Junk on the Bunk

I will be headed out shortly to Greenland (via Copenhagen). Aside from fulfilling my desire to write and perhaps be read, as well as establishing a web presence beyond my fairly private social media account, this blog was also conceived as a means to document that trip. I will be spending three months at Summit Station (or Summit Camp), coordinating and pushing logistics for the National Science Foundation. I worked several seasons at McMurdo Station for the United States Antarctic Program. While this job is not dissimilar, and I have traveled frequently in my life and to fairly distant locales, I still get nervous. That anxiety, fear really, initially surrounds tickets and timing. Later it moves quite swiftly and unsympathetically on to my outfit. Do I have everything I need? Am I outfitted for the trip? Where did I put that fucking neck gaiter? Will my boots hold up? Should I bring both pair? The best way to alleviate some of that anxiety is a good old Junk on the Bunk gear inspection. Inspired by a recent post by an old friend who is also traveling, and who came from the same culture I came from, this is my pre-deployment small gear inspection. These are some of the things I carry.

Let's just dive right in. This is the electronics section, which consists of an iPod, external speaker, a brick phone that I'm not sure will take a sim card anywhere else in the world (so useless as anything other than novelty and ballast), ruggedized power supply (which comes with a nearly unusable compass), USB thumb drive, power cube, and that little black pouch has all my cables. The small, gray mystery pouch is a digital recording device. It fits in a pocket and is wonderful for surreptitiously recording the bullshit people tell me or really whatever bullshit I feel like recording. I use it for quick (bullshit) notes to myself that I'll transcribe later, or for secretly recording people so I can use their words to destroy them (maybe).

Next is the comfort section. Some might notice there is a bit of overlap from the electronics section. Understandable, I think, in this great digital age. The Singularity being so near and whatnot. There is a pipe, which, apparently due to some outdated Polish notion of an age restriction about who can or can't enjoy a pipe, the Polak only gave me recent permission to smoke. There is also tobacco (for the now not at all prohibited pipe), a harmonica I want everybody to think I can actually play, a flask (which was my grandfather's and I have never put anything in it, so also ballast), pictures of the Polak, a couple of Zippos, an extra flint for one of the Zippos, and a book of matches that I am quite willing to get wet.

Here are my tools in a fairly protean tool section. I mean, everything on the table is a tool, but these are more measurement or lever and fulcrum related implements, if that makes any sense. There is a Leatherman, which is something that should be issued to all adults upon reaching the age of twenty one, or all Marines upon completion of Boot Camp. The playbook wristband is necessary because I destroyed an NSF issued Carhartt in Antarctica by writing locations and stock numbers on the sleeve. I'd rather not waste more taxpayer money. There are two Opinels (because Opinels), a little Gerber multi-tool I bought impulsively in Ithaca (New York) and refuse to throw away even though it pinches my hand every time I close the damn thing, a World Wildlife Fund schwag knife gifted to me by my oldest friend (a member of the law enforcement community) after I got arrested on a subway platform in Manhattan for a similarly small knife (which was subsequently confiscated and) I had clipped to my pocket after I got back from the Ice, sunglasses (because sun), lucky lock, tape measure, church key, eight of my favorite pens (Pilot G-2 10), compass, spork (because spork), and that nondescript black pouch is a lock-picking kit for which I have no good explanation.

Here is a comb I have no personal history with and which is no use to a bald man besides straightening his sometimes (frequently) unkempt beard, a watch that I will not pack but wear and love (as it was a gift from my wife and makes me think of the finite amount of time we have left in this vibrating reality, and therefore in our comforting and wildly affectionate partnership), an eraser for pencils not pictured (sorry, got really excited about the deuce gear inspection), electrical tape for squaring away straps on backpacks, and a wrap of 550 cord attached to a non-load-bearing D-ring (550 cord being as valuable as a Leatherman to any adult human). The Hoyt pouch is my sewing kit (real men mend, take that as you will). The little olive-brown wrap beside it is a spare sewing kit, and the roll of olive-green fabric bound with Yaktrax straps is chaff for patches. The Yaktrax beside the Hoyt pouch are essential for any man prone to slips and often hilarious falls (which I am most definitely prone to). And there are two handkerchiefs beneath a well kept watch cap.

Beside the watch cap are my mended Carhartt gloves. These have seen three seasons on the Ice and should last one more (this time in Greenland), at least that's what I told myself at the beginning of every season on the Ice. There are two ball caps beneath the olive-drab McMurdo cover. I'll wear that one on the way out and pack the other two. Beside the Carhartt gloves are a pair of fingerless gloves DIY constructed from two other pair of gloves I bought in New Zealand, both of which were made of possum wool. I love them and care for them and they will eventually fall apart and/or bear no resemblance to what they initially were because they are kludged together, and will continue to be kludged together with several other pieces of broken down apparel until they disintegrate on my hands. Beneath that pair is a backup set of lesser quality, having been treated to far less attention, and which are in severe danger of being added to the mix of pieces that make up the gloves for which they are a backup. Below those is a folded and completely fucking useless Under Armour balaklava that I will never wear beside a stickered water bottle I got at McMurdo that I will use frequently.

Lastly, there is my leather belt and a nylon backup, a length of climbing rope (enough to tie a Swiss seat), and several load-bearing karabiners on top of a wrap for my knee (old wound). And finally, on the corner of the table is the best gaiter ever made by a vaguely capable logistics operator. It is a length of fleece I sewed together my first season on the Ice and have been using every winter for the past six years. I love it more than grilled cheese, but less than chocolate ice cream. Aside from all that, and not pictured here, there is a first aid kit (olive drab with two buttons on the left hand side of the first picture, contains waterproof matches, signal mirror, emergency blanket, plasters, etcetera), a plastic bag filled with hotel shampoos and soap (from a vacation in Sicily) that kind of looks like bomb material (so I'll pack that near the top of the bag for easy inspection), nose spray and ear drops (from Poland), and a Sombra Cool Therapy Gel Roll-on (for the knee).

There will be a big gear inspection early in the coming week, which should include those absent pencils, several books, boots, and other sundries. The toothbrush and shower shoes always get loaded last. I guess I'll post when everything is packed. Yeah, I really don't know how blogs work.

All these things are now identified and warehoused, located and stored. They are within my control and I am comfortable with that knowledge. My trepidation regarding this upcoming trip has been diminished, if only slightly. I don't imagine all of my posts will be this boring, or bereft of subjects of high seriousness or deeper meaning, but one never knows.