We touched down in the Christchurch, New Zealand airport Thursday night, November 13, at 7:24 PM. Christchurch has a sense to it, a feeling based on the weather, the nearby ocean, and flowering spring. That sense of life, of the city-soul, made it's way into the plane before we were even able to leave. It led us to the door with frantically waving arms to emerge to a new sky. The sun was low on horizon, the clouds brilliant, and the humidity welcome like the best of old friends.

I first landed in Antarctica on October 9, 2007. For four-hundred days I never once left the continent.

My feet now know other land again - grass, pavement, crowds, sand, ocean-water, and cool, moist dirt. My eyes bear witness to color that has been in poor abundance, my nose is lost in the scent of a fresh-blooming summer, and my ears are ringing with the calls of unfamiliar birds.

I came out on nearly the last flight of winterovers from Pole. Of the sixty of us who spent the winter together, only two are yet in Antarctica. The remainder of us have flown to the various winds, seeking travel, home, and friends as necessary for us to adjust back to normalcy. There aren't many of us left in Christchurch but we're easy to spot. If you walk through the Botanical Gardens, we're the only barefoot people wandering through the grass. We might be bending over to stick our nose in a flower bed for a few minutes or be lost in watching the bees at work. Could be we're just staring at new clouds in the sky with a dumb-founded grin.

The horizons are thick with new things, experiences lacking over the last thirteen months. Simple things like going to sleep in the dark and waking to the sun, the humidity and warmth of the air, city noises, strangers, having a choice of food... All are part of a great myriad of things that many of us take for granted.

I've been told that this would be a shock to my system, that I would be incapable (at moments) of comprehension, prone to panic or simply wanting to leave to the quite of my Pole family. While its true that there is a great deal yet for me to encounter, my reactions have been calm and I've been proud at how my head has wrapped itself around the experiences of my return.

Call it a Zen Buddhist state of mind - enjoying and accepting each experience but letting go before it can overwhelm. A lifetime of moving, changing schools, homes, careers, friends...it has left me resilient to culture shock. While far from a purposeful pursuit, I have been born, bred, and built to be a traveler, a contract-work explorer. Stasis confounds me. Being on the move does not.

Having spoken with many friends about this, about their similar needs to travel, to move, and having dug into the archives of history to read up on the hobo lifestyle of the turn of the century, it turns out that we are it. Those of us in the world bouncing from country to country, job to job, community to community - we are the post-modern, globalized evolution of the old hobo.

Posted by noblehobo at 8:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Radios are beeping ceaselessly, the galley had a line for food for the first time in months, questions for the IT department are coming in rapid-fire, and new faces keep popping up where no one previously tread.

The first load of new folk came in yesterday and the mayhem on station has multiplied many-fold.

We're fortunate to have a 'soft' opening - up to seven flights (weather dependent) of the Basler over ten days, only seventeen people per flight. It gives us a chance to acclimate to the new people and the summer pace without such a shock to our system - a little bit at a time.

Previous to last year, the first day of station opening held three flights of the LC-130 aircraft. Isolated winterovers suddenly had to deal with the station population tripling - 120 new people thrown at them in a rush.

The altitude plays hell with newly arrived folk. As winterovers seek quiet from the hubub we've coined our altitude-affected replacements the, "hypoxic avengers".

______

Many of the other winter-overs are keeping up a good run on our lives here as well. Give them a read. Also, I've added Keith, our Canadian cosmologist to the mix.

Posted by noblehobo at 12:57 PM | Permalink

The first plane to land came through just a few minutes past - the Basler (a modified DC-3) stopped to fuel on its way to McMurdo station. We stood on the deck, laughing in the sun (-60 F), counting the new pairs of legs on the ground in the fuel pit.

In two hours one of the Twin Otters (another small plane used in deep field access) will land. The pilots will spend the night. They will be the first new faces we will have seen in our home since February fifteenth.

The orange people are coming.

(that would be the tan people, as opposed to our near-translucent skin)

Posted by noblehobo at 10:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Regarding the long winter's effects on our short-term memory, a quote from a friend:

"I left work to go to the bathroom and walked right by it. About a hundred feet down the hall I remembered...I forgot that I had to pee."

Posted by noblehobo at 12:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

You encounter, over winter, a tremendous range of the human condition. Few places outside of warfare bring about the close-quarter mess and encounter that emotion and reason go through in a South Pole winter. I came expecting to encounter tests and challenges in droves, in large dramatic moments. Instead, I've found subtlety and self.

Time and the steadiness of the long dark lead to interactions that last over days and weeks, the drama spread as thin. Encounters are not so alien to those of the outside world but we cannot leave or escape at the end of the day. There is an ebb and flow to our patience, our anger, our satisfaction, our resentment.

In the rush of station opening, the long ebb and flow is building. Tempers and patience are short, arguments quick and hot, and reason requires a great deal more mental effort than usual.

I find my own patience tested regularly, find my own depth of calm far more shallow than I would like. I am tired, worn-down from a year of mental drain. I do not listen well right now, I am far less likely to compromise, and my anger rises quickly. We retreat to those friends who know us well enough to shrug off our quirks, to those whose patience is rarely tested by our actions.

I do count myself fortunate, however, that I still retain the ability to step back and look at how I am reacting. While not always the perfect response, it offers a chance to step away from a reaction that would be permanently damaging and to rectify my actions in the future.

My perspective is clear, even if my ability to control it is not.

How I change as I recover from the winter will be enlightening.

Posted by noblehobo at 12:30 PM | Permalink

The first flight that we'll have seen since February fifteenth is scheduled to arrive next Tuesday (this is, of course, as weather dependent as everything here). The planes will be the Twin Otters and Basler coming through from South America on their way to McMurdo Station. They won't be here long (the first flight with summer crew will be next Thursday) but they'll bring fresh faces and fresh fruit.

It'll be intriguing to see how we all react, especially considering how strange its been just to see one of our members who shaved off a year-old beard...

We're in the midst of station opening - the rush of tasking to get the place ready for incoming flights and for the pile of people that populate the summer. I'll have a couple of weeks of turnover with my replacements in IT and on the emergency response teams, a couple of days in McMurdo with friends, and then off to New Zealand on November tenth.

The thought of walking barefoot in grass in the middle of a rainstorm is very, very heavy on my mind.

In other news regarding life here, one of the three satellites that we use to connect to the outside world had another component fail. In response, before they lose control entirely, Intelsat will be de-orbiting the bird on November 30th. It won't affect me (I'll be on a beach some where) but it does point out the fragility of communications here.

All of the satellites that we rely on were built before I was born - all are on their last legs. There are backup options and plans but with every change comes some sacrifice. With this one, the available window for satellite communications (internet, phones, email) will shrink from eleven hours a day to nine. Of those, only about six will be decent enough for web browsing and phone calls during the summer.

It will alter things in small ways but then that's life. The constant ebb and flow of action and response, of maneuvering with the unknown that unfolds daily.

Posted by noblehobo at 1:22 PM | Permalink

The first of two articles was published in the Mankato Free Press today - here is the link:

Blue Earth man finds job, home at South Pole

It's a trip getting published - a combination of thrill and wariness. They are my words that you read but my words as altered by a final round with an editor I don't know. There's much to learn in this process and a great deal of ownership to let go of in order to be satisfied.

As an editor friend of mine put it - I decide what words to put my name to but the editor decides what words to put in the publication.

Posted by noblehobo at 9:28 AM | Permalink

I harvest images, the tangents of idea and emotion, draw them into a cohesive narrative and build my life. We all do. We translate the empirical into a story, take disconnected colors, sounds, smells, tastes, touch and interpret on the fly.

This is not new, this is not a philosophy unexplored. It is worth reminding, remembering. It is worth savoring - that we create our own image, our own perspective, our own universe.

I have seen the sun rise over a land that only bears witness to it once a year. I have felt the temperature of its long, long dark. I have known the mourning, the fierceness, and the beauty of its silence.

And yet, if I could see the world through your eyes...

______

Reality beckons again. The upcoming summer asks for pragmatism in the balance between sleep, dream, nostalgia, and the day to day living that I go through. The sun, when the storms break, now casts shadows on the walls and I stop to wave at my mirror on occasion.

Our lives are picking up steam as we complete turnover documents, end-of-season reports, and operating procedures. We spend our days finishing up our myriad winter tasks and beginning the long slog toward opening the station. In one month we will turn our home over entirely, leaving it to some veterans and a great deal of new folk. Somehow we'll cram the collected knowledge of sixty people into three hundred fresh faces in the course of a week.

After that, it's a short walk with bags on our shoulders toward a running plane. I'll strap in and laugh at the antics of the people sitting across from me. With a slight bump and the stomach drop of take off, home will slide away into the fog of memory and into the present story of many others.

Growing distance to the sound of roaring engines will mask our voices but not our thoughts. In little over a month that slow move back into reality will start. In a little over a month I'll again face the unknown of a world outside of my dysfunctional South Pole family. Answers will grow more complicated and the spectrum of grays will deepen. I'll face a shrinking economy, politics as usual, the consternation of love, relearning home, and having to build a future.

I'll see my second sunset in a year. I'll breath deep the humid air of a New Zealand night and drink in the stars. I'll return to Minnesota to wood-stove weather and the somber light of an overcast evening sky on fresh snow. In the sharpness of inhaling the cold air I'll know memories of both here and there. No matter what I might face in that great unknown, my footsteps will carry the satisfaction that I feel in my life.

Posted by noblehobo at 2:24 PM | Permalink

So out in the real world, the Large Hadron Collider is spinning up, leading to potential black holes and the end of everything in a few weeks. Politics are a little darker and dirtier than usual, with outright lying apparently now okay so long as "the theme of the message is getting across" (I am definitely not a fan of Sarah Palin, here), the economy continues to stumble about, and a string of hurricanes is bearing down on the Eastern seaboard of the US, the Caribbean, Texas, and Mexico.

Cheery.

Down here it's overcast - the lighting right before a heavy snowfall, sound muffled, all signs pointing to seeking out the comfort of company and a warm fire. When the clouds break, briefly, the colors that raze the sky are astounding. Take the peak of a sunrise anywhere else in the world, the moment of fire that lasts only a few seconds. Take that peak and imagine it circling the horizon around you for hours, if not days. Our sunrise lasts for over a month.

Perfect.

Posted by noblehobo at 2:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

For the last year, we've been on pause. Our cares and concerns in the outside world have been muted, been rendered distant physically and emotionally. The day to day consists of staid routine and simple plans, of familiar people and few responsibilities.

Expectation followed us here, built up over the beginning, and played out calmly or not at all. The future happened to other people, was worried over by those long away from here. We just kept existing, continuing along at a pace unaccustomed to change.

It was simple, it was comfortable, it was here.

And then the sun started to rise.

Suddenly we find ourselves thrust into the undetermined future, into planning vacations and the next job, into wondering about friends and family soon to be seen again. Our expectations for the season are now measured in progress versus the time left. The great unknown has moved from a vague fog of dream and wonder to storm clouds brewing on the horizon.

It is said that the last couple of months of winter are among the most difficult and trying, that the drama and conflict are knocked up a few notches. I had always assumed that this was due to the effects of the long dark. The suspicion is growing that it is instead to do with our rebirth into the world at large.

To waver too long is to become lost. Now is to relearn decision-making, to plan again after a year-long break and to face our actions over the past year. The waves are rising, the wind is building, and the time to pick a direction and run strong is nigh.

___________

In other words - Heidi has some great bits on the close of the season, and Calee has some shots of the working world outside.

Posted by noblehobo at 2:35 PM | Permalink

Ever fight that late night brain fire? That rant and rumble, idea stumble that can boil out and prevent sleep? My mind won't stop burning the midnight oil this eve and here I am, an insomniac typing.

Normally (in the real world) I'd haul myself out of bed and get outside. Go for a barefoot walk through the downtown Duluth streets. Feel the warmth of the concrete ebbing from the summer day, the grass struggling to survive in patches between the road and the sidewalk.

My mind would wander through paths and twists and turns I may not have expected while my bike and I fly down the hillsides toward the Lift Bridge, kick as much speed as possible forward on to the end of Park Point. Admire the full moon rising over the lake and crest the sand dunes, smiling as the waves drown out all other sound.

I might write, later, when it's done. Might write when my mind has paced itself enough to collate thought more carefully. Might just crawl back in to bed and sleep the sleep of ages.

Stir-crazy and cabin-fever are not words that I use to describe life here often. Mostly, when others ask me about them (a favorite question from off-ice folk) I scoff and say we know damn well how to entertain ourselves. Tonight? I'm stir-crazy. Cabin fever is raging some. I'd like to go for that barefoot walk. The scenery, though, just isn't doing it and, funny thing, it's cold outside!

I've two hallways and two sets of stairs to cycle through, a few rooms to poke my head in to, and that's it. The same two hallways I've walked through for the last ten months. The same two sets of stairs that I've climbed. The same covered windows (no light leaks for science projects). The same lockers lining the halls. The same checkerboard patterns, scientifically configured to appeal to the various aspects of the psyche, all appealing to me to tear their appalling colors down.

The station, large as it is for sixty people, is old hat. It's getting hard to find new nooks and crannies, hard to not want to throw some color on the walls (not without the appropriate CCR and approval, you don't). Hard not to seek an escape.

_________

They're there, though. The escapes. The alternative angles. Get done with a rant, stand there huffing and puffing, catching your breath, and you can see them. You can find that spot of comfort. Maybe in the green house, buried in the smell of plants and the dense humidity. Maybe in the high ceiling and cavernous feeling of the dark gym. Maybe in the galley, empty and quiet for a change.

Maybe, just maybe, you find it by bundling up and hauling yourself outside. In staring at the moon, admiring the brightness of it, the length of your shadow, the play of the drifts that have recently formed. In the horizon, lit up like daylight in the moonlight. In the stars and the hint of aurora.

Maybe, just maybe, what you need is always there, waiting. Change your perspective, you just might find it.

Posted by noblehobo at 8:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Fundamentally, I am lazy. I enjoy few things better than a slow, languid morning. Rising to the sun, lounging in bed in the tail of dreams, a slow path to mindfulness with tea and bare feet - the day not beginning so much as sliding very slowly toward the evening. I can take that steaming tea, find a porch, and read for hours, only remembering to be active (like a nocturnal creature) as the sun begins to set.

Two day weekends (or longer) are perfect in this regard. I can have a day of productivity (hiking, biking, building, scheming, socializing, etc.) and a day or more where I take life at the pace I enjoy - slowly and openly. Here, encased in a schedule that offers us one-day weekends, the mix of productivity and laziness get crammed. Neither feels fully completed and the work week starts up with a muddled mind.

Still, I try to find what I can - seek my rest where I need it and my activity where I can find it. I may not be able to find easy mornings in the sun with tea and a book here, but the lights of the greenhouse run a close second.

Posted by noblehobo at 2:28 PM | Permalink

It's not uncommon, in my life, to find myself at the beginnings of a career field. I've tried a number on for size already, each time moving on after a taste. An expert I'm not but well-rounded? Drop me into something new and I'll find my pace quickly.

My current gig, as the Systems Administrator for the South Pole Station's IT network leaves me a bit stymied, however. I've a good base for IT work, with a history of computer geeking and Graphic Design under my belt. Our environment here is unique though. With our time zone differences, lack of consistent internet, and limited resources (human and other) I find myself working in an isolated environment on a regular basis.

All of us provide help to each other when we can and there are folks off-continent that we can turn to when it seems the planets align correctly. I'm working without a consistent mentor this time around and doing so has been a learning experience. The breadth and depth of knowledge required to be an expert in the IT field amazes me. There is a constant need for training, experimentation, and active practice to be able to resolve issues in a timely manner. Rare is the day that goes by in which I do not encounter something new needing to be solved and researched, or in which something I only recently taught myself becomes necessary.

In the past, working other technology related positions, I've quickly realized that though I pick up on it readily, I don't always enjoy it. Here, I've found a good deal more satisfaction. I credit that, however, on the Pole, on working with such wide variety of (generally) good people under the auspices of supporting scientific research.

So I wonder, lately, if IT will be something that I pursue when I leave here or if for me it is a career anchored to the seasonal work of Antarctica. It matches up to all of the "adult" considerations in my life but can I still feel passionate toward my existence if I pursue it? Can I find that away from here?

Satisfaction in work can come from so many different possibilities be they co-workers, missions and statements, love of the thing that one is actually doing, or a place. It's hard to tell for me why I've moved from career to career so many different times, why I've side-slipped from idea to idea. That's the kick though - it's the idea that drives me, experimenting with something new.

Here it is the idea of the people I work for and with at the South Pole - the "family" I'm isolated with. In trail work it's the power of nature and the simple pleasure of solid physical labor. In teaching? The awkward moments of uncertainty - wondering if you're making any sort of impression or difference, finding out on the rare occasion that you are. In Graphic Design it's the joy of making art.

All of these ideas still end up balancing with the other parts of life, though. Ideas mix with the reality of making a living and being responsible for self. Dreams mix with the actuality of the market or economic sector you hold in. Trail work and Antarctica offer only contract positions - a constantly changing flux of having to look for the next job. The utter lack of passion I felt for supporting consumerism led me to leave design work and the difficulties of maintaining a relationship left me reconsidering seasonal trail work.

All in all, life continues to maneuver and the reality of financial stability doesn't disappear. So do I complete my contract, grab some certifications, and hang on to the IT world for a punch? Do I meander back to school to focus on something new? Or do I try for a little bit of everything, keep exploring, keep traveling, keep playing and give a shot toward something that might support my life as is?

I'd say the latter. I'd say that I start working at building a writing career in the same way that I once built a freelance Graphic Design business. Slowly, with interest and passion, mistakes and successes, and a willingness to see where it might lead. Who knows? I could just end up on a bike, writing stories as I go.

Regardless, I'm giving the writing vein a shot. I'm learning how to put together query letters, contacting several different sources offering my services as a writer, and working with a couple of friends already in the field to find a start. It could be a nice side income, it could be a career. In the end, that doesn't necessarily matter. For now, it's exploring something new that can run concurrent with the rest of my dreams and with the ideas that drive me.

Posted by noblehobo at 2:28 PM | Permalink

I went for a walk the other night, hoping to catch the Southern Lights in the tailing edge of the dark. There was a hint, the barest spot of light against the black - enough for the Aurora to say hello. The brightness of the stars and the Milky Way though? Potent and mystifying. I sat out as long as I could in the winds and the frigid air, watching the sky through the small space left in the neck gators (two), hats (two), and hood protecting my face.

Turning frequently, I tried to scan the horizons for new stars, for meteors, for the Aurora. I took in what I could and at the end, my eyes fully adjusted, caught a hint of light on the far edge of my view - saw the the very beginnings of the rising sun.

Posted by noblehobo at 1:41 PM | Permalink

I'm not the only one, it seems, who has caught a morning driving toward a Great Lake where the clouds arc high above the horizon in the morning light. All the low-angle sunlight, breaking behind the cloud bank offers a visually stunning feat. Driving toward the water, you see mountains behind.

Those mornings, driving along Lake Superior, cresting a hill to witness this, those mornings were damn fine. I'm a child of flat horizons and I know the comfort of Superior and the hills of the North Shore. The distant flats where Superior's waters meet the sky bring a peace to my mind like few other landscapes can. Still, when the sky, the sun, and the clouds conspire to add mountains to the horizon, to crest my lake with a visage of ancient rock? I can't think of a better magic trick.

In talking with a friend the other day who calls Chicago home, it turns out that Lake Michigan knows the trick too.

With a little luck, when the sun finally slips above our Antarctic flats, we'll see mountains here too.

Posted by noblehobo at 2:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Trust is an interesting bird - too much too quickly and the sun melts the wax. Feathers languishing behind, you spiral toward the ground.

Tarnish it, once earned, and the resentment stays lasting. No chemical bath, no amount of frenzied scrubbing, no mechanism can release the clustered fear and anxiety. Time and aging may fade the surface around the tarnish, may dim its dark brilliance but the moment remains. Scar tissue - resentment, the brutal remnant of a past not so easily forgotten.

___________________

In other news (and certainly of a brighter sort) we passed an official mark on Friday. At 10 AM the circling sun hit eighteen degrees below the horizon. This marks the official designation between complete darkness and astronomical twilight. Not that we can see anything with the blowing snow at the moment (we've some quality sustained winds at thirty-five to forty miles per hour drifting in the station) but if we could, there would be the faintest of faint bits of light on the distant edge of our view.

When the winds clear, I'll be out to look for the signs of the sun's return, be out to catch the glow of the Southern Lights while I still can, and look forward to consistent daylight in another month or so.

Don't get me wrong, I love the dark, the stars, and the quiet cocoon-like feeling they can offer. I'd be happy to keep them a while longer too but the physical and mental effects of the lack of light are beginning to take their toll. As a whole, our memories are failing, out tempers rising, and our patience faltering. We're fortunate to have a very easy-going crew but the dark wears everyone down somewhat.

That, and it'll be nice to take the coverings off the windows and to be able to see the horizon from inside again.

Posted by noblehobo at 1:11 PM | Permalink

If you close your eyes and breathe deep, relax reality for a moment, sitting in the greenhouse here can almost feel like summer sun. You can sit there, clothes growing damp in the humidity, air handlers a low rumble of constant comfort, and flex your toes in anticipation of the green grass they will feel in a few months. Not yet, though - so you sigh gently, come back to your present, and quietly celebrate your brief trip elsewhere.

I spent the night putting together mix tape (CDs, actually, but I still like the sound of a mix tape better) playlists in the greenhouse. For a change, the songs were for no one in particular, just gathered against a loose collection of differing themes. Generally, when I use others' words for my own, I'm focused on a particular friend, crush, or lover (and occasionally all three wrapped into one). Those moments feel like the creation of art - complete abandon and attention paid to the meaning and feeling that the songs carry, a mission made easy be the resolute passion toward the playlist's target.

As of late, I've had no particular aim - no burning goal in my future of person or place. Instead, there has been a theme in my life since making the decision to come here over a year past. A theme of calm orientation toward the passage of time, toward the unknown of next year.

For certain there have been moments of near panic (in bouts of insomnia in the wee hours) where I struggled to determine the great "what-next?!?" that many of us struggle with. I have spent a great deal of hours both in excited thrall at possible futures and light dread at worried outcomes. Overall, however, I return to the feeling that enveloped me last July.

One year ago I was involved in the first full-time, salaried employment of my life. I had managed to settle in to a world of permanence - of a job, home, and world with no end date in sight, no contract termination to spur the next adventure. It was a good life and taught me a great deal of lessons but I found consistently that something was not right. The urge to move on, particularly related to my work, was strong.

Over time, previous dreams of Antarctica wound their way into my head - the winter season that I had not yet had a chance to do, that I had walked away from in my attempt at a more settled life. I started to pursue jobs at the bottom of the planet again, not entirely certain of whether I was going to take them or not. I struggled a great deal to find the happiness and comfort I was craving but always saw it elsewhere, not in the place I was.

Calm came, however, when I made the decision to quit my job, to move on. Because of the timing of the hiring process for the Antarctic, I did so without any guarantee of work or home at the end of last August, at the end of my settled experiment. That calm was manifest in the knowledge of moving toward satisfaction in my life, in learning to again listen to my whole self (not just my head) in decisions about my future.

I did not know what the outcome would be - no specifics were available to me. I did not have a guaranteed home, income, or work but I had no doubt that I would be well set to roll with the punches of what was to come. Should Antarctica have not worked out? I'd use what savings I had to find another path, to push to another ideal. The calm was that of confidence of path, even if the path was uncertain.

I've been in many moments of my life where I knew very well the direction I was headed and did so with fortitude and strength. I will gladly accept moments like that again in my future. The strength that I am finding in patience with the great unknown - well, there's a tenacity there I'm new to. My future is yet undetermined, my path unclear, but the options are all intriguing and my confidence in my ability to provide for myself and to thrive are at a solid, even keel.

I have always felt right with the world when in the midst of a powerful love or at the beginning of a new adventure - that's an easy fix one can quickly become addicted to. Feeling right with world in the middle of the long haul? That's escaping the hold of previous dependencies for the freedom of enjoying the present.

It's not perfect in the ebb and flow of confidence and future but it's a welcome addition to my life here, to my psyche, to my eventual pursuits, and toward the patience and open eyes I'll need when I next try to settle in one place for a spell.

I'll again welcome the passion of a resolute path when it comes my way. In the mean, I'll be glad to cull the larger picture for memorable moments and to write my story from the broad swath of an open theme. I'll mix tapes of others' words for traveling the unknown road toward the sunrise.

Posted by noblehobo at 2:56 PM | Permalink

I'll dig into the scientific background of it soon but for once in my life I'm in a place where procrastination and a lack of ambition have a background grounded in place. The dark effects us in strange, strange ways.
For the last three weeks or so, I've been as anti-social and withdrawn as I get - a tired, quiet sort escaping to books, movies, video games, and solitude. Maintaining a sense of exploration and creativity here can be a struggle against the dark.

Fortunately, the struggle seems to come in waves and it feels as if I'm about to slip back into the mainstream. Sleep is coming again in large, all-night chunks and (at least after a cup or two of coffee) I feel awake and rested. We run an interesting gauntlet here in the space between sunrise and sunset. The human body is not built to handle so many months without the sun, so many months without it touching one's skin...

Posted by noblehobo at 10:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

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 (1)

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)

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)

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)

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 1:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Life here can be monotonous in the extreme, an endless series of days similar to the previous, surrounded by the same people as the day before, walking the same hallways, all exacerbated by the isolation preventing change.

Life can be that, if you let it.

Or you can laugh as those around you join in the goofy, bizarre pursuits to keep life here interesting. You can find change in watching a movie in a different building, admire the surroundings (and the shadows) beneath the brilliant light of a full moon, dig deep in old memories, make art, make conversation... It is all a matter of perspective. If you can stay entertained here, live off of your own intellectual fat, then you can make it anywhere.

If you can stay alive and intrigued here, then the rest of the world is a miraculous playground by comparison.

So here's to the simple joys of Pole - the friends, the explorations, the sky, the clear and cold air in your lungs, the simplicity of life, and the mental clarity sans out-world distractions. I may not encounter any vastly life changing moments that can be easily described here but the subtle effects of the landscape, the horizon, and the winds are carving something finite, something literal that will be with me for the remainder of my life.

The subtle interplay of the environment, of the line where sky and land meet - it becomes a reason for my pursuit, for my home here, my home on Lake Superior, my comfort on a coast or beneath the skies of the Great Plains.

Posted by noblehobo at 6:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I'm intrigued by determined personalities, by those who have a particular goal or singular pursuit in life.

Intrigued because I don't understand it. I'm not built that way, at least not for the long-term. Some people have the ability to build their life around a specific dream, every detail striving toward that final assumption. I maneuver in a wider circle, a track that jumps trains of thought and interests widely and quickly. I can focus my attention tightly for short term goals of various natures but devote my life to one single idea?

Maybe the fact that I'm currently in the middle of seven different books is a good example.

Or maybe the specific goal doesn't have to be so specific, maybe an ideal is what exists, a goal focused on with a wider-angle lens.

Is a sense of curiosity and wonder enough? What greater gift do we receive than that of learning what it is to be human? We spend our entire lives attempting to understand the meaning behind our existence, our world as it relates to self and others, our hearts, our minds... Learning just how we tick - that's an adventure I can focus my entire life on.

Posted by noblehobo at 1:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This was taken by a good friend, Calee - the fine stories and photos to be found in the link to the upper left.

The night sky here - it keeps you humble.

Posted by noblehobo at 2:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Tonight, a group of us closed the evening by watching the movie, Apollo 13. It was the tail end of a series each Sunday night that included documentaries and a mini-series about the Apollo space program.

I remember, growing up, of boyhood obsessions with rockets, with the lunar module, with the entire idea of our traversing to another planetary body. Some of the first drawings that I remember hanging on a wall were of the Apollo spacecraft, dreams marking the summer before third grade. There was still a public excitement about NASA and our pursuits beyond Earth's atmosphere, or so I remember. The shuttle program was exciting, I tracked satellites to the other planets, and the images of the Challenger disaster are still seared in my mind.

Lately, it seems, the only public information I find regarding NASA deals with budget cuts, the end of the shuttle program (and its lack of a clear replacement), or the Columbia accident. It's rare to see passion, fire, or drive toward the exploration of our heavens, at least that as directly experienced by fellow human beings.

I don't aspire to be an astronaut myself (unlike a very committed man here, but I still dream. The auroras never cease to steal my breath or the moon to add shadowed comfort to a late night. My imagination runs rampant that here, on the bottom of the Earth, if I just let loose my feet, I might fall into the stars below...

...and I find it troubling, that in order to explore the wonder that grew in me as a child, I have to look to our actions, our stories, from before when I was born. To go to the moon, Mars, or else may not be the most pragmatic choice possible for a society, but to unify as a community behind that idea, that ideal? To me that seems a far better focus for our energies than war.

Posted by noblehobo at 12:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Our station is sleep-addled today, a community-wide malaise of exhaustion and the tired mind. The vast majority of us were woken at 5 AM when a fire alarm went off in the Rodwell, the building that provides our water supply. The Rodwell, an out building, is several hundred yards from station, so a crowd of bleary-eyed folk dressed and hustled to respond. It was -80 F, with a 12 knot wind.

In the end, there was no major surprise, just a small footnote in our response to any alarm as a serious one. A fan in a heater had gone out, allowing the heating element to warm the air directly below a heat sensor, rather than dispersing it throughout the room. All told, the response, stand-down, and investigation took little more than thirty minutes. As for getting back to sleep, however...

Conversations today represent the lost dream-time. Words are flipped, brains are scattered, and trains of thought rumble in anything but a straight line. It makes for an interesting (and laughable) series of personal interactions, light-hearted moments, and deep thoughts - the best parts of sleep deprivation.

It's exhaustion like this that makes it difficult to maintain relationships with friends and family off-continent. Our community, insular in nature, is an easy out to turn to. When the day is over, dumping down in front of a movie with several others makes an easy escape. We stay entertained in our own ways, from modern media to evenings of pub trivia, or the upcoming race (BF5K) and concert (Polestock '08) this weekend. We provide an atmosphere of ambivalence or creativity as needed.

That being said, when I return to my room tired and satisfied (or at least tired), it becomes monumental to tackle the timezone difference, contextual distance, and mental fatigue in the efforts to contact back home. Or at least that's how it feels.

When living in Duluth this past year, I'm not convinced that I was any better at communicating with my friends and family than I am now. The distractions, however, seemed more wordly, seemed to keep me in a sense that I was more in touch with those a few hundred miles distant than I was.

Here, with no one a few hundred miles distant and nearly all interactions created within our crowd of sixty, it becomes a poignant note when you remember who you haven't spoken with in a few months or written to lately. It is placed mostly on your own time and ability to reach out, because technology makes it difficult to reach in. My phone, barring emergencies, is effectively one-way.

What does all this resolve out to? Possibly a self-guilt trip, but an expansion on one of the many things that we deal with as loyal Antarcticans. It's an environment where challenging oneself takes a constant willful walk, where love and friendship seemingly happen easy, but take time and care for true depth, and where great perseverance and presence is required to stay fast to friendships 8000 miles away.

Most people I've known who have wintered in the past have a limit, a wall that they hit when it comes to this experience. After a season, several, a career, eventually there is no more challenge or dreams dig in toward another existence. Watching the pattern of friends' ebb and flow, I used to think it related to this continent. While it does, in some manner, I'm finding that it is more internal - a human imperative.

For some of my friends, the traveling life is coming to a close, the modern hobo way losing appeal to larger, more singular pursuits. Some, like Dane, seek a path with goals that will leave a mark on this planet. Others, like Jeff, are simply ready to settle for a bit and try something else. There's also holding to one place and maintaining a hold on wonder. It catches me every time someone I know chooses to dream more solidly, more static-like in place or pursuit, prepared for a long dream, because I do not yet know that feeling. I've tried it, quite unsuccessfully, and instead end up happy here.

Here, where outside is a deep breath unlike anywhere else, and above me, the sky dances.

I crave aspects of the long moment, but I don't yet see my path there. I wonder if the guilt I wear in the distance between conversations looks to be assuaged in a long-settled future, in a place where friends can be gathered for a lifetime instead of the simple present. Or is building the simple present simply enough?

Perhaps in increments of year-long contracts and months-long dreams I'll grow my way in to the multitude of years. In the mean, I will treasure those I meet, know, and love. In the mean, I'll listen to the ether and thank those who understand, those who's smiles grow no dimmer by time or distance.

And always, I'll be learning...

Posted by noblehobo at 11:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Tonight I feel as if I earned some cred as a Systems Administrator. We had a brownout around 9 PM this evening - nothing very noticeable to the eye, but two five second periods where we dropped 25 volts from the 440 volt station feed. It seems a small amount but that little change can play hell with electrical equipment.

The next several hours was spent by facilities engineering, science techs, and IT running around checking to see what equipment was affected and, if affected, to what degree. Personally, I had about ten servers lose power in a distant building due to reasons unknown (they are supposed to be connected to UPS systems to prevent that).

Most everything we have can be accessed remotely, so I spent two hours doing so, checking services, restarting servers, looking at error logs to see if anything else was affected, etc. Most everything was fine. Our redundant domain controller was not.

A domain controller (for the non-techies) is an essential part of the computer network infrastructure in a large corporate environment. It doles out the rules that allow various computers and network-capable devices to talk to each other and the outside world. If you lose access to your domain controllers, your network becomes very unhappy very quickly. We run two here for the purpose of redundancy.

My backup domain controller had decided to power down during the brownout and I could not contact it via remote services. Because of its necessity, I had a late night trip in store, all to push a button.

The building that the domain controller is in, the RF (Radio Frequency) shack, is about a mile from station, on the 'edge of the world'. It's the building that houses all of the control systems for our satellite connections, the network components to communicate with the satellites, and our backup computer systems. So, off I went to make an 11 PM trip to the RF building. I bundled up. It was -70F with a -100F windchill.

The walk was eerie in the best of ways. Most everyone on station was asleep and no equipment was running. The only sounds were the thrum (soon distant) of the power plant and the wind. When I stopped, letting the crunch, crunch, crunch of my walk in the snow wind down, it was as quiet as I've heard here yet.

The stars, newly arriving in our final days of twilight, are incredibly brilliant here. More so when you are on the edge of the world, so to speak, with the nearest manned station 800 miles distant. Out past the buildings, on the edge of the horizon, the sky holds great power. Looking up, smiling, I could only imagine the sheer magnitude of awe I will carry when the Southern Lights begin.

Stateside, winter nights after a fresh snow are my favorite times to wander. Whether in a city or in the woods, sounds are somehow both muted and amplified, the light heavy - as if the entire world has been draped in a thick blanket. It creates moments that are easy to share and easy to lose oneself in, easy to find warmth in a smile or the glow of a window.

Here, that window is covered (to protect light-sensitive science projects), that smile frozen (covered up by two layers of neck gaiters), that blanket stretched over an entire continent, but the warmth is still present. We just look around in a few different places to find it.

Tonight, I looked up.

Posted by noblehobo at 3:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Sitting here, in my hammock, typing away, it's not a bad life. The sun is nearly gone outside, the last seconds of twilight are fading to night. We can see the first stars (when the sky clears) and all of our light sensitive experiments are finally being powered up. Our windows are all covered now (to keep stray light away from the instruments) and our interior world is now distinctly separated from our external one. Outside is parceled off by insulated freezer doors, a red-tinted headlamp (unless the moon is up) and enough clothing to keep warm at -80F.

I struggle to remember to go outside. When your job does not require it, it is easy to forget. I haven't been out since Sunday...

I've got a new batch of pictures ready for you to peruse, all annotated with the stories that accompany them:

February, roughly, covering random activities, a trip off-station to a hole in the snow, and our sunset party. Next up, a pile from a tour of SPT (South Pole Telescope), my room, and our wine tasting from two weeks ago. Heidi has a good deal of photos from our wine tasting as well.

I also added another couple of links to the mess at the left - Heidi's from above (the Amazing Flying Lim) and Jeff's (eighteen percent), a former Polie who has decided to leave and attempt a different life. We wish him well and that nostalgia does not haunt.

Posted by noblehobo at 10:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

We've a new light in the heavens, gliding gently next to the moon. Not a star, technically, but Jupiter has made an appearance. Not long now and the sky will fill with constellations I've only rarely seen. Not long now and I'll see the Milky Way for the first time since early October.

Posted by noblehobo at 12:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Every night, as I walk through the B1 lounge (our game room) on the way back to my berthing, I pass the pool table. I don't know who does it, but with each evening pass I see a fresh rack waiting for the next game.

Posted by noblehobo at 11:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I forget, quite often as many of us do, to wonder at the greater spectrum of things, to find significance in insignificance, to respect accordingly the miracle that we are alive...

We had our first science lecture of the winter season tonight. The winterover cosmologist (our Canadian beaker, Keith) for the South Pole Telescope gave us an overview of the equipment and what it is the SPT team is currently pursuing.

Turns out, in short, that they are working to better understand the forces of entropy. In a series of steps, they are utilizing images from the beginning of time (or as far back as we can see) to better reveal the expansion of the universe since its explosive start. In more completely understanding just how galaxy cluster upon galaxy cluster has traveled over the eons, they will begin to gain an understanding of how gravity and the theoretical force of dark energy interact to keep the universe expanding, rather than contracting as gravity alone would dictate.

SPT begins the first step in this process by identifying thousands of galaxy clusters in the distant sky. Upon identifying the clusters (each themselves made up of thousands of galaxies), they will provide that information to other telescope teams (such as Hubble) which will then track the identified galaxy cluster to measure its distance from and the speed at which it moves away from us.

They identify the clusters by observing the Cosmic Microwave Background (CMB) which is, in effect, the afterglow of the Big Bang. In essence, the light from that first explosion, from the very beginning remains present in the background of the sky as microwave radiation. If it was part of the visual spectrum, we would see the night sky glowing with iridescent clouds - remnants of our violent start. Although we can't see it completely without the mechanics of SPT (a massive machine and mirror, bringing the sky to receptors sensitive to 1/100,000,000,000,000,000,000 the energy of a 100W light bulb), we've all seen it to some extent. About one percent of the static that you see when a TV is struggling to find reception is due to the noise of the Cosmic Microwave Background. If you sit to watch the snow traveling across your unreceptive television screen, you are bearing witness to the beginning of the universe. In my eyes, that should be defined as reality television...

What amazes me about tonight (as always when it comes to the stars) is the sheer scope of it all, how truly small and insignificant our spaceship Earth is when compared to the vastness of space - how daunting and amazing it is that we exist, struggle, and thrive so tiny, so isolated in the larger view. The image above is from a very small portion of our sky. It is a rendered image of the data that SPT is working to collect and the black specs, each one of them, is a galaxy cluster standing out against the background radiation. Catch that - each tiny black spec in this photo is a galaxy cluster - a grouping of thousands of galaxies, each galaxy made up of billions of stars. Try multiplying those numbers up...and that's from only a sliver of our sky. Our own single galaxy, our Milky Way, has over two hundred billion stars - two hundred billion brothers and sisters to our own sun.

And here we sit, on spaceship Earth, traveling around as part of it all.

After the presentation, I sat down for parts three and four of From the Earth to the Moon, a mini-series documenting the Apollo space program. Suffice to say, watching the risk and the struggle of our first steps to orbit another heavenly body, of our attempts to grow beyond our humble sphere...it was magic. And soon, when the sun completes its slow spiral downward, I'll be able to gaze up at the night sky in the darkest space imaginable, be able to see the great beyond as only we can here. Gaze up, and dream of falling skyward.

Jim Lovell, William Anders, and Frank Borman, while orbiting the moon for the first time in human history closed a message home with this:

"good night, good luck...and God bless all of you, all of you on the good earth."

Posted by noblehobo at 10:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I'm in thrall at the winter setting sun here. My favorite hours of dusk - the light of the last hour of sun on a snow covered Lake Superior shore in January - are extended here. The sun is almost set, but what I might spend an hour watching in my life stateside, here I can watch for a week.

Posted by noblehobo at 8:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I find myself piled down in front of my computer tonight, a chunk of memory from (and slight nostalgia for) Chicago. Memory of a moment of hauling my ass a few miles from my condo on my bike (in January) to go to attend a life drawing session. Short the drawing (writing some tonight took care of that craving), the nostalgia is calling forth a multitude of happenstance. The strong presence of the early winter chill fresh in my lungs and on my lips, my core warmed by the exercise but my hands frozen, the confidence of tackling something new in an unfamiliar place, and the slight fear and hesitation of it too (welcomed, with the follow-through of the act) - these things are gathered in my mind tonight. It was one one of the first times that I had a chance to play in a world so alien to me (millions of people, rough neighborhood - cheap rent for artists) and I knew no one. I was free to explore any path that I might choose, rise up or crash down, with no one local to fall on or share my story with. It was a unique freedom, and part of the promise I find in the frost of cold air entering my body.

There are small parts of the winter here like that, though not as many as I had expected. Routine is easy to find and though there is much to learn about the other fifty-nine folk here (hell, still much to learn about myself) we all share the same context. If we choose, we can walk easily with an assumption that we know something about everyone around us because, to an extent, we do.

What catches me are the glimpses of the unknown and the unexpected. The former comes most often in the setting sun - in shadows and colors I've not before seen here. It comes in temperature too, -79 F with a -118 F windchill tonight. The latter shows up in conversation, in the break of assumption as we grow to know those around us more completely.

It still blows my mind how simple it is to presume that the next several months will be like they are now, one month in. It hits me equally hard to know that change is expected, and in a community this isolated, this compact and protracted, interesting things will be afoot.

_________________

On a side note, my bike in Chicago? A used mountain bike purchased on the cheap from one of the most intriguing cooperatives I've come across yet. A slew of volunteers (grease monkeys, bike messengers, able passerbys) gather together donated bikes, repair them, and sell or warehouse them. When they get enough working bikes together, they (with the appropriate party and fanfare) pack a millvan (giant shipping crate) full of them and send them off to a country where a bike is worth a year's salary or more to those that need them. If you're interested (especially if your from around Chicago) you can find out more at www.workingbikes.org.

Posted by noblehobo at 10:33 PM | Permalink

I'll call it a good day, today.

The afternoon was spent with the rest of the IT crowd outside, flagging the route to the RF building so that we can find our way in the dark. The RF building holds the controls to our satellite dishes, our backup servers, and our backup radio systems. An important building, as things go, and about half a mile from the station proper. We now have a line of black flags on bamboo poles to shine our lights at come night and I was able to drive around one of the snowmobiles for the afternoon (missed that more than I thought). We came in frozen. Though warm for here and the season, it was still -65F with a -95F wind chill.

After that, I wandered out to summer camp to get the remaining feather pillows I needed for my bean bag - since we don't have any plastic beads, and the galley frowned on my wanting to use rice, down was the best I could think of. That experiment should pan out in another half hour or so - I interrupted the creativity binge for a bout of badminton and just got back.

Strange, to do two things this past week that I haven't in over fifteen years. The last game of badminton that I played was in fifth grade, and the last time I used a sewing machine was in junior high. Still, badminton went well (no injuries, no major losses, hell of a lot of laughs) and my bean bag looks fairly decent. I only had to rip apart a few seams...

The sun is winding down farther in the sky - it no longer blinds us while playing pool in the game room. The temperatures fluctuate, but average out a steady drop, and time moves steadily, but slowly. In a week and a half we'll be having our sunset dinner, celebrating the last we'll see of it for months. Already the shadows and colors are taking on that of the last half an hour of the setting sun, only we get another couple of weeks. I'm looking forward to the vibrancy of color that normally winks at you lasting days, at the green flash that fortunate few see only for a second lasting hours...

Sounds like something to wax poetic on.

It's been tiring these past few weeks, a time spent withdrawing into self much more than I am used to, especially in a place where social activity is so easy to come across (reminds me of the Lemondrop and the art house). I haven't written much, nor pursued art as I am used to. The time has been good, simply mellow in a way that is somewhat new to me. I'm beginning, however, to feel recharged; ready to kick out the hammock, lay back, and write to the fine folk that I am fortunate to consider friends.

Glad to know that you're all out there.

Posted by noblehobo at 9:20 PM | Permalink

Not much to say tonight, as it reaches the close, just relishing a good conversation about books and meanings, some story trading, a sauna and a shower.

Still have to celebrate those simple things to keep perspective here.

The sun continues to circle lower on the horizon, the shadows lengthening each day. You notice this not directly, but in smaller ways. During a game of pool two of us found ourselves blinded looking down the table toward the windows in the lounge. One or two more days and the sun will have lowered enough that the station will block it. We won't be blinded again for six months.

It's hard to believe, but we'll be in the dark by the end of this month - or at least in a long-term twilight.

I'll throw up some photos soon of day to day life here. A brief traverse through the waking hours of my world and a few last photos of the horizon before it goes dark. Also, there'll be a couple of pictures from a trip out to SPRESSO on Sunday. SPRESSO is a vault, buried about 35 feet down in the snow, seven miles away from station, that houses equipment to measure seismic activity around the world. It was a good Sunday trip, a couple of hours away from the station and out on the polar plateau.

Posted by noblehobo at 11:36 PM | Permalink

-65.7 Fwith a -97.8 F windchill.

That ought make Minnesota weather feel downright warm at the moment. A long night of work (monthly server maintenance) followed by an early morning video conference to arrange for a medical consultation. Tomorrow will be a tired one in the ceaseless daze of my IT world.

The world is feeling mellow tonight, steeped in nostalgia and memory. They are vibrant forces here, strong and clear, beautiful and dangerous. It's a fine line remembering distant friends, family, and former lovers - not allowing the past and the distance to steal from life here. It's a fine line enjoying this current space and not losing track of the world outside.

Tonight, work is distracting me in a pleasant way. I'm mellow, but in such a manner as to fall toward the nostalgia of worlds away. Funny that I find it work focusing my mind here, at my current home. Time to go out in search of a conversation, then sleep, then dream.

Posted by noblehobo at 11:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

We're not a close community, by the standards that I know Youth Conservation Corps, anyway, but there is a nice balance to the group thus far. We all seem to move our own way as we adjust to winter, social to a point, but primarily acting solo or in small groups. There is no "include everybody" focus to our activities, just an easy meander about our days. This summer season felt very similar.

So the question, then - is the community different, or am I? Likely bits of both, to ponder as I fall to sleep.

We all adjust in our own way, but (save that it feels much longer) this week has been anti-climactic. Few folk seem publicly troubled by way of what they've committed to, and our transition to winter has gone smooth in regard to the pragmatic aspects (i.e. we have all of the fuel we need, we have enough experienced winterovers that station close was not a giant reinvention of previous wheels, nothing broke or blew up, etc.). While summer was fun (and had some wild dancing), the goodbyes were not terribly difficult. The folks I care to see again, I will, and there is rare exception to those not here whom I wish were.

I hesitate (and fear) when I think what a winter would have been like two years ago upon first planning to commit to one. What unfolds in this winter remains to be seen, but I am more confident with every day that I made the right choice to be here now as opposed to then.

And it's a two-day weekend, so I get to sleep in tomorrow. I have to treasure these - we only get one a month. Projects on tap include making a couple of bean bags with feather pillows (so I guess not bean bags), patching up pants that didn't survive the dancing season, some pictures (to be posted of our winter home), some cooking (the galley is ours on our days off, the cooks join us in leisure), and some board games (World War II strategy). It should be very, very laid back.

As an added bonus, it was -20F today. That may sound cold, but its thirty degrees warmer than two weeks ago. Summer attempting to make a brief resurgence...

Posted by noblehobo at 1:30 AM | Permalink

It's hard to believe that it was one week ago when I watched the final flight of the summer season bank over our heads toward the coast and the North. Time has stretched itself out and it feels as if I've been here for many more weeks of the winter season. This is not a bad thing, just one of note.

I've spent little time doing work in the IT department this week, falling behind in my tasking as the System Administrator. This is not for lack of ambition or responsibility, however. Preparing the station for the close of the season is an activity that takes everyone we have. The first two days of my week were spent with my department brining in all of our electronic equipment from buildings that are slated to go cold this week. Yesterday I joined a large group to tear down the fuel line and fuel pit at the skiway apron. And today, I spent ten hours hanging out in the dishpit.

Because of the limited size of our population, some positions are considered unnecessary to staff. They are not, however, unnecessary. As a result, the community must step up to fill the needed roles. Our emergency response teams are one example of this, dishpit duty is another. Today was my day.

Though my tasking is falling behind, it was a good change of pace. Working in the galley holds nostalgia for my first season down here as a prep cook. It also gives me a space to turn my music up, sing along like a smiling idiot, and work that let's my mind wander.

And wander it did. I meandered thoughts from home, to future, about the friends I have left back stateside and those nearby, about the transition of friendships, about relationships and love, self-worth and self-control, good mixed cds yet to be made, writing to be done, and a few art projects. Found myself the surprise recipient of a chocolate banana milkshake, a frappuccino (we suffer so, down here), and was occasionally spotted in the moment of the aforementioned singing.

Walking through the B1 lounge on the way back to my room (our game room area, with a couple of couches, a pool table, ping pong table, and such) I ran across a good crowd. I looked around at those who I consider friends, those who I might build friendship with, and those distance holds sway. I laughed at the permanence of my perspective, realizing the futility of trying to guess what friendships will be strong, new, or faded when there are eight months of intense community to go.

I thought something solid on relationships today as well, in general as well as regarding my own self. A few thoughts on love, wondering when I'll find it again (and laughing at my friends who made me swear off falling for anyone for six months, it's now been a year and a half), smiling at the opportunity to focus on friendship here (the ratio being decidedly not in my favor), and marveling (again) at the intensity and speed of relationships here at the Pole.

Like any closed or isolated community (summer camps being an excellent comparison) relationships and dating here traverses in days what may take weeks or months in a stateside community. Entire sagas from beginning to end can take place in a month, let alone over the course of a summer season. And the thing is, there is little choice or option to avoid that intensity. You see each other everyday, find every meal in the same location at nigh the same time, deal with the same friends, the same context, the same community... Effort is not required to see each other, but to take the time to avoid doing so, to right ones own self. It's a change of pace that works well for some (I enjoy it immensely) and can be destructive for others. To complicate matters, nearly everyone down here is intelligent, competent, and adventuresome - well-steeped in the criteria wanderlust-filled folk search for.

So, thoughts. A good deal many, provided here in abbreviated form, perhaps to be expounded upon later. Time now to settle in for sleep and see, of the mess of ideas, what travels with me to dream.

Posted by noblehobo at 11:31 PM | Permalink

With a flourish, a sharp bank in our direction, and the aid of a full circle rainbow, the last flight of the summer season flew off into the sun.

The station has closed for the season, leaving a grand total of sixty individuals to learn to navigate through the next eight months and the return of the outside world.

The closing came one day early (along with an associated amount of confused and unexpected hubbub as departing folk were caught by surprise) due to weather. The Air National Guard decided that it was against their best interest to wait out the potential weather and pulled the remaining fifty or so summer employees by two this afternoon. We spent the rest of the day in an easy sort of manner, moving into the new station (for those of us out in summer camp) and letting the commitment of the next eight months sink in.

We finished the eve with the traditional showing of John Carpenter's The Thing - a horror movie about an alien in an isolated Antarctic station creating mayhem, paranoia, distrust, and murder. We're nothing if not morbid!

Tomorrow I begin my role as the IT Systems Administrator full time, with a lovely backlog of work and a heap of good education from the previous tenants. So goes the switch from day to day, from summer camp to the new station, from Cargo to IT, and from summer season to winter.

Posted by noblehobo at 11:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Just two and a half more days until sixty-odd winterovers are snowed-in at the world's most expensive treehouse for the next eight months. The station is a hustle of activity as the population drops from roughly 220 down to our estimated winter crew of 65. People are running around packing, celebrating, panicking, rethinking, laughing, wondering, wandering, dancing, and eventually flying out of here. You'd think I'd know by now exactly who I'm spending the next eight months of winter with, but that's in flux to, as always until the last minute.

When the final flight is in the air Friday afternoon, then we'll be able to look around and know just who is staying. Then it all begins.

Posted by noblehobo at 1:19 AM | Permalink

It's getting cold again, the weather making its inevitable march toward winter. The plumes of steam and smoke from the power plant, equipment, and out-buildings stretch for hundreds of feet in the wind. The air is crystal clear, as if frozen in place. The snow crunches differently, more loudly, more sharply. People are dressing heavier again - skin is covered and clothing for short hops has gone from fall and spring stateside clothing back to our heavy ECW gear. You can feel the wind creeping into the Jamesways, and poorly insulated buildings struggle to stay warm.

It's -35 F with a -60 F wind chill. That leaves me several months to get used to another 65 degree drop in air temperature.

The moon was up in the sky today and I can't help but wonder what it will look like in the dark of the winter freeze, if I see it differently than in Minnesota, standing upside-down and all. The sky is powerful here, and I look to it often. We may even see a solar eclipse (partial) next week, or so goes the word of mouth. I'll be looking into that. My first season here was opened with a 90% totality eclipse - a view of the world quieting for a moment as an entire community paused their breathing, spoke few words, and the sky dimmed.

Cold, yes. But beautiful and serene too.

Posted by noblehobo at 5:56 AM | Permalink

I've been speculating, as the summer season progresses, what sort of lessons that my upcoming winter will challenge me with; been dreaming of what might come to pass. What has become apparent to me is that I may be learning to hold back a portion of myself I seldom do not these days.

I live my life on my sleeve, emotionally, situationally, and physically. I keep few secrets (regarding self) and am open to discussing nearly every thing I encounter, am, and nearly every one that I know. There is great joy that I find in pondering over a person, situation, or thing, wondering out loud with others about the core of a thing, it's purpose or pursuit. I often speak freely of those I care about, those I fall for, those I've been with. I hold curiosity and care in my mind when I am critiquing another person - not disdain or ill-will.

Others, however, may not see the world from the same perspective as I.

As we enter into winter, we prepare to spend eight months with sixty-odd (in number and in personality!) fellow folk. We will converse, play, laugh, annoy, anger, disgust, please, disturb, and love each other without escape. Small things misinterpreted may grow and distort over time, rendering friendships in new light, pulling together and pulling apart beneath our months-long night.

I see myself, in the way that I lead my life now, as potentially injuring someone with words not meant to do so. I'm uncertain if that will be the case at all, but am interested to know if I can live my life and thought more internal than currently. If I can back off a touch and hold my curiosity within my head, my journal, or a more limited group of confidants...

At the least, I am interested to know if I can do this and maintain my current level of bouyancy and comfort, or if, in sacrificing external expression and discussion, I find myself more exhausted.

My first summer season in Antarctica tested me in that way, as did my first season as a Conservation Corps crew leader. I've had a difficult path since then, and let go (inadvertently) of the lessons I learned several years ago. Whether I can resurrect them or not remains to be seen.

Time and the development of my winter season friendships and relationships with others will tell the story.

Posted by noblehobo at 3:55 AM | Permalink

Stepping away from the South Pole for my "involuntary" vacation (also known as Rest and Relaxation) in McMurdo gave me a chance to look at mid-season life with fresh eyes. What I had always known in the past, but had never taken a direct view too, was (and is) the exhaustion that we all face.

I have been told over and over that wintering at the South Pole will tax both my body and mind. That wintering will leave me with a poor short term memory and a difficult time with concentration, problem-solving, and conversation. What I had not seen previously is that the summer season can bring this on as well.

Returning from R n' R allowed me to see just how exhausted our station population (self-included) becomes over a short season of months. Generally, we miss how dramatic the change is as we are all going through the process of it together. Leaving, even briefly, allowed me to realign myself around others who were not as tired and coming back made it obvious just how beat we all are.

So for myself, I withdrew. I took time to write, to think, to simply rest and to let my mind slow down. I paid for a massage (we have several professional masseuses here who take on clients in addition to their day jobs), found some time for saunas, set up my hammock (no small feat in a 6' by 8' room), and let go. I did not write in public very much, and both my exhaustion and our limited satellite time gave me an easy excuse to avoid the phone.

I am not alone in this. When you are away from the continent, you notice it. Friends who are in Antarctica and write on a regular basis slow down, their responses are limited or tardy in arriving. When you are here, it is sanity. There is a limit to how much energy one can expend and maintain a balance. Smart individuals pay attention to it, savor what they can, and work to recover when they need. Those who don't figure it out decide not to come back, become an individual of extreme emotions (whatever form those take), or at worst, crack completely and leave. The majority of us get a handle on it. A few of us learn it well enough to balance both our lives here and our communication with our family and friends back home.

I'm working on learning to do better with the latter.

As for the exhaustion, my efforts are paying off. I'm beginning to find my way back to a healthy medium - no more defeated look or rings around my eyes.

Posted by noblehobo at 5:19 AM | Permalink

Apologies for the lack of communication stateside lately, but we've had some issues with the satellite dishes that provide our connection to the outside world. We haven't lost our connection entirely (far from), just the portions during which I'm awake. With luck, all should be resolved in the next couple of days, at which point I'll have easier access to phones and my personal email.

Posted by noblehobo at 11:44 AM | Permalink

Finally, after many, many days in the bizarre limbo that is McMurdo, I'm back at the South Pole. Back home to the world I know, damn fine food, my projects, my space. McMurdo would have been nice for three days, getting stuck there for nine was, well, excruciating.

Others have captured the moment better than I. Tim, our Power Plant Technician, does a damn fine job at his blog (linked on the left). I'll update more later.

I spent my night here putting a new hard drive into my computer, banking that it will decrease the flakiness that I've seen with the last. The best part, though? This hard drive is finally large enough to store all of my music on it. No more external drive for tunes, I am now much more portable.

Portable so far as it relates to the station I choose to live at. Otherwise it's a long (800 mile), cold walk elsewhere.

While waiting on glowing progress bars during software installations, I tore through some unsorted piles of paper and old letters from friends. The output? A couple of letters ready to send and some great memory bits from Chicago and business-lessons learned over the past several years.

Posted by noblehobo at 3:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Some photos of the MCI Drill that we had before Thanksgiving. Descriptions to come shortly.

MCI Photos

Posted by noblehobo at 7:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

So the stories that go with the pictures will have to come at a later date, but here are some of the photographs from the last few days:

A few shots of our working days in Cargo and the social mayhem of James Brown Bingo.

Pictures of Christmas dinner, Cargo White Elephant party, Disc Golf, dancing, the Race Around the World, MET Wine and Cheese Party.

Turns out I forgot to upload photos of the Airdrop, so I'll catch those (and descriptions) when the next satellite pass hits.

Posted by noblehobo at 1:21 PM | Permalink

Everyone likes packages in the mail. Some of us like them even better when they come from the sky on parachutes.

Yesterday, the Air National Guard, in cooperation with the National Science Foundation, air dropped a series of packages about two miles south of South Pole Station. As a member of the Cargo department, I had a front row seat for the event.

The weather was gorgeous, -15F with clear blue skies and very little wind.

as an aside, that is gorgeous, if you've been here for -60F with twenty knot winds

The drop was part of training in the event that a mid-winter airdrop is ever needed. Being that I'll be one of the few members of Cargo here in July (even though I'll be working for IT), I paid close attention. The Air Guard delivered twenty packages to us, each consisting of roughly one thousand pounds of food, a foot of honeycombed cardboard to cushion the landing, and a small, high-velocity parachute. The 'chute, being high-velocity, doesn't so much slow the package down as it orients it so that the honeycomb cardboard crashes into the ground first.

The packages were dropped from a height of one thousand feet in two passes of ten packages each. It was a beautiful sight to see, goodies from the sky falling from the bottom of a C-17 aircraft. No matter how old I get, aircraft will always enthrall me...

The sound, though, caught my attention. The rumble of the C-17s four jet engines was low and solid, a welcome signal like few others. I imagined what that might sound like in the dark of July, if supplies were needed for an emergency, where the lights of the plane might barely be visible against the stars. Pennies from heaven, with a roar.

After both passes had completed, our Cargo department, BK Grant, the South Pole Area Coordinator (big cheese, amazing woman), several photographers, and two Air Guard Officers (including the head of Operation Deepfreeze, the C-17 support group for Antarctica) proceeded out to the drop zone to investigate the carnage. With the exception of one package landing on another (only slight damage to some broccoli) and one chute not fully deploying (no visible damage, but the package had completely cratered into the snow, little sticking out), the drop was a complete success. The C-17 crew landed the first package within twenty feet of the drop zone target, and both passes strung out within one hundred yards of that.

Cleaning up the parachutes was a cinch, we twisted and bunched them up, packed them away, and wandered back to station to watch the C-17 do a fly-by at 300 feet. One day the plan is to have C-17s land here, but that is an additional Power Plant, several Rodwell water drills, a full Aircraft Rescue Fire Fighter team, and additional housing away (to provide the necessary support). Until then, overfly passes are all we get.

Later that night, Toby, Greg, and I went out to gather packages, but a piece of our equipment broke at the drop zone. After some toying around with a snowmobile to gather some resources (crossing the vast polar plains at high speeds and smiling like a jackass as I hopped drifts), we got our forklift working again. Working again, just in time to drive it back to the station. While we did get to sit in the sun and relax for a few minutes, waiting for our Heavy Shop mechanic to show up, we didn't get any work done.

The packages are still out there, cratered in the snow two miles grid south of the station.

Pictures for this, Cargo operations, and some of random Polies (folks here) will be up soon.

Posted by noblehobo at 9:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The computer repair ambles slowly along but an update on the soon to be:

- a description (with photos) of the Cargo Handler job

- details (with photos, maybe video) of the airdrop tomorrow (20 thousand pound crates with parachutes and us to dig them out of the snow)

- stories and sordid tales of the upcoming MCI (Mass Casualty Incident) drill that we run annually.

Posted by noblehobo at 11:26 AM | Permalink

In trade for the sundogs that we've had over the past several days, the wind has kicked up snow something fierce. Our skies vacillate between a partial blue and completely obscured. The horizon, to say nothing for the station a mere hundred yards from our Cargo office, fades in and out of view. With the visibility and ceiling height in flux, the incoming LC-130 flights from McMurdo are thrown into chaos.

As I type this, I am waiting for an extraordinarily late flight to arrive. With luck (assuming no weather delays due to visibility) the plane will be on the ground at 4:50 AM. We should be finished with our cargo offload and upload, shutting down equipment, checking cargo in, and delivery by 6 or 6:30 in the morning. On a normal day, we would have finished our ten hours of work by 1 AM.

We're tired, a bit grumpy, and somewhat slow. But out the window? Two complete circle rainbows surrounding the sun as it traverses across the sky.

Posted by noblehobo at 8:41 AM | Permalink

The sundogs came out to play today for the first time this season. They've been around in the barest of hints previously but today, in grand fashion, they danced rainbows around the sun. There was a full circle, outward arcs, a second circle, a false sunset... Imagine a prism between you and the sun, cycle the reflections around, hold out your fist to block the hell star from blinding you, and marvel at the color in the sky.

Amazing what a few blowing ice crystals can do for your day!

Too bad the tradeoff is -45 F windchill...

______________________

Some photos of good sundogs, here and here.

Posted by noblehobo at 9:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I had a goal, once upon a time, to write a letter or postcard each night to a friend or member of the family. Can you guess how many letters I've finished so far this year? I'll give you a hint: if you multiply any number by zero, what do you get?

It's a matter of both personal fortitude (somewhat lacking) and the brow-beating exhaustion that can be part of the life here. At the end of the day, you have only a set amount of energy to give (a couple of hours or so for me) before sleep comes crashing down upon you, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Setting that time aside for the world outside, for those not part of your present life, takes concerted effort.

In the past, I have been both successful and unsuccessful at providing the effort to stay in touch with the outside world. Each aspect has its rewards and consequences, though they basically boil down to this: concentrating on one world leaves the other to grow more distant. Some relationships bear this distance well, picking up quickly where they left off when they become present again, others do not. I am accustomed to the extremes of each way of life here. I have spent a season entirely here at the South Pole, mentally unavailable to the outside world, as well as having spent a season devoted to a past love eight-thousand miles away, distant to those who knew me here.

This season, all thirteen months of it, I'm striving to find a better balance than the edges of the spectrum. I am striving to stay in touch with the family and friends I have left behind stateside, and also working to grow with the friends that I have here. I don't feel that there are any easy solutions, just more of the grey of a constantly fluctuating ideal.

So I haven't yet written any letters...that I will correct soon. In the mean, I've written more frequently on this site in the past month than in the past two years. I've taken on a role with our Emergency Response teams that pushes my time and person in directions that challenge my skills at decision-making, leadership, trust, and organization. I've posted photo albums of the world at the bottom of the planet. I've slept and stayed healthy (for a change). I've learned a new job and am about to learn another. I've driven heavy equipment. I've met new friends and bothered (in a good way) old ones. I've pondered life some. I've toyed with letting love in again. I've been largely social and minutely social. I've kept balanced and feel that life, overall, is good. No extremes right now, but definitely above average.

So as for those of you who haven't seen a letter, an email, or a phone call yet or as often as you like, please know that my thoughts are arcing your way and that, as I straighten out this thing I call a life, so to will words and an ear.

All the best of dreams in the mean.

Posted by noblehobo at 8:58 AM | Permalink

Some brief updates today:

- a new link to another Polie, our winter-over Power Plant Technician, Tim. Writing and videos from the perspective of a new Antarctican. Tim is also a member of our Fire Brigade. Look to the left for the link.

- a couple more photos were added to round two below. Some shots of the interior of the Cargo office and a sample of a scruffy, bearded Nate.

Posted by noblehobo at 11:43 AM | Permalink

Late night, post movies with friends. The end of a swing shift day, slowly moving from the station to home at five in the morning. Gather up momentum, and find the way to your cold weather gear from the lounge. Notice the station waking up for day shift, construction managers already leaving their morning meeting. Get dressed, drop your goggles over your eyes, and step outside into the air.

Fill your lungs, your mind waking up at the in-rush of cold oxygen. Equipment operators are starting up their dozers and cranes, prepping them to warm during breakfast. Step down the stairs of Destination Zulu as a snowmobile darts past. The bracket-bracket-bracket of bulldozer tracks echos past ears and vibrates feet as you tread across the snow to Summercamp.

The sun, as always, is up.

Step in the door to J-9, quiet-like, and push through the dark, finding your room door by touch. Eyes adjust later. Two coats are removed, boots and liners come off, layer after layer drops. Wrap in a blanket, power up the computer, and sit back to ponder the world, life, and all the aspects of it.

Think of responsibility and obligation, of lessons that life offers, regardless of the contexts that you choose. Think of leaving behind disliked situations that carry lessons of responsibility toward others, and find similar lessons in new environments.

Smile at the breath of air that gathers from another person entering the Jamesway, fresh and cool, carried by winds across a desert virtually untouched save the blowing ice crystals.

Wonder what you have left behind, but ponder at the deep contentment that you feel for your present. Settle in to communication and what you can do versus what you want to. Realize that life carries such universal similarities because you are always looking at situations from your perspective. The context changes, the view does not.

Or it can, should we choose.

And what of those who push to change their view, what of those who are pushed until they have no choice?

Perspective, all perspective...

_____________________

I watched several episodes of "Band of Brothers" tonight, and came away thinking on the level of sacrifice, obligation, and sheer terror that the men of Easy Company went through. Thought of the larger picture, of the fact that it was young men, differing likely by only language and culture (maybe only a generation or two of history) killing each other at the behest of other men. Caught on the realization that all they had was each other, all they had to trust, to understand, to hold steady in a world gone mad.

That for those who go to war.

And here, so far removed from the story based on truth of Easy Company, are we so different in relying on each other? Certainly we are more relaxed, with our day to day lives not so terrifyingly at risk. We are allowed the energy and time to see greys, to find subtlety in black and white, to think before responding (if we so choose to utilize that luxury). We cannot immediately leave and find a new place, cannot escape those we do not like, cannot easily take a break when needed. And so we hold, to those we share this life with. We share the context, share the struggle, and share the knowledge of the life we lead, all without having to state it directly.

A far cry from those who fought and risked all at Bastogne, but we learn, we grow, and we trust.

______________________

We are responsible for each other here, so much more so when the winter begins. We start in the state of obligation, but we grow to respect and realize it.

Posted by noblehobo at 10:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Some more photos from Antarctica for your perusal. On tap are aspects of my daily job as a Cargo Handler (Cargler or Cargoid, down here) and some bits from Thanksgiving. When next I get a chance, I'll see if I can't wrangle up so photos from our recent fire drill and from the archives of previous Antarctic shindigs.

You'll find the new photos in this album (there are some from last week here too):

Round Two

Or, since I forgot that I already had the archives, here they are:

Antarctic Archival Bliss

And since I'm in the mood for nostalgia, some other links as well:

Slacklinging over Lake Superior - photos by Nick Salava.

Training for MCC, crew leader mayhem, circa 2005.

Life with my summer crews in MCC, circa 2005 - Isle Royale and the BWCA.

Random photos collected from a life.

Exploring the ice of Superior.

New Zealand, circa 2005.

Some have comments, some don't. I take all questions and indignant looks offered!

Posted by noblehobo at 9:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I've added comments to the photos in the links below. They catch the story up to my arrival at the South Pole on October 26. At this point, then, I'm about a month behind.

Our Emergency Response team training is calming down, so I hope to close the gap soon (as my free time is increasing).

Posted by noblehobo at 9:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

If my entries for the past couple of weeks seem sparse, I blame it on the internet. Our satellite connection here at the South Pole is limited. Speed is okay, but we only have connectivity to the outside world for a brief window each day when the satellites we use bounce above the horizon line just long enough for us to send and receive signals from them.

Unfortunately, the current satellite window falls precisely within the hours that I sleep. Fortunately, the window changes a little bit every day (four minutes earlier) so very soon the connection will start up before I go to bed. Then, updates!

As for now, some good news. I've fixed the links to pictures below so that those of you not on Facebook can see them. Mistake on my part - sorry for the error. Hopefully (as the satellites improve) I'll get some comments added to the photographs as well. Also, I've added a couple of links to other Antarcticans who are writing - some of them much more frequently than I. Ethan the Good is one of our science technicians and a fellow with me on our emergency response teams - he's in charge of the fire brigade. Neal the Action Nerd is also one of our science techs but since he just finished a winter here he may not be updating his website until he gets back in February. Finally, the South Pole News link heads to a website kept up by a former Polie, Bill Spindler. There are links to further information, current news, and archived history galore at his site.

Posted by noblehobo at 11:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Some Antarctic Photos:

Round One

Round Two

Posted by noblehobo at 7:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

To catch up:

I've been at the South Pole for six days now, having landed around mid-afternoon on Friday, the 26th of October. It's good to be back here, especially after being stuck on the coastal station of McMurdo for 18 days. One gets bored and frustrated very quickly when under-tasked and transient.

Here at Pole, however, I am never without something to do. This is a good thing.

Friday was an easy day, a rest day to help us acclimate to the elevation here (10-12 thousand feet physiologically, depending on the variations within the atmosphere). Most everyone wanders around their first day or two with a headache, dizziness, or light nausea after flying in from sea level. Some have much more adverse effects due to the jump in altitude, making trips to BioMed (our "hospital"), back to sea level at McMurdo Station, or possibly off-continent a possibility.

Interestingly, very little is known about the human body's response to drastic changes in altitude. An individual who has successfully made a transition from sea level to 12,000 feet in the past has no guarantee that they will be able to do so in the future. As a general rule, physical shape and endurance do not determine a successful transition either.

To better understand the human reaction to altitude changes, a group based out of the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota received a grant from the National Science Foundation to travel to Antarctica and study its denizens. Being that Polies (the nickname for folks working at the South Pole) are all required to make an abrupt jump in altitude for our jobs, we make ideal lab rats. In exchange for a free shirt (it's a nice shirt!) many of us have volunteered to be poked, prodded, have blood drawn, be weighed, analyzed, breath into tubes, wear daily blood pressure and heart rate meters, and even wear "life shirts" and electrodes that determine a great number of things while one sleeps.

It's been a riot to be an active part of a science experiment going on in Antarctica, particularly one of the rare pieces of "squishy" science (i.e. biology as opposed to astronomy, cosmology, geology, or atmospherics) at the South Pole. The techs and doctors involved with the project have all been from Minnesota as well, lending a touch of home to the conversations I've had with the group running the experiment. They've been here long enough to have become part of the community, affectionately (or not) known as the bloodsuckers. And, in the vein of the small-world syndrome, one of the techs went to college with my brother.

So, Friday was an easy day, dinner with old friends, giant smiles as I wandered around station, shortness of breath from the altitude, and my part in the altitude experiment. I went to sleep wearing a life shirt, covered in electrodes and wires, and did my best to rest well as advised.

Saturday brought a full day of turnover with the Emergency Response teams from the previous year. I had accepted a role offered to me by our Winter Site Manager to be one of two On Scene Commanders (OSC) in the event of an emergency response. I didn't realize the level of commitment that I was walking into, but Saturday began the steep learning curve.

In effect, I am in charge of any scene at the response to an emergency. Or emergency teams here respond to trauma incidents, fire alarms, and spills (hazardous materials). I am one small piece of a larger puzzle (the organizational chart makes for interesting reading) but our teams are organized in such a way as to scale from small events to very large ones.

In a direct fashion I work with the team leads for our Trauma team, our Hasty Team (first responders), our Fire Brigade, and our Logistics team. Between myself and the leads, it is our responsibility to search and secure a scene and respond as the scene dictates, be it fire, spill, trauma, or a combination of the above.

As is very common with many activities at the South Pole, all of the members of our emergency response teams our volunteers.

Saturday, then, was the first go-round of those of us newly trained for emergency response, our first drill and the official turn-over of the response teams to those of us here for the summer. It is now our new crew, going about our normal days, who responds to an alarm, who works for the safety of our coworkers and our friends.

There are big shoes that all of us are working to fill, but time and persistence (we train weekly and drill monthly) will lead to a team that will move with one mind by the end of summer and the end of our upcoming winter.

Saturday night held more attempted rest and the social send off of the departing winter-over crew.

Rest was still the name of the game Sunday, particularly after the mental exhaustion of Saturday. A lazy brunch and an afternoon of card games and board games followed suit. Hiking was discussed, but with temperatures hovering around -60 F and a wind-chill of -90 F, the idea was passed on.

Monday began work with the Cargo department as an equipment handler. My days have since been filled with long hours of a job that touches everything that moves in and out of the South Pole. Every piece of equipment, personal baggage, food, and the like moves through our department at one time or another. We are the group that loads and unloads the LC-130 Hercules aircraft that land throughout the summer months at Pole.

Yesterday saw my first trip behind a plane for an offload. I was not participating, just observing, but to see the entire process was enlightening. We offload in a state of ERO (engines running) so the noise, smell, and power of the prop wash is a very present awareness. The fuelies, are partners on the flight deck, get even more up close and personal with the dangerous parts (propellers) of a running LC-130 as they offload fuel for the station's diesel generators and the equipment that we run.

Soon, I'll be driving the Caterpillar forklifts behind the planes, but more practice is on the radar first.

Right now, there are four of us who have been here and are acclimated, trying to cover days in which the flights split between an arrival at noon and at midnight, making for long hours. After numerous weather delays, however, the rest of our crew arrived this morning. In a few days we'll be up to full staff, running two shifts each of three Cargo Handlers (equipment operators, pallet builders, baggage luggers, mail deliverers, and general roustabouts) , a load planner (for the paperwork to go with all the shipment and the logistics of cargo movement), and a team lead. We also work closely with our Materials department (two people) and the Waste department (two people) for the station, trading help and time as needed. All this for a remote outpost that supports hundreds of millions of dollars of scientific research and the daily lives of up to 275 people.

We are outside or in equipment for our entire day, darting around on snowmobiles to make deliveries, moving thousands of pounds of gear with the tracked forklifts, building pallets for delivery, or shoveling off our buried gear. It is hard, physical work, but leaves me feeling satisfied in the same manner of trail work.

I had some plans for goals and hobbies, but between my acceptance of the OSC role for emergency response and the long hours of Cargo, I think I'll step back from them. One needs to make certain to have time for spontaneity and fun. I often wear responsibility as a mantle that weighs me down, turns me grouchy and tired. This will be a season to focus on a different attitude, and a much more rounded way of life.

Tomorrow, the four of us will be working four flights, scheduled for arrivals at noon, 1 PM, 11 PM, and 12 AM. Should be a good day...

Posted by noblehobo at 12:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The plan for opening the South Pole this year has changed from the past. The New York Air National Guard, who flies the ski-equipped, LC-130 Hercules aircraft that we use for passenger and cargo transport, has refused to fly below -50 C. This is with good cause, as landing below these temperatures puts a good deal of stress on the planes, often causing equipment malfunctions later on.

In response to this, as well as to attempt to open the station more slowly, the US Antarctic Program contracted with a Canadian transport company to arrange an earlier flight window with a different plane. Ken Borek Air will be flying a modified DC-3 aircraft, known as a Basler. These modified planes have a good deal of history, as the original DC-3 was designed and built prior to World War II and has continued to be a staple of air travel around the world since. Newly constructed versions of the plane are modified at a company in Wisconsin to increase their range, operating temperature window, and cargo carying capacity. The Baslers have a history at Pole, landing many times in the past years. This will be the first time, however, that they will be a dedicated part of the USAP.

I've been scheduled to fly on the final Basler flight of the opening, on October 24. The first flight should be taking place as soon as the weather clears at the South Pole (it is clear, beautiful, and about 5 degrees Farenheit here at McMurdo Station). There will be seven flights in all. The Basler has a maximum operational ceiling of 14,000 feet, meaning that we will be flying through the Trans-Antarctic Mountains, rather than high above them as in the LC-130s. All of Antarctica will be splayed out below us for our view during the five hour ride.

What gets me though, every time I see that airplane, waiting out on the ice runway, waiting for us to hop on and ride it, is the fact that it harkens back to a more romantic period of air travel - something straight out of movies from the 40s and 50s. When I look over at it, the theme song from the Indiana Jones movies pops into my head and I can picture it flying over a map of Antarctica, a red line growing behind it as a movie montage takes us home to the South Pole.

I've been craving to fly on those birds for years, and have been excited to no end as I wait here for take-off.

I didn't think anything could top that ride to the South Pole.

Then I got an email today from my supervisor. Turns out a couple of volunteers were needed to stop at a glacier and dig out a fuel cache. I was volunteered.

Volunteered to hop on an even smaller, more nimble and veteran plane in the Antarctic program, the Twin Otter. As of Saturday I am scheduled to fly out to the largest glacier on the planet, the Beardmore. We will land on the glacier, dig out a fuel cache needed for a remote science field camp, the hop back on the plane and fly through the mountains and over the glacier to the South Pole. There will be four of us, the two pilots, and a lot of shovels.

My smile grew even wider at the news.

Pictures soon, of the planes mentioned above, and of the trip, when it is done.

In the mean, I'll just keep ambling along, looking for adventures to find me.

Posted by noblehobo at 4:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

life transpires quickly in the present-tense, often with less reflection and future-planning time than we would like. a moment, then, to recap what has been and what will be on this antarctic journey. this may read like a listing of events, but for those of you asking and curious, it will fill in the details i forget to mention.

the official start (not counting medical qualification paperwork and tests) began on september 9 with a flight to denver, colorado from the minneapolis airport. i left town with the remnant pieces of my aunts hobo party in tow, a wandering roustabout hopping in to say hello before his forty-first move.

from september 10-14, i took part in classes to expand my IT knowledge base. the classes related to the computer server systems that i will be responsible for managing during the antarctic winter as the systems administrator for the south pole station. over the course of the weekend i snuck out for a spell of biking with old friends in fort collins and proudly displayed an ability to not completely wreck myself while tumbling downhill on a bike.

structural firefighting school (south pole specific!) took place the next week in golden, colorado, piling a collection of winter-over crew through as much of a full firefighting course as we could get in a week. we also managed to cram in as much good food and company as possible, a roller-derby event, and a polie-party outside of the antarctic. saturday held our psychological testing and a presentation on stress and the response to traumatic events.

we set up on monday for another south pole specific course, focused primarily on first response to a medical situation. three days later we moved back toward denver for orientation and the first batch of flights to new zealand for the antarctic summer season.

i left denver on friday afternoon, transfered flights in los angeles, and then flew over the pacific for twelve hours on the way to new zealand. we landed in aukland, then took a commuter flight to christchurch.

in christchurch, the cargo team (who i'll be working with for the next four months in my summer season job as an air transportation specialist) spent three days at loader training. we took a caterpillar 943 and a 247 through the mud and muck of the new zealand spring, playing with slopes, drops, and flooded pits that we might never again see (at least not in antarctica). there were giant, goofy grins all around. the last day of class took place in a slew of hail and sleet, but we persevered. after that, we were to fly out on friday.

were to fly out on friday, that is, if we contagious and sick enough with the cold to infect the rest of a flight... myself and one of my coworkers found ourselves forcibly delayed, originally for one day, then for three (due to space restrictions), then for five (due to plane mechanical malfunctions). i was far better after the second day, so there was ample opportunity to play around christchurch, and even sneak out of town for a bit. i made it out to the pacific for a view from a spring beach and caught a hint of the southern alps (mountains).

today, nine days after arriving in new zealand, i fly south to antarctica.

i'll be in mcmurdo station on the coast (actually on ross island, off the coast of antarctica) until october 23, at which point i'll head down to the south pole. once i land there, the south pole will be my home for the next thirteen months.

and there it was, a recap. more meandering thoughts and psuedo-philosophies in the future...

Posted by noblehobo at 10:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

some bits and bobs from training in the two weeks before leaving for new zealand. just click the link below for the start.

fire and first responder class photos.

Posted by noblehobo at 4:54 AM | Permalink

it's a late day after trauma school training (basic first responder medical) and i won't be putting together a full post before i head to the world o' dream.

in the mean, some quick photos from my fire school training:

our bunker (protective) gear.

reviewing a search and attack in the burn house.

the burn house.

checking each others' gear.

the gang's all here. actually, it's only one half of us. there's one professional firefighter in the picture. can you tell the difference?

Posted by noblehobo at 11:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

a couple of good sayings popped up this week. for starters, from fire school:

"when you're going into a fire, don't make a fuel of yourself or you'll turn out to be an ash."

and, as i wait for final confirmation on my travel to antarctica one week before my supposed departure date:

"semper gumby," translated, "always flexible."

nothing in this program is set until it actually happens.

now, off to more burning buildings!

Posted by noblehobo at 7:54 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

laughter does wonders. that is a lesson i'll not forget soon.

the peanut gallery got together today, a collection of folk i've spent time with in antarctica before. they're a great group, and sarcasm flows thick when we're around one another.

we gathered up a collection of south pole winter over candidates, both primary and alternate, for our first day of fire school. though many of us expect to be spending our next year in the deep south, we are all technically "candidates" until the last flight leaves south pole on february 15 of 2008. at that time, whoever is left on station (there should be 65 of us) will be considered the "successful" candidates.

what this means in reality is that the people we will get to know over the next two weeks may or may not be spending the eight months of winter with us. some people simply drop out first, others encounter medical, psychological, or familial difficulties, some get better offers, and some never have a job materialize. still, we all travel through a set of training that includes structural firefighting, incident and crisis management, and medical first responder training. we do this because we will need to be a self-supporting, self-reliant, and self-sustaining group for the eight months of isolation over winter.

in effect, we are getting the first taste of the family that we will spend eight months of our lives with and some of them might not make it to the start.

lessons today included an introduction to the incident command structure, basic radio protocol, how to don and doff our bunker gear, and team building.

the ICS (incendent command structure) is a scalable way to deal with an emergency situation so simple as requiring one or two people up to the size and management necessary for an event the size of the I-35 bridge collapse or 9-11. it's a hierarchical structure designed so that any one person in charge of other persons never has to speak with more than 3-7 groups. it came out of wildland firefighting, where the numbers of people fighting the fire can balloon from several to several hundred in a day. the need, in that situation, for a coordinated front to prevent confusion, loss of communication, and overlapping areas of responsibility is immense. this setup creates the ability to minimize and mitigate issues that arise in coordinating large groups. being more a-type than i would care to admit, i ate it up.

as for our bunker gear (the protective clothing that all members of a fire brigade wear), we took some time to fit the various bits (hoodie, helmet, boots, pants, coat, and gloves), and then practiced getting all of it on and checking our neighbors to see if they were dressed correctly and safely. we kept at the practice until we were all able to do this in under a minute.

finally, the team building didn't take the usual route it might if you've experience doing team building with younger groups of folk. instead, we focused on discussing values, where conflict might arise in a group where values differ, what we held in common, and stories of why we were where we were, preparing to winter at the south pole. in a surprise, the stories that were told by our team members were heartfelt and truthful, much more so than i would have suspected. there was a leap of faith offered, trust given to a group that is still only one day old. what we have is a commitment and loyalty. each of us has chosen to spend a winter at the south pole. in effect, we have chosen to be a part of a family for those eight months - a very tight-nit, inter-dependent family that doesn't get to go anywhere else to get away when frustrations rise. we will depend on each other for food, light, laughter, warmth, friendship, power... in essence, we will be depending on each other for life.

today was the start of that realization. a dependent truth that may or may not be spoken of, may or may not be present in thought or worry, but a truth that commitment and loyalty act toward, with, and upon.

tomorrow, we play with fire.

Posted by noblehobo at 10:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

let alone the acronyms that i am and will be flooded with througout life in the antarctic program (AOD,CDC, CHC, MCM, NPX, PQ, DEN, MSP, LAX, RPSC, NSF, SPSM, ACKBAR, SPUMONI, NYANG, just to name a few), the windows server 2003 class that i am currently taking is loading them up as well. a selection:

DHCP, DNS, A, PTR, SOA, SRV, NS, MX, CNAME, RR, SF, CF, ISP, NetBIOS, TTL, TCP/IP, RFC 1542, IXFR, AXFR, IPSec, NAT, PPTP, MPPE, UDP, L2TP, VPN, ICS, HTTP, LAN.

and that's just acronyms. the terms easily bury that short list.

some are familiar, some i'm learning greater depth of.

mostly my brain just hurts.

Posted by noblehobo at 1:31 PM | Permalink

it's easy to get distracted here, to find the hints of foul moods playing into one's limited free time. it takes a good deal of effort to be sure to notice when this is happening, to seek out friends or solace, to look around and see the sundogs that arc in double rainbows, to keep your head up and your heart going.

but you can. and with the wind up today, the ice crystals in the air, the sundogs are spectacular.

Posted by noblehobo at 10:13 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

deep breath.

sigh.

relax.

the transition is done - after four days on the coast of antarctica, hanging out in mcmurdo, countless hours of flights and many, many nights in between this summer and home i'm here. my old room beckoned, the station is familiar as always, the friends as welcoming, the place as exciting, the horizon line as steady, the sky as blue, the south pole as it always has been.

i haven't made a solid home - a place of my own - in over three years. everything has been a transitional lifestyle, a job or a home that lasted for no more than a few months. at the pole, however, there is consistency and familiarity, a return to the same faces and spaces that leave me comfortable. and this time for a year... it will be the longest i've lived in any one place since 2001 and, assuming that my dreams don't change in any exceedingly large fashion, the beginning of settling a little more regularly.

it's a grand adventure about to start, filled with the myriad mix of emotion that place it as perfection for the challenge it will be.

Posted by noblehobo at 1:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

made it to the coast today - we landed on the ice outside of mcmurdo station. more soon, the winter air of antarctica's summer calls...

Posted by noblehobo at 6:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

made it to new zealand safe and sound, and a little sleep has left my soul a little closer (it doesn't seem to move as fast as my feet can) and my perspective far lighter.

there's been a fine rush of friends upon hitting the final transfers in flight and gathering into the community of the pole is a warming experience indeed. homogenous, in some aspects (politics in particular) but vastly different by way of experiences, travels, and paths here. it's a set of refreshing waters to dip into for conversation - an easy space to build dreams.

and busy...so to playing in the city (and safety trainings, orientations, clothing issue, flu vaccinations, etc.) i go.

Posted by noblehobo at 8:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

and thus it begins again, sitting in the airport, waiting on a flight, stuck in that horrifyingly boring limbo between one life and another. it's a strange feeling indeed, balanced here at my gate, surrounded by souls in transition and feet in motion. everyone is waiting or running somewhere else - there is no call to home here, no easy comfort. it leaves me wishing i could sleep through the lobbies to jump that much faster into the next adventure.

one long, incredible adventure too. a year in one of the most remote places on the planet, a year in a day (i'll be back in the states tomorrow morning, if day is defined by a sunrise and a sunset), a year at the south pole. should be something amazingly crazy and wonderful, even if occasionally mundane. and it pales so completely to the adventure that starts when i return...

and here boards the flight.

Posted by noblehobo at 8:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

alas, no season extension...
a great calamity of weather and poor planning has lead toa far earlier exit from the pole than i expected. it's been a grand run, some of the most difficult and rewarding months of my life. still, it's time to go. off to new zealand for some warmth, humidity, and green things. then back home to the ol' lands of minnesota.

Posted by noblehobo at 12:29 AM | Permalink

the arrival in new zealand went off without a hitch, with the side benefit of actually getting some sleep on the plane. with luck, the jet lag will be out of my system by tomorrow.

more soon, but i landed less than an hour ago. time to settle in, get my toes dug into the sand and sample the air that's filling my lungs.

Posted by noblehobo at 5:03 PM | Permalink

the final flights head out today and then the long, dark night begins. the pole won’t see another flight until late next october. i’m on my way off the ice in another few hours. off toward new zealand to see green things and warmth, night breezes and stars.

goodnight world of white, see you in the morning.

Posted by noblehobo at 3:37 PM | Permalink

i’ve spent the new year holiday in some crazy places, from cavorting with millions in madrid to quiet endeavors in lake cabins and tenting homes. all of the experiences have been treasured ones - all unique in so many ways, and all (mostly) unexpected.

being at the pole for new years definitely adds to the list (and playing a midnight game of kickball at the ceremonial pole qualifies as unique, i think) but it also unfortunately adds to the distance.

every year about this time i end up wrapped in heavy nostalgia for the past, rememberences for friends and for times that have slipped away to the warmth of memory. to dwell there is not a good thing to do for long, but the smiles that come to my face leave me thinking of the present.

the smiles and thoughts find me wanting to track down those i know and love, those who i have shared great (and humiliating) moments with. those who have left their mark upon me, who are part and parcel of who this wandering hobo is.

the new year brings distance for me this time (thousands of miles) but it continues to bring the same warmth and love for my friends, family, and fellow human beings. there is an embrace winding its way out from where i sit at the moment, a warm hug to those i know.

to your own memories, your own new year, and the closeness of those you love as well.

best dreams, all of you.

Posted by noblehobo at 3:39 PM | Permalink

ah, more o’ the old photographic blunders for all to see. on tap today we have christmas, sledding!!!, and a few other assorted niceties.

to begin with, sledding! at the pole! where it’s usually really flat! and then more exclamation points! i swear!

this is the hill that we did battle with - a two sided monster capable of dismembering weak souls and small mammals. it may not look like much, but the ice, er snow, at the south pole is basically rock solid and cold. no wet minnesota snow here. for speed, there is nothing better.

preparation - figuring out the logistics of getting seven people in the sled - making a beer commercial - attempting a new land speed sledding record - our final resting point, somewhere at the edge of the base

and then there’s christmas. a combination of quality down time and grand partying. first off - the discovery of bob, the anti-santa. next up, the galley staff (self-included) shortly before dinner on christmas eve. and, following, a collection of friends from the pole - some of the random folks i’ve met and been befriended by, to provide some faces to the community:

jenny, geoff, and aaron

chad and corey

nick and aaron

mark, corey, ryan, and nick (falling?)

emma and jeremiah

finally, an odd bit occurring on christmas - the filming of a music video for the ‘first annual south pole film festival’ next month. all of us walking by were obliged to join in the fracas. multiple times.

alas, no more photos at the moment. soon, more. any requests?

Posted by noblehobo at 3:40 PM | Permalink

just enought time to toss out truckloads of photos this morning. maybe it’ll endup looking a bit like self-worship, but there’s loads o’ my own mug in these shots. guess that’s what happens when you, lacking a camera, just grab photos from friends. here goes:

to start with, we’ll track back. the terrabus was the first vehicle we took on the ground in antarctica. it’s a bumpy ride between the runway and mcmurdo.

next up, the geographic south pole - a traditional shot.

a couple of weeks ago i mentioned getting to go out on a boondoggle, leaving the station to do ‘important’ scientific work and at the same time, getting far enough away that we could only see snow. We took a pistonbully out into the great beyond and measured poles to test snow accumulation over time. it was a long trip (seven hours), and jenny cracked…attacking me with one of the marker flags as i tried to roll away. the trip was gorgeous - snow formations called sastrugi held razor thin sculptures in the snow, carved by wind, and we couldn’t tell which way was home save by our tracks.

last weekend held a disco party which eventually moved outside, leaving me to think we really are getting used to the cold. it kind of scared me how many disco clothes have made it down here in the last few years. there’s a community closet full of them. i’ll see if i can possibly track some good group party shots down…we fit the roles well, maybe too well.

there’s some awesome hole-in-the-wall type places as well, easy to miss if you’re just here for the summer (and focus on the bar and movies). good places to visit include the only place on station with any humidity - the greenhouse, and skylounge, a place far, far from everything else loaded with musical instruments and, generally, happy folk plying their talents. or learning…

finally, a good ol’ shot of the true nature of the south pole.

Posted by noblehobo at 3:44 PM | Permalink

thoughts…

too many thoughts…

an insomniac night that breeds the lessons of the past to direct the future.

for years the ideas have been brewing in my head, driven by wonder, by curiousity, by a bug i can’t quite explain. for years the thoughts of future have been distant shadows of ideas, touches of dreams, hints of a reality not quite so. no more.

time is treading by, society trying to teach ideas of stability, of settlement, and i’ve tried to listen, but it doesn’t work for me. the bug of wanderlust just gets in the way, fills me to the brim, and leaves me drunk on a search for joy and contentment.

in the last few months i’ve found the courage to wage a different route from what i’ve known, to quit living vicariously and to clear my own path. two seasonal jobs down (well, one down, one in progress) and already i’m hooked. the dreams of the future are lifting from the shadows, reality is growing stronger and the paths to where i’d like to be are gaining strength.

thoughts of alaska, the northwest united states, south america, china, africa, new zealand, and the jobs that lead me to these locations - all of these thoughts are gaining footholds. too many ideas that leave me smiling, too many ideas i can’t turn down, and too many people here doing the same thing and finding fulfillment.

home will not be a location, but the web of family and friendships that i’ve been forming for years. home will not be one place but the connection of many through strings of thought, ideas, goals, and explorations both external and internal.

something has been brewing in the last couple of years, and i’m finally gaining a more clear picture.

i’m learning where i might be going, and, in doing so, not worrying about it so much. learning where i’m going and remembering to stay around in the present - learning to hold on to the current place and let it fuel powerful memories, emotions, and stories.

i’m learning, always learning.

Posted by noblehobo at 3:46 PM | Permalink

the internet! it’s working! sort of…

so far, on both of my days off, the ol’ satelite has been down intermitently. funny how dependent we are on it. Any communications (with the exception of short wave radio) we have with other bases or off-continent contacts go through the satelite data stream. it’s up and running now, but who knows for how long.

this morning i wandered down to the meteorology department to poke around and ask questions. i was able to tag along for the launching of a weather balloon and learn a little about reading conditions, particularly as related to managing aircraft flights.

we’ve been flightless for the last few days, though, as mcmurdo (the main US station) was pounded by a snowstorm. they’re currently buried under three or four feet of snow and being tossed around by fifty mile per hour winds. here, the weather is the same as usual - bright, clear, and slightly windy. monday was the warmest day yet (we were working outside without jackets) at -24 degrees farenheight. i’d say that i’m well adjusted to the temps now.

i find it funny that -24 is warm now. when jon, brian, and i lived in the tent and woke up to a morning like that, we moved as quick as we could to our cars and to town. i find it ironic that as high tech as some of the research is here, and how expansive the new base is, i’m still living in a canvas tent. it’s nice, but i miss the one in northern mn. jon, brian, and i put together a great home…

thanksgiving here at the pole was an event like few i’ve been part of. i worked all weekend (most people had two days in a row off), and the entire galley crew took part in the thanksgiving meal prep on saturday. it was a crowded kitchen. not only were five of us cooking, but volunteers popped in and out to help with cooking and the set up. there was also a national geographic film crew (three folks) who hung out filming us as we ran around the galley.

we are a large group of people (well, 200 large) who are forced by circumstance and driven by choice to become a tight community. everyone left friends and family back home and nearly everyone left a spouse or partner back in the states. we have come to depend on each other (as a matter of employment and at personal levels) quickly and strongly. sitting back before the first seating, mamosas in hand, listening to the first toast, and feeling a bit smug (we cooks rocked the house), i felt very happy. i may not have been with my family or my friends, but i was (and am) with a community i felt very good to be a part of.

Posted by noblehobo at 3:48 PM | Permalink

back by popular demand, more photos:

the first up is a view from behind summer camp where the majority of us stay during the summer season. and yes, those are tents.

the second lovely photo is one more of the obligatory shots of the ceremonial south pole.

now, we get into the eclipse photos:

lots o’ folks looking up, oohing, ahhing, and otherwise hamming it up for the national geographic film crew;

the dome as taken through a filtered lens;

and a composite of the eclipse as we saw it.

you’ll have to imagine the sun eclipsed in the first two solar shots - even at 90% totality it was still quite bright. kudos to nick and mountain for sharing their photos with my camera-less self. through their kind graces you too can view life at the pole.

i’m heading out tonight on a short expedition with the weather crew to replace some directional markers. nothing too special work-wise, but since we work our butts off in the kitchen they thought they’d offer to share the trip with us. what it entails is driving ten miles from base in a piston-bully (snow-cat). what it means is that it will truly be the middle of nowhere by view - not even the station on the horizon. i can’t wait!

as for email - there are lots of you i should be writing too, and if i find the time i will, but this morning (my first internet access in a week) i did this instead. hope the photos are worth it - ‘cause i’m missin’ lotsa folk and intendin’ to write like a madman soon.

Posted by noblehobo at 3:50 PM | Permalink

ask and ye shall receive…

since someone asked about the women on base, how about a brief breakdown in numbers (courtesy o’ the employer):

of raytheon polar service personal there are:

35 sailing about the continent on research vessels
675 hanging out on the coast at mcmurdo

20 playing with the sealife at palmer station

and 196 at the south pole.

of this total there are
615 men
309 women

for a 67/33 breakdown. two guys for every girl.

but the ratio is a little worse at the pole, and the majority of individuals down here don’t show up single. realisticaly? there’s probably about five available women within ten years of my age.

single is not the thing to be at the south pole - on the other hand, i’ve got all the time in the world to learn to play guitar, write letters, wander around aimlessly, etc., and we all still dance like crazy kids come the late-night saturday parties.

Posted by noblehobo at 3:53 PM | Permalink

i wanted to think that it was impossible, but it’s happening here like most other places. the mundane aspects of life are creeping in and attempting to make life here ‘normal’. not that this is bad in all aspects, but it is getting far too easy to get frustrated with work, to be tired, and to do nothing other than whine a bit about work and go to bed.

it takes constant reminders (like a good deep breath each morning as i look to the horizon) to keep my sanity here. the odd thing is that they are the same reminders i’ve always brought to myself, the same attempts to look at my situation and find the good in it. work is easy to get frustrated with and there are ungodly amounts of bureaucracy down here - but i am at the south pole.

at any given second i can look to the horizon and see an endless expanse of snow. i can know that barring an incredible support system, life here would be impossible. i can smile at the fact that nature is burying us in snow as i speak and bulldoze as we might, nature will eventually win. i can wonder at the fact that this is as close to the moon or mars as i can get right now. i can feel comfort in the cold on my face as i walk to work each day. i can find humor in the absudity of this place and the idiosynchracies inherrent here.

i can remind myself that i’m at the south pole.

Posted by noblehobo at 3:54 PM | Permalink

in the good graces of fate i ran across one of my friends in the computer lab who has taken some great photos of the adventure so far. here goes:

A view of mactown (mcmurdo station) from observation hill.

kenny, nick, and i at the top of observation hill with Scott’s cross in the foreground and the 12,000’ volcano mt. erebus in the background.

here’s a mess of us on the flight to the pole.

lacy (a great friend who spent 13 months at the pole) and i upon first arrival at the pole.

and, finally, the south pole itself.

no more photos for now, but soon more, i promise.

Posted by noblehobo at 4:02 PM | Permalink

so here’s a photo of the new station that i found on the public drive down here. the quality stinks, but it’ll show you where i work. one of these days i’ll manage to get a digital camera from someone and set up a ‘tour’ of the base.

click here for an image of the new station.

ditto with this photo of the old station dome…

click here for a photo of the old station.

Posted by noblehobo at 1:03 PM | Permalink

the land here at the pole is so flat that when you look at the horizon (on the days that the horizon isn’t obscured by blowing snow)you can see the curvature of the earth. there is something absolutely amazing at getting a sense of the fact we live on a sphere floating around in space. something amazing about the realization that we’re all in this together for the long haul. either we humans get our poop in a group and figure out how to survive in the long-term or we will become a footnote in the history of earth.

this is a land of big thoughts and tired days that plays strange games with the mind. i can’t help but try to figure out why things are the way they are and how i relate to them. that is, when work is done and i look out to the endless horizon i can’t help but think that…

it’s not that we don’t often ask questions about life, the universe, and everything - i’m definitely NOT unique in this regard, it just blows my mind what desolation and beauty wreak on one’s heart and head. and beauty in desolation it is. there is nothing here. nothing but blowing snow, endless drifts, incredible sundogs, the feeling of being on another planet, endless days, the aurora australus, and endless nights.

humans here are, as usual, faced with the fact that nature will win in the end. when you build a station in the middle of a flat, wind-swept environment, you create a drifting snow problem. so much of a problem that the very original base (circa 1952, i think) is now buried under 35 feet of snow. the dome (the base you see in most photos) is about half buried. the new station (built to accomodate the drifting and snow compression that leads to burial) is already ‘sinking’ faster than they aniticipated.

we’re a stubborn race, constantly trying to outcompete processes with which we might cooperate and harness in other ways. we beat our brows neanderthalically in vain attemps to bring about immortality. we destroy beauty in order to make life easier and more efficient, often failing to realize that nature has understood efficiency for millenia more than we have even been around.

then again, i’m here - and the efficiency of nature ought preclude that possibility.

Posted by noblehobo at 4:38 PM | Permalink

so i’m learning that writing through this site is to be a difficult endeavor as satellite availability at the south pole stinks. the hours available basically exist at the same time that i’m sleeping.
normally, this wouldn’t be a problem, since sleep has long been one of my lowest priorities, but here, it is of utmost importance. this last week i have been able to do nothing other than work, eat, and sleep. the constant daylight, work week (64 hours +) and battling the ‘crud’ (an nice euphemism for the unnamed cold and flu bug that hits nearly everyone down here upon arrival) have taken their toll.
i’m finally coming out the bright side though, so energy returns. entries online, letters, reading, guitar-learning, friendship-building, and correspondence will occur again!
look forward to (hopefully) getting others to add to this weblog as well, since the original thought was to get an online conversation going - not me talking endlessly alone.

Posted by noblehobo at 4:39 PM | Permalink

ever step off of a plane, out of a car, etc. and feel as if you entered into another world?

i’m lost in wonder at what’s going on here at the south pole. life is divided evenly between mundane, familiar elements and out-of-whack instances that bring about triple takes.

the flight here crossed mountain ranges that gave way to snow so deep as to leave them buried. i’m sitting on over 9000’ of snow and ice, breathing air at an equivalent to 10,500 feet.

Posted by noblehobo at 4:41 PM | Permalink

the arrival on continent was met by clear skies, frigid air, and friendly folk. in the few short hours that i've been here i've managed to see the new zealand antarctic base, tour mcmurdo (the main u.s. base) extensively, and wander around in a cabin built by the antarctic explorer robert scott over a hundred years ago. walking around base i can see the transantarctic mountain range, the horizon line of ice that eventually gives way to ocean, numerous crosses (erected in days past as memorials) and mt. erebus, an active volcano.

i thought that my wide-eyed-wonder look might be unique, but i was quite enthralled to discover that it is commonplace. almost all of us who are new to this continent can do nothing but smile from ear to ear as we gather in our new surroundings.

the town itself (and mcmurdo base really is a town, summer pop. of 1600 people) is a bizarre conglomeration of structures rising from the rocky ground on wooden stilts. there are vehicles galore crisscossing the base and all move on treads or enormous wheels. i can't help but think how much fun it would be to hop in some of them and go tearing about on the sea ice. there is also constant air traffic around mcmurdo with helicopters, twin otters (small planes), and LC-130's continually en route to resupply other bases or field camps. it is truly a bizarre environment, unique to itself in many ways.

all this and i have not yet seen the south pole.

tomorrow morning, if all goes well, i fly inland farther, to begin my stint at 90 degrees south latitude - to wander around at the very bottom of the earth.

Posted by noblehobo at 1:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

so i’m here in new zealand, putzing around christchurch, and staring at everything with my eyes wide open. it’s not that christchurch is astounding (typical city, european in style) but that i’m in disbelief of what i’m up to.

it’s 8 am and i’m about to head off to orientation. loads of info on the program, we receive all of our winter gear, and then they tell us when we fly out. as early as tomorrow afternoon i could be on the antarctic ice. man, does that thought bring smiles.

Posted by noblehobo at 5:13 PM | Permalink

only another few hours to go. the deepened hours of sleep are calling hard and heavy eyelids can’t resist their keening wail much longer. long bouts of frenzied packing and address collecting have found my way into the a.m. and still i crave more time.

more time to get in those last phone calls with those of you i’ve missed in the past few days, more time to laugh in person with you, more time to gather stories and moments, more time to sleep. ahh, the havoc that is the (mostly) graceful exit.

tomorrow i’m off to the hinterlands, the first leg of flight toward the next adventure taking me through to new zealand. in a week i’ll be standing upside down! in a week (or four) my brain will no longer be mush and noblehobo.com can really get moving. in a week i’ll be absolutely enthralled with the bitter cold.

i love the procrastinators’ rush. it is sweet, blissful home to me.

tomorrow, the beginning. tonight, one helluva grin upon my sleeping face.

Posted by noblehobo at 5:15 PM | Permalink