‘Heard Island is a very threateningplace, the sheer malevolence of HeardIsland hits you when you go … it isessentially black and white, stark,because the black volcanic rock cliffsrise out of this grey seething sea andthe wind is blowing and the birds arejust floating around in the gale andscreaming. The tops of these blackcliffs are coated with a thick, fifty-footor so layer of white glacier ice andthis disappears up into the swirlingmists that are engulfing this greatmountain. When the mists clear youhave a nine-thousand-foot mountainrising straight out of the sea. Now,not many places do you get a straightlift of nine thousand feet for a moun-tain from a place where you’re stand-ing but to have it coming out of thesea with black cliff and then the whiteglaciers streaking up and the but-tresses of the summit and the steeprock cliffs and the ice falls of the gla-ciers – it really is a most impressiveplace. And on the few good days,when the wind drops and the cloudsclear and you sail around this thing,it is absolutely magnificent.’

(Phillip Law, 30 November, 1987.)

The ANARE station at Atlas Cove, onHeard Island, was officially closed onWednesday, 9 March, 1955, after sevenyears of continuous operation. Itsdemise was a sacrifice to finance theestablishment of Mawson station, thefirst ANARE settlement on continentalAntarctica.

The abandonment of Heard Islandwas strenuously resisted by the Bureauof Meteorology, which found data fromthe island extremely useful. There wasalso a reluctance to disrupt a history ofcontinuous observations. Phil Law hadno alternative, but found it ‘a depressingtask’ after so much effort had been putinto the station and associated research.The huts were sealed, and emergencystores, a diesel generator, stove andradio were left in case of an emergency,or a future occupation of the station,

The Officer in Charge (OIC) on HeardIsland during 1954/1955 was medicalofficer Grahame Budd – whose associa-tion with the island and ANARE was tocontinue. It was a matter of intensefrustration to Budd – and other residentmountaineers before him – that it hadnot been possible to climb Big Ben (2745metres), then believed to be the highestmountain on Australian territory. Hisyear on the island in 1954 bit deep.Budd:

‘I was an impressionable age, I wasonly 24. And my first sight of theplace was quite wonderful. I woke upone morning to find Kista Dan hove tooff Rogers Head – and to look out at

dawn and see the red volcanic conesand the blue lights of the glaciers andthe snow fields going up into theclouds, the great cliffs and the SootyAlbatross calling ... it was absolutemagic. And the whole year there justreinforced that.’

The OIC of the ANARE Heard Islandstation in 1953, John Béchervaise,writer, mountaineer, photographer,artist, teacher and historian, wasintensely aware of this magnificentunclimbed peak, the lure of whichloomed exceeding large when the newscame through that the world’s highestpeak, Mt. Everest, had been conquered.

Many attempts had been made byANARE expeditioners to climb the activevolcano, but they were always defeatedby the island’s notoriously fierce weath-er.

Towards the end of his year onHeard, Béchervaise led a party of threeup the mountain. His climbing compan-ions were Fred Elliott, a weather observ-er and Peter Shaw, a meteorologist. Theyhad very little equipment and had tomake their own climbing boots fromquarter-inch felt, wound around theirArmy-issue boots. Béchervaise:

‘Then we made bootees out of japaraand put that on top, with great heavyrubber soles underneath. We had nosledges, so we made a sledge out ofskis, and we towed that up.’

They did have ice-axes but had to

make their own tent. One thing themeteorologists had worked out was thatthere was no knowing when Big Benwould turn on its very occasional gooddays. Their radiosonde balloons revealeda ‘pretty nasty’ picture of the weather at9000 feet, cold exposed and windy.Béchervaise and his companionsworked out that the Abbottsmith Glacierwas probably their best route to themountain. They found there was an ice-fall on the glacier which they thoughtthey could negotiate, and thought it agood idea to lay down a depot of food,which they could return to or take from.However when they set off in early sum-mer, they found their depot had beensnowed over and they could not find it,but they continued on anyway.

Béchervaise, Elliott and Shaw got tostriking distance of the top on the tenthday. Béchervaise:

‘ It was a lovely evening, there was apink alpine glow over the snow andthere were some marvellous ice for-mations.’

But Big Ben was not going to be sobenign for long. No sooner had they puttheir tent up, than a blizzard startedwith heavy snow and completely buriedtheir tent. They made a chess set out ofimprovised odds and ends and playedfor three days. Béchervaise:

‘We ate as much as we could, but wewere then conscious of the fact thatwe could be short of food. So, afterfive days, we dug our way out. Itbecame pretty important to becomemobile. We’d put bamboo markersdown for where our sledge was, andthe tips of these markers were show-ing. We knew the sledge was aboutthree or four feet down at this stageand on it was most of our food. Wecame up to the surface and, still inthe blizzard, built an igloo largeenough for us to sit in and have lightand air. The tent was down below, atthe bottom of a tunnel. We stayed inthat igloo until it also became coveredwith snow.’

In the end, because of the shortageof food, they knew they couldn’t staythere indefinitely. So they dug the sledgeout, under blizzard conditions, andstarted off on the homeward journey.They had been out on the mountain forfifteen days.

Crossing an icefall on theAbbottsmith Glacier, Béchervaise fellinto a hidden crevasse. Béchervaise:

‘ I went down about 20 feet. And, youknow, you don't feel anything – you’rejust helpless and slightly annoyedthat it happened. You’re just swing-ing there between icy walls, with theblack depths below ...’

Page 6 - Aurora - March 2011

HEARD ISLAND – THE CLIMBING OF BIG BEN— By Tim Bowden

Fred Elliott emerges from an igloo above thepartially excavated tent, November, 1953.

[ANARE photo by John Béchervaise.Australian Antarctic Division ©Commonwealth of Australia]

Falling down crevasses is expected,for those who try to cross Heard’s heav-ily fissured glaciers. But on this occa-sion, Béchervaise was joined by thethird man on the rope, Peter Shaw.Béchervaise:

‘Peter came through too, and he wasabout 25 feet behind me, and we wereboth down the crevasse. But FredElliott did the right thing. Heanchored the sledge with an ice-axeand came along and got Peter out.’

The two men then lowered an extrarope to Béchervaise, and helped himclimb out. It had been a near thing, andtheir last serious attempt to climb BigBen that year.

�� �� �� �� �� ��

1963 ATTEMPT

Although Grahame Budd did nothave time to attempt Big Ben in 1954,he was aware of growing interest in thischallenge by mountaineers in Australia.

Warwick Deacock, a notedHimalayan climber, retired Special AirService (SAS) officer and former founda-tion warden of the Australian OutwardBound School, also had his eyes on BigBen, and wrote to Phil Law at theAntarctic Division in 1962, asking if hecould have a berth down to Heard Islandon Nella Dan to climb Big Ben. Deacock:

‘ I was a great con artist – expedition-ers always are – and I tried to con myway down as a sort of hitchhiker.’

Law replied sympathetically, butnegatively. Meanwhile, Deacock discov-ered Grahame Budd was planning a sci-entific trip to Heard Island with ANARE.The key word was ‘scientific’. The sum-mer party of three men would investi-gate the geology, vulcanology andglaciology of Big Ben, South Barrier andother unexplored areas, and would seekevidence of glacier retreat and colonisa-tion by fur seals or king penguins. Thethree men would also study their ownreactions to cold stress and acclimatisa-tion, count and band albatrosses andother birds, and make regular meteoro-logical observations. There would alsobe a ‘scientific’ ascent of Mawson Peak,the summit of Big Ben. Deacock:

‘ I signed on as ‘Climber/Handyman’,and Phil Law crossed that out andput ‘Assistant Scientist’. I thoughtthat was very nice. It gave me a cer-tain amount of respectability. We hada sort of sub-plan to undertake vul-canology on the top of Mawson’sPeak, which was believed to still bean active volcano.’

Law was sympathetic to the rawadventure of it, but had to justify theANARE involvement. Deacock:

‘We had what I call, ‘ the thin veneer

of science’. Nowadays isn’t it the thinveneer of conservation or the thinveneer of jingoism? But actually, whynot go for fun?’

Budd argued more realistically thatthe scientific part was no less fascinat-ing than the mountain, because in1954/55 he had formed the impression,although without firm evidence, thatHeard Island’s glaciers might be inretreat, and that there might be a resur-gence of the king penguin and fur sealpopulations. A large part of the islandwas still unvisited – all the SouthBarrier uplands and all the inland partsaround Mawson Peak. So there was agreat deal of exploration to be done there– and a lot of interesting questions.

Were the glaciers temperate or polar?And what about the nature of the vol-cano itself? Budd proposed that a geolo-gist and vulcanologist, Dr. JonStephenson, join his ANARE expedition.Stephenson had led an expedition to theKarakoram [Pakistan, India and Chinaborder], and had been the soleAustralian member of Sir Vivian Fuchs’Commonwealth TransantarcticExpedition of 1957/58, during which heand a companion had become the firstmen since Amundsen to drive dog teamsto the South Pole. The Climber/Handyman/Assistant Scientist Deacockwould make up the climbing team ofthree – after having resigned from hisjob as an assistant biscuit-creamer atSwallow and Ariel in Melbourne.

Law put Budd’s proposal to theAntarctic Planning Committee, whichwas nervous about having only threepeople on the island with no back up.Eventually they agreed, providing therewas a base party of three at Atlas Covewhile Budd, Stephenson and Deacockwere working on the mountain and else-where.

Nella Dan called at Atlas Cove on 28January, 1963, en route to resupplyMawson and Davis stations. The settle-ment was in a shocking state. Duringthe previous decade, wind had strippedthe layers of paint from the outside ofthe huts, rain had got in and, worst ofall, elephant seals had broken in and‘painted every available surface withfaeces’. Leaving Alan Gilchrist (who hadbeen the MO (Medical Officer) on thefirst Heard wintering in 1948), weatherobserver and radio operator Nils Lied,and biologist Max Downes (both HeardIsland veterans) to cope with the mess,the three mountaineers were taken fur-ther down the coast to lay a depot atSpit Bay, and then to Long Beach, wherethey endured the usual wet HeardIsland landings, hampered by highwinds and surf.

After establishing a depot of eightdays food on the glacier at 1800 metres,they took advantage of a rare spell offine weather to press on. Big Ben has asummit plateau at around 2200 metres

and the three climbers pitched campthere, knowing that Mawson Peak (thevolcanic cone that forms the summit)was only about 500 metres higher. Thenthe weather closed in, and they wereblizzard-bound for five days. Theclimbers were philosophical. Budd:

‘Warwick likes to say that the mainhazard on expeditions is bed sores.Because you make yourself at homein the tent and at last start to readthe books you brought along.’

Budd had Dr. Zhivago, Stephenson,War and Peace and Deacock TheImportance of Living by Lin Yutang.The tent was designed for two, and therewas barely room for the three men to liein their sleeping bags, which soonbecame wet as the temperature fluctuat-ed from below to above freezing. Heavysnowfalls gradually buried the tent.When the light became too bad to read,the man lying in the middle held a light-ed candle on his chest while those oneither side took turns in reading outloud. Budd said that the opening ofZhivago was very prescient because ofits account of the night after Zhivago’smother was buried. Budd:

‘Pasternak’s description of the bliz-zard, ‘the air smoking with snow’,was absolutely spot on ... andZhivago has a horrible vision of hismother sinking deeper and deeperunder the snow, where she’ ll never befound again. And this was odd,because a few nights later the samething happened to us in a snow cave.’

By the fifth day, the tent was com-pletely buried under the snow, the partywas suffering mild carbon monoxide poi-soning from Primus fumes, and theywere nearly out of food. They realisedthey would have to force their way downto their depot at 1800 metres, bring upthe eight days’ food and wait for betterweather. They marked their buried tent,and headed back down the mountain –but failed to find their cached supplies.Deacock:

‘Slowly it dawned on us that we’d lostit. And what had happened – a bitlike the Simpson Desert – the snowhad blown like sand and a dune hadformed.’

They headed down to a primitivesnow cave they had made beside a pass,subsequently named ‘Budd Pass’, at1200 metres. Despite their precarioussituation Budd recalls the extremebeauty in the midst of the extreme vio-lence of the weather. Budd:

‘As we got down to the pass, thecloud lifted a bit and we had a viewthrough to the far, red volcanic cliffsof South Barrier, with a patch of sun-light on them, and then a bright rain-bow ... this fabulous sudden revela-tion. While at the same time hun-dred-knot gusts were exploding on

Aurora - March 2011 - Page 7

the rocks near the pass, and flingingrocks and chunks of snow all over theplace.’

As the blizzard roared outside, theylay on their climbing rope and wet wind-proofs in the snow cave, while the roofdripped continually. Now wet as well ascold the three climbers huddled togeth-er like penguins. Deacock:

‘Emperor penguins huddle and theone in the middle moves to the out-side. So we took turns. The one in themiddle was cuddled by the other two,arms and legs round, and every hourwe changed. The shudders were themost exhausting things, because theynearly shook you off this little bedwe’d made ... that was nature makingyou shiver to keep you warm.

Dr. Zhivago and the other books hadbeen left in the top tent. They sangsongs, and Deacock’s remarkable mem-ory for poetry helped pass the time. Theyalso chewed pieces of pemmican, rawbacon and greasy chocolate from time totime to keep their internal fires going, toprevent hypothermia.

Budd recalled that Warwick Deacockhad arranged to write an article for theBP oil company’s magazine. Budd:

‘They said, ‘Oh, keep an account ofyour tribulations’. So whenever any-thing was happening we’d ask our-selves, “Could this be a tribulation?”“Oh no, you wouldn’t call this a tribu-lation. We’ ll save the tribulations forwhen it gets really hard!” ’

Deacock was not sure how long theywere there, but thought it was at least36 hours. Deacock:

‘ I thought it was three years. I havenever been so cold.’

At 8 p.m. on their second night in thesnow cave, Stephenson lit a cigaretteand the air in the cave suddenly turnedto fog. This was odd, but it fortunatelysignalled to the cave-dwellers that theirair supply was blocked. Deacock:

‘ In a snow cave there are alwaysdrafts ... we’d gone in and made along entrance and then dug up,which you normally do to keep warmair in. What had happened was theweather had come in and snow cov-ered the entrance to the cave, sothere was about a ten-foot [3.4metres] tunnel, totally choked.’

They cut a new entrance, throughthe roof. But at dusk they discoveredthat 1.5 metres of packed drift snow hadaccumulated above the cave and wasrapidly deepening. They took turns out-side in the blizzard, shovelling snowaway to keep the entrance clear. But by2 a.m. they could no longer keep pacewith the relentlessly deepening snow,and had to abandon the cave or beburied alive. Budd:

‘We thought we’d better get out –although it didn’t look too promisingwith a full blizzard blowing and dark,and four miles of crevassed slopesbelow us.’

Deacock was last out, and being the

biggest got his shoulders stuck for awhile in the snow tunnel. As theyemerged into the full fury of the blizzardit was imperative to get moving quickly.Deacock:

‘We only had a thin Alpine rope and asmall shovel [Their ice-axes had beendeeply buried and lost under thesnow]. I went to grab my pack andcouldn’t pick it up. And I nearly cried.I said, “God I’m weak – I can’t get mypack up”. And Jon Stephenson said,“You’re standing on the strap, that’swhy”.’

They roped up, but did not put ontheir crampons because they felt surethat the ice of the pass would havebecome covered with soft snow. Buddled off but immediately lost his footing –the pass was bare blue ice – and sliddown the slope until Deacock checkedhis fall with the rope. They all began thedifficult task of putting on their cram-pons in the dark and the blizzard. Buddtook the longest because he had to workin bare hands – his gloves had frozeninto immovable claws from holding theshovel during the final digging shift.

At the bottom of the pass theypaused while Stephenson rewarmedBudd’s frostbitten hands on his stom-ach, and the way ahead slowly becamevisible in the dawn light. Deacock:

‘ I remember trying to get Grahame’sanorak and shirt down, which werefrozen, but couldn’t. So he had thishunk of flesh showing. And I tried toseparate his mitten from its outer andthat was frozen. Then I pulled it with

Page 8 - Aurora - March 2011

Abbotsmith Glacier (centre) and western side of Heard Island from HMALST [His Majesty’s Australian Landing Ship Tank] Labuan, inFebruary, 1949. On the skyline (from left) are the summit plateau, Mawson Peak, Budd Peak, and Budd Pass. 'The 1953 party tra-versed from the left border and climbed across Abbotsmith Glacier. The 1963 and 1965 parties climbed through Budd Pass and then

alongside the western face of Budd Peak. [ANARE Photo 233 by A. Campbell-Drury. Australian Antarctic Division © Commonwealth of Australia]

my teeth and lost my front tooth inthe process. Things were a bit drasticthen.’

Stephenson led off through the cre-vasses, with Deacock belaying him andBudd coming last with his hands insidehis trousers to stop them from freezingagain.

When they reached Long Beach theyhad no tent, they were all soakedthrough, and their sleeping bags werenear the summit of Big Ben. Budd couldnot help thinking of the mountain as a‘very good chess player’ which had total-ly outwitted them. Deacock found threelarge tins of pineapple, pears and fruitsalad in their stores dump. Deacock:

‘ I opened them and we had onespoon, and we put these things inline, passed the spoon around andate the lot. That was great.’

Grahame Budd had not had a pleas-ant descent. Budd:

‘My frozen clothing had ridden up somy midriff was exposed a lot of thetime and it was hard to push it down.I’d reached the stage where I could

hold my head up only while I waswalking. The moment I stopped, mychin would thump down onto mychest. Also the flap of my pack hadcome loose and periodically the windwould catch it and whip it over andgive me a great crack on the head.But somehow we’d never got round toactually doing anything about it, so Iwent on being belted over the headwith this pack flap. So we stumbledon down and finally, there we were atthe beach, which was absolutely won-derful – like returning to life, all thoseliving things around us. We felt we’dstood up and walked away from ourgrave – and here we were back in theworld of the living, with all these nicefriendly penguins and seals andseabirds.’

Stephenson and Deacock built whatthey called ‘The Wallow’ out of rationboxes, fuel drums, and rocks, roofed bya waterproof sledge cover supported ona bamboo pole they’d found on thebeach, and the three of them huddledbeneath it like elephant seals. Theirdown-filled clothing was saturated. But

they had the essentials for survival –shelter, a Primus stove, kerosene andfood. After a hot meal Deacock cleanedand bandaged Budd’s hands, whichwhen re-inspected two days later provedto be swollen and blistered but never-theless usable.

In the five days until Budd’s handswere safe for travel, the party recoveredits strength, made scientific observa-tions around the Long Beach area, andunsuccessfully tried to radio Atlas Coveto report that they were alive and well.They then set off to walk around thecoast, via Spit Bay, back to Atlas Cove.Budd had no feeling in his hands, andall that they had to cross the glacierswere a bamboo pole, a small shovel, two-and-a-half pairs of crampons and alength of rappel line.

Ever mindful of the scientific pur-pose of their expedition, Stephensongeologised as they travelled, and Buddwas delighted to find two colonies ofking penguins breeding at Spit Bay, aswell as plenty of fur seals. Even moresignificant, they found that every glacierwas retreating – one of the earliest signsof climate change in the South Indian

Aurora - March 2011 - Page 9

Big Ben from the south-east in December, 1947, with Fiftyone Glacier and South Barrier in the foreground. Budd Pass (centre) leadsfrom the western edge of Fiftyone Glacier to Gotley Glacier beyond. The 1963 climb from Long Beach reached the pass from the left

side of the photo, below the orientation cross. The 1965 climb from Capsize Beach reached the pass from the right side, via South Barrier.

[ANARE photo by P. Swan, Australian Antarctic Division © Commonwealth of Australia]

Ocean. Back at Atlas Cove,

their arrival was cele-brated by a greatcasserole of penguinsteaks, marinaded inclaret, prepared byNils Lied. Unfortun-ately several days afterthey got back,Deacock developedsymptoms of appen-dicitis. As it happened,there were two doctorson hand – AlanGilchrist and Gra-hame Budd. Budd hadleft an emergencymedical kit on theisland when he left inMarch, 1955. Deacockwas put on a starva-tion diet of black teafor five days, and wasspared an emergencyoperation. Budd:

‘Warwick thought itwas rather bad thatwhile he was beingstarved he took on the job of cooking... It shows you should starve theartist, because he produced massesof marvellous cartoons in that time.’

Before Nella Dan returned from theAntarctic to pick them up they were ableto complete a great deal of scientificwork, including further evidence of mas-sive glacier retreat, and proof that thefur seals and king penguins were actu-ally breeding again on Heard Island,since being devastated by the sealers inthe nineteenth century.

Stephenson, Lied and Downes hadwalked down to Spit Bay on the easternend of the island to continue their fieldwork. As Deacock had now recoveredfrom his appendix scare, and the AtlasCove field work had been completed, heand Budd set out to walk to Spit Bay, inorder to complete the census of kingpenguins and fur seals on the northcoast. As a two-man party without tentor radio they were somewhat vulnerable,but they were neither the first nor thelast two-man party to make this journeyand they considered the risk acceptablebecause of the scientific value of a com-plete census of the whole island.

In the first few hours of the journeythey had such an easy and fast crossingof the glaciers between Atlas Cove andSaddle Point that they paused near thefar side of the last glacier, theChallenger, for Deacock to get somemovie footage. Grahame Budd:

‘Warwick wanted to get a few filmshots of what it’s like cutting steps inice and stepping across crevasses, sohe fished out his spring-operatedmovie camera and gave it to me. Hefound a suitable crevasse and I satdown on the edge of it, unbelayed and

still tied to Warwick by 40 feet ofrope, with my pack on the ice a fewyards away.‘Warwick said, “Okay, now start film-ing when I say, and I’ll just cut a fewsteps and then step over the cre-vasse”. I started filming but we hadn’tfully wound up the spring, and themotor stopped before he’d finishedhis moves. So we had to do it again.This time the motor didn’t even start,because my frostbitten finger couldn’tfeel anything and it wasn’t on thebutton. I thought I was pressing thebutton but I wasn’t. So, ‘once more’,and we carefully put the finger whereit should be, under observation, andWarwick started doing his thing.‘Through the viewfinder I saw himstep across the crevasse onto a smallstep he’d chipped out with his ice-axe– and then the step collapsed underhis weight. Before I could react thecamera had captured good footage ofWarwick falling backwards into thecrevasse. I saw the rope streaking outafter him, and I knew that themoment it came taut I was going tofollow him down the crevasse. It wasa bad moment. ‘And then the rope stopped runningout! Hardly believing it, I looked downand saw that in this whole crevasse,which was the usual black, bottom-less thing, there was one chunk of icesticking up just big enough for a chapto land on – and Warwick had landedon it! ‘Warwick was about 20 feet down andhe had every chance of being injured.But he’d landed on his back and hehad his pack on, so he was bruisedbut otherwise quite intact. And hewas able – shortly afterwards, andwith a very solid belay from me – to

chip his way up theside of the crevasse,leaving plenty ofblood stains on thewall, and get to thesurface, and we bothcarefully made ourway down to theSaddle Point hut andtold ourselves, ‘Notto do that again! Wehave been rather sillyhaven't we?’‘ It was a great exam-ple of the way you getover-confident – andmany experiencedmountaineers havebeen killed throughdoing something stu-pid, through sheerover-confidence andinattention. But itwas also a delayedconsequence of get-ting my hands frost-bitten a few weeksearlier, since thethreefold repetition

of Warwick’s moves had weakenedthe ice.’

Next day, in a rainy north-west gale,they walked from Saddle Point to SpitBay, successfully completing the censusof king penguins and fur seals despiteanother misadventure, this time in awaist-deep flooded stream which sweptthem off their feet and almost carriedthem out into the surf.

Deacock, Stephenson, Budd, Liedand Downes were all at Spit Bay on theeastern end of the island when NellaDan arrived. A heavy surf was running,and Phil Law was part of the team haul-ing the cargo-laden pontoon away fromthe beach. Budd:

‘We were going well, through man-ageable waves, when a huge dumperreared up close ahead. At the sametime a momentary slack in the grass-line let the pontoon swing broadsideto the approaching wave. “Pull likebuggery!”, shouted Phil. Pull we did,but we were still at a bad angle whenthe wave broke over us.’

The wave jackknifed the pontoon,hurling Law into the water. Nils Lied:

‘Our Director was spotted shortlyafterwards, swimming stronglytowards the open sea. As he overtookand was about to pass the pontoonhe was gaffed like a tuna and hauledon board, wanting to know whosehand it was that held him under forso long.’

Grahame Budd recalled that it wasonly when they were clear of the dangerand heading for the ship that he realisedthat in the haste of their departure noneof the Heard Island party had remem-

Page 10 - Aurora - March 2011

Digging out the tent entrance on the third day of the plateau camp, February, 1963.Summit of Budd Peak in the background.

[ANARE photo by Jon Stephenson. Australian Antarctic Division © Commonwealth ofAustralia]

bered to put on life jackets. Nella Dan called in to the French sta-

tion at Kerguelen before returning toMelbourne. While most of the expedi-tioners on board were being entertainedby the hospitable French, Budd and hisfive Heard Island companions were sit-ting in Nella Dan’s freezer, shivering intheir underpants, with thermistor ther-mometers taped to and inserted in sen-sitive bodily orifices, to complete theirprogram of physiological experiments onhuman reactions to cold. Budd:

‘ They just uncomplainingly wentthrough this whole series of experi-ments that went on for about eight-een hours while the rest of the shipwere having a wonderful time withthe French. I thought that really toldus something about those blokes.’

�� �� �� �� �� ��

1965 ATTEMPT

Both Budd and Deacock were stillkeen to first-foot the summit of Big Benand continue their research program, soDeacock organised a private expedition –the South Indian Ocean Expedition toHeard Island (SIOEHI) – for the summerof 1964/1965. It was the first privateAntarctic expedition to leave Australiasince Sir Douglas Mawson’s BANZARE(British Australian New ZealandAntarctic Research Expedition) expedi-tion in 1929/1930. Although the expedi-tion had no formal connection withANARE, five of its ten members were ex-ANARE men, and its scientific programincluded the ANARE project of monitor-ing glacier fluctuations and the popula-tion growth of king penguins and furseals – a project which the ANARE 1963expedition had initiated, and which wassubsequently a central task of theANARE 1969 and 1971 expeditions. Thescientific program also included plank-ton hauls, hydrology stations, and syn-optic weather observations throughoutthe voyage, for the CSIRO Division ofOceanography and the CommonwealthBureau of Meteorology.

The expedition ship, dry-charteredfrom its owners, was a 65-foot steelyacht, Patanela, skippered by the veter-an Himalayan explorer, Everest climber,and blue-water sailor H. W. (Bill)Tilman. Jon Stephenson was not able tojoin the expedition, but Grahame Buddwas among the team of five climbers tobe led by Deacock.

Patanela had been working as acrayfishing boat in Tasmanian waters.Accommodation was basic to say theleast. The on-board toilet was taken outto make room for an Ocean Span radio.Deacock said there were sixty feet ofgunwale for those that needed a toilet,an interesting experience to say theleast in the tempestuous waters of theSouthern Ocean. According to Deacockthere were only five on board with sail-

ing experience – the skipper Bill Tilman,Colin Putt (engineer), Antony Hill (mate),Edwin Reid (radio operator), andDeacock, who appointed himself cook –the toughest job in the ship. The othercrew members were Drs. Russell Pardoe,Malcolm Hay, and Grahame Budd,together with Philip Temple and JohnCrick. Four of the crew were quarteredin the dank dark confines of the craytank. Another group was quartered inthe fo’c’sle (over which was a sign:ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTERHERE), and Tilman and Deacock were inthe galley. Deacock said the living con-ditions were so bad that any conven-tional crew would have mutinied.

After an eight-week voyage fromSydney, they called in at Kerguelen tore-water Patanela and make final prepa-rations for landing on Heard Island.Using timber from an old wrecked seal-er dating back to 1882, they construct-ed two extra bunks for the four unluckyoccupants of the cray tank, who hadbeen making do with only two. TheFrench at a nearby summer field campinvited them to a lunch of local lapin[rabbits] and plenty of red wine. Therefollowed several hours of an increasing-ly hilarious déjeuner sur l’herbe, a won-derfully light-hearted interlude beforethe serious work ahead. As Tilman laterwrote (on page 146 of Mostly Mischief –Voyages to the Arctic and to theAntarctic, Hollis & Carter, London,1966):

‘Towards four o’clock, for it had beena protracted lunch, both the weatherand the guests showed signs ofchange, of impending dissolution.Once more we sang the Marseillaise,Grahame playing the accompanimenton his recorder while lying under thetable, then arm-in-arm we went downto the beach, a swaying picture ofinternational fellowship. The sailswent up with a will, albeit a littleraggedly, and as we swung round toface the entrance the oil drum raftlaunched off, more Verey lightssoared up, and both helicopters tookoff, to zoom dangerously round ourmasts. In gathering cloud we got clearof the coast before the wind died andleft us tossing in a cross sea in rainand darkness.

They thought it would take themthree days to get to Heard Island, but infact it took only two. Budd:

‘On the Patanela trip I had MobyDick, which I was reading for the firsttime, and some interesting parallelscame along because in a wayWarwick and I were a bit like CaptainAhab. In fact Big Ben became a sortof Moby Dick, and Melville rather setsyou up for this because he’s full ofcomparisons of Moby Dick to anisland – ‘The wild and distant seaswhere he rolled his island bulk’. Andthere’s a marvellous scene where he

talks about ‘endless processions ofthe whale, and, midmost of them all,one grand hooded phantom, like asnow hill in the air’.‘And the first sight of Heard, with thesnow hill floating in the air above theempty sea, it’s spot-on. Ahab had losta leg to Moby Dick, and Warwick andI both had our scars from Big Ben, sowe had the same feeling of comingback to do battle with a highlyrespected opponent. We had a scoreto settle.’

Warwick Deacock also has a vividmemory of that moment. Deacock:

‘One morning Phillip Temple, whowas on watch – a Kiwi – he said,“Land ho!” And we came on deck andthere on the horizon were theseblack, jagged needles, which are theMcDonald Islands [44 km west ofHeard Island]. But behind it was asort of mist, and then above it thisvast white cone with the small cone ofMawson Peak. And there was totalsilence, and Grahame and I said,‘We’re back!’. To us, it was thislove/hate affair (whatever it is) andthe others said, ‘My God, it’s worththe voyage just to see this.’ It was amarvellous, marvellous thing to see.’

Next morning they were preparing toland at a beach west of Winston Lagoonwhen a north-west gale sprang up anddrove Patanela away from the island.They drifted, hove to, for two days, thenmanaged to return to the island andland the shore party – who arrivedsprawled on the beach under their cap-sized inflatable boat after dumpingwaves 2-3 metres high had pitch-poledit at the water’s edge. The event gaveCapsize Beach its name, and led ColinPutt to remark that the Big Ben climbhad started below sea level! After theshore party had fetched a second load ofstores from the ship (and endured twomore capsizes), Patanela’s reduced crewof five sailed her to Kerguelen, the near-est safe anchorage.

The five to attempt the climb wereWarwick Deacock, Grahame Budd,Colin Putt, Phil Temple and John Crick.For the next week they relayed 40 kgloads over South Barrier and theFiftyone Glacier, to eventually camp intheir polar pyramid tent at Budd Pass(1220 metres), with enough food andfuel for a prolonged siege of Big Ben.

Every morning the cook of the daywould begin preparing breakfast at 3:30a.m., and everyone would get dressed,rope up and put on their crampons, andhead towards Mawson Peak. If theweather was too bad they would returnto the tent, to try again the next morn-ing. Deacock said there were tradeunion rumblings about this, but it wasthought to be their best chance of seiz-ing the right moment when it came.

On January 25 they were climbing

Aurora - March 2011 - Page 11

through mist when the weather sudden-ly cleared and there was Mawson Peak.Deacock:

‘We travelled five on the rope, on atight rope. The two Kiwis, who weresuper climbers, tended to muckaround a bit on the crevasses and Isaid, “No, you haven’t got enoughtime for that.” It was Heard Islandclimbing – you go on a tight rope andif someone falls down, you pull themup and keep going. And we went uplike the head of a sewing machine,with the lead climber going down theslots and the others pulling him outon the tight rope. I nearly got hit onthe head by John Crick, because Itook a movie all the way to the top,with one of these 16 mm, Bell &Howell clockwork jobs. And I said,“Hang on a bit”, as John was comingout of a slot and I took a film of him,you see. And he came out with ice-axe raised, and he said, “You’re sup-posed to be rescuing me, not bloodywell filming me!” Anyway, it was allon film. And we got to the caldera. ‘It was an interesting thing to be backthere, sentimentally. And then therewas Mawson’s Peak. It’s a sort ofboulder slab, with downward-slopingboulder slabs of ice and, underneath,the crevasses. So it wasn’t just atotally easy walk. And it was very nice– with no particular discussion orcommittee meeting – when Colin said,“ I think Grahame ought to have thislead”, and we all agreed, so weplugged him in front. Surely, it washis mountain. And up he went, verywell, and we got to the top about half-past one. And, of course, we had allthese flags that you take, don’t you?And we were hoping to sell our storyto the National Geographic and every-body, you know. And so we stoodaround, beating our chests and tak-ing pictures of ourselves.

Throughout the climb Grahame hadbeen lowering thermometers into cre-vasses, to find out whether they weretemperate or polar. Unfortunately thescientific work had eroded not only thetime they could spend on top of MawsonPeak, the highest point on Big Ben at2745 metres, but what they could seefrom it. As they reached the summit, bil-lowing clouds of steam and sulphurdioxide around them, they suddenly lostall visibility as the north-west wind gotgoing and it began to sleet. Budd:

‘The actual summit was a sort of pileof snow and ice, and the crater wasoff to one side and we could dimly seeit. There was an ice-cliff going downand sounds of fizzings and hissingsand billowing clouds of steam, andthere were brown deposits on the iceand the exposed rock. And as soon aswe’d done the essentials of wavingflags and taking photos and shakinghands and so on, we tried to get down

into the crater. A few of us roped upand headed that way, but as soon aswe got near it we realised it was verydicey because the ice was all weak-ened by the steam, there was practi-cally no visibility, and there seemedquite a good chance that we’d hurtourselves trying to get down into it –and suddenly the problem of gettingback to the tent, at least 5,000 feetbelow us, in bad weather with arather intricate route and no visibility– this seemed to become dominant inour thoughts. ‘And so we had to sacrifice the oppor-tunity to see a bit more of the crater,for survival. And getting down was abit tricky. I was leading and I went abit too much to one side, and therewas debate as to whether we shouldbivouac or keep going, but eventually,after an hour or two we found our-selves back at the summit plateauand there were some of our markerpoles there, and the crevasse ther-mometers and so on. At that stage wehad lunch, which was about 3 or 4 inthe afternoon. ‘We broke out biscuits and cheeseand in the process of breaking mark-er poles earlier (so there’d be more ofthem) I’d cut my finger, and so Iremember us eating biscuits andcheese liberally smeared with blood,and it just added an extra bit of vivid-ness to the moment. And then we juststumped off downhill, but we werewalking in the right direction andfairly well signposted by the cliffs toone side.’

Deacock:‘Grahame compassed us down andwe got down safely and got back tothe camp. We’d been fourteen hours,I think, by the time we got back. Andwe got into the tent and the weatherwent really bad for another two daysand we just lay. By now, our downgear’s all wet again, which is normal,and we were lying on our backs in oursleeping bags, pedalling (you know,cycling) and singing the ying-tongsong — you know, the Goon Show,‘Ying-tong, ying-tong, ying-tong tid-dley aye po …’ Nutty as fruitcakes,but full of beans – we’d climbed themountain. But then we had to getdown. And when it came to pick upthe gear – we’d got up in a couple oflifts – we couldn’t carry it all. Iremember Graham picking up hisload with the tent, which was coveredin ice, and slowly descending to theice. So we had to dissect the loads,and we left some stuff up there, I’mafraid, including Phillip Temple’s bestclimbing boots. But I wanted us downin one piece, I didn’t think we shouldplay around with the mountain anymore. But we got most of the stuffdown, and we got back very safely tothe coast.’

The final fortnight of the expeditionwas spent in scientific work that tookthe expedition members as far afield asthe Compton Glacier on the north coastand the Gotley Glacier on the southcoast, and onto the volcanic uplands ofSouth Barrier. Patanela’s return fromKerguelen prompted tense discussionsabout risking that day’s dangerous surf,but late in the day the inflatable boatwas successfully launched and theshore party rejoined the ship. Fiveweeks later, Patanela was back inSydney. Big Ben had at last beenclimbed, and a worthwhile scientific pro-gram had been completed.

Of a lifetime of adventuring, wheredid Warwick Deacock rate his HeardIsland experiences? Deacock:

‘Oh, the best experience of my life.And I’ll spell that out. Never mindwhether we were lucky enough to getup our mountain. It’s a wonderful,wonderful place to have been to, aprivilege to have been to HeardIsland. I’ll go again tomorrow if some-body’d send me. And I did go again, in1969 actually, I went back. But whatstood out was my mates. It was awonderful, friendly, happy, success-ful expedition, with people with onecommon aim. You know, the conquis-tadors of the useless: ‘What’s thepoint?’ Well, there doesn’t have to bea point: we went for the fun andgames. You might say it was a greatadventure holiday.’

The last word on the expedition wasleft to Tilman, who wrote (MostlyMischief page 162):

‘ In his famous description of a prizefight Hazlitt summed it up as ‘a com-plete thing’. In my opinion, devoted asI am to both sea and mountains, tosailing and climbing, this expeditiondeserves to be so described. A longvoyage, much of it in unfrequentedwaters, and at the end of it a remote,uninhabited island crowned with anunclimbed mountain. It was an enter-prise that needed to be undertaken,one that I myself had shrunk fromattempting, and that now, thanks toWarwick Deacock’s initiative anddrive, had at last been accomplished.From first to last we had been ahappy party, each man pulling hisfull weight. I may have regretted notto have set foot even on Heard Island,much less on Big Ben, but that wasimplicit in the job I undertook.Besides enjoying every minute of it, Iconsidered it a great privilege to beskipper of so fine a vessel and to sailwith so eager, lively, and resolute acrew.’

Page 12 - Aurora - March 2011