Sundays

Current conditions:  Con 3, Temp -13F (-33F with wind chill), clear.  Population: 277

Sundays are lovely here.

The great majority of people have the day off.

The dining hall serves only two meals:  a huge brunch (more about the food later) and dinner. People hang out, watch movies, play games, go on hikes. 

We wandered down to Discovery Hut that Scott's crew built during his first expedition from 1902-1904.    As with all things done by Scott,  poor planning made the hut largely uninhabitable. Insulation was far too thin.  The hut was used for storage and as an emergency shelter by all the "big name" Antarctic explorers over the subsequent 15 years.  It then survived four decades of disuse before being dug up in 1959.  I've been studying up about the Antarctic explorers in the hope that USAP will take me on as a docent there when "Main Body" (the term for summer season) begins in mid-October.    Scott's, Shackleton's and Amundsen's huts lie further out around McMurdo but they are not open to visitors.


McMurdo and Observation Hill as seen from Hut Point.  The four large buildings are dorms. 
The structure in the forefront is part of the pier for when the ice melts and ships can enter the sound.
The walk took about 45 minutes round trip.  The temperature was around -6F with windchill to -20F or so. In the center of the base, winds were calm but as we approached the hut and the cross, the winds whipped up.  Dense clouds obscured the surrounding mountains.  After seven pictures--taken discontinuously--my right hand was painfully cold and my iPhone power sank from 60% to 1% and then died.  Fortunately, I had stuffed a pair of hand warmers in my coat before we left.  Dean needed one, too, after just two or three pictures.

Dean at Vince's Cross, named in honor of George T. Vince, a member of the first
Scott expedition who died falling through the ice during a storm in 1902.

Me with the hut right behind me and McMurdo in the background.

We sat at dinner on both Saturday (when "the sabbath" begins here) and Sunday nights, drinking wine and gabbing for hours.  Everyone here has stories to tell.   It felt like Oxford only with more fleece, more unkempt beards and no claret.


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