Since the demise of the Tom Crean almost two weeks ago, the South-Aris team's thoughts have turned to the mountain traverse from King Haakon Bay to the whaling station at Stromness. Their original plan was to land at King Haakon, a very large fjord open to the west on the southwest coast, and then, weather permitting, begin the traverse immediately. In reality, as a result of having to make our landfall at the southern tip of South Georgia in order to escape the depression of the 29th of January, and our subsequent need to check in with the British authorities at Grytviken, we are now sailing the entire northeast coast of South Georgia in stages.

The first run from Cooper Bay to Grytviken was made in one hop, motorsailing in a light southwesterly past rocky headlands and bays with glaciers discharging blocks of ice the size of houses into the sea. The summits of the greater ranges of the island were popping in and out of the cloud and the Irish climbers Frank Nugent and Mike Barry spent most of the day with land maps trying to guess which peaks were which.

Since I had been here twice before, I proclaimed confidently 'that' to be the summit of Mt Paget (which I had climbed in 1995). Of course it later proved to be Mt Roots once we finally got our bearings in order! It never pays to be too forthright as 'the expert'. Far better to let the others fall into the trap, by being as vague as possible. Say something like, "when it clears we will see such and such," and then be below, well out of the inevitable climber's argument when it does clear!

After two days in Grytviken, sorting out equipment and a fair bit of socializing with the Carr's, Jerome Poncet and Pat the harbour master, the team was anxious to cap the whisky bottle and get on with the job of the crossing. The plan was to do at least two recces along the route in order to get a feel for the terrain and then make straight for King Haakon. On South Georgia, it is never that easy! A short 15 mile run out of Cumberland Bay and into Stromness on February 4th saw weather conditions worsening. Although the wind hadn't kicked in yet, the old northeasterly swell offshore was debilitating and almost everyone was seasick in the heaving sea as while motoring we put our bow under water with each wave .

Everyone was glad to arrive and we tethered Pelagic off a ruined jetty in front of what had been a ship repair facility during the whaling days. Unlike Grytviken, there is no museum at Stromness and the buildings are in a bad state of repair, although there are still storerooms full of steel plate and usable heavy machinery quietly rusting away. The South-Aris team took off into the hills to check out Shackleton's descent route off the glacier and to have look into Fortuna Bay, the next escape route to the west. Jerome Poncet, sailing solo on his way home to the Falklands also pulled in. He was looking for a bit of scrap metal for his farm - there is plenty here! While he was rooting around, Elena, Patrick and I went out and bagged a reindeer just behind the station.

There are two separate herds on South Georgia and this was the northern one. The southern herd is south of Cumberland Bay and is kept apart from the northern group by the glaciers that disgorge into this bay. Apparently the two herds have evolved into distinguishable races.

During the evening of Feb 4th, after the Irish returned, we motored around the corner to a better jetty at Leith harbour, home of what was once the largest processing station on the island. Jerome followed, and we feasted on fresh reindeer liver and kidneys ("alla veneta") accompanied by dandelion salad, another import, probably carried here on the shoes of a Norwegian whaler. The carcass, enough meat for probably 8 square meals for ten (plus the skuas), was now hanging on the backstays, curing in the wind.

The next morning clouds were racing overhead, strong gusts were peppering us at the jetty and the weather map was abysmal, confirming another low going through. We decided to wait it out with some hiking in the back valleys, some sleeping the day away and a look at the abandoned station . Just before dark the gusts increased: 50 knots, then a 62, a 68, then wham - 86 knots on the wind machine and the noise was like all hell breaking loose! I stuck my head out of the doghouse and all I could see was white water! In these conditions the whaling station became a source of lethal pieces of flying sheet metal which had been ripped off exterior walls and roofs to became airborne guillotines.Those caught out, had to run the gauntlet, darting into doorways on their way back to Pelagic.

Jerome pointed to an enormous empty iron fuel tank alongside the jetty, in a state of collapse. "The wind did that. There are things flying around here," he said, "that can not only kill you, but can also damage your boat!" That night and all through the next day it snowed on and off, but the wind had abated. Jerome slipped his lines unannounced sometime in the predawn darkness, and we finally quit Leith at first light, 0500 local time on February 7th. Onwards and ever westwards!

Skip Novak