, assembling and tying down temporary shelters and stringing power lines for the arterial radios.
The air is frigid despite the cold and Phoebe is called on many times around the camp away from this secondary duty to attend to men who are already getting sprained ankles and the chills from sweating with all the hard work setting up a camp on such a massive scale entails!
Everyone except the most experienced of the cold weather survivalists slip on the ice constantly. It takes some getting used to to be sure. Luckily there are just bruises and no major injuries resulting form these ice capades.
Despite the dangers, standing on the Antarctic ice is exhilarating. The surface holds a million subtle shades of blue and green, tinged sometimes with red from the low polar sun; ice crystals catch the light and sparkle in tiny rainbow flashes, distracting the eye with a sense of quiet hidden motion. Breath hisses as it freezes, floating away in thick white clouds or condensing into frosty rims on mustaches, anoraks and furred hoods.
When the wind rises, visibility drops to zero in brief but blinding flurries of blown snow. Whiteouts are common; when this happens, the sky and the horizon are abruptly lost in walls of brilliant white, and it is no longer possible to see features more than a few feet away. These times are dangerous ones, especially for those on the trail. In the camp, and between the campsite and the shore, lines of poles bearing brightly colored flags are set every few feet, the better to guide lost explorers to safety.
Even when there is no wind, and the air is clear, it is strangely easy to miscalculate or lose one’s way. The Antarctic air has a curious property, often commented on by explorers, of distorting distances in uncanny fashion. Small objects close at hand seem huge and far away, while enormous distant features look close enough to touch. This subtle derangement gives visitors to the Antarctic a sense of living slightly out of touch with the world—as if the whole polar continent were some sort of careful illusion that might shatter at any time.
The island itself, with its smoking Mt. Erebus looming overhead, is a fascinating distraction just a few miles away. There is little time to play tourist—Starkweather’s urgings, and the schedule of the season, leave no opportunity for leisure.
This lack of leisure time is made all the more clear early the next morning when Arnault rouses the investigators from their tents. "Morning all. Zees is zee first of our azzingments, Zee vestern zide of the zee island was home to zee prior explorations from 30 years ago. I vould like to zee how zhey built their huts to zee if zhere is a style we should emulate. Perhaps zhere vill be somezing worth finding there".
success, smooth operator
Necessity is the mother of invention, and of blisters, Avery realizes after a meager two hours of grueling work. Tasked with setting flag poles every few feet between various points in the camp, his eyeballs soon feel frozen within his skull. The wind at times is so strong the poles are ripped from his hands and go hurtling off into the great white unknown. The process is tedious, to say the least, leaving little time for reverie in the majesty of Mr. Erebus. How did it acquire that name? He'd have to ask Myers later.
"Guten Morgen, Herr Doctor!" he offers in his best Arnault impersonation to Myers as they gather their things for the hike to the western slope, quickly glancing about to make sure he isn't overheard. "I'll betcha a checker that egg Arnault's got the low down on what went on, else why's he so keen on draggin' us over there? And, have ya noticed there's somethin' funny with light down here? That mountain looks like it's 'bout to topple over on us any minute! Gives me the creeps, it does."
Having gotten his practice in early with the explosives crew, Stanley is a bit more prepared for how to navigate without falling down. Or at least he thinks he is. He reminds himself that this is the sort of environment to make sure that pride comes before the fall, quite literally in this case. His hands are stuffed deep in his pockets, and he's looking forward to a break from working on assembling the planes. So many aircraft connectors are so tiny that he keeps having to take off his gloves every so often, and it feels like it will be days before the feeling comes back to his digits.
"It's probably the same sort of optical effect that causes boats to be visible above the horizon when they're supposed to be below it," he theorizes, hoping that it will put the less mathematically rigorous at ease. Although, in truth, he can't seem to get a handle on how it seems to work the way it does. Normally he wouldn't try to put forth an idea he wasn't sure of, but this part of the world is dangerous enough without the creeps.
"I've heard from colleagues that the Nevada desert can cause similar distortions, though I've never experienced it myself before. It's fascinating." Despite the pronouncement, he studiously tries to keep from trying to probe the illusion directly, preferring to keep his gaze safely focused on the treacherous ice at his feet, lest it get the better of him.
Myers surprisingly deftly managed to maintain footing as he shuffled along the frozen arena toward the encampment. And to think I once cursed my mother for insisting on those damned ice skating lessons as a lad! He was now wantingly recalling his mother preparing hot cocoa to warm his reddened nose after those frosty toe loops. No such comforts would be had here--unless their German commander had stowed away some schnapps for celebrating--Doubtful. The best he probably had to look forward to was Avery's delusional sense of humor...
Myers thought on the Lake expedition as he stared into the icebound horizon and wondered what frozen mysteries lie ahead.
Fascinated by the optical illusions presented by the landscape, Louis is too busy looking at the horizon to look at his feet. Despite his multiple mis-steps and falls, however, his Nova Scotian intuition for wintry conditions seems to save him from injury.
Alphonso keeps to his feet moving which raises his spirits and keeps him motivated to move with the group and keep his eyes on the prize.
Phoebe manages to make it and assist Arnault from twisting who like Louis hits the ice so suddenly from standing to falling in less than the blink of an eye.
As the group makes their trudge towards the "old camps" Professor Myers provides some color on their history.
"The most famous of the Antarctic expeditions in the 1830’s was England’s Ross expedition, mounted in 1839. It consisted of two ships, the Erebus and the Terror, which were designed specifically for Antarctic exploration. With strengthened hulls to withstand the ice, Ross intended to sail all the way to the magnetic pole.
He encountered pack ice and slowly forced his way through it for five days when he reached open water. Sailing farther south, he sighted a great chain of mountains along what is now known as Victoria Land.
Ross landed on Possession Island and patriotically claimed the mainland (on which he could not land) in the name of Queen Victoria. Continuing southward, he saw and named Mt. Melbourne for the prime minister, and two volcanoes, Mt. Erebus and Mt. Terror.
Ross also discovered the great ice shelf that now bears his name, a tremendous wall of ice rising from the water to a height of over 200 feet. Ross followed this spectacular natural formation for over two hundred and fifty miles, and never saw a gap or break through which he could sail.
Although Ross searched for a winter port, as he desired to spend the winter in Antarctica, the coastline of Queen Victoria Land was ice-locked and inaccessible. Ross’ voyage is considered one of the most significant and remarkable voyages in all of Antarctic exploration.
There have been further Expeditions since then, a few of which set up camps but this was the most significant in many respects. The British and the Belgians wintered here at the turn of the century.
Of course there was also the Miskatonic Expedition and I suppose that is further into the ice and will be one of our primary goals to find an explore".
Arnault nods to Meyers, "Indeed, zees ees true, zhere may vell be important samples left behind by the zee Miskatonic Expedition zhat can be recovered.
It should be interesting to zee if vee find eizehr of zhose camps from zee turn of zee century! Thank you Professor!"
The investigators continue their trek with Arnault and the group does indeed find huts on the western side of the island by 11 am! Most are in good condition but would require roof repairs to utilize.
Stanley is thoroughly engrossed in the history lesson, and is quietly paying attention to nothing else.
"Mount Terror?" Avery asks. "I wonder what struck him to give it such a name..." He again turns his eyes toward the mountains, unsure whether to believe their perceived immensity and proximity as reality or figments of perverse imagination.
"Given he named the other one Mount Erebus, I'd guess that he named them both after the ships he led down here on the expedition," Stanley supposes out loud.
Louis, now a bit sheepish after his embarrassing falls, keeps himself focused on his footing to the exclusion of most else.
As the Investigators wander through the huts Alphonso finds a number of items left behind. One hut in particular had a great deal of items covered by a snow encrusted blanket which no one else had spotted.
Emergency food (which still appears fine as they are canned goods), medical supplies, and a medical text dating to 1910.
A search of the next set of huts once more allows Alphonso's sharp eye to be put to use, next to it is a small cairn that Alphonso digs through. He finds trinkets from the Miskatonic U. Expedition! A 1930 Miskatonic Yearbook and a card signed by all members of that land Expedition dated November 16, 1930.
As the party considers their next move they receive several visitors. Emperor Penguins! It seems the locals are curious about the Investigators. These are large birds, standing three to four feet high and weighing as much as 60 to 100 pounds with black bodies and
yellow-white abdomens. They watch from a distance in groups of four or five, never venturing closer than 100' but calling out now and then in short sharp squawks.
Just the the radio squawks with Moore's voice on the other end, "I trust you have enjoyed your tour of the island? There is some good news, please head back".
Arnault replies in the affirmative, "Are vee all ready? A few more moments or perhaps even a hour could not hurt".
"Well, looky there!" Avery claps his frozen, gloved hand on Alphonso's shoulder when the yearbook is found. "That'll fetch a buck or three. Swell work, just aces!"
"Gee fellas, look at those birds! Ya ever seen a bird so big? I didn't realize they'd be so, so huge!"
For a few minutes, the creeping uneasiness that's tickled his brain seems to settle, and Avery's looking on the bright side.
Alphonso will smile and put the emergency food supplies with the group on the sleds with the other supplies and give the medical supplies to Phoebe to pack and distribute as she sees fit. He gives the books and items of historical significance to the professors from Miskatonic saying "my employer will expect a share of the funds the university for the purchase and display of these fine items. Thank you
Stanley tries to go about his business while keeping an eye on the penguins in return. He's not sure why they make him so uneasy, but the effect is undeniable. Or maybe he's displacing the uneasiness of standing in the last known place several dead men once stood. it's not just the cold that's making him shiver. He's quite relieved when they're recalled to the Gabrielle, though he tries his best to keep these thoughts to himself. The last thing he wants is for it to seem like he's cracking.
The Investigators arrive at the campsite with their finds in hand and none the worse for wear.
The base camp has had its own visitors, Adelie penguins in classic black and white. They wander everywhere near the water, seemingly fascinated by the expedition’s equipment and quite unafraid. Easy to chase and to capture, they show no signs of alarm even when attacked by the sled dogs.
The sea ice is also home to a few Weddell seals—thick-bodied creatures marked in black and gray, ranging from seven to eight feet long and weighing three hundred pounds or more—who lie at the edge of the sea and
watch all the fuss without apparent interest.
Olaf Snåbjorn, delighted, has shot one of the seals and dragged it into camp for his dogs. He has butchered it, messily,not far from the mess tent.
“I tell the dogs they have done well,” he explains as your group passes by, holding out a red slab of steaming meat. “Try some. It is good eating!”
As you pause to consider whether or not to try some of the local fare Moore approaches. "The trail party has radioded and informed us that they have found a navigable trail up onto the barrier, and an excellent campsite not far beyond. Plans have been made at to examine the site during the Scott’s first flight later this afternoon. Can you assist in ensuring that it is ready to fly once more?"
Now this is a task to which Stanley is well suited! All of the uneasiness from earlier evaporates at once as he buries himself in the subjects of his specialty. He gets so lost in the work that he doesn't even realize that he's started to whistle tunelessly.
Alphonso helps where he can and will save on the packed rations by cooking the seal meat very well and serving it to whomever wants some, partaking of it himself as well, and then seeing if they may wish to kill another seal or two and pack it in ice and salt to preserve the meat and save on the emergency rations.
The enormous animals are strange, indeed. "What kind of animal doesn't run when it's attacked? Even if they're unfamiliar with humans, you'd think they'd know enough to avoid the teeth of a dog, yea?"
Avery crinkles his nose at the raw meat. "Thanks, but I'd have it roasted first. And served with some steaming potatoes." His stomach growls at the thought. It had been a while since he'd had some good, home-cooked grub.
Avery tries to assist Stanley with his tools, but drops a wrench on the man's foot. "Sorry buddy, I'm all thumbs today!"
Myers had read about large penguins but in person was aghast at the volume of these emporers! More astonishing was the blatant numbness to the dogs the Adelie's demonstrated. He had to agree with Giles, "Yes! I wonder what sorts of encounters they're used to here at the edge of the world that could callous them so? Are the seals so vicious?"
Myers knew better than to go near the machinery. Not since that terrible catastrophe with his beloved gerbil Wilber and the overshot loader during has first graduate student dig had he much been curious about the inner working of anything with gears and oil. He left such devices to those with calloused hands and greasework sensibilities.
He did, however, have a keen ear for the various rumblings and jarrings of malfunctioning equipment and was ever-ready to lend some "backseat" opinions on the health of dig site equipment!
Distracted by the large emperor penguins and visibly jumping when Alphonso starts handing her things. Shaking her head, "Sorry. Thank you."
Though it is the numbness of the Adelie penguins that really stops her in her tracks. "It's like some kind of madness."
Staring at the raw meat, "Are we supposed to eat it like that?"
Happy to not even be asked to go deal with the machinery and opting to look around instead though her eyes frequently drift to the fearless and apathetic penguins.
Alphonso and Phoebe find raw seal to be an acquired taste but certainly edible, Olaf shrugs at Phoebe's meant to comment and simply takes a bite in response. Olaf Snåbjorn nods to Alphonso and rustles up a few more of them to slaughter and pack, "That be enough, do not want to slay too many else they become skittish at our approach the next time eh!?"
Avery shies away and moves to assist Stanley.
---
Stanley finds that even where things do not quite work out down here, one thing that still goes as well down here as it does back home is engineering. With his assistance the repairs and re-building go off flawlessly.
Stanley is able to smooth out the difficulties encountered by Avery with ease despite a bit of a sore toe thereafter!
---
As the group is distracted with repairs or nature Professor Myers has his eyes and ears on the rest of what is taking place at the camp.
News has been received, this time from the ship: Acacia Lexington’s expedition has flown nonstop over the South Pole in their monoplane, the Belle, and returned safely to their base camp on the barrier. Starkweather, for once, receives the report in calm silence.
---
Phoebe enjoys watching the natural fauna of the great ice, it truly is amazing to be one of the few people alive to have ever seen such creatures in their native habitat. Despite the trials of the trip early on it is starting to feel worth it. For a moment she misses her husband even though she knows were he with her today she'd not be here in this place at this time.
-------
Once the plane is repaired, the Scott takes to the air that afternoon, lifting easily from its rough runway into still and cloudless skies with Halperin and Longfellow at the controls. During its two-hour flight the little plane flies over Fiskarson’s suggested camp site, waggles its wings at the Lexington Expedition camp not far beyond, and flies south and west to the barrier’s surrounding hills before returning. Everything runs flawlessly; the flight crew is elated!
Work begins at once to lengthen the runway and assemble the Boeings for flight. Starkweather, unusually quiet, stays out of the way, but insists that work continue round the clock and through the sunlit night.
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Stanley watches the Scott take off with pride. He considers the trip so far, from the moment he signed on back in Massachusetts until now, and this is the only instance of something going as planned he can remember. It's nice, not having to run around being a jack of all trades. He rubs his sore toe for a moment thinking that if a dropped wrench is the worst of it from here on out, then perhaps this wasn't a bad decision after all. And, really, now that they're here what could possibly go wrong now? Penguins with machine guns? The idea is so absurd he laughs out loud and shakes his head.
One deep breath later he sets to work on readying the Boeings as well.