Et Finis?

To all of my formally loyal readers, I am forced to issue you my apologies.

I haven't been very good at keeping up with this blog. It was partly out of laziness that I did stop posting, but I also had a few other reasons which will go unnamed at this juncture.

Anyway, I would like to at least partially make it up to you by at least creating a "final" post and give you a run down on what's happened since the rugby game so many months ago.

If you haven't heard or can't tell, I'm off the Ice now. I miss it terribly. I made some wonderful friends down there and I hope to see many of you again someday. There's never a promise of that, especially considering the often daring and often long-legged wanderings of the Ice people, but the paths of wanderers cross more often than you'd imagine.

Looking back through my hundreds and hundreds of pictures, I remember vividly many fun times and amusing anecdotes. For a brief conclusion to this adventure, I'm going to post some of these pictures and tell the story associated with them.

Standby for the past...



As mentioned in a previous post, we had our annual rugby match with the Kiwis. Of course we lost, though there was some talk of the Kiwis cheating substantially through illegal substitutions (hard to tell when their jerseys don't have numbers) and of a covert early morning widening of the pitch.

Regardless of speculation, we kept with tradition and lost with only one concussion for the day.

If I ever go back, I'm joining the rugby team.



To give those of you an idea of how far behind Mactown is in some respects, I show you one of the supplies stocked on the ambulances. The packaging is of Petrolatum gauze (something I'd never heard of before the Ice) and is presumably for burns. If you look closely at the bottom of the picture, you'll note the date of manufacture.

No, that's not a typo. That's mint condition 1972 Petrolatum. Since there's no expiration date, we can only assume it's still good.



Pictured above is our lovely and vivacious resident Maineiac staring wistfully at the Swedish icebreaker Oden as she tears through what was once Ice Town. Since the Maineiac is a winterover and is still on the Ice making sure that Mactown doesn't burn down before next season, I'm pretty sure the thoughts going through her mind in this picture go something like this: "I signed up for fourteen months on the Ice...but if I can just stow away...and they have a coffee bar..."



Hawaiian shirt dispatch days. This is what happens when we run short on a dispatcher and they need a dedicated firefighter to fill in. Contrary to how it looks, I'm actually working very hard. It's quite difficult to look that good all the time, after all...

Also, note the evolution of the mustache as the season progresses. Yes, I know it looks bad. Though with the shortage of eligible bachelorettes on Ice, I doubt anyone there noticed.



Pictured above are some of my associates (our new resident Jano and the Seahawk fan) enjoying another American Night over at Scott Base's "Tatty Flag" pub. It's always nice to get "Over the Hill" to enjoy the hospitality of our Kiwi neighbors. As well as meeting interesting people with amusing accents, the beer goes for about $.80. With a shuttle bus driver provided, how can an evening socializing with them go wrong?



This may just seem like a nice scenic picture of water off of Hut Point to you, but to those of us who were on the Ice, this was a remarkable time. The fact that we had open water was incredible.

Open water is not a common occurrence in Mactown. It created quite a stir in town, with everyone going out to Hut Point on their off time to gaze at the water, smell (Yes, actually smell! Something our frozen town had a lack of unless it was diesel or cigarettes.) salt water, and watch as the Adelie penguins, seals, and occasional whale provided us with priceless entertainment.



As the weather in Mactown warmed up, the local frisbee golf (or "frolf" in the local vernacular) course became more appealing to the residents of the town, leading myself and my Captain, pictured above trying to overcome a twenty foot gravel bank in a cargo yard to reach the hole, to go out and enjoy the course.

With gusty winds and the weather possibly above freezing, we made our way through the extremely technical course. Each hole is supposedly a par three, however, it is in this humble fris-duffer's opinion that most holes are at least par fives.

The prevalence of pipe hazards, frozen melt pools, obstacle buildings, pallets, forklift traps, and numerous other industrial objects-turned-irritants supports my claim. However, the Rec office disagrees and has kept the course at par three.


So it turns out that Kiwis don't really know how to operate their airplanes when they're not in the sky. This slightly battered and broken extinguisher met its fate as the Kiwi [Plane that Shall Not be Named], sometimes known locally as "Voldermort" fired up and tried to leave.

Being ready to leave, they didn't seem too concerned about the big yellow thing that happened to be in their way, so they just ran into it bringing their departure to an immediate halt. Luckily, Voldermort wasn't substantially damaged (though I'm sure some Kiwi pride was) and later departed without problems.

As amusing as this was, it actually turned into a headache for myself and Tex. We were the ones who were to do the hardstand for its takeoff. After a quick race to the midpoint of the Ice Runway, we proceeded to sit there for almost an hour as we wondered why they hadn't left yet. Eventually we decided to head back and were later filled in on the details.


Pictured above is a shameless "hero shot" of myself out at the Pegasus Ice Runway with a C-17 on the ground. Another day at work, and another day in paradise.


Above is the USS Paul Buck at the Ice Pier. The Buck is the Navy oiler that came down to resupply us with several million gallons of fuel for the next year. This was a fairly big event as it represents the beginning of the vessel period of the season and signals the beginning of the end of summer.


As the season starts to come to a close, morale on station begins to decline. People are starting to wear down from the six day a week work schedule and productivity begins to slip.

As a result, station management sees fit to provide many people from across the station with a chance to go on a morale trip, more commonly known as a "boondoggle". My trip was to take snowmachines to the foot of Mt. Erebus, our resident active volcano. The trip itself is known as "Room with a View".

The weather had looked more promising earlier in the day (this was an evening trip), but overcast began to roll in as we made our way up. The views were still spectacular, but could have been better. Being able to see some of our gorgeous landscape was great, but the real fun was being able to actually go fast again. While we were officially limited to about 30mph, the group may have gone a wee bit faster at times. How fast? I won't say, but I'll tell you it was easily the fastest I'd gone since my arrival on the Ice, especially considering the 25mph limit on the roads.



A breakdown of the Mactown population posted outside of Housing. In short, pickings are slim for the gentlemen. For the ladies, the odds are good, but the goods are odd.

One of the big projects on station this season was the repainting of the galley. This was done both to reseal the roof which had developed a few leaks, and to possibly tell us of new corporate sponsorship for the NSF. Welcome to Walmart?

Interestingly enough, the paint being used is actually blue bed liner used in trucks. It's thick, durable, and being applied in temperatures well below what was intended.

Also, for a time during the most painting, people seemed unusually happy when eating in the galley. Most likely from the fumes that kept drifting in.


The M/V American Tern is coming into port at the Ice Pier. This picture actually shows it shortly after it impacted and bounced off the pier, likely taking a few icy chunks with it. With the arrival of the Tern, "vessel week" officially began.

Keeping in the true Mactown fashion of "if it isn't broke it doesn't belong here", word spread quickly that the Tern was busy sinking into the depths below. This was a partly true statement as the Tern had developed a leak in a seawater intake pipe for the fire suppression system that the crew could not effectively patch. After calling on the services of FEMC, the leak was repaired and the "sinking" ended.

Vessel week was a busy time, but also a time with limited amusement available. During the whole of offload, the bars are closed (with the exception of free coffee being served at the Coffee House) and the store is no longer allowed to sell alcohol. For those who had stockpiled in anticipation, it was of little concern, though for the rest of us we were without our usual vices to create minor mischief with.

Board games and coffee ruled that week. It wasn't that bad in the end, though the lack of the social aspect of the bars did create a bit of a downer.


This is a view looking down the bridge of the Tern. As offload/load neared completion, the fire department was invited to take a tour of the the vessel. It was interesting to see the insides of the vessel, especially one that had been built originally in Cold War Germany. Being a complete gearhead at heart, I could go on for a while about the mechanical aspects of the ship, but I'll spare you the details this once.


As the season came closer to the end, I was disappointed by the fact that I had yet to actually make it out to Castle Rock, our longest and one of our more spectacular trails. Pictured above is the second "Apple" (an emergency shelter) with Castle Rock looming a mile or so in the distance.

The hike out to it is long and boring. The day we went, the weather was good, but the snow was a little powdery and made for some difficulty tromping through it. The climb to the top is steep, but actually very easy as ropes have been set up to hold onto as you make your way up or down.

When we made it to the top, we could see everything for miles and miles around. Open water past the Razorback islands and the beauty of the Royal Society Range in the distance. It was certainly worth walking nearly ten miles round trip to see.


With the season winding down, and with fewer things for me to break/fix, I figured it was time to put together my tally for the season. With some spare time and a grease pencil, I marked my "kills" on the side of Engine 2, my truck for the shift.

Most of my kills were from breaking trucks in the harshest environment in the world, but the last one on the right was more of an accomplishment. I don't recall whether or not I mentioned breaking the "T-Site" or not, but I managed to do it from about a mile away. At least that's what the Captain says...


Above is my final revenge on the Seahawk fan. On a night much earlier in the season, he thought it would be fun to send a double shot of tequila down the bar for me. Not being a fan of tequila in the least, I vowed revenge.

Many weeks later, I finally made good on my promise. Holding in his hand is a beverage known as the "Four Horsemen". As you can guess, anything named after the bringers of the Apocalypse can't be good. It comprised a copious amount of several ill tasting varieties of booze. I enjoyed the look on his face as he drank it. A truce was called shortly after.


As the last of the LC-130s left Pegasus for the season, there wasn't much left to do on the final full shift out there, so the crew picked up their hockey sticks and went to work. It's amazing how easy it is to play hockey when you're living on an ice sheet.

As another interesting side note, this was the same day I drove Red 2 from Pegasus back to "The Rock" to be put away for the winter. It was a long, slow drive. The thirteen miles in between took nearly three hours to cover, and the scenery wasn't that spectacular due to overcast. The ride can be summed up by comparing it to staring at a blank sheet of paper for two and a half hours while being rattled around followed by about twenty minutes of sheer terror as I wasn't sure if it would make it up the hill to get to town without killing me (it stalled out twice and almost rolled back down the hill).


The season has ended, for me at least. Here we are, all stacked up in our Big Reds waiting to get on the C-17 to go back to the real world. It was a bit of a surreal experience. It didn't quite feel like it was actually happening.

The days preceding my departure actually got to be a little depressing. I was on one of the last flights to leave, and the dorm grew emptier and emptier with less and less to do. Halls that once bustled with activity were now silent. Friends were gone. The town was quieter, the galley emptier. I wondered where all my time had gone.

With goodbyes said to the winterovers staffing the hardstands, we boarded and flew away, on to find the rest of our destinies.


Perhaps I should have stayed?