The life of the station engineer
Among the combined heat and power units with their constantly humming engines; the valves and flaps of the heating system; the endlessly winding pipework; the exhaust gas heat exchangers; the pressure and equalisation vessels; the feed, pressure and suction pumps; the snow melting; mineralisation; UV sterilisation; the sanitary pipes and installations of all shapes and sizes; the wastewater treatment plant lovingly christened Bernd; the station hydraulics with all its sensors and cylinders and the sweet smell of silicone oil; the goods lift; the wind turbines and solar panels; the fire alarm system; the fleet of Ski-Doos and PistenBullys with various superstructures and the upgraded Hilux Arctic Trucks; the coarse material filter and the decanter centrifuge; the heater fan and the humidification systems; the climate chambers with underfloor heating; the partly battered sledges; the container tanks; the snow blowers; the waste compactors and shredders through to the combi steamer in the kitchen; the washing machines and the faulty hairdryer – among all these systems and things sits a tired station engineer, flicking through maintenance and repair manuals, trying to piece together how the overall system has grown over the years and which devices and systems are linked to each other.
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There are too many systems to be able to repair them all straight away, too many variables to have a suitable spare part to hand every time something breaks. Materials and machines suffer from the extreme temperature fluctuations, which can be seen when the cold causes partial and complete failures. Because plastic becomes brittle at minus 30 degrees Celsius and steel also eventually says: Nope, fun’s over.
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You never know what the day will bring. Often, it’s quiet, the systems are running properly and you can devote yourself to regular maintenance or less urgent tasks – or those you’ve put aside for stormy days. And then there are days that start in the middle of the night with an alarm that has you jumping out of bed. Then you’re there at half past three in the morning, half-asleep, in your pants and slippers, taking an involuntary shower while desperately searching for the appropriate shut-off valve for a burst pipe.
Looking back, it is precisely these nights that stick in my mind. Together with the help of the electrical engineer and the IT specialist/radio operator, every error message has so far been rectified and every system restarted. If necessary, hydraulic screw connections are welded to water fittings, so that a conical thread can then be pressed onto a flat seal with a lot of sealant – because there is no other way. The nearest DIY store is several thousand kilometres away. This station requires ingenuity and quick thinking in order to understand systems at lightning speed and, in an emergency, pull or turn the right lever, knob or handwheel to prevent an accident or major damage.
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We complement each other well: while my core strengths lie with combined heat and power plants, vehicles and metalworking, and I’m not afraid to pick up the big cutting disc, Regine effortlessly navigates her way through high-voltage systems, frequency converters and the whole mess of cables, which I prefer to keep a safe distance from. And if the systems stop communicating with each other, Alex is there to help.
After work, I smell of oil, wood, diesel or paraffin and fall into my bed – which has also had to be repaired – tired but content.
There are days that are pretty exhausting, and some systems can be hugely frustrating at times. And yet it is an absolute privilege to be able to work on so many different systems in such a unique place.
And away from work? While the summer season, which lasted around 3.5 months, felt like it consisted only of work, and the incessant hustle and bustle and chatter of people (with exceptions ;)) got on my nerves at some point, in winter there is more time for personal things.
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For me, this means sport, time outside (unfortunately, my snow bivouac is still not finished), reading and writing, sawing up the beautiful wooden panels in the workshops or sitting at the bar with the other hibernators and telling each other the latest flat jokes. Winter is also the perfect time to think about your own future.
Being cut off from everything that is dear to you, separated from the people and things that have shaped you for years, is not easy. Sometimes I feel quite naked and rootless. But I take this as an opportunity to reorient myself, away from distractions and the influence of others.
I learn a lot here. About wind turbines, lifts, the right pH value for faecal water – and also about myself.
This place enchants me. Even if I sometimes feel like I’m inside a snow globe, I’m happy here – and I’ll be staying a little longer.
