Treasure Island

Have you ever read a story so good that you wished it were true, almost needed it to be? The first novel I ever read was Treasure Island, by Robert Louis Stevenson. I don't know how many times I read it, but it felt more real each time 'til I almost smelled the sea on its pages. How I longed to sail past uncharted islands with a parrot on my shoulder. Imagination won out for awhile, but eventually I saw Treasure Island only as a work of fiction. The days of Robinson Crusoe were gone, and as much as I yearned to live them - I knew deep down I never would. Never to be that brave boy marooned on a desert isle, buried treasure just ten paces away. . .

And so I sit here in my room (listening to polar winds buffet the southern face of 155) and admit to myself that I was wrong. . . I have come to Terra Incognita, and here anything is possible. The ice runway at Pegasus has gone dark. No more winter flights tempt fate over Mcmurdo Sound. Antarctica is once again her lonely self, a jagged coastline beyond maps. And here it seems that I have at last, unexpectedly, become that brave boy marooned on a desert island, buried treasure just paces away. . .Ross Island is a real desert island; and we are really marooned here until that first "Mainbody" flight in October. As for buried treasure. . . Erebus crystals lie scattered, mixed with chunks of obsidian and the bones of Killer Whales. Meteorites, pushed by glaciers for tens of thousands of years, pile up like tribute at the feet of the trans-antarctic mountains. The history of our atmosphere lies trapped within bubbles in the ice. Scott's Hut, a wooden chest filled with frozen memories, is one of three on the island. Shackleton's Hut is even said to be haunted. Priceless scientific secrets wait patiently for someone, anyone, to ask the right questions. Ross Island is loaded with buried treasure.

Now, in case there are children out there who don't think meteorites count as pirate plunder, I have a sincere message for my young nieces and nephews back home:

Should you ever find yourselves in Antarctica, I have buried a treasure here under the snow and the ice and the volcanic glass. Never doubt that you live in a world of desert islands laden with buried treasure. You do. I've made sure of that. There's even a treasure map.

No child should ever doubt in their favorite stories. If you grow up and find they aren't real, you can (sometimes) make them real.

Also for the children in my life, imagine a place so cold that when you blow soap bubbles they freeze before they hit the ground. A few weeks ago we tried blowing some bubbles. It was negative 55 degrees when I reached out and caught this bubble. It rolled around in my hand like a thing of glass. The ground was covered in frozen bubbles. They moved with the breeze. A few escaped and headed down the hill. I wonder how far they got.



ANTARCTIC EXPLORER OF THE WEEK:

I do believe I owe you an Antarctic Explorer. This week, that honor must go to the very first person I met on my road to Antarctica. We shared a ride from the Denver Airport the night before our psychological evaluation (and a Raytheon limousine ride back the next day). He is my good friend Walter Davis, and hails from Plymouth, Minnesota. He's a fellow marooned winter-over, a husband, and father to Ryan, Chase, Jordan, and Grey. Like me, he served in the navy, and like me, he longed to visit distant shores. Also like me, Walt enjoys a good game of chess, and wins at least two out of every three games we play. He's become my chess teacher really, and has definitely improved my game.

Walt is the Fire Protection Foreman here at McMurdo. Fire in Antarctica is always a serious concern. It is so dry down here that any fire can be potentially catastrophic. He troubleshoots and maintains the fire protection systems throughout the station. When he's not doing that, he's pin-setting at the bowling alley, kicking my butt in chess, or somehow maintaining his status as a social butterfly.

Antarctica is many things to many people, but it can be nothing without first being safe. For this especially, but also for making a harsh winter easier than it could have been, I have no choice but to raise Mr. Walter Davis to the pedestal. He is this week's. . . Antarctic Explorer Of The Week:



DAY 208:

I still have not seen the sun. Each day, direct sunlight moves closer to us across the ice shelf. Today it touched the roof of Scott's Hut for the first time. Those of us who left at WinFly had a special treat - they saw the sun (for the first time) just as they boarded the plane. Imagine, being greeted by the sun minutes before leaving Antarctica. What an amazing ending to a winter here. I envy them that.

More than two-thirds of the winter-overs are gone. They've been replaced by twice as many new faces. I wish them fair winds and following seas. The night before WinFly began, we all met as a group for the last time. There was a ceremony where we were awarded the Antarctic Service Medal. It is one of only a few Congressional medals that can be awarded to a civilian. It actually may be the ONLY one, but I'm not sure. I'm proud to have it, and feel honored to have had the opportunity. There are three words inscribed on the back. Good words.

Well, I could include some amazing images from Terra Incognita, but this week I'd rather leave you with a watercolor my father painted. It reminds me of a certain favorite book of mine, and right now, that's more important to me. As we grow up we sacrifice so much of our youth. I feel very lucky today. I woke up and found myself marooned on Treasure Island :)


UNITED STATES ANTARCTIC PROGRAM

Next post: #21 »