Date night, v2

Scott Base with the Ross Ice Shelf behind. 
The bright white line is a pressure ridge on the ice extending from White Island to Ross Island

Current conditions:  Temp -18ºF (-47ºF with wind chill), light snow.  Population: 298

Today, I got my Antarctica driver's license.  The process was simple, though driving is not.  First, I had to sit through a lecture while we were in New Zealand.  Then, today, Shawn took me out for a driving test.  

Because it's so cold, windy and icy here, all vehicles are plugged into heaters with at least one chock under the wheels.  After you start the engine and before you move, you go through an extensive check list including: checking all tires and fluids, setting the hand radio, telling the fire department your destination and time you will be back, ensuring all passengers are in seatbelts, etc.   The speed limit is 15 MPH but only 5 MPH in McMurdo Station itself.  If you want to pass another vehicle, you have to radio them and ask if it's okay.  The roads themselves are all snow, gravel, and ice.  Once you get off the base, the terrain drops off steeply on the sea-side of the road.  There are no road lights and only flags indicate the right way.

My driver's test took me to Scott Base, the New Zealand base two miles to the west.  Why they call it Scott Base is beyond me.  Robert Falcon Scott was not from New Zealand; he was British. And he was, by all but his own reports, a failure.  New Zealand has had two brilliant Antarctic explorers:  Sir Edmund Hillary who, after he climbed Mt. Everest, led the first successful Trans-Antarctic expedition, and Frank Worsley captain of Shackleton's Endeavor expedition who navigated a small boat from Elephant Island to South Georgia Island--one of the greatest navigational feats in history.  When I questioned the base's name to Ruby, the Scott Base medic, she seemed perplexed.  Scott Base it is.

Looking past Scott Base towards the airfield on the Ross Ice Shelf

I had been past Scott Base before when we came from the airport but it was a snowy night and I could barely see 3 inches out the window.  Today, I could see what I missed and it was spectacularly beautiful with mountains rising up to Mt. Erebus (not seen) on the island side to the north and the Ross Ice Shelf to the south  Unfortunately, I had to keep my eyes on the road and couldn't take pictures.  After 10 minutes of driving, from the top of a ridge, I looked down on a pretty collection of seafoam green buildings, that stood out against the ice beyond.  It was Scott base.  Compared to McMurdo, it's adorable.  I drove and slid the van down to the base, hooked it up to the electricity and went in with Shawn and Dean.

White Island from Scott Base

The population at Scott is considerably smaller than that of McMurdo.  Over winter, only 12 people live there and, in the summer, 80.  Although they have a medic, we serve as their doctors.  The Kiwis spend a lot of time over at McMurdo, using the recreational facilities and joining in on trivia night.  They pretty much have a free run of the place.  We, on the other hand, have to be invited to Scott.  If our 1000+ summer Yanks descended on them, that would be the end of their superior liquor collection and base commissary.

A gaggle (or is it a flock) of Kiwis

Ruby showed us the clinic and walked us down the hallway to see the emergency station.  Along the wall in the hallway are pictures of the overwintering teams.  In one shot, from the early 2000's, the 12 men are all dressed in tuxedos.  In another, they are in bathing suits out on the ice.  In the earliest pictures, they pose with their sled dogs.  Sadly, sled dogs are now considered an invasive species and are no longer allowed on the ice.   We left and Shawn drove back, allowing me to take these few pictures.  

View on the road back to McMurdo.  The mountain on the right is almost 50 miles away.  

Our plan was to return again in the evening for American night.  But once again, our plans were thwarted.   One van was shuttling people to the base 12 at a time.  We were about 30th in line for the ride.  Although some of the 20 somethings out there seemed to be fine in a fleece and sneakers,  we didn't want to linger outside and wait in the -20ºF weather.  We went inside and made one more effort but couldn't get the timing right to avoid 20 minutes of freezing.  Instead, we headed to the McMurdo bar, Gallagher's, named for a former McMurdo resident who died here.  Gallagher's is poorly lit, smells like stale, spilled beer, and is furnished with 50-year-old tables so coated with sticky goo that you fear leaving your skin behind if you touch it.  Think "uber-dingy sports bar" except, instead of sports on TV, the patrons--who all have straggly beards --are glued to nature videos of amphibious fish.  Mesmerizing.

After 45 minutes or so, we headed back to our dorm room, watched a third of "Boys 'n the Hood" (which is 12 hours away from expiring on my Netflix account) and were asleep by 9:15.  

Next week, we'll make it to Scott Base.  The Kiwis invited the medical team to dinner before American night.