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The Polar Museum: news blog

The Polar Museum: news blog

Welcome to the Scott Polar Research Institute Museum news section.

Why Franklin? Blog 1:

January 15th, 2018



We don’t know when it started, or who took the decision, but some time in May 1848 British sailors from HMS Erebus and HMS Terror began butchering and eating their comrades…

Andrew Lambert, 2009.


At the Polar Museum we’re lucky enough to have a diverse collection of material associated with one of the most iconic, and controversial, figures in the history of polar exploration, Captain of the ill-fated British Naval Northwest Passage Expedition 1845-48 (HMS Erebus and HMS Terror), Sir John Franklin. Most of the time I work for Greenwich National Maritime Museum, researching an early nineteenth century campaign to survey the earth’s magnetism dubbed ‘The Magnetic Crusade’. Historians have looked to the ‘powerful sickening fascination of the Crusade’s magnetic data’ to explain Franklin’s obsession with polar exploration that led to this last, fateful voyage. Since February, I’ve been doing some work for the Polar Museum to enhance the available information on their Arctic collections, with a particular interest in nineteenth century expeditions or anything related to magnetism. I hope these posts will be teasers for some of the amazing objects on show and in storage there. As with many of the Polar Museum’s collections, much of the material related to Franklin was donated by family and the descendants of Franklin and of fellow officers; so it ranges from the domestic and personal, through expedition equipment and relics of the expedition’s tragic end, to commemorative items. This is what makes the collection so exciting and diverse but also particularly important for thinking about the life of one of the most infamous heroic failures in the history of polar exploration. It’s a story that begins, and ends, with cannibalism.

A Viennese Whirl: The Madness of Conferences

January 11th, 2018

Have you packed the paracetamol?

December 28th, 2017
SPRI Y: 59/8/2/84/1-71

SPRI Y: 59/8/2/84/1-71

Going on holiday for a couple of weeks…? Don’t forget to pack some paracetamol and plasters. Going to the Antarctic for three years…? What on earth do you need to pack in your first aid kit?

Earlier this year we came across several boxes jam-packed with medical and surgical equipment from the Commonwealth Trans-Antarctic Expedition 1955–58. Much of it was supplied by Evans Medical Supplies Ltd. which had a history of working with expeditions. When Vivian Fuchs made the first public announcement of the proposed trans-Antarctic Expedition, the company’s ‘Expedition Liaison Officer’ wrote directly to Fuchs to offer their services free of charge, and to supply and pack all the necessary medical supplies and equipment for the expedition.



SPRI Y: 59/8/1. A medical box – the very one pictured in the Evans Medical Gazette.


The above extract from the Evans Medical Gazette contains a letter, dated 1959, from Dr Allan Rogers, the medical officer on the expedition, to the Managing Director of Evans Medical thanking him for the equipment. To quote: ‘All the medical supplies that you provided proved extremely satisfactory. Fortunately we had to make use of them on only a few occasions, but when we did they fulfilled their function perfectly’. In the top is a picture of Rogers examining a box on a loaded sledge, and the bottom shows a picture of one of the boxes – and we have this very box in the collection (this sort of thing is extremely exciting when you work in a museum!)

The box contained four smaller cardboard boxes, labelled ‘Tablets & Medicines for Internal Use’, ‘Surgical and Penicillin’, ‘Dressings’ and ‘Medicines etc for Local Application’, and these boxes contained all sorts of things – vitamins, plasters, sunburn oil, bandages, eye drops and a bottle of ‘medicinal brandy’ (it still smells very potent!).


We also came across several rolls of surgical instruments – the biggest, and most dramatic, containing almost 70 items – which I had great fun attempting to describe considering that I had no idea what anything was (‘long metal thing with hooky bit on the end’ etc.). So we invited Professor Roger Kneebone, Professor of Surgical Education and Engagement Science at Imperial College, and an expert on surgical equipment to come to the museum and help us identify everything. The kit contains surgical needles, knives, clamps, bone scrapes, tracheotomy tubes, a trephine, and even some amputation saws. Many of the objects had a rather weird yellowy-rubbery-plastic coating which was perhaps an anti-rust coating – it’s reassuring to know that those with this coating (such as the saws) were never used.

There were also a surprising amount of dental equipment – although accounts state that Rogers often used lots of the implements for tinkering and repairs.

Although we have what must only be a very small and incomplete selection of what was actually taken on an expedition, it’s nonetheless fascinating to see the kinds of things they did take in order to be prepared for every eventuality.




We’re All Going on A Summer Not-Holiday: Part 3

December 14th, 2017

This should be the last part of my mini-series on what’s involved in glaciological fieldwork. Here, I’ll talk a bit more generally about the overall experience of actually being out in the field.

So, what does fieldwork mainly involve? There are two principal components: heavy lifting and waiting. To get all your equipment into the field means loading and unloading it from sundry vehicles and containers, and then dragging it to wherever it’s actually going to be deployed. For drones, for instance, this isn’t so much an issue – the boxes are a bit bulky, but they weigh under 10 kg. For GPS stations powered by about three car batteries, weighing 100 kg+ in total, this is more of a problem. In many ways, the ideal field team would be composed of contestants from the World’s Strongest Man. This is also the reason many more field-based researchers end up with all sorts of musculo-skeletal issues by the time they reach 40…. Safe lifting practices aren’t always practical when you’re trying to get a car battery up a cliff to a time-lapse camera site…. It’s fair to say that glaciological fieldwork is pretty physically demanding!

The waiting comes in throughout the whole trip. There’s obviously all the waiting around at various airports as you fly out and back. In the field, when you’ve got a helicopter scheduled, there’s a lot of waiting for that too. You’ve got an approximate arrival time, but you want to be ready well before that, as it could easily arrive half an hour or more either side of that time. And, just generally, once the instruments are all set up, your main task becomes waiting around until something breaks or it’s time for some sort of scheduled maintenance check.

In other words, fieldwork can be very neatly summed up as a process of ‘hurry up and wait’. You run around like a madman, carrying things, in the set-up phase, but, otherwise, you’re largely sitting around, either in transit or keeping an eye on your experiments. And, then, with Greenland, you have a couple of further issues. Firstly, mosquitoes. Everywhere, at the field site near the terminus. You will get bites, no matter how much repellent you slather on. Going to the toilet is particularly hazardous. You won’t catch anything, but it’s pretty unpleasant. And then there’s the fact that it’s permanently light that far north in summer. At first, this is quite fun, but what it means is you never really sleep properly for the whole time and just get more and more tired….

It might sound as if fieldwork is rather unpleasant. Sometimes, it is. On the other hand, it does have its advantages. My view on waking up every day was like this:

Store Glacier calving front at the end of the field trip.

It was pretty spectacular. You also get to watch a lot of very impressive calving events (when bits of ice fall off the front of the glacier), creating icebergs. Seeing the thing you’re researching in the flesh, as such, is also very valuable. As a modeller, I mainly think in data points and triangular mesh elements. Being able to see what those actually corresponded to in reality was a very useful experience, to say the least. There’s a further important element of team bonding – you really get to know your fellow researchers when you’re stuck with just them for a month – which means we work better together back in the office. And, finally, if no one went into the field, we’d have no data, or, at least, no way of verifying that satellite data were actually accurate. It’s therefore quite exciting to be involved in such a scientifically-valuable enterprise and know that you’re really helping move things forward.

So, overall, whilst some of the trip wasn’t very fun whilst it was happening, it does give you an awful lot of anecdotes to trot out on your return, and it definitely has its upsides, as well as being very important scientifically! A worthwhile experience, in other words.


Thanks to you!

December 6th, 2017

We’re enormously grateful to National Lottery players for all you’ve done to support the Polar Museum and the Scott Polar Research Institute over the years. As a big thank you we’re offering all players a free audio guide between 12 December and 16 December. All you need to do is bring your ticket along and show it to the team on our front desk.

The National Lottery were substantial funders of our fantastic Museum refurbishment – when we reopened in 2010 we were very proud to be shortlisted for lots of awards, including the ‘Museum of the Year’ award. We’ve also had fantastic support for purchasing Captain Scott’s photographs, Inuit art and we currently have a Heritage Lottery Fund supported project to build our collection of material relating to Sir Ernest Shackleton.

So, there really is a huge amount to thank you all for!



Terms and Conditions
• One National Lottery ticket provides a free audio guide each for a family of up to 6 people. The offer includes the audio guide for adults and the audio guide for children.
• All National Lottery games qualify for free entry, including tickets from any National Lottery draw based game or National Lottery Scratchcard. Proof of ticket can be paper or digital.
• The offer is valid from 12-16 December. The Polar Museum is open Tuesday-Saturday, 10am-4pm.
• The Polar Museum has the right to refuse entry in the unlikely event of venue reaching capacity, as well as unforeseen circumstances.
• Audio Guides will be given at the welcome desk in the Polar museum when visitors arrive with their National Lottery tickets.


Spotlight on Antarctic Expeditions: Operation Tabarin 1943-46

November 30th, 2017

SPRI Y: 2011/55/10 and Y: 2011/55/14.

In our fifth and final instalment of lesser known Antarctic expeditions I’d like to introduce you to Operation Tabarin, a secret wartime Antarctic expedition which marked the start of the UK’s continuous presence in Antarctica, and which was supposedly named after a Parisian nightclub! The Operation has been summed up as ‘bearded men in chequered shirts establishing post offices up and down the Antarctic Peninsula’. Post offices are mightily important!

From the early-nineteenth century, the Antarctic had been considered a resource-rich, empty space ripe for imperial appropriation. While Britain and its commonwealth countries controlled two-thirds of the Antarctic continent and the surrounding seas by the 1930s, the governance was mostly paper-based, with little of the physical presence necessary to assert sovereignty, such as signs and flags, or credible permanent occupation – as evidenced by post offices.

By World War II, Germany had claimed much of the Norwegian territory in Antarctica and posed a significant threat to Allied shipping. Meanwhile, in 1942, Argentina had landed on Deception Island and then travelled further south, stopping along the way to raise the Argentinean flag and leave notes stating possession – and had also established a post office in the South Orkneys.

Britain decided it needed to strengthen its legal title to its Antarctic territories. The original plan was to send a party of soldiers to sit somewhere in the Antarctic, but it soon developed to include the establishment of permanent manned bases – with post offices – which would also provide platforms for scientific work, exploration, surveying and mapping of the local area.

SPRI Y: 49/11 and Y: 49/12a-b. The only two objects we have relating to Operation Tabarin actually date from the Swedish Antarctic Expedition 1901-04 (Antarctic) which were brought back by Operation Tabrain.

SPRI Y: 49/11 and Y: 49/12a-b. The only two objects we have relating to Operation Tabarin actually date from the Swedish Antarctic Expedition 1901-04 (Antarctic) which were brought back by Operation Tabrain.

Naval parties 475 and 476 which constituted Operation Tabarin sailed from the UK on 14 November 1943, arriving in the Falkland Islands on 26 January 1944. Three days later they departed for the Antarctic with men, supplies and scientific equipment. Two bases were established in the first season of 1944: Base A at Port Lockroy and Base B at Deception Island. Within days, the Union Jack was raised, radio communication was established with Stanley in the Falkland Islands, and a post office was set up at Base A (what is now the famous ‘Penguin Post Office’).

Towards the end of 1944 it was agreed that two new bases would be established – Base D at Hope Bay and Base E as far south along the Graham Land coast as possible, probably at Stonington Island. However, in early 1945 James Marr, who had been set to take command of Base D, announced that he would be returning to England on the grounds of ill health. The plans to establish Base E had to be revised, and it was decided to forego a base at Stonington Island in the short term to focus on Hope Bay. On 13 February, the Union Jack was unfurled at Base D on a 20-foot pole that had been found near the remains of the hut from Otto Nordenskjold’s Swedish Antarctic Expedition 1901–04 (Antarctic).

While the driving force behind Operation Tabarin was territorial disputes with Argentina, there was only one actual encounter with the Argentineans. In February 1945, after delivering Marr to Stanley, the ship Scoresby travelled to Scotia Bay at Laurie Island to ‘show the flag’ to the Argentinean meteorologists there. The Argentinean residents had not seen anyone for fourteen months and all was friendly until the arrival of the Argentinean relief ship. The captain refused to acknowledge a signal of invitation from the Scoresby’s captain, Marchesi, and both ships subsequently weighed anchor and left.

We do have a lot of objects relating to the Falklands Islands Dependencies Survey, the successor to Operation Tabarin, including dog driving equipment, clothing, scientific equipment and foodstuffs.

SPRI N: 1030, Y: 2011/55/11, Y: 2014/9/7, Y: 2011/9/25. We do have a lot of objects relating to the Falklands Islands Dependencies Survey, the successor to Operation Tabarin, including dog driving equipment, clothing, scientific equipment and foodstuffs.

The expedition returned to the UK in low key circumstances in 1946, but its scientific success cannot be denied. Three meteorological stations with a near-continuous record of recording had been established, alongside local surveys at Bases A and B, zoological and botanical work at Base A and specialised geological and glaciological work at Base B. At Base D, sledging trips in excess of 800 miles had been completed between August and December 1945; a substantial area had been mapped, considerable work was undertaken in the fields of geology, glaciology, botany and marine biology and a quarter ton of specimens had been prepared for shipping back to the UK.

Operation Tabarin was replaced by the Falkland Islands Dependencies Survey (FIDS), which continued the British presence in Antarctica, creating fourteen more bases over subsequent decades. In 1962, the Falkland Islands Dependencies were redesignated as the British Antarctic Territory, and the FIDS became the British Antarctic Survey.




  • Haddelsey, S. with Carroll, A. (2014). Operation Tabarin: Britain’s secret wartime expedition to Antarctica 1944-46. Stroud, Gloucestershire: The History Press.
  • Dudeney, J. and Walton, D. (2012). From Scotia to Operation Tabarin: developing British policy for Antarctica. Polar Record, 48(247), pp.342-360.
  • Squires, H. (1992). S.S. Eagle: The Secret Mission 1944-45. Jesperson Press Ltd.

We’re All Going on A Summer Not-Holiday: Part 2

November 16th, 2017

I promised a follow-up post on what we actually did on fieldwork upon our return, so, here goes. In this post I’ll focus on the science; in a subsequent one, I’ll talk a bit more generally about the wider fieldwork experience.

First thing I will say is that from a scientific point of view, the fieldwork was a roaring success. We achieved all our objectives, despite arriving four days late (more on that in the next post). We set up and used several different instruments, which I’ll explain a bit more about below.

The first instrument, and the one I ended up being responsible for was the radar interferometer, which we set up to observe the calving front. To explain what a radar interferometer is: the first part, radar, is fairly straightforward. We all know what a radar is. It’s that thing with the glowing green screen that goes ‘beep’ and shows a dot as the enemy aircraft/tank/monster/etc. is detected by it in every action movie ever. Obviously, however, a dot showing there’s a calving front there isn’t terribly useful for us. This is where the second part comes in, the interferometer. Interferometry is the use of multiple discontinuous small receivers to crate a virtual massive receiver, which gives you much better resolution, and, critically, the ability to get a 2D picture of the target. It’s used a lot in astronomy – rather than building one very large telescope, you build several smaller telescopes and space them out a bit, giving you the same result (with the application of a bit of maths and computing power) for much less effort. Our interferometer had a baseline (the distance between the receiving antennae) of only about 15 cm, but it was enough for it to produce very detailed 2D scans of the entire calving front every three minutes, for three weeks. Continuously. That’s a lot of data, which we can use to study the processes behind calving, as well as the behaviour of the ice mélange immediately in front of the glacier, once it’s all been processed.

The radar interferometer, overlooking Store Glacier. The top antenna (the horizontal bars) transmitted; the two lower ones received.

Our second big instrument, as such, was the drones. Six of these were brought along, and, after a few initial technical issues, they worked almost flawlessly, making several successful flights at the calving front and at the site on the ice, 30 km inland. Despite every landing being essentially a tenuously-controlled crash. The drones were fitted with a digital camera, and took hundreds of overlapping photos of their target areas. We hope this will allow us to track very small changes in the ice surface between flights, but we’ll need to process more of the data to see how successful that is.

Tinkering with a drone at the calving front.

The third major group of instruments we set up was the time-lapse cameras. These are, again, fairly standard digital cameras, this time set up on tripods overlooking the calving front. We set up ten of these; four on the south side of the glacier terminus; six on the north side. These, ideally, will each take a photo of the calving front every five minutes for the next five years. Hopefully, they won’t break too badly in the meantime. Again, the array of overlapping photos should allow us to track terminus changes and calving processes over the longer term, which will prove useful in detecting trends and seeing how representative the data gathered this summer are.

And tinkering with a time-lapse camera….

The final set of instruments we used were the GPS stations. Four of these were set up at the inland site to allow us to track ice velocity (speed and direction) for the next few years (until they eventually break!), which will be useful in complementing the other datasets, as well as providing long-term information on the health of the glacier.

A very low-tech GPS station at the calving front. The inland ones were a bit more sophisticated.

We now have several terabytes of data (1 TB = 1000 GB = 1,000,000 MB) to process. That’s our work all sorted for the next few months….

And, to finish with, here’s a couple of videos of science in action: launching and landing a drone. Ignore what appears to be the giant space laser in the launching video – it’s just the Sun.



What on earth is an IMP?

November 2nd, 2017


In my time at the Polar Museum, I looked at every single Antarctic object in the collection for the Antarctic Cataloguing Project, and can reveal that my favourite object is the ‘IMP’, mostly because of its sheer bizarreness.

During the project we found five medical boxes from the Commonwealth Trans-Antarctic Expedition 1955-58 (CTAE), two of which were mysteriously labelled ‘IMP’. IMP, as it turns out, stands for Integrating Motor Pneumotachograph. The IMP was developed in the 1950s by Dr Heinz Wolff to determine energy expenditure. At the time, there was a lot of interest in research on cold adaptation and survival, and the IMP was part of an ambitious programme of physiological experiments devised by Dr Allan Rogers, the medical officer on the expedition, to be conducted during the winter and throughout the trans-continental journey on the CTAE.

The IMP consisted of an air pump and flowmeter housed in a plastic box, which connected on one side with a mask fitted over the face and on the other with a sample-collecting unit packed in a bag worn on the back. The IMP measured the total volume of air breathed out by the wearer over a given time, and from this expired air it automatically took representative (or integrated) samples collected in glass ampoules which could then be analysed to determine the oxygen consumption. There’s a great video of the IMP in action (at 1:23).

Wearing the IMP was not a popular activity – the men had to be bribed and press-ganged into doing so – and only one man, Geoff Pratt, managed to wear it day and night for a whole week (only removing it to eat and drink). Pratt described the experience: ‘having continuously to breathe through the mouth leads to unpleasant dryness and outside in the cold the front teeth become “edgy”. You never, for a single moment, escape from a suffocating feeling and a very conscious effort in breathing’.(1) And he got frostbitten on his face during the experiment! But things were not much easier for Rogers, who had to remain constantly near Pratt in order to change the ampoules and keep an eye on the instruments, and even stayed awake at night to make sure the mask remained in place while Pratt slept. There’s a great photo by George Lowe of Pratt wearing the IMP. (2)


We have lots of associated IMP equipment that we don’t fully understand what it’s for – gas canisters, a lot of tubing, syringe-like things and a strange electrical unit for example, as well as mouth pieces, nose clips, and lots of spare transistors (click here to view the IMP items on the catalogue). But my favourite bits are the face masks, which were adapted from an RAF rubber face mask, with the cheeks lined with chamois leather. Some of them have foil-backed green felt covers safety pinned to them (which may have been to prevent condensed breath freezing on the masks).  The best bit is that quite a few of the masks we have are marked with the names of the wearer: ‘Geoff’ (John Geoffrey Drewe Pratt); ‘Taffy’ (E. Williams); ‘V.E.F.’ (Bunny Fuchs); ‘Ralph’ (Ralph Lenton); and ‘Roy’ (Desmond Homard).

The IMP was a big improvement on other instruments for measuring energy expenditure but in this case it proved to be a failure. The various components, such as the transistors and batteries, were unreliable and on his return to Britain, Rogers found that the breath samples that had been collected had been contaminated and the entire experiment rendered completely useless!

  • (1) Haddesley, S. (2012). Shackleton’s Dream: Fuchs, Hillary and the Crossing of Antarctica. The History Press. p.121.
  • (2) Lowe, G. and Lewis-Jones, H. (2014). The Crossing of Antarctica: Original Photographs from the Epic Journey that Fulfilled Shackleton’s Dream. London: Thames and Hudson, pp.126-127.


Solving the “Mystery of the Wilson sledge runner”

August 30th, 2017

This object is the “Wilson sledge runner”, and admittedly it does not look very interesting in its own right:

But appearances can be deceptive, because the story goes that this fragment was actually part of the dramatic moment when Scott’s party, nearing the South Pole on 18th January 1912, saw the first signs that the Norwegians had been there already and had their hopes of being first to the Pole dashed.

The sledge runner was being used as a flag pole with a black marker flag and a note with a statement of the Norwegians calculations of their position.  Edward Wilson and Scott both recorded this moment in their diaries, and Wilson also sketched the site before collecting the flag, note and part of the sledge runner:

The story goes on to tell how the fragment was allegedly found with the bodies of Scott and his party, and given to Wilson’s widow, Oriana.  From her it was passed to her great friend Evelyn Ferrar in her will, and was then brought to the Polar Museum by Evelyn’s son Nick Forbes.

Nick Forbes asked the Polar Museum to examine the sledge runner to see if this story could be “proved”.  Apart from Scott and Wilson’s diary entries which describe the finding of the flag and sledge runner, the whole story was only preserved in Nick’s family as an oral tradition.  Perhaps the fragment was not the one in the story after all.  Proving something like this beyond all doubt would be impossible but it should be possible to tell how likely the story was.

When the fragment was examined in detail it quickly became apparent that it is part of a Norwegian sledge runner from the early twentieth century.  The object is a piece of tapering metal which was used as protective cladding on a wooden sledge runner to protect it from damaging sharp ice.  It is made from German silver, an alloy of copper, zinc and nickel which was used for a short period in the early twentieth century as a rust-free and inexpensive alternative to iron cladding.  This important fact, as well as nail holes and other features of the object show that it is certainly from a Norwegian sledge from the right period. Amundsen was a Norwegian and would have planted the flag on the sledge runner in 1911.  So, mystery solved – or not?

Unfortunately the English team was also using Norwegian sledges, and Scott bought all the sledges for both the Discovery (1901-4) and Terra Nova (1910-13) expeditions from Oslo!  This means the fragment could actually be just a random piece of sledge runner from another of Scott’s journeys which has been confused with the “Wilson” fragment.  This is very possible because Nick Forbes’ family have been closely connected to the world of Polar exploration for generations, especially Scott’s Discovery expedition where Nick’s grandfather H.T. Ferrar was the geologist.

The clues to solving the mystery of whose sledge runner this really was took a long time to find.  I hunted through the Archives at SPRI looking for accounts of finding the bodies of the Polar party, along with their effects.  I tried to track the journey of the sledge runner from there to the Forbes family through notebooks, wills, letters and exhibition catalogues, but frustratingly it was never considered worthy of mention.  The flag and the note collected by Wilson at the same time were given to SPRI by Oriana Wilson herself in 1930, and interestingly these were never mentioned in any written sources either, but their provenance is not in doubt.  I crawled around in our stores measuring sledge runners from our Discovery and Terra Nova sledges, and eventually I even looked under the stairs at Amundsen’s delightful house near Oslo where one of the only surviving Norwegian South Pole sledges is stored:

I read many accounts of early twentieth century sledging.  In short, I became a sledge runner nerd!

The crucial evidence to solve the mystery is visible in the sledge runner itself.  On each side are parallel folds which show where it was wrapped around the wooden runner.  The distance between these folds is 10mm, which would be the thickness of the runner too.   The runners from the Discovery and Terra Nova expeditions are about 15mm thick and so much too thick to have fitted the fragment.  Meanwhile, Amundsen’s diary and his official account of his expedition show that he was obsessed with reducing the weight of all his equipment to the bare minimum.  He actually ordered his sledges to be broken up, pared down as thin as possible and then rebuilt, saving many kilos in weight.  The sledges which survive from Amundsen’s expedition show that the runners were about 40% thinner than those used by the English, and were about 10mm thick.  The nails used for cladding were also the same as those which were used with Nick Forbes’ fragment.  So the fragment could definitely have come from an Amundsen sledge.

Amundsen used thin temporary under-runners covered with metal cladding to protect the wooden runners in rough conditions.  In many cases the cladding was made of steel, but according to his own account the leading sledge in the South Pole journey had non-ferrous fixings because iron plays havoc with compass readings.

Amundsen described how his team broke their under-runners in half to make flag poles and skied off in different directions to plant them near the Pole – just to ensure they had definitely covered the territory.  A photograph of Wisting with his sledge taken near the South Pole in 1911 and now in Nasjonalbiblioteket in Oslo shows a whole under-runner fixed to the sledge, the same type as was later used to make the flag poles:

The weight of all the evidence taken together strongly supports the story of the sledge runner.  The full story of the authentication has been written up and is now published in the latest issue of Polar Record. It will be made available free of charge through the University Repository Green Access scheme early in 2018.  In the meantime the metal fragment has been kindly loaned to the Polar Museum by Nick Forbes and is on display there with the flag and note which were found at the same time.



We’re All Going on A Summer Not-Holiday: Part 1

May 27th, 2017

This blog post is written by PhD student Samuel Cook

Five of us from the Scott Polar Research Institute – me, Tom, TJ (all PhD students), Antonio (a postdoctoral researcher) and Poul (our supervisor) – are going to be spending the entirety of July doing fieldwork in Greenland. Specifically, at Store Glacier, about halfway up the west coast of Greenland. We’ll be joined by researchers from other institutions and will be conducting a variety of scientific work – such as setting up time-lapse cameras at the calving front (i.e. the end of the glacier where ice falls off into the fjord), using drones to gather improved data on the glacier’s surface elevation and velocity, and radar measurements of ice thickness and basal properties – at several different locations on the glacier, up to 60 km into the interior of the ice sheet.

The location of Store Glacier (inset). The big green thing is the domain I use in my modelling work.

The location of Store Glacier (inset). The big green thing is the domain I use in my modelling work.

This presents several challenges. To start with, a logistical one: getting that many people and all the things they need to survive and use (food, tents, scientific equipment, clothes, etc….) to somewhere that could charitably be described as the middle of nowhere isn’t simple. We have to drive van loads of the bulkier stuff over to Aalborg in Denmark so that that can be shipped to Greenland, but this has to be done a few weeks in advance of our departure (June 27th) to make sure it arrives before we do. To get to Greenland ourselves, we have to fly via Copenhagen (Greenland being Danish, flying from Denmark is the easiest route), then on to Greenland. We then have to take a couple of internal flights within Greenland and a couple of helicopter journeys to get to the vicinity of Store. All this has to be done with us carrying all our personal kit. Such fun. And there’s all the paperwork to fill in to satisfy EU, British and Greenlandic customs regulations. It just gets better.

We also have to buy and test all the equipment, as well as buying all our own personal gear. This is a) expensive, b) complicated and c) tiring. It turns out two days of putting up and taking down a succession of tents to check for tears is hard work. On the plus side, they all seem to be intact. Unlike my fingers. I’ve also spent a gratuitously-large amount of money on buying all sorts of outdoorsy equipment to ensure I have enough clothing for a month. And so I don’t die of exposure. Or mosquitoes. There are going to be a lot of mosquitoes. You can’t catch anything from them, but the bites are unpleasant enough anyway.

Antonio, TJ, Tom and I setting up the biggest of the tents.

(Left to right) Antonio, TJ, Tom and I setting up the biggest of the tents.

Finally, there’s also a huge amount of university admin to wade through, funding to be applied for and so on. All of which also has to be done well in advance, and not forgetting the need to actually plan what we’re doing once we’re in the field, to make sure we don’t leave anything vital behind. The group has a lot of spreadsheets on the go, to put it mildly.

So, in terms of all the necessary preparatory work, it’s pretty safe to say that glaciological fieldwork is a long way from being a straightforward experience. Once we’re back at the end of July, I’ll write another post about the actual fieldwork. Watch this space…