So. How 'bout that weather?

I promise I'm not just making vapid small talk because I think our date is going poorly.

The climate and weather is probably what Antarctica is most known for in the public consciousness. We see videos of penguins huddled together is a snowstorm, no sky to be seen, and can only imagine what they're feeling. Well I have been that penguin, so let me tell you.

Yes, Antarctica is cold. (I've already done the joke ending an article after the obvious answer, so we're moving along.) When I arrived here, that first day was negative fifty degrees. That's basically been the baseline for the first few weeks. And this wasn't even a particularly unique temperature. That level of cold is pretty common for this time of year, and just a fact of life. Even now, where we've entered above zero degrees by a few points, it feels like the temperature could plummet at any moment.

Part of what causes that feeling is the wind. Unsurprisingly, Antarctica is below the southern treeline. No trees grow here, so your most common windbreak is nonexistent. Outside of a few mountains off in the distance and the local buildings, there's nothing to stop the wind from hitting you like a runaway train. Even with the clothes we talked about last week, the wind slices through you and erases even the memory of being warm. While it might be four degrees right now, the wind-chill can make it feel like that first day off the plane.

But cold and wind are the easy ones. What you might not know is just how dry the air is here. This was not something I expected when I came to the Ice. It's actually astonishing. My roommate was telling me when I first arrived that he couldn't sleep because he kept waking up feeling like his lungs were drying out (we found a humidifier, so we're all doing better). I brought some hand cream along on a lark and now I'm really glad I did because of the way my skin is desiccating at work.

But the real thing that drives it home is the static. We've all sparked friends before, but not like this. With my room key in hand I become Thor, son of Odin, master of lightning. The static here is unlike anything I've experienced. This is not the "Tee hee, I shuffled on the carpet in my socks and shocked my mom" kind of static. I can see it arc from my key to the lock half an inch away. If I'm not wearing my rubber work shoes, every time I touch a door handle or metal table, it zaps me.

One last thing I want to touch on is the station Conditions. I only learned about this recently because it's apparently rarer then I would have thought. All inhabited stations are subject to three Conditions that reflect what's going on outside and in turn what can be done at the base. The Condition we are in is effected by things like temperature, wind, precipitation, and visibility. 

As is the governments way, the Conditions defy all logic and count down from three. Condition 3 is "Situation normal." We have decent visibility, wind isn't too strong, and the temperature is above negative 75 (perfectly warm). This is the condition we usually stay in, and it allows for all activity. Those with outdoor jobs are able to make their shifts, the ski and hiking trails are open, and daily life operates as usual.

Now Condition 2 is when things start to get a little hairy. We have visibility under a quarter of a mile, strong winds, or the temperature is lower than negative 75. While travel around the station is still allowed, all the activities outside the base boundaries are closed; no hiking or skiing, and any vehicle's need to be in constant communication with the Central Communications department. Often Condition 2 is a transition to Condition 1, though we have stayed in Condition 2 for a few days before.

Condition 1 is the big one. This is apparently such a rarity that the few Condition 1 events that the winter crew had were mostly in the wee hours of the morning and only lasted for maybe a half hour. So the fact that we've had two since I got here, during normal operating hours, seems to suggest I have some amazing luck (good or bad is yet to be determined). As you might expect, Condition 1 has some major extremes: visibility is less than 100 feet, high winds, and temperatures below negative 100. Not only are all outdoor recreations canceled, but all personnel are confined to the building they are in--no one is allowed outside. So if you were in the aerobics gym when Condition 1 hit, I hope you like sleeping on a treadmill (also the bathroom is out of order, so good luck). This Condition hits hard, because that outdoor ban also means that anyone who works outside just can't. One of my roommates is a plumber and when Condition 1 hit, it was basically a free paid day off for him. Alas, the kitchen isn't so lucky.

Weather is really the name of the game here. Everything that goes on in Antarctica orbits the weather condition, and if things go bad, the whole place shuts down. It's fascinating to watch, and despite being used to Midwest winters, the visibility and the howling wind are such new phenomenon for me, that I understand why H.P. Lovecraft wrote At The Mountains of Madness. It can really feel like everything you know about the world no longer applies.

(Condition 1. There's supposed to be more buildings in this picture.)