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Mountains of Madness: A scientist’s odyssey in Antarctica by John Long and
Tim Bowden, National Academic Press, $24.95, ISBN 0309070775

THERE are many reasons to be a geologist, but travelling the world at other
people’s expense must be one of the best. John Long is an Australian
palaeontologist who studies fossil fish. Twice he has pursued them as far as
Antarctica. His account of fieldwork in this extreme environment ranges from the
frightening to the mundane: blizzards, crevasses, research bases, Skidoos,
frostnip, drinking and constipation. It’s full of authentic details that any
expedition veteran will recognise.

Antarctica is huge: one-and-a-half times the size of the US. Covered for the
most part in thick ice, it’s crossed by a chain of mountains. There a few rocks
break through the ice to tell a fascinating story: here, Antarctica,
Australasia, Africa, Madagascar, India and South America were once united. They
formed the now lost supercontinent Gondwanaland. Geologists still know little
about this period in Antarctica’s history simply because its rocks are so
sparse, seldom exposed and inaccessible. But without Antarctica they cannot hope
to understand Gondwanaland properly: how its unique species arose, nor the slow
break-up that finally stranded Antarctica on the bottom of the world, frozen
within the circumpolar current.

There is no doubt that Antarctica’s geology is of prime scientific importance
and Long does know his Antarctic history, much of which is the story of
scientific investigation by geologist-explorers Douglas Mawson, David Edgeworth
and Vivian Fuchs. And science dots the pages of Mountains of Madness whenever
fishy fossils leap out of the rock and into Long’s life. He rattles on
enthusiastically about his favourite beasts—and about the papers he has
written about new species, but I fear this may mean little to the general
reader. I also wish he told us more about the wider significance of his “chips
of fishes”, and that he used them to unfold a coherent geological history.

Long makes much of his expedition diary, enlivened here and there with the
odd bit of excitement or moments of vision. Campsite details, ludicrous
fantasies, running jokes, narrow scrapes and wacky recipes created to brighten
dull rations all ring true.

As the central figure, Long comes over as a dogged, cheerful character in
whose company you might be happy to spend a field season. But only in the book’s
final pages, with the death of a close friend, Long’s divorce, and his life
after Antarctica (divided between work, his ascetic flat and karate lessons) do
we feel that we are coming closer to him. The colleagues who shared his
experiences on the ice remain little more than ciphers. Perhaps this isn’t far
from the truth. Despite the interesting things they do, and the places they go
to do them, scientists are often a lot less interesting than they should be. The
book captures this perfectly.

Long tells us—and I believe him—that Antarctica changed him
forever. Wildernesses do that. But his descriptions don’t do it justice. I know
that Mount Erebus is “absolutely humongous”. I want rather more from one who has
seen it in all its glory. The grandeur of the wilderness needs someone a bit
transcendent to bring that home to the armchair explorer.

So Long’s artless chronicle turns out to be like an extended letter from some
former undergraduate chum. You are glad to hear the daily news, but after page
73, you guiltily turn over some pages half read. Nevertheless, in its pedestrian
way, the book reflects how ordinary life in the field can be, even in the
grandest surroundings. You may be ringed with glory, but food, drink and the
evacuation of bodily wastes consume your thoughts. Travel really can narrow the
mind.