I always like to adapt the night before Christmas poem to the place, I'm at that year. So here's this year's rendition.
A couple of side notes: Nate-dub is my other boss who just came in a few weeks ago and who I went to the Pole with: Nate Williams. Muley is our ATV vehicl we used, the actual model is called the Mule, but we call it a muley. Cool guy tool is a leatherman. A PID is used to sniff for petroleum based hydrocarbons. 192 is the number of the building Enviro is housed in.
Twas the
night before Christmas, when all through Mactown
Non-natives
weren’t stirring; there wasn’t a sound;
All
water samples were packed into coolers with care,
In
hopes that heavy metals would not be found there.
Enviro
techs were nestled all snug in their beds,
While
visions of cake-eating skuas danced all through their heads;
And
Spring with her beanie, and Laura her puffy,
Had
just settled down in a place rather comfy,
When
out at the soil pit there arose such a clatter,
I
sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Away
to the galley I flew like a flash,
The
nearest window so distant, I thought I would crash.
Midnight
sun slowly warming the thick volcanic mud,
Gave
the luster of a mining town, not to mention the crud.
When,
what to my goggled eyes should appear,
But
a suped up muley, and eight spill teamers full o’ cheer,
With
a smiley old driver, all height and no chub,
I
knew in a moment it must be Nate-dub.
More
rapid than skuas his coursers they came,
And
he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now
Hibbsy, Now James, Now Clair, and Sadie!
On
Matty, On Ben, On Tina and Lexi!
To
the top of the pass! Beyond the big Kress machine!
Now
dash away! Dash away! There is sewage to clean”
As
ice crystals that before a condition one do fly,
When
they meet with the ice shelf, mount up to the sky,
So
up to an IT&C ditch they all flew,
The
muley full of soil samples, and a PID or two.
And
then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The
dancing and singing of each spill team goof.
As
I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Through
192 came Nate-dub with a bound.
Getting
dressed in ECW was a long, sweaty toil,
Not
to mention all the hand warmers he had to unwrap from their foil;
A
bundle of pee bottles he carried with some strain,
Evidence
of the Diamox still coursing in his veins.
His
right eye—how it twitched. His whiskers like a kitten!
Three
layers of gaiters kept his nose from being frostbitten
Polar fleece covered nearly all of his head,
And the frozen whiskers that peeked out were fire
truck red.
A
cool guy tool he held tight in his hand,
Glacier
glasses on his nose against the harsh light of this land;
He
had a warm face, and hardly a belly,
Surprising
that the office candy had not yet turned it to jelly
He
was witty and quick, a right jolly old elf,
And
I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
Some
words about bikes, chickens, and beer,
Soon
gave me to know I had nothing to fear;
He
checked the helo schedule, then went straight to his work,
Checked
a permit or two; then turned with a jerk.
He
grabbed a spill kit and oversized berms
And
a case of purell to stave of the germs.
Under
his breath he cursed about end of season reports
Then
checked off those who had attended an enviro briefing of sorts
He
jumped into the muley, to his team gave a beep,
And
down to helo ops he sped in his jeep.
But
I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“Follow
the treaty, it’s always right!
[Merry
Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”]
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