Upon my arrival back in McMurdo, I search out Commander Wheeler of the Coast Guard to learn the status of the Polar Star. Earlier in the season I had asked if I could be on his volunteer lines-handling crew. He had agreed and I attended the training, aware as usual of my suspect role as the artist-in-residence. At times I feel as if people allow me to think I am participating when all along they are covering my every move. Once I accidentally wander, with my camera perched prominently on my chest, into an off-limits zone in McMurdo. It's very cold and I've covered every inch of skin. Even so, I am approached within seconds of entering the off-limits zone by someone who knows who I am, identifies me by my full name, and escorts me out of there.
Still, I try very hard to overcome my greenhorn status and I intend to be an exemplary lines-handler. The day the Polar Star is spotted on the horizon, I receive a message to be on the lookout for the icebreaker's arrival in Winter Quarters Bay, the small harbor alongside McMurdo Station, some time in the next few days. I am to report to the ice pier as soon as I see the ship drawing near.
The ice pier at McMurdo Station is one of only two in the entire world, the other being in Siberia. During the winter, workers set up a big rectangular enclosure on top of the sea ice, and then they pump a layer of water into this oversized tray. After the layer of water freezes they pump in another layer. They keep adding layers of water, and letting them freeze, until there is one huge ice cube sitting on top of the sea ice. The ice pier is secured to the shore by ropes and deeply sunk columns. Finally, a layer of soil is spread on top of the ice pier for traction. During the summer when all the sea ice melts, the big ice cube remains floating. It is strong enough for ships to tie up to. It is also strong enough to hold container trucks that drive right out onto the ice pier to get loads of cargo from the ships.
The Polar Star can be seen for several days before it arrives. It proceeds slowly, having not only to cut through the thick sea ice, but also to travel back and forth in the path it has already cut to keep the ice from freezing over again. Like everyone in town, I'm excited about its imminent arrival.
Then an unfortunate thing happens. A storm far to the north sends giant sea swells that surge under the ice pier and crack it right in half.
I walk down to Hut Point, the small peninsula that wraps like an arm around Winter Quarters Bay, to see the damage for myself. The sea is still heaving under the ice, and the pier rises and falls, rises and falls, as water gushes up through the big crack that divides it in two pieces. In the distance, I see the Polar Star approaching.
Over the next couple of days, Commander Wheeler's crew works to mend the broken pier. First they try to pour water into the crack, hoping that it will freeze and thereby "glue" the two pieces together. This does not work. So they drive stakes into the ice on either side of the crack and then wind cable back and forth from one stake to another, stitching the crack right up. I return to the pier that evening to see the repair. Water still floods up through the crack. I can't quite believe it will be strong enough to endure the container truck traffic. There is really no choice, though. The Green Wave, which follows the Polar Star into port, must be unloaded. Otherwise, the station will be without supplies for the year.
I finally get the call that the Polar Star will arrive within twenty-four hours. As a lines-handler, I am requested to keep a sharp eye out all day. I check the horizon every few minutes, and the ship always appears to be a great distance away. I think I'm being vigilant, so I'm astonished when I look early in the evening and see that the vessel has already pulled up to the pier. I'm late.
I jump into my extreme cold weather gear and sprint down the long road to the ice pier, the entire route of my run in full view of the rest of the lines-handlers and Commander Wheeler. He stands on the pier at midship with his arms folded across his chest, mirrored aviator glasses hiding his eyes, looking every bit the commander. Not a word to me as I arrive late and panting and take my position on the pier with the crew at the stern of the ship. I feel like the exact artist-in-resident I've heard jokes about and been warned against being. There's nothing to do but try my best now that I have arrived.
Stepping out on that big floating ice cube—with a crack down the middle of it—is unnerving. Staring up at the Polar Star from the vantage of the ice pier is downright daunting. The vessel looks unnaturally huge and unwieldy. The lines that we will use to tie up the ship are bigger around than my arm. With a Coast Guard mate overseeing me and the rest of the crew at the stern, I stand on the pier and wait for the sailor onboard to pitch out the first line.
I try to remember everything that I've been told. I'm not to catch the rope ball at the end of the line. Doing so would badly hurt my hands. Instead, I am to hold my arms out straight so that the line will fall over my arms.
That part I do fine. After the line lands on the pier, my team pulls it as hard as we can, tug-of-war style, until we are able loop it over the cleat. The trick is to not let any of the line fall into the water. It does kiss the sea for a moment, but we keep hauling on the rope, and the mate in charge doesn't scold us. In fact, she commends us. A second line is thrown, and we catch it. This time the mate orders, "Now, dip the line."
I'm excited that I remember that "dip the line" means to slip it under the first line before putting it over the cleat. So I drag the big line, stepping over the first one, and start to "dip" it.
"No, Lucy, no," the mate barks at me. "Get away from there!"
I leap away from the line. Someone else grabs it and hooks it over the cleat.
I don't know what I have done wrong, but I don't have to wait long to find out.
She growls, "What if the ship had surged? That line you stepped over would have popped up. It could have sliced you in half. I've seen it happen."
Later, after the Polar Star is all tied up, the mate puts an arm around my shoulders and smiles. "Nice job, Lucy." She's kind, but of course I hadn't done a very nice job at all. In fact, people say, "No, Lucy, no!" so many times while I am in Antarctica that a friend who drives a bulldozer at Williams Airfield makes me a plaque that reads,
LUCY BLEDSOE
GUEST WRITER
MCMURDO, ANTARCTICA
"NO, LUCY, NO!"
Even so, I pass some kind of muster because I'm offered the Antarctic pièce de résistance: a trip to the South Pole. I had been told when planning my adventures on the Ice that a trip to the Pole was highly unlikely, and that if it did work out, I should expect to fly in and out on the same day. Bed space is extremely tight at the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station. But I learn that I'll be staying for an entire week. Mysteries in Antarctica are limitless and I am learning, slowly, to ask fewer questions, to just accept.
