Of Robots and Sawbucks

Smoke.

I smelled smoke yesterday.

It was an olfactory delight. The thin wisps dancing along the air currents to my nose left me in a state of both confusion and of utter amazement. It was a vaporous taste of charred wood, more aromatic than anything that I've had the pleasure of inhaling in about three months.

You don't realize how many smells you miss out on when the only odors that you notice anymore are diesel exhaust, cigarettes, and the sweet fruity smells from rooms where women reside. (I don't know exactly what shampoo they're using, but you can always tell if a woman lives on the floor the instant you walk in.) The frozen south does not lend itself to the odors of decay or the smell of anything more natural than volcanic rock.

Also, before you get concerned, nothing was on fire that shouldn't have been. The Air Guard guys who live in the dorm next to us were outside barbecuing with real wood. I stopped for a moment and enjoyed it before heading back in.

This was the start of a good day. A very good day.

Yesterday was "Icestock", the McMurdo version of that now famous gathering in a little town somewhere in New York. Our version, however, had far fewer hippies and a no acid trips. We did, however, have robots and ninjas.

The quadrangle formed by the galley, Southern Exposure, and Acey Deucey (aka the Gerbil Gym) formed the venue for our audio and liver celebration. A stage was formed out of three flatbed trailers and about half a jamesway placed on top of them to cover the equipment on the stage.

Bleachers were created from a flatrack (a shipping container with no top or walls on the long sides) with wooden benches added and an old Navy six by six with couches loaded in the rear. Fish huts filled in the gaps around the edges and were used for serving beer, burgers, brats, and coffee at our very own Sawbucks. (Sawbucks Irish coffee tends to be rather heavy on the Bailey's and a little short on the coffee. An excellent deal for a dollar donation.)

Bands were on stage all day, with plenty of variation in both style and quality. Much like any other venue you might go to, the better the band, the later in the day they played.

The music ranged from solo guitar to country to guitar/violin combo to some ska (a trip back in time for me) and the closing act of some funkadelic craziness that left the crowd demanding more.

Some of the bands were excellent. For the rough and tough image that is easy to get caught up in here, the musical talents of plumbers and bulldozer operators make you realize the skills that other people have. One band made almost entirely of janos who called themselves "Safety Band", spent their entire set poking fun at some of the Mactown absurdities.

Another fun even that occurred during Icestock was some between band entertainment put on by the wasties and some DAs. While everyone was milling around between sets, about a dozen brightly colored robots appeared out of nowhere and started dancing up by the stage.

After dancing for a few minutes, giving me some very entertaining video, a group of ninjas appeared out of the same ether that the robots emerged from. The ninjas, however, were far less interested in dancing as in doing what they do best; battle robots.

A battle of epic proportions ensued. It went back and forth for a while, demonstrating how evenly matched an armored cardboard robot is against an agile and armed ninja.

In the end, only one robot and ninja remained standing on the field of conquest. As they closed in at last for final blows against each other, a love story unfolded. It turned out that our remaining combatants had been hiding a secret love for each other. With the exchange of a pair of cardboard hearts, they drifted off together.

I wish them much happiness and beautiful ninjabot children.

The final band of the day certainly went all out. The band, called "Porn Spill", arrived in brightly colored costumes and with a little bit of attitude to go with it. They played a lot of hits from the era of funk and had the crowd going crazy. We were all greatly disappointed when their set finally finished.

Following the conclusion of the main stage of Icestock, a mad rush was made for the galley. The entertainment ended just in time for about three quarters of the station population to rush it in the last fifteen minutes of dinner. I'm sure the DA's were thrilled, though they did close before some had a chance to eat.

The excitement for the day did not end, however. After everyone flooded the galley, Gallagher's opened up for the night with a full evening of even more live musical talent.

The musical talents of McMurdo again astounded me. A bluegrass band started things off and left me impressed. I'm not always a huge fan of bluegrass as it can get to be a bit too twangy for me, but the ice version was quite pleasant to hear. Also, it's not everyday in Antarctica that you run across a mandolin and a slide guitar.

As the bar became more and more packed, the bands continued to become more and more entertaining. By the end of the night, you could barely move and whenever a song started, everyone knew it and sang along.

As far as I'm aware, nothing bad even happened following a day of music and drinking. Everyone was well behaved, and aside from a few bad decisions here and there, I think everyone enjoyed it.


Now, a common transition to the next day may begin "comes the dawn", but as the sun never sets here I can't in good conscience use it.

Therefore, I'll have to use the slightly modified "comes the next shift".

While most people were nursing the effects of their jubilant celebrations of the previous day, those of us on "A" shift were going back to work. While the weather had been fantastic the previous day, the winds had kicked up during the night shift.

As I stepped out of my dorm in the morning, I was met with a sandy, gritty, blast of wind coming down the road. In the few minutes that I had spent outside, I ended up with enough of the the McMurdo mud (in powdered form) in my hair to last me until the next shower.

Since it was a Sunday, the town doesn't normally provide scheduled shuttle service out to Pegasus. As a result, I was sent to check out one of Shuttle's vans with bead-lok tires so we could take our crew out to Pegasus. After picking it up and loading it up with all our gear, we were on our way.

Unfortunately for us, the shortcut road was closed. This left a long thirteen mile drive ahead, though I actually looked forward to it.

Typically, the most that I get to drive is the occasional mile here and there around town in the trucks at about ten miles an hour. It's a rare day indeed that I get to actually watch the second to last digit on the odometer to roll over and the speedometer climb all the way to the blazing speed of twenty-five.

After meandering through the pass, Scott Base, and the transition, we finally hit open ice road.

The road was in good condition with only the occasional wheel engulfing hole ahead. I opened the throttle and let that V-8 roar! (When everything is in low gear, engine noise makes you think you're going faster.)

The McMurdo highway system is something unique to itself. I don't think I've ever described it in detail here, but it's a fairly simple affair.

Every day, Cat Challengers and dozers ply the roads, pulling drags or ox-foot carts scraping and compacting mile after mile of snow into a usable road surface. About every one hundred feet or so, some poor fellow had the honor of jumping out of their nice warm truck, drilling a hole in the ice, and planting a bamboo pole flag which marks the edge of the road. Repeat several thousand times, ad nauseam, and you have a McMurdo highway.

Driving down the empty road is an experience in and of itself. The wind that had been blowing in town hadn't disappeared on the frozen Ross Sea. As I drove down the smooth white topped road, I watched as tendrils of blowing snow snaked and writhed alongside. In some ways it reminded me of whales or porpoises that swim alongside ships.

As the mile markers passed by slowly, the long, straight road with no real landmarks had a slightly hypnotizing effect. Luckily, I was able to make the turn for both "off-ramps" that led to Pegasus without just blowing straight through into a distant and invisible drift.

While the roads didn't have much to look at other than flags and mile markers, the scenery far beyond still impressed me. Mt. Discovery was out, with low clouds skirting swiftly along its peak. Black and White Islands were in full view, and provided me with some distraction (other than the classic rock coming from the radio) as I held the wheel straight.

Even though it wasn't really much of a drive to speak of, I still enjoyed "going fast" and actually going somewhere. I was actually a little disappointed when I pulled the van up to the Crash Shack.

Sunday at the Crash Shack is almost always a quiet shift. The mood is typically relaxed and aside from the morning truck checks, the day is spent reading, surfing the net, playing board games, and some movies.

Hopefully, after this Sunday, I think I've started a new trend in the Antarctic Fire Department. Since there is typically nobody in town on a Sunday, I promptly donned my Hawaiian shirt as we began our daily truck checks. I'm sure that if anyone had been in town at the time, they would have been a little confused to see me inspecting one of our Foremost Chieftains.

Later at dinner, I did receive some unusual looks and a few giggles from the staff in the galley and from the Air Guard guys who were coming on shift. I'm also pretty sure that I received more than one strange look from someone as I walked around between buildings in the snow.

After dinner, another one of my shift mates joined me with his Hawaiian shirt and wore it proudly for the rest of the day. With a little luck, everyone will be wearing them by the end of the season.


In short, that sums up a fun and entertaining two days of life on the Ice. I know this shows itself to be a rather abrupt ending, but the rest of the time at the Crash Shack was uneventful.

Also, as a final note, while I did begin the composition of this entry the day of my last shift at the Crash Shack, it took me until Antarctic Wednesday to finish it (lots of delays and a lack of a conclusion are the main culprits in this situation) and it wasn't published until Antarctic Thursday. My apologies on the timeliness of this, as I know many of you are critical of punctuality.

There is more to come. Far more. Enjoy.