Kirsty Brown: View from Antarctica

Here are excerpts taken from the last weeks of the brilliant biologist's life, written in her own words.

APRIL 2003 Isolation was finally complete when the remaining planes flew north on the 15th. The moment was captured by a farewell salute and champagne on the veranda. After the celebrations we knuckled down to a week of scrub-out - so much for freedom!

Winter training trips started early in the month with each of us heading out with a field assistant for six days learning how to survive, and hopefully enjoy, being in the Antarctic.

Science didn't stop either just because it was winter.

The divers did their best to get out despite disruptions and the Met boys collected weather observations around the clock. The science that gets carried out in winter is highly regarded. The unique circumstances, the challenges of collecting it and the environmental pressures all make it more worthwhile.

In case life here wasn't manic enough, the Argentine ice breaker Almirante Irizar, dropped by, en route from San Martin. We had the pleasure of being flown on to their ship by a Sea King for a guided tour while they came ashore to visit the base and taste Issy's cookies.

MAY May brought the true onset of winter with colder, wilder weather and darker days. Snow finally started to settle permanently round the base. Towards the end of the month the sun dropped completely out of sight. Winter trips continued but back on base life settled down into winter mode: breakfast in darkness, smoko (coffee break) in twilight and lunch in a rosy glow before the sun potters back down.

Personnel on base are getting to know each other. One month in and the stresses of living together in an isolated and harsh environment challenge us all in different ways but there always seems to be someone ready to listen, make you laugh or just give you a shoulder to lean on.

The daily schedule of work from 9 through until 5 continues although many of us work beyond this to get the job done. Evening relaxation is more difficult with so little light but we continue to go out skiing and walks round the point are still very popular. However, the chippy shop (carpentry workshop), green room (music room) and dark room are becoming increasingly well used.

The sunsets in Antarctica are like no other that I have seen. This may be because the sunsets also happen to be part of the sunrises, or vice versa, depending upon how you see it.

This is because the sun has been getting lower each day as we get closer to midwinter. It really has been a fascinating month observing the changes.

Getting up in the mornings in the dark is not so abnormal for a lot of us on base, particularly those of Scottish tendencies. However, to have smoko in view of the stars and moon is a little strange.

All this does, however, is make you appreciate it when the light finally does arrive.

The best days are the crisp "dingle" days and it is almost predictable that you are going to be in for a spectacular light show and one of the most stunning sunrises you'll ever experience.

The only question then is whether to walk to the north or south of the base to make the most of the extravaganza.

Well, I guess if I decide to go south today, I can always go north tomorrow because although it will be different it will be just as spectacular! This was definitely in the holiday brochure.

CENTURION NIGHT Birthdays are a good excuse for a party. The official line, of course, is that we are boosting base morale.

So, when it was Adam's birthday, the youngest member on base, it was decided that a Centurion evening was just the ticket.

The best efforts included Jane (the doc) donned in silver, wings flying from a hard hat, as Mercury, Chris (the mech) making a sterling effort not only wearing body armour but also making a splendid entry, riding on board his chariot.

Weapons were abundant including beautifully-crafted wooden (very safe) swords (Baz the genny mech), a couple of broadswords, axes, a claymore, etc, etc.

Once all were gathered we feasted upon a meal sumptuously produced by our ever-wondrous chef (Issy) and then the games commenced.

The expressions on faces told many a story that will no doubt be told again in the months to come.

JUNE The month of midwinter. The three weeks prior to the big day, the sun completely vanished below the horizon and darkness reigned. But not inside Rothera base.

Preparations were being made in all directions. Midwinter presents were being carefully crafted, carved, glued, lathed, welded and sawn.

The cupboards were raided for food delights and the menu prepared for the great feast. We received cheerful greetings from stations all over Antarctica and those who remembered us from the sunny north.

Midwinter dawn didn't arrive but the day of feasting and celebration did. Issy surpassed herself with culinary joys that were way beyond our expectations.

Bellies full, we gathered around the radio to listen to the BBC World Service Antarctic broadcast, followed by the exchange of our presents. So began a week of holiday.

The rest of the month has been inconspicuous in comparison although, as ever, science continues.

MIDWINTER PRESENTS On first hearing about the presents that winterers give to each other on Midwinter's Day, I was full of dread. Why? Because they are all hand-made, on base, and have a reputation of being of a very high standard.

Okay, so what skills do I have that I can use to try and create something that doesn't look like it has come straight off Blue Peter or worse?

Well, I'm a scuba diver. That doesn't get me far. I'm good at reading books. Emmmm, maybe not. I used to be okay with clay modelling at school. No clay and can't say I'm much of an artist.

Okay, looks like I'll have to learn a new skill. First let's come up with an idea. I know, how about a set of bar skittles - that should be simple enough. A flat piece of wood with a few pegs and something to knock them down with. Excellent - even I can do that.

Okay to the chippie shop. "Matt, this is what I'm thinking of doing for my winter pressie."

"Excellent," says Matt. "Something similar was done last year and they shaped the pegs like penguins."

"Oooh," I say. "Nice. How do I go about that?"

Talk about a leading question.

The next thing I know I've started the pressie and it involves much more than I thought.

And, if I thought that was pushing my skills, next I'm on the lathe turning the wood, chippings flying everywhere and the occasional "thunk" as a rather too large piece gets stuck to the end of my chisel.

Hmm. Eventually, I turn out two lengths of wood that have 12 shapes calved out of them (I needed a few extras just in case they went pear shaped).

By this time, I've spent nearly every evening possible in the chippie shop and only two weeks to go.

Matt stands laughing (otherwise he might have cried) in the background, offering endless and life-saving advice. Wood is going everywhere, sounds of frustration from some, others giving encouragement or making appreciative noises.

The chippy shop is not the only place that is extremely busy. The garage also has works of art being created. What was once simply an idea, under the skills and guidance of the mechs, are turning into reality!

The darkroom is booked out at all times, busy photographers desperately trying to get exposures, grades and tones just right.

By this time, I'm starting to panic - not long to go and I still have to carve each of the 12 shapes into something looking like a penguin. I disappear into a quiet space to concentrate because yet another skill must be used, hand carpentry.

A week later I have produced one passable looking penguin. Genuinely pleased with myself, I proudly show Matt, who says: "Yup, excellent. Just another 11 to go."

I swallow hard with the realisation that this is an impossibility with only a week to go. Looks like a change of plan is necessary.

A couple of lovingly hand-carved and French polished penguins. Okay, not quite what I had in mind but not bad!

What other pressies were presented on the big day? Well, the standard was incredibly high.

The gifts varied from some beautifully hand-developed photos of Antarctic landscapes, the 2003 winterers and local wildlife (some would say that latter two were the same), satellite photos, blue prints of Nansen sledges, maps of the local area encased in frames or in a wooden photo album.

A stunning wind chime came from one of our mechs (Chris), the skill just starring you in the face.

Others included: A rope mat, framed, taking up half the floor space in the bar, weighing a tonne and lovingly made; a chips and dip plate made out of bits of the snow caterpillar (it still works); a hip flask made out of an old sink apparently; a viewer for seeing under water; a set of giant dominos; a desk calendar with photos of Antarctica; a rigid friend carved out of brass; and many others; and a coffee table (Matt's, of course).

All were appreciated greatly by whoever received them.

I don't think anyone walked away without having learnt something making their present and thrilled by the one they had received. It is a great Antarctic tradition!

Diary extracts and pictures courtesy of the British Antarctic Survey at www.antarctica.ac.uk