Bull Pass and Mt. Newall

Me, hiking around on top of Mt. Newall 

I was lucky enough to get a trip to Bull Pass and Mt. Newall this year. Generally coveted second only to Mt. Erebus, these helo supported camps are truly amazing. Mt. Newall is on top of a growing list of places I've been in the world that are beyond my scope as a writer to describe with any justice. Few places on earth have taken me aback with such ferocity and left me feeling humble and grateful for every breath I've earned in almost 34 years on the human roller coaster. I wish so deeply that my loved ones, both alive and elsewhere, could have stood on that mountain top with me among the endless pinnacles, under an impossibly blue canopy.

Mt. Newall is used as a relay station between Black Island and McMurdo. Responsible for Seahawks games and internet, Black Island is our communications hub.

En route to Bull Pass

Before arriving at Mt. Newall we stopped at Bull Pass in the Wright Valley. Bull Pass is part of the Comprehensive Nuclear-Test-Ban Treaty (CTBT) and is used as a monitoring station. Located about a mile away from the single building camp is the Onyx River. At 20 miles long and only flowing a few weeks of the year, the Onyx is the longest river on the continent. Naturally I had to check that out.

The Onyx River

The Onyx seen from the helicopter winding through the Wright Valley 

Bull Pass and the Wright Valley

Otherworldly and striking beautiful, the Dry Valleys are considered the closest terrestrial environment on Earth to that found on Mars. Microbial studies here are the backbone to present and future studies conducted on the Red Planet. The Dry Valleys are dry due in large part to katabatic winds. Frigid, high density air from the polar plateau rushes down these valleys at up to 200 miles per hour. Incredibly low in humidity the winds scour and desiccate the valleys. While I have no experience with wind of that magnitude I was leveled by a full sheet of plywood after it was picked up and carried 25 feet through the air by katabatic winds on Taylor Glacier (next post). At least I have a skull like a pachysaurus.

Just beyond that peak the high polar plateau stretches for thousands of miles

After working on the building at Bull Pass I was able to go for a hike. I saw a high ridge above the valley floor and thought, "hmm, I wonder what's on the other side of that ridge?" So, I checked my watch, grabbed a two-way radio and started up the steep rocky slope. Well it was a whole hell of a lot further than it looked from the valley, there is picture of the ridge from Mt. Newall that I'll point out later. Lucky for me our helo pilot was willing to accommodate me. After about 40 minutes of exhausting hiking I was 10 minutes from the top when my radio crackled. "Wrapping things up Dave, head on down." Well for crap, I was almost there. Shortly after that the helo pilot radioed me, "if you find a flat spot on that ridge we'll just pick you up up there." Well of course I can find a safe place for a helicopter to land on top of a ridge that I've never climbed. "Yeah, I'll figure something out," was my prompt reply.

Part way up the ridge, a rising moon can barely be seen next to those rock spires

On top of the ridge, the river can be seen in the distance. I made an H with rocks in that flat spot in the lower left

Approaching Mt. Newall

The following picture where all taken from Mt. Newall.

The ridge on the opposite side of the valley, just above the dark line, is where I hiked to and was picked up

Standing on this snowy ridge the drop off to each side were making my knees rubbery, the vertigo almost overwhelming

Hut on Mt. Newall

Relay station on Mt. Newall

My first experience belly-hooking a helicopter was also on Mt. Newall. Some pilots prefer belly-hooking, depending on winds, landing site etc. Making a low approach they hover just above your head and you hook the cargo to the underside. Probably about how you might imagine it: loud, windy, exciting as hell. While hovering, a helicopter is basically weightless and I was able to push and direct the massive machine thundering over my head. The following pictures are my first, and only to date, belly hook.

KAZAM!

Earlier, in the flight out, the pilot and co-pilot were chatting about whales at the ice edge over the radio. Figuring, might as well try, I asked, "you guys want to show us those whales you were talking about?" A slight pause on the radio and then, "yeah sure, why not." As we left Mt. Newall the chopper flew out towards the growing divide between frozen and liquid ocean. The scene that unfolded was incredible. Several pods of Killer Whales, 50 to 60 in number were plying the deep blue ocean next to the ice edge. Hundreds of penguins crowded the ice, watching the water with trepidation; making my problems with people in our galley seem trivial. Between food and safety for these penguins lurked dozens of  natures apex predator. Hungry, efficient, and ruthless killing machines that hunt in packs and enjoy penguins by the mouthful. A unique sense of humanness washed over me; watching nature unfold in all its savagery and beauty. I was there as a conscious witness, flying in a complex machine, a product of human thought and ingenuity. Our curious eyes full of intelligence, wonderment, and seemingly endless capability hovering in that cockpit engrossed and mesmerized by the world around us. Yet behind those eyes also sat five representatives of the only animal on Earth more lethal than those magnificent predators.

A truly fantastic day, one I'll never forget.

Unfortunately, the glare from the sun on the ocean and the simple fact I was completely committed to observing with my own eyes the spectacle below, my only picture is completely shite. The breaks in the water are whales, this picture does not say a thousand words. More like two: that sucks.