Steve (l) and Porgy at Base W                             Photo: Robin Perry

Steve’s Solo Journey

Peter Gibbs   
February 2014

Satellite image of Antarctica with the peninsula circled in red.
Orthographic projection of NASA's Blue Marble data set,
Dave Pape/Anna Frodesiak. Modified by Agis Fasseas.

“A few days before the feast of midwinter (1959) a strange dog was noticed creating a hullabaloo among the teams out on the spans. I had no difficulty in recognizing Steve. He had been on the loose for nearly three months and seemed pleased to find people again. I attached him among the Spartans where he was not exactly well received at first! We found he was a good 20lbs above his normal weight, but in excellent form. I speculated that he had gorged himself on the seal pile left at Base W then felt the need for the company of the pack. He had done the journey from Base Y (Horseshoe) to W the previous year so that may have helped him find his way over the glaciers and sea ice.”

Steve’s Probable Route (click here to see a larger version)
Map courtesy of Peter Gibbs

The first forty miles from the ships across good ice with fresh tracks to Detaille Island was swift and Steve could follow the scent of pee marks on many bergy bits. Not having worked out that the base was closed with no men or dogs there to welcome him back to his home, he was indeed bemused to find nothing but a boarded up hut and silent spans and chains. He sat on his haunches and let out a prolonged wolfy howl.

Evensong at Adelaide, an un-named husky giving vent to emotion.
Photo: Geoff Renner
from Of Dogs and Men by Kevin Walton and Rick Atkinson;
Published by Images of Malvern, 1996

A few seconds later the silence was broken by the echo of his own wail from Liard Island to the west and the buttresses of Murphy Glacier on the mainland to the east. He pricked up his ears looking one way then the other. It had never been so calm and quiet to notice before these echoes like ghost dogs. He could not settle and traversed the island sniffing the air and looking. Maybe one of the base party was still here or they would come with a team of his mates. One big consolation was the seal pile. The carcasses were not hard frozen and the night of his journey had given him an appetite. Skuas had opened up the hide of the topmost seal. Steve tore at the carcass, lunging at the skuas who glided noisily just out of reach. Satiated, he lay down by the steps to the hut where the drifted snow of winter had thawed and left a shelter partly under the hut.

A full belly and confident reasoning that before long he would hear the “Huit huit” (go, go), “Irrre irrre!” (left, left) and “Auk, auk” (right, right) shouts of a dog driver and catch the team’s scent, lent comfort and hope to his lonely vigil. But day after day passed. The sun set behind Liard Island, the days grew shorter and the nights colder. No men and no dogs came. A blizzard blew down the Murphy Glacier picking up all the summer snow in a blind fury. Steve sheltered by the steps to the hut and became drifted over. Nose tucked into tail he curled up for days until he sensed it quiet above and breaking the crust shook himself free. He had experienced many lie-ups before on the trail, one lasting ten days when in the following calm the drivers would dig out the dogs and tent getting all onto the new surface now three feet or more higher. His stiff fellow dogs would stretch their legs whining and eager to get on the move while growling at sparring partners. The recollection triggered a yen to be back on the trail with fellow mates obedient to their human masters, hauling in harness every ounce of their own 115-pound weight. He had to leave the comfort of his seal pile and find company again somewhere south over frozen fjords and glaciers. With hindquarters to the sun he started south up Lallemand Fjord following his shadow and memory of a previous journey when Bodger was leading.

In southern Lallemand Fjord he got lost in a graveyard of grounded icebergs with high drifts between them. So he back-tracked climbing over high pressure ridges. Skirting the mountains to the west he rounded Hooke Point, now recognizing features from his previous journey between the bases. The ice was rapidly melting, ready for a late summer break out. Steve swam across melt pools. An incautious penguin that torpedoed onto a flow in his path provided a welcome meal. They, along with the skuas, petrels and terns were preparing to migrate northwards. The Muller Ice Shelf blocked his path but he found access onto it where it abutted a rocky slope. Here in an area of absolute calm the temperature fell and it snowed soft feathery flakes, blotting out visibility and sense of direction. The accumulating snow had no substance to it. Like a mole the husky tried to tunnel forwards but wisely he conserved energy and lay up, floundering to the surface as needed. After some days a katabatic wind raised clouds of drift and gave the surface enough firmness to allow him to continue his journey, and as he climbed to the top of the Heim Glacier he could trot and jump the sastrugi ridges. He sensed black holes where snow bridges had collapsed and cautiously pawing forward on his belly he crossed the sunken bridges. Had he plunged into a crevasse there would have been no story to relate. But providence and will come to the aid of the lone survivors the likes of Mawson and Osman, whether man or dog. Steve skirted the ice scoops on the Jones Shelf and made for the depot on the beach of Bigourdan Fjord. Tearing open a box of pemmican he restored his energy for the last eight miles on rotten ice to the Refuge hut on the west coast of Blaiklock Island. It was deserted but scents of men, dogs and especially some manky seals above the high water mark buoyed his spirits. Can huskies count days or appreciate awesome scenery? Mount Thor as we called the 7500 ft high massif sent down avalanches into the head of Bigourdan Fjord. The Reid Glacier shone rosy tints as the midday sun just skimmed its horizon. Fast ice covered the fjord and new ice was forming across the melt pools. Now sustained by his rest and seal feeds he loped and swam the last twenty-five miles through the Narrows and down to Ridge Island, galloping the last two miles as the scent of men and dogs grew stronger, finally greeting his fellow mates on the span.