It's Spelled R-O-Y-D-S

11-30-10

Just after six in the morning, my supervisor called name over the radio asking to speak with me immediately.  This is the night crew supervisor, who I really like, but don’t work with ever, and shouldn’t under normal circumstances be requested in this manner.  The walk from our cargo year to the office was contemplative, of course wondering what I had done wrong to skip over several levels of rank for a solemn and candid conversation.  My mind raced wondering if there was a problem at home where I needed to be notified or if some other inadvertent action must be brought to my attention.  My supervisor pulls me into a quiet part of the office and thanks me for volunteering for holiday decoration and invites me on a boondoggle.

Rule № 1.  Never turn down a boondoggle.  Never.

Our venture to Cape Royds was for that evening.  I took off work an hour early to be at our rendezvous point on time.  Water, food, extra socks and gloves, plus a couple of cameras with full battery, I was ready to go.  Our small gathering of ATO personnel piled into the Hagglund and away we were.

 

Brian and Kelly next to the Swedish made Hagglund.

 

Hagglunds are tracked vehicles with escape hatches in the roof as they are supposedly buoyant should the sea ice give way beneath us.  That wasn’t necessarily encouraging, nor convincing because I would not take this thing near water.  But it’s the best we’re going to get on our trip to see penguins so I won’t complain.  Besides, I’ve never been in a vehicle anything like it.  It is loud, and the steering is articulated so it is impossible to jack knife.  The latter would actually prove useful.   I imagined driving it through Minneapolis in the winter and summer and also fantasized about what else I could run over with it.  I had plenty of time, since it was a couple hours drive to Cape Royds.



Light coming through the snow bridge.

 

Twan (Anthony) outside the cave

entrance.



I didn’t even know exactly where we were going.  For some reason talking about global warming with a coworker, I was sternly informed that it is unprecedented this early in the season to have the Ross Sea be open ocean all the way to Cape Royds.  This name was unforgettable thanks to all the boyish nicknames my dad and I have for each other.  I was glad to learn it is spelled R-O-Y-D-S.  It’s provides the disconnect I need in order to not laugh every time I hear it.

 

Regardless of my ignorance, I knew the boondoggle would be amazing.  The duration was thankfully broken up a bit.  I fell asleep in the sunshine sitting shotgun and awoke with the biggest crick in my neck, but only to have that melt away in the face of some pretty spectacular ice caves.  Looking back, there was some explanation of their formation, but to be honest I wasn’t paying attention.  I had just woken up and was sidetracked by the natural beauty of the cave.  It’s not just a little hole in the side of the ice, rather a crevasse with a snow bridge above it.  It has become its own boondoggle; we just used it as a rest stop to stretch our legs. 



A Weddell Seal sunning himself.

Brian photographing seals on separating ice sheets.

 

The side of a glacial tongue protruding
into the ocean... I think.

We made a few more stops to take a group photo near wide cracks in the sea ice and couldn’t help but take pictures of seals and three wandering penguins.  I heard several references of the exclusiveness in which we endeavored and how it was recommended we avoid getting hurt (anyway), but due to the off-schedule nature of our boondoggle.  Since everyone else for some reason knew or was good friends with our tour guide, we experienced many special privileges.  So our version of the tour was spectacularly unique and apparently unprecedented.



Brian, our guide, got out a rope and affixed it to the hitch of the Hagglund.  Jamie, Kaska and I sat on our butts behind it while Brian floored the gas and whipped us around the ice.  At the end of the rope, I was nervous a few times when my body was spun up near the tracks of the vehicle, but when the person usually furthest away becomes the closest suddenly, it means there is slack in the line, and with Brian doing everything but jack knifing the truck, he was going to crack the whip on me at about 15 miles per hour... several times  Sure we were banged up at the end and I have a nice goose egg on the back of my head, but we survived.  I’d bet no one else has done that this year on the ice.  It was pretty awesome. 



Shackleton's Hut at Cape Royds



Arriving at our destination, it was a step into the unexpected.  As a group we approached Shackleton’s Hut, the actual building he and his team used as headquarters for explorations nearly a century ago.  Sidetracked by untouched and beautiful ice formations, I was last to join the informal ethics and policy briefing on the site and suddenly I felt as if in a movie, or on the bad end of a good trick.  I had specs on, looking towards the sun with the world really small.  My eyes functioned as lenses when abruptly my focal edge became blurry and the background clear.  It was as if someone referred to a rock, and I looked for a pebble while standing in front of a mountain.  I didn’t know what I was seeing.  But once in focus, I remember exclaiming, “Whoa, I did not realize what was going on here.”   The dozen or so in our group gave me a collective look and paired laugh.

It was the penguin rookery.  I was looking at an island of a few hundred penguins.  The wind kept their squawking at bay and the shadows of the island hid them until I shed obliviousness.  They are cute little guys.  And quirky.



Some German medicine as well.

I half listened to the briefing thenceforth.  Don’t break or steal anything, especially the century old “Shackleton Whiskey”.  I’d be in prison a long while if that showed up on eBay.  Check.  Easy enough.  Jamie, Kaska, Hooch and I hiked the area for prime photo spots, and then inspected the hut.  In this incessantly frozen climate, and with all the table salt the expedition brought the food was likely still edible.   I saw biscuits with in a bag with no mold on them.  I didn’t sample it.  I bet it was gross way back then too. Poor guys, had to eat already bad British food before the journey south.  I found jars of Heinz pickle relish and a bottle of Pickled Midget Gherkins.  That was my favorite, simply due to the name.  Otherwise the best find was medicine for diarrhæ and dysentery.  Kaska and Jamie did not laugh at my jokes for that.  But Hooch did.



Open water in the Ross Sea



Not that there is really a strong sense of this, but entrapment seemed to disappear upon looking across wide open ocean.  Kayaking out there would be awesome… and deadly.  You'd need a wet or dry suit for sure.  It would mean instant frostbite.  Though it is liquid, the saltwater is still below 32 degrees and will freeze the water molecules in your flesh upon contact.  Wind surfing would be epic, though.  I’ve got a growing list of bored-millionaire activities to do.

 Hooch, Kaska, Jamies and I spent our time on Cape Royds together.  The four of us made a fun crew.  We had plenty of time for pictures.  We shared our photoshoot spotlight with the penguins.



Seth Turer, different from Seth Turner, who were co-workers
last year.  They became Turner and Hooch. This is Hooch.

 

This little guy held this pose for minutes.  Weird.





Kaska: because someone's got to represent Poland!

Watch for this photo I took of Jamie in future Patagonia catalogs.

 

A new friend who appeared suddenly and very near to us.



Kaska, Myself, Jamie and Hooch.  Shackleton's Hut, right, with Mt. Erebus behind us.



This is a big iceberg, if all we
see is the standard 10%.

We decided we had enjoyed ourselves, but that it was time to go.  We opted to visit the glacial iceberg frozen still in the ocean.  Most of us had seen this, either years before or on our boondoggle to Cape Evans, which is a similar trip to Scott’s Hut.  It was cool, but it would become a seven hour trip before we got back so we didn’t stay long.

Upon return, I bumped into a few friends, night crew people, who were beginning their Thanksgiving weekend time off by completing every hike available on base.  And of course, I joined them, but only for the difficult, vertical hikes, not the time consuming trek out to Castle Rock.  I was in bed by 0600 and awake on Thanksgiving around 1400. 



Alex, Laura, Flip, Grant, Lisa and Kevin on the north side of Observation Hill Loop.  Photo taken approximately 3 am.



Yes, it was a twenty four hour day, but one heck of a day.  The supervisor who invited me along hadn’t been out to Cape Royds since 1998.  Very few people ever get to see the rookery itself.  I am very lucky to have had the opportunity.  The penguins were the highlight, but watching my supervisor get towed around the ice on his bum showed that he was human.  While the unpleasant bureaucratic BS is existent in Antarctica, we can all become grounded by the sheer exhilaration of the wild.  And Cape Royds proved to be quite wild.

 God Bless.

Happy Camper

11-20-10

“To me, roughing it would be staying at a Best Western”, Sheryl confessed.  Happy Camper was going to be a long weekend for her.  For me, however, this retreat was going to be a great four day getaway from the drudges of work.  Thursday off, Friday and Saturday spent out in the field, and Sunday off as well, this weekend might be the relaxing break I need to clear my head from waking up at 4:30 and just the usual “stuff” that I put up with at work daily… hourly. 

Nope.  "Happy Camper", or officially Snow School 1, is a five day survival course condensed into a thirty six hour escapade of outdoor safety lectures led by some, surprisingly, pretty cool crunchies. 

My work teammate and friend Dylan was assigned to attend Happy Camper last weekend as well, but since he’d taken the course before, had a feasible medical exemption and the Airfield Supervisor made a “convincing” phone call about two people from one team missing two consecutive days, Dylan did not join me.  I was bummed, but excited to hear that my friend Adam, whom I met in Denver and have written about previously, was his replacement.  Out of 1200 people in town, one of my good friends happened to be next in line for attendance.

Adam was excited about the weekend adventure, but I had mixed feelings.  I wasn’t thrilled necessarily, but knew that I had to complete the course for my job, got two days off of work and would have a story to tell.  At one point in the middle of the night I confessed how I would be having significantly less fun without him.  That was true.  I knew a few other participants casually, but as far as surviving a night in the harsh Antarctic environment, the most required item was morale. 

We began Friday morning in the classroom with the generic group-event orientation you’ve all had with every team building, high ropes course, workplace morale booster.  It wasn’t convincing, but I choose to believe they had some sense of self awareness, knowing that we all kind of wanted to be there, but didn’t want to be treated like we were at summer camp or worse, school.  I pretty much don’t remember anything from the orientation meeting besides those classic buzz words like “communication” and… well I can’t think of any more, but you get my point. 



Pressure ridges can be around 30 feet tall. 
Photo taken from the top of Observation Hill.



Getting all our gear together, we piled into a Pax Delta, a giant land train with a cabin for passenger seating.  I drive Delta’s with flatbeds for work.  There is nothing comfortable about it, but just being inside one means you’re going somewhere few vehicles can access.  Our little camp was located on the ice, but ice originating on land and not sea.  Between the Ross Ice Shelf and the McMurdo Sound sea ice, pressure ridges form when the opposing forces meet each other.  The glacial ice/snow is anywhere between fifty and two hundred feet think, whereas the frozen ocean ice has dwindled down to maybe six or seven feet.  It makes for a beautiful natural occurrence. 

So much of everything we have down here is either strictly military by nature, or by influence.   It felt like the set of M.A.S.H. in the Jamesway where we all gathered once on the ice.  I would bet this building was imported from the Korean War straight to Antarctica.  But none of this matters.  No matter what the genesis of any building anywhere, we were destined to sleep under the midnight sun… and we knew it.  Across all activities that first day, you could hear mumbles of our crew asking one another if they were going to sleep in a snow trench or not.  Adam and I, rather, exchanged ideas and delight in constructing an igloo. 



Above, Adam and I with our ugly, but very solid igloo.
Below, the beautiful view from our door.

Around 0400, Adam was stirring in our igloo.  Apparently me doing pushups in the middle of the night to try to stay warm was a little too distracting from his sleep.  Some trail mix and a candy bar with a few snow pushups was not enough to keep me warm for the rest of the night… and following day.  I was cold throughout our staged survival scenarios. 



Our rescue team.



But that’s ok.  A countdown was available.  I was trying to make the best of things, but secretly wondering how many minutes before the Delta was to return for us.  We gathered in the Jamesway again for a briefing that our imaginary teammate, Ivan, went to the bathroom an hour ago and it was our duty to search for him.  To simulate condition 1 weather, the worst, the rescue team had buckets on their heads and weren’t allowed to speak to each other.   It was painful to watch the pair in the rescue team struggle, toeing their way across the ice, looking for distance-marking flags and eventually the outhouse a stones throw away.  But it wasn’t until I had a bucket on my head that I gained an appreciation for how well they were doing.  Looking at the outhouse, then given a bucket and told to walk straight to it, I wound up further away from it than when I had begun.  When we were told to take the bucket off, Glenn and I looked at each other, scratching our heads in disbelief.  We’d better hope the rescue team learned something from the exercise, because Glenn and I would be screwed.



Happy Camper instructor seeing how well he's taught search
and resue training.

Our last simulation was a constructed accident where we crashed our Delta and it caught fire.  I had a broken arm and another girl was instructed to develop hypothermic behavior.  This was awesome.  In a realistic situation, the weather can change in minutes and we could be stuck out there for hours, or days if the weather stayed ugly, so we planned for that in our simulation and set up our tent, got snow melting for water, dug a trench and built a snow wall for some sort of shelter.  I had no hand in this.  Well, actually only one hand in it, but just for a minute or so.  My broken arm, I only used one hand to set up the tent and was not taken care of due to triage failure.  Nobody asked if I was ok.  The course instructor asked a few questions to prompt the team to survey any casualties.  Once it was apparent, the girl with hypothermia was thrown into a sleeping bad, and had mittens put on her hands in such a poor manner that on top of someone feeding her a cookie, she and I were laughing uncontrollably, perhaps better enacting our helplessness.  We were put into the tent and were monitored by one of the actual firemen in our crew.  The three of us had a nice little set up, where we were all playing our roles well, but didn’t have to do anything.  We just talked while the rest of the team was digging trenches and other physical labor at which point in the program no one was excited to do. 



Setting up our emergency radio. 
We called the South Pole for kicks.

But, the main purpose of this retreat was to train us in snow survival and I feel confident the instructors did an adequate job.  Overall it was a successful trip.  I was about dead upon return, since in reality I was leaning more towards hypothermia than a broken arm, but the countdown was down to minutes before our return when I dreamt of sitting in the sauna until I was warm.  It took a few hours to get the chill out of my bones, napping in the sauna and following up with a hot shower.  I was glad to be back to town, but also pleased with what I had accomplished.  I certainly survived a night in the snow, not under the Antarctic sunlight thanks to our igloo. 

I would have to do things differently next time.  That night was not sustainable.  I survived, yes, but I don’t know how many days I could have made it at that pace.  I reminisced about Scott’s adventure and death in this wasteland nearly a century ago.  After that realization, I surmised, that as cold as I was, overall I am a happy camper.

Where I am Exactly, But Not By Location

11-5-10

As the first name written in under the “individuals” section of the volleyball team sign ups, he was designated captain of our happenstance team.  He will now be the one to complain to if I ever have a problem with the Antarctic inter-mural volleyball league.  Tall and very lean, Scandinavian in heritage and into sports; Steve and I are bound to be friends, right?   Actually it’s not his rec. sports leadership or any of the above; rather I found out tonight that he works in Passenger Services.  That department handles all personnel travel across Antarctica, and more noteworthy, to and from it.  He is the one to speak to about traveling the world after my stint on the ice.  The dinner conversation containing this revelation was stirring and provocative.  The few of us shared our thoughts and plans of traveling New Zealand specifically, along with ideas of taking advantage of our “free stops”.  Thanks to our company’s frequent business with the airlines, we can be rerouted on our return flight; allowed to make several stops throughout the South Pacific and the U.S. at no extra cost.  Lastly we marveled at the option of purchasing a “World Ticket” with our flight credit for a plenty memorable trip through four continents. Awesome.

In a moment of downtime at work recently, I once again broke out my SURFER Magazine for a mental retreat from all that’s frozen.  It features a surfing trip to Indo and elsewhere in the South Pacific.  This magazine has now ended its stretch of wishful satire, and has proven emotive.  Post-ice plans are forming… at least in the early stage.  I’m already thinking of getting out of here.

Yikes.

Life here is ok.  A friend asked me recently about an experience of traveling elsewhere, and in dither I failed to describe it.  She was probably asking about how I felt during a certain event or whatever.  How I felt?  Come on.  She wouldn’t understand.  None of you girls ever will.  But I responded noting that I don’t really remember what things were like internally.  I am who I am.  I might do things differently, but whether exotic or casual, my surroundings certainly do not change who I am.  This amounted in sadness for her, but I take pride in this.  He in whom I find my identity is enduring, therefore so am I.   No matter how badly I’d like to be warm on a beach in Indonesia, in the grand picture, the menial influence of environment will not deter me. 

AJ lost his sunglasses the other day.  Not one to pass down an adventure, no matter how cold, gusty, low-visibility, improperly clothed, and questionable the circumstances, I joined him in the walk to the edge of town where he had been earlier that day.  Once we reached the area, of course where the wind was its strongest, I instantly knew his sunglasses were gone.  I relented and pressed on.  Continuous sunlight requires them, especially amongst the snow and ice.  There is a policy within my department called trust, but verify. We were going to trust that they were 100% gone, but we were willing to verify. My only pair of sunglasses are now broken and I understand AJ’s hope of finding them. 

Discussing this and other topics, literally over a thawing cup of tea, we talked about his past and future opportunities elsewhere.  But he loves it here as a firefighter.  He would already like to return again next season.   He described how “better” opportunities aren’t exactly that for him… at least not yet.  I flinched at this.  Aside from a signed contract and duty, what compels him to stay in Antarctica is his confession that he has yet to do anything truly awesome.

I call everything awesome.  Both my $12 Wal-Mart wristwatch and the breakfast table conversation.  AJ was looking for something grand.  But the way he briefly described this feat wasn’t as blockbuster or epic as I might convey.  Silently I marveled at his pang for… what can I call it?  No, it’s not an adventure or quest or some arranged exploit.  It must be organic in nature.  He will have accomplished something truly awesome by exploiting all opportunities that may present themselves. 

After coming to the same, enlightened conclusion that I also have not done anything truly awesome, my motivation for eating, sleeping, working, playing and just living here in this frozen desert is no longer for a paycheck, conversation starter or what not.  It is now for something more. 

I had dinner with a friend a few nights ago who said others often call her lucky, to which she replies that she chooses to be lucky.  I will choose to be lucky as well.  And in doing so I will find those opportunities that will give me the option to choose between doing something and doing something awesome.  Undoubtedly I will tell of my experience when it arrives.  But until then, its anticipation will be gratifying enough.  This window, this self-disclosed breathing room I now feel is very freeing, allowing me to enjoy some of the finer strands of beauty this continent employs. 



In another stint of our downtime at work, Janet from the shuttles department swung by our office on the ice runway telling us to hurry outside with our cameras.  I really wish I had functioning sunglasses, especially when working on the ice (versus in town).  Either my tinted snow goggles or squinting must do.  With white snow and ice all around, and it being perhaps the most calm, clear day yet, it was difficult but pretty incredible watching four adelie penguins walking through our gathering of airfield operation buildings.  The penguins and those of us lucky enough to see them approached each other with a strange sense of caution; them with curiosity and wariness, banding together, pausing to decipher our presence while we…well, we pretty much did the same thing.



Paul took this picture.  By his readjusting and telling me to hold
still I thought this pose would make sense. 



These four little guys waddled by like babies in diapers, following a distinguished leader amongst them.  Heads high with their wings swept back and outwards seemingly in effort to stay upright.  It was a very cute prance, but still exuding of a trace of entitlement to their surroundings.  After all, we people are the unnatural ones existing here.  Plus, the penguins might realize there are serious consequences for personnel who break the Antarctic Treaty and its highly protective protocol.  Basically we can’t touch them or feed them.  Easy enough.

Moments like these are grounding.  Our encounter on the ice was as if two ambassadors had met briefly, found quick approval of one another, simply to pass onto the next matter.  Moving along, the penguins probably squawked to each other about how pleasant our exchange was, with of course, our airstrip team saying the same thing.

Penguins are pretty cool, but still coincidence.  So what about really discovering something for oneself? 

My roommate Todd and I met for the first time about two weeks into our occupying the same, tiny room.  He was stationed at a field camp for my first two weeks on the ice, but upon return, still happened to miss meeting me for several days.  He was impressed at my uncanny ability to go to bed after him and awaken two hours before him several days in a row.  Finally seeing the face of the man I’ve shared a room with for so long, as a chance to get know him, I suggested we go to Scott Base, New Zealand’s research facility, fully separate from McMurdo, but only two mile away.  We caught the shuttle that head there each Thursday night for “America night”, when Americans are welcome to come spend money at the bar.  Recognizing Tara a few seats ahead of me in the shuttle, and knowing she is married, I couldn’t help but slyly ask if she was going to Scott to meet some cute Kiwi boys.  (New Zealanders are affectionately called “Kiwis”.)  She denied it but in good spirit asked me the same question.  I answered yes.  Well, kind of.

During the quintessential get-to-know-you questions when we finally met, Todd and I found our common interests and disclosed what brought us to the ice.  Speaking of our interest in many winter activities, I learned that Scott Base has a ski hill and tow rope, but being foreign, we Americans must have “special permission” or at least an invite.

So yes, Tara, we were going to Scott Base looking for “cute Kiwi boys”, except

1. With no criteria for looks,
2. Yes, Kiwi because they need to be from New Zealand
3. And most likely guys because of their tiny base population and the women there are… well, we’ll call them brave.

We got to Scott, made the prototypical stop in their convenience store to browse the overpriced, under-exchange-rated Kiwi items then quickly proceeded to the bar.  Todd and I discussed firefighting and helicopters by ourselves (and no we’re not 5 years old) until a pretty American friend of ours joined us.  We made Kiwi friends quickly upon her arrival.  Our table dwindled until it was a select few for some time, performing and exposing card tricks and telling stories. 

One new friend, who other Kiwis had pointed out and introduced me to earlier, had revealed some good places on a NZ South Island map for fishing, both deep sea and for crawfish (or crayfish).  I could not have cared less about the latter after discussing deep sea and fly fishing.  I later learned in New Zealand, crawfish (or crayfish, whatever) are what we call lobsters.  Regretfully that conversation is in the past, in a loud bar, miles away.

This guy seemed the right type, and with anticipation rising, it was finally time to pop the big question.  Yes!  This guy will take Todd and me snowboarding!  A snowboarder himself, he promised to take us “anytime”, once the hill has been groomed and opened.  I have plenty of time to rent a board and gear and get mentally prepped to finally shred the Antarctic.

I don’t know if this is going to be the ambitious tell-all story of grand adventure that I am looking for, but it’ll be the beginning of a sense of ownership in which I’ll take much pride.  Hopefully it will become a regular part of life here, perhaps even colloquial in my reminiscences of Antarctica.  My July issue of SURFER Magazine hasn’t surfaced in some time, but likely out of a growing, subconscious neglect towards the outward, towards life back in the “real world”, towards anything but Antarctica.

While a thoughts of traveling the world, especially the warm places, will always be in the back of my head, right now I am content, believing Antarctica is the unconventional first step in my adventure.  And that is truly awesome.

Exposed To The (Human) Elements

10-16-10

I’ve heard of a study performed by computer programmers and technological scientists where in order to compete with the at-the-time super computers they networked the number of personal computers needed to equal the hypothesized performance and capabilities of the super computer.  The researchers were blown away upon realizing that the network of individuals was capable of astronomically more than the single “super” unit.  I believe I have begun to experience a similar phenomenon.   When problems here occur together, they form a stronger bond and affect you worse than the two (or more) would individually.



Mammoth Mountain Inn, my home for the next 6 months
with frozen ocean in view behind it.  Taken about midnight.



The human element is more distinguished in Antarctica than anywhere else I’ve ever seen.  Here, all the common factors that can derail an agenda exist.  If it can go wrong, it has a default system to handle it.  But when things go wrong, they gather in a matter where they’re more severely compounded.  In every pattern of duty, especially at work, we are expected to consider our human performance and limitations.  But even with self estimation do we deliver this human element even further.  The complete environment in which we live will become exponentially more difficult with each additional factor.



Simply, the nature of our environment cannot be replicated elsewhere.  Antarctica is the driest desert on earth.  There is no rain and limited snow, but mostly ice crystals which pass along this awful land.  The cold is an obvious factor, but with it comes more.  The temperature will restrict movement and make everything slower.  Everything.  From people walking in heavy gear, to vehicles more prone to malfunctioning… or even burning completely in a few cases each season.  The cold isn’t necessarily bad by itself. One can survive in -50°F or as I’ve been told by South-Pole-Winter-Overs, -100°F.  It’s when there is a breeze or any air movement that it can kill.  I’d rather it be -50°F and calm versus 0°F and windy.  But waking at 4:45 daily and being tired before a 12 hour shift begins, this can be the worst.  Being tired and cold will bring performance to a halt.  Trust me. 

Getting hurt really sucks, too.  We are supposed to report any sort of injury or “near miss” to avoid future problems.  I get hurt everyday. They are small mistakes atop the nature of my daily tasks and the pressure to learn and perform quickly.  But nothing heals quickly… or fully.  Hobbling around in the cold just… it just sucks.  Thankfully, I’ve yet to become injured though.  God willing it’ll stay that way.

I’ll stick to external elements by not mentioning further the heavyweight of human error.  The burning trucks might seem avoidable.  Who do you know who has ever had their car fully enflamed?  It isn’t common, but here things are different, regardless of a thorough inspection of each truck, twice daily.  There are many systems in place to counter operator error, but in such a harsh environment, sometimes things just go wrong and vehicles burn to the ground.



Sunday, Oct 24 was our last sunset. 
This is all that remmains.



The only internal element I will mention is the psyche.  This word is improperly overused, and I hesitate using it, but it might be applicable here.  Sunday held the last official sunset for the summer.  Depending on “day” or “night” crew scheduling, everyone works in sunlight.  This is not ok.  My window blinds had to be applied with Velcro at 11:30 last night in order to prompt the bodily sensation of sleepiness.  The sun acts as if held in a sling roughly twenty degrees off level.  Imagine you have the sun in a sling, performing a lasso motion allowing the centrifugal weight to amass higher in front of you and dipping more behind you.  It is bright when at its would-be release point, but oddly still present behind you.  You must stay aware of this sling and rock and respect it knowing its disregard invites problems.  So too with the sun.

While I am only beginning to understand the relative extent of the human element, it is undeniable that its role, and the understanding of that role, is foremost in daily life.

Are We There Yet?

10-15-10

I dissembled the hotel pen for its precious parts, and with some tape I found, managed to repair my suitcase so the pull-handle works again.  It was a deserted island “I have made fire!” sense of accomplishment alone in my hotel room at 1am.  It is difficult enough to haul around three suitcases, but when the piggy-back strap goes missing and the handles break instantly, I became the Wally World circus somehow bustling my way through international customs, moving two and receiving help from strangers taking pity.

With now-working suitcases packed and ready to go, the alarm went off at 4:30am for a long, hot shower and the shuttle ride to the airport.  Double checking our given survival gear, our bags were checked without issue and we were released for the time being for a chance to eat breakfast and relax before our deliverance onto the ice. 

Breakfast was far too expensive, but I required some sort of pick-me-up.  Unlimited coffee was included.  Killing time before we boarded, I tried using the restroom several times trying to kill whatever fever/nausea I had, but to no avail.  It was then we were told to notify the flight nurse or department staff if we were ill, as this flight is not conducive to feeling better.  I opted not to mention it but to only my friends who provided Advil and encouragement. 

Had I alerted someone in charge, I would have been bumped to the next flight out of New Zealand.  While that sounds ideal, I would have experienced such extreme survivors’ guilt.  We were all hoping weather would delay us all, leaving a chance to go skiing during our furlough, but since we were all going, I made sure that I was included. 



Our team thatassembled in Denver, and our seen gear in back.

The flight’s Load Master (I enjoyed envisioning him as our camouflaged lead flight attendant) went through the seatbelt instructions while another soldier poorly and comically demonstrated the actions.  Those of us who were prone to airsickness raised their hands to be issued, as he candidly put it, a little gift.  Thinking this was some sort of remedy I raised my hand.  I’ve never endured any sort of motion sickness, but was willing to experiment due to how awful I really felt.  It was just a barf bag, revealing the source of the LM’s discreetness.  This won’t help me feel better at all.  The barf bags were given because there were no windows, hence no horizon with which to acquaint ourselves.  Sitting sideways in the jump-seat introduced a new sensation as well.


This photo can be viewed in 3D on a capable 3DTV



My friend, also a Justin

A nap and two extra strength pain relievers proved remedy enough.  I drifted off feeling like a dirty penny, awaking rejuvenated, ready to embrace the adventure at hand.  I was on one of the most sophisticated aircrafts the Air Force has, flying to Antarctica.  This is quite a list of “firsts” for me. 

I don’t even want to know how much that airplane weighed, knowing we were making a water landing.  Not as you might picture it, rather landing on nine feet of frozen saltwater in the bay, just off from where McMurdo is stationed on volcanic rock.



This is a later-taken sunset photo of the Ice Runway



With no widows, the artificial light was no match for stepping out of the plane into a perfectly clear day with bright sun and everything being white to reflect the sun seemingly only back into your eyes.  We looked like sheep piling out of the plane; following one another as to not be isolated in the foreign, scrambling for our sunglasses, trying to accept where we were.  Sheep are so dumb.  Now that my job consists of supporting this process, I look upon the newbies with a sense of compassion and understanding. 

They walk in a straight line from the aircraft door to a bus door for a ride into town.  From what I remember, my first march across the ice was about the same.

I stumbled into my room with all my gear to find I am luck with only one roommate (as opposed to 4 or 5).  However, he is away at a field camp, leaving me my own living quarters for several weeks.  I’ve got a nice living situation.  I will not complain. 

Our flight came in on a Friday, for us to be at work on Saturday and have Sunday off.  This was an easy transition into not wasting time and having a chance to settle in.

McMurdo is like a mining town, college campus and summer (or winter, I guess) camp. The work life is like a small blue collar town, your off time and dorm life feels like college and the logistics of everything seems like camp.  It’s an alright mix.  Now that I’ve got everything figured out, I have one last direction to follow.  This is home now.  It’s time to make some new friends.