December 6, 2010 Waiting out the weather.

As we settled into our tents last night, word came that the two teams which moved up from here yesterday, were greeted with similarly extreme cold temperatures plus 35 knot winds.  Mark commented that such conditions start to enter the realm of life threatening.  Another team stuck at High Camp, is down to 24 hours of food.  We were glad indeed that we'd chosen to wait things out here at base.  As the conditions reported are essentially the same today, we will again remain at our present camp.  The forecast for tomorrow calls for winds diminishing to 15 knots.  This being a manageable circumstance, we will likely move up the mountain. The next day is forecast to be clear and calm, the storm having passed. 
We've just retired to the tents, following a fantastic curry supper prepared by Doug.  As has become our custom, we finished the meal with hot cocoa fortified by a snort of Glenlivet.  Cloud cover has cleared for the first time since arriving at Vinson and the air looks still up high.  Our spirits are restored by the promise of moving to the next camp tomorrow

December 6, 20010 Exercising a virtue.

There are times when I understand almost nothing being said by my team mates. "Are we talking about cricket?" I will ask.  Invariably the answer is ¨yes¨. Such was the case at breakfast this morning.  A huge biannual grudge match is underway between the cricket teams of Britain and Australia.  It is called The Ashes.  Just to get a rise out of Guy who is constantly seeking updates, I'll ask, "So what's the latest with the Cinders?"  Politely, he corrects me.  I asked the lads to explain cricket to me.  This they did, with the greatest contributions coming from Guy and Phil.  Steve, who grew up in Milwaukee, acted as translator likening many aspects of the game to its bastard son baseball.  In the end I found cricket both interesting and boring for the same reasons as baseball, and doubted I would give an afternoon to either, were it not for the food and drink.
There is a team two weeks ahead of us dug in at high camp, unable to summit owing to powerful winds strafing the peak.  We empathize with their plight, but have no interest in joining them. Thus we remained at Vinson Base Camp today rigging sleds (or sledges as Ernest Shackleton calls them), practicing our rope work and refreshing the snow anchor techniques used in crevasse rescue.  Almost anything I know about this type of expedition was taught to me by my brother-in-law Ty and the other members of my Denali team 3 years ago.  Weather permitting, we will move to low camp tomorrow.  The packs will be heavy, the sleds will be heavier. But we will be working and so, for that time at least, warm. 

December 5, 2010 Arriving Vinson Base Camp.

As the weather continued to improve, the decision was made to use a DC3 fitted with skids to move the climbing teams from Central Base.  The teams were deposited on a glacial runway a short distance from the Vinson base, from which the Twin Otter carried us the remaining distance. Soon thereafter a cloud system moved in, cheating us of the sun's warmth.  Our team immediately set about shoveling out level platforms to build the tents upon.  This was hard work, which rewarded us with a temporary respite from the extreme cold. Three two-man tents were erected, and then a group dining tent was secured over a rectangular hole dug 4 feet into the snow.  Bench seats and shelves for food provisions were likewise carved into the snow beneath this tent.  Our guide Doug prepared hot tea and biscuits.  We all marveled at the place where we had arrived.  It is easy to look in almost any direction and imagine that no human has set foot there.   Jagged snowy peaks surround us on three sides, with heavily crevassed valleys between them.  Massive seracs, or blocks of broken glacier stack up like a great bag of Legos dumped at the base of these glaciers.  There is a silence, like that which fills the space between echoes.  An auditory wedge separating statement from affirmation.
"I'm cold." Phil declared, and left to fetch his heavy parka.  "Me toes are numb." he added.  "Mine too." I agreed.  As the sun faded lower behind the hills, whatever meager solar heat it had been providing followed with it.  The cold crept into all of us, even as we enjoyed a hot chicken and pasta dinner.  Doug advised that it would be 30 degrees colder at the summit.  This came as serious information to the team members, many of whom were already cold and wearing their heaviest gear.  To change the mood, I told a joke, titled "Mumba Bumba", which cannot be repeated here as my mother is among the readers of this blog.  By the time we retired to our tents at 11pm, I was chilled through. I climbed into my 40 below down bag and closed the top behind me.  I lay in the fetal position for almost 30 minutes before feeling the warmth return to my feet.  I tried to listen to the audio book about Ernest Shackleton on my iPod, but it only made me feel colder.  Scrolling through my musical options, I lit upon Jefferson Airplane's "White Rabbit".  I cannot say why, but something about it just seemed to fit and the comfort that came soon took me away to the land of Morpheus. 

December 3, 2010 Arrival at Union Glacier Base Camp.

Minus 20 degrees Fahrenheit air took hold of any exposed flesh as we stepped out of the jet.  Collars were raised and closed; light gloves were exchanged for heavier versions. We were directed to a portable structure where hot tea and a kerosene heater provided welcome comfort.  Groups of eight would board a van just unloaded from the IL76.  With the benefit of snow tracks instead of wheels, the van easily crossed the 8 kilometer expanse to Base Camp.  Three large Quonset hut tents form the core of Union Glacier Base Camp. Two are laid out with rows of tables for dining and cooking stations at the rear.  Another is the designated library…a place for journaling, napping or silent board games.  A set of 4 restroom huts stand opposite the dining tents. One of these huts is lined only with urinals.  The second is designated for the ladies only – it's contents remain a mystery.  What is known is that all residents are expected to keep urine and feces separate, thus the remaining two huts have both drop toilets and wall urinals, and one is expected to use each accordingly.  Several grids of tents are arranged around the perimeter of the camp.  Outside of those, is a line of flags delineating the safe zone. We're living on a glacier…..a moving, cracking, expanding and contracting piece of frozen water.  Crevasse falls are a very real risk outside of the safe zone.  As such, the message of the flags is understood and respected by all.
The occupants of this camp form a very international populace. Many of the ANI staff working as support personnel are either Norwegian or Kiwi; the IL76 pilots are Russian; the pilots of the Twin Otter are Canadian; we share a dining tent with other teams hailing from Jakarta, Germany, Russia and Canada.  In the whole of this place I have found only one American, aside from myself. Though English seems to be the common linguistic thread, I often have to ask people to repeat themselves, as my ear is not tuned to the varied accents.       Germans study my blue eyes and prodigious beak, then initiate conversations in their native language…but for two generations, they would be quite correct. 
We have enjoyed the comforts of this place for 24 hours, waiting for clear enough weather for the Twin Otter to fly. Though the night time temperature was well below zero, our team logged a comfortable and much needed 11 hours of sleep.  There is a nervous energy about the team, a restless anticipation of our next leg up.  We pace and drink too much tea. We talk about other mountains, other interests.  We confess to already missing the women in our lives back home.  Phil, always ready with a bright smile and clever comment, suggested we take a warm bottle of water to bed.  This, he claimed, would abate the loneliness.  I further suggested that members shave one leg.  While the group appreciated the logic behind this, they also made it clear they are not THAT lonely. 
Word came at 10:00am that the Otter would fly today.  Mitchell will leave first, rounding out the passenger count on that flight.  The rest of the team will follow in the second flight, taking off about 4:30pm.  I'm watching Mitchell.  He is watching the Otter warm up. He has the eyes of a bird dog….focused and serious. The epitome of a modern adventurer, Mitchell has run endurance races all over the world, including one through the Amazon.  He has hunted big game in Africa, climbed six of the seven continental summits, surfed the breakers off Fiji, and dove among sharks.  Mitchell is already planning to next trek across Greenland.  At age 62 he shows no signs of slowing.  Mitchell is extremely well spoken in the fashion of the highly educated, but at times has difficulty keeping all of that knowledge contained.  He woke his tent mate, Guy, this morning, with a critical dissertation on the safety latch used on the German Mauser rifle

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.

Plan B(uy)

The final inbound flight for the day has arrived. When asked about the missing baggage it shrugged it´s shoulders.  We are told the Fly decision for Antarctica will be made at 2:00 A.M. tomorrow morning, and it is likely a "Fly."  For Phil and Steve, the hand has been forced.  With the assistance of our Guide, Mark, they have embarked on a mad retail rampage. Lest Readers think this fun, it should be noted Phil and Steve are not likely to find the quality, size, and compatibility of items to adequately replace that which was lost.  As well, none of it will be properly broken in. Thus they will enter one of the harshest environments on the planet with untested kits.

Rubbing the toe.

December 2, 2010.
All members of the Team arrived in Punta Arenas yesterday. Each had been delayed enroute by as little as six hours and as much as two days. Phil, who lives on the Isle of Man, found his 30 minute flight to England cancelled when snow hit. Not willing to risk a second cancellation the following day, and thus his entire trip, he chose to take the four and half hour boat ride ashore. This, combined with the subsequent train ride to Heathrow, amounted to the better part of a day. In the mean time that short flight was restored. Exhausted from hauling his duffels of gear, Phil watched it land.

It is with much joy that I report the successful arrival of my gear! My backpack, however, was soaked clean through as though it had sat out in the driving rain all night in Atlanta. Everything had to be unpacked and hung to dry. The airport in Atlanta is truly remarkable for its conveniences, layout, flow, and state of the art automation. From everything I saw it seems clear a lot of forethought went into the design of this very large, very busy facility. About the only things not considered where rain and wind. All bets are off if they see much of either. The confusion and helplessness which ensue are mindful of the scene in The Wizard of Oz where the flying monkeys ravage Dorothy and freinds.

I could have done worse.  Such was the fate of Phil and Steve, who arrived without any of their gear. Both theory and promise on the part of airline representatives suggested the duffels in question to be in Madrid. Though no one could offer an eyes-on confirmation, Steve and Phil were reassured the wayward gear would arrive today in Punta Arenas. Both are presently staked out at the airport, hopeful to see their belongings on the last flight in. Absent that, they will be forced to purchase complete new sets of climbing equipment and clothing in the next five hours. The weather is ideal right now in Antarctica and it looks likely we will get the "Fly" clearance this evening. For general reference, the cost of outfitting a Climber for a high altitude arctic expedition is $3,000-$4,000.

Otherewise the Team is good. Spirits are high, and we have settled into the friendly cadence of six Ravens perched on a wire.  We reported to the headquarters of Antarctic Logistics Expeditions after breakfast this morning. Their we attended the required pre-flight orientation. We sat among the other forty or so passengers, people with casue to be in Antarctica; Climbers, Trekkers, Scientists, and Penguin Watchers. The Speaker told us what to expect of our experience aboard the Ilyushin 76, with particular emphasis on the primitive nature of onboard restroom facilities. The talk also outlined the procedures for keeping urine and solid waste separate at Base Camp. Both will be flown back.

The presentation then shifted to a discussion of frost bite. It can come on quickly, but there are warning signs; numbness, white skin, a hardened wood-like feel to the flesh. Several graphic photos drove home the point. "If you freeze part of your body," we were instructed,"don´t thaw it unless you are sure you can keep it thawed."  The Speaker said that a medical tent was available with treatment to stabilize various forms of injury until the afflicted could fly out. However, no special flight would be ordered outside the normal once a week IL76 visit unless the condition were life threatening. To frame this last point she stated that frost bite and broken appendages are not considered life threatening.  Anyone who had come still thinking this is just another tourist excursion left the talk in a state of informed sobriety.

After lunching with Guy and Doug, I set out to find some cold medicine. I am 95% over a cold that kept me out of training during the final week of preparation, but a persistent runny nose continues. As I speak no spanish, the signs mean nothing. I am effectively both illiterate and mute. Still, many words can be broken down to familiar clues. This combined with a willingness to mime form both my communication and low level entertainment for those I engage. My "Guy with a head cold" was a real crowd pleaser at the Farmacia.

I walked around Punta Arenas for an hour or so. December is their spring time here. Yet the chill wind coming off the sea is biting.  Sporatic snow flurries came and went without accumulation. A lone penguin stood, breast to the sun, on the beach. I wished I had my camera with me. Soon a couple happened along and, posing for ever-closer photos, drove the bird back into the brine.

Punta Arenas is that tired but kind city one finds in corners where dogs wear no collar and few people choose to live. There is a stately park in the center of the city. Vendors of inexpensive handcrafts man booths around the perimeter. At the center is a massive bronze statue commemorating Hernando De Magallanes. The elements have fatigued it´s finish to a mackeral grey, save the toe of one figure rubbed to a shiny lustere by the many who believe it to be good luck. Any Everest expedition visits the prayer wheels for similar reasons prior to ascent. It cannot hurt. I rubbed the toe.