Antarctica 2018: Chapter 18: A Hui Hui Kākou and Aloha

Link to Chapter 17: McMurdo, The Big Town of Antarctica
Link to Chapter 16: To All Points North
Link to Chapter 15: The South Pole Traverse Arrives
Link to Chapter 14: Two pictures to sum it all up.
Link to Chapter 13: Visual tour of South Pole Station.
Link to Chapter 12: What is LANDIT, and why does it need the South Pole?
Link to Chapter 11: Work at the South Pole.
Link to Chapter 10: Thank you, friends.
Link to Chapter 9: At the bottom of the world
Link to Chapter 8: Onward, Southward!
Link to Chapter 7: Exploring McMurdo Station
Link to Chapter 6: Touchdown Antarctica
Link to Chapter 5: Flight Day!
Link to Chapter 4: ECWs
Link to Chapter 3: Christchurch!
Link to Chapter 2: Auckland
Link to Chapter 1: From Hawaii to Antarctica

Chapter eighteen is the last chapter in the tale of my Antarctic adventures for 2018. Like growing up, eighteen is where the story must take a different turn. For those of you that have followed along with me thus far, my sincere thanks. I hope you’ve found some entertainment, perspective and maybe even appreciation for the unique place that is the bottom of our world.

There are many more stories to tell, and one day I hope to tell them. I’ve learned a lot about myself here, and what I’m capable of. That knowledge, I hope, will carry into my next adventure.

In 2018, I was proud to be part of the United States Antarctic Program at South Pole. Being here is a Venn diagram of steadily smaller and more unique clubs: Antarctic scientists. National Science Foundation Principal Investigators. South Pole voyagers. I think this has been the most noteworthy achievement of my career to date, and I feel very blessed to have had this experience.

So without further ado… here is the last chapter, of the last leg of the journey. McMurdo, Antarctica, to Christchurch, New Zealand. And from there, tomorrow, back to the United States… and a new life.

Those of you that have been with me through the last 17 chapters already know about bag dragging the previous night, so I won’t go into the travails of my Sisyphus burden of well-used scientific equipment. The morning that I was scheduled to fly out dawned beautiful and sunny… and as an added bonus, Mt. Erebus was not only visible, but belching! Erebus is the volcano in whose shadow McMurdo Station sits… and belongs to a class of mountains known as “ultra mountains”; in fact, it’s the sixth-highest ultra on the planet, and the second-tallest peak in all of Antarctica. Not to mention being the southernmost volcano on the planet. Check out the “eruption”!

Then it was time to board ol’ Ivan the Terra Bus for the ride out to … wait, Phoenix airfield? If you’ve been following closely, you know that Phoenix airfield is where the wheeled aircraft land, like the C-17 that I came in on. The ski aircraft land at Willy Airfield. This late in the season, it’s too slushy out on the sea ice for the C-17s, so they have stopped flying. Which left only the LC-130s to ride back to New Zealand… right?

Nope! As luck would have it… we would be flying home with the Kiwis! We hitched a ride on a C-130 owned and operated by none other than the Royal New Zealand Air Force (RNZAF).

Why do I say luck?

A flight to the ice, to or from New Zealand, takes about five hours in a fast, jet-powered C-17. The propeller-driven C-130s, however, are much slower. The LC-130s, weighed down with heavy (and very unaerodynamic) skis, are slower still. Flying off the ice would be an 8.5 hour voyage in the USAF LC-130. The NZRAF C-130, however, flying without the burden of skis, could make the journey in only 7.5 hours. Doesn’t sound like much… but when you see the crowded accommodations onboard, I think you’ll agree that the hour makes a solid difference.

Interlocking, knee to knee, over fifty returning Antarctic explorers crammed into the C-130 for the ride home. The Herc is not a small plane, but when you’re shoulder to shoulder with two people, with your knees wedged between two other people, with no way to the bathroom except to climb over ten other people… well, it sure feels small.

The last view of Antarctica. Until we meet again.

And just like that, seven and a half hours later… we were off the ice, at the US Antarctic Program yard in Christchurch… back in civilization.

The RNZAF C-130 (left) and USAF LC-130 (right) at the US Antarctic Program Cargo Yard, Christchurch Airport

New Zealand Customs and Immigration: we were a strange-looking group to all the regular tourists, I bet.

Mixed feelings about leaving doesn’t even begin to cover it. I’m writing this post from the beautiful town of Christchurch, New Zealand, having just enjoyed my first (and most glorious) twenty minute shower in over two months. I went down to the galley — sorry, hotel restaurant — and ate lunch, and for the first time in a while, I knew no one around me. Growing up in Los Angeles, I’ve always enjoyed the anonymity of big city living. After living at the Pole, where I was able to recognize new arrivals with one quick glance across the galley, being around throngs of strangers is going to take some getting used to. Tomorrow, I get on a commercial flight (sigh, Jetstar again — don’t do it, kids. Just don’t do it) and start to make my way back to the US.

I’m left with a good feeling, though. A pleasant sense of exhaustion and accomplishment. Pride; in what I learned about myself and the Antarctic environment. Hope; that the data sitting on a terabyte drive in my luggage upstairs is useful and scientifically interesting. And, of course, wishing; that this time next year I have the chance to be back here again, outbound to the ice. LANDIT will be back at the South Pole in 2019. I can’t say for sure if I will as well, but I certainly hope so.

Thanks to everyone who followed along with me on this journey. It has been a once-in-a-lifetime experience, one that I will treasure for the rest of my life, and I’m glad some of you could be part of it with me. Until we meet again, Antarctica… or as we say back in Hawaii, much aloha and a hui hui kākou.

Antarctica 2018: Chapter 17: McMurdo, the Big Town of Antarctica

Link to Chapter 16: To All Points North
Link to Chapter 15: The South Pole Traverse Arrives
Link to Chapter 14: Two pictures to sum it all up.
Link to Chapter 13: Visual tour of South Pole Station.
Link to Chapter 12: What is LANDIT, and why does it need the South Pole?
Link to Chapter 11: Work at the South Pole.
Link to Chapter 10: Thank you, friends.
Link to Chapter 9: At the bottom of the world
Link to Chapter 8: Onward, Southward!
Link to Chapter 7: Exploring McMurdo Station
Link to Chapter 6: Touchdown Antarctica
Link to Chapter 5: Flight Day!
Link to Chapter 4: ECWs
Link to Chapter 3: Christchurch!
Link to Chapter 2: Auckland
Link to Chapter 1: From Hawaii to Antarctica

I haven’t really spent enough time at Mac to write anything conclusive about it (though I’ve certainly heard a fair amount second-hand). So far, I think it’s fair to say that it’s like any “small big town”… there’s enough people to provide some variety, with little intimacy.

For me, being back at Mac is like returning to a summer paradise. It’s over fifty degrees warmer here! The register read 10 degrees Fahrenheit when I stepped off the plane… that’s right, positive ten degrees. I haven’t experienced temperatures in the positive register for over a month. We are also back at sea level, and after a long time at 10,000 feet, I feel like I’m surrounded by oxygen, drinking it in by the gallon. I was tired the day I arrived from Pole, but went for an outdoor run later that day. Ran like a gazelle, too, even if I do say so myself. Just saying that, let alone doing it, feels like a massive accomplishment.

And there are mountains here! Something to look at, even climb! I went on a hike up Ob Hill earlier today, right in the center of Mactown. I started at the same time as a local Mac guy, and made it to the top of Ob Hill, and halfway back down, before I saw him again. It’s amazing what you can do at sea level, with warm temperatures and a lungful of oxygen!

Can you see the plane?

Ob Hill to the left, a common Mac hike

And there is a social scene here! Not one bar, but two, and both jammed to the hilt after 8 PM. The cognitive dissonance of opening the door of a grungy dive bar and being confronted with bright sunlight, however, is pretty real. There are events every day — hikes, treks, even a half-marathon. And the internet! It’s round the clock and there’s Wi-Fi! That’s right, folks… no waiting till 10 pm at night to catch a signal to the rest of the world; Mactown is connected to the world 24 hours a day.

This place seems great, right? Internet around the clock, warm temperatures, things to do, bars to hang out in, new people all the time? Well, as the saying goes: “Happy people focus on what they have; unhappy people focus on what’s missing”.

I don’t know who wrote this… but I suspect they are not a lot of fun to be around, in general. It’s tough to imagine someone with this level of angst getting along well at Pole. Judging by some of the conversations I’ve overheard, and feedback from veteran Mactowners, this is more common than you’d think.

Here’s my diagnosis. I think Mac is “enough” like a real town: people you don’t know, water treatment facilities, group activities and, yes, the collective grunge that a thousand people in one place leave behind… that it’s easy to lose perspective on one simple thing: you’re still in Antarctica. At Pole, you just have to look outside the window. The edge of the Station, and therefore civilization, is evident. No wildlife, no human colonization… and you’re filled with a sense of place. A reminder that humans aren’t really meant to live there. At Mac, you could be fooled. December is “mud season”: everything is slushy (because it’s warm!). There’s dirt - real honest to God dirt - everywhere. The roads are clear, with little icicles melting. When I look out, I see heaps of industrial buildings and shacks and columns of vehicles and noisy people. You could easily think to yourself: well, shit, I’m in North Dakota.

But you still have the problems of Antarctica. Things are still flown in, and therefore not readily available. Everyone still has to do their part to keep things liveable… but there’s enough people that you’re going to have those that don’t contribute, thinking that it’ll just be lost in the noise. You may have 24 hour internet, but it’s going to be slow. The facilities might not be up to home standards (below were two of the most common facilities complaints). Coming from Pole, all of this is immediately obvious to me, but perhaps not as obvious to several of the people that live here.

Of course, I’m merely speaking to the experience that I have had over five short days (so far) in Antarctica’s big town. I’m not generalizing for all Mactowners, nor would I do so even if I’d had more time there. The point I’m trying to make is: Mactown has its issues, and as a Polie, some of the angst behind those issues puzzle me. For example, I don’t care about the electrical surge in the shower... I can shower every day if I want, that is the important part! I don’t care about dial-up internet speeds… I can go on the internet anytime, that is the important part! But it’s just a loss of perspective, which happens no matter where you are on the ice. At Pole, the long darkness and isolation make you lose perspective on which issues are important and which are trivial. And as I think about it, maybe at Mac, what makes you lose perspective is that there are enough hints of “real-world” living that you are invited to forget, even if temporarily, that you’re still very, very far from the real-world.

If you know me, you know I never thought I’d say this… but ten degrees, that’s no gloves and light jacket weather!

Antarctica 2018: Chapter 16: To All Points North

Link to Chapter 15: The South Pole Traverse Arrives
Link to Chapter 14: Two pictures to sum it all up.
Link to Chapter 13: Visual tour of South Pole Station.
Link to Chapter 12: What is LANDIT, and why does it need the South Pole?
Link to Chapter 11: Work at the South Pole.
Link to Chapter 10: Thank you, friends.
Link to Chapter 9: At the bottom of the world
Link to Chapter 8: Onward, Southward!
Link to Chapter 7: Exploring McMurdo Station
Link to Chapter 6: Touchdown Antarctica
Link to Chapter 5: Flight Day!
Link to Chapter 4: ECWs
Link to Chapter 3: Christchurch!
Link to Chapter 2: Auckland
Link to Chapter 1: From Hawaii to Antarctica

The people I had the privilege of meeting at Pole are some of the most unique people I’ve ever met. And as for me, I worked with my hands, built something, and did the best I could to work around weather that did not want to cooperate. I’m immeasurably proud of that. There’s so much more I could write about — like the amazing Thanksgiving spread, kitesurfing scientists, late-”night” camaraderie after karaoke, STEM sessions via videoconferencing with 200+ Hawaii middle- and high-schoolers… and more. On and on… but all things, even this, must come to an end.

The sun finally sets… not on Pole yet, but on my time at Pole.

The end came surprisingly quickly… because I’d planned on an extension. In fact, the extension was approved… except the only seat on a flight off-continent (Mac to New Zealand) would have put me back in the United States (CONUS) after January 2. For professional and personal reasons, I couldn’t accept that. So I found myself packing, and saying my goodbyes, in a very hurried manner. So hurried, in fact, that I missed my “bag drag”, and had to take my stuff down to the cargo berm after hours to check it in for the flight the next day.

I do wish I’d had more time to properly say goodbye; tell some very cool people that I enjoyed their company, and hope to see them again on (or off) the ice. And when the morning of the departure came, I definitely didn’t feel mentally ready to leave. That morning, people kept asking me, “Did you get your extension?” And I had to say, hurriedly, “yes but no… I leave today”.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope for bad weather. In fact, bad weather was forecasted. Not only would that have given me the perfect amount of time to say proper goodbyes, it also would have allowed me to squeeze in one more day of telescope time, to make up for a very unlucky streak of bad observing weather. Ironically, the weather had warmed up… which was causing clouds to drift across the Sun. The new forecast was for cold, icing… and wind. Lots of both.

However, as fate would have it, a gaggle of NSF, USAF and other “DVs”, or Distinguished Visitors, flew in to Pole the day before I was scheduled to leave. The weather was bad at Mac, though it was perfect at Pole, and the next day it was forecast to switch. As I mentioned earlier, flights do not originate at Pole. They don’t even turn their engines off at 90 South, because they might not start back up. The only planes out are those that fly in from Mac. So most everyone told me that the plane that would take me out would be grounded at Mac. Then the weather would get bad at Pole… and it wouldn’t be able to get in. Four days, easy.

Perfect.

Except: the DVs. We won’t kiss and tell with names, but we’ll just say: people with significant political pull, including a retired astronaut, a USAF active-duty bigwig, and an undersecretary of the Armed Forces. They were scheduled to fly up to Pole, do a series of powerpoint briefs on the science happening at the Station*, get their picture taken at the Pole, then get back on the plane and fly out. All within two to four hours. Which might seem like a boondoggle, but these people lead organizations that are critical to the Antarctic mission. Like it or not, keeping these people knowledgeable and happy keeps planes flying and science happening.

*If you’re wondering why anyone would fly all the way to the South Pole, only to listen to powerpoint briefings about labs and facilities a short walk away, you clearly don’t work for the US government.

Why did the DVs matter? Well… weather was bad at McMurdo. But when an astronaut and an undersecretary want their picture at the South Pole, they are going to get it. We were all surprised when the LC-130 launched from Mac. The flight instructor in me feels compelled to mention that under an instrument clearance, you can legally takeoff with zero visibility and cloud cover right down to the ground (as long as conditions are above the minimums at your destination)… but I’ll just say it’s rare that a pilot decides, sure, I’ll take off into nothingness. But when you’ve got highly trained military pilots at the helm, and DVs that are too busy to wait… I guess it’s not that surprising that the plane launched.

Of course, things went south from there, pun mildly intended. The DVs did their briefings, got their pictures, got back in the plane and took off under beautiful blue skies… and then boomeranged back to Pole. The weather was too bad to land at Mac. The engines ran all day, hoping for a window to launch. The DVs did not want to spend the night at the South Pole. To be fair, altitude sickness can hit you hard (and did, in fact, hit a couple of the DVs). It’s tough to sleep your first night at 10,000 feet; your heart beats abnormally fast and you wake up convinced you can’t breathe. If there had been a break in the weather at Mac, the plane would have taken it.

But there was none, and then the weather started worsening at Pole. Winds kicked up; visibility shrank. The DVs were stuck. The South Pole Traverse had just come in, too, and the morning of my departure, the galley was the most crowded I’d ever seen it. The pilots slept in the library (quiet reading room). The Station was at capacity. The weather was bad… but again, takeoff is not the problem. And as the weather cleared at Mac, I knew there was no way I would be delayed.

Maybe that was for the best. The DVs, at least, now got to actually go out and see the labs and telescopes first-hand, and hear from some of the people on the ground level of research at the Pole. But for me, it meant the most frantic packing I have ever done… and I’ve had some doozies. Packing sensitive scientific equipment rapidly, while knowing that American Airlines baggage chuckers would be in the mix, was fairly stressful. I was really thankful to have help from Mike Legatt (shoutout to Mike for being awesome), one of the ASC research associates. Again, as I’ve said before… all the ASC folks I’ve worked with at Pole are awesome.

I chose not to take all my equipment back, but leave some tools behind for the larger 2019 LANDIT crew. Every pound that has to fly to and from the ice is more taxpayer money, so hopefully this reduces the weight (and pain) that they have to deal with. This box will be waiting for the first LANDIT team member to touch down at the South Pole next summer.

Top: My SuperDARN workspace all packed up. The box front-and-center was left behind for the 2019 LANDIT team. Right: I dragged the remaining equipment on two sleds, back to Station, to be packed, bubble-wrapped and brought back with me to the US mainland. The picture shows the first of those two sleds, with the telescope case and a backpack full of computer equipment.

My thanks, again, to everyone who sent me great food, coffee and snacks for my time at the Pole. I enjoyed almost all of it… but there was still some left over. For all those of you that sent me things, know that they have been put to an additional good use. Come mid-winter, you will make the 41 people wintering over at Pole very happy. I wrapped a package full of goodies up for the winter-overs, most of whom are here already, and gave it to Mike with instructions not to open until mid-winter. By that phase in the season, they’ll be itchy for anything new and interesting, so hopefully everything in the box will find its way to someone who is craving something like it.

The package of sweet goodies, and leftover coffee, for the 2018/19 winter-overs. There’s a smorgasbord of stuff diverse enough that hopefully most of the crew will find something they like.

In coming to the end, you think about the beginning, and the journey behind you. I also found myself thinking about the journey ahead. This was the first of two, and hopefully three, seasons for LANDIT in Antarctica. Getting here was a challenge, and I don’t just mean the weather and logistics.

The day I left, I got an email from a co-worker, telling me that LANDIT had made the report that the Director of my laboratory sends to his boss, a four-star General. This was a big deal… not for me, but for the LANDIT team to follow me next year. Many internal battles had to be fought and won for this trip to be possible. I have no doubt that many more will follow… and momentum from superiors with political will is the only potent weapon to keep misinformed naysayers at bay.

Exactly like with the DVs at Pole.

This is the reality for scientists everywhere outside academia. Successful scientists understand one simple tenet immediately: if you keep the people at the top of the food chain happy and informed, you might also be able to keep bureaucratic “advisors” out of the way of good science.

An excerpt from a top-level report of research within our laboratory, with pictures pulled from this very blog. Keeping superiors well-informed is critical to overcoming objections from professional trouble-makers lower in the bureaucratic hierarchy.

And after that… it was forward ho for me, to All Points Northbound.

To McMurdo, to Christchurch… and some day in the near future, back to CONUS.

The adventure of a lifetime is winding down. I’ve certainly got mixed feelings about it, and at the end of the day, all I can say is… I hope to be back here one day.

The LC-130 that overnighted at Pole waiting for the DVs. The few of us scheduled to leave were placed on the same flight as the DVs, pretty much ensuring that we would leave that day, as early as possible.

Antarctica 2018: Chapter 15: The South Pole Traverse arrives

Link to Chapter 14: Two pictures to sum it all up.
Link to Chapter 13: Visual tour of South Pole Station.
Link to Chapter 12: What is LANDIT, and why does it need the South Pole?
Link to Chapter 11: Work at the South Pole.
Link to Chapter 10: Thank you, friends.
Link to Chapter 9: At the bottom of the world
Link to Chapter 8: Onward, Southward!
Link to Chapter 7: Exploring McMurdo Station
Link to Chapter 6: Touchdown Antarctica
Link to Chapter 5: Flight Day!
Link to Chapter 4: ECWs
Link to Chapter 3: Christchurch!
Link to Chapter 2: Auckland
Link to Chapter 1: From Hawaii to Antarctica

The southernmost highway in the world isn’t in Australia, or New Zealand, or even Chile. It’s a thousand-mile road that’s rebuilt every summer, and it connects McMurdo Station with South Pole Station. Every summer, three to four caravans of trucks, bulldozers and motorized CATs pulling massive sleds filled with supplies make, and drive, the road to South Pole, an activity that is called the South Pole Traverse.

We got updates, periodically, about the progress of the traverse towards us. That’s because the traverse (or SPT) itself is fairly new. Prior to SPT, Pole got all its supplies, as well as the jet fuel that powers the Station, from LC-130s. That’s right — over two hundred flights a year, sometimes as many as eight flights a day, would fly down from McMurdo, and the cargo planes, engorged with fuel, would fill up bladder tanks at Pole, and then take off. Obviously, bad weather and delayed planes meant a whole lot more in those days, possibly even disrupting a season. These days, we don’t need as many planes flying between Mac and Pole… thanks to SPT.

The “proof of concept” traverse occurred in 2006, and in 2009, the first “operational” traverse occurred, bringing over 100 tons of equipment to Pole per traverse. Compacting the snow for a thousand miles, filling in dangerous crevasses, all while pulling 100 tons, is no small feat. Today, SPT is the backbone of Polar operations. So it was pretty cool to wake up one Tuesday morning and look out of the galley and see a new decoration in the background. As if to announce their presence, the Traverse parked itself in the most conspicuous spot it possibly could: right behind the Ceremonial South Pole.

Picture from the vantage point of the NOAA Atmospheric Research Observatory (ARO): The clump of buildings to the left is South Pole Station. The clump to the right is the motorized component of the South Pole Traverse. In the foreground, three of the five sleds that the Traverse pulled across Antarctica can be seen.

One of the sleds dragged by SPT. There were five such sleds as part of the first Traverse (there will be three this season). Each sled carries an unbelievable 20,000 gallons, or 140,000 pounds, of jet fuel.

Yep, you can’t miss ‘em: Left: the Ceremonial South Pole prior to the Traverse arrival, as seen from the galley, and Top: the Traverse posted up right behind the Ceremonial South Pole flags shortly thereafter.

A closer view of the Traverse, in the background of the flags at the Ceremonial South Pole, with yours truly. The SnoCATs, as well as living quarters for the Traverse operators (the corrugated shack-looking buildings) can be seen.

Antarctica 2018: Chapter 14: Two pictures to sum it all up

Link to Chapter 13: Visual tour of South Pole Station.
Link to Chapter 12: What is LANDIT, and why does it need the South Pole?
Link to Chapter 11: Work at the South Pole.
Link to Chapter 10: Thank you, friends.
Link to Chapter 9: At the bottom of the world
Link to Chapter 8: Onward, Southward!
Link to Chapter 7: Exploring McMurdo Station
Link to Chapter 6: Touchdown Antarctica
Link to Chapter 5: Flight Day!
Link to Chapter 4: ECWs
Link to Chapter 3: Christchurch!
Link to Chapter 2: Auckland
Link to Chapter 1: From Hawaii to Antarctica

It’s not the end yet. But the end is drawing nigh… and at the end, you start thinking about the journey behind you.

And if I had to sum up the great polar adventure of 2018 in two unedited pictures, I think it would be these two.

No captions this time… I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.

Antarctica 2018: Chapter 13: A visual tour of South Pole Station

Link to Chapter 12: What is LANDIT, and why does it need the South Pole?
Link to Chapter 11: Work at the South Pole.
Link to Chapter 10: Thank you, friends.
Link to Chapter 9: At the bottom of the world
Link to Chapter 8: Onward, Southward!
Link to Chapter 7: Exploring McMurdo Station
Link to Chapter 6: Touchdown Antarctica
Link to Chapter 5: Flight Day!
Link to Chapter 4: ECWs
Link to Chapter 3: Christchurch!
Link to Chapter 2: Auckland
Link to Chapter 1: From Hawaii to Antarctica

(this post will be updated as bandwidth permits)

Earlier, I gave you a tour of McMurdo Station, on the Ross Ice Shelf of Antarctica. In this post, I’ll try to capture, in a few pictures, the span of “home”, the Amundsen-Scott Research Station itself. I’ve often been out at the telescope at 2 AM, trying to take advantage of clear weather, and on my return the Station has been somewhat deserted, making it the perfect time to capture what it looks like “at rest”.

Before 1956, and Admiral Byrd’s daring airplane landing, there were no permanent habitations at the South Pole. The first Station, “Old Pole”, was built in 1957 by the Navy Seabees. In 1975, the “Dome” was built… a massive structure that housed several sub-units inside. It was still small, though… if you weren’t lucky enough to be assigned a room within the Dome, you had to make do with “Summer camp”, a collection of tents outside the Dome.

But as I’ve mentioned earlier, Pole collects about a foot (approximately) of snow per year - not from precipitation, but just blowing snow across the flat plateau. Which means… ground floor sinks by a foot every year, and pretty soon, the Dome was sinking into the ice. This led to the construction of today’s modern Station, which you’ll see in these pictures. It was commissioned in 2008, making it officially ten years old this year.

This is the “elevated Station”, and you can see why it’s called that. Despite being up on stilts, you can see the effect of blowing snow from the last decade. It has already piled up a level high. At some point in the next decade, the Station will have to be “raised” up, sitting higher on its stilts. Supposedly, this is in the design… we shall see.

Top: The stilts on the elevated Station. However, the top of the snow is out of view, accumulated over the last decade. The design permits snow to (partially) blow underneath the Station and up a drift on the other side, but (Left) the taller the drift gets, the harder it is for snow to overcome it and keep the belly of the Station clear.

With that, here we go! A tour of South Pole Station.

The ladder to “Destination Zulu”, or DZ. You can think of this as the “back door” to the Station. The position of the Sun on this door can tell a Polie what time this picture was taken at (hint: late)

The “front door”, or Destination Alpha, looks out on the skiway… the way people and cargo arrive here at South Pole! Pictured: USAF LC-130 landing at on the skiway under a beautiful halo. The US Air Force is the only organization that runs the special ski-equipped aircraft that can land at Pole.

Okay, let’s go inside!

Inside Amundsen-Scott Research Station. Destination Zulu is behind me. Even though we climbed some stairs to get here, this is still the “first floor”, since the Station itself is elevated.

Just inside the Station, with Destination Alpha behind me. This is the “front door” to the Station.

Up on the second level; the galley! Where we eat all our meals, and convene for science talks every Sunday (I gave the Science talk shortly after Thanksgiving). The cooks here do an amazing job with frozen food. The windows to the right overlook the Ceremonial South Pole.

The Station runs on jet fuel (JP8), and with all the heavy machinery and constant work, fire is always a concern. In the summer, we have real Antarctic firefighters. The winter-overs are also trained as firefighters and rotate in on-duty teams. Their gear is here, ready at a moment’s notice.

The winter-over wall of fame! Every person that has wintered over at Pole either has their name, or photo, inscribed along this wall. It’s quite an achievement, to make it through eight months of isolation, and this wall honors those that have made it.

Also on the second level… the B2 science lab! This is shared space for all the science grantees to set up camp, when they’re not at their labs or telescopes. When I was not at SuperDARN, this was my base of operations. The ASC Research Associates also sit here.

Entertainment! The game room on the second floor. South Pole doesn’t have a bar like McMurdo (which has two), but this is the unofficial “hang out” spot for folks with a frosty beverage in hand.

There’s also an arts and crafts room! Very well stocked, if I might say so.

The greenhouse! It gets dry in Antarctica, and after a while you forget what the world smells like. Here’s where you can come to drown in some humidity and earthy smells for a little while.

The sauna. Home of the 300 Club. In the winter, when it drops below -100 F, folks come in here to warm up to 200 F, and then run to the South Pole naked (except for boots) and claim membership into the famed 300 Club.

Finally, the feng shui painted “berthing areas”. These are where people’s personal rooms are. Thankfully at pole, we get our own rooms (if you aren’t in summer camp, and this year, no one was). These are quiet areas.

Antarctica 2018: Chapter 12: What is LANDIT, and why does it need the South Pole?

Link to Chapter 11: Work at the South Pole.
Link to Chapter 10: Thank you, friends.
Link to Chapter 9: At the bottom of the world
Link to Chapter 8: Onward, Southward!
Link to Chapter 7: Exploring McMurdo Station
Link to Chapter 6: Touchdown Antarctica
Link to Chapter 5: Flight Day!
Link to Chapter 4: ECWs
Link to Chapter 3: Christchurch!
Link to Chapter 2: Auckland
Link to Chapter 1: From Hawaii to Antarctica

So why am I in Antarctica, and at the South Pole, anyway?

The program that I’m the resident Principal Investigator for is called LANDIT: The Long-Duration Antarctic Night and Daytime Imaging Telescope (LANDIT). It’s a joint program between the Air Force Office of Scientific Research and the National Science Foundation Office of Polar Programs.

Now that you know a bit of the background, there’s two important things to remember:

1. The more spherical harmonic modes you can determine for an object (whether that object is a star, the Sun, or a giant planet like Jupiter), the better defined are its interior and surface — and that’s what we care about.

2. From the above, there’s just one thing you should take away: intrinsic oscillations modulate emergent flux. What that means is: things happening on the interior affect the oscillations in brightness on the exterior. And those oscillations in brightness can be measured with a telescope.

Aha! Enter LANDIT. We can measure light coming from a body (again, the principle is the same for stars, the Sun, or a giant planet), measure changes in that light, then invert into the power domain to try and extract modes of oscillation.

Below is an example from the field of astroseismology. The near observed modes, as spikes at specific frequencies, is the product we are looking for… but for Jupiter.

So why Jupiter? What do we learn from applying these techniques to Jupiter (other than learning about the interior structure of our solar system’s larger planet)?

Of course, I’m not the first person to think of this. Others have been trying since before I was born to try and detect modal oscillations on Jupiter, as seen below. Here’s what you need to keep in mind: signal to noise ratio. No one has been able to get a strong enough signal to create the nice neat plot you saw above for astroseismology.

And this is where the South Pole enters the picture.

That’s right! One day, one night, per year: that’s the South Pole, and it’s the only place on Earth where Jupiter will be above the horizon, continuously, for over 100 days, just circling the cold night sky above the bottom of the world. Our idea is, essentially: that’s how we beat the signal-to-noise problem. Continuously observe Jupiter for months at a time, without non-random interruptions. Anywhere else in the world, the Sun interrupts your observations every 12 hours. Not so at the Pole!

And that’s why I’m at the South Pole today. LANDIT is a long project: we need to build up the engineering expertise to field an optical telescope at the South Pole. There are no optical telescopes at the South Pole today, and that’s because maintaining a constant temperature above freezing for a telescope is extremely hard.

So the project is set up in phases. The first phase is underway right now.

Which brings me full circle back to 2018! Perhaps now some of the images of me at work near SuperDARN will make more sense…

Just to give you an idea of how complex things can get for an optical telescope in the harsh environment of the South Pole… the LANDIT 2018 telescope is tiny, and purchased off-the-shelf — in direct comparison to the LANDIT 2019 telescope, which will be significantly larger and more complex. This is a picture of the systems diagram, with all the modifications [thermal and other] that had to be made to allow the 2018 telescope to be fielded.

Antarctica isn’t easy!

LANDIT has many engineering and scientific challenges up ahead. But our hope is to pull off the first-ever 100 day observation campaign on any solar system object. And in doing so, learn something about our largest neighbor and the formation of our solar system!

Not bad, eh?

Antarctica 2018: Chapter 11: Work at the South Pole

Link to Chapter 10: Thank you, friends.
Link to Chapter 9: At the bottom of the world
Link to Chapter 8: Onward, Southward!
Link to Chapter 7: Exploring McMurdo Station
Link to Chapter 6: Touchdown Antarctica
Link to Chapter 5: Flight Day!
Link to Chapter 4: ECWs
Link to Chapter 3: Christchurch!
Link to Chapter 2: Auckland
Link to Chapter 1: From Hawaii to Antarctica

Aloha everyone! Thanks to those of you who have been following along with my Antarctic adventures thus far. It’s been a really fun, stimulating and challenging time down at South Pole thus far, and I’ve really enjoyed it.

I haven’t posted much about the work I’ve done so far, and that’s because I’ve been busy doing it! So here’s a look back at some of the work I’ve been doing as the resident PI of LANDIT. If you’re curious what LANDIT is all about… stay tuned! My next blog post will be about the science behind this project.

A little Pole humor. Picture taken in the B2 science lab at Amundsen-Scott Research Station. One of the Research Associates was trapped at McMurdo Station for a while, awaiting good weather to fly to Pole, and made this sign. I had a very similar sentiment about this time last year, when we were looking for funding to make LANDIT a reality…

And today… here I am! Walking to work at the SuperDARN building (my staging location at Pole) on a stormy summer “night”!

After arriving and getting settled in, it was time to scope out my work location! I got set up, and moved my stuff over, to the SuperDARN building, pictured below. South Pole Station is about half a mile grid north (to the right, out of frame).

Side view of the SuperDARN building. This facility hosts the data collection units for all the Phased Array Radar antennas visible in the background. There are two experiment rooms inside, of which one became mine for the 2018 Summer season. The building is on stilts to allow wind to blow under and around it [Pole collects about 8-12” of snow per year from cross-continent drift].

I quickly made sure to put our mark on the building =)

The door to SuperDARN, on the inside. The LANDIT lab area is behind the camera. Welcome to the Air Force Research Laboratory, Temporary Operating Location South Pole!

Bringing 250 pounds of equipment half a mile might not sound all that challenging, but at the time, it sure felt like my Sisyphus burden revisited. South Pole is at 9300 feet altitude, and due to squashing of the atmosphere at the Pole, frequently feels like a barometric pressure of between 10,500 and 11,200 feet. Combined with the cold, carrying any amount of equipment half a mile can feel exhausting.

I had the pleasure of dragging a man-sled from South Pole Station to SuperDARN, loaded with all my equipment (only a third of the equipment pictured below). While it certainly felt like I was pulling a car behind me, it was kind of cool to think that this was how Robert Scott brought his gear across Antarctica in 1912. And his team pulled their sleds a thousand miles, not just a half-mile! I can certainly empathize with the struggle. Then again, Scott died on the return.

Top: Historical photo of Scott’s team on their way to the South Pole, with man-sleds. Left: Modern version in use at the Pole today!

So every day, I drag two sleds’ worth of equipment about 250 meters out onto the ice, grid south, away from the Station and SuperDARN, and then back when it’s time to disassemble. All power is supplied by “Larry”, the Honda generator pictured below. Larry is a heavy sucker, I’ll say that for him, but he has enough juice to run both the telescope and four scintillometers for four hours, at which point he needs to be filled with gasoline again.

Once the gear was transported to SuperDARN, the next step was to build and bury the wooden posts that the scintillometers (one of two pieces of the LANDIT experiment, the other being the telescope) would be mounted to. The distances between the posts are carefully measured, and specially chosen to probe certain specific heights in the atmosphere. More on that later.

Walking out from SuperDARN to inspect the generator at the LANDIT experiment site.

All power to the experiment is supplied by a 2 kW generator (“Larry”). The wooden posts in the background host solar scintillometers.

Next, it was time to inspect, assemble and test the telescope control case, and complete the insulation that would protect all the sensitive wires coming out of the case. The case itself would be warmed with a dynamic controller (blue box below), so the wires would need to be kept warm on their way to their destination. After all the pains to bring this equipment across the world, careful precautions to protect it against the cold were needed, so this stage took quite a bit of effort. After all, the last thing I’d want would be to take the telescope outside, and have it immediately break due to cold shock.

Testing the response of the controller that powers the heat to the Pelican case.

The completed, sealed Pelican case, with insulated bundles containing all the wires!

The finished product! Another angle on how the embedded wires connect to scintillometers and telescope.

Finally, it was time to prepare the telescope itself.

View of the LANDIT scope inside the SuperDARN work area. A little ice can be seen on the thermal tape, following an initial on-ice test of the focuser and initial alignment.

Testing the ability of the telescope (and the operator) to acquire and track stars during the daytime. With bright reflections from the ice, this would be a very demanding task!

Finally, it was time to go to the ice. I deployed the scintillometers on the posts to track the Sun, powered by Larry (black box) and the Pelican case.

And at last, the telescope itself! Pictured below is the complete setup.

Many difficulties ensued, of course, commensurate with deploying sensitive equipment into a very harsh environment. I won’t bore you with those, but there was a lot of sled-dragging back and forth, between the warm lab area and the cold operational area, to figure out and beat down the problems, one by one, as they arose.

A view of the telescope after one deployment to the ice. The ice formation on the focus knob tended to lock the focus configuration, making it difficult to adjust.

But that’s what science is all about… experimentation, testing and re-experimentation! After all, if it were easy to deploy an optical telescope to the South Pole… this telescope probably wouldn’t be the only optical telescope in existence there. Or so I console myself.

Antarctica 2018: Chapter 10: Thank you, friends.

Link to Chapter 9: At the bottom of the world
Link to Chapter 8: Onward, Southward!
Link to Chapter 7: Exploring McMurdo Station
Link to Chapter 6: Touchdown Antarctica
Link to Chapter 5: Flight Day!
Link to Chapter 4: ECWs
Link to Chapter 3: Christchurch!
Link to Chapter 2: Auckland
Link to Chapter 1: From Hawaii to Antarctica

Today, I’d like to say a special thank you to my friends. 

This is my daily commute to work. I walk from the South Pole Station to a small building called SuperDARN, just about half a mile away, one-way. 

Under good conditions (no wind), it’s a 15-minute walk. With wind, and blowing snow, and wind-chill, it’s frequently longer, in feel-like temperatures ranging as low as -78 degrees F (the coldest I’ve experienced on that walk so far). 

Don’t get me wrong - I’m not complaining about the walk. It takes me around and past the Geographic South Pole, which means that my commute to work takes me around the world. And that makes it the coolest commute I’ve ever had.

But… lunch and dinner are served back at the Station, so walking back and forth, 1.2 miles each time, three times, every day, can be a little brutal. Especially when the wind kicks up enough snow that you can’t see the Station, just the flags in front of you. I’ve been here a while now, and have gotten used to it, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t on the struggle bus when I first got here. 

But right around then, packages from my friends in the continental US began to arrive. I opened them and… was blown away.  

Chocolates. Snacks of all kinds. Things to mix into hot water like coconut and mocha and hot chocolate. COFFEE. So much good coffee. Warm socks! Notes that put a huge smile on my face. This is a corner of the SuperDARN room where I work… and this isn’t even half the goodies I’ve received. When it’s too brutal to trudge back to the Station, I just dig into these snacks, and am perfectly happy. I have literally gone an entire day, while in the midst of troubleshooting the telescope, eating nothing but snacks sent to me by thoughtful friends I’m lucky to have. 

And I do mean thoughtful. Grace sent me Dayquil (lol) and a custom Spotify playlist before I left so I can listen to music while working and not be bored. Angie sent me Air Force stickers that I can leave behind down here, as the only active-duty member resident at the Pole, and felt-lined socks that I use to walk to SuperDARN every day. Gisela and Andrea sent me Swiss chocolate and jam (yesssss). Andrew E. sent me lip balm (for one of the driest places on Earth). Bethany sent me sleep balm (which helps me fall asleep quickly even though it’s light outside) and a ton of clever traceable snacks. Liz sent me lounging socks (Dobby is a free elf!) AND donated her Pelican case for me to use as a telescope control case. My mom sent me socks and Benadryl, which seems more random than it is. Jeannette sent me more chocolate than I could POSSIBLY eat (but I’ll find a way). Everyone sent me chocolate! You guys know me well.

Those were just the items that were notable, in boxes full of much, much more. I could go on, but what I really want to say is… Thanks. 

The thing that still gets me about this place is the strangeness of it all - it’s so different from anything else I’ve experienced. While I enjoy that strangeness immensely, it’s also very nice to feel the touch of home, and the care of friends. It’s very pleasant to think that I have people in my life who went to the trouble of buying thoughtful gifts, filling out customs forms, and mailing it down here with enough time that it actually arrived in time for me to use them. I have hot coffee in my backpack, and chocolate to eat, and warm feet, and it feels great! 

So, the purpose of this post is really to say a huge thank you… to all my friends who have supported my journey to the South Pole in one way, shape or form. You guys are awesome, and I want you to know that I appreciate you. 

…and a very special thanks to those of you who became a part of the journey, with your thoughtful gifts: 

Andrea Luthi and Gisela Munoz
Andrew Emery
Angela Phillips
Bethany Nagid
Grace Persico
Jeannette van den Bosch
Kay Nayak
Liz Hyde 

Antarctica 2018: Chapter 9: At the bottom of the world.

Link to Chapter 8: Onward, Southward!
Link to Chapter 7: Exploring McMurdo Station
Link to Chapter 6: Touchdown Antarctica
Link to Chapter 5: Flight Day!
Link to Chapter 4: ECWs
Link to Chapter 3: Christchurch!
Link to Chapter 2: Auckland
Link to Chapter 1: From Hawaii to Antarctica

The South Pole is so much more than a dream come true. It’s like when you get to the pot at the end of the rainbow… and there actually is a pot there. For some reason, it’s satisfying that this isn’t just a “trip”, I live here. I work here. At the bottom of the globe, where all the world’s longitudes meet, I’m now one of 120 other residents at Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station.

Today I was asked what the most incredible thing I’ve seen at South Pole so far is. And my answer is: the logistical footprint.

As you fly in to the South Pole, from McMurdo, you cross the Trans-Antarctic mountains, and after that... it's absolutely nothing. It's hundreds of miles of flat plateau and blowing snow, and then all of a sudden, there's a tiny speck in the distance, so tiny it could very well be dirt on the window. And minutes later, it resolves into an elevated building on stilts surrounded by "berms" of offloaded cargo equipment, parked in the snow. This is South Pole Station. It's simply incredible to me that we can maintain a scientific (heck, a human) presence this far from civilization. Some days it seems like Pole might as well be another planet - maybe the ice planet Hoth. Everything here is flown in -- from the food to the toilet paper to the army of bulldozers that keep the Station from being buried in blowing snow. I find it incredible how this massive enterprise functions like a well-oiled machine.

What the last half an hour of flying to the South Pole looks like. Nothing at all. Just snow and clouds till the horizon. This truly feels like the end of the world.

Just like that… the journey was over, and I was home. Welcome to Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station. Altitude 9301 feet, latitude 90 S, longitude 0 E. Continuously inhabited by the United States of America since 1957.

The research station at the end of the world. A truly inspiring and humbling place.

It is cold here. Really cold. McMurdo Station is in the positive Fahrenheit register. It’s not even close to that here. When I step off the plane, the windchill is south of -60 deg F. The coldest I have ever been, by a long shot. This is possibly the bravest picture I’ve ever taken.

Mandatory hero shot upon disembarking at South Pole Station.

This one is a little more realistic…

That’s right! The one and only South Pole Passenger Terminal. It’s not much… but it keeps you from freezing while you wait for your plane to arrive and take you someplace warmer.

The New York Air National Guard LC-130 that brought me to Pole. Within an hour, the plane had turned around and taken off, headed northward to warmer climes.

There are no USAF airplanes based at Pole, and they try not to be grounded here overnight due to the cold temperatures. I’ve seen Air Force aircrews dash out of the plane, run about a hundred yards to the South Pole, take a picture, then climb back aboard and take off. I feel incredibly fortunate to have the luxury of living here. I still haven’t taken my picture at the ceremonial South Pole… because I have time. And work to do!

The view of the ceremonial South Pole from the Station dining room. You can eat your meal and look out at it. The paved area behind it, and large arrow, are pointing toward the “tourist camp”, where folks that pay to be flown in to South Pole can spend the night housed in tents. Tourists are strictly not allowed at South Pole Station, since it is a taxpayer-funded government facility.

I’ve been here a while now, and the days are long and hard. But I feel so fortunate, every single day, to have the privilege of being here and trying to make science happen. It’s a harsh continent [as I write this, it’s whiteout conditions outside]. But this is a cornerstone memory for me, to use the phraseology of Westworld… and it’s going to be hard to find something that compares to this.

Antarctica 2018: Chapter 8: Onward, Southward!

Link to Chapter 7: Exploring McMurdo Station
Link to Chapter 6: Touchdown Antarctica
Link to Chapter 5: Flight Day!
Link to Chapter 4: ECWs
Link to Chapter 3: Christchurch!
Link to Chapter 2: Auckland
Link to Chapter 1: From Hawaii to Antarctica

Since I was twelve, I wanted to visit Antarctica. When I heard the story of Amundsen and Scott (I think I might have been fourteen), I wanted to visit the South Pole myself and experience what they did. I’ll let pictures do the talking, but today… that dream came true.

Tips for future Antarctic travelers:

• Watch the scrolling information monitors around Station! Flight times change often and rapidly and no one notifies you. You are expected to monitor the scrolls. The TVs in MacTown transient dorm rooms have a channel dedicated to flight information. You will see your name on the manifest.

• They say don’t drink the day before your flight to Pole, because the altitude is high and the climate extremely dry. I won’t tell you whether I followed that advice or not, and you’ll be tired as all hell, but go to the bars in McMurdo regardless. Just to soak in what the locals say and do.

• There is no boomerang bag for the Pole flight! I crammed everything that was in my boomerang bag into my carry-on, and would recommend the same. The orange USAP bags are very roomy. Bag drag up the Mac hill does not become fun, however.

All the future “Polies” at the Chalet [management building at Mac] for the briefing for the Pole flight! Flights change often, with no notice, depending on weather - not just at Pole, but other destinations on the continent. Sometimes one flight gets canceled, but the airplane will still fly, just to a new destination.

I went to sleep (again) not knowing if I would be on a plane to the South Pole the next day. My name had appeared on the scrolling manifest boards, saying I was assigned to a flight the next day, but the time was “TBD”. Right before I went to bed, I turned on the TV in the dorm room, which was on the travel channel. The flight still said TBD, but now it said, report to the passenger terminal at 0545.

At the time, this was very confusing, but I’ve since come to realize this as fairly standard operation. Our aircraft was actually headed to a remote field Camp (Camp 20), but the weather was questionable. Our mission (to Pole) was therefore a backup mission. Just like in Christchurch, the pilots would make a go/no-go decision four hours out. If they made a no-go decision, then the Pole flight would be activated, and we would need to be there ready to go, since the clock would be ticking on good weather to the backup destination. But if the primary mission was a go, then we’d just trudge back and sleep some more.

I woke up in the morning and went to the dining hall. The dining hall is huge at Mac, and I sat in a corner and confirmed what my former PhD cohort-mate Sarah (an Antarctic veteran) had told me: “The coffee at McMurdo sucks”. It really, truly does. It’s tough to find the heart to complain about coffee — everything is flown in, after all — but they are flying some coffee in. Maybe try a different brand?

By the time breakfast was done, the scrolls had changed. Our mission was now a go, and we had a departure time of 0800. It was time to go. Just that quickly, I was going to Pole that day.

The Pole flights almost never boomerang. And that’s because they just cancel it. For Mac, they’ll try to get in if possible. There is an instrument approach procedure, and a lot more people on the ground. For Pole, it’s just not worth the risk. It’s a visual approach with no navigation aids, and folks that aren’t depending on a plane coming in. If it looks bad, they’ll scrub. So when the van showed up to the Mac pax terminal to pick us up, I was exhilarated.

It’s not every day you get to go to the South Pole for the first time!

The drive wasn’t as long as on Ivan the Terra Bus, but we were also going to a different location. The C-17s land at Phoenix airfield — 10,000 feet of compacted ice in the middle of nowhere. Just as far in the middle of nowhere, but with mushier snow, is Williams Airfield. Or as everyone calls it, “Willy”. This is where the Twin Otters, Baslers and LC-130s land and takeoff from — they are all ski-equipped, so Willy is also referred to as the Mac “skiway”.

On the way to the airfield! It’s quite a nicely maintained road, actually.

Williams Airfield! This has got to be the loneliest Air Traffic Control tower in the world, period.

We waited by the Air Traffic Control tower for a few minutes while the crew finished loading all the cargo going to the Pole… then it was time to meet our ride!

The ride to the South Pole! A ski-equipped US Air Force LC-130. The ground crew has just gotten done with de-icing the plane.

We got onto the plane and took… any seat. The plane was pretty empty: a very pleasant change from the C-17, where every seat had been taken. It was a visual reminder that Pole is rare, hard, something special. Something not everyone gets to experience. There were just five passengers on the plane, and just as many crew members. Of course, the real purpose of the flight (of any Antarctic flight, really) isn’t passengers, it’s cargo.

But if you look below, you might be tempted to ask: what cargo? It’s true, the plane looks pretty sparsely packed. Certainly nothing compared to the towering masses before us in the C-17. But our LC-130 was carrying cargo nonetheless, and one just as valuable: fuel. It had extended fuel tanks: more gas than it needed for the journey to Pole and back. It would offload some of this fuel at the destination.

This is not the way Stations are normally equipped with gas: most fuel to Pole comes from the infamous “South Pole Traverse”. SPT, as it’s called, is a long, lonely, over-ground voyage; a caravan of fuel trucks, snowplows and cargo that travels along a 1,000-mile route from McMurdo, through the passes in the Trans-Antarctic mountains, to the South Pole (the world’s most southerly road!). It’s quite a journey, and really worth reading more about. But it’s early in the season yet, and the weather has been bad for a while. As I write this, it’s whiteout conditions outside, and four flights today have been canceled. So the extra fuel the LC-130s carry are certainly needed, depending on the season.

In my ECWs, on the plane, excited to go!

Don’t have to worry about in-flight damage here: all my cargo, which has now come from Hawaii to California to New Zealand to Mac, is sitting right in front of me.

The empty LC-130! All the room to gallop on the three-hour flight down to the South Pole. Five passengers, five crew members and the cargo.

As a pilot who learned to fly in the mountain west, and did cross-country flights to places like Wyoming, western Nebraska and eastern New Mexico, I’ve seen my fair share of empty terrain. Still, I’ve always been fixated by the desolate nature of Antarctica, every time I’ve seen pictures or film of it. But on this flight. I got to see it for myself. And because the plane was empty, you could just stand at a window and stare — and I did.

My camera can’t do the views justice. But the flight, particularly the parts over the Trans-Antarctic mountains, were so different and empty than anything I’d seen before.

The bleak nothingness of it all is both beautiful and humbling at the same time. For all we’ve done and conquered, this continent is still wholly untamed.

And, of course, I had to chat with the pilots who landed this lucky gig. The Commander was a Lieutenant Colonel who got out of the “majors”, as he called Active duty, as a Major with a selection number to Lt-Col, so he could join the Reserves and keep flying. The LC-130s are an AGR (Active Guard Reserve) Operation run by the New York Air National Guard.

And here’s a little something for my fellow aviation nerds… the published approach procedure to the uncontrolled field of the South Pole Station Skiway (NZSP SWY 02).

Antarctica 2018: Chapter 7: Exploring McMurdo Station

Link to Chapter 6: Touchdown Antarctica
Link to Chapter 5: Flight Day!
Link to Chapter 4: ECWs
Link to Chapter 3: Christchurch!
Link to Chapter 2: Auckland
Link to Chapter 1: From Hawaii to Antarctica

McMurdo Station, Antarctica!

The beating heart of the US Antarctic Program, this Station is also the largest on the continent. Almost every expedition to a remote field camp (a location on the ice that isn’t Palmer, MacTown, or Pole) is launched from here. MacTown is like a small mining town, in some ways, during the summer. MacTown is the only experience of Antarctica that most grantees and contractors have. Sitting in the shadow of the active volcano Mt. Erebus, and the appropriately named adjacent Mt. Terror, just down the road from NZ’s Scott Base, MacTown is quite an interesting place.

So let’s go on a small walking tour!

Setting off for an old-fashioned walkabout, one of many I took during my time in MacTown. In the background, to the right, you can see the dormitory where I was housed during my stay.

Views of the Mac dormitories. This series of brown buildings is where most people live.

Another view of the Mac dorms. Most rooms are shared — mine had a total of four people.

As you can see, there isn’t a lot of snow. Not because there isn’t any, but because the roads are maintained fanatically by working crews. The temperature was a pretty ‘warm’ (certainly by Pole standards) -10 deg C, or 14 deg F. A basic winter’s day in Minnesota, if you’re into that sort of thing.

From some angles, MacTown looks like any other small town. I found this to be a particularly suburban angle, reminding me of houses in South Boston, right down to the dirty ice on the step. The only thing that distinguishes Mactown is the dramatic white in the background.

The only building in MacTown that looks like what it is: The McMurdo Chapel, appropriately named Chapel of the Snows. This is the only stand-alone church on the continent. I would have wanted to attend a service here, for many reasons including the novelty of mass on the seventh continent, but I left MacTown very early on a Sunday morning.

The place that keeps MacTown moving: the Vehicle Maintenance Facility. From snowmobiles to massive trucks to Ivan the Terra Bus, these vehicles are crucial to keeping a station with almost a thousand residents moving smoothly.

The MacTown firehouse! Fire is a very big deal on Antarctica. There are several highly flammable accelerants everywhere, since the backbone of every Station is JP8, the same chemical that jet airplanes run on. But in MacTown, the firehouse is more than just firefighting. They are the central hub for issues ranging from search and rescue, hiking permits and beacon tracking… even if you have a noisy neighbor who won’t let you sleep.

The blue building, or Building 155, is the beating heart of MacTown. This is the location of the galley (dining room), the computer lab, the housing office, some transient dorms, and a lot more. Tellingly, the two bars in MacTown (yes, it has two!) are to the immediate left and right of 155. To the immediate left of where I am standing to take this picture is the location for “bag drag” when departing for Pole… up that hill, which is a lot steeper than it looks.

Departing the galley for another walk-about. While not much colder than a bad day on a ski hill during my visit, the wind off the ice shelf could pick up speed quickly, dropping temperatures into frostbite territory rapidly.

A view from the side of McMurdo, looking out toward the ice shelf and the Sound. The industrial backbone of the Station can be seen: necessary to make Mactown a foundation for America’s Antarctic efforts.

The cross on the hill in the distance is George Vince’s Cross, and marks the location of Discovery Hut, built by Robert Scott’s expedition. He stayed here on his way south to the Pole. Scott would made it to Pole, but die on the return. Shackleton made use of Discovery Hut on his return to McMurdo Sound as well. It’s a hike I would have loved to do, but special recreational training is needed to go off-Station, and I wasn’t at MacTown long enough to complete all of it. This is a protected site.

One of a few “warm-up huts” scattered about Mactown. Though these aren’t used in the summer, they are provided as a place to get out of the cold while in transit across the Station. Frostbite can take hold in under five minutes under some conditions.

The stark, lonely beauty of Antarctica can be quite something to behold.

The briefing room in “The Chalet”: if MacTown were a real town, this would be the Sheriff’s office. No, really: the Station Manager is also the Special Deputy United States Marshal for Antarctica.

A top down view of Scott Base (New Zealand), as seen from the road to MacTown.

The end of the world.

Antarctica 2018: Chapter 6: Touchdown Antarctica

Link to Chapter 5: Flight Day!
Link to Chapter 4: ECWs
Link to Chapter 3: Christchurch!
Link to Chapter 2: Auckland
Link to Chapter 1: From Hawaii to Antarctica

We didn’t get turned around!

The C-17 continues to drone on, and about four hours into the five hour flight, this is the view from the window of the plane.

First views of Antarctica!

The isolation is immediately striking, both in its beauty and its starkness. There are no native inhabitants to this continent. You have to strive to get here. It’s inhospitable, but it’s also unimaginably beautiful. I find myself glued to the window for several minutes, entranced.

I also have a chance to chat with the C-17 pilot, who would be doing his first landing on ice in about an hour, when we arrived at McMurdo’s Phoenix Airfield. The snow is still hard, he sasaysid, not melty like it would be soon, and there’s over 10,000 feet of groomed surface to land on. It wouldn’t be hard, he says, no different than landing on a wet runway; but this is also an experienced C-17 instructor pilot talking. You have to be an IP to get this gig.

The navigation for this flight used to be extremely hard. This far south, the lines of longitude begin to converge on one another, which means that the magnetic deviation changes every few minutes, making compasses unreliable. They are almost completely useless on the Pole run. But the pilots use GPS, and “grid” coordinates, which create equidistant squares on the map, instead of narrowing triangles the further south you got on the globe.

About half an hour away, the crew begins to bring the temperature in the aircraft cabin down, just above freezing. We put on layer after layer of ECWs — then we wait. With no view of the runway, you just have to await the bump and reverse engine thrust that signifies — you have arrived.

For me, that bump means I have now been to all seven continents on God’s green Earth. I certainly have no complaints about that.

Left: The last thing my phone’s GPS and Maps application registered.
Top: Geared up in Big Red, just waiting to step off the plane and set foot on Antarctic “soil”!

Most of the flight is cargo, so they drop the bay doors at the rear of the plane. We get our first look at the continent. The sky is a blinding white, the snow is a blinding white. That, and a line of Sno-CATs, are all that registers…

Stepping off the plane - the first seconds on Antarctica! Most of us fyngies had big grins and trigger-happy camera fingers.

The cargo offloading has already begun. This is how “freshies”, or fresh fruits and vegetables, arrive on continent.

We are directed toward another famous Antarctic tradition: “Ivan”, the Terra Bus, most everyone’s welcome wagon to the ice. One of the old Ivan drivers, Randy, has an Antarctic blog, and has a post on Ivan’s history.

Folks in red are Americans; the orange and black penguin jackets are standard issue to New Zealand Antarctic folks headed to Scott Base, just down the road from McMurdo

Ivan the Terra Bus! Our ride around the sea ice shelf on Ross Island to McMurdo Station. There’s even a song dedicated to him. It’s oddly catchy… or maybe it’s just me.

The OAEs on the flight (Old Antarctic Explorers, slang for people who have been to the ice before — but not the types who talk loudly in bars about it) joke with us that if we’re lucky, there’ll be heat on the bus. Some years there isn’t.

As it turns out, this year, there is heat! This isn’t necessarily a good thing, though. I’ll say this many more times in the blog posts to come — but Big Red is freaking amazing. This jacket actually makes the cold feel… comfortable. No, really. Worn appropriately, you can be outside in -70 deg F and actually be quite cozy. Sitting inside Ivan, I start to overheat very quickly.

How long is the ride? I ask the person in front of me. I’m expecting to hear five, maybe ten minutes. Thirty to thirty five is the answer. I quickly start shedding layers.

Phoenix Airfield is located right next to the Ross Ice Shelf… so even though McMurdo is a straight line distance of maybe 5-10 minutes, we can’t drive over the sea ice, since it’s too unsafe. So we take the long way around: basically one long curving loop around the sea ice, which at this time of year, looks just as white and solid as anything we’re driving on. We stop by Scott Base to let the Kiwis off, then it’s on to McMurdo. The hill up to the station isn’t that steep, but you really get the impression that Ivan can’t make it. Of course, the Terra Bus can… but the outcome sometimes feels in doubt, I’ll just say that.

Top: Flags on the ice are a common sight. Some denote paths for walking, others denote crevasse dangers or fuel lines. Scott Base is in the shelter of the mountains, but behind the flags is a lot of sea ice.

Right: No big deal, just a seal taking a nap. He’s lying on pressure ridges, caused by the sea ice grinding up against the ice shelf.

Kiwi Crossing! The green buildings are all Scott Base, home to the New Zealand Antarctic Program (a la Brian Porter). They have an “American night” every Thursday, when you can go over and drink with them.

Partly sarcastic, partly practical, wholly collaborative: A place in MacTown where equipment from Scott Base, that uses New Zealand electric wall outlets (220V, with three prongs at angles to one another), can juice up

Antarctica 2018: Chapter 5: Flight Day!

Link to Chapter 4: ECWs
Link to Chapter 3: Christchurch!
Link to Chapter 2: Auckland
Link to Chapter 1: From Hawaii to Antarctica

Staying at a US Antarctic Program hotel helps you stay connected to flight updates. This note was slipped under my door at 9 PM the night before flight day.

From here on, it seems like no words I can write will do the experience justice. So... pictures will have to do the trick.

But first... a few words about the most unusual flight I’ve ever taken. 

I woke up at 0445 and called the flight information line. No updates. I called at 0505, and heard the magic words: “confirmed!” I was going to take off for Antarctica that day!

Of course, a takeoff is no guarantee of a landing. Pilots circle the PNR, or point of no return, till they get confirmation from MAC Tower of good weather at the landing site. Once they proceed past PNR, they have to land at MAC — there’s not enough fuel to make it back to NZ. 

The SuperShuttle took us to the CDC. We were all pretty quiet, no one willing to sound hopeful or confident in fear of jinxing it. Weather had been bad for days, after all, though this was my first attempt. 

Ready to go! At the United States Antarctic Passenger Terminal in Christchurch bright and early.

Though it looks just like a regular airport… there are some key differences. There’s no TSA here (thank God). New Zealand’s Royal Air Force maintains security and passenger screening. And any country that is part of the Antarctic Treaty, by arrangement with the NSF, may transit through this terminal. We had several Kiwis on their way to Scott Base ride the plane with us.

At the CDC, our ECWs were waiting. We repacked things into three bags: a check-in bag that we wouldn’t see till the destination (my Pelican case carton), a carry-on bag (camera, music, iPad), and a “boomerang bag”, everything to survive in Christchurch for three days. They’d give us this bag back if we didn’t make it to MACTown that day. 

All of us packing our “boomerang bags” at the CDC. The red jackets are called “Big Red”.

The process flowed fairly smoothly. Once we were packed and tagged (red tag for bags you were leaving at the CDC, orange for boomerang, blue for check-in, black for carry-on), we filled out Antarctic departure cards. Definitely the coolest departure card I’ve ever filled out. 

Flight Departure card to Antarctica!!!

After that, we were weighed: first our checked luggage, to include boomerang bags (could not weigh more than 85 pounds, unless you had an excess baggage allowance like me), then we stepped on the scales holding our carry-on bag and wearing our ECWs. Then we were issued an Antarctic Boarding Pass (not pictured for security reasons), and released to forage for breakfast down the street! Walked right out of the CDC. If only real airport security were this common sense.

We must have looked an odd group: we were dressed in snow pants, boots and had Antarctic boarding passes around our necks. By 0715, the restaurant had emptied, and we were all headed back to the lounge to watch one more video about airplane emergencies. Then we lined up and went through airport screening — just as you would at any other airport. No weapons, no lithium batteries, no “sharps”. At the end of it, we waddled out in our bulky ECWs to a large bus, trying in vain not to sweat. Last year, one of the passengers got a heat stroke on the bus, from overheating in ECWs when the weather was warm out.

The Kiwis were with us now, filling the bus with excited chatter. The Americans have “Big Red”, and the Kiwis have “Penguin Yellow” jackets. Literally, there’s a penguin on the back of their jackets (see Chapter 6). The bus began rolling, and we were off! Across the street, around to the Antarctic entrance to the airport… and our ride!

We were extremely lucky to be on a C-17. This jet powered USAF aircraft can make the journey from Christchurch to MAC in five hours, and carries enough fuel to linger at PNR for longer. The C-17 doesn’t have skis, so the ice runway must be hard-packed at the destination. MACTown is right on the coast, with a massive bed of sea ice right beside the station. Around the second week of December, this sea ice begins to melt, which makes “Phoenix airfield” at MAC unusable for a month, possibly longer. This will be an issue for me getting back, as the smaller LC-130s can’t carry as many passengers.

The Air Mobility Command C-17, based out of McChord AFB, Washington, which will take us to McMurdo. This massive airplane is the backbone of the US Antarctic program, both for passenger transport and its cargo tonnage.

Inside, we take our seats on the side of the plane, which is only odd on takeoff and landing. It’s more comfortable than Economy on United, that’s for sure!

My seat for the ride to Antarctica; the cabin is climate controlled for the first four hours of the flight, so it’s too hot to wear Big Red, but it makes a nice pillow!

With that, we’re off! It’s a little odd not being able to see anything on taxi and takeoff. The only way we knew we were at the runway was when the four massive jet engines cycled up — there was no mistaking that sound. With that — we were headed south for the summer!

Left: DNF, or “Do not Freeze” cargo, is crucial to the success of both Antarctic science, and nutrition! “Freshies”, or fresh fruits and vegetables that haven’t been frozen, are highly sought after. Top: Along the right, the first half of the picture is approximately twenty thousand pounds of cargo bound for McMurdo. The program would be unable to succeed without the C-17.

Would we make it to MAC, or would we get turned back, to try again the next day? Stay tuned =)

Antarctica 2018: Chapter 4: ECWs

Link to Chapter 3: Christchurch!
Link to Chapter 2: Auckland
Link to Chapter 1: From Hawaii to Antarctica

Tips for future Antarctic travelers: 

• Be early for every shuttle pickup!  

• Don’t let the vets fool you into feeling like this ain’t no big deal. Enjoy your first time — you’ll only get one. 

• If you get ill in Christchurch, don’t try to hide it from the ice Med team!

  • They’re not trying to pull you from flight status. They really will try to get you to the ice. 

  • It’s a small medical community in CHC. The Antarctic docs will find out from their colleagues that you were seen at a downtown hospital. 

  • Because you’re a tourist, you’ll pay out of the nose for med services. If the local docs recommend treatment, you’ll get fair pricing. 

• Try on EVERY piece of clothing that the CDC gives you. Right down to the glove liners. Or you may regret it later.

• Check that your computer is compatible with the NSF network at the CDC. Anti virus packages are free if you download them while connected to their network. 

• You must hear the word “confirmed” on the flight information line, or your flight is not on! “Scheduled” just means planned. Plans change, frequently.  

ECWs! You’ll hear this many more times across this blog: extreme clothing wear. Unless you’ve traveled to Antarctica multiple times, the NSF doesn’t trust you to understand just how cold it really is down there. As I’m writing this, it feels like -56 deg C, or -62 deg F at the Pole. It’s a number so low that even Minnesota locals can’t quite place how cold that is — which is how you know it’s serious. Life threateningly serious.

So the Antarctic Program issues you “extreme clothing wear”, and boy, they aren’t messing around. This is just the “mandatory” stuff: as in, they won’t let you board the plane without it. Everything else is optional, but believe me, I’m taking it all. 

Extreme Clothing Wear (ECWs). You must wear most of this equipment onto the plane to McMurdo, regardless of the weather in Christchurch, in case the plane crashes on the ice.

I’m staying in an NSF / USAP designated hotel in downtown Christchurch, so the SuperShuttle arranged by ASC Travel picks me up at the hotel 45 min prior to my appointment at the CDC for ECW issue. This date is usually the day before you fly out — you pack your stuff and leave it neatly piled up in the CDC, so you can grab it for weigh in on flight day.

We gather in the Antarctic passenger terminal for briefings and training. We are a group of about 45, crossing our fingers for good weather to go to McMurdo, which I’ll now start calling what everyone else calls it: MAC, or MacTown. Out of 45, only 4 are headed on to the South Pole, of which I’m one. There’s all kinds here. Workers, carpenters, riggers, scientists; Americans, Kiwis, Italians; men and women... all here for the same reason. The trip of a lifetime. 

The briefing hall in the Antarctic departure terminal, adjacent to the CDC. On the day of ECW issue, the NSF accomplishes most of its Antarctic pre-departure orientation.

It’s a mix of ice veterans and a sprinkling of “fyngies” like me. This early in the season, the vets outnumber the fyngies, and you can tell when they start up the “intro to Antarctica” video. It’s beautiful shot after shot of expansive Antarctic terrain and penguins, interspersed with people digging ditches, cranking wrenches and cleaning up spills. The vets chant along, eyes rolling, with “you’re about to embark on the journey of a lifetime” and “if this is your first trip, it’s one you’ll never forget”. They’ve heard the spiel before and are bored with it, but I’m enthralled, and they don’t spoil the excitement for me even a little. If anything, they increase it. One thing I have heard several times: 

“First time you come to Antarctica is for the adventure,
Second time is for the money,
Third time is because you don’t fit anywhere else anymore.”

The weather has been bad, and folks in my flight group know people that have been waiting for ten days. There have been a couple of boomerangs. But for the last two days, flights have made it to MAC, so we’re cautiously hopeful we might go with minimum delay. 

It’s a government program, so of course, there are briefings. Thankfully, they are delivered by the Kiwi staff, who do a good job of keeping it funny. Then, a series of VHS videos - about the Antarctic treaty, the Antarctic preservation act, and what that means for participants like us. It means we must all become fanatic recyclers. It’s a federal crime not to report a spill to the environmental group. You have to scrub the bottoms of your shoes and check your jacket Velcro for plant life you might have picked up — these non native species can destroy the Antarctic environment. There is a real focus and sense of mission about keeping Antarctica pristine — the last place on earth where Man’s presence is not destructive to its surroundings. Not even the veterans mock this one. They take it seriously, and so do we. If global warming doesn’t destroy it, Antarctica, if nowhere else on our planet, will be left to our children as we found it. 

Between briefings and training, I wander the halls looking at the history of the program. It hasn’t been that long that we’ve been able to travel to the South Pole with ease. The first flight was in 1956. The South Pole station I’m going to was commissioned only in 2012 — the last one started to sink into the ice, and had to be dismantled. It’s still a long and taxing journey to the ice, made possible only by a continued Congress-level commitment to funding NSF Polar programs, and the massive logistical resources and support of the US military (Air Mobility Command). It’s the only place on Earth other than the international space station where we freely collaborate with other nations for the betterment of humanity through scientific exploration. 

Left: President Eisenhower’s signed memorandum on the setup of Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station. Top: The first aircraft ever lands at Pole, 1956. The US has maintained a continuous presence since 1957.

In 1974, the iconic “domed” South Pole Station was setup. Every year, a foot of snow piles up against it, sinking it deeper into the ice with every year, creating an issue.

In 2016, just two years ago, the last sections of the Dome Station were dismantled and flown back to the US. Today, we live in the futuristic elevated Station building.

The medical coordinator briefs us about things we need to know for Antarctic travel. Us four “Polies” get our own supplemental brief about high altitude and colder-than-MAC hazards. The doc offers us Diamox to help avoid altitude sickness. I’ve been working at 10,000 feet at Haleakala for two years now, off and on, but I take the pills. The clock will be ticking from the moment I hit 90 South, and I need to hit the ground running. 

Next up is ECW issue! The CDC crew, led by a hilarious guy named Haggis, has it down to a science. You walk in to the (massive) changing room and voila! There’s two bags with your name on it, and everything is (almost) your size. You try it all on — yes, everything, even though you’ll almost instantly overheat. I didn’t try on my work gloves, and I have regrets (and, apparently, fat fingers). 

Next, we test that our computers are compatible with the NSF network — mine isn’t. No approved anti virus software. I have plenty of time to fix it. 

Too easy, so next up is baggage. I’d called Dave J. at the cargo yard earlier — he has already lined up my bags to go on my flight the next day. If Christmas cards were still a thing, this guy would get one for the next decade. But there is still the pelican case. And wires everywhere. 

Haggis, the CDC coordinator, is quick to jump into action (seriously, the Kiwi NSF Crew is just amazing). He tells me to package it up in a carton, and digs up a f—-ton of bubble wrap. “Don’t give it to me now, or it’ll go at the bottom of the pile. You want it at the top. Just bring it with you as your check-in, and be the last person to check in. That way it ends up at the top.” 

This guy gets my worries. “No fun getting down there if the toys are broken. Just let the guys know it’s scientific equipment, and they’ll handle it with care,” he says. Jetstar could learn a thing or two from Haggis. 

Left: The Pelican case, and the red bag containing all the wires coming out of the Pelican case, in the carton. Top: The final luggage piece, ready for shipping. Paradoxically, “NPX” is the airport code for “South” Pole: the story behind it is here.

And with that — we’re done! The flight group lines up ECW bags neatly, where they will be waiting for us tomorrow when we show up to fly. 

The only thing remaining is: the flight itself. 

We’re scheduled to lift off at 0900 the next morning. The pilots check the weather four hours prior to flight time, and make one of three decisions. “Confirmed” is what you want to hear. This means the pilots have decided weather will permit the flight. Weather could still roll in while you’re in flight, in which case you’ll boomerang, but that’s out of your control and theirs. “Delay, short” means everything is pushed by 4 hours, including shuttle pickup and takeoff. You can go back to sleep. “Delay, 24 hours” means it’s a wash for the day, and they will re-evaluate the next day. You now have a day to explore Christchurch, if you haven’t already. 

Haggis tells us to call the flight information line at 0505, and if it says confirmed, the shuttles will pick up at 0545, for a show time at the CDC of 0630. “Do not be late,” Haggis warns. He doesn’t have to say it; there’s no way in hell I'm going to miss a flight to Antarctica.

With that, it’s 6 pm and time to go back to the hotel and pack. I leave the pelican case at the CDC with the ECWs, ready for the morning. Just enough time for dinner, and a beer at the hotel bar. There, I try not to think about how much I hope that my next beer is at the MAC bar, on the ice, in Antarctica. 

Antarctica 2018: Chapter 3: Christchurch!

Link to Chapter 2: Auckland
Link to Chapter 1: From Hawaii to Antarctica

Christchurch!

Welcome to Christchurch, NZ: Jump-off point for McMurdo and (most) Pole expeditions.

Summary of Takeaways for future Antarctic travelers:

• Don’t fly Jetstar! (It’s really worth saying again)

• ASC Travel will meet you at the airport and arrange onward transportation, so it’s important to keep them updated if your incoming flight arrival time changes.

• The cargo guys at the USAP yard can and will work with you if you have issues!

• Don’t travel with your USAP bag tags unless you want to be “adopted” by some guy who has been to the ice just enough to want to talk about it very, very loudly.
  

I have been, and continue to be, impressed with the sheer professionalism of the NSF and ASC staff, both at HQ in Denver and here in Christchurch. These guys understand that they have a mission to get done, and they are can-do types. They figure it out. The USAF would be a hell of an organization if they could figure out how to lose everyone that doesn’t have this attitude.

I walk out of the Christchurch airport area and come down the escalator to baggage claim, and there’s a lady there with a bright red vest on. It’s hard to miss the Antarctic symbol on her jacket, and if you did, there’s the large clipboard with it as well. She already has a cart. I walk up to her and she says “Michael? Right this way.”

After the incompetence in Auckland, this is like manna from heaven.

Her name is Diane, and she works for ASC Travel in Christchurch. She’s the one who put me on with the travel supervisor. “You’ve had quite a journey, haven’t you?” she says. She tells me Jetstar used to be the contract carrier for USAP from Auckland, codeshare with American. Apparently one year they had over 300 lost cases of equipment. When they switched to United / Air NZ, it dropped to 30. I can’t even imagine how a scientist would feel if after all their work to make the gear Antarctic ready, it went missing on the way down. I’d be furious.

We claim the backpack and Pelican case from the conveyor belt. The wires coming out of the case into the target bag look stretched but intact. She has a car waiting, and a welcome folder. “We’re going to take you right to our cargo folks,” she says. “They’re expecting you.”

I’m really starting to like these people. 

Diane drives me around the airport, and you can immediately see the large footprint that the US Antarctic program has here. Whenever I travel abroad, I’m used to a negative perception of Americans, and particularly the military. But here, the local economy benefits greatly from the US presence (both NSF and USAF), and they like supporting the Antarctic mission. Every year, when it’s time for the first flight of the Antarctic summer (about two weeks ago), the Air Force “Herc” (my first glimpse of it below) does a low flight over the town, letting people know it’s back, and people cheer as it flies overhead. They also do an open house for a day, where local Kiwis can come in and climb around the C-5 and C-130s that do the big Antarctic cargo lifts, and that’s a big hit. Diane says this year almost 20,000 people came out.

“The U.S Air Force’s officers there explained how the researchers can spend just a few days or up to half a year in Antarctica. The US and New Zealand has a shared agreement to cooperate on scientific research, climate studies and ecological preservation in Antarctica. The US Air Force provides monthly air transportation and pilots to send New Zealand and international scientists, food and other supplies to the New Zealand Scott Base in Antarctica.”

It’s terrific to see the support that the US and its scientific program has here, and makes me proud to be part of it.

US Air Force C-130 Hercules, assigned to the US Antarctic Program from the New York Air National Guard, at the Christchurch USAP ramp. As of this writing [Nov 12], the first LC-130 (ski-equipped C-130) has yet to make it to the South Pole. The first LC-130 of the 2018 season only made it to McMurdo on Nov 10. Weather delays have plagued the start of the season.

Over to the cargo yard to meet my favorite Kiwi yet, Dave J. He is cargo supervisor, and runs Bay 1, which is all the USAP cargo. It’s right next to the Royal NZ Air Force yard. He’s already heard about my woes, and has a plan.

When the cargo comes in, Dave says, it’ll be at the Air NZ yard. I can’t go get it, but he can. He says he can just hold onto it, and directly load it onto whatever flight takes me to McMurdo. If I get bumped, or boomeranged (fly all the way there but turn around and return due to bad weather at the destination), the bags will follow me “like a bad cold”. This is great news, because of two dreaded words: “bag drag”.

When you get to McMurdo, you take all your hand carried luggage off the flight and take it to the dormitories, where you’re staying while you await your flight to the Pole. Again, for most people, not a big deal. Maybe two bags. I’ve got five, and they’re heavy. “Bag drag” is where you bring all your shit to the McMurdo terminal the night before you fly out. They weigh it, load it on the plane, and all you bring to the flight the next morning is a “boomerang bag”, with a change of toiletries and stuff to do on the plane. If the plane gets turned around, that’s all you can leave with — everything else stays on the plane. Bag drag is at the top of a very large hill. Dragging five bags and 250 lbs in the cold was not something I was looking forward to.

What Dave is offering is to tag it all as cargo, NOT hand carry. This means it goes on a pallet in the cargo bay in Christchurch, stays there at McMurdo, and goes with me to Pole. If it needs to be offloaded, the pallet is offloaded by forklift. No bag drag. All I drag is my backpack and pelican case, 85 lbs. A breeze. Dave has done me a real solid here, and he didn’t have to. Technically the baggage is designated hand carry. I don’t know if he just felt sorry for me (“bag drag is gonna be a real drag without that wheel, ya know”), or because it’s early in the season he has enough flexibility with cargo weight, but I take him up on the offer to palletize the telescope bag and black bag, and try not to sound too eager.

Just awesome.

So now I’m waiting in Christchurch for my two bags to arrive. In the meantime, I check in at the CDC, or the Clothing Distribution Center, right down the street, walking distance from the airport. This is ground zero for an upcoming Antarctica deployment. If you have a sane amount of baggage, you can absolutely walk here instead of paying for a SuperShuttle (what normally happens if you’re part of a big group — Diane can’t take you all where you need to go).

Reporting to the CDC for the first time!

I also have a chance to walk around the Antarctic complex. The Italian Antarctic program is here too, though it is much smaller than the US program. LANDIT is hoping to work with the Italians at their Dome C base in future years, so I chat with some of the Italian scientists waiting for their transport as well. They are a friendly lot. Everyone seems very welcoming once they know that you, too, have that elusive ticket to freeze. The Italians are headed to Mario Zucchelli station, on the coast like McMurdo. They are also very curious about the South Pole, and tell me they really want to visit the US station there.

The International Antarctic Centre. Directly behind the sign, down the walkway, is the United States Antarctic Passenger Terminal: the gateway to the ice continent! CDC is to the far right.

Interestingly, there’s also a tourist attraction co-located on the site! They “simulate” Antarctic weather, have huskies and penguins, and showcase some of the vehicles scientists use to get around on Antarctica. It looks fascinating, but costs $59 NZD. Call me cheap, but I prefer not to pay that when I can do the real thing! I realize I’m really lucky to have this option, and now that the awfulness of the “Auckland bag drag” is behind me, I’m starting to get *extremely* excited about what’s to come.

The tourist version of the International Antarctic Centre. The vehicles in front are Swedish-made “Hagglunds”, used on the ice for towing upto 2 tons and transporting upto 4 people.

In between meetings, I also have a little time to explore downtown Christchurch. The city had an earthquake in 2011 that devastated the area. They’ve done a great job cleaning up downtown — most buildings downtown look ultra-modern and new — but you can still see a few buildings, especially the historical heritage buildings, that are still being worked on seven years later.

Downtown Ch-Ch: ongoing repair in places.

Reconstruction of a destroyed garden walkway

Left, and above: Street art murals that depict scenes from the Christchurch earthquake.

Even downtown, you can see the support for the Antarctic program. It’s a true privilege to be in this city and part of one its central enterprises.

Support for the Antarctic program is all over Christchurch: poster above the bar reads:
“…welcomes the Guardians of Antarctica and wishes you well for the Antarctic season”

In preparing for this trip, I talked to several experienced Antarctic travelers who told me that the worst part of Christchurch can be letting people know you’re a “fyngie”, slang for f—ing new guy to the ice. Watch out, I was told, for the loudmouths who have been to the ice just once or twice, and so want to “take you under their wing”. They’ll loudly talk about Antarctica, technically to you, but really so everyone else can hear that they’re headed to Antarctica. The real old hands, of course, just bury themselves in a corner and try not to make eye contact with anyone, because they’ve been through all this before. They’re saving their energy for when they’ll need it.

Apparently it starts at LAX, but continues in Christchurch, even McMurdo. If you have USAP tags on your bag from this year (each year has a different color), you’re declaring yourself a first timer, since the old hands have previous year tags on their gear.

Bag tags: a surprising bullshit magnet.

I’ve escaped once because I’m at the very early edge of the season, so most travelers have yet to get started on their voyage. I escaped twice (though I wouldn’t call it an escape) by flying American, which isn’t the contract carrier for USAP. And I escaped a third time because Dave J. was a boss and took my bags away from me. I’m a first timer, and on my own here, so I know exactly no one. Which means I get to fly under the radar until the ice flight.

So I sit at various bars in Christchurch and just listen, often with a smile on my face. There’s all kinds here. There’s scientists talking among themselves, worried about the weather and the delays. This year Pole has opened a month later than expected, and the backup is expected to be large. There’s grad students excited about the trip and frustrated at the slow WiFi to post updates to Facebook. There’s even a couple of Chinese tourists who are paying an absolute fortune to spend a few days on the ice. They are talking to their guide trying to plan every second of every day, while the guide tries (in vain) to explain to them that Antarctica doesn’t really work like that, you have to go with the flow and adapt.

And finally, of course, I do hear them. They are all over town, really: the “once and twice ice travelers”. They loudly proclaim at the bar, to anyone within earshot, that they have been to Antarctica before, and are heading there again. I watch one of the first time grad students get “adopted”, and sure enough, the next day the “twice ice” guy is there with him, talking loudly at him, and the grad student looks pained. The local Kiwis are certainly an interested audience; most of the bartenders want to hear ice stories, and have ice stories from others to share as well. It’s a very positive atmosphere, but maybe I have the luxury of thinking that, because I’m just another patron at the bar, listening to ice stories, free to walk away when I want to without having to worry about being rude to someone I’ll see again on the ice. Antarctica is a small town, after all.

Antarctica 2018: Chapter 2: The Auckland Bag Drag

This post really should be divided into two chapters: Chapter 2, Jetstar sucks, and Chapter 3, the NSF ASC people are actually awesome. But being as it’s very late and I’m already days behind on blogging, here’s Chapter 2: The Auckland Bag Drag. 

I know it’s not the update most of you are looking for (the Antarctic chapter is coming, I promise!), but next year, LANDIT has a team of seven scientists, mostly ice newbies, headed out to continue this research at the South Pole, so I’m trying to document the “gotchas” as much as possible for them.

Summary of Takeaways for future Antarctic travelers:

• Don’t fly Jetstar on any leg of your flight for the US Antarctic program. Just don’t do it. Save yourself the hassle. AA/Jetstar used to be the contract carrier for the US Antarctic Program (USAP). They aren’t anymore and let’s just say now I know why.

• Don’t use the e-kiosks at Auckland immigration – you need a longer visa.

• Baggage allowances on international and NZ domestic legs are drastically different, even though your bag may be checked all the way through. Research ahead of time what your domestic carrier will accept – prepare for bad news. Alternately, try to fly international from Sydney into Christchurch to get international allowances all the way to your final destination. 

• If at all possible, try to avoid hand carrying anything over the USAP approved “two bags of 50 lbs each”. If you must, expect to make use of Air NZ cargo services. Probably at your own expense. 

Now, to the tale of a pack mule. A little background first:

I’m hand carrying about 250 pounds of equipment to the ice in four bags. This is not the way it’s normally done – as I mentioned in Chapter 1, most equipment is shipped before hand in cargo containers from Port Huaneme. I’m trying to minimize handling of my telescope, because if its alignment gets out of whack there is no way I can fix it with the equipment I’ll have available on the ice. To which, of course: 

Oh, you thought hand-carrying onto an airline would minimize handling damage? LOL NAW

Here’s the equipment:

All the equipment. The red target bag is attached to the top of the Pelican case: wires pour out of two drilled holes, through pipe insulation, into the bag. Notice that the black bag has all four wheels when this journey began.

The largest is a dark black suitcase (the everything bag) that weighs 100 lbs, exactly the maximum weight that an air carrier will accept. This has most of the telescope thermal equipment, spares, tripod, scintillometers and some clothes. 

Next, a fuzzy black roller padded case (the telescope bag) that weighs about 58 pounds. This is the telescope itself, lenses, and its mount. So we’re at what I weigh already in stuff to drag around. 

Then comes the telescope control case (grey pelican case), provided to me courtesy of the ever-awesome Liz Hyde from NASA Ames. Inside this case is the electronic heart of the telescope — everything that controls it, and two computers that gather and store the data I’m going to Antarctica to collect. The case is to protect the sensitive components inside, and weighs about 10 lbs on its own. In total it weighs 38 lbs. Here’s a picture of the inside. Yes, it looks like a bomb. This figures in the story.

The inside of the telescope control case (grey Pelican case) in its undamaged and immaculately packed form. Holes for wires are drilled in the sides farthest from the viewer.

Finally, there’s my backpack. This is everything I need to live for two months in a place that’s not my home. Towel, toiletries, clothes, every warm thing I own, my laptop, DSLR camera, iPad and such. 47 lbs. USAP allows 85 lbs, so I’m doing pretty well.

Four bags. For those keeping score, this is 196 lbs of scientific equipment and 47 lbs of personal equipment, for a total of 243 lbs headed to the ice. I had to request excess baggage allowances from the NSF to hand carry all this weight onto the ice. It’s still a lot for one dude to haul his damn self. I’ve gotten real good at lifting with my knees, let’s just say that. 

So four bags weighing about 250 lbs have to make it from Hawaii to Antarctica. 

Maui to LA

Maui to LA isn’t bad. The American Airlines gate agent marks the telescope bag fragile, at my request. I repeatedly remind him, after that, that it’s very fragile. As he nods and says, cool man, he picks it up and hucks it — more like hurls it — onto the conveyor belt. Right in front of me. Three weeks of non-stop work on the telescope, nights and weekends, flashes in front of my eyes, and it’s a struggle not to jump across the counter and tackle him.  

The TSA guys squint at the Pelican case a little, raise some eyebrows. But they’re Hawaiian and they know my face. It’s a small island. They wave it through. American Airlines for the win: they let both Pelican case and backpack go with me onto the plane, 85 lbs in total.  

I carry the pelican case very carefully. The wires coming out of it (many wires) will be very hard to reposition if they come loose. They are exquisitely packed, thanks to the ever enterprising Dr Ryan Swindle, my co-PI and organizational genius. Seriously, this guy should be on an HGTV show for helping pack rats who have run out of space. He squeezed 40 lbs of shit into a 20 lbs box, and that’s not an expression. Point is: I don’t want anyone to manhandle this case. Pull the wires loose, try to separate the literal “bag o wires” from their source, and I’m wasting two days on the ice putting Humpty Dumpty back together again. 

Five and a half hours later, I’m at LAX. Pelican case is okay. The telescope case looks a little worse for wear when it comes out on the conveyor belt, but not damaged. I can breathe again. 

LA to Auckland: 

In LA, I wait for final parts to arrive by mail. I repack the black case with these parts. It’s now bulging at the seams, but spares are crucial to an Antarctic expedition. If something fails you need to be able to replace it, or it’s game over. I’m carrying two of a lot. It weighs a lot. 

At LAX, the black bag now weighs 104 lbs. It won’t go. I unzip this massive bag, packed to the seams, and bubble wrap squirts everywhere. What can come out? Snap decision time. Two month supply of bath gel? Goodbye forever. Personal hygiene for the rest of my calendar year is in question and I’m only down to 103 lbs. Telephoto lens for DSLR camera loses another half a pound. Then Grace points at my DVD collection of Game of Thrones. Every episode, season 1-6, to pass the time. She says it’ll be at least 2.5 pounds. 

I don’t believe her. Also, I don’t want to believe her. That’s, like, the ONLY non work related thing I’m bringing to the South Pole. Without that, I’m left with literally nothing to do but pop the bubble wrap protecting all my stuff. Ronny, if you’re reading this, I had a horrified moment when I remembered your Facebook comment about ripping the DVDs to SD cards, and I think they call that irony. 

So out comes GoT. And sure enough, the bag is at 100.0 lbs. First the Koloa rum had to go, now the HBO show. I’m gonna shatter the Guinness world record for largest snowman out of sheer boredom down there at this rate. 

Next up, TSA at LAX. You already know how this story ends. Brown guy rolls up with a case that has holes drilled in the sides and wires pouring out of it. The supervisor comes over, asks me to pull everything out. I tell him it won’t come out, and he can do his explosives swab. He stands around shaking his head, and I now know what an interrogation room at LAX looks like. 

By the time TSA has pored over what feels like every inch of the interior of the Pelican case (but they do not pull everything out), it’s time to board. Just squeaked on in time. I sit down, relieved, ready to get on my way. Then American Airlines says we’ll be sitting at the gate for the next hour. I’m starting to feel like somebody is scripting me into a comedy show, and secretly filming my misadventures.

Note for future New Zealand travelers: Auckland airport has one runway. They stack up arrivals, so you cannot arrive more than 15 minutes early, or 15 minutes late. We have favorable tail winds south of the equator that will get us there an hour early, so we sit at the gate for an hour with the airplane door closed so that American can count this as an on-time departure. Better yet, the lady in my row is freaking out at sitting in the window seat (I’m in the aisle). She feels trapped (it’s two seats, lady). She can’t breathe (she can). Her boyfriend, between us, actively hates her. Then he actively hates me, because no, I won’t give up my aisle seat and have to climb over crazy lady for the next 14 hours to go to the bathroom. Crazy lady ends up sitting between us, and craning over me to see the aisle (she says this makes her feel better, but I’m pretty sure it’s to show me how much better it would be if I would switch with her). It’s going to be a long flight. 

Auckland Airport: international terminal

The flight itself is very nicely timed. New Zealand is 20 hours ahead of California, so we push from the gate at about midnight, which is 8 pm in NZ the next day. I stay awake for two hours and watch Marvel characters try to be funny while stuff is blowing up around them. At 10 pmNZ, 2 am California, I fall asleep for nine hours – not nine hours straight, because crazy lady needs to pee a lot– but when I wake up, we’re two hours away from landing, it’s 7 am local time, and that feels just right. Zero jet lag so far. 

At immigration, there are e-kiosks for US (and other western nations) passports. You scan your passport in the machine, and it will give US citizens a 3-month visa automatically. If you are traveling with USAP, you need a 12-month visa, in case of weather delays, or if you’re staying the full summer season. Don’t use the kiosk. 

It’s early in the Antarctic season (still -84 degrees F at Pole), so as it turns out, I’m the first Antarctic visitor the immigration officer has seen so far this year! She dimly remembers the process from last year, but it’s slipped her mind. There’s a special statute in NZ immigration law that allows you to get a 12-month visa – on arrival, with no advance paperwork – as long as you have a sponsor letter from the NSF. She just needs to make sure it’s the right letter, and is very nice and apologetic. She asks me if it’s my first time on the ice – actually uses those words, so I think this is what everyone calls Antarctica. I tell her yes. She says congratulations on a very unique opportunity, and stamps my passport. I’m starting to get excited. 

That feeling quickly damps as I see my 100 lb. black suitcase come out, and it’s missing a wheel. The heaviest bag now cannot be rolled, but must be dragged. Thanks, American. It makes a great sound as I heave it down the marble hall. I haven't been to the gym in a while, but I’m fairly certain I can start my bench press at 100 lbs right out of the gate. 

Next is biosecurity. I’m used to this from Hawaii: small islands scan incoming luggage for pests, fruits and food, to prevent foreign ecosystems from destroying the protected native biosphere. Hawaii’s agriculture protection seems like a jobs program. Your bag goes through the scanner, but you’re not sure anybody’s really looking. 

Not here. They take it very seriously. There are signs everywhere… and sure enough, the couple in front of me got busted for having a sandwich from the airplane in a jacket pocket. It was an instant $400 NZD fine, and the biosecurity officer was firmly unsympathetic. There are signs everywhere, after all. So take the time to double-check there’s no leftover jerky in your backpack from your last camping trip (an actual thing the biosecurity officer asked me before I went through the scanner). 

Finally, customs. Again, I was the first one of the season, so the customs officers all clustered together to make sure they were doing it right. They were very nice and apologetic for keeping me waiting. I’m importing about $50,000 in equipment, but the NSF/ASC has already provided me with the right forms. I have them filled out, my manifests are up to date, and it’s all fairly painless. Basically, ASC Travel prepares you for everything you need. I imagine ice people coming through in November/December will breeze through – however, don’t lose the form that they stamp! You’ll need it to exit the country.  

Excitement for the unique experience I’m about to embark on hits me again, as I chat with the head officer at Customs while I wait. She tells me about her very special connection to Antarctica. In the 1970s, her dad was the Station Lead for Scott Base! He was there for a whole year. She said she remembered being a child, and every Thursday, her dad would call from Antarctica for three minutes. Her mom got one minute, she got one minute, her sister got one minute, and that was all of Dad until next week. When he died, he asked to be returned to Antarctica. The Station Lead for Scott Base at the time took his ashes up in a plane, and scattered them around the area of the base. She shakes my hand and smiles at me with a bit of a sad look and says, “Say hi to my dad while you’re out there”. I’m not going to lie, I feel a little hiccup in the back of my throat. 

His name was Brian Porter. 

Kiwis share a lot of connections, and affection, for the Antarctic Program. An example: the head Customs officer at Auckland International was daughter to Mr. Brian Porter, former head of Scott Base, just down the road (literally, less than 10 km) from McMurdo Station.

Auckland Airport: domestic terminal

I load up all my gear onto a trolley and trudge it along a 10 min walk to the domestic terminal. It’s kind of sunny, a nice day in Auckland, but the trolley tips over every time I negotiate a sharp curve and I’m having a minor heart attack every time I have to catch the pelican case. 

It’s a long 630 meters when you’re lugging 250 pounds.

Make it over to domestic, to Jetstar, and spoiler alert, they suck. 

The bags are checked all the way through to Christchurch, but they won’t take any bag that weighs over 23 kg (50.6 lbs). Get this: they’ll take two bags that are 46 kg, 23 kg each. But they won’t take one bag that is 46 kg and let me pay excess baggage fees on the others. For those of you that are pilots, you know that for airplane weight and balance reasons, there’s zero freaking difference between 46 kg in one bag or 46 kg in two, as long as they are stacked in the same place with respect to airplane center of gravity. It is, of course, no use to try to explain this to the Jetstar counter people. 

So what do I do, I ask. Well, you have to figure it out, the supervisor tells me with a bored look. She’s on her phone while she’s talking to me. Here’s where I get a little annoyed. I tell her, through gritted teeth, that either she takes the bag on the plane, or she tells me what to do with the bag, I’m not going to “figure it out” while I’m under the gun for the flight taking off in 90 minutes. The phrase “I need you to wake up and do your job” figures in there somewhere. She scurries away. Five minutes pass. Ten. Hey where’d the supervisor go? I ask. Oh, she took her break. She’ll be back in an hour. 

Wow. She literally ran away from her job. 

Before you leave, the NSF gives you a little cheat sheet to put in your wallet - numbers to call if you get into trouble. Including toll free numbers to call in Australia, New Zealand and the US. I’m pretty sure being unable to get my scientific equipment to Christchurch counts as trouble, so I ask the Jetstar person if there’s a phone nearby where I can make a toll free call. 

She shrugs. I don’t know. 

You work here. You’ve never seen a phone? 

Maybe in the international terminal? 

It was probably the expression that crossed my face - like I was getting ready to tackle somebody again - and the fact that her supervisor had literally abandoned ship - the Jetstar counter agent offers me her cell phone. I’m thankful for even little favors at this point. I call the NSF’s toll free New Zealand number. Someone picks up immediately. 

I explain the situation. Halfway through, the lady interrupts me. How much time before your flight takes off? 

Uh... seventy minutes. 

Got it, she says. Let me get you to a supervisor. 

Whoa. Competence. 

The supervisor comes on. I explain the situation. He says, yup, Air New Zealand will honor the international baggage limits all the way through for us, Jetstar won’t. Here’s what you need to do: ship it by air cargo. Ask Jetstar about their air cargo service. Put it on there. We’ll go get it when it arrives here in Christchurch. 

Can you hold on, I say. I think this’ll be a short conversation.

Sure. 

While he’s holding, I ask the counter agent about Jetstar air cargo. Predictably, she has no idea. If she didn’t know about a telephone at her workplace she probably doesn’t know about air cargo. She points me at the customer service desk. I walk over there, phone in hand. The service agent says, oh, sure, just ask the counter agents. 

The guy on the phone has heard all of this and says, well clearly Jetstar is about as useful as (colorful NZ expression here). Forget them, you don’t have the time. (I’m really starting to like that he gets my situation). Walk down to Air New Zealand. Find their cargo people. I know for a fact that they do it, and their Auckland people know how. Give me a call if you run into problems. 

I take my cart of 250 lbs, which is starting to feel like my Sisyphus burden, and walk across the domestic terminal. It’s like sunshine to darkness. Sure, the counter agent says. She draws me a map. Just walk around to here and drop it off. 

Sadly, it’s back in the direction of the international terminal, but I’m counting my blessings because I’ve got sixty minutes to takeoff. I head back out into the sunshine. Cart tips over twice on my way there. It’s been a great day. The Air NZ cargo is on the way between the terminals, but you have to walk around the building to the front gate. Tell the guard you’re shipping cargo and they buzz you in.

I head into the office and the Air NZ lady weighs the big black bag, says it’ll be 200 NZD. Hell, weigh the telescope case too. 300 NZD for both. To not deal with Jetstar again? Worth it. I pay it. 

As she’s checking the bag in, she looks at the baggage tag that says checked all the way to Christchurch. This should’ve gone on the plane, she says. 

No shit. 

Wow, Jetstar sucks. She says that. I can’t agree more. 

Baggage delivered, I now only have my backpack and pelican case. The cart feels super light and I fly back to the domestic terminal. Forty minutes to go. I check in the backpack. Carry the pelican case through security. They ask if I have a computer in there. Yes, but it’s a box computer. That’s good enough, and they let it through. 

Hallelujah! But wait. There’s more. As I get to the gate they are making pre announcements. Apparently if your check in bag is more than 7 kg (15 lbs) it won’t go on with you. I don’t even bother arguing that it’s an international itinerary, codeshare ticket, blah blah. I run out the exit gates, back to the counter agent. One more thing to check, I say. Thirty one minutes. The cut off got checked bags is 30. Ah, but her bag tag printer is broken. Over to the next agent. I make a growling sound that wouldn’t be out of place in a werewolf movie. The pelican case is checked in, I shit you not, right at 1303, and the flight takes off at 1333.

I walk back through security (Hey, weren’t you just through here? Yeah, but Jetstar sucks, and this seems to be a perfectly understandable answer). I’m the last person on the plane, I collapse into my seat, and the kid behind me is vigorously kicking the back of my seat like it’s a drum set. It’s heaven compared to the last two hours. 

Next post: Christchurch!

Antarctica 2018: Chapter 1: From Hawai’i to Antarctica!

Welcome to my Antarctic blog! Follow along for updates on my journey as a scientist at the South Pole, as well as tips for future first-time Antarctic travelers and PIs.

Firstly, I’m very excited to be headed to Antarctica, as Principal Investigator of a joint National Science Foundation and Air Force Office of Scientific Research project called LANDIT. You’ll hear me refer to the NSF and AFOSR a few more times before this blog is over, but it’s thanks to their funding of my research that I’m able to make this trip.

I'm further fortunate to be traveling to the South Pole, the very bottom of the world! Since it’s my first visit to “the ice”, or Antarctica, I’ve been reading a lot of forums, and this snippet I found pretty much captures what I’ve found in my dealings with the NSF: “[South] Pole is tough!”

I’ve got that “elusive ticket to freeze”!

South Pole Station is small, hard to get to, and austere: you really have to justify why your project needs that location. As Buzz Aldrin found out, due to the difficulty of getting there, a medical emergency can be life threatening. That’s why there are tourists at McMurdo, even a few at Palmer (the second of three US research stations on Antarctica), but almost none at Pole. You need to give the NSF a definite reason, both in your proposal and in subsequent logistics discussions, that says this is why my project needs the South Pole, and not anywhere else in the world. I’ll get more to the science of LANDIT in another post later, and why we couldn’t go anywhere but the Pole to do it.

So without further ado: from Hawai’i to Antarctica! I’m enjoying one of my last days in the sunshine before it’s time to head south. The journey south began last week, when I left my home base of Maui Island, Hawaii, bound for California. If you’re American, there are two jumping-off points for the southernmost continent: New Zealand and Chile. In general, folks headed for McMurdo Station (the big town on Antarctica) fly to the ice from Christchurch, New Zealand, while those bound for Palmer Station go through Punta Arenas, Chile. Most traffic to the Pole routes through McMurdo, so I’m headed to Christchurch tomorrow, by way of Los Angeles.

If you are selected as an NSF Office of Polar Programs Principal Investigator, you submit what is known as a SIP, or “Support Information Package”, to the agency. This requests all the logistical support you will need on the ice to carry out your experiment - and trust me, when you’re at the end of the world, you need a lot of logistics support. As a PI, the SIP is probably the most crucial document to the success of your science. I spent more time writing up my SIP than I did the original LANDIT proposal (and that took a long time). You have to think through all the details, and I do mean all… right down to the length of network cable you’ll need, hours of technician support, environmental permits… in addition to the basics like beds, snowmobiles, and the ever-present obstacle: weight of equipment on the ice flight.

All the equipment I’ll be dragging by hand to the bottom of the world.
Almost two hundred pounds of equipment in six bags. That’s a lot of baggage for one person.

Normally, the NSF ships scientific equipment to your jump-off point, either Punta Arenas or Christchurch, by ship. Principal Investigators have to get their equipment to Port Hueneme in California by (in general) mid-September, for it to make it to the jump-off point by mid-October. From there, the NSF will fly it on cargo airplanes, either DC-3s or LC-130s, to its final destination on the ice. In all likelihood it will get there before you do.

My situation, however, is a little different. I'm hand-carrying my equipment to the ice, because the alignment of my telescope is extremely sensitive. However, the “ice flights”, or flights from the jump-off point to the Antarctic continent, are weight limited. Cargo tonnage is strictly controlled, or the plane wouldn’t be able to take off and land safely. In my SIP, I requested 110 pounds of hand-carry equipment. Which meant: I had to make sure I carried no more than 110 pounds, in addition to the allotted 85 pounds of personal gear. More on that below, but an important rule! The cold weather gear (called ECWs) that will be issued to you at your jump-off point weighs 10 lbs., and you must keep 4 lbs. of leeway in your personal gear allotment to stow that equipment!

In fact, I came in at 109 pounds and 10 ounces - talk about cutting it close! I’m headed down there alone, with no graduate students or research assistants, and I can already tell that schlepping 200 pounds of equipment around will not be fun. Sadly, the six ounces to spare meant that my Koloa coconut rum did not make the cut.

The NSF is the administrator for the US Antarctic Program, and ASC, or the Antarctic Support Contract, conducts most of the legwork on behalf of the NSF. They are very organized, very good at their job, and are dealing with a lot of people (if you want to get a job in Antarctica, they are the ones who hire you!). Since I’m just an expedition of one, and there are PIs traveling with thousands of pounds of equipment and dozens of people, I’ve found myself at the tail end of their planning cycle. Which isn't a bad thing… but sometimes I’ve had to remind myself to be patient. ASC books your hotels in Christchurch, your airline tickets from the mainland, as well as approves your SIP and helps you prepare for your deployment. I’ve got nothing but good things to say about the ASC team — these guys are true professionals. They know what it takes to succeed in Antarctica, and they help steer you onto the right track if you’re an ice newbie like me.

You also need to think about things like customs and immigration. I’ve got a very detailed list of everything I’m importing into the country, and I’ve pre-filled the NZ High Value Asset Declaration Forms: doing both in advance is highly recommended. ASC Travel provides you with a letter that quotes the specific statutes of NZ immigration law, so you can get a 12-month visa to the country even though you only have a one-way airline ticket. That just came through last week for me – don’t hesitate to contact ASC if you think you are missing something, but it’s best to do it by phone. After 1 October, people are already deploying or waiting in Christchurch for ice flights, and those in travel status get first priority. Phone calls are the best way to get through and at least ask if the delay you’re having is normal. In my case it was.

Preparing for a deployment to the ice can be challenging, even for people like me who consider themselves organized. I’ve had to think about the next two months. How much toothpaste do I use across that time? How many Q-tips will I need? SD card storage for my camera? How many batteries is too many batteries? I’ll be spending Thanksgiving and possibly Christmas at the Pole. Should I bring a costume? (Yes!) How will I pass the time? (Pack of cards, the DVD set of every Game of Thrones episode to date, books on Kindle). All of that weighed (pun intended, haha) against the baggage limit for the ice flight. I imagine this is how astronauts feel when packing for a six-month stay on the International Space Station.

I’ve gotten several good tips from former Antarctic adventurers: bring things that engender warm thoughts (I brought some aloha shirts from Hawaii - alas, the coconut rum from Kaua’i will have to wait). The coffee sucks so bring your own (I’m bringing Kona coffee, which has apparently been a hit in previous years). Bring something to trade for favors (Chocolate covered Macadamia nuts!) Everyone gets really into the holidays, so bring a costume for extra points (check!). Of course, it’s entirely possible that my friends are messing with me, so we’ll see what happens when I whip out my costume on Thanksgiving Day.

With that, I’m off to “the ice”! Next post from New Zealand, where I’ll be reporting in to the US Antarctic Program Clothing Distribution Center to get ECWs issued, then wait for my flight to the ice continent. I’ll post more about LANDIT and our science as well. Until then… aloha!