Antarctic Christmas

Here's two more for you. Uploading crashed after this, but I guess it's better than nothing.

Myself standing in front of a C-17 engine out on the ramp of Ice Town.

Looking down from Ob Hill towards the road for the old Navy pier and Scott Base (the green buildings off in the distance)


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So, it's no longer Christmas. It's kind of sad, since that was something most people were looking forward to. Now all we have to look forward to is New Years. Over at Scott Base. With much reveling and costumes.

Drat. Life is tough here.


Christmas went well. Presents did make it down here, and I am mostly thankful for them. The can of nuts and a copy of Dostoevsky's "The Idiot" from my family left me wondering if there was some hidden message in there somewhere...

In a remarkably unusual turn of events, I actually dressed up and looked nice. That makes about three times in the last year, far more than normal for me. Nice pants, shoes, a new sweater vest, and a nice shirt all went into use for the dinner.

Christmas dinner itself was tasty. Lobster tails were available as well as juicy cuts of steak. Since we always do things together, the fire department also ate together. Everyone was prepared with a bottle of wine and the meal and conversation was greatly enjoyed.

After dinner, the group meandered over to Southern Exposure for some table shuffleboard and more good company.

Also on Christmas Day was the McMurdo Alternative Arts Gallery, or MAAG (pronounced mog). It was originally started to poke fun at modern art and its obscenely obscure and overpriced nature. While it still pokes fun, there are also many amusing and interesting exhibits that I wouldn't actually mind buying.

It was held up at the Carp Shop, and they went all out. They had constructed a giant seesaw and a massive version of one of those desktop toys with the balls that swing back and forth knocking the opposite balls into motion. I'm sure there's a technical name for it, but I don't know it.

Stepping into the Carp Shop was like stepping out of this world (or out of this continent, at least). Black lights, the fog machine they stole from us, some kind of odd noise band, and laughably great art rounded it out.

My favorite exhibit in there was the shirt worn by Shuttle Megan. It was made completely of laminated plywood and was actually very stylish, though I doubt it was comfortable.

It just goes to show you the creativity of the people here. Also, when this is combined with having to do something to keep sane, it doesn't really come as much of a surprise.

Following these festivities, life has returned to normal. Mostly.


Another thing that happened since the last time I updated this is that I have made the discovery of all that is good and wonderful about burger bar.

Burger bar is pretty much what it says. Three nights a week, the kitchen over at Gallagher's opens up and makes burgers. What would be considered a normal burger back in the states is a little taste of joy for the mouths of McMurdites. After weeks and weeks of sometimes questionable food in the galley, a burger tenderly hand made by our very own Jeff hits the spot. This, combined with my first taste of an unexpired beer in three months has officially made me a huge fan of burger bar.

The last and final thing worth mentioning of late was our little going away party last night. As the rotation for three of the people at Pole is coming to an end, the time has come for us to send off some of the guys we've gotten pretty close with.

Doing things in true firefighter fashion, the whole of A shift raided Gallagher's, tripled business at burger bar, overwhelmed the bartender, and in whole caused a ruckus that would've probably had us ejected from any place stateside.

It was a good time. We bade our soon to be Polies farewell. Then we saw them again today as all flights were canceled due to the weather.

That's the very short version of the last few days. I'm sure more will happen soon. Now for a nap.

A Week or so in McMurdo

Sorry for the lack of updates. I've found myself spending less and less time at a computer lately (which is actually very enjoyable) and more time doing things like sleeping, reading books, and breaking things.

As a lot has happened in the last week or so, I'll just give a brief recap of the events that have occurred.

Event 1: We had a "fire" on station. It was a burnt up blower motor for a furnace that smoked up a building and produced no fire. An event that would typically last about ten minutes back home with just an engine and a truck took forty firefighters, two engines, a tanker, an ambulance, and about two hours to clear. It's a harsh continent.

Event 2: The transition can't decide whether or not it wants to fall apart or not. The trip to Pegasus has either been really long or really short lately. Judging by how we get tossed around in the back of a Delta, I'm going to say that the shortcut transition is not long for this world.

Event 3: Santa finally made it into McMurdo on a C-17. Since the management up at "The Company" have finally found it in their hearts to give us our long awaited package mail, roughly six to eight thousand pounds descended upon our rocky home bringing with it much Christmas joy. I was included in those happy McMurdites to finally see some mail.

Event 4: The Russians were in town. Sort of. A Russian cruise ship about 16 miles away flew in passengers on antiquated Russian helos for the all inclusive tour of McMurdo. The passengers weren't actually Russian, but had a mix including Americans, French, English, and other people from not so poor countries. I volunteered as a tour guide for these tourists. As I now consider myself a local, I was a little surprised as to how many things that they were taking pictures of. This included our trash receptacles. Each to their own, I suppose. They were treated to a mini tour of town, herded through our store, and corralled in the coffee house before we finally jettisoned them over at the road to Discovery Hut. All in all, I'd have been very disappointed by the tour after having spent $14,000 for the cruise. As an Antarctican, however, I don't care and am a little glad that we got rid of them before they got hit by a pickle (my major concern as a tour guide).

Event 5: Since nothing really catches fire around here, we have become "blasters" of ice dammed culverts. A lake formed by melting snow somewhere uphill of town is near the point of overrunning its banks, ready to unleash a torrent upon town. As a result, the culverts in and around town need to be unclogged so we don't wash out our roads. This has meant that we take the Tanker out, hook up a 3" line with a special fitting made out of some pipe and have us try to break the ice loose.

It's not a very effective method to clear fifty feet of near solid ice. About forty minutes and three thousand gallons later, we had moved less than three feet. After our failings, the real blasters were called and explosives were used to clear it. The first attempt didn't work very well, but did blow out the road and set some of the wood beams on fire. The second attempt apparently worked better, though I haven't seen the results. Hopefully they are done blasting, though, as waking up to a whumping sound and the building shaking isn't much fun.

Event 6: Tanker 3 may not be returning for the rest of the season. Apparently while they were in the middle of blasting culverts the other day, the PTO driven pump seized. It did so in such a fashion that it completely stalled out the engine, a considerable effort considering the torque of a Cat motor. Surprisingly, it didn't destroy the transmission or engine. While we're thankful for that, a spare pump probably doesn't exist on station and parts are probably not here either. We'll see if it comes back on the roster. Instead, we'll be running both of our engines instead in a "wagon pumper" combo. As cool as that it, it still leaves us with about a 2500 gallon deficit in immediate water supply.

Event 7: The lights aren't always on here. Due to some construction going on over in the power plant, Penguin Power and Electric (PP&E) is only running on two generators plus an emergency "Cat in the Box" generator. The other day, one of the main generators decided to have a major breakdown, and we reverted to the Cat in the Box for our power needs. Unfortunately, the remaining main generator had to go down for routine service. This left us with considerably reduced power for a night while they got it back on line. While we didn't completely lose power, we couldn't really do anything. Even the bars closed. If something happens to either one of our remaining generators, things will be going black here for some time.

Event 8: Tonight was both the firehouse Christmas party over at Hut 10 and the town party over at VMF. As can be expected at a firehouse party, things were entertaining. Secret Santa went well with the typical range of firefighter gifts to include booze and used urinals.

VMF decked out their shops for the occasion. Bays typically filled with mammoth equipment were instead cleared and made into lounges, dance floors, and bars. It was about as festive and fancy as can be expected for a heavy garage.

Event 9: Christmas is tomorrow. I'll probably even put on my suit for dinner. Even got a haircut the other day. Classy, I know. Very unlike me (especially considering I'm sitting here in my grease stained uniform after crawling under Engine 2 patching leaks that seem to appear from everywhere).

Well, that's all I have for now. Short, I know, but it'll have to do. Now to get some more coffee so I can stay awake long enough to cover the Midrats dispatch.

I give you pictures!

I'm not ambitious enough to put together a real post for today, but I did have some free time before going to dinner. As a result of my lazy ambition, I give you pictures. They are picked at random and have no order to them. Enjoy.

Red 1, my personal favorite. There's enough room in it to have a family of four live in it.

Looking directly at the back of Tanker 3 in the bays. Engine 1 occupies the space to the left and Ambo 1 the space to the right. Yes, I'm aware our trucks are ugly.

The Crash Shack during colder and less cracked days in Ice Town.

The volunteer stretcher bearer teams practice setting up in our bays.

The top of Hut Ridge leading into Arrival Heights. Going past here gives you a one way ticket off the continent.

A view of the spacious accomodations in Scott's Discovery Hut. Looks like they left in a hurry. Didn't even want their pants or the numerous crates of biscuits.

A view straight down the Pass between the T-Site and Ob Hill.

A view of the pressure ridges down by Scott Base. Just for a sense of scale, this is about twice my height.

The prettiest Cat in the McMurdo fleet, in my humble opinion.

Delta Scharen almost getting stuck in one of the drifts while trying to fuel the White Elephant over in Ice Town one particularily nasty Con 2 day.

A look into the Ice Cave I visited.

No, we're not immune from gangs and tagging here, either.

They say everything is bigger in Texas. Well, I'd like to disagree. Everything is bigger in Antarctica. That's me standing next to the truck used to launch the giant scientific research balloons over at the Long Duration Balloon facility. Compared to a lot of vehicles here, these tires are small.

We've thawed out a little bit here. Before, this was all white with snow. Now it's a dusty volcanic brown. I liked it better covered with ice.

A view looking down the bar at Gallagher's Pub. It's actually pretty nice. The guy in white working behind the bar is "Ghandi". He used to be the jano in our dorm until they stole him away from us.


This is what the shifter on Red 1 looks like. Sadly, someone stole the skull shift knob from us.

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

Transportation here in McMurdo is something of an enigma. It's very much like that on again, off again relationship that most of us have found ourselves in at some point in our lives.

We find ourselves attracted inexorably towards someone (or something) that we desire, only to either be disappointed time and time again or left hanging out with the laundry to dry. Even though we do find ourselves stranded (figuratively or literally in the McMurdo sense), we are always willing to race back with open arms to that which failed us yet again.

It's a vicious cycle, one that creates a significant emotional drain on anyone and can easily cause undue stress or misery. It is something that is not desired, but is often difficult to finally end.

For the firefighters here in scenic Mactown right now, we've been stumbling along with our relationship with the shortcut road to Pegasus.

Since the closure of Ice Town for the season, all of our airfield operations have moved to distant Pegasus field out on the permanent sea ice outside of McMurdo. This includes our airfield firefighting operations which require the vigilant omnipresence of six dedicated, skilled, and often napping firefighters.

Since the closure of Ice Town, however, our commute has changed significantly. What used to be a ten minute, two mile drive to Ice Town in Scat 1 has now changed to a forty-five minute (on a good day), thirteen mile drive in either "Ivan" or the ever comfortable Delta (with built in passenger vertical velocity adjuster). This new commute is now the source of the "hate" part of our relationship.

Lest I have you believing that I've led you astray with my previous statements of love and hate, there is a glimmer of hope out there for us. There is still some love available to us firefighters who come back later and later after each shift. Our love is the shortcut road.

The shortcut road comes off of the south side of Ross Island, the volcanic rock that comprises the base for our home here. In earlier times of the summer, it is the road to nearby Ice Town. On the way to Ice Town, however, there is an Antarctic interchange about halfway down. This interchange takes you directly to Pegasus and cuts off roughly half of the normal thirteen mile distance and equally as much time.

We love the shortcut road.

The shortcut road is fickle, though. Her mood changes almost daily, and we're never sure if she wants us or wants us to never come back. Regardless, we always hope. Even with that hope, there is always one serious point of contention between us.

That point is the transition.

The transition, as its name aptly states, is the meeting of the annual sea ice (the thinner variety) and the volcanic gravel we call home. This meeting point is critical. The ice thins out in this area and is prone to melting, cracking, and the abuse of constant traffic upon it. Holes routinely appear in it as well as cracks. It is cared for and given as much attention as possible, but we can't stave off our nemesis, the sun.

As the temperature here has warmed in recent weeks to well above freezing (we reached a high of 43F the other day, warm enough to warrant t-shirts and shorts for many), the transition has taken on a haggard and beaten look to it. The holes and cracks have gotten bigger. There is water seeping through large portions of it. In short, the transition has become unstable.

We broke it off with the transition on the shortcut road earlier this week. We told ourselves that it was for the best and that we had just get used to things as they were.

Things as they were, however, are not fun.

Earlier this week, we loaded up onto Ivan, an almost normal looking bus with tires nearly as high as my six foot frame. We made our way out to Pegasus. Slowly. Very slowly. The road had been drifted over by the winds the night before and the going was difficult. Even with the ground clearance of a small bungalow and the motive power of a semi, we managed to get stuck twice. Our trip out was painfully long. An hour and a half (double the "normal" time) later, we arrived and found the off-going shift standing impatiently at the door of the Crash Shack.

We'd sworn her off, but now we missed her desperately. We thought that we were over the shortcut road. We didn't think it meant so much, but we were wrong.

As our shift, led by the much loved and aurally amusing Lt. Grandpa, wound down after a night of herding penguins off runways (and eventually discovering that it was easier to herd LC-130s instead), we came out of the station to be greeted by our relieving crew.

When they arrived, however, we did a bit of a double take. It was only 0900. We were astounded, amazed, dazed, befuddled, and quite pleased.

"How'd y'all get here so fast?"

"The shortcut is back open."

It hit home like a boxing glove full of nickels. We were back on again.

We loaded onto Ivan with a little extra spring in our step, knowing that we'd be home again soon.

As we rolled down the not-so-long road back home, we enjoyed every bit of the familiar road. All its bumps and curves gave us delight, and with Lt. Grandpa throwing in some of his tawdry anecdotes, you couldn't find a happier exhausted, hungry, and dirty crew.

The ride wasn't all smooth, though. Near the end of our journey, we came back to the transition, the forever rough spot in our relationship. Ivan slowly stumbled through the dips and slushy holes in what was left of the ice. As we came to the end, we found a victim claimed by her.

One of Shuttle's Ford vans (resplendent with huge tires and four wheel drive) had stumbled nose first into a weak spot in the ice. It sat there trapped, the front axle just at the level of the ice water below.

We passed by, realizing that it just wasn't going to last.

Now every morning, a crew of firefighters waits anxiously to hear the news of the shortcut road. We all know that in the end, it isn't going to work out, but we desperately hope that we can just give it one more try.


My apologies to those who didn't appreciate the preceding style of writing. It certainly isn't purely journalistic nor is it what you'd consider a normal conversation from me (perhaps not peppered with enough less than civil comments?). Regardless, it's something I like to do once in a while. It is a skill that I haven't practiced enough in recent years. Life has precluded it harshly, though with more time available here it becomes easier to have some fun with words.

In short, if you don't like it, I don't care. That said, the rest of this will be in a less dramatic style.


In other news, Mactown is changing. For those of you that thought Antarctica was always frozen and covered with snow, I have some shocking news for you; it isn't.

The weather here has been getting warmer and warmer lately. We actually hit a high of 43F the other day, making it a nice day to wander around town in a t-shirt and shorts. It is a far cry from the -30F when we first arrived. The huge drifts of snow that we had on the lee side of buildings have all but disappeared. Ob Hill and Hut Ridge have all but become devoid of the clean, white blanket that covered them.

The melt has happened so fast, in fact, that the streets of McMurdo have become veritable streams and creeks. The running water quickly gouges out ruts wherever it decides to flow in the fine volcanic grit of town. Icy McMurdo turned into oozing MudMurdo.

MudMurdo wasn't long for this world, however. As the snowbanks have disappeared, so have the streams. The sun bakes the ground and drives the moisture from it. What was once mud now turns into blowing clouds of grit that works its way into everything. The wind has found a new way to torment us here, though it's still much warmer than it was and it has lost its bite from the cold.


As far as firehouse life is concerned, things here are still quiet. As I was actually in the middle of writing this, we were put out for the call of one DFO'd (Done Fell Out('d), a technical term) over at the bar.

It felt a little like home again, with the standard dehydrated reveler who had felt the curtain drop for intermission.

Our response, of course, was overwhelming. This can be expected when you look at our exceptionally low call volume and resultant eager workforce. From a personal point of view, it took too long to get the patient loaded and I failed to get ideal positioning with the ambulance.

In the end, however, this was fine. Considering transport time was in the area of thirty seconds of reverse to get to McMurdo General Hospital, I think our slight delay was compensated for. All in all quite acceptable, though I wish we had a few more (non-serious) calls to hone our skills as a team with.

Just another exciting day in the life of the AFD.

Just two more items, and I'm done for this post. I promise. It's getting late here and my fourth cup of coffee is having no effect.

Firstly of two, I am now officially a Driver/Operator of the AFD. After numerous scheduling conflicts and some bad luck, I was finally able to complete my pump test this afternoon, clearing me to drive our fine pumping apparatus on emergency calls. My thanks to the rest of the Station 1 A shift crew for being good sports and not complaining about the layer of ice that coated them by the time we concluded.

I never thought I would actually ever say this, but I'm a wagon driver now. What a cruel end for the eternal truckie inside me.

Secondly, I would like to make a few comments on the most unique piece of machinery that I have ever seen in my life. I would like to congratulate the Foremost company of Canada for creating a Titan of the fire apparatus world, the Chieftain (Our Reds 1 & 2).

Much like the mythical Titans of old, these antiquated behemoths have been surpassed by newer, nimbler, and far more temperamental trucks that never seem to decide if they want to work properly.

The Foremost Chieftain is a marvel of combining systems together to make something massive (roughly 35 tons), complex, and amazing all at the same time. My efforts to create an inspection checklist have led to some interesting finds in my research.

For those gearheads out there, read on. For those not mechanically inclined, skip to the end.

Red 1, the bigger and more complex of the two has three diesel engines (one for moving the unit, one as a generator to heat the water/foam mix in the back and a final unit to drive the fire pump), a drive system complete with not one, not two, but fourteen universal joints, and a strangely concocted hydraulic (which uses aircraft hydraulic fluid) over air braking system that I still haven't quite figured out.

To our northern mechanical monster friends at Foremost, I salute you for making an exceptionally interesting and complex machine. I hope that design revisions over the years, however, have reduced some of this complexity.

Perhaps this is an overly optimistic sentiment.


For those of you that made it this far into it, I congratulate you. Hopefully it remained fairly coherent even with my lack of editing. Normally I try to do a thorough run through for grammar and glaring errors, but my motivation for the evening has dwindled.

Signing off from the most amazing place on the planet, I bid you good nite.

Pictures are Worth a Thousand Words

Since I did take an unusually long break from posting on here the last week, I figured I'd try and make it up to you by putting up three pictures that I was able to get up before the uploader crashed.

This little guy is an Adelie penguin that happened to wander across the Pegasus airfield in front of our temporary firehouse the other day. For having such stubby legs, he actually moves pretty quick.

My name, forever etched into the tail of the crashed Lockheed Constellation Pegasus, which gives the airfield its name. The Texas flag is not mine, in case you were wondering.


Sitting on what's left of Pegasus.

Penguins, Balloons, and Pegasi, Oh My!

I know, I know. It's been far too long since the last update.

But it really hasn't been my fault! Really!

There was that day where we lost power, and then that day when we were living in Station Two with no power or heat and had to urinate into a funnel, and then that day I ended up over at LDB for an afternoon, and then the big fire...

Now I suppose you're going to want an explanation of all of this. Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned it at all. Not even the penguin.

I didn't tell you about the penguin yet? Oops. Just digging myself a bigger hole every time my fingers move across the keyboard...


If you couldn't tell from what I've typed above, life here actually has been very busy as of late. Busy, at least, by Antarctic standards.

I suppose I should start back towards the beginning. Several days ago (I think it was cookie day) we actually ran a call where I saw both smoke AND flame. Never mind that the smoke was less than that of expelled by your average Marlboro man and the flame could have been easily challenged by a candle, we had a "real" fire.

The fire itself was located in one of the dead ends on the sewage outflow system heat trace. (Heat trace, for those of you unfamiliar, is just a heated and heavily insulated outer shell found on all pipes outside of buildings. As you could imagine, things tend to freeze here if not kept warm.) A pair of electrical junction boxes located on the dead end decided to short out and burn themselves and some of the heat trace insulation.

We responded, arrived, and proceeded to stare at it for some time. Since I absolutely despise having to deal with fires of electrical nature, I proceeded to stand and stare at it (with extinguisher at the ready though I had no desire to discharge it because of the cleanup) for nearly an hour as the electricians attempted to find a way to shut it off.

It took them some time to actually shut it off since it wasn't labeled properly, and they would periodically check it by poking it with voltage tester to have it beep and the junction box fizzle, pop, and arc.

After it was finally shut off, we pulled off the insulating cap and checked it to make sure that the fire was done smoldering. It was, and we picked up and left.

Antarctic heroes are we, bravest of the brave and coldest of them all.

The next day (an off day), our Fire Prevention Officer sent out a page looking for volunteers to help him with some inspections. Having little better to do since my laundry was done, I volunteered. Lo and behold, instead of discovering that I was going to conduct an inspection in one of the regular buildings in town, I was to have the privilege of going out to the Large Diameter Balloon facility with two other off duty firefighters and doing an inspection.

LDB is located out on the permanent ice shelf about halfway to Pegasus Field. It's a decent drive even with a van (one of the faster vehicles around here). After we finally made it out there, we were greeted with clear skies and a stunning view of "The Rock" in the distance.

The facilities out at LDB are interesting in and of themselves. Everything there is on skis and is moved every winter to keep it from being buried in drifts. Their old facility still exists, though since it was a permanent structure, it is more than halfway buried into the snow. The galley out at LDB is also reputed as being the best dining in the greater McMurdo area, though we didn't get a chance to have a meal there as we arrived too late in the day.

The facility has just launched one of their massive balloons the previous day and the area was teeming with scientists and support staff who hadn't slept in the past twenty-four hours. They were busy monitoring the data returning from it and ensuring that everything was working properly. When they weren't too befuddled from exhaustion, they were constantly telling us about their balloon. These guys and gals are immensely proud of the work that they do. While I don't understand exactly what they're studying an why, I can respect their enthusiasm.

One of the interesting things to note is the fact that we can actually visibly see the balloon. Up in the sky, you can see this small, white object that looks like it doesn't really belong. In a way, it resembles a tiny full moon sitting up in the clear Antarctic blue. The really incredible thing about this, though, is the fact that it sits 120,000 feet up in the sky. The huge four hundred foot balloon doesn't disappear at all. Proud scientists with telescopes sat outside taking pictures as if it were a new baby that had arrived for them.

Concluding our mission at LDB, we returned home. This time, instead of a Ford van to take us back, we were met by the world reknown "Ivan the Terrabus" (seen here). After climbing onto this behemoth, it felt surprisingly like a standard school bus back in the states, though with more comfortable seats and real wood paneling everywhere. On the ice, it was a fast ride, though we slowed to a dead crawl on the windy road by Scott Base and the road into town.

Another day concluded, I slept and woke up for the next big adventure.

Ice Town is no more. The unrelenting summer sun and the weight of the aircraft have finally taken their toll on what was once a small, cramped, but proud airfield. All Ice Runway operations have ended for the season. All that remains now is a dirty brown spot on the ice from all the jet exhaust. Luckily for us, the ice never completely gave way and we never fell into the freezing depths below.

The planes need a home, though. Even though they took off and left, we had to collect them again at some point before they ran out of fuel and found their own way to land.

The solution for this is the Pegasus White Ice Runway.

As its name implies, the ice here is white (sometimes referred to as clear) as opposed to the blue sea ice of the Ice Runway. The ice that Pegasus is on is permanent sea ice (the edge of a glacier, if I'm not mistaken) and is roughly 400 feet thick. Since this ice was not formed by the sea but instead by eons of drifts compressing into solid ice, the ice is white.

That lesson concluded, on to the next.

There are not enough structures in all of the greater McMurdo Metro area to fully equip two airfields at the same time. This, combined with the fact that one airfield is annually broken to bits and blown out to sea by an ice breaker, mandates that all structures be built on skis.

As the last flights left the Ice Runway, the buildings started to move. Big Cats from all over started hooking up to each of the buildings and, one by one, slowly dragged them over to Pegasus. The trip with a building takes about two hours, and I'm certainly not envious of the Fleet Ops guys who did this five or six times during their shifts.

For us in the Fire Department, the move was a logistical nightmare for us. Since some aircraft would be coming into Pegasus before the last flights had actually left the Ice Runway, we would have to staff two separate Crash Shacks in addition to our station in town. This left us stretched thin for staffing and lots of juggling commenced.

The previous night, B shift had started staffing Pegasus and moving equipment over there. They were unfortunate enough to have a miserable night cleaning up the mess that Red 1 (one of our antiquated tracked vehicles) made on the way. It decided to leak coolant all over the clean snows of the road for almost a half mile. This meant that the poor guys on B shift had to go out and shovel all of the contaminated snow to be collected by the friendly folks over at Haz-Waste.

I'm sure they were thrilled. Especially since it was late at night.

For B shift, the temporary living arrangements over at Pegasus weren't all that bad. The only two buildings that existed at the time (and for about half of my shift out there) were a Fleet Ops building (with heat!) and an outhouse (whose urinal consisted of a metal funnel stuck into the wall and what sounded like about fifty feet of echoing pipe feeding into a drum somewhere).

After we arrived in the morning to relieve them, we made ourselves at home in the much nicer Fleet Ops shack. We sat around reading, making fun of our lieutenant's sewing skills, and answering the phone with "Fleet Ops...and Firehouse..." which really confused more than one person.

A couple of hours into the shift, we had a sighting. A little Adelie penguin was making his way along outside of our building. We all rushed outside with cameras in hand to see the little guy as he waddled his way along.

The little guy waddled along, stopped for a minute to stare at us in all of our photographic induced insanity, and promptly waddled back along again, crossing active runways as he pleased.

My first penguin sighting. Only took two months. Now all that's left is to see an Emperor penguin. Also, I'd like to note that while Adelies are little, they're pretty quick considering their tiny legs.

With the big penguin sighting over, the next event of the day was to go out and see the namesake for the airfield, the wreck of Pegasus.

The airfield is named after a famous air wreck that happened some years ago. A Lockheed C-69 Constellation (better known among wingnuts as a "Connie") named "Pegasus" decided to touch the ice a little harder than planned and did significant damage to the aircraft. Luckily, nobody was injured in the 1970 incident, though the aircraft was no longer usable. Since it was in the way, it was towed out to the burn pits (still visible next to the wreck) and left to nature.

The snows have buried most of her in drifts, though we were fortunate after getting out there to find that the tail, the top of the fuselage, and a bit of the cockpit was still showing. After taking many pictures and etching my name into the tail like many before me, we went back to our temporary station.

Much of the rest of the day consisted of me sitting in Red 1 watching aircraft take off and land. The C-17 arrived at Pegasus for the first time in months, and we had front row seats to watch it land, park, offload, sit some more, load, load some more, load a medevac (I actually had to get out of the rig for this) and then watch as it taxied and left again.

Luckily I had my trusty copy of Catch-22 to keep me company during this time. (As an aside, I finally finished it. It only took about four attempts and three years, but it's done. While it is slow to start, it really starts to come together in the end.)

During our hardstand, Station 2 magically reappeared behind us. While we were glad to have our familiar home again, we weren't so lucky to have it hooked up to electricity yet. As such, we spent the night in a cold, "dark" (by Antarctic summer standards) double wide. Luckily, we were supplied with cold weather sleeping bags which were more than warm enough for us.

In the morning, we headed back. We almost got Scat 1 stuck several times in the drifts that had accumulated during the night (the winds were howling last night). Luckily, we didn't need to get out and shovel, though I was pretty sure we were going to have to at one point. After our safe return, I went back into my normal day-off routine.

Now, since I'm just about done, I get to contemplate what my Saturday evening activities will be. Right now I am strongly considering Irish coffee over at the Coffee House. Perhaps a trip to Southern will be in order later, also, depending if I can find some other people to join me.

We'll see. Tomorrow is an easy day for me. Sunday at Station 1 riding the buckets of the Tanker. Naps will ensue.

Until my next update (which will hopefully be sooner than this one was), I bid you adieu.