On the night of February 2, Sawyer reported that he had heard the Wellington wireless operator calling Suva station, but, as no further signals were heard from anywhere, he was inclined to the idea that it was the experience of a "freak night." In explanation of this term, I may say that it is used in reference to nights on which the atmospheric conditions are abnormally favourable for wireless work.
The news was particularly encouraging, and for the next few days we were on the tip-toe of expectation.
In the early morning of the 5th a howling gale sprang up and, increasing in force as the day wore on, rendered work impossible. A tremendous sea worked up, and the ocean for a distance of a mile from shore was simply a seething boil of foam. Huge waves dashed on shore, running yards beyond the usual marks, and threatening to sweep across the isthmus. Masses of tangled kelp, torn from the outlying rocks, washed backwards and forwards in the surf or were carried high up among the tussocks. The configuration of the shingly beach changed while one looked at it. The tops of the waves could be seen flying over Anchor Rock, seventy feet high, and spray was blowing right across the isthmus.
On the advice of the sealers we had shifted our stores farther back from the beach and it was just as well we did so, as the waves reached to within a few feet of the nearest box. Meanwhile I began to wonder how our benzine and lubricating oil were faring. Both had been stacked in cases among the tussock and rocks, well back from the waters of Aerial Cove on the western side of Wireless Hill.
Accordingly, Hamilton, Sandell and I went round in that direction the following morning, while Sawyer made his way up to the wireless station to see if there were any damages there. We worked along round the cliff-front through a cave rejoicing in the name of "Catch Me," from the fact that the waves rushed into it, frequently catching and thoroughly wetting any unfortunate taken off his guard. A massive rock, evidently broken from the roof, lay right across its centre, while on either side of the obstruction were masses of greasy decaying kelp. We were "caught" and floundered about in the kelp while the water surged around us. Arriving at the Cove, we found that several cases were missing. One was discovered buried in kelp, and a little later we came upon a tin battered almost out of recognition. The loss was not serious, but the precaution was taken to shift the oil still farther back.
While we were engaged on this task, Sawyer appeared on the front of the hill above and signalled to us that the aerial had been blown down. The three-inch rope keeping the aerial taut had broken off close to the bridle and torn the halyard with it. It meant that some one would have to climb the mast to pass a rope through the block, and the wind was at this time too strong for anything to be done.
On February 7, Blake and Hamilton, who had been making preparations for several days past, set out for Sandy Bay, intending to do some work in that locality. Their blankets, sleeping-bag, instruments and other gear made rather heavy swags, but they shouldered them in true Murrumbidgee style and tramped away.
Sandell, Sawyer and I went up Wireless Hill to fix the aerial. Sandell, the lightest of the three, was being hoisted up the first section of the mast with some one-and-a-half-inch rope when the hauling-line gave way. Fortunately, he had a strap securing him to the mast, otherwise his fall would have been from twenty feet. This was the only rope we had, so we had to think of some other means of reaching the top. After a short discussion, I suggested that decking-spikes should be secured from the wreck of the Clyde and driven into the mast at intervals. The idea was followed with great success, and Sandell was able to run the halyard through the block at the top (ninety feet). The aerial was then hauled into position, the stay-wires were tightened, an extra "dead man" was put in and the station was once more ready for work.
Hamilton returned from Sandy Bay on the 11th laden with botanical trophies and four specimens of a small land bird which we had never before seen. He and Blake, who remained behind, had fixed up the hut there so that it afforded decent shelter.
On the night of the 13th what we had long expected happened. Wireless communication was established for the first time, with a ship—s.s. 'Ulimaroa'. Sandell and Sawyer were complimented on their success.