Arriving in Antarctica

18 December 2007
4:50 a.m. William called me. "Did you get the phone call?" "No." "Me neither, I guess I'll go back to sleep."

5:00 a.m. Brent called. Be in the lobby at ten to six. Bring your passport.

We're leaving for Antarctica, finally. Officially, my world record attempt is over, having expired at 6:17 local time last night. Aroud 7:30, we boarded a Russian Iluyshin plane. Not your normal commercial flight. The whole plane is open, no panels on the ceiling, overhead cranes on rails running down each side. Stacked down the center is all the cargo, strapped down by cargo nets and tarps. A big snow cat in the back, about the width of a semi truck.

There were rows of seats running along each side of the plane. We strapped ourselves in for the 4.5 hour flight to the Patriot Hills.

Seat backs and tray tables? No problem. There weren't any. Just the bench-like seats where we would hang out for the next few hours. At 12:40 we got the word: "Get your gear on, we're about to land.

It was nearly a half-mile walk from the blue-ice runway across to the camp. Soon though, they came along with a big tractor and wagon that we all jumped on. We met at the Patriot Hills camp dining tent for a lunch and a briefing. Steve Jones, the camp manager, gave us a briefing. We're now in a world that few people will ever be. About 800 meters (2600 feet) above sea level. 500 meters of that is snow and ice.

The dining tent is a long, arched tent with the kitchen area in the back. It's where we'll eat, read, fellowship for the next few days. Accommodations were in clam-shell tents, plenty roomy with two beds in each one. Quite nice. Brent and I teamed up--we're used to each other and know that we can sleep in the same room.