The dissertation examines how actors in Norway, Sweden, and the British Empire conceived the Antarctic as a space for science during the years 1912 to 1952. Instead of tracing a narrative of enlightenment, how science became the dominant form of activity in the Antarctic, I examine a series of episodes with particular attention to why particular kinds of science held sway within specific political, cultural, and economic contexts. Concerned more with how Antarctic science was planned and justified than how it was executed in the field, the project draws upon recent scholarship in geography and geopolitics, as well as the history of exploration. The six case studies involve an aborted Anglo-Swedish Antarctic expedition in 1912; Britain's interwar Antarctic whaling research program; debates among whaling magnates and their associates over the relationship between Antarctic science and whaling in interwar Norway; the culture of polar exploration that emerged at Cambridge (and to some extent Oxford) between the world wars; the approach to polar exploration and quantitative glaciology pioneered by the Swedish geographer Hans Ahlmann; and the complicated history of the Norwegian-British-Swedish Antarctic Expedition (1949-52). I conclude with an epilogue arguing that the rise of international science in the Antarctic during the 1950s reflected the geopolitical dynamics of the Cold War, rather than the triumph of science over politics.

By the 1930s, no one had yet crossed Antarctica, and its vast interior remained a mystery frozen in time. Hoping to write his name in the history books, wealthy American Lincoln Ellsworth announced he would fly across the unexplored continent. The main obstacles to Ellsworth’s ambition were numerous: he didn’t like the cold, he avoided physical work, and he couldn’t navigate. Consequently, he hired the experienced Australian explorer, Sir Hubert Wilkins, to organize the expedition on his behalf. While Ellsworth battled depression and struggled to conceal his homosexuality, Wilkins purchased a ship, hired a crew, and ordered a revolutionary new airplane constructed. The Ellsworth Trans-Antarctic Expeditions became epics of misadventure, as competitors plotted to beat Ellsworth, crews mutinied, and the ship was repeatedly trapped in the ice. A few hours after taking off in 1935, radio contact with Ellsworth was lost and the world gave him up for dead. Antarctica’s Lost Aviator brings alive one of the strangest episodes in polar history, using previously unpublished diaries, correspondence, photographs, and film to reveal the amazing true story of the first crossing of Antarctica and how, against all odds, it was achieved by the unlikeliest of heroes.

This wonderfully written book tells of the first Herculean expeditions to Antarctica, from astronomer Edmond Halley's 1699 voyage in the Paramore to the sealer John Balleny's 1839 excursion in the Eliza Scott, all in search of land, glory, fur, science, and profit. Life was harsh: crews had poor provisions and inadequate clothing, and scurvy was a constant threat. With unreliable--often homemade--charts, these intrepid explorers sailed in the stormy waters of the Southern Ocean below the Convergence, that sea frontier marking the boundary between the freezing Antarctic waters and the warmer sub-Antarctic seas. These men were the first to discover and exploit a new continent, which was not the verdant southern island they had imagined but an inhospitable expanse of rock and ice, ringed by pack ice and icebergs: Antarctica.

Describes the day-to-day experiences of several women who work as scientists, helicopter pilots, snowplow drivers, and doctors in Antarctica.

Antarctica, the last place on Earth, is not famous for its cuisine. Yet it is famous for stories of heroic expeditions in which hunger was the one spice everyone carried. At the dawn of Antarctic cuisine, cooks improvised under inconceivable hardships, castaways ate seal blubber and penguin breasts while fantasizing about illustrious feasts, and men seeking the South Pole stretched their rations to the breaking point. Today, Antarctica’s kitchens still wait for provisions at the far end of the planet’s longest supply chain. Scientific research stations serve up cafeteria fare that often offers more sustenance than style. Jason C. Anthony, a veteran of eight seasons in the U.S. Antarctic Program, offers a rare workaday look at the importance of food in Antarctic history and culture. Anthony’s tour of Antarctic cuisine takes us from hoosh (a porridge of meat, fat, and melted snow, often thickened with crushed biscuit) and the scurvy-ridden expeditions of Shackleton and Scott through the twentieth century to his own preplanned three hundred meals (plus snacks) for a two-person camp in the Transantarctic Mountains. The stories in Hoosh are linked by the ingenuity, good humor, and indifference to gruel that make Anthony’s tale as entertaining as it is enlightening.