Antarctic Thesaurus
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map Mawson McMurdo measure melt stream methane mood
mood
Drawings by Meredith Lucy, John Smith, Rena Czaplinska, Yoris Everaerts, Lisa Roberts (Sydney, 2007), were inspired by the words,
You feel the word
lives for the first time
estranged
as soon as it is spoken.
Jack Ward, Mawson, January 1955
sound: Jon Hizzard
Flinders Island 2003
3rd. August 1955 Mawson
For almost the first time it is snowing with only a light wind, and ... we live in the quiet that soft snow brings...
28th. September 1955 Bretangen Latitude 69s Longitude 76e
...the vehicles cruising uncertainly over enormous sastrugi, and plunging between icebergs and islands unmarked on the map, with the mountain-dark coastline rearing behind rows of cold stern bergs. No place on earth could assume the unconcern and cold malice that this sheathed continent evokes in bad weather. When light fails, the surface of the snow is like a mist; from six feet above it nothing but whiteness shows; no texture, no shadow, no outline - only the stumbling and lurching chassis of the weasel.
18th. January 1956 Mawson
Climbing Mount Casey...storm clouds to sea and snow showers blowing over the ranges. The mood of depression stemming from the weather is rather frightening. The whole scene has a chilly virgin air of reproof and remoteness. There is no colour except that the distant ranges are a cold dark blue and the sky black or hoary grey.
Mount Henderson looks repulsive; a single peak with steep sides and no character. We started to treck West from the line of stakes made here in June to measure ice movement.
Returned from an eight day run through the near ranges - Casey, David, Masson and Henderson. The lightly loaded weasel hauled two sledges and three men while two rode inside it.
In the pleasant aftermood of the trip, this part of Antarctica seems manageable, almost liveable. But for moments when camped at night, although there is still brilliant light, the sun is off the immense plateau which is then coloured a hollow deep blue, just like the sea beneath leaden clouds, there are moments when, from perfect calm, the wind rises with a great relentless sigh and roars cold hostility, then as suddenly it dies. But the calm has been lost. There is silence, but a teasing deceptive untrustable silence and the wind will pump its groan again before there is either stillness or a steady breeze. The sky stays clear or streaked only with bright orange and red bands that against the blue of the ice are like bad makeup. The light is garish and the tent seems a pitiful refuge from the great Antarctic scourge.
Jack Ward, Mawson diary (1955-1956)
