Leeches. The maggots of Satan. Black and glistening like strands of congealing blood, they ooze along forest tracks, their heads waving in the air seeking out their prey. Stealth is their weapon: they lurk in dank foilage and silently drop onto unguarded necks, then drag their hideous pulsating mass deep under your clothing. Unseen, they rear up and, drawing themselves into a short, thick muscle, they strike! Their terrible incisors are plunged into your flesh! There they feed, growing bloated and stretched, until that chilling moment when you remove your boot and find a horrible alien sac locked against your skin, writhing against you with every poisonous suck, its flat head making it seem as though half of it yet is buried within you...

In January I did a ten-day hike through the wilderness of central Tasmania. I went despite the leeches, and, despite the leeches, I survived.* Until last week I had no idea, however, that I would be followed by them to the ends of the earth. And yet the scene is set for a showdown: the Antarctic Leech is alive and well.

I know this because I found a paper from Mawson's expedition with the bold heading LEECHES in the closed stack of the uni library. At latitudes around the Antarctic circle leeches were found on fish, and were then dissected, photographed, classified and diagrammed. Would that I could write with such cool detachment from the subject.

* Extract from journal (10 Jan 2004):

... Mike and Chappy graciously lent me moral support while I pulled off my gaiters and boots and EVEN PERSONALLY REMOVED A LEECH FROM MY BOOT LACES. A moment to be recorded and retold in the glorious acount of our adventures (by me, until at least dinner time): "Man, I so got a leech. On my boot. I so removed that leech. Oh yeah, I so took it off with a stick. You all saw me do it, right? I totally took care of that leech, oh yeah."