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
October 24, 2003
October 15, 2003
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
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
October 11, 2003
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
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
