1912 (38 page)

On board the
Terra Nova
, Simpson and Wright came close to putting it all together by measuring the changing electrical charge of air molecules as they travelled south, and deduced that something was originating from outside the Earth to cause this effect. But it was only in 1911 that a brave soul flew in a balloon to a frighteningly high five thousand metres and found a stream of high-energy electrically charged particles were striking the upper atmosphere from the sun and outer space. Cosmic rays had been discovered.

We now know that an aurora is caused by cosmic rays funnelled into the Earth's magnetic field above the geomagnetic poles, those marking the theoretical magnetic axis of our planet. Colliding with oxygen and nitrogen molecules in the upper atmosphere the rays produce the luminous streams of light we know as aurora. When the sun is particularly active the flow of charged particles increases massively, causing a visual treat that disrupts the ionosphere. But the first report of a polar radio blackout caused by auroral activity would not come until 1966. Mawson had again been ahead of the game.

Back in civilisation Davis and Edgeworth David worked financial miracles—even returning to London—and somehow found the extra money to support the expedition for another year. It was not enough to cover all the costs, but at least it meant Mawson and his men could be brought home. The
Aurora
returned to Cape Denison in December 1913 and a relieved team left the Winter Quarters.

Even with the prospect of returning to Australia, Mawson could not leave research alone. Insisting they head west, he convinced his long-suffering captain to return to Wild's base and Drygalski's winter position of 1902, undertaking soundings as they went.

Davis was exhausted from the strain and Mawson started to suspect he had pushed the captain too far. On 21 January, ‘4 pm: suggest sounding to Capt Davis who has turned in since 2 pm… However, now a case of sleepy bad temper: “Christ Almighty, leave me alone, look after your own business,” etc which nevertheless is best for me to waive. It is with great difficulty that one assumes the tactful position.'

They turned north for home soon after.

Heading to London in 1914 Mawson received a knighthood and worked hard at finishing a book on the expedition for a general readership.
The Home of the Blizzard
was published by Heinemann a year later. Reviews were positive, with the
Observer
remarking, ‘Nothing could better prove the contention that, though the explorer's quest is knowledge, the world's test is heroism. This record of the Mawson Expedition answers both demands.' The British media could not resist a dig at Amundsen: ‘In this respect of comparisons, it is fair to say that Sir Douglas deferred to Captain Scott's wishes in framing his programme, and thus avoided that un-English form of competition which has stripped Amundsen of half his laurels.'

Scientific communication was key. When Frank Hurley returned to Australia on the
Aurora
, in 1912, the public were enthralled. Around 2500 photographs, some in colour, and hundreds of metres of film were shown around the country. Images of expedition members, the sweeping landscape and blizzards of Commonwealth Bay, and the obligatory penguins captivated audiences. An hour of silent but stunning film footage under the same title as Mawson's book brought the public ever closer to visiting Antarctica. It was the basis of one of the first—and most successful—documentary films. The Australians were telling a story of epic proportions and Antarctic science was in the lead role.

In London, Mawson reported to the RGS. The new president, Douglas Freshfield, who had just taken over from Lord Curzon, remarked in his introduction: ‘All men of science will confirm what I say, that there has been no Antarctic expedition the results of which, geological, glaciological, or in the way of throwing light on the past history of our planet, have been richer
than that of which we are going to hear an account.' Mawson was only thirty-two, but his contribution ranked among the greatest the RGS had witnessed.

When Mawson showed images taken by Hurley of their Antarctic home and its local inhabitants, the president was glowing in his praise: ‘We are told that geography has connections with every other science. We have seen in what an extraordinary way, with the aid of photography, it can throw light on zoology. One does not expect, when taken to the Antarctic Regions, to go there for the sake of seeing life; but I think to-night we have seen to the full the bird-life of the Antarctic brought before us in a most wonderfully vivid way. We owe our thanks, not only to Dr. Mawson, but to the very able photographer, or photographers, who have secured for us the pictures.'

The weather observations paid handsome dividends. When Mawson had first suggested his expedition, newspaper wags produced cartoons depicting Antarcticasas a new health resort. But once the wireless system was fully operational, daily coded reports immediately began to improve weather predictions across the region. Although initially disbelieved by some, film footage in
Home of the Blizzard
and tests on the instruments provided irrefutable proof that Cape Denison suffered from massive blasts of cold air that poured off the plateau, frequently hurricane in strength.

There had been other successes as well. While not opening the floodgates to mining companies, the expedition produced the first discovery of gold in Antarctica, with significant finds of silver and copper. The newspapers declared it to be a development of great economic value.

Magnetic measurements proved to be a greater challenge. The huge amount of data, and the onset of World War I, caused significant delays. Webb went to fight and, although he continued to correspond with Mawson, the data was worked up
by twelve young female students in University College, Christchurch, New Zealand, who became known as ‘the magnetic ladies of Canterbury College' and ‘the Mawson club'.

The results were a revelation. Between April and October 1912 the Australasian and British Antarctic observations had been made at exactly the same time. The data showed the horizontal part of the magnetic field had an effect over a far greater area than first expected, and this explained the exasperating sluggishness of the compasses that the sledging parties had complained of in 1909 and 1912. Although neither group had achieved a true vertical alignment, all was not lost. Enough data had been collected to get the most accurate fix yet for the South Magnetic Pole: the results allowed a best estimate of 71°10'S 150°43'E. Bage, Hurley and Webb had turned back 113 kilometres short. The average position meant the pole probably lay about 130 kilometres northwest of that reached by David, Mawson and Mackay.

And still the pole continues to move. Since Ross's stab at its location, in 1841, the pole has migrated at an average rate of nine kilometres a year. Mawson's expedition data was forcing Antarctica to give up its secrets—and with them, clues to the workings of our planet.

On his return from Antarctica, Mawson faced a debt of £7000, despite David's and Davis's best efforts. The sales of
Home of the Blizzard
were disappointing, badly hit by the war, and the publisher remarked that he hoped things would improve once the public's love of reading about ‘blood and bloodshed' had passed.

‘Had I perished, possibly an appeal would have brought forth funds,' Mawson observed. ‘As I survived, there is a debt and the publication account to face and I trust this appeal will
not be in vain.' Funds came in slowly, but he was plagued with the debt for years afterwards. To make matters worse, Vickers complained that it had not been paid the hundreds of pounds owed for the plane. Mawson had to plead poverty, asking that the craft might be considered a donation to the expedition. No doubt thanks to booming military sales during World War I, the debt was written off.

Slowly Mawson collected funding to publish the expedition's scientific reports. The sums involved were almost pathetic: £50 here, £100 there. With the help of the New South Wales state government the reports were published over the following decades. But in return, scientific samples, diaries and gear from the expedition had to be delivered from South Australia, where Mawson lived. He was forced to agree, though he was reticent. There were times when Mawson loathed the effort involved, sometimes describing the process of raising funds and cajoling authors as ‘tedious' in his introductions to the reports. By 1947 the job was finally done: twenty-two volumes made up of eighty-nine individual scientific reports, describing for the first time in glorious detail the excitement of discovering a whole new part of Antarctica.

The Australasian expedition was of a scale never previously attempted: three bases, thirty-one land-based members, seven major sledging journeys and a full oceanographic program. Mawson's venture gave the world its first complete scientific snapshot of a new continent. The men had explored a vast stretch of eastern Antarctica; discovered new bays, mountains and glaciers; and linked up areas that had previously been discovered only in isolation. The scientific volumes described Antarctica's violent and extreme weather, its flourishing plant and animal life, the ocean's fickleness.

The polar historian Gordon Hayes wrote a glowing assessment in 1928: ‘Mawson's Expedition, judged by the magnitude
both of its scale and of its achievements, was the greatest and most consummate expedition that ever sailed for Antarctica… Its excellence lay in its design, its scope and its executive success; and [in its origin and conduct] by scientists of administrative ability…Mawson's was the first British Expedition which had clearly passed beyond the novitiate stage in Antarctic exploration, previously so painfully evident.'

But perhaps the highest praise came from Frank Hurley, who succinctly summed up the Australasian effort: ‘Shackleton grafted science on to exploration—Mawson added exploring to science.'

The first recognisable photograph of an auroral display in the south, with a ten-second exposure, 1912. By Frank Hurley. Courtesy of the Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales, Sydney (36856).