Finally
click on the first link (02/04/05) in the archive.
I miss the snow. It burned my eyes, swallowed the tools that slipped from my fingers, hid endless cracks in the ice, but never did it turn into the grey sludge that sticks to the sides of our cars. It fell without warning, cushioning my every step; the world wrapped in such lucid silence.
My whole life I have searched for a place to belong. I suppose we all do; resisting our natural inclination to climb the next hill, then the next, wondering what lies on the other side. Even if we find a place to call home, we feel the undertow of what we truly are. . . EXPLORERS. That drive has taken us across every earthly boundary, and someday I firmly believe - to the stars. I have travelled far, travelled wide, seen many different ways to live a life. Never have I felt I belonged anywhere particular. Never did a place seep into my bones and keep me awake at night with its absence.
But the Ice is not like the rest of the world. Its canvas cannot capture vivid colors. Every picture must be painted in shades of white, then locked between layers of ice, doomed to be covered completely, buried beneath kilometers of snow. Countless valleys lie draped in ancient forests, bones of unknown, nameless creatures lying on the shores of long-gone rivers, nestled between crushed mountains - and all we see is a flat sheet of ice racing to the horizon.
We know those valleys exist. Machines with X-ray eyes have pierced the ice and stirred the imagination. But just like ships sailing far above the bottom of the sea, we walk far above the valley floors of Antarctica. At least, most of the time. Ross Island is part of the two percent that lies exposed. It juts up through the canvas with a splash of orange lava and screams "Explore Me!"
I belong there. I wasn't sure until I got back to civilization, to the suburbs of Philadelphia, to my friends and family and overweight cat. At sea, I always longed for home, but what I was really longing for were the people in my life. This is different. I find myself longing for a place, a kind of frozen hell. But why?
I don't miss the food or the isolation, the darkness, the blizzards (well, maybe a little), or the insane cold. I certainly don't miss the paycheck. But for the first time I truly belonged somewhere. Antarctica challenged me, dared me, forced me to be alive, to confront the nature of existence, to test the limits of my potential. Some would be afraid to discover what their real limits are, sure that the answers would disappoint them. I am here to tell you that you would not be disappointed. Mankind has made a royal mess of things, but our potential is vast.
The mysteries we explore shed light on our place in the world, especially when they refuse to give up a single answer. Antarctica is a place of answers and mysteries both; ancient, accursed, awe-inspiring. After eight months it became impossible to take the universe for granted. All the trappings of society were stripped away, one by one, and loosely laid on that sheet of ice. I am not a masochist, I do not despise contact with other people. I just felt that each day counted.
It has been awhile since I put pen to paper. I needed to step back and sort out what I really felt about the bottom of the world. What I've just written are my final thoughts on the subject - my first night in Antarctica. There will be other nights, someday, somehow. There will be southern lights, and penguins and seals, new friends and old friends and newfound constellations, active volcanoes, Erebus shadows, Erebus crystals, red apples, green apples, and lasers, Castle Rock and Observation Hill, Arrival Heights and Winter Quarters Bay, Vince's Cross, Scott's Cross and Scott's two frozen huts, Shakleton's Hut, The A-Frame, Black Island, White Island, Ross Island and Inaccessible Island, the Chapel of the Snows, a treasure chest buried in the side of an unknown hill, the winter storms, the setting sun, frozen soap bubbles, the Polar Plunge, an upside-down moon, Piston Bullies, meteorites, starfish, the Deep Cold, and things I've never dreamed of.
Some people think I'm a bit touched in the head for going to such a place. They're probably right, but then again, I like myself more now than I did before. I also like this planet more, and the whole universe it's floating in, so maybe it's a good thing that I went. As always, I'll leave you with some photographs. They all made it back to Philadelphia safe and sound and whole...
just like me.
______________________________________________________
POSTSCRIPT: It took 8 months, but I finally saw a penguin. . .
Crary Lab: Emperor in a glass case:
Crary Lab: Baby Emperor Penguin
Crary Lab: Seal Skull
Crary Lab: Pertified Tree
Crary Lab: Lava Bomb
Departing Antarctica:
UNITED STATES ANTARCTIC PROGRAM
posted by Mike Bair | 7:31 AM
12 Comments:
I know just what you mean.
I find my thoughts of the Ice recurring daily to distract me from my normal routine. I miss the social drama and the challenge awaiting beyond the next hill.
I am so happy to be back with my family, but there is a restlessness gnawing at me, to do "something."
I'm with ya, Brother!
Walt D.
Walter Davis, ladies and gentlemen.
A fellow Antarctican, and a good friend.
OB1 - Let's do it again sometime:)
Mike,
For the past 10 months you have taken us all on a trip. I am anxiously awaiting to see where you will take us next.
You have a way with your words that bring us on your journey. And I thank you for the adventures. It is good to have you home!
Your Sister,
Marie
Mike,
I don't know you personally. I've been following your site for quite a while now. It was always exciting to come here and see what posts you have up. I've enjoyed every one. I'm glad you made it back to Philly safe and sound. Don't stop writing just because you're back in the city. You truly have a gift. Good luck adjusting to boring old city life!
-Chrisitna Bupp
Hi Mathilde:)
I believe that petrified wood was found near the famous Dry Valleys, about 50 miles from my station. I remember reading the little sign on the wall nearby. It said they weren't sure exactly what kind of tree it was, which surprised me. That tree would have to be at least 40 million years old.
It was great meeting you:)
Mike
If you come back don't come as an electrical apprentice and don't come to the waterplant. Trust me.
I agree with Chris who said you were a good writer and shouldn't stop. I'd like to hear how your thoughts evolve as time takes you farther away from your time in Antarctica and how it influences your life as it goes on. I think we as your fans would like to hear about your next adventures as well.
Zach,
I do trust you. Zach is currently working on the project I worked on through the night. Work is work, even in Antarctica, and not all jobs are equally pleasant. He, and a few others, have been keeping me "in the loop" now that I'm state-side.
Mathilde asked where the petrified wood came from, and I emailed her the answer. For anyone else interested, it was found within 50 miles of the station (I think) and its species is unknown.
Thank you Donna. When I start writing again I will be sure to let people know.
Mike
hey mike
finally checked out your grand finale. good work. soon enough i'll have my weblog back once i'm nestled in cozy PEI. there will be lots to write about, much cold weather and snow and all of those wonderful things i'm experiencing up north here. 150kms north of fort nelson BC off the Sierra. it's chilly.
talk to you again soon
*andrea
Hi, Mike! How vivid and pensive your words are in "Finally".
Do you remember me? Jackie introduced us, we talked about music, and you gave me a copy of a lovely turn-of-the century song to sing.
When Jackie told me of your adventure down below, my first thought was "How will he cope without a piano?" :-)
I, too, constantly look for somewhere to belong. I yearn to travel, and I plan to make it happen this year. I agree that travel allows us to experience other ways to live. I wish that Mark, my boyfriend, could only see that. Sigh.
Take care, and best of luck with your adjustment to the extremes at this end...
You are a fool to believe that you don't have the "mad skills" required to express what you feel in your heart, as you wrote to me in an email earlier today. Your way with words is brilliant, surpassing what people often describe as "flowing like water". To me it's more like ice, a slippery stream of frozen moisture trailing from your breath as you speak of the world's most beautiful, yet least sought after by the overwhelming majority with hot, tropical, sandy beaches in their souls, hidden southern treasure.
Again, I say you're a fool. I would much rather toboggan down the icy, wild, slippery trails that are the words of your stories, then drown in the flowing water of the stories told in the same, mundane way, about the same palm trees and golden tans.
Surely to goodness you've taken the advise of others...and continue to pen your thoughts for all to experience? Do tell me where oh where can I read them?
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