He's baaack!

It's shower day!

It’s so difficult to describe what Antarctica is like. Rugged. Beautiful. Cold. Dry. White. Windy. Cold. Quiet.

But one thing I hadn’t appreciated is that it's not smelly. There’s no vegetation, very little life, and it's so cold and dry that some days it seems the only reason to have a nose is for the nosebleeds. Someone explained it to me once that because it's so dry and/or cold, our nasal passages don't work as well here. I'm not sure if that's the reason, or if it's that there's nothing to smell. 

Which is ok since we are encouraged to limit the number of showers we take so that we conserve water. McMurdo Station is located on Ross Island, formed by an active volcano in the Ross Sea, some 30-40 miles off the continent. Since we are surrounded by water (granted, the top 50 feet or so is frozen) the easiest way to get water for drinking, dishes and showers, is to pull it out of the Ross Sea, warm it up, desalinate it, and pump it through the plumbing. All that takes a lot of energy. Water is one of the most expensive resources here when you figure in all the energy used. We have wind turbines that provide maybe a half of our energy but we still burn a lot of fuel in generators. To reduce the amount of energy we need to generate, we conserve as much as we can. We have motion sensor light switches so lights aren’t left on, the housing office plans sleeping arrangements carefully so that we don’t heat any more buildings than we need to, and we conserve water.  

And so, when shower day rolls around, it’s a real treat to take a hot (though short) shower. But it’s not like anyone can tell I smell that bad anyway.

The View

We've had a couple stormy days which cleared out overnight and have left us with a view much like this one from a couple years ago. It's clear, sunny and gorgeous today.

The buildings are set up for an "Ice Runway" which will be open for just a few more days. By the end of the week, they expect the ice will be too thin to hold the airplanes that are arriving so they'll move the runway out to the permanent ice shelf an hour or so away from McMurdo.

The mountains in the background are from the Royal Society Range and pictures cannot do them justice. I remember when I saw the Grand Canyon first I could hardly believe it was real. These mountains rival that sight. They are about 30 miles away on the mainland (we're living on an island just off the coast of the continent) and are sometimes blurred by the winds. Today they are clear.

On the current Ice Runway, a modified Airbus will land shortly with a few more summer residents of McMurdo. A couple dozen winter-overs will leave on this plane, almost the last of the people who have been here since February. I had lunch with three of them who are looking forward to family, friends, more traveling, and the color green. There's not so much for plant life here, so that's one of the things people miss.

The flight is about to land, so I'm off to meet the new residents and welcome them (back) to McMurdo.

How I turned 40

McMurdo Station in Antarctica, is set up for science and research much of which is based in the Crary Science Center here. On Sunday afternoons, they offer a guided tour and so the afternoon of my 40th Birthday, I toured the lab including a “touch tank.”

The Ross Sea – which we border at McMurdo – is home to some odd biology that draws divers into these frigid waters. Occasionally, they bring up a few creatures and some lucky folks get to touch them. In the tank this Sunday were several shrimp, sea stars, sea spider, a weird snail, a few corals, and a gigantic sea louse. These things are usually too small to see without a microscope, but in the cold waters off Antarctica, they and many other creatures grow to much larger sizes. This guy was about the size of my hand.

Oh, I wore the princess crown on a bet since it was my birthday. Walked around station for a while, and at lunch, with it on. The folk here are so eclectic that several didn’t think it was strange to wear it…

Weather

The view outside my window this morning. If I squint, I can see the flight line, but not the mountains which are my normal view.

Shaken

In Sept 2010 and then again in February 2011, Christchurch, New Zealand was rocked by significant earthquakes. The City Center was destroyed and several landmarks are gone. Today was my first chance to visit and it felt odd to bike through the beautiful and lush Hagley Park hearing jackhammers and seeing cranes over the treetops.

Something else entirely has been to talk with locals who lived through the quakes and still live with the aftershocks – there have been a few in the days since I arrived. Some are scared, some defiant, most people fall somewhere between.

The city seems to be trying hard to focus on rebuilding and celebrating what’s working well. That includes their pivotal role as the staging area for so much Antarctic exploration, which is the focus of their first annual IceFest this month and last night the official kick off of this year’s season at a party downtown.

Another way many have incorporated their new situation of rebuilding is a strip mall made from re-purposed steel shipping containers. Someone stacked a few of them together, repainted them bright colors, and moved in several businesses that were destroyed in the quakes. I bought a cup of coffee, watched street performers, browsed the stores.

Interesting how people react to crisis. Some see opportunity, some laugh it off, some try to pretend it’s not that bad.

EXTREME Cold weather clothing…

Stopped by today to get my ECW gear (extreme cold weather) and was treated like an old-timer. Some staff there remember me from the last trip (or else looked me up and were just being good hosts). I now have a complete set of clothes like in the picture plus additional mittens and a few sets of long underwear and fleece that aren’t visible. I was told it’s “quite cold there now” so I may indeed need to wear most everything. (Is negative 76 a number?)

I’m scheduled to leave sometime on Monday, for what I know is a looooong day. Before then, this weekend is the kickoff of the season in Christchurch. More to come on that later.

Arrived in Christchurch, NZ

I’m not sure what day it is or which way is up, but after more than 30 hours of flying and waiting to fly, I’ve a room at the Commodore Hotel in Christchurch, showered, and enjoying early spring in this beautiful country. Hopefully tomorrow, I’ll have more chance to explore again. There have been at least two major earthquakes since I was last here in 2010.

Someone who’s made this trip several times advised me a few hours ago to try to stay awake until it’s evening here so as to help my body acclimate. I’d heard it before and it makes theoretical sense… but after struggling to sleep in an airplane seat for hours on end, I’m pooped now.

I have managed stay awake and busy with a few things since I arrived. As I was about to surrender to sleep, I got a phone call from Fr Dan, a local priest who manages the Roman Catholic priest coverage for Antarctica, as well as Fr John a veteran of the ice and a colleague the last time I came. Also met a former commander on the military side of the mission in Antarctica who has now shifted to a broader role. All three were a big part of my last trip here, so it was very nice to have them call and get to catch up with them a bit. I excused myself when I could barely keep my eyes open, and so now I’m calling it a day.

Back to the Ice

I'm on my way back, currently waiting at the Albany airport to begin a series of flights so long I've avoided doing the math.

Though I'm guessing Antarctica is still cold and dry and far away, I expect this trip will be different. I know that I've changed and I know a few things at McMurdo have changed since I was last there.

As before, my primary job there is to provide spiritual care to the scientists, support staff and military members connected with the US Antarctic Program. It's an amazing and eclectic group of people, and I'm looking forward to hearing how their life journeys have brought them to the bottom of our planet. I'm there for two months, back by Thanksgiving if the weather cooperates, and this trip I get to be the opening rotation. There are a few ceremonial events within the week to officially kick off this year's research season, and then I should be on the ice around the first of October.

As excited as I am, this is a bittersweet day for me as well. We went to breakfast as a family and then I dropped the girls off late for school before last-minute packing and then a trip to the airport. My daughters are brilliant, beautiful inside and out, and so resilient they amaze me. Being apart hurts us all - more than a few tears in the school today for drop off - and I am so grateful for the support they give their daddy. Each of their classrooms created a banner that I'll spread out and photograph way down under, and we've made some plans to bring a bit of this adventure into their classrooms as well. But I won't be able to tuck them in at night and will miss them dearly. This will be hard to be away.

Home!

>

Christchurch Cathedral

One of my duties as the Support Force Antarctica Chaplain (sounds impressive, doesn't it?) is to care for the Erebus Chalice. This ornate silver chalice was given to the Antarctic program in 1987 by a descendent of Admiral Richard Byrd and is housed at the Cathedral in Christchurch during the austral winter months. In October as the Antarctic seasons gets underway, the first chaplain of the season goes to the Cathedral for a special worship service, accepts the chalice, and carries it to McMurdo Station for the summer. A friend of mine, Ch Mark Smith, got to do that last fall.

The end of the season is less fancy. They don't always make a show of returning the chalice to the cathedral at the end of the season, some years we just bring it by the office before we fly home. This year, however, we managed to do a brief ceremony at the beginning of worship. Just a few hours ago, I addressed the congregation and thanked them for their role in sending the good news even to the end of the Earth (I took the chalice to the South Pole and celebrated the Lord's Supper there with it).

I don't have much for pictures of the event. In case you missed the entry a few weeks ago, here I am with the Chalice at the Pole, just after we celebrated the Eucharist there.

And here is today, returning it to Dean Peter Beck at the Cathedral (I'm the shadow on the right). Unless a better picture appears (PLEASE SILENCE YOUR CELLPHONES AND REFRAIN FROM FLASH PHOTOGRAPHY), this is my only record of this morning.


The cathedral is gorgeous and was a wonderful place to worship. It reminds me of something out a Patrick O'Brian novel. Dean Peter Beck was a gracious host and I especially enjoyed his invitation to the season of Lent. It was a tough sell for him to extoll the virtue of simplicity in such an elaborate location and service, but his sincerity was authentic.

Boys and girls, does anyone remember this color?

Leaving the Ice

Bag Drag

Our ride off the ice


Happy Camper


Loading cargo


On the ground in Christchurch!

A brief McMurdo dictionary

Bag drag: the art of bringing everything you own to a building at the top of a very tall hill so it can be weighed and checked in before flying off the Antarctic continent. Planes going to and from Christchurch land on an ice sheet runway and don’t shut off the engines to ensure they can take off again in less than an hour, the time needed to unload and load passengers, baggage and cargo. A “bag drag” time is assigned to departing passengers about 18 hours before take off to allow time to palletize all cargo for quick loading. "Can I get a shuttle to pick me up for my bag drag? There's no earthly way I can carry this all. Why did I think I needed this much stuff?"

Recyling: There is no "trash" in Antarctica. Because everything is shipped off the continent, it is sorted and recycled. Most dorms and offices have 8 to 10 different recyling categories and locations within the dorm. Categories include wine bottles (glass), beer cans (aluminum), condoms (biohazard), anything flat (mixed paper), anything that can be crushed (paper towels), coffee grounds (food waste), and others. "How do I recycle my deodorant?"

Skua:
1. a bird related to the seagull that spends some of the austral summer on the edge of the Antarctic continent. A scavenger for food in this barren land, known to attacks humans who hold visible food.
2.a. An item, or collection of items one person gives up so another can scavenge: “Crap, I have a lot to pack. Some of this is going to be skua.” 2b. Can be a verb: “I’m going to skua my extra shampoo and soap. The winter-overs might want to bathe.” 2.c. Also an adjective: “I’m drinking a skua-ed Coke as I type this.”

Cheech: colloquial for Christchurch, New Zealand, derived from the airport code CHC. “The weather in Cheech today is 70 and sunny.”

Off-deck: refers to a plane that has departed and is on its way to a destination: “The C-17 is off deck Cheech and on time!”

Transport time: the assigned time to arrive at the same building at the top of a hill to board a large all-terrain vehicle for the 45 minute ride to the airstrip. “Transport for flight ACH058 is 1300 hours. If you miss this ride, you’ll spend the winter in Antarctica.”

Pegasus: the white ice runway about 13k from McMurdo Station. “See the wings of that crashed plane over there sticking out of the ice? That was a Pegasus. We don’t fly those anymore.”

Have a good winter! A common farewell when someone leaving Antarctica after the austral summer season speaks with someone staying for the winter. Sometimes spoken in earnest. Usually followed by rolling the eyes upward and/or muttering unintelligible prayers of gratitude to an unknown God.

You coming back next year?: A common farewell phrase used among those leaving Antarctica after the austral summer. After living together in extreme conditions, people avoid saying “goodbye” and so use this, or similar phrases, to substitute. Generally spoken with derision or in a mocking tone.

I mean no disrespect toward the flag or military tradition, but I wanted to tell this story.

Yesterday afternoon, we sounded “Retreat” here at McMurdo Station. The last of the LC-130 ski-equipped aircraft left the continent for the long flights home (the usual route is Christchurch to Pago Pago to Hawaii to California to New York). There are about a dozen of us military folk left here to wrap up the season and so it fell upon us to maintain the tradition of officially lowering the flag and bringing to an official end the military mission for the season.

And so the word came out that at 1300 hours we were to meet at the flag pole. One of the visions many people have of the military is how we wear our uniforms and all look… well… uniform. But there are a couple factors in the Air Force right now that complicate that: first, we are getting rid of the uniform with the green camouflage pattern in favor of a pattern with more grey and blue. Both uniforms, as well as three different colors of boots, are allowed now since we are still in the transition phase. The second issue is that because it is so cold here, and individuals need to regulate our own warmth, we are allowed a bit more flexibility in hats and gloves and coats. The sun has started to get lower and lower in the sky, brushing against the mountain ranges here and making it colder and colder each day. Yesterday was not only cold, but windy, and with all our different uniform combinations, I felt like I was in an episode of MASH or a scene in Catch-22.

I have the old style military issue coat (think: Hoth Han Solo). Most guys have a newer, darker, warmer version of this coat. Some have the grey camouflage pattern coat. I have a green stocking cap, other guys have grey or black hats and some wear a ball cap type (but that makes for very cold ears).

Again, I mean no disrespect, I just have a need to tell my own experiences yesterday. At 1pm (that’s 1300) I was in my uniform and at the flag pole. Because I’m chaplain to everyone on station, and since most people are civilian, I don’t wear my uniform often so I’d had to cut lunch short to get dressed. In other places, a similar ceremony might be held with dozens or more people lined up in perfectly boxed ranks. Well, Jeff and Ed have formal roles to play in the ceremony. Ken and Pedro are in charge of lowering and folding the flag, and Chris is our picture and sound guy. That left were six of us “in the ranks.” We lined up roughly tallest to shortest and waited. We were called to attention and I stepped forward to offer a prayer. I removed a glove so I could open my notebook and look at some notes I’d scribbled (I didn’t know I’d be praying at this ceremony until about 10 minutes before it started when I offered to say something). In my prayer, I thanked God for a safe season, asked blessings on our travels, and guidance for us when we return next season when the sun rises again.

When I was done, everyone else is at attention, so I get back to my place in line to join them quickly and try to pull on my glove. By now, my fingers are cold and the glove liners I have (which are not military issue, but are a possum and wool blend I got from some Kiwis because they are really warm) get caught in my outer gloves. So, I stand at attention with one hand only partway inside my glove – it looks like my right arm is few inches longer than my left. Then we play the bugle music. No one plays the bugle so we have a recording of a bugle. The order was given for the music, and from the corner of my eye, I could see Chris open the door to the pick-up cab, reach in, and then the music started. I’m not sure if he had a boom box in there or if it was played on the truck stereo. As we stand for the song, tears start falling down my face – and other guys as well, I learned later that night over a beer – not because we are emotional but because it was so windy. When the song is done, we salute the flag as it lowers. Remember the part about my right hand being longer than my left because of the gloves? I whack myself in the face with my glove and have to adjust my arm to stand while Pedro and Ken slowly lower the flag in heavy winds. I think I can hear someone groan when the wind messes up the lines at one point and they have to lower it more slowly. I can also hear a civilian behind whisper, “What are they doing now?” as if we’re the day’s entertainment.

At that moment, I realized that despite the mismatched uniforms, the sound system from a redneck backyard party, and the bewildered crowd we were drawing, at that moment, I felt a link to line of explorers and adventurers. People haven’t been walking on this continent for much more than a century. The military has had a presence here because as an agent of our government, we don’t exist only to kill people and break things, but also to assist our exploration of our world and our universe. And as that flag came down, and my thoughts turned to my final reports and packing up my room, I realized what an honor it has been to be here. Brave and very smart men and women work here to learn about our planet and our universe and endure harsh weather. It’s humbling to be one of the links in that chain.

Morning Prayer

It’s 8:45am. For the first time since I arrived here no one else has shown up for morning prayer. There were a few days last week, after Jim left to go home, that only Fr John and I gathered for prayer. But today, it’s just me and God.

Good morning.

Three flights leave to Christchurch today. God, keep them safe and may weather and mechanics conspire to bring their passengers home safely and quickly. A lot of folk on these planes are tired and ready to be home: may their travels be swift. Some must leave to go home, but don't have much to anticipate: may they find meaningful work and fulfilling relationships. Others will wander home, traveling the world: keep them safe and bring to them a deeper respect for humanity and the cultures we have created.

There are probably 300-400 of us here now who will leave by week’s end. God may we stay focused on the work we have yet to accomplish. May our anticipation of the future not prevent us from living in each moment.

Our wintering crews are still arriving. May these men and women be safe and well during the coming long, dark night. Be with Gabe, John and Shayne who will watch over the chapel and the worshipping community here. Bless Alf, Scott and all the other Peer Counselors who will over a listening ear to their friends and colleagues. Grant endurance and vision to those in leadership this winter: Jeanne, Don, Allison, Bill, Rich and others.

Thank you for Shady Grove Baptist and the many other churches and faithful back the States who remember this chapel and ministry in their thoughts, prayers and gifts.

Be with me in my final days. I have reports to complete, book shelves to organize, a room to vacuum and pack. But there are also people here who would benefit from a listening ear and prayerful guidance. Help me balance between the needs of others and the tasks at hand. Christ be in the heart of each to whom I speak and in the mouth of each who speaks unto me.

As I look out this window, over the Ross Sea and through the clouds to the Royal Society Mountains, as I watch the sun spinning around the horizon falling closer today to the ground, as I hear the wind whistling through the steeple now shuttered for the winter, as I remember humbly those I’ve met who have such an eager desire to learn and explain more about your world, as I sit here in this Holy place that even in my two months has hosted many people of various or no faith who nonetheless sense something peaceful and meaningful within these walls, I am humbled. Who am I that you think of me, that you care for me?

The season of Epiphany ends today. I have indeed discovered you here. Even at the ends of the earth I could not escape your presence and grace. Your spirit indeed covers the whole earth. Grant me, even today, an opportunity to discover you anew.

Amen.

At breakfast this morning I heard someone say, "this is NOT a flight I'm going to miss" about their flight off the ice tomorrow. We have stopped flying to the South Pole now and have daily trips back to Christchurch (which is where we stage for the operation down here). I leave this Friday; there's one more flight on Saturday and that's it for a few weeks. There's one more scheduled flight in early March for last minute supplies and people, but after that, nothing more scheduled until an August resupply flight. Most of the winter-over crew will be here at least until October.

The American Tern

The American Tern is our annual supply vessel at McMurdo. She pulled in on Monday morning and started off-loading by early afternoon. Empty by Wednesday, they loaded her back up and finished at 4:24pm today. Why do I know the exact time? Because the captain, pictured below, invited Fr John and I to join him for dinner and a tour before they pull out tomorrow morning. Here I am with him on the bridge, sporting the cap he gave me.



One of the reasons the vessel departure is such a big deal on station is that during the complicated and very busy dance to offload and back-load the vessel, McMurdo is dry. No alcohol sales in the store or the bars. Because the vessel is pulling out of port tomorrow, the station manager this afternoon decided to let the store sell beer and wine tonight. And so for the single hour it was opened, the store looked like this:


The First Sergeant and I are wondering what this will do to church attendance tomorrow morning...

Point of View

Much in our life changes meaning or takes on new meaning if we adjust our point of view. One of the goals of my spiritual life is to adjust my view in order to accomodate not only my own life and desires, but those of my neighbor and my God. As a chaplain or pastor, I'm often seeking ways to illustrate this shift in perspective; yesterday I met a comrade whose art seeks to do the same thing.

The National Science Foundation offers grants to scientists to come down here for research. Additionally, NSF sponsors an Antarctic Artists and Writers Program in which artists working in different mediums get a trip here for their own research. There are at least two sets on station now: a married couple developing a marionette musical about Sir Ernest Shackleton, an early Antarctic explorer and Elise Engler, a visual artist. (For more about Elise, click here and for specifics about her Antarctica work and journey, check out this blog.)

Elise's work is pretty fascinating, though I didn't quite get it at first. I went to a public lecture she gave last week and became intrigued. She created a series of colored pencil sketches of everything she owned and presented it as a "self-portrait" (isn't it intriguiing that in our society we put so much value in what we own?). A variation on that theme is a series of sketches of women's handbags, here's #28 in that series, linked from her website:

Her works about how our government spends money are quite thought-provoking (the contents of a tool shed in a public park, the equipment to fire weapons on a single sortie in Iraq). Watching the Rockettes in NYC during the war in Iraq produced a startling contrast she calls Life Goes On:


One of her projects that she's done over time is a collection of views outside of windows. (Talk about changing perspective: Should I sit comfortably at a window or step outdoors to see the world for myself?) Elise stopped in the chapel yesterday and looked out our windows and decided that her next sketch of McMurdo's windows would be from here. We have a few different windows that offer distinct views. The large window behind the altar has stained glass and a beautiful view of the mountain range across the Ross Sea. On a clear day lately, we can see whales, seals and skua off in the distance. My camera isn't that great, but this gives you an idea of it:

Other windows look out across waste pipes to the ice dock where the cranes on top of the cargo vessel are constantly moving. It's quite a different view.

Some views out of the chapel are of the glorious majesty of creation... other views are of the mundane work-a-day world. The chapel looks out on both. It's easier for me to we consider a God of majesty and power (and maybe judgement and anger). That's the Big Stained Glass Window version of God. It's more difficult for me sometimes to remember God in the mundane.

When Elise entered yesterday looking for a window, I noted the obvious: Sketching the big stained glass window, everyone will know it's from the chapel. I'm thrilled, however, that she chose to sketch the view of the mundane work-a-day window. A challenge of spirituality in our world is seeing God in the mundane, and I'm thrilled that her art will present this view from within this holy place.

Groundhog's Day

There's a running joke down here about Groundhog's Day. Before I came down I asked folk what it was like and several people said "Remember the Bill Murray movie when he wakes up and each day is exactly the same as the day before? Well, it's like that." Most folk work six days a week for 10-12 hours a shift so each day looks a lot like yesterday and tomorrow doesn't promise to bring much change.

So it's REALLY Groundhog's Day here and I've discovered it's really not too different from yesterday. Or tomorrow.

And so I made a joke at lunch today about it being Groundhog's Day and wasn't that cool because it was different than yesterday. The joke didn't really work, though. It was pretty lame, but the mechanics I sat with were patient with me and pretended to laugh.