carrie vs. the weather

McMURDO SOUND, ANTARCTICA


For but a brief moment, the small ridge behind me blocks the icy gusts so that all I hear are the waves crashing on the shore below me. What was once solid ice is now open ocean. Towards the south, the water opens beyond station, while to the northwest, water stretches across the horizon. It is the most open water anyone has seen at McMurdo in over a decade. The ships come and go freely, and the occasional whale can be seen spouting out in the sound.


Where once the vast expanse of white ice stretched to the mountains across the way,  the steel blue ocean now offers depth and perspective, and I am no longer convinced that the Royal Society Mountains could be reached after a long day's walk.


My eyelashes have frozen, and the fleece gator pulled up over my nose and cheeks is covered in the crystals of my frozen breath. Snow swirls around my feet as I fumble with the zipper on my camera bag. I snap a quick photo of the open water and then hurry to put my camera away and shove my hands as deep into the pockets of my down parka as possible. Gone are the days of fleece jackets. I am now testing the limits of the latest addition to my downy wardrobe. I turn to walk back up the hill towards home. The wind picks up and with each gust, I struggle to keep my feet firmly planted. The bitter cold bites at my cheeks, and I regret not grabbing my goggles on my way out. I pull my hood up over my hat, and tuck my chin into the collar of my coat and start trudging up the hill. 


Snow continues to fall. The weather forecast suggests that the weather will only get worse in the next day or two, increasing the anxiety of the hundreds hoping to depart station this week, heading north to a land of green. (Some call it "New Zealand." I call it heaven). But for now, Antarctica holds us hostage. Already, two planes have been delayed leaving 150 people with nothing to do but wait out the storm. 123 other poor souls, along with myself, are now crossing our fingers that these two planes will make it here and back, so that the next plane, our personal savior, will arrive on time on Monday.