12/24/22
As you might know, I write a version 'A Visit from St. Nicholas' every year based on where I live, so this year I wrote it based on the SAIL project in Gothic at the Rocky Mountain Biological Lab.
‘Twas the night before Christmas when all through RMBL (rumble)
Instruments were whirring; a rather delightful ensemble.
Radiometers all pointed straight to the air
Recently cleaned by a tech with great care
The cimel was placed in park for the night
While lidars lit the snow with a vivid green light
And Frank in his puffy and I on my skis
Had once again seen the MWR freeze.
When down at the site there arose such a clatter
I logged onto bomgar to see what was the matter
Through the VMs I scrolled with great terror
Checking the data, looking for error.
The stars silhouetting the mountains aroun’
Were the only lights in the slumbering town.
When what to my frosty eyes should appear
But a figure on skis and 8 operators full o’ cheer.
With a quick little shuffle that could take him quite far,
I knew in an instant that it must be billy barr.
Toting tools and kimwipes; the technicians they came
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now Thomas! Now Michael! Now Juarez and Wessley!
“On Anna! On Heath! On Bilberry and Maggie!
Down to Kettle Ponds! Up to the AOS
Get your jobs done with the greatest finesse!”
As persistent slabs that after a heavy snow do slide
Or fully waxed skis in an effortless glide
So down to the site the technicians they flew
Armed with ethanol, wrenches, and a smidgen of glue
Over my shoulder a weather balloon took flight
And it soon disappeared into the black of night
Snowcams were flashing as the flakes fell faster
The generator was primed to avoid a disaster
And then in a twinkling I saw from the tower
Each skyrad dome shaded, even at this hour
As I cycled the MET and was turning around
Down through the trees came billy, like a young powderhound
He was dressed in old goretex from his boots to his hood
And I saw specks of bark from chopping up wood
Tins full of chocolate were buried deep in his bag
Just below his shovel and an old oily rag
His eyes were hidden behind an old pair of sunglasses
His cheeks showed no sign of frostbite, they were smooth as molasses
His warm greeting came came as clear as a bell
And the beard on his face indicated he had stories to tell
A field notebook he grasped tight in his hand
For denoting the species who lived on this land
He had a thin face and no hint of a belly
Despite watching movies produced way out in Delhi.
He was wiry and tough, a true weathered mountain man
And I whistled to myself from atop a buried sedan.
A friendly mittened wave and a cheerful greeting
Soon gave me to know his stove was still heating
He grabbed a few tools and went straight to his work
Measuring the snow he then turned with a jerk
And clipping into his bindings, he turned for the trail
His long-term records quite complimentary to SAIL
Covered in snow he could be mistaken for a wizard
As he quickly disappeared into the oncoming blizzard
But I heard him exclaim, ere he skied out of sight
These data are important, let’s get this done right!
