Friday 11th
January
From
John Storey.....
 Lunchtime
on Thursday saw us out at the International Antarctic Centre,
Christchurch. After changing into about 10 kg of Extreme Cold
Weather Gear and adding a further few kilos of paperbacks,
cameras etc into our parka pockets, we lumbered around to
the departure area to check in.
This
year the pre-flight briefing included not only the Antarctic
safety briefing, but also a C-130 aircraft briefing which
detailed all the many things that can go wrong in flight and
how little you can actually do about it.
There
was also a demonstration of how to put on the EPOS (Emergency
Passenger Oxygen System) that is used in case of depressurisation.
The EPOS is a plastic bag you stick over your head (with the
silver tape to the back - or maybe it was to the front), having
first undone it from 25 layers of packaging, identified tab
A and pulled the red button (or maybe
it was blue). You then listen for the faint hissing sound
(over the roar of four Hercules engines and the screams of
the other passengers). If there is no hissing sound there
is no oxygen and you will suffocate if you put the bag on
your head - maybe you should have pulled tab A and simply
admired the blue button.
I
much preferred the briefing we were given at McMurdo a few
years back, that went something like. "If the plane
depressurises you will quickly lose consciousness, because
you won't be able to figure out how to use the EPOS. But don't
worry, we'll be diving at umpteen thousand feet per minute
and you come to again shortly."
There
was also a most implausible life jacket that looked for all
the world like a horse's bridle. When you pull tab A there
are big yellow things that shoot out and keep you afloat.
It wasn't clear why you would want to keep afloat, with the
water at -2 C.
After
the briefing came the usual delay while they tried to find
a plane with all four engines working. To fill the time we
were shown a video on the NZ Antarctic program, which was
a lot of fun. Unfortunately, when it finished, the TV switched
automatically to a local station which was carrying an advertisement
explaining how much trouble you save your loved
ones by purchasing a prearranged funeral package. We all wished
we'd paid more attention during the EPOS briefing.
 Finally
at 7 PM the Hercules headed out onto the runway. Inside some
50 or so passengers were sitting in four rows facing each
other, on webbing seats only slightly too narrow, and with
knees touching those of the person opposite. Enormous night-lunches
- each one enough to feed a family of 4 for about a week -
were handed out to everyone and this added to the congestion.
A
couple of hours into the flight people had started to rearrange
themselves, with elbows resting on other people's faces and
big white "bunny" boots pushed against anything
soft that wasn't part of your own anatomy. Sleep was clearly
impossible and it would have been too dark to read, except
that Bob Pernic had a beaut little headband with white
light-emitting diodes on it - sort of a high-tech version
of those things coal miners used to wear. This cast enough
light not only for Bob to read his book, but for everyone
else in the vicinity as well.
About
four hours into the flight the crew demonstrated their sense
of humour by winding the cabin temperature up to around 30
C. Everyone removed as much clothing as they could while still
retaining basic decency, and the compartment became a huge
tangled pile of legs, feet, parkas, boots and heads - none
of which could be confidently identified as
belonging to anyone in particular. Unfortunately the person
sitting next to me had the build and general dimensions of
a 200 kg gorilla, reducing my personal space to well below
even my modest requirements.
Many
people clearly wished they'd listened to their mother's advice
and taken up a career in real estate. In fact, the person
opposite me was reading a book on how to make a fortune in
that very field. His lips were moving as he read - he'll need
to learn not to that if he's going to make the big time in
property sales (maybe that's in chapter 4 of the book).
After
nine hours we landed at McMurdo - this was perhaps the longest
and most uncomfortable of the 30 or so Hercules flights I
have done to date. At least we didn't have to use the EPOS.
The
ordeal was not yet over, as it takes a further 45 minutes
to travel via Terrabus (a humungous Canadian snow-bus known
locally as "Ivan the Terrabus") to McMurdo itself.
There we were treated to a further hour of Arrival Briefing
(none of which I can recall) before being allowed finally,
at 6 am, to stagger off to our allocated rooms.
There,
a pleasant surprise awaited me. "Woof", my roommate,
had anticipated our late arrival and had made up my bed for
me. Woof is one of the station carpenters, and clearly a very
considerate bloke. (Normally you have to make your bed on
arrival. This is often complicated by the fact that they've
given you three pillowcases but only one sheet,
two sheets and no pillowcases, or all the right things except
they look like they've been used to slaughter a couple of
seals on the day before.) I collapsed into bed as Woof headed
off to do a day's work making boxes for field teams.
Today
(Friday) in McMurdo it is beautiful - crystal clear, a temperature
of around zero, no wind, and warm sunshine. I'm wearing less
than I was when wandering around Christchurch yesterday. In
the bay (McMurdo Sound), two large US Coastguard icebreakers
are smashing through a passage for the one cargo ship that
will arrive later this month. Watching them crash through
metre-thick ice while traveling at a fast walking pace is
pretty awe-inspiring. Huge, bus-sized pieces of ice are hurled
to one side, then satisfyingly crunched by the propellers
as the ship passes. One of these things would be useful to
clear a path through the four-wheel-drive boofheads in Sydney
next time I want to ride my bike.
We're
scheduled for "bag-drag" at 7 PM tonight, which
probably foreshadows an early morning departure to South Pole.
Our
traveling companions include the Brothers Pernic (Ed and Bob
- Bob is the site manager at South Pole for the astronomy
project; Ed is the last in a long line of people who've tried
to get the TEG working, and is busting to see the Stirling
engine) and Wilfred Walsh - a PhD graduate from UNSW Astrophysics.
John
 
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