Sunday, March 24, 2024

Thawing Out and Looking Back

I went to Antarctica knowing it would be an adventure and to get my head back on straight after some less than stellar career moves. Now having been to the Edge of the World and back, I'm looking forward to my next adventure. But before I start something new, I want to think back a bit on what I did and what it taught me, if anything.

I'm not one for introspection, at least verbally. For me, doing any thing is less about being able to identify the various small ways I've grown through it and more about letting it add to the overall fabric of who I am. If I can't identify each thread, that's fine, because the complete work is still better for it. So bear with me in this while I try and express what I've learned.

At least it's easy to talk about some of the cooking things I've learned. So Number 1: Add more salt than you think. One of the reasons food doesn't taste as good at home is just because it's under salted. So adding a bit more helps bump up the flavor. Of course, don't salt something to death. I had a buddy that made these really nice marinara crostini with egg for a staff meal one night, and he used way too much salt. So if you kill it with salt, just know it happens to the best of us. But adding a bit more than the recipe calls for is a great way to bring it all out.

And speaking of recipes, Number 2: Did you all know the DoD has official recipes? I sure didn't, but the ones we worked with were official documents from the US Government. Some of them were actually pretty decent, if you added enough salt. And others were an eight-step instruction guide on how to put frozen sausage into the oven. They can't all be winners.

Number 3: Hunger is the best spice. We were real limited on what we had down there, and when pepper could be a rare commodity, you had to make sacrifices. But something I noticed out at Willy, the air guard never complained about the food I served. Willy didn't have a lot of good equipment for cooking, so when I made something it was often more like reheated leftovers from the main kitchen. But many a night I would get compliments from the guard, about how good the food was and how they appreciated having a meal out here. I didn't do anything special to the meals; I just made sure it was safe and edible, and had something fresh if we could manage it. But their gratitude for even a simple meal like that was something I appreciated, and it made sure that I'd put in a little extra effort if I could to give them something nice. At the Edge of the World, a hot meal can be the reminder of home that you need.

As we're getting past the superficial I guess, Number 4: Adventure isn't as hard as you think. A lot of people have told me that they don't know how I could do something like this. But from having gone through it, it's really pretty easy. I'm not the first person going to Antarctica. I don't have to brave the ice and storms like it's 1912. They get hundreds of people down there every year, and while it was certain some nonsense would happen to me while traveling (and it did), there's no reason to be afraid. If you're looking to do something different, to go on this kind of adventure, even if it's not to Antarctica, there's definitely a way to do it. Getting this job was as easy as a few Google searches and sending in a resume. If there's somewhere you want to go or something you want to do, just start taking the steps to do it. You're not gonna be the first person to ever do it, and the people before you likely made it easier for those that come later.

And for me, with that call of adventure comes Number 5: Communicating with family makes it easier. A warm meal might connect you to home, but you know what's better at doing that? Wi-Fi. From what I know of past years, getting in touch with your family or friends was difficult. But with the new Starlink they've got down there, I was able to keep up with the weekly Zoom call that my family does (even if I was moving at the speed of PowerPoint). I made some good friends in the kitchen, but even that wouldn't have totally kept me from being homesick. If you're looking to do something big, to go somewhere new, having a lifeline back to where you're comfortable can make all the difference. Even if it's not family, close friends will help keep your heart full.

I don't think I'm much of a philosophy teacher. I've been trying to think about this article for like six weeks and I still don't know if "what I've learned in Antarctica" is actually true or if I'm just applying things I already know to a recent situation in the name of CONTENT. But I hope that this whole series has been a message to all of you reading to try something new and take chances (reasonable ones at least).

Before going to Antarctica, I had been fired from my second job in my career path. Writing was what I went to college for and it's what I thought I wanted to do with my life. But I haven't been able to really start my career long-term with it. Even my unfailing arrogance was getting a bit shaken up. But to have written this series for the love of it and to hear so many kind words from all of you reading, it's been a real boost to me. Even if I make some professional changes and look more into the world of contract employment that this has opened up for me, I'll at least know that writing is still something that I can share with people. And I hope you all continue to enjoy these unshackled ramblings of mine.

Anyway, adventure still calls me. Next stop: Germany.

Monday, March 11, 2024

Giving Antarctica the Midwest Goodbye

I write this article from the comfort of home, back here in Illinois. After almost seven months away, it's good to be back. But if you ask my folks, they'll tell you that no travel story of mine is complete without things just constantly hitting setbacks and unexpected twists. We call it an adventure. Because calling it a pain in the neck would be too depressing.

(The first picture of me on the Ice and the last)

For one, I was supposed to be back a solid week before I actually left the Ice. Willy Field shut down on February 14; I was supposed to fly out February 15. But I've already talked plenty about how the flight situation has been this year, and needless to say, the flight was cancelled and pushed back. But that happened for every flight for about a week, so my next fly out date was the 22nd. Now, a delay for any other department isn't terrible. See, if you're a part of one of the trades, a delay just means more "vacation" time on the Ice. They don't have to go back to work. But as always, people gotta eat, and flight delays means that many people are still coming to the galley for meals. So while everyone else was getting time off, any of us galley workers were expected to come back in for another shift. I ended up working about a week's worth of additional shifts in the main kitchen.

But then it was my turn. The 22nd rolls around and we go through the whole process of getting ready to go. All of our baggage was dropped off a few days before. Unlike commercial airlines, our bags are packed and weighed ahead of time, on what is known as our Bag Drag day. From my understanding, all the bags are then organized and put onto pallets to be transported. We're readily reminded that if we need something like medicine or even changes of clothes, don't leave those in your packed bags. Because if the flight is delayed, you don't get your luggage back. It'll stay on the pallet until New Zealand and you're out of luck if you forgot extra socks.

On flight day, we head up to the loading area, check in with our carry-on and passports, and get ready to board our transport out to Phoenix Airfield, the field we use for planes that have wheels instead of skis. But before that is the bane of every introvert and emotional leaver: the Hug Line. When flights leave is public knowledge, so many people who are staying, or just haven't left yet, will run up from work to the building and pile in to say their final goodbyes. As the name suggests, there's lots of hugging, jokes, and farewells to be had. The Hug Line has apparently been a tradition for a long time; I imagine it's one of those things that was never officially introduced, but grew out of the community life.

Once all the goodbyes are said, it's off into the transport. There are two main large quantity transports that they use. The first is probably the most famous, Ivan the Terra-Bus. Ivan is a large orange bus, that's been on the Ice for years. I don't know if he's a specific make or model. When you see him, I'd wager that he's custom built and might have lived his whole life in Antarctica. Ivan is probably the best transport, if only because I think he has a working heater. Because the other is the Transport Kress. The first time I saw this thing, I thought it was some kind of land battleship. This one is basically a shipping container on the flat bed of a transport truck. It's got portholes in the sides and the whole thing is painted red. Not that the windows help much, since they stay perpetually frosted over, and only the most vigorous rubbing can create the barest view to the outside. And as you might have inferred, this one doesn't have a heater. So even when it's full of bodies, the heat slowly dissipates. On the 22nd, the Kress was what we took to Phoenix. Well, almost to Phoenix.

(The most famous bus on the continent)

(USS Transport Kress)

I've talked about the weather before, and how it can change on a whim. We were only a mile out from the airfield when we got the call that a storm was rolling in and that our flight was canceled. I'm sure you can imagine how excited we all were to get packed into a rolling sardine can and then get told our flight wasn't happening. Just overjoyed, every one of us. So we take a detour to the remains of Willy to turn around, and back to McMurdo we go. And it was only then that I realized we didn't have heating. I think the excitement of leaving the Ice had kept us pumped, or maybe people just shouldn't be sitting in the Kress for an hour and a half, but my breath was fogging and my hands were chilling. If we'd stayed in it any longer, I might have been concerned. We had tried to leave on a Friday and our flight was delayed to Saturday, only for it again to be cancelled. Then no flights leave on Sunday, and it wasn't until the 25th that we could try it again.

This time, we had more success. For one, we got to ride in Ivan, so that was nice and warm. And two, we actually made it to Phoenix! We were at the airfield. We could see the C-17 that we'd be flying out in. It was almost real. But I'd messaged my parents before leaving, and I said I wouldn't celebrate until I was rolling in the grass in Christchurch. Phoenix Airfield is a much more spartan affair than Willy. There's only a few buildings, one services as sort of a gate for the plane, where you can drop your carry-on and sit down while the plane is unloaded. And also a bathroom that's not much better than two outhouses duct taped together. But as long as you're leaving soon, it'll suffice.

(Our chariot home)

We were flying out on a C-17. Those are big military cargo planes, for those of you unfamiliar with them. There's seating along the walls, and for this one, there was additional seating strapped in along the floor so that it looked more like regular plane seats (except with more legroom, which I was thankful for). Once the arriving cargo was unloaded, we were given the green light to board and find our seats. In short order, the over one hundred of us were loaded into our seats and awaiting take off. And waiting. And waiting. In one of those moments that continues to confuse me, the human cargo was loaded before the rest of the cargo. So all of us were sat on the plane for over an hour as the baggage and other items were loaded onto the back. And it's no exaggeration that this might have been the coldest I felt all season. Cargo planes have a giant door on the back that they use to load the cargo, and this was open the entire time, along with the crew entrance door at the front. So a perfect wind tunnel is created. And unlike hiking or other outdoor activities, we're just sitting there, not really able to use motion to warm our bodies. I ended up putting on every piece of cold weather gear I had and constantly flexing my fingers to keep the blood circulating in them. I didn't want to freeze to death on the day I'd be leaving.

(A plane of slowly solidifying popsicles)

Eventually, our plane was officially packed and the heaters turned on full blast. With the lingering warning of another approaching storm, we were cleared for take off and into the air. The flight time from Antarctica to Christchurch is about five and a half hours by C-17. While the C-17 is the most common, there are other transport methods on the Ice, with both 787s and Airbuses being used to transport people on and off. I was originally supposed to leave on an Airbus, but considering that it apparently takes over nine hours for one to fly to Christchurch, I don't think it's a bad experience to miss. We left around 4:30 p.m. and landed in Christchurch a bit after 10 p.m. We did need to go through customs at the airport, but I think it was more ceremonial than anything. With luggage in hand, I could finally roll around in the grass outside the International Antarctic Center. It was good to be back in civilization. There was the smell of rain in the air, grass to touch, and actual darkness to enjoy (a first since October).


As much as I wish rolling in the grass led swiftly to getting home and hugging my parents, nothing is ever that simple. After arriving and dumping our issued gear with the Center, we were all shuffled off to various hotels to get whatever shuteye we could, with promises that our flight information would be emailed to us by tomorrow, if it wasn't already. So I managed to catch a good night's sleep and woke up the next morning, ready to check out of my hotel and head over to the airport with my itinerary in hand. Except my email was empty. I had been told I'd be flying out that day, but didn't have any information on the flight, not even a confirmation that I was flying. All corporate paperwork is a nightmare, so I'm sure that I just slipped through the cracks. Thankfully, after an email exchange with the travel department, my flight was sorted and confirmed and I was in a shuttle to the airport. Now I don't know if you've looked at a globe before, but New Zealand is kinda far away from America. The flight to San Francisco was about 15 hours, with another four hours to make it to O'Hare. Although if you want to have fun with time, as far as the clock is concerned, it was only a three-hour flight from Christchurch to Chicago. I left at 2 p.m. and landed at 5 p.m., at least if you ignore crossing the international date line. I was home.

And I finally got my ice cream.

Wednesday, February 28, 2024

Prologue to the Final Journey

February is a time for anticipation at McMurdo. You can practically feel it in the air. Almost everyone is thinking about one thing: redeployment. I don't know why it's called that—another of those naming conventions that probably made sense 25 years ago—but redeployment is the time for everyone to go home. After being here for six months, I can attest that the thought of going home is what gets us through the day.

Leaving the Ice doesn't involve nearly as much paperwork as getting there, but there is still plenty that needs to be done, both personally and professionally. In January, they hosted a few meetings talking about how to leave, as well as what you might need to know when you get back to civilization. Despite being as far from civilization as possible, you can still get organized on things like unemployment and COBRA coverage. Even something simple like a business address needs to be cleared up. It would be hard to tell a future employer to contact your boss down the road from the penguin colony.

There's also everything involved in packing up and leaving your room. Despite it being home away from home for the past six months, you can't leave your things behind and move back in like it's your parents' house. Everything needs to be reset to how it was when you found it. For me, that's pretty easy, but for others, that's going to involve a lot of moving furniture. My roommate took a small desk from somewhere and had that next to his bed, so he had to move that out before he left. Others I know rearranged their entire rooms, pushing beds together, sectioning off the room with the cabinets, and other budget interior design. So that whoever lives in that room next doesn't have to deal with your warped sense of living aesthetic, everything needs to go back to the status quo. Although I'm sure some people left hidden stickers and trinkets around for others to find. That's just part of the fun of community living.

The real reason you could tell it was redeployment season, however, was because of the attitudes. For those of us not staying for winter, or even staying until late March in what is known as the Shoulder season, all anyone could talk about was what they'd be doing when they got home. For some of us, this was a one-off thing, something to fill the time while we sort out life, or another contract job between other seasonal work. For others, this is what they do for work, so when they're off Ice, it's adventure time. They live life six months on, six months off, and have balanced their situations around Ice life. 

For many who are done with their season, they're looking to travel. We don't have to fly back immediately when we reach Christchurch. I think by now the program knows that people will want to make the most of their opportunity, and exploring New Zealand is an attractive offer for many. I have a group of three friends that are renting a car together and driving all the way to the north island, then to the south island, and returning to Christchurch. One woman I worked with is having her mom fly down to New Zealand and the two of them are going to explore to their heart's content. Another friend wants to get back to the states as quickly as possible, because he's got a flight to Japan a few days after getting back. Still another got a ticket to participate in a big Iron Man race that apparently is rather exclusive, and she's pumped for that.

Some of them are using their downtime to polish up new skills so they can come back and do something new on the Ice. One friend is getting certified in ham radio and its installation so that he can work on the communications relay team down here. Another wants to get familiar with the way the helicopter team works down here so he can get his license and training back in the real world and then join the flying team in Antarctica. Having been down here and seeing what all goes into living life at McMurdo, it's inspired a lot of people to pursue new avenues and bring a different set of skills to their next deployment.

For those staying, there's also a lot to consider. Some of my friends were staying on to do the same work they came down for. But others are taking this as an opportunity to try something new. I had some friends join up with the Waste team, Shuttles, and one friend I didn't realize was so exceptionally smart until he joined one of the science teams! Once the main body clears out, those staying will have the chance to move rooms as well, with many of them probably going into the 200 block rooms, which have smaller rooms and more opportunities to live by yourself. Probably not a place I would stay if I was working over the winter. Because then, outside of work, other people would definitely not see me.

I asked around to some of my friends, and finding out what people were most looking forward to was a lot of fun. Some really wanted a good cup of coffee. No shame to the stewies, but from what I hear, the same galley coffee day in and day out gets tiring. Even if it's just a Starbucks something, that change will be welcome. Some really wanted to pet an animal. We already talked how we aren't allowed to bother the penguins and seals, so for animal lovers, they've been a bit touch starved. I wish the best of luck to any family pets when they get home. Of course, food was a common answer. There are restaurants in Christchurch that people were making plans to go to, but also some were excited to get back, get their own ingredients, and make something that they love and couldn't get down here. Hand-rolled sushi was a common answer. For me, I'm most looking forward to real ice cream. The soft serve from Frosty Boy is fine—when the machine works that is—but some good chocolate nonsense will hit the spot.

My parents can attest that when things were coming to an end, I was feeling it. I compare it to being a college senior—that senioritis we've all felt. I've enjoyed my time on the Ice, but when you know an end is near, then you can't help but look forward to the change. It's an effort to not let it affect my work, but I also don't want to leave a bad impression if I ever want to come back. Thankfully, my sous chefs are pretty understanding of it, and things were pretty relaxed. No one had to clean the ceilings or behind the shelves in an effort to look busy. We would get most of our cooking prep done with plenty of time to spare, so if we had time, it was fine for us to mostly hang around and socialize. I think I talked more with my coworkers this last week than I had in the past few months working at Willy Field.

Endings are more like new beginnings, and for those staying and those leaving, McMurdo was going to be a different place in a few weeks. So while the air is filled with excitement, there's also a lot of reflection, remembering what the season was like, and seeing how we've all grown through it. While I'm looking forward to everything I'm going to do back home, looking back still has a bittersweet taste to it.

But I still want my ice cream.

Wednesday, February 14, 2024

Cage the Wild Animals

When I was in college, I spent all four years in the dorm. I figured I had all the rest of my life to live in apartments and that it would continue to be a unique experience for me. Well now I wish I could go back and tell 2014 Todd that it's not as unique as he might have thought. I've compared McMurdo to college life before, but when it comes to community living, that's where it really feels like dorm life all over again.

Since coming down here in August, I've been living in Building 155—Big Blue—in one of the dorm rooms. There are a number of dorm buildings on base, probably more than I know about considering I just learned about another one the other day. The dorms of 155 are set up to accommodate 4–5 people, while the others are for 2–3. My dorm has three single beds and a bunk bed, spread out in the four corners, each with their own standalone closet, with a fifth closet in the center of the room for the unlucky last man. Housing tries not to fill rooms with five, at least this year, and the only times they typically do is when someone will be here temporarily. This is usually people stopping over before heading to the South Pole, one of the research stations, or a visitor of one form or another.

Roommates really are the make or break when it comes to living in confined spaces. When I first arrived, I was the third man, and really didn't end up talking with my roommates too much. But I will always appreciate that one of them let me use his phone to text my mother that I'd arrived safely. That roommate situation lasted only a week or two as those of us who came in on the Winter Fly In had the option to move to one of the 2–3 person dorms. My two roommates did, but I decided to stay in 155 since that's also where the galley is, and I didn't feel like walking outside to work every day. So for over a month I actually had my room all to myself. It was a better time.

The downside to roommates is if there is a lack of respect for each other. When the summer season began, my room filled up with four of us total. One of my roommates worked in the galley with me and we actually got along quite well. The other was pretty quiet and we didn't talk much. But the third was where I started to feel the strain of community living. By this time I was on the midrats schedule, so I slept from 2 p.m. until 9:30 p.m. and then had my shift starting at 10:30 p.m. This roommate, however, liked to come back to the room from his shift with his girlfriend and sometimes another person and flip the lights and carry on like they were the only ones in the room. Every day for almost two weeks I was woken up like this. Thankfully, there are workarounds for these situations. Housing can be pretty accommodating if there are "personality difficulties" in a living situation. Luckily it didn't need to escalate as he and his girlfriend apparently were approved to move in the couple's dormitory. The guy we had move in later was similarly quiet as the rest of us, and the season went by with little issue there. In fact, I've said that all four of us could be in the room at once, behind our various privacy curtains, and none of us would know he wasn't the only one there.

While rooms might be where the tensions arise, other areas in the dorm are where competition begins. I could probably make a tier list of the best showers in the men's rooms, since I've had to use all of them at least once. Showers are one of those prime territories where their availability isn't always ideal to your schedule. The showers in the bathroom near my room are always the ones I go for: they're the tallest, have good water pressure, and don't change their heat based on other people's water usage. But that also makes them the most popular, and if you're not on a schedule that lets you take advantage of weird times, getting the good shower might be a rarity. Surprisingly, toilets aren't usually an issue. I've never been in dire need and not been able to easily access one.

Laundry, however, is another one where time needs to be on your side. If you're on Town Hours and your day off is on Sunday, the competition for a machine is fierce. And if you're not on top of your times, don't be surprised if you see someone's piled your clothes on the dryer and put their own in. Of course, there's not anything truly malicious. I haven't seen a frozen pair of pants outside from someone who didn't empty the washer or anything of the kind. But we're all working a lot, and having to carve out time for these means you have to keep a tight schedule. Just don't use too much of the detergent concentrate; management hate that.

As you can imagine, a bunch of people living together in close proximity tends to be a bit messy. Thankfully, we have an excellent janitorial team that handles most of the public spaces. But to keep from working the "Janos" to death, each of us will get assigned some chores from time to time. Known as House Mouse, for reasons I'm sure are very clever but have not been explained to me, this is a bi-weekly schedule that gets sent out letting us know who is cleaning what. It's on a rotating schedule, so everyone will likely have a few turns doing something over the season. Since I arrived, I've had three House Mouse tasks to attend to. These chores are typically something fairly easy, like cleaning the laundry room, shoveling and sweeping one of the entrances, or vacuuming a hallway. Ostensibly, this is to encourage us to have "ownership" of where we live, but I think it's mostly so the Janos don't feel like everyone's maid. Luckily, the House Mouse work is considered part of our contracted position, so typically you get an hour or two off of normal work on your House Mouse day to attend your chore. So if you get out of work early and finish your cleaning quickly, that's a little extra free time.

The mechanics of living together are always pretty straight forward. Respect is what carries you through the time, and if you're not giving it, you can't be surprised if you're not getting it from your roommates. But it all seems to work pretty well. I've written a few articles about all the parties, events, and gatherings that happen down here, and those wouldn't be possible if we were all at each other's throats. So while living tightly packed like this has its ups and downs, it keeps you from feeling totally cut off from the world at large and is part of what makes life at McMurdo unique.

But seriously, respect the Day Sleeper signs.


Sunday, February 4, 2024

Invaders from the Sea

There are some things you might be surprised to see down here. While things like vans, trucks, and small moving equipment could probably have been transported on a cargo plane, how the heck did they get a bus, an oversized forklift, and a full on crane to Antarctica? The answer is The Vessel. McMurdo is located on a convenient natural port that's been used since the early days of exploration. So if we need something big, better be willing to wait that eighteen months before it can get down here on a cargo vessel.

While cargo planes can get us a good deal of our supply, there's only so much that they can bring at once. And as the fourteen-day delay to get me down here showed me, getting flights in is often an act of God. (For reference, at the time of writing, we've had maybe thirty flights come through this year; previous years at this time they've had over eighty.) So if we need reliable delivery, it goes on the vessel.

One of the reasons I know I could never run the food service department here (as if that was somehow an option) is that they have to plan and order eighteen months in advance. Many of the dry and shelf stable items are transported down on the cargo ship. You have to have a full picture of what you want meal service to look like for over a million meals and make preparations accordingly. I don't think I've got that kind of foresight.

(The icebreaker fittingly arrived during a storm)

The first sign of vessel season beginning is the arrival of the Icebreaker. The USCGC Polar Star is a heavy icebreaker that's been clearing the way for seafarers since 1973. Capable of breaking through ice up to 21 feet thick, the Polar Star is seemingly a pretty unique member of the US fleet. The only reason I know that is because there were rumors going around that we might not have vessel season at all. Apparently Polar Star's drive shaft broke on the way down and the only other icebreaker that could match its capabilities was in the north, months away. Somehow they managed to machine the replacement parts at McMurdo and get the Polar Star up and running again.

When the Polar Star finishes clearing the way, that opens up a channel for the cargo ship to come in, in this case, the Ocean Gladiator. When the vessel shows up, life at McMurdo takes a bit of a turn. For one, the population increases. With the coast guard and other sailors, we get around 150 to 200 additional people. While most seasons that's a respectable increase, this year that's actually a pretty big jump, since we've been a smaller crew. Mostly we feel that in the kitchen as more pounds of food being prepared. The state of the town changes as well. The vessel arrives during 24-hours of sunlight, and they make use of it. Unloading the cargo is a 24-hour cycle, with vehicles of all kinds going to and from the harbor. We have what could actually be called traffic in town for the first time.

(Over a year of supplies onboard. Icebreaker in the background)

There's also the social elements that change. For one, the store stops selling alcohol. Apparently the sailors aren't allowed to have it, and during years past, they'd buy up a bunch at station and things would get interesting at all hours. So to curb that, alcohol sales are totally stopped. But you can bet that there were people on station that were stocking up and "borrowing" other people's rations to keep them supplied during the dry spell. We were actually warned during an official meeting that the sailors would be willing to buy alcohol from us at a 300% markup, but that we'd be fired if we were caught. Not sure why they wanted to tell us how to set up a black market. We're also encouraged to keep our dorm doors locked, as things have "walked away" over the years and it's better to be safe.

This is not to throw shade at the sailors who arrived this year. From what I could see, they brought plenty of liveliness to the station and it seems like everyone had a good time for the week and a half that the vessel was here. After the cargo ship departed, we had one additional vessel arrive, the fuels vessel. Like everything, gas, diesel, and the works needs to be transported down here. I don't know the logistics, but something tells me putting a bunch of fifty-gallon drums on a cargo plane isn't a wise idea, so fuel gets its own special ship to take it in. The Acadia Trader was here for another four or five days, though the town was much less busy than the cargo delivery. I will say, I love that the Trader had "No Smoking" emblazoned in big red letters on the bridge. Probably a wise policy when you're sailing on a giant floating gas can.

(I bet the story behind that warning would make Michael Bay blush.)

Logistics makes the world go round, and it's the only thing that keeps Antarctica running. The need to keep it going is what sparks innovation. Our machine shop didn't come equipped to make a new drive shaft for the icebreaker, but they made it work. The human effort to keep everything running is amazing to see.

Now if they could just get more coffee mugs delivered for the store.

Tuesday, January 23, 2024

The Longest 26.2 Miles on the Continent

The Marathon is almost as much of a holiday as Christmas or Thanksgiving. People have been training for it since they arrived on the Ice. Your intrepid author did not, in fact, participate in the Marathon (wouldn't you know it, I left my running shoes back in 2011) but I've spent a good while watching the dedication of those training to be a part of it, and I am truly impressed.

(Crossing the finish line)

For some, the Marathon is their big moment and they've been training for it both on and off the Ice. Others learned about it after coming down and began their training at the beginning of the season. And I know at least one of my buddies decided to do it a month before and crammed all his training into the final few weeks. On the day of, somewhere around 70 people participated in the run. Out of those, eight of my fellow galley people ran, so there were plenty to cheer for.

Despite all the space we have access to, the actual running trail was limited. Instead of beginning at the chapel and following a course in the surrounding area, as had been done for the Turkey Trot and 10k, the Marathon is set up so that two trips, there and back, from the Ice Road Intersection to Phoenix Airfield would constitute the distance. Like everything, there was a fair party atmosphere at the trek. While there might have been 70 people running, there were still plenty there to support the event as volunteers and more to just cheer on everyone participating.

The support came in a variety of ways. Racers were shuttled out and back in the vans, which I'm sure saved many a runner's legs. At mile three, there was a set-up for hotdogs and burgers to refuel with. Similar to at IceStock, a small grill was manned to provide nourishment to the runners. How much someone wants an all-beef hotdog while running a marathon is another matter that I'm not able to weigh in on. Of course, medical and support staff were there to watch out for everyone, and there was always a lookout along the track in case something happened beyond the turn around points. And also one Kiwi who hung around to "chase" some of the marathoners with his chainsaw. Probably best we don't think too hard about that one.

The whole day felt like a community event.  Plenty of friendly competition, sure, but also just everyone supporting each other as they went along. Many people were in costumes over their running gear. This year continues to be the Year of the Onesie, as they were the common tracksuit. One buddy of mine said that the guys he ran with kept gummy worms in their pockets—both as a boost of sugar when needed, and to pass out to people that they encountered along the run. He also said that he had to stop giving high-fives toward the end because of how tired he was and how it threw off his running groove. That interpersonal factor was super important to a lot of runners. I heard more than a few talk about how they were able to keep going because of the friends they were running with. It's a lot easier to give up when you're on your own.

(Even if you didn't have someone specifically for you)

There's apparently some very surreal experiences when it comes to a marathon in Antarctica. Running on ice was a new experience for many. While it wasn't slick like a skating rink, many noticed how different it was. Some parts were well-packed and easy to run on, while other stretches had divots and snowdrifts that you'd want to avoid. While a city marathon might feel similar, one runner noted how the sea ice looks the same all the way across, so sometimes it felt like running in place with how little the scenery changes. The fact that it was overcast didn't help, and while the wind wasn't terrible, I'm sure any runner you know can tell you how much fun running into the wind is. But considering it was at their backs the other way, I guess you can call it a wash.

Everyone, it seems, had their own goals for running the marathon. One ambitious man wanted to break the continental record. He came in at a time of 3 hours and 05 minutes. Certainly a solid finish for the first place runner, but the record is 2 hours and 47 minutes, so not this year. As for other runners, I'm very proud of my galley people. Of the 8 that ran, 4 ended up in the top 10. My eyes on the ground ended with a time of 3 hours and 58 minutes. I don't know much about marathons, so I'll just assume a sub 4 hour time is good.

The general sentiment seems to be that everyone who went to the Marathon got what they wanted out of it, at least in some way. For some, it's definitely the bragging rights. To go home and tell your friends, "Yeah, I ran a marathon in Antarctica," is certainly a sweet prospect. For others, it's just a case of proving it to yourself. The idea that "I did this" and the hard work paid off. It's something that'll be with you for the rest of your life. And while it feels like I'm hammering this point, the personal connections forged through it are amazing.

The story that sticks with me is from my kitchen buddy. He's never run a marathon before, but his mother is a fiend for them and has been running them most of her life. Well, he ran the Marathon and called his mom afterwards to tell her about it. Apparently she broke down in happy tears because now someone else in the family "gets it." It inspired a family connection that I don't think either knew would be so powerful.

Antarctica is the embodiment of overcoming obstacles. From the first explorers even getting here to living daily life down here, there are challenges and unexpected setbacks all the way. So for people to choose to take on even more and put themselves through this, they've earned my respect.

Still not doing it if I come down here again though.

(Photos are from McMurdo public file sharing site and are from the 2023 marathon. 2024 won't be uploaded for a while it seems.)

Sunday, January 14, 2024

By International Law, You Can't Touch the Penguins

Despite being separate from basically every form of civilization, Antarctica isn't totally a lawless wasteland where only the strong survive. At least not for the human population, at any rate. Most activity down here is governed by the laws of whatever country the base belongs to, but even more so under what is known as the Antarctic Treaty. I think I've joked about it in past articles, but there are actions and behaviors that could violate that treaty. I probably should have talked about what this treaty is earlier, but here we are.

(I wish to pet the bird)

First some history. The Antarctic Treaty was signed originally in 1959 by the twelve countries that had active scientific research on the Ice. It went into effect properly in 1961, and is still active today. Right now, some 56 nations have signed the treaty.

There's a lot to it, as one would expect with a government document, but the three main tenets of it are that Antarctica will remain a peaceful continent, scientific investigation will be done freely and shared willingly, utmost care for the environment will be maintained, and additional bits and bobs as the need arises--like for commercial tourism and other non-government agendas.

I think it's fair to call the Treaty something more like guidelines than hard and fast laws. For one, how much you can actually enforce "international law" is not something I'm willing to debate in these paragraphs; and two, at the lower levels, there's not much we can do one way or the other. We follow company policy, and company policy is dictated by the Treaty. So if we want to keep our job, I suppose we're technically aligned with the Treaty.

So messing with the animals is a no-go. And considering "messing with" isn't exactly a legal term, that generally means don't disrupt them in any way they wouldn't normally experience. We've been told that if an animal reacts to your presence, you're too close. Of course, that's unavoidable sometimes. If a skua flies down and starts pecking around your feet while you're taking the garbage out, there's not much you can really do. In fact, I think you'd be in violation if you tried to shoo it away.

Even the opportunity to bother the animals has to be thought about carefully. On one of the drives out to Willy Field, a seal pup was making its way across the ice. It was still a good fifty feet from our shuttle, but the driver had to stop and let it makes its full journey across the road and further to the other side before we could continue on. If we had kept driving and maybe spooked it by being too close, that would have been negligence of the Treaty on our driver's side. While I doubt that would have incurred any real fine or punishment, it's still something that we have to think about in our daily activities.

Of course, there are some times when you can't help it. Penguins are notoriously curious, and apparently at least once a year, some bird gets it in its head to investigate the strange tall beings wandering around and will waddle into McMurdo proper. So someone ends up accidentally close to the penguin, and of course you're going to take a picture. And when that picture ends up on social media, it becomes a headache that the National Science Foundation has to investigate and confirm that the bird was at fault, not the person. And I doubt they can get the penguin to pay a fine. (And in case you're wondering, wildlife infractions can end up with a fine somewhere around $30,000.)

But while the penguins and the seals are the starlets of Antarctica, they are far and away outnumbered by the micro life that lives here. Places like Dry Valley have their own unique and intricate microscopic web of life, and much of it has been uninterrupted by human activity for decades. So when excursions are offered to these remote locations, you have to go through a separate training to know how to interact with these precariously balanced locales. Even something as simple as leaving a footprint in the loose rock could have lasting consequences at the microscale. But again, while tripping and leaving a gravel angel might be frowned upon, it likely won't get you fined. Just remember to be aware of all your various liquids, lest you contaminate the environment in unseen ways.

(Everything is a sticker down here)

And then of course there's the souvenirs, or lack there of. You can't take things from Antarctica. If you came across a penguin skull out on a hike, it needs to stay right there. Find a cool object that could be historical? Got to call that in for official pickup and review. You can't even take a rock home, so clean your boots off before getting on your flight back home. For those of you who know about hiking and camping, Take Nothing, Leave Nothing is in effect down here as well. (Although that hasn't stopped people from stealing things from the Discovery Hut or other areas before; someone always has to ruin it for the rest of us.)

For most of us, the Treaty is more like a vague notion rather than an omnipresent overseer. We've got rules to follow and the sword of Damocles that our employment could be affected if we are unwise, but that's pretty standard stuff. I think the most interesting part of the Treaty as a regular Joe is that I am a representative of my country with it. I don't think I could do anything to truly damage the reputation of America in Antarctica, but in some small way, I'm part of the larger picture of the spirit of scientific inquiry that permeates this continent.

But the temptation to pet the penguins is still real.