September 2, 1975: Tuesday

I find it hard to believe, sitting sardined on a C-130 “Hercules” (you know, the wings way above the body and the tail that angles sharply up with an all-glass cockpit, that kind), that I’m off to the Southlands. It gets bad, close, cramped. Fanny fatigue and tiring. In short, an eight hour roaring “Herc” trip. Fitfully sleeping in odd positions is an ordeal.

Finally it’s light out and below us you can see pack ice, cracked and tossing in the sea. My heart races.

The pilot informs us that the airfield is in a whiteout and we have to circle. More agonized waiting. We find out later he was off-course most of the way down. Then without warning we bump, bounce in the air, and bump to a landing. In zero visability, we taxi three miles to the airfield. I think the pilot was lost, but we couldn’t see anything to be sure.

Now, with all my Antarctic gear on, we step forth onto the Ice Shelf. As we step out men wave and direct us to follow the fellow in front of us. The wind is at 30 knots. It’s just like any Nebraska blizzard. Nothing different. We get in a truck and drive up to a shack. It’s crowded with men, smoke, and Playboy centerfolds. I eat two donoughts. They were real donoughts.

Sidebar: I think there’s something wrong with doughnuts.

We get back into the truck and drive to McMurdo. My impression is of eastern Nemaha County in the winter. Snow filled ruts and what look like plowed fields. Traffic in both directions. Telephone poles along the hills and stuck trucks with a junkyard on the outskirts of town. The relief is very steep.

McMurdo looks like a warehouse district in Nebraska City, or Fremont, maybe.

My roommates are Dirk (whom I‘ve only shook hands with), Pete (with two telephone calls to his girlfriend and a pith helmet, reminds me of Humphrey when he talks), and Steve (with the ring).

We get oriented in the officer’s lounge. We’ll only be in the big building (Navy barracks and mess) until the station opens up. Then we’ll move into the USARP Hotel. There’s no use getting settled. I start to beat Pete in a game of darts.

Then we go try to get our luggage. It’s not off the skid yet. So Mike takes us on a tour. We end up in the place that outfits campers. I meet Jim. He reminds me a lot of Dunbar (mannerisms, hair, and speech patterns). He seems to be the only sane Winter Over person. The others would be classified as loony back home.

Dr. Treves wants to check out the Earth Science Lab. We spend some time trying to get it open and then walk back to dinner. We get a maintenance crewman to go unlock it.

The lab is adequate. Lots of thin section equipment. Oh, boy. I get to learn something. All the cabinets are locked. We can’t find the keys. I don’t understand exactly what I’m going to do. Just follow Dr. Treves, I guess.

Doug stops by from the Cosmic Ray Shack. He’s got a twenty-minute-a-day job. The Winter Over physicist is missing things. He wanders around, spacey, and stares at a lot of walls.

We stop by Jim’s again. There’s a party going on. We stop. I meet Bio-Bob, another sane Winter Over.

Dr. Treves talks about what we’re going to do. Next week we’ll go out to check the ice. We’ll be out there a couple of days without coming back. I feel cold already.

Meet a Russian. Dr. Narcissus Something (Nartsiss Barkov). He’s from Leningrad. Pete tells him his life story. His girl works for the FBI.

“What?”

“FBI.”

“Like the KGB.”

He’s a super nice guy. I could have put the bull on that man all day. But Doug and I get very tired. Return home. I square things away, sort of. Shoot some pool ‘til someone comes in. Then go to bed.

Expenditures:
None.