February 3, 1947: A weatherman stationed at Snag Airport in Yukon, Canada, spills some water and watches the droplets crystallize into pellets in mid-air before they hit the ground. The mercury has plunged to a gut-clutching 81 degrees below zero Fahrenheit; it remains the coldest day on record for all of North America.

But that's kid stuff. In the howling wilds of Antarctica, the phenomenon of atmospheric water vapor freezing right out of the sky is so common that it even has a name: diamond dust. In July 1983, at the pitiless heart of the continent, Soviet researchers at Vostok Antarctic Station recorded a staggering -128.6º F (-89.2º C): the coldest temperature ever measured on earth. At that moment, just 850 miles to the north, 2000 miles of barren ocean from the southern tip of Tasmania, Wilkes Station lay exposed to the whipping winds. Built by the US Navy in 1957 and handed over to Australia in 1959, the remote compound was totally abandoned in 1969. Since then it has been patiently gathering a thickening crust of ice and snow, like old furniture accumulating dust, forgotten at the bottom of the world.



For most of the 1960s, though, Wilkes was a thriving research center run by ANARE (Australian National Antarctic Research Expeditions), which has maintained all of Australia's Antarctic bases since its establishment in 1947. The coastal region of Antarctica, where Wilkes Station is located, is home to the windiest places on the world's windiest continent. Port Martin, to the east, has reported an annual average wind speed in the gale force range, and daily averages as high as 102 mph (hurricane classification begins at 73 mph). If it's the last place in the world you would expect to find a Mini, read on.
 
In 1962, a team from Wilkes set out on a historic and unprecedented expedition to Vostok Station, where the world's coldest temperature would be recorded some 20 years later. In an epic voyage lasting four months, the outfit of six scientists and mechanics traveled a route totaling over 1,800 miles, conducting glaciological and meteorological surveys along the way. They arrived at Vostok, though, only to find that the Russian base had been evacuated in a rush 12 months prior. The men had left so quickly that a dinner of steak and onions still sat on the stove, frozen solid. After weeks of surviving on canned rations and a concentrated protein paste called pemmican, the Australians barely missed a beat before starting up the generator and frying up the meal then and there, polishing off the dinner the Russians had started one year ago.

Getting around under such extreme conditions was a challenge, then as now - luckily, the kind of people who go to Antarctica are way into challenges. The history of transportation across the Antarctic desert is one of innovative trial and error within a straitjacket of limitations: Not only is it colder and windier than anywhere else on earth, but its delicate ecosystem is protected by international law, which means that land transportation also has to conform to standards of sustainability to minimize its ecological footprint.
 
Like the very first explorers to venture ashore on the forbidding landmass in the late 19th century, Wilkes' researchers in the ‘60s still did a lot of traveling on foot (using snowshoes or skis), and by dogsled, though they were often supported by airlifts of fuel and provisions. They also relied on large, tracked trucks for lumbering across the vast and featureless expanses of snow, especially when they needed to transport equipment and supplies. The '62 Vostok traverse, for example, used two WWII-era tracked military trucks called the M29 Weasel and two Caterpillar D4 tractors. At 3,800 lb and over 10,000 lb each, respectively, these behemoths were effective, but expensive and clumsy.

The Snow Trac was a Swedish-made personal Snowcat (picture a shrunken version of the big orange monsters used to groom ski trails) that became popular for Antarctic expeditions because it was easy to operate, versatile, and really good at slogging through deep snow. It was a Frankenstein of parts, including a VW Beetle engine and VW Bus transmission. While smaller than a full-sized Snowcat, the Snow Trac was still one expensive chunk of metal that wasn't especially gentle on the environment. In 1960, ANARE decided it was time to begin testing some smaller, cheaper vehicles, souped-up as necessary to be able to handle the harsh conditions.

 
In 1962 and '63, two incarnations of a pimped VW Beetle proved promising, but ultimately the limits of two-wheel-drive fell short of the demands of the treacherous terrain. With severely limited road infrastructure, and the murderous wind constantly blowing fresh snow onto what roads did exist, standard commercial cars just weren't up to par. Motorbikes didn't make the cut either: They did OK carrying people, but couldn't haul much equipment.
 
Enter the Mini-Trac. The Mini, still relatively new on the scene at the time, turned out to be the perfect car to use as a base because of its robust front-wheel-drive, compact size, and reasonable price tag. Terry O'Hare, the Australian mechanic who pioneered the Mini-Trac in 1965, saw an opportunity to use as much of the original car as possible in his design. He began with the plucky little Mini Morris 850, which weighed less than 1,500 lb. The name Mini-Trac as well as some basic design elements including the rubber belts it used to crawl over ice and snow were borrowed from the Snow Trac, but the drive for the drive tracks came from the Mini's very own power unit. The result was surprisingly nimble.

This all happened during a crucial time for serviceable vehicles at Wilkes Station. For one, 1965 saw the Wilkes crew embark on six different glaciological and geological field trips to various surrounding stations. But more urgently, in the previous year, researchers had discovered that forces of nature were rapidly reclaiming their precarious outpost, and that they would have to evacuate within the next few years. In 1965, the team began construction on a replacement station, which they called Repstat for short, just over a mile to the south. It opened as Casey Station in February 1969. In April, they permanently cut power to Wilkes, and the compound was officially forsaken to the elements.
 
The remains of the Wilkes Antarctic Station today are entombed in a layer of ice so cold and deep that only once every four to five years is there a thaw powerful enough to reveal portions of it to the few hardy visitors who venture here. Once upon a time, though, Mini was there.

What's the wildest place you've ever seen a Mini (or MINI)?

Photo Credit : Sid Harvey

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External Links
Australian Antarctic Data Centre
The Australian National Antarctic Research Expeditions (ANARE) Club Homepage
NSF Antarctic Photo Library
The Mini-Trac featured in Issue 17 of The Mini Experience
Wilkes Station on Wikipedia