Our field camp at the “foot” of Mt. Erebus. You can see that I am hard at work supervising the final stages of camp erection! Vinciane for scale.
Greetings from south of you! I can say with almost absolute certainty that this statement is true for approximately 0.000014286% of the people on Earth…and most of those folks don’t have internet, and therefore don’t really exist in this day and age. For those of you wondering, yes, I did do the math on that (and no, I didn’t NEED excel to do it, though it certainly helped after I had been stuck for ½ an hour). And yes all of those significant figures are necessary.
Much of what I am going to talk about has already been covered to one extent or another in this blog, but I thought I would add my 2-bits worth (my thoughts are worth way more than 2-cents) since as a returning masochist (er…sorry…I misspelled field part member), I have a slightly different view of the world down here than most of the other blogs you have been seeing (and our flight out to the field just got delayed, so I have a little time on my hands). Also, I’m a just little bit arrogant, so I figure my thousands of adoring fans out there are yearning to hear from me (trust me, you’re a fan already and you just don’t know it yet).
First off, if our blog posts seem slightly disjointed here at the beginning of the season, this is definitely not because we are technologically incapable (I mean, I am, but everyone else has this stuff almost down), but rather because we are still “fine-tuning” the system of sending blog posts from satellite phones on multiple platforms. So bear with us a bit and we’ll get the system running like a well oiled machine no later than mid-February. (Hold on…getting a note from my editor…it seems we’re leaving the field in late January…oh well…I stand by my original statement).
Incidentally, if my blog turns out better than everyone else’s, it definitely isn’t because I am more capable than them, I’m just cheating and using the internet system here in McMurdo (and if it turns out worse I’ll find the appropriate person to blame and get back to you in a later blog post). I figure I’ll let all of the techno-savvy folks work all the kinks out of the system and then swoop in at the end and help with the last little bit and take an equal share of the credit. I also have this technique perfected for when there’s lots of things to carry…show up late and leave early!
Okay, I’m like 401 words into this (again, yes I counted…duh…scientist) and I can’t remember why I was blogging (again…scientist). Oh yeah, our experiences getting to and living in Antarctica.
So the trip to Antarctica is something of a mind-numbingly busy experience…whirlwind like even. To start with, you’ve just spend the past weeks and months arranging your life so that you can (almost literally) disappear off the face of the Earth for 2 months. The list of things that need to be done before you leave is exceptionally long for your home life, your professional life, and your social life. As the departure date gets closer, you’re trying to preemptively get 2 months of work done (and since most scientists are perpetually about 1 month behind, this is more daunting than it sounds). You’re also trying to arrange to take care of as many things at home as you can before you leave. You know, automate bill payments, turn off utilities, chase those pesky neighbor kids off your lawn an extra time…you know…important things like that. (Short aside for future ANSMET field party members. Don’t decide that moving out of your apartment just before you head down to the ice is a good idea. It’s not. Trust me on this. No really.)
And then you have all of these people you want to have lunch, coffee, dinner, brunch, afternoon tea (what, I have British “friends”), and second breakfast with (yes, I have Hobbit friends…very dependable people). You’re also trying to gather all of your gear up that you might possibly need for 60 days away from home, 40+ of those days in one of the most remote and extreme environments on Earth (and no, I don’t mean Hoboken after dark).
In short, it all adds up, and you start the trip somewhat in a daze…and then you sit on the planes for a total of ~30 hours to cross 3 continents and 17 time zones. Then the beatings, briefings, gear issuings, shoppings, and training sessions begin (sorry, I may have misspelled meetings in there, but I’m too lazy to go back and fix it). Over the course of a week you have to receive, familiarize yourself with, and learn how to use/apply all of the gear that’s going to keep you safe, secure, and comfortable for the next 40 days. You need to become a junior mountaineer, junior snowmobile mechanic, junior chef, junior ballet dancer, and expert meteorite hunter all in the course of about 10 days (okay, I made one of those up…you decide). It’s a lot to absorb and a lot to take in, and I’ve done all of this before. I am amazed at the ability of my new team members to absorb it all and keep a happy and positive attitude (I can be a bit grumpy at times). Luckily we have amazing mountaineers (Johnny Schutt and Brian Rougeux) to keep us safe, and two experienced science leaders (Ralph Harvey and Jim Karner) to keep us on task to find the meteorites (and they both do a great job keeping things light, fun, but still focused on the science).
I’ve had several people ask me what McMurdo is like, and since I don’t think this has been covered yet in the blog, I’ll finally contribute something useful to the conversation. Imagine if you took a college and a mining camp and crammed them together in a remote place with 24-hours of sunlight, (mostly) sub-zero temperatures, limited fresh food, and slow internet. Allow me to elaborate. There are ~900 people here in McMurdo, a minimum of ~80% of whom of them are part of the contractor staff who make this place run smoothly, and the rest are a revolving door of scientists coming down here to do research. Neither can exist without the other as the point of this (and most other Antarctic) bases is to do research, but as smart as we scientists (or “beakers” in the local parlance) think we are, most of us can’t keep the power on, the water running, the sewage plant up, feed ourselves, and fly the planes and drive the forklifts, to name just a few of the things the contractors do to enable us to do science. They do all this while juggling the considerable logistical needs of the science teams (not helped by the horrid weather we tend to get down here), and frankly the sizable egos of the science teams, each of whom is convinced that their science is the most important on the whole continent (and of course, they’re all wrong since OBVIOUSLY we should have all priorities).
(Side note: I REALLY think they need to cut me loose and let me show them my “mad skills” with a forklift…and yes, I used that exact term on the request form. I’m still waiting to hear back on that one, but I’m sure there’s just been an administrative glitch and I’ll be granted pull forklift access soon.)
A view of McMurdo Station from the sea ice as we left for our field training. “Golf ball” for scale.
In any case, we live in college-like dorms (2 or 3 to a room) with roommates that most of us have never met before. You might be rooming with a Twin Otter pilot, a snowmobile mechanic, an atmospheric chemist, a penguin biologist, or even an astronaut (granted there aren’t a lot of those down here…or anywhere for that matter). Trading stories with new roommates is one of my favorite things about Antarctica. The town itself has everything that a normal town would have (residences, power plant, water treatment plant), but also buildings that specialize in housing the cold weather gear, the ski-doo repairs, and the chemistry, geology, and biology labs (we make the physicists work outside mostly). It has a “fancy” wine/coffee bar (fancy for Antarctica anyway), but it also has two great “dive” bars with shuffleboard and pool tables. It has a mess hall and a store. It reminds me very much of a small mining town in northern Canada or Alaska, but with a small (but prestigious) university in it. McMurdo is full of character…and definitely full of characters!
Okay, this blog is running a bit long, but I wanted to share a few important lessons we as a team have learned over our first 10 days. I have redacted the names to protect the innocent (and by innocent I mean to protect me from fellow field party members…since I’m not sure I can outsprint all of them). Please keep in mind when reading these stories that we are all highly trained specialists with advanced degrees.
A view of Scott Base (the New Zealand Base near McMurdo Station) from the sea ice on our traverse. Mt Erebus for scale.
Lesson 1: Sunscreen is important! It turns out that in a place underneath an ozone hole that has 24 hours of sunlight that it’s important that we use sunscreen. Who knew?!
Lesson 2: Don’t try to breath and swallow food at the same time! Despite being at >77 degrees south latitude, it is still not possible to swallow noodles and breath at the same time. Attempts to do so will result in snarfing water out of your nose in a room full of people. Lesson learned!
Lesson 3: Don’t shop when you’re hungry! You know how you go the grocery store when you’re hungry, and magically you end up with a box of cookies, a bag of chips, and 3 gallons of ice cream when you get home? Yeah, when shopping for all the food you might possibly need for the next 40 days (with little chance for resupply), that goes double or triple. It tooka supreme act of will t onot get 40 packages of cookies. I mean who hasn’t eaten an entire box of cookies in one day?! Luckily we are just that disciplined.
Lesson 4: Learn the local lingo! Like all places, McMurdo has its own set of shorthand. You quickly learn where places like BFC, SSC, Obs Hill, and MacOps are…or you wander around lost a lot. Just a few minutes ago, someone told me I was “Too much wandering penguin and not enough skua.” I don’t know what that means yet (looking forward to figuring it out), but it seems like a good place to end.
Stay tuned for future adventures. Same Bat Time, Same Bat Channel.
Posted by – Ryan Zeigler, McMurdo Station Antarctica
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