Sunday 20th
January
From
John Storey.....
 It's
kind of difficult to dance the night away when there isn't
one. However as I headed off to bed in the early hours of
this morning, a substantial group of people were packed into
the Summer Lounge having a darned good attempt. I had arrived
at the party at about 10 pm to find Tony and Duane already
fully immersed. Duane was propping up the bar, Tony was unsuccessfully
fighting off a group of women who were trying to remove his
shirt. I dumped my parka behind the bar where I thought it
would be safe but it wasn't because someone accidentally emptied
a can of beer into it.
The
Summer Lounge is another Jamesway, demonstrating yet again
the enormous versatility of these double-walled tents. A small
cloud hung permanently outside the doorway, where water vapour
from the sweaty bodies inside was mixing with the -25 degree
air outside and instantly freezing. Inside, the
highly acclaimed band "Thunderjug" were belting
it out. As happens here each summer, people arriving at the
South Pole with an interest in music form a spontaneous band.
This year it is Thunderjug, with an outstanding drummer, a
pretty good bass guitarist and a couple of lead/rhythm guitarists
who will
probably be fine with a bit of practice.
This is what rock music should be - live, highly interactive
with the audience, and rather loud. The singer was occasionally
the bass guitarist (regrettably), occasionally the drummer
or one of the other guitarists, but more often than not just
some random person from the crowd who succeeded in taking
possession of the microphone for long enough. Serious good
fun.
The
scene looked for all the world like an out-take from the ABC
series "Long Way to the Top". This was just like
a classic Australian pub band of the type now endangered by
the relentless march of the poker machine. Why anyone would
want to spend the evening stuffing their own money into a
machine when they could be screaming their heads off to some
rock and roll is beyond me, but then, a lot of things puzzle
me..
The
audience were having a great time - some were dancing, some
were grabbing the microphone from the band, and some were
just leaning back enjoying the music. Others, apparently,
were sitting around pouring beer into my parka. After I left
things apparently got even wilder, as the band
moved onto early Angels material and some Kurt Cobain.
Today
Tony continued his man-against-machine battle with the Supervisor
computer, but didn't appear to get very far. For light relief
he took Summit (our sub-millimetre instrument) out of its
box so we could all admire it while we wait for the calcium
hydride and/or magnesium perchlorate to
arrive.
This
morning Duane and I did the final installation of the Stirling
engine, which included bleeding the coolant lines (this is
done by getting glycol all over the floor) and the fuel lines
(a similar process to bleeding the coolant, except you end
up with jet fuel all over the floor). I was also able to get
enough jet fuel on my parka to drown out the smell of the
beer, which I considered to be a step forward. The remainder
of the preparation consisted of checking for the 25th time
that all the red wires were
connected to positive and all the black to negative, and then
having lunch.
After
lunch came the big moment when Duane pushed the "start"
button. Thirty seconds before that, Bob Pernic (station manager
for CARA) had arrived to witness the momentous event. The
AASTO was standing room only, and the tension was mounting.
Starting the Stirling engine is great fun because it is such
an intelligent beast. The whole process takes about ten minutes;
it's completely automatic and the engine has a little display
to keep you informed about what it's up to. It begins by having
a bit of look around to check everything is OK, then turns
on the glow plug. After a bit it blows air through itself
and then turns on the fuel, which immediately catches alight.
At this stage the engine starts making a fabulous noise like
a camping stove on a windy night - all pops and splutters
and coughs - while it attempts to get the fuel/air ratio right.
Since this was the first time it had ever been at an elevation
of 10,300 feet (these things are designed to go in yachts)
it wasn't quite sure what to do, and promptly did the wrong
thing. The flame went out.
Now
these engines are so clever they actually learn from their
mistakes. So Duane pushed "start" again and away
it went, this time getting so far as to sound like a blowtorch
on a windy night. We all cheered it on and gave it what encouragement
we could. Sadly, it lost the plot again and again the
flame snuffed out. Adjusting to this altitude was clearly
going to be a major intellectual challenge for it. Tony suggested
lobbing a handful of Diamox into the fuel tank.
Prior
to the third attempt it had a good hard think about stochiometric
ratios, the gas equation and atmospheric lapse rates before
taking another stab at the mixture - and this time it got
it right. Within a few minutes it was producing over 500 watts
of electricity and bringing a toasty warmth to the AASTO.
Duane was stoked. Actually we all were. I think these engines
are going to be the bee's knees in Antarctica. Each time we
re-start it the Stirling engine remembers what it had to do
last time, and gradually will become acclimatised, just like
we do.
Unfortunately
we seem to have a bit of a problem with the cooling fan circuits.
This is completely unexpected and may prove to be a major
setback. After dinner I set up the oscilloscope, for the first
time since arriving, in the hope that it would cast a more
optimistic light on things. It didn't.
Since
its now 2 am, I have set an urgent email to the manufacturer
for their advice and will stagger off to bed.
 
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