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180 degree turnabout in the small radius that had already been checked out for hidden crevasses. The ski attached to the front wheel easily guided the massive bulk of the aircraft as it slid effortlessly on the crust of the frozen surface. It was always impressive to see how deftly these Navy LC-130 pilots maneuvered the bulky machine back into the path of the ski trail.
    The engines roared, and the backwash from the powerful turbo-props sent what little powdery snow was there into the air like a big puffy cloud, and the wind instantly carried it away in swirls. The aircraft lumbered slowly at first, then picked up considerable speed until finally it lifted like a great bird rising off the surface of the glacier. It was an awesome sight as the silver machine contrasted against the subtle blue sky, heading back to McMurdo. It would be five weeks before they saw the plane again.
    Almost immediately upon lift off, Mike Ruger was zipping along the ski track following behind the plane. Once at the end of the track—which had been the beginning when the plane landed—Ruger drove a brightly colored pole into the ice off to the side of the ski tracks to mark the end of the runway. Five weeks from now, barring any major storm, the pole would be the landing marker for the incoming pilot. When the plane arrived and circled in a holding pattern awaiting confirmation that the runway was still safe, Ruger would make one last run down the tracks to make sure no crevasses had opened in the five week interval. Then he’d light a flare next to the pole. Even if the pole had somehow been knocked down by the winds, Ruger had the distance marked off as a back-up. It was always possible for a hidden crevasse to be just a few yards beyond the end of the ski track. You took no chances out here on The Ice , no matter how insignificant it seemed.
    As the days and weeks passed, the camp location Ruger had chosen proved to be logistically ideal, as the team of researchers were able to fan out in all directions without much of a hassle. The twelve foot tall pyramidal teepees—called Scott tents after the famous Antarctic explorer—stood out on the glacial plain as the only evidence of human habitation. Two men each lived in a tent, and in spite of the perpetual below zero temperatures, the team lived in moderate comfort. Not like back home at McMurdo, but acceptable considering the elements they were facing in the best interests of science.
    The winds were interminable in Antarctica. Here in this region they were called katabatic winds , howling winds that came down off the glacier slopes sometimes with such intensity that you began to think the Scott tents weren’t going to hold up. Katabatic winds were gravity-induced by the ice itself. The air became super-cooled far inland high up in elevation on the polar plateau, and as it rolled unimpeded down toward the oceans, it met with the relatively warmer air currents coming in off the water. The effect often caused dense fog and localized blizzards. The winds were everything. They dictated all human activity. For the past month, the katabatic winds had been mostly cooperative.
    Morning wasn’t much different than midnight or mid afternoon. The sun still hovered low on the horizon like a surreal painting hung against the backdrop of a crystalline landscape. Hilliard Grimes poked his head outside the tent. It was about six forty five a.m., and thankfully he felt rather rested this morning, probably because the last twelve hours had been relatively calm, the katabatic winds giving them a short period of minimal activity. It was always difficult to get any sleep when the winds were howling so loud that you thought at any minute you were going to be swept away into oblivion.
    For two days they had remained confined to the tents, as the winds were blowing at a steady 25 to 30 knots, making conditions too severe to go out into the field. There was plenty to do inside, though. There were always new specimens