On the eastern outskirt of the station rises a big aluminum lattice: the 50-meter tower. Always at the corner of your vision, it draws attention, catching the light on its reflective surface, or shedding brilliant rime crystals in a gust of wind. In the continuous daylight of the summer months, a long shadow extends from the tower, tracing a full circle every 24 hours: an immense sundial marking time across the buildings and flag lines of camp.
In May, the science techs climbed the 50-meter tower. While we regularly climb the other two towers on station, this taller tower demanded additional precautions and preparation, and we worked with Luke, our station medic and tower safety overseer. Suiting up for long exposure and climbing, I wore work boots with a good heel, and put on double socks with chemical warmers. Over top of my down jacket and heavy Carhartt bibs, I wore a full harness and helmet. We climbed in shifts, first Jason and Yuki together, then myself. The route was up the inside of the tower, climbing the structure of the tower itself. For fall protection, we used a pair of lanyards: large hooks each with a leash secured to the anchor points at the center of our backs. These are an active restraint that require some presence of mind: you have two of them, and as they need to be constantly clipped and unclipped as you move, you need to plan your actions so that at least one is always attached to the tower. They're not a tool for resting, and are also decently long--about 6 feet--so falling on these is the equivalent of a 12-foot lead fall in rock climbing and not taken lightly in the confines of the tower structure.
Even on the best days at Summit, tower climbing tends to be cold and windy work. I squirmed my way into the center of the tower structure, trying to avoid the many instruments mounted there, looking up into the geometry of the tower, and begin to work my way upwards, methodically clipping and unclipping the lanyard hooks. The perspective on camp shifted quickly. Luke, observing from the snow surface, soon was craning upward, and moved back to lay out horizontally on the ice sheet. Partway up, my hands began to stiffen in the cold, and there was no thought of taking a chance on my dexterity in this context. Got to take care of your body! I stopped, looped an arm around a tower upright, and removed my gloves for skin-on-skin warming in my armpits: my trusted gold standard for hand maintenance. Though I had a pair of backups in my pocket, I have rarely taken such extreme care not to drop a glove.
There were some great aerial perspectives on camp: the structures and heavy equipment, the disturbed areas where we work, the buried cargo and spoil piles of the berm. When you've been looking at the same few buildings for five months, it's quite a thrill to get a different view. And it's really something to take in, at a glance, the entire camp area where we travel, and the surreal context of the big empty horizon.
We'd trained on tower operations in Denver and further at Summit, and worked on the other towers, but climbing the larger tower provided some great education about equipping for longer climbs, in addition to allowing me to check instrument connections and liberate off some accumulations of winter rime. A month later, when I spent an couple hours on the TAWO tower working with Mike, I was able to be a fully productive partner for the demands of that project. Very, very worthwhile time!
Thanks to Clair for the last two photos of Mike and I working on the TAWO tower.
