South Pole Station, Antarctica, December 12, 2003

Hi family and friends, old and new, mostly far away,

I hope you all are having a nice holiday and solstice season: not too much stress. In keeping with my solstice letter tradition (which I’m not keeping this year), here is the crucial information I'm sure you've been eagerly awaiting:

Winter solstice occurs on December 21st for those in the Cascades and Sierras, at 11:04pm. For those in the Rockies, it’s on the 22nd at 12:04am. Rejoice in the Return of the Light and the Rebirth of the Sun!

I’ve made it to the South Pole. As we left for our flight here, on the infamous military cargo plane: LC-130 (ski equipped), they thought we might have to boomerang because of the weather at Pole. However, we had enough fuel to fly circles over Pole for an hour to see if the weather would break before we’d have to fly the 3 hours back: the boomerang. Lucky we were.

Upon arrival here we were supposed to switch to a smaller plane to head out to one of the Automated Geophysical Observatory sites that very same afternoon. Anyone with polar experience will immediately recognize that as a plan to, uh, not to be counted upon. That was 3 days ago. We are scheduled to fly this afternoon if the weather at the site clears up and stays clear here. The weather here is fine now.The South Pole is an interesting place. Culturally, at least.

Biologically, it’s not a place. Geographically it’s windy flat white snow surrounded by hundreds and hundreds (or more) square miles of more windy flat white snow. The only difference is that when you stand there, suddenly you are no longer spinning around the Earth’s axis. Because we evolved being used to spinning, we don’t recognize that we are. Those who actually felt it were driven crazy long before they were able to reproduce so their genes did not perpetuate. When you stand on the precise pole you are actually NOT spinning, so the balance function in your brain that cancels out the spin nowmakes you think you are indeed spinning. This makes you dizzy so you have to step back onto the spinning part of our dear planet to not feel like you’re spinning. Odd phenomenon.*

Culturally this place is more what one might expect of Antarctica. It makes McMurdo look like Seattle. There’s the old station: the huge geodesic dome, housing smaller buildings which appear to be little more than modified, orange truck containers (the ones you see on the interstate). It’s the classic South Pole Station, well photographed. The floor is snow, dirty hard snow. There are five holes in the tope of the dome, through which diffused light peeks and moisture escapes, though it appears most of the moisture condenses on the walls in frost and icicles. It’s actually quite surreal. It feels like what a space station might be like, or something out of a sci fi movie. Or maybe some artificial almost-town set up like for a museum scene.

Sound is absorbed. The subdued light, the quiet except for squeaky walking on the snow, the ice crystals and icicles dangling. Someone might go by towing a paper-clad (moisture is not a problem here) bag of flour on a little sled headed to the galley in the New Building. That there is hardly anyone around adds to the strange feeling. Cave-like. Much stuff is stored in here in addition to a variety of facilities. Attached to the Dome are a several long buildings they call “arches” which makes them sound classier than they feel. They are galvanized half-pipes, rather large, and house all kinds of mechanical facilities. They too are covered in hoar frost on the inside and have that same space station feel.

The walkways are grates, both metal (like ski areas) and plastic to manage snow accumulation. Not that is snows much here; it just blows and drifts; all these old buildings are mostly buried. Between the arch buildings are little narrow tunnels, emphasizing the whole underground surreal feeling.

This morning I was shown the tunnels from the galvanized tower (the “beer can”) of the new station over to join into one of the arches. These tunnels are lined with all kinds of heavily insulated pipes; very industrial. When there’s a heinous storm in mid-winter here, one can avoid actually going out into it: a real safety issue.

The Dome/arches is like no where else, at least that I’ve ever been. Very unique. When you go inside the container-buildings, everything is different. All the doors here (only some in McMurdo) are full-on freezer doors. And like McMurdo, the buildings have entry-rooms (never locked; for emergency escape from being outside) before you get into the actual building. They buildings are quite warm, cozy, and occupied; quite the contrast to the outside. Low ceilings add to the cave-like feeling.

The interiors of the buildings are well decorated. Anyone who doubts our psychological connection to plants and animals need only observe the volume of realistic looking artificial plants, photos of plants and landscapes, plastic plants stuck in the snow behind a little garden-type fence in the snow under the Dome, a realistic fake-fish tank with ‘fish’ swimming around, and even a very life-like looking stuffed animal Golden Retriever lying on the couch (startling).

McMurdo is well decorated with landscape and plant photos and artificial plants, but not as much as this place! Then you might also notice some of the posters. One reminds folks to get their time sheets in promptly. It informs you that “Every day your time sheet is late, God kills a kitten. Please, think of the kittens”. Sad-faced kittens, one running from two strange tiny robots, emphasize the point. Then in one of the bathrooms is a poster, commercially produced and humorously illustrated, advocating wiping one’s asshole (using that specific word) at the necessary time. It elaborates on the social benefits of such behavior and emphasizes how little time and effort it takes. The home page for the station website includes a countdown of not only how many more days the station is open (for summer), but also the number of remaining hours and minutes. Hmmm.

Yup, an interesting place. Strange.

Can really see how people who have been here awhile must have very intense mixed feelings about the eventual loss of the Dome and moving into the much more comfortable (higher ceilings, big windows in the galley…) new elevated station, which I believe will eventually house everything, at least everything that needs to be inside. And to think of wintering over down here; darkness and incredible cold for months. Intense. Not enough time here to get a real sense of the people. About 200 here at Pole, 1150 at McMurdo.Water is very tight down here. They melt snow and showers are limited to 2 minutes twice a week.

McMurdo desalinates seawater and they don’t seem to care much about water use.

The new station will be enormous and is big even at this stage. The Dome is being drifted in so the new complex is up about 10’ on steel posts. The wind scours underneath so it’s not expected to drift in over the decades. They are eventually going to fully move out of the Dome and take it down and off the continent (back to the US, like everything else). Everything here is flown in. Everything; all in the name of being the scientific leader of the world.

Another massive project underway is the South Pole Traverse. A snow-road for heavy machinery is being built all 800 or so miles to the pole. It crosses ice shelf shear zones, crevasses, a steep long glacier to get through the Transantarctic Mountain Range, and every year the shear zone moves a bit more, opening up new crevasses. They blow up the thick snow bridges over the crevasses and then fill in the crevasse with all the snow. Someone is my dept goes along with them to assist and to keep them out of trouble.

Anyway, they plan to use this road, scheduled to be completed by end of next summer, to haul in construction materials so they can free up the planes to support science. The drive is expected to take 20 days out and 10 back. The scale of projects here is astonishing.

This is from yesterday: In 45 minutes I have plans to meet with the two AGO guys for our photo shoot at the ceremonial South Pole. They are into helping me get my headstand photo, which should be entertaining. As I’m only going from building to building, I can wear sneakers around here so don’t have to deal with the mega-hot (when indoors) boots that make it difficult to get into a handstand because of their weight. So in sneakers, I should be able to pull this off. I hope it’s not windy.

The ceremonial pole is only about 70 meters from the geographic pole. The geographic pole slowly moves over time (which is why noting the year of the declination reading on a map is theoretically relevant). That plus the movement of the ice sheet, which is super thick here (many thousands of feet), makes it easier to just mark the current location with a post topped by a benchmark with, among other things, yin and yang (!) on it. They move it every year on New Year’s Day to its current location (which has already been determined and flagged off). They leave the official pole and flags from the 12 Antarctic Treaty nations in one place. The flags surround the pole in a semi-circle, and are placed so that to get all the flags behind the short pole and it’s shiny mirror globe on top, you just also happen to include the new station in your photo, not the Great White Expanse. Politics even at the farthest reaches of our little planet. We are the only country with a presence in every time zone in the world. Interesting.

It’s cold here. McMurdo is getting to be above freezing… a real treat, while this place is today –11 F. I hear it’s never been over something like 7 degrees F here. Brrr.

It’s also exceedingly dry. The big hazard here, despite the cold, is fire. If one did start, not only would everything go because of the aridity and wind, but people would then be left without shelter. They say that if the power went out in the winter, they would have four hours before everything started to freeze… forever. There is zero transportation in or out of here for many months. A scary thought; no doubt they have quite a lot of structures in place to keep the power running as well for survival (a huge stash of tents, shovels, and food/stoves?) as if the buildings burned down.

It’s really good to be out of McMurdo. I’ve been in my mid-season slump, though a better phrase would be mid-season “non-high” because it’s still awesome to be down here. As some of you know I spent 11 days waiting to get flown up to Mt Erebus, an active volcano right there on Ross Island (McMurdo location). There are all kinds off interesting ice caves, the crater and lava pool to check out from the hut once one has acclimatized at the lower camp. I was scheduled to spend two nights at each with some volcanologists/geologists, but was pulled out before getting to the interesting part (the hut area). This was very disappointing; however it was a good decision on my boss’s part based on tight scheduling and this project. We have a lot going on.

So hanging around town, working, but not at the same engaging level (or outdoors, which is quite significant) as normal, getting sucked into the town social vortex, wore on me. No time on the sea ice, which is on it’s way out, which means camps are closing, the ice runway will be moved, etc. No wildlife in awhile either.

Also I wasn’t psyched about this project (maybe I’m still not), which was not supposed to include Pole time (yea that it has!). It was NO pole time, and 3 weeks of very cold white flat time: shoveling out equipment and taking weather observations 3x/day… yee haa. Accompanying this project (as safety manager: altitude, cold, injuries) is a form of paying one’s dues in my dept. Plus, I’d miss a two day Christmas break, several Sundays (our day off), and esp. New Year’s: the big festival here (music and I’m not sure what else; an outdoor gala of sorts) with another 2 days off.

When I get back, I’ll only get one day off despite having missed about 6. But we get out of town unlike many people. We also get out of town to a wide variety of sites. I dare not complain, (at least in public!) At least I’ll get my mail sent to me with resupplies. So, I was not having the best time of the season. Getting some time here has helped a lot. We come back through Pole en route to the next two sites. We have no time planned here at Pole, but we know what that doesn’t mean. Let me know if there’s any South Pole paraphernalia you just can’t live without. South Pole Station chapstick anyone? SPF 15, and it’s cheap.

There are “official” (looking) South Pole Station rubber stamps that you can use in your passport (also for McMurdo), which is fun. One is also the one they actually use to for USPS mail.

I left town mid-season, but when I return in early January, it’ll be almost the end, only another 5 or so weeks left. I’m sure the energy and topics of conversation will be different… FLASH it’ll be over. So I’m trying to be very aware of that so not surprised and wondering where the season went. When I’m shoveling and shoveling and inventorying stuff at the AGO sites in very cold and heinous wind chill, I’ll remind myself to enjoy it as the season is about to end. Then I’ll have to go to NZ to climb peaks and then to Australia to climb rock in a t-shirt in the sun. Darn.

Later: Mission Accomplished! I did it! Phew. Managed the headstand at the Ceremonial South Pole. Having reached my goal for my Antarctica Adventure, I am now free to leave (bummer). Must say I was a bit nervous about it because of the minor stink I’ve been making about it for 4 months now. Pressure was on. I knew if I failed in my attempt, I’d never get sponsorship again* and would lose all my friends.

I almost feel like I cheated because I didn’t do it in my big boots (not that that was the goal). I had assumed I’d need to wear them to stay warm enough here (with the blood all going to my head!), not realizing that the ceremonial pole is close to the buildings. I practiced in them and had figured out another way to get up, but hadn’t wired it yet. But I did it well enough. The crux was finding a flat spot near the pole. Got some help finding my balance when I got up, but was able to hold it for awhile and come down smoothly. Joe has a good digital camera and took a d-photo which he’ll send to me so I can clog your inbox with it.

Gotta have goals.

Well, I’m starting to get cold feet about sending off this excessive and elongated blabbering. But as usual I’ll send it anyway. Have a wonderful holiday season; be sure to get outside a lot!

Love and the sun circling high overhead like a buzzard, Susan

*Yet more bs from sd

headed off for Erebus, quick note

Hi All,

Well, it looks like I might be headed out for the long-ago mentioned volcano, after 13 days of being stalled by weather (and a weekend). However, of course, one never knows, until she is actually disembarking from the aircraft, whether she will actually reach the destination. The first two flights of our group have taken off, and it's looking promising.

I am more relieved than I thought I'd be. It's way past time for me to get out of town, back in the field. And I've been getting sucked into the social scene vortex; it's fun on one level, but not why I came to Antarctica. So glad to be going. If it didn't (doesn't) go today, I will lose it to another because of what I'm scheduled for next (running out of time). I really want to get up on this mountain although it's unlikely I'll have the time I'd like to check out the ice caves and all.

So, hopefully you will not hear from me for 4-5 days. Maybe I'll get stuck up there (heartbreaking). A day or two after I'm supposed to get back I head out to do some less than glamourous (paying one's dues in my dept) work at some Automated Geophysical Sites up on the plateau of east Antarctica. Cold, high, white, flat, yee haa for two weeks (plus, depending on weather...).

If I'm lucky I'll get to acclimitize at Pole (yeah, the south pole, where my goal is that headstand) for a few days ahead of time, but if I get stuck on Erebus, that might count for my acclimitization.

Anyway, you will be free of my messages for a few days at least. I hope. You hope!

Be well, and eat lots of good chocolate.

Love to all, Susan

McMurdo Powder Day! And Thanksgiving

Hi all!

It's SNOWING! REAL snow! I can't help but walk around with a big shit-eating grin (where does that awful phrase come from?!) on my face.

Snow. We are having a powder day. The kind of snow that forms in the atmosphere and falls down to the ground, not the kind that we normally have, the kind that comes from the ground, blows around and around, and returns to the ground. Snow crystals with little arms, not just little grains with their arms long since blown off.

It's wonderful. Like being home, like going real skiing (not skate skiing, which is fun anyway), wondering how much we'll get. It's hard to tell exactly how much we have because there is some breeze, but around town it's about ankle deep, or more?. This is a lot. I hear the continent gets about 10cm/year, but that's continental average, not here necessarily. It seems like a lot we have now (way more than we've had total since I've been here), but hard to know.

Anyway, I'm loving it. It's warm out too, like normal snow day temps, the snow is wet enough for snowballs, cool. Not that I've really been out or thrown any. Just having it snow is so cool. A white blanket like in the mountains.

The fact that I don't get to go out and suck up a powder day, well, I just let that go.

I also don't focus on what this does to my chances of getting up to Erebus, the volcano, anytime soon (like this year?!). I'm on the helo schedule for tomorrow, but not till nearly 5pm. Have not looked at tomorrow's weather.
But today it's Sunday and it's snowing and I'm loving it.

Each day last week my Erebus flight was postponed due to weather, which turned out to be ok because a week of minimal work was wonderful. I realized how deeply exhausted I was, slept a lot, and now feel better than I have since I"ve been here. Recovered for rest of season (2-1/2 more months).

Powder Day on the ice and I went indoor bouldering... of course. Yest. skate skied long enough to get the feeling of it (fun) but not long enough to get frustrated. It was with Erika, who is way cool, lives not far from me back home, and is married to one of our guys Allen. I hope to know them for years to come.

Thanksgiving was quite nice. They had a great tofu dish, very nicely flavored, so with the veggie stuffing they made, and cranberry sauce. They have a real veggie cook on board, and he says bland food is for nursing homes. It's not spicy-hot, just well flavored and interesting. It was fun to dress up, but would have been nice if we had more time in there. They fed us in shifts, then of course needed to get it all cleaned up. They work hard and do a great job.

Apparently the thing to do is to bring a tupperware bowl and take seconds with you. I think half the joy of the day is going back for a second and third meal later in the day! Plus all the preparation.Well, I'm going to go out and walk around in the REAL SNOW for a few more minutes till dinner. Gotta get fat as know Erebus will be wicked cold and at altitude (sudden arrival, unlike mountaineering), I will no doubt feel the altitude and not want to eat for days. Bad, esp in the cold.

Enjoy the rest of the holiday weekend, hopefully with friends and family, and wishes for a wonderful snowy winter to you.

Take some turns for me, and of course some face-plants too.

Love to all, Susan

Erebus volcano, eclipse, another monster vehicle

Hi, the few,

I have some surprise time because my flight to Erebus has been cancelled. Erebus is a 12,700' active volcano, centerpiece and Patron Saint of Ross Island (our island here in the south Pacific), and site of a lot of geological research. I am to accompany some scientists up there, first to the lower acclimitization camp, then up to the hut at 12k where they will stay. Erebus steams pretty evenly every day, but the volume appears to fluctuate because of the humidity.

I met with the ice core researchers, whom I recently reveiwed glacier travel and crevasse rescue with ("Snowcraft II" course), about Erebus because they have spent 20 years on that mountain. I got the lowdown on the locations of the ice caves, their hazards and what not to worry about, how to get in, photos, maps, and questions answered about volcanology and geology. Wonderful! And a worthy way to spend Saturday evening.

We are lucky to get access to the scientists that many folks don't. I saw vidoes of little eruptions from the past decade, learned about the pyroclastic bombs that are thrown out, saw some examples (amazing: black and STRINGY, esp inside), saw photos of the lava lake down in the crater: orange just like I'd hope. Would love to throw a rock into it, for some strange reason. Unfortunately it is shrinking and the eruptive activity has mellowed in the last couple decades... bummer! But no doubt it'll be fun to get up there anyway.

The ice caves form as towers on the surface where the steam freezes as it hits the cold cold air, so the caves are melted out (and crystalized) areas between the vent, up along the ground, and out the higher exit point. I am psyched, but also wondering how much time I'll get, esp. that we're now a day behind. I am told to bring a headlamp.

I'd like to be back for Thanksgiving, one of three 2-day weekends all season (when we get back from trips we get one day off no matter how many Sundays we missed. Damn.) The beakers (scientists) will stay up there for a few weeks or more and I am supposed to get picked up Friday, the day before our Thanksgiving. With weather, that could easily not happen, in which case I'll get a full two more days to explore up there, not a bad trade-off!

Yesterday was the solar eclipse. The medical clinic is adjacent to the main building (which includes the galley) and so when they showed up outside looking at the just-beginning eclipse through pieces of x-ray film (with silver, cuts the UV), people wandered over to get in on the action. A fun scene and they gave away pieces. I carried mine around for the hour and had fun sharing it with other people. I was doing errands for my department so could make sure people locked away inside could get out and get a looks seems everyone was doing this too. Part of the fun of a small community: can talk to anyone... we're all in the same boat and no one minds when the mail woman or the person in Central Supply leaves their duty for a few minutes to check out the phenomenon that we're all enjoying. We had low thin clouds that thickened toward the max of the eclipse, but it was still cool. The sun was looking like a crescent moon. Some were out there with cameras.

Laura asked whether it was dark enough for us to see the Aurora Australia a few weeks ago when North Americans were getting a rare show. No, it was way way too light even at midnight. Our only awareness of the solar storm is that our high frequency radios, the ones that bounce the signal off the ionosphere, were not working (part of Happy Camper curriculum, and used for long distance communication except that satellite phones are slowly edging out HF radios). Not nearly as fun as seeing the incredible colors and amount of the lights that she admired in Vermont! But I dare not complain.

I've been tired lately. Was going to write this before dinner, but ended up sleeping for 2 hours after hearing of flight cancellation. I am probably lucky to have it cancel because being able to sleep that long midday means I'm run down enough that I might have gotten sick without it. Ugh.

The roads, while still snowy, are also getting muddy these days. It really is a lot warmer. However Rob went to our webpage, cut and paste the weather that day (after reading my last message about spring really being here) into a message back to me, and dubiously questioned my judgment about what spring actually is! Funny what one gets used to, it really is.

If you're curious, see if you can get this website, It seems open to general consumption (ie isn't our intranet): http://www.mcmurdo.gov/ It'll also, along with the weekly newspaper the Antarctic Sun, give you a broader idea about the scene here. www.polar.org/antsun

Our Nodwell has been notwell and instead we've been borrowing a Delta from Recreation (they use it for Rec day trips to places like Cape Royds: penguins and Shackleton's hut (one of)). These trips are called boondoggles: anything we do here that does not directly support science, at least things that involve the use of government property/resources. One might say that recreation improves the retention rate and therefor program quality, but none the less they are considered boondoggles).

So the Delta is the biggest monster yet; we drive by looking down at the Cat drivers, the big bulldozers. The door handle is above my head at the bottom of the door and there are 3 steps (one swinging) and 2 handle-bars to get up into it. It bends in the middle like the Hagglund, but thankfully they both back up like a regular vehicle. The tires are nearly as tall as I am and several times wider than I am. Each vehicle here has a long list of things to check the first time it's driven each day, and we actually do it. Amazing how often we have to take them over the the Heavy Shop to add schtuff.

It has the same brakes I've heard in big trucks, air brakes. I learned that air brakes work on engine compression (rpm's), so going downhill you actually need to be pushing on the accelerator to keep the rpm's up, and therefore the ability to brake. As you use the brake peddle, you use up the pressure, so you really have to use the engine to brake your speed (and allow you to push the accelerator). That is why big trucks are revving down those mountain passes. On the Delta, if the engine goes out or the hydraulic steering goes out, then one also loses brakes. If you lose steering AND brakes (or any combination?), be ready to bail out. That happened a few years ago on an empty fuel Delta so the 3 in the cab (which is wide enough to seat 5 except that part of the controls are next to you on the right), leapt out and survived while the Delta leapt over a steep and looong embankment, flipping over a few times. They rebuilt it and it's still being used by Fuels. Eeeek. [Later found out it isn't QUITE as bad as this!]

The chances of this happening to us of course are small, but carrying 20 passengers raises the consequence and I'd sure hate to live with the guilt of surviving when the 20 others died in the back. My strategy to let them know without creating actual fear is to informally tell the story, adding with a tone of humor that if they see us outside the Delta getting up off the ground and waving our arms, to Bail Out. Then at least the seed is planted and so far no one has insisted on either staying behind or riding in the cab (which would be fine). Life in McMurdo.

Maria the haircutter paged me today when someone ended early, so I got a preliminary cut/trim, yea! I think she was feeling sorry for me, or probably more so for everyone else here who had to look at my ratty head.

Speaking of hair... guess what?! I am finding grey hair! Only enough that I notice, but grey none the less. Hmmm... what aspect of this experience shall I blame: how about the monster vehicles. Well, that's less than fair because I've gotten quite comfortable up in those things and even enjoy trying to refine handling them! Like trying to teach a bull elephant ballet. It helps when the exhaust is actually piped away from the cab (unlike the Nodwell).

A couple weeks ago as I got ready to get into the Hagglund for a sea ice course (or was it the sea ice road flagging day), I set my Big Red (down) jacket down next to the vehicle while put my SAR pack inside. It was a warm day and vaguely I noticed water running down the side, but it didn't register how warm out it was NOT. You know where this is going.

Deisel fuel, a fair amount, in the hood. We have another lighter jacket that I decided to move into that day, and I hung Big Red up, hood out, for a few days wondering what I was going to do with it (as if this is an usual event around here). Someone said to take it to Housekeeping where I had it laundered. 'Twas disappointing to find out that it only mostly works, but it's warm enough to go without it (except I here it's super cold, like 30 below on Erebus).

After that last message where I mentioned dreading leaving, my awesome housemate Krissi commented about my dreading returning home. Hardly! I love hearing about what's going on there and am bummed to be missing out. So to clarify, I simultaneously don't want to leave the ice and also eagerly look forward to being home this spring and for the winters when I'm done here.

I've been working on my yoga headstand for when I reach the Pole. Some of you might remember that my goal for being in Antarctica is to do that next to the ceremonial south pole, have someone get a photo, and of course turn the photo upside-down... (yeah, funny).

Anyway the boots are so heavy I cannot get up into the headstand in the normal way so have been practicing a different technique to balance up my heavy feet. It's working pretty well though I might need a spotter to get up at the pole as I'll also have on all the heavy clothing, but I think I'll be able to hold it long enough for a few photos. We'll see!

Well, the weather today is more stable so it looks like I'll be getting up to Erebus later this morning. The caves are by the hut, not the lower acclimitization camp where I'll spend most of my time, so this trip I may not get much chance to explore unless the weather precludes leaving on Friday.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all. This is my favorite holiday: friends/family, food minus the gifts, hypercommercialization and religious stuff. Enjoy!

Love and crisp mornings, Susan

Reflecting on this experience thus far...

Hi the few,

Well, I have a bit more time than expected today because I didn't go skiing. Just didn't have the energy, so instead spent much of the day (after yoga) puttering and figuring out how to download photos as well as get other people's photos from the common drive.

I've only skied once, for about 20 minutes alone trying to learn to skate ski. I think it really helps to have minimal wind and good snow conditions, but I suspect both factors were better than they seemed to my beginner technique. It'll take time, but seems like it could be fun.

Having a mellow day helps me step back a bit and look at this experience, which I am reasonably successful at doing during normal days (esp when outside!).

This has been a most amazing experience. I love it.

I dread leaving, the idea of leaving now at least, and hope that when it's time I'll be ready. I expect I will be because that will be what's happening here: the energy, the winding down, the wrapping up, so it will feel natural to leave. And of course to facilitate that I will focus on climbing in NZ and Australia as well as returning to my beloved mountains.

I have a large photo and info book, a Kiwi creation, about Antarctica and I read from it from time to time, about seals, or penguins (affectionately referred to at least among my friends as "pen-gweenos"), sea ice, the early explorers whose stories, structures, memorial crosses (they made for each other), and ghosts constantly remind us of their extraordinary and complex stories.

To read from the book, to see much of my experience in sharp photos, reminds me how lucky I am to actually be here. This area, Ross Island, is probably the cultural center of the continent (in fact, I'm sure it is, both then and now) and many of the photos are from here. The Kiwi base is just around the corner from us and they have American Night on Thursdays and one can take the shuttle van over there, shop in their store, drink their beer, and listen to their funny accents.

I recognize many of the photos both landscape, critters, and culture and realize that I am becoming quite familiar with our little corner of this vast continent. I think I am forever bonded to Emporer penguins from that encounter that day last month. Adelies are cool, but I have not had a personal interaction with one, and if I do, it won't be my first. The reproductive story of the Emporer, mid-winter on the sea ice, is truly astonishing. Watched a video the other night about it, with a couple dozen others in the movie wing of the coffee house. Penguins are absolutely captivating.

We are all here, most of us at least, for the same reasons. We take the same photos and are all eager to get out of town and experience this place. Many are desperate for any non-town experience while I have many.

I know when I get home little things, like the baseball cap with their expedition mascot and name on it from Larry and Ann, will suddenly mean more. The maps I see every single day, the logo for the USAP, also everywhere, will be very significant. And the satellite photo of our neck of the ice, complete with the sea ice breaking up.

This is one of those times in my life that I will think of and remember fondly for decades. The type that certain smells or sounds or views can suddenly take you back in that most visceral way. I am trying to savor it, to really specifically appreciate as many moments as I can here.

Now that I've been here long enough to feel the weather change, the skuas (raptor like gulls) start to return, the Adelies return to Cape Royds, the birth of the Weddell seal pups... the ice slowly comes alive in a stark way, the sun higher and higher esp at night (which I try not to be up to see!). Time moves along, and to see change puts the past in a new light. It's surprising how warm 25 degrees F feels. I look forward to the breaking up of the sea ice, if indeed it will this year as I hear that more wildlife will come into McMurdo Sound then. When I skied that one evening last week, I saw five seals hauled out on the ice right by town, lying around like banana slugs, out of reach of leopard seals and orcas.

My seal wrestler friend says to look down into a seal hole, to shade out the light, and you can see surprisingly far down to the bottom, and some of the life down there. Soon I will.

The penguin ranch has an observation tube that I am highly interested in getting down into to see what there is to see. Seals swimming, penguins of course, and the light coming through the sea ice. What a place.
And I am beginning to know a number of people, largely due to Happy Camper classes and sea ice courses. It does help to feel I have an identity here, a place in our temporary little crazy community (belly dancing classes, anyone? How about plumbing classes?)

Sort of like college but without the exams. Endless opportunites for cool learning, but not endless time. Hard to prioritize out cool and unique experiences, but health(sleep)/fitness are long lasting important too. Really have to focus on the long haul: why am I here, where am I going after this, what I want to take with me from this experience.

Already looking forward to next season. To know exactly what to bring, to know personally what changes will occur with the weather and wildlife so can see better where we are on the wheel when we arrive, to do my job at a higher level, to have a past here from which to know people, to get to more places than I will this year... to have my schtuff together more like I like to.

All is well. Now I head back to the galley to hear the Sunday night science lecture on subglacial lakes. Just wait till I get to the dry valleys, the most unusual place on the continent, the most Mars-like in the world, and with the most unbelievable characteristics (like 75 degree water under many feet of lake ice... so they say; greenhouse effect). I have heard enough astonishing stuff already... when I actually experience it I'll have that much more to blabber about. Hoping to get out with Larry and Ann (the photographers) around Christmas during that leg of their expedition.

One day out with the photographers two weeks ago, I remember saying that if I see too many more awe-inspiring sights, I just might spontaneously self-combust.

Love and peace, Susan

Happy Camper, trip w/ photogs, seals close, SAR trng

Hello-hello Family and Friends, old and new, all far away (as opposed to my traditional "near and far"),

Unfortunately for you time is short enough here that I'm going to write more, uh, freely. It's too daunting to try to write well when time is limited (as we're close to the pole here, the days (24-hour period) are shorter, just like latitude lines are shorter and the longitude lines closer together: makes hours shorter).*

It's Saturday night, our one weekend night, and I just came off of "Happy Camper" school, officially "Snowcraft I" and also called Survival School. No one takes it twice as you'd have to not survive to not pass (not really, and every 5 years people have to take it again, I think).

It's an overnight course where the poor studentia camp out while the lazy instructors (that's us) stay in a hut and sleep on mattresses.

My favorite part of Happy Camper is what I call the Buckethead Scenario on Day 2. The idea is for them to find someone "lost" while headed to the outhouse in a whiteout. We have specially made, highly technical White-Out Simulators that go over their heads. The Simulators provide a grand view of whiteness, they muffle one's voice, and they make the other muffled voices even more muffled to your muffled ears. Exactly like weathering a serious storm in serious layers here on Planet Ice, rumor has it.

In other realms, the simulators would be called Square Pickle Buckets and in this realm, they have silly expressions drawn upon them with black markers. So the group gets a rope and a stack of buckets (choose your expression) and off they go. What I have learned from watching group after group flail at this exercise is that if you lose physical contact with the person next to you, there is no communication. With no communication there is no leadership, and of course in the absence of leadership, there is no execution of any sort of plan (assuming the plan was well thought out in the first place). So very Outward Bound: I love it. Once an Outward Bound Instructor, Always an Outward Bound Instructor, at least in my case. Funny that I still think of myself as an outdoor educator though I really have not worked in outdoor ed for years.

Anyway, the real lesson here is more basic: prevention. Put up the flags (every few feet along routes around camp, or better yet a rope if you really expect all heck to break loose) and tell someone where and when you'll be back. Or use a pee bottle.

I took some photos of the Buckethead Scenario to finish off a roll of film so that I can send off my slides from the trip with the photographers. Those who know me will be amazed to hear that I shot SIX (6) rolls of film during 11 days with Larry and Ann (and another FSTP instructor). Six rolls is about what I usually shoot in two years, and as many as I took down to the ice in the first place.

It was a wonderful trip. Mostly. Learning how to start a old and cold snowmachine was an experience. I cannot say I find figuring out machinery intuitive. I wrote up a whole sequence about what it took to start it one particular morning early on, but I shall spare you. I did eventually make peace with my Alp II, and even later appreciated it over the Alp I's the others had. Those machines are about my age and provided the opportunity to learn things like how to change spark plugs (I actually did that and am pleased to report that it was not nearly as mysterious and technical as it sounds) and "bogies". I also learned to tolerate dealing with nasty fuel every day. Once I dedicated a pair of (USAP) gloves to fueling, it wasn't as bad.

Enough on that.

It seems I have a thing for ice. Especially smooth deep-blue ice. I continue to be mesmerized by the blue ice that occasionally forms in sea-ice cracks and is often exposed at pressure ridges. It is amazingly beautiful and cracks in wonderful ways. Much of it has, if you look carefully, crystals stuck to the surface, and when you taste them you remember that this is not glacial ice. Salt, and it varies in flavor. I will admit that I did indeed have a regretful interaction with a particularly dry and cold icicle, but it wasn't as bad as metal.

Ann and Larry are out to photograph much of the landscape explored during the early part of last century (the names we hear and speak of frequently here: Scott especially) as well as cool things in general of which there are many. This meant that once the required shots were done, we'd cruise along the coast (on sea ice) and stop at every interesting chunk of ice. Or seal. Or fuzzy baby seal. Or fuzzy squirmy just-born baby seal with big eyes and rubbery oversized flippers and a voice like a wailing sheep.

Big icebergs sit frozen in the sea ice, some still flat like when the came off the glacier, and some that have flipped and are so convoluted it was difficult to know what aspect one was looking at. We explored a fascinating cave, a big cave, on one of the latter. It was awesome, the colors, shapes, stalagtites and stalagmites, bending icicles, the interior much bigger than the opening, the dark little crack passages beckoning me but requiring a headlamp, crampons and time (none of which I had). I was most taken by the crystals, a version of hoar frost, on the inside in some places. Facets up to 2" deep and some particular faceted crystals measured about 3cm. They make a wonderful tinkling sound when they hit the floor.

The coolest of the cool is the contact between the tip of a glacier and sea ice. Land and sea, fresh and saline, old and new, pressing together head to head, a big jumbled mess, all the colors of ice in one locale. Incredible rolls of blue ice, cracked like squarish jigsaw puzzle pieces filled exactly to the edge with snow, and somehow frozen into big thick layers, at least that's how they bend up (often vertically) or even curve over like a wave. There was even a cave, big enough for 3 dome tents, between the layers. The roof of this cave appeared less stable than the berg cave so I only stayed in for a few minutes after climbing up through the little opening.

More fascinating crystals. Right behind it the toe of the glacier, dirty and whiter than the sea ice, pushed against the sea ice (multi-year ice, probably 3 years due to B-15: the enormous berg you heard about that came off the Ross Ice Shelf in 2000. As big as CT, so they say, but very recently broken, which might lead to it's moving and no longer blocking currents and other variables that affect sea ice).

Maybe some of my shots will come out. You'd hope: six rolls in the company of professionals. Of course Ann and Larry were into the light which meant that we had an irregular non-schedule based on when the light would hit specific terrain features. One day we might go to bed at 2am, get up at noon, then be up for 24 hours, then sleep 15, then be up for 7, bed for 3, up for 20, sleep another ridiculously long night (somehow, we could all actually sleep that long, or mostly). Some and Larry and Ann's time involved a generator, laptops, solar panels, and downloading photos.

Checked out the remains of a stone shelter built by Scott's 1909(?) 3 man geology sub-expedition to Granite Harbor the wonderful area in which we spent 6 nights. Parts of the seal skin roof remain hanging on the edge of a rock wall, complete with soot and string. At dinner (in our tall yellow four sided burly pyramidal Scott tent), Larry would read from the journals of the leader of that expedition, way cool. They "man-hauled" (ie no dogs) their gear on huge heavy sledges, ate a lot of hoosh, and saw many of the sights we did. But they worked one hell of a lot harder than we ever did for the honor of being in such an incredible place.

How about Fata Morgana (Fates of Morgana, Arther's sister, trained by Merlin to create castles out of swamps, luring men to their deaths). It's an optical illusion created when it's cold and calm. Refraction of light makes features in the distance pop up in height. One morning I might get up and notice a fleet of tall bergs, frozen into the sea ice, four or five in the distance. Twenty minutes later only one flat berg remains in sight. We watched Beaufort Island extend upward, squeeze off like an hourglass, then evaporate into the sky. Two brown towers appeared on day and we couldn't quite tell what the actual source was. Fun to watch. I think I have decent photos of this phenomenon.

Larry and Ann are out for 4 months, with FSTP instructors swapping in and out. I'm hoping to get back out with them in the dry valleys (less technical than roping up snowmobiles (and selves) for glaciers, but quite a bit more unique).

Back to work. Thursdays are SAR training days (Search And Rescue). We train with our Kiwi friends, the folks we worked with ages ago in NZ, and soon on alternating Thursdays we'll train the secondary SAR team (selected volunteers from the community as well as the Physician's Asst, who also teaches wilderness medicine).

The other day we had our first scenario. It involved 3 patients in a complex crevasse, one wedged, another of course jammed in somewhere else and trying to die and a fourth person, hysterical, on the surface. The hasty team (first of the rescuers, fast and light team) was to be deployed via helicopter, but then they couldn't land due to weather so we were off to a realistic start. As you can guess this was a busy scene, and a great learning experience. Looking forward to more such scenarios.

This one also involved the big whigs in town meeting in the Emergency Operations Center, where they gather data from us on site (patient conditions), weather, aircraft availability, etc etc and make plans to get the patients off to Christchurch in NZ. It's actually a really big deal because of all the support (like food) that the rescuers and endless support personnel would need. If something big happens for real, much of the town is mobilized, or at least put on hold while all necessary resources go to the situation.

Last year a helo went down in the Dry Valleys. No one died largely because the Antarctic equivalent of having a heart attack next to a convention of cardiac physicians occurred, but I'm sure you can imagine that it was a big freakin' deal.

The last SAR training involved more technology, including Radio Direction Finding, intro radar in the Hagglund, and our own version of the Buckethead Scenario: the windows of the Hagglund cardboarded up and we find the lost person via GPS. It works best when you don't run over the person so someone pops out the hatch to ensure a live recovery. Fun.

It's been getting quite a bit warmer recently, into the 20's and with some blue skies here in McMurdo. The snow around town is sublimating quickly (but still quite a bit left) revealing volcanic dirt roads to accentuate the mining town feel. With the more stable weather, more planes have been flying. Our dependence on fossil fuels and faraway places is much more obvious here than normal life (in which we are ALMOST as dependent). Planes mean mail and freshies: we actually had salad last night, first time in weeks. Wonderful how good lettuce (with arugula even!) can taste. I do miss the leafy greens and am certain that the next plane will land packed to the brim with organic spinach and kale.

Months ago an old friend told me to say hello to his friend Thomas down here. Recently a gal here recognized my last name: she was a high school friend of my sister! She then mentioned that there's a guy here from my class: Thomas. So I met with him the other night, which was fun. We didn't know each other then, but I enjoyed hearing about the glaciology project he's working on and what little we could remember of high school. Says he'll get his housemate to send down the yearbook. That and a beer will provide quite the entertainment for an evening.

Two days later. I was invited to spend part of my day off out with the seal people. I watched them tag Weddell seals as part of their 30 year old population study (Weddells are doing fine). They use a leather punch to put a hole in the flippers between the toes for the tags. I tried to convince myself that it was like getting your ears pierced. To catch the seal (a large animal, by the way), we just walked up, and they "sat up" to see what was up, big eyes bugging out. Then the Biological Sciences Technician (pro seal wrestler) said nice things to the seal and threw a specially designed bag over the seal's head. The vinyl bag has long rope handles for the cowboy and grommets as airholes for the seal.

The Teacher Experiencing Antartica did the hole punching and tag installation, which was not necessarily an easy task, partly because the poor critter sometimes pee'd and pooped all over the place. Can you blame them? But when it was over they'd just move a few meters away and give us nasty looks.

Harrassing wildlife is a big deal with the Antarctic Treaty. Harrassment is when the animal reacts to your presence. Each person on the research team have to be on the permit to do this, meaning that I could not legally bag or tag.

That was ok with me. Hooking a cable to the underside of a large helicopter as it hovered overhead (for the sling loads as Larry and Ann moved to the next section of their trip) was one thing, but I just wasn't interested in torturing seals. The irony, however, glares. Me who so enjoys learning about natural history, details about wild things, their behavior, their lives... such data is not gathered from a distance with binoculars. This is also related to my feelings of becoming a wildlife biologist myself. The Technician commented that these seals are sacrificing themselves for the good of their species. And these folks are compassionate and caring toward their subjects or they wouldn't be out there in the first place.

I did feel their fish smelling coats, including one of a dead baby (of which there are a number lying around partly drifted over. One appeared to have a tumor). Pups have the same absolute number of hairs as they will as adults, so on a pup the fur is much denser. One Masters student is developing a method of photographing the seals (from a camera held over the seal on a long complex and silly looking boom attached to the photographers waist) that will essentially weigh them while they sleep (which is mostly what they do on the ice, unless they have a pup). He is finding that his estimates are very close to the actual weight of the animal, so once this is fully developed, the seals will be less harrassed as the researchers get their weights.

This was the first stationary (ie stationary) field camp I've seen. The buildings are boxes on skids, towed out by who knows what. They have Preway heaters which burn diesel fuel from drums hooked up outside. The outhouse is similarly a box on skids, but with only a partial floor (sea ice). There is of course a way to run a computer (and phone) and the other instruments used in the research. About six people at this site, two bunk building, a lab, and a cooking/living box. A nice little set-up. They have snowmobiles and a Piston Bully.

My hair is getting rather wild. There is one hair cutter here and apparently she is good so very busy. I needed to get it cut before I left, but waited knowing it wouldn't cost me anything here (other than a generous tip, of course). Also very hard to find the time to get it done. That type of thing is ok to do during work hours (which is only when she works); part of being a company town.

The local weekly paper, the Antarctic Sun has started running. The website is www.polar.org/antsun if you're interested in more of what goes on around here.

Love and snow that actually falls out of the sky (here is just blows around and around), Susan

*that was complete bs

McMurdo, an unusually fun day, first penguins, seals

Hi a few of you,

Things slowly get smoother as I get a handle on my job. As I learn the most immediate things, I can start looking a bit further, such as how the hut Preway heaters work. So much to learn! But fun. Am doing well figuring out the GPS. Pretty darn useful here, esp with recent weather.

Today was the best so far. Thur is our SAR (search and rescue training and related) day, but as the helicopter step out training (while it hovers) was cancelled due to the forecast (which turned out wrong!), four of us went out onto the sea ice to profile some cracks (not unlike doing data pits for avalanche/snowpack study, but simpler), which I hadn't actually done (it's something we teach). We did that, and also checked out the toe of the Barne Gl. and the Erebus Ice Tongue, both of which reach out into the sea ice. Cool.

Out by the ice edge we saw our first penguins! Three emperor penguinos, one of whom waddled around for us. Hilarious. I can see how easily one can become captivated by them. We weren't very close, and even lying down I couldn't keep my camera still enough, but I'll get other chances and it sure was fun anyway. They also flop onto their bellies and kick along with their feet. When they get up, they unfold like you're supposed to do in yoga.

And the weather was mostly clear so the views of Mts Discovery and Erebus, the Royal Society Range, the outer ends of the dry valleys (more snowy mtns it looked like) and Black and White Islands was wonderful.

Saw a couple more seals at a distance. And Shackleton's 1908 hut! From the outside. Not the one from his famous voyage, but the one from which they got 97 miles from the pole. Pretty amazing. A bale of hay there where they kept the ponies. Brian said there is anthrax there, but it's illegal to dig around in this protected historical site anyway. Boxes of food outside, still jars of table salt and lots of rusty cans that I think were full. Pretty impressive, esp for that era. We have it so easy now.

The part of the day that had me giggling for awhile was when Brian tied a rope with loops in it to the back of the Hagglund. You know what's next! The ice was scoured and super smooth, except for a few very shallow patches of high friction snow, and so we went flying along behind him in the Hagglund as even it skid around the curves. It was really fun. We started standing but that didn't last long (very difficult to suddenly run across the snow then stand again for the ice). As we were wearing USAP carhardt overalls, I didn't mind sitting on my butt. Nice having insulated pants on, though it was still a bumpy ride, I think.

Or maybe my butt was cold and numb which is why the bumps didn't hurt. Funny. It's also something we would do well to keep quiet about. Not just in terms of the admin people above our supervisor, but esp in the general community. People are jealous enough of us as it is because we get out of town so often so it's been made clear to us that we need to be discreet about the more fun parts of our job, and not of our job.

Well, I hope you day was as least half as good as mine. But mine wasn't all fun. Not esp fond of the 2 stroke engine for running the ice drill. Stinky. But I do remember how to start it.

Enjoy the fall colors for me.

Love, Susan

McMurdo First experiences: Happy Camper, heavy equipment, life

Hi All,

So here I go, finally seem to have my act together enough to actually send out my first update on what life on the ice has been like for me thus far. I've been here 11 days.

I don't have the time to edit this as much as I usually do in hopes of making my writing somewhat interesting, so be warned. More stream of thought, for one thing.

Where to start? It's Saturday night, which is like Friday night for the rest of the world. We get one day off a week (and work a minimum 54 hour work week. When it's to Raytheon's benefit, we are in the US (taxes), but when it isn't (OSHA), we are not), and tomorrow I"m planning to do yoga in the morning and get out and SKI along the edge of the sea ice over to the Kiwi base just around the corner with some folks in the afternoon. This will be my first recreational activity other than hiking up Observation Hill, a 700' volcanic scree bump on the edge of town. There's a big wooden cross up there with the names of the four Brits who died not far from here close to a century ago: Scott's party after their harrowing almost-return from dragging enormous sledges to the pole and most of the way back. One learns a lot about south polar history down here, but I won't go into that story now, though it is quite interesting.

I worked a "Happy Camper" course these last two days. Two instructors take out up to 20 people to teach them how to use the contents of a "survival bag". This is the big bag that goes with you everywhere in the field, and it contains such familiar gear as tents, stoves, food and the like. Our students come from any number of departments: scientists (NSF grantees; locally called "beakers"), Fleet Operations, Communications, Fuels... Later in the summer lower priority people (ie less time in the field, or later in the field), will take the class.

You can guess what we cover, and as that really isn't what has been getting my attention here, I'll gloss over that. But, I will note what INCREDIBLE snow we have here for building. The blocks are solid dense, so crisp that the usual dry-snow (cold snow) squeak is so high that it nearly rings and redefines styrofoam snow--> Cool! I love all the squeaks and thumps and squawks and crunches the snow makes here.

I'll tell you what has my attention. Would you believe that I am becoming somewhat of a heavy equipment operator? Unbelievable. I laugh to see myself, in my government-issue insulated Carhartt overalls and ridiculously tall-foot section blue canvas and leather boots (lots of insulation), in the cab of a multi-ton heap of stinkin' roarin' tracked (like a snowmobile) ancient chunk of rusted steel with names like the Nodwell, Piston Bully, Hagglund (supposedly amphibious back when they were new). Next I think I'll take up tobacco chewing.

This is from a gal who hates snowmobiles because they are so loud and noxious. Now a snowmobile looks like a bike in comparison to these monsters.

Eventually I will send a photo; be prepared to laugh yourself off your chair. The Nodwell doesn't have a steering wheel, but two levers off the floor that you pull. And the thing pulls heavily to the right and you can't keep pulling left as you'll burn out the brake for that track, so you have to let it pull right, then turn it back left and let it wander off again, leaving drunk tracks in the snow.

Fortunately these rigs are outfitted with little boxes of earplugs, and the Nodwell even has a bunch of pairs of the those ear muff type hearing protectors. We just turned it in the get the muffler hooked back up. Thanks the godz for that repair!

So, the purpose of these behemoths. This is how we haul our poor students around. The Hagglunds, jointed in the middle (we give the studentia a radio in the back so they can tell us if someone gets their neck broken going over the rough snow on the sea ice), hauls us out to the sea ice (instruction) hut, which is, oddly enough, outfitted with nice pine tongue and groove interior walls. Otherwise it's a plywood box on a giant steel sled frame (hauled out there by yet even bigger machinery, the kind with either tracks or tires taller than me, and a LOT wider than me). Apparently that wood that was salvaged from another building in town.

Then we go out and drill holes in ice with a drill (another lovely two stroke engine), down down down, dry shavings piling up by the auger... then sticky shavings, then slush, and 3 meters down we're into McMurdo Sound. This is multi-year ice, thicker than single year ice. This activity a couple days ago was in the distant company of 8 or 9 Weddell seals. We headed over (we actually WALKED! Yee Haa!) to the island which partly created the pressure ridges and cracks out of which they haul themselves.

Even at the distances we are restricted to based on the all encompassing Antarctic Treaty, they were quite interesting. Binoculars help. Wonderful faces reminiscent of a dog, funny flippers to scratch a face, muscular double tail flippers, spots and fur. They are so fat that lying down their and heads don't reach the ice. But they stay warm! They were napping. A few yawns now and then revealed teeth not to be reckoned with.

Our giant red jackets have hoods that stick out past our faces quite a few inches. Our names on velcro strips are the only thing differentiating ourselves. The edge of the hood is lined fur or fake fur, and with a piece of embedded wire: an great idea for keeping the hood from flattening across one's face in the breezes(!) we get. Many of you can relate.

We were weighed the other day with all our "ECW" gear (extreme cold weather) on so that if we have to respond quickly to a search and rescue and will be flown in (helo), they can calculate our weights before we even show up. I was wearing, with boots and all, about 20 pounds of clothing. I'd better practice my yoga headstand for my south pole goal with all that on so that if I get down there and not be able to do it, leaving my whole Pole visit a miserable failure.

Monday through Wed I'm scheduled (weather is everything here, esp regarding transportation) to go out to Cape Crozier, an area of Special Scientific Interest, with two photographers here in the Artists and Writers in Residence program. It's 50 miles away and will also serve as my snowmobile driving lesson. We'll actually camp, yea. It's a penguin rookery, but I think it's too early for them to be around. Landscape photography. Whatever, no doubt it will be interesting.
Tomorrow evenings science lecture will be on the ozone layer. Bring your sunglasses!

Some of the buildings have freezer doors.

Apparently it's been usually warm here this spring. I am sick of everywhere being WARM! All the ranges in North America are getting warmer and warmer. And even down here. But it's still a far cry from the temps we normally associate with warm.

But it's different here when it's cold. Most of us experience really cold temps living in tents at altitude. Here we're at sea level, lots of circulation in the toes, and we live in buildings. Quite different. Later I"ll report on tent life in the cold (when I get out with science expeditions), but by then it'll be that much warmer.

It is cold, however. During Happy Camper (aka Snowcraft I, or Survival School), people's eyelashes were frosting over. With even a slight breeze I need to cover all the skin of my face (goggles-land). One night my thermometer outside read -31 F, but you could still run to the outhouse in only a few layers as there wasn't any wind and it was sunny.

We instructors, being the wimps we are, live in a heated hut (gets above freezing, maybe even to 45F) while our poor students deal with frost from the inside of their tents falling onto their faces. Or they sleep in quinzees (snow mounds hollowed out) or trench shelters.

In town it's warmer than out on the ice shelf (Happy Camper) or the sea ice (sea ice course).

The food is reasonable; just have to not think too much about partially hydrogenated oils, my preference for organics, and real deep rich dark chocolate desserts (sigh). They do realize here that veggie food is not simply the burger minus the meat patty: they are onto the idea of veggie protein, YEA!

I like my roommate. Not that it matters too much, few spend any time in their rooms. Rooms are fine too in terms of space and furnishings. Suffering we are not.

Don't think we're roughing it down here at all. The galley (many holdover terms from the days when the Navy ran this place) features wood tables, nice padded chairs, carpeting, split level, and with decorative glass blocks in the walls.

There are two bars (smoking and non, probably the biggest subcultural separation down here, in this fully infrastructured small town in which all roles seem to be filled by essentially the same socio-economic group and with less gender role separation (a number of women are real heavy-equipment operators), and a coffee house (wine bar) for the NPR types.

Interesting method of social control. No, it's not in the food, it's in your paycheck. They have a "bonus" system for those who finish out the season (which I think is just about everyone). Although it's not structured to appear so, what it really is is a witholding of a good chunk of your paycheck to enforce good behavior. If someone is excessively noisy in the dorms, for example, all one needs to do is to call a certain phone number and anonymously report the room number. The residents of that room will have their supervisors, who determine how much of your "bonus" you'll receive, notified. End of problem. I suspect this systems helps keep up the general level of respect for others, often cynically called being "pc", minimizing those problematic "-isms". Not necessarily a bad system; quite clever, that's for sure.

Oh yeah, the people. I'm still trying to figure this part out. I've only been here 11 days and am just starting to meet people beyond the borders of my dept (of 7 people). Teaching courses is a great way to meet people, except that we all have a hard time recognizing each other in the galley (not wearing all that clothing) which doesn't help. Seems a lot of people come down here year after year, travelling the world in the off season. But also a lot of new people too. More on this aspect as I get a better sense of it.

But I will say, only vaguely related, that I have moments of geing worn out from being new, being in that assumed-beginner position (you know, when others assume you don't know your head from your ass) which comes with being new to any situation, lacking history, lacking credibility... but I also know it's just a matter of time. It's not simply being here that can be wearing, but starting a year ago when I went through the ski patrol training, then moving to an entirely new city, working for a new company, and now coming down here.

Overall it's been great: lots of learning on a variety of levels, which is the whole point really (and I haven't had any moments in which I've wished I was somewhere else, but that isn't new). But at times I can't help but look forward to building up the type of history, connections, work-respect that I've enjoyed in the past. As you all know, it isn't always easy being patient. But it's kind of fun too to be in this position... lots of potential!

Today I did get the Piston Bully started, and didn't run over any of the flags marking the route out to the instructor hut (NOT that I've done that. Not that I won't ever, either). One challenge at a time, and I'm finding that at the end of the day I have more and more energy, which means learning my job no longer takes up every brain cell and I'm starting to have enough energy to pick up my head and look around. What a veiw.

It's been great to be challenged on different levels, and I'm really glad for this past year, which has included meeting some wonderful new people, like some of you.

I have my inbox full of wonderful newsy messages, some of them took some of you some time to write, and I simply have not been able to write back. I hate that. Especially down here, where I'm highly engaged in figuring out who I am in this strange place, I very much enjoy reading about your lives, the types of lives I've shared with you as well as those of you in other worlds different than mine (my other life, that is). It's grounding and refreshing to read about what you have been up to... thanks. It's especially fun to hear about climbing... I am SO far away from that part of my life! And I'll really drool when I hear about a great ski season. So I am lamely apologizing for not responding to you personally, at least not to the degree that the messages deserve. Argh. I'll keep trying.

So, feel free to drop me a note about what's happening in your world, ask any questions, give me some ideas for what you might like to hear about next time. And remember that I think of each of you very warmly (esp from down here!).

Good night!
Susan

Christchurch, NZ, about to fly to Antarctica

Hello-hello,

It's raining, spring rain, here in Christchurch, saturating the many beautiful gardens. Good day for email.

On Friday we finished our search and rescue training with our Kiwi counterparts. They were fun, though at times I really did have difficulty understanding them. For example, they might say that someone had iggs in the tint after having six. Then of course there are the many different words and phrases (which are fun, refreshing) to complicate communication.

With them we are the Joint Antarctic Search and Rescue Team, about a dozen plus total. Their base is about 2 miles from ours and quite a bit smaller.

Three days (2 overnights) of the training was held at a "skifield", one quite a bit different than what we think of in the US. Probably like what US ski areas were 40 (yeah, 40) years ago. It was cool, very rustic (rope tows for which one needs a harness and nutcracker device to hang onto the rope) and would NEVER be able to get a dime of insurance in the US! One actually needs to pay attention to avoid getting hurt (really hurt).

This is where several of us were fascinated with the concept of an alpine parrot: the kia. At this high use place they were quite habituated, like a marmot sometimes (or, based on photos, like what raccoons do when they get inside: unbelievable), and curious. We couldn't even leave the stretcher outside during lunch as the kias will make a mess even of nonfood items. Very curious, and I have to say I enjoyed their "attitude".

They are dark green, like the beech forests here, with some orange undertheir wings and tail, only seen in flight. They are the largest of the parrots and I'm told they have flown off carrying a boot, only to drop it into some inaccessible place. Hold onto your hat.

We worked on litter raises and lowers on snow and scree. On scree (mountain gravel, and in this case: steep) they drive in what are the equivalent of those green steel fence posts for stringing barbed wire. One uses a sledge hammer to drive them a couple feet into the steep scree and tie them off together to make an anchor. It looks sketchy, but it's surprisingly strong.

The last day we drove to the local hills and did a vertical litter raise and lower, overlooking a beautiful sea port (Lyttleton). We also covered crevasse rescue, a bit of first aid and patient packaging, communications, a bit of GPS, and other related stuff. This is my area of weakness for the job, but it's not exactly microbiology and I've been loving learning it.

So that fellow in our team about whom I was a bit concerned (and the others too) rose to the occasion (ie maturity) on the training and now I've decided that he too is a good guy, yea. I quite like our crew. There are 5 of us here now, and our supervisor is on the ice now with another instructor, "the sea ice guy" from whom we'll learn about sea ice (cool!) so we can then teach those who know even less than we do.

Christchurch sports the Canterbury Museum, started 1870, which houses a very nice section on Antarctica and includes many artifacts given to them as early explorations parties returned from the ice (those who did return). Quite a history, the "Heroic Age" of Antarctica exploration of which the familiar Shackleton is merely one of numerous interesting stories. A number of their huts still stand, freeze dried (including part of a dog, still in the collar) on the ice. More on these when I get to explore them. There's one near McMurdo at, you guessed it, Hut Point. Cared for by the Antarctic Heritage Trust.

The museum had a Primus Comet Scout stove from the early part of the last century. Esp. considering the almost-century of time, it was astonishingly similar to some stoves still in use (Optimus suitcase stylestoves). Amazing.

For living in Christchurch we get a stipend, one that covers more than most of us will spend on living expenses. This of course means that we can live lower on the hog (but still quite well, I might add for those who know me too well) and save up cash for our post-ice adventures.

The currency here is a real advance over ours: probably cheaper for the treasury than ours. I quite like the one and two dollar coins (easy to distinguish in the hand, by thickness too) and the bills are made of some rip-proof material. They are colorful so easy to quickly distinguish, and include a small clear window. They also have characters such as penguins, other birds, the queen in her younger years, and even Sir Edmund Hillary on them. Another real bonus is that they have elimated the silly penny. This means that change is simpler, and you don't have to be irritated by the marketing trick of "only $999,999.99". Items are sold in more straightforward units, like a buck.

Ok, that's enough blabbering for now. Tomorrow we pack and deal with some administrative stuff, then Tues we get up at 2am for our flight onto the ice. They like to arrive early for some safety reason... I hope this finds you well.

Love and the Southern Cross, Susan

Antarctic job overview, LINKS; excited to be going!

Hello friends and family, old and new, near and far,

I stand wide-eyed on the cusp of my adventure.

On Wednesday I fly to New Zealand for search and rescue training, then on the 30th we fly “onto the ice” for 4 1/2 to 5 months working in Antarctica. I am psyched.

Really psyched.

I am finding that I am more excited about this adventure than I have been about anything I can remember in my entire adult life. I’ve been fixated on this for weeks and can hardly sleep some nights.

As many of you have expressed an interest in hearing what's up down there, here’s some information to help you picture the setting. I’ll be based out of McMurdo, the main US station (there are 2 others, and a number run by other nations; all for science). A very industrial little town with a dynamic population, so I hear. It is located on a dry spot essentially on Ross Island and houses about 1100 people during their summer, about 35% which are women. I think the population is about 1/4 scientists, and the rest of us are support staff. All kinds of sciences: atmospheric, astronomical, biological (esp marine), geological, geophysical; glacial; including a lot of climate research. They also have an Artists and Writers in Residence Program.

I will be working in the Field Safety Training Program as an Instructor, one of seven (all guides). I have reason to believe my supervisor is both a good person and a good guy to work for/with; very important. We'll teach classes to prepare the scientists (and I think everyone else too to varying degrees) to stay safe on the glaciers, sea ice, and in the chilly temperatures: “Happy Camper” class and Survival School.

We also accompany scientific expeditions as guides while they conduct their research (this is the part I’m most psyched about, the science exposure as well as seeing remote parts of the continent). We also function as the search and rescue team. I look forward to gaining that experience, but hope to do so in non-gruesome or tragic situations.

We will have email access, but working 6 days a week 9 hours a day probably won’t leave me a lot of time/energy for extensive emailing. A certain amount of my free time will be getting real exercise. Rumor has it that skate skiing is the activity of choice around the flats of McMurdo so I’ve bought the gear and I will learn. I am planning to send out occasional updates on the life I experience down there, hopefully with photos attached. I am guessing I won’t write a full-on solstice letter this year.

Lots of daylight during the solstice at 77 degrees south! But not for awhile. It‘ll be cold when we arrive.

I’ve been reading about the continent, the wildlife, the landscape [would you believe there are ponds down there in the dry valleys, the saltiest water in the world, about 35 times saltier than oceans, so salty they NEVER freeze. That‘s just the tip of the-- I won‘t say it], the history, the job, the local culture to some extent (interesting, it sounds like), and trying to learn some of the language down there to reduce the clueless feeling while I figure out what's going on. There are of course many kinds of sea ice (cool!), endless acronyms for facilities and bureaucracies, types of aircraft and snowmobiles I have to learn about (no wait, I mean “get” to learn about. Insert forced smile. I love the noise and stink, really. Industrial mountaineering, yee haa.). All kinds of new realms.

My goal while down there is to get to the South Pole Station and do a yoga headstand next to the ceremonial South Pole (100m or so from the real one) with the camera held upside-down (I know, I know: just rotate the photo). I've been practicing getting up into the headstand without a wall, but don't know what it'll be like wearing 20 pounds of clothing.

I can receive mail down there; below is my address. RSPC is Raytheon (yup, I’m selling out) Polar Services Company, which has been contracted by the National Science Foundation’s US Antarctic Program, which oversees the entire scene. The NSF contracts the military to fly us around and handle that type of burly logistics. Apparently the flight to the ice is heinous: a noisy, cold, and cramped cargo plane for 6-7 hours; lovely.

If you’re curious, here are some websites that might be of interest (as if you don't have enough to do):

This is the USAP/Raytheon website with numerous links:http://www.polar.org/
“USA Today” article describing what goes on down there: http://www.usatoday.com/news/science/cold-science/life-work/mcmurdo-station.htm
Here is an article about diving under the ice, something in which I will NOT be participating. However, it does describe the Field Safety Training Program in which I will be working: .http://scilib.ucsd.edu/sio/nsf/diving/index4.html http://www.nsf.gov/od/lpa/news/media/99/fs_usap.htm

I have to say I’m bummed to be leaving now. It’s cooling down (snow in the high country!) … a nice time to be around.

I hope you've had a rewarding summer and are looking forward to a cooler fall. I also hope you're able to live the life that you find the most deeply satisfying, whatever form that may take.

Love, health, and a wonderful winter, Susan

Did I mention how excited I am?