Antarctic Skies

DIGGING OUT PEGASUS CRASH SITE (TOO COLD TO SMILE)

Two weeks sure can fly by. Hope this letter finds you all well.

I could describe our two lane, one-of-a-kind, manual bowling alley, or tell of my first visit to New Zealand’s Scott Base, or explain why my nickname is “PING”, but they’ll keep for another time. My last letter was about the inside of a building. This one is about the skies above it. . .

SKY - PART 1: “CLOSED FOR THE WINTER”

Eight days ago, holding plastic flutes of champagne, we waved goodbye to the last C17 as it flew off across McMurdo Sound. The pilot banked towards us (all the "winter-overs" huddled together against the wind) and waggled the plane’s wings as if to say “good luck”. Someone shouted “don’t forget about us”, and the plane was gone. That was the last flight out of Antarctica.

The continent is now closed.

















It had such a permanence about it. I was surprised how it felt - both exciting and foreboding. I’ve never felt anything quite like that before. There were nervous laughs mixed with happy ones as people walked off in twos and threes, leaving a few of us behind to ponder how weird life can get.

The plane took off from the Pegasus airstrip, a smooth line of ice scraped from the surface of the Ross Sea. Once that final plane departed, Pegasus was closed down for the winter. This leads us to our second airplane story.

SKY - PART 2: “PEGASUS”

People have, more than once, brought ponies to Antarctica. It was a foolish thing to do, and all but one of them were shot and eaten (the lucky one disappearing into a crevace). I find it ironic that an airplane named after a winged horse (of all things) would also fall here. Horses just don't do well here.

The Pegasus airstrip was named after that airplane, which crashed in a blizzard in 1970. No one was killed in the crash, and so the wreck became a sort of local tourist spot for station personnel.

Yesterday, a bunch of us went out to the crash sight. I’ll spare you the “I couldn’t feel my fingers” speech. Just imagine how open and windy the surface of a permanent ice shelf gets on an overcast day. Brrrrrrrrrrrr. We made ourselves even colder by trying to dig some of the plane out, and by sliding down its sides on dinner trays. (I currently hold the record for longest dinner tray ride:) There is talk of actually digging around the wreck and thawing it out so people can go inside. I’ve seen pictures from 1971. The right wing was completely ripped off. How they survived is a bit of a mystery:


SKY - PART 3: “THE EREBUS CRYSTAL”

How can a story about the Antarctic sky begin with me sleeping in bed? Read on. . .

So there I was, sleeping in bed at 4:00 AM. Suddenly I woke up. Something was in my eye. Probably and eyelash. I tried to flush it out, and spent the rest of the night trying. About halfway through work the next day I had had enough and went to the clinic.

With the help of a black light, the doctor found something tiny lodged in my cornea. She removed it with a metal scraper (lots of fun, you should try it), then showed it to me under the microscope. What she showed me was the smallest Erebus Crystal she had ever seen.

Erebus crystals are created by the volcano. They can be several inches across. This one was spat out (who knows how long ago) and carried over twenty miles by gravitic winds, sucked into Building 155’s ventilation system, forced passed whatever filters are in there, and blown into my bedroom. It then somehow worked its way under my eyelid.

A strange airborne journey for a jagged little piece of orange glass. My eye was red with blood all week, but looks almost normal now. Sorry, no picture (though the crystal was beautiful).

SKY - PART 4: “THE 10:30 LAUNCH”

Supposedly, the weather guys launch a weather balloon every day at 10:30 from a launching facility near the power station. Now, I’ve been working on a ridge right next to the darn thing, and have yet to see a launch. Either I’m in the bathroom, or forget to look up, or they launch early, or whatever. Everyone but me has seen a launch! It’s no big deal, but mark my words - this week I’m gonna get a picture of a stinking weather balloon!!!

The following picture was taken by someone who is not me:


SKY - PART 5: “27 MINUTES”

The sky is growing dark. From here on out we’ll be losing 27 minutes of daylight per day. And as the light level drops, so goes the temperature. We have monitors here that give us weather updates. I took this picture a few hours ago. Notice the Negative 60 wind-chill to the far right. Working outside is getting difficult:















SKY - PART 6: “BURPING THE VOLCANO”

Mt. Erebus isn’t visible from the station, but during a six mile hike to Castle Rock it was constantly in view. I have been informed that the smoke streaking across the sky from the volcano has changed in appearance due to our nearby iceberg, Iceberg 15-A. The berg (over 100 miles long) has been bumping against Ross Island, and is actually “burping” the volcano like a baby. I ask you, can this place get ANY weirder?

SKY - PART 7 “PHANTASMAGORIA”

Yes. Yes it can. Phantasmagoria. The word pretty much says it all. It's as if Antarctica was waiting for that last plane to leave before it started showing off. It's not distracting enough working with glaciers, volcanoes, and seals all around. Suddenly, we've got mirages to contend with! Full fledged, in-your-face stuff that isn't really there. Warm sunlight reflecting off cold ice can magnify objects, move them miles closer than they really are, and (this is the part I really love) occasionally flip them upside down! I've been warned that as the temperature drops, we'll see entire mountain ranges inverted in the sky.

Here are three pictures of Black Island. Look closely. See what i mean? The first time I saw phantasmagoria I thought a huge iceberg had forced its way through the pack ice. Then someone explained that it wasn't really there. It may have been a berg over the horizon, or just a small bump in the ice, hugely magnified.

(UPDATE: I later learned that what we are seeing has another name: Fata Morgana, named after King Arthur's sister who learned magic and became a shape shifter.)

SKY - PART 8: "IRIDESCENT CLOUDS AND NACREOUS CLOUDS"

My final sky entry for the week would have to be nacreous clouds. True nacreous clouds are rare, and usually show up just before sunrise when the air drops to at least -90 Celsius. What I saw the other day (for two minutes) were iridescent clouds, which are more common and less impressive. Rather than show you my photo, here's a picture taken here in 2004 of true nacreous clouds. Enjoy:)

PART 9: “PROMISES”

I seem to remember promising some penguin pictures. This letter is too long already. (Besides, penguins don’t fly, and would wreck my whole “Antarctic Sky” motif:) Instead, I'll send a second e-mail tomorrow of nothing but penguin pictures.

Stay warm,
Mike

UNITED STATES ANTARCTIC PROGRAM

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