Returning to earth

Having been abandoned on the ice, I proceeded to abandon you all, my dear readers. By way of repentance by corporal mortification, I have subjected myself to two days of bicycling around Wellington with one David Rehmeyer. (For details, I refer you to his journal, typically available on request.)

Oh, how wonderful has been the return! It truly is another world. I could pen volumes on all the things I'm glad to have back, but there are four fundamentals I appreciate most dearly:
1) Sensory stimulus (colors and smells)
2) People (so many, so friendly)
3) Freedom (unconstrained by a hostile environment)
4) Beer (fresh, varied, and plentiful)

Thus, in these days in New Zealand, I've eschewed the normal busy-bee touristy adventures to embrace these basic components. My experiences surely seem unremarkable to you: competing in the local pub quiz, playing hacky-sack with high schoolers, feeding ducks in the park, reading Moby Dick by the sea, or meeting strangers and their cars (see below). To me, they are the epitome of joy.



Methinks this is not the last blog entry. My overall impression of Antarctica and its perhaps-profound influence on me remain to be dissected and discussed. But for now, I'd better get back to soaking up this wonderful country and its incredible sights, sounds, smells, and suds*.

Stay tuned,
pepe

*beers, for those of you who are not my father.

Stranded

In my very first blog post, I likened myself to Ernest Shackleton, famed Antarctic explorer. Fate seems to be punishing me for the audacity of the comparison: now, like Shackleton himself, I am trapped on the ice. It took him over a year to reach civilization--hopefully it will take me somewhat less. (Lest my loved ones be overly worried, things aren't quite so dire: storms have simply cancelled our flight home for the past two days, so we're stuck with little to do and nary a change of clothes.)

But there's silver lining: tonight we'll witness the very first sunset of the year. (Until now the sun was up 24/7.) This, my first and perhaps only night in Antarctica, will last under 2 hours and be entirely "civil twilight."

Almost-sunset earlier this week:


With ever-increasing cabin fever,
pepe

The Plunge

It is autumn in Antarctica: the sun circles lower and lower in the sky, the winter crews arrive, and the temperature once again falls below zero. What better time for a swim!

To say the water was FREEZING would be an understatement: this is seawater, which here is always at its freezing point of 30F. That's two degrees colder than ice!

Splish-splash!

Shock? Agony? I think the jolt to my system prevented normal memories from forming, so I can't say for sure!

After perhaps 10 seconds (9 more than most), enough is enough. Notice the rope? What might you think that's for?

The logical attitude would be, "Never again!" But this dip into the Southern Ocean has me just one plunge away from completing another life goal: Arctic Ocean, here I come!

Northern Alaska, anyone? Or Siberia?
pepe

Snowcraft

While normal mountaineering tents or teepee-like Scott Tents can be used for camping in Antarctica, there are also a variety of shelters made entirely from snow. Here's your illustrated guide to Antarctic snowcraft:

The standard survival shelther is the "snow trench."

Similar in function is the L-shaped hole of my own design. I paid for my creativity with comfort: the hole does little to keep out wind and sunlight. Expect to spend four hours digging this zero-star accomodation.


The Cadillac of snow shelters is the igloo-esque "quinzee." These are even better than tents: warm, dark, and quiet, no matter how the wind rages outside. Sun shining through the snow shell creates a fantastic aquamarine night-light effect.



Wind walls are useful for shielding your camp--especially tents and cooking areas--from high winds. Bricks are mined from a "snow quarry," visible in the foreground of the photo below.




Happy camping!
pepe

Whiteout at 45 mph

Imagine whiteness. Look left: white. Look right: white. Up. Down. The same flat, featureless white. What's going on? Either you're a character in Jose Saramago's novel Blindness, or you're on a snowmobile trip through a snowstorm. I recommend both (thanks to Jaime for the book loan, and thanks to James for the boondoggle opportunity).

"Boondoggle" is the Antarctican term for a trip with no point but to have fun and raise morale, distributed by supervisors for good behavior. Mine consisted of a snowmobile trip partway up Mount Erebus, to a location renowned for its incredible view of McMurdo Sound and the Royal Society Range.

As you can see, the view that day was unfortunately monochromatic, but it was quite an experience nonetheless: the snowy landscape, overcast sky, and driving snow combine to wash out your entire field of vision. Even the horizon disappears, making earth and sky indistinguishable. Of course, the best part was the ride: having creeped around at the 15 mph speed limit for three months, it was quite a thrill to tear through driving snow at nearly highway speed.

An added bonus was yet another form of transportation to add to the list. The Hägglunds is an articulated arctic all-terrain vehicle developed for the Swedish army. It brought us out to the snowmobile depot, but is used primarily to transport science teams out into the field.


All the best,
pepe

More from the Marathon

Still working on getting (and censoring) pics from the latest insane undertaking...until then, here are a couple more from the last.

High noon (that's always) at the finish line.


Stretching and sipping at the mile 13.1 turn-around.

I'll leave the lights on for you

As I've hinted, my job improved considerably about a month ago, when I began training to operate the power plant. The new assignment has many advantages: it's related to my field, will help build my resume, and comes with one day off for every day on! (Though at 12-hour shifts, that's still a 42-hour work week.)

Being a power plant operator is a lot like being a babysitter. I keep an eye on my six beautiful babies, feed them and oil their bottoms, and make sure if one dies, another is quickly recruited to do its work. (Okay, perhaps that's where the analogy breaks down.)

Disaster doesn't strike often, so I've supplemented those duties with extra analysis of the plant. I've written reports on plant efficiency, engine temperature control, and employee noise exposure...but few people even read them, much less act on them. So I might resign myself to emulating the other operators, and surf the web instead.

"What does this big red button do?"


From the helm of what I suspect is the largest power plant and greatest single CO2 source on the continent,
pepe

Oden

The first ship has arrived in McMurdo Sound: the Swedish icebreaker Oden, clearing the way for more ships to come (a research vessel, a fuel tanker, and a cargo ship). For weeks leading up to its arrival, the rumor mill was awash with tidings of "hot Swedish chicks" that would soon descend en masse upon our island. Anyone not stuck at the bottom of the world will recognize the absurtity of that idea, but there was some genuine optimism. In the end we settled for eighteen hardened Nordic sailors and guided tours of the ship.

[Yes, the ship can be fully crewed by just 18 Swedes. On research trips, however, they can accomodate up to 80 with extra crew and scientists. 10 bonus points to anyone who can correctly guess why the Oden sprays water out her bow, as in the picture below.]


Another recent arrival is NASA's inflatable "lunar shelter" test structure. If you haven't heard, we're scheduled to return to the moon by 2020, and this time we're going to stay. This is one potential shelter design: it packs small, insulates well, and inflates quickly. Already it looks promising for use near Earth's poles. If it survives the coming Antarctic winter, it might one day make it to the moon.

[No website yet, but they've promised to have one with live webcams and educational material.]

Now you see it...

Now you don't!

Cynics will be forgiven for calling to mind the proto-hip-hop track covered most famously by Gil-Scott Heron.

pepe

the peach and the pain

i've done it: 26.2 miles of white nothingness. a marathon. something i've always wanted to do, but never enough to train properly for. so i didn't! and paid for that with utter exhaustion and pain so great i've been shuffling around like an old man. even made it (by the skin of my teeth) in under 5 hours. more importantly, i've done it, and need never do it again. hallelujah for that.

a few of the things that got me through:
-michael franti
-one fresh peach
-jules' inspiration
-supporters: very few but very enthusiastic
-visions of mom's white pizza on becca's thin crust dancing in my head

others' pics will probably be more interesting--i'll share 'em when i get 'em.

pray i can walk tomorrow.
pepe

Assisting, Generally.

In Antarctica, work days are ten hours long, and there are six of them every week. Efficiency is valued less than "looking busy," productivity takes a back seat to bureaucracy, and the entry for "planning" has been blacked out of every dictionary. Managers inhabit a parallel universe where logic has no bearing, and punish the slightest infractions with the dreaded "verbal written warning."

Perhaps this explains my reluctance to take up the subject of work. Until recently, my job as general assistant has been an incredible disappointment. I don't know what was worse--the days with nothing to do, or the days full of painfully pointless (yet micro-managed) busywork. I came very near to quitting several times. But all that wouldn't make for a very entertaining blog, so I'll try my best to focus on the most interesting tidbits. Nonetheless, this could be a rather dull entry; if so, I'm afraid I've accurately characterized the job.

But don't feel too badly for me--recently my duties changed dramatically, and for the better. This will be a long entry as it is, so I'll write about that next time.

Officially, I'm assigned to a small team of pipefitters and general assistants working on the fuels projects around town. The biggest such project was building a pipeline from the fuel tanks to the helocopter pad. This is where we spent most of our time: under Observation Hill, working out of the white shipping container on the left. If you zoom in, you can pick out the completed 6" diameter pipeline cutting accross the bottom of the hill, a yellow welding machine, and my two fellow GAs, John and Stevo.

Welding the pipe together is left to the certified pipefitters, but pretty much everything else is up to us--guiding heavy equipment to move the pipe into position, cutting pipe sections to length, and as seen here, assembling the stanchions the pipeline rests on.

This was a decent tasking for two reasons: first, it wasn't pointless--there was a clear objective that we had a hand in achieving. Second, we got to play with fire! Here I'm preparing an oxy-acetylene torch for cutting the stanchion steel.

Pure physical labor wasn't too bad either--you could listen to music, get lost in the work, and come home tired and full of endorphins. This manhole was particularly challenging: we needed a hammer drill to break through the ice and buckets to haul out each shovel-full of snow. (Pointless work, exhibit 523: After chipping away at this hole for an entire day, we were told to "never mind, we don't need it dug out after all.")

One interesting task involved helping out at the new power plant: read the plans, correct any inconsistencies between the plans and the plant, and tag every valve with the appropriate label (here, I'm decked out in fall protection to reach valves 30 feet up). Essentially, "explore the plant and figure out how it works." But of course it was too good to be true. Never mind that I excelled at this task, and even helped the veterans find errors in their own tagging; once the manager found me being useful, I was ordered to get back to my own job: sponging down the walls.

Hope that helps explain what I actually DO down here. It ain't much, but to use the popular Antarctic cliche--it's a harsh continent.

Working hard and/or hardly working,
pepe

Odds, Ends, Etc.

Happy New Year!

Here by the Ross Ice Shelf, we had the unique distinction of being the first people in the world to see the sun in 2008. To celebrate, we had an outdoor music festival and chili cook-off. In a snowstorm.


Thus far, the new year has been filled with various athletic pursuits. One you might not recognize is "Nagel"--a thrilling game where strategy meets carpentry, eye protection is mandatory, and performance-enhancing drugs are encouraged (in the form of beer, aka "aiming fluid"). Jared, why don't you show the folks at home how it's done:

Thanks, Jared--well played. In soccer league, our mighty team was felled by an extraordinary goalie (the frustratingly talented woman blocking my shot below), knocking us out in the semi-finals.


Ultimate frisbee has thus far been confined to the elementary-school-sized gym seen above, but this weekend we made a special trek to play out on the Shelf. (Brought back fond memories of winter 3v3 and Get Ho Ho Ho--any of you guys tuning in?)



Finally, another race--this one 8k--with plenty of uphills, upwinds, and upchucks. Fortunately, I was able to finish well without losing my brunch.


Yours at 77.8 south and 7:32/mile,
pepe