Last night we hit CON1 [my third time this season]. The group pulled together well and actually had a really fun time huddling together in the few heated structures after an amazing dinner [the chefs were outside grilling in some of the most miserable weather imaginable!].
Everyone stayed up late into the night [though the sun never sets] huddled around the stoves; booze and enchanting stories flowed freely. It was a magic experience, one I won’t soon forgot – perhaps never be able to replicate either.
It is a bipolar experience being here. There is the amazement and joy of actually being here – out in the deep field of the seventh continent, with some of the most fascinating rough neck seasonal vagabonds imaginable. And then there is the realization that this may be the high point in my itinerant/seasonal life that I used to dream of; is it all down-hill from here? Is this a 31 year olds midlife crisis?
Shoveling out the vestibule helps provide focus. It is the meditation most commonly practiced here on the ice.