December 3,2010 The adventure begins.

Mark awoke us at 2:40am. We would fly, and our ride to the airport was leaving in 20 minutes.  I showered with an uncharacteristic brevity, then layered up with the fortification of garments necessary to step off the jet in Antarctica.  "We could get to the airport and have to turn right around" the ALE rep cautioned, as we loaded into the bus. Weather is never certain in Antarctica, thus nothing else is either.
Steve and Phil had not slept at all. Various shops had stayed opened for them late into the night, the last closing at 1:00am.  In the short time following, the pair removed tags and packaging. With sympathetic regards, the people at ALE agreed to loan several parkas, pants, boots and down sleeping bags to Phil and Steve at no cost.  Just the same, they had burned through over $8,000 of their own funds replacing the remaining needed items. With nominal maximums set for lost luggage , only a minor fraction of this sum would be coming back to them.
I was expecting the IL76 to ride like a garbage truck with wings. What more could one ask of a Russian cargo jet?  But the monstrous hulk sped down the runway with smooth efficiency.  Loaded with 45 passengers, their gear and a panel van on snow tracks, the IL76 lifted off, slicing through high winds with impressive stability.  Most of the passengers reclaimed lost sleep during the first few hours. Even the ship's navigator, a typically stoic Russian nodded intermittently.  The even whine of the jet turbines retreated to a reassuring hum behind my earplugs.   Passengers were moving about the cabin when I awoke.  A plate of open faced sandwiches was being passed around.  I took one and joined a group of Germans socializing near the still dozing navigator. What I had assumed to be charts in front of him, turned out to be a Russian crossword puzzle.  Soon there were potato chips and Sprite being passed around.  All about the cavernous belly of the beast, people in heavy down layers chatted and ate. The flight crew seemed to tinker endlessly with engine speed and pitch as they brought the big jet down.  So precise were these adjustments that the first touch of wheels to ice was barely perceptible.  Then the jets roared as their thrust was reversed to slow the aircraft - a procedure executed with care on a surface where brakes are useless.  We had arrived in Antarctica.