Merry
Christmas America! In this season of hope
and the heart, I wish you every good grace and special moment for your family
and loved ones. This moment, two
thousand and nine years ago, a baby arrived into the world to teach us about
forgiveness, trust, love, kindness and how to treat our fellow human beings
around the globe.
From the
looks of things over the centuries, we haven’t done so well in the realm of
world peace and good will toward each other. However, Christ’s work springs eternal.
During my
lifetime, I have enjoyed Christmas in the Outback of Australia by a campfire. I
have enjoyed Christmas along a mountain stream in the Andes. During one Christmas, I gazed at Mount
Everest from my perch high in the Himalaya. Today, I would like to share with you an uncommon Christmas moment
during my adventure in Antarctica. It
comes from my book: An Extreme Encounter: Antarctica. I hope it warms your heart and I wish you a
Merry Christmas:
In the
morning, a whiteout howled across McMurdo Station, Antarctica with 100 mile per
hour winds and minus 80 degree temperatures. I had been confined to my barracks for two days as a 'Condition One'
storm worked its way over the icepack before me.
By late
evening, the weather turned placid but a biting minus 60 degree temperature
kept most people inside. I, however,
bundled into my cold weather gear--insulated boots, heavy mittens, five Thermax
layers, fleece, three hats, face protection, along with ski goggles--and headed
out the door to ride my bicycle over the ice runway.
Yes, there
were bicycles at the scientific station for me to ride. There was a report of some emperor penguins
on the ice. I HAD to see them no matter
what the cold. I jumped on the bike
looking like an over-stuffed bear with all my cold weather gear on. My breath vaporized as I rode toward the
ice-covered ocean. My lungs burned with
each inhalation of polar cold. About a
mile around the cove, the setting sun glinted off the roof of Robert Falcon
Scott's Discovery Hut. He had died 90
years ago on his last attempt to reach the South Pole. The Hut had stood on the point of McMurdo
Sound since 1902. It gave mute testimony
to the courage those men displayed in their polar adventures. This was a cold, miserable place.
I rode along
a path that led toward the ice pack in the sound. It's hard to describe pack-ice, but it's
jumbled-broken ice chards being heaved and smashed into multiple
shapes-triangles, domes, squares, tubulars, and wedges--like an Erector Set
gone crazy. However, near the shore, it
was reasonably smooth with a thin veneer of snow from the blizzard.
Above me, a
gold/purple sky glowed brazenly in its final glory into the crevasses of the
Royal Society Range across the sound. For once, a rare quiet softened the bitter edge of the crystal white
desert before me. One of the glaciers,
more than ten miles across at its terminus radiated liquid gold from the
setting sun. Pushing through some
shallow snow drifts, I sank pedal deep, until I pulled through and gained the
edge of the ice. Even with polar weather
gear protecting my body, the numbing cold crept through the air, as if it were
trying to find a way into my being.
The bike
frame creaked at the cold and the tires made a popping sound on the snow I
pedaled over. The big boots made it
hard to keep on the pedals. But I persevered and kept moving forward. Across the ice, I looked through the sunlight
and saw four black figures approaching. I shaded my eves with my gloved hand. They drew closer, their bodies back-lit by the sun on the horizon. It was a family of Emperor penguins. I dismounted from my bike. From our survival classes, I learned to sit
down so as not to frighten them. By
appearing smaller than them, they might find me interesting.
Slowly, I
lowered myself into the snow, cross-legged, like an Indian chief. Minute by minute, they waddled
closer--straight toward me. Three big
birds, about 80 pounds each kept moving dead-on in my direction. The smallest followed behind them.
Another
minute passed and they were within 30 feet of me. The lead Emperor carried himself like a
king. His silky black head-color swept
down the back of his body and through his tail. A bright crayon yellow/orange streaked along his beak like a Nike logo. A
sort of pink line ran along the outside of his beak. Under his cheek, soft aspirin-white feathers
poured downward, glistening in lanolin. His wings were black on the outside and mixed with black/white on the
front. He stood at least 40 inches tall
and his enormous three-toed feet were a gray reptilian roughness with blunted
talons sticking out. He rolled his head,
looking at me in a cockeyed fashion, as if I was the strangest creature he'd
ever seen.
I don't know
what made me do it, but I slipped my right hand out of the glove and moved it
toward him--slowly. The rest of the
penguins closed in. The big guy stuck
his beak across the palm of my hand and twisted his head, as if to scratch
himself against my skin. I felt glossy
feathers against my hand. He uttered a
muffled coo. The rest of the penguins
cooed. Their mucus membranes slid like
liquid soap over their eves every few seconds. I stared back, wanting to say something to them, but realized I could
not speak their language. However, at
that moment, we shared a consciousness of living.
My frozen
breath vapors hung in the air briefly before descending as crystals toward the
ground. I battled to keep from bursting
with excitement. Within seconds, one of
the other penguins pecked my new friend on the rump. He drew back. With that he turned and waddled away. Following the elders, the little one gave one last look at me, as if be
too wanted to scratch my hand, but was afraid, and turned with his
friends. As they retreated, their wings
were out, away from their bodies like children trying to catch the wind in
their arms. The baby Emperor was last to
go.
My hand
turned numb so I stuck it back into the glove. As I sat there, I remembered once when a hummingbird landed on my
finger--and I remembered the sheer delicacy Nature shared with me that warm
spring day in the mountains. Here, in
this frozen wasteland beyond the borders of my imagination where man does not
belong, Nature touched me again today with its pulsing heart and living
warmth. I only hope my species learns as
much respect for our fellow travelers as they show toward us.
I stood up,
tightened my hood and looked for the penguins. They were gone. Only the pack ice
rumbled toward the horizon. I turned to
my bike. It’s hard to believe that two
rubber tires laced together with spokes and rims—and attached to a metal frame
could carry me from the Amazon Jungle, to Death Valley, across the Australian
Outback, from the Arctic Ocean in Norway all the way to where the bolt goes
into the bottom of the globe. That
simple machine lying in the frozen snow had taken me to far flung places on
this planet and it had allowed me magical moments beyond description. That moment
with the penguins probably was the best it had ever done by me. I remounted it and turned toward the
barracks.
The ride
back didn't seem so cold.
##
