October 8, 1975: Wednesday

Grumpy again this morning. Pete left his bag in my room.

I wanted to hitch the sled one way. Dr. Treves wanted to do it another. So I started, and Cal came around and told me to do it the other way. Gees.

Got over it. Remembered the joke told by Grabacki. An Illinois State Patrolman stopped a pretty you lady. “Gee, officer, are you selling tickets to the Policeman’s Ball.” “I’m sorry lady, State Patrolmen don’t have any Balls.” He looked up, thought about it, got back in his car, and drove away. It’s supposed to be a true story. Have to tell it to Deb.

At the fish-hut we unwound the spool of wire that Bio-Mike gave us. Measured off 400 meters. The wind came up and we had a white-out. Couldn’t see the fish-hut from 200 meters. Started to rewind onto another spool. Kept winding and winding. Must have passed our mark. Went out to remeasure and discovered the paint marks hadn’t been wound up yet. Dr. Treves put tape on the paint marks, which promptly slid down the wire. We finally pulled the strands apart and put little wires in between for a mark. These got torn out when the 100 meter mark hit the wood block we were using to keep the wire from eating the floor. After a lot of trial and error we figured out a system of pulleys, pry bars, and brute strength to raise and lower the current meter. It’s fun to watch the messengers slide down the wire and feel them thump the machine.

But it’s a real pain to haul up the stuff from 300 meters, especially when the spool warps, the crank comes out of its socket, the wire frame bends, and your back aches. We get some good readings (over 1.5 knots) and direction (150º from magnetic north, or SSW).

We fished. Caught nine Borchs. And the seal showed up, chasing the fish away. He filled the hole, posed for pictures, and blew snot all over me.

We had pastrami for lunch and steak and strawberries for supper. After the eight o’clock, 300 meter reading, it got so unbearable to bring it up. The stand broke and we decided to call it a day and went back to the Hotel. We’ll try to do some more tomorrow, if we can find a winch with a motor. Doesn’t look like I’ll get a chance to be a D.J., on orders of Dr. Treves (on a permanent basis, that is). And it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to phone patch Cathy tomorrow.