Carpenter's Apprentice
Looking over my journal thus far, a reader might suppose that I've come to Antarctica and here filled my time solely with hiking, skiing, and taking pictures across the shelf ice. Not the case. By far the majority of my waking hours are spent at work. I thought it might be nice, then, for my journal to reflect some on this hidden time.
My position title is "General Assistant"; my assigned workcenter, the carpentry shop. This is lucky for several reasons. The shop is a fabulous little place above town, filled with pleasantly hilarious characters and with the station's best view of the 14,000-ers across the way. Moreover, as an assistant there I'm getting familiar with a trade that may actually one day come in handy. The best stroke for it, though, and one that I'd sacrifice the others for in a heartbeat, is that it's the only shop whose workers get substantial field time. Here's what I mean: the vast majority of people who come to work in McMurdo come to McMurdo and hardly leave station for the 4, 6, or 14 months of their contracts. The only workers who actually get out of town, into the so-called 'deep field'--the only people who see the real Antarctica--are those who set up field camps for scientists. And these field camps are made of wood. So come summer I (fingers crossed) have a great chance of a few trips into that otherwise forbidden desert.
But none of that has started. It's winter yet. So from 7:30 each morning (sometimes earlier) till 5:30 each evening (sometimes later), 6 days a week, I'm out doing construction-related work needed on station. This can mean a lot of things. About half of it's indoors, about a third of it working with wood. About a quarter of it is shoveling snow. Or chipping ice. Or shoveling other debris, in fact often shoveling/chipping snow/debris to make room for other snow/debris. Or painting, or moving pieces of iron for the ironworkers, or cutting that iron with torches or crawling with it under buildings, and (once) even welding two of the pieces of iron together while under a building. Or driving--I'm certified now for trucks, tracked trucks, snowmachines, and piston bullies. Or other projects.
Us
My favorite part is being outside. Every time you open a door there's an airlock-like whoosh and you're reminded quite vividly exactly where you stand and who's the boss (nature). Being dressed makes you feel like a giant snow-fighting robot. I like spitting and listening to it.
Working outside elicits some strange physiological phenomena as well. The USAP's official explanation is that your body's response to the cold involves hiking your metabolism by about 30% and stimulating the release of brain-destroying chemicals from the thyroid. Not many here (including the doctor, whom I asked) pretend to know much about that, but it makes everyone feel, just...different. I can definitely attest to an enormous appetite and inexplicable flakiness. Big change that that is (kidding)...
So the job's very dynamic. The only component that I resent any is the driving--and that only in the strangled sort of way that you resent something that can't be helped and is easily ignored. The core of it is that the trucks, which are huge but still get the best mileage of the lot, have to be idled at all times to keep from freezing up, resulting in an overall fuel economy that looks like it's misplaced a decimal. It only gets worse for the other vehicles. And with air this clean--well, it stains your conscience a little. If you care.
Another perhaps unsurprising concern has been safety. Despite Raytheon's legendary focus on accident prevention I've already sustained a few nicks to my person. In chronological order: Frostnip to the face, 2nd degree frostbite to the ring and middle fingers, flying plywood (wind picked it up) in the ribs, and one heck of an electric shock from the welding machine. So about one per week. It seems that slowing the pace of these incidents might be in my interest if I'd like to survive through February.
I'm making less than minimum wage--no labor laws down here--but as you might expect that's not something that bothers me much. Everything's paid for ("if you want a raise, eat more"), and even before you count the free tickets down and back--items that'd run you into the tens of thousands if you could find a way to buy them--I'm putting away way more than I ever could expect to back home. And I would have done this for free. Still.
So it's been way past all right and I'll try to continue the curt little dispatches until something big happens. If you want a more thorough day-by-day type of journal, you might check out my friend Sean's: knighthiker.livejournal.com
Take care everyone.
My position title is "General Assistant"; my assigned workcenter, the carpentry shop. This is lucky for several reasons. The shop is a fabulous little place above town, filled with pleasantly hilarious characters and with the station's best view of the 14,000-ers across the way. Moreover, as an assistant there I'm getting familiar with a trade that may actually one day come in handy. The best stroke for it, though, and one that I'd sacrifice the others for in a heartbeat, is that it's the only shop whose workers get substantial field time. Here's what I mean: the vast majority of people who come to work in McMurdo come to McMurdo and hardly leave station for the 4, 6, or 14 months of their contracts. The only workers who actually get out of town, into the so-called 'deep field'--the only people who see the real Antarctica--are those who set up field camps for scientists. And these field camps are made of wood. So come summer I (fingers crossed) have a great chance of a few trips into that otherwise forbidden desert.
But none of that has started. It's winter yet. So from 7:30 each morning (sometimes earlier) till 5:30 each evening (sometimes later), 6 days a week, I'm out doing construction-related work needed on station. This can mean a lot of things. About half of it's indoors, about a third of it working with wood. About a quarter of it is shoveling snow. Or chipping ice. Or shoveling other debris, in fact often shoveling/chipping snow/debris to make room for other snow/debris. Or painting, or moving pieces of iron for the ironworkers, or cutting that iron with torches or crawling with it under buildings, and (once) even welding two of the pieces of iron together while under a building. Or driving--I'm certified now for trucks, tracked trucks, snowmachines, and piston bullies. Or other projects.
Us
My favorite part is being outside. Every time you open a door there's an airlock-like whoosh and you're reminded quite vividly exactly where you stand and who's the boss (nature). Being dressed makes you feel like a giant snow-fighting robot. I like spitting and listening to it.
Working outside elicits some strange physiological phenomena as well. The USAP's official explanation is that your body's response to the cold involves hiking your metabolism by about 30% and stimulating the release of brain-destroying chemicals from the thyroid. Not many here (including the doctor, whom I asked) pretend to know much about that, but it makes everyone feel, just...different. I can definitely attest to an enormous appetite and inexplicable flakiness. Big change that that is (kidding)...
So the job's very dynamic. The only component that I resent any is the driving--and that only in the strangled sort of way that you resent something that can't be helped and is easily ignored. The core of it is that the trucks, which are huge but still get the best mileage of the lot, have to be idled at all times to keep from freezing up, resulting in an overall fuel economy that looks like it's misplaced a decimal. It only gets worse for the other vehicles. And with air this clean--well, it stains your conscience a little. If you care.
Another perhaps unsurprising concern has been safety. Despite Raytheon's legendary focus on accident prevention I've already sustained a few nicks to my person. In chronological order: Frostnip to the face, 2nd degree frostbite to the ring and middle fingers, flying plywood (wind picked it up) in the ribs, and one heck of an electric shock from the welding machine. So about one per week. It seems that slowing the pace of these incidents might be in my interest if I'd like to survive through February.
I'm making less than minimum wage--no labor laws down here--but as you might expect that's not something that bothers me much. Everything's paid for ("if you want a raise, eat more"), and even before you count the free tickets down and back--items that'd run you into the tens of thousands if you could find a way to buy them--I'm putting away way more than I ever could expect to back home. And I would have done this for free. Still.
So it's been way past all right and I'll try to continue the curt little dispatches until something big happens. If you want a more thorough day-by-day type of journal, you might check out my friend Sean's: knighthiker.livejournal.com
Take care everyone.