As a contingency, I had designed and 3D printed a Picavet suspension for lofting my Ricoh Theta Z1 panoramic camera with the kite. From prior experience, I knew that this camera did not handle the extreme cold very well, particularly if it was using its internal battery. To this end, I designed a custom external battery pack around a Molicel INR-18650-M35A battery, which is rated for operation down to −40°C. This pack includes a battery cell protection circuit, a 5 V output for powering the camera, a direct battery voltage output for powering an external heater, and a flex PCB heater with control circuit wrapped around the battery cell with polyimide tape to heat it to around −10°C; the pack was also specifically designed to mount to the above mentioned Picavet suspension. Using a very similar design to the battery cell heater, I also designed a flex PCB heater for the Theta Z1 camera, which was intended to slip in between the camera body and the silicone sleeve I purchased to help insulate it.² Unfortunately, I forgot to pack the camera heater, along with an adapter to power it and the camera from a wall outlet for extended timelapse shooting; since I wanted to power the heater in addition to the camera, I did not included a USB port on the battery pack and instead included a USB Type C connector as part of the wiring loom for the heater, further complicating this oversight. Fortunately, a colleague on station had a USB cable I could cut apart and solder to the output connector pins on the battery pack,³ and the camera ended up working fine with just the insulating sleeve and external power from the battery pack.

The first time I had an opportunity to fly the camera, I thought I had misplaced the carabiner I had to attach the camera’s safety lanyard to the Picavet suspension and ended up lofting the camera without it.⁴ After flying the camera a bit—and just as I was beginning to reel the kite in because I thought I was pushing my luck without the safety lanyard—the camera wiggled itself loose from the Picavet suspension’s tripod mount screw and fell, but it managed to survive the fall without damage to the optics, suffering just cosmetic damage.⁵ After this, I added lock washers and always used the safety lanyard, wrapping it around the mounting screw such that the lanyard would tighten if the camera started to come loose. While the camera survived, it turns out that it had turned off before I even got it into the air, which was particularly unfortunate as there were clear skies and near-perfect weather; for future flights, I turned on the camera’s Wi-Fi⁶ to allow me to externally monitor the camera while flying it to make sure it was still on.⁷

I flew the camera two additional times, with the second flight yielding the vast majority of the photos. For the second flight, I was able to launch the camera near the Dark Sector Laboratory (DSL) and then walk the kite and camera over to the Martin A. Pomerantz Observatory (MAPO) building, IceCube Upgrade drill camp, the IceCube Laboratory building, and then back to DSL, although the weather was a bit cloudy.

For the third and final flight, it was a bit too windy for the kite. It was pretty much impossible to walk the kite upwind without it becoming unstable, and I wasn’t able to get in quite the position I wanted for photographing the South Pole Telescope, but it still yielded a different perspective than the previous flight.

Since the images were taken with a full 360° camera, here are some panoramas.

I’ve uploaded the design files for the Picavet suspension, the battery pack, and the flex heater for the Theta Z1. Some of the images in this blog post were edited to remove the kite and its shadow, string, and operator.

1. I also had issues with reliably setting the focus, so the Raspberry Pi Camera Module 3, which has autofocus, probably would have been a better choice. The camera was also heavier than I would have liked.  ↩

2. I went as far as purchasing a broken camera on eBay to take apart to see if I could integrate a heater directly into the camera, but I couldn’t figure out a good way to power it.  ↩

3. And also short the data lines together per the USB Battery Charging specification to tell the camera it could draw sufficient current. The backup was to use a rechargable hand warmer with USB output, but this would have been heavier and more difficult to mount to the Picavet suspension.  ↩

4. The carabiner turned out to be in my pocket where I thought it was all along.  ↩

5. The plastic rings around the lenses popped off from the impact.  ↩

6. All flights were while none of the telescopes were observing, since they’re sensitive to radio-frequency interference.  ↩

7. Anecdotally, keeping the Wi-Fi enabled on the camera seemed to help prevent it from turning off in the cold, but I did not thoroughly test this.  ↩

Much of the discussions regarding and plans for building kites on the internet are contained within decades-old discussion forums and Geocities-era webpages, many of which are disappearing, although the Internet Archive has fortunately preserved many such resources, as has the Kite Plan Base. Rokkaku kites were frequently recommended for kite aerial photography,² and I was able to find several plans on which to base my kite design, using two designs, in particular.³

While the designs call for 3/4 oz ripstop nylon spinnaker cloth, which is sealed to make it low porosity, other fabrics with similar strength and low porosity can also be used. I ended up using a 1.1 oz silicone-coated ripstop polyester as I could get it custom printed, avoiding the need to measure and allowing for a custom design on the kite without the manual effort required for appliqué. Due to the archaic units frequently used with fabric, these two fabrics are actually of similar weight. Sail cloth is measured in “sailmaker’s ounces,” which is the weight of one “sailmaker’s yard” of fabric, which is 36″ by 28.5″; the polyester is measured in more-typical fabric ounces, so the weight of a square yard of fabric. Both quote the weight of the fabric itself prior to sealing the fabric to reduce the porosity. After coating and conversion to standard metric units, one typical variant of 3/4 oz spinnaker cloth, Fibermax 44, is 44 g/m², while the polyester I used is 42 g/m², or more or less the same.

For the spars, I used Easton Expedition-series aluminum 7075 backpacking-tent poles, using stiffer 0.355″ OD (0.025″ wall thickness) tubing for the spine and lighter 0.344″ OD (0.019″ wall thickness) tubing for the spreaders. The spine consists of four 14.5″ sections of tubing, three of which contain an insert tube on one end for connecting the sections together, yielding a 58″ spar. Each of the two spreads consists of two 14.5″ sections, each with an insert tube on one end, and a 16″ section without insert tubes in the center,⁴ yielding two 45″ spars. As the tube sections do not come in these lengths, they were cut down to size with a pipe cutter, and sections with insert tubes were ordered with the tubes preinstalled. The spars are assembled with aluminum dome tip tie offs on the ends and connected with 3/32″ elastic shock cord, which is rated down to −40°C (equal to −40°F).

Using Inkscape, I scaled the design to fit the kite and fabric for a four-yard-long fuzzy tail onto a two-yard section of 60″-wide custom-printed ripstop polyester, including a design based on the True South flag; extra fabric was used to sew an 18″ by 4″ drawstring bag for the kite. The corners where the spars attach, the locations where the bridle passes through the kite to the spreaders, and the locations where the spreaders cross the spine were reinforced with an additional piece of the ripstop polyester sewn on, after which the kite edges were folded over twice and sewn with a zig-zag stitch.

Brass grommets were installed for the bridle pass-throughs, and polyester rectangles were used to create sleeves where the spreaders cross the spine to secure the spine to the kite and the spreaders over it.⁵

To secure the bottom of the spine, a pocket was created using a folded-over section of 1″ polyester webbing and sewn to the kite, with a loop hanging off the end of the kite for attaching a tail.

For the top of the spine, a sleeve was created by sewing the edges of two sections of webbing on top of each other, with one side of hook-and-loop fastener on top, and sewn to the kite; the bottom section extends past the top of the kite and has the other side of the hook-and-loop fastener sewn to it, allowing it to be folded over the end of the spine and pulled tight, allowing the hook-and-loop fastener to be used to tension the kite fabric along the spine, which is installed in the pocket on the bottom end of the kite and slipped through the sleeves where spreaders cross and the sleeve on the top.

Similar sleeves are used for the ends of the spars, except that the hook-and-loop fastener is not installed on the top of the sleeve. Instead, additional sleeves, not sewn to the kite, were created by folding over sections of webbing, and the hook-and-loop fastener was sewn to these sleeves, which also had the end opposite the sleeve folded over and sewn to form a loop. The spreaders are slipped through the webbing sleeves on the ends, as well as the sleeves where they cross the spine, and the standalone sleeves are then slipped onto the ends. Braided line is used to attach the loops on the pairs of standalone sleeves to tension the spreaders, and the hook-and-loop fastener is used to attach the sleeves on the kite to the sleeves on the spreaders, allowing the kite fabric to be tensioned independently of the spreaders. The braided line is attached to one of the standalone sleeves with a figure-eight follow-through knot, with a figure-eight on-a-bight knot on the other end of the line; an alpine butterfly knot is placed along the line—which can be moved to adjust the spreader bow—and the end of the line is looped through the second standalone sleeve and attached to the alpine butterfly with a small quick link.⁶

The bridle is constructed from three sections of braided line. Each spreader has a line with a figure-eight on-a-bight knot on both ends of the line and one in the middle, with Prusik hitches used to attach the end loops to the spreader. The small loops in the middle of each spreader line are attached together with the third, main bridle line using a figure-eight follow-through knot on each end. An additional knot is placed along this section of line for attaching the main kite line using a quick link. The 5″-wide, four-yard-long fuzzy tail was constructed by sewing 3/8″ grosgrain ribbon down the center of the tail fabric using a zig-zag stitch and folding the end of the ribbon over on each end to make a loop. I then cut slits at 1″ intervals to make it fuzzy and attached it to the loop on the bottom of the kite using a small loop of braided line and lark’s head knots. It is approximately 1.0 m from the spreader attachment point to the center of the spreader line, and the line that connects the two spreader lines is approximately 2.5 m long. The completed kite weights approximately 370 g.

For the kite reel, I was again concerned about the performance of the typical mostly-plastic construction in the extreme cold. Thus, I opted to design a reel using a combination of a large 3D-printed ball bearing⁷ and laser-cut aluminum sheet parts. The 3D-printed parts were printed using PLA with a very high infill percentage and were designed to avoid bending moments. They were then tapped with 4-40 thread, and the reel was assembled using 4 mm stainless steel balls and button-head hex-drive screws. A round aluminum standoff and 8-32 socket-head cap screws were used to add a handle, and a ring-grip quick-release pin can be used to lock the reel. I sewed a couple of lengths of webbing into loops such that the lock-off reel can be attached to myself or fixed objects.

For kite line, I opted for braided high-modulus polyethylene line,⁸ sold as fishing line, as this type of line is lighter and thinner than the alternatives. Given the high cost of brand-name line, I opted for the cheaper alternatives available from Chinese vendors on eBay and Amazon, originally purchasing “200 lb” line on eBay. As I did not trust the sellers’ strength ratings, I load tested it using a heavy counterweight, a scale, and a chain hoist, and it failed at approximately half the rated capacity. After getting a refund,⁹ I then ordered “300 lb” line on Amazon, which is the strongest available. This did marginally better and failed at around 120 lb, although that was sufficient and was the strongest line available at a reasonable price. Except for what I used for the main bridle line, I installed the remainder of the 300 m of line on the reel (I used the “200 lb” line for the spreaders and the bridle spreader lines).¹⁰

In December, the day before I left for Antarctica, I took the T out to Wonderland and tested the kite at Revere Beach with 4–5″ of bow in the spreaders. Unfortunately, it was almost dead calm, but I was able to get the kite aloft during a gust and keep it in the air by walking upwind, showing that the kite flew well in extremely-light wind, although the kite line was not taught enough in this wind to attach a camera. Once at the South Pole, it took me several more attempts to get the kite flying reasonably well.¹¹ Unfortunately, the information found online about tuning this type of kite is contradictory.¹² Some folks say that both spreaders should have the same amount of bow, while others say that the bottom spreader should be bowed more; some folks recommend stiffer spreader spars for higher winds, while others recommend more-flexible ones. I eventually settled on 11–12″ of bow in both spreaders, which was considerably more than the 5–6″ I started with, based on what I read online. This was just enough bend to push the aluminum tubes into the plastic deformation regime and permanently bend the tubes (this didn’t happen with 10″ of bow). I found that placing the hitch point on the bridle 18 cm above the center point worked well; moving it up made the kite more unstable, and I couldn’t launch the kite if I moved it down. Originally, I used an alpine butterfly knot for the hitch attachment, although I ended up switching to a simple overhand loop, as it was quicker to tie in the cold; both worked equally well.

With this adjustment, the kite was at least reasonably stable in winds up to around 6 m/s, although it generally wasn’t stable enough for the camera if the wind was much above 5 m/s, particularly when walking the kite upwind; while the kite would fly in less wind, the kite line wasn’t taught enough to attach my camera below around 4 m/s, leaving only a small wind range where it worked well. There were only a couple of days with both appropriate wind and at least mostly-clear skies where I also had sufficient free time to fly the kite and camera.

To pack up the kite, the bow line assemblies are untensioned and removed, the spine spar is removed, and the spreader spars are folded but left attached to the bridle and centered between the grommets. The kite is then folded over the folded spreader spars, the tail is tucked in, the kite is rolled with the folded spine spar (and spreader spars) inside, and the remainder of the bridle is wrapped around the rolled kite. The rolled kite is then placed in its bag, and the bow line assemblies are placed in a separate bag.

The kite had no problems with the cold—although I can’t say the same thing about my fingers when flying it, particularly when I needed to take off my gloves to deal with the camera—so it was a success in that regard. However, in retrospect, a parafoil would have probably been a better option, since there were significantly more days with clear skies and good visibility with wind speeds too fast for this kite than there were days where the wind speed was in this kite’s ideal range. During the two months I was at the Pole, the wind speed was in the 4–5 m/s ideal range only around 20% of the time¹³ and even less time when the skies were also clear. During the same period, the wind was in the 4–7 m/s range, which should work for a parafoil kite, around 50% of the time; while a parafoil kite could work at even higher wind speeds, there is frequently blowing snow obstructing visibility at that point. The spreader spars on this kite appear to be significantly stiffer than what I’ve seen in videos of similar kites, and I suspect that may have hurt its stability in higher winds, since the kite can’t flex to bleed off the extra force from the wind. Furthermore, this kite required a lot more tweaking and adjustment than I would have liked, as my interests lie in aerial photography, not kites; I suspect a commercially-available parafoil kite would require less adjustment.

Details of my camera setup and photos from the kite will follow in a subsequent blog post, as this post is already quite long. I’ve uploaded the design files for this kite, although I know very little about kites, and this kite only worked well in a very narrow wind speed range, so I’m not sure I’d recommend using them. I’ve also uploaded the design files for the kite reel.

1. It was recommended as a replacement for a similar parafoil kite that had also been discontinued, two decades ago.  ↩

2. But only if adjusted correctly, which turned out to be an issue.  ↩

3. There is even a design that was previously used in Antarctica.  ↩

4. Since the joints are the weakest point, it is recommended to avoid having the spreaders cross the spine at a joint on either spar.  ↩

5. The edges of these should have been folded over to prevent tearout, which I later had to fix.  ↩

6. The cutoff lengths of aluminum tube came in handy as handles to pull on the loop on the end of the braided line without the quick link when bending the spreaders; the quick link served as the second handle.  ↩

7. Based on the designs in this video.  ↩

8. Also referred to as UHMWPE, Dyneema, or Spectra.  ↩

9. When I first ordered the line, the seller provided a fraudulent USPS tracking number and instead shipped the item from China, despite what the listing said. During the refund process, the seller tried to get me to contact them outside eBay’s messaging system and then tried to get me to pay for return shipping with the promise of reimbursement, which I assume wouldn’t have happened. When I insisted that they send me a shipping label, they instead processed the refund without having me return the item.  ↩

10. I did not verify the length, so I don’t know if the seller also lied about it.  ↩

11. Including one where I cut my chin open on the laser-cut aluminum edge of the kite reel and needed stitches; I started wearing a neck gaiter while flying the kite after that.  ↩

12. It’s also difficult to look up with the Pole’s extremely-slow and intermittent internet access.  ↩

13. Per SPT’s weather station on DSL.  ↩

#!/bin/bash
# Make Git prompt for SSH username
# M. Petroff, 2024-12
if [[ $1 = "-G" ]]
then
  # Handle Git's SSH variant test
  ssh "$@"
else
  # Prompt for username
  read -p "Username: " user </dev/tty
  ssh -l "$user" "$@"
fi

There are two peculiarities here to keep in mind. First, stdin and stdout cannot be used, so input redirection needs to be used with read to get input directly from the terminal (/dev/tty), similar to what SSH itself does; with the -p flag, read writes to stderr, which is okay. With this resolved, there were mysterious issues with either the username prompt being displayed twice or with needing to press “enter” to see the prompt, depending on the exact details of the then work-in-progress script. I eventually realized this was due to Git’s SSH variant checking, which first calls the GIT_SSH command with the -G argument to figure out which variant of SSH is in use. While this check can be avoided by setting GIT_SSH_VARIANT explicitly, it was easy enough to handle the check in the shell script.

Leaving around 4 am, we encountered no traffic until shortly before reaching our destination, the Bigelow Preserve, where we were stuck in stop-and-go traffic for 15–20 minutes; the traffic was trying to turn into the access road for the Sugarloaf ski resort, which was backed up. Due to a lack of winter road maintenance on Stratton Brook Pond Road, we parked on ME-27, where the Appalachian Trail crosses it; as it was a busy day on the trail, the parking lot was full, and we parked on the side of the road. We started hiking shortly after 9 am carrying our snowshoes but quickly decided to put them on. There appeared to be at least a foot of snow on the ground, and the trail was a bit icy at this point, with a satisfying crunching noise while walking, although the snow became much softer as the day went on and temperatures rose well above freezing. When the Appalachian Trail started to climb the mountain, which was quite steep at times, the several layers we were wearing became much too warm, and we both stripped down to just a t-shirt for the remainder of the climb.

As we gained elevation, the snowpack increased, to the point it was burying—or almost burying—the trail blazes at times. While the path others had taken before us was easy to follow, it wasn’t always actually on the trail, due to the difficult-to-find blazes, so we broke new trail in the snow in a few spots to return to the actual trail. Even when we were on the trail, it often involved pushing through fir branches—dripping with melting snow—since the snow was so deep such that we were above the region clear of branches. Once we reached the small, unnamed peak just east of The Horns Pond, we were rewarded with our first scenic viewpoint.

From here, it was downhill to the pond, before more uphill to South Peak, one half of The Horns. Next, there was significant downhill before the final climb to West Peak, where we broke out above the tree line and reached the summit around an hour before totality and around five and half hours after starting the hike.

At the summit, there was a brisk wind, so we quickly put on several layers, including winter coats, before eating lunch. There were also two to three dozen people at West Peak for the eclipse, and we could see more to the east on Avery Peak; some of these folks seemed rather ill equipped for the conditions, without snowshoes or even crampons (and there was one guy wearing sneakers). We decided to backtrack downhill slightly east and head south of the ridgeline to avoid the crowds and get in the lee of the ridgeline. Here, we began to set up our gear, which involved cutting out and compacting a ledge in the steep, snow-covered slope. As with the last eclipse, I used a 70-300mm telephoto lens at 300mm with a 2x teleconverter (and a 3D-printed solar filter holder) on a 1.6x-crop-factor camera (although a newer camera than last time) and also used my Ricoh Theta Z1 panoramic camera (instead of my Theta S like last time). Instead of bringing a full tripod, I brought just the head from my tripod and a small makeshift tripod I made the day before out of three 18″-long, 1″-square, birch dowels and a 3D-printed plastic junction. This was much lighter and fit inside my day pack, along with a monopod for the panoramic camera, which I jammed into the snow, but it was still a very-heavy day pack between all of the camera equipment, water, extra layers, etc. The setup process was a bit rushed, and I only finished a few minutes before totality began. Thus, I didn’t have time to carefully focus my lens on sunspots and had to rely on autofocus, which ended up being slightly off (and my brother was also slightly off on the focus of the telescope he brought).

The trip and climb were well worth it. Not only were there perfect skies and amazing scenery, but you could see the moon’s shadow approach and then leave over the landscape, and there was a great view of the horizon and the sunset-like sky above it.

Afterward, we sat around and watched the sun for a bit before packing everything up and starting to head down, around an hour after totality. We were the last to leave, besides a couple and their dog. Instead of going down the way we came, we took the steeper and more direct—and thus shorter—blue-blazed Fire Warden’s Trail. In particular, this trail did not go over any other peaks, so it was all downhill until the base of the mountain, after which there were some rolling hills and an uphill to reach the road and the parked car; this was important, as I was rather sore at this point, particularly with the heavy day pack and the unusual gait required with the snowshoes. After passing four or five people on the trail, we became stuck behind a dozen or so (what I assume were) undergrads in some sort of organized group—some of whom were rather timid about the steep downhill on soft snow and thus pretty much stopped; after they let us pass, we were able to make reasonably-fast progress the rest of the way down the mountain, although I was sore and thus slow on the uphill sections after that (and was definitely slowing my brother down). We made it back to the car at dusk, around 8 pm, roughly three and a half hours after leaving the summit and eleven hours after beginning the hike.² In total, the hike was 14–15 miles long, with several thousand feet of elevation gain.

After the hike, we stopped at Sugarloaf for my brother to go for his daily run, where there was bumper-to-bumper traffic leaving; clearly, Sugarloaf held some sort of event after the eclipse, since it was dark, and they don’t have night skiing. When we left Sugarloaf, the traffic was gone, although we eventually caught up to it. Once we stopped for dinner, that traffic was also gone, and we encountered no other traffic on the return trip, for what ended up being a very long day trip.

1. I was carefully checking both the ECMWF cloud forecast online and loading the NWS National Blend of Models into QGIS, with roads, borders, and the region of totality overlaid. ↩

2. The folks we passed on the way down clearly did not make it back before dark (although the undergrad group looked like they might have been planning on camping), and there were still several cars parked along the road when we left. ↩

As one might imagine, getting to Antarctica is difficult, both due to the remoteness and the harsh environment. To start, I flew commercial from Boston to Christchurch, New Zealand, via San Francisco and Auckland, which requires 19–20 hours of flights, plus layovers.² The next day, I arrived at USAP’s clothing distribution center (CDC), just outside the Christchurch airport, for COVID testing, a brief introductory presentation, and to try on the program-issued extreme cold weather (ECW) gear. At this point, we learned that our “ice flight,” our flight from Christchurch to McMurdo Station, was scheduled for three days later. McMurdo Station is the largest research station in Antarctica, and it serves as USAP’s primary base on the continent; all personnel and cargo headed to the South Pole pass through McMurdo. All personnel head to McMurdo, as well as New Zealand’s adjacent Scott Base, pass through Christchurch. While we had a couple days in Christchurch, we were under strict isolation instructions due to COVID, although I did get to walk downtown and see the lovely Christchurch Botanical Garden.

After some additional training held online and another COVID test the day before our flight, we were ready to depart. The day started with waking up well before dawn and calling the flight status hotline to ensure the flight was not delayed. Due to the harsh and unpredictable environment, flights are frequently delayed due to weather or mechanical issues. Upon arrival at the CDC, we donned our full ECW—in case of a flight emergency—and proceeded to check in. We were weighed along with our luggage, such that extra cargo could be added right up to the weight limit. Most of our cargo was packed onto pallets, with the exception of a small carry-on bag. One checked bag was designated a “boomerang bag,” which we would get back in case the weather deteriorated at McMurdo and the flight had to “boomerang” and return to Christchurch, becoming a very long flight to nowhere. There was then enough waiting time to grab something for breakfast at the nearby supermarket, after which we were bussed onto the tarmac to board our flight. As I was flying in early-to-mid December, this was on an NZDF C-130 aircraft; early in the season, flights are primarily on USAF C-17 aircraft, but as temperatures rise and the runway softens, this switches to lighter NZDF C-130 aircraft and finally to ski-equipped NY ANG LC-130 aircraft. Next came the >7 hour flight to McMurdo, which, while uneventful, was loud, uncomfortable, and packed full with both personnel and cargo pallets. As we proceeded south, sea ice began to appear, and then we finally saw the outer reaches of the Antarctic continent (the C-130 only has a few small windows, so folks had to take turns looking out).

Finally, we landed at Phoenix Airfield on the McMurdo Ice Shelf and were then driven to McMurdo Station in the Kress Transporter for our arrival briefing. In the summer, the air temperature at McMurdo hovers around freezing, so a flannel shirt, fleece jacket, and windbreaker—along with a wool hat and gloves—were enough to stay comfortable outside (at least if one wasn’t just standing around). After an initial “night” in Building 140,³ we were tested for COVID again, and I then settled into my home for the next two weeks, a room in the Hotel California (HoCal) dorm, with a lovely view of McMurdo Sound, Mount Discovery, and the Royal Society Range.

We were scheduled for five days of quarantine, but once that was up, the weather finally improved at the West Antarctic Ice Sheet (WAIS) Divide field camp, after the better part of a month, so the LC-130 aircraft were prioritized for trips there. The South Pole was a backup destination the entire week, which meant in addition to not flying, we also had to live out of our single carry-on bag, since the rest of our luggage was on pallets ready to be loaded should the weather at WAIS deteriorate. Although unplanned and uncertain, the extended stay in McMurdo was not all bad, as I got to go hiking in the vicinity of McMurdo; see Discovery Hut, built for Scott’s Discovery expedition and also used for his ill-fated Terra Nova expedition; and see the launch of the SPIDER balloon-borne telescope. For the latter, we were not allowed to take the shuttle vans out to the Long Duration Ballooning (LDB) facility for the launch as we were quarantining, so I borrowed a fat-tire bike and biked the 13–14 miles round trip to near the LDB facility and Williams Field, a.k.a. Willy Field, to get a closer view of the launch. I also got to see plenty of seals and skuas,⁴ as well as a single Adélie penguin off Hut Point, probably the first Spheniscidae visitor of the season.

As we had still not flown by December 23, we were stuck for the weekend. Normally, Saturday is a work day in Antarctica, but Christmas was observed on the 24th, so in addition to there being no flights, we also couldn’t take part in the festivities as we were in isolation. On Monday, we were finally the primary flight and were driven to Willy Field for our flight to the Pole.⁵ After a few hours waiting around the airfield for mechanical issues with the LC-130 aircraft to be addressed,⁶ we boarded the aircraft and began to taxi. Unfortunately, the aircraft was still having issues with its hydraulics, so we deplaned and returned to McMurdo for another night. On Tuesday, December 27, we returned to Willy Field. During the ride to the airfield, it was unclear if the weather would hold, but it ended up cooperating and we quickly boarded the LC-130 soon after we arrived and departed for the South Pole.

After a three-hour flight, we landed at Amundsen–Scott South Pole Station’s Jack F. Paulus Skiway and taxied to the ramp adjacent to the station, where we deplaned with the props still spinning as the cold makes it difficult to start the engines. Here, the weather was much colder, so the ECW gear was very much necessary; it is also very, very, very dry. After an arrival briefing and lunch, I went straight to work, helping with the installation of a detector module that a colleague on my flight had carried. Other than the day I left in February, I went out to the “Dark Sector,” which has restrictions on radio transmitters, to work on the telescopes every day, specifically in the Dark Sector Laboratory (DSL) and Martin A. Pomerantz Observatory (MAPO) buildings. In addition to assembly, installation, and calibration work on BICEP receivers, I also overhauled the computers running the BICEP3 telescope, which was the primary reason for me to deploy.

The South Pole Station is located at ~2800 m (~9300′) elevation, on the desolate Polar Plateau, with nothing besides the Station for hundreds of miles. Despite the extreme conditions outside, life in the current elevated station is pretty normal, once you get used to the fact that the sun never sets during the summer. Meals are served in the galley, although without any fresh fruit or vegetables most of the time, and the berthing wings consist of single-occupancy dorm rooms, albeit very small ones. There’s a science lab, gym, post office, store, medical clinic, laundry room, music room, arts & crafts room, sauna, greenhouse, and a couple lounges. However, there’s severe water rationing, with a limit of four minutes of shower water a week, typically a pair of two-minute showers, and one load of laundry. Internet access is also extremely limited; depending on which—if any—geostationary satellite is visible, it ranges from very slow and high latency to practically unusable to no access at all.⁷ Although I missed Christmas dinner being stuck in McMurdo, I did get to attend the New Year’s Eve party, held outside due to COVID, and the yearly Geographic Pole remarking ceremony on New Year’s Day.⁸ Thanks to the unique weather, sun dogs and related atmospheric optical phenomena are frequently visible.

As the end of the summer season neared in February, temperatures began to dip below −40°, with the wind chill pushing it significantly lower. I left the Pole on an LC-130 on February 15, the last flight out for the season, with around two dozen others; due to the extreme cold, there are no flights in or out until late October or early November, and the 40-ish people on the Station right now are isolated from the rest of the world. After arriving at Willy Field at McMurdo, we took “Ivan” the Terra Bus straight to Phoenix Airfield to wait for our flight to Christchurch. Our C-17 landed during the drive between the airfields, and after waiting a couple hours on the ice waiting for cargo to be unloaded and loaded, including a helicopter, we boarded the aircraft for a five-hour flight off the Ice.⁹

Upon arriving in Christchurch, it was dark and raining, a significant change from Antarctica. In addition to the sound of the rain, the humidity, the sounds of birds and insects, and the presence of smells¹⁰ are the drastic differences one notices upon leaving the Ice. After returning my ECW gear at the CDC and arriving at my hotel very late, I took a very long hot shower and went to bed. I had arranged for two extra days in Christchurch, so the next morning I booked a hotel room for the next two nights; the hotel room for the initial night was booked for me by USAP, and given the prevalence for flight delays to and from Antarctica, making arrangements in advance is risky. The first day, I visited the Christchurch Botanical Garden a second time, visited the Christchurch Art Gallery, and took a public bus out to go hiking in the Port Hills between Christchurch and Lyttelton. The next day, I took a bus to Lyttelton and a ferry across Lyttelton Harbour to Diamond Harbour and hiked to the summit of Mount Herbert, the tallest peak on the Banks Peninsula. The scenery was gorgeous, although it did rain a bit that morning. The next day was the long return trip to Boston.

I’ve uploaded more photos of both Antarctica and New Zealand to albums on Flickr.

1. And, yes, I got back almost six month ago and am just writing this blog post now. ↩

2. I had a very long layover in Auckland, although this did allow me to take public transit downtown and see parts of Auckland. ↩

3. The sun never set in my two months in Antarctica. ↩

4. Skuas are essentially large brown seagulls. ↩

5. Phoenix Airfield is a compacted-snow runway used for wheeled aircraft, while Willy Field is a skiway used for ski-equipped aircraft. ↩

6. We fortunately could spend time in the airfield galley and also got a tour of the control tower. ↩

7. Besides 24/7 email access on certain shared accounts, over Iridium. ↩

8. Due to movement of the ice sheet, the location of the Geographic South Pole moves relative to the Station. ↩

9. Unfortunately, this meant I did not get to see any more penguins. ↩

10. Not smelling much at the South Pole is probably a good thing, given the dearth of showers. ↩