Yuri’s Night is celebrated on April 12 and commemorates the great Russian hero Yuri Gagarin, who shocked the world on that day in 1961 when he became the first human launched into space. The South Pole celebration involves crewmembers dressing up in space-themed costumes they manage to cobble together from things in the arts-and-crafts room. Those who take the event more seriously will have brought costumes from home. In costume, they will congregate in a lounge showing space-themed movies and playing space-themed music, drink heavily, and ponder space. While it is all in good fun, some crewmembers are a little more serious about it as they are interested in joining the astronaut program. To date, several former South Pole winterover crewmembers have gone on to be a part of the NASA program, and several have been involved in the commercial sector’s space program. There is a space station feeling at the South Pole in the winter. Once the sun has set and the windows have been covered, the station and the alien landscape outside feels like something out of a science fiction movie. Due to the extreme isolation, some South Pole winter crews have participated in NASA studies designed to understand the isolation that future Mars mission astronauts will someday experience. Yuri’s Night is good fun and a reminder of the bond that the South Pole winter experience has with the space program.
The “300 Club” is a South Pole tradition that does not officially exist. It is not recognized or sanctioned in any way by the USAP or the NSF, but it is a reality. To become a 300 Club member, it must be colder than minus 100°F outside and specific tasks must be completed. The first is that the person will spend some time in the station’s sauna that is set to 200°F. After a participant is sufficiently broiled in the sauna, wearing nothing but shoes or boots, they will leave the station, run around the Geographical South Pole marker, then run back into the station. Desiring membership in this exclusive club, the uninitiated winterovers anxiously await the first time the station experiences minus 100°F temperatures. On those days, I could feel a certain buzz and excitement around the station, as crewmembers mentally prepared for the ordeal. Personally, I found the event stupid. I have a fondness for harsh conditions but not for those that are contrived. To me, suffering can be noble and readily worth it, if it leads to real achievement, not simply a certificate or patch. It reminded me of the “double dip” done out on the Alaskan Aleutian island of Shemya. On Shemya Island, the participant runs into the Bering Sea, submerges in its frigid water, then makes a short run down a road to where it is said the Pacific Ocean starts. The participant will then run into that part of the ocean and submerge again. After completion, successful finishers are awarded a certificate that will forever commemorate their participation in the silly event. The 300 Club at the South Pole awards its members with certificates, stickers, and patches.
While I find the concept of the 300 Club stupid, it is a South Pole tradition and I do think it serves to further bond crewmembers. In three winters, I did not do anything to stop it, but I made sure our doctors were ready and participants were as careful as possible during the event. As grueling as the event sounds, participants have told me that they complete it with such speed that they do not experience the cold they thought they would. Historically there have been few injuries, although I did hear a story of a prior year where a doctor who was a participant became disoriented in the outside darkness and spent too long outside the station. This resulted in frostbite to his body’s frontal region, and with the scabbing, he could not bend or sit down for a while. All aspiring 300 Club participants were always informally notified that there would be no reported injuries.
On the days when the 300 Club miscreants were preparing for their big adventure, I also prepared for something I enjoyed. One of the reasons the 300 Club does not freeze its participants to death is that at the South Pole when the weather is colder than minus 100°F, it will usually be relatively calm. Thus, there will be little windchill and visibility will be good. On those days, I liked to get out and take a longer-than-usual walk on my grid-south route. I remember well my first walk in minus 100°F temperatures as I could hear the screams of the 300 Club participants in the darkness on their way to Antarctic glory. Walking out of the station, I followed what had in the summer been the SPoT road. Winter storms had months before obliterated the road, but my own personal trail, which I started during the summer, still existed in places. It was an eerie feeling that first year, out a mile or more from the station in such a lethal environment. It was extremely dark, and the airfield distance markers were frozen over and hard to find. I knew I was close and had to do grid-like walking patterns to finally be able to find them. After several winters I was much more comfortable, but I was never complacent and always realized the potentially lethal situation for what it was.
Every year the winter crew designs a new Geographical South Pole marker. This marker is placed on a metal pole, planted in the ice, and remains in place at the Geographical South Pole for the coming year. The design of the marker is open to all winterover personnel in the form of a contest. There are a few basic rules to include certain things in the design that will make it an actual geographical marker. It must include exact wording that notes geographic location and have National Science Foundation engraved on it. Once those requirements have been satisfied, the overall design is open to the designer’s creativity and the ability of the winter South Pole machinist to make it. Once all designs are completed, the entire crew votes for the winner. The winning design is then submitted to the Denver office and the NSF for approval, which is needed to keep things from getting outrageous or distasteful. One year, after explaining the design process to the crew at an All-Hands Meeting, I told them that designs had to be in good taste and couldn’t include something like a penis. I was not surprised when soon afterward a large metallic mockup of a penis pole marker was presented to me. I kept it in a box in my office, and at some point prior to station opening, I told our machinist to destroy it, or to at least change the crew year engraved at its base from ours to that of the of the crew that would be relieving us.
There is a glass case on the first floor of the station that displays the previous pole markers. These go back many years. The first designs were quite crude, with several that are simple pieces of copper or piping. As the years progress, the markers become more sophisticated, and at some point, they turn into works of art. As works of art, they do begin to lose what they were originally designed to be, simple geographical markers that indicate 90 degrees south.
During my three winters, I tried to tactfully and without any type of real pressure, steer the crews away from sophisticated, over-the-top designs and advocated for something simpler. During my second winter, I nearly succeeded. Several submitted designs were quite retro and similar to the simple copper-pipe concept from years prior. That direction was quickly upended by a change that the USAP made to the organization’s logo, which includes a map of Antarctica. The change to the logo removed a small star-like emblem from over the South Pole. As South Pole winterovers always understand that they are the center of the universe and certainly the center of the Antarctic continent, action was needed to rectify the errant change. The design that easily won that winter’s pole-marker contest was the three-dimensional embodiment of the star that had been removed from the South Pole USAP logo. It was a beautiful design and a symbol of the creativity and mindset of a South Pole winter crew.
On my third winter, we learned of the off-ice death of a machinist that had wintered several times and was known for his beautiful pole markers, both in design and execution. He was supposed to be on our winter crew but at the last minute, had a PQ problem that prevented it. Learning of his death hit the crewmembers that knew him extremely hard. We decided to hold a remembrance for him in our galley early one Saturday evening. We first served what he enjoyed most, prime rib. That night, I ate with the crew. It was an incredibly solemn event, which I tried to slightly lighten up by telling a funny story he starred in. I knew that given the choice between solemn or humorous, he would have wanted the latter. Several people spoke after I did, and we had a toast to him and his eternal memory. I broke my own rule and had a drink with the crew to remember him. He had written me a message in February expressing his sadness for not being on the crew but said that he was working on clearing the PQ issue up and hoped to be on the next. He died and never was to return to the South Pole, but he will live on for eternity as his beautiful pole markers will someday end up in a major museum, if not stored at the South Pole forever. I used to run into him on occasion outside on the flag line that ran to his shop, which was in one of the science facilities. He had a very distinctive voice and accent, and even in darkness and the worst weather, where I could not see well, I was able to recognize him. After his death, when I was out in the darkness and walking that flag line, I called to him several times to see if he was there. I know he loved the South Pole, and I thought he might have wanted to spend eternity with us. I did not find him and hope he rests eternally in a sunnier and brighter place.
Another South Pole tradition that occurs in the winter is the taking of a crew photograph that will hang in the long hallway on the second deck. The photos started with the first winterover crew in 1957 and go up to present day. As you walk down the hallway, starting with the 1957 photo, you see small, framed black-and-white photos, the first few being taken indoors. As you proceed, the photos get larger and more colorful. There are photos that contain signs of how that winter went. If you notice many “not pictured” crewmembers, there were problems. Having many missing crewmembers in a photograph is an indication that all was not well with that winter, and crewmembers were making a statement by not wanting to be photographed with the crew. There are people that simply do not like being in photos so a person missing here and there is a normal occurrence. One photo that really stands out is contained in a large metal, circular frame. The frame has bolts running through it that correspond to the number of crewmembers that year. Four of those bolts are black and signify a horrendous year where mayhem ensued. Hiring over the phone, which was the norm at that time, resulted in several crewmembers being selected that were not fit for such an assignment. At the beginning of that winter, a small group of miscreants led by a vial blowhard, who was a last-minute hire, engaged in a series of minor vandalisms and other unpleasant actions. Weak leadership then gave the group of four the forum they needed to cause disarray and much unrest among the crew. These miscreants are for eternity known as the “black bolts.”
One of the many acts of their minor mayhem involved one of the miscreants breaking a galley plate over the head of a crewmember who dared to complain of her idiocy. The broken plate was contained for years afterward in a Ziploc bag in the area manager’s office. During my second winter, at an All-Hands Meeting, I used it for a winter morale boost. I brought the bag of plate shards and asked for volunteers to try to reassemble it. I had noted that our crew had several people quite adept with puzzles. It was then reassembled by a very skilled crewmember in a manner somewhat like what one sees with broken and restored ancient Egyptian or Greek pottery that you find in museums. It was once again a plate, but with small gaps from missing bits. A wooden stand to hold the plate was crafted and the specific crew’s year was put on it. I placed the plate and its stand in one of the stations glass display cases. During station opening, I proudly showed it to the incoming summer management staff as one of our winter station improvements. I also gave credit to my crew for helping to heal the past. The plate was removed from the display case shortly afterward. I assume because they felt it had a negative presence. I do agree that it would have led to embarrassing questions should a summer visitor want to know more about it. Many lessons learned from that winter resulted in changes to the hiring practices, most notably the requirement for face-to-face interviews. These changes helped alleviate the possibility of ever hiring such a group of miserable creatures again.
I would often walk that long hallway, starting with the first years and thinking of all the people who had previously wintered. I would think about the vast number of stories that would be generated by all those people with their many experiences. There would be quite the range, from great triumphs to great heartbreak and many things in-between. I would consider how many of those people had died, as I had gotten several reports of deaths that had occurred for the men on the first winterover crews. I used those photos to try to motivate my crews with the fact that for as long as the United States had a presence at the South Pole, they would be there in a photograph. It then came down to how they wanted people to remember them. Did they want to be a black bolt? I never met anyone who did, and I never had a black bolt on any of my crews.
Near one end of the long station hallway, there is another group of photos. No one wanted to be included with that exclusive group. The photos honored men who had died at the South Pole. There were four photos, and they all had a short synopsis of the person and the way they had died. One had died of natural causes and three had accidents of sorts. The photos served as a powerful reminder for the need to exercise great caution when working at the South Pole. At any of the formal dinners, a special table is set for the four, to honor them. They are with us always. During my third year, I looked at that wall differently and thought, if I did die, especially of natural causes, it would be an honor to have my image reside there for eternity. There was a space at its far end that I thankfully did not end up occupying.
The photos of the dead somewhat drew me, as I knew something of death myself. Many years prior, I had been listed as killed in an airplane crash in the Amazon jungle and had a framed newspaper at home documenting the event. I had missed being killed in that crash, which took over seventy lives, due to my Spanish language skills being poor and not understanding when to be at the airport. I was on the flight manifest and was supposed to be on it, but not understanding what I had been told, I had hiked across the frontier into Brazil and made camp. When I returned, the flight had departed and all were dead. Rather than diminishing in my mind through the years, the event became more powerful as I began to consider all possibilities. I had read and was haunted by Ambrose Bierce’s short story “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge.” Out on the ice, I pondered this, and whatever the truth, I felt quite alive.
For some reason, during my first winter, my moustache became a focal point for the crew. I had a moustache since leaving the Marines many years prior. Through the years, I only removed it once. That was when I served as a Defense Department contractor in Iraq. I did it then as I was wearing a U.S. military issue uniform with sidearm. For me, the mustache was a permanent fixture and even a sort of trademark. Early in the winter, crewmembers began trying to grow their own mustaches, with some amusing results, as the younger members tried and grew things something like a moustache but without much success. Once, a young crewmember had shown me his new growth and told me he was now beginning to look like me. Instinctively, I responded with a comment I regretted immediately. I told him that his moustache was not the same as mine unless he had spent time with cannibals, parachuted out of a jet, and had smuggled guns into third world countries (for personal protection, but I didn’t tell him that). I regretted the comment immediately as it exposed a character flaw concerning my own prideful ego, which I can never quell but can at least try to conceal. I had experienced copycat types before, with aspects of my dress and accoutrements, and was always uncomfortable with it. This was just good fun, and I should have been more gracious with the comment. The moustache symbol then began to appear on other things, such as a large banner used for social events and a flyer based on a popular TV series. The crescendo was the symbol of the moustache emblazoned in a carpet tile on the galley floor. I held a minor ceremony for that at an All-Hands Meeting. I knelt and had photos taken with it. I laughed at the thought that it was similar as to what happens in Hollywood with the actors and their stars on the Walk of Fame. While I found the attention quite amusing, I also saw it as an honor.
Some South Pole winters develop themes official or unofficial. Sometimes it is a shared hatred or disrespect for the WSM. The WSM is a difficult position for most, especially if they have not been in leadership roles. It can also be difficult for those that have military backgrounds and think they can lead a crew utilizing what they learned from the military. South Pole winter crewmembers are, in general, eclectic individuals who lean left politically. They do not respond well to military leadership. The crews may have a few military veterans, but most of those people have had their fill of military leadership and want none of it now. I remember a specific example of that with a WSM who had retired from the military. In the heat of a moment, after learning that something he had asked to be done had not been done, he shouted that he was giving the individual a “direct order.” The receiver of the direct order was also a veteran but did not comply and found it amusing. This enraged the WSM, who quickly departed the scene, slamming a door and leaving a hole in the office wall. In this case, the WSM was a true leader but was with the wrong people to use that style of leadership. There have also been past WSMs who had little leadership experience but had previously wintered at the South Pole in other positions. Denver South Pole management sometimes selected WSMs that had past winter experience in other positions. The idea was that with a person’s past winter and technical experience, they should be successful. These people usually were not leaders, and for those years, the Denver office ran the station from afar. One challenge with this type of promotion is that the person may still be seen by the crew as what they were in their former position. In addition, the person may revert to what they know best from their previous position that did not include leading a South Pole winter crew. While prior South Pole experience would seem a good thing, sometimes coming from outside the program and being a bit of an unknown has its advantages.
During my three winters, I wanted to have crew mottos or symbols. I wanted these things to set us apart and help develop a sense of pride among the crew. During my first winter, the symbol was the moustache, which the crew had a lot of fun with. The motto was an inscription on our geographic pole marker that came from the great Antarctic explorer Ernest Shackleton: “By endurance we conquer.” I think this is a fitting motto for any South Pole winter crew. The pole marker that the phrase was inscribed on was a thing of beauty, but I almost disfigured it by a well-intentioned act. That winter, I had brought to the South Pole a small grey pebble, which had been given to me, that came from Ernest Shackleton’s grave on South Georgia Island. One day, while cleaning my room, I found it on the floor and assumed it had fallen out of its container. It seemed slightly smaller than I remembered it, but I had not seen it in some time. I talked to the machinist who was making the pole marker: as we would have Shackleton’s motto on the marker, why not drill a small hole in it and insert the pebble from his grave? He said it was possible, but thankfully, I did not follow up and have it done. Some months later, I went to the small jewelry container that held the Shackleton grave pebble and other prized objects. I found the stone there, and it was larger than the one I had found on the floor, as I had thought. The pebble I had picked up off the floor in my room was simply a pebble that had come off my shoe. It probably came from a Denver hiking trail. Thankfully, that meaningless pebble was not entombed in that year’s pole marker!
I was extremely concerned about my second winter and worked hard to put together a crew that included many veterans. I was once again part of the rigorous winter crew selection process that occurred in Denver, but now, I had experienced a South Pole winter. I could now quite readily and with some detail answer what minus 100°F felt like, and I had spent over 1,500 miles outside. I was able to attract several veteran winterover crewmembers from my first winter back to the program. I also looked for other veterans from other winters. This effort resulted in a crew where nearly 50 percent were veterans of past South Pole winters. Around 70 percent had previous USAP experience. All but two of the science personnel had previously wintered. In addition to having a large number of veterans on the crew, each crew member was extremely qualified. I felt that crew had the potential of being the most qualified crew in South Pole winter history.
I wanted to give them a motto that had a deep meaning and an edge. “We ate the dogs” was something that hit me while out walking. At our first meeting, just prior to the station going into winter mode, I revealed it. I explained how in 1911 Roald Amundsen and his gallant men had reached the South Pole. That achievement had been a combination of meticulous planning and their acceptance that they would need to do something that many would find unpleasant in order to reach that goal and safely return. They would eat their dogs. I explained to the assembled crew my goals for our winter. First, that we would not have a serious accident or injury and that they would return home whole and unharmed. Second, that we would return the station to the summer people in better condition than we received it. Third, that we would have no serious personnel issues during our winter. Last, that we would come out of this as a strong crew and proud of what we had accomplished. I explained that we should be willing to do anything it would take in order to accomplish these things, and that we would “eat the dogs,” metaphorically speaking. I did not sense from the assembled group an immediate love for the phrase. In retrospect, it probably sounded harsh, especially for anyone who loved dogs, but I wanted to get a point across, and I wanted it to have a harsh edge. On the tubular base of the Geographical South Pole marker that crew made, the crewmembers’ names are listed and that phrase is inscribed for eternity. That was a phenomenal winter crew, and whether or not the phrase was embraced by all, they truly ate the dogs.
I did not personally select most of my last crew as I did a back-to-back winter and the hiring took place at the Denver office while I was at the South Pole. I did not know the crew and was somewhat concerned as they were a younger and much less experienced crew than the crew I had just completed the year with. Wanting to catch their immediate attention upon their arrival, I had introductions with them that, I learned later, some thought were harsh. I explained to them that it was summer and not winter yet. I told them that some of them might not be around for winter. My reason for doing this was that I would be leaving for much of the summer to get the mandatory USAP forty-two days off-ice between winters and complete my required PQ. I knew the summer was a dangerous time for winter crewmembers as they could get caught up in summer antics and then be terminated. I would not be there to help them navigate through this, so I wanted to leave them with a heavy caution. Even with the caution, after I departed, several crewmembers were lost to the summer and its antics. Upon my return to the station at the end of summer, I had an All-Hands Meeting for my winter crew and decided to improvise. After one look at the assembled, complete crew, I decided not to be as dramatic and forceful as I had planned. Before me was not the veteran group of “dog eaters” from the previous year, but a much younger and untested group, so I held off, at least for a while.
Several months later, during my speech at the Sunset Dinner, I felt I knew the crew well enough to reveal a little more about expectations and show a little more of my true self. I quoted one of my favorite passages from Moby Dick. In this passage Captain Ahab explains he will not be “swerved” from his quest to hunt and kill the white whale: “The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails whereon my soul is grooved to run, over unsounded gorges through the rifled hearts of mountains, under torrent’s beds unerringly I rush. Naughts an obstacle, naughts an angle to the iron way.” I offered that gem to the crew, specifically “the iron way,” as a possible crew motto. That phrase is burnt into my being, and I have lived it. I can literally smell and taste that iron as I hurtle down my life’s path to its eventual oblivion. On that evening, looking at that crew, “the iron way” seemed a little off. Every crew is different and with proper leadership, can accomplish many great things. That crew faced unprecedented off-ice hardships, and while they did not deal with challenges with Captain Ahab’s fanaticism, they were successful. Out on the ice in the darkness, their own Captain Ahab roamed.
I loved the Ahab character, and although toward the end of the novel, I saw him reduced to a crazy old man, I found him beautiful. To be more precise, I found his potential beautiful. He was an accomplished veteran sea captain who bore scars of a horrific encounter and had an unfortunate given name. He was isolated from his crew, but his presence was felt. He was a brilliant orator who rallied the crew to participate in his obsessive quest to find and kill the white whale. He had a beauty that was similar to another epic figure who had fallen from grace eons prior. That beautiful figure carried the light but chose the darkness. The book is a cautionary tale of obsession and the price paid for having priorities that did not place people and their lives as the most important thing in the universe. As a sea captain, Ahab’s primary duty was to his crew and ship. Their health and safety should have been in his every thought. In his case, he let his obsession kill them and destroy his beautiful ship. My obsession was not killing a white whale, it was the health and safety of my crew and the beautiful station. That was my sole, fixed purpose.
Another South Pole tradition is the replacement of the twelve national flags that have flown for a year at the ceremonial South Pole and the American flags that have flown on the station and at the Geographical South Pole. The twelve national flags at the ceremonial pole are the original signatories of the Antarctic Treaty. The replacement is done when the sun first comes up in September. By that time, the flags are all quite tattered from the cold and incessant Antarctic winds they have endured for a year. A group that has an interest in the event gets together and walks out to the ceremonial and geographical poles. The old flags are taken down and new ones are hung. The old, tattered flags are highly coveted. They are brought into the station and, for most crews, at the Sunrise Dinner, they are raffled off. As the WSM, I had the authority to distribute them any way I saw fit, and for me, using a raffle system where everyone had a fair chance to win a flag was the best way. I did make two unilateral decisions concerning the flags that were supported by tradition. I awarded the National Science Foundation, NSF, flag to the science person that had served as the station science lead, SSL. Unfortunately, that flag, which was slightly smaller than the rest, had become so tattered that NSF said only NS, as it had been reduced to nearly half its original size as fragments had been blown to the winds. As the WSM, I had my pick of any flag I wanted. Most WSMs knew they were only going to do that single year and took the U.S. flag that had flown at the Geographic South Pole. This is the most coveted of any flag. There are two other U.S. flags that are outside. One flies at the ceremonial South Pole and the other on the station building itself. During my first winter, and because I knew I was coming back for another year, I did not pick the U.S. flag but rather, the Norwegian. The tattered Norwegian flag was then signed by all crewmembers and had our crew patch sewn on. During most winters, the crews will have patches made that are specific to them. The process is very similar to what NASA does with each individual space mission. That flag with crew signatures and patch made quite the trip.
At the end of my first winter, I arrived home to Texas to a mess from Hurricane Harvey, but I still had one thing to do to finish my South Pole winter. My wife, Melissa, and I journeyed to Oslo Norway to the Fram Museum, which houses Nansen and Amundsen’s famous ship Fram. Fram means “forward” in Norwegian. The ship is famous for its drift north, near the North Pole, with Nansen and later, for Amundsen’s South Pole journey. It is a special ship designed for the ice and has a unique, very rounded and strengthened hull. This design allowed the ship rise out of pack ice once it had been iced in rather than be crushed by it, as the USS Jeannette, Shackleton’s Endurance, and many other polar ships had been. Now, for eternity, the great ship Fram is housed in a covered museum in Oslo, Norway. The plan was to visit it with my tattered, signed, and crew-patched Norwegian flag, tour the ship, and get some photos with the flag. In essence, something important from the South Pole and all my crewmembers would be with me.
My wife and I arrived in Oslo, Norway, on Thanksgiving and walked through snow and ice from our hotel to the museum. It was an odd walk, being again in a cold and frozen place but not with the type of clothing I had worn for a year. Near the museum, we came across the full-scale, bronze replicas of Amundsen and his men standing outside wearing their polar gear. It was overcast and snowing lightly, and I touched each man’s face. Prior to our arrival, I had sent a message about our visit; a museum representative then gave us a superb tour of the ship and museum. I tried to listen to the tour but was overpowered by my thoughts and imaginings of what this ship had experienced and of the men who had sailed on it. I imagined them walking the decks, eating, talking, sleeping below, and going on to make polar history. Several photos were taken, and later I heard a comment that in the photos I had not smiled. I could not smile. To me there was nothing remotely amusing or even happy about the visit or ship tour. I was not at all jovial. The experience was to me a great honor, quite serious, and simply overwhelming. I gave it much thought afterward.
At the end of my second winter, I chose the British flag at the flag ceremony, as I knew I would be returning for my third and a back-to-back winter. I planned the third winter to be my last, and I would at that time choose an American flag. The crew signed the tattered British flag, and our crew patch was sewn on. My wife and I then journeyed at Christmastime to Dundee, Scotland, where Captain Scott’s famous Antarctic ship Discovery is moored and there is a museum. I had sent a message explaining that we would be arriving, where I had been for the last year, and what I had with me. The museum people were incredibly gracious and provided a wonderful tour of the museum and ship. Again, as on the Fram, I could not fully concentrate on the tour as my imagination was running wild as to the men who had been on that ship and where it had been. I was overwhelmed with being there and the great honor of representing my South Pole winter crew. I only wished they could have been there with me.
For my third and last winter, I chose the U.S. South Pole Station flag. Long before the flag ceremony, I had debated which flag I would choose, the flag that had flown on the station itself or the more coveted U.S. flag that had flown at the Geographical South Pole. I would look at the station flag after returning from walks and had seen it tattering over time with the intense cold and strong South Pole winds. I thought it more appropriate to choose that flag, as it was my station and my ship that moved with the ice. Still, I considered choosing the U.S. flag that stood at the Geographical South Pole near the place Roald Amundsen and Captain Scott had stood many years prior. In the end, the decision was made for me because at first sunlight, when we went to change the flags out, it was discovered that the flag at the Geographical South Pole was gone. It had blown away with its wooden pole during a winter storm. Efforts were made to locate it by excavating near where it had last stood. We felt that with the weight of the flagpole and its lack of aerodynamics it could not have blown far. The efforts to locate the flag were to no avail, and we made plans to have incoming station personnel continue excavation during the summer after we had departed. Thus, the decision of what flag I should choose that year was made by the severe Antarctic winds. I feel that harsh environment helped provide me the right choice. That flag will be making a special trip too, and once again, my crew will be with me.