During each of my three winters, my crews and I anxiously awaited the day the station closed and winter officially began. Station closing means that the station will no longer receive aircraft due to the coming darkness and low temperatures. This, in essence, seals the winterover crews in with no way to leave the South Pole until the beginning of November. February 15 is the target date, but that can fluctuate slightly due to weather problems or aircraft availability. Studying past meteorological data has shown that around that date, it starts to get too cold for the LC-130s to fly. Most of the remaining summer people are extremely excited to leave and have made plans for what they will do in Christchurch and other travels after departing the ice. The winterovers are even more excited about the summer people’s departure. It is the start of winter, and the winterovers will now own the station. This transition of people can be a little clumsy at times as the winterovers feign sadness for the summer people’s departure and the summer people know it is somewhat insincere. This is readily apparent as the summer people begin the walk to their awaiting aircraft while the joyful winterovers shout goodbyes.
My first winter crew had a memorable day when the last aircraft carrying what remained of the summer crew departed. This would be the first winter for most of us, and this was the day we had long awaited. Winterover crewmembers were receiving the last cargo and fuel from the aircraft and serving as the emergency fire force. This is required for all LC-130s for landings and departures. After all the summer crew had boarded the aircraft and the door shut, the crewmembers that would remain for the winter were furiously snapping photographs of what would be the season’s last LC-130. A group of us watched from the station’s second floor observation deck. It was a euphoric moment as the LC-130 revved its engines, taxied, and departed. We were ecstatic as the aircraft flew a lazy circle, came back toward the station at an extremely low altitude, and gave our winter crew the wing wave. The wing wave is done by the pilot, who rotates the aircraft slightly in each direction to symbolize a goodbye. Cheers went up! It was now winter, and the forty-six of us would have no way to leave for around nine months. The next two winters started relatively the same, but with smaller crews of forty-two. For whatever reasons, the LC-130 pilots chose not to do the wing waves those two years, but the euphoria was the same. I have heard that some crewmembers are greatly affected by the departure of that last flight and find it unnerving. I have never really seen that in crewmembers, although they might privately feel that way. What I saw was the same joy that I felt. This was the moment I had waited for, and I believe my crewmembers felt that way. It was the true start to why we were there. Much awaited us.
I started my winters with the calling of a quick “All-Hands Meeting.” The main purpose of the meeting was to steady the crew and make winter room assignments. During the winter, the crew size is relatively small and there is much more room in the station. Crewmembers usually prefer to move into the slightly larger “A” wing rooms, which are also closer to the galley. Spare rooms to hold extra gear are made available to provide as much comfort as possible to the winterovers during their long stay. I stayed in the same room I was to have for all three winters, B-219, due to its proximity to the B-1 lounge and its end of the hallway closeness to a station exterior door. I was to exit that door many times. The B-1 lounge had been problematic during some years, but not when I was there. While I had heard stories of somewhat wild happenings occurring in that lounge, I found the most raucous evenings sedate compared to other places I had been. After seeing teeth and blood on the floor of the dayroom after a vicious fight on Shemya Island, Alaska, the B-1 lounge seemed quite tame. Still, I wanted to ensure things did not get out of hand; over three winters, they never did. During all my winters, but more so the second and third, most of the crew lived in the preferred A wing. There had been a comment made at the end of the second winter that I had not allowed someone who wanted to be in A wing the opportunity. Hearing that, for my third winter, the B wing had very few residents. I had my room at the end of an empty hallway. At some point during that winter, the florescent lighting in the hallway failed and the only light was from one unit at the end of the hallway, near my room, that eerily flickered. Looking down that hallway, it looked like something out of a murder movie. I preferred it stay that way and told our electrician not to fix it. I enjoyed the walk down that foreboding hallway to enter my room, which was wonderful. With the great ship-cabin configuration, tattered flags battered by Antarctic winds on the wall, my hanging polar outfit, and my books, it was a sanctuary.
During the week or so after the station closes, Basler and Twin Otter aircraft from a Canadian company that has the small aircraft USAP contract, make transits through the South Pole Station on their way home. Some of the transits with the Baslers only require fueling, and then they fly on to the British Rothera Station near the coast. The Twin Otters, due to their more limited range, need to overnight, and that means a few strangers on station, to the mild dismay of the winterovers. While never overt, at least some of the winterovers silently wish them to leave, and the sooner the better. After my first year, I noted this. Not wanting these flight crews to feel totally unwelcome, I endeavored to be more involved, friendly, and outgoing with them. I wanted them to feel like guests in our station and to leave with good memories of our hospitality. Even with that, I was always happy when the last small aircraft departed. I would joke with my crews that we would be checking that aircraft for stowaways, as it was truly the last way out. After the last departure, we would remove the airfield markers that lined each side of our skiway and dismantle the aircraft fueling system. The aircraft fueling system would be stored for winter in a different location, and the skiway would cease to be groomed by heavy equipment and would return to its natural state of sastrugi until the sun rose and we prepared it for our opening flights. Once completed, the station was now on its own, and we were completely physically cut off from the world.
A movie is what really starts a South Pole winter. It is actually the showing of three movies. The tradition is the showing of the three versions of the movie The Thing. This usually happens during the first weekend after the summer people have departed. The gym is set up as a theater, with couches and chairs borrowed from lounges; popcorn made; and the fun begins. The Thing is the natural movie of choice to show at the start of a South Pole winter as all three versions are about crews at Arctic and Antarctic stations facing a lethal and upset alien that they removed from the ice after its spacecraft crashed. Mayhem and death then ensue. I would begin with a short winter welcome speech and then discuss things related to the movie. I liked to ask who believed there was a “station gun?” The station gun is a myth of sorts that somewhere on station is a gun to which only the WSM has access. It is to be used in a time of great emergency. Most crewmembers do not believe the myth, but there is no great conviction with that. After my query about the station gun, I would ask, “How many bullets are there?” I would listen to the various answers then state that the number was the same as the crew size, minus one. This would usually get a laugh.
I watched all three versions of The Thing each winter and really enjoyed that first real social event with my crews. You could feel the excitement in the air during movie preparation. During my second winter, an event occurred that was troubling. On the first Saturday night after the summer people had left, we scheduled the movies. We were setting up the gym when the dilemma unfolded. We had a Canadian, transiting flight crew staying overnight in the station, and I was approached by several of my crewmembers asking if the Canadians would be allowed to participate. They made it quite clear that they did not want them to be included. I then asked several additional crewmembers and came up with a strong majority “no.” They wanted to spend the evening with only their crew. I understood and respected that. Trying to avoid an international incident, I posted a sign outside the gym and called the event a “meeting.” In case any of the Canadians wanted to watch the movies, I then set up all three versions of the movie in a lounge with a large TV. About an hour prior to the start of the “meeting,” one of the Canadians wandered down to the gym. I spoke to him and said the event was for the winterover crew only, but I had set up a movie room for any visitors that wanted to view the movies. Oddly, he looked at me as if I were crazy and stated, “That’s weird.” He exited the gym in a somewhat disturbed shuffle. His reaction made my blood boil, but I calmly stated, “It’s weird that we spend a year of our life at the South Pole.” I was surprised that the Canadian acted the way he did and figured he did not really understand that this was more than a movie to most of the crew. I thought of how I would have been should I have been in a similar situation with something like a military unit holding a function solely for their people. I would have exited gracefully and wished them luck. He didn’t.
This marred the evening slightly for me as I did not want the situation to escalate, and I wanted the crew to have a great experience. This would be a once-in-a-lifetime event for most of the crew. Not everyone agreed with the omission of the Canadians. To make matters more volatile, one of the over-exuberant winterovers had drawn a Canadian maple leaf with a red circle around it and line through it on the meeting notice outside the gym. That was exactly the type of thing I didn’t want. I thought it was a rude gesture toward the visitors that should not have been done. I received a very heated email from one of my crewmembers who was friends with the Canadian who had walked into the gym, and she was quite irate. I spoke to her the next day and, I think, had a meaningful discussion. To her it was simply a movie, so why exclude anyone. To me and most of the crew, it was a rite of passage, and simple spectators were not welcome. While she did not know it, the crewmember who sent me the angry email was special to me. If I had a daughter, I would want her to be like that crewmember. After receiving the angry email, I, who have never been a father, had a taste of what must come with that territory. While I did not feel good about the decision I had made, I believe it to have been the best possible. Saying this, I was quite happy when on my third winter there were no transiting Canadians on station the night of the viewing.
The next traditional movie occurs at midwinter, in June, with the showing of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining. This move is shown as its plot revolves around a family who are caretakers at an eerie Colorado hotel during winter. There is certainly a similarity with the winter experience at the South Pole Station as the family is also cut off from the outside world by the ice and snow. In the movie, mayhem and murder ensue, and the eerie scenes that Kubrick created are not soon forgotten. It is another rite of passage for a winter crew. And while entertaining, it is spot on that we are, for the most part, cut off from the outside world. One of the aspects of my job was to ensure that murder and mayhem did not ensue.
I had learned from previous remote projects that conducting scheduled, weekly recreational activities was a good thing. I had tried movie nights and special programs at other locations, with mixed success. I had found it hard to compete with what most people on remote sites, especially when they work a six-day week, want to do on their only night off, drink. At the South Pole, things were different as the people were different. As one who respects history and adventure in general, during my first year, I started “Adventure Movie Night with Wayne,” AMNWW. This occurred in one of the lounges and started at 7 p.m. on each Saturday night. My intent was to provide an alternative to early drinking, and the event would end with plenty of time for participants to still engage in some form of debauchery afterward.
For three winters, I started AMNWW with Antarctic-themed movies, beginning with the classic Scott of the Antarctic. This beautiful movie, made in 1946, is a testament to an age when Captain Scott was recognized as a heroic figure overcome by natural forces and dying with his comrades as true English gentlemen. This is my view, which clashes with some of the more contemporary Monday-morning quarterbacks who have written books on the subject. These authors have little experience in such matters and have written books critical of him and his expedition from the safety of their desk. Due to these books, many people with no real leadership experience in the Antarctic or, in most cases, anywhere else, parrot the opinion that he was a poor leader. I hated that and wanted to present a more balanced view on all the polar greats. They all had flaws, as we all do, but they all were great men who had accomplished great things. AMNWW was not just a movie night as there were also short discussions. While I do not consider myself an expert on polar exploration, I have a sound background that could answer most questions, and I usually had informed crewmembers who could add to the discussion. During my last winter, I added to the AMNWW experience by bringing items from my personal collection, which I would discuss and let the attendees hold. Examples were shards of wood that were from the spar of Shackleton’s ship the Endurance and a candle holder from Scott’s ship the Terra Nova. I really wanted to provide a sense of history to receptive crewmembers. This would make their winters more interesting experiences and would be a tribute to those that had gone before us.
Over the next two months after the station closes, the sun gets lower and lower on the horizon and around the third week of March enters a period known as civil twilight. During this time, one can still see outside, but it becomes increasingly dimmer. While winter officially starts around February 15, with the departure of the summer people, for me, the real winter did not start until it became dark. Darkness at the South Pole is a gradual process, with the sun getting a little lower on the horizon each day and going through three periods of twilight. A rite of passage for a winter crew comes around the first week of April, just before total darkness, when the station window covers are installed. The window covers are precut cardboard installed to prevent station lighting from escaping, as the light can affect the aurora cameras that are recording on the roof. After the windows are covered, the station becomes a different experience for the crew. The station then has more the feel of a spaceship or space station, with the crew safely inside and an unseen lethal environment on the other side of the walls. Most crewmembers enjoy the covering, and by the time the window covers are installed, you cannot really see anything other than your own reflection in the heavily tinted windows anyway. Some months later, the crew will enjoy even more the removal of the coverings and the return of the light.
The station’s outside lights and the personal headlamps used in the darkness are all required to be red, as that will least affect the astronomical projects that seek light from distant galaxies. The lights cast their reddish glow on the nearby ice, which further helps create an alien planet feel. Darkness at the South Pole and the return of the light some months later are gradual processes. Around the first week of April, nautical twilight begins, and by the end of that, it is somewhat dark, but with a distinct glow on the horizon. Astronomical twilight follows, which is nearly dark, and then, on the second week of May, it becomes truly dark. Darkness at the South Pole is almost five months in length, and this period was the greatest attraction for most winterovers. The South Pole does not have the beautiful scenery that McMurdo and Palmer stations have, with their mountains, volcanoes, and a freezing and unfreezing ocean. Also, the South Pole Station does not have their wildlife, no penguins, seals, whales, or anything else. What the South Pole does have is incredible winter night skies and magnificent auroras. The auroras are caused by the energetically, electrically charged particles that accelerate through magnetic fields in the upper atmosphere. I have no comprehensive understanding of that process but can say that the shimmering, mostly green lights that appear in that dark night sky are certainly beautiful. During periods of high intensity, they would cast an eerie green light on the ice as I walked.
I would prepare my crews for the cold and darkness by conducting an outside travel safety briefing. This would occur during a scheduled All-Hands Meeting as we neared total darkness. These presentations became more personal and more informative during my second and third winters as I was able to use information gathered from my ever-increasing time and mileage outside. I would start by stating, “There is death outside that window.” With what I had learned, I do not think I was being melodramatic. The environment outside the station, especially in winter, is potentially lethal, and I wanted crewmembers to respect that fact and take all outside travel seriously. I was most concerned about the crewmembers who rarely left the station and may not have fully understood the hazards when they did have to go outside. During a winter at the South Pole Station, with its heating system, pleasant lighting, comfortable berthing, and events such as “steak night,” it is possible to feel somewhat insulated from that frigid and quite lethal environment on the other side of the window. I did not want that to happen. I discussed first how to stay warm with proper clothing selection and how to wear it. Next came how to travel and then, what to do in the event of an emergency. I had heard stories of crewmembers on other crews in past years who had become disoriented while outside. The stories, to date, all had positive outcomes, but I felt some of those crewmembers were simply lucky. The main thing I stressed was to dress warm enough for any temperature. It was also important to have someone know you were going outside, where you were going, and when to expect you to return. In addition, crewmembers should carry fully charged radios and know how to use them. We had a missing person procedure, and if we had a situation occur with an outside disoriented crewmember, we would immediately remove all the interior window coverings and turn on the station’s roof-mounted emergency beacon. Fortunately, we never had to do that, and most people became quite comfortable and adept at outside travel.
About midway through my second winter, a WSM who should have been my relief in November abruptly changed his mind on the day he was to fly to the Denver office to begin his assignment. This put the program in a bind to fill the position and was quite a surprise, as the fellow seemed extremely interested and had formally accepted the position months earlier. I told Bill, the area manager, I was willing to help any way I could. A plan was developed that I would do a back-to-back winter, leaving around mid-November and returning mid-January for the next winter. For me there were not many positive aspects to doing this, but the major enticement was that I would complete a third winter as the WSM. This was something no WSM had ever done before. In the sixty-four years the South Pole Station has existed, only two other WSMs had completed two winters. I would be the first to do three, and the first to do a back-to-back winter in that role. This was not of any historical significance as the record at the South Pole for winters was around fifteen. One of our scientists achieved that remarkable number, with another following closely behind at fourteen. Not to take anything away from their great achievements, but it needs to be stated that their duties are extremely specific, with workspaces not in the elevated station. Other than required community projects, they made their own schedule. For the right person, multiple winters in such a role could become almost normal. The WSM, who is responsible for nearly everything, is a completely different experience, hence the vast majority did a single winter. There is a reason for that, and I know several past WSMs who had rough winters I am sure they wish to forget.
I wanted something else from that third winter, and it had to do with the Antarctica Service Medal. The Department of Defense issues the Antarctica Service Medal after someone has spent a mere ten days south of sixty degrees latitude. It is highly coveted by the military, due to its rarity. Through the years, the time requirement to be eligible for the medal has been shortened. This was done to ensure military members on short deployments qualified to receive it. There is a story that a general who wanted one shortened the criteria to its current ten-day requirement so he would get one. Unlike most military medals, civilians can qualify to receive it. Civilians working for the USAP receive the medal for their time at the South Pole, McMurdo Station, Palmer Station, field camps, and ships. For the first year, a South Pole winterover receives the medal with a bronze winterover clasp. This metal clasp goes on the ribbon part of the medal. For the second year, it is a gold winterover clasp, and for the third, the clasp is silver. The silver is the last and the highest. There is nothing higher after the silver clasp has been awarded, even if one completes another winter. I wanted the silver winterover clasp that is awarded after three winters as the WSM. I would make extremely minor history by achieving that, which meant that one of my real attractions for doing a third winter at the South Pole was a small sliver of silver.