Punta Arenas | - 53°10′S, - 70°56′W | Wednesday, Nov. 26th
“Ah, do not beg the favor of an easy life — pray to become one of the truly strong.
Do not pray for tasks proportionate to your strength, but strength proportionate to the task.”
– Phillip Brooks
“Think if of it as a system,” Wes says. “Layering is key, but it’s also about efficiency.”
My expedition teammates and I are sitting on the floor of a conference room in the bottom of Cabo de Hornos, a hotel in downtown Punta Arenas, Chile. Wes Bunch, a guide from Antarctica Logistics & Expeditions (ALE) has asked us to pull out every item of clothing we packed for this trip. SmartWool socks, Patagonia puffy coats, mid-layers, gloves, and beanies litter the floor. It looks like the messy stockroom of an adventure outfitter store.
Wes walks around to examine each of our piles of technical clothing, and picks up a pair of socks belonging to Chris Lefler. “These aren’t quite thick enough,” Wes says kindly. “You want the thickest socks you can find – like these,” he says, reaching over to grab a pair of my mountaineering socks.
Wes explains the critical role of high quality socks and gloves. Because our feet and hands are the most susceptible to frostbite, keeping them warm is a top priority. For this expedition, our team will be working in the interior of western Antarctica, on the Ronne Ice Shelf. The temperatures there will likely hover around 5 - 10 degrees Farenheit, and could drop (and feel) significantly lower with high winds.
“Your comfort parameters need to be expanded,” Wes says.
I laugh. That sounds like an elegant way of saying welcome to the suffer fest. As he details the extreme elements (bone-chilling temperatures, biting winds, and relentless, blinding sunlight) Wes elaborates on the value of efficiency — knowing exactly where each piece of gear is located and being able to access it quickly.
These cautionary words remind me of my dear friend and mountaineering buddy, Jon Haas, and our many adventures in the Cascades. While we were climbing Mt. Adams last summer, Jon and I encountered some of the strongest winds I’ve ever felt on a mountain. When Jon asked me to grab a pack of hand warmers for him, it took five minutes of digging around my pack (cursing through chattering teeth and fumbling with numb hands) before I finally found them.
That kind of amateur action won’t fly while working in Antarctica.
“Simplify everything,” Wes says. “Become more efficient on every level — in the way you pack, the way you move, the way you breathe.”
Copy that.
Safeguard your fingers: I brought all the gloves I own, but even my warmest pair is not quite heavy enough (it’s difficult to shop for Antarctica-level gear in North Carolina.) So ALE is providing me with a polar-rated pair of mittens.
After the gear check is complete, I call Rachel Etheredge in California. As the Executive Director of Operations at the Brinson Exploration Hub, Rachel is the person who officially hired me to document this expedition. Even though she isn’t going to Antarctica with us, our team will be in daily contact with her. For the next few weeks, she is basically my boss – and she’s a great one.
When I first chatted with Rachel back in October, she immediately reminded me of my favorite shipmates – a force of nature who can wrangle humans and make epic things happen. But she is also very approachable, with an easy-going demeanor and quick laugh. Though we have never met in person, Rachel cares about my well-being. She sounds relieved when I tell her my travels to Punta Arenas went smoothly and that our ALE guides seem solid. Knowing that someone like Rachel has my back brings a sense of security and comfort, especially when participating in an expedition of this caliber.
A few hours later, the team heads over to ALE headquarters. As we walk, I chat with Andy Klesh, Associate Director & Chief Systems Engineer at the Brinson Exploration Hub. Andy and I sailed together on the Alvin Science Verification expedition a few years back, and he is the reason I was invited to join this group. We discuss our previous experiences in Antarctica and the unique nature of this expedition, particularly spending two weeks in a remote field camp. Andy and I have both spent a lot of time at sea, but living in small tents (in some of the coldest temperatures on the planet) is a new realm.
At ALE, we get outfitted with additional gear and learn more about what to expect during our first few days on the white continent. The one-hour briefing is informative and efficient, covering everything from packing protocols and flight time to biosecurity and the Antarctic Treaty. It’s clear that ALE has done this many, many times before. Even though bringing people to Antarctica is routine for them, the ALE staff recognize the magnitude of the experience. The presentation ends with these words: Don’t forget to stop and reflect on the beauty around you.
On our way back to the hotel, Auden Reid-McLaughlin peers down at my camera and asks about my ability to operate it while wearing multiple pairs of gloves.
“How are you going to take photos?” he asks.
“That’s a great question,” I say, thinking of my friends at home in North Carolina who have expressed the same concern. My documentation of this expedition will certainly include an awkward dance of donning and removing gloves and keeping fresh hand-warmers in the pockets of my jacket. Once again, Wes’s words of wisdom reverberate in my mind: be efficient. I will need to create a solid system for warming my hands.
The warmest clothes on the planet: ALE provides us with Antarctic outer layers (jackets, pants, and boots) that are specifically designed to withstand extreme cold.
The excitement begins: Thatcher Chamberlain, a PhD student at MIT, chats with Project Lead Joel Steinkarus at the ALE warehouse.
At dinner that evening, I sit across from Andy and Zhongwen Zhan, Director of the Seismological Laboratory at CalTech. Andy and Zhongwen are both highly accomplished experts in their fields, but they are also laidback – the type of people who smile constantly and make you feel at ease. This team includes engineers and geophysicists from three of the leading research institutions in the country (CalTech, the NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory, and MIT) and then there’s me. But as I exchange stories with Zhongwen and Andy, I don’t feel apprehensive or intimidated. I’m happy (and very honored) to be venturing to the bottom of the world with them.
Our final 24 hours in Punta Arenas pass quickly. We indulge in good food and several long, hot showers. We unpack, organize, consolidate, and repack all of our gear. By the time we board the bus to the airport on Wednesday morning, we feel ready — and a bit nervous.
Flying to Antarctica is no small feat, but the weather gods have blessed us with ideal conditions. Thanks to ALE, we breeze through the airport. I’m impressed with how well this company practices what they preach, demonstrating efficiency and professionalism at every turn.
The Boeing 757 transporting us to Antarctica is operated by Iceland Air, and the boarding process feels similar to any commercial flight — except for the destination. As the gate agents call our groups, I pace nervously around the boarding area, trying to quell my nerves.
Luis Costa has a huge smile on his face. “Are you nervous?” he asks.
“Yeah, are you?”
“Oh yeah,” he says, still smiling broadly.
“The anticipation is the worst part,” I say, remembering how I felt the first time I went to Antarctica.
Humans are remarkably adaptable. I have experienced (and witnessed) some degree of transformation on every expedition I’ve joined. Once we get settled on the ice, living in tents, not showering, coping with intense cold, and going to sleep while the sun remains high in the sky will become our new normal.
We just need to get there.
I recall the words of Fridtjof Nansen, a Norwegian explorer, who wrote: The worst part of a polar expedition is over when the preparation has ended and the journey begun.
We have prepared as much as we can. Now it’s go time.
Let’s do this: Luis Costa throws his hands in the air right before we board our flight. Next stop: Antarctica.
Learn more about the work we’ll be doing in Antarctica here: GLASS | Grounding Zone Long-Term Acoustic Sensing of Structure