November 3, 2005

November 3, 2005
We are in the midst of a fierce storm, a storm that only Antarctica can produce. This is providing a much needed day off and permits me to catch up with my journal and get an email or two out the door. The winds started to kick up two days ago. A steady breeze from the southeast kept a bite in the cold air. The sky was still clear to the north, but to the south (the direction that storms originate from), ominous strato-like clouds were creeping up the horizon. These clouds were those distinct dark gray color that first hid the domed volcano called Mt Discovery that lies to our south then crept northward over the high jagged peaks of the Royal Society Mountain range. These clouds at lower latitudes are fairly high, but here in Antarctica, they were at around 6000 feet and higher, based on how they covered half of Mt discovery. During the evening, the clouds and breeze seemed to toy with us, sometimes increasing to the south and others thinning out like this was not going to be a big weather event after all. In fact, at one point in the late evening, the clouds broke behind the Royal Society Mtn, letting in sun that hung just above the horizon to burst through providing a spectacular array of light beams ranging from bright yellows to deep golden oranges that seemed to magically pierce the increasingly angry sky, with the silhouette of the Royal Society mtn. cutting into this spectacle. As I fell asleep that night, I still did not believe that we were in for a major storm as the last five days have been so wonderful and even when we had almost similar cloud build ups and winds, the next day was better. In the middle of the night, I had to go on my typical bathroom trot, as the cold weather just does not allow a full night of sleep and quiet bladder. As I headed back to my tent, I looked to the south and realized that we were in for the real McCoy. The entire southern sky was covered with layer on layer of dark gray clouds, but what made me shudder was the white cloud that hung on the ground across the southern horizon. These clouds had a rolling and boiling look to them and knew what they represented, namely white out conditions were fast approaching. I stood there and watched as they raced toward me at what seemed like a fast speed, as the McMurdo Station was already enveloped by them (~15 miles from us), basically the distance from Manhattan to Queens College. I knew that these winds are typically above 50 miles per hour, so I quickly retreated to my Scott Tent and tried to go to sleep before the winds hit. I was awakened suddenly by the furious fluttering of the four international flags that flew behind my tent and the angry shuddering of the sides of the tent. The sides were pounding against my cot like an angry drunk man was falling on them. In fact, I tried to push against the tent and had to push with all of my strength against the wind. The rest of the night was the raging storm against the tent. Both Marv (my tent mate) and I slept in and when I finally awoke, it was ten in the morning, which is more than three hours after we normally wake up. I quickly dressed in the single digit temperatures as I wanted to see what was happening out there. As I crawled through the through the two tunnels that connect the inside of the tent with the outside world, I knew that the view was going to be different, as there was snow backed up through much of the tubes. However, the ferociousness of the scene was still more than I had imagined, as I could barely see to the dining tent (about 75 feet away) and the tents between were in different stages of either being covered or having the snow erode away from their bases. The scene was both spectacular and intimidating. It was my first white out conditions; however, this was even more intimidating since we are all living in just tents. I quickly made my way for the science tent. It was hard going as new high snow drifts had formed during the night while other areas were stripped down to the bare (now slippery) blue sea ice. The wind roared around me, seemingly almost angry that us Homo sapiens had ventured into a realm that was unnatural for us, saying or perhaps screaming at us that we really do not belong here. However, it is because of the special gift that we have as a species, the innate desire to explore and unstoppable drive to understand the world that we live in that compels us to venture into places and conditions like this. Also, it should be mentioned that if it was not for all of the high tech gear I was wearing, I would die within moments. Slamming the door behind me inside the science tent, I realized I was thigh deep in snow, as the small openings between the door and the frame allowed snow to be squeezed through from the howling winds outside. The next day or so, was writing in journals, reading books and checking to make sure that the snow around the tent to erode away, which would have compromised its integrity. The storm subsided after two days. Now the weather has replaced it angry winds and given us tranquil winds and brilliant skies.