Cape Shirreff Phase II

A reflection on life at Cape Shirreff written on 1/19/24:

The first week, as most first steps are, was a series of small stumbling blocks rather than say a well-built staircase of progress. “Has anyone seen the nail magnet? I swear it was here last year…” “Who buried the SIP panel I need underneath 7,000 lbs of cargo?” “Why did we only receive half of our cheese order?” You know, the usual group dynamic storming phase coupled with gross weather, three job sites, one a mile away via a snow hill (reverently re-named Mt. SOB), and mountains of material needing to be divvied between them via very finite and fragile resources like human hands and feet, ATVs, trailers, and sleds. Antarctic logistics are never simple, but this endeavor, to build a new fur seal lab and wash house on campus, demolish all three of the old camp structures, and build an entirely new bird blind in a remote penguin colony within 4 weeks with a team of 13 workers and 2 camp staff seemed exceptionally ridiculous, and therefore also exceptionally spectacular…

The first high pressure weather system of our month-long build season occurred this week, on January 14th. We have been at camp since the 2nd and had not seen our own shadows in direct sunlight nor the towering mountains on our horizon once. This blip of mother nature’s calmness was the single most wonderful thing that has happened to our camp and construction season thus far, and there is no surprise that those fleeting 48 hours of bliss lead to some of our most productive work hours, and most fun extra-curricular moral boosting celebrations. Never have I been more aware of how soft I am or how much I take for granted seeing almost every day the fiery orb that powers our planet shine on my high desert home in the Rockies 8,000 miles away.

I am not that old, in fact I am one of the youngest on the crew, but despite my pride in my physical fitness, health rituals, and best efforts to take care of myself this season…this place and this job do not care. I have already started my morning routine waking up with my arms still asleep, punching the alarm clock on my phone with my nose if I can’t move my over-worked hands, and gobbling ibuprofen while putting lidocaine patches on my lower back before getting out of my tent. I have spent eight birthdays in Antarctica, each one memorable and special, but this year’s felt very genuine in the sense that I swear I can feel all my cells dividing and aging my body literally by the day. On the other (non-carpal tunnel ridden) hand, it was a rare sunny day celebration falling in this miraculous Cape Shirreff weather window and the silliness it inspired amongst this incredible group of people proved to be quite exceptional. With no “things” of the real world, no booze for miles, no free time for weeks… how do you end up with a perfectly executed reality TV level dance show complete with costumes, live music, a dessert feast, and outdoor bowling?!

You must be creative to work down here; not only because you have to solve problems that don’t exist anywhere else as you are completing work tasks or just living your life, but because you have to make your own fun. In a world where the people surrounding you are your only community, the wildlife your quirky neighbors, and the wind, waves, and precipitation the rulers of your schedule; finding things to laugh at are crucially important. Whether it is joy in daily routines and or finding reasons to come together and celebrate a job well done or someone gaining a few more wrinkles, fun is mission critical to the collective health and productivity of an Antarctic field camp.

The team here has worked tirelessly each day from the moment the zodiac dropped us on the beach to stage material and start the construction process: foundations, floor, walls, roof, waterproofing, windows, doors, exterior cladding, solar, electrical, plumbing, interior millwork, exterior deck, repeat… and all again in reverse order for demolition. We have been powering through snow, rain, normal sustained annoying but harmless winds, and storm winds with ferocious gusts that rip apart tents with ease, to make as much progress as we have. Now, the welcome respite of blue skies has come and gone, I have gained another year of aches and pains, and the barometer once again sits at a pressure so low that it would indicate a hurricane if we were in the tropics…

The ship arrives January 29th and significant portions of our remaining tasking require low winds, low moisture, and high temperatures to complete. Will we be granted another chance to see the sun, for our broken bodies to scramble to put the last puzzle pieces together, to proudly stare at our finished work, the shining science campus on the shore, from the lounge of the ship’s bow as we sail away? Or will we sit defeated, slumped over, sleep deprived, unsatisfied that after all our toil it still didn’t amount to us finishing the project? Although forces out of our control may dictate the fate of our season, I believe the attitude of this crew and our creativity will guide us to some definition of success…

In other words, the next 10 days might best be described by one of my co-worker’s late-night tent journal scribbles: