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.