Monday, September 11, 2006
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Day One Antarctica
August 27th, 2006My first full day in Antarctica was a station wide off. Sunday's in McMurdo are a treasured day, that traditionally begins with a lazy sleep in, then a long social brunch, followed by some activity. For me this usually means a long day outing. In spite of the wind, the -30 to - 60 temps with wind chill, and our relative un-acclimatization my colleague
Thai and I went out for a daylong ski. While out, we would need to put on nearly all our clothes to buffer against the wind, but still it was a lovely outing. In spite of the -60F temps. I also experienced something new for me: darkness in Antarctica. The light when we arrived lasted for only 6 hours, and even this never really extended much beyond a warm dusk.
This ski was followed by the standard Sunday night science lecture. That night it was hosted by a film team that I would end up spending quite a bit of time with. Anne Aghion and her team had spent close to three years in Rwanda researching the Gagacha trials to reconcile communities ravaged by the genocide of the Tutsis and moderate Hutus in 1994. Incredible to come all of the way to Antarctica and be able to engage in such an important and socially challenging discourse as ones I had that evening. Perhaps this touches on why I returned.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Orientation to the US Antarctic Program. Year 2.
August 20-2
2, 2006:
My 2006 USAP experience began with the requisite 2-day training and orientation in Denver, Colorado, at the Raytheon Polar Services (RPSC) headquarters. As I entered the building and signed up for my security badge, I reminded myself that these next two days would likely represent my most "unantarctic" moment and I tried to ignore the cold feet that grew colder with this bizarre exposure to a large, very militaristic corporation.
You see, I have been a mountain guide for nearly a decade and prior to working in the US Antarctic Program, my only previous corporate exposure related to guiding CEOs up some of the larger mountains of the world. Glimpsing the larger corporate world is always a shock, especially when I find myself listening to the finer points of safely climbing a step ladder. Of note, this discussion received about as much time as I would later receive in Antarctica to train scientists on hypothermia prevention in -30C temperatures.
People are endlessly interested in this apparently unlikely relationship between National Science Foundation and Raytheon Polar Services. Given the US commitment to upholding the Antarctic Treaty and its stated intent of maintaining the continent for peaceful purposes, this seems to be a bit of a contradiction. In fact, I have entered into long discussions with a close friend, who works in refugee camps around the world, about my ethical view on this subject. To appease such dissonance, I respond ‘nothing we do in Antarctica relates to war’. Ultimately, I rationalize; much of the science I personally support relates to issues I am very interested in supporting. RPSC won the contract.
As touched upon above, the Antarctic Treaty prevents any militarization of the continent, any oil or mineral exploration, or the dividing of the continent into territories and sets set aside Antarctica as the "Continent of Peace". This last piece is differently interpreted by the member countries. Chile, for example, contends that a piece of the Antarctic pie is theirs and is actively trying to encourage a permanent settlement, complete with babies.
McMurdo, where I am soon heading, was established in 1955 and is the largest station on the continent. Interestingly, it is located in the Ross Dependency, which is New Zealand's claimed piece of the pie. Ironically, neither the US nor the former USSR claimed a piece of the pie, although at the height of the cold war there was discussion by both countries to build a station at the South Pole. A feat the US achieved with the building of the Scott Amundson-Scott South Pole Station in 1957. In essence, the US has a station on everyone's claimed piece of the pie.
http://www.nsf.gov/news/overviews/arcticantarctic/interactive.jsp
Taking a break, I wandered through the HQ office where I ran into an old friend, John Evans, who is a more contemporary Antarctic explorer. John was among a group that made the first ascent of Mount Vincent back in the 1960s. His passion for the continent is unmistakable, even in the cubicle where he now organizes remote zodiac supported science trips on the Antarctic Peninsula. Ever humble in demeanor, John slowly shared plans for an upcoming return to Mount Vincent this Austral Summer to try to climb the mountain again, 40 years later. John shared some tales of the climb with me and I joked with him about how 'silly' his climbing gear looked as I admired a full page color photo in National Geographic 1964 of him abseiling a 60 degree snow slope using a body wrap. This brief encounter with John on one of my breaks reminded me of my own love for the place and the people like myself who are drawn there, to this southern land once referred to as terra incognito.
2, 2006: My 2006 USAP experience began with the requisite 2-day training and orientation in Denver, Colorado, at the Raytheon Polar Services (RPSC) headquarters. As I entered the building and signed up for my security badge, I reminded myself that these next two days would likely represent my most "unantarctic" moment and I tried to ignore the cold feet that grew colder with this bizarre exposure to a large, very militaristic corporation.
You see, I have been a mountain guide for nearly a decade and prior to working in the US Antarctic Program, my only previous corporate exposure related to guiding CEOs up some of the larger mountains of the world. Glimpsing the larger corporate world is always a shock, especially when I find myself listening to the finer points of safely climbing a step ladder. Of note, this discussion received about as much time as I would later receive in Antarctica to train scientists on hypothermia prevention in -30C temperatures.
People are endlessly interested in this apparently unlikely relationship between National Science Foundation and Raytheon Polar Services. Given the US commitment to upholding the Antarctic Treaty and its stated intent of maintaining the continent for peaceful purposes, this seems to be a bit of a contradiction. In fact, I have entered into long discussions with a close friend, who works in refugee camps around the world, about my ethical view on this subject. To appease such dissonance, I respond ‘nothing we do in Antarctica relates to war’. Ultimately, I rationalize; much of the science I personally support relates to issues I am very interested in supporting. RPSC won the contract.
As touched upon above, the Antarctic Treaty prevents any militarization of the continent, any oil or mineral exploration, or the dividing of the continent into territories and sets set aside Antarctica as the "Continent of Peace". This last piece is differently interpreted by the member countries. Chile, for example, contends that a piece of the Antarctic pie is theirs and is actively trying to encourage a permanent settlement, complete with babies.
McMurdo, where I am soon heading, was established in 1955 and is the largest station on the continent. Interestingly, it is located in the Ross Dependency, which is New Zealand's claimed piece of the pie. Ironically, neither the US nor the former USSR claimed a piece of the pie, although at the height of the cold war there was discussion by both countries to build a station at the South Pole. A feat the US achieved with the building of the Scott Amundson-Scott South Pole Station in 1957. In essence, the US has a station on everyone's claimed piece of the pie.
http://www.nsf.gov/news/overviews/arcticantarctic/interactive.jsp
Taking a break, I wandered through the HQ office where I ran into an old friend, John Evans, who is a more contemporary Antarctic explorer. John was among a group that made the first ascent of Mount Vincent back in the 1960s. His passion for the continent is unmistakable, even in the cubicle where he now organizes remote zodiac supported science trips on the Antarctic Peninsula. Ever humble in demeanor, John slowly shared plans for an upcoming return to Mount Vincent this Austral Summer to try to climb the mountain again, 40 years later. John shared some tales of the climb with me and I joked with him about how 'silly' his climbing gear looked as I admired a full page color photo in National Geographic 1964 of him abseiling a 60 degree snow slope using a body wrap. This brief encounter with John on one of my breaks reminded me of my own love for the place and the people like myself who are drawn there, to this southern land once referred to as terra incognito.
Christchurch, New Zealand
August 24th – 25th, 2006
As the sun rose over the snow drenched Southern Alps I chuckled at an old familiar sentiment and smiled, enamored as a first time traveler.
Christchurch is a lovely city, the largest on the south island. It is where all most early Antarctic expeditions departed from by sea, and where both the New Zealand and American programs base. I would get but two short days in this lovely city, famous for its botanical gardens that have ancient sequoia planted by early British settlers.
After a nap to ward off jet lag, I went for a run in the nearby Port Hills, trying to savor every last second of these moments of freedom. In a few mere days, the prospect of a run would require suiting up in extreme cold weather gear, formally checking out in case anything happened to me, and battling the cold and wind that spring in Antarctica is famous for. For the meantime, I tied a light jacket around my waist and avoided the occasional snow and mud patches as I ran among sheep on an ancient volcano outcrop.
The next morning about a hundred of us arrived at the US where house where we were issues our formal “extreme cold weather gear”. For those of you that have seen the movie about dogs, 8 below, we are issued most everything in this movie. The big red parka, fur lined over mitts, white bunny boots, and an absurd amount of fleece. While trying things on I developed a crazy idea, and within an hour had found fellow keen skiers.
We rented a car, drove west to the Southern Alps towards Arthur’s Pass and arrived at a small club ski hill at 2:00, precisely two hours before the rope tow lifts were scheduled to close. Immediately after arriving, a huge snow squall blew threw and literally emptied the slopes. The lefties were trying to get us to drive our tiny rental car back down the narrow winding road before we got stranded, but stubbornly, we insisted we were staying. “We are heading to Antarctica for 6 months where we can’t ski like this” we proclaimed to their puzzled faces. Then, perhaps as rewards to out persistence, the squall lifted and we had the ski hill to ourselves and our hoots of glee.
Sometimes in life you just need to rally and let yourself be swept up by a fantastical idea. I rarely regret such decisions.
Later, after negotiating the narrow road down we decided to take full advantage of our rental car and went to check out a nearby cave, where a creek descends into the limestone only to reappear a mile downstream. One lesson I took with me from my time spent on the ice last year is that these little moments fill one to the point of bursting, if only you can be open to it. I’ll try to explain more. The sensory depravation we experience in Antarctica is hard to explain. We get accustomed to it this narrow range of stimuli, colors, choices and the ever-present wind. When once again we are amidst a dynamic sensory rich environment it is overwhelming.
As the sun rose over the snow drenched Southern Alps I chuckled at an old familiar sentiment and smiled, enamored as a first time traveler.
Christchurch is a lovely city, the largest on the south island. It is where all most early Antarctic expeditions departed from by sea, and where both the New Zealand and American programs base. I would get but two short days in this lovely city, famous for its botanical gardens that have ancient sequoia planted by early British settlers.
After a nap to ward off jet lag, I went for a run in the nearby Port Hills, trying to savor every last second of these moments of freedom. In a few mere days, the prospect of a run would require suiting up in extreme cold weather gear, formally checking out in case anything happened to me, and battling the cold and wind that spring in Antarctica is famous for. For the meantime, I tied a light jacket around my waist and avoided the occasional snow and mud patches as I ran among sheep on an ancient volcano outcrop.
The next morning about a hundred of us arrived at the US where house where we were issues our formal “extreme cold weather gear”. For those of you that have seen the movie about dogs, 8 below, we are issued most everything in this movie. The big red parka, fur lined over mitts, white bunny boots, and an absurd amount of fleece. While trying things on I developed a crazy idea, and within an hour had found fellow keen skiers.
We rented a car, drove west to the Southern Alps towards Arthur’s Pass and arrived at a small club ski hill at 2:00, precisely two hours before the rope tow lifts were scheduled to close. Immediately after arriving, a huge snow squall blew threw and literally emptied the slopes. The lefties were trying to get us to drive our tiny rental car back down the narrow winding road before we got stranded, but stubbornly, we insisted we were staying. “We are heading to Antarctica for 6 months where we can’t ski like this” we proclaimed to their puzzled faces. Then, perhaps as rewards to out persistence, the squall lifted and we had the ski hill to ourselves and our hoots of glee.
Sometimes in life you just need to rally and let yourself be swept up by a fantastical idea. I rarely regret such decisions.
Later, after negotiating the narrow road down we decided to take full advantage of our rental car and went to check out a nearby cave, where a creek descends into the limestone only to reappear a mile downstream. One lesson I took with me from my time spent on the ice last year is that these little moments fill one to the point of bursting, if only you can be open to it. I’ll try to explain more. The sensory depravation we experience in Antarctica is hard to explain. We get accustomed to it this narrow range of stimuli, colors, choices and the ever-present wind. When once again we are amidst a dynamic sensory rich environment it is overwhelming.
Heading to Antarctica
August 23rd
As I board a plane to Christchurch New Zealand, I try to conjure up what it means to go to Antarctica. Since I first experienced the continent last year I have been struggling to try to explain to others how this place feels, what it looks like, and most importantly, how it changes you. Endlessly it eludes me. Before I left this season for the ice I gave a couple of hastily put together and painfully long slide shows.
With great enthusiasm I tried to convey the sentiment of this place. The metaphor of a climbing expedition captures some of it but still seems to fall short. The striking beauty of the pla
ce endlessly appeals but there is so much more than the photo of an emperor penguin or the clean edge of an ice burg shot on a perfectly clear day in the height of the summer. How to describe the cold stealing your breath away, the humble excitement of going for a walk in a fierce ground storm, the silence of the polar plateau where the white horizon greets the sky everywhere uninterrupted, or the energy of a land that has never supported a self-sustaining human population?
Its funny to hear people who have never been there try. Hopefully at least I do better that them. The common attempts approach the challenge by listing of superlatives: the coldest, windiest, highest, driest, harshest, most isolated, and most extreme continent on earth. Hmm. The problem with this is that it doesn't really make it sound like a place I loved being. Instead I think this attitude appears to be used to feed one's ego... something akin to: "see, .... I can love a place this brutal and I am tough enough to survive here ..." For me, however, Antartica means much more. At the le
ast it humbles me and reminds me that I have little control over the my emotional response to this landscape and certainly even less control over her weather.
Later, still flying south, I ponder the difficulty of leaving North America. My friends, my family, and my place all called to me to stay a little while and experience that which comes from depth and intimacy of knowing a place well. As I headed south for a 6-month contract in Antarctica I questioned what continues to draw me towards places such as these southern lands?
As I board a plane to Christchurch New Zealand, I try to conjure up what it means to go to Antarctica. Since I first experienced the continent last year I have been struggling to try to explain to others how this place feels, what it looks like, and most importantly, how it changes you. Endlessly it eludes me. Before I left this season for the ice I gave a couple of hastily put together and painfully long slide shows.
With great enthusiasm I tried to convey the sentiment of this place. The metaphor of a climbing expedition captures some of it but still seems to fall short. The striking beauty of the pla
ce endlessly appeals but there is so much more than the photo of an emperor penguin or the clean edge of an ice burg shot on a perfectly clear day in the height of the summer. How to describe the cold stealing your breath away, the humble excitement of going for a walk in a fierce ground storm, the silence of the polar plateau where the white horizon greets the sky everywhere uninterrupted, or the energy of a land that has never supported a self-sustaining human population?Its funny to hear people who have never been there try. Hopefully at least I do better that them. The common attempts approach the challenge by listing of superlatives: the coldest, windiest, highest, driest, harshest, most isolated, and most extreme continent on earth. Hmm. The problem with this is that it doesn't really make it sound like a place I loved being. Instead I think this attitude appears to be used to feed one's ego... something akin to: "see, .... I can love a place this brutal and I am tough enough to survive here ..." For me, however, Antartica means much more. At the le
ast it humbles me and reminds me that I have little control over the my emotional response to this landscape and certainly even less control over her weather.Later, still flying south, I ponder the difficulty of leaving North America. My friends, my family, and my place all called to me to stay a little while and experience that which comes from depth and intimacy of knowing a place well. As I headed south for a 6-month contract in Antarctica I questioned what continues to draw me towards places such as these southern lands?
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