The Last Day

CHAPTER 29

The Galley was unsettlingly empty that morning at breakfast.  The line for eggs was short, the juice dispensers never ran out, and the pile of dirty plates in the dishpit was almost non-existent.  Most people had flown out over the last few days, leaving the station with a skeleton crew- just enough manpower to keep things running until the final flight of the season, when the last of the summer workers would be evacuated, leaving behind 50 or so hardy souls to brave the long, dark, Antarctic winter, alone for the next nine months.

You wouldn’t think it, but dishwasher’s apparently rank pretty high on the list of “critical” staff- because along with firefighters, the doctor, the station manager, and a few others, we were the last to leave.  We were actually pretty excited about this, for a number of reasons, but not least of which was that we were allowed to move into the station from our jamesway.  There were a bunch of empty rooms from all the people who had already left, and to save fuel they would be turning off the heaters in the jamesways, so we were more than happy to pack up our belongings and head to that Hilton on the Ice, which we envisioned the station accommodations to be.  Imagine it: comfortably warm rooms, furniture that was not handmade from scrap wood or manufactured for use in the Korean War, not having to walk outside to go to the bathroom or take a shower, no more pee-bottles! a door with a door knob, reliable internet, a telephone, a window! and you could even walk to the galley and eat your breakfast in your pajamas if you wanted- or have your wife go get it and bring it back for breakfast-in-bed (which she did)- even better!!

The powers-that-be determine the day for the last flight for the season based on a whole slew of factors- the main one being the air temperature.  The planes can only safely land and reliably take off if the temperature is above about -50°F.  So, as the sun sits lower and lower in the sky and the temperature steadily declines as the days march on towards winter, the meteorologists at the station have to predict which will be the last day above -50°F.  Weather forecasting being what it is, this is an inherently shifty prediction, doubly so at the Pole where the orneriness of the weather can drop the temp by a half dozen degrees in just a few minutes.  Considering this, they gradually fine tune their prediction as the first week or two of February slips by, and typically, around the middle of the month, they pick a definite “last day”, in our case, February 15th.  But, starting about a week before the “last day” we are all told to be on constant alert, ready to drop everything and be on the plane within a two hour notice, should the thermometer start to unexpectedly head south.

Because of this constant threat of immediate departure, we made sure to check off the few remaining “to do’s” on our list a few days before the last day.  This included a final trip out to the Pole, where we collected a Nalgene bottle of snow to bring home- we still have it, sitting on the shelf, crystal clear, patiently waiting for the day it will be drunk, when all the other water in the world is too polluted to be palatable- and we performed a long overdue “hanging from the bottom of the world” photo.  After that we were good, our bags were packed, and the last dish I ever hope to wash was emphatically placed on the stack of clean plates in the galley.

As it turned out, the weather behaved itself, and we didn’t have to leave early.  When we woke up on February 15, we knew it would be our last time doing so at the South Pole.  The plane was coming mid-morning, and having nothing left to do, we relaxed in the galley chatting with some of the soon-to-be winterover-ers, and then went to do a final check of our email in the computer lab.  And that’s when the opportunity to do one of the most amazing experiences we’ve ever had, dropped right in our laps.  Ed the fuelie- who was in charge of the South Pole “flight deck”- barged into the lab, looked right at us, and said “I need your help to land the plane!”

Kacey and I ran to our room, grabbed our coats and gloves, and then followed Ed out to the skiway.  Ed’s normal crew had already flown out, so he needed another person to stand on the runway and help guide the plane to the correct location for fueling and cargo loading.  Kacey and I rock-paper-scissored for the job, and of course I won- rock always wins. Ed gave me a quick rundown on what to do, handed me a big set of headphones and a radio so we could communicate, and then showed us out to the spot on the runway where I was to stand.

After a few minutes we saw the plane coming in low on the horizon.  It touched down at the far end of the skiway setting off a huge plume of snow.  As it taxied off the main runway Ed gave me the go ahead to start my duties.  It wasn’t very complicated- basically I just slowly waved my arms up and down, which let the pilot know to keep driving towards me, and then at the end, when Ed gave the signal, I was supposed to wave my hands down in front of me one last time, and then back up over my head making a cross which would tell the plane to stop.  Ed was doing the same movements but was standing on the side of the runway.  At first I thought he had given me the cooler place to stand because he was a nice guy, but as the plane got closer and closer I couldn’t help but think about the catastrophic possibility that the plane wouldn’t stop.  I would be run over and squashed flat, and the pilot probably wouldn’t even feel a bump in the cockpit.  What a way to go, playing chicken with an 80 ton plane.  Now I knew why Ed had graciously volunteered the “cooler” spot to stand in the middle of the runway- he didn’t want to die!  But, just as I was about to make a brake for it and abandon my post, Ed gave the queue. I dutifully crossed my hands above my head and… BAM!  The plane stopped on a dime!  I can’t tell you how exhilarating it was to bestow so much power over such a monstrous machine- you may as well call me the “puppet master”- with a mere flick of my wrists I can make a Hercules airplane dance across the runway, or have it stop in its tracks on my slightest whim.

Well, the glory was short lived.  As soon as the plane came to a halt, we had to sprint to the station, collect our bags from our room, and make a b-line back to the flight deck.  The pilot wasn’t waiting for anybody- as soon as the cargo was loaded he would close the door and be headed back down the skiway, not to return for nine more months.  This was one flight we definitely could not afford to miss.  To our happy surprise, the whole station was gathered at the runway- all the winterovers saying a final goodbye to everyone headed out on the last flight.  It was a grand and happy send-off, one we will never forget.