Anna McKee

December 27th, 2009
WAIS Divide Camp at 79.47°S latitude, 112.06°W longitude – high on the West
Antarctic Ice Sheet Plateau.
Holidays – Why They Might Need To Be Special
In the days leading up to Christmas, I was a bit ambivalent about
celebrating; it seemed remote and abstract. I was enjoying the lack of
commercialism that is unavoidable in the US. At the same time, I was
experiencing more homesickness than I expected. Getting short emails from
family and friends in Seattle made me misty eyed.
The reality is that we are a group of 44 mostly strangers who must share
tight quarters similar to an armada out at sea, with sporadic and
unpredictable access to land. Everybody’s work is demanding and requires
constant vigilance to stay warm and healthy. I am not sure why, but it
creates an intensity that heightens emotions. “Herc” (LC-17) flights bring
in treasured mail from home, but those flights are often delayed or
canceled. Expectations must be kept in check because disappointments are
felt more strongly.
We all miss our families and many people in camp crave the familiarity of
holidays. It is a tradition from the Heroic age of polar exploration to take
time out from routine to celebrate and mark special times. Hanukkah was
observed the week before and the chefs planned a big feast for Christmas
night. Almost everybody had the day off and dressed for the occasion,
gathering in the Galley at 5pm for appetizers. This segued into a fabulous
meal including fresh salad and vegetables.
“Freshies” are a rare treat out here; almost everything we eat is frozen.
The food is kept in a big room dug into the snow. I visited this room today
after digging the door out from a drift. The ceiling is covered with a
filigree of hoar crystals, plates that shimmer even in the dim light from the
door like sugared plums.

December 24, 2009
WAIS Divide Camp at 79.47°S latitude, 112.06°W longitude – high on the West
Antarctic Ice Sheet Plateau.

To all of my friends, family and colleagues-

Have a wonderful holiday.

crystals in the air

WAIS field camp is taking the day off tomorrow with many festivities planned. There will be cookie decorating, hors d’oeuvres, a big feast and an elephant gift exchange. And, for sure, it will be a white Christmas!

drawing white

WAIS Divide Camp at 79.47°S latitude, 112.06°W longitude – high on the West
Antarctic Ice Sheet Plateau.

Yesterday morning I took off on a snow machine driven by the fabulous GA
(general assistant) Sucha, to get beyond view of camp. We planned to follow
the route to Byrd Field Camp, marked by flags every 1/4 miles. The weather
has been overcast with flat light, but it was forecast to get worse, so the
camp manager (another amazing woman) suggested I go while the weather was
mild.

It took about 45 minutes to get ready; many layers for the ride – long
johns, thermal pants, wind bibs, wool shirt, vest, primaloft jacket and of
course, the beloved Big Red. We also packed cameras, tripod, warm tea, food,
a radio and GPS.

We first zipped down the skiway (an ice runway, for planes equipped with
skis) heading west and caught sight of the green flags that marked our way.
We traveled over the wind swept snow, a bit bumpy, but it was a good
reminder of our space and helped confirm that we were actually moving. It
was a bit unpleasant to have two stroke engine exhaust blowing in my face,
but lovely to gain so much distance from camp.

I looked out to the horizon. In some directions it was indicated by a faint
change in tone from snow to sky. It other directions the white became a
wall. If I looked away from the flag line in front and behind us, it was
impossible to gauge distance.

About half way, we stopped for a radio check, looked around and snapped a
few photos. It was no time at all before we got to 7 miles – our arbitrary
destination. Then Sucha was able to turn off the skidoo engine and there
was just the wind and white.

I reflected on William Fox’s writing in his beautiful book, Terra Antarctica
about our impulse to seek empty spaces. I have desired this experience for
so long and spent two years actively working to get here. This desire was
motivated by a few impulses that I understand and several that remain a
mystery. First there is the simple curiosity of space. What is undefined
space like experientially? Will it alter my perception, and if so, how? Will
this give me insight into mortality, the ultimate lack of sensation? And how
does this differ from other meditative states?

What I did experience first hand is a clarity of vision that comes with
limited input. For instance, the flags became supremely important and jumped
out at me. Without them we would have driven in circles and without a GPS
device would have likely lost our way. Also, I was more aware of wind
direction, aided by the strength and consistency of the blow on the plateau.
Even with the wind, there was a stillness and quiet that I can’t really
reconcile.

I am aware of the holidays, because there are decorations in the galley and
a big feast celebration is planned, but solstice went by without the power
that I feel towards it in lower latitudes. The sun revolves around lower and
higher in the sky above the white, giving me little indication of the
turning of seasons.

WAIS Divide Camp at 79.47°S latitude, 112.06°W longitude – high on the West
Antarctic Ice Sheet Plateau.

The snow pit is quiet, still and very calming. I wish I had one at home!

Today I went out the snow pit made earlier in the season by John Fegyveresi. He and Anais Orsi were going to dig it out from the last storm and I hitched a ride. Ice scientists make snow pits to assess the snow pack for a variety of characteristics. John was measuring the physical properties of the snow layers to determine their accumulation rates, variation in storms, annual layers and frost layers. He also took samples to determine their densities.
Back in his lab he will test the ratio of oxygen 18 to oxygen 16 to determine temperatures when the snow fell. There is very little climate information from this part of Antarctica, so all of these measurements help to develop a model for recent, as well as past climate conditions. It took about a half hour to dig out the entrance covered by the last storm, alternating shoveling and cutting out blocks to move the snow. This snow pit has a main room, about 2 meters cubic with secondary pits behind two of the walls. The ceiling of the main room is covered in plywood while the others are kept open to the sky, so that the ice walls are back-lit. The result,
even on a cloudy day, is blue tinted glowing walls, layered with darker and lighter strata showing summer and winter seasons. Snow falling in the summer is less dense (warm temperatures favor larger crystals) so creates a lighter
stratum, winter snow is more dense and darker. Individual storm events are often marked by thin, wind formed crusts that show hard and white.

John and Anais looking at the seasonal layers

I stood gawking while Anais and John discussed the layers and speculated about particular phenomena they observed, informed by their specialty. It was surprisingly difficult to get a good exposure with my limited photography experience, darn it. We kicked in the snow a bit, and then I walked back to camp. The light was particularly flat, so I had one of many experiences of feeling detached from the ground, trusting my feet to find sure footing over the sculpted terrain.

December 21, 2009 – Happy Solstice
WAIS Divide Camp at 79.47°S latitude, 112.06°W longitude – high on the West
Antarctic Ice Sheet Plateau.
Although there are segregated jamesways (a jamesway is a Korean era, modular
arch tent with a wooden framework) to sleep in, they are generally
overheated, and not very private. We all share eating, cleaning and relaxing
space, so having a place of one’s own, even if it is a tent, is a nice
thing.
The bedtime routine is different for me here. Tent city is a walk through
snow, so it’s good to be organized and take everything you will need for the
night. The most important item is a hot bottle of water. I stash everything
in the varied pockets of my Big Red (the massive, warm coat we are all
issued) and head out, ignoring the sun.
My tent is an 8′x8′ “Arctic Oven”. It is double walled; the outside a heavy
duty coated nylon, and the inside some type of insulating fabric. It is
almost tall enough to stand up in (darn it). My bed consists of two dense
foam pads and an inflatable thermo-rest pad. I stow my Big Red between the
pads and my sleeping bag, for downy cushion and to keep it warm.
My sleeping bag is amazing, huge and rated to -40F. It has thick tubes of
loft at the neck and zipper. I was issued a fleece liner, but I use that on
top and sleep in the silk liner that I brought.
While changing and organizing for the night, I toss the bottle of hot water
at the foot of the bag. I hang my clothes on lines strung across the top of
the tent (remember that heat rises??) and snuggle on in. I then slowly
migrate the bottle up the bag to warm my nest. By morning, the tent is quite
warm from my body heat and the sun, so getting out of bed is no more
difficult than at home. The biggest difference is what to do about middle of
the night trips to the loo.
WARNING-POTTY TALK AHEAD!
There is an outhouse at the center of tent city, but my tent is on the outer
edge. Besides that, there is the hassle of getting dressed (easy on a
windless night, not so easy on a windy night). So we are issued a pee
bottle. Yes, a pee bottle. It is usually just a convenience, except for the
unlikely chance of having to wait out a white out in your tent.
We gals share words of wisdom, strategy and general sympathy about pee
bottle maneuvers. Let’s just say that I have to think very hard about the
trade-off between suiting up and making do. It’s a good thing that we are
also issued wipes and Purell.