It’s February 1st. That means next month I’m off to Antarctica. That’s crazy to think about. After literally years on the waiting list, I’m finally going to be setting out and eventually setting sail for the last continent on earth.
I’m still ever so slowly gathering layers and supplies for the adventure. Just the other day I received my parka that makes me look like Wentworth Miller as Leonard Snart AKA Captain Cold in Greg Berlanti’s DC Comics Tele-Verse.
Whoa. Sorry about that. I dropped an awful lot of names there. I hope I didn’t hurt anybody — I’ll pick those up shortly. I guess the weight was too much for me. I’ve been increasingly concerned about weight these past few weeks — both physical, emotional baggage, and most recently cargo luggage.
The last is due to my latest video watchings. With Antarctica looming, I’ve been going through a 1985 docudrama series called “The Last Place on Earth.” It chronicles the race to be the first explorers to the South Pole. In 1910/1911/1912, one expedition is led by the very British Captain Robert F. Scott and the other is a Norwegian team led by Roald Amundsen. The most recent episode I watched had Scott complaining to his Quartermaster that his pony sled was overloaded and overweighted more than anyone else’s; he insisted to know why this was the case. He sends the befuddled Quartermaster out into an Antarctic storm to check the gear and Scott then confides to his companion that he wanted to make sure the men knew who was in charge. In short, Scott’s a huge jerk, rivaling that of the abusive Captain Bligh on the HMS Bounty.
I should note that my brother Steve is a pretty big Bounty enthusiast and once recounted to me years ago how Bligh essentially navigated back a dingy to civilization once his crew mutinied and ultimately he returned to prominence. His reputation was none the worse for wear due to the mutiny and indeed given his skill at returning from crew-imposed exile one could argue his seamanship was unparalleled in the annals of Naval history. The reality of historical accuracy and the fantasy of Hollywood filmmaking with its narrative expediency and emotion do not always jibe.
My point is that perhaps Scott was a better leader than he’s being depicted in this docudrama; but even if we discount some of his actions as a matter of style rather than an indictment of competency, there is far too much done by Scott that is incompetent even to my untrained Antarctic eye. He relies on ponies and manual sled pulling; his plan for the expedition is ill-considered and arrogant. And it seems to me he would have a hard time leading his men to a stripper pole on Bourbon Street let along to the South Pole in Antarctica.
I debated a lot about that last phrasing. I thought about a barber pole in Seville, or a pole in a vaulting competition or decathlon. Nothing quite worked with the right pizzazz. And I know if you have to explain the joke you’ve more than already lost; you’ve failed even rudimentary comedy class. But I wasn’t so much going for a joke as I was attempting a witty turn of phrase. I failed in that too though. Ah, well.
But I digress. This is all about weight. And as I pile items for Antarctica in the corner of my room and mind, I wonder about what I’m taking and what I’m forgetting. I worry it’s all too heavy or not enough layers, that no matter what I bring I’ll still be freezing and ill-prepared.
Marathon Tours, in charge of the majority of the trip’s logistics, provided a packing list. I can’t recall if I’ve included that previously. If so, excuse the repetition. If not, here it is. I find it both comforting and oddly terrifying.
They also just released a photo of the official participant running shirts — they’re not half bad.
The countdown is on. I’ve got a few races between now and then but truth be told, my mind is forever voyaging to the southern hemisphere, to that last continent marathon, and to the summer climes of Antarctica.
Adventure awaits. I just hope I’m more Amundsen than Scott.
SPOILER ALERT: Scott dies in the end. Hey, it’s old news. History almost by definition is spoiler filled, am I right?