In two days I will leave this great white place, maybe not for good, but with no foreseeable return. I am leaving several weeks earlier than usual, and before the great exodus of summer friends. The annual resupply vessel is still at the ice pier, now being reloaded with a year's worth of trash and broken vehicles.
The sea ice has not yet given way entirely to open water- the weather has been far too docile for that. The thinning of the sea ice by nature, and the breaking of the ice by man has led to some open places and an ever-nearing ice edge. With the closer water comes more penguins, seals, skuas, and whales, but as long as the ice persists to some extent, the sea world effect is somewhat limited.
The summer has been a busy one, hence my long absence here. I have spent more time in the field in the last two months than I have here in town, which has been equal parts amazing and exhausting.
In December I traveled to the South Pole where I waited through a grueling two weeks of weather, mechanical, and mystery delays, before accompanying a science group to a field site in East Antarctica. Nearly four-hundred miles east of the geographic South Pole, the site was vast in it's emptiness. We were delivered to the flat white by a Twin Otter with a small pile of gear and a slightly excessive pile of food. We established a tiny village comprised of a 8' x 16' arched Endurance tent, 4 mountain tents for sleeping, and a toilet tent. While I melted snow for water, the science team worked to install a magnetometer, which seemed to mostly involve a lot of digging. I was largely chained to the stove in order to produce enough food and water to keep everyone happy and healthy in the -20F weather, but occasionally I would slip out of the tent and wander off toward the horizon in one direction or another. There is nothing like the vast expanse of snow to make one feel tiny in the world. There is certainly strange beauty in the swirling patterns in the snow laid down by the constant wind. There is something truly awe-inspiring about standing in a place and being able to see the curvature of the earth falling away at the horizon rather than any natural or human-made obstruction.
After five days on the polar plateau, a tiny dot appeared on the horizon and as it grew closer, the whir of propellers assaulted my ears. We loaded all of our gear into the back of the plane and took off, leaving nothing more than a dozen flags marking the buried crates of science equipment. Flying over our campsite on the way out, there was little remnant of the home we had occupied, which is of course the way it ought to be. We were delivered back to the South Pole at the very cusp of the new year. While I dragged my tired self to the elevated station in search of a bed, the squeals of delighted revelers echoed off the building. The following day, a small miracle in the shape of a Hercules LC-130 aircraft occurred, delivering me back to McMurdo just in time for the slightly delayed New Years celebration. From the belly of the Herc, as we flew into McMurdo, I could just pick out the tips of the peaks of the Royal Society Mountains. I felt a small swell in my chest. Oh the mountains! How I'd missed them so. I stepped off the plane and was surprised to be greeted by a good friend working the airfield that day. I practically tackled her, so happy to see a familiar face again. Three weeks away can feel so long. I rode home in the shuttle van, so unbelievably happy to find myself at the base of these snowy mountains once again, and anticipating the joy of a holiday weekend with friends. Flat white is nice, but mountains, oh mountains are so much better.
The annual New Year's music festival, complete with midnight countdown on January 2, was a glorious day. Mostly sunny, but surprisingly cold, I spent the day dancing with friends, occasionally ducking into the bar or dorms for warmth and libations.
January carried on with the groan of "return season" when the science groups are wrapping up their projects, and en masse return to McMurdo. The hundreds of tents, sleeping bags, coolers, thermoses, ice axes, GPS units, and tool kits we sent out at the beginning of the season return now smelling like dirty feet and rotting food and covered in sand and grit. It's the less glamorous side of field support.
With the end of the science season also come camp close-outs, when we head into the field to take down the last tents, and clean out the last food, and lash down the sleds, flags, and tools, that will spend the winter out. I traveled first to FANG, the acclimatization camp for those heading to the summit of Mt. Erebus, and then to the Dry Valleys to close two camps there. All glorious in their own right, and accompanied by other amazing Berg Field Center staffers, these trips are lots of work and incredibly fun.
Two days ago, I returned from closing a couple of camps in the Dry Valleys. The Dry Valleys are located just across the sound from McMurdo, a forty minute helicopter ride from the station. The return flight over the ice this time of year invariably means wildlife sightings. Along the ice edge we saw dozens of Orcas, my first real sightings of these big beautiful beasts in the wild. Spy-hopping along the edge, they were hunting for seals, which gave us some amazing glimpses of their slick white streaked undersides. I was amazed to watch the Adelie penguins hop into the water practically on top of the Orcas. Apparently Orcas prefer the taste of seals. We spotted a few Minke whales in the channel carved out by the icebreaker, and dozens of skuas flying overhead looking for a good meal.
Over the coming weeks, the ice will break out further, most likely bringing the whales right up to the station, but I will not be here to see it. The helicopter ride was a good last hurrah, a last glimpse of the amazing-ness that is this place that has been home for so long. I am not entirely certain what my future holds, but I suspect it will be a little less cold and icey. I won't miss the brutal wind in my face. But there are plenty of things I will miss- the scenery, wildlife, and people here continually put me in awe of the world.
Now there is an empty suitcase demanding to be filled, and I am dreaming of my bare feet in the grass, and avocadoes and sushi and pomegranates.
PS. Before I go, can I just mention that after leaving FANG, the helo flew us over the crater of Mt. Erebus, the southernmost active volcano in the world, and it was kind of amazing, and also the thing I've most wanted to do since I started working in the Antarctic nearly ten years ago? Okay. That's it. On to warmer climates.
