by Steven Bird
The researchers at MEVO, when not on the mountain at the research camp simply called the Lower Erebus Hut, are based out of McMurdo Station. Mac-Town, as McMurdo Station is fondly referred to by its residents, was founded by the U.S. Navy in 1956. What was initially called Naval Air Facility McMurdo is now simply McMurdo Station. McMurdo Station is currently run by the United States Antarctic Program and is governed by the Antarctic Treaty, signed by forty-five world governments. The Antarctic Treaty regulates daily life at McMurdo, as well as the research conducted there.
In many respects, the inhabitants of McMurdo Station are on their own on the vast and remote continent of Antarctica. This is especially true during the winter months, when most of the station’s one thousand residents return to warmer climates, leaving behind a skeleton crew of only two hundred to face the rigors and potential horrors of life at the bottom of the world—alone.
Chapter One
Mount Erebus Volcano Observatory (MEVO)
Holding on tightly to the core sample drill as it bored into the side of one of the massive ice towers that reach high into the sky, Dr. Hunter focused on his task at hand with relentless determination. Standing over him like giants from ancient-Greek mythology, the ice towers, formed by condensing air as it vents from one of the many fumaroles on Antarctica’s largest and most active volcano, Mount Erebus, reach as high as sixty-feet above the ground.
With the frigid arctic winds atop Mount Erebus pounding his body, his coat buffeted violently as he struggled to maintain his footing. His beard, nearly full of ice and snow, clung to his face like a rigid mask as he wiped his goggles, attempting to see the drill as it bored its way into the ice before him. The season’s expedition was about to come to an end, and he could not afford to leave without the core samples he desperately needed in order to complete his research.
“Doc, we’ve got to get moving,” Mason yelled through the howling winds, placing his hand on Dr. Hunter’s shoulder as if to urge him away from his work. “If the storm gets any worse, we won’t be able to see well enough to make it back to the hut! It’s already damn near zero visibility.”
Ignoring the plea, knowing his task was nearly complete, Dr. Hunter yelled, “Got it!” as he pulled the core sample gently from the tower of ice. Without saying a word, he patted Mason on the shoulder, and they began their hike through the pounding weather to their snowmobiles, to return to the Lower Erebus Hut before the mountain claimed them, as it had tried so many times before.
~~~~
Entering the Lower Erebus Hut, Mason slammed the door shut as quickly as he could to keep the fierce frigid winds at bay. Everyone in the room turned to look at the two ice-and-snow-covered men. Having just returned from the summit with Dr. Hunter’s core samples in hand, they placed them gently on the floor and began to dust off the fresh snow that covered them, in preparation for removing their heavy outer layers of protective clothing.
“I was starting to worry about you two,” said Dr. Linda Graves, a forty-four-year-old astrobiology researcher with the University of Washington.
“So was I,” replied Mason, as he began peeling off his balaclava and removing his many layers of clothing. Mason, or Derrick Mason to be exact, was a graduate student of geochemistry at the New Mexico Institute of Mining and Technology (NMT).
As a student of Dr. Nathan Hunter, the Principle Investigator for the expedition and a professor of geochemistry at NMT, Mason had been hand-selected to come along on this year’s expedition to Mount Erebus. Dr. Hunter not only chose him for his academic prowess, but also for his abilities as a seasoned mountain climber and avid outdoor adventurer. Mason was an experienced hunter, long distance hiker, mountain climber, and most importantly of all, a survivalist at heart. There were plenty of students academically up to the task, perhaps even more so than Derrick Mason, but Dr. Hunter refused to let his research be slowed by having to babysit a graduate student who wasn’t physically up to the extreme conditions that Antarctica, and specifically, Mount Erebus, thrust upon those ill-suited for the challenge.
With Derrick Mason, however, he had a stout, twenty-eight-year-old outdoorsman that he knew could be counted on when things became challenging and treacherous on the volcano.
Peeling off his gloves, Dr. Hunter quipped, “If we were gonna leave without one of our critical core samples, what would be the point of coming? I’m not waiting until next year to come back just to fill in the gaps, and I know you didn’t come all the way from Seattle to leave just yet either—all things considered. Caution is wise, but risk yields rewards.”
“That it does,” joked Mason, rubbing his face in an attempt to return warmth to his skin. “But it’s days like this that remind you of the fact that Shackleton named this mountain after the Greek god Erebus, the god of primeval darkness.”
“Did you get what we were looking for?” Dr. Graves asked.
“I think so,” Dr. Hunter replied. “I still want to get down as far as I can into the fumarole on the north side of Tramway Ridge and get a sample before we leave. But today’s cores contain some of the material we were looking for.”
Changing the subject, Dr. Hunter looked around the room, and asked, “Any word from Mac-Town?” referring to Antarctica’s McMurdo Station.
“The first helicopter will be here in the morning,” answered Jared Davis, a volcanologist and a junior member of the research team from NMT. “We’ll have them available through the end of the week, but after that, Mac-Town will be buttoned up for the winter. The last Air Force C-17 leaves Saturday. If you’ve not done what you need to get done by then, you’ll either have to leave it behind until spring or be stuck here with the wintering-over crew at Mac-Town.”
“I suppose so,” Dr. Hunter replied. “Now, getting back to the important business at hand, what was for dinner and is there any left?” he asked, looking around the crowded and cluttered living area and seeing dishes piled high in the kitchen sink. “It looks like we missed out on whatever it was.”
Brett Thompson, a Homer, Alaska native and the team’s mountaineer and safety specialist, spoke up and said, “Neville made us a pot of his famous Worcestershire stew.”
“He made what?” asked Mason with a confused look.
Neville Wallace, a tall, lanky, curly-haired British graduate student who had accompanied Dr. Gerald Bentley, the Co-Principle Investigator and volcanologist from the University of Cambridge said, “I simply concocted a basic vegetable stew from what was left of the fresh produce, before it spoiled. It was already getting a tad bit long on the shelf, so I opted to put it to good use. To mask the rather dismal condition of the ingredients, I kicked it up a bit with what was left of the Worcestershire sauce. It wasn’t anything to write home to mum about, but it filled the void.”
In a deflated tone, Dr. Hunter replied, “Wasn’t? I assume that means it’s all gone.”
“I told Lester and Ronald not to go for seconds until you had returned and eaten your share, but you know how those two buggers can be,” Neville said, poking fun at the two men who had finished off the rest of the soup.
“Oh, well... we’ll survive,” said Mason as he plopped down onto the only empty spot on the old, worn-out sofa. “I was in the mood for some sort of canned meat anyway. As a matter of fact, I’m so hungry I could go for one of those one-hundred-year-old cans of mutton still on the shelf in Shackleton’s Hut.”
Tossing him a can of pickled herring, Dr. Hunter said, “Here ya go. It’s not century-old mutton, but it’ll do. We’re scraping the bottom of that sort of thing, too,” he said as he searched for food in each of the nearly empty cabinets.
“If something happens and the helicopters don’t show up soon to give us our ride back to Mac-Town, we may have to decide who we’re gonna eat first,” chuckled Mason, as he peeled open the can.
“I vote for Lester and Ronald then, since they ate the last of the soup,” said Dr. Jenny Duval, the official camp scientific assistant. “It only seems fair.”
“Hey, no
w!” replied Lester Stevens, an engineer brought along as the team’s lava-lake-imaging technical guru.
Lester Stevens and Ronald Weber were the resident non-scientific technical experts, and though they had never met before traveling to Antarctica, the pair often seemed as if they were long-lost brothers. The others frequently joked that they spent way too much time in the hut and needed to get out on the mountain more. They often teased about the two having a fictitious mental condition they called MEVO Fever from being isolated on the mountain for too long. If anyone in the camp had it, it was truly those two jokers.
As the rest of the group settled into their nightly routine of watching old black-and-white science fiction movies, Dr. Walter Perkins, a researcher from Missouri State University who specialized in gravity and magnetotellurics, stood and waded through the tired bodies strewn about the floor. The researchers lay about the hut with their heads propped up on boots, jackets, or whatever they could find to help them see the television. To an outsider, it would appear to have been the scene of some apocalyptic movie where the dead lay scattered on the floor wherever they had fallen.
Approaching Hunter and Mason, he asked, “Dr. Hunter, would you like me to put your samples away in the cold room while you two finish your five-star cuisine?”
“Thanks, Walt, but we can get it,” Dr. Hunter replied. “There’s no reason for you to get the chills after warming up from your day out and about. The two of us are barely thawed, so we won’t even notice.”
Looking to Mason, watching as he devoured his canned meal of compressed fish, he said, “Actually, Derrick, I can get it. I’m hitting the sack after that. Get your stuff together and be ready to accompany me to Mac-Town in the morning when the helicopter comes. We’ll get our samples on the next transport and then head back up to the summit when we return tomorrow afternoon. I saw something interesting that I want to check out.”
“Yes, sir,” Mason replied sharply. Taking another bite of pickled herring, he turned and asked, “What did you see?”
“We’ll talk about it in the morning; it may be nothing.”
“Roger that,” Mason replied, turning his attention back to his half-eaten can of fish.
~~~~
Early the next morning after the weather had cleared, Dr. Hunter looked off into the distance, scanning the horizon for the arrival of the helicopter that was scheduled to transport his core samples back to McMurdo Station. Once at McMurdo, they would arrange to have the samples loaded onboard a U.S. Air Force C-17 for transportation back to the states where he could continue the analysis of his samples in a proper laboratory environment.
“There they are!” shouted Mason over the howling winds of the clear, arctic morning.
Looking at his watch, Dr. Hunter replied, “It’s about damn time! We’re cutting it close. We barely have time to get them on today’s flight. We haven’t got time for delays.”
Upon landing, Dr. Hunter and Mason loaded the crate of core samples, as well as some other gear that was packed and ready for shipment, on board the Eurocopter AS350. Once everything was securely lashed to the floor, the pilot was given a thumbs-up and they were quickly on their way.
During the flight, Mason couldn’t help but look across the frozen continent, thinking of how, strangely, he would miss it during their time back in New Mexico. Antarctica, a place that to a casual observer may seem to be merely empty, cold, and harsh, somehow endears itself in the hearts of those who spend time there. There is a beauty and peace about the frozen continent that feels like home to a wandering soul, and a wandering soul he was.
As the helicopter approached McMurdo Station, a research base that more closely resembled an industrial mining town than an environmentally-friendly research facility, Mason’s mind switched gears as he chuckled to himself, thinking, then again, I could use those warm New Mexico nights right about now.
After landing, Dr. Hunter and Mason quickly unloaded their core samples and placed them on a forklift for transportation to McMurdo’s Ship Off Load Command Center.
Walking into the facility behind the forklift, Dr. Hunter and Derrick Mason were immediately greeted by George Humboldt, a logistics specialist at McMurdo. Pulling his scarf away from his mouth, George said, “Dr. Hunter, I’m glad you made it.”
“Have we missed it?” Dr. Hunter impatiently inquired.
“No, but unfortunately, the flight is delayed until tomorrow due to mechanical issues.” Pointing at the crate on the forklift, he asked, “Is that the samples we spoke of?”
“Yes. Yes, it is,” Dr. Hunter replied with tension in his voice. “I can’t stress enough how these samples need to remain frozen at all times. They contain...well, they contain material that is critical to my research. I just can’t do without them.”
“Don’t worry, Doctor,” George replied. “It’s no problem at all. I don’t think I need to point out that transporting ice samples is a fairly routine task for us here at McMurdo.”
“I know. I know,” Dr. Hunter replied. “Forgive me, but I believe I’m onto something special and if my samples are lost for any reason, it will be a setback that will require me to wait until next year just to catch back up.”
“Every sample from every research team is important, Doctor. But you have my word that I will ensure that exceptional care is given to yours. By this time tomorrow, your samples will be well on their way back to the U.S., and will be in good hands.”
Patting Dr. Hunter on the arm, Mason interrupted by saying, “C’mon, Doc. George has a handle on things here. Let’s get some lunch before we head back out to MEVO. I’ve been looking forward to a hot meal after what we’ve been down to for the past few days.”
Nodding in agreement, Dr. Hunter said, “Yes, of course. Thanks, George,” as the two men turned and began their walk toward the station’s cafeteria.
~~~~
Completing the paperwork for Dr. Hunter’s shipment, George watched as Mason and Dr. Hunter left the facility. Turning to see Vince Gruber approaching with the forklift, he chuckled, placing his clipboard on top of Dr. Hunter’s samples.
Stepping off the forklift, Vince said, “They always wait until the last minute. Every year, it’s the same damn thing.”
Patting Vince on the shoulder, George smiled, saying, “Yep. They all think their work is more important than everyone else’s, too. You’d think these ice samples were tubes of gold the way that guy acts. He’s one of the worst. He’s always uptight about his stuff. He could carry it on the plane his damn self, if it were up to me.”
Pausing to look around at the vast amount of cargo they had yet to load, George continued, “Oh, well. You’ll be home in Florida soon, and I’ll be back in Philly eating a real cheesesteak, not the sorry excuses for a sandwich they have here. Let’s just get on with it and mark our last few days of the season off the calendar.”
~~~~
Arriving at the station’s cafeteria, still referred to as the galley due to McMurdo’s roots as a naval facility, both Mason and Dr. Hunter grabbed a plastic tray, a large and a small plate, and silverware as they began working their way through the hot food line. Plopping a heaping scoop of barbecued pulled-pork onto his plate, Mason said, “Man, I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“I know what you mean,” replied Dr. Hunter. “MEVO is like a second home to me, but when provisions begin running low, it’s not like we can run out and get more. Being based on the side of a major volcano has its inherent limits.”
As the two men sat down and began to eat, they were approached by Dr. Raju Tashi, a particle physics researcher from the University of Wisconsin. “Dr. Hunter, may I join you?” he asked.
“Of course, Raj,” Dr. Hunter replied. “And this is one of my best and brightest graduate students from NMT, Derrick Mason,” he said, gesturing to Mason. “Derrick, this is Dr. Tashi. He’s one of the particle chasers out at the IceCube facility. They’re researching neutrinos. Pretty exciting stuff for a particle chaser.”
“Please
d to meet you,” Dr. Tashi said to Mason with a smile as the two shook hands.
“Likewise, Doctor.”
“How are things going at IceCube?” Dr. Hunter asked.
With a look of excitement on his face, Dr. Tashi replied, “Excellent. Our experiments with the high-altitude balloon went very well. We’re excited to get back to Wisconsin to study our results in more detail. We have wrapped up our operations for the season and are all awaiting transportation back to the states. And yourself? How are things at MEVO?”
“Excellent as well,” he replied. “Although I wish I could say we’ve wrapped things up as you have. No matter how much I accomplish, I always feel a step behind the mountain. There is so much to learn. So much to explore. And of course, as soon as you’re on to something good, Erebus throws you a curve ball and a critical piece of equipment gets smashed by a crater bomb or the like.”
“Well, at least you haven’t been smashed by a crater bomb yourself,” Dr. Tashi said with a chuckle.
“He came close a few times,” Mason said, looking to Dr. Hunter with taunting smile. “Last week, a crater bomb the size of a Volkswagen almost nailed him.
