Snow Blind

First, since I've left you deprived lately and the internet is finally being agreeable, a few pictures. They are in no particular order, though I will try to give a brief description of each.
Red 1, a titan of a machine, something well past its prime and ugly to boot. I actually enjoy this one far more than our newer units. Station Two is seen hiding in the back.

Your intrepid (or foolish) author, with a self portrait somewhere on Hut Ridge. The Royal Society Range can be seen in the background.

A view not unlike one I'm seeing right now. This was taken from the dome in the Crash Shack, a day after our last official sunset of the year. A picture can't really do it justice.

Here I am, back sitting in the dome of Station Two, aka the "Crash Shack", watching as the wind whips along and as Johnny Cash is playing somewhere below me.

Today was a nice, quiet, peaceful day over at Station Two. We were originally scheduled for several flights today, but an imposing low blew in shortly after we arrived this morning and has left us with virtually no visibility and no flights to stand by for.

Looking out the dome, I can finally see the top of Mt. Erebus off in the distance. Something I'm a little grateful for. For most of the day, we have been barely able to see the control tower that sits about fifty feet away from us. We started our morning truck checks in decent weather that rapidly deterioated. It started off with calm winds and sunny skies, but soon turned into near whiteout conditions with winds getting stronger and stronger. While I was well dressed and had toe warmers in my boots, I finally realized how cold it was when after kneeling to check something, my boot refused to return to its original shape having become frozen in place.

Shortly after we finished our truck checks this morning, MacOps (the all powerful weather observing decision making entity of McMurdo and its outlying suburbs) updated Ice Town to condition two weather. Also, anticipating worsening conditions, they ordered the evacuation of Ice Town.

Most people being sensible, they scrambled to leave before they were shut in by condition one weather. I watched, amused, as the crew from the tower bailed out into a waiting van which then proceeded to spin wheels attempting to make its escape.

Of course, there were those with more sense of duty than common sense, and we remained despite the fact that there would certainly be no flights today.

As we remained the lone occupants of Ice Town, we got to watch as the weather grew increasingly worse. Since we lie out in the open on a giant, flat sheet of ice, the wind blows with great speed since it has nothing to break it.

Nothing, that is, except Ice Town.

Even after seeing pictures of blowing snow, I never quite had an appreciation for it. The pictures don't really show you how it writhes and flows back and forth across the ice as it makes its way along. Another interesting aspect of it is where it decides to accumulate. While over most of the apron and runway, we have accumulated a minimum of a foot of drift, the areas around our units (all parked outside) and around buildings haven't gained an inch. A two foot drift suddenly ends about four feet behind our haggard ambulance. A clear channel has formed to either side of our big yellow dinosaurs. Between the buildings, it remains clear to either side, but a ridge has gathered to almost three feet in the very middle.

Walking out in the storm proves interesting. Aside from the constant blasting of fine snow which permeates every gap in clothing, the wind pushes us against the slippery sheet of ice at our feet. Stepping from around a building can prove hazardous, with an almost virtual garauntee of finding something pointed and metallic to hit your head on if you slip. Every footprint we make in the drifts disappears within minutes. Making it from one building to another becomes far less than desirable. Luckily, we have little reason to venture out.

Our home, the Station Two "Crash Shack", consists of nothing more than two trailers stuck together. We have no running water or toilet facilities and living space proves very tight for six people. We do have electricty, and heat. Also, we happen to have internet here, which for being as primitive as we are, is remarkably technologically advanced. We are warm and comfortable in our shack. The doors to the outside are the same as you'd find on a commercial walk in refridgerator. The windows have almost all been blacked out so we can sleep at night, and even a few pieces of forgotten and less than collectible art adorns the walls.

The galley is not open today. Everyone else ran for the hills, so no fresh meals this shift. Our fridge is well stocked with the best in junk food. Small frozen pizzas and burritos make up our menu. Combined with firehouse coffee and some old sandwiches, we're set for the night.

The afternoon passed lazily, with everyone either working away on their laptops, reading, or watching a movie. Any training that the lieutenant had in mind for the day has been scrapped. No walkthroughs of aircraft when their crews are back in town hiding.

Occasionally, the radio crackles to life telling us something that we already know. The weather is bad and getting worse, the voice says. Once in a while, the pagers go off, letting us know that another flight was canceled, only confirming what we had already surmised. We sit and wait, content and peaceful.

Throughout the afternoon, we wait. Often, one of us sits up in the dome watching the storm. There are a series of flags that mark the edge of the ramp in front of our building. Every now and then, whoever is up in the dome yells out the number of flags that can be seen in the distance. It drops from seven (the end of the ramp) to half (about 100 feet away) at times. We watch as it gets worse and worse and finally worse, until the winds start to relent. The clouds that cover us start to disappear. The winds persist, but with the sun we can see almost everything again.

Slowly, we begin to see everything again. The windsock no longer stands out straight as if it were propped up. Bit by bit, the scenery around us begins to become more defined. Ob Hill in the distance is poking its top out, Mt. Discovery shows its top, and as the clouds being to move on, Erebus begins to take shape.

The howling winds stop. All is clear again. Now to dig out.

After a while, the voice on the radio tells us that everything has reopened. We sit tight, waiting to see what comes.

After a while, I see the first sign of life back in Ice Town. Sitting up in the dome, I see a red pickup, surveying the damage.

Shortly after, a bulldozer makes its appearance. Soon, it is joined by more and more friends from Fleet Ops. Dozers and loaders soon scurry between the buildings, removing the piles of snow. A tractor is busy pulling a drag (a sled that grooms the surface smooth) up and down the runway.

We all pile out of our shack to move our trucks. We need to be dug out, too. For the loaders to move our snow, we need to be out of their way. You'd think this would be an easy task, but it takes more than an hour. Moving and repositioning five crash trucks that don't turn well is time consuming.

I have to give a lot of credit to Fleet Ops. They move quickly and get the job done. It didn't take them long to remove several feet of drifted snow that had accumulated over Ice Town. Within two hours, you could barely tell that there had been anything there at all. From my current perch in the dome, I can see that the dirty old Cats are already gone, glad to be headed home for the night.

The sun is now riding low over the mountains, making you think that it might hide for a while and leave us in unfamiliar darkness. The snows are still blowing, though with nowhere near the intensity of before. I doubt it will make much of a mess. Erebus isn't puffing tonight. Perhaps the winds blew it out. Mactown is still there on the Rock, but we will remain here until the morning.

Limbo in McMurdo: To Hercules, or Not to Hercules? That is the Question.

Welcome back for another edition of Sunny Southern Beach.

I was pleased to hear today that there are actually more than three people that actually read this. As such, I still have a good reason to update this.

The last few days have been pretty quiet. I'm finishing up the last of my three days off (due to my Kelly day), and can't really say that I've accomplished much. I spent large portions of it napping, hanging out with people, finally experiencing Southern Exposure (our other bar that isn't usually open), and wrapping up training as a volunteer bus driver.

Aside from the few minor things that I did accomplish, I found myself wanting to be at work so I could have something to do.

The last day that I actually was at work, Sunday, I did have a fairly enjoyable time. Sundays are slow days at the firehouse, with no inspections to do and no large weekly cleaning assignment. Instead, it is usually a day to relax and watch college football unless there is pending training to do.

In the case of last Sunday, we had plenty of training to do.

As many of our current drivers are heading off to the Pole (in theory, at least), that means that new drivers must be trained. This meant that all of the Mainbody guys, including myself, on our shift had the chance to drive everything.

First, I was able to take out Engine 1, a '92 Pierce Arrow much like you'd find back in the states. It was easy to drive and I had no problems taking it out and around town. Next up was Ambo 1, which has seen better days. It is an early '90's Ford pickup chassis with the box on the back and oversized tires. It shakes, rattles, and rolls (with great effort). My last experience driving one before was when the county still had some as reserve units. I hated them then, and I hate them now. Still easy to drive, though.

Lastly for the day was Tanker 3. The word behemoth ccomes to mind when looking at it. She carries 3,500 gallons of water and weighs in at about 70,000 pounds when loaded. She is old (I believe an '85) and underpowered. Combined with gearing that will climb her up a mountain if necessary, she rarely exceeds ten miles an hour except downhill (at which time you are praying that you can get her to stop again).

Aside from being massive all around and requiring a larger turning radius, the Tanker actually wasn't too difficult to operate. While I prefer the ability of actually being able to hit the accelerator and brake and have a noticeable effect, Tanker 3 was fun to drive in its own way.

Aside from driving around town for the afternoon, it was a relaxing day at work.

On our Monday, I decided to take a walk out to Ice Town. The road to the Ice Runway has opened for foot traffic, and I took advantage of nice weather to try and get down to take some pictures.

As I believe that I've previously stated, Ice Town is located on about six feet of sea ice. The road to Ice Town is the same. Once you leave "The Rock" of McMurdo, you enter into what is know as the transition. The transition is simply the area where it changes from solid land to the ice. Aside from the lack of dirt on the ice, the only way you would otherwise know is to see the cracks that form at the transition.

Another interesting feature of the ice road is the actual color of the ice. In the areas where it has had the snow removed and groomed to almost a polish, you see large patches of light blue ice. It is translucent and glows with its own radiance. Unfortunately, you can't see all the way through it, but it remains beautiful nonetheless.

As its color denotes, the airfield is sometimes referred to as the blue ice runway.

During my walk down to Ice Town, I was surprised to see an Airbus A-319 sitting on the ramp by the fuel pits. We don't usually get commercial aircraft that come in and out, being almost exclusively military or the Twin Otters or Basler of renown bush operator Ken Borek Air, Ltd.

It turned out that the Airbus was full of Australians clad in yellow parkas, enroute to Casey Station. As we happen to be the "big city" out here in the middle of nowhere, we serve as a transfer point to many other people heading to other parts of the Ice.

Unfortunately, I was unable to get a closer look at the aircraft, as it left the ramp and departed with a trail of blowing snow behind it before I could make it out to the field. I don't know if there will be any other commercial aircraft out here again, but I won't mind the change of flying scenery.

Making it out to Ice Town, I strolled around, took pictures (also a quick video of Red 2 being driven down to get fuel) and warmed up in the galley. Sadly, they weren't open yet, so I wasn't able to enjoy something to eat.


The return trip from Ice Town wasn't anything particularly exciting. The one thing of interest was the fact that virtually everyone that drive by asked if I wanted a ride or not. As I was actually out walking for the fun of it, I politely declined each time, though I was tempted to hop on when a giant Cat Challenger offered me a lift.

People are friendly here. For the most part they'll bend over backwards to give you a hand if you need it. Not quite like back home where most people pretend you aren't there or have some other motive that may not be in your best interest.

That pretty much sums up the most exciting part of my last four days. I do have some quick commentary on the weather and flight schedules around here.

Much like back home, flights here are prone to getting delayed or canceled due to poor weather conditions. The big difference between here and home, however, lies in the fact that flights can get canceled for up to a week or more.

Most of the people who have been here in McMurdo waiting to go to Pole have been stuck here for over a week now. To date, only one flight carrying 18 people has made it down. This has left a large surplus of people on station. I have mentioned it before, but the galley has become more and more crowded as more people have arrived but very few have left. From what I hear from friends who work in the housing department, they are now scraping the bottom of the barrel for places to put people. Even our Chief, who has a room to himself, has found himself with a new transient roommate.

To complicate the matter, not only do we have Polies who can't get to their new home, but we also have been acquiring beakers destined for remote field camps that haven't been able to leave, either.

The real kicker, however, came on the A-319 yesterday. We now have 50 yellow parka Australians roaming around, trying to find their way to Casey, only to get weathered out. I'm not sure where else they can put people at this point, but I'm hoping they don't decide to add a few more beds to our rooms in the dorm.

Also, a quick remark on the color coding of the Antarctic world. Different groups down here wear different color parkas. Americans stationed at McMurdo wear either a red "Big Red" (ironically made by Canada Goose) or brown Carhartt (depending on the type of job you have). Americans stationed at the Pole, however, either have the Big Red or a green and black version of it. Additionally, American military personnel have their own dark green parkas.

Now, on to the foreign identifying colors:

Kiwis (occasionally known as New Zealanders) have very stylish orange and black parkas, putting our bland American styling to shame, and then there are the Australians, in their yellow.

All in all, it makes for a very colorful mix of parkas on the coat racks of Highway 1. While I will be happy to start having some more space again once people start to leave, I will miss the interesting mix of people and cultures down here.

Regardless of who it is, the people here are interesting. Everyone has their own story, and everyone is from somewhere different. While out at Southern Exposure the other night, I had the opportunity to talk to some Australians who were enjoying the bar. While in many respects they aren't much different from Americans, they do have their differences, including their choice of tobacco products.

Yet again, my time here to write is running out. I'll be leaving the peace and "quiet" (there is a large air compressor located behind one wall and a weight room on the other) of the library to try and get to a science lecture over in the galley.

The weather is also rumored to be getting bad tomorrow. Hopefully I'm not riding in the buckets of the Tanker again in con two weather. If I'm working at the airfield, perhaps I'll get to watch con 1 from the bubble (and hopefully not from the outside).

Until next time. Hopefully I'll have a better story to tell.

Oh, and the C-130s have begun to arrive. Should make the airfield more fun.

Walking on Water

My salutations from Ice Town.

Right now, I am sitting up in the observation dome of Station Two watching as our beloved Basler (a turboprop conversion of the venerable DC-3) taxi down the runway in front of a gorgeous "sunset" silhouetted by Mt. Discovery. Sadly, I thought to grab my camera just a few moments too late.

I have to use the term sunset loosely for a simple reason. Officially, while it may look like the sun is disappearing on the horizon, this is an impossibility. Our last official sunset was actually last night. From here on out, until sometime in February, the sun will never drop below the horizon again. For now, though, I am content watching the sun kiss the horizon and make its way across a backdrop of mountains.

This period of 24 hours of daylight is not an event that is really celebrated here. Aside from the increased difficulty in sleeping in high light conditions (something we battle with blackout curtains and turning the lights off in the evening), there is nothing exciting about it.

Sadly, this comes with only one disappointment for me. As I am a huge fan of sunsets, I will be feeling greatly deprived. Sunsets have always been something to look towards. Symbolically, they often mean the end of a day, an event, or even an era. The added sense of finality that comes with a sunset will no longer be here to mark the conclusion of anything, except my final departure from this most remarkable continent in the spring when they finally return.

Life here in Ice Town is quiet for now. The fleet of New York Air National Guard LC-130s doesn't arrive until next week, and this leaves us with only infrequent flights. As such, the Ice Town galley is not open, making it difficult to get meals out to us. Also, with the exception of a few other people, the town is very desolate with little to do and almost nobody to talk to.

Today saw the arrival of another C-17. They brought with them cargo and about another hundred people who will now enter into the galley with the same confused looks on their faces as we did just a few short weeks ago. This time, however, we have a different perspective. We see them almost as invaders. We watch as the galley gets more and more crowded every day. It feels as if we're almost being overrun. I now understand the plight of the formerly isolated winter overs who stayed to watch our arrival.

In all reality, the station actually has more people that it should right now, as flights to the Pole have been getting canceled and delayed all week leaving many Polies stranded in limbo. The weather is clearing, however, and we're slowly sending some of our overstock away.

Additionally, we've had the opportunity to observe a Basler takeoff, bound for the Pole this morning. Also, throughout the day, the FAA Falcon Jet here to inspect the instrument landing systems at Ice Runway and Pegasus Field has been coming and going. They've been causing us some consternation as they don't always make a timely announcement of their arrivals, sometimes leaving us scrambling to run out the door to do the hardstand as they're touching down.

We did have some fun today, though. After doing a three hour hardstand for the C-17 (which we later found that we were not required to wait during their entire offload and turnaround process), we had the opportunity to take some of our vehicles out for some practice.

Our "Red" units are all very unique. They are each mounted on tracks of varying types. Some of the systems are far more effective than others, though all have their pros and cons. Red 1 and Red 2 are both ancient (circa 1982) tracked articulated vehicles. Despite their age and many quirks in both design and operating habit, they are very easy and enjoyable to drive. Their major flaw is that they are very slow (eight gears only gets you to about 10 mph) and they tend to founder in deep, soft snow because of their immense weight.

Red 3 and 6 are both newer models with the CAFS mentioned in a previous post. They are nothing more than Ford F-550s with their wheels removed and tracks put in their place. While they are new, they have limited firefighting capability and maneuverability. In fact, the old slime lime yellow Reds 1 and 2 both carry significantly more firefighting agent and can turn tighter despite being twice the size. The advantages to these newer units, however, is speed, and the ability to enter into soft snow and worse terrain. From a quick response standpoint, these are ideal.

Life here in Station Two is simple. We have no running water or kitchen. Our station is simply nothing more than a double wide trailer on skis with a coffee pot, some beds, and hooks to hang our gear. For bathroom facilities, we must run about a hundred feet or so to another double wide purpose built for the task. Food is even further down, though it's not available yet.

One last thing of note before I finally attempt to go to sleep tonight. Everything that makes up Ice Town including all buildings and the runways is not built on solid ground. My current home has a six foot floor made of ice, and a 350 fathom basement full of water. For the most part, you wouldn't even know if someone didn't mention it. However, every now and then when you're looking down at the patches of brilliantly clear blue ice that peeks through the roughened top layer, it hits you. It's not a normal thing to do, but it works. We drive 80,ooo pound crash trucks on it, and we land half million pound cargo aircraft on it. It may not be land, but it certainly seems like it now.

It will be strange when in a few months Ice Town and the Ice Runway are no more. When the ice becomes too thin, we will move to distant Pegasus Field for the remainder of the season. Shortly after that, an ice breaker will come and turn what was once a thriving town into open water.

Con Two

Hello again from picturesque Antarctica. The sights here often take my breath away, but instead the cold has been doing that today.

We have entered into condition two weather. From the firehouse, we can't even see the dorms a few hundred feet away. The winds are gusting and the wind chill has dropped to about -60. I pray we don't run a call tonight, since I'm riding the bucket of an antiquated canopy cab tanker. I am sure it will prove to be an unpleasant experience.

Today began the first day of shift work for me. It was a bit of a hectic time for me. While we were trying to get into the rhythm of a normal work schedule, it kept getting interrupted by random administrative tasks that needed to be completed.

Station Two was also supposed to be operational today, though it was closed down early due to the poor weather conditions.

The one really productive thing that we did today was to go over the compressed air foam system (CAFS) on Red 4, one of our crash trucks. The system itself is remarkable in its design, though it suffers from some fatal flaws.

In essence, the system is nothing more than a pair of large, independent fire extinguishers. The dry chemical agent is PKM, better known as "purple k". It is set up in a mostly conventional Ansul system that is piped out to the bumper turret and the handline in the rear. From what I understand, it is fairly reliable system that isn't affected by our chilly climate to badly.

The foam system, however, has some issues. The design is novel. Instead of taking your standard mix of water, foam concentrate, and air to create a finished foam the system instead uses high pressure cylinders of compressed nitrogen injected directly into a special low temperature foam concentrate. At a ten to one expansion ratio, the 300 gallons of foam concentrate can create 3000 gallons of finished foam. Fairly impressive. However, the one major flaw lies in the type of foam used.

The foam used down here is specially designed for use in temperatures down to -40 degrees. To accomplish this, a antifreezing agent has been added to the mixture. While this antifreeze does keep the concentrate fluid at low temperatures, it has also proven itself to be extremely corrosive to the large number of brass fittings found on the system.

As a result, many of the units have had serious issues when corrosion from residue left in the system, leading to failures during testing and some minor incidents. The problem has been resolved on several of the units by having the brass replaced by stainless steel fittings. The remaining units that have not had the upgrades are going to be retrofitted shortly. Hopefully this means that we'll have the units in a good, reliable condition.

In other news, life here has been pretty tame aside from the weather. I have officially lost all sense of time, though. The constant daylight combined with the odd schedule means that time and days are only relative as to whether I am scheduled to work. Since my life consists of one day of work followed by one day off, everything blurs.

It's an odd effect. If it wasn't for the fact that we typically black out the rooms in the evenings, I don't think I could ever get to sleep.

Since we do have the evenings free to relax during our shifts, I've been putting some thought into what is going to follow after this jaunt through southern locales. Aside from the places I'd like to hit on the way back to the states, I've been thinking past that.

What am I going to do when I get back? I'm not really sure. I don't think I want to slow down or stop anytime soon. Traveling is too much of an itch I need to scratch. The world remains out there still, calling my name. I've been thinking about getting a motorcycle and just cruising the states until I'm flat broke. From that point, however, I'm not sure what would follow. It's not the most practical idea in the world, but it would certainly take me down the road less traveled.

Another thought that has come to mind is to get back into flying. I've been sitting here looking at my dream plane again, the RV-8. She's such a versatile machine that I could really travel with one. With Tuckey tanks, fuel sipping motor, and some strategic weight saving, I could stretch the range of one to something more than just significant. I could cover a lot of countries in style, comfort, and in something that I will have built with my own hands.

Too bad the start up costs for that one are a little high. About 70 large plus going back to flight school again.

Would it be worth it? I think so. Maybe I could even give Jon Johanson a run for his money. It would certainly be easier with the bigger wing of the -8.

Yet another idea that has crept into my mind has been to find a tramp steamer and just sail away and end up where I end up. The realities of seasickness and pirates make this one a little less than romantic than I'd like to imagine, though. While it remains an option, it's probably less likely than most.

I don't know. I should probably start looking around for jobs soon. I still have several months left here, but time does move quickly.

I just wish there was an easy fix for this restlessness. I don't know if there is one. I think there's one thing that could get me to settle down. Disappointingly, I don't think it's there. Not now, at least. Hopefully someday.


But, enough rambling for tonight. I'm running on fumes right now. Drinking too many cups of coffee hasn't been working and with the windows blacked out in the lounge right now it almost feels like night. Sleep seems appropriate about now. Maybe even with a dream of a warm, sunny southern beach.

Ice Fog

Today, officially, began our first day of working regular shifts. As chance would have it, today was a "B" shift day, leaving myself and my fellow "A" shifters, on a day off.

As expected, this is a welcome break from being on the 0730-1700 town schedule. I spent yesterday looking forward to having a day off to go explore and accomplish some other tasks that I had remaining.

However, the Antarctic weather deities being fickle, I arose to and was greeted this morning with the town covered in ice fog.

Ice fog has long been a bane to pilots and adventurers alike. For those of us who like to defeat gravity, we fear the effects of the moisture in the air instantly freezing to the skin of our flying machines and forming rime ice. Rime ice is a particularly nasty form of ice that creates long, jagged protrusions from whatever it happens to attach itself to and quickly eats away at the aerodynamic properties of an airfoil, leading to the rather vertically accelerated demise of more than one aviator.

While its effect on aircraft has proven itself to be something to be feared and avoided, the effect on your average adventurer means that most activities that require extended periods of time exposed to it are limited.

As I have proven time and time again, I am not average in any category. There are certainly areas that I excel in and also areas that I lack in. As I decided to venture out in this today, I will let you decide as to which side of average this decision belongs.

Originally, I thought that my plans for a day would be a wash. I went about my day doing laundry, tidying up, and getting a few errands done. It wasn't until I opened my door to peek out into the usually quiet morning hallway that I was inspired (or rather, encouraged) to go out on a hike by Larry, a "B" shifter on his Kelly day. His ambitious intention was to round up as many people as possible and hike the Observation Hill Loop, climb to the top of Ob Hill, and then take on Hut Point Ridge.

Being a little bit bored and wanting to still do something outside with my day, I gladly joined in.

After grabbing all of the requisite ECW gear that would be needed (balaclava, long underwear, big red, knit cap, gloves, water and snacks) I trundled down to meet up with Larry and two additional fellow firefighters who had also been wrangled into this trip.

Even walking up the road towards Ob Hill, we could feel the chill in the air. Not only was the ice fog thick, but it also came with a brisk wind. By the time we reached the foot of the trail, ice was already starting to build on our big reds and balaclavas. This did not prove enough of a deterrent, though, as we pressed on.

The trail going around Ob Hill starts tamely enough, not being particularly steep or slippery. Unfortunately, as its name implies, it is a hill and this does change.

As we progressed, the trail steepened (though never quite to the extent that Hut Point Ridge does) and became considerably more treacherous. While much of the snow has already been blown off of the hill, the remainder had accumulated on the trail itself. Now, on your average trail, simply stepping to the side of it would have been sufficient to bypass the slippery ground. Antarctica being what it is, this is not the case.

The trail itself is never really more than two feet wide and its edges are bordered by steep inclines, one going up and one going down. A slip on the low side could easily mean sliding several hundred feet through loose gravel to the bottom, something obviously not preferred. As such, it was with careful steps and missteps that we made our way along. That is, all except Larry.

Larry certainly isn't the youngest firefighter among us. His hair is white and has certainly seen far more of life than any of us. However, he belies his age by being amazingly quick and spry.

As we progressed around the trail, Larry would constantly being flying ahead of us, maintaining a pace that we other three found impossible due to our lack of traction. He flew along the slick patches without ever slowing down, and climbed the grades with no change in pace.

To me, he is now Mountain Goat Larry.

Continuing on, we managed to keep on the trail and came over to the south side of the hill. The wind had not relented the entire way to date, and seemed to have picked up even more.

The trail on the south side was considerably more snow covered and maintained it's theme of steep drops offs. As we progressed along, I found it necessary to remove the craze of ice that had formed on my sunglasses. Seeing as this was a task that required more dexterity than a gloved hand could provide, I removed one of my gloves to complete the task.

Since we were still on the move, I didn't want to slow the pace by having the group stop while I reinstated my clarity of vision. While I was stepping and scraping, however, my foot found itself a spot that it shouldn't have. While I was quickly able to recover my footing and avert a long, long, slide to the sea ice pressure ridges far below, my glove (given to me lovingly by Uncle Ray) decided to free itself and try to make its escape.

I stood and watched as my glove began to slide its way down. At first it tumbled slowly, then picked up some speed. Incensed, I yelled some less than loving words at it, and it apparently listened. It became entangled on some white, snowy protrusion less than fifteen feet away.

Wanting my glove back so I could have use of my hand later in life, I went down after it. Though likely not my best decision ever, I was able to do it without skidding to the sea ice. I buried my heels into the snow (luckily it was much softer and somewhat less slippery than what is found on the trail) and half skidded, half stepped down to it. Retrieving it and returning it to its grateful hand, I made it back up with little fuss.

Though the trail remained steep in parts and slippery in most, we continued on our way with little more incident other than the occasional slip.

As we progressed towards the last leg of the loop, the ice fog closed in fairly well. It was far from zero visibility, but it could not have been more than 150-200 at most. This coupled with the white ground at our feet made for quite a sight, as we became enveloped in white, broken only by ourselves and the patches of gravel at our feet.

Like many other things on this continent, it made itself ideal for reflecting. As I watched the leader of our column fade in and out of the ice fog, it brought to mind some thoughts of home.

For a long time before I finally left, I wanted to leave home. I wanted to escape everything I had known. I wanted to leave family, work, school, and even my friends behind and start something new.

Finally achieving that goal, I find that I have not been able to cut off my old life completely. Some of that is out of necessity as there are always financial obligations that need to be met (as those often require the assistance of someone back home to complete), but some of that is of a more personal nature. In some ways, I miss home. I miss friends and times had with them. I long for someone to tell my stories to, someone who can't share the experience because they are far away. I need that connection to my old life, much like a baby is connected to its mother by an umbilical cord.

Into and out of the fog, though. I see my old life going into and out of the fog. The cord can't stay connected forever. Back home, they're having a blast getting stumped on questions at trivia night. They're busy at work intimidating the freshmen. They don't need my stories.

The trail finally comes back up to the road. The wind still blows and the ice continues to encrust our big reds, balaclavas, hats, pants, noses, eyelashes, and mustaches. The water in my bottle has formed a coating of ice, the candy bars in my pocket frozen as hard as rock, and my camera's battery frozen to the point of being unable to produce current (and the reason why I can provide no photos of this trip).

We decide to call it a day, leaving the other trails to be explored another time. The walk back to the dorm is easy and cold. The wind at our backs finally, it is no longer a battle to take a step forward. Through the fog we go, adding to our frosty crust, until finally we reach home.

Home.

The fog is finally lifting. You can begin to see things in the distance, though they lack definition. Hopefully when the sun circles the sky again and I wake up, I can finally see what's there.


That is all for tonight. More errata to accomplish and probably a movie with the guys before bed. My first real shift is tomorrow and it sounds like more trucks are broken. Hopefully they let me pick up a wrench and put me to use.

Hut Point: A Respite

Two posts in two subsequent days? Unheard of! Appalling! Atrocious!

Yet you're still reading this.

Today is Sunday here in Mactown. A day of rest (or recovery for those who enjoyed the '70's party at Gallagher's a bit too much last night) for all of those on the "town schedule". At this moment in time, this would include myself, though shift work is finally appearing on the horizon.

For me, the day has been peaceful and relaxing as I was able to get out on my own for a bit today. I've come to the conclusion that no matter what I do, there will probably always be an independent wanderlust in me that can't be conquered. It's not that I don't enjoy the company of other people, it's just that I enjoy my time alone to allow for uninterrupted thought and the self satisfaction of doing things for myself.

After another tasty meal at the galley (the Mexican scramble casserole combined the leftovers from at least three different days), I made the decision to go out and hike the Hut Point Loop, one of several trails and hiking options found in this small corner of the world.

Hut Point, for those of you not better informed, is a small peninsula jutting out from "The Rock" of McMurdo and is so named for Scott's hut which remains in excellent condition from his 1902 expedition. While the hut itself is not far from my residence, the trail that runs behind it climbs about 600 feet and provides an excellent view of Mactown, Mt. Erebus, and Icetown (The collection of buildings, shacks, and equipment that makes up the nearby Ice Runway, current home to Station 2.).

After notifying our dispatcher that I would be out of pager range, topped off my water bottle and snagged some snacks, I was on my way.

It doesn't take very long around here to realize how quiet everything can become. Since very few people are actually working on a Sunday, there isn't the din and drone of Cat motors and tracked vehicles clattering by. It took me less than a hundred yards before all I could here was the crunch of my footsteps in gravel and the sound of McMurdo snow chunks clinking away as my boots displaced them.

The short walk to the hut itself was fairly uneventful. I stopped out there to take some pictures and walked up to Vince's Cross, a memorial to one of Scott's lost compatriots.

The Scott Hut Loop is considered to be a busy trail. I suppose that this is true, though it is relative based on the tiny population in town. As I made my way up the hills, I only ran into two other people.

Now, the trails up towards the top get to be fairly steep and a bit tricky. Much of the trail consists of "fines", loose and sandy volcanic gravel. This makes for a bit of loss of traction and an increased effort in climbing. Additionally, since we have not yet reached thaw, there are still portions of the trail that are covered in solid, slippery covers of snow.

After working up a fairly slippery section up past "Caged Mary" (A McMurdo shrine from the Navy.), I made it to one of the trail markers that came with a spectacular view. I sat down on a pile of rocks for a while, and just listened to the world. The rustle of wind came past my ears, the soft cruch of Antarctic gravel came from well down the hill from another hiker, and a vast sense of silence came. Everything from there seemed so lucid and peaceful. Only one thing disturbed me. My aural indiscretions from the past returned to trouble me. My ears, so accustomed to the wails of sirens, screams of chainsaws, and roar of motorcycles refused to accept silence. They instead brought steady ringing, punishment for having lived in the world too long, and a reminder of everything that I have done up to now.

Regardless, I found myself at peace with the world, at least for a moment. The mountains surrounded me, the sea ice covered everything below, and the steady calm left my mind clear for the first time in forever.

All things in this world must end, however. This being no different, and a chill from sitting idle too long to prompt me, I continued my way along the trail.

Eventually, I worked my way up to the highest part of the trail, from where you could clearly see Mt. Erebus, our resident active volcano. He sat there puffing off in the distance, leaving me thankful since that indicates an extremely low chance of a big eruption. The view from up there was excellent, with views for miles beyond. I still preferred my previous stopping point, as I could see the town more clearly.

After another stop at the top, the time finally came for me to return back to town. The trail down led to a snow covered field. The snow here is very dry and becomes very hard as it sits and becomes compacted. As a result, it creates a unique sound all it's own. I would like to say that the sound of boots crunching through it reminds me of crushing foam and popping bottle tops, though both descriptions are wholly inadequate.

After a stretch across this last snow covered section, I finally reached the road that made up the rest of the trail and led back to town. As I slowly made my way closer and closer back to town, the sound of crunching gravel became accompanied by other, unnatural sounds. The sound of Cats purring, back up alarms, and tracks on gravel and snow started to interfere with everything that I had just enjoyed. I slowly returned back to reality. I was disappointed by this at first, though at the same time, quite grateful, as the temperature had begun its decline again and left me a little chilly and ready to return to the civilization that keeps me alive.

It's a strange thing, though. For someone like me who used to thrive on chaos, noise, and a fast paced life that I would finally be happiest in peace and solitude. Perhaps I have changed, or perhaps I reveled in only what I knew, not knowing that better things lay ahead.

Today ended my first excursion up to Hut Point. I promise that it will not be my last. Also, I plan on making every trail before I leave here, and I hope to have similar or better experiences all around.

For those of you still wondering why I love this place, I hope I gave you at least a partial explanation. For those of you who still cannot comprehend, perhaps you are just too different from myself just or too used to the same thing throughout your life. The first part I can offer no solution for. The second, though, can be easily fixed with a change of scenery.

Take the leap. There's never a guarantee to the outcome, but it is better than not knowing.


That just about concludes my writing for the day. My apologies if I became to contemplative and introspective or if it began to sound too much like a sermon or just lacked the thrill and adventure of the latest blockbuster hit, but if you've read this far it couldn't have been that bad.

Now on to dinner at the galley and some studying for my tests tomorrow. Also, no pictures today. The internet is not friendly again, though I promise they do exist and that I'd love to show you them.

Snow

Time for another very quick update before the people waiting in line to use the computer get too disgruntled.

As I mentioned a couple of posts ago, we were being threatened with condition one weather. Somewhat disappointingly, condition one weather never materialized, leaving myself and several other newcomers disappointed.

However, just because we were in condition three all day doesn't mean that the weather here can't turn nasty. The wind blew all day and it remained cloudy and especially chilly. I don't recall if we broke zero that day, but it was not the best weather to wander around in for the most part.

Near the end of the day, after we were out of class, I decided to take a walk to help me memorize the building names, numbers, and locations on base. As I came near the end of my walk, I ended up by the road next to our dorm that leads to the Ice Pier and Scott's hut. The weather was starting to clear with even a little sun peeking through, so I decided to go out and visit Scott's hut quickly.

Now, Scott's hut can't be more than three quarters of a mile away from my dorm at most, so it is a fairly easy walk in good weather, and that's how my journey began. As I passed the Ice Pier, however, the wind started to come back up again, making for a rather brisk walk, but nothing unbearable. As I actually came up to Scott's hut, though, the wind started to blast. The blowing snow off of the sea ice started to come up and blast me. I made a quick walk around the hut, struggling to remain standing in the wind before I noticed that the visibility was starting to drop rather quickly. This led to the decision to head back towards the dorm asap.

While the walk down was easy, the walk back felt like climbing a set of stairs the entire way as the wind pushed so hard that it remained difficult to remain upright at times. As I slowly made it closer and closer to the dorm, the wind kept picking up and started to pick up some of the fine volcanic sand and rock that "The Rock" consists of. I can now describe to you the feeling of being sandblasted. I was quite glad to finally make it back up to the dorm, and proceeded to hide out in the lounge the rest of the night.

Keep in mind that all of this was just condition three (normal) weather. If good weather can be that bad, I'm interested to see what bad weather can be like.

In other news, we finished up another week of training today. We're hoping to actually get on shift work by sometime next week, which we're all looking forward to. I have been and will continue to be doing a lot of studying in the coming week or so as I take my final tests on the building locations, hydraulics, and vehicle knowledge. I'm hoping to become a driver/operator (or in Maryland terms, a wagon driver) down here. I'm looking forward to both the challenge associated with it and also finally getting it done with.

That's all for now, as I'm out of time yet again. I'll try and get some more pics up shortly.

This is what you're missing.

Hands down, this beats anything I've ever seen in my life.

Condition One?

Hello again. Time for another quick update from the Ice.

As of right now, we're being threatened with Condition One weather. On the three tiered scale used to determine weather and travel limitations, one is the worst, requiring that everyone stay inside whatever building they are in and cannot travel even across the street. They have been calling for bad weather the last day and a half, but it hasn't really gotten as bad as they initially feared. Several sites (mainly the airfields and places off "The Rock") are at condition two and limited to only essential travel. I'd like to actually experience a condition one myself, just to see what it's all about. It has been described to me as being able to know what the inside of a ping pong ball looks like.

In town, the winds are gusting past 40 knots but the visibility remains fairly good at this point. It's a warm 14 degrees. It's odd that the human body can adapt so quickly to extremes of weather, because I really do mean that 14 degrees feels warm, especially compared to the negative 20 that isn't uncommon here. I'm almost overdressed for the current conditions.

The last few days have been fairly uneventful, which is odd considering that everything here is amazing in some way. We've been working a town schedule (0730-1700) which has been less than exciting. Our days are filled with death by powerpoint and walkthroughs of buildings. The walkthroughs have been fairly interesting. We went through the "Water Distillation Plant" the other day so we could see where our water for everything (including hydrants) comes from.

The name of the building is a little deceiving, as we don't actually use a distillation process and instead rely on reverse osmosis to essentially scrub seawater into drinking water. A simple way to describe this process is to say that seawater is essentially forced through finer and finer filters under pressure until it becomes drinkable.

Anyway, while the process to make drinking water from seawater is expensive, it is actually cheaper by a factor of 25 than to just boil the impurities out of it as has been done in the past.

We were also given tours of building 206 (An Air National Guard dorm) so we could look at the fire suppression systems and also of building 176, a cold storage warehouse so we could practice doing inspections.

It was good to see that we have ample stores of all food items that we critically need and don't need. Pedro, the guy working in the warehouse, stated that there was about a 12-15 month supply of food available, including the precious Frosty Boy that keeps everyone happy.

That pretty much summed up our work week. Since we are on the town schedule, we have Saturday night and Sunday off before we go back to work. Last night (Saturday) we went down to Gallagher's, one of the bars in town. It's not the absolute dump that you might expect, but rather, it's a pretty nice set up with pool table, dart board, and table shuffleboard in addition to a spacious bar.

Due to Octoberfest and the fact that Southern Exposure, the other bar next door, hasn't opened yet made it a little crowded. I had a few beers and played some pool before returning to the dorm for some video games in the lounge.

Since today has been threatening bad weather, I'm not able to get out on some of the trails that I've wanted to explore. I'm waiting for a better day to go down the trail to Scott's hut and take some pictures. There are also many other trails that are open, but they are even less desireable to travel on in inclement weather.

As a result, I've been taking care of a few things. Namely laundry and updating this blog. In fact, I need to get back to retrieve my laundry from the dryer about now. That should be all for today.

McMurdo, Antarctica (USA)

Sorry for the lack of updating in the last few days. Internet access here is limited at the best, and it's difficult to get to a computer during non-peak hours where the connection is not completely bogged down. This should hopefully only be a temporary problem which will be resolved when I finally get on shift work.

If you haven't figured it out yet, I finally made it down to the Ice. In one word, it's spectacular.

After our first flight was cancelled on Monday morning, we again woke up at 0400 for our second try at making it down south. This time we suffered from no delays at all. We arrived over at CDC (Clothing Distribution Center and also the terminal for Antarctic flights) a bit after 0530. We then got into our ECW (Emergency Cold Weather) gear and proceeded to get in line for "bag drag", the process for checking in for the flight.

After checking in, we sat around and watched a few more training videos regarding some aspect of something important that isn't particularly memorable at this time. After a quick breakfast and some lecture related boredom, we finally boarded the RNZAF buses for our short ride to the C-17 that would carry us down to the Ice.

We were then herded aboard the monstrous cargo aircraft and found our seats. Now, a few words about my new favorite form of flying transportation. Many of you may think that a military cargo aircraft would be the worst way to travel anywhere, but you would be very mistaken. In addition to the airline style seats mounted in the front of the aircraft, there were individual seats facing the middle of the aircraft along the walls and also seats facing the sides of the aircraft facing the sides of the plane. These side facing seats are not only more comfortable that most airline seats I've had the misfortune of occupying, but due to the design there is an exceptional amount of leg room available to people (such as myself) who are sitting in these seats. This combined with the amazing boxed lunch provided to us helped to make this flight one of the most enjoyable I've ever experienced as a passenger.

The only drawback of the C-17 is the fact that is lacks windows that passengers can enjoy. There are small portholes in or near each of the doors, but they don't provide much of a view of anything and were typically crowded with people searching for our new home. It also made it a little difficult to tell if we had actually touched down on the Ice, though a few gentle but solid bumps finally confirmed our arrival.

After touching down, we were all required to put on the rest of our ECW gear before we could step off the plane. After being bundled up to the point where you couldn't tell who was who aside from their name tags, we were again herded outside of the aircraft. I was stunned by the bright white of everything. The airfield that we landed on was nothing more than a slab of groomed ice in the middle of the frozen ocean. Also, the cold hit the one exposed body part that I had left, my nose. I could instantly feel the hairs in it start to freeze.

Again, with more herding, we were gently guided into the Deltas, a type of articulated giant wheel Antarctic bus. The ride into town was quiet and cold, the windows quickly icing over. When we finally made it in, we were again sent to another training lecture.

Once it was felt that we were lectured enough, we picked up our room keys and bags and proceeded to move into our new homes in Mactown.

Building 201 is now my new home. It is very much like most dorms that you'd find back home in the States. All the rooms are doubles, there is a well equipped lounge, and quiet hours are strictly enforced. The only unusual thing about it is the fact that our entire building (almost) exclusively houses the fire department. This works out exceptionally well, however, as once we conclude our training and go from daywork to shiftwork we will essentially be living in a single room with two beds. Each of us was paired up with a firefighter from the opposite shift, so when I work, my roomate has the room to himself for 24 hours and vice versa. I'm a fan.

Our working experience has been limited so far. They're trying a new form of training this year where they are taking us as a group and putting us on daywork in a classroom environment for about two and a half weeks. For most of us, this is unbearably painful, though. We've been itching to get out and actually do something since Denver, and this is just another frustration. The only thing that works as perpetual motivation is the fact that I'm getting paid to do fire department training.

We recieved our gear and pagers so far, so in a pinch, they can put us to work if need be. Though I hope nothing bad occurs, I wouldn't mind having to actually go into the station to at least stand by.

As I've been getting a fair number of questions about it, I will add some of my observations about the conditions down here.

Yes, it is cold. Our highs so far have been hovering around zero and our lows in the negative twenties. The funny thing is, as long as you're in the sun and the wind isn't blowing, it really isn't all that bad. In fact, I have been running between buildings with just my trusty hoodie. Additionally, I went out to the "gerbil gym" today with a t-shirt, shorts, and my trusty "Big Red" (my issued red parka) and wasn't really bothered.

Also, as far as the environment, I've never seen anything quite as beautiful. When it's clear, you can see for miles on miles. The mountains stand out in the distance and provide the most stunning silouette for our sunsets. I know one person in particular that I wish I could have see this in person, as I know she'd certainly appreciate it. I don't really have adequate words to describe it. It's just stunning and you need to see if for yourself. My camera can't even do it justice.

As for the town itself, it is a little interesting. I've heard it described as a mining town, and that's partially accurate. It has it's share of old, beat up buildings, but it also has some incredibly modern structures (including the Crary lab). Another interesting feature of the town is that everything has a name. The dorm that I reside in has a sign calling it the "Salmon River Inn". The dorm with the cafeteria is called the galley, the VIP and top-boss dorm is known as the "Mammoth Mountain Inn" (also known as MMI), the quad type area by a few of the dorms is known as "Derelict Juntion", there is a forklift called "Heckler", the small green forklifts are called "pickles" and we're warned to avoid them as they're prone to running people over, and there is even a Delta named "Scharen". This isn't all of the names by far, but enough for right now.

This place is certainly different, and I'm starting to see why some people fall in love with the Ice and never leave. It's cold, miserable, and desolate, but the beauty, mystique, and eclectic community have a strong appeal.

Sadly, I am again running out of time. I'm finishing up an Irish coffee at the Coffee House and getting ready to sack out for the night. Being on daywork is certainly a drag. My apologies if this is a bit convoluted and poorly edited, but I didn't get a chance to go back over it. Also, I will try to get a few pictures up soon. It may prove difficult because of the bandwidth limitation, but I should be able to at least get a few up.

Thumbing a Ride South

By the time you probably read this, I'll probably be on a plane headed to a more southern location.

Both flights one and two have successfully made it down to the Ice and back. This brings third flight, with it's complement of skilled and dedicated firefighters, up to bat for the company. Now we get to live the thrill of living on the edge of the infamous "boomerang".

Those of you not familiar with the "boomerang", I first ask you to consider the best known trait of the ancient Aussie weapon. That is, for those less informed, for it to return to the thrower.

First flight was boomeranged (if I'm not mistaken) three times. Some of those ended up being short hops up into the air before turning around, others consisted of actually seeing the coldest continent before returning due to weather. Regardless, neither situation is preferable. The thought of waking up at 0400, dragging all of your worldly belongings in bags, standing around for several hours, and finally getting on the aircraft three separate times is not something I want to consider.

Therefore, I can only hope that the plane is in perfect mechanical condition, the weather on the Ice is tolerable for landing conditions, and any other unforeseen issues (such as the repossession of our aircraft due to the lack of government liquidity) do not occur.

That said, I will sadly be leaving the wonder and beauty known as New Zealand, never to return (for 4.5 months, at least).

In our last few days of being delayed in paradise, I managed to visit a few scenic locations in the area. Both were exceptionally rewarding in their own rights.

Yesterday, I managed along with a few other firefighters, to wander over to the small port town of Lyttleton. The weather was beautiful and the views were magnificent, the town reminding me a lot of Astoria, Oregon.

Also, as we explored the town, we came across a few interesting local items of interest. The first was the finding of, acquisition, and consumption of an energy drink containing real absinthe.

It tasted terrible, and I mention it only for the novelty of it. Also, it is quite pricey, as we collectively spent about $20 Kiwi on a four pack.

Secondly, we found real life Kiwi ice cream. I enjoyed Boysenberry. It was delicious. It also doesn't taste like ice cream found state side, though I can't articulate the difference in writing. You just need to try it.

Lastly, we found the "Wunderbar". Both Andy Warhol and someone tripping on acid, shrooms, and/or cannibus would have loved it. A very unique experience visually, if not a little frightening. Luckily the beer was cheap, though the output end of drinking proved odd. Let me just say that I didn't quite know what to do with a traditional Kiwi urinal. In the end, the task was completed, though not with the grace and style of a true Kiwi.

Today proved to be a little less exciting. I ended up wandering off on my own to a small beach town known as New Brighton. The weather was cold and miserable today, with spittings of rain throughout.

The beach and views were still impressive, though socked in. What really amazed me was the wild nature of the weather. It would rapidly change from being sunny and calm to suddenly kicking up with fierce winds and downpours of stinging, pea sized sleet.

After that, I returned back to the hotel to finish up a few last minute things before our attempt at leaving yet another continent. One critical accomplishment was the collection of a bottle of Grant's Scotch.

Yes, it is truly from members of clan Grant and the bottle is adorned with the clan seal. I purchased it out of both the novelty of it, and the fact that most people are bringing down something with them due to extremely limited availability of distilled spirits.

I, not being a large consumer of liquor since I have a strong preference for beer, plan to keep this rather pricey bottle around for decoration and special occasions.

Now that I've rambled sufficiently for what was intended to be a very brief overview of tomorrow and the last few days, I shall cease typing. Not, however, because I'm tired of rambling, but rather because I need to actually sleep before my 0400 wake up call.

Coffee and being loaded into a flying freighter will be the order of the day.

That is all.

Delayed in Paradise

My apologies for not having updated for the last few days. I've been quite busy with more training, spending quality time in economy class seats, and soaking in the stunning beauty known as New Zealand.

As most stories that aren't as disjointed as Pulp Fiction start from the beginning, this will be no different.

After a much needed and restful weekend, we were all up bright and early for our first day of orientation with "the company". After we were all bused up there, we signed in and were immediately sent to a table to be handed a big wad of cash (our travel per diems). Unfortunately, the rest of orientation failed to be as interesting or as thrilling as those first dollar green moments.

We were herded about the company headquarters, being stuck with needles for required flu shots, filling out obscene amounts of paperwork, getting computers checked, and being lectured on various aspects of working for a real company full of crazy people who think going to the middle of nowhere is the norm. After this exercise in boredom and required suffering, we came back for a second day of it.

At the end of the second day of orientation, we were again herded back onto buses and sent to DIA to be shipped out as a group. Check in was interesting as we completely swamped the American Airlines ticket counter with our group and our purple tagged bags. Luckily, I was one of the first to get through.

We had about four hours to kill over at DIA as our flight wasn't scheduled to later in the afternoon, so this left plenty of time to explore the airport.

Four hours later, we left the beige of Denver behind for westerly skies. A few hours after that, we entered into hazy LA.

Another extended layover later, we boarded onto the largest commercial airliner in the world, the A380. Looking out the jetway windows, all we could do was stare in awe of how massive this aircraft was. It dwarfed the 747 sitting next to it. As we walked in, we were able to get a glimpse of first class. It was amazing as to how luxurious it was. Sadly, however, we were relegated to steerage class.

Even in steerage, we each had a tv screen in the seat ahead of us with dozens of movies, games, and albums to choose from. One of the amazing features of this screen was the fact that you could watch the aircraft actually flying from a camera mounted in the vertical stabilizer. It made takeoff and landing even more amazing, especially since my seat over the enormous wing made seeing anything difficult.

A long, dark 14 hours later, with my knees aching from being crammed into an even smaller than normal steerage class seat, we finally were greeted with daylight and a sight of the Australian Gold Coast. Shortly after that, we made our arrival in Sydney.

A dash through the international terminal led us straight to our next and final flight for the day. We boarded the "baby" 767 widebody for our three hour hop to Christchurch, better known to those of us with the company as "Cheech".

As the land of New Zealand first came into sight as the Tasman Sea came to an end, I sat by the window in awe the the rugged beauty of the South Island. Snow covered mountains led to wide expanses of luscious green land. For the rest of the time we were airborne, my head was turned and looking out the window, leaving my neck a little sore afterward.

After landing, I made it through customs with no problems. However, one of my bags did not fare well and had to be decommissioned. Luckily I didn't appear to lose anything out of it.

Once we dragged ourselves out of the airport, we were immediately met by the shuttle company charged with trucking us around and taken to our respective hotels.

Checking into the Hotel So, I was wondering what kind of odd place I'd entered into. It is a very trendy, hipster type establishment. Lots of unique decorations and styling that you don't normally see in your average hotel, but this place is far from average.

After checking in and making it up to my room, I was greeted with a dark ten by ten box that contained everything I need to survive my time here in Cheech. The darkness continued for about ten minutes as I couldn't figure out how to turn the lights on. Like the rest of the hotel, everything here is unique including the light switches. It turns out that you need to put your room access card into a slot by the door, and then hit the switches to turn on the lights. Odd indeed, and a feature that probably led to the irritation of my neighbors as my jet lag induced grumpiness led to some less than civilized uttering.

After finally getting the lights on and cleaned up after a long day and a half of traveling, I joined many of the others at the TravelEx money exchange.

Briefly, I'd like to mention that the Kiwi dollar is not real money. It's some kind of plastic sheet that has pictures and numbers that try to make it look like money, but it's not real. However, I was very pleased to see that this fake money was weaker than our greenback and getting more fake money for my real money somewhat made up for it.

As a group of firefighters lost in a foreign country are often wont to do, we immediately located the nearest pub, known as Bailes.

As it turns out, Bailes happens to be the unofficial pub of the US Antarctic Program. When you walk in, you are greeted with years upon years of Antarctic memorabilia covering the walls. The other great thing that you find there is a wonderful selection of Kiwi beer.

After calling it a night fairly early (exhaustion finally won out) I came back to my windowless yet chic cell of a room and sacked out for the night.

This brings me to today, Friday. (Also, just as a note, apparently I'm a day ahead of most of you. We left LA on a Tuesday, and arrived in Cheech on a Thursday. Something about the international date line.) I was up and early for our trip over to the CDC, or the Clothing Distribution Center.

There we were sent into a large room with orange bags covering the floor. Two of these bags were mine and contained all of my ECW (Emergency Cold Weather) gear. The sizes had been sent in previously, and I was pleased to find that everything fit well.

This also led to hearing official word on our flights, and for the reason that this entry is titled "Delayed in Paradise".

As it turns out, we were supposed to be the third flight to the Ice and scheduled to leave Saturday (tomorrow). However, due to both bad weather and mechanical issues with the C-17 we're supposed to take down, all flights have boomeranged back to Cheech, failing to get even the first flight of people down. This leaves us "stranded" in the best place in the world that I've yet to see until at least Kiwi Monday and possibly even later.

We're not complaining.

Since we had the rest of the day off, I decided to get a few things done and take the opportunity to explore Cheech some.

I have yet to see such a wonderful city in my life. It's full of flavor, history, and awesomeness. Antarctic explorers have a long and storied history in this city, as it's been the stepping off point for many. This is reflected by memorials everywhere, even in the Christchurch Cathedral.

Hopefully I can get some more pictures up soon, but bandwidth is choppy here.

This leads me to present time, and as such, I can no longer tell of things I've done. As a result, I can only hope to have some great adventures tomorrow which I can eventually share with all of you (Both of you?) here.