October 13, 2002
McMurdo Base, Antarctica
-17degreesC (0 degrees F) Wind chill: -31.8°C (-25°F)

Journal

I go to bed in Santa Fe, wishing for a dream about my upcoming trip. Dream: I open the studio. It is dark and large and empty except for a giant black bull and a lion with an enormous mane in the center of the room. They watch me intently. I step into the room. The bull begins to paw the ground. The lion crouches. I know they will run for me if I enter further. I calculate the distance and hesitate. I am not especially afraid, just cautious. I want to come in.

Christ Church. The early Antarctic explorers said that the hardest part of an expedition was the time before it starts. As I sat in the AZ airport waiting for the beginning of the 24 hours of flying that will take me from here to Dallas to Los Angeles to Auckland and finally Christ Church, I felt numb from the effort required to get to this point. Suddenly I had nothing left to do. It was a void. The last few weeks were long days of sorting camera gear, ordering new lenses, getting the right battery pack for the digital cameras and flash, only to find that I had forgotten to order the right cable. Without Bernie’s help, I never would have made it. He worked full time running errands and solving gear problems the last few weeks. Every day I received emails and phone messages from Elaine Hood, my mother-hen organizer at Raytheon, concerning the need for permits (hard to get) for photography in specially protected areas, clothes to bring (avoid nylon underwear!). And the expenses—I finally gave up worrying and simply put what I needed on my Visa—hoping that somehow in my absence it would take care of itself. After all this preparation, the actual arrival in McMurdo and photography should be, if not fun, at least, not full of constant stress.

This morning, after I said goodbye to Bernie in the airport, things began to go wrong. We both know I’m hopeless with mechanical objects. (Why did I ever take up photography?) He has saved my working situation over and over the years by fixing tripods that wouldn’t extend properly, cameras that wouldn’t open. This time we had no sooner kissed, cried, and I had gone through security at the airport, than the handle for my roll-on carryon stopped extending. This meant I had to drag it through long walks in Dallas, Los Angeles, and Auckland, getting hot, sweaty, and frazzled. I am such a klutz.

I’ve met a number of my fellow travelers. There were some 70 of us on the flight to Christ Church. A beautiful flight, clear skies, and a window seat so I got a great view of the rugged landscape of NZ, including the lovely snow-capped peaks of the northern part of S. Island. It reminded me a bit of Patagonia but it appears greener, a little less bleak. By good fortune I sat next to Dawn Crist on the flight to Auckland. When she told me her name, I suddenly remembered that the man I’m due to meet for the Marble Point Traverse is Gerald Crist. Turns out it’s her father! We were both delighted by the connection. He has been coming down for 13 years. Her brother came down last year and wintered over. She decided to get a job South herself this year and see what he is always talking about and she’s working as a General Assistant. That means she gets to work as a sort of temp, doing whatever is needed any particular day.

I haven’t met any other PI’s but I’ve met electricians, heavy equipment drivers, janitors, and kitchen staff. Dawn told me that the salaries aren’t great, but then, there’s nothing to spend it on so it’s a way of saving some money. Most everyone is young. And, they all have an open look… one that I saw in pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago… a readiness to take whatever comes along and an excitement about life that one rarely sees when you go to the post office and say hello to your neighbor or go out to dinner with friends.

Several men on my shuttle van to the hotel were talking about being back down on the ice. One said, “ you know, I think I keep coming down because that’s where all my friends are…. I don’t have much in common with people at home.”

Christ Church is a pretty town, bright and clean today, the light so strong that I have to wear dark glasses in order not to squint. The trees are in flower; the shrubs a light Spring green. Spring is in full bloom here. It’s a shock after the Fall gold and rust of the aspens and oaks and chamisa in Santa Fe. I’ve not only lost a day (going across the date line) but I feel I’ve lost a season.

Christ Church. After a good night’s sleep, life looks lots better. I took it easy this morning, went shopping, and bought some earrings and a jade Maori pendant for good luck to wear South. Went over to the Antarctic Center about noon and went through the museum. There was something mind-boggling about a room chilled and full of snow where tourists can put on rubber slippers and Antarctic Center jackets and get a feel for Antarctica. Kids slid down an ice slide while their parents took their pictures. In another room, a sound system gave all the sounds of a polar blizzard and you could see a man in a snow vehicle talking about the storm roaring outside. Stuffed penguins and seals were a sad representation of the fecundity of polar wildlife, but the kids did seem to enjoy petting them. It is how we like our experience these days—safe, comfortable, and mediated by lots of wall captions. The information was excellent. The place was packed. Perhaps, it’s better than sending everyone south and having to build Holiday Inns and McDonalds.

At 2 I walked over to the CDC(Clothing Distribution Center) for clothing issue. Marlene gave us a briefing on what we need to wear on the plane and how to pack our bags. The women headed to the right and the men to the left, and we all picked up our 2 bags of cold weather ECW issue. The goal was to try everything on and make sure it all fitted and then get organized so that when we are ready to depart, we will be able to drag our bags to the scales and have the necessities in our one carry-on bag. Sounds easy. It wasn’t. For me, it was great preparation for Hell! I couldn’t figure out how to put on some of the clothes, like the bib overalls (someone is going to have to show me how to fasten those clasps or I’m going to lose my pants the first time I wear them out in –20 degrees). Another mysterious but wonderful piece of clothing (which nobody else seemed to get) was a fleece cat suit that would have made Cat Lady jealous. Once I put that one on, I didn’t want to take it off. It was warm and cozy. Other clothes included many pairs of gloves (most of which seemed inappropriate to photography since they were very stiff gloves or mittens), 6 pairs of gigantic wool socks, long underwear, several jackets, and insulated white rubber boots, called bunny boots. Many women tried everything on, repacked, and were out in half an hour. Two hours later I was still wondering how many pairs of gloves I really needed.

One question kept occurring to me. How will I pee out in the field? This is one of those questions that doesn’t appear with a neat answer in the Polar Participants Manual. Guys, with their extendable parts, have it much easier. By the time I undo these strangely placed zippers in several layers of clothes, I’m not sure I will get enough removed to do the job without freezing sensitive parts. This will be an important experiment!

I had dinner with Ann who lives in Durango and works as a Forest Service wilderness ranger when she isn’t down on the Ice. At McMurdo she runs the waste management division and drives fork lifts around. She has been coming down 7 seasons doing different jobs. We had a great vegetarian Indian meal and she told me about one season where she helped set up a field camp to study the movement of ice streams and another where she worked at Siple Dome. I found out later that she modestly omitted telling me that she was a member of the first all-woman expedition to ski to the S. Pole.

I won’t be going South tomorrow. Three flights have been cancelled or boomeranged in the last few days. Scuttlebutt is that there are lots more boomerangs and turn-arounds for flights since the Navy left three years ago and turned the flight service over to the New York National Guard. These pilots are not experienced Antarctic fliers—they come down for only 2 weeks at a stretch, as opposed to the Navy pilots who lived down here for long stretches of time and did the run over and over. If the weather is better tomorrow, they will be able to take off and we will leave on Tuesday. That’s fine with me. It’s pleasant here in Christ Church—good food, spring flowers. In several more days, I will probably start to be anxious. At the moment I’m grateful for the day of rest.

McMurdo. I made it! I look out my Crary La office window to an incredible view. Below me is the sea ice runway where our C141 landed yesterday. A few small vehicles and huts are placed along the runway, but mainly the vista is of an unbroken white, flat expanse of ice rimmed on the far side by a spectacularly beautiful range of mountains. Mt Discovery is straight across from me with a slightly rounded top covered in snow. To the left is Black Island, where the antennas are located, and which I hope to photograph in a few weeks. Further yet, and just out of my view in this window is White Island. The sky is blue and perfectly clear.

I’m beginning to learn my way around. I’ve arrived at a good time, since people are just beginning to arrive for the summer season. Few of the scientists are here yet. It’s mainly support folks—the electricians, heavy equipment drivers, supply folks that are here now. I still find myself at the wrong end of buildings when I exit them but I am at least beginning to have a sense when I exit that wrong door of where I want to go. It’s a very small town here. It’s impossible to get lost…but very possible to not know which building you want to go to.

I am very fortunate to have an office in Crary Lab, a gorgeous new science building. It has offices for all the scientists with field projects, as well as for support staff. It also has labs, loading docks, a lecture hall and library, and an aquarium for the strange fish that live under the sea ice (and they are doing continuing research on the way these fish manufacture glycoproteins that act as antifreeze so that they don’t freeze in the below-freezing water under the ice). Crary Lab is very quiet. I met several guys from NASA who are here tracking satellites (they are leaving tomorrow) but otherwise, I’ve mainly met office staff. Everyone has been extraordinarily helpful, showing me the facilities and answering numerous questions.

I’m still pretty hung over from all the flying and lack of sleep. An hour or so after I was given a great Crary lab tour, I had to find my way back to the supplies room to get a pad of paper. I stumbled into the office next door (which I knew didn’t look familiar). When I asked for a pad of paper, I got a blank look that told me I was in the wrong place… and then fortunately, I was rescued by Lisa who was passing by and sent in the right direction. My mind is still mush after; I seem unable to remember a name or a number longer than it takes me to say it.

My flight from Christ Church left on time at 9 AM. We had to report at 6 with all of our luggage. Back at the CDC, we put on our ECW gear (warm underwear, bib-coverall, bunny boots, gloves, and parka). We presented our passport, got a boarding tag to hang around our neck, and lifted out bags onto the scales. After lots of warnings about the consequences of being over 75 pounds in weight and the need to fit our carryon in the small box they showed to us, nothing dire happened to anyone. I know I was closer to 100 pounds myself… and the woman at the scales looked dubious for a moment… but I was waved through. Drug-sniffing dogs checked us out. By the time everyone had checked through and we watched a couple of safety videos, it was time to board the buses that took us out to the C141 aircraft that was to fly us to McMurdo. It is a long heavy-looking plane, a staple of the military’s movement of personnel and cargo all over the world since the late 1950’s. We climbed up a short flight of steep stairs and were fastened, one at a time, into webbed sling-like seats in two long rows. The men were loaded first, the women last, near the cockpit, since that’s where the only (minimal) bathroom is located. There were nearly 100 of us along with tons of cargo in the rear. We sat touching the person on either side and with knees touching the person across from us. I didn’t find it too uncomfortable since my parka cushioned the seat and I drowsed through much of the 5 _ hour flight.

What was below us? There are no windows on the plane, just dim yellow lights. Since I’m a photographer, however, the pilot invited me up into the cockpit as we began to fly over the continent of Antarctica on our way into McMurdo. The view below the plane was unreal—the tips of dark mountains draped with glaciers lining up and swirling over the white blankness of snow. What was most amazing to me was the size of it. It went on and on, as far as I could see. No roads, no structures, nothing but the continent itself in all its harsh beauty. How can I possibly photograph this awesome place? It’s like being invited to Heaven or Hell (and, in this case, Antarctica is both) to photograph what’s there. How can I capture this vastness in a picture frame?

It’s very cold here. We were warned to put on our hats and gloves before deplaning. Wind-chill was –50 degrees F when we got off the plane. It reminds me of my childhood in Iowa where it would get to –20 degrees with a wind blowing (and they still hadn’t invented wind-chill). It is so dry that you don’t feel very cold as long as you have your parka on and keep moving. Anything exposed to the outside air and wind gets cold very fast. It’s also very bright so I’ve been virtuous about wearing my UV-protection sunglasses. The ozone hole is centered here, so you can get burned very quickly if you are not careful.

A busy day. I finally got my computer completely hooked into the network and set up for email yesterday. I checked out my sleeping bag, tent, and most interestingly, the urinary funnel. Nevada swears by it and gave me a graphic demo with instructions on how to avoid leaks. It all looks quite complicated, and I fully expect to make a mess all over myself tomorrow if I have to use it in the Snow Survival course. The pee bottle is much easier…but problematic in very windy and cold situations where you don’t want to bare your private areas to the elements. I’m going to practice tonight in the shower and see what happens.

The wind picked up this afternoon, changing a pleasant day to something considerably less tropical. By mid-afternoon, when I wanted to walk up to Gerald Crist’s building to chat about the Marble Point Traverse, it was –7 degrees F with a wind chill of –65 degrees. My fingers were numbing inside 2 pairs of gloves and I couldn’t make it up the hill. I retreated to my room, got a heavier pair of gloves, and tried again. This time I made it but I was nearly blown over backwards. I hope the wind dies down by tomorrow afternoon or it is going to be a challenging adventure to spend the night in the field.

Well, I survived Happy Camper School…but not with a lot to spare. I have a new appreciation for what the polar explorers experienced, though of course they had hardships several levels of magnitude greater than mine… and they went through day after day of it for weeks and months at a time. I do not believe that you can convey in words what that feels like. The wind and cold here are so severe and so implacable that they are like striking a brick wall. You come away bruised and damaged and grateful to have survived.

Our little group of 16 set off late morning from McMurdo after a brief discussion about hypothermia and frost bite. We drove by track vehicle over the hill behind Mac Town, as the locals call it, to the ice shelf to the south. The road goes past the New Zealand small base and then out on the ice shelf. Once you get over the hill you get an open view of Mt. Erebus, our local fire-breathing volcano at almost 13,000 feet. It doesn’t look that high. When we got out to our campsite, it looked like you could walk over on the ice shelf and climb up it in a day hike. But, the air is so clear here, that distances are deceptive.

We stopped briefly in a small unheated metal hut, ate sandwiches and juice, and learned how to light the stoves. We then drove about a mile further to an empty flat area on the ice shelf and unloaded all our gear. The sun was bright, the snow crunchy beneath our feet. Eric and Allan, our instructors, showed us how to set up Scott tents (the same sort of tent that Scott used but of more modern materials and a bright yellow). Next we built a snow dome—covering all our gear with shoveled snow, packing it down, and then cutting an opening and taking the gear out, leaving an igloo like structure. Then we practiced making trenches and snow walls. You cut down a foot or so with a hand saw on two parallel sides and then cut cross ways and shovel out the block. It is firm dry snow that feels much like Styrofoam, and it makes a fine snow wall. Several of the guys really got into making walls and trenches and several of them slept in their constructions. I had been given a small dome tent, so I set that up, knowing that sleeping in a snow trench was not going to be my first choice.

Finally, we put our stove-lighting skills to the test and set several of them going to boil water for dinner. After all that work, freeze dried chicken and brown rice tasted as good as any fine meal I’ve ever had, and I finished it off with hot chocolate. We were given lots of encouragement to eat and drink a lot. Staying hydrated and eating enough calories are crucial for staying warm. Even after dinner, by around 7, it was bright as mid-day. I walked a short distance away and looked back. Our little camp was dwarfed by its magnificent surroundings, but the yellow Scott tents and red parkas made a bright splash on the ice. The sun slowly set about 9:30 but it never got fully dark (and in a couple of weeks it won’t set at all.)

By this time, I was tired and ready for bed so I filled a water bottle with boiling water for the bottom of my sleeping bag and turned in. So far so good. If I put my parka over my head I could still breathe and not be too cold. I shivered a little and my feet were cool even with 3 pairs of socks and the hot water bottle. But, I did go to sleep, tossing and turning a bit but reasonably warm until about 3 AM. A sudden gust of wind rattled the untied guy wires on the tent (we had tied only 4 of them down with snow anchors the night before since it was perfectly calm). Then another gust came and another, stronger now. Pretty soon the whole tent was shaking. My tent mate Christine put on her parka and bunny boots and went to walk out to the outhouse. Very brave, I thought. I had to go but decided I would wait. An hour later when I finally couldn’t wait, I opened the tent flap and saw that all our bags were covered in snow and the wind was howling. When I succeeded in getting my parka on and my boots on, I headed for the green flags that marked the path. I could barely see them, each about 30 feet apart. When I got ready to return, I found I couldn’t see any flags. Everything was white, ground, air and sky. No horizon and no ground. I figured I might as well spend a little longer in that shed. When the gusts temporarily died down, I made it back, but I was frightened. Later when I got back to the computer I looked up the temperature and found that the low that night was –19 degrees F with a wind chill of –84 degrees F.

How did the English do it in their cotton clothes? How did their bodies survive it? In the morning, it was so gusty that we didn’t try and cook. The instructors came for us about 9 when we had camp broken down, and we retreated to the unheated metal shed for a lesson in radio. By this time, I was gobbling whatever food was still around—partially frozen sandwiches from the day before, candy bars, nuts and raisins. My fingers, even with glove liners and heavy gloves were cold. Several times I began to lose feeling in them when we went outside to do practice sessions. I swung the arms around and jogged a little and it was better, but I did get a touch of frostbite since today they feel burned on the ends. When we finally finished mid-afternoon, we drove back to McMurdo and I took a very long hot shower. Last night I slept 12 hours, and I am still exhausted. Clearly I would not make a polar explorer!