..squeezing every last minute out of these final few days of my stay and, on an unusually wet and soggy Christchurch summer's day (clearly weather preparing me for a return to the Shire) Offspringette and I spent a happy few hours in the Canterbury Museum. It's all given me plenty to read up on when I get home.
We both enjoy a good taxidermist's diorama and there were plenty of them...
I have been fascinated by All Things Antarctica whilst I have been here and have dipped into quite a few books as well as visiting the Antarctic Centre. This is the furthest south I am ever likely to be, and the interest was heightened and hugely saddened by the death of Henry Worsley this week, just thirty miles from his solo-on-foot-unsupported destination across Antarctica when he made his heartbreaking decision to call for help. That day we happened to be wandering around nearby Lyttleton, the port from which so many of the expeditions set off, when we saw this...
Shackleton's captain, Frank Worsley, was a relative of Henry's and we all remarked on the likeness... something about the steely courage and determination of that mouth. RIP Henry Worsley.
You know when you come across the film playing on a loop in a museum, and you think you might not be that interested, but it's a good excuse to have a rest, and my feet were definitely complaining. Well we sat down and were riveted by this one, especially given we were surrounded by all the equipment.
It was an account of the 1950s joint UK/NZ trans-Antarctic expedition led by Vivian Fuchs and Edmund Hillary and my, how times had changed from the days of Scott's ill-fated journey...
It is my last day today, more drops to be squeezed from the visit, and I am promised sight of an actual Kiwi...
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