It just keeps getting better down here.  Early this morning we suited up in our extreme-cold survival gear, followed our friend Dr. Lisa Clough of the National Science Foundation down to the ice airstrip, boarded an LC-130 Hercules, and flew 3 hours inland to the South Pole.  For decades the Hercules fleet has been the dependable backbone of the U.S. Antarctic Program, and I thoroughly enjoyed sitting on the flight deck of the old workhorse with the pilot and co-pilot as we soared into the Antarctic interior.

Aiming for the snow runway at South Pole Station.

Successful touchdown.

We used the ski landing gear to touch down at the amazing new Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station, the southernmost scientific research base on Earth, where we were met by Martin Lewis (Acting South Pole Area Director) and Paul Sullivan (Science Support Manager).  Dedicated, highly experienced, and funny long-time veterans of the Pole, Martin and Paul would prove to be superbly informative and enthusiastic guides for the day.

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I just had one of the biggest rushes of my life. I spent the last hour of the five-hour flight from Christchurch sitting on the flight deck with the pilot and co-pilot of the C-17 Globemaster III carrying my colleague Ola and me to Antarctica for a week.

Soaring into Antarctica.

Dr McWaine will tell you that I am not by nature an effusive person. I don’t jump up and down with any regularity. I tend to take things – even great things – in stride in a way that I fear sometimes disappoints those around me.  I was raised to be cautious, controlled, matter-of-fact, and skeptical. When I was quite young, I recall an elder relative stating authoritatively that blocking every silver lining is a thick dark cloud.  That impressed me.

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Like the rest of the country, I have watched events unfold at Pike River, and have hoped and prayed for the safe return of the 29 men still in the mine. Like the rest of the country, my heart sank when I received word this afternoon of the second blast in the tunnel.

I cannot presume to imagine what the miners’ families, co-workers, and neighbors are now feeling, when hope appears at an end. I have never experienced the loss of a loved one so abruptly or capriciously. I have never endured the uncertainty of not knowing whether a son or brother or father or spouse was alive or dead.  I don’t know what words could possibly console someone experiencing such tragedy. I don’t believe such words actually exist.

What I do know, though, is the power and comfort of community. I was born and raised in a tight-knit family in a small coal-mining town.  My grandfather worked in the mines after he emigrated from Germany. I have always carried with me — including to New Zealand — pieces of anthracite to remind me of the staunch fiber, true grit, and warm spirit of the small but special speck on the map that I still consider home.  A place not unlike Greymouth.

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As you may already have picked up, I am a science aficionado. When given a choice, I tend to gravitate toward telescopes, formulae, experiments, science fiction, fossils, and volcanoes rather than some of the other recreational choices available to humans. I have never outgrown my childhood love of outer space, dinosaurs, and atoms. I think Albert Einstein was, and is, cool. I think kids who like science and technology are cool .. in fact, far cooler than some of the types who usually rule the roost during adolescence.

High school rock stars in action.

So, I had a particularly enjoyable day when I was in Auckland last week. I drove up to Massey University’s North Shore Campus in Albany to visit my robot-building friends from the Home School, Kristen School, Rangitoto College, Albany Senior High School, and Lynfield College. As you know from my prior Kiwibot post, these guys and girls have been doing wonderful work, and I wanted to see what they are up to now.

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