Antarctica not just for the penguins

PRIMAVERA, Antarctica — Major Alejandro Berta wakes up in the morning, several hours after… PRIMAVERA, Antarctica — Major Alejandro Berta wakes up in the morning, several hours after sunrise. He looks out the window at the base he commands and sees a group of small structures perched on cliffs over the ice-choked waters of Cierva Cove.

He has a cup of coffee, asks his engineer about the fuel situation and greets the rest of his staff. As usual, there are no dramatic problems, despite their presence in one of the most dramatic places on earth: Antarctica.

The “great southern continent” that Greeks theorized about more than 2,000 years ago has been exploited and explored, but not yet fully explained.

Mysteries remain under the ice and seas that encase the land. Scientists are still filling in the blanks about Antarctica’s natural history, and new species sometimes appear, then disappear, remaining just out of reach.

Although the continent has no indigenous human population, people dedicated to uncovering its secrets have become Antarcticans. Berta’s base, Primavera, houses nine Argentinians, just some of more than 3,000 people who call Antarctica their home during the austral summer, between September and March.

Surrounded by giant glaciers, snow-covered mountains and icy waters, Primavera Base lives up to its name, which means “spring.”

The string of several orange buildings climbs a hill green with moss and grasses. Small groups of birds wander around the base, in the air and on the ground.

Julia, Primavera’s medical officer, jumps nimbly from one rock to another, avoiding patches of moss as she makes her way down to the edge of the water. She is greeting the first visitors the base has had in months, while the Antarctic summer still produces temperatures as high as the freezing point, and the ice in Cierva Cove has not yet clogged Primavera’s shore.

Primavera is more than 2,000 miles south of Julia’s home city of Buenos Aires, Argentina, where her child waits for her return at the end of March. Julia, a nurse in the Argentinian army with two seasons at Primavera behind her, is more than ready to go home.

“It has been a hard summer,” Julia says. “There’s been a lot to do.”

As a medical officer, Julia has had no work during the season. Of the nine people at Primavera, two are ornithologists, studying the local bird species. The others are support staff members, who spent the season refitting, rebuilding and painting the base.

“I’ve never painted before,” Julia says. “At least it was simple.”

Berta says they do more actual science than many of the bases along the Antarctic Peninsula, which is the most populated part of the continent.

Several nations, including Argentina, Chile and the United Kingdom, claim territory in Antarctica’s peninsula. Although the Antarctic Treaty holds all these claims in abeyance and allows free exchange of knowledge and research, some nations build bases simply for settlement purposes.

Crewmen at a Chilean base, farther south on the Peninsula, say that the only research they do is “take the temperature every morning.”

In Argentina, schoolchildren learn that “Antartida Argentina,” the Argentinian name for its claim, is sovereign territory of their country. Maps of Argentina that appear on Primavera’s walls include the Antarctic Peninsula.

“It’s a great honor to work down here,” Julia says. “You have to apply, then wait, and the chances are you won’t get to come.”

Julia, who served as a nurse in Cyprus and other places, says the quiet is one of the most alluring things about Antarctica — and the best reason to come back.

“One of the difficulties … ” Julia says, allowing herself a laugh. “Sometimes the men make it hard on us.”

Antarctic research is a field dominated by men, and many other bases have no female staffers.

One all-male one is Station Akademik Vernadsky, a Ukrainian base on Galindez Island, southwest of Primavera. Although Vernadsky is not quite as quaint as Primavera, more serious science is in the works within its walls.

Anton, a radiophysicist from the National Academy of Sciences in the Ukraine, has been at Vernadsky for more than a year. In that time, he has done research that a lifetime in his home country would not allow.

“If you want to find out more about the world, it’s a good place to be,” Anton says.

The base also hosts a meteorologist, a geologist and a radiologist doing research on the depletion of the ozone layer.

Most of these men have been at Vernadsky, which operates throughout the year, for quite some time. They voted in their national election by e-mail, and they struggled to keep up with the news as election fraud put Ukraine in worldwide headlines for months.

“It was frustrating,” Anton says. “I am glad things turned out OK. I like our president now. But during it all, some guys wanted to catch a ship back home.”

Vernadsky has difficulties of its own now, with supplies running low at the end of the season. The base is out of fresh vegetables, including onions, which are essential to Ukrainian cuisine.

“When you can’t have food from home, you miss it even more,” Anton says.

The interior of Vernadsky’s main building is comfortable, hosting an amenity rarely found in Antarctica: a pub.

Built as a British station, the base was given to Ukraine in 1995. The British carpenters had been given enough wood to build a dock, but they used it to build a bar instead. The stunt got them fired, but the bar remains, complete with a pool table and a dartboard.

A small stack of bras sits behind the bar. Tradition dictates that if a female visitor leaves a bra behind the bar, she gets a free shot of vodka, which is made at the base from sugar and orange peel.

In their leisure hours, the men play pool and listen to the jukebox. On days with nicer weather, some men take a boat to nearby Petermann Island, where a small shack sits amid scores of penguins. The beaches are covered with soft, white down, left during the birds’ molting phases.

Penguin chicks waddle up to Yuri, Vernadsky’s radiologist, with curiosity. Yuri is taking a break from Vernadsky, watching the sun duck below Mount Scott as he enjoys one of the last beers of the season.

“Very high contrast,” Yuri mumbles as he focuses on a distant peak with a fieldscope. “Nothing but white and black.”

Like Anton, Yuri has been in Antarctica for a year, and is going home soon to the Black Sea port of Odessa.

“It’s much warmer there, especially with my family there,” Yuri says.

Summer is ending, and the temperature bobs above freezing point. The snow begins to bleed into the sea, but the water around Petermann Island is beginning to freeze, as it is everywhere else in Antarctica. Soon, there will be fewer than 1,000 people on the continent to keep the research going.

“You have to be careful,” Yuri says. “This place is incredible, but it can drive you mad.”