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.

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.)

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.

Last Party at the Edge of the World

Happy New Year from Antarctica! Getting to be one of the first people to experience 2024 is a surreal experience, even if it's really no different to any other midnight. Still, the knowledge makes it an oddity. But it's an oddity that I wasn't allowed to dwell on too deeply, at least at the time. New Year's Eve is always a party, no matter where you are in the world. And for a place that will take any reason to party, it's fair to say that New Year's Eve is probably the biggest party of McMurdo's year.

It's not just a regular old party down at Gallagher's. For New Years, all the stops come out and McMurdo base is home to Ice Stock. Ice Stock is the biggest concert on the continent. (The fact that it's the only concert on the continent has no bearing on that statement.) The space between Building 155 and the Gerbil Gym is set up as a mini festival lot and the Ice Stock stage is built and wired. Along with the stage are two "concessions stands" where hot chocolate, coffee, and some simple grill food is served.

(Can't even tell this isn't in Jersey.)

The music is all volunteer based. We're not so lucky to get Allan Jackson to come down for a set, but we do have the musical stylings of The Steely Dan Experience or Dish Pit. For many who have come down before, Ice Stock is something they've been working toward all year. We've got people who come down, reconnect with buddies and are already practicing together by the first week. Others just want to get in on the action and throw together an ensemble of anyone who might have had piano lessons as a kid. The quality of performance is certainly a spectrum, but everyone is evenly matched on enthusiasm. Because it's not a contest; the fact that our fellow Ice dwellers are willing to get together and cast aside stage fright to perform their hearts out for us is worthy of respect. We're all there to have fun and we couldn't have Ice Stock without them.

(I'd buy any one of their t-shirts.)

The music was almost all covers—all the popular hits that get people pumped up and looking to party. So that means plenty of Taylor Swift, classic rock, club tracks, and the occasional off-kilter addition like Rage Against the Machine. I would say most of the songs were really singalongs, the popular ones that everyone in the mosh pit could scream along to. How much work the actual singers had to do over the crowd is up for debate.

While the star of the show was the music, everyone had plenty of other ways to have fun. Costumes were everywhere, maybe more so than Halloween. It seemed the outfit du jour for New Years was animal pajama onesies. (And wouldn't you know I left mine in my other closet.) We had a fair few penguins, Pokémon, wood land critters, and the significantly lost polar bears in the crowd. Face painting and glitter was also a common sight, as well as some apparently newly established cult that involved sticking a large googly eye to your forehead.

And of course, alcohol was aplenty. While bar service has stopped in most official capacities, as mentioned in a previous article, there was the option to add some Baileys to your coffee or hot chocolate. But the real libations were from those who had stocked up beforehand. Or that day—alcohol rations reset on Sunday, and wouldn't you just know what day New Year's Eve was. The party certainly had its flair for drink. Drinking games were set up, the ring toss and giant Jenga like you might find at any bar, but there were those who didn't need to be told how to have fun. I spent a good ten minutes watching people trying to pour shots from the second-story window into their friends' mouths below. I haven't heard any stories of serious injury, praise the Lord, so hopefully everyone was adult enough to take care of themselves. The only incident I did see was catching a buddy of mine in the hallway, desperately searching for the men's room—the door to which he was standing right next to at the time. It was certainly a jolly time.

The number of people outside swelled after 11 p.m. as we all waited for the clock to strike midnight. Some enterprising soul had taken a clock off of one of the walls and was periodically thrusting it into the air in the middle of the mosh pit (it didn't really help us keep track, but I admire the spirit). As the DJ spun more tracks, the energy of the crowd reach a fever pitch as we waited the last five minutes. One of the organizers was on stage, shouting out each minute closer. Then we counted down the last ten seconds together and rung in the new year in Antarctica. Lots of shouting and cheering, couples marking the occasion, and some who seemingly kept their rations solely to pop the Champaign and spray it over everyone.

So thus began 2024 in Antarctica. No ball to watch and no Frank Sinatra to sing along with, but we met the change in our own way. For those of us not wintering over, New Years marks the last big event and all that's left to look forward to now is our departure dates. Still, to experience the new year at the edge of the world and to band together for a night like that, it's something I'll remember for years to come.

Happy New Year to you all.

A Very McMurdo Christmas

 Y'all, I love Christmas. It's my favorite time of the year, I'm enthusiastic about all of it—the lights, the cookies, the gifts, the music, and of course, the Reason for the Season, the birth of Jesus. But all that to say that I'm always excited to celebrate Christmas, and while I always like to spend the holiday with my family, I can make the best of a real McMurdo Christmas.

While we're not as bad as supermarkets putting out Christmas decorations before Halloween, the Christmas spirit had taken hold immediately after Thanksgiving. Dorm doors were getting decorated, Christmas movies were on the station TV channels, and Christmas music was playing over the various kitchen speakers. I myself was definitely annoying some coworkers with my eclectic Christmas playlist. (I'm kind enough to wait until the day after Thanksgiving, but then they can't stop me.)

For a place that will take any opportunity to party, you know that holiday festivities were abounding. Every shift had some kind of movie night. So even for us midrats, the option to watch The Polar Express and Elf double feature in the coffee house was there. There were Christmas dance parties in the gym, Christmas themed workouts and yoga—because the holiday can't stop the gains—and one of my buddies made his own eggnog and mulled wine for a small get-together, in a process that it's probably best I not ask too many questions about.

The real active day for the station was actually Christmas Eve. This was when all the scheduled events were taking place. For me, Christmas Eve started at midnight, considering my weird sleep schedule, but I did have the 24th and 25th off, so that was nice. The first Christmas-y thing I did was attend the Christmas Eve service in the chapel. In keeping with the tradition of what my family calls "Chr-Easters," the chapel was more full than most Sundays. We sang a few Christmas carols, read the Christmas story from Luke, received a sermon about Simeon in the temple who gave a blessing for the newly born Jesus, and finally shared in Communion—using the Erebus Chalice no less!

(Holidays are when we bring out the good China.)

The real star of a McMurdo Christmas Eve, however, is the banquet. There's contention from those who've been here for a few seasons about which is better, the Thanksgiving meal or Christmas. But whatever side you might fall on, the food we got was phenomenal. Everyone in the main kitchen was putting in extra effort to get it all just right. Even the simple dishes like lemon risotto and herb green beans were very well done. The big draw were the entrees, of course. While the beef tenderloin was excellent, the most fun and unique addition were the crab legs and lobster tails. Now, I'm not typically a fan of lobster—it's more like a convenient way to eat more butter—but even I enjoyed the seafood. A bit of Surf and Turf is a great way to make a meal memorable.

(The lobster is sadly not freshly caught down here.)

But the real attraction of the banquet was the desserts. I've been singing the praises of our bakery in a number of articles now, but they really outdid themselves this time around. Any of you local might know about the Naevestad Christmas Open House and the sheer amount of cookies we've baked for it over the years. So when I say they made a lot of cookies, just know that I mean it. For a few days before the meal, there were volunteers in the bakery helping cook and decorate sugar and ginger bread cookies, truffles, cakes and pies, and more. And all that effort came through on the final product. Plates were loaded with confections of all kinds, and back at the table, I think all of us had at least one bowl loaded up with as much sugar as we thought we could manage. Every dessert was excellent, and all the remainders have been used in the cookie box so that the base can continue to enjoy the treats, even after the holiday.

(What my dentist doesn't know won't hurt me.)

Just like at Thanksgiving, the Galley team had a special meal time at noon so that those working didn't have to try and schedule breaks around the various dining times, and more importantly, so that we could all eat together as a department. Again like Thanksgiving, we quickly ruined the good work setting up the dining hall by dragging the tables all together to form one long family table that we all ate at. It was a glorious festival of laughter, jokes, shouting, toasts, and overindulgence that we all needed. Holidays away from home can be rough, but getting to share in it together was a great time.

(Fire codes are a suggestion.)

And to cap it all off, we even had a White Christmas. While most everything is covered in ice and snow, fluffy snow falling from the sky is a rarity. But the Good Lord saw fit to send us a gentle snowfall all the way into Christmas Day proper.

From all of us at McMurdo and the rest of the Antarctic stations, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

The Undying Spirit of Adventure and the Weirdos That Follow It

Coming to Antarctica is a pretty big commitment. It's at least six months of your life, often in some of the busiest months of the year. You're away from home and family, modern conveniences are absent, and any sense of normalcy is supplanted with work and ice. So what draws people to come down here and willingly put themselves through this?

Any look into the history of Antarctica will tell you the same thing: the spirit of adventure is a siren call for many. Antarctica is the wild unknown, and there's something in us humans that sees that as both terrifying and enchanting. To go somewhere that so few have been to and see it for yourself? The excitement is too much to resist.

That spirit of adventure is why so many of the recreation opportunities are outdoor. The hikes and ski trails let you see even more of the great unknown. Guided events (known as Boondoggles) take those whose job wouldn't let them out into the field and let them explore different parts of this unique continent. The desire to see as much of Antarctica as we can is a driving force. So many that I talked to say they're down here solely for the story: to brag to friends, to have another chapter in their travel log, to fulfill a lifelong dream. Adventure is still in all of us.

Some of us, though, have purely mercenary reasons for being here. While the pay isn't amazing, there're a few things that suddenly make it more tantalizing. There's no cost to travel down here. There's no food or housing cost. No utility bills or home repairs. A lot of what we have to worry about back home in our apartment or house isn't a concern here. With so little overhead, it's mostly profit from whatever you get paid. I've been making extra payments on my student loans, as well as donations to charity events that my friends have been running. Others I know are using the funds to further the things that bring them joy. One of my friends is an intense hiker. He's already hiked from Mexico to Canada, across the entire United States. He's saving to make a hike from the top of New Zealand to the bottom. And after that, maybe a kayak trip up the west coast of the US to Alaska. If you have a dream, this could be a good stepping stone toward it.

Others have their personal reasons to be here. One of my favorite stories is from a buddy I work with. For years now, his parents have told him that he could inherit their restaurant once they retire. And he's been waiting. But every time it's, "Maybe next year." Well, waiting was only going to go so far. So he made the move for independence and came down here. He's not going to put his life on hold for promises that are more like maybes. I've talked to more with similar stories: the need to wipe the slate clean, reset, and eventually return to life and try something new.

For another, it's almost a family tradition. Her son came down in 2009 and told her and her husband that they both would enjoy being down here. So she sent her husband down on a scouting mission in 2014, and the two of them have been coming down together since 2016. She's been a wealth of knowledge about how McMurdo and the program has changed and grown over the years. Many people are like her; they knew someone who came down and shared their experience, and that made them want to come down as well.

The one unifying theme I hear from those who keep coming back is that they return for the people. I've spent most of this article listing out the various kinds of weirdos that come down, and the fact is that most of us weirdos connect with other weirdos and want to stay in community. Many I've met talk about the friends they've made down here and the group texts, Facebook groups, and annual meetups that they continue to share. Whatever you feel about the work, it's the people that really make a job feel like an experience.

And then there's that one coworker I have who just really liked The Thing.

And to the Ends of the Earth - Acts 1:8

I brought my Bible with me to Antarctica. It was given to me by a mentor and is one of my favorite translations. I expected any time spent focused on my faith would be by myself. So imagine my surprise when I learned about The Chapel of the Snows, the southernmost dedicated religious building in the world. With regular Sunday services and Bible studies, I was impressed to see that the Gospel was at work even at the edge of the world.

(Future tattoo idea?)

The chapel is probably my favorite place on base, if only for the aesthetics. Whoever designed the layout knew exactly where to put the chapel so that it was at the heart of everything, and at the most picturesque location. On clear and sunny days you can see most of the mountain range across the horizon. The building itself looks like any country church, but against the backdrop of utilitarian science buildings and winter desert, it's a touch of life that I can't help but admire.

(When we still had sunsets)

We only have official leadership during the summer season. I came down on the Winter Fly-In, and Sunday service was more akin to a small group meeting, where one community member led and had a short devotional—either what they felt led to teach, or one from a book. Now that we're in the proper season, we have chaplains that come down on six week rotations. From what I gather, chaplains come from the Air Guard or the Naval Reserves. There used to be a partnership with the diocese of Christchurch for Catholic priests, but that has apparently been on hiatus. Our first official chaplain was Chaplain Ben, a Lutheran pastor back home, and the second one down is Chaplain Clark, a Southern Baptist.

With the lack of a proper priest, Sunday services have been noted as "inter-faith" services. I won't even try to comment on certain denominational differences, but down here the most important thing is that we're all believers in Jesus. The chapel is set up to accommodate different expressions of faith, including the Stations of the Cross and a prie-dieu prayer desk. We regularly use the naval hymnal, and on the US Navy's birthday, we sang the naval hymn, including a verse directly referencing those who serve in Antarctica. We also make use of the Worship Book, from A Christian Ministry in the National Parks (ACMNP), which is apparently a thing. I never knew.

While music is a big part of most services back home, here it's a crapshoot based on who happens to be on the Ice at any given time if we'll have music. Surprisingly, Steward, one of the guys I work with, has some background in organ music and can play the weird electric organ in the chapel, so he's been providing the music of late. But before him, it was mostly the awkward acapella that comes with no one knowing how to start a song and have people join in. I believe, in the biz, we call that "making a joyful noise." While there are other instruments available, including an electric keyboard, guitars, and tambourine, we usually default to YouTube worship music videos if the need arises.

The chapel is also a bit of a hub for local activities. While it is a Christian church, it also serves as home to other religious services, including the Jewish Shabbat and various meditation practices. There is an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting there every week, as well as the aforementioned Bible study. It served as the registration booth and finish line for the Antarctic Turkey Trot, and will likely serve again for the Antarctic Marathon. And if you just want to jam out on some of the instruments, I suppose that's allowed as well.

Finally, just a few fun facts for you about the Chapel and service down here:

• The original chapel was built in 1956 by the Seabees and was constructed mostly from scrap.
• It houses the Erebus Chalice, a gift to the National Science Foundation that was thought be aboard the HMS Erebus during the Ross Expedition in 1839, but was later discovered to have been made in 1910.
• Depending on the chaplain, we have plenty of items to go along with the church calendar. For All Saints' Day this year, I "lit" a candle down here for Howard, whom many of you might know from Saint Paul. While he had passed a few years ago now, I thought he would get a hardy chuckle knowing he was honored in Antarctica.
• And when  I say "lit" a candle, I mean turned on a battery operated one, because fire is banned in the chapel. The building has burned down twice since its inception, a feeling I'm sure many in the Epleyanna area might be familiar with.

There's a lot down here that makes you feel comfortable away from home: food, holidays, special events, etc. But for me, something that most keeps me going and like I'm not shut out from the world is connecting with those who share my faith and being a part of the community of believers, even at the ends of the earth.

I'm also really excited for what the Christmas service is going to be like.