Marathon Day

Raytheon Polar Services – 6 hours

The past two days have been spent in training. Orientation may be the more apt term, because we haven’t really learned how to do anything. Laptops have passed IT screenings, jobs benefits have to overviewed, safety and environmental protection have been discussed. There’s a lot there. I’d estimate 10% of it is truly important, 50% is not and 40% is one of those first two categories explained in a different way. The problem is that it is hard to tell where any piece of information falls. So I have a lot of useless information in my head, but I know there’s something critical that is not, and it will come back to bite me (though not too hard, hopefully). Actually, on the first day I left the Raytheon facility with my security badge, which I was supposed to turn in. I was scolded the second day as the only person who had done so. Oops.

The more important part of training, though, is getting to know some of the workers who I’ll be spending the next 5 months with. Through a Herculean effort, I’ve actually managed to remember [almost] all the names of people I’ve met, as well as bits of information about all of them. This is unheard of. I’m pleased at my ability to mingle with people and chat, as I always seem to labor when it comes to things to talk about. But there’s no shortage of subjects here: where you’re from, what your job will be, if you’ve ever been down before. I am doing my best to internalize all the things the people are saying and that I overhear in nearby conversations. It’s that internalization that will allow for things to discuss in the future, and what I tend to struggle with.

Denver International Airport – 12 hours

People are scurrying up and down the terminal. There has to be around 1000 people an hour going by, each with a destination on their mind. A fellow Antarctic traveler summed it up well as we were riding the walkway to our gate: “I forget there’s so many other people with lives just as crazy as mine.” This may have been his first time at a major airport, but he’s right, and I have simply grown accustomed to the ease and seeming un-exceptionalness of traversing hundreds or thousands of miles – to new places, cultures, worlds – in a matter of hours. It is crazy, though.

Somewhere over the Pacific – 20-some hours

It has been a nice flight thusfar. I watched Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides while eating an enjoyable – though clearly airline – dinner and drinking wine. I chatted with my seatmate, John, who has a glorious mustache which needs only a little wax to become a handlebar. His job is related to the drinking water on McMurdo, and, while it will be his first summer in McMurdo, he had spent the 2010 winter there. After talking, I then slept for awhile. It wasn’t a great sleep, but it wasn’t terrible either. I suppose it was as good a sleep as one can hope to get flying on an airplane.

I woke an indeterminate time later. It was dark both in the plane and outside. We’d left at around midnight and were presently retreating from the dawn, the first hints of which could be seen out the window to the rear of the plane. From my window seat on the left side of the plane I had a perfect view of the southern sky. On the horizon, the Milky Way rose perpendicularly and was lost somewhere above the plane. I tried for some time to identify constellations, but I am a stranger to these stars. But because of the prominence of the Milky Way, I knew the heart of the galaxy must be just out of my sight, and since I was looking southerly, it had to be above me and not below the horizon. Scorpius, Sagittarius and Libra were there, but something silly like the plane’s ceiling blocked my view. I wonder if ever there will be commercial airlines with transparent (or transparentable) ceilings and floors. Anyway, I was able to estimate that the plane was flying at around -15 degrees latitude, an estimate I will check when I get wifi again (based on the islands we are near). (Correct answer: -14 degrees)

Auckland Airport – 31 hours

As it was in Ireland, I am disoriented riding in a bus on the left side of the road. It’s a confusion that I quickly grow accustomed to, however. I wonder if it’s a similar correcting mechanism that the brain does when it’s presented with an upside-down view of the world?

I’m wondering, while riding on the bus, about how to interact with the driver when I get off. If this were the States, I would say ‘Thank you, sir’ as I get off. But here it strikes me as too formal. So I’m wondering about ‘mate.’ Do New Zealanders even say mate? Would it be appropriate to say ‘Thank you, mate’ to the driver? I stick with ‘sir’ this time, but I hope ‘mate’ is common parlance here. It’s much more friendly. I find it telling that we don’t really have an equivalent in the States. Yes, some people might say ‘thank you, friend,’ but they are few, and likely to be looked at funny. Under certain circumstances, if you are a certain type of person, you might say ‘Thanks, dude,’ or ‘man,’ but it seems to lack the politeness you might want to have. For the most part, we only have ‘Thank you,’ regardless of how warmly we mean it.

Christchurch – 40 hours

It’s colder in Christchurch. For the first time in a long time I can see my breath as I walk down the streets. When I began, I had to suppress my shivering despite having on a fleece jacket. Now that I’ve been walking for a while, I am pleasantly comfortable, even with the fine mist of drizzle that’s begun to fall.

I can’t decide if the city seems foreign to me. On the one hand, it’s undeniably different than towns and cities in the U.S., but on the other hand I do not feel out of place. As such, I am finding it difficult to take many pictures: when everything you see has a certain familiarity to it, what’s the point? It’s the things that are different that draw my attention, the things that are unique.

The damage caused by the February earthquake can be seen everywhere, but it’s subtle: barricades around structurally unsound buildings, awkward indentations in houses where brick chimneys used to be, crocked spires on churches. Normally, our hotels would be in the central district, but they say it’s still a mess down there, so we’ve been scattered into the surrounding suburbs. I love the room I’ve gotten: it is small, but not cramped. I’d call it delightfully efficient, especially after the monstrosity of a room I had in Denver.

 

And we’re off

3:00 PM MST

We’ve been airborne for a little over 20 minutes now. I am 20 minutes into something completely different. The Frontier plane spent the first 10 climbing out of Tucson and weaving around the thunderheads that were growing into, perhaps, one last late-season monsoon. We passed eye level by one that seemed to be no more than a hundred feet away. It was dark, cavernous and wholly engulfing of the view. An instant later, Tucson was visible again.

It’s not clear to me how much I am aware of the significance of my departure. I don’t know if I’ve already accepted it, with the realization unfolding gradually over the course of weeks or if there’s still a moment that is waiting to hit me. All I know is that as we sat on the runway, I was admiring the Tucson view with the Catalinas rising in the background, and there really wasn’t anything I was wishing or wanting. Was it perfect? No, it was bittersweet. But maybe that’s what made it satisfying. This is life: interesting, fleeting, experiential, changing.

I’ve been musing lately over a specific point of this Antarctic expedition: Will I get it? Will I arrive there, acclimate, take measure of it and think ‘I get it’? Obviously I hope I will. And I wouldn’t be going if it didn’t think I will. But no one goes there thinking otherwise, yet plenty of people end up not getting it. Instead, they end up miserable, overwhelmed or disenchanted.  I suppose such people don’t get it because it does not turn out to be what they expected, and they cannot accept it for what it is. I don’t know exactly what to expect, but I’m excited to find out. I hope that whatever I find, I accept for what it is. If I can do that, then I will get it.

9:00 PM MDT

Although lack of preparedness left me scrambling to figure out where I was supposed to go once I got off the plane in Denver, I eventually found my way to the proper shuttle pick-up point… and only 10 seconds or so after the shuttle had pulled away from the curb. No matter, another would be along in about a half hour, and I met my first fellow traveler to Antarctica. Short, friendly, and of an indiscernable age, Sandra was also a first timer, heading down two weeks behind her husband who had already arrived in McMurdo for his training. With their children fully grown, they decided to start a new adventure after 20-odd years of working in Denali Park, Alaska.

Sandra and I were joined by an affable man named Bob, perhaps in his early 50’s, who looked kind of like Burt Reynolds. He was a well-seasoned veteran of McMurdo who – small world – also was a shuttle driver. Sounds like I have myself a mentor! He was definitely a character: outgoing, filled with stories he was eager to share, and a few degrees off-axis. Bob introduced us to Sussie, another veteran, and we had ourselves a little gang. On the shuttle ride to our hotel, Sussie and Sandra talked in the back; Bob struck up a genial conversation with a hapless woman in the front who had no affiliation with us, McMurdo or Raytheon; and I was in the middle with an older man with wondrous facial hair named Bill. I think our conversation was the most forced of the three going on simultaneously, but it was by no means unpleasant… I just don’t think either of us were natural talkers.

Fast forward to dinner… Sandra, Bob, Sussie and myself were joined by second-year returner about my age named Kristen. Now, I get an absolute kick out of ‘small world’ coincidences. There’s something about seemingly defying the odds of interaction in a world with 6 billion people that makes me unusually excited (whether or not there is actually a low probability that’s been overcome is immaterial, it’s the appearance that I like). I had such an interaction last week in Sonoita with Erin when we were wine-tasting, and we came across a retired gentleman on vacation with his wife and friends who had attended CMU 50 years before me. So I was blown away to discover that Kristen had just flown in from Philadelphia. No, not that part, the following part.

“Do you live near Philadelphia?” I ask, “I grew up around there.”

“Outside of it aways. Where did you live?”

Not expecting her to have any idea where I’m referring I say “Souderton.”

But her eyes grew big, and it was instantly clear that not only did she know of it, she knew of it very, very well. Turned out she’s living in Harleysville, but more impressively she graduated from my high school the year after me. She didn’t recognize my name, and I didn’t recognize hers, but her boyfriend, already on the ice, had graduated a year after her and had a name that was vaguely familiar. Regardless, there are a ton of old connections to be had there, and I think such a coincidence my first day out is not only a good omen but also really, really cool.

People!

There are a lot of normal, friendly, socially-adjusted people out there. Well, there’s definitely some. I appreciate such people immensely, regardless of whether I myself am a member of that class. There’s also a lot of crazies out there. Maybe not around every corner, but certainly way more than I feel comfortable knowing are out there. Take this guy, for example. Absolutely crazy. So are many of the commenters at the bottom of the post who clearly dwell in a world of ignorance and paranoia. In fact, most of the website (activistpost.com) appears to be the playground of folks who believe the majority of the world is in on some vast conspiracy, which they themselves have been left out of. For any such conspiracy theorists reading this, I would like you to know: I know who you are and I know where you live. And I am watching.

It’s easy enough to be annoyed with crazy people when they are ranting on the Internet, because in cyberspace they really just sound like morons. In person it’s much more difficult. I found myself at Macy’s the other day buying a suitcase that will in all likelihood turn out to be much bigger than I possibly need (it would be fairly trivial to stuff a body in there). Beside me at the counter was a short, stocky woman in the later stages of her middle life, with hair that could best be described as a wispy, red afro. I imagine she looked like Ms. Frizzle 20 years after she’d been arrested for peddling LSD to schoolchildren.

She seemed harmless and perhaps a little behind the times as she tried to apply for a Macy’s card. She was not succeeding because she didn’t understand she needed a driver’s license and credit card to do so. Meanwhile, I’m working through my purchase with my cashier and talking about my upcoming trip (those Macy’s employees are chatty), when it comes up that my employer will be Raytheon.

“Raytheon?!” Old Frizzle declares incredulously, turning on me. And I see an instant mistrust in her. I am clearly one of those guys, working for Raytheon, funded by the government to secretly build missiles and other weapons to one day use on all the U.S. citizens who… ‘resist.’

“Yes, they are the contractors for Antarctica.”

“Raytheon is in Antarctica?”

That’s where their secret weapon testing station is. Oops, I’ve said too much.

“Yes, they’re in charge of taking care of the facilities. They’re contracted by the NSF – the National Science Foundation – to maintain the stations for scientists to do research.”

“What kind of research?”

Genetic human experiments.

“All kinds, meteorologists studying climate change, geologists studying the history of the Earth, astronomers studying space, zoologists studying the animals.”

“Oh.” I have placated her: I’m at worst a naive pawn in ‘their’ plans. “I’m a researcher too, actually.”

Are you now?

“Sir, I need you to sign here,” the cashier interjects.

Up to that moment, my cashier had been merrily going about my purchase staying as far away from the conversation as she could (later, she confided that Old Frizzle had been a regular nuisance at the store prior to being committed), while the young guy helping Old Frizzle waited uneasily, clearly wanting to be anywhere but here.  And I hoped that would be that, because I cannot get myself away from people such as Old Frizzle on my own. But no.

“You should call me when you get down there. What is your number?”

Panic.

These are the situations I am not made for. Because I want to be friendly to people, even crazy ones. It’s not like she was a bad person. Confused, misguided… perhaps mentally ill, but she was not threatening, or mean or even angry at the cashier who was at this very moment denying her the store card she so desperately wanted. I want to be nice and a good neighbor because I believe that is how the world becomes a better place, naive a sentiment though it may be. I can’t baldly say ‘no,’ or perhaps ‘not on your life,’ as much as I would like to. But there is no way in hell I’m giving this woman my phone number.

The way out was obvious, but I clearly wasn’t going to get it. “I don’t think they have cell phones in Antarctica,” says the cashier.

Oh thank you

“That’s true,” I say, “but, if you want to know more about life down there you can watch this documentary Encounters at the End of the World.”

She writes down the title of the movie. She focuses back on her cashier and shortly thereafter leaves. The conversation wasn’t a trainwreck! And I’m reminded that when they’re on the Internet, or in the other lane on the road or a face in the crowd, it’s easy enough for people to be morons and assholes. But in person, for the most part, people are just… people.

P.S. Encounters at the End of the World is not a documentary I feel like I can recommend. It’s not terrible or anything, except for pretty much every time Herzog speaks.

The Run Around

It is, I’m told, no secret that the deployment process is a messy one, filled with fits and starts, time changes and cancellations. Up until the moment I set foot on the continent of Antarctica, I won’t, with any confidence, be able to say when I will set foot on Antarctica. So I’m not really surprised at the roller coaster of the past few weeks, but it certainly takes its toll.

Of course there was the whole ‘Will they find an icebreaker?’ drama which spunoff to ‘Will I actually have a job come fall?’. That lasted a month, but now it’s old news. Currently it’s a question of ‘When do I leave Tucson?’ Up until the icebreaker issues, in my mind the day was October 1st +/- 1 week. Whether or not that was a realistic belief I’ll never know, but it seemed to be the implied way of things.

Post icebreaker issues, everything seemed to be pushed back some amount of time (or at least that was the sense I was getting). I was given a tentative deploy date of October 11. It meant a lot of things, but most importantly, at the time I was given this estimate, it meant a change. The actual consequences, though significant, were secondary to the overall, unfounded feeling of disruption to my plans. I dislike such things.

But given time to let the change settle in, the drawbacks to a later departure did not seem so bad, and the benefits were nice. And besides, there wasn’t much I could do about it besides unproductive complaining to my managers, so I accepted the new date and set about planning for it.

It should be no surprise what happened next…

So anyway, my official, tentative departure date is back to October 1st. Ultimately, I will believe it when I have the plane tickets in my hand, but until then, this is the best I have to go on, and it will suffice. A recompressed time frame means plenty to do in the next two weeks, and for sure that includes lots of running around.

From One Desert to Another

Summer chugs merrily along in Tucson, as today marks the 8th consecutive day of temperatures over 100 degrees. This is, admittedly, above normal for the city in late August, but not insanely so. Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the world McMurdo station sits at 10 degrees. A larger swing in temperatures on the Earth is hard to find. But one thing both here and there have in common is lack of precipitation: both are deserts. Tucson sits in the Sonoran Desert, home of the saguaro cactus, roadrunner and Gila monster. Here’s one now:

Side note: they are curmudgeonly creatures

McMurdo finds itself – along with the rest of Antarctica – insulated from a lot of moisture due to the southernmost jet stream, which surrounds the continent. While Tucson gets on average 12 inches of rain a year, McMurdo gets only 8. Of course, since most of it is snow and since snow is much less dense than rain, this 8 inches of water corresponds to roughly 80 inches of snow. I have been told I might be expected to do shoveling from time to time.

The other similarity between the two deserts is sun exposure. In Tucson, the high altitude the sun reaches in the sky, especially in summer, as well as the endless cloud free days provides ample opportunity to sunburn. Antarctica has to be trickier, and so manages its increased UV exposure via the large hole in the ozone above it.

Green is good, purple is bad

But it’s not for the similarities that I’m heading there. Tucson has been a great experience all around, and completely foreign compared to the east coast. The mountains loom over the desert floor unlike anything Pennsylvania has to offer, and in them is escape from the oppressive heat and ecosystems that are simultaneously familiar and yet still… western. Roaming through the wilderness of the Catalina Mountains weekend after weekend my first two years always brought great views, interesting discoveries and, from time to time, harrowing experiences. The monsoons that roll in every July are fun to track building from south and are even better to watch boil and rage all around. Of course it’s best when they’re actually where I am, but you can’t argue with the lightning shows that can be seen even a dozen miles away on the other side of the city.

Just a typical afternoon monsoon

Oh, right… and the sunsets. I really can’t do justice describing them here. If you’ve seen them, you know what I mean and if you haven’t, just take my word on them, ok?

And now, after 5 years of Tucson Arizona, it’s time for something completely different.

Back on Track

There was probably a whole hour between my last post and this announcement which details the NSF’s procurement of a Russian icebreaker. Funny how the timing went, but then again there really wasn’t much time left to make an announcement: now the hiring managers and travel department at Raytheon likely have to jump into gear issuing specific deployment dates and the accompanying travel arrangements – flights, hotels, transportation.

And on this end there’s a lot to do as well… but for right now there’s simply relief that I can actually start doing those things that need doing. Among other things, moving all my stuff into storage, buying the clothes and supplies which I currently lack and changing the mailing address for all the little things that still get physically mailed in this digital age. A month to do it all, as well as make more progress on my research, but it will all fall together quickly.

Tick Tock

It’s now into Day 11 of the post-deadline wait. 11 days since we were told we’d be told something, and since that silent day… silence. I know that WINFLY – the first few people to travel to Antarctica post-winter – has successfully deployed, but that was scheduled to happen regardless of the outcome to the icebreaker dilemma. No, the icebreaker was always first and foremost going to affect mainbody deployment.

One wonders how long they can go on with this silence. Research teams that have been planning to travel to the continent for months – or years – are in a holding pattern, holding their breath. I imagine there are quite a few graduate students whose theses depend on the data they expect to be getting this season. There’s probably experiments whose funding can’t make it to next year should they be denied this year. And I am sure that there are dozens of workers like me who are sitting restlessly at home, at work, or at a coffee shop, obsessively clicking refresh on their browsers to no avail.

What is going on behind the scenes? What is the sticking point that prevents a decision, whether yay or nay? Is the asking price for the icebreaker too high? Does the NSF not have the authority to release the funds without authorization from… who? (I shudder to think it might be some committee in Congress) Are they simply finalizing the cutbacks that must be announced?

The thought that this job, which was offered and accepted, physically qualified for and all but set in stone, could be lost for reasons beyond anyone’s control save for the Swedish government and the NSF, is an unpleasant one. That it is a job unique in the world, and not likely to cross again my life’s path is even more so. There’s an experience here, and there’s a story, but my appreciation for it will not come for a long time should the outcome be a setback.

Though if I knew, right now and finally, that I was not going to deploy, it would suck, absolutely, but it would also be a relief to have an end to the waiting. I can not, and will not, move forward until I know where I’m going to be 6 weeks from now, and the difference in answers is 9000 miles. I am still confident that I will be going, but such confidence will make it that much more of a kick in the shins if it proves unfounded. For now… more waiting, more silence and the steady ticking away of days.

Taking my Leave

Still waiting for an announcement from the NSF on whether they got an icebreaker. The original tentative deadline that was set for making a decision was 5 days ago, and since that time there has been an utter silence from everywhere. The Antarctic message boards have been dormant since early Tuesday, all the speculation leading up to the deadline ceased. The only posts to come after the deadline appeared to be from veteran employees noting their complete lack of surprise on the delay. The USAP website has been idle since the end of July. No emails from my hiring managers. It’s like a wild west town before a shootout, or a bad neighborhood at 2 AM, or a zombie-ravaged city. Choose your ominous silence scenario.

All this delay means that they have something they believe is available, but which hasn’t been and isn’t near being finalized yet. The question I’d want to know is how confident they are they can get this something. But to speculate on that, I’d need to know how important obtaining an icebreaker is. Clearly it’s important. But is it really, really important? Because if it is, then even if they don’t have a lot of confidence that they’ll get the icebreaker, they will pursue their options as long and as hard as they possibly can. On the other hand, if it’s not soooo important and they are resolved to go along with the contingency plans – unpalatable though they may be – then they would only delay making an announcement if they thought they were close to a breakthrough. So I imagine there’s a continuum there of confidence and importance, and the ultimate deadline they absolutely have to announce by.

Alas, I am a lowly contract employee and not privy to such discussions. Meanwhile, the world continues to turn and other deadlines approach. With the semester starting Monday and the RA grant already long past due, today is the day to either enroll or take a leave of absence. Though it makes me uneasy to do so, I chose to take the leave. If I were a cynic, I might shake my head at myself for taking such a risk in a world bent on making examples of people naive enough to take dumb risks. So be it. Mid-level confidence, but high importance. And it would be disingenuous not to include this: I called my interim hiring manager today, and he seemed to think that even in a worst case scenario, our department would be minimally affected. Especially based on the uncertainty I picked up in his words the first time we talked a month ago, I take this as a positive sign.

So, I see your sandbagging on a decision, world, and I raise you the potential for self-induced unemployment.

The Wait…

Right now I should be making plans to go to Antarctica. I should be holding a one-way ticket to New Zealand. I should be supplementing my cold weather gear, planning a last second excursion back east, and slowly becoming aware of the immensity of this journey to the end of the world. But, things don’t always go as they should… and this is one of those times.

Instead, I am playing the waiting game. It’s a boring game. And the reason I’m playing this game is because of a boat… or should I say because of the lack of a boat.

The bottom of the world is, believe it or not, a cold place. It’s a place where people are not really meant to live. That doesn’t stop us, though (nor should it). But it means life down there is completely dependent on the outside world. For food, for materials, for fuel. And a lot of these supplies can be flown in easily enough. But one thing that can’t be efficiently flown in is fuel. The amount of fuel needed for making electricity, powering vehicles and producing life-sustaining heat is much too great to be brought in by plane. It has to be shipped in something like this guy, which has roughly 1000 times the fuel-carrying capacity of a C-130. It’s either 1 ship or 1000 C-130 flights. One is reasonable, one is not (after all, the Berlin airlift was a long time ago).

That’s not a problem by itself. What is a problem is all the ice that lays siege to McMurdo, even in the summer. Typically there’s miles and miles of ice between the base and the open ocean, and to cover that span, an icebreaker is needed. Here’s one such icebreaker. In fact, it’s the very icebreaker that has been used to create the channel to McMurdo for the past few years. It’s owned by Sweden, and they want it back in the northern hemisphere this winter because, apparently, ice in the Baltic Sea caused all kinds of shipping problems last year.

Well, what does the U.S. have in its fleet? 3 ships. Two of them are over 30 years old and either being decommissioned or repaired. So by 3 ships I really mean 1 ship. It’s the USCGC Healy. Unfortunately, it’s not only dedicated to the Arctic, but also probably not heavy duty enough to do the job.

Where does that leave the NSF (the ones who obtain the icebreaker)? Scrambling to find a replacement. And it leave me waiting, because without an icebreaker, fuel can’t be supplied to McMurdo. Without fuel, all operations have to be cut back so that fuel can be conserved until January of 2013, which is the next time a resupply could conceivably occur. And if operations are cut back, it means I might be out of a job.

There are some reasons to hope, however: there are several leads toward finding a replacement, including using the aforementioned Healy along with a second additional icebreaker, or chartering an icebreaker from the Russian government. Even if they don’t get a replacement, I’ve heard it said that the reduction in personnel could be around %50, but that it would not be even across all areas. Research would be hit hard, especially those that go out into the field using C-130’s. Probably construction projects as well. But one way or the other you need to have transportation to and from the airfield (especially if more supplies need to be flown in instead of shipped in), so it could be that my division is not as severely affected.

For now, I wait. When I was informed of the situation a month ago, I was told that they did have a date by which they hoped to make a decision and inform all those involved whether they should expect to be going to Antarctica or not. That date was yesterday…