This One's for the Byrds

BYRD SURFACE CAMP, ANTARCTICA

For months, I have manifested passengers to fly to Byrd camp and then watched from a distance as weather delays trapped them in limbo. More than one group of passengers made the hour long traverse over bumpy snow roads back and forth to the airfield two and three times as flights delayed then cancelled then got rescheduled. When, halfway out to the airfield on Monday afternoon, my flight was put on an indefinite weather hold, I thought surely my turn had come. The long awaited perk of my job as the coordinator for two deep field camps is a visit to the camp in January, once things have slowed down. I have been looking forward to this trip since before I arrived on the continent.

Fortunately, my fellow passengers and I waited only a couple of hours, passing the time knitting and reading and flipping through decade-old magazines. Much relieved to hear our flight called, I put on the required big red parka, which always makes me feel a bit like a toddler in the snow, and climbed into a van for the ride out to the aircraft. Our chariot was a LC-130, better known as a Hercules, or Herc. Even with earplugs and ear muffs, the drone of the plane’s engines is deafening while in flight. Fortunately Byrd Camp is just a short 3-hour flight from McMurdo.  I watched the familiar Transantarctic Mountains fade away as we flew roughly south. Or possibly west. Or maybe a bit north. Cardinal directions get a little tricky at the bottom of the world….

We arrived just in time for dinner, enjoyed in the comfort of a RAC tent. Most of the camp staff are familiar to me, folks I met back in November before they headed for the field and with whom I have since talked with regularly. It was wonderful to see the little world they occupy.