happy campers and shallow graves
This weekend I had happy campers. Happy campers is a snowcraft school that's made for folks who are going out into the field, wintering over, or get signed up to go by their bosses (although, there's every likelihood I may need to go into the field, so it's still relevent). A lot of the course involves lectures on things like hypothermia and the evils of cotton clothing in cold weather (it retains moisture). Also, all the exciting ways that cold weather can make you die. We started with about an hour and a half in a classroom, then loaded into the Delta (a huge, orange, insectoid bulbously tired thing) and drove out to the permanent ice shelf, where most of the course is given. The Ross ice shelf is kind of like the sea ice, except instead of 9 feet thick, it's a couple hundred feet thick. It's basically a glacier that fell off the land, and is now sitting on top of McMurdo Sound.
Once out there, we had some more classroom instruction in the I-hut jamesway (quonsset hut-like tent thing). This was about setting up stoves and other stuff that I probably should remember but can't right now, off the top of my head.
The whole point of the class is that we set up a functioning camp in the snow and the instructors ditch us to fend for ourselves. The camp consisted of a couple of mountaineering tents, two Scott tents (so named because they're of the exact design that Scott used on his expeditions -- one of the few well-designed things he included), and any number of snow shelters. We also had to build some snow walls to act as wind-breaks, as well as to prevent drifting in the event of a storm. Just two days earlier, it had been Condition 1, the days I was there, it was perfect and pristine. Bright sun, no wind, not too cold, beautiful. It's not always beautiful. As I keep being told, this is the windiest place in the world. Katabatic winds come sweeping down off the polar plateau and blast the hell out of the Ross ice shelf and its environs. So you make a snow wall, and put your tents on the north side. Conveniently, the worst winds around here are always from the south, so you just chuck up a wall, set up your tent, and off to dreamland you go. Except building a snow wall requires several hours of grueling labor, even with fifteen people making it. You gotta dig trenches, and saw, saw saw. Then drag big blocks over to the wall and assemble it. It takes a long time. But I guess it's worth it to not get buried under crushing, suffocating snow drifts.
The snow shelters vary. The best of them (and, I'm told, the most comfortable) is the quinzee. Quinzees are like igloos, except they're not made out of blocks. We took all our sleep-kit duffles (huge sleeping bag, two thermarest-things, fleece bag cozy) and piled them up in an enormous mound. Then, we shoveled. And shoveled. Until the whole thing was covered in a mound of snow about two to three feet thick. Then, you cut a hole in the side, drag out all the bags, and fill the hole back in. Then you dig an entrance that goes down and back up into the quinzee. The downward nature is (I'm told) a "cold air sink". It's supposed to let the cold air drop down in there. But we have a lot of cold air here. I'd think it would fill up pretty quick. Quinzees are great. I didn't sleep in one. I slept in the Scott tent, badly. Other people just dug trenches in the snow, hopped in, and covered the top with crude A-frames made of snow blocks. One guy just slept outside. In Antarctica.
One of the coolest things that happened (that I didn't take any pictures of) is when we were digging holes for tent-stakes and broke through into a quinzee from last year. We tunneled down into it and a couple people slept down there. They probably had the best night's sleep of all of us.
Camp set, the instructor said "seeya" and woosh! we were left to fend for ourselves. Dinner was melted snow mixed into yummy dehydrated backpacking meals. And beef sticks. Which were frozen.
Our beautiful camp:
Oh yeah, we built an arch on top of the snow wall.
I slept pretty badly. The ground was very hard, and it was very cold. I also managed to somehow unzip my sleeping bag AND cozy in the middle of the night, while asleep. That sucked, because I was still asleep for a while, but cold as hell. Once I managed to zip the bastard back up though, I was reasonably warm.
The next day, we had radio training. I managed to hail the South Pole on HF, which was pretty cool. We also had scenarios. One of those was a whiteout simulation. NASA has developed for the program a highly sophisticated means of accomplishing this. It's called a bucket. On your head. Our instructor had supposedly stumbled out into a Condition 1 storm and we were meant to find her. With buckets on our heads. Like this:
We managed to find her, and the other team didn't. So we got to sit back and chill while they cleaned out the I-hut (suckers). After the scenarios, we went back to town, and had two videos (which dragged, let me tell you). And then we were done.
The next day I went for a nice hike. On top of the hill, there's a dog statue with a little dildo in a bag underneath it. There's a very well-written note on it to the effect of "This dildo has traveled the world and come to its final resting place of Ross Island, Antarctica". If I go back up there, I'll try to transcribe it, because it's pretty funny. That's the end.
Once out there, we had some more classroom instruction in the I-hut jamesway (quonsset hut-like tent thing). This was about setting up stoves and other stuff that I probably should remember but can't right now, off the top of my head.
The whole point of the class is that we set up a functioning camp in the snow and the instructors ditch us to fend for ourselves. The camp consisted of a couple of mountaineering tents, two Scott tents (so named because they're of the exact design that Scott used on his expeditions -- one of the few well-designed things he included), and any number of snow shelters. We also had to build some snow walls to act as wind-breaks, as well as to prevent drifting in the event of a storm. Just two days earlier, it had been Condition 1, the days I was there, it was perfect and pristine. Bright sun, no wind, not too cold, beautiful. It's not always beautiful. As I keep being told, this is the windiest place in the world. Katabatic winds come sweeping down off the polar plateau and blast the hell out of the Ross ice shelf and its environs. So you make a snow wall, and put your tents on the north side. Conveniently, the worst winds around here are always from the south, so you just chuck up a wall, set up your tent, and off to dreamland you go. Except building a snow wall requires several hours of grueling labor, even with fifteen people making it. You gotta dig trenches, and saw, saw saw. Then drag big blocks over to the wall and assemble it. It takes a long time. But I guess it's worth it to not get buried under crushing, suffocating snow drifts.
The snow shelters vary. The best of them (and, I'm told, the most comfortable) is the quinzee. Quinzees are like igloos, except they're not made out of blocks. We took all our sleep-kit duffles (huge sleeping bag, two thermarest-things, fleece bag cozy) and piled them up in an enormous mound. Then, we shoveled. And shoveled. Until the whole thing was covered in a mound of snow about two to three feet thick. Then, you cut a hole in the side, drag out all the bags, and fill the hole back in. Then you dig an entrance that goes down and back up into the quinzee. The downward nature is (I'm told) a "cold air sink". It's supposed to let the cold air drop down in there. But we have a lot of cold air here. I'd think it would fill up pretty quick. Quinzees are great. I didn't sleep in one. I slept in the Scott tent, badly. Other people just dug trenches in the snow, hopped in, and covered the top with crude A-frames made of snow blocks. One guy just slept outside. In Antarctica.
One of the coolest things that happened (that I didn't take any pictures of) is when we were digging holes for tent-stakes and broke through into a quinzee from last year. We tunneled down into it and a couple people slept down there. They probably had the best night's sleep of all of us.
Camp set, the instructor said "seeya" and woosh! we were left to fend for ourselves. Dinner was melted snow mixed into yummy dehydrated backpacking meals. And beef sticks. Which were frozen.
Our beautiful camp:
Oh yeah, we built an arch on top of the snow wall.
I slept pretty badly. The ground was very hard, and it was very cold. I also managed to somehow unzip my sleeping bag AND cozy in the middle of the night, while asleep. That sucked, because I was still asleep for a while, but cold as hell. Once I managed to zip the bastard back up though, I was reasonably warm.
The next day, we had radio training. I managed to hail the South Pole on HF, which was pretty cool. We also had scenarios. One of those was a whiteout simulation. NASA has developed for the program a highly sophisticated means of accomplishing this. It's called a bucket. On your head. Our instructor had supposedly stumbled out into a Condition 1 storm and we were meant to find her. With buckets on our heads. Like this:
We managed to find her, and the other team didn't. So we got to sit back and chill while they cleaned out the I-hut (suckers). After the scenarios, we went back to town, and had two videos (which dragged, let me tell you). And then we were done.
The next day I went for a nice hike. On top of the hill, there's a dog statue with a little dildo in a bag underneath it. There's a very well-written note on it to the effect of "This dildo has traveled the world and come to its final resting place of Ross Island, Antarctica". If I go back up there, I'll try to transcribe it, because it's pretty funny. That's the end.
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