Sea Ice & Happy Camper classes, season overview, LINKS

Hi folks,

I hope life in your neck of the planet is going smoothly. Is it getting cold yet? How much snow in the high country? What are the fall colors like this year? I do like to hear. The complete lack of vegetation here is part of the magic, but also leaves the soul hungry for the company of other forms of life.

It's good to be back here. Today is Sunday, our one day off, and this morning I did my long yoga session followed by brunch (a veggie omelette and a waffle: we're not exactly roughing it here). Last night was the '70's disco party (can get costumes from the Recreation office), but I opted to stay home and read "Mawson's Will" an engaging polar survival story instead. Boring I am :-)

I am rooming with my friend Jean, who is the Education Coordinator. She organizes the Intern Program for college students coming down here, the twice weekly science lectures, a series of classes offered (credit and non-credit), the National Geographic type movies that are shown weekly in the coffee house, and a number of other mini-programs. When school kids send packets of letters, they land on her desk and she finds people to answer them...

She is an interesting and dynamic person and easy to room with; I had an excellent roommate last year as well (fortunately most of us have outgrown the behaviors we subjected our college roommates to). This year I'm in a somewhat nicer dorm: both of my wardrobe/closet doors shut, there are hooks on the wall for our gigantic red jackets, and best of all the hall lights can be turned off so that one may stumble to the bathroom (which is also nicer) at night without fully waking up.

The weather has been quite warm and calm. Temps ranged from -17F (ok, that's cold, but it's all relative) up to 19 degrees, closer to the week's average, and not cold, esp when the sun is up, which is most of the time. It's generally been clear and often calm. This time last year was more normal: storms (the wind chill is as brutal as the solar radiation is hypnotizing), cold; more like what one might expect for the Antarctic spring. This has been nice, but it's also a bit disappointing.

Part of the draw for many of us is actually experiencing the challenge of being here. I have to say I do appreciate situations that demand more from me; there is something very elemental in the simplest tasks taking more time and effort, the focus of life slows down a bit. But most likely we'll have some of that too here in town sometime. The six weeks before we arrived were quite cold. Last year there was more snow around town, esp on the roads. Have to say I find this relative lack of snow distinctly disappointing too.

Sure is different the second time around: tremendously easier. I am glad I didn't realize how overwhelmed I was last year. The difference is striking and much enjoyed. This year there are no new people in our department Field Safety Training (6 of us total), so we all jumped back in and essentially picked up almost as if we'd only been away a month. There is one guy returning from having taken last year off (and two from last year are not here, but will likely return again I'm guessing). He is a Kiwi, has guided for US companies (incl on Everest) and has a ton of USAP experience. He's a good fellow and it's been fun getting to know him a bit. Now he's the one on the South Pole Traverse, and his wife works as a physical therapist in Medical.

I taught two Happy Camper (officially "Snowcraft I") courses this week, the overnight "survival school" in which we cover the skills necessary if people get stuck out of town and have to use the gear in their "survival bag" until they are rescued. We have an area outside of town on the shelf ice (glacial ice floating on McMurdo Sound) where we conduct most of the class. The students put up polar and normal winter tents, build quinzees (mound snow shelters), igloos upon occasion, and survival trenches in an area called Snowmound City.

We wimpy Instructors stay in a quonset-style hut a quarter mile away; the students have a radio and check in. The students range from scientists on their first year down here, through people in support departments who will spend time out of town, and if there's space, in-town people can come out with us. For some, this might be their only out of town adventure of the season (I hope I'm wrong about that). I also enjoy being out of town for the night as well as getting to know more folks. Return folks are required to take a one day Refresher course at the beginning of each season.

On this last course, the snow where I built the survival trench was absolutely exquisite, perfect styrofoam snow, the kind we dream about for climbing. The most perfect I've ever experienced. It was crisp, dense, and cut clean and sharp; sawing through it took some real effort. It cut in perfect corners and held an edge, not unlike styrofoam insulation. Wonderful for building: all the blocks came out fully intact and it was easy to move them around without damage and trim them precisely to fit. Glorious. But just two meters away, where the students were quarrying for their snow wall, the snow was soft and more difficult.

I also taught a Sea Ice course, a one day class designed to provide students basic knowledge about sea ice (which is fascinating, by the way), and also the skills to assess whether they can cross a crack en route to their destination. The concern is less that one will fall through (the ice is generally a couple meters or thicker now), but that later in the season one might cross a crack with the wind to one's back, then find that one is 'going with the floe' toward New Zealand. Or cracks are hidden by drifted snow.

In years past it wasn't unusual to put a vehicle partially in the drink (with occasional fatal results), but in recent years the 30" rule has changed that. A sea ice scientist described why 30" is ludicrous overkill, but then, we are working for a corporation that answers to the government and it's not our decision anyway. Congress (which funds the National Science Foundation) and Raytheon Polar Services stockholders do not look well upon death in the Antarctic.

This year the ice is out really far out this year, far north of the large island we are one (Ross), all the way north to the Drygalski Ice Tongue, a 15 miles wide and 50-60 mile protrusion of glacial ice coming off the mainland far dozens of miles north of us. The massive ice berg that calved off the Ross Ice shelf (over the Ross Sea) in 2000 (and made the national news for it's enormity), though split into two, is still blocking some of the currents coming into McMurdo Sound. The berg(s) block some of the swells and warmer water that would otherwise slowly break up the ice. Aerial imagery shows another one on it's way to cracking off, and we will accompany the glaciology team at times while they put in seismometers and other instruments near where it's cracking.

The sea ice is at its maximum now and effectively doubles the size of the continent (which itself is 1.5 times the size of the US), and by February, the end of our season, it will have broken/melted back quite dramatically, allowing penguins and seals easy access to the McM sound area. The seals come up now anyway through the sea ice cracks, and some of the seal research groups are already out camped on the ice doing their research.

The Adelie peguins, who nest here on Ross Island to the north on Cape Royds, are not here yet and the Emporer penguins, who spent the winter standing in a tight group on the ice with an egg then a chick on their feet under their skin flap, are still at Cape Crozier, on another arm of Ross Island (the center of which is Mt Erebus, a 12,700' active volcano, always steaming far over our heads), but we are unlikely to see any for awhile. Later, Adelies will later nest on the land at Cape Crozier.

That same berg has dramatically reduced the Emporer population at Crozier because they nest on the sea ice attached to the island and the Ross Ice Shelf, and the berg has banged against the shelf crushing the Emporer's nesting area. There were zero chicks in 2001, when just a few years prior there were 1200. This year there are more penguins there so they are hoping there will be also more chicks. The chicks are hard to count when still on a parents feet under the skin flap, but later the parents will leave and then it's easy to make the count.

The remaining day of this week was spent not training, but being trained (often more fun). This season the helicopters operations people invited a bunch of us Science Support people (many depts that directly support the scientists, as opposed to Operations, who run the infrastructure) to learn how to rig the cargo loads that the helos haul underneath. Last year in the field I got to be the one to crouch a couple times under the large hovering helo and clip the cargo cable to the hook under the belly of the roaring monster as we moved a camp... that was exciting. But knowing how to rig the various types of loads of course helps me feel more competent and be more useful in the field.

That afternoon we had helo "step-out" training, getting out of and into a hovering helicopter with a litter (stretcher) and packs as we might have to do during a search and rescue (we are the Primary SAR team and train one day a week for this). Last year we just did it as a dry run on the helo pad because the weather wasn't allowing flights. This time we did it live, on the flat, then on a low angle rocky slope and a low angle snow slope to simulate the types of terrain that we might have to do this on if the helo cannot land where we need to be dropped off. The helo people also recorded the weights of our SAR packs and our own flight weight, which is how much we weigh with all our warm clothing on. My flight weight, which includes pockets full of various items, is almost 25 pounds over my body weight! Fortunately it's distributed in such as way as to not feel like it's suffocating me. It does, however, make getting into high vehicles interesting.

Some of you may recall last year how blown away I was by the various pieces of ancient heavy equipment that I had to learn to drive to transport large numbers of people (happy campers) across snow and sea ice. Each machine is different in terms of where all the fluids are and other things to check as well as in how to start it, so last year I took extensive notes which have greatly helped.

What I'm finding more interesting is how normal it feels now to drive a mammoth rig, lumbering along at 10-15 mph, my head up to 10' off the ground. It's just as well they're slow as it could be easy to get into big trouble with such a heavy behemoth: difficult to slow down as well as get it to move in the first place. Our "Nodwell" that we use for Happy Camper is not-well again, so we have a Delta from Recreation until the Heavy Shop gets it running again. That's the most massive one, with a ladder to get up into it. It's wheeled, not tracked; the tires are almost 6' tall and about 2.5 feet wide.

I have to say I miss the Nodwell, with it's inability to track straight, with the two levers coming up off the floor for steering and braking and the ever-clanking steel track. Much of this machinery was built in the '70's and still says "U.S. Navy" from when the Navy ran this place for the NSF. Only about 5? years ago did private industry take over the contract.

This year I will actually follow-through on my previous plan to take photos of these vehicles and send a couple along to you. Perhaps this part of the job is the most "out there" to me. I do get a kick out of sometimes seeing contruction/destruction heavy equipment being driven by women, some of whom are quite small... breaking the stereotypes.

Nice to see people again; a lot of really cool folks down here. It really is a tight little community with all the benefits and bummers of living in a fishbowl.

The snow still makes all those marvelous crazy squeaking funky sounds. It's such a pleasure to walk across the mostly firm surface (out on the snow on the shelf ice) listening to how the tone and pitch of the squawks and creaks change, especially over the hollower areas which add a level of reverberation or percussion to the music. It varies spatially, often at just the right distance where it changes noticably each step, but not so fast as to be jerky or awkward. Wonderful.

[Now it's Monday morning. I went to the science lecture last night, which was an unusual one: Common Mammals and Birds of the McMurdo Sound Area, which was natural history (descriptive, not science, which is highly focused and is about testing a theory). It was packed with listeners and very interesting and included identification and new discoveries about orcas (3 species?), Minke whales, another whale I've never heard of, 3 kinds of seals including how leopard seals hunt, and of course our beloved penguinos ("pen-GWEEN-o"). Also, an aggressive scavenger flying bird that will show up later around town (squa), and all white snow petrels which most of us don't ever see. But it was a great lecture, one I hope they'll do again if the get a lull in the more scientific presentations.]

Well, my eyes have about had it from staring at this screen, so I'll let you get back to whatever you were working on before I interrupted.

Love and squarky sounding snow, Susan

I found this via a websearch. It isn't related to us officially, but is worthwhile:

http://www.antarcticconnection.com/antarctic/info-index.shtml
Antarctic photo library:
http://photolibrary.usap.gov/
And our weekly newspaper though it appears they haven't started the online summer page yet:
http://polar.org/antsun/index.htm#
NSF Office of Polar Programs:
http://www.nsf.gov/od/opp/antarct/start.htm
area map, with the Dry Valleys (highly unique) on the left side:
http://www.niwa.co.nz/pubs/wa/11-3/map_island
map of part of Ross Island and our peninsula:
http://www.geocities.com/~kcdreher/ross_is2.html
And the map we use a lot, the one some of you saw at the slide presentation in Boulder last spring:
http://www.geocities.com/~kcdreher/ross_is2.html

Christchurch Boomerang, October 5, 2004

Hi the few,

Antarctic adventures begin already.

After four hours in the air, word came down that we were turning back (a "boomerang" flight). We were hoping they were joking, but knew better.
The first plane that landed on the ice runway left an 8"deep trench 1000' long that needs a bit o' work before another plane can come in.

Apparently this is fourth year sea ice (fairly old) and it has a 9" layer over a weak area, so they have to fill in all the holes with fresh water, give them 24 hours to freeze, then test each one with something heavier than heavy equipment (which they have).

They had a wooden boomerang on board that the crew photographed one of their guys with. Cute.

The weather has closed in, which would preclude our arrival anyway. I am ready to be down there, not hanging out in Christchurch, but there are far worse places to be stuck.

I'm trying to absorb the colors and scents of the many flowers, the songs of the birds, the dogs... and of course the Thai food.

Our pay is not affected. In fact, on delay days we get the same per diem cash to cover accomodation and food, much of which the resourceful among us hoard for post-ice travel. Not a bad deal.

Antarctica is a good place to learn to let go to attachmentto plans! So, I'll let you know when we land. On the ice.

Love to all, Susan

SAR training in NZ, more about McMurdo life

Hi all,

I hope this finds you well and looking forward to the cooling weather.

I am in Christchurch, NZ at the International Antarctic Centre in preparation for heading back to the Antarctic for another season on "the ice". I am surprised how familiar this city feels, and am enjoying seeing our crew again. It's a lot different, smoother of course, second time around. More mental energy left for other things.

We leave your-Monday morning and I anticipate being there just over four months again.
You might remember that McMurdo Station is home to about 1100 people in the summer. It looks like a mining camp with industrial buildings and with all the pipes on the surface, but we do live indoors, can go to the coffeehouse, the gym, the hair cutter, or play sports or music or use the crafts room or bouldering wall or... it's a full on town of interesting and varied people. About one third of the population is new people, and I am of the average age. It's about 2/3 men, and includes a disporportionally large lesbian population.

Most people are from Colorado, where Raytheon Polar Services Company is located, but WA and Alaska are also very well represented. I think about a third of us are National Science Foundation Grantees (scientists), and there are also a number of NY Air National Guard guys floating around later in the season. NYANG is the contractor for large planes.
The US Antarctic Program is a part of the National Science Foundation; "your tax dollars..."

When we get there we will have some darkness during the short night, but in not too much time the sun will always be up. We are at 77 degrees south. It's cold down there now (well below zero F), and the sea ice is at its maximum, but all of that will change in the coming months. It'll even get above freezing for a few weeks. There'll be times that it's colder outside your window than mine. (smirk)

I have the same job in Field Safety. There are six of us in our department and the gender ratio, well, I'm the only woman (and am the first in a few years). We have some really good guys (a Buddhist, and other granola-sympathisizers) with a lot of experience. As last year, I feel very welcome. Everyone works a six day week, 9 to ten hours a day. In our job, we often work longer hours, but then we also get out of town (which is everyone's craving), routinely... a real bonus and most of the reason to be here in the first place. Many people hardly ever can get out of town.

We spend a lot of time teaching classes to the scientists ("beakers") and others, such as snow camping, sea ice safety, glacier travel, GPS, and the like. We also accompany some of the scientists out into the field for up to a few weeks at a time in a safety manager role. Our third responsibility is search and rescue, for which we train one day per week.

We arrived in Christchurch over a week ago to train in search and rescue with our counterparts at the Kiwi base just 2 miles from us. We all work together in the event of a call-out... definitely makes sense to combine our resources though our station is an order of magnitude larger than theirs.

Our home in the South Pacific is Ross Island, located at the edge of the Ross Sea, an enormous bay covered with a plate of floating glacier, the "ice shelf". On our peninsula is a four mile flagged route for skiers or hikers, ending at Castle Rock, a crag big and steep enough that in years past fatalities have happened there. Not only do we train for snow rescues and crevasse extraction, but we also work on getting someone up or downrock cliffs as well. This, of course, is fun. We spent two days at crags near town working with the toys and systems, and also spent 3 nights at a ski area (think Colorado circa 1960... cool!) working on snow. We also reviewed a lot of first aid, which I also quite enjoy. It was a fun training with great folks.

Once again I absolutely loved watching green parrots soaring just above us in the high alpine. You can imagine how graceful they soar (ha!) as they scope out whose pack they'll rip into if given half a chance. They also perched on the rail outside the hut, watching us through the window, hoping we'd leave one open (they actually come in and cause an astonishing amount of damage; we saw photos). They strut with"attitude". But it sure is funny to see a parrot in the snow. They are orange under their wings, so suddenly colorful in flight.

Then two of us taught a Refresher course at the International Antarctic Center here by the airport. It was a reveiw for the helicopter staff, and the first course ever taught pre-ice. You can probably imagine how crusty and cynical the pilots and other long time ice-heads can be having to be told once again how to stay warm, fed, and sheltered in an emergency, especially by second year punks like us. Fortunately, they refrained from copping the attitude we were braced for and it was even fun. We work with them a lot and it's valuable to have a good rapport going. (Flying in helicopters is another bonus of our job).

We have today off and most of tomorrow, yea. Today involved buying a lot of avocados and fresh fruit at the local weekend street market to take down there with me. "Freshies" will probably not be a huge priority on the first few flights. The season is starting 4 or 5 days later this season, probably because of availability of the NY Air National Guard. We are competing to some degree with military needs, which as you know have changed lately. The later season start has many of the scientists stressed (it's a short season anyway considering how difficult it can be to gather data in such a challenging place), and everyone will hit the ground sprinting this year in particular. Planes will be filled with people and equipment, not salad!

This is the third year of the South Pole Traverse. It's an immense project to squash a route in the snow 800 miles to the SouthPole. The new Pole station requires much in the way of heavy construction materials, so if they can free up all those flights, then the flights will be available for science. The route crosses crevassed terrain, wicked deep loose snow in places, and has been a, uh, "challenge" for those involved (hard core mining engineer and heavy equipment operators). They figure it will take 30 days for the convoys to reach the Pole and 20 to get back.

Last year most of our guys hated it for various reasons, but our boss has taken many of our complaints to the Traverse people, and there should be some significant improvements. This season, I too will have to be involved. Sigh. But I know it's the price I pay to get to be down here again. I believe I am scheduled for five (5) (cinco) weeks out on the traverse, just after Thanksgiving to NewYear's.

My job will be scientific snow assessment (cool), sittingin the cab staring for endlesss hours at the Ground Penetrating Radar to watch for upcoming crevasses, and first aid as needed. We will work 12 hour days.

I don't know if they'll allow tofu on the Traverse; I think I'll hide five weeks worth in my enormous parka. I'm told by our guys who went down last year that I'll hear a lot about guns and killing things. I'll just quietly practice yoga in the corner. Right.

Well, that's plenty for now.

Love and wild places, Susan

Great White Expanse, Dry Valley, hs classmate, icebreaker ships

Hi all,

Remember how I said early in the season that I dreaded the idea of leaving? I went on to say that I expected that I'd be ready for it by then because of the natural flow of the season here anywhere. Well, I will be. Not that I don't want to return, it's just that a break, a long break, will be very much savored. Plants, animals, fresh food, my own schedule. Climbing.

I am exhausted. Not so much from immediate lack of sleep, but from what will soon be four months of a very structured lifestyle in which much energy and time goes into work and, in the field, simply living (as manyof you know).

My 3-plus weeks on the east Antarctic plateau was mixed. It is interesting, in it's own monotonous way, to be in a place that is flat andwhite out to the horizon for a complete 360-degree view. Between shoveling out caches, inventorying food, fuel, and other supplies, calling inweather reports, trying to get 25 year old snowmachines to run (little luck), and trying to stay out of the hut when one of the engineers was watching endless versions of the tv show "Friends" on disk while he worked, I hiked out beyond view of camp into the Great White Expanse.

I walked into the wind, the cold-flat version of walking uphill first, and did find that there is still a distinct sense of orientation out there. The wind blows and the sun cast shadows on the uneven, wind-carved snow,changing direction only slowly. At one of the three sites I could actually see that the plateau fell off toward the Weddell Sea, many miles distant,and rose ever so subtlely toward the pole 300 miles away. It was high and cold (warmest was 18F, coldest -23F), but the wind was reasonable and we mostly had sunshine, so it was not the awful time it could have been.

I did, however, made a serious error that at the time I thought could cost me my job next season. I forgot to call in one evening for our daily check-in (called in late next morning). Fortunately significant errors were made by the acting McMurdo Station Manager in his response, so the plane assigned to fly over to see if we were no more than a smoking crater (hut propane problems), didn't actually leave the ground. Other parts of a rescue were mobilized as well; many people were involved directly or indirectly. In addition to scaring people, search-and-rescues divertresources from science. It's bad enough when a scientist does this (happens a few times a year), but when a member of the primary Search andRescue team, who also works in Field Safety, makes such an omission, it is quite embarrassing for the whole department. Our boss makes a big deal about professionalism and the fact that "credibility creates opportunity"; for us opportunity means getting out into the field.

When I called in and asked to talk with my boss, he was really nice (though I distrusted it). I think he knew that if he came down on me I might have asked for an immediate plane ticket back to New Zealand.

Anyway, I took this mistake hard. Really hard. In fact I was surprised how wracked I was. The rest of that week in the field was awful. Unbenownst to the 2 engineers I was working with (I lived in a tent, notthe 8'x16' hut), I cried a fair amount (but still did my job!) in frustration with myself and with a system that only recognizes, so I was sure, mistakes and not the previous 3 months of good solid hard work.

Given the nature of my work out there, I had plenty of time to think...and dwell. I concluded the intensity of my reaction reflected the depthof several things: how much I wanted to come down to the ice and do this job, how hard I have worked for 3 months, and how commited I have been to doing the best work I can. I was a mess. I truly dreaded returning to McMurdo and facing my world.

This stress was draining. Getting back to town was initially traumatic.

However, it seemed that people knew that I was less than pleased with my oversight, and were amazingly supportive (and some told stories of mistakes they made early in their ice careers). In fact, I was astonished how much my work team and friends, even those I don't know well, rallied for me. Several people said that their depts had found some glitches in their responses so were improving their systems as a result. And the engineers from the field made it clear to the powers of US Antarctic Program that there were a number of extenuating circumstances, which were indirectly the responsibility of the Program, that led up to my missing the call though of course it was still my mistake. Rick wrote a letter to my boss on upto the Station Manager to put the missed call in context with both that whole (exhausting, stressful, and distracting) day as well as my performance for the other 21 days out there, weeks during which we and worked every day, not taking any holidays or other breaks.

So, I survived, my future here is not in jeopardy, and life goes on.

Soon after returning, I was assigned a field job that I think I was given largely as an antidote for three weeks on the plateau and what I put myself through that last week. I got to spend 3 days in the Taylor Valley, one of the incredibly unique (Mars-like: for real) Dry Valleys of Antarctica. My job was to keep 2-3 scientists, one of whom was the previously mentioned high school classmate and friend of an old friend, safe while they stuck flags into the edge of the Taylor Glacier. I even got to setup a rappel for said classmate so he could put stakes in down the side of the glacier. Then of course I let them top-rope climb the same face. Cool. Actually using some real skills, rather than using about 2% of my skills. You know it's bad when I'm psyched to take someone top-roping!

It was a fun scene there at the Lake Hoare "camp" (full-on hut, camp manager; well established). Thomas had had his high school yearbook sent down, so we had fun looking through that. That time was half our lives ago; we both agreed that we are improving with age. Plus it was like being in the mountains. It WAS being in the mountains! Peaks, crags, talus, scree, glaciers, creeks (yeah, running water in this banana belt of Antarctica)... mummified seals (carbon dated from about 5000-9000 years old) many miles from the ocean, and I even saw some vegetation! It was a microbiotic crust like in the deserts of North America, and a bit of lichen... a veritable forest. I took a photo (I bet you can't wait to see that one).

And to get from the camp to the glacier, we commuted by helo. Bizarre: they pick us up in the morning, having flown the 40 minutes from McMurdo, set us down on the glacier, go do other work, then pick us up in the afternoon and deposit us back at the hut where we unload all the science gear (fortunately it's heavy: justifies not carrying it ten miles). I flew back on a Coast Guard helo, which are allowed to fly over open water, unlike "our" helos.

For the first time in my life, I saw...whales. Whales. Mostly Orcas (killer whales) and a few Minke. They were... how to summarize? Magnificent. They were cruising the ice edge, looking for seals or penguins to chomp, and the pilot turned the helo partly onto it's side and spun a circle over a couple different sets ofthese gorgeous and powerful creatures of the salty world. Wow.
So, as you can tell, I am feeling refreshed. I needed it.

Two Coast Guard Icebreaker cutters recently left. The night I arrived from the plateau I watched them finish plowing through the ice the rest ofthe way to the ice pier that has been being "built" for the last few months. It's the world's only ice pier, several acres in area, very thick ice I am sure as it never gets to melt, and it's managed to make is stronger, deal with tides, etc. It was something to watch this enormous ship back up a 100 yards or so, then plow forward into the ice, crunch crunch, riding up a bit, then backing up again. They accidently took a piece out of the pier (got a photo of that too).

I just happened to get to go on board with some workmates. The guy who runs their shop is a Search and Rescue fanatic from WA state: exactly the kind of rescuer who terrifies backcountry people/climbers (ALL enthusiasm, but essentially no skills or fitness; but at least he didn't have an attitude). He invited us (SAR team) down to "trade patches". Someone dug up a handful of patches describing who we are (our dept/SAR/Antarctica),and this guy gave us patches of the US Coast Guard Cutter Polar Star.

He was rather entertaining in his unbridled excitement over how cool our patches are, how psyched he was. Apparently there's a whole culture of patches, Search and Rescue and/or military... interesting. And, we got a brief tour of the ship. As you can imagine the engines are large, the hull thick (Two inches. The ice was up to 14' thick), the structure specialized. Steep stair-ladders, hatches between floors (when closed, you climb through a narrow round hatch in the big-door hatch)... hard to get a real feel of the size of the ship because all the spaces inside are so small, so compartmentalized, even the engine rooms. There were two of these ships here, hanging out for awhile in the channel they made.

Right after I leave the even bigger supply ship comes in, an annual event. It will leave with a year's worth of trash (including barrels of urinefrom the dry valleys. One carries pee bottles while out in the field. NOTHING is deposited on the ground there to preserve it for future science and because there is essentially no organic material there, but there are bacteria that like in the interstices in the rocks: very unique place, nothing breaks down (mummified seals), it doesn't rain, research to shed light on Mars is conducted here...). All the dry food we'll eat next season, which was bought almost a year ago, will arrive (fresh for sure) as well as everything else they don't want to spend the money to fly here.

The fuel tanker, loaded with 7.5 million gallons of fuel, is sitting out there to refuel the ice breakers, probably the USAP science ship that just pulled in, and then it'll unload the rest into the many mega fuel tanks here in town for the next year's worth of heating and transportation.

So there is now a channel from the open sea all the way (a few miles) into the ice pier. Today the wind picked up from the south and blew most of the chunks of ice out of the channel, so now we actually see the water of McMurdo Sound. Given all the ice, this is a big deal. And now the whales (whales!) are likely to come in to feed. I hear there is a telescope set up in the library upstairs in the laboratory...

This past week I worked two Happy Camper courses. There are far fewer now as most scientists are in the field, but I do think they bring more town people onto the course. For many, getting out for a night of this course is a highlight of their summer. A perspective worth remembering.

It's a lot different around here now. We can run around in light jackets (except for today's wind), the snow has sublimated from the roads, the channel, the snow consistency has softened a lot... Time moves along.

I happen to be the first of our team to leave, the others follow close behind in succession. There are still a few field parties going out, but most are wrapping up their seasons. In a couple weeks the helos stop flying and the need for field safety people quickly falls off. By mid-february, most summer people will be back in Christchurch, soaking up the warmth and vegetation (what a place to return to from down here!). The winterovers are preparing for the transition, while the rest of us discuss post-ice plans. And we often ask each other about coming back next year. Our department will lose 1 or 2 positions based on the completion of a couple projects, but it's too early to really know who will actually return. I certainly want to; we shall see what happens.

Next week two other primary SAR team members (one from the Kiwi part of our team) and I head out to climb a peak for training in the Dry Valleys. YES, I did indeed say CLIMB a peak! It won't be super technical (can you imagine how bad it would be if we needed rescuing!?). I must say I am somewhat lacking in energy given how late it is in the season, but I've been focusing on getting a lot of sleep, and I'm hoping that the location and the activity itself (training, mind you) will provide it's own energy.

Some answers to questions that have filled my inbox, and remain unanswered as I'm more behind than ever. I spent the solstice, Christmas, and New Years on the plateau. I was at the Pole for part of the solstice...cool. Christmas consisted of my putting 3 pieces of milk chocolate each in Joe's boot and Rick's glove, and New Year's comprised the cd movie Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (fun tongue in cheek humor) and some kahlua and mixed with nonfat milk made from a powder. Both days we worked, but that was ok.

No, Kelly, I didn't make any resolutions. Except perhaps, never to miss another check-in call!

Skate skiing. I went to considerable effort to obtain the gear, but have been away so much and so busy otherwise that I've only been out a few times. I don't exactly have it mastered, but I've figured out enough to see how fast and fun it could be. I suspect more time will go into that when I spend a winter in the north again, though I am considering leaving my skis downhere for next year.

No, Mike, I have not wrecked any large machinery, nor have I run over any penguins or squashed anything else of value. Funny how normal is has become to pilot these monsters, the level of comfort one develops despite how exotic and weird something is at first!

So, this will be my last mass mailing from the ice. I suspect I'll write once about peak climbing in NZ and again in late March about Australian rock climbing.

Post-ice plans have not evolved much. Guessing a week in Christchurch to recover, walk around the botanical gardens, eat fresh food and only fresh food, find guidebooks, partners, and formulate a plan. Still thinking 2-3 weeks climbing alpine routes in the Mt Cook area of NZ, then 3-4 weeks in Australia climbing rock in the sun at Arapiles. I do not have partner yet, but it'll work out.

By the way, there are all sorts of jobs available down here; there's something here everyone can do (beyond dishwashing), so let me know if youare curious...

Start with polar.org

Love and safe adventures indoors and out, Susan

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