9.23.2003
ICE FISHING
Sitting in the Coffeehouse, plugged into the wall, sipping wine and eating chocolate. Low light, mellow samba music, folks around reading and typing.
Sounds perfect, but I don't feel delighted. I'm still adjusting to my new morning work schedule - 5:30 am -2:30 pm. It's only been three days, and I'm missing the previous schedule, with mornings to myself before I went in to work at 11. (not to mention the later bedtime). I got into the habit of getting up with Erik for breakfast at 7:15, and then reading leisurely (right now I'm reading about Einstein and gravity), then sitting in my favorite spot, the science library, which has a beautiful view of the mountains turning pink in the early morning just beyond the sea ice all periwinkle and vast.
Now, I'm forced to wake up fast, and deal with people and their dirty dishes at 5:30 am. Yuk. But, the advantage is that I can come to places like this in the evening instead of working. Once I catch up on my sleep, I'll be in a better mood. (p.s. I'm still recovering from the rave on Saturday nite, which is another story I probably won't tell here. I will say that we were blessed to see the southern lights when we emerged from Puzzle Palace at 2am. They looked paler than I'd imagined, more like a stripe of a cloud than lights.)
I'm also bummed because the reality of 10 hours of intense physical labor for 6 days a week is settling in. And I'm going to be doing this for 5 more months?! My arms are now falling asleep at night, and they wake up tingling and numb. The doctor said it's carpel tunnel, so I've been taking 800mg of ibuprofen 3x day and wearing wrist braces day and night. And I'm going to be doing this for 5 more months?! I've started a stretching regimen that should help, and I'm learning to use my left hand.
Enough complaining -- just wanted to give you the whole story, not just the bright spots.
Last Friday was a special day -- I've made friends with the divers, and they took me ice fishing. Trips like these are hard to come by, require a lot of networking to get, and hard work once you get them.
First we had to dig ourselves into the storage area at the "old" aquarium where the supplies are kept. Kevin (the guy with the chainsaw) is the head dive guy (CB handle, "dragonfish"). After leaving town for our destination about a mile out on the sea ice, we radioed in to the fire house with our departure, destination, and estimated return. If you don't check back in, they send the search and rescue.
Believe me, I dug too, not just photographed.
Once at the site, our task was to drill 2 12" holes in the 15' thick sea ice. The "PistenBully" (small red tracked vehicle) came in handy -- both in transporting the fishing shack and as a scaffold to drill from.
I helped drill the first hole, and while the other diver, Phil, and the second helper, firefighter Jeff, were drilling the second, Kevin and I went over to Dive Hut 6 to get the "fishing poles" and bait. The fishing poles, "Thunder Bay" and "Lil' Kipper" are kids' poles pink and blue, perfect for the 4-5" fish we're aiming to catch for the scientists.
The most special part of the day was getting to see Lucy (my affectionate name for her), a giant pregnant seal, swim up the divers' hole to breathe.
Her breathing was deep and regular, reminded me of the sound of a whale blowing when she emerged. She looked at us with her huge round brown cow-eyes. Sarah, she reminded me of Viva or Baby, with her whiskers and melancholy straightforward gaze. Such a strong creature.
The most beautiful part was when she swam up toward the surface from the depths, or dove back down.
Once back at the fishing hut, Alejandro (he came along in the afternoon) and I buried the edges of the hut so that in days to come, snow wouldn't blow in.
By the time we were finally ready to fish, the holes had frozen up, so we had to drill again!
We jigged glow-sticks down the holes to tease the fish.
We never did catch any fish, but being in this landscape is certainly payoff enough.
Sitting in the Coffeehouse, plugged into the wall, sipping wine and eating chocolate. Low light, mellow samba music, folks around reading and typing.
Sounds perfect, but I don't feel delighted. I'm still adjusting to my new morning work schedule - 5:30 am -2:30 pm. It's only been three days, and I'm missing the previous schedule, with mornings to myself before I went in to work at 11. (not to mention the later bedtime). I got into the habit of getting up with Erik for breakfast at 7:15, and then reading leisurely (right now I'm reading about Einstein and gravity), then sitting in my favorite spot, the science library, which has a beautiful view of the mountains turning pink in the early morning just beyond the sea ice all periwinkle and vast.
Now, I'm forced to wake up fast, and deal with people and their dirty dishes at 5:30 am. Yuk. But, the advantage is that I can come to places like this in the evening instead of working. Once I catch up on my sleep, I'll be in a better mood. (p.s. I'm still recovering from the rave on Saturday nite, which is another story I probably won't tell here. I will say that we were blessed to see the southern lights when we emerged from Puzzle Palace at 2am. They looked paler than I'd imagined, more like a stripe of a cloud than lights.)
I'm also bummed because the reality of 10 hours of intense physical labor for 6 days a week is settling in. And I'm going to be doing this for 5 more months?! My arms are now falling asleep at night, and they wake up tingling and numb. The doctor said it's carpel tunnel, so I've been taking 800mg of ibuprofen 3x day and wearing wrist braces day and night. And I'm going to be doing this for 5 more months?! I've started a stretching regimen that should help, and I'm learning to use my left hand.
Enough complaining -- just wanted to give you the whole story, not just the bright spots.
Last Friday was a special day -- I've made friends with the divers, and they took me ice fishing. Trips like these are hard to come by, require a lot of networking to get, and hard work once you get them.
First we had to dig ourselves into the storage area at the "old" aquarium where the supplies are kept. Kevin (the guy with the chainsaw) is the head dive guy (CB handle, "dragonfish"). After leaving town for our destination about a mile out on the sea ice, we radioed in to the fire house with our departure, destination, and estimated return. If you don't check back in, they send the search and rescue.
Believe me, I dug too, not just photographed.
Once at the site, our task was to drill 2 12" holes in the 15' thick sea ice. The "PistenBully" (small red tracked vehicle) came in handy -- both in transporting the fishing shack and as a scaffold to drill from.
I helped drill the first hole, and while the other diver, Phil, and the second helper, firefighter Jeff, were drilling the second, Kevin and I went over to Dive Hut 6 to get the "fishing poles" and bait. The fishing poles, "Thunder Bay" and "Lil' Kipper" are kids' poles pink and blue, perfect for the 4-5" fish we're aiming to catch for the scientists.
The most special part of the day was getting to see Lucy (my affectionate name for her), a giant pregnant seal, swim up the divers' hole to breathe.
Her breathing was deep and regular, reminded me of the sound of a whale blowing when she emerged. She looked at us with her huge round brown cow-eyes. Sarah, she reminded me of Viva or Baby, with her whiskers and melancholy straightforward gaze. Such a strong creature.
The most beautiful part was when she swam up toward the surface from the depths, or dove back down.
Once back at the fishing hut, Alejandro (he came along in the afternoon) and I buried the edges of the hut so that in days to come, snow wouldn't blow in.
By the time we were finally ready to fish, the holes had frozen up, so we had to drill again!
We jigged glow-sticks down the holes to tease the fish.
We never did catch any fish, but being in this landscape is certainly payoff enough.
9.18.2003
These photos and text are from mid-August.
Arrival. Flying over Antarctica in the C-17, a military cargo plane.
Al, this shot’s for you. The pilot let us climb up the metal ladder to the cockpit and share the view. Wow.
Luckily, Erik and I both sat in the webbed seating along the sides (though we were on different flights). It was pretty cramped in the middle (tighter than a commercial flight, if you can believe it). Notice the pile of bags and coats in the aisle. We got a paper bag lunch thrown at us. No beverage cart.
After unloading the cargo, they unloaded us through the same chute. It felt like coming out of a spaceship onto an icy foreign planet.
The Transantarctic mountain range is in the background. Vehicles with serious winterizing waited to take us 45 minutes across the sea ice to McMurdo Base.
The town looks like a mining camp. It sits on volcanic rock and snow. Grey. And the military architecture does NOT inspire. The building in the middle is a typical dormitory.
On my first day off Alejandro (fire-fighter from Spain who chooses books not by contents, but smell) and I climbed Observation Hill. The only place in town the sun will actually hit your face. My fellow dining attendant, Martha, was jealous — she hasn’t seen the sun since April! The pink light is unique to this time of year.
Alejandro overlooking town, and McMurdo Sound. That flat snowy part is all sea ice surrounding Ross Island. A tanker will come in to dock during summer and offload fuel and supplies for next summer.
-29.5º F at the top.
Me in the ubiquitous red parka atop Ob Hill. My eyelashes and balaclava are frozen.
Arrival. Flying over Antarctica in the C-17, a military cargo plane.
Al, this shot’s for you. The pilot let us climb up the metal ladder to the cockpit and share the view. Wow.
Luckily, Erik and I both sat in the webbed seating along the sides (though we were on different flights). It was pretty cramped in the middle (tighter than a commercial flight, if you can believe it). Notice the pile of bags and coats in the aisle. We got a paper bag lunch thrown at us. No beverage cart.
After unloading the cargo, they unloaded us through the same chute. It felt like coming out of a spaceship onto an icy foreign planet.
The Transantarctic mountain range is in the background. Vehicles with serious winterizing waited to take us 45 minutes across the sea ice to McMurdo Base.
The town looks like a mining camp. It sits on volcanic rock and snow. Grey. And the military architecture does NOT inspire. The building in the middle is a typical dormitory.
On my first day off Alejandro (fire-fighter from Spain who chooses books not by contents, but smell) and I climbed Observation Hill. The only place in town the sun will actually hit your face. My fellow dining attendant, Martha, was jealous — she hasn’t seen the sun since April! The pink light is unique to this time of year.
Alejandro overlooking town, and McMurdo Sound. That flat snowy part is all sea ice surrounding Ross Island. A tanker will come in to dock during summer and offload fuel and supplies for next summer.
-29.5º F at the top.
Me in the ubiquitous red parka atop Ob Hill. My eyelashes and balaclava are frozen.
9.11.2003
Hello all! Welcome to Antarcticamy. Sorry it's taken me so long to get this up and running. I'm experiencing technical difficulties - please stand by. You'll notice there are no photos yet. I hope to have that part of the blog working next week pending some software updates. Also, please note that the design of the blog is a template (my designer ego HAD to mention this -- someday I'll learn HTML!) I will be updating this site at least once a week, and will send out periodic reminders, but not every time I update. To access whenever you're in the mood, just bookmark this link in your favorites folder, and visit as often as you like. As always, you can email me at amy@origingraphicdesign.com. Love to you all! -- Amy
8.30.03 Hello from Antarctica!
I am on a volcanic island at the bottom of the planet, on the edge of the ice shelf that is the Ross Sea. Our plane landed on the Pegasus runway, created on this permanent ice. Mount Erebus, the volcano that created the island, smolders and smokes a few dozen miles away -- its plume visible every day. The "town" of 280 people (the largest one on the continent -- will be a bustling 1200 strong come October) is the McMurdo research station, planted on the edge of the McMurdo Sound. Our sole purpose is to support the National Science Foundation grantees who are doing various scientific research here.
Most of the people here (besides the scientists) are in the trades/physical laborers -- carpenters, power plant operators, machinists, equipment operators (of which Erik is one). Then there's the support staff and administrators in housing, janitorial, kitchen. That's where I come in, as one of 11 town dish washers. My hands are already chapped and red -- but not yet cracked and bleeding (like they promise). I also brew the coffee and stock the juices, tea and cereal, and smile and greet the hungry, cold masses. 10 hours a day, 6 days a week. More about that later.
Today's high temperature is forecasted at -11º F, the low -45º F. Those numbers are so low that they lose meaning. It's so cold that I can't walk the distance of a parking lot without a huge coat (you'll notice in my pictures everyone wears a standard-issue red down jacket the size of a sleeping bag), gloves, and a hat -- and my legs start to sting through my jeans. So cold that my eyelashes and water bottle froze on a 1.5 hour hike. So cold that it hurts to breathe deep.
It's dry, too. The most arid continent on earth -- as dry as the Sahara they say. Ironic, since the continent also holds the greatest supply of fresh water on the planet, though frozen. If melted, enough pure water to supply the entire population of the United States ALL of its water for a year.
I think the harshness of the continent has something (if not everything) to do with how remarkable the community is here. There's an openness, outgoingness, and humor that's bred by our obvious interdependency. And don't forget humility. More than once someone has offered to help me wash dishes, smiling through the window where they deposit their dirty dishes. Every 5 minutes on the job, someone says hi, remembers my name, and asks how my day is going. This wouldn't happen at your local Denny's.
The town rises by 6 am and retires early every night but Saturday, when the 3 bars are open till 1am. Nevertheless, the town is not short on entertainment during the week. Bingo was a big hit this week, with a $200 cash prize among others. The letter/number-callers were all fellow DAs (dining attendants), and were funnier than most stand-up comics. Last night the nearby Kiwi (New Zealand) base hosted an American night, and tonight there's a disco party at the non-smoking bar, Gallager's. I'm steering clear of the smoking bar, Southern Exposure, which resembles a college keg party complete with Girls Gone Wild.
My favorite hangout is the Coffee House, which serves cappuccino (albeit Folgers with powdered milk) and wine (they have good wine). There are games (Lonny, I've lost 2 Scrabble matches already, I need the 2-letter word cheat sheet!) and computers for surfing the net. There's a small screening room attached where they show movies and host small events like a quarterly art show and concerts. I'll be training next week to be a bartender there on my day off.
Erik and I are sharing a room in dorm 203a -- a 2-story co-ed dorm like the one you had in college. Fairly modern facility, with heat and electricity. It's not like the South Pole where you're sleeping basically in tents on concrete where your pee freezes in a cup on the floor at night. Here we're lucky to have mini refrigerators, particle-board furniture, florescent lighting and cork-boards. Laundry on our floor, and a big screen TV in the lounge.
Stay tuned for the next installment: life in the galley!
8.30.03 Hello from Antarctica!
I am on a volcanic island at the bottom of the planet, on the edge of the ice shelf that is the Ross Sea. Our plane landed on the Pegasus runway, created on this permanent ice. Mount Erebus, the volcano that created the island, smolders and smokes a few dozen miles away -- its plume visible every day. The "town" of 280 people (the largest one on the continent -- will be a bustling 1200 strong come October) is the McMurdo research station, planted on the edge of the McMurdo Sound. Our sole purpose is to support the National Science Foundation grantees who are doing various scientific research here.
Most of the people here (besides the scientists) are in the trades/physical laborers -- carpenters, power plant operators, machinists, equipment operators (of which Erik is one). Then there's the support staff and administrators in housing, janitorial, kitchen. That's where I come in, as one of 11 town dish washers. My hands are already chapped and red -- but not yet cracked and bleeding (like they promise). I also brew the coffee and stock the juices, tea and cereal, and smile and greet the hungry, cold masses. 10 hours a day, 6 days a week. More about that later.
Today's high temperature is forecasted at -11º F, the low -45º F. Those numbers are so low that they lose meaning. It's so cold that I can't walk the distance of a parking lot without a huge coat (you'll notice in my pictures everyone wears a standard-issue red down jacket the size of a sleeping bag), gloves, and a hat -- and my legs start to sting through my jeans. So cold that my eyelashes and water bottle froze on a 1.5 hour hike. So cold that it hurts to breathe deep.
It's dry, too. The most arid continent on earth -- as dry as the Sahara they say. Ironic, since the continent also holds the greatest supply of fresh water on the planet, though frozen. If melted, enough pure water to supply the entire population of the United States ALL of its water for a year.
I think the harshness of the continent has something (if not everything) to do with how remarkable the community is here. There's an openness, outgoingness, and humor that's bred by our obvious interdependency. And don't forget humility. More than once someone has offered to help me wash dishes, smiling through the window where they deposit their dirty dishes. Every 5 minutes on the job, someone says hi, remembers my name, and asks how my day is going. This wouldn't happen at your local Denny's.
The town rises by 6 am and retires early every night but Saturday, when the 3 bars are open till 1am. Nevertheless, the town is not short on entertainment during the week. Bingo was a big hit this week, with a $200 cash prize among others. The letter/number-callers were all fellow DAs (dining attendants), and were funnier than most stand-up comics. Last night the nearby Kiwi (New Zealand) base hosted an American night, and tonight there's a disco party at the non-smoking bar, Gallager's. I'm steering clear of the smoking bar, Southern Exposure, which resembles a college keg party complete with Girls Gone Wild.
My favorite hangout is the Coffee House, which serves cappuccino (albeit Folgers with powdered milk) and wine (they have good wine). There are games (Lonny, I've lost 2 Scrabble matches already, I need the 2-letter word cheat sheet!) and computers for surfing the net. There's a small screening room attached where they show movies and host small events like a quarterly art show and concerts. I'll be training next week to be a bartender there on my day off.
Erik and I are sharing a room in dorm 203a -- a 2-story co-ed dorm like the one you had in college. Fairly modern facility, with heat and electricity. It's not like the South Pole where you're sleeping basically in tents on concrete where your pee freezes in a cup on the floor at night. Here we're lucky to have mini refrigerators, particle-board furniture, florescent lighting and cork-boards. Laundry on our floor, and a big screen TV in the lounge.
Stay tuned for the next installment: life in the galley!
