And miles to go before I sleep

I learned today from a carpenter that one of the field camps is taking core samples of the earth to study magnetic residue from millions of years ago. From what he's heard, there is fairly sturdy theory that the magnetic poles switch places every so often, north switches to south, and south to north. It begins with infinitesimal changes, millimeters, centimeters. Like the sliding of a fulcrum, the change comes faster. At a certain point, then, the switch comes like a tablecloth pulled out, a moment of rapid disturbance (on a geological scale). And during that disturbance all sorts of changes occur in the atmosphere. This may be one explanation for mass extinction.

I hiked to Castle Rock this afternoon with a British fellow, Simon. It is a nice loop with views across the sound to open sea and north to Mt. Erebus. The caldera was smoking today, and the sky deep blue, so the smoke drifted up then angled south in the wind. The space between my hat and my sunglasses got sunburned. We snacked at the base of the rock on bagels and fruit, all in all a hike of about four hours, and afterward I napped until the Christmas Eve dinner at seven. A few townfolk dressed in suits, the tables were draped in white, people opened wine bottles and Christmas tunes were played through the cafeteria's sound system.

A few days ago my first storm hit—a light snow and strong winds—hung about town for 30 hours then limped off, weakened, over open water. Storms tend to arrive from the south. There is a notch between two icebound islands in the distance where you can spot incoming storms. They roll through the gap, packed closely on both sides by banks of land, then spread and stretch gathering height across the open ice shelf. I stood behind the chapel on a low bluff and watched the stormfront charging silently toward town; the wind increased as it neared. I ducked in for dinner and when I was finished the snow was falling and the wind had sputtered out. The town was quiet and the sun hidden for the first time in ten days. On the continent's mainland, over the Transantarctic Mountains, clouds so dark blue they seemed black sprouted upward and slid southwest out of sight behind the peaks. We are a tiny and insignificant spot of civilization on a continent larger than the US, and these storms offer the same humility as starry night sky or rough surf crashing on rocks.

We have two days off work this week, the 24^th and 25^th, then go back on Wednesday. I have the fortune of attending a sea ice course on Wednesday from 10 till 5:30, missing most of work to learn about the ice that freezes across McMurdo Sound. I think we will operate an ice drill, which should be interesting. I have once been in the freezer where Andrill, the continent's primary drilling project, stores its core samples. Wood boxes labeled with ice depths were stacked against the wall. I flavored one sample with a lime Italian soda syrup and ate it for dessert that night, then left an apologetic (and sarcastic) note in the box. Inside of the core sample was a wishbone from an ancient fish, now extinct, and when my roommate and I split it for luck the big piece went to me. That's a score.

Finally, before each day begins we read a page or two on a safety topic. We have covered latex use, carbon monoxide toxicity, a few others. On Saturday we discussed the importance of stretching, warming up prior to any physical labor. Just as athletes stretch before their event, the essay explained, you should stretch prior to working. Consider yourself an industrial athlete. And so I do. I am down here, down in Antarctica, and I am an industrial athlete, and I will be safe on the job. I will be a paragon of safe industrial athleticism.

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.