Michael Becker, a doctoral student at McGill University, was a scientific diver on an expedition to Lake Untersee, Antarctica.
Fieldwork in the polar latitudes is often 50 percent science and 50 percent logistics. When the weather goes bad the science drops quickly to zero.
That?s the position we found ourselves in as we waited to depart our transit town of Cape Town, South Africa. Gale-force winds and drifting snow at the Antarctic ice-runway turned our 3-day layover into a 9-day ?vacation? as we waited for conditions to improve. Eventually the storm broke. With fuller-bellies and better tans, our hiatus ended as we boarded the once-a-week flight to our destination, the Russian base Novolazarevskaya.
Our team is technically part of the 57th Russian Antarctic Expedition. Prior to 1992, these undertakings were known as Soviet Antarctic Expeditions. The Russian station is largely serviced by a private company that handles chartering the Russian designed Illyushin 76TD heavy-cargo transport plane for a payload of people and gear. Interestingly, during the preflight briefing we are told that the captain of the ship is a former test pilot for the Russian military. As the engines fires up and the jet shakes violently, I?m not sure whether it?s comforting to know that our captain is used to flights that involve a heavy roll of the dice.
The six-hour flight is fairly tight for a 6-foot-2 guy like me, but not much different from the sardine-can style of any economy airline seat. About an hour before we land we all have to gear-up in our cold weather clothing, a chaotic process that is equivalent to playing musical chairs in a moving clown car. But we?re dressed and ready for landing as the plane descends and comes to a (long) halt on the ice-runway on Antarctica.
Weary and worn from a night of travel, we climb out of the aircraft and into the irritatingly bright midnight sun. But the process is just beginning. The 80 of us on the aircraft spend the next three hours unloading the plane and sorting out the hernia-inducing amount of gear that we?ve brought. Once this hectic dance is complete, the groups all part ways to our separate destinations: some will stay and live near the runway, some will head to the Indian Station down the road. Our group heads to a part of Novolazarevskaya Station affectionately called ?Oasis?.
Since we?ve come in with the opening crew, our cabins have been on lockdown all winter and need several hours? worth of work before breakfast can be served. Doorways must be shoveled out. Water must be boiled out of collected snow. More gear needs to be hauled. The pain in the neck of opening a station in the cold and wind after a sleepless night is one I?m not keen on remembering too clearly. After six hours of work we managed the basics and sat down (with me near delirium) to a well-deserved coffee. The timing of our arrival was lucky. The next day, the weather dropped and the station was enveloped by 50-knot winds.
Winds at Novolazarevskaya, Antarctica.
Novolazarevskaya got its start back in 1961 when it opened its doors during the 6th Soviet Antarctic Expedition. It is located on the Schirmacher Oasis ? a 15-mile-long gravel and rock pile surrounded by an interminable ice sheet. It seems an unlikely place for a base ? or anything called an oasis ? but its proximity to the coast (about 50 miles) and the abundant freshwater lakes that surround it make for prime real estate.
The base itself can accommodate a summer population of around 50 people and is a collection of the necessary structures that are essential to any successful permanent Antarctic station. Mostly what I?m referring to here is the Banya.
Banya is the Russian word for ?sauna.? Judging from its frequency in conversations and the cultlike devotion of its followers, it appears this word describes something much more ? an activity, a social event, a state of mind. Not a day goes by at the Russian station without a mention of the Banya, and I?m beginning to wonder if the main thrust of the entire Russian Antarctic Program is focused on this bathhouse?s use and operation.
This Banya represents the southernmost wooden sauna in the world. The timber building was first prefabricated in St. Petersburg, Russia, in 2006, disassembled, and then brought south on the Russian icebreaker the Federov. Once down here, a team of carpenters rebuilt the Banya over 43 days. It?s got a change room, a porch, teakettle, bathing room, and every other amenity you could ask for with a top of the line sauna. The porch even has a view of the massive nearby ice sheet.
Traditionally, the Banya would be a social event ? men would go in and alternate the hot room of the sauna with cold dips in a nearby half-frozen river, all the while beating each other with fragrant bundles of leaves. It?s a time for socializing and relaxing, and (they tell me) is good for one?s health. Since our arrival at Novo we?d been stuck in interminable winds, and I was in need of some repair.
At first I was a skeptic, growing weary of hearing the only word I know in Russian repeated over and over again. And then I tried it. For the first time in eight days I felt relaxed. Our first week in Antarctica had been spent trapped in endless cloud cover and wind. The monotony of twiddling our thumbs and marching over to meals had made each day blend seamlessly into the next.
We?re all itching to get to work and head out to our field camp, but there?s not much to be done about it with this wind. So to take an hour out of my day and sit in a blindingly hot sauna, beat myself with bundles of leaves, and let my mind clear was lovely. Perhaps it is the location or perhaps there is something truly inherent about the spirit of the Banya. All I can say is it is wonderful to stand with a hot cup of tea amidst the frozen scenery as we wait to leave for Lake Untersee.
Follow Michael on Twitter: @Michael__Becker or on his blog, ?The Dry Valleys.?
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