When I actually stop and think about it, there is something quite spooky about Antarctica. The other day, I did a mid-week overnight trip in one of the many huts dotted around the Vestfold Hills for some sampling purposes. It was just me and my assistant (fuuyoh!), talking shit, eating cheese and olives, and sipping wine. After a couple of hours, Nature called (as it does) and I had to make my way to one of the tide cracks along the fjord to, err, answer the Call.

That was when it hit me - just how isolated we were.

We were the only people in an area 10km radius. The wind was sweeping through the valleys. I could hear the sea-ice still lodged around Ellis Fjord creaking and groaning, cracking and splintering (which can be quite harrowing if you're trying to take a leak into a tide-crack).

Yet, amid all this noise, the silence was oppressive. I could hear everything, and at the same thing, I could hear nothing. How do I describe this???

And then, I started thinking about Antarctica and the Vestfold Hills. Who has been here before? Previous AAD expeditioners? Dinosaurs? Aliens? Space invaders?

How long has that rock been sitting there before I turned it over? 10 years? 1000 years? 1 000 000 years?

That was when things started to get a tad spooky and I could feel the hairs on my arm stand erect. I can't really describe how I felt that day, when I was being contemplative and philosophical as I was taking a leak. BUT, I think, if there is a Hell somewhere, it would probably be quite similar to Antarctica. Silent and vast, empty and menacing. Rather foreboding-looking too, when the sun sets behind its hills.

And now there is merely silence, silence, silence, saying all we did not know.
William R. Benet