And here we go!
Dear readers,
We may be a bit behind schedule, but we have so much to tell you! Time flies here, or stands still while it marches on elsewhere; who knows? At any rate, today we’re turning back time to when we arrived at the station: exiting the helicopter, feeling overwhelmed, and falling into our beds exhausted.
And then it was time to start our life at Neumayer! Our first working day began at fever pitch: a meeting, breakfast, safety training and tour of the evacuation routes, training on what to wear outside (don’t forget your sun blocker and snow goggles!), lunch, washing up the dishes, followed by our first lessons with the Ski-Doos (snowmobiles). After that, everyone focused on his or her own discipline.
Now every “old overwinterer” has a “new overwinterer” who follows them around like a shadow, always with a notepad in hand. We’re the new Antarctic taskforce, but still in “diapers”. Our orientation training is proceeding at turbo speed, since the COVID regulations forced us to arrive later than planned, the Antarctic summer is quickly drawing to a close, and time is running out. Every now and then we newbies run into each other, at meals or at a distance, when we’re working. You might run into Micha near the dumpsters, during his first time driving one of the snowcats. He hops out of the cabin grinning from ear to ear: who knew taking out the trash could be so much fun?
If you look out the window of the lounge, you can see Markus throwing a handful of snow in the air to see how it lands on his lips – believe it or not, that’s actually part of his regular meteorological observation work. We call it “bowing to the Antarctic”. Katrin suddenly appears in the station hospital wearing blue coveralls with a clipboard in hand and points to a large silver conduit on the ceiling: “Is that the intake air or exhaust air?” Then she points to the sinks: “Where does the drain lead to, right to our sewage treatment plant? Do you pour disinfectant in there?” We have to laugh: there are so many things we all have to keep in mind! Needless to say, we don’t want to kill the bacteria in our treatment plant, so the answer is: no, let’s not pour any disinfectant in there. We have to learn and actually grasp all these things. Thankfully, the old overwinterers responsible for our training are giving us great support and have taken us under their wing. Thanks so much, all of you!
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On top of all the new information we’re trying to keep straight in our heads, there’s the issue of living at a research station, which is a bit like a beehive. In the summer season, it’s abuzz with people, each with his or her own interests and tasks. Expeditions come and go, snowcats are disassembled and reassembled, there’s a crane swinging back and forth, cargo containers with unknown contents start stacking up in the gallery, the last maintenance work is done on the building and monitoring instruments, while at the same time preparations are made for the big farewell ceremony for our “summer guests”.
The station is full of people; they’re everywhere you look. Thankfully they’re all very nice and welcome us with open arms. At lunch, or evenings in the lounge, we slowly get to know them. We eat, chat and laugh together, play a bit of billiards or ping pong, make some music in the sofa corner of the gallery, pay The Settlers of Catan or go on a night drive to the bay.
When you’re just getting started, living in the Antarctic can be pretty overwhelming. The intensity here, the unique, beautiful and yet alien atmosphere is something you have to process; in fact, you really have to open yourself up to it. We decide to scout out the area around the station; after all, it’s our new home. The Ski-Doo rides are fantastic. Armed with a thermos flask, chocolate bar and camera (and of course having put on sun blocker and donned snow goggles!), we set off for the ice-shelf edge on the north shore, where the ice segues into the ocean, or for Atka Bay. It’s so incredibly beautiful here!
The ice-and-sea world is so changeable, it’s hard to believe. No two days are exactly alike, even when officially “nothing happens”. And the light changes, too; now we have sunsets again. And one day, the ice in Atka Bay starts breaking up! Large floes of metre-thick sea ice slide back and forth, rise and fall with the tide. The ice crunches, crashes and creaks, depending on the wind and weather. Immediately the seals appear and start lounging lazily in the sun near the waterholes. Then a southerly wind kicks up and, without further ado, pushes the floes out of the bay. Now we have a house on the seaside! Of course, we’re actually a few kilometres from the water’s edge, but when you look out the east-facing windows, you can see the blue water and a few icebergs drifting into the bay and back out again. Now we finally grasp what only seemed like a theory before: that we actually live on the floating glacial ice, the ice shelf. There is water beside us, and far below us.
It’s wonderful to watch the local fauna. Pristine white snow petrels gracefully glide along the ice-shelf edge, always taking advantage of the updrafts. When there are storms and heavy drifting, the skuas – huge brown predatory seabirds – fly just over our heads to take a closer look at us. And we look right back! It’s an odd feeling to find oneself eye to eye with such a large, wild bird. What do they make of us? We’re definitely not penguin chicks. Speaking of penguins: they’re now done moulting and have left the station area for the bay, where they’re getting fat and sassy. Sometimes we get to see how they splash through the water from A to B, making plenty of noise in the process.
Before we know it, the official station handover is just around the corner. The occasion is celebrated with as much decorum as possible in the Antarctic. There are (not very long) speeches, the “old overwinterers” are presented with medals, and we “new overwinterers” sign a certificate officially taking over the station. When one of us steps forward to sign, they crack a joke: “I’ll only sign if the rest of you do, too.” But all kidding aside, it certainly is a momentous occasion. Responsibility for this absolutely unique station, the invaluable scientific time series gathered over decades, not to mention responsibility for one another, has been placed in our hands. It feels good and right. We have a great deal of responsibility, just as much freedom, and the incredible privilege of living and working in this unparalleled place. What we do with the opportunity is up to us. We can’t wait to get started!
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A few days later, a change in weather is forecasted: several days of storms are expected. In the Antarctic, it’s always the weather that calls the shots, and the caveat “weather permitting” is added to virtually every item in our planning. Right now, the weather is “not permitting” for anything outside. The old overwinterers’ flight home is moved up several days to ensure they get out before the storm hits – their connecting flights to Cape Town and then to Germany depend on it. Being used to sudden, unforeseen developments, they quickly pack their things and less than 24 hours later they take off, on the way back to civilisation.
A short time later, the remaining summer guests leave, too. Though we very much like them all and had a great time together, to be honest: we were relieved to see them go! By definition, an overwinterer is only an overwinterer when she or he is left behind in the lonely, remote Antarctic. Fly, you fools – and take the sun with you! Enjoy emptying your mailboxes! Hug a tree for us! We stand at the airfield, wave and do cartwheels beside the landing strip. With a roar of propellers and kicked-up snow, the skiplane lifts off, climbs and slowly dwindles into a tiny spot to the east. We’re finally alone! Now we can truly get started…
