First time for everything... (Dear Dad)

I have found, from both personal experience and from observation, that much of what people chase in life usually has less to do with the tangible object or event they claim to be seeking, and more to do with the initial emotions felt from the first time they experienced said event or object. Drug addicts chase the first high, codependents chase the butterflies, adrenalin junkies chase the rush…regardless of what exactly it is you seek, it would seem that most of our desires are not as much about the corporeal object or event, but rather they are more deeply rooted in what we felt the “first time”.

Unfortunately, it is those emotions that we seek that have in fact jaded us to all future experiences. Sensory deprivation kicks in and from then on nothing will ever feel the way it did that first glorious time.

In my pursuit to experience all that this continent has to offer I have often feared that those feelings I got the first time I stepped on to the ice would eventually fade into familiarity, and as is suggested by some, the familiarity would breed contempt. While I have come across the contempt of others, I cannot imagine there ever being a day that I could share in that disdain. I am, in fact, proud to report that I am far from familiar with the majesty that surrounds me - the disregard that some have claimed will eventually come my way is not even present on the farthest horizon.

That being said, when I finished with work today, I could think of nothing more than running to the top of Ob Hill. Its only 800 ft above town, and the trail itself is only about a mile, but its still amazing to me that trekking such a short distance from town seems to transport you to a different world. Looking at the same mountains, from a different perspective, makes them look like completely different mountains. Looking down on the seemingly large buildings of McMurdo from 800 ft. up makes them look insignificant with hundreds of miles of ice extending beyond them.

So with iPod in tow, earphones in and a hiking buddy at at my side, we started the trek to the top, to Scott’s Cross. A cross that was erected in memory of Robert Falcon Scott, an explorer who lost his life in his journey to the South Pole. The base of the cross has been buried deep into the summit but from the ground it often looks like it has been suspended from heaven, which makes it, not only a great marker for the summit, but also a great allusion to our destination.

I have done this hike quite a few times now and, as I mentioned before, I have always carried with me a concern that the views to be had would eventually be nothing more then mundane. In an attempt to reassure myself that that day is far off, I have made the habit of stopping and turning around every hundred or so feet to see the amazing sight that lies before me…and I just can't believe that it will ever get old.

A few feet away from the top I sopped and turned to see a sight that I am sure has been the inspiration for scientists, explorers, artists and the like for years. You can see for hundreds of miles. Ice for hundreds of miles, and contrary to popular belief, color for hundreds of miles. Everything is covered in ice and snow, yes, but in that ice and snow and dangling in the sky is every shade of blue, pink, and purple that you could possibly imagine. Everything seems far grander here. The sun is a different sun: brighter, warmer, and powerfully energizing with every blinding glance towards its center. The breadth of ice and snow that unrolls before you puts into perspective how insignificant we are in the grand scheme of the world. It’s a sight that no human could ever convey to another, a sight that no camera could ever capture, no artist could ever do justice… and there I stood at what felt like the top of it all…

My iPod changed songs and the rolling notes of Elvis Presley’s “Only Fools Rush In” made a surprisingly fitting soundtrack. The sights of the moment began to mingle with my memories of the past. Like playing back a movie, I could remember my father singing along to this song as we drove down the road to the next destination, on whatever road trip we may have been on. I could remember traveling with him to all sorts of amazing places, and I could remember that everywhere we went his camera was always close at his side, ready to be drawn. I remember there would be times when he could spend hours in one spot taking pictures, and I remember that there were times that I didn’t know what he was taking pictures of but every picture always came out perfectly. It occurred to me in this moment that my father is the reason why, as long as I live, every time will be the first time. Every time, no matter how many times, will always be the first. Whether it was developed by the grace of genetics or just the times I chose to listen to the wisest man I have ever known, I can now see beauty in everything, beauty all around me. I remember the days that I envied his ability to see beauty in the mundane, and his ability to capture that beauty would rival the greats of the industry. And while my knowledge of a camera will never be what his is, I feel truly blessed that he enabled me with the ability to find wonder and beauty in everything I see.

Elvis keeps singing in my head and his words seem to resonate.

” …as the rivers flow gently to the sea, darling so we go, some things are meant to be, Take my hand, take my whole life too, cause I can’t help falling in love with you”

I’m in love. In love with Antarctica, in love with my life. I think of my past, both the good and the bad, and it occurs to me 800ft above this new place that I can now consider home, that the life I have lived is nothing short of epic. A wonderful life littered with some dark moments, but I have found my way out of the dark, and standing here in the warmth of the sun I can feel only one thing…I made it. I can’t even explain what exactly this metaphysical sensation alludes too, but I made it. Whether it’s a feeling of success or just one of triumph, the meaning at the moment is beyond me and before I can figure it out an overwhelming feeling of gratefulness floods my senses…an appreciation that’s humbling.

Elvis’ voice begins to fade, but the memories of my father, my family, my past, remain. In this moment, in this place of raw wonder, 8,000 miles away from home I feel so close to my father. I will appreciate this place not just for myself but for him. If there is one vow that I can make, its that every second from here forth I will look out over the horizon and strive to see this place through his eyes. I will strive to see this place the way he would, in all of its majestic grandeur. And I truly believe that this is the reason why every time will be the first time…because if he were standing here with me looking at it, even if for the thousandth time, he would still view it with the same enchantment as if it was the first…

Thank you daddy, I miss you and I love you, I’ll be home soon…

Scott's Cross at the top of Observation Hill