I’ve not talked about this much — at all, really — but Dad is making landfall, yesterday, today or tomorrow, in Antarctica. He flew down to Argentina on the 14th of February, and then boarded ship to sail down the coast to some tiny town at the south tip of South America. I got a call from there about six days ago. A few days ago, I got a second call from him, because a comsat was overhead, and he could call out. They were 80 miles or so north of the Antarctic Circle, and Dad was expecting to cross it that day. He and his five pals then were traveling to the east side of the Antarctic Peninsula, and were expected there today. They’ll stay for a few days, photographing penguins, rocks and ice, and then they’ll start the arduous trek back north. Dad and his friends were not expecting to be able to go to the South Pole at all. Apparently that requires military clearance to get on one of the supply planes. That said, if anyone can talk his way onto a supply plane bound for the South Pole, it’s probably my Dad.
I never thought I’d write South Pole and Dad in the same sentence. It’s hard enough writing Antarctica and Dad in the same sentence. I hope he comes home OK. He’s due back on March 10, but I’m worried for him. Please keep him in your thoughts. His name is William.