(This story appeared in the Austin Statesman this weekend. My sister and Lance Armstrong are from Austin)
MCMURDO STATION, Antarctica — It’s three o’clock in the afternoon in
Antarctica, and it’s dark and it’s cold. I haven’t seen the sun in four
months. Some days seem darker and colder than others. This seems to be the
only variable to judge time in Antarctica.
Each day I ask myself, “Is today a dark and cold day?” or “Is it a cold and
dark day?”
Today it’s a warm day. The thermometer says it’s minus 10 degrees
Fahrenheit. When the wind blows, the wind chill gets down to minus 45. When
the temperature gets below minus 60, that’s when you really notice how cold
it is. At minus 10, I don’t wear a hat when I go outside.
Don’t tell my mom. She’d be furious. Every time I call home, my mom always
ends each phone call with, “Don’t forget to dress warm.” How could I forget
that? I live in Antarctica. This would be like telling my sister, Juli
Eivens, who is a dentist in Round Rock, “Don’t forget to floss.”
Antarctica and Austin are thousands of miles apart. Some days, it’s nearly
200 degrees hotter in Austin than it is in Antarctica. Most of the time, I
think the only thing Antarctica and Austin have remotely in common is Little
City coffee. “Coffee Promotes Confidence” my Little City mug says.
Then I remember Lance Armstrong.
In the past four years, I’ve followed the Tour de France much like most
Americans do. I never watched it. But now, in July, I live in Antarctica.
There are 196 people living at McMurdo Station, a science research station.
It is the most populated “town” on the entire continent.
The first day of the Tour de France, my co-worker, Martha Christensen, drew
a picture of a bicycle on the menu board in the galley and wrote “Go Lance.”
In a town full of Antarctic scientists and their support, Martha and I are
the dishwashers. Hey, everybody has to eat.
Each day, as we worked washing pots and pans, Martha would tell me what was
happening with the Tour. There isn’t a window in the pot room where we wash
industrial-size cookware, so her stories took me out of my life and into the
mountains of France.
Day by day, as I learned that Lance Armstrong was going for his fifth
straight Tour de France victory, I became more and more interested in
bicycling. I learned about the yellow jersey, the polka dot jersey, the
crashes and the seconds separating Lance from the others.
Lance Armstrong gave me what four straight months of staring at the
Southern Cross could not: variety, a reason to cheer, a way to stay warm.
Our Internet connection in McMurdo has less bandwidth than a home DSL or
cable modem. It can take five minutes to download a single photo. But for
me, a picture of Lance Armstrong rounding a corner with the sun gleaming off
of his spokes is like taking a trip to France. It’s like standing on the
side of a small country road holding a sign that reads simply, “Go Lance.”
The other day, as I was scrubbing a 4-inch metal hotel pan encrusted with
lasagna from lunch, Martha asked whether I’d read about the accident where
Lance’s handlebars hooked the bag of a spectator, causing him to crash hard
on the pavement.
The Tour de France takes place about 4 a.m. Antarctica time, and Martha has
been staying up late at night reading the 5-minute updates on her computer.
The Web site she logs into says they update the site every 30 seconds, but,
depending on the satellite and slow Internet speed, she usually gets updated
every five minutes.
It was 6 in the morning. I was still drinking my Little City coffee and
hadn’t thought about the Tour.
“Do you think,” Martha asked, “if Lance Armstrong knew that he was our
sunshine in Antarctica, that that would help him win the Tour de France?”
“I don’t know,” I told her. “He’s got to be thinking about something when
he’s so hot and tired at the end of each race in France. Why not think about
Antarctica?”
“I’ll make a sign,” she said. “It will say ‘Go Lance.’ And if he sees this
sign maybe he’ll know that people are cheering for him in Antarctica and
maybe this will help him win.”
Martha made her sign and our co-worker, Penelope Chilton, took a photo of
us that we hope Lance will see.
And, if he doesn’t see the photo, then maybe my sister, the dentist, in
Round Rock will.
So, Juli, if you see this photo, please tell mom that I’m wearing my hat.
And don’t forget to floss.
(Lance Armstrong did win is fifth consecutive Tour de France. It isn't known, yet, if he saw our photo. It has been confirmed, though, that my sister does floss.)
(note: this is a message penny tried to send to ALL of her friends and family, but the internet in Antarctica has been down for out going mail, so only messages on web pages can be posted. She asked me to post it on my website. Hopefully, our internet will be fixed soon).
hello friends, its so rare i send a bulk message, but its so rare something this great happens to me, so I need to share it with everyone!
oh my god! i can’t believe this has happened to me!
mcmurdo has about 197 or 196 people living here over the winter. some people are liked better than others and its hard to say rather or not your one of the people who the town likes, tolerates or—is in love with.
well, this last weekend here’s what happened and now I know I’m the most loved person in antarctica!
We had a prom!
i know it seems weird or strange to have a prom in antarctica, but, sometimes wackiness happens at the bottom of the world!
the prom was announced about three weeks before the actual prom took place. luckily this gave me time to start preparing to make my dress and a corsage for phil. maybe you don’t know it, but the only way I think phil could look better would be with an origami floral corsage on prom night!
since my high school prom wasn’t the best day of my life (ha ha) I have always wanted to re-live that moment of the best time of my life (high school) and have a fun prom! can you believe antarctica gave me this opportunity (even without the sun, dreams do come true).
so, as the days started counting down to prom i was just giddy with the possibility that i might be voted as—the Prom Queen! you see, to make this an official prom, everybody voted to see who the most popular couple or person was in mcmurdo. you were only allowed one vote, which was to bad, because I would have voted for myself twice.
there was this one girl, sarah, she works in laundry, and i knew a lot of guys would vote for her because she sometimes wears tank tops, but I just had a feeling I was more popular then she was.
Well, the results were released and, GUESS WHO THE MOST POPULAR GIRL IN MCMURDO IS?
ME. ME. ME. ME. ME. ME. ME. ME. ME. ME. ME. ME. ME. ME.!:):):):):)
i am mcmurdo’s Prom Queen. this means. Of all the people in mcmurdo (196 or 197 people) I am the most popular person in this town! :) I mean, unless better homes and gardens picked me to be the “Best House Wife of the Year!” I couldn’t be more pleased!”
if there is any one thing unfortunate about me being voted as Prom Queen! it’s these three things.
number one: By default--because I am so popular in Antarctica, the only person that seemed a logical vote for Prom King was Phil (sure I think he’s sexy, but that doesn’t mean he should be able to ride in on my popularity coat tails as the defunct “Prom King”).
and, finally, instead of announcing my reining title as Prom Queen at “The Prom!” I was caught off guard by the announcement the day before prom at an “all hands meeting” (a time when everyone in McMurdo meets to hear important events like—WHO THE NEXT PROM QUEEN IS!).
unfortunately, this isn’t my favorite photo of myself accepting my prom crown, but, you should have seen me the night of prom! My dress was everything I always wanted it to be when I was in high school. Hopefully, I’ll be able to send you this weekend’s prom photos of me and my dress and phil later this week.
Until then—This Antarctica Queen says, “Let them eat ‘Ice Cream’ Cake. Get it? “Ice cream cake” That’s because it’s so gosh darn cold down here.
Brrrrrrrrr!
Love XOXOXOX the queen who keeps her head about her
(ha ha :) :) :)
Queen Penelope
I was poked, prodded and probed. My brain was tested and several vials of blood were extracted from my body. Eventually, the paper work arrived at my home, “Phil Jacobsen,” the officially franked Raytheon letterhead stated, “You have been declared medically, physically and psychologically fit to work as a dishwasher in Antarctica. Bundle up.”
The first thought that came to my head when I read my acceptance letter was, “Hmmm. Looks like I just tricked them all.”
Simply peeling back the first layer of the “psychological” portion of my Antarctic readiness and that alone should have kept me from coming down here. Then again, once the words, “Yes, I’ll wash dishes in Antarctica for one year” are uttered, I don’t see how anyone could pass the psychological part of the test. If you’re not crazy to want to do this job, then you must be stupid. And, given the two options, I don’t know which one I’d rather be.
To test my psychological stability, I was flown to Raytheon Polar Headquarters in Denver and given a 566 question personality test:
Would you rather be an architect or a florist? (actual question).
Do you make decisions quickly?
Do you ever think about killing people?
And on and on it went in this vain for three hours of mind, numbing mental exhaustion. How this rated my Antarctic readiness, I don’t know? But I tried to beat the test and evaluate each question to give the best answer to prove I was crazy enough to wash dishes for a year, yet sane enough to do it without going nuts.
An architect or a florist? That was an easy one. Since there aren’t any trees, flowers, green, beautiful smells, lush grass to run through barefoot, daisies, daffodils or lilacs within one thousand goddamn miles of this place, I chose architect.
Do you make decisions quickly? Yes I do. I’m a fast thinker, quick to make decisions. Sharp as a tack. Smart as whip. I used my number two pencil to quickly circle in the letter “A.”
Do you ever think about killing people? Another easy question. Yes, I kill people? Hold on a minute. What if they didn’t want quick decision makers in Antarctica, because someone who makes decisions too quickly, is rushed and erratic, willy and nilly. No, I went back to that question and erased “A” and chose “B,” because being a quick decision maker is a bad thing.
Now then, back to killing people. Could we be more specific here? Like my fellow man? No I don’t want to kill him or her. But, what about the guy who talks in a movie theater? That guy, I’d like to kill. Or the ones who drive 55 in the fast lane, man, if I could bump their asses off the road, I’d do that. But, generally, No. I don’t want to kill people.
“Hi, I’m Phil. I’m not real quick when it comes to decision making. I don’t know if I should wash that dish or not, could you give me a minute to think about that.”
Who’d hire that guy? Of course they want quick decision makers in Antarctica. I went back to the quick decision making question and started to erase “B.” But, wait, what if “they’re” watching me. What if they have a camera above my head recording all of the answers I’m erasing? Maybe I should leave this one as “B,” because if it has taken me this long to come up with a decision, then this is further proof of my ability to take a long time to make a decision. I’m a slow decision maker. But, if they are watching, I can’t let them know this. I covered my test with my hand and erased “B” then circled “A.”
Next question: Are you paranoid?
When it came to the medical aspects of P.Q.ing (physically qualifying) to come to Antarctica, I didn’t exactly breeze through these portions of the test either. One year ago I was 10 pounds overweight and my dietary habits included words like “Supersize, Jumbo-ize or French fries” with every meal.
Fast food wasn’t quick enough and when my tests came back my blood was deemed to be Type Bacon Grease. My cholesterol was 267. In order to P.Q. for Antarctica I had to have a cholesterol level below 240.
For a week, I avoided most fast food franchises and some Mexican food restaurants, then I called Raytheon medical center to see if I could have a “redo” on my blood work.
The nurse who answered the phone said when my blood was drawn two sets of vials were taken. One for my doctor in Utah and another for the doctors in Denver. The Antarctica Doctor said I had a cholesterol level of 227 and it would be best, she said, if they never saw the paper work with the numbers “267.”
There was only one problem with losing my cholesterol-enriched paperwork, my doctor had included this information on the same piece of paper, typed in 12 pt Helvetica font, that all of my other medical results were printed. If I sent in the information showing I didn’t have AIDS, STDs, or diabetes, then I’d also send in the smoking “bloody gun” showing I had high cholesterol.
Although my job sitting behind a desk for seven hours a day, eating fried foods for breakfast and lunch, didn’t help my physical fitness, the fact that I was a graphic designer for those seven hours did.
I scanned my medical records into my Apple G4 using Photoshop 7. Exactly reproducing my doctors 12 pt Helvetica type font and letterhead in Quark 5.0, I was able to paste her signature below my new and improved health form. I even printed up my new tests results on a 30lb grey, cotton bond piece of paper to give my doctor the class she lacked with her white 20lb boring paperwork.
The end result was a cholesterol level of 227 and a well deserved trip to Kentucky Fried Chicken for the their three piece meal deal with two sides of mashed potatoes and a supersized Coca Cola.
Fast forward a year. Nobody at Raytheon caught my forged paperwork and, without movie theaters and highways in Antarctica, I haven’t wanted to kill anybody in quite some time.
Washing dishes isn’t nearly as mentally stimulating as being a graphic designer, but, I’m on my feet 8-10 hours a day, six days a week, scrubbing pots and pans, so physically, it’s a work out.
I’ve lost 15 pounds. And, without a McDonalds, Taco Bell or any other franchise on this whole continent, I figured my blood was like liquid nutrients coursing through my body.
It’s Health Week in Antarctica. So, I went to medical for the cholesterol screening and found, without any help from PhotoShop, Quark or eating healthily my cholesterol is 228. It’s up a point from the numbers I faked. I’ve lost 15 pounds and my cholesterol is still oinking bacon grease.
“What causes this?” I asked the doctor.
“How much meat do you eat?”
“I only eat meat two meals a day,” I said. “For breakfast I give my body a ‘meat’ rest by eating a three egg omelet.”
Later that night, after a lesson in eating healthy versus dying young, I saw Penny and said, “Guess who, after eat a chicken a cheese sandwich with a side of fries for lunch today, is McMurdo’s newest vegetarian?”
“I don’t believe it. You won’t last a day.”
We bet $30. I say I can be a vegetarian for a month.
It hasn’t been easy. Here I am. A sensitive, pony tailed vegetarian with a lot to learn about vegetables and not a single tree to hug in Antarctica.
This is Day 3 and Day 2 was nearly my undoing. Apparently as a vegetarian you’re not allowed to eat Jell-O, refried beans and all delectable items given to us from pigs.
I have bad cholesterol. I have good cholesterol. I'm a meat eater. I have bad cholesterol. I'm a vegetarian. I really am a slow decision maker. I should have left my answer as "B."
“Midwinter Day party was to be their Christmas…June 23 {1902} began with smoked herring for breakfast, followed by finishing the paper chains and lanterns…a few skied around the point as far as Castle Rock, while others slept it off.” Antarctica Unveiled by David E. Yelverton
I didn’t come to Antarctica to sail on a boat in the Ross Sea or to risk my life by going to the South Pole. No, I came to Antarctica to wash dishes. Six days a week 10 hours a day. I’m not an early Antarctic explorer. I’m a dishwasher.
On my day off, I don’t want to be an adventurer risking my life to go to the South Pole or to sail on the Ross Sea or to camp outside in a snow trench.
No, I want to sleep. I want to be like the guys on the S.S. DISCOVERY who “slept it off.” However, fate and my friend Penny have turned me into what I can only describe as a reluctant outdoor adventurer.
I’ve been to the South Pole, camped in a trench that resembled a coffin and sailed on the coast guard ice breaker the Polar Sea.
Nearly 101 years later on our Midwinter’s Day in McMurdo, as I was sleeping it off on my one and only day off of the week, Penny came into my room and said, “Come on, we’re going to hike to Castle Rock.”
“Actually,” I said, “I was planning on sleeping until I took a nap before I started getting ready for the big Midwinter’s Day party tonight.” The galley had prepared bacon wrapped filet mignon, crab legs, shrimp and an ensemble of vegetable things for vegetarians. Some people had volunteered to wash dishes tonight so I could eat and not worry about the state of affairs of this dish room or the cooked on blood in the pot room.
“Jim Julian is going.”
Jim, I repeated in my head and mouthed on my lips, Julian?
Penny really knew what to say to get a guy to reluctantly go outside and be an adventurer.
There are quite a few people in McMurdo who are like Jim, they keep to themselves, sit alone at meals and have a winter over project to be a hermit. And, most of these people are doing the community a favor by eating alone and keeping to themselves. But not Jim.
The first time I met Jim, we were sitting around one of the six tops in the back of the galley and eight people were gathered around this table. The last flight of the season still hadn’t left McMurdo, but the winter over people had started huddling together, finding out who we’d be locked in with for the next six months. Nobody was saying anything, and there were only seven minutes left in this 15 minute break.
Jim said, “I only know one joke and I just remembered it. Do you want to hear it?”
I don’t recall what the joke was. I remember thinking, if I only knew one joke and that was it, I’d probably learn a second joke.
Time kind of ticked away since that day. Jim has eaten dinner with Penny and me on occasion. He likes good, old country music like Merle Hagard, Buck Owens, Johnny Cash and Roy Clark. The first concert my dad took me to was a Buck Owens and Roy Clark show. I told this to Jim. He gave Penny a lot of country music. We talked more. I never told Jim that I saw Buck Owens when he opened up and played with the United States Air Force Band. It just didn’t have the dingy bar, smoke filled room environment I wanted to create in imagination.
Think about it. It’s dark. The scenery is limited to the white you can see at your feet and the dark silhouettes of mountains on a clear night only if the moon is bright. All we have here is our imagination. There isn’t any room for imagination and imagery for the United States Air Force band
So, Jim was hiking to Castle Rock? The need to sleep off a six day work week could wait, reluctantly, another week.
To hike out of McMurdo to Castle Rock, we’re required by the National Science Foundation/Raytheon/The Man to check out with the fire department. It’s about a six mile round trip hike, and, as the saying goes, “the weather can change in two hours” so it’s a matter of safety. “Be Safe Or Die” is another catchy Antarctic slogan.
We all met at the fire station (there were four of us with our friend Greg). We filed a foot plan with estimated time of arrival, number of people in our party, people to call in case of emergency, room number, work center, troop leader, phone number (work and home) and then the dispatcher on duty calls the weather center (Brendan), he gives us our own personal weather forecast (accurate (maybe) four to six hours) and as easily as that we’re hiking to Castle Rock.
Is it any wonder I would have rather slept it off?
The hike to Castle Rock wasn’t uneventful, it was just cold and dark. When I wear a facemask, it fogs up my glasses, so I remove them. I have to hike in the dark and, as an added bonus, see blurry objects. Since it’s dark, and I am near sighted, I generally just look at the ground. I don’t feel like I’m missing too much. However, on a night like this, with a full moon, I’m missed a lot.
If a star shot across the sky. I saw my feet. If Greg pointed out a satellite in the sky, I saw rocks on the ground. When Penny said, look at the full moon, I looked for my glasses in my coat pocket. With my glasses still covered in ice, I looked at the moon and saw a blob.
By the time we reached Castle Rock, I had learned my shoes had seven eyelets running along each side of my shoe. That meant I had 14 eyelets per shoe and 28 eyelets total. Because my shoes were all I saw on this hike, I was amazed by the view at Castle Rock.
Climbing to a rock outcropping I was able to see, after sticking my glasses under my armpit and thawing off the ice, the Royal Society Mountain Range about 60 miles away. The full moon hurt my eyes. I can’t imagine a sun any brighter than the moon we saw on this Midwinter’s Day.
The sun, not to be outdone by the moon, had something to show us as well. It was far away, but in the distance of the night, there was a band of orange, the color of blood, lining the horizon. We all sat separately paced apart by about 20 feet staring at this orange red blood hue until the most obvious words in Antarctica came from my lips, “I’m cold. Let’s go home.”
With hats and coats and gloves and mittens and scarves and balaclavas weighing us down, we hiked home. Penny and Greg had a slower pace than me, and my 24 eyelets and Jim.
As we hiked, the moon disappeared behind Mount Discovery. It got dark. Every 30-40 feet there are bamboo flags lining the Castle Rock trail, but I could only see 15-20 clearly so I had to use Jim like a seeing eye dog to stay on the trail.
On the three mile hike back to McMurdo sometimes the ground was hard, like ice and slippery like a banana. Mostly, though, walking home was like trudging on a sandy beach in hiking boots, but on ice and cold.
For these three miles, Jim took me out of my boots by taking me to my imagination. He first came to Antarctica and worked the same job I have, a dishwasher. A lot of people are either dishwashers or janitors their first year here. Then they branch out and get a better job.
Jim’s second season he was a janitor.
At least he didn’t come down his second year as an insulator, that’s the worst job here. It pays more, but you’re always outside, laying on metal, working in tight places and miserable.
Jim came back a third season as an insulator.
Now, his fourth season, Jim is a painter.
I’m 35 and Jim is slightly older than I am. I found his lack of progression up the corporate workers ladder admirable. Even more impressive was his ability to lead me to the trailhead without getting lost or falling into a crevasse.
The last mile of the hike we talked about our passions. Jim draws. He says he’s not ready to show his work, but it was the only thing he said on the hike that I didn’t believe.
Sometimes it seems everyone in Antarctica is either an artist or a writer. It’s depressing. Stories like “Winter of My Discount Tent” exist and are written on this continent. Penguin art prevails down here, because it’s cute.
But, without even seeing a straight line on a piece of paper drawn by Jim, I felt I’d like what he drew. When we got back to our room, I asked Penny if she had ever seen any of Jim’s art. No, she said, he keeps it to himself.
It was Midwinter’s Day in Antarctica. I ate filet mignon, shrimp and crab legs. Then I slept it off. It was like 101 years ago, but it was today.
And today Jim invited Penny and me to his room to see his drawings. He said it was the first time in the four seasons he’d worked in Antarctica that he had had guests in his room.
We got to see his drawings. And even without seeing them I knew I’d like them. And I did.
In the book, The Worst Journey in the World, Apsley Cherry-Garrard says that in coming to Antarctica “Some will tell you that you are mad, and nearly all will say, ‘What is the use?’ For we are a nation of shopkeepers, and no shopkeeper will look at research which does not promise him financial return within a year. And so you will sledge nearly alone, but those with whom you sledge will not be shopkeepers: that is worth a good deal.”
And it is.
by Jim Julian