Latest news with #ErnestShackleton
ITV News
09-06-2025
- Science
- ITV News
Seasickness, spotting icebergs and keeping the crew fed: Life on board an Antarctic expedition
ITV News Science Correspondent shows what life is like on board the RRS Sir David Attenborough on an expedition deep within the Antarctic Circle The British research ship the RRS Sir David Attenborough has travelled through an area of Antarctica that would have been impassable 30 years ago at this time of year. That's because the area the ship navigates with ease would have been solid ice. No other British ship has made the journey since the explorer Sir Ernest Shackleton's ill-fated Endurance expedition, when his ship became trapped in the pack ice and sank in 1915. Fast forward 110 years - after global warming has caused the ice to melt - and ITV News Science Correspondent Martin Stew is the only journalist on board the British ship. From the chef keeping crew members fed to the captain keeping a lookout for icebergs, he speaks to those on board about what life is like on an Antarctic expedition.
The Age
06-06-2025
- Entertainment
- The Age
I tried lying to my doctor. Blame the planets, I said. It didn't work
He says she stared at him as if he were Ernest Shackleton disembarking in England in 1917. I guess she'd never expected to meet someone who'd pulled off such a feat. Nobody could survive such a fire. Like meeting Alex Honnold, or Keith Richards… a myth, a ghost, a person seemingly impervious to the certainties. Loading I've done the maths on his habit (50 years x 365 days x 60 cigs = 1,095,000). He appears to have gotten away with smoking a million cigarettes. I guess if the packs were stacked they'd be about the size of a school bus. But you'd buy the bus and the school itself for the $2 million the smokes cost. He always has one lit, and in absent-minded moments two – one waggling in his lips as he talks and the other being used as a baton to enhance his arguments. And I notice that every time he draws a lungful, as the ciggie crackles and glows, his pupils dilate, and a moment's serenity washes over his sallow face. So, who am I to say he's got it wrong? If it kills him now, he's still played games of chance against God and won. Is that genes? Luck? Or the devil taking care of his own? He's also known among those who like to hoist a goblet. And when he finally got in to see the doctor he told her: 'The kidneys and liver we're not discussing at all. They're off-limits, a no-go zone, my private affair.' That he felt protective of these organs rather than his lungs tells you how appreciative he is of the vintner's art. You will have guessed by now that he is South Australian. From where else could such a committed debauchee hail? I don't know what medical statistics say about the bacchanalia that is South Australia, but the Croweaters I know drink like they're trying to forget breakfast and smoke like they're trying to fumigate themselves of hideous inner demons. They've built a religion around wine, replete with ritual and lore, explicitly so they can get skunked at lunch and call it culture. They don't seem to understand that health issues crackle and hover above the libertine like lightning above a butchers' picnic, and that at any moment their contempt for purer ways might be slapped down by God masquerading as a stroke or coronary. I wish I had the courage of my friend. I wish I was able to tell my own doctor what organs were off-limits. Because recently, roaming across my torso as enthusiastically as Darwin across the Galapagos, she diagnosed a morbidity that, despite my diversions ('It must be Sarah's paramilitary cuisine … a hereditary defect … Mars and Jupiter's recent conjunction…') she kept subtly blaming on an addiction I'd stupidly admitted to. When I say, 'admitted to' I, of course, mean half-admitted to. We all tell our doctors we're drinking half as much as we are, and they immediately double the amount to get nearer the truth. The first lesson at medical school is that each patient is a propagandist for their own virtue, a rakehell in sheep's clothing. I could have admitted to only a quarter of my turpitude – but that would have been a breach of faith. So now I'm taking a daily pill that tastes like a hospital. I have a reminder on my phone that goes off at 10 every morning and sounds like death running a whetstone along his scythe. This seems entirely shocking to me. Pills now? Me? Damn. And soon just another Achilles propped in a chair in a corner of a nursing home.
Sydney Morning Herald
06-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Sydney Morning Herald
I tried lying to my doctor. Blame the planets, I said. It didn't work
He says she stared at him as if he were Ernest Shackleton disembarking in England in 1917. I guess she'd never expected to meet someone who'd pulled off such a feat. Nobody could survive such a fire. Like meeting Alex Honnold, or Keith Richards… a myth, a ghost, a person seemingly impervious to the certainties. Loading I've done the maths on his habit (50 years x 365 days x 60 cigs = 1,095,000). He appears to have gotten away with smoking a million cigarettes. I guess if the packs were stacked they'd be about the size of a school bus. But you'd buy the bus and the school itself for the $2 million the smokes cost. He always has one lit, and in absent-minded moments two – one waggling in his lips as he talks and the other being used as a baton to enhance his arguments. And I notice that every time he draws a lungful, as the ciggie crackles and glows, his pupils dilate, and a moment's serenity washes over his sallow face. So, who am I to say he's got it wrong? If it kills him now, he's still played games of chance against God and won. Is that genes? Luck? Or the devil taking care of his own? He's also known among those who like to hoist a goblet. And when he finally got in to see the doctor he told her: 'The kidneys and liver we're not discussing at all. They're off-limits, a no-go zone, my private affair.' That he felt protective of these organs rather than his lungs tells you how appreciative he is of the vintner's art. You will have guessed by now that he is South Australian. From where else could such a committed debauchee hail? I don't know what medical statistics say about the bacchanalia that is South Australia, but the Croweaters I know drink like they're trying to forget breakfast and smoke like they're trying to fumigate themselves of hideous inner demons. They've built a religion around wine, replete with ritual and lore, explicitly so they can get skunked at lunch and call it culture. They don't seem to understand that health issues crackle and hover above the libertine like lightning above a butchers' picnic, and that at any moment their contempt for purer ways might be slapped down by God masquerading as a stroke or coronary. I wish I had the courage of my friend. I wish I was able to tell my own doctor what organs were off-limits. Because recently, roaming across my torso as enthusiastically as Darwin across the Galapagos, she diagnosed a morbidity that, despite my diversions ('It must be Sarah's paramilitary cuisine … a hereditary defect … Mars and Jupiter's recent conjunction…') she kept subtly blaming on an addiction I'd stupidly admitted to. When I say, 'admitted to' I, of course, mean half-admitted to. We all tell our doctors we're drinking half as much as we are, and they immediately double the amount to get nearer the truth. The first lesson at medical school is that each patient is a propagandist for their own virtue, a rakehell in sheep's clothing. I could have admitted to only a quarter of my turpitude – but that would have been a breach of faith. So now I'm taking a daily pill that tastes like a hospital. I have a reminder on my phone that goes off at 10 every morning and sounds like death running a whetstone along his scythe. This seems entirely shocking to me. Pills now? Me? Damn. And soon just another Achilles propped in a chair in a corner of a nursing home.
NDTV
21-05-2025
- Science
- NDTV
NASA Satellite Shows World's Largest Iceberg Breaking Into Thousands Of Pieces. What Happens Next
The world's largest iceberg, A23a, is breaking apart into smaller pieces, posing a threat to humans and the millions of penguins in the nearby Antarctic sanctuary. NASA's Aqua satellite, equipped with MODIS (Moderate Resolution Imaging Spectroradiometer), has captured striking images of the massive iceberg A23a breaking apart. The photos show thousands of smaller ice chunks detaching from the iceberg's northern edge, creating a hazardous icy landscape in the surrounding area. The image highlights the iceberg's enormous size, comparable to South Georgia Island (approximately 1400 square miles), which is famously known for Ernest Shackleton's rescue mission after the Endurance shipwreck. "Thousands of iceberg pieces litter the ocean surface near the main berg, creating a scene reminiscent of a dark, starry night," wrote representatives with the space agency, NASA wrote in a statement. The "megaberg" A23a, currently the world's largest iceberg, has a surface area of approximately 1,200 square miles. It calved from Antarctica's Filchner-Ronne Ice Shelf in 1986 but remained trapped until 2023. After breaking free, it regained the title of largest iceberg in June 2023. A23a became stuck again in a vortex in early 2024 but broke free in December. It is now grounded off South Georgia Island, where it will likely remain until it melts or breaks apart in the "iceberg graveyard" of the Scotia Sea. As per NASA, the massive iceberg is breaking apart into smaller pieces through a process called "edge wasting." Although the new icebergs appear small compared to A23a, many are still around a kilometre across, posing a risk to ships. The largest piece to break off, dubbed A23c, measures approximately 50 square miles. Since getting stuck in March, A23a has shrunk by about 200 square miles. It's expected to take months or years for the iceberg to fully disintegrate. A23a's size lead is also narrowing, with another iceberg, D15A, closing in on its record. The Impact South Georgia Island is home to a diverse wildlife population, including seals, seabirds, and over 2 million penguins, but has a sparse human presence with only a few dozen researchers visiting annually. The massive iceberg A23a, currently grounded offshore, could potentially disrupt the ecosystem by forcing penguins to travel longer distances to find prey and altering the surrounding water temperature and salinity with its meltwater. Some of these fragments measure over half a mile wide and could therefore "pose a risk to ships," according to NASA. However, its relatively distant location from the coast may mitigate the impact. Some researchers suggest the melting iceberg could also have a positive effect by releasing nutrients into the ocean, benefiting the marine ecosystem. Scientists warn that similar events, such as massive iceberg break-offs, may become more frequent in the future because of climate change. This acceleration of ice shelf melting could have significant implications for global sea levels, ocean ecosystems and the planet's climate as a whole.
West Australian
18-05-2025
- West Australian
Antarctic reflections
Time has taken on a different dimension, partly because there's no night. The light fades between midnight and 2am, but it is still daylight, as the sun never dips below the horizon. And the long days in between have been full of brightness and blue skies. It isn't always like this in Antarctica. In fact, my experience has rarely been like this in Antarctica. For, on this particular trip, albeit at my favourite time of year, in the first week of December. The snow is white and the penguins clean, before eggs are laid and chicks hatch. But I have a problem. For I am about to list some of the things that have happened in the last two and a half days, and you might think that is normal for Antarctica. But there is no real normal. There is certainly no predictability. So, what you read here is what has happened to me, and my companions, in the last day, but probably won't happen on the next voyage, and may never happen on any other voyage. (But, given the nature of unpredictability, it just might). I have a very nice solo cabin with a single bed and lots of space. It is one of 12 on the Lindblad National Geographic Resolution and beautifully designed — both elegant and practical. Being on the Antarctic Peninsula, I have books on James Cook, Ernest Shackleton and Robert Scott's journeys here, but also the log of the Swedish expedition which preceded Shackleton (and had a similar experience of being trapped in the ice) and Roald Amundsen, the first to the South Pole, who carefully calculated when to kill and feed each dog to the others. 'On December 19 we killed the first dog on the homeward trip,' he wrote. 'This was Lasse, my favourite dog. He had worn himself out completely and was no longer worth anything. He was divided into fifteen portions, as nearly equal as possible, and given to his companions.' This has not been the case on the Resolution. Each meal has been nothing short of superb — from freshly cooked breakfast fare to an a la carte menu each evening. But yesterday was pretty special. The ship had been literally driven into the lip of an ice sheet and parked overnight, and we had stepped down a gangway and onto the whiteness to stroll in the morning, which was followed by a barbecue lunch on deck, with an art gallery of desserts and doughnuts to follow. But the food fare became even more memorable in the evening with a Chef's Table experience on the Cook's Nook. At the centre of this is a long table on Deck 8, which has full glass windows and big views all round. It sat all 19 of us, who have travelled here from Perth as companions. Seven tasting courses will follow — each an exquisite artwork, and with a food-philosophy point to make. For this is a zero waste meal — a workshop and showcase on how to use food. We are told that it has been calculated there is 1.6 billion tonnes of food waste a year and the ship's hotel director, Laura Fuentes, explains: 'Zero waste is one of the pillars of our program. We have a passion to think about this global issue.' Cauliflower will never be the same, as one small course (called The World's Most Versatile Vegetable) comprises it being served nine ways — cauliflower scallop, tempura, smoked cauliflower with apple and cherry wood, burnt shallots and cauliflower puree, saffron espuma and pickled cauliflower. But, even when we've finished dining, the night is bright and still young, and the ship is being steered through the Gullet — a narrow passage between Hansen Island and the Antarctic Peninsula which is rarely navigated. The ship, with its 360-degree Azipod electric propulsion at the rear and two bow thrusters (sort-of sideways propellers) can spin on a sixpence. And it does, when an emperor penguin is spotted and we are taken back for a closer look. We are way south of the Antarctic Circle among icebergs like buildings made of meringue melted with a blowtorch. I overhear another passenger: 'I don't know what day it is, and I don't care.' I do know what day it is, as I am here writing, working over the ship's fast Starlink satellite wi-fi — but I don't really care either. Time has taken on a different dimension, melding into an odyssey. There is a practical side to what I do (of course) — as I need to advise, recommend and discourage. That's partly why you come here, to these stories — for information. But there is also the chance to inspire, as I am inspired at this moment. But it is about to change. I am in world of white and blue, which will change to monochrome tomorrow, as the sky clouds over. I think I like it better when the land and seascapes are composed of every grey. For, to have today's bleached-white snow and vivid blue is a simple, brochure-like presentation of this complicated, delicate and dangerous place. To have the subtlety of monochrome is dramatic, subtle, cautioning and involving. It seems to demand more engagement and interpretation from me. For I am here, colourfully dressed in my orange Lindblad jacket, out of place, and knowing that — a respectful visitor, learning the lessons of remoteness and the dangers of cold and disturbing the delicate balance of this place.
