Return to the Ice
I heard you did a summer at Mactown. That’s cool. If McMurdo is like a really out-of-the-way American small town, South Pole Station is like a broom closet on the moon.
That C-130 flying away? Wave goodbye because that was it, the end, civilization is flying away with it and darkness is about to fall like a frozen fucking hammer. We are officially alone. There are 49 other faces here and maybe you love ‘em, maybe you hate ‘em, but for the next six months they are all the faces you are seeing. So settle in, Polie.
We’re standing on 2850 meters of solid ice. The warmest it has ever been here, in the history of ever, is negative 13.6 C. You don’t want to know how cold it can get. You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Even though it is dry as a desert, the wind is always blowing and sometimes that means whiteouts for days and always that means big fucking snow drifts, snow that whips across maybe a thousand kilometers of flat, featureless nothing. Snow we have to keep shoveling or eventually it’d bury us and we’d just disappear. Let that sink in.
Anyway, we’re watching The Thing tonight in the gym, both versions back to back, so stop by if you’ve got any liquor.