5 December 2014 McMurdo or Bust!!

McMurdo or Bust!

“Well, THAT was interesting!”

I announced this to everyone and no one (since no one could hear me) upon returning to my seat from the ‘facilities.' As it happens, the facilities on a Hercules LC-130 (aka 'Herc') are not as luxurious as on commercial aircraft.

But we’ll get to that.

I was sitting at the very front of the aircraft, so I had to carefully pick my way over sixteen pairs of legs to even reach an open patch of floor.

Oh! I should mention, the ‘floor’ on a Herc is mostly bare metal, but has these convenient tracks running front to rear that help when loading pallets. Each is a five-inch wide channel with evenly spaced 2-inch diameter aluminum cylinders. It turns out that these are less than the length of a boot apart. Stepping on them means rolling, so you need to pick your way around them and approximately 32 giant boots, with occasional assistance, planned or otherwise, from those you are stepping over.

Then you kind of shimmy around several pallets of boxes, run another gauntlet of legs and feet of those seated facing them, and reach the ‘bathroom’. I use that word extremely loosely here.

By 'reach the bathroom,' I mean that you come to the end of the legs and boxes and run into a giant army green plastic sheet suspended from the wall/ceiling.

Behind this is a square funnel attached to the wall (think, “men’s room), and what looks like a white metal kitchen trash can, the kind with a foot activated flip top. OK, actually, there was no foot lever. In fact, there was nothing whatsoever to indicate that it opened or was intended for “use”. So I stood there for a few moments contemplating the gymnastics that would be required to pee in the square funnel, and weighing those against my desire to fulfill my mission and make the hike back here worth it. Then I noticed the canister, and opened it. Ah Ha! Funny blue porta potty liquid, I know what this is! Mission accomplished!

Sadly, my success and merry announcement thereof, upon return to my seat, went unnoticed.

A Herc is a VERY NOISY place.

I suppose this is because there is absolutely no effort put into sound damping inside. No walls, partitions, dropped ceiling, overhead baggage compartments, carpet, padded, upholstered seats, or armrests. It’s essentially a giant aluminum can with wings. Inside there is minimal infrastructure, some low emissivity fabric sheets to help insulate it, bars for strapping down cargo, some seats made from red nylon webbing suspended from the walls, and a lot of ductwork and wires overhead.

To my right is one empty seat, the flight engineer’s, which at present contains only the ruggedized Getac laptop on which he is running some GPSA Global Positioning System (GPS) is a satellite-based navigation system used to track the location or position of objects on the Earth’s surface. tracking program to record where we are. Dangling wires connect it to a USB converter, and that to the wall and presumably the HF antennae on top of the aircraft.

Also on this wall, which separates us from the flight deck, is a gas mask, an oxygen canister and regulator, and a bright yellow box stenciled with the words, “QTY 4 STRETCHER HARNESS STOWED IN BIN - EMERGENCY USE ONLY - USE OR REMOVAL FROM AIRCRAFT REQUIRES F700 ACTION.” I guess before you use a stretcher harness, there is some paperwork to file…

Above me is a vintage 1950s aluminum and canvas stretcher laden with 10 immersion (dry) suits packed in bright orange waterproof duffels.

Across from them are 10 red duffel bags labeled “FIRST AID KIT – CLOTHING” and “COOKER, FUEL, FOOD,” just in case the plane lands somewhere unintended.

I should point out here that there are 8 crewmembers and about 50 passengers on the flight…

The crew consists of a Pilot and Copilot, Flight Engineer and Navigator up front, two Load Masters and cargo crew in the main body of the plane. All are of the Royal New Zealand Air Force Expeditionary Support Squadron 209. The Load Masters and their crew keep an eye on the cargo that is around, above and behind us, making sure it doesn’t shift and fall. They also hand out bottles of water upon request.

The cargo, currently several pallets of boxes and our duffel bags, is strapped down in the rear half of the open space, just forward of the giant ramp that forms the floor of the tail section.

The passengers are seated mostly forward of the cargo, in two front to back rows of red nylon slung seats. It’s tight.

Fortunately, I either know all these people or will soon (some sooner than others based on my recent adventure), they are all well (they took our temperatures yesterday), and they are generally of the hardy sort.

The flight is 8 hours... if we make it to McMurdo Station.

No, wait! This isn’t as morbid as it sounds!

If we don’t make it, it’s because when we get near there, the pilot decides that the visibility is too low for us to land, and we “boomerang” back to Christchurch, New Zealand, making an eight hour flight more like fourteen. I’m sincerely hoping that that doesn’t happen, since I’m down to an eggplant sandwich on white bread.

OK, no air travel would be complete without a comment on the cuisine. In this case, it consists of a bag lunch handed to us on our way onto the plane. Two sandwiches, an apple, two small bags of chips, a tiny muffin, a granola bar, and a Mars bar that may very well be left over from Halloween. It’s actually better than regular airplane food. I requested the vegetarian option and got one sandwich of coleslaw, lettuce and margarine, and one of eggplant, red pepper and margarine. Margarine goes on all sandwiches in New Zealand, including egg ones already having mayo. It’s a cultural thing.

The good thing is, it glues the sandwiches together nicely so I can set mine down on the Flight Engineer’s laptop to type this.

Written by Rachel Obbard, with photos and captions by Yamini Bala