Thirty hours later, True, Ben, and I stood on the frozen waters of Prydz Bay beneath “manky” skies. Manky was Antarctic slang for overcast weather, apparently a common occurrence along the coast. A team of Chinese technicians from nearby Zhongshan Station used six-foot-long bog chisels to test the thickness of the sea ice before bringing out the Barracuda. “More than three whacks to get through and it’s safe to walk on,” Ben informed us. “Less than three and you double-time it back to where you came from.”

After ten blows the ice failed to crack open, forcing the Chinese to use their chainsaws to open a twenty-by-fifteen-foot hole to access the sea.

Ben expected our days inland at Vostok would be “dingle”—good weather, good visibility. “On a dingle day it’s time to play; wake up to a mank and the day will be dank.”

Worse than a mank was a “hooley”—an Antarctic blower, also known as a katabatic wind. Formed when cold air descends onto the ice cap, it spreads along the ground like a relentless snow-blowing storm and can last for days.

I wasn’t particularly excited about meeting a katabatic, but I rather enjoyed the Antarctic slang, which was far different from the Highlander vernacular, yet just as alien. Created by the OAE’s (Old Antarctic Explorers), the vocabulary attempted to simultaneously label and judge everything Antarctic, from the extreme conditions to the people who visited.

I learned quickly that rookies were chastised until they earned respect, and respect translated into time on the ice. Summer visitors earned far less respect than winterers, and as such, True and I were identified as “hordes”—less than welcome newbies.

Before he had gone to bed in his “pit-room,” True had stopped by the bar for his promised nightcap. The general rule at bases is that you only drink what you bring, but Kyle Trunk was treating. Exacting his revenge, the flag officer offered the big fella a vodka on the rocks, the rocks being natural Antarctic ice, a substance that dates back hundreds of thousands of years and contains captured bubbles of environmental gas that, when warmed with alcohol, pop. Hangovers induced from “poppies” were particularly onerous, and when True awoke he had a bear of a headache. Seeking caffeine, he found his way to the mess hall where another officer presented him with a mug of coffee known as a “grumble bucket.” It seemed like a nice gesture until True drained the cup to find a lurker at the bottom of the unwashed container.

Welcome to the ice, ye Summer Jolly Merchant!

Ben was classified a “fidlet,” a winterer entering his first summer. On our jeep ride out to the bay, he taught us two new words he had learned his second week on the ice.