October 25, 2012: Antarctica Defined

A professor of literature once told me that it tried his nerves to witness the abuse and misuse of the english language. He used the word awesome as an example--a word used, by most of us, daily and nonchalantly. The definition (according to Merriam-Webster) is as follows: inspiring feelings of awe, admiration, or wonder. 

Since hearing the professor's rant on the subject, I often catch myself in the dirty act of decimating words. Is this sandwich awesome? I now ask myself. Was my day incredible? Was it really? By definition? I am not a fundamentalist like my professor friend. Orally, I fall into the same category as the majority of my generation. We are word hippies--counter linguists. We have started a movement to change the form, meaning, and context of the English language. Who cares about proper semantics or pragmatics? Those kinds of things are old-school--reserved for our parents. We reject proper grammar and are lazy to the core. We toss exclamation marks around like pennies--a form of punctuation reserved for the most shocking, thrilling, loud, bold, and poignant of sentences.

This is the evolution of language, I suppose; But I still think of the professor, and I think of him now, when I am in a situation that calls for the use of these powerful words in the context that they were meant to be received. I feel confident in my choice of words and punctuation when I describe Antarctica. This place, this continent, is awesome!

LAKE FRYXELL

Lake Fryxell--Antarctica Specially Protected Area (ASPA)

I was suppose to fly Tuesday, but our trip was pushed back two days due to inclement weather. Each day of being grounded caused fresh disappointment. We finally received the thumbs up on the third day, and my heart soared as we stepped onto the helipad--my first helicopter ride! The feelings I felt as the helicopter lifted off the earth are hard to describe--but the main word that came to my mind was impossible! What an incredible machine and what an innovative species we are for making it fly. 

Our landing pad at Lake Fryxell

Taken on our flight to the Dry Valleys

The clouds hung heavy in the Taylor Valley as we crossed over the frozen sea and entered the mountains I had, until now, only seen from afar. They are the quiet strangers, standing tall across the bay, that I have been itching to form an acquaintance with. I've been known to have a poetic imagination, but I was not prepared for the ethereal world that I would find there.

A veil of clouds hang over the mountains surrounding Lake Fryxell

 After forty-five minutes of flying we landed at Lake Fryxell. As we unloaded our tools and supplies I scoped out our camp--consisting of one jamesway tent and five small, green, labs used for scientific research. After transporting some propane and tools to our work site, the helicopter flew back down the valley--taking its noise and leaving us in silence.   



The small camp at Lake Fryxell



 

I feel like I must broaden my vocabulary in order to properly describe this place. Its beauty is shocking to the system. I literally forget to breath, forget to blink. Its only when my lungs burn and my eyes sting that I remember that I am human and that I don't belong in this enchanted world. This harsh climate is a constant reminder that I am here as a visitor and to encroach on this land's grace could be disastrous--even deadly. Standing quietly, surrounded by powdered mountains and vast, clear-blue skies, in the presence of active glaciers, time seems to stand still. I feel primitive and young in such an ancient place.

Our job at Lake Fryxell was to build two polar havens--they are buildings/tents that will be used to keep scientists warm as they drill into the ice looking for discoveries. We completed the construction of one of these buildings on day one--finishing around 7pm. A spaghetti dinner in the warmth of our communal jamesway followed. After dinner I took off to see if I could get a better look at one of the surrounding glaciers. 

Our polar haven construction

Picturesque mountains framed from inside the polar haven

Distance is deceptive in Antarctica. What looks like a short walk can turn into miles and miles. It was a beautiful evening and, although I was tired from the day's work, I really didn't mind the distance. My journey took me across the frozen lake and, as I walked, shallow bubbles frozen in time cracked and popped under my feet. The sound, like pop rocks candy, made me stop dead in my tracks on more than one occasion--even though I knew that the surface was thickly frozen and impossible to breach. Still, unsettled by the sound, and my brain's active imagination, I kept my eyes down looking for signs of danger. As I walked I noticed odd shapes in the ice; clear spots where you could see bubbles--ike frozen lava lamps--at least four feet deep; And cracks that split and spliced--like frozen, hollow veins--making patterns and designs. Beautiful! I have never encountered an artist whose talent can compare to nature's. I stopped several times to kneel and brush away the snow--trying to get a better look at these works of art. I wish I had a push-broom so I could have cleared away a larger area. 

There were places where the wind had yielded its artists' chisel and sculpted the ice into mineral-like deposits--much like quartz or diamonds in appearance. The low light from the sun played off the surface and the ice became alive as it danced and sparkled. This brittle, transparent, crystalline solid held more value to me (intrinsically and extrinsically) than any diamonds that I could wear on my hands, neck, or ears.

Diamonds in the ice

 

Despite the distractions I encountered, I finally reached the foot of Newall Glacier. What an impressive sight! Standing in its shadow, dwarfed by its massive size, I once again found my self staring with wide, unblinking eyes at another one of nature's wonders. As I stood still and quiet, I began to hear cracking, and it did not come from my feet. The glacier was breathing! I heard it. It heaved and groaned from the pressure and stress of its massive size and the friction it encountered. I was a witness to morphology! I was there when the deformation of ice and gravity actively shaped and carved the Taylor Valley. I wonder what this place will look like in a few hundred-thousand years.  

Newall Glacier

After straining my ears for a while, I finally broke the glacier's spell and made the journey back to the warmth of the jamesway. I curled up in my mummy bag and slept soundly next to the furnace.  

The following morning we continued our construction of the polar havens. I love this job! They come in pieces, like a puzzle, and have to be assembled and enforced using nails, screws, and lag bolts. The final step, once they are standing, is to drill v anchors into the ice to hold the tents secure against the wind. We completed our construction project in record time--giving us a couple of hours to burn before our scheduled flight out of the valley.

Despite secretly wishing the flight would be delayed another day, the helicopter arrived on time and we loaded our gear and said goodbye to Lake Fryxell. The sky was clear and the view of the valley was pristine. En route to McMurdo I saw more glaciers, icebergs frozen in the sea ice, and random colonies of seals--their inactive, slug-like bodies sprawled out on the sea ice. 

A shot of a glacier from the air

An iceberg frozen in the sea ice

It was a beautiful adventure!--my first taste of field camps and the dry valleys. I am hoping that the future holds more tasking and more flights into the interior of Antarctica. 

October 12, 2012: Active Ice

Background: Mount Erebus (Antarctica's second highest volcano) Foreground: A snow covered crack in the sea ice

Although the sea ice seems still and lifeless, it is constantly moving. Much like tectonic plates, the ice converges creating violent rifts--small, frozen mountain ranges. There are many types of cracks: working, tidal, straight-edge, and proximal--just to name a few. Needless to say, these breeches in the frozen surface have a potential to create trouble for those of us who work and travel here.

Since arriving, our days have consisted mostly of training--survival training, GPS training, altitude training, helicopter training, scaffold training, OSHA training, and the list goes on and on. The latest information imparted on us in order to mitigate danger, was sea-ice training--a class dedicated to teaching us techniques to measure the depth and danger of a thinning sea and how to traverse it safely.

After spending the morning trying to stay awake through power points and lectures, we were loaded into a hagglund and driven out onto the sea ice for some hands-on training. An hour later we arrived at our destination--Main Body Crack--a working crack that is being closely monitored by the USAP.

Our small team examining the Main Body Crack

The wind was fierce, but we were prepared. Equipped with our ECW gear and hand warmers, we investigated the snow-covered crack. The hagglund acted as a wind breaker while we worked; however, the moment we left its protection we found ourselves in a linebacker stance and trying to catch our breath. It is moments like these that make my heart flutter. Standing on a frozen ocean in Antarctica; surrounded by mountains and like-minded people; listening to the wind whip around my hooded head, with drafts of snow blowing past my boots; it is times like these that I laugh and shake my head in complete awe of my good-fortune.

After examining the crack and finding it safe to work on, we started clearing away the snow to expose the ice surface. In order to evaluate whether a crack is safe to pass over in a large vehicle, the ice around and through the crack must be drilled and the depth measured. We used a motor-powered drill to make this process easier. We drilled until we hit the sea water, and at points we had to use an extended drill bit (two meters long) to achieve this. A linear line of eight holes, six inches apart, were made and intersected the crack--spanning on either sides.

Dave about to go deep with an extended drill bit

Here I am drilling through the ice

After we had finished drilling, we lowered a measuring tape with a cylindrical weight down the holes until it reached water. The weight caught at the bottom of the ice hole and allowed us to take an accurate measurement. The deepest spot we measured was eighty-nine centimeters--safe enough for a pisten bully and most heavy machinery to cross.

Dave taking depth measurements

In this picture I am hand drilling a v anchor. It's surprisingly strong and is used to combat the high winds that like to carry away tents and equipment

Another awesome day in Antarctica.



I'll be heading to Lake Fryxell for an over night trip on Tuesday--my first helicopter ride! Dave will be heading to WAIS Field Camp soon for a duration of three to four weeks. He'll be missing our anniversary and possibly Thanksgiving, but I'm excited for him. He'll be roughing it in a mountain tent on a polar plateau--a place very similar to the South Pole. 

I am getting behind with my records--there's just not enough time in a day/week. I'll try to be more regular with my blogs and have a few extra stories/pictures posted every week. Thanks for reading.

October 9th, 2012: Where Will Your Moral Compass Lead You?

When I first arrived at McMurdo I felt a twinge of disappointment that I would not be traveling on to the South Pole. I missed the small population, the alienation and the harsh environment that comes with living at 90 degrees south; however, since spending time at this new location, I have become smitten.

The mountains were the first to win me over. Standing over 13,000 feet tall at their highest point, the Royal Society Mountains (part of the Trans-Antarctic Mountain Range), felt like home. They quieted my reserve with their ancient stoicism and timeless beauty. The magnificence of this land is inspiring. The same magic that surrounded the Pole is here and it hangs in the air. With every breathtaking view, and cold, smoky exhalation that eventually follows, I feel an overwhelming sense of belonging. This land speaks to me. Contrary to most people's desire for meaning and purpose in their lives, I feel comfort in the belief that I am nothing more than beautiful chaos--part of a natural order that I will never pretend to understand.

I was raised up believing I was some how unique

Like a snowflake distinct among snowflakes, unique in each way you can see

And now after some thinking, I'd say I'd rather be

A functioning cog in some great machinery serving something beyond me

(Fleet Foxes--Helplessness Blues)

On a planet so beautiful and so diverse, I coexist with a plethora of life that is no less important or special than my own. I may feel invincible at times and feel that the laws of nature do not effect me, but I am running a race that can not be won. The mountains, in all their beauty and majesty, will be here long after I am gone. To understand my insignificance is humbling, but it also makes life more precious, more beautiful. I feel like I have dodged a bullet, escaped a life that I was not meant to live and now I am free to be who I want, do want I want, go where I want with the time allotted to me.

I am playing all my cards now, while I can, and I am not banking on the ability to finish unfulfilled dreams in an afterlife. I will live my brief, fast-burning life to the fullest--taking in every sight and experience I can until I burn out and drop to the earth. Annie Dillard said it best in Living Like Weasles (my favorite of her essays.)

We could, you know. We can live any way we want. People take vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience--even of silence--by choice. The thing is to stalk your calling in a certain skilled and supple way, to locate the most tender and live spot and plug into that pulse. This is yielding, not fighting. A weasel doesn't "attack" anything; a weasel lives as he's meant to, yielding at every moment to the perfect freedom of single necessity...I think it would be well, and proper, and obedient, and pure, to grasp your one necessity and not let it go, to dangle from it limp wherever it takes you. Then even death, where you're going no matter how you live, cannot you part. Seize it and let it seize you...

October 5, 2012: Welcome To Mactown!

The sun will set for the last time (this year) on Oct 24th

We were greeted by blue skies and a brilliant sun as we funneled out of our C-17 and into the cold, Antarctic air. Ice crystals danced and twirled around us and sparkled brilliantly when touched by the sun. Weighed down by bags and our ECW (extreme cold weather) gear, we wobbled across the sea ice--like big, awkward penguins--to the deltas that waited to take us to McMurdo Station. Deltas are land traverse vehicles that are monstrous in size--every little boy's dream Tonka. They have tracked wheels designed specifically for the arctic's deep snow and slippery ice. Getting into a delta can be a treacherous feat--climbing seven feet up the slick stairs/ladder wearing an extra 60 lbs of luggage and ECW gear is no easy task. 

The drive to the station was brief. We left the frozen sea, which spanned for miles in three directions, and drove onto a solid road that led us up the hill to McMurdo. The ground here consists of black, volcanic gravel that we've been told turns into black, volcanic mud come January when temperatures are at their warmest. On a side note: the day after we landed they closed the Ice Runway to incoming C-17s due to thinning ice. They moved the runway several miles away to Pegasus--a blue ice runway that can accommodate wheeled aircraft year round.

The station during a category 2 weather advisory

McMurdo Station or "Mactown" (which it is often called by its inhabitants or "townies") is just that, a small town--complete with post office, barbershop, library, convenience store, coffee shop, three gyms, two bars, one church, and a gear rental facility. With over a thousand-plus people in the summer season, this place sees a lot of traffic. The current population is 627, and it is hard to conceive of this number nearly doubling in size in a matter of weeks.

Dave and I are adjusting just fine. Compared to the Pole, station-life at Mactown is luxurious. We hit the jackpot by being issued dorm 209; a much sought-after living quarter that previously was obtained by seniority and tenure. Every once in a while we receive a frown and head-shake from a jaded McMurdo veteran as we enter or exit our home. Our room is large and spacious and is complete with a personal sink and mini-frig. We share a conjoined bathroom with two other people--quite a change from a Jamesway tent and communal outside bathroom. Did I mention that our dorm also has two lounges, a pool table, internet access, large laundry room and a sauna? Whoa. Instead of small increments of internet that would come and go with the passing satellite, we have have 24/7 internet connection. Everyone, upon request, are given TVs to put in their rooms. Several stations, including a few movie channels are broadcasted. Dave and I decided to forego the TV--there is too much to see and experience outside and free time is too precious. 

The weather started out warm. Well... warmer than at the South Pole. When we first arrived we donned hoodies, hats and gloves as we explored the town. The temperatures coasted in the teens (positive)--weather that we never experienced at the Pole. The heat-wave didn't last long. Day two we were hit with a category one weather advisory. I was six miles out of McMurdo at the Long Duration Balloon Project (LDB)--a study being funded by NASA--when the weather hit. We had to wait for an hour in our heated vehicle for the weather to get better before we were able to make the drive back to the station. I have never experienced winds at that speed before, or the total lack of visibility--it was a white-washed world.

Dave and I--standing on a frozen sea!

Dave and I are Carpenter Apprentices and we couldn't be more excited about our department. The perks of this new job are limitless. The first day we got to pick out our personal tools. I can equate this experience to going to Home Depot and pulling goodies off the shelf, whatever you want, for free! Our coworkers are "unique" characters, but among the best people on station. They are safety-minded and professional, but are quick to make jokes and have fun. We work in a warm, two-story building that smells like sawdust and freshly cut wood. On top of getting the satisfaction of completing projects with our hands and building things with powerful toys, we will get to travel and explore the continent via working at field sites. I can't wait to fly in a helicopter--for the first time--to one of these remote, sought-after locations.

The carp shop is set on top of McMurdo Hill and has the best view in town

In short, life is good. I will be writing in more detail about our adventures and day-to-day life. More pictures and stories to come. 

If any one is interested in writing me via snail mail I have included my station address. I would be more than happy to receive and send letters--a joy that is rarely experienced due to our age of technology. 

Jenna Witkowski, ASC
McMurdo Station
PSC 469 Box 700
APO AP 96599-1035

October 5th, 2012: South Bound

The view from our C-17

Fly South, little bird

Across the frozen sea

To a place of mystery and legend

That few will ever see

A land full of secrets

Waiting to be told

But you must go to battle

With the ice, the wind, the cold

Be brave, little bird

This is where you are meant to be

And you will find that to your heart

This land holds the key

Fly South, little bird

Across the frozen sea

Over the snow-capped mountains

To a land of mystery

During our 5 hr flight South

On November 3rd, 2011 I lined up behind a crowd of red coats and waited impatiently for my turn to set foot in Antarctica. I made the transition from a dark C-17 to a bright new world and, as I took my first steps onto the frozen ice and packed snow, time stopped and rewound. I was ten years-old again, looking at a photo in Nat Geo of a white-washed world splashed with blue. In this picture I saw red-hooded figures wearing goggles and bunny boots and traversing on a frozen sea. And here I was, fifteen years later, one of the red coats taking my first steps in a place that was no longer confined to my imagination. Very few times since becoming an adult have I experienced a guttural feeling of excitement--the same feeling a child experiences on Christmas morning--but this was one of them. My eyes began to tear-up and my heart swelled with pride as I fulfilled a childhood dream. 

A little less than one year later, on October 5th, 2012, I returned. Stepping through the door of the plane--which reminded me of the wardrobe door in a beloved childhood book--I reentered this magical land. This time I knew what to expect, I had experienced it before, but the excitement and thrill was comparable to my first encounter. Dave and I walked across the airfield--ninety plus inches of ice separating us from the frigid sea beneath--to the vehicle that waited to take us to our new home. We both held our cameras high as we walked, and exchanged ear-to-ear smiles. We made it back!

Upon arriving--our C-17

Dave en route to our transport vehicle--a Delta

On our way to McMurdo Station

*Videos filmed by David J. Forest

October 3rd, 2012: Thank You TSA!

Dave and I arrived safely in Christchurch. After presenting our passports and visas we waited patiently for our bags. Dave spotted my bag first and as he pulled it off the belt he noticed that it was unzipped and spilling clothes out of the top. Items were every where! A note from the TSA accompanied the mess informing us of the inspection. A moment later Dave, who was sympathetic of my situation, saw his own bag slowly making its way toward us. His situation was much, much worse. The TSA had removed his toiletry items from the safety of their plastic bag. Shampoo and lotions coated his bag and the top layer of his clothes. The smell of Dave's shampoo-bag is still permeating our hotel room, even after extensive cleaning. Thank you, TSA (aka "Toiletry Smashing Association.")

October 2nd/3rd 2012: Good Bye, USA

Here I am again--on a plane 35,000 feet above the great Pacific Ocean. Another journey, another adventure in Antarctica is about to begin. 

This time last year I left Montana with uncertainty and feeling a little heartsick. I was leaving the place, people (and dog) that I love for a group of strangers and for a continent that most people would rather not visit if given the chance. Needless to say I was nervous. But as I stared out my window as the plane flew past my beloved Bitterroot Mountains and over a new chain that I had never before seen, I knew I was on the right path. This was what I had always wanted. From my earliest childhood memories--hoarding my family's set of National Geographic and flipping through page after page of foreign places, people, and animals--I had always wanted this. To go, to see, to explore. Suppressed by comfort and student loans, that desire lay dormant; But now, it is being unleashed in full force. I feel like I've contracted some sort of bug that has left me restless and unable to accept the basic humanistic desire for normality and security. There is no cure and I do not want one; however traveling seems to be the way to stave these symptoms and put myself at ease. 

To me, Antarctica is a treasured land. A truly special place to live. It is unworldly and unlike anything I have ever experienced. It felt like I was part of a fiction novel--a story centering around a harsh, mysterious, and unearthly land, filled with quirky, endearing characters and, of course, romance. Antarctica was a catalyst. It was the adventure that started many. Travels in New Zealand, Australia, and Indonesia subsequently followed and many, many more adventures (as long as I am blessed with health, vitality, and the means) are sure to come. I am excited for the opportunity to go back to this special place and for another journey to begin.

Dawn has broken and I now look out my window at an endless blue expanse of water. We will be arriving in Sydney, Australia soon--our brief layover before flying on to Christchurch, New Zealand.