Week 2: F 3 November 2017, 22:38. Cape Shirreff, Livingston Island, Antarctica
Plenty of people dread waking up on Monday morning and starting their work week. The concept of driving through traffic to sit at a 9-5 desk job for the next 5 days is so painful that sorrows get drowned in mug after mug of coffee from the nearest drive-through coffee stand.
Fortunately some of us are smart enough to ignore the system and blaze our own trails. Literally. This morning I snowshoed through near white-out conditions on my way to work. When thinking back on most of my jobs, I can honestly say the commutes were as enjoyable as the work I did.
– On the North Slope my commute varied between helicopter rides, skiff rides on the Colville River Delta, and hikes to the day’s search area.
– On St. George I got to zip around on an ATV and then hike along trails to music, podcasts, or silence.
– In New Zealand my commute took me through fields of cattle, horses, and sheep before crossing a log bridge that took me into the bush (kiwi habitat). A plum tree even provided me with treats on my walk home!
– My YK Delta commute included a boat ride across the Tutakoke River and then a focused effort on not getting my feet stuck in the sucking tidal mud.
– In the oilfields of Alberta I commuted on ice roads and had to radio out my location at every mile to alert big rigs. That was different!
– When working around Sacramento I did have a more typical commute in Sac’s traffic, but since I love driving and got paid for my commute time, I actually hoped for delays.
– Commutes on Buldir weren’t necessarily kind to my body, but I’ll always remember those hikes… and be thankful every time I’m Not hiking on a cobble beach.
My new commute takes about half an hour and can be skied or snowshoed. Snowshoes take me NW from our main camp, over Chungungo Flats. From there I drop down to Playa Chungungo and continue following that NW, saying hello to Antarctic fur seals, Weddell seals, and the occasional leopard seal as I go. A short, steep climb takes me partway up Aymara, and then I hug the slopes of it, Diaguita, and Pinguinera before reaching the back side of Enrique. Continuing north to cross Enrique’s ridge, I then turn west and walk along Enrique’s northern slope, which is where I reach my office: the Skua Shack.
The Skua Shack is the weathered building where most penguinas – historical nickname for the female seabird techs at Cape Shirreff- tend to base their days. The penguin colonies are all on the northwestern end of Livingston Island, so returning to main camp for lunch or other duties is illogical. In addition to having a Coleman stove and propane heat, the shack’s windows provide a fantastic view of chinstrap and gentoo colonies, breaking waves, and snow covered dramatic rock formations. It’s nice to have a warm haven for protection from the wind and snow.
What really makes my commute to the office a joy is the fact that my route follows a visible penguin highway. When there’s no fresh snow, I can follow their tracks to work. Many penguins emerge from the water elsewhere around the island and then troop past our camp on their way to the northwest corner, meaning I encounter gentoos and chinstraps on my commute almost every day. Their toddling, sliding, and dedication to the march makes for lots of natural entertainment.
Who needs coffee, radio stations, or smartphones when there are penguins to watch?