Lord Master

I had very limited time in Christchurch, and a portion of this time was devoted to a fitting at the Raytheon Clothing Distribution Center where we received our cold weather gear. I had the chance to speak with a few Kiwis, and they were extraordinarily friendly. We departed the Christchurch Airport this morning on a US Air Force C-17 and the Kiwi military guards monitoring our embarkation referred to the pilot as Lord Master.

We landed on Pegasus, an ice runway about ten miles from McMurdo Station. The flight took four and a half hours. The passenger seats ran along the side of the fuselage, which was a big, open, ribbed tube. Like the belly of a whale. The bulk of the space was loaded with cargo latched down with heavy chains. There was a bulldozer on a pallet. Prior to descent the few windows afforded a view of the continent.

The landscape is utterly alien. It is endless white, rugged like nothing I've seen before. It is difficult for me to wrap my head around the desolation, and it is unrealistic if you expect me to offer adequate description. I can post pictures. That's what I can do.

I have traveled more than some, less than others, but landing in Antarctica and deboarding the plane offered something unique. I would say that most of our experiences are things that we collect, and then later refer to, describe, commemorate, relive. But from my very green perspective the experience of stepping off the C-17, of looking to the north where snow and nothing else stretched flat to the horizon, to the south where a low range of mountains sloped up to the dominating Mount Erebus, that was an experience which may very well become a lens through which I understand. It may not be so much an experience collected as an experience used.

And so, if you expect adequate description, then that is an unrealistic expectation.

I have two roommates, one who works night shifts with heavy machinery, and one who works on the high-power lines that run between buildings. They are gruff, friendly, tired, and blunt, so it seems. They enjoy coming off work and drinking beer with the TV on. Sean and Matt. It's nice, in a way. Their size and nature--they could be whalers from the 19th century.

I report to work tomorrow at 7:30, and then it all begins. Pictures will be up when my schedule settles down.