Down here people commonly refer to it as the Ice or the Harsh Continent. It's that spec of land at the bottom of the Earth, that place on the map where all the lines converge. Where the icicles hang from the world.
And why the hell am I here? I suppose I'll be trying trying to answer that question for quite a while. It is a question I've been asked and have asked myself since I've signed the contract, and I'm sure its something I'll really be asking myself three months when I've all but forgotten what a tree or the dark of night looks like.
I first heard about the opportunity in 2002 from an antenna rigger named Jay. He had just wintered over (spent one year at McMurdo) and shared many crazy stories in the two days we were snowed into a hut in remote Patagonia. It had stuck in my mind since then, but the timing was never right. The timing became right this spring, I applied, I threw around the names of a few friends that had worked there, and I got an offer.
Adventure. A new experience. A good story for the grandkids someday. My last continent to set foot on. The cherry on top of an already absurd resume. These are a few of the reasons I chose to come to Antarctica.
It is said one has no mentors after 42. Not true for me. I always marvel at you and your unique approach to life, your outlooks, your attitudes, but I always find you are more of a do-er than a talker.So it is hard to glean from you since you either seem to prefer to listen to me or I prefer to talk and don't realize it. I always struggle to ask that one question nobody else has asked you but scores of people beat me to it.
ReplyDeleteYou are always a great source of joy and excitement to me-no matter what state of mind you might be battling or enjoying. I treasure the time you afford me so generously.
Love always-Charlie