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.