The International Potato PeacemakerTue, May 4, 1999 — South Side Base Camp
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The International Potato Peacemaker
Tue, May 4, 1999 — South Side Base Camp
At this moment I am sure you, the loyal viewer, are riveted to your computer screen, anxiously awaiting the Millennium team's next move from the windswept bench of the South Col. I don't blame you. It's exciting to be there with them, riding out a night under the incessant flap of nylon, imagining that you are waiting for that moment when you too can pull the zipper open to a midnight still and take that first step of many to the rooftop of the world.
But let me enlighten you for a moment. Not all aspects of expeditionary endeavor are replete with such episodes of grandeur. No. Take the life of a Base Camper. Ever thought of living vicariously through us?
Now I know some of you think our world is a happy little commune. We wander around in our Gore-Tex© uniforms, grins affixed, singing away high altitude phrases like some sort of community of alpine Smurfs, right? Well, not quite.
The days down here can be quite long, and the afternoons down right dark and dreary. To stay entertained, the impatient mind often stretches to great imaginative lengths. Sometimes even devious ones. The blueprints for our Base Camp potato gun, currently coined the International Potato Peacemaker, are in the works. Just kidding...we would NEVER do such a thing.
In all seriousness though, we do have jobs to do. That's why we're here. We've most recently scrambled up talus and scree to position a weather station and radio repeater for the GPS transmissions. Such accomplishments, of course, fail in comparison to an Everest ascent, but they give us the satisfaction to make it by day by day. I have you to thank Mountain Zone for giving me the opportunity to keep the creative juices flowing (and potatoes flying).
But how do we really keep going? When the dispatches have been placed, weather scrutinized, data collected, and supplies packed, what keeps us patiently waiting within the shelter of our nylon confines? Well, it's simple really. We have friends up there.
—Terry O'Connor
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