After the storm is before the storm

Sunset (Photo: Klaus Guba)

First of all, thanks so much for the flood of responses to our blog. I frequently deliberated whether or not I should continue the current talk about the coronavirus (which has also reached us in the form of news headlines on websites, and personal reports) in the blog. After all, we’re currently living on a lonely island far from civilisation, while everywhere else in the world, the borders are being closed, supermarket shelves are empty, and people have resorted to stealing disinfectant from hospitals … it’s an odd feeling to be cut off from it all, and to try to process the news we’re reading.

But I ultimately decided to continue our normal blog for the time being, and I hope it will offer you, the reader, at least a change of pace from the daily news.

We survived the storm in one piece. Once the weather improved, Mario and Andreas spent several days clearing away the massive snowdrifts that had formed around the station, using the two caterpillar trucks to do so. Some days we even have brilliant sunshine, but even then, the temperatures are down to minus 20 degrees; if you add the wind-chill factor, they’re down to minus 30.

For the next few days after the storm, I was busy taking an inventory of the station pharmacy. All the medications are recorded together with the quantity in stock and expiry date, so that we can be sure to reorder them before we run out. It never ceases to amaze me how many different medicines we have in stock. Now it’s also time for the monthly fire drill; this month the focus is on how to use the compressed-air breath masks and quickly put on the fire protection suits. We go over the different fire-related roles for the respective teams, how to use the rescue sledges, and how to deploy the two rescue ladders. Once we’ve finished, I refill the compressed-air canisters that we used during the exercise … the compressor is so loud that I have to wear ear protectors, and the canisters have to be placed in a water bath to keep them cool during the refilling process. It’s definitely not one of my favourite jobs; I don’t enjoy the noise, and don’t completely trust the canisters not to burst, so it’s a relief when the last one is full … at least until next month.

On Sunday, I was woken by a loud rumble … I was frightened for a moment, until I remembered: every Sunday, Andreas and Mario re-level the station. To do so, they have to release the pressure on the station’s side skirts, which are under pressure to hold back the surrounding snow. The storm caused the station to warp a bit internally, and loosening the skirts allows it to spring back into the correct form … with a loud rumble. In the next step, they rebalance the station’s 16 hydraulic struts, and then the side skirts are pushed back against the snow. It’s really incredible when you think about the forces at work here. I make a mental note to not be startled by the sound next week …

In the afternoon it’s still a bit cloudy, but the temperatures, hovering around minus 10, are fairly mild. Julia and I venture outdoors to inspect the trail to the SPOT penguin observatory – this time, not with the Ski-Doo, but on foot, or technically, on skis. The trail seems to be in good shape, though the last kilometre to SPOT is nothing but ice. Maybe ice skates would have been a better choice …

On the way back we have nothing but sun, with the ice and snow gleaming. The 7.5-kilometer trek seems to take forever, and my backpack feels a lot heavier than it did on the way in, but when I realise that I’m in the middle of the Antarctic, and am walking in skis on the surface of an ice shelf atop the ocean, I can’t help but smile. We get to see and do so many unique things here … once we’re finally back home, I take a few minutes to sit on the bench between the caterpillar trucks in front of the station entrance and take in the landscape. It’s been a good day today …

On Monday I turn my attentions back to the inventory, but am happy to change my plans when Mario invites me to join him for a ride to visit Lucy … Lucy is our wind generator, and today it’s time to get her greased up again. Driving out of the station garage with Tor, our extending-boom truck (many of our caterpillar trucks and other vehicles have been given affectionate nicknames) is quite an experience: sometimes it rocks back and forth like a carnival ride. Once we’ve pulled up alongside Lucy, Mario raises the cab to ca. 18 metres. We grease the gears in the cold, and our fingers get good and wet inside our gloves. Once we’ve finished, we extend Tor’s cab up to 26 metres, its maximum height … after all, even machines need a good stretch every now and then. The view is tremendous, and I’m once again amazed at all the equipment we have in the Antarctic.

The view is terrific, once again I wonder what kind of technology we have in Antarctica.

For the next four days, the weather stays pleasant, sometimes even with clear blue skies and virtually no wind. The Antarctic can look so inviting at times … with beautiful sunsets, though the sun now goes down at 7:30 pm, and roughly 15 minutes earlier every night. Though it’s spring in Germany, here the autumn is rapidly approaching. I ask myself if these are the last sunny days that I’ll see for the next few months …

The next few days, I have plenty to do, thanks to a medical study for the Charité hospital in Berlin and the LMU in Munich. Samples are collected from all nine of us overwinterers, including urine, stool and hair samples (provided we have enough hair on our heads ;-)), and we have to take a number of mental and psychomotor tests on the computer (e.g. performing a docking manoeuvre with the ISS in a virtual spaceship). We also run a 24-hour ECG, and once a month the data from the ActiGraph monitors that we wear day and night (they work like a pedometer) is transmitted back to Germany. The tests are designed to measure how mental and psychomotor abilities are affected by long-term isolation. In the blood tests, various blood parameters are checked for signs of stress. My duties also include distributing the blood samples to ca. 350 small pipettes prior to freezing them (so they can be analysed in Germany 12 months later). It’s not exactly a standard task for a trauma surgeon … but in the Antarctic you have to be open to trying new things. And with the right music playing, it all goes much easier …  ;-)

For the next few days, it’s time for monthly routine tasks like bacteriological testing for our drinking water, sterilising the surgical instruments, routine checks of the medical devices, cleaning and inventory. And in the later afternoon, a stroll out on the ice shelf, glistening in the sun …

We expect to see a new storm front on Monday, so on Sunday it’s time to “trample” about the station; we frequently find tiny slits and cracks where snow manages to drift into our garage during storms.

Armed with shovels, we all work to loosen up the ice sheets around the station. Then we use our feet to “trample” snow into any cracks we find, helping protect the garage from the drifting snow. Everyone pitches in … true teamwork …

When night falls, we activate the hydraulic switch to close the massive cover to the garage entrance, then use snow to seal its edges the best we can. After an hour’s work, the station has been secured for the approaching storm …

By Monday morning, the wind speed has already reached 30 knots with drifting snow, and in the course of the day there are gusts of up to 50 knots. Plus there’s new snowfall, reducing the visibility to practically zero. Nevertheless, we check the observatories and the vegetable-growing container Eden every day, wearing heavy clothing to protect us from the wind-chill of down to minus 30 degrees. Otherwise the majority of the work is done indoors; with this kind of weather, no one ventures outdoors voluntarily.

To be better prepared for an emergency, we spend two days on medical emergency training and resuscitation exercises with our dummy … including drills with the rescue sledge, using phials, preparing infusions and, as the icing on the cake, a simulated operation. Preparing sterile conditions for an operation takes a certain amount of training, and at the station you can often find medications, infusions and operating gowns, surgical gloves and operating sheets that are past their expiry date or sterilisation date, making them ideal candidates for demonstration purposes. We also open and inspect a number of surgical trays, since they all need to be sterilised again in April. Everyone involved really focuses on the task and is eager to learn. It’s a real pleasure to work with a team of interested and motivated colleagues.

Today, before I sat down to start writing this blog entry, I took part in a dental training exercise with our cook Wanderson, to make sure we’re both prepared for such situations; it was good fun, too. And tomorrow we expect the storm to die down again … we’re hoping to see a few more days of sun before the 62-day-long Polar Night descends.

I hope to read new messages from some of you out there soon. From all of us here on the 2020 overwintering team at Neumayer Station III, we wish to once again send our best wishes to the rest of the world, and are embracing in spirit our loved ones back home …