November 14, 1975: Friday

It’s a beautiful day, just splendid. I talk on the radio to Dr. Treves. Marble Train Three drops by for breakfast. Cal and I do ice measurements. Art DeVries and Ed Osada come out to fish. I do some logging. I begin to get the hang of things.

It’s sedimentary rock, very black, basaltic. That makes Dr. Treves very happy.

Sidebar from the Christchurch Press, November 11:

High Winds Hold Up Ice Drilling

A southerly gale in the Antarctic temporarily halted drilling into the McMurdo Sound seabed yesterday on Monday.

The drill was only seven metres into the seabed when the wind gusted to 50 knots.

Fifteen New Zealand drillers are manning the rig, which is the first to use annual sea ice as a drilling platform. The rig, and its support camp, are sitting on ice 1.8 metres thick. This is expected to break up and drift out to sea next month.

Core samples have already been taken, and they are being analysed by United States, Japanese, and New Zealand scientists.

It is planned to drill into 1300 metres of sedimentary rock in an attempt to discover when the East Antarctica ice sheet began moving into the Ross Sea. Initial core samples have been flown to McMurdo Station, 70 km away, for preliminary analysis.

The drillers hope that no natural gas will be found because a sudden blow-out could wreck the project. Japanese scientists at the site have set up equipment to detect gas in the core.

It’s really warm. I set out in the sun on a block of wood with Art and Ed and watch them drill.

I think about happiness and internal peace. And I really think I’ve got it here. At least I feel good about it, away from worldly worries, which worries me, though.

I’m really getting used to what’s going on. Martin teaches me a lot. I can tell when they’re drilling and when they’re raising or lowering the core catcher.

Jim and Murray and Lloyd and I got into a big argument over the word “pickles.” Lloyd and I won the American version. Jim won the English version.

We have a discussion of old radio shows on New Zealand radio. They whistle The William Tell Overture. “To the dump, to the dump, to the dump, dump, dump.”

It’s a regular loony bin around here.

In the afternoon things get confusing. They have zero recovery runs and 500 percent recovery runs and I get Cal up to try and help me straighten out the blasted thing.

Some core got stuck in the bottom of the outer casing, and it was stuff from five different runs. With the help of Max, we get things figured out, and it’s almost all there.

Cal finally found my camera. I’d been looking for it for a day and a half. Cal found it in three minutes. It had fallen into a box.

Art wanted to know when the helo would be back to pick them up. So at four o’clock I called the Chalet. Dr. Treves was there, so I talked to him. The helo would be around any minute. Jack passed on some messages.

At six I give out the days measurements. Dr. Treves says a guy from Time Magazine will be out Tuesday to do a story on us. Dave B. comes over the radio to say it was the Science Editor for Time. Dr. Treves wants us to clean up, comb our hair, shave, etc.

I told him I’d even cut my hair. Both he and Dave burst onto the air. I switched the receiver on and laughed.

Kathy doesn’t want any more plastic bags, a special direct order. I ask Dr. Treves if he wants wash samples.

“Yes.”

“Well, Kathy’s going to get a lot more plastic bags.”

It’s a good emotion, one that Cathy would think of. In my mind, I can’t distinguish between Kathy’s remark and Cathy’s personality, or either one of their faces. That’s unfair to both. Or maybe a compliment to both. I haven’t decided, yet.