The science lecture tonight covered the background of solar weather - the interaction between our sun and the varying systems of the Earths magnetosphere and atmosphere. Central to the lecture was the cause and the basics of the Aurora, of the shimmering, shifting pools of light above our heads.

There’s a story connected to this I love to tell but it’s best done so around a fire, under the moving skies themselves. I’ll save the story but offer this:

I know that the auroras are caused by the interaction between the particles of the solar wind and the upper atmosphere of the Earth, that particles from the sun sliding down into our atmosphere at the magnetic poles excite the electrons in the molecules of nitrogen and oxygen, that when those excited electrons return to their static states they release light in varying wavelengths, that the light released shines in a set oval depending on the magnetic fields of the Earth, that the light released is what we call the auroras… I know all this. When I stare up into the sky and watch the stars hide behind a pulsating band of green or a writhing shield of red, the science is not the first thing, however, that comes to my mind. When I try to hold the sky within my sight, all that I can think of is magic.

If you’d like a taste of what we see nearly daily - a taste of why I’m here, take a look at the pictures.

Posted by noblehobo at 10:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The other night, in a severe bout of insomnia, I looked to writing to clear my head. I plied my history, digging back into former jobs, former homes, former loves. I piled history up as numbers and statistics, titles and positions, locations and places. At the age of twenty-nine it appears that I’ve been through several mid-life crises, am still in the process of growing up, and have loved fiercely if not terribly long-term. Based on the statistics and stories that I pulled together I think I more than adequately fit the title of this site, of a noble hobo.

Some examples culled from the sleepless nights of the South Pole:

I have held over twenty different jobs with a variety of organizations and groups, leaving each for good reasons or the end of contracts - I’ve never once been fired or let go. At varying points in my life I’ve been a short-order cook, grocery store grunt, audio-visual technician, interactive television consultant, general laborer, graphic designer, freelance designer, president of a 250 member student organization, wilderness trail laborer, crew leader, youth leader, alternative teacher, heavy equipment operator, prep cook, materialsperson, logistics coordinator, project manager, technical consultant, help desk, emergency response on scene command, artist, amateur writer, political organizer, system administrator and wilderness first responder. I’ve volunteered and worked for others, worked for the government, owned my own design firm, and held my own in the wilderness for extended periods of time. I’ve experience as a state-level participant in discussion, in presenting and debating issues and budgets with college school boards, with a variety of protests and protest groups, have learned financial balance the hard way (and recovered), have a background in music and theater, know the basics of climbing, kayaking (whitewater and flatwater), and am well-experienced in backpacking and hiking. I’ve traveled to foreign countries, speak some Spanish, have seen most of the United States, have been detained, have made various newspapers for both good and bad reasons, and seem to have a talent for moving into positions and pursuits under qualified but coming out with a growing expertise and success.

I have moved thirty-four times in my life, thirteen of which took place before I graduated high school. I have lived in seventeen different places (I tend to leave and come back a lot - just ask my friends in Duluth) ranging from the states of the midwest to the shores of Lake Superior, from Chicago to the forests of the great Sequoias in California, from the mountains of Vermont to the hills of Isle Royale, and to the wide expanse that is Antarctica. I have lived in everything from tents (canvas and nylon) to 2000 square foot lofts in downtown Chicago and from giant, multi-bedroom homes (the Lemondrop) to isolated lake cabins.

I have loved six women in my life, known more, and have seen a future with three women. Not that I’ve been permanently successful in my long term pursuits but I have tried, have had others sacrifice for me and have sacrificed for others. I’ve had my heart broken and broken hearts. I’ve known many friends and acquaintances, strive to offer others what they offer me, have been taught the meaning of loyalty by a very good, very old friend, have been able to offer a good word toward friends seeking particular jobs, have been offered such in return, and am learning just how small the world really is.

I’ve done a lot and experienced a great deal. The kicker is that I’ve got plenty more to see and do - that for all I’ve done I continue to look up to those around me with admiration, astonishment, and awe. I’m fortunate to be surrounded by many others who pursue life as I do both here and in the real world, many others of whom inspire me to continue to learn. Instead of an odd man out with a few others to lean on, in the world of Antarctica, I’m in a collection of my peers.

Posted by noblehobo at 11:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

We glamorize warfare as a society, build games, movies, and sports around the idea of the ultimate competition, around a testosterone-filled pursuit of some greater ideal or something so crass as beating a demonized enemy to a pulp. As a culture we look toward the patriotic charisma of the clean-cut soldiers image, flag waving in the background. Media pumps this relentlessly.

As a culture we recognize the costs of war in statistics, in numbers. Rare are the moments, the articles, the movies or documentaries that so pay attention to the sacrifices necessary to perpetuate it. Instead, the soldiers pay in their lives, their limbs, their minds. They pay when they lose friends, brothers, sisters. Their families bear the burden of their loss, of their changes physical and mental, of their forever-altered world. Their parents, children, husbands, wives, cousins…the costs run manifold through individual lives. But as a culture, as a whole, what do we pay in exchange for such sacrifice? What precautions do we take to ensure that as a nation we do not ask for such sacrifice unnecessarily?

Tonight, in recognition of the anniversary of D-Day, two other friends and I watched Saving Private Ryan. It brought again a reminder of the sacrifices laid down by the many soldiers of World War II, by the many men and women who laid down so much for something so clear. It brought to focus how much we ask of someone so young when we send a teenager to fight. How much a person can offer to another, to give the ultimate gift, a life.

How again can we ensure that as a nation we do not ask for this, for the ultimate sacrifice, without just cause? And how, as a culture, as a person, do we take the time to remember, to honor, and to continually value that which has been offered?

_______________

In the story set out in Saving Private Ryan, many good young men die to save one man. Ryan, the one man, is told by the dying captain of those sent to save him to earn what he has been given. Simple words, “earn it.” Told to live a life that is worth the deaths of many others.

Ryan, aged, returns to the cemetery at Normandy to say thank you to the men who offered him life with theirs. He tells them that he tried to lead a good life, tried to be a good man. What morality would you carry if holding it forth for such a sacrifice?

And who do you hold your morality for? When striving to be a good person, to grow, to better yourself - who for? Do you do it for yourself? For your family? Your husband? Your wife? God? A friend? A lover? Someone who died for you? To whom do you offer your mistakes and accidents, foibles and faults for forgiveness? For challenges overcome, to whom do you offer your pride?

I have not been to war, but I offer some amount toward those who go forth as they were asked. I am not a religious man, but I strive to grow for the wide circle of humanity. I am not as tightly knit with the people I am related to as could be, but I seek to match, to follow and exceed the example set by the good I have seen in my family, in my mother, in my father. I am friends with many, close with few, but offer to those I love as much I can in return for the kindness granted me. I make mistakes, as we all do, and my intentions are often far greater than my actions, but I ask forgiveness from those I know as I learn how to forgive in return.

I am far from a perfect man, but I work to be a good man, to become a better man.

Posted by noblehobo at 11:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Played chess tonight for the first time in years. Funny enough, the last time I dragged out a board was four years ago in the same place with an old friend for Whisky Wednesdays. He and I were the only people on station with Wednesdays off (we were both on the Galley schedule) and took advantage of the time to drink ourselves silly playing intellectual games (chess, go, risk, connect four, etc.). But I digress.

I played chess tonight and lost. No biggie on that account, there’ll be more games to come. What was worth noting was both a good moment with a good friend and a remembrance of the give and take of strategy. In games and life (though it’s far easier to see and think through on a board) I forget how much I enjoy a challenge that leaves you searching a constantly changing scene for answers. Whether the solutions work or not (not so much today) there is something uniquely rewarding about giving the best with what you have, then having to reevaluate and do the same the next turn. There are great analogies to be found in decisions over what to risk, what is worth taking a stand on, and withdrawing to a point of greater strength.

We have sixty individuals on station and as such, sixty different approaches to issues that arise, sixty different styles of compliment and criticism, sixty different viewpoints… When an issue comes up that involves the whole community in a public response, there is as much intrigue for me to see differing approaches as there can be frustration. A number of us joke about the psychological experiment that we’re taking part in but that’s what it is. Short of the horrors and stresses of war and disaster, few other planned opportunities will test the human mind and spirit like the long dark of an Antarctic winter. If one can observe as well as react (kudos to anyone with the strength to hold back their own personal feelings, if such a person exists), there is a great opportunity to learn how others and self tick.

News came my way today as well regarding several dreams that are no longer possible to pursue - at least not in the context first imagined. Tonight, in response, I took stock in my place, my resources, and my goals. I reevaluated the scene, looked at what is important, and chose to explore opportunities for the next year in a different fashion.

I’ve a few moves to make yet, as does the world, but I can see a potential check-mate on the horizon.

___________

Also, music.

I forgot how damn nice it is to have such easy access to the collections of tunes of others. There are few places (short college) to have so many different influences tossed your way and to toss so many back. On top of that, we have a number of very talented musicians here this year, so I catch my fix for live shows as well.

Really, I can’t complain. Maybe I’m easy to please but the benefits still outweigh the annoyances. This place still makes a good home.

Posted by noblehobo at 10:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Not too bad a day following the mystery hours between years.*

I woke up late to a phone call from old friends spending time working in Greenland,** made a couple more phone calls, had a lazy breakfast, and then split the eve between two regularly scheduled movie bouts (horror and space, Ghost Ship and October Sky, respectively) and a lecture put on by Keith, one of our two Ten Meter Telescope scientists. Keith has been putting on a series of lectures about the more bizarre areas of science from quantum mechanics to the theories of specific and general relativity. He’s basically taking a large number of lay-folk through an English translation of where science no longer equates to the empirical reality we see everyday, to where the explanation of a theory resembles science fiction and dream as much as it does fact.

Afterward, I wandered off for a late-night sauna and close to my day, only to find another couple of Polies present. Good people, both, but I’m apparently becoming an introvert as I grow older and the winter life here is only emphasizing that. I hung back until they left, ready for silence in the dark.

I’m realizing that there is a great deal more satisfaction for me to be found in the company of a good friend, a book, or writing. Maybe this is an outgrowth of the comfort of a few good friends conversing around a wood stove or a campfire. I’m a far different man now, however, than the one who used to refuse his girlfriend calling him to bed in the middle of a party during college. I’ve (thankfully) learned that lesson - I no longer need to hang on to see the end of every social function, no longer feel that I might be missing something. I’m far more content to spend time with those close and with self than in my past.

On a different note, the rumor mill has been good for laughs lately. It seems that life at the other stations on continent must be rather boring (or at least at McMurdo) as all manner of interesting tales about the South Pole station have found their way back to us, none of them true. I’m also intrigued by what fact I know about friends at other stations when it comes to the stories that find their way here. Scuttlebutt, it seems, travels faster than anything else in Antarctica.

*The mystery hours were a term put forth by a friend some time ago - the space between one year and the next, the idea that you go to sleep at twenty-eight, to wake up twenty-nine, with a great unknown in dream spanning the distance between the two ages.

**Catch that - a phone call from a remote field camp in Greenland to a winterover at the South Pole. We really do live in interesting times.

Posted by noblehobo at 12:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Small moments of serendipity find me occasionally.

Tonight, I had a broiling contention and perspective on humanity and a need to find words with which to share it. I tend to procrastinate before writing, to clean my room, read another’s words, make a phone call, watch tv… Anything but do what I intend, anything to put off something that I know will be good for me. I haven’t yet figured that one out.

In the midst of the procrastination, however, I ran across someone who stated it so eloquently, all I can do is point you in her direction. You’d best listen to the song too.

Here.

Posted by noblehobo at 10:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

My friends are an adventurous bunch, all told. Their lives run the gamut from the pragmatic to the fantastic, from raising children outside the status quo to building a business, from forging a path as a graphic design provocateur to mapping the chemistry of the human mind, from hiking the highest mountain passes in Nepal to volunteering time and sweat in Guatemala, from photographic projects in the midst of fruition to writing best-selling novels…

Some that I know see my life as an outlandish adventure as well, they place me in an ‘other’ category reserved for whimsical, questioning, and admiring looks. I see myself in a group of peers, tangling a path that is distinct but not so unique in its encounters. We’re all still a part of the human condition, we all explore learning to be human.

Here, in the midst of the travelers, the artists, the generalists and the roustabouts that collect in Antarctic jobs, here dreams are traded as shared past or longed for future. Fears are parlayed as we look to the next pursuit that will humble us, leave us laughing, astounded, tired, and happy. Anything but bored.

This is a tame place in some regards - the daily moments tend toward the mundane - the breathtaking spread out widely over the year. Still, we exist in such a unique way - a morphing, conversing, cavorting mass of family, bonded by isolation and shared experience. The mundane offers us the opportunity to trade our stories and pursuits, to gather our dreams for the future from the great diaspora of them here.

For me, it’s too early to dream in specifics - we’ve much of our season (over five months) yet to pass. On the other hand, dreaming wide, in possibilities - that I can excel at.

The dreaming breaks down into phases. There are aspects of post-ice travel, of the unknown in the next year and my next job, and of the much larger unknown of the rest of life. The short-term, the travel, is easy.

After leaving the ice I’ll have about a month and a half to tool around before a return home for Christmas. Time in New Zealand is a given being we are dropped off in that paradise. I know there will be hiking, beaches, an attempt at surfing, biking, and general lounge-about laziness but the specific trails and ocean-sides are yet to unfold. I’d like to grab a trip to Hawaii as well, an easy stop off for the way home.

As for the next year, for the next several, I’ve a few different ideas tossing around in the dream fog. Many of the ideas were born here at the South Pole through the spark of inspiration brought by those mentioned above. Many come from friends stateside, some from books, some from random encounters. All of the ideas are stewing, boiling in broth that guarantees something interesting ought come out.

More on that tomorrow. For now, sleep.

For a slice of life here though, Heidi does a great job of describing a barbecue that our Heavy Shop crew threw together this past weekend. In this chunk of the world, that means grilling at -80 F.

Posted by noblehobo at 12:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I spent some time outside today (a rarity for my job), walking about a mile to an outlying building to get some information from a few pieces of equipment.

I remember days when the entire state of Minnesota shutdown due to cold and wind (-20 to -40 F temps and a windchill of -50 to -80 F). All schools were closed, all government funded jobs, and many private schools and jobs as well. The highways closed (due to the wind and drifting) and in general everything shut down tight for a couple of days.

Short the joy of getting out of school, I remember griping at the bitter cold that day. My walk this afternoon? It was set to a wind chill of -120 F and an ambient temp of -80 F. All the more proof that if you prepare for a situation correctly, it’s a non-issue. I was toasty warm.

Dressing up for these temps leaves me feeling like an astronaut - several layers underneath, followed by puffy down coats and a face so covered that only a space slightly smaller than your eyes is open. You’ve no peripheral vision and end up having to bend at the waist to see your feet when going down stairs. Sound is muffled by the layers and by your own breathing and glasses and goggles are nearly impossible to use without fogging up.

With the wind kicking heavy and the moon obscured by clouds, the drifts are a surprising part of walking - as in into them or off of them with little or no notice. If we could see each other in the dark outside, we would all be stumbling. For a good chunk of time, with the blowing snow and lack of light, I could only see one or two of the flags from our flag lines running in either direction. The station proper disappeared quickly from view.

Amazingly enough, in the dark, with next to no visibility, in the coldest temperatures I have yet encountered, on a walk alone to empty buildings, hundreds of miles from no where (and our station hidden from view), I was comfortable and calm. It was the moon that scared the crap out of me.

Caught from the (mostly covered) corner of my eye, its bright light in a temporary cloud break had me do a double take and a jump. I paused after that, to catch my breath. Looking around, even though the horizon was blurred, I took in the view. The stars above me were brilliant, the Southern Lights were dancing faintly overhead, and the snow, moving across the dunes and gathered from the coast hundreds of miles away, was blowing fierce patterns beneath the moon.

I could gripe, could complain about our barren, cold, dark, wasteland of a home, but to do that? I’d be forsaking its true worth. I would be blind while still seeing.

Posted by noblehobo at 11:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Sam Elliot once told me,
in a dream,
that I didn’t know how to use a rifle.
Cowboy knowledge, solid and assured,
that cut to the quick.
Now I, mythological to self,
keep saying
that I don’t know how to love.
Except that I’m not a cowboy
and can’t grow that mean a mustache
nor wield a rifle.
So how, then, to love?

Posted by noblehobo at 01:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

We have a good deal of time available to us here. While we work (job dependent) anywhere from fifty-four to eighty hours a week, we are able to skip many of the time-consuming portions of life off-continent. There is no commute greater than a half-mile walk (most are no greater than a couple hundred feet), meals are prepared and cooked for us, cleaning is done weekly as part of the work day, we have no dependents immediately with us, and our personal possessions to care for are few.

Barring emergencies and broken equipment, when we finish up with work, we are immediately done and on our own recognizance sans responsibilities. This leaves plenty of time to think.

Add a ratio of ten women to fifty men in the winter isolation, and it becomes easy to not lose time to dating or the building of a relationship.

Casual dating is weighed differently here as we are all working and living shoulder to shoulder for the next six months. Relationships are similar. Romance moves at a curious speed over the winter, often more carefully than it does stateside, and definitely not in the hormone-fueled, camp counselor drama style of the summer season. Not everyone acts in this regard, but stable friendships carry more weight than casual risk.

Sans dating and/or love, however, and with the time available that we have, it becomes easy to step into the past and look at former lovers, to analyze and theorize, to play the “where did I go wrong” game. When I slip into that mindset, it never ceases to amaze me how different not only I am, but how different my former partners are. It’s intriguing to look at their lives (those whom I’ve stayed in touch with) and where our paths diverged to where they are now.

There have been scars, healed now into interesting characters, and marks of the good kind, those that leave you stronger, more wise, more gentle and patient. There are moments of all manner that still hold a laugh, a wicked smile, or wincing pain. There are thoughts which lead to phone calls and the simple art of sharing that which you still can, of sharing the lives and memories you built together, and the feeling, unlike any other, the mix of respect, distance, nostalgia, lust, regret, and love all tied into the last few seconds before hanging up the phone.

There is silence too, of the nature needed to move beyond difficulties not worth overcoming, hard-fought lessons in forgive and forget, with the former still a work in progress. A silence more difficult than the myriad emotions left in friends turned lovers turned friends. A path not easy but one which the feet and the gut know is the right direction.

So what’s the point of all of this esoteric rambling? Just that of looking back, of remembering and smiling at all the good and all the bad and the fact that I’m still here, still capable of love and hope, still laughing, and still dancing (any takers?). That of gratitude, for those I’ve been able to share the closest of human connection with, for those I still love, and for all the parts of the man that I am now that come from my past.

We certainly weren’t perfect, we certainly didn’t last, but we wrote our own unique story, left our marks on each other, and left our marks on the world.

And that is a thought that I can sleep on.

Posted by noblehobo at 01:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)