Groundhog Day

Many days already feel indistinguishable from the last; today we simply formalized it. Practical questions immediately arose: Are they changing the menu, or will we have iced buckwheat noodle soup again (one of my least favorite dishes)? And is that meeting scheduled for “tomorrow” now happening on “Monday”?

The answers were yes and yes. Most of “today”—which lasted roughly 47 hours—felt like time standing still. There isn’t much happening during transit, to be honest. Many people are either drowsy from seasickness medication or starting to feel a little nausea. Both media crews seem mildly disappointed there isn’t more action to report on; I suspect they promised their editors more excitement.

There’s also a bit of “crud” going around, which is hardly surprising given that 40 of us just descended onto the boat from all corners of the world. Apparently McMurdo station (the primary US base in Antarctica) is famous for spreading the crud. Jesse seems to have it the worst but is improving. I think I caught a mild version myself—waking up with a sore throat the last two morning. But once I get moving, I mostly feel fine.

Life onboard has its own set of small oddities, most of them oddly endearing. Take the gym. They installed a StairMaster this year, which I appreciate in principle. In practice, nearly all the ceilings on the ship are about seven feet tall. Using the StairMaster without hitting your head or falling off the back is challenging enough before you factor in the ten-foot swells we often enjoy. Running on the treadmill while the ship is moving is equally ambitious. Watching people walk down the hall is a show in itself—long, narrow corridors, everyone using the walls for balance, often slanted relative to the floor. We all look like polite drunks.

One major difference from my last cruise is the presence of an internet connection. It’s bad – I’m instantly reminded of dial up modems and AOL days (this definitely dates me as one of the old guys on the boat). I’m told it improves once we reach the ice and the ship’s position stabilizes. In 2022, our only connection to the outside world was a tightly controlled email address; I was something like scientist18@whatever. This year, everyone is spending an impressive amount of time and mental energy trying to get online. There are two networks: Xwave, which is free and almost unusable, and Starlink, which is better but heavily throttled to conserve bandwidth. Both seem to generate more frustration than productivity. My main use has been eking out just enough signal to send a few WhatsApp messages to Christine. I appreciate the opportunity—however minimal—to stay in daily touch, and I’m sure she does too.

I had forgotten just how tired life on the boat makes you. Knowing it’s coming and actually experiencing it are very different things. I’m exhausted, even though our days aren’t especially full. My working theory is that your brain is operating at a constant deficit, spending all its energy trying to keep you upright. We’re all stumbling around like drunks despite relatively gentle seas. Add in mediocre sleep—your bed is always moving—and the fact that we keep changing the damned time, and it starts to make sense. I think there are two more time changes before we finally stabilize on ship time. I’m counting them carefully.

We’ve had a flurry of meetings over the past few days, which is creating a serious “office” vibe. At the crew coordination meeting, scientists introduced their projects to the ship’s crew, with the goal of explaining—briefly—what support would be needed: helicopters, zodiac trips, crane operations, and so on. Some of us just couldn’t resist the urge to put a few charts and graphs in front of everyone; leaving out the details is not really in many scientists’ nature. Most of the crew speaks little English and relied on translation, so I suspect much of that nuance was lost. Still, it was a good idea, and I think it served its purpose.