Snow, Slides, Sauce

We had our first storm in quite a while -- strong winds, lots of snow, it really felt like Antarctica.  And it reminded me of our laughably dire roof leak.  You see, the SciCo office is just two trailers with some basic interior finish (featuring asbestos flooring!), and where they were joined together some thirty-odd years ago there remains a significant seam.  This becomes apparent when several inches of snow accumulate on the roof and then melt.  Peak bucket count was five, collecting at a combined rate of one gallon per hour.  Dripping is a rare sound here, so we didn't mind it the first few days.

And like that, we're off to the races.  All of a sudden, everyone realizes there's one week left to submit cargo and paperwork to make it on the yearly supply boat, a.k.a. The Vessel.  For my part, vessel preparations involve the most mundane and humbling of secretarial tasks: scheduling meetings and advancing PowerPoint slides while other people speak.  I did subtly punish one guy for delegating this task to me by waiting too long every time he paused, forcing him to repeat "Next slide, please."

In case we weren't all reaching the point in the season where we're tired all the time, there was another delivery of ice core samples last week.  SURPRISE, the plane came early, so no one but neurotic me was awake yet, and I got to interrupt people's sleep to drive loaders around in the cold at 4am.  There's yet another, the last, shipment of ice cores coming in just before The Vessel, too -- and this one is going in the super high-tech freezer building with alarms.  More on that next time.

Despite all the shit talking of my desk job, I'm very much hoping to come back and do it all again next year.  We had our redeployment (go home) meeting and turned in our travel dates, and as always, I don't want to leave.  Sure, seven weeks wandering around New Zealand will be nice, but I'll have to find my own spaghetti and grilled cheese sandwiches and navigate the world again.  I actually had the thought while walking the other day, in freezing temperatures and biting wind, amongst beeping heavy machinery, approaching a road edge crumbling into icy waters, circled by fearless ravenous birds, "At least nothing can hurt me here."  

And then I did something totally crazy and not at all in character: watched softball for four hours.  The crowd was full of creative hecklers, and someone passed out empty beer cans to chuck at the fence.  It was fun, but not in the same league (see what I did there?) as the First Annual Natalie P. Chaddock Foundation Applesauce Chugging Contest.  There, wily competitors faced off in three rounds, the fastest chuggers advancing from one tall drinking glass full, to two, to three.  That's a shocking 14, 28, and 42 fl. oz., readers -- for a combined total of well over a half-gallon.  Only one person threw up.  The winner was completely unfazed and proudly held up his bespoke WWE-style tin-can-lid belt.  What great fun will next week bring?

Ringing It In

So we got to close/headline IceStock.

It happened to be on New Year's Eve this year, so everybody counted down, baby new year came out, and champagne sprayed everywhere.  And then we played for an hour and had a fucking good time.  I started the evening hop-dancing for warmth at 4:30pm in a stiff chill breeze with foreboding overcast skies.  But there were pots of chili, grilled sausages, hot chocolate, and friends all around.

DTF played our set at 7:10, and hit our stride after hiccoughing through the two jazz tunes.  We ended strong with improvised lyrics blues about our favorite topic, a fish fry.  This was the band's last hurrah, but various combinations of people playing together will carry the spirit on.

And then there was Midnight Rhythm: Carhart Edition.  Our bassist is famous for only ever wearing Carharts -- even on the plane down here, even leaving the sauna -- and so we decided to honor his awesomeness as a person and musician by all donning them.  He's a quiet guy, but I'm pretty sure he was pleased.  Other fun facts: someone collected old underwear all season, handed them out, and we were showered with boxers, longjohns, and a few lacy pairs while we played.  And I too-emphatically cheers'd my trumpet player, shattering her bottle of champagne in the cold.  Good thing we brought 10 bottles on stage with us.

I think it was my favorite New Year's; or at least tied with playing Taboo and waiting for the world to explode for Y2K.

Seasonal Awesome Disorder

You can't do it all.  At least I went in the ob tube, if only for a few minutes.  That porthole to another world was stuck in the ice for weeks, but I only happened to luck into going down when some other people already had the key.  It was pretty neat to see divers in the water, though, fins undulating in the dim, silent world of jellyfish and ice crystals.



(Hi mom and dad -- here's my face, I'm still alive and well.)

Our access to the ice shelf also wrapped up a couple weeks ago -- significant melt pools are visible near the coastline, and the ice is slushy, weak, just plain unsafe.  The cross-country skis in my corner by the closet stare reproachfully every time I enter my room.  I know it's been awhile, gals, but there's just so much fun music.  Oh, and Christmas.

All I can say about Christmas is this town likes to party.  Varying combinations of booze-music-food-presents carried us from Friday afternoon straight through Sunday evening.  There was Uno and shots; there was Pink Floyd and lobster tail; there was a scarf and chocolate.  It snowed late Friday night, which was our Christmas Eve, and I knew I better go walk in it even though it was 1am.  When I woke up the next morning, it was all gone.

P.S. - We are starting to fill shipping containers with cargo in anticipation of the yearly supply ship arriving in a couple weeks.  What does this exciting new development hold for me?  Aaaaaaand it's...more data entry.

Down To Fun

What's that, the cover of a new Christian rock album?  No, just pregaming enjoying nature before band practice, out at Hut Point.  Julien makes a mean mojito, especially when you consider that the mint is a few weeks old and the lime is powdered.  Also, there is a guy here who's actual first name is Steel.  He's sitting on the right.

For a few days there I had a lot of spare time on my hands with only one band going...but thankfully, they're both fully operational again.  Our bass player suffered an unfortunate accident and flew home, but I scooped up a replacement so we can still play IceStock.  And another side project is brewing: I met a guy who was a professional jazz drummer for like thirty years, and who made and brought down -- to Antarctica -- his own set of vibes (as in vibraphone, not psychological energy).

Christmas week is upon us and the debauchery started right with the firefighters' dinner/party.  My friend and drummer cooked a feast: meatballs, pasta, latkes, crepes, asparagus, and more.  They're about as rowdy as you'd expect any such group to be, and it pleased me that the chief ended an otherwise congratulatory and sincere speech with a quote from the sage of our times, Jerry Springer.

Tonight beckons like a giant chocolate cake: planning our short film, followed by band practice, followed by maybe my favorite event of the year -- SOLSTICE SILENT DANCE PARTY.  We will enter into the transcendent quiet beauty of this landscape, moving to our own tunes on headphones, the sun as high as it ever is all the way to midnight in a strange southern land.

What time is it? Show time.

My gosh, I haven't talked about the first gig...ok: Down To Freeze was well received at the Crary Lab science social, achieving that perfect ambiance-music volume without turning into a spectacle.  Because, really, we were background music for what I assume were varied and erudite doctoral-type conversation.  I borrowed a little black dress from one friend and savagely high heels from another, and we swung through the jazz tunes and pounded the rockers without me toppling over.  It was a great night, though tinged blue as our guitarist departed a few days after.  The plan is to integrate a new guitarist, but most of the jazz is going away.

After many -- and I don't use this word frequently or lightly -- epic rehearsals, last night Midnight Rhythm graced the stage of Gallagher's bar.  Things really got amazing about two weeks ago when we tapped an as-yet-undiscovered drummer, Dave, the egg line cook.  That kid can hit some shit.  Most of our tempos increased, transforming what had been a remorseful post-break-up original into a fist-raiser of an I-will-remember-you, and our three 12-bar blueses(eses) into groovin' dance tunes.  For a second time, I abused my aging knees keeping time in four-inch sparkly purple velvet heels.  I think the bubbles in our champagne (one bottle each, frequent toasting) encouraged an effervescent mood.

And as if all this music weren't enough thrill, we got our first delivery of ice cores from the South Pole.  This is the for-reelz science down here, the most prized of the field samples, and there is a strict protocol we follow to ensure their integrity.  Usually they are flown in at the coldest time of day, about 2am, but we had had several days' weather delay, and eventually it was decided they would come during normal work hours.  So thankfully I didn't have to do this the first time confused and bleary-eyed.  My main job is to put bar code stickers on boxes and record temperature data logger numbers.  I also have to talk on the radio, which is scary and awkward, as I've never been a big rig driver or bus dispatcher, and fail to conjure the proper jargon.  My coworkers are the ones actually driving forklifts into shipping containers and carefully placing every pallet.

Picture Fun Time

It's a Thanksgiving miracle -- the internet doesn't totally suck!  And so I can finally show you some photos.  The gorgeous curling uplift of the pressure ridges with a back-drop of volcano Mt. Erebus:

And here's town with a fresh coat of powder from atop Observation Hill last week:

This stark little homestead is a dive shack on the ice at Turtle Rock, reportedly one of the most beautiful dive spots in the world according to those in the know:

The seals like it there, and so do I.  We listened to 70s rock while the divers strapped on their tanks and gear, then one by one they slipped beneath the slush and down into the cold quiet deep.  Eventually, air bubbles stopped escaping through the hole and a stillness took hold.  Other than fifty or so lazy seals, I was the only being on the surface of the ice for miles in every direction.  Thirty minutes passed like a single slow breath, and the small circle of open water roiled again to announce the divers' return.  It's always fun to get out of town and science.

This Week in Music

Greetings from the McMurdo band room, where your heart and voice will soar, break, and soar again.  Overall, I’m pretty drama-averse.  When my pals brought in a new guitarist,  I tried to be welcoming, open to his suggestions, and not roll my eyes too openly when he couldn’t consistently alternate between the three chords in a blues…but when he incorrectly identified a song’s progression as Rhythm changes, he had to be put in his place.  I swear, it wasn’t just me; apparently he got the vibe and bowed out, and we’ve returned to a tighter, funner little group.  Likewise, with the jazz group, we were finally all there – guitar, drums, bass, me – and sailing along; then, at a performance, the tune I most looked forward to went completely off the rails.  At least we didn’t stop; I kept smiling dopily, and eventually we stuttered back to the head for one last time through.  Luckily, that was the first tune, so I hope everyone forgot about that by the end.  And then comes the moment you pick just the right song where everybody clicks in and it seems to play itself.  Anyway, all this jazz stuff is leading up to a week from now, at the Crary Lab Science Social, where beakers (scientists) will swirl glasses of wine and regale each other with witty anecdotes as we noodle in the background.

A perfectly clear understanding of the parameters of my job remains elusive, but at least I make fewer data entry errors.  Mystified people ring me several times a day, and I take a stab at answering their questions, often thickening the fog.  My boss is like an all-knowing oracle, but with sass: he purses his lips, sharply inhales, and says, “Let me speak with them, please,” and sets us all straight.

It finally snowed a good few inches, and we took advantage of the relative humidity to have a snowball fight.  My aim is terrible, but a sort of drive-by shooting technique helps me score direct hits at close range.  I hope it sticks around long enough to ski on Thanksgiving, which we’ll celebrate on Saturday in order to have a two-day weekend.  Now, I want everyone to go out and eat a nice pastry for me, and eat lots of butter, as it’s difficult to come by down here.