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.

Recapping Our Latest News...

Another from my collection of pictures. The sign seen from the road on the sea ice leading from Ice Town to "The Rock" of McMurdo. Please note that there is no distortion of colors in this image. The ice really is blue here.




My apologies for not updating in a few days. I've been somewhat busy and haven't had the chance to actually sit down and plug into the network for a while.

I'm back at Station One this evening, waiting for the "big one" to finally come, knowing that it isn't going to happen. Half of the crew has gone over to the galley for trivia night, leaving all of us mainbody guys back at the station.

For as much as everyone seems to believe that the winfly and mainbody guys are getting along, I've found the former to be fairly cliquish when it comes down to it. The latter does not exemplify social perfection, though I'd like to think that we're trying to make the extra effort to try to integrate since we are the invaders.

Life here at Mactown continues to prove itself interesting. The weather here has been nice lately, with highs coming into the low teens. This has made sweatshirts acceptable wear around town. We are starting to see some melt in spots where the sun beats incessantly all day, though nothing too significant.

Yesterday, Fleet Ops went around with backhoes and dug the snow out of all the ditches that line many of our roads. I'm presuming that this is in anticipation for the coming melt which from what I've been told leaves "rivers running along the roads". The only irritation that came with this was the fact that they deposited this snow back in the middle of the roads, leaving six inches of dry powder that presented the consistency of sand when walking through it.

Town has finally become slightly less crowded lately. The Aussies have finally departed (much to the disappointment of many as they were exceptionally pleasant to have around) and more people have finally made it down to Pole.

Of course, with the departure of people destined for other places, that left more beds available to us. Temporarily, at least. After being delayed due to the lack of beds and weather over the last few days, a C-17 with passengers destined for McMurdo and other locales descended upon us today, taking another large portion of beds. This is of less concern than before, however, as most of these people are actually scheduled to stay for an extended time here.

While many of you back in the States enjoyed another Halloween this year, we were not left out of the celebrations.

Halloween is likely the biggest event that McMurdo sees all year, and everyone comes out for it. Sadly, I was working that day, but our crew still made it down to ensure the safety of all. The event is held in the "big gym", which is nothing more than a converted Quonset hut with a less than regulation size basketball court and rock climbing wall.

Soon after the party officially opened, we started to see the parade of costumes that made there way past the firehouse. First, it was a slow trickle with the errant walking banana or giant pair of scissors. Later, it became a steady stream of cross-dressers, vampires, and moose.

I'd like to point out two observations that I have made regarding Halloween. First, there are an inordinate number of men dressing as women down here. My personal speculation on this matter is that it is a result of the combination of the lack of women here (roughly 28% female according to my source in housing) which makes men more likely to do something ridiculous and the lack of normal social barriers (this place in unique in every aspect, might as well push the boundaries a little bit more). Also, the second observation comes from the number of and complexity of costumes that I've seen. Apparently, many people pack down the materials for costumes when they come down, taking up valuable pounds of their permitted luggage that they can bring down. I've never seen a place where costumes are taken this seriously before.

The party itself was interesting. The music was good, the costumes outrageous, and the people fun. The only shortcomings were the facts that I was stuck wearing my fireman costume and the fact that the entire event had the feel of a high school dance. (Not that it was a bad high school dance, but an odd feeling for a bunch of people ranging from college age to old.)

In other news, I finally was able to make it up Observation Hill the other day. I do have some pictures from it, though I haven't even had the chance to download them from my camera yet.

For as steep as Ob Hill appears, it is actually not a difficult climb at all. As long as you're careful to keep a sure footing in the patches of ice and volcanic gravel, it proves to be easy. There were a few spots along the path up that made for excellent places to sit and enjoy the view. Despite being a breezy +4, I stayed warm sitting on the rocks with my big red and blue jeans. From my sitting spot about halfway up Ob Hill, I was able to enjoy a spectacular view of town, Mt. Erebus, and Ice Town.

When I finally reached the top of Ob Hill, I was greeted with an almost jaw dropping view of everything for miles around. In addition to the previously mentioned sites, I was able to see all the way to Scott Base (the Kiwi station just down the road), White Island, the Long Duration Balloon Facility off in the distance, Black Island, the pressure ridges, and numerous other landmarks.

Also, at the crest of Ob Hill, there is a cross placed as a monument to the failed Scott expedition to the Pole. It presents itself as a rather sobering reminder as to the power this frozen continent truly possesses. From this cross, however, you can see everything that these explorers strove to discover. As immense and harsh as Antarctica is, it presents the perfect challenge to those who wish to discover the unknown. While Scott failed, the words on the cross, "To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield." exemplified this spirit. This is the same kind of spirit that I've found seeping through my own self, much more so lately as there has been fewer pressures to quell it.

With these words and an incredible view of the world in which I live, this gave me ample material for thought. My perch on top of the hill left me above everything within reach. Some thoughts drifted back to "home", and others to what the future holds in store. There is no doubt that I have significant changes coming my way in the near future. Many doors are open to me right now. I have almost nothing to really tie me down at this point in my life. I have a growing desire to see more and more of the world. It will be interesting to see what path I take, though I am almost certain that it will be down one less traveled.

Changing pace, my words will now drift back towards the firehouse. I don't recall if I've mentioned this already, but I've completed almost of of my required tests to get turned over as a wagon driver. I only need to get some pump time now and I'll be fine.

Engine 1 went over to the Vehicle Maintenance Facility today for a routine checkup. This put the newly returned Engine 2 in service for us, sadly, leaving some things to be desired.

Engine 2 went out of service several weeks ago when she refused to pump. Since pumping is the primary task assigned to an engine, this was unacceptable. After a trip to VMF, it was returned to us with a working pump. Unfortunately it also came back with a fairly considerable leak. After coming out of the gym from PT this morning, we found that about half of the 750 gallon booster tank had found its way onto the ground.

Not an ideal situation, for sure.

Leaking trucks not being abnormal here, we will put up with it until her twin, Engine 1, returns from VMF.

Also, just to add some extra confidence to those who think our fleet is in tip top shape with new trucks, we watched some videos of some of our new Red units having their systems charged with monstrous failures. For one, the foam system was charged and subsequently dumped from the rear of the unit straight onto the ground. For the other, the proportioner failed, leaving a poor finished foam mix.

These problems have been addressed, supposedly. It's hard to say for sure, however, since we are not typically permitted to discharge agent due to the environmental impact involved.

In other fire department related news, the first in flight emergency of the season occurred yesterday on B shift. An inbound C-130 declared an engine failure several miles outside of Ice Town. As the C-130 has four engines, this is not typically considered a serious event, though it did bring Station 2 to their hardstands in the event that something bad did happen. Our services were not needed, however, as the skier made a safe and uneventful landing.

Also out at Station 2, the first wildlife control call for the season came. An errant Adelie penguin waddled its way onto the runway, creating a hazard for both the inbound aircraft, and the all powerful entity that oversees operations here with distaste for harming the local fauna. While we are not officially not permitted to disturb the local wildlife, we become penguin herders in situations such as this due to both the danger presented to the C-17 turbines from ingesting our well dressed local and from the need to prevent potential screams of bloody murder and statements that we were violating the Antarctic Treaty.

Apparently a good time was had by all over at Station 2 during the roundup. It was remarked that everyone was surprised as to how quickly the little fellow could move when being coerced away from certain doom.

More penguin herding is sure to be in our future as the sea ice slowly disintegrates beneath us, leaving (hopefully) plenty of opportunities to complete my mission as assigned by my old boss.

As a final note for the evening (the sun hasn't gone down, but I'm trying to pretend it has so I can sleep shortly), I would like to confirm rumors that I have grown a mustache. I know many of you will be shocked, appalled, and just plain disgusted, but I have made the conscious decision to extend my facial follicles as much as department policy permits me.

It is not as raggedy as some might imagine, being much more full than the famed "Mexican mustache" that adorns many adolescents and much less creepy (this has been confirmed by others) than those stereotypically sported by child molesters.

Just to note, facial hair down here is the norm. As unpleasant as it would be in the sultry summer heat of Maryland, it proves itself to be nice and warm in the total daylight and balmy negatives of Antarctica.

That is all for now.

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.