As I mentioned in my previous Christmas post, I would put up my poem I wrote for shuttles. Just a few definitions to help you make more sense of things in case you're not familiar with Antarctica
ECW=extreme cold weather gear (big red parka, wind pants, bunny boots)
Big Red=huge canada down parka that is obviously bright red
ANG=air national guard, the grumpiest people on base who think they're better than everyone
Delta=one of our large passenger vehicles with 4 foot tall wheels. it's articulated
Ivan= our largest passenger vehicle. A terrabus. google Ivan the terrabus if you want to see pictures
DSP=daily schedule planner
The last quote is a common quote heard coming from Shuttle Bill
THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
McMURDO SHUTTLES STYLE
By Shuttle Guy
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Mactown
The seals weren’t stirring, there wasn’t a sound;
Big reds were hung in the dorms with great care,
So many pockets, St. Nick better bring full flair;
The ANG were nestled all snug in their beds,
While nightmares of Deltas bounced all through their heads;
And mamma in her smartwool, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a restless nighshift’s nap,
When out at DJ there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bunk 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 miniature Ivan, and eight shuttlers full o’ cheer,
With a little old driver, so lively and shrill,
I knew in a moment it must be Shuttle Bill.
More rapid than skuas his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“Now Shuttle Spring, Shuttle Matt, Shuttle Queen, and Shuttle Dan!
On, Shuttle Jen, Shuttle Bob, Shuttle Mel, and Shuttle Fran!
To the top of t-site! Up to the golf ball!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all”
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 the dorm-top the shuttlers they flew,
With Ivan full of liquor, and Shuttle Bill too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The dancing and singing of each shuttle goof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Through the galley dock came Shuttle Bill with a bound.
Getting dressed in ECW was surely a toil,
And his clothes were all tarnished in glycol and oil;
A bundle of bottles he had swaddled in a rag,
And he looked like a fuelie just opening his orange bag.
His eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
His nose was frostbitten, his cheeks not too hairy!
His droll little mouth was drawn up in a smirk,
The hat on his head was askew with a quirk.
A VHF radio he held tight in his hand,
Sunglasses on his nose against the harsh light of this land;
He had a broad face, a mop of silver on his head,
That stood straight up like he had just rolled out of bed.
He was witty and quick, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A funny quote there, a wild story here,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to fear;
He checked the DSP, then went straight to his work,
And filled all the bunny boots; then turned with a jerk.
And keying the mic with the touch of his hand,
He gave a nod and down highway one he ran;
He sprang up to Ivan, to his team gave a beep,
And down wild Plagasus, they drove in a heap.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“We’re all here til February, we’ll get it done right!”
[Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”]
Merry Christmas!! And may Peace prevail in the world!
Not a creature was stirring, not even a crab.
In hopes that dry valley samples soon would be there.
The grantees were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of perfect data danced in their heads.
Had just returned from a long winter’s boondoggle.
When out on phase one there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from field party staging to see what was the matter.
Up to the library I flew with great hope,
Tore open the blinds and focused the scope
The midnight sun on the breast of McMurdo mud
Reminded me of my last battle with the crud
When, what to my goggled eyes should appear,
But a seal sled, and eight lab staff full of cheer
With a muscular driver, so strong in the core,
I knew in a moment it must be Libor.
More rapid than skuas his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now
On, Travis! On, Liz! On Abraham and Ricardo!
To the top of the lab! to the top of
Now dash away! Dash away! There are dewars to fill.
As drifting snow that before a condition one does fly,
When it meets with a pressure ridge, mounts up to the sky.
So up to Crary Lab the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of sticky notes, and space allocation too.
And then, amid glycol alarms, I heard on the roof
The laughing and joking of each Crary goof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the fume hood mighty Libor came with a bound.
He was covered in ECW, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with oil and soot.
A bundle of chems he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a grantee, just opening his pack.
His wisdom immeasurable, his survival stories, scary!
His strong little jaw was drawn up like a bow,
And the thin beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
The tools on his belt were warm with great wear
And they sounded like music as he walked here and there
He had a warm face and hardly a belly,
Thanks to Insanity, it resembled not jelly!
He was humming and smiling, a right jolly UT,
And I laughed when I saw him, overflowing with glee!
A chia seed gift and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke in an accent, but went straight to his work,
Replacing the air filters, he turned with a jerk.
And giving a nod, out the fume hood he rose!
He sprang to his sleigh, to the lab staff gave advice,
And away they all slid like a penguin on the sea-ice.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove into the weather,
"Happy Christmas to all, I’ve never been better!"
So here's the one I wrote for Mpala this year. Also below it is the one that Elisha, Kaitlyn, and I helped my brother write for his avalanche forecast on Christmas Morning.
The hyraxes weren’t stirring, not even a holla.
Camera traps were tied to trees with great care
In hopes that nocturnal critters soon would be there.
The mzungus were nestled all snug in their beds,
While nightmares of ugali danced all through their heads.
And mamma in her shuka, and me shivering to stay alive,
Had just returned from a chilly night game-drive.
When out on the ring-road there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my banda to see what was the matter.
Through the spiny acacias I weaved with a crash,
Tore open some skin and exposed a large gash.
The moon on the breast of black-cotton dust
Reminding that leopard vigilance is a must.
When, what to my sun-burned eyes should appear,
But a miniature land cruiser, and eight ascaris full of cheer.
With a wily old driver, so lively and curious,
I knew in a moment it must be Mr. Julius.
More rapid than hornbills his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Titus! Now, Richard! Now, Tony and Isaac!
On, Sammy! On John! On Lentikwa and Eric!
To the top of the escarpment! To the plots of UHURU!
As red dust that under thundering hooves does fly,
When it meets with a breeze, mounts up to the sky.
So up to the North boundary the coursers they flew,
With the cruiser full of guns and Chai tea too.
And then, amid hyena laughing, I heard on the roof
The yelling and joking of each ascari goof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Off the solar panels regal Julius slid with a bound.
He was dressed all in khaki, from head to toe
And his clothes showed stains from a spilled cuppa joe.
A bundle of snares he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a famed lion hunter, just opening his pack.
His nose was glistening, his cheeks not too hairy!
His droll little mouth was drawn up in a smirk,
The green beret on his head was askew with a quirk.
A swagger stick he clutched tight in his hand,
As he strutted around like he didn’t give a damn.
He had a narrow face and a tall, slender frame,
That had dodged many an elephant, not ending up lame!
He was witty and quick, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wry smile there and a quick salute here,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to fear.
He spoke into the radio, then went straight to his work,
He spotted some lions, then turned with a jerk.
Grabbing fecal samples, he plugged his thin nose,
And giving a nod, up the Princeton tower he rose!
He sprang to his Sazuki, To his team gave a yell,
And he drove the rutted road like a bat out of Hell.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove into the night,
"Happy Christmas to all, don’t let the buffalo out of sight!"
-->
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.
The company Elisha works for, Wildflower Bread Co, is doing a a Christmas competition for employees where they could either do a short video or a short story. I decided I'd write the Night Before Christmas poem for her to enter into the competition. We'll have to see how that goes! She did make a few edits to this poem as she obviously knows her work better than I do, but I don't have that version, so this is the one you'll get, and you'll have to ask her how she changed it.
A few bits of info:
Jimmy Johns is the sandwich shop right next door. That chain has the tagline "So fast you'll freak". Elisha worked for them in Gainesville and really disliked the company
Eat, Sip, and Enjoy is the tagline for Wildflower
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' Wildflower,
No creature was stirring, not at this hour!
The tables were cleaned with the greatest of care,
Because smiling customers soon would be there;
Sandwich lovers tossed and turned in their bed
Due to growling stomachs anxious for bread
And Mama in her seat, and I driving the car,
Had just tuned the radio to soothing guitar.
When out by the mall there arose such a clatter,
I unbuckled my seatbelt to see what was the matter.
Away from the car, I sprinted with speed,
Reaching the sidewalk like a galloping steed.
City lights twinkling across the valley that night
Silhouetted the mountains like the dawn of firstlight
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a van full of flowers and wheat for a year.
With a little ole baker, and shoes that did jingle
I knew in a moment it must be Kris Kringle
Faster than jimmy johns, the sandwiches he made
Calling them out as if on parade
“Now! Rueben, now! ham, now! turkey and brie
On! Triple Club, on! Tuna, on! yummy BLT”
“From the back of the oven to the top of the plate
Get them while they’re hot, they’re more than first rate”
As I peered in the store, and was hiding my face,
Out the kitchen came Kringle with elegance and grace
He was dress'd in an apron, clean from a shower
And his clothes were all covered in spices and flour;
A garden of fresh vegetables he held tight in his hand
And he looked like a farmer giving thanks to the land
His eyes - how they smiled! his humming how sweet,
I knew right that instant, he was making a treat.
His droll little mouth was smiling with glee,
From tasting his creation, Would he share it with me?
A baker’s hat he placed back on his head
And excitement filled me as I thought of the bread
The stem of a wildflower he held tight in his teeth,
An accessory he had surely plucked from our wreath
He had a cute face, but was verging on plump
And he shook as a he danced, especially his rump
His baking was magic, a right jolly old elf,
And my mouth began to water in spite of myself
A wink of his eye and a last taste of the bread
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He whistled a Christmas tune and continued his job,
Adding frosting to carrot cake without being a slob
Leaving cheer in the tip jar, he gave a slight wave
And left whence he’d entered, a move rather brave
He sprung to his van, high-fiving each wildflower
And drove towards the city, soon obscured by a tower
But I heard him exclaim to the sleeping hoi palloi
[or But I heard him exclaim, in a voice rather coy]
Happy Christmas to all; Eat, sip and enjoy.
Seems like every year I made an adaptation of Clement Clarke Moore's "About the Night Before Christmas" poem. This year was no different. I wrote it based on field work with Arizona Game and Fish and modeled the St. Nick character off of my colleague, and friend, Chad.
A few things to help out the understanding:
-the holes are caused by collapsed burrows from burrowing animals. Real ankle breakers
-Teddy Bear Cholla is a cactus, that is most certainly not cuddly
-Haboob is a crazy dust storm that AZ sometimes gets. Google image search it. It's pretty wild
-We do a lot of work on military installations as they own lots of property and are required to protect a certain amount. Thus we are privy to a lot of crazy military training, including jets flying fast and low over us
-we use flashlights to search for tortoises and snakes in burrows and caves
-blue gloves references nitrile gloves. We use them while handling tortoises. A nasty respiratory disease is affecting tortoises that can be passed by handling, so we take careful precautions
-garmin is a GPS brand
-a snake stick is a tool we use to both capture snakes and pull tortoises out of deep burrows.
-Gopherus morafkaii is the latin nomenclature (scientific name) for the endangered Sonoran Desert Tortoise
-Scutes are the enlarged scales that are on the tortoise shell.
-We put "license plates" on the back of tortoises to ID them later in order to do population modeling. It's basically a small square of white-out on the back scute, with a sharpie number. Then we add epoxy to it to make it last.
-Chad drinks this V8 drink with caffeine like it was candy.
-Conserve and Protect is the AZGFD motto and is written on the side of our trucks
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' A-Z,
Nothing was stirring, save for quail by a tree.
Funnel traps were set by the river with care
In hopes that gartersnakes soon would be there;
Kit foxes were nestled all snug in their burrow,
Undiscovered by elves, except the most thorough,
And Sky with his sunshirt, and I a camelback,
Returned from the field after a scratchy bushwhack.
When out on the sand there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my cot to see what was the matter.
Away to a wash I scurried in a sweat
Tripping on holes that posed quite a threat.
The moon on the spines of teddy bear cholla
Glowed like Christmas lights on a giant Sequoia.
When, what to my sunburned eyes should appear,
But a giant Ford truck, and eight techs full o’ cheer,
With a seasoned leader, so smart and so rad,
I knew in a moment it must be Sir Chad.
He measured the air temp and humidity too;
Then lined up his transect, whispering “I’ll find you.”
Gazing ahead, he prepared for the trek
And he whistled and hollered, to each bright-eyed tech:
"Now! Hailey, now! Trent, now! T-rod, and Jed,
"On! Julie, on! Alexa, on! Samuel and Deb;”
“Check the deepest cave! Climb the steepest slope!”
“Check every inch, don’t be a dope!’
As dry dust before the wild haboob does fly,
And temperatures climb up higher than high;
So up to the ridge-line the techs did climb,
Checking nook and cranny and taking their time.
Despite sonic booms from the zooming air force
I heard the techs crunching through a field of quartz.
As I switched off my light, and was turning around,
Down a scree field slid Chad barely touching the ground:
He was dress'd in UPF, from his head to his toe,
His clothes were all faded; but no skin did it show;
A tortoise processing kit was buried deep in his pack,
And he reached for blue gloves stored next to his snack.
His eyes - how they squinted! his beard how grizzly,
Sweat dripping off his forehead could be described as drizzly;
His brimmed hat was secured tight to his chin,
But the shadow it cast couldn’t hide his wide grin;
The bite valve of his cameblack he held tight in his lips,
Staying hydrated, a battle, you can’t win with sips.
He had a small garmin and a sturdy snake stick
That clanked on rocks like a shiny ore pick.
He was fit and athletic, a right jolly r’searcher,
And I laugh'd when I saw him-- a true deserty creature;
A wink of his eye and a quick lil wave
Told me Gopherus morafkai had been found in a cave.
Reaching into the burrow, he proceeded with quickness,
Counting the scutes; and checking the fitness.
As he blew the last bit of epoxy paint dry
He cursed the damn drought as he looked at the sky.
A large cactus spine he removed from his rear,
Tortured by thoughts of an icy cold beer.
Slowly he rose from the hot, dusty ground,
And headed to the truck with a leap and a bound.
He chugged a V8, as he sat in AC
The dust from the trucks obscuring his glee;
But I heard him exclaim, ere he rounded a curve,
“Happy Christmas to all, protect and conserve.”
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!
Every year I try to write a version of the poem "A Visit from St. Nicholas" that relates to something I did that year. This year I did it in relation to the CHESS (Colorado Headwaters Ecological Headwaters Spectroscopy Study) Campaign that I was part of this summer.
‘Twas the night before Christmas when all through RMBL (rumble)
The scanners were whirring, a rather delightful ensemble.
Leaves were being plucked with the greatest of care
And taped to the scanners with a huff and a swear.
The samples were nestled all warm in the oven
Waiting to be massed and given some lovin’
And Piper in her hoodie and I with wide brim
Packed coolers of “ice” in a light that was dim
When out in the flowers there arose such a clatter
We sprinted from the lab to see what was the matter
We tripped over flags and a BBC crew
Before joining a circle where a hack suddenly flew
A dense haze of smoke billowing in the air
Made us wonder aloud how our lidar would fare.
When what to my blurry eyes should appear
But a zooming twin otter and 8 CHESSers full o’ cheer
Pointing to the plane was a man clever in tech,
And I knew in a moment it must be Dr. Breck.
Leaving the hack circle his field team came
And he whistled, and shouted, and called then by name
“Now, Jack! now, Sophia! now B-rad and Bayden!
On, Dre! on, Yahaira! on, C-ass and Reagan!
Go out to the meadows and into the trees
I want percent cover, but watch out for bees!”
As clouds that with afternoon heat do rise
When they meet with mountains bring a thunderous surprise
So up to the field site the team did climb
With packs full of clippers and an eye on the time
Then, in a twinkling, I laid down quadrats
And Amanda with an ipad entered the stats.
Species were named with a yell and a whistle
And packed into bags, even the thistle.
As I placed a flag and was turning around
Through the Veratrum came Ian with an elegant bound
He was dressed for the sun from his head to his toe
His clothes were all faded, but no skin did he show.
A heavy starlink he had lashed to his pack
Even in the woods, communication did not lack.
His eyes–how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
Such a contrast to Ribes, a shrub that was scary!
His mouth did not quiver as he keyed the mic
“I’ve brought hot cheetos to fuel this here hike”
The cap of a sharpie he held tight between his lips
As he wrote on trait bags and dispensed ID tips
His face full of focus as he held the field spec
But one eye scanned for bears for just a quick sec.
He was trim and thin, a right mountain PI
And I saluted when I saw him, nearly spilling my chai
A quick safety brief and a look up ahead,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He checked quicklook imagery, then went straight to his work
His drone Bruce was seen flying up towards a cirque.
After setting a transect for Bruce to follow,
He downed his last electrolytes with a powerful swallow
He sprang to the suburban, to the undergrads gave a whistle,
And down the dirt road they shot like a missile.
But I got a whatsapp in the middle of the night–
“Happy Christmas to all and we are GO for flight!”
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