My Life with the Penguins

Wind was the first thing I heard in the morning, along with a door opening and closing as someone got up first and went out to use the outhouse. Sounds reached into my awareness through the fog of sleep. Then: the lighter button of the propane heater pressed, a metallic clang sounding at least twice until it caught. I heard the kettle being lit and muted footsteps on plywood. Someone was brewing coffee. The old, damp smell of socks and mold faded into the earthy scent of coffee.

The one thing that everyone did soon after emerging from his or her bunk was to check the weather display. The weather dictated the fluctuations of our lives, as we would be outside for most of the day. Any lingering doubts were cleared up by the morning dash to the outhouse, hands balled up inside a sweatshirt, bracing against the wind and squinting at the light. If I wasn’t fully awake before that, then I sure as hell was afterward. Outside, a troop of penguins would be walking by camp or skuas would be careening acrobatically over the beach, looking for carcasses. Sometimes it was snowing, sometimes it was foggy, sometimes ice would pelt my face. Almost always, it was windy.

Taking turns to make breakfast, we wove past each other like interlocking links in a chain. If there were no chores around camp, my colleague Matt and I would suit up for our commute to the penguin colonies. I grabbed the radio I carried everywhere from its overnight charger and refreshed the snack stores in my pack. Hiking out, I always had to be slightly cold because soon I would be sweating from the