View from the top

(Technical note: you should now be able to click on all pictures for an enlarged view.)

Here's a brilliant idea: on the coldest, windiest day yet, I'll climb to the highest point around and attempt to use an ultracompact camera with a metal frame and buttons too small to be manipulated with gloves on. But there aren't many days off (Sundays only) and this one offered a crystal clear view. Though I nearly froze my fingers off, I finally got the shot I've been waiting for.

This is McMurdo station, home to about 1,200. How about a quick tour? First, find the building near the middle with the red roof. That's the hospital--the last place on station you want to go. Right above the hospital is the largest building (roof is white-yellow-white), building 155, which contains--in rough order of importance--my dorm room, the galley, the station store, a sauna, laundry facilities, a hairdresser, and various offices. The other buildings serve a variety of functions: more dorms, 3 gyms of various sorts, 3 equally varied bars, science support centers, a power plant, a desalinization plant, a post office, a chapel, storage up the wazoo, fuel tanks, a heavy machinery shop, a carpentry shop, and a host of other maintenance facilities. Every building has a name, a number, and an acronym or nickname--making things very confusing at times. Would you like to stop by the Aerobics and Exercise Room, building 78, or the Gerbil Gym? Muahaha, they're all the same!

I got a great view of Erebus steaming away too:

Observation hill is also home to a large wooden cross erected in 1913 in memory of Scott and the rest of his party, who froze to death on their journey back from the pole:

And lastly, a sorry attempt at a self-portrait. I would have tried again, but they might have had to pry the camera out of my frozen fingers. Next time, perhaps I'll bring some sort of poking stick to operate the buttons with mittens on. Live and learn.

yours,
pepe

Human Snowshovel

Several have asked, and I'm sure all are wondering: "how cold is it?" It varies. Today, for example, it was a balmy +10F(-12C) with no wind chill. I'm not being sarcastic--if you're in the sun and actively shoveling snow, that's warm enough to take off your huge red parka. Yet cold enough that after a while, your fingers--beginning with the pinkies--begin to ache. (Tip: switch to a new, dry set of gloves at lunchtime.) It also cleared up for the first time today, revealing beautiful mountain ranges out beyond the ice shelf.

Generally, it's been a lot colder. Yesterday bottomed out at -9F/-23C, wind chill -36F/-38C. And I assure you, it's the wind chill number that counts: if you have exposed skin or a draft in your ECW (extreme cold weather gear), you'll know instantly.

Pepe saying "Hi friends! Every time you check my blog, I get a little bit warmer!":

Our current shoveling site is near the helo pad, so we get to witness many takeoffs and landings throughout the day. This one is silhouetted against Observation Hill:
Mountain ranges plus sea ice / sea ice runway:
Mount Erebus, the local volcano (with a wisp of smoke coming out the top), and fuel storage in the foreground (how's that for juxtaposition?):

ciao, pepe

The eagle has landed

Yesterday, on Tuesday October 23, 2007, I completed a life dream: to set foot on every continent. The hours since have been exciting and overwhelming, but here's a tidbit.

To make the hop from New Zealand to Antarctica, we board an Air Force C-17 Globemaster. Huge pallets of cargo take up the middle of the cargo bay, with passengers lining the walls. The flight is loud and drafty, and there are windows only on the exit doors: so it's a bit unnerving to feel the pilot maneuvering without any idea what's going on. But 5 hours after what feels like takeoff, there's a big bump that feels like landing on 7 feet of sea ice. And then, after months of waiting and hoping and paperwork and training, there we are, standing on the ice. Incredible.

Stay tuned for more--for now, I've got to fill up on breakfast, take a walking tour of "town" (ie McMurdo station), and report to work.

Boarding the Globemaster:

Business class redefined: The crew invited us up to see the cockpit:
The viewDisembarking:
Warmly yours,
pepe

Final hours of springtime

Spent the last day in Christchurch soaking up some of the things I'll miss: the sound of ducks, the smell of flowers in bloom, the familiarity of civilization.

ps - Windows machines seem to stretch my pictures in strange ways when I upload them. Any idea why, or how to fix that? (Besides the obvious "find a Mac," of course.)

g'night
pepe

Getting Closer

After 24 hours in airplanes, airports, and other compound words beginning with "air," we've arrived in Christchurch, New Zealand. "We," I should note, includes about thirty of us with the United States Antarctic Program luggage tags, though we travel in small packs rather than in a large herd.
The official itinerary in Christchurch:
-Sunday: overindulge in local microbrews, complicating jet lag recovery (check)
-Monday: report to the Antarctic Center for cold-weather clothing distribution
-Tuesday: early-morning departure for McMurdo station
The big day approaches, yet my excitement is blunted by the desperate desire to sleep in something without a tray table in front of it.

And so I bid you goodnight.
pepe

Checking in from Colorado

The journey has begun! Training consists mainly of sitting and listening to powerpoint presentations on safety and harassment. Perks, though, include a suite hotel room (double-entendre intended) and a brief visit with Noah Weiss, a housemate and fellow engineer from Brown. Departing later today for LAX, AKL, and finally CHC.

(Noah Weiss, his pet king cobra, and myself)

ciao,
pepe

Southward Ho

Terra australis incognita: the unknown southern land. The seventh continent; the big kahuna. Antarctica. Like Shackleton and Mawson before me, this frozen land is my destination. And this humble website is my blog.


The journey will begin with training in Colorado and transit through New Zealand, after which I'll emerge from radio silence in McMurdo station on Ross Island. (A location unfortunately obscured by the crease in Putnam's 1920 map, above.) There, in the midst of an ice shelf the size of Spain, I'll endure five months of self-imposed exile, before returning to New Zealand and the States.

So wish me luck, think warm thoughts, and I hope you enjoy my tales.

Yours,
pepe