September 7, 1975: Sunday

I slept 14 hours. Pretty good.

Went up and finished the star chart.

I tried to get a phone patch home but no one was around. I was awful nervous about it. Don’t really know why.

We had a meeting to make plans for our traverse. Us three, Jim, Jack, and Jim Newman (a Kiwi, as they call New Zealanders). We’re taking two trucks and lots of things to keep warm.

There’s a bench, right outside the front door of the mess hall, with some plastic ferns stuck into the ground next to it. A sign reads, “McMurdo City Park, keep off the grass.”

It’s across the street from the Penguin Power & Light Company.

Dr. Dick gave a talk on his work in tracing infections of viruses. He’s a short man, gray hair, thin, growing a beard. He talks like Orson Bean. His talk was like a lecture, writing on a blackboard all the unimportant concepts. I ask some dumb questions, which is a hobby of mine.