It’s “sakrisch” (darned) cold!
Hello, everyone!
Some things are just easier to say using dialect. And I remember last using this expression a year and a half ago on a ski tour when, at minus twenty degrees Celsius, the non-slip skins on my skis kept coming loose. We now have (as of 13 August) over 6 hours of sunlight every day, often with clear blue skies and a wonderful view. But there’s also a light southerly wind that brings us cold polar air. And then, despite the bright sunshine, sometimes the wind-chill temperature can drop as low as minus 61.5 degrees. On some of the windows in the gallery, an inner skin of ice has formed, reflecting the sunlight. Sunshine, blue skies, white snow … time to go outside and enjoy the sun. After all, it surely can’t be that cold if the sun is shining …
That’s the first popular misconception in the Antarctic. The second is the idea that you can just quickly slip on a coat and go outside without a facemask and ski goggles. That you’ll go outside, take a deep breath and think to yourself “it’s a bit nippy today.” In reality, after just a few minutes the exposed areas of your face start to hurt, especially your cheeks and jaw – and sinuses. First of all there’s an ache, which quickly turns into a piercing pain. By this point at the latest, you realise your mistake … and in my case, say “Sakklzement, scho sakrisch koid heit” (which roughly translates to: Good Lord, it’s darned cold today) turn around, climb back up the five flights of stairs, go back inside and wrap up sensibly. I’m often asked what we actually wear in the cold. So here I’d like to give you a brief glimpse of the clothes we have available for our outdoor work.
First of all we have long thermal underwear in a flattering shade of black, along with one or two pairs of thick socks. I’ll spare you the photo; everyone can picture what I’m talking about. In extreme temperatures, we then add felt trousers that come up to our nipples. Quite comfortable to wear with braces, and incredibly warm. In the picture you can see Noah, who kindly offered to pose for us as an Antarctic model. Next to him are the thick, orange polar boots with fur liners. Though the boots are a wonderful colour (orange is still my favourite colour … ;-)), they don’t exactly make your feet look dainty. And they’re also quite ‘spongy’ to walk in; they make your gait anything but elegant … but they are warm, really warm. For the sea-ice measurements we also have heated insoles, which provide additional warmth for ca. 10 hours.
On top there’s a thick fleece jacket and then you slip on the red Tempex overalls, which have braces on the inside. For our hands we have fabric inner gloves and thickly lined gloves or polar mittens, like those used on Himalayan expeditions. When I’m taking sea-ice measurements, I also slip a pair of chemical hand warmers inside the mittens: I feel the cold more quickly in my hands than in my feet. In the picture, Noah is wearing our black Kamik boots with felt inner liners, which aren’t quite as clunky as the orange polar boots, but aren’t as warm, either. On his head he’s wearing a balaclava in addition to his hat and the most important accessory, a turtleneck scarf (which some of us here call a ‘buff’). The important thing is to use the scarf to cover as many areas of exposed skin as possible, to prevent freezing …
For longer outdoor tasks, I like to wear a fur hat, which keeps my head as well as my cheeks / ears nice and warm, and thanks to the synthetic fur it also makes a good seal with my snow goggles. When it comes to goggles, I currently prefer the larger, shapeless model with transparent lenses (Noah prefers ‘normal’ ski goggles with tinted lenses) … And if you’re still feeling the wind, you can add a Tempex hood on top.
As an alternative, instead of the red Tempex outfit, we can wear thick thermal trousers and a really thick down coat with fur hood. The fur strips (synthetic fur, by the way) can be fastened to form a ‘tunnel’ so that your face is more protected. In the photo, Noah is still wearing our thick gloves, which, thanks to a sewn-on pocket, can also be converted into mittens. You can also see the wonderful, orange polar boots with pronounced ridges for the toes, instep and heel. I really like these boots … When it comes to taking sea-ice measurements, we often put blue down jackets on over the red Tempex suits, even though it limits your freedom of movement and makes you look a bit like an overfed penguin waddling when you walk …
But the bulkier the clothing, the more difficult it is to work in strong winds. The large surface area means that it’s much harder to make headway against the wind, which means you produce more heat and perspire more as a result … so you have to think carefully about what you wear.
Okay, that’s enough about our clothing. In the last three weeks we’ve had a lot of cold, sunny days, when the sun appeared for longer stretches. The extremely cold temperatures caused a few technical problems; for instance, on one day we couldn’t start the snowcats despite their preheaters. But as usual, our engineers Mario and Andreas quickly solved the problem. Otherwise, alongside the normal monthly routine, consisting of the medical study, fire-fighting drill, testing our drinking water, checking the trail to the observatory, writing the monthly report etc., there were also a few highlights, like the installation of the sea-ice buoys by our meteorologist Anna, the last overwinterer birthday party for this year, with an exquisite cake, great evenings spent making music together, and interesting phone calls, e.g. with a film student who is planning to make a documentary, and with an author whose novel will be set at the Neumayer Station, among other places, and wanted to do some research on it. It’s just these kinds of calls that add a splash of variety to what has become an established routine.
There was another break from the routine on 2 August … instead of the usual strong easterly wind, there was a westerly wind, which reached speeds of 40 knots. And through small cracks at the western edge of the station, the drifting snow made its way into our underground garage. We had to seal the small holes in the southwest corner of the station as best we could with snow to prevent it drifting into the garage further. After three hours we managed to seal it all up. It’s unbelievable how the snow can get in through even the smallest gaps. The next day it was time to shovel snow … we had to get rid of the mounds that had accumulated on the gratings and the hydraulic struts for the station’s side skirts. Despite our efforts the day before, a fair amount of drift snow had still collected.
After two days, the weather improved, the wind died down and the sun came out more often, but it also grew colder. But with time you learn that sunny skies don’t automatically mean ‘warm’. The forecast for 8 August called for a storm front lasting several days. So we spent the last wind-free day ‘trampling’ snow to seal the cracks in the station, and de-icing the ventilation fans on the roof. Over time, the fans ice up so badly that they virtually come to a standstill. That’s why once a week we hit them with a rubber mallet to knock the ice and snow from the pipes … the chunks are then carefully swept off the roof so that when there’s a storm, they don’t fly around and potentially do damage. I enjoy working on the roof 21 m above the ground. Hammering is strenuous but it warms you up … it’s just that your fingers often get clammy. But in the sun, the view from here is simply breathtaking, and in moments like this, I sometimes catch myself letting out a “whoop” almost without knowing it.
The next day, the storm hit. A typical storm with easterly winds and gusts of up to 70 knots, which shook the station for three days. Earplugs on standby at my bedside, no problem … noises on the roof … heard them before. The station vibrating … that’s familiar, too. So it was nothing new. At least that’s what I thought at first. But on the second day, as the storm worsened, the uneasy feeling returned when I heard the noises on the roof, the howling of the wind, the groaning of the station, the sight of the coffee in my cup gently swaying to and fro … on stormy nights you definitely sleep less soundly. But this storm, too, passed without any significant damage. On 12 August the sun returned as if nothing had happened, as if the last three days and two nights had just been a bad dream … until I saw Marco digging away the snow that had drifted in and nearly covered the cabins of the snowcats … even though the garage doors had been closed!!!!
On that day, it was time to take care of the water in our greenhouse, EDEN; a task that is usually quite time consuming. The containers of old water are removed and replaced with containers of fresh water, before the old water is poured into the station’s sewage treatment plant. A total of 300 litres are exchanged …
And this morning four of us set off once again for the monthly sea-ice measurements. I used the time to catch up on paperwork and write this blog. And the sunrise at 9.30 this morning was really beautiful …
Warm wishes from the frigid Antarctic to the rest of the world and especially to our loyal readers, our families and loved ones back home …
Until next time!
