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