Nematodes & Seaweed Gin

Toward the tag end of winter, when the Oxford or Cambridge undergraduate has been sewn into the hair shirt of academic strictures for dismal months, he begins to itch. As Geoffrey Chaucer (Oxford or Cambridge, circa 1360, according to tradition) wrote about the approach of spring, "thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages." Last week at both universities, students were dreamily reviewing intricate plans for a modern form of the pilgrimage --the scholarly expedition. Some 20 such safaris--a record-breaking number--will set out from Oxbridge this June. They range from a one-undergraduate orchid hunt in Venezuela (the hunter got the idea while stalking frogs last summer in the same area) to a nine-man botanical, oceanographic and archaeological assault by Cambridge on British Honduras.

There are two categories of undergraduate expedition: 1) scholarly, and 2) really scholarly. Presumably of the first sort is the trip planned by one Cantabrigian, who advertised for an "attractive young lady for Norwegian tour. Must be willing to carry own rucksack 20 miles a day." But both kinds cost money, and for purposes of wheedling cash and supplies an impressively academic purpose is a requirement. Said one expedition veteran: "The trick is to decide which place in the world you most want to visit, then find some compelling scientific or historical reason for going there."

Daisy of Maldon. Even if a proposed expedition is irreproachably scientific, wheedling is not easy. Every set of outward-bound scholars wants free cameras, sleeping bags, Aqua-Lungs and cars. One persuasive undergraduate was able to separate two Land Rovers some years ago from the firm that makes the rugged, cross-country cars, but lesser gifts are more common. Toilet paper, for some reason, is showered on expeditions, and not long ago a Cambridge expedition received several cases of highly negotiable whisky.

Sometimes the scholarly alms-asking goes wildly awry; one outfit mailed out letters advising businessmen that "we shall be happy to carry any product which, due to its distinctive shape or color, would be easy to publicize in our TV film without actually mentioning its trade name." Addresses got shuffled, and the letter was sent to a venerable trust fund whose officers were considering (but immediately ceased to consider) a request to support the group's lofty scientific aims.

Some scholarly junkets operate on the principle that lofty aims are more effective if all the aiming is not in the same direction. Eight Cantabrigians who will set out in June for Arguin Island, off the Atlantic coast of French West Africa, in a 15-ton ketch called Daisy of Maldon, plan to do hydrographic surveys for the Admiralty, poke archaeologically at a 18th century Portuguese fort, skindive for wrecks, and test the effects of a four-man jazz combo on African ears. "Also," says Expedition Leader Anthony Churchill (no kin), "we may try distilling gin from seaweed." Oxford's Exploration Club is sending out a group which will exhaustively classify the flora and fauna in a mountain-locked Tanganyika valley.

Garlands of Marigolds. Cambridge Students Stephen Longley and John Dearlove say they intend to drive motor scooters 10,000 miles from Buenos Aires to New York (although last week the scooter manufacturer was being sticky about free samples), and it is possible that they will meet Fellow Scholar Brian Moser heading in the opposite direction. He plans to spend a year riding a horse from Colombia to the wind-lashed Tierra del Fuego, near the southern tip of the continent. As he limbers up, another Cambridge group far off in the Belgian Congo will be busy at their study of nematode worms.

Oxbridge dons are inclined to be testy about the junketing. Said one last week: "These young gentlemen go out to Pakistan or somewhere and get garlands of marigolds draped around their necks. But from the scientific point of view, they aren't doing much good." Another grumbled wearily that "these people go out and grab every _ beetle they can lay hands on and bring jars and jars of them back to us." Expeditioneers ignore such grousing. Said one jungle-happy scholar: "Oxford's a terrific base camp."

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