So I survived the first work week with all fingers and toes still attached. The main thing I am worried about is catching a cold. It seems like a fifth of the people here are sick. It's like Ferris Bueller playing his symphony of dry hacky coughs on the synthesizer. Only now, it's live and in stereo. I wash my hands often and use the sanitizer readily available around the station. The dry frezing air is slowly turning my hands into rough, gritty hunks of flesh that could sand down a fine antique table.

The week began with ambient temperatures hovering around negative fifty. I wore six layers of clothing on my torso while covering my legs with four. The whole process of putting on Ralphie Parkeresque (A Christmas Story) amounts of attire takes a few minutes and as soon as it's on, I'm unbearably hot. My first couple of days of work I searched for building materials located in rows of wooden boxes covered with last winter’s snowdrifts. Each isle stretched the length of a football field and there were several. Our job was to dig through the drifts and locate a box at specific dimensions containing a weatherproofing material.

With my body still overheated from the long walk, I started sweating as soon as my shovel hit the snow. The task at hand seemed like finding a needle in a haystack. Due to some miscommunication no one knew exactly where the box was. We simply had to dig until we found it. Feeling like I was in Miami in the summertime I removed my hoodie. With no luck in our search we huffed our way back to the station to disrobe for break.

Taking on and off all this clothing four times a day was already a pain. All of the extra layers add about 20 pounds to my thin frame. My first two days were spent searching and digging for the most part. Crews rotated at day three, so thus began my actual work on Amundsen-Scott Station. Each underside of the four wings breaking off the main terminal needs siding and weather protection.

Because the work is under the building it is constantly in a shadow therefore receives no radiant heat. In addition, the design of the building was to funnel the prevailing winds underneath it to prevent massive snowdrifts from burying the facility. That is the fate of the first National Science Foundation building constructed in the 50’s. The current addition sits on giant stilts about ten feet off the ground. What that means for me is wind gusts shooting down the tunnel to our work area. If you stand around for 15 minutes it tends to get really cold. Working and being productive is a natural remedy to fight off frostbite.

I manage to keep quite warm for the most part. My only problem spots have been areas where two separate articles of clothing meet, for instance between my goggles and balaclava and between my gloves and jacket. I figured out how to keep my wrists sealed, simply by putting on my parka after my gloves were tightly wrapped with the Velcro cuffs from my windbreaker. It's impossible to do small tasks though like tying my shoelaces or picking up a pencil when it drops. My fingers are like big useless sausages. The goggle situation is more problematic. If I had my balaclava tucked into my goggles, the vapor from my breath would produce steam, which would then freeze. My vision would slowly become blurrier until I couldn’t see. So I would have to take them off. Then my face would get cold and my eyes would sting from the sun reflecting off the snow. Either way I can't see. Once in a while my fingers or toes start feeling like a piece of driftwood but other than that it’s not too bad.

The actual work is tiring because it’s all over head and working off ladders and scaffolding. My shoulders, back, lats, and quads are going to be ripped when I'm finished. Off hours is like a nursing home with activities all the time. Saturday was bingo night with $100 gift prizes to different restaurants in New Zealand. I took a salsa dance class last Thursday. Sunday they play soccer and volleyball in the gym and right next to that there is a music room. This Sunday I actually climbed through ice tunnels beneath the station. Like freezing catacombs, a network of hallways extends for about a half a mile, 50 feet below the surface. The structure of everything is simply ice. You can see gravity pulling the ceiling towards the ground as it bows noticeably in the middle. Escape hatches to the surface are strategically placed about every 250 feet or so. One purpose of the tunnels is essentially the lifeblood of the station. It connects with the massive heating and drilling system to pump in fresh water.

We are only allowed to take two, two-minute showers each week. I don't think I've ever smelled as bad as I did last Thursday. Not too bad right now though. So what is the reason for this? Where do we get fresh potable water? Also where does all of the human waste and commercial waste go? It's not like there is a water treatment plant here. And for that matter, how can a building in one of the most remote areas of the planet function, produce heat, electricity and ultimately sustain human life?

written by  JCinTheSouthPole on November 18, 2009 from Christchurch, New Zealand
from the travel blog: South Pole
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HAHA..have you won anything with Bingo yet? ;)

So....umm...sounds pretty miserable except for the activity part. What hours of the day do you work and for how long? Is it 8 hr days? 10? What's the ratio of men to women?

Do you have a mailing address to send mail or anything? If so, how often does it come? (yes leave it to the mailman to ask the mail type questions) :)

written by  April on November 18, 2009

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