Skua

Adelie penguin (left), Skua on right.  Specimens from Crary Lab.

Current Conditions: Con3.  Temp 10ºF (Windchill 4ºF). 
Mostly sunny.  Population = 684

After graduating from college, a group of friends and I worked as singing waiters on Martha's Vineyard.  The owner of the restaurant--the Colonial Inn--was niggardly and didn't allow us even a nibble of restaurant food, even though we arrived at 4:00 PM and stayed til midnight.  So we practiced "seagulling"--the art of swooping in to snag the leftover lobster claws and bread loaves uneaten by patrons and scarfing them down in the prep room.

Seagulls don't venture as far south as Antarctica.  Instead we have skua.  Skua are large, predatory, gull-like birds with hooked beaks and sharp talons.  Rumor has it that, once they arrive in McMurdo for the summer season, they will dive-bomb anyone they see carrying a cafeteria tray or uncovered food item.  We are admonished to hide all food under our coats if we take it to our dorms from the galley.  Despite this advice, every year, the medical clinic ends up suturing numerous skua-induced lacerations.

Over 99% of the time the word "skua" is used here on the base, though, it has nothing to do with the bird; it means "seagulling".  People leaving the base often want to lighten their loads so they can meander the world for a few months.  They leave their unwanted items--toiletries, cold-weather gear, teabags, bedding--in the dorms for new arrivals "to skua".  I was lucky to skua a near-perfect pair of Merrill hiking boots for Dean about a month ago.  When the dorm skua starts to overflow, the wasties package it up and move it in enormous, cardboard boxes to the skua building, the Antarctica equivalent of Goodwill.

Yesterday, we had to move rooms.  For six weeks, Dean and I had luxuriated in a large triple with only the two of us.  Yes, it had no window, and yes, we had to share a bath with the hall, but the room was in the building with the dining hall so we could pop down for a cup of coffee or a cookie any time day or night, or play ping-pong or use the computer kiosks without venturing out in the -20° weather.   Also, the room was relatively quiet, dark and had a TV.  We had set it up to our liking and it felt like home.  But no, we had to go.  The C17 that needed repair was finally fixed and the population is about to explode with five flights expected this week (including one yesterday and one today).  So they need the extra bed.

We've been negotiating the move for a while.  The first room they offered us was the single room usually occupied by the doctor.  We went to look at it and it was a tiny, noisy, claustrophobia-inducing, cavern of a room situated over the clanging pots of the galley kitchen (open 24 hours a day) with only enough storage space for one person.  We rejected it.  They next offered us the equivalent of a small, prison cell quite far from the clinic, without even the usual luxury of cable connection for TV.   Perfect if you enjoy solitary confinement but not really worth giving up 2/3 of my salary, as well as my friends, family and green plants.  The lodging director intimated that this was their final offer.  I told Dean, "I''m heading home to California." At this stage in my life, I just can't live like a freshman in the worst dorm on a dilapidated campus.

I complained about the room offers to the clinic staff.  Rebecca and Marisa both said that big rooms with windows and high ceilings were available in building 211 where Marisa had stayed before.  So I went to the lodging office and said, can we move to 211?  They said, "okay.  Here's your key" (Really????).  So now we live in a threadbare dorm, with holes in the inside walls, shredded carpets, and discarded furniture littering the hallways BUT our room is big, warm AND has a window AND a television AND for the first time, there's enough space for us to push our beds together. And we have really nice neighbors including Rebecca.  And the hallway bathroom is toasty with lots of showers--the kind that electrocute you.

So what does this have to do with skua?  Well, the room is quite barren--no color at all.  So today, Rebecca, Marisa, Joe and I trudged off to skua to see what we could find, looking both inside the building and in the outdoor cartons.  I was hopeful we might find something to decorate with like a poster or a wall hanging.

Marisa with Halloween wig and Rebecca with moose (but not my moose).

Unfortunately, the pickings inside and out were slim.  I did garner a menorah with a complete set of candles.  And a stuffed moose.  But, despite the general lack of room decorations, the experience was worth it.  When I came to Antarctica, I didn't envision seeing our PharmD jump like a jack-in-the-box out of wooden crate (where she found chocolate!), or watching the physical therapist holding the legs of the flight nurse so she could do a deep dive into a carton of boots.

Marisa doing her deep dive.

So here is the final product.  I've since pinned up a card that my sister-in-law made and a few cards that Lauren sent to add a bit of color.  I didn't sleep all that well last night with the sun blazing through cracks in the velcroed curtain BUT with the colleagues I have here, I think I can tolerate a whole lot worse.

Miller time.  Note moose on window sill.