Winter Boondoggle

My name was drawn from the hat two days again for a Boondoggle today. I was pleased and confused only because for my two hour adventure I got the full work day off. OFF. Can you believe that? I couldn't and had to bug my supervisor several times before he finally looked me in the eye and said “Yes, you get the FULL day off. Now go finish dish.”

Wow, a day off and a boondoggle for it. Others had gone out “flagging” - putting the flags up that mark the roads, and it had been an all day “working” boondoggle. So yes they got the full day off, but they worked the full day. I didn’t work, got to do some chores and still get off base. It was a true blessing that revived my spirit and renewed my belief in miracles.

What was it you’re probably asking. Well I got to ride in a Piston Bully (a kind of Snow Cat for Antarctica) and go plow the trail up to Castle Rock. There were a number of firsts involved in this but let me explain something here. I had no idea how many people were going, which Piston Bully we were taking and other logistically information. Those that had gone on Boondoggles before, the “flagging” experience, had gone with several others so I imagined the same.

Imagine my pleasure when I learned it was a private ride. Just me and the driver, a Floridian named Dave. I’d seen him around base but never really got to know him till now. For two and a half luxurious hours we chatted and plowed the wondress white snow into waves that curled away from the snow plow and fell to the wayside. In a heated cab made of windows, the white beauty of the continent fell away from me and I devoured the beauty in the fading light. Dave was a wonderful guide and driver, relaxed and good natured. We got along like friends and enjoyed the trip together.

We wound our way up the back route to Castle Rock, a way I had never come even in the summer, and climbed straight up the steep mountain face almost at a 50 degree angle, plugging along with our little Piston Bully’s tracks digging into the snow. We chugged up the hill like the little engine that could (although our little engine was painted red and consisted of a hydraulic plow that could rotate, pivot, swivel, tilt, flap and possibly make coffee if we could have found the right button).

When we reached Castle Rock, we got out and climbed the small ridge to catch the blazing red slash that was the sunset. The sun does not come up past the horizon line any more, but it still shines its lights over the lip as it can. Snapping photos as my hands slowly turned numb, we enjoyed the majestic beauty of the winter scene in silence and then after a few more photos with our little “Bully” we headed back to town. Oh what a wonderful day it has been. Laundry is done, chores are finished, I got to take a trip off base, catch one of the few last glows of the season, ride in a Piston Bully, and do it all before dinner time. God, it has been a wonderful blessing and I know I can thank you because you’re the handed that plucked my name from the hat. Sigh - I am smiling like a child, exhausted from all the fun, and luxuriating in the moment of it all.

Winterdance

I was gifted a wonderful read not too long ago and I want to share it. The book is titled Winterdance by Gary Paulsen and about dog mushing. Now don’t sigh and roll your eyes just because I mentioned dog mushing because you can’t judge this book yet. I was given it because those here know the challenge I face when I leave and are supportive about it. Thinking this book would help illuminate my rather dark mind on what dog sledding is like, it was handed over.

It has been a pleasure to read let me tell you. I have not laughed so often or out loud in a long time. The author Gary, describes his beginnings with dog sledding, doing it for trapping, and his gradual desire to do one of the man’s toughest races - the Iditarod. His word usage and honesty reveal such truths and visuals that you can’t help but laugh because you can see what he sees and you know you’d have done the same thing too. It is a quick read, one that I couldn’t put down (of course I had to because of work but . . . ) and finished it all too soon. If you want a delightful read, informative and enjoyable, pick it up. Although I will warn you there is a little language usage, but mostly in the “near death” scenarios. In general, he keeps it clean and amusing.

Watching the Light Go

They say the Sun will leave in a few weeks time. Total darkness will ascend and we’ll get to see the stars. No actual date. So every day I pause while wiping tables and look out the wall of windows that face Observation Hill. Later and later the darkness lifts, but still there is faint light - twilight there.

We lose half an hour of light each day. What a rapid loss I think. Yet the faint glow on the horizon still appears, outlining the ice mountains and we all turn to see it. No one can escape the last rememberance of the places we have come from. Where the sun is taken for granted and the moon a distance reminded of darker times. Golden reds and yellows flare across the sky but it is like watching an exotic flower die. So beautiful and fragile, not long will it survive but a reminder to all that creation is wondrous. Each last flare a gorgeous array of color, but smaller and closer to a still breath.

Last Sunset

-image from Google Images

The Sun is taking it's last peak at Antarctica this Sunday. A brief glimpse, nothing longer than an hour or two before it slumbers away for the winter. Even now, as I write this, the moon hangs brightly in the sky, arrogantly flaunting it's dominance above the land, still not full, but bright enough that the twilight colors in the sky can't compete. Darkness will reign in May as twilight fades to night. Three months of starry skies, stars so bright that they are beacons of hope to dreamers below. Already I have seen some, companion to the moon they decorate the blanket of black and twinkle with mirth and glee. What do they know, what can they tell, only as the days become nights will I learn their secrets. With slight trepidation I wait for it, while others sigh with relief. "Finally" they say as though the sun has been a struggle for them. With an uneasy eye I watch the horizon line and think, the sun does not always come back. Not here. Not in Antarctica.

Winter Pacing

-Image from Google Images

So as you've noticed I'm not posting too often. There is a simple answer for that.

One word.

I'll let you guess.....................................................................................................................................

.....................................................................................................................Winter. No I haven't died, vanished or turned to ice (Although sometimes my feet do when I sit too long to update my blog). You know the old adage, no news is good news, well it applies to this time of year. Antarctica slows down, the life in McMurdo settles in like the snow and although there are daily activities, excursions are limited and life becomes routine. There are things you can do like game night, Burger Bar, Lectures and such, but I don't do them too often as I've turned 80 and now eat dinner at 4:30pm and must go to bed between 8 and 9 pm. (I also get up at 5am but well . . . .) I guess what I am trying to say is that I post what I think is interesting, and right now things are normal. Funny how you think living on Antarctica could be described as such, but it is. People have birthdays, they cry, throw parties, you know, everyday ordinary stuff. There are movie nights, Game Nights, get togethers and shin digs, but all in all, normal.

So if any of you are worried, concerned or bored, and look to my blog for daily updates, sadly they will not be. Those of us here have slipped into a human hibernation mode of eat, sleep, workout and relax. Oh there is the occasional fashion show, mid winter dinner, and possible fire emergency, but those are singular occurrences. So please, tune in occasionally, not often, and there will be something to read. I could get all philosophical and such, and write down those rants, but no one wants to hear the ravings of a lunatic at the bottom of the world (we are all starting to go a little mad. Memory loss and blank stares have filled in conversations. "Hey You" has replaced names, and to see someone standing in the middle of the hall way staring at the wall is common place - I will be surprised if I still remember how to speak by the time I leave)

To those of you who wink and nudge me to write more often, I cannot. If I did, slowly this blog will morph into an ordinary one and I don't want that to happen. I would like to keep it unique so until something of "Uniquness" happens, there will be lapses in my posts. Should you fear that I have fallen into a cravas or been eaten by the other members of the community, your imagination has gotten away from you and you should stop eating sugar and watching television without the lights on. There I've said it and I feel better. I hope it wasn't too hurtful and you have not started to cry.

Know that I write when I can, of what I can, so that both you and I won't get bored.

Old Stuff Can be Cool

First I must say a huge "Thank You" to Gemma. These are all her photos. I left me camera in my room~

Tonight I went to the Antarctica Heritage Conservation meeting. I wasn't sure what to expect, thinking it was science related, and was wonderfully surprised. They are the group in charge of conserving the huts at Cape Evans and Cape Royds. Several explorer groups have used the huts as they traversed the Continent, but the oldest is Scott's Expedition and Shacklton's. Both men's journeys were extraordinary and crazy. Why would you want to cross a giant Ice landscape? To the be the first I imagine. I wonder if it is any different than wanting to go to the moon? Why would you want to go somewhere where conditions can kill you just like that? The trill? Theexcitement? Perhaps I should have asked myself the same questions before I came down here. Although the threat to my life was minimal compared to earlier explorers and astronauts.

So they had different items from both huts, from clothing, to food. They are opening the box crates because they are deteriorating and they want to preserve what ever is inside of them. They say each one is like Christmas since they don't know what they'll find. They've found canned plums, flour, and corn among some of the items. It was interesting hearing the conservationists talk, you could just see their childlike wonder and passion about what they are doing. The huts turn a 100 this year, and they're permit to restore them runs out the end of the year. As you can believe they have a large undertaking and are trying to get as much done before the items have to be replaced for another 100 years

The Crates they are opening like Christmas Presents (Bag of Corn found in one crate)

Clothing found at Scott's Hut

Bicycle from 1910 Expedition (Only rode once and for less then 10 minutes)

Man's name was etched into the side

What I found most interesting was the mystery, the puzzles of conservation. Finding items from long ago and trying to figure out what they are or what they were used for. There was a tin can with a handwritten note on it, a description of it's contents, but the label was so corroded that you could only make out part of the word - "Chalk"; but what was the first word. Eyes straining you try and piece together the scratches you see, knowing they form a word, answer the question and yet your mind can't piece them together. What a frustration. A challenge. Oh what a mystery that lays within close reach with just a little imagination.

Tin with mysterious words written - Only the word "Chalk" was legible. What was the rest?

Conservationists can't catalog every item because they don't know every item, being asked as a viewer if you perhaps knew what it was was new. I'm used to the idea that scientists know everything, every item is always labeled with a date, time, location, without hesitation or doubt. Knowing that there is so much found around the world that can't be labeled - is studied with a a sigh and a shrug - cataloged as unknown, you don't really see that in museums. Wouldn't it be a surprise if one day you were visiting a museum and you see a beautiful object, smooth and curved, something about it is familiar, your mind thinks it has seen it before, but when you look for the small tag to tell you what it is, there is a single note. Written in pencil it says, "If you know what this is, write it on the wall around the corner," so you go drawing the pen from your pocket but as you turn the corner, the space is covered with sprawling handwriting. From different hands the items known identity is written, but as you look closer each frame of letters is different. One person has written something, while another something else. The wall is covered with different answers, but all that are the known facts by individuals. What strange things would people say that the discover was. Would your contribution to that piece make it more important, more relevant to you? Would you want to know what it really was, or be more fascinated by what others think it to be? What stories would the unknown history of that piece create? Would you add your own to the wall? What would that object be to you? Would your culture effect what it is, would your travels have revealed where you had seen it before? What would your answer be?

So, conservation is about saving what is deteriorating from the past so that those in the future can see what history was. I enjoyed the experience and got a lot more out of it than I expected.

McMurdo's Next Top Model

-None of these photos (nor video) are mine. They were taken by different community members who I would like to say Thank you too.

If you've never watched America's Next Top Model, you should. This Winter's Fashion Show Theme was based on that. The Fashions were new items from the vessel, the modes McMurdians, and the challenge, not being too intoxicated that they fall off the stage. What fun!

There was a runway, lights in a myriad of colors, swag bags that consisted of model size snakes (3 cheese puffs) and other such goodies, while the paparazzi mingled among the crowds waiting for the stars to arrive. People munched on specialty small hors d'oeuvres, sipped donated wine and generally looked forward to the hype of the event. A red carpet led up the stairs to the entry of the show and at 8pm the doors were thrown open and the audience flooded in.

So I was backstage crew, one of two, making sure the models took to the runway at their cue, where in the right order, and dressed with the correct piece. Some nervous models almost puked, while others begged to be last or even began to edge away from the curtain as their time came. I would have thought them unprofessional if I had not been laughing so hard, or so busy chasing after them as they dodged behind the condiment line. Once they were tackled, arranged, fluffed and assured of their general good looks, I give them a friendly shove and make them walk the plank-I mean runway. It was fun, being involved behind the scenes. In total there were 24 models, and 6 finalists who battled it out in the. They all died on stage, having wanted it so bad they killed each other, while the judges looked on and audience members tried not to giggles as hair was pulled, tutus were grabbed and glasses knocked off noses. In the end, it was the unknown model JohnTo, who early had bribed the judges who won.

I always marvel at the things I get a chance to do, and how they tie into a story that I'm writing. Working the fashion show, being a dish washer, all these roles tie into pieces of fiction that perhaps some day I'll write. But I digress . . . .

The Pre-Show Social -----

All 24 Models

The Photographers

The top 6 Models

Keri the whole brains behind the Operation (Left)

Yummy Goodness!

Let the Show Begin ----

The Runway

Work it Travis!

The Judges

Only watch the first 2 minutes (the rest is blank)

The Final Walk Off ---

The show lasted about an hour, with an after party at the Bar, and everyone, including the losers were in good spirits. It was an event not to be missed, and I'm glad I didn't.