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