South Pole - JCinTheSouthPole

First Day
Christchurch, New Zealand
Hi my name is Jake Carling and I'm in Antarctica. This is my first blog entry and I have a lot to catch up on. I wanted to let some friends and family know where I am. Today I departed for McMurdo Station from the traditional Antarctic launch pad of Christchurch, New Zealand. Early explorers Shackleton and Scott both used this area as a departure point for their expeditions and the tradition continues for the United States Antarctic Program. We had waited in the second largest city in New Zealand for the previous three days because of bad weather. Not that I cared.
I like taking vacation on the company dime. Each night our room was paid for and an $80 stipend was allotted. From cliff-side beaches to wandering paths among blooming flowers in the botanical gardens, to culinary cuisines from across the globe, Christchurch is a spectacular city. I felt like it was a modern version of what people behaved like in America before the advent of television and a lust of materialism, power, and flashiness. The people are honest, kind, and helpful. The city spectacularly beautiful, clean, and safe. I can't wait to see the rest of the South Island.
We loaded up gear this morning and left for the ice. Soon the light streaming in the two windows of the C-130 became intense. I needed glacier sunglasses to look out of the porthole. Down below I imagined I was flying over the surface of the moon, luminous cracked, and pockmarked. It stretched for miles and miles until soon we landed. We I climbed out of the plane the scene took my breath away.
A brilliantly blue cloudless sky met and endless sea of white on the horizon. Jagged mountain peaks erupted from the flat landscape in several directions. A plume of vapor hung over the 12,500 foot cone of Mount Erebus, the worlds southern most active volcano. Frost bellowed from my nostrils with each exhale, but I embraced the cold with a smile on my face. We loaded up in transport where we received an orientation and were given room assignments. My room has about 20 bunk beds. No worries though because tomorrow I leave for the South Pole where I'll have my own room. I think.
written by  JCinTheSouthPole on November 5, 2009 from Christchurch, New Zealand
from the travel blog: South Pole

At the Southern Most Point on the Globe
Christchurch, New Zealand
Last night I ended up in one of three bars at McMurdo Station. They didn't have Jack Daniels, but had another whiskey called Bushmills which I ordered with Coke. It wasn't until I had downed three that someone pointed out it was an Irish sipping whiskey which one typically drinks straight or on the rocks. All my time in NYC and I'm still just an unsophisticated farm boy from the mountains. I slunk back to man camp, the room with 15 bunks beds, to cash in for our for our early morning departure on a C-130 to the South Pole. I stared in awe at the valley floor and snow capped mountains in the distance one last time before I would drift off.
I awoke in a panic as I looked at the two empty bunks next to me. Light was streaming through the windows and a digital clock across the room read 12:36. I was tired from travel and am known to be able to out-nap a cat, but this time I blew it. I slept in and missed the plane. I hurried and swung my head around towards the other bunks and saw people all around. I hung over the side and peered at the ones below and saw rows of slumbering souls. Whew. It was only a little after midnight. I forgot it stays light for 24 hours a day. This same situation happened two additional times throughout the night and I never learned my lesson from the previous ones. Some things never change.
The morning finally came and we boarded the Air Force plane in our extreme cold weather gear: goggles, boots, balaclava, coveralls, down parka, gloves, etc. The current temperature indicated the air hovered around minus 45 degrees with a windchill factor of negative 75. Climbing on board the plane an A.F. serviceman took my carry on luggage. All the seats faced the center of the aircraft, lining both walls and creating only two rows of passengers. Carry-ons were stacked in a neat pile in the center of us. The toilet was on an elevated platform with a giant shower curtain draped around. Everyone put in their ear plugs as the propellers churned into a high pitched whine.
The three hour ride seemed worse to me than the 14 hour flight we had taken only days earlier from LAX to Sydney, Australia. My back was aching on the nylon wire seats. My body temperature started rising from the gear and I had to shed layers. My restless night before made me just want to sleep. The next thing I felt was the small plane, with 40 people aboard, being tossed around in harsh Antarctic winds. The pilot fought through the turbulence as I fastened my seat belt. I couldn't even tell we had touched down until the plane abruptly came to a complete stop. Either the landing was amazingly smooth in the snow, or the last half hour or so was really rocky. I thought we were still in the air, but soon the doors opened at light streamed inside.
I zipped up my coat, put on my balaclava and goggles and cinched up my mittens. My heart raced as I looked outside at the frozen barren desert. Whirling drifts of ice crystals blew around in different directions. Men in the distance piled large mounds of snow higher using heavy machinery. A brand new building E shaped building, the new $165 million dollar project of the National Science Foundation, sparkled beautifully in the sunlight. Adrenaline started pumping through my system. I was actually at the South Pole. A place no one on the planet had seen a mere 100 years ago, and probably less than 10,000 have ever seen at all. I felt very honored and privileged to be on such an adventure and to be able to experience this fascinating location on the globe that others died trying to reach decades ago.
The thin and cold air started penetrating my senses. My fingers started to get cold on the walk from the plane to the building. My body, although bundled up, could sense the enemy systematically and effectively creeping in the infinitesimal openings of my seams and zippers. My heart rate increased, due to the fact that I just went from sea level to an atmospheric pressure of about 10500 feet. My breaths became more short, shallow and labored. Just last week they had to put a resident suffering from HACE in an oxygen chamber for 8 hours before he was flown out. I would just relax and adjust. I grew up in the Rockies and have good lungs.
I received some diamox pills to help with the altitude adjustment. They told us to take it easy and drink lots of water. I went to the doctor and they checked my blood oxygen levels and heart rate. Heart rate was in the mid-sixties which is very good. It's supposed to increase about 20-25 beats per minute for about four days until your body adjusts. Blood oxygen levels were at about 90%. It will get better as I acclimate.
The building here is brand new. I feel like I could be in a nice office building in New York, equipped with a gym, sauna, weight room, music room, galley, arts and crafts room and a couple of lounges. Tomorrow they are showing the new Warren Miller movie Dynasty. The people are nice, the food plentiful and good. I have been told I should consume more than 5,000 calories per day because that is what I will be burning working outside in the cold. So tonight I've had cookies, ice cream, cake, steak, potatoes, and coffee. If gluttony is a sin, I'm feeling like I need to be rebaptised after that meal. An all you can eat buffet for free, every meal. We'll see how fat I get.
I'm going to check out my room now. Haven't seen it yet. All I know is it's in a little shack called a jamesway about an 1/8 of a mile or so from the base. They have no doors and rumor has it there is ice on some peoples floors. Bathrooms are a good walk so I got an empty coffee can to pee in at night. Don't want to take 15 minutes putting on gear just to strip it off moments later. We'll see how I'll sleep and hopefully I won't kick my can over in the morning.
written by  JCinTheSouthPole on November 6, 2009 from Christchurch, New Zealand
from the travel blog: South Pole

Roaches at the Pole?
Christchurch, New Zealand
Friday night when I finally approached the place they call Summer Camp, because it's where all of the summer contractors sleep, it was very late and my body felt fatigued from the constant travel, altitude, and cold. The jamesway structures, comprising the small village, houses about 125 people. I found mine and opened the door to locate bed # 8. I shuffled down a dark hallway with the light from the front doorway became dimmer and dimmer until it was almost pitch black. I fumbled around , locating a curtain and opened it with an outstretched arm so I wouldn't hit my face on something.
I found a light switch and turned it on to see my surroundings. It was a small room made out of plywood with a curtain for a door. I thought I had limited space in Brooklyn but this was about half that size, maybe 42 square feet. There was a single bed, rickety dresser with an alan wrench protruding for a handle, and a small chair with a slight walkway in between. It didn't look vacuumed and all of the furnishings were old and well used. Every time I shifted something on the floor I fully expected for cockroaches to start scattering toward the walls seeking cover. It finally dawned on me that there was no insects here. Even seemingly indestructible roaches are no match for constant sub zero temperatures. Will I be?
One good thing I discovered was the bathroom is a mere 15 second run from my front door. That is if i run. I do not wish to tarry long without gear. I found that out the hard way. But should have flipped through my mental index to when I was a child and my mother used to take me up in the Wasatch Mountain to teach me how to ski. I listened to her instruction on how to snow plow, traverse and read the terrain. As one would expect living in the Rockies, snow storms and high winds were part of the learning process. I had to figure out how to protect myself from the elements and prepare for quick changes in temperature and weather.
A fundamental principle she stressed was to dress in layers. That way if the air was frigid you already had enough clothing on to shield yourself. Then if it became too hot you could simply remove an existing layer. At first she had to help me put on the additional bulky clothing and click in and out of my ski bindings. I watched until I could gear up to perfection myself. Here at the South Pole, there will be a learning curve to figure out how much layering will ultimately be needed for my comfort. This morning I took the walk to the station with jeans, sneakers and a skimpy Kenneth Cole jacket. I could have survived the walk with these items but made one painful mistake. No head protection. Exposed skin doesn't last long with temperatures being fifty below zero.
I could feel my face starting to burn. Each deep breathe made me cough as if I were a chronic smoker. The air was too cold for my lungs and throat. The tips of my ears began to sting. My brain started going into a weird panic that I haven't experience, even though I knew I was going to be okay. The building was within my grasp. But still I felt nauseous. I thought how horrible it would be to freeze to death. Finally, I looked around to see if there were any people out. My ego got the best of me and I didn't want any of my coworkers to see what I was about to do. When I saw the coast was clear I started running. I couldn't get the station fast enough. I huffed up the stairs and slammed the door opened and looked back, double checking no one was out there behind me.
I zipped into the bathroom to blow my nose and my face was as red as if I had been at a Vegas swimming pool in July without sunscreen. Never again will I leave without a balaclava. The rest of my body was cold but tolerable. The bare skin, however, was in pain. Tomorrow I start work. It won't merely be a seven minute walk, but a prolonged eight hours of vulnerability in the elements. I can't wait. I'm just going to wear lots of layers like my mom taught me so many years ago.
written by  JCinTheSouthPole on November 7, 2009 from Christchurch, New Zealand
from the travel blog: South Pole

First Week Down
Thanks to everyone who has sent me a message or comment. Sorry I haven't responded but my internet time is limited to 1-2 hours a day. Because of this I also apologize beforehand about bad spelling, grammar, over abundance of passive verbs, etc. You can let me know if something is really bad. This is after all like a journal entry or rough draft. I will try to post one each Sunday. If you're wondering why it still says I'm in Christchurch it's because the application won't allow me to submit the blog entry without the name of the current location. A prompt says The South Pole isn't a valid city and forces me to enter a new one, hence Christchurch.
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?

Summer Breeze
6:20 the obnoxious beeps from my alarm clock jolt me out of a restless sleep. My body feels exhausted and I reach over to hit the snooze button several times until I shoot up in a panic thinking that it’s already midmorning. I am still having trouble sleeping after two weeks. Maybe I need a subway train roaring past my window every twenty minutes like back in Brooklyn. There are probably a few reasons I am waking up in the middle of the night and staring at the ceiling until what seems like only moments before my buzzer goes off. I think it will pass. By the time I finally get out of bed, I haven't much time to eat before morning stretches begin at 7:30.
The smell of hot maple syrup on blueberry pancakes fills my nose before I begin my mission. Everyone laughs watching how fast I shovel breakfast down my gullet. One day this week I made it to the galley around 7:00, the earliest I've ever been there. People joked about that too. They were disappointed they wouldn't see my normal spectacle worthy of a 4th of July hotdog eating contest on Coney Island. But I’m not starting a day on an empty stomach, and if I’m late it will cost me a case of beer for my work crew. Not that I would mind buying brew for the guys, I just want to save my money and not get into bad habits.
Stretches last a half an hour and are sorely needed to loosen tight muscles and ligaments from the previous days work. Just like many other life lessons, I learned the hard way to not make eye contact with other grubby construction worker guys while in downward dog position. I think I'm going to play a game with it though and see how many people I can make uncomfortable. After limbering up before the onslaught of work, we head down to our break shack to gear up.
Someone usually plays some high energy rock music like Tool to get us hyped to go install siding on the station. Two days ago a guy from New Zealand that we call Kiwi (how original) busted out with Seals and Crofts "Summer Breeze" on the ipod. Through the groans of some of the tough guys with tattoos and facial hair, he simply smiled as we laced up our boots and zipped up our coats. Good change of pace from the usual metal that makes me want to start breaking things with my bare hands. Summer Breeze, a light and fluffy melody that's been fermenting in the jasmines of my mind. Now I take great pleasure in getting it stuck in yours.
Our first break is at 10:00 and usually lasts 15 minutes or so. I drink lots of water and eat a bagel or some toast. Despite the amount of calories I consume each day I am already shedding pounds. Anyone complaining about his or her weight should try the new South Pole diet. I'm working on the hard copy for a New York Times best seller, but the basic gist is eat all you want, when you want. You just have to be resilient enough to endure working for eight hour shifts in subzero temperatures, but I digress. I was talking about drinking water.
There are roughly 250 people here at the station consuming large amounts of resources, in the name of science. So how does it all work? As I explained in my last entry, there are tunnels about 50 feet below the surface of the ice extending for a half-mile. Drillers create a cavity in the icecap by heating surrounding areas with hot water. As the ice melts into an upside down light bulb shape, the fresh water is pumped out, tested and filled into huge storage tanks. Reason alone attests the H2O has to be among the purest on Earth, having not being touched by any living creature or human induced pollutant in the existence of it's life sustaining molecules. When the siphoning hose can no longer reach the pool, a new hole is started.
Now the old abandoned opening isn't simply left void and wasted, but used for actual waste. Pipes funneling all human excrement are inserted into the newly vacant well. There, the literal shit creek flows until it fills the mile deep pit. Now take into consideration that the actual South Pole Station is sitting atop of a moving glacier and you wonder what will happen. Estimates indicate the glacial movement rate to be around six feet per year. I think we are roughly 900 miles away from the coastline. So according to my calculations, what that means is one day, tens of thousands of years from now, a mile deep column of vacated bowels will be spilling into the oceans. Nice mental image while you drink your morning coffee.
Consumer packaging garbage is meticulously separated into recyclable categories. At the end of the season almost nine million pounds are taken back to the States for processing. Non-recyclable materials are shipped to landfills I suppose.
As for food, it is shipped in from McMurdo Base and then stored outside until used. All of the food in the small gift store expired at least a year ago and sometimes even four, but we still eat it. That may be the case with our regular galley meals as well. It takes days for the food to actually thaw out. You would need a circular saw to cut through the ice cream when it is initially brought inside. Makes me think that steak I had last night might have been butchered a few years ago. The cooks manage to do an amazing job. Can't be easy cooking at high altitudes with food that's been frozen so hard a kernel of corn could topple over a penguin if launched from a slingshot.
What heats the food to cooking temperatures is electric power created by enormous generators running on actual jet fuel. Massive tanks were shipped in C-130s. They were engineered to fit almost perfectly in the cargo space of the planes. The huge cylinders are stacked in a separate building adjacent to the station about ten rows of five deep. I'm not sure of the actual consumption rate but burning enough fuel to heat and provide electricity to a 65,000 square foot building cannot be meager. That is why we are limited to two, two-minute showers per week. That was three twos in a row and it kind of made sense. Okay you're back. This area is also the morgue. Bodies of people that die while at the station are kept by the fuel tanks until they can be shipped out. So those are just a few of the logistics here at the station. As for me, I'm about to embark on a new adventure. I just found out yesterday I’ll be starting a new work project that has me quite excited. Now sit back, relax, forget about grey skies and dropping temperatures and think of a summer breeze that makes you feel fine.

The Dark Sector
"Yeah, last night I couldn’t sleep because the music blaring from the lounge was so loud. I tried earplugs and that didn’t work, so I tossed and turned all night and just about the time I was falling asleep some guy stumbled into the jamesway making lots of noise. Then he must of just passed out because I starting hearing a weird snoring sound. At least I think he was snoring. It had a strange combination of a donkey and cat put together, almost inhuman really. I was debating whether or not I should go help him because it sounded like he was in pretty bad shape.” As Shawn mused over his restless night I tried to clear the fog out of my head by sipping coffee as I listened. I had of course been one of his tormentors dancing the night away at the summer camp lounge oblivious to the fact we were making misery for others. I would do it again though just to try and hear the elusive braying meow snore in jamesway 10 after holiday festivities.
We celebrated Thanksgiving at the Pole on Saturday. The day started with a traditional Turkey Bowl football game played by about twelve guys. The opening pass ended with a head-jarring quadricep across my face as I tackled Kiwi into the hard packed snow. I wouldn’t see a bruise hooking around my cheekbone into my nostril until later that night, an outline of where the goggles mashed into my skin. The kiwis loved running inside and just crushing people upon contact from their upbringing in rugby. As for me, I would like to consider myself more the speed demon on the outside, running fly patterns like Randy Moss. Each play had everyone panting for oxygen sprinting at high elevations in heavy boots. Recapturing our youthful playground days of yesteryear proved to be nice male bonding time followed by a couple of beers. Some limped afterwards, but at least no one lost any teeth like others had in previous years. After resting for a while, my appetite grew steadily.
The kitchen staff served dinner in three different shifts. The special occasion beckoned all to shake the dust from their fine threads. Some women wore elegant black dresses and a couple of men wore suits and ties. Eyes popped out all over the place seeing images transformed from grubby work clothes to upscale. I stuck with a white linen button down that looked more at home on a Mexican beach than at the South Pole. After shaving my accumulated facial hair from the previous month I joined the crowd eating hors d’oeuvres while a four-piece band played soothing background music. The galley transformed from a sterile food hall into a fine dining establishment complete with candles, cloth napkins, wine glasses, and a repeating clip of a burning Yule time log flickering on TV screens.
I washed the mashed potatoes and stuffing down with a glass of cabernet sauvignon. All of the siding carpenters sat together cleanly shaven in our freshly ironed button downs. As the conversations ranged from women to travel my mind drifted away to the Wasatch Mountains of Utah and my family. I thought about how lucky and grateful I am to have the supportive and loving family that never gave up on me even when I was in a self-destruct mode. I thought about the extended relatives that I am so close with and feel a sense of foundation and family. I thought about the many wonderful friends from all walks of life I have met over the years, ones I have loved and have loved me.
I thought of opportunities that I have had for education and recreation simply because of where I was born. I thought of my health and the fact that I have lived a relatively peaceful existence unlike many souls born into war torn countries, eras or lifestyles. The blessing I have had to travel to six continents in the last two years of my life, culminating in a reality of seeing many sights that were mere dreams captivating my imagination not long before. And as I thought of these things I raised the glass of wine to my lips and took another sip. Here I sat, eating turkey dinner at the South Pole.
Monday will snap me out of my reverie as I begin work again though. Last week I found out that three others and I would be shipped out of our current assignment. Rather than siding the main station, we have the privilege of utilizing our construction skills in an area called the Dark Sector. This location is where many of the actual science projects are being conducted, including one of the largest in the world called Ice Cube. I’ll specifically be working on the building that houses the largest microwave telescope on the planet, known here is 10 Meter because of the size of its primary mirror. Each day we strap on helmets and then climb onto our snowmobiles for the ride out there. The work is pretty much the same thing, installing siding to the actual structure.
I’ve met a few of the scientists (kindly nicknamed beakers, as in the muppet). During our breaks we go inside the building where I’ve had the chance to talk with some of them about the project. It makes one feel humble. I’m hanging plywood, coated with colored metal, on a building and they are searching for distant solar systems and the origins of all creation. In addition, each Sunday evening, a different beaker gives a lecture in the dining hall. The South Pole telescope was implemented to study cosmology, which is essentially the history of the universe on a grand scale. Exactly what they are trying to do is figure out what the universe is made of as well as how it was created. The discovery of the Cosmic Microwave Background, in the 1960’s led to this project.
The South Pole is an ideal site for this specific kind of instrument. Some reasons include the high altitude and dry air because water absorbs microwaves. Also the fact that there is only one sunrise and one sunset each year means that the air is very stable due to zero diurnal variation. The 1,000 detectors are all temperature sensitive too. Since the sensors seek heat in the universe, the colder the temperature the more responsive the sensors are to heat. So far they have identified up to four galaxy clusters. They hope this may help figure out what exactly is dark matter and dark energy. What that means for you and me, I have no idea. But the government is willing to spend hundreds of millions of dollars for the research, so it must be important right? It took over 600,000 pounds in parts alone just to construct it. Now take into account that a C-130 can only handle a little over 10,000 pounds of cargo and you’ll understand it was a painstaking process just to get the thing here.
As for me, I’ve been gone for over a month, a third of the way finished with my experience here. Soon I’ll be jumping off bridges tethered to a bungee cord and trekking through beaches, fjords, and the Southern Alps in New Zealand. Truly life is good and I have much to be thankful for.

NO Post This Week
Sorry for the few of you that are reading this, but I will not be posting anything this week. Please visit again next Monday. Hope you are all well. :)
written by  JCinTheSouthPole on December 6, 2009 from Christchurch, New Zealand

Ice Cube
Also my address for anyone wanting it is:
Jake Carling, RPSC
South Pole Station
PSC 468 Box 400
APO AP 96598
“Name the seven countries in Europe that are smaller in land mass than Rhode Island?” I quickly starting naming several until there was only one left. On the tip of my tongue with time about to expire, Malta popped in my head. We hurried and scribbled it down before passing our paper to the next team. The initial round in pub trivia was right up my ally, having to do with geography. I somehow got invited to play with all the astro-physicists from the South Pole Telescope, even though the siding carpenters had their own team. We’re not supposed to hang out together, let alone being wanted for a quiz game of knowledge. Probably had something to do with one of their grad students from a sponsoring university always looking at me like I’m an ice cream sundae on a warm summer’s day. In any case we went on to lose the round by one point and but won the entire game, beating out other scientists, IT nerds and others. For our efforts we all received a thirty dollar gift certificate to an American restaurant in Christchurch. Can’t wait to get off the ice and eat more eggs and pancakes.
As for the ice itself, things are warming up. When I first arrived at the South Pole the temperatures consistently hovered around negative 55 degrees. Now it’s usually about minus 15. It’s still cold but a huge difference, just like the contrast between 40 and 80. When I walk around outside I don’t need a balaclava for extended periods of time. I can shed layers and not feel a sense of panic. In fact, some periods of work I only wear a base layer, fleece and wind breaker. Along with the temperature my actual job location has shifted again too.
I’m no longer working at 10 meter telescope, having sailed for the greener pastures of the Cryogenics Building where several weather related experiments are conducted. I like it a lot because the work is simpler and it’s not as windy. I like the guys I work with too. Not that the others were bad, but I just always felt like the new kid on the block. Our entire work crew is divided into about five various locations. But at the end of a long work week we all get back together for a few beers. Yesterday some guys planned a BBQ outside of the Smokers Lounge. This is the only federal government building that still permits smoking inside. The place isn’t big enough for what they had in mind though, so we piled the briquettes in a huge grill outside the main entrance.
There were about thirty dudes all dressed in warm clothes eating chips and salsa as the smell of huge steaks permeated the cold air. Sizzling hunks got cut into thin bite sized strips for easy pecking. Inside the lounge rock music blared through the cloud of smoke hanging delicately in the rafters. Graffiti filled walls were accented by empty beer cans and half eaten cheese plates as someone passed around a bottle of Jim Bean. Back and forth people went between the freshly cooked steak outside, and warmth and comfortable seating inside. This was a dude BBQ, with no female within fifty feet of the roaring flames heating our dinner.
Things got exciting when a person I will decide to keep unnamed, decided to climb one of the huge snow piles and ride a small homemade wooden toboggan like a snow board. All the drunkies shouted words of encouragement even though such activities are strictly prohibited because of liability concerns. He slowly climbed the mini mountain until he stood at the summit at placed the contraption under his feet. The crowd roared in laughter and amusement as he shot down the hill at high speeds. At the intercept of where the mound rose and the flat ground extended onward, he lost balance and became airborne. Crashing into the hard pack he rolled a couple of times, while the sled continued onward in a cloud of ice particles. The crowd’s vocal intensity increased a decibel as he stood up and brushed the snow off his pants. Soon, a few others would try the same feat. Later, a guy even rode down naked. As that scene mellowed another started forming in the non-smoking lounge where an open mike night, full of talented musicians were about to take the stage.
I walked inside but had to quickly retreat to the vestibule because there were already so many people in there. I watched in amazement as more and more onlookers crowded their way inside. It was like watching a car full of circus clowns, unload unfathomable amounts of humanity from a singular space, only these folks were packing themselves in. Soon I would retire for the evening for the next day was a busy one.
The morning consisted of attending a poetry class given by an award winning writer who quit his job as a university professor to work at the South Pole as a cargo operator. There were only two other people in attendance. I love all the free classes I can take here, especially one that can get my creative juices flowing into better images, thoughts, and ideas.
With lyrical rhythms of iambic pentameters, dactyls, and trochees dancing in my mind I zipped up my parka and boarded a bus for the Ice Cube open house. Ice Cube, if you remember from a previous entry, is literally one of the largest science projects in the world. The goal is to track the paths of neutrinos to discover their point source. As we departed the shuttle van a host took our group to some of the drilling machines used for the experiment. The process is extremely complicated and I didn’t follow everything that was said. What I did gather, they drill holes almost 7,500 feet into the ice using hot water. After the hole is complete they lower a string of digital optical modules that can trace the flight of neutrinos coming from the northern part of Earth, through the center of the Earth, and exiting at the South Pole. I’m sure there is plenty of info online if you’re interested. The whole process seemed immense.
After a string of sixty modules are lowered into the cavity they begin freezing them into the ice. Only this ice must be clear. They take painstaking efforts to remove all air bubbles and other factors that would make the color appear white. If the ice is clear the module will get more accurate readings. I asked what the purpose was of all this. What if they do find these cosmic pathways of neutrinos? Then what? Well it’s simply building blocks of understanding the universe. There is still much we have no clue about and the more knowledge, the more we understand the universe and our own existence. Neutrinos are not affected by magnetic fields and are thought to come from other galaxies. An explanation could help with determining origins of the highest energy cosmic rays. I was still confused as I signed one of the modules that will be lowered into ice within the next couple of days.
I can barely understand why I like the things I do, let alone neutrinos and subatomic particles. Still it makes me happy that I can in some very small way support the progress of human knowledge. Now I just need to read some encyclopedias because I want to help the siding carps beat the scientists at trivia this week.
written by  JCinTheSouthPole on December 13, 2009 from Christchurch, New Zealand

Playing Games and Losing Small.
“So he wakes up twenty minutes later and reaches into the ash tray and pulls out three cigarette butts and slurs ‘I raise’ as he pushes them to the center of the table. I looked at him and laughed and brushed ‘em away and told him ‘besides not being in this hand, you can’t raise with cigarette butts’. So he grabs three more and throws into the middle of the table and yells ‘Bullshit!!! I RAISE.’
So I asked him where his cards were, what was his hand? He couldn’t figure it out and finally backed down. But that’s good old PWK for you.”
As I listened to Adam’s story I contemplated my next move. I’d check to the river having hit my hand on the flop. My plan worked as someone caught two pair and tried to buy the pot. With my last chips I went all in and got a call. Flipping our cards over he moaned in disappointment seeing my full house. I scooped up my chips and took another sip of Guinness. Although I won the hand I finished four hours later, down eleven bucks. It would be a theme for the week.
I bragged about winning in pub trivia with the team of South Pole Telescope physicists last week so I must admit defeat too. This week I migrated back to the siding carpenters. I wrote our name on the dry erase board: The Ex-Siding Carpenters.
“Why are you guys the ex siding carpenters?” one of the South Pole Telescope beakers asked me.
“We’re not ex carpenters. Say it fast. Ex-siding. Get it? Exciting carpenters.” I replied.
“HA HA Oh now I get it. But why are you playing with them?”
“I’m a siding carpenter.”
“What? You are? I thought you were an electrician or something.”
Some act shocked when I tell them what I do for work. In New York and Salt Lake, I’ve had conversations abruptly end as soon as I reveal my occupation. Why is there such a stigma attached to being a grubby construction worker bastard? What did we ever do to hurt anyone? Every magnificent skyscraper lighting the evening sky is built by us. Each home in which children create memories, we construct. The very roof over your head providing warmth and protection from the elements, nailed together by some grubby guy. At any rate, one of the Bicep scientists hosted this week and started the game with “This day in history”. There were six teams total, three teams of beakers from Ice Cube, South Pole Telescope, and Bicep Telescope, respectively. And three other teams consisted of firefighters, carpenters, and one with a mixture of various trades. A huge chasm separated the scientists and the blue-collar guys by the end of the night.
As the points were tallied I laughed as I fell from first place to last in just a weeks time. Looking at the bright side I concluded we were only one point away from tying for last and three away from finishing fourth. I have no illusions we would ever finish higher. But not to despair, two scientists left the South Pole to be home for Christmas and the team of siding carpenters was dissolved due to half the team getting transferring to the graveyard shift. So I’ll be back with the SPT team again competing for gift certificates.
I’ve become pretty good friends with some of the their crew and received an invitation for a party thrown at the actual telescope on Thursday night. As I walked in, the mood felt like a junior high dance with Christmas lights strung around the ceiling, bad 80’s slow jams meandering in the background, and everyone standing around the refreshment tables filling up on various flavors of chocolate. I sipped wine from a paper cup contemplating how long I was going to stay. Then things got interesting.
Gathering a small group of people one of the scientists took us on an intimate tour of the facility. A repetitive whooshing sound, like the telescope in Contact with Jodie Foster, became louder as we walked down a long hallway and rounded a corner near the receiver. The explanation was simple cryogenics cooling the module to a quarter degree above absolute zero. I pulled out my camera and switched to the movie setting as I pushed the play button. The telescope receiver hung in the air, outlined by blue light. In another room further back, giant teeth stretching across the circumference of a wheel of massive gears remained motionless, waiting to swivel the primary mirror into action. She explained what the telescope is used for and various theories relating to its work. Locating far away galaxies in the expanding universe is a main focus.
“Many things, like blowing up a balloon or inflating an economy, will result in the bubble bursting from too much expansion. Could that happen with the universe?” I asked. Some models indicate just that, a gravitational pull collapsing the universe in on itself, she explained following up with other theories and ideas. We crawled through small doorways, fit for a two year old, and looked into the inner most functions of the giant instrument. I had to crouch low to the ground until I was satisfied with what I saw. I felt like a little squirrel popping my head back out into the main room when we were finished. By this time the party had gone into full swing back down the hallway and in the lobby area as the alcohol had began to infiltrate bloodstreams.
I couldn’t handle all of the bad eighties music and shuffled through the ipod until I found the perfect song to get the party started. Squeals of delight erupted as people rushed and crowded into a smaller side room as Michael Jackson’s Wanna Be Starting Something reverberated off the walls. Here, the party shifted from cerebral to kinetic as bodies starting grooving to the beats.
Hours passed and soon only one other woman from our department and myself were left with a bunch of scientists getting jiggy with it. For as much fun as I had at night, the morning was rough. I couldn’t lean over during stretches because I was so dizzy. I kept drinking lots of water and soon just felt sleepy. This weekend I relaxed, as I will for the next few days. Friday is Christmas and I need to begin training for The Race Around the World, which is a two and a half mile course that literally runs through every meridian of longitude spanning the entire globe. Each line converges here at the South Pole, after all. I know I won’t come in first but hopefully it will be a better week and won’t come in last either.
written by  JCinTheSouthPole on December 20, 2009 from Christchurch, New Zealand

Race Around the World and BBC Visit
Missoula, United States
I rushed to the start line with just enough time to pull out my camera and snap a couple of photos. Several people wore silly outfits like Hawaiian print shirts, fake bikinis, or Trojan warriors. People adorned their bulldozers transforming them from hunks of yellow metal to chunks of metal pulling fire breathing dragons, Roman chariots, and even a steamy hot tub that looked like it was made from ice. Then in an instant the 2009 Race Around The World began. I continued taking pictures as the favorites distanced themselves from the pack.
The starting point was meters away from the South Pole and traversed around a small ridge to the geodesic dome. Walking down a hill to the partially deconstructed dome I decided it was getting too cold and boring so I began to jog. Circling the structure my blue jeans prevented my stride from feeling easy. I soon passed a guy who was jogging backwards in a Santa Claus suit. My lungs started burning as my ears felt like they were turning to icicles. I put a balaclava over my head to cover them from the negative twenty-degree temperature. Each successive stride was a labor due to the snowy ground. If you’ve ever jogged on a sandy beach you understand the feeling. Add into consideration the 10,500-foot elevation and it makes for slow going. I circled in front of Amundson-Scott Station towards the ski way where all incoming airplanes land.
Taking a sharp right, I continued down a camping area set aside for the very few tourists that ski here from various degrees of latitude to say they skied to 90 degrees south, which is the Pole. I finished my first lap, running through each meridian of longitude that spans the Earth and connects at the Poles. Getting some much needed motivation from the people at the finish line cheering my name as I ran through; I mustered up some energy for one more lap. I finished the 2.5-mile race in a paltry 27:31, ten minutes behind the winner. I wondered what my time would have been if I hadn’t lingered around to take pictures at the beginning and walked for the first eighth of the course. I soaked up the moment snapping more pictures as I watched Santa Claus running backwards through the finish line several minutes later. Then I had to get some food in my stomach.
The annual South Pole Christmas Poker Tournament would soon begin and I wanted to play. I sliced up my mushroom and onion omelet and proceeded down to the lounge to get a seat. I played tight until I got a hand that would set me up for the rest of the tournament. Peeking at my cards, I raised with Big Slick. Several people called. The flop came out and with an ace, so I pushed and got one caller. The next card came out and he raised me. I wondered if he had three-of-a-kind but decided to continue anyway. On the last card he put me in for all of my chips. I had to call him at this point, I was pot committed. My heart pounded as I thought about the possibility of being the first player out of the tournament. I got a rush when he flipped over an Ace and a Ten. My Ace, King just took down the biggest pot of the tournament to that point. From that point I could be a bully at the table. But all good things must come to an end. I got too bored, impatient, and impulsive and played my cards wrong at the end, finishing in a disappointing second place. Microcosm of my life perhaps?
Christmas came and went much like Thanksgiving, only replacing the stuffing and turkey was lobster tail and steak Wellington. Wine flowed freely and spirits were high. A white elephant gift exchange netted me a four-dollar shot glass inside a box that belted a distorted, tinny version of Sleigh Bells sung by Ella Fitzgerald every time you opened the lid. I destroyed the obnoxious thing shortly after returning home. I’ll probably regift the shot glass. I’m not a big fan of hard alcohol. The guy that gave it to me reportedly worked at Area 51 and has seen aliens and alien spacecraft with his own eyes. While I'm not too convinced of his stories, I have met people that do very interesting things with their lives.
Ones that have trekked the Himalayas to Everest Base Camp. Different bikers, one who not only rode across America twice, but also from the Yucatan Peninsula to Panama City. Now he's planning to ride from Berlin to Warsaw. The other biked all the way through the center of the Australian continent coast to coast and also from Idaho, through the Yukon, to Anchorage Alaska. Another guy boated from Chicago to rivers leading to the Mississippi, out the Gulf of Mexico, around Florida, up the Eastern Coast into the New York Harbor, up the Hudson River to Lake Erie, and through the Great Lakes again. Most of the people here are from Colorado, Alaska, Wisconsin, California, and New Hampshire and Idaho. Hearing their stories just makes me want to live a more adventurous life. I’ll have to wait to get my wing suit and settle for merely hanging off buildings right now.
We started another project working at the Logistics and Operations building. The structure has a chamfered side, with a 16 or 18/12 pitch. I have to wear a harness with a fall protection strap lagged into support beams as I literally hang my upper torso over the side to receive the panels being carried up by guys on ladders twenty some odd feet below. The guy working up top with me, an Italian guy from Boston, has to climb over the edge onto the chamfered side on a wood and rope ladder that looks like it was stolen from some third world country bridge. As I’m hanging upside down, holding onto the siding panel and adjusting it into position, he sets a couple of screws. Once it's in the correct place, I can shimmy back up on top to fasten the top edge and upper sides. It’s kind of Mickey Mouse but that is what makes it exciting. Back inside the station another cool thing was taking place.
A production crew from the BBC is here on station right now. They are the same ones who created the amazing series called Planet Earth. Their travels lead them to explore the possibility of shooting a spin off series specifically geared towards the Polar Regions. Frozen Planet will hit the airwaves next year. One of the producers shared various unedited clips with audience in the galley. One clip, which he termed “A holy grail” in wildlife film, showed a pod of orcas systematically creating waves to knock a seal off a large floating ice drift. Each successive pass broke the ice into smaller fragments until the entire iceberg capsizes plunging the helpless prey into the water where it swam for its life. Another clip was almost a blooper reel of penguins launching from seawater to the solid ice above. The high-frame-per-second film allowed amazing slow motion shots of the poor birds getting punched in the beak by ice, from mistimed jumps. Everyone was laughing out loud watching their heads jerk back, beak open, and blubber ripple while small water droplets shot off their bodies. While most of the storyline revolves around animals and how the seasons dictate their lives, the final episode will be about people in Polar Regions.
The crew filmed our ceremony of relocating the official marker of the South Pole, due to it flowing on a Polar ice cap at the rate of about 30 feet per year. This is a tradition here at the Pole each January 1. Several participants formed a semicircle and passed the new marker, created by 2009’s winter-over crew to look like the SPT, and stuck into the ground at the current and precise South Pole. BBC cameras rolled as the station manager and a leading scientist both gave short speeches. Freezing in the cold we listened gave a polite golf clap and then snapped pictures. So look for the series next year. I’m the guy with a freshly shaved Fu-Manchu mustache or as I like to call it, The Montana Cowboy.
written by  JCinTheSouthPole on January 1, 2010 from Missoula, United States

2010 here I come
Missoula, United States
Sharing the same time zone as Auckland, we were among the first people on the planet to usher in the new decade, outside of the small islands of Kiritimati and the Chatham. Whimpering in at midnight, only a few dozen people decided to stay up for the event. New Year’s Eve 2010 fell on Thursday night and officials decided to give us Saturday off instead of Friday. Most people didn’t want to work hung over and merely waited for the big planned celebration in the gymnasium on Saturday night. As about thirty others and myself counted down until the clock struck twelve, I wondered what this year would entail.
My life seems up in the air in every way imaginable. I received an email from a close friend hoping things would change from a less than average previous couple of years. I replied that maybe this is just how life is, slugging through a boring job, everyday exploitation by powerful, smarmy, and repulsive people and businesses, and frequent disappointments that arise like weeds in a spring garden. With less than a month’s time remaining for my stay in Antarctica, my thoughts are scattered with where I will land on my feet next.
Offers are being presented to me on where to spend some much wanted vacation time once off the ice. One of my best friends here wants me to travel to South America. Another group of people invited me to go to a small island off the coast of Thailand and rent a beach house for a couple of weeks. Yet the most intriguing possibility was an email from a long lost friend in the South Pacific Kingdom of Tonga.
For many years my mind has drifted to setting foot in this corner of the world that sculpted a large part of my thoughts and life. Some dreams do become reality and I am excited about spending time with my best friend from high school, one whose mother referred to me as her white son. From my time immersed in a very distinct and different culture, my mind expanded and developed concepts and characteristics that would help make me who I am today. On what I’ve experienced in life, I wonder how anything can ever surprise me, yet my journey continues to astonish me. Through much space and time, it looks as if a broken connection will come full circle and be reunited. After reading his email, I hurried down to the galley where a screening of selections from the Banff Mountain Film Festival flickered overhead.
This film festival promotes short movies exploring niche outdoor lifestyles and sports. One of my favorites featured a group of rock climbers who embarked upon a national park in the Czech Republic. The caveat was that the climbers couldn’t use chalk or any metal pitons or screws on the rock. To tie off they literally tied knots in the rope and crammed it into cracks in the rock until it hopefully became secure enough to continue scaling the sheer cliffs up hundreds of feet.
The other film named Psyche: Patagonia Winter was a story of two climbers trying to scale Patagonia’s jagged peak, Torre Egger, in the dead of winter. This Special Jury Award recipient was an oftentimes humorous and witty documentary that captured the most amazing scenery and landscapes. So much in fact, that Patagonia pushed to the forefront of places I must experience before I die. Type Torre Egger in Google and look at some of the pictures. It's spectacular. The climbers ultimately fail in their conquest. But sometimes it’s those failures that are precisely what inspire and motivate us to move on to bigger and better adventures. Life has a way of unfolding itself in puzzling ways. And the world presents gifts of beauty all around.
Outside beamed an incredible sun halo. The halo, with accompanying sundogs, are produced by ice particles being blown in the air by strong winds. They reflect light akin to a rainbow when hit at the right angle by the sun. Only rather than arching from one end of the horizon to another, a sun halo literally circles the sun. I have seen others here but this one in particular contained several circles. Some above, some circling the sun, and then a huge parhelic arch wrapping itself around the whole circumference of the sky. Looking away from the lights direct rays, it seemed as if someone in the heavens above gently sprinkled diamond dust from a clear sky. People that have been here for three seasons said they have never seen one this brilliant. But like all good things, it disappeared quickly and all that was left was a 20 MPH wind gust ripping through clothing layers reminding you that you’re in Antarctica.
The temperature saw it’s high point for the year, checking in at a balmy negative 2 degrees, but would soon crawl back up around the usual twenty below. We finished the entire soffit of the station and have now moved up to the roof. The view is spectacular, white snowfields for as far as the eye can see. A coworker told me we have about two weeks left of nice weather and then the temperatures will rapidly change and be back to negative fifty before we leave. And while my time here is beginning to come to a close, who knows what doors will open for me when I get out of here. I have some ideas rattling around in my mind and hopefully I can make them work out.
written by  JCinTheSouthPole on January 10, 2010 from Missoula, United States

Near tragedy and old buildings come tumbling down.
Missoula, United States
Only two weeks left and then I’ll be sleeping on a New Zealand beach. We finished the roof excluding a few minor details, meaning the entire Amundsen-Scott Station is complete. We’ll be installing a couple of doors and working on trim before we clean up and do inventory. It’s strange to think how fast time flew. I already applied to return next year, but don’t really know what I’ll be doing so I’m looking at these last couple of days as potentially the last times my eyes will gaze at the frozen white horizon that encompasses the South Pole.
We had more visits from the BBC for their Frozen Planet series. In fact, the famed BBC broadcaster and naturalist Sir David Attenborough himself stayed at the Pole for a couple of days to lend his voice and face to the harsh environment. The film crew took off in a Twin Otter airplane and circled overhead several times as the entire station population posed for a photograph in front of the final piece of the recently deconstructed geodesic dome. The outdated building became a causality of the new, elevated station that I came here to complete. The remaining section of the dome’s triangular iron flew an American flag high above, as a photographer captured the moment. Later that evening crews would remove the ironwork, leaving a massive cavity in the ground. The South Pole Dome was now just a heap of nuts, bolts, and scrap metal. And while the demolition of this iconic building occurred without incident , tragedy almost struck at the original South Pole Station.
An 18-man U.S. Navy crew built “Old Pole” in the mid 1950’s. But due to being buried at a rate of four feet of snow per year, the site was abandoned in the mid-seventies, as the completion of the geodesic dome became the new home for researchers and personnel. However, because the place was deserted before the U.S. government signed the Antarctic Treaty, which required the removal of all unnatural materials, Old Pole was simply left with dishes in the cupboards to be buried forever in the polar tundra. With years of accumulated snow drifts piling up the structural integrity decreased exponentially.
A crew deployed with ground resonance imaging equipment to detail precise locations of the building for some upcoming work. Due to being an “eye sore” out of the galley windows of the new station, authorities decided to relocate the very few tourists who make it to the South Pole each year. The area they chose was near Old Pole. So with hazardous areas marked and flagged, a heavy equipment operator began work to create a new camping spot for the visitors. After working for over an hour his bulldozer suddenly and unexpectedly broke through the ice and plummeted 40 feet before crashing through a network of old wooden framing.
With cracked glass and snow trapping the doorway closed, the driver got on his radio and called for help. Two other heavy equipment operators hurried out to the site to try and rescue their coworker. Arriving at the scene they assessed the situation and began performing a retrieving mission. But as soon as they started, the snows weight gave out again and another of the machines fell through the crumbling sinkhole. Although he didn’t fall as far as the first dozer, the situation became a little more desperate and dangerous. Through much work and calculations, crews safely rescued both operators, who came out with nothing more than scared psyches, bumps and bruises. I talked with the first operator that fell through and was trapped for over an hour, later that evening at a party. He showed me several pictures of the cracked windshield, caved in snow, and then aerial views of the wreckage once he was removed.
I’m not exactly sure what they are going to do with the area at this point or if they were able to tow the equipment out. They may just end up slowly being buried themselves and drifting along with the ice cap until they spill into the ocean thousands of years from now. Working outside at the South Pole is inherently dangerous. It’s a harsh continent and not for the weak hearted, or namby pamby in spirit. While I am one of the few on station that work outside each and every day I was reminded of how privileged we have things here at the new station as one of the early Antarctic explorers from the 1950’s gave a symposium in the galley. Charles Bentley spent several years as a scientist and slept outside, had to build shelters, prepare food, because the infrastructure hadn't been set up yet.
He was a real Antarctic explorer and researcher. While I am working on a building and have very limited freedom and mobility, they were surveying mountain ranges and scaling glaciers that no human had ever laid eye upon. As a result Mount Bentley and the Bentley Subglacial Trench were named after this young college kid who devoted his life to Antarctic science. His accounts were amazing and made me feel like a creature of comfort, Manhattan socialite. While he told stories of how the snow was deeper uphill in both directions, I sipped on a freshly brewed coffee and snacked on some crème brule before heading to the computer lab to check my email before the satellite passes. My how technology has changed in 50 years.
In fact, debuting last night was the 2010 South Pole International Film Festival (SPIFF).
All films are written, directed, and contained actors that currently live at the South Pole. Had I have known, I would have conjured an idea and checked out a camera from the IT department to shoot the video. Instead I had a small part in a silent comedy about a gas line that ate up a fuel operator and another part in the opening welcome scene to the entire festival. About a dozen movies were made, each less than ten minutes in length. There were a few technical difficulties but hopefully I can obtain a disk and watch them in the comfort of my own bedroom. So as my time here winds down I feel like I have been a part of something very special and unique and am just trying to soak it in, because all good things must come to an end. And that’s when the next adventure starts.
written by  JCinTheSouthPole on January 23, 2010 from Missoula, United States

Longer Stay
Escalante, United States
My skin should be burning on a New Zealand beach in five days, however I elected to stay in Antarctica longer. On Monday I'll transfer to McMurdo Base and work there as a carpenter for an additional month. I'll post more details on Sunday.
written by  JCinTheSouthPole on February 2, 2010 from Escalante, United States

Bye Bye South Pole
Escalante, United States
The past two weeks I have felt so excited and anxious about getting out of the cold and hitting some beaches down under. Those plans vanished when my boss presented our crew with the opportunity to work for an additional month. No one took the bait except for me and two others. I figured I needed the extra money because I don’t have a job lined up when I get back to the States. And I know I am going to travel the nations until my wallet tells me to go home. That equals a recipe for trouble so I thought I would earn an extra month to supplement my expenses. I also applied to work at McMurdo Base next year and thought this will be a good way to gauge if I would like to return or not. I could choose between here and the Pole. At McMurdo, the carpenters go on helicopters and small airplanes into remote locations to set up field camps for scientists. What better way to experience Antarctica than to camp on a glacier that no one has ever set foot upon.
So here I sit at McMurdo Base. I felt a lot mixed emotions today seeing all of my friends and coworkers boarding the airplane that would have dropped me off back in civilization. I hugged everyone and exchanged a few emails before I didn’t want to be in the cold anymore and turned around for warmth of the station. The other two guys who were originally going to work with me here, both boarded the plane to Christchurch as well. Each of them will winter over at different bases on the continent and were taking a week off before reporting to their respective locations. So here I sit alone once again.
Only McMurdo has about 6 times the station population that the South Pole does. The computer lab displays fewer computers for use and there is a 20 minute time limit. So although I now have 24 hour a day internet access it will still be a pain in the ass to use the computers. The temperature here is about 55 degrees warmer than what I have become accustomed to. I’ll be working inside too, from what I understand. If only I knew where to go. When the plane landed, I was dumped off and waited around for a shuttle bus to pick me up. The airstrip, just minutes from the base when I came here in November, no longer exists. The warm air melted all the snow, so instead of flags and runway, there is now a shimmering body of water. McMurdo is actually on an island in the middle of the Ross Sea. The shuttle bus driver quipped that the ride back to base would be 40 minutes.
That confused me, until I asked why. Minutes later I saw with my own two eyes. The same flat, white, sterile scene I have looked at day in and day out for three months vanquished and before me erupted 10,000 foot mountain peaks, bays of water, and volcanic rock forming hillsides. Once we got to McMurdo I noticed the complete lack of snow on the ground and even saw a guy walking around in shorts. Don’t think it’s warm; it’s still only twenty degrees as I type. But twenty feels down right pleasant after working in negative 55 wind-chill for the past week. I saw the first bird I’ve seen in three months glide in huge circles above me as I stared mesmerized. Soon I saw another and then another. I walked closer towards the water hoping perhaps to spot some penguins and seals. I saw neither so I wandered back to a main building.
I still didn’t know where my room was, where I was supposed to be working tomorrow, what time to be there, where my bags were or anything. I ate dinner in the galley looking around at all the new faces, but trying not to be too obvious that I was a newbie. I finally went to the general store and asked the clerk where I should go to find my room. She told me where housing was located and found an envelope with my name and key inside, dangling on one of several small hooks attatched to the door. They had been closed since the time I arrived. I huffed up a hill to the cargo area and grabbed my bags before heading to my room, complete with new roommate. Our beds are two feet apart. This should be interesting. I haven’t met him yet but from the looks of his bags, he’s from Arizona.
So as one door in my life closes, others open, and those will open more. I feel privileged and honored to have worked at the South Pole. I know most people at this base would like to even just take a photo next to the pole marker. I felt sad leaving today, even though I have been looking forward to the moment for some time. I said goodbye to friends I became quite close with. I'll miss their smiles and laughs, their sense of adventure, and our relationship. And while I will undoubtedly see some again, others I know, I just crossed paths with for a brief moment in each of our weird and wonderful stories.
written by  JCinTheSouthPole on February 7, 2010 from Escalante, United States

Penguins are cute and cuddly
Escalante, United States
For those wanting my email address it's shake801@yahoo.com ...
I left the two-mile-high polar plateau for the greener pastures of snow capped mountains and a dark blue sea, but my mind wasn't right. The first three days I worked at McMurdo were pure unadulterated mental anguish. Not so much the work itself, but the continual daydreaming of sleeping in, enjoying a leisurely breakfast, strolling to the beach, sipping beer, and going out to bars at night with my friends. Instead the days consisted of waking early, skipping breakfast because it wasn’t early enough, slogging through work, soaking saw dust, dirt, and glue into the porous cracks of my skin, and doing it all over the next day. Finally I accept my existence here and am becoming engaged with a work routine. I see a couple of familiar faces that were at the Pole for a week or two and made friends. Every day there is a new batch of Polies coming through McMurdo on their way to Christchurch. So I can hang out with them for a night, but Polies have a reputation of being mean to McMurdoites.
They make fun of people here wearing their extreme cold weather gear when it’s 20 degrees above zero. They don't like hearing McMurdoites say it's cold when it's usually 60 degrees colder at the Pole. They don’t like people bragging about being to Antarctica, when they are only on an island several miles off the coast of the continent at the bottom of the globe. They don’t like all the people and lines, etc. On the flip side, many of my new co-workers were very curious about my experiences at the Pole. First break at work on day one, resulted in a question and answer session. They were more interested in what I did than many people back home.
The Pole has a certain status here. Some who have been to Antarctica for over four years still can’t get there. I’m surprised I was even hired from the sounds of it. Others would like to go for one to three weeks, but not a whole season. The conditions are too extreme, temperatures too cold, and living conditions second class for those with a lack of ice time.
Polies have an ego, especially the construction workers who are outside for eight hours a day: they are the toughest workers on the planet. Perhaps it's true, but I guess if you’re not smart you at least better be tough. I was one of the five oldest guys on my crew. Most were young bad asses who could endure the intensity and even embrace it. I can picture them now in New Zealand, cruising around on motorcycles listening to hard rock music belted by an angry singer that sounds like Cookie Monster rudely awoken from a nap and then discovering all of his coookies eaten. Here, I am one of the three youngest guys on my crew and everyone is downright small-town nice. Just don't be an illegal alien breaking into their home. Then, they will shoot you in the face so you can't sue them.
I have found most to be quite pleasant and unpretentious. While I haven’t been bothered by lines at dinner or the bathroom at all, unlike my experience at the Pole, I was shocked when I went to a bar for a tape delayed broadcast of the Super Bowl, and had to squeeze my way through the sheer volumes of humanity. I was overwhelmed by how many people were in that one room, and am adjusting to different surroundings little by little.
My first shower was guilty pleasure. I am accustomed to taking two, two minute showers per week. And even then it was more a pain in the ass than it' was worth. Half the reason I made the effort was out of respect to others noses. I'd have to bundle up and walk outside in negative temperatures for twenty seconds just to immediately remove the excess layers for a drizzly nozzle squirting luke warm water on my body for a 120 seconds. Here, my room is right across the hallway from the bathroom. Easy for wearing shorts and flip flops. I felt down right gluttonous letting the hot water drain on me for as long as I did. The only items missing from my forray were a lawn chair, arm floaties, and six pack of beer. And when I go back to my nice, spacious room with a real ceiling and walls, I am all alone. The mystery man from Arizona disappeared without being seen. After day three his bags vanished, leaving me with the dorm to myself. All in all, things are good.
The scenery is spectacular and I see wildlife just about every day. On the ice shelf, several 600 pound Weddell seals bask in the sun. They are so far away though, they simply look like brown specks on an enormous white canvas. Wednesday morning I saw a whale surface from the deep blue Antarctic waters. Spray from his nostril blew towards the heavens before he disappeared again into the frozen sea. Seconds later the arch of his back crested slowly above the surface revealing a short dorsal fin. I couldn’t tell which kind it was, but minke and orcas are common in the area.
“There’s a whale” I exclaimed to a couple of coworkers.
“Yep, I guess you don’t see that every day at the Pole now, do you?” one replied.
Both glanced over with the enthusiasm of a New Yorker being told to look at street performers. Later I saw a dozen penguins below the water treatment plant across the road from where I am working. I sat down watching the entertaining way they walk. Each had rolls of fat drooping from their bellies as they waddled around the ice. A few were molting and feathers were strewn about the area. One had made a little nest out of dirt and was just lying inside it. I couldn’t tell if there was an egg, but it seems late in the season to be incubating. The adelies stood about two feet high and had striking and beautiful blue eyes in contrast to their black and white bodies. I climbed as close to them as they would permit me without walking the opposite direction. And as a gazed at their majesty, I could not help but wonder what they tasted like stewed or perhaps baked into a fine casserole.
written by  JCinTheSouthPole on February 14, 2010 from Escalante, United States

Hanging with the Kiwis
I ‘m curious about spending a winter in Antarctica. Seeing auroras, nacreous clouds, 24- hour sunsets, and stars unblemished by artificial light all intrigue me to no end. However, I'm scheduled to leave on the last plane departing the continent before winter bears its claws. The gradual exodus has resulted in the station population shrinking to the 150 people wintering over and the passengers, including myself, leaving on March 5th. It’s a ghost town compared to the big city of 1,200 to which I arrived a couple of weeks ago. While I have thought about staying for an additional nine months, it’s not happening. My criteria would be: having an enjoyable job, a laid back boss, and a cool chick to share a room with. I may have one. Perhaps two. But wishing for the magic combination of all three? I might as well expect a winning Powerball ticket. So instead I will turn my attention to New Zealand.
What better way to get an inside scoop, than to talk with some Kiwis. So I meandered two miles down the road to mingle with locals. New Zealand’s Scott Base is just on the other side of the 750 foot Observation Hill and once a week they have American Night at their bar. I walked in tepidly due to their hat policy. Still having customs of courtesy, the etiquette indicates that if you walk into the bar wearing a hat, you get the privilege of becoming everyone’s new best friend because you will have just bought them a round. I like my hats because it, uh, keeps my ears warm. That's it, keeps my ears warm.
I peeked inside and noticed several caps, beanies, and sweatshirts, so proceded with newfound confidence. Ordering a Speight’s I sat down and soon engaged in conversation with a friendly guy that looked apt to open a beer bottle with his teeth, spit the cap to the floor and hand you the bottle with a genuine smile. Three days worth of stubble littered his young but well weathered face. I had to focus as I listened to his thick accent.
“Come over to the map and I’ll show you where to go on the South Island.” he said.
“If I were you, I would start by heading north-west until you hit near Westport on the coast, and then make your way down towards Milford Sound. If you thought people in Christchurch were friendly, these people are four times nicer. You should really hit some small local bars there too. They serve great micro-draughts. It'll be quite an experience. People there remind me of this time I was in the States and stopped in some bar in West Virginia because it was so beat up. I only planned to see what it looked like inside for a couple of drinks but I ended up there two days straight hanging out with a bunch of toothless people .”
“Yeah that’s definitely the stereo-type, toothless hags.” I said.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to be offensive, but it was true though. Many of them were missing teeth. Still, they were a great bunch.”
“I went to bar like that in Montana a couple of years ago. My friends Bridget and Rachel moved there to be ski bunnies for a season. I went to visit 'em and one day we drove to Glacier National Park and our way back, we stumbled upon this little hole in the wall bar with rusted, well worn trucks equipped with gun racks on a dirt road. It was day light, around 6:00 p.m., but this place was like a Wild West saloon. In one corner people are yelling and about to fight, and no one else is even paying attention. Some people were slumped over the bar sleeping, and then there was a rowdy game of pool going on with money scattered all over the table. I half expected to see people swinging around in circles on ceiling fans. I wouldn't be more scared in a bar in the worst part of Brooklyn. We stayed for our beer before I wussed out and wanted to leave. We were way too yuppie in our Gore-Tex ski jackets to hang out long.”
“I love those types of places, they’re my favorite. And that is the best part of tramping. I don’t like to plan too much. It’s more fun to just see where the journey is going to take you and what crazy little places and people you’ll discover unexpectedly. Sometimes I go on a trip and don’t see one thing I had originally planned on seeing and yet it was the most fascinating tramp I’ve been on.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself. I do have a tentative plan for when I get to New Zealand but who knows where I’ll end up. I'd love to hit Queenstown, Milford Sound, and Abel Tasman. But other than that, I don’t know. I’ve never been there except the few days I was weathered in at Christchurch.”
“It just depends on what you want to do. If you want to avoid the crowds, there are many treks you can take, completely off the beaten path. I would check in with the D.O.C. though and let them know where you’re at and when you plan on returning. People die in those mountains every year. The weather can change extremely fast at high altitudes. But it’s some amazing county. Just make sure you have plenty of food and plan on boiling water. Giardia can be a problem.”
“Well the first thing I plan on doing when I get back to Christchurch is buying a tent, sleeping bag, and backpack. My thumb can get me from place to place I've heard.”
“No worries mate. Hitchhiking is really safe in New Zealand and if you tire of that, there are little mini buses you can catch from point to point.”
He was just as excited explaining the terrain as I was thinking about being there in a couple of weeks. When he finally finished and we were walking back to our seats, he suddenly remembered an area and we went back to the map where he proceeded showing me locations for an additional ten minutes. Then he joined some friends leaving the next day. I sat down to talk with a girl I had flown to Antarctica with, but hadn’t seen since.
Soon it was last call and the shuttle driver arrived to take us back to McMurdo. I looked out at all the huge Weddell seals dotting the landscape and wanted to return when the skies were clear and I could see the scenery better. And unlike the weenie, conservative American bureaucrat mentality of “we don’t want anyone to get hurt” (translation: we don’t want any lawsuits), the Kiwis even have their own snowboarding/ski hill complete with kickers and rope toe. Let freedom reign. Maybe next year I’ll bring my board down, but now I would just have to settle for watching it on TV.
The Armed Forces Network is broadcast here on station and right after my supervisor ejected a safety video, the image on the screen was Shaun White smiling from ear to ear after his fist Olympic run. I stuck around for the final round and dramatic conclusion with one of my co-workers from Pole who is wintering here. He lived in Colorado and used to get backstage passes each year at the X Games in Aspen. We both jumped out of our seats watching White pull his now famous Double McTwist 1260. The next night, my Mormon mommy complete with an Australian accent won gold in the woman’s halfpipe. Ahhhhhh If I could only be fifteen years younger. But most wishes will remain just that. Wishes. So while I won’t be meeting Torah Bright or seeing any auroras this year, the gods did bless me with a different unexpected fascination.
I haven’t seen nighttime in over 100 days. Yes I said it correctly, I haven't seen nighttime in over 100 days. Although I have seen the moon once or twice, dark skies and stars are distant recollections and mere memories in my head. But yesterday, when I left the bar, I saw the closest thing resembling a sunset in months. As the sun broke through the thick clouds that have covered the region for a week, a creamsicle-colored orange glow outlined the reappearing mountains across the ice shelf.
Silhouettes of each layer of ridgeline and peak, blended shades of pink and purple that looked like Georgia O’ Keefe pastels tinting the white Antarctic landscape. I walked closer to edge of town to escape the telephone poles, power lines, and ugly buildings obstructing my view. I stood soaking in the surreal colors and dramatic outlined shapes, not wanting to leave its dreamlike impression in my mind. But soon my teeth started to chatter and my muscles shook involuntarily from the cold, until finally I relented and turned my back to walk home. Before I closed my door I turned around for a final glance. The sight was one of the most beautiful to have ever seared me.

Snoring seals and lost penguins
The deep-blue open sea alluring me when I arrived back to Ross Island has froze into the solid mass that I first discovered it back in November. It’s hard to believe that the space I saw whales a couple of weeks ago, will be used to launch airplanes from in a few months. Snow drifts from 50 mile per hour winds have covered the ice in a white blanket. Grey skies and dropping temperatures have plagued the area for about ten days solid.
Taking advantage of an afternoon of sunshine, I went hiking with two women who are staying in Antarctica through the winter. We scrambled out to a trailhead and ascended to a ridgeline overlooking the remnants of the moving sea water. Still seeing one small patch of moving water we hoped a whale would come up to smell a smell, sniff a sniff and take a breath. Hundreds of feet below, seals slept on the ice sheet until their appetites called them back to their hunting grounds. Crepuscular rays broke through the clouds as wind gusts blasted through our clothing layers. Then piercing the solitude, we were interupted by loud honking as a group of four lost looking penguins came into our view.
It seemed like they saw our hiking party and wanted to join forces. I wanted to smuggle one home for baby niece Biggie, to play with. We stopped to see what they would do as they waddled directly for us. Soon they stopped too. At first I thought maybe we frightened them, but then noticed a pressure ridge blocking their path. They continued calling out into the crisp air but made no effort to cross the abrasion or find a way around it. They simply stood there not knowing what to do.
We resumed our ascent until a few paces later I spotted a group of about a dozen other penguins nestled patiently on our trail about fifty feet ahead. We couldn’t believe they had climbed up so high with their tiny little legs. They sat motionless, except for a few molting feathers getting blown by a sudden wind burst. The poor ones below kept crying out to the larger group, to no response. We snapped a couple of pictures and continued around them. The rule is you are not allowed to get close enough to wildlife that it moves. There goes my kidnapping plans. Sorry Biggie, I'll buy you some Cuban cigars instead. When we reached a bend where the mountain obscures the view, we looked back and saw the little pocket of four in the same spot as when we had first seen them.
As we continued, we linked up with the road that goes to Scott Base. One of the women departed back to McMurdo, while the other and I took a right turn and trekked the two miles to New Zealand’s base. We walked into the bar to the astonishment of others because it was already time for the final shuttle van to arrive. We passed on the ride to McMurdo and decided to walk back when we wanted. With all the Americans gone, the only patrons remaining were six winter-overs at that base, and the two of us. One drink led to another as the minutes drifted by. The differences in customs between various countries are always quite interesting to me. Closing time in the American bar leads to the bartender yelling last call and then promptly and sometimes forcefully ushering everyone out the door as soon as possible.
Here though, the bartender simply disappeared one moment without saying a word. I thought she had left to use the bathroom or something, only she never came back. At this point, four of us conversed in the dull grey light slumping through the windows. One of the Kiwis grabbed the same beer can to take a sip before realizing it was empty about a half dozen times. Each time he did it, I smiled watching him want that next sip so bad and then looking disappointed it wasn't there. If I would have known him better I would have burst out laughing. Finally, to my surprise, he simply walked behind the bar and asked if anyone else wanted a drink and then proceeded to ring up the booze himself.
What a great concept, I thought; a self-serve bar. One guy hanging out with us was the same I had met last week who showed me the map of the South Island. The other had his head shaved bald, sported a fu-manchu moustache, and wore a Harley Davidson shirt. His appearance was in stark contrast to his voice, vocabulary, and diction which sounded like an Oxford University professor. I think I may raise my children in a country that speaks the Queen’s English, so they’ll sound intelligent no matter what. Strangers always think I smoke a lot of dope and eat Chipwiches and Cheetos, just because I talk a little slow.
We stayed until after 2:00 in the morning before deciding to leave. Outside, the air was silent and frigid, our footsteps creating the only sound. We walked to the edge of land, where the volcanic dirt meets the sea ice, closer to a group of seals. Suddenly, a deep low groaning accompanied by heavy breathing pierced the quiet calm. We approached a pressure ridge that had a few icy formations resembling giant mushrooms or hoodoos in Goblin Valley. The noises grew louder and more intense and soon I began thinking a seal laid near our feet, hidden by one of the structures. I realized it was just an echo reflecting off the ice as additional sounds in the distance erupted from the tens of other seals littered throughout the area.
The clamor conjured up images that I was not in fact in Antarctica, but in some tropical jungle, for some sounds resembled giant insects, monkeys or birds. I felt like I was in such a wild and remote area of the Earth and it was such a privilege to be here. The seal closest to us, arched his back several times while grunting, before flipping over to reveal his spotted underside. His flipper rubbed his belly and I could relate to needing a good scratch.
Soaking in the moment for a moment we decided to start our walk back to McMurdo having already hiked nearly 5 miles that evening. The air had shifted and the wind began to blow hard as small snowflakes peppered the dirt road. Giant wind turbines spun swiftly on top of an adjacent peak, producing half of the stations energy supply. I zipped my coat up and put my hood up for the walk home. I had a rough morning trying to get out of bed and to the power plant for work on time but made it, although, I did miss breakfast and dinner for the next two days to catch up on sleep. Now, I enter the final week of my season here. I only have three more work days and Friday I’ll be in New Zealand for my next adventures. While I will bypass the Cheetos, I may be seeking that elusive back scratch.

Off the Ice and Hopefully Into the Wild.
Queenstown, New Zealand
Antarctica seems but a dream. While some were having a hard time adjusting to civilization, life is back to normal for me. The fact that I lived at the South Pole for three months is what I can't believe. I feel happy I stayed at McMurdo for an extra month, but was also ready to leave when when the time came. In contrast to our military flight in, which only had two small windows upfront, 44 of us flew out on a commercial Airbus and I made sure to get a window seat. It gave me a whole different perspective of the continent seeing the glaciers, mountains and valleys, open seas and ice shelves. As I watched the white landscape change to pure blue, I followed my typical in-flight routine and feel asleep until the plane began its final descent into New Zealand.
I grabbed my luggage off the carousel and placed it on a free cart before jumping on and riding it like a skateboard once I got outside. The warm breeze and humid air felt euphoric against my sleeveless arms. I checked in all of my cold weather gear at the Antarctic Clothing Distribution Center and joined others to hop on the shuttle into the city. In town, we noticed a group of four women dressed as pirate maidens strutting to some sort of costume or dance party. A few blocks later another group of maidens. Then a different quad with pink hair in fairy costumes. We had been in a place where the male to female ratio had been 4 to 1. I forgot the general populous was 50/50. Then I saw a most peculiar creature, otherwise known as a baby. Haven't seen a live one of those in a while. It's like viewing photos of a penguin and then when you see one in real life you think, 'Ohhh wow look at that mythical being, they are real.' And then I saw a small child and then an elderly man. Then some more girls with blue and green wigs. It was land of the freaks. It just showed me how much staying in one environment for a period of time brain washes you to a certain extent.
Sitting in the hotel check-in line, four young women in Catholic school girl outfits approached us to ask a question. We just looked at each other and started laughing. The first words a civilian in the real world uttered to us were, “Do you have any ribbed condoms?” Apparently it was for some scavenger hunt or a bachelorette party, I don’t remember. They continued asking other people nearby as I moved forward in the queue and got my room number at the looks-like-Apple-designed-it, Hotel So. The trendy rooms weren’t liked by all the roughnecks from the ice but I enjoyed it. Later that night I met up with a couple of the guys I knew from the Pole.
The dynamic between the two was like hanging out with Bert and Ernie. One was a deliberate, conservative in demeanor, Ivy League graduate from New England. The other was a Texan who worked on oil rigs and has a girlfriend that wants him to get a job in Kuwait so he can't do anything immoral or they'll chop off his offending member or hand. All night long, without his girlfriend watching, The Texan would goad and prod the Ivy Leaguer into drinking faster than just one beer an hour, drinking more than just two or three beers a night, and staying out later than midnight. I laughed the entire evening, they were like movie characters. Our journey started with me feeling really old from looking at all the young looking people in line. The girl in front of us started a conversation by noticing my pale arms and gleefully exclaiming “You’re just as white as I am,” before bursting out in laughter.
We started talking a little bit, but I had to ask how old she was. She started giggling again and said “I’m 27. Ha ha ha ha yeah I’m 27.” She showed me her ID which looked like a gym membership. Suddenly something dawned on me as I scanned the crowd. I looked at her and said, “Yeah I’m 27 too, just like you are, only the opposite direction.” Translation: I was just as close to age 27 as she. The legal drinking age in New Zealand, like the majority of the world, is 18. Her fake ID made me want to get my almost 37 year old ass out of there in a hurry, as I could picture my sister calling me a sicko with a look of disgust on her face. We ended up not going inside and finding a more mixed crowd but I had other problems. Usually foreign people in New York love talking with me because I speak English so slow they can actually understand someone, but here I just talk, umm, I’ll say exotic. I ordered my drink three times before the bartender could comprehend my words. I'm having trouble with their accents once in a while too.
I walked into a bathroom and was about to enter a private stall, when I heard an angelic voice calling to me. I looked up and saw a beautiful blond woman dressed up in a French Maid costume. Yes, another one from the costume party thing, I love this country. I smiled big, excited that she struck up a conversation with me, but had to excuse myself because I couldn’t understand what she said. Looking her in the eye, I focused with all the concentration I could muster, embarrassed to make her reiterate her words a third time.
“Um excuse me sir, you’re in the woman’s bathroom. “ she repeated. My giddy smile turned to a look of complete terror as I looked around. Through the propped open door I could see men entering and exiting a room just on the other side of the hallway. Where were they before and why hadn’t I seen any signs? AHHHHH. I meekly apologized, tucked my tail between my legs and scurried out. In hindsight I should have just started a new conversation like nothing was wrong, but I always think of things too late. Several bars in New York have unisex wash stations with stalls in separate individual small rooms. It never occurred to me that it was strange for a woman to be striking up a conversation with me in a restroom. I trotted back upstairs laughing about the situation. There, Ernie was pushing Bert to go to a nudie club. With my vote we stayed away and simply ended up at another nearby bar before calling it a night.The next day I went to a professional rugby game and then met up with those two for another interesting time. They both left Sunday morning though, while I slept in and ate a nice brunch around 1:30 in the afternoon.
I walked around in the foothills of Christchurch, through the botanical gardens, and got a relaxing Thai massage. Looking for lunch one day, I wanted something authentic and searched for an ethnic restaurant with native people eating inside. I found my spot, Sala Thai, and promptly asked for a table. They gave me a table alright, one directly in a corner. Either seat I choose had a grand view of the wall in front of me. I had to turn my body sideways between bites to face out into the room to observe the subdued scene. There were even empty tables. I guess they didn't like my pale skin either. I finished my meal and went looking for backpacking gear. In one of the stores I bumped into a young woman I knew from the Pole. She had been trekking for the past four days in an area called Arthur’s Pass and was on her way to the South Pacific Island, Vanuatu. We made dinner plans and met up with another couple that evening before saying goodbye again.
The next day I took a nine hour bus ride through the Canterbury Plains, through the Southern Alps and down to Queenstown. The town would be well described as the offspring of opulent and chic Park City and adventure driven and adrenaline riddled Moab. As long as we are pretending, the setting reminds me of what that mythical town would look like on the edge of a massive lake at the top of Little Cottonwood Canyon. As for now, the tourists in town are mostly from Australia, The U.K., France and Germany from the sounds of things. Aside from nationality, they also seem to fall into two categories. The first, foreign baby boomers with sweaters draped over their backs and shoulders like a superman cape or like they are going to a tennis match. All the fine dinning establishments have several groups of this type sipping overpriced wine and engaged in clever conversation.
The other segment of typical tourist here is young twenty-somethings wearing swim trunks, flip flops and t-shirts looking like they are heading to the beach. This group stays at hostels and buys their peanut butter and jelly at the grocery store so they can have more money for cheap booze. While I don't fit in with either contingent, it's a simple guess on which side of the fence I landed. Case in point, last night my roommates were four spicy Swedish meatballs. Haven’t seen tonight’s cast that came here looking for extreme sports, but I'm sure I'll meet them around four in the morning. I'm hoping for curvy hips, sweet dispositions, and need help in speaking English. Just so I can point them to the nearest info booth to buy a hang gliding excursion.
Some of the brochures I've seen for the action sports, include bungy jumping off a bridge the length of 1 1/2 football fields, jetboating through narrow canyons at high speeds, and skydiving. I've heard of people driving Formula One race cars. But the best activity I've seen was paying $400 dollars to drive a huge military tank. And for an extra 400 you can even crush and roll over a car. All prices are NZD, for the redneck in all of us.
As for me, I think I’m going to be holed up here for a couple of days because the weather is turning sour. I’ll try to wait it out so I can do the Rees-Dart Trek. It’s about 50 miles long and will take 4 or 5 days. I don't want to do it in the rain, mud, swollen rivers and obstructed mountain views. I may do the bungy jump in the meanwhile, but the $230 price tag is creating more hesitation than the fear of staring off the edge and getting the nerve to leap. I might end up just moving out of town. We’ll see if I get too antsy waiting for sunshine while messy roommates leave shaved facial hair in the bathroom sink and fart repeatedly at night.
written by  JCinTheSouthPole on March 10, 2010 from Queenstown, New Zealand