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ANTARCTICA

Back to the Ice

Photos © 2004 Seth White

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I had a long paragraph typed up about the 'deployment' process, i.e. the logistics involved in getting hired, getting PQ'd (physically qualified), putting your life back home in order, getting psych tested if you're going to winter-over, coming down to the ice, and how it's all worth it. But that doesn't make for very interesting reading, in fact it even bores me and I'm the guy sitting here typing away. Instead, let's discuss the beer situation. Here's a picture of the most noticeable feature at the Christchurch airport. It's a tower of some sort, with antennas hanging off it, painted to look like a can of CD. Yes, the oh-so-delicious Canterbury Draft. This is a locally produced macro-brew, and is about the equivalent of Coors in the US. And there are cases upon cases of it shipped to McMurdo every year. Like most beers imported to McMurdo, this product is horrid, frankly. I have no problem admitting that I'm a beer snob, and I'm not seeking therapy for this compulsion. And it's criminal (CRIMINAL, I SAY!) that McMurdo doesn't have a better selection of beer. And it's really not a matter of the logistics in getting beer down here...we did have about 10 varieties last season. But so many of them are absolutely indistinguishable from the other. Let's see how many I can remember (it's the end of the beer year right now, and we're out of almost everything). In cans there was CD, DB, Speights, Speights Dark, Rheineck, Lion Red, MGD, Coors Light, and some wretched ice beer that I can't remember. In bottles, Sierra Nevada Pale Ale (thank God!), Bass, and Guinness. So let's see: that's 12 that I can bring to mind. So, yes, it is possible to get a variety of beer her. But the problem is that 8 of these beers are nigh indistinguishable from each other. We have 8 different watery, light lagers to choose from. Oh boy. Only by the grace of god did someone decide to get Sierra Nevada here - I lit up when I first saw that. Among the four non-identical beers, the Speights Dark is a little thicker and maltier and it'll do in a pinch. The Bass, however, tends to suffer a little bit on the long voyage here and doesn't keep that well when it gets here. And unfortunately, the Sierra Nevada doesn't keep so well either. The difference between two successive bottles of Sierra Nevada would be from the sensation of pure beer bliss to the verge of hurling. The Guiness is passable, but the stuff in a bottle is a completely different recipe than what you get on draft and in the draft cans, and ain't nearly as good a beer. You can actually get Guinness in the draft cans at Scott Base, but sadly, their other brews are basically the same swill in different colored cans. On the bright side, we didn't run out of beer during the winter. There was also an awesome selection of wine to be had. There were even some (very well done) wine tasting events during the winter, with custom appetizers to go along with each type of wine. But this only reinforces my (admittedly minor) complaint: obviously it's possible to buy, package, and ship a good selection of beverages to the ice. So why is the beer selection so abominable? And why go through the effort of getting 12 types of beer when 8 of them are basically the same? Another thing - the idea of an on-site brewery has been kicked around for years, but so far it's just an idea. If such a thing were to actually be built, people would line up to volunteer as brewers, you'd save money in the long run, and the quality of beer would no doubt be quite good (there are some real decent brewers here).

The first time I came through Christchurch I didn't notice this statue of Scott. It's right near the Avon river, next to the Canterbury Museum.

It was actually made by Kathleen Scott, his wife. In Roland Huntford's book "The Last Place on Earth", he makes the statement that Kathleen Scott was actually having a secret affair with Frijtof Nansen while her husband was on his last Antarctic expedition. Is this true? His book is meticulously researched and documented, including personal letters. The story of the Scotts' marriage is told in detail, and I believe it. I guess Antarctica's effects on relationships goes back to the old days....

I had one day in Christchurch on the way down this time, so after going to the CDC to get the ECW issue, I picked up a Montecristo #2 and walked over to the botanic gardens. The gardens there are amazing, both in size and variety. Being later in the summer, more flowers were in bloom than when I left in October.

Surprisingly, these beautiful pink flowers were produced by some sort of evergreen bush (and of course I don't remember the name).

A tiger lily.

A single flowering stalk of some floral specimen.

A curious thingy poking straight out of a tree branch. The gardens have an incredible variety of flowers, herbs, succulents, trees, you name it, from all over the world. I have been to Christchurch three times now, and each time I have made a point to see the gardens. It's so relaxing and pleasurable to stroll around the pathways, smoking, and taking a picture here and there. And knowing you're about to enter the Antarctic sensory deprivation chamber where there are no such plants, smells, or sounds is extra motivation to soak this stuff up.

A typical pathway through the gardens.

There is an excellent rose garden too.

Another red rose.

This is half of the rose garden itself.

So the next day, at *4:30 AM*, I got a shuttle to the CDC. That is brutal, absolutely brutal. The plus side is that our flight didn't boomerang, and we got to McMurdo with the rest of the afternoon to take care of odds and ends. At the CDC, there is a whole routine you go through the morning of your flight. Still being bleary-eyed and half-conscious, I just went through the motions, all the while fantasizing about sleeping on the plane. The highlight was that they opened the cafe at the CDC early, so we could all get some breakfast. Then we sat in this waiting area and watched a video about Antarctica...which was nicely done, actually (in comparison to some of the CHEESY, ridiculous pieces of cinema that are produced within the USAP). Then, the flight crew tells you a little about the plane. Then you line up and stuff yourselves in the airporter van and head to the plane, a C141 this time.

This is a wall in the passenger terminal, with photos of the various aircraft that the US and NZ have flown in Antarctica since the 1950's.

This flight was full, and we were packed in tight...again. My first flight to the ice was filled with anticipation, and I couldn't sleep at all. I was looking around me at the people, the plane, thinking a million thoughts, and all the while my stomach had a strange, anxious sensation. This time, I was more relaxed and did manage to get a few short naps. But overall it was absolutely miserable. I don't know why exactly, but this was one of my top 10 worst flights ever. I couldn't get comfortable, couldn't stay asleep, had the flu, etc. etc. The lowlight came when I looked at my watch (for the thousandth time) and realized I had lost count of the hours and that we actually had one more hour to go than I thought. However, if one reads the accounts of Scott, Amundsen, and Shackleton, who all sailed south on cramped wooden ships through extremely treacherous waters, one cannot complain too much about a 5 hour flight on ANY aircraft. And we had earplugs too. A friend of mine who was in the Gulf War flew on a C141 for 17 hours straight, and they had forgotten the earplugs. Now that is misery defined.

So, yes, we finally landed at Pegasus field. Here's the plane. After I stepped off and took a quick picture or two, I saw the Terrabus. Oh no. Not the grueling hour-long drive back to McMurdo aboard the Terrabus! I dashed over to a Ford van sitting nearby and asked the driver if there was any more room. Nope, all full. People more savvy than I had scored all the seats on the van. Draaaaag. So I trudged over to the Terrabus, threw my bags in the cargo compartment, and got on board. And off we went....very slowly.

As always, Erebus was here to greet us as we got off the plane. Somehow it is a nice feeling to see this mountain. Out at Pegasus, Erebus is the master of Ross Island and McMurdo is just a few little dots in the middle of the horizon. It was a crystal clear day and seeing the familiar sights, even if it had only been three months, was wonderful.