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.
No comments:
Post a Comment