Monday 21 August 2017, week 15: Buldir Island, 22:39
As the wind strengthens and the rain intensifies, I find myself alone in our main cabin, writing in the dim light of day that remains. The clock above me ticks away the seconds that make up minutes, but I can’t help but notice it’s also ticking down the minutes remaining in my second season on Buldir. Today was our final day off of the summer, and the Tiglax will be here to pick us up next Monday afternoon.
Whenever someone wishes me a “happy Friday” in an email, I have to laugh; in field camp, days of the week have almost no meaning. AK Maritime pays us for 6 days a week of work, expecting us to take one day off per calendar week. That day depends on the needs of our work schedule and very rarely falls on an actual weekend. The whole idea of weekday vs. weekend is laughable in a remote field camp; it’s not like we’re going to hit the local bar or catch dinner at a restaurant.
So what happens on a day off in a remote field camp? This summer I’ve gotten in the habit of watching episodes of “The Office” late at night. Knowing I don’t need to wake up for a particular hour makes it easy to let the episodes slide by. Although I love sleep, there’s something about that show that makes it hard to turn off earlier than midnight.
The morning of a day off starts at a different time each week, but usually gastronomic interests get me out of bed. I enjoy having the main cabin to myself and listening to music while preparing food in the morning, so I often am the first to rise.
Although Kevin, McKenzie, and I generally don’t have rushed mornings of quick breakfasts, we tend to cook something a little more complex and crew-wide for a day off brunch. Oatmeal pancakes, sourdough pancakes, or potatoes with/without corned beef hash are the usual suspects. This morning we had potatoes and also finally cracked open the jar of salmon that our friendly neighbors on distant Chowiet had sent us. Our bagels and Alaskan lox were divine.
After eating, activities vary throughout the day. With the ship coming so soon, none of us needed to wash laundry. (Yay!) If we hadn’t had the start of a wet weather system coming through, we would have been more inclined to leave camp. Today I continued reading one of the books my parents sent at resupply, A Walk Across America. While I read, Kevin and McKenzie worked on updating their CVs to send off for their next round of hopeful work. For the career seasonal wildlife tech, this is a never-ending task.
When I decided I’d sat around reading for long enough and needed to satisfy my baking urge, I whipped up a batch of muffin tin brownies. Last season I was informed that brownies baked in a muffin tin provide every brownie with the center’s usual softness and the edges’ chewiness. Brilliant! Unfortunately these were just mixed from a box because we’re nearly out of flour. Still, I knew they’d be appreciated by all of us.
Post-baking I returned to reading and then back to watching “The Office.” While the rain we’d been expecting hadn’t quite materialized, the vegetation was wet and the sky gray; donning raingear on a day off lies near the bottom of every Aleutian field tech’s activity list.
After drinking a few rounds of hot beverage, eating a light lunch while trying to ignore brownies, and finally writing some overdue emails, it was time for me to get out of camp to stretch my legs. The air had been dry for awhile, so I switched from Crocs to Solomon shoes and grabbed my binoculars and camp pager for a mosey down the beach to NW Point.
While I slowly walked on the dry rocks, I basked in the novelty of wearing footwear other than XtraTufs. Along the way I watched a mother eider paddle away with her 2 ducklings, murres dive beneath the water, cackling geese nervously fly off the beach, and puffins fly by on their way home from fishing. To the west of NW Point I found that our poor weather didn’t appear to be coming from that direction; the sea was calmer and the sky not quite as gray.
On my return walk, I decided I needed to do what I’d nearly forgotten about: take my dip in the Bering Sea that happens every time I live on its shores. Although a previous day off of blue sky would have been preferable for a swim, I knew I’d regret not taking my plunge. My northern soul needs its summer swim in cold waters.
Kevin and McKenzie had both showered by the time I returned to camp, leaving me free to heat a pot of water for my own shower. As that heated on the stove, I mixed up a batch of cornbread to go with Kevin’s chili. I pre-set my post-shower clothes in the hanging net of the shower stall and changed into a swimsuit before mixing cool water with boiling water and pouring it into the shower bag. With shower water in place for a nice hot shower, I walked through a light mist down to the beach.
Surely the gulls wondered what I was doing, seeing as I hadn’t brought out our slop bucket to dump for them to scavenge. I dropped my towel on rocks and entered the water, adopting my “no time like the present” or “don’t think, just do” cold water swimming mentality. After carefully walking out to waist depth, I took a breath and dove forward to submerge myself.
Either the wind provided just enough nip to the air to make it actually feel cold, or I’m getting weak. Instead of having my usual thought of “this isn’t so bad,” it took me 4 or 5 breaths to recover from hyperventilating, and I acknowledged the Bering Sea was cold. For once I immediately turned back toward shore, but I caught myself and turned parallel to swim a few strokes to make my plunge legitimate. Although I was cold, I was happy I hadn’t skipped out on my polar bear swim.
On my way to the shower, I coasted through the main cabin to pop the cast iron of cornbread into the oven and let Kevin and McKenzie know they didn’t need to rescue me. Then I entered the shower stall and basked in the hot shower; it was my most-appreciated shower and final field shower of the summer. After all, all good things must end.
The evening brought warm chili, fresh cornbread, and entertaining conversation questions provided by the Chat Pack we’d been gifted at resupply. Kevin, McKenzie, and I know each other well enough to predict each other’s answers, which makes it humorous on multiple levels. McKenzie’s answers will most likely be related to outer space/the space station, Kevin’s answers will be related to McKenzie, and my answers will be related to puppies, biking, or New Zealand.
After washing the dishes in our Rubbermaid dish basins, I settled into a chair to write a few more emails before 21:00, our radio check-in hour. Lisa chatted with the Tiglax before calling us to hear about our day. Although some of the camps have too weak of transmissions to make radio call worthwhile, we thoroughly enjoy hearing what the ship and other camps have been up to each day. Lisa’s ever cheerful outlook makes for nice day’s end conversation.
Being a book-based camp, we read until our beds called us to come read there. These days the daylight for good reading is gone by 22:15 – a sign of the season’s change. Fortunately we all have Kindles and reading lights attached above our bunks.
Tonight I’ll be drifting off to sleep to the sounds of rain and wind, knowing that our final day of relaxation has come to an end. It’s bittersweet to know the end of such simple life is so close, but my personal horizon looks pretty good.