“I see why they call this place ‘Room with a View,’” I said to my longtime friend, Jay, as he maneuvered our snowmobile around some of the others in the group. He brought it to a stop and we climbed off to have a better look around.

We were partway up Mount Erebus, the only active volcano in Antarctica. Pausing to take in its full majesty, our eyes climbed the mountain to its smoky summit, then traversed back down over a blanket of icy snow rippling toward us. Crevasses peeked through the ripples, while others undoubtedly lay in wait. The 12,500-foot mountain was a formidable sight and looked even more massive as it rose from sea level, taking up a big part of Ross Island.

Nearby stood a pair of yellow pyramid-shaped “Scott tents.” Named and designed after those used by the famous Antarctic explorer, Robert F. Scott. Next to them were two long wooden sleds that looked like they belonged in the Iditarod. Only there were no dogs here. The last sled dogs left McMurdo Station in 1987. My first season was 1994. I wish I would have had the opportunity to see them.

“Room with a View,” as we called it, was mainly set up as a training stop for people going out to the field camps. They would learn how to pull wooden sleds over steep terrain and deal with life in camp. Other times, it was a wonderful escape for the lucky few who were picked to have a day excursion away from town.

Beyond the tents spread a scene so vast it was hard to comprehend. Distance is difficult to judge here as there are no trees or buildings, and the air is so clean and dry that light has no haze or humidity to filter through, giving the illusion things are closer than they really are.

The sky was a beautiful blue deepened by the contrast of white permanent ice shelf. It bridged the gap between us and the Royal Society Mountain Range, some 75 miles away—a group of extinct volcanos left reaching for the sky. Between us and them, through the flat expanse of glacial and sea ice were two seemingly small black islands which popped up like mere piles of dirt. Past them lay the open waters of the Ross Sea, with icebergs newly freed from the clutches of the shelf.

So far, our morning had consisted of meeting on the sea ice at the edge of town dressed in full extreme cold weather (ECW) gear. This included long johns, fleece pants, wind-proof bib overalls, fleece jacket, a thick red parka, neck gator, hat, mittens, bunny boots or pack boots and snow goggles. We also had our orange ECW bag and inside were other oversized military issued mittens, balaclava, our sack lunch, water bottle, and different odds and ends. The Search and Rescue (SAR) instructors had us group around the snowmobiles where we received training and safety procedures needed for the day’s events.

Room with a View was about a 30-minute snowmobile ride from town. This was also my first chance to drive a snowmobile. I started out, with Jay riding behind me, and soon realized this was no Sunday driving group. Quite quickly we were racing along the flagged route and flying over finger drifts. With everything around us white, it was hard to gauge how deep the drifts were. After about 15-minutes, the leader stopped and we took a quick break.

“You can drive,” I told Jay. I got off the seat and he slid forward. We all took a sip of water, adjusted any bags or other equipment, and soon were on our way again. Jay had driven a snowmobile many times and had no problem racing along with the group. I think he was having fun trying to scare me!

Now, taking in the gorgeous scenery of Room with a View, our group of about 15 rested and refreshed with sack lunches packed for us by the galley staff. It’s funny how you don’t notice the absence of smell until times like this. There were no scents in the air until we opened our sacks of food. Wafts of peanut butter and jelly, bologna, honey-nut granola bars, cookies, chips, apples and juice boxes filled our nostrils. A reminder of town where we would mainly smell diesel fuel and galley food.

Sometimes we would take a walk to the tiny greenhouse where the intoxicating aroma of vegetables would surround us, and the humidity would envelop us. Strangely though, for many of us, walking to the green house was a rare event. I’m not sure why I didn’t do it more often, other than it was a break from routine, and down here, we can become entrenched in routine.

But today was not at all routine. We were going to get a chance to walk through a crevasse. For me, a firehouse dispatcher/town operator, always stuck within the confines of town, this was a dream excursion. One that very few people out of the roughly thousand in town got to experience. It was mostly given out by lottery, and after five seasons, I finally had the opportunity! I was supposed to be at work today, but as a surprise, all the firefighters off shift volunteered to each take an hour and cover for me so I could go.

Soon it was time to continue toward the crevasse. We packed everything away, zipped up our red company issued parkas and pulled our snow goggles down.

“Do you want to drive again?” Jay asked.

“No, I’m good. I’d rather ride.”

We followed the flagged route around the side of the mountain for another 30 minutes to a place aptly called, “The IMAX Crevasse.” Named after a movie filmed here in 1991.

Staying close to the flags was essential. More than once hikers had died or nearly died from veering too far from marked routes and falling into crevasses. Even routes close to town could have deadly consequences for those unwilling to heed the path.

Before long we came to a stop on a hill and began putting on a harness. I took off my snow googles and replaced them with sunglasses I had stashed in the deep pockets of my parka. We then roped up together, grabbed an ice axe from the SAR leader, and started the trek down the snow-white hill. The area had been marked out, but all precautions were taken in case any new crevasses had opened up. Single file, we continued on down and around the corner to an inconspicuous opening.

As we approached the cave-like gap we paused to unlatch from the tether binding us. Stepping into the dark opening I took off my sunglasses and drank in the blue-drenched cavern gaping before us.

Jay started climbing down the big blocks of icy snow that littered the opening. Looking back, he yelled, “Hey, stay there. That’s a great picture!” I gave him my best polar explorer stance and he snapped a few photos. Then he ran back up to have me go down and do the same for him. With nowhere to develop film, we would have to wait months to see if they turned out, and there would be no second chances.

The SAR guide gave everyone time to take it all in and get some photos before having us all meet at the base of the crevasse. As we climbed down, the blocks of snow cluttering our path grew to the size of giant boulders, before giving way to a narrow, straight corridor running the length of the upside-down teardrop-shaped crevasse.

We walked single file through the valley of snow. Walls bowed up 70 feet or so above our heads to the snow-bridged top. In some areas horizontal layers formed a step-like pattern up the sides. It was an other-worldly feeling. Still, silent, cold. It felt as though we were walking into the depths of the earth. The thought of the massive walls of ice on both sides of us, and the thousands of years it took to form them, gave the feeling of stepping back in time.

Blue faded to dim gray as me made our way slowly through the long cavern. And too soon, still full of awe, we came to the opening on the other side. Here, we had to wait in line as those in front hooked into ropes set up by the SAR crew and scrambled across more giant snow boulders with a large drop off between them.

My chance came, and as I emerged, I found myself in what looked to be a world made by Dr. Seuss. Walls of snow with mushroom tops stood on both sides creating a whimsically beautiful scene. We were at the bottom of what would eventually be another hidden crevasse as the mushroom tops reached ever closer to each other. We unroped and took another break before needing to climb back up the hill to our snowmobiles. Lying in the snow, we enjoyed the last of our time in this fairytale kingdom.

Eventually the break ended. We once again roped together and walked single file up the steep hill. Stopping every now and then to rest, we would turn to take in the epic scenery behind us. A snow wall to our right, a vast slope off to our left, and out beyond us the ice shelf stretched to the horizon. In the far distance we could see the mountains with their black slopes and marshmallow cream pouring out between the cracks.

Making it back to the snowmobiles, we had one more thing to take care of. Some of us needed a bathroom break. It’s a fickle dance of staying hydrated in the dryest place on earth without needing to go to the bathroom too often. And, they only allowed yellow snow by yellow flags. Thankfully there was a yellow flag down the hill a bit from our snowmobiles. No outhouse, no walls, just a flag with a view!

Waiving the opportunity to go when we got here, several women, including myself needed to visit the flag. Only now the wind had picked up and it was getting pretty blustery. Try being a woman layered in cold weather gear, including bibs, and needing to go in freezing cold wind.

In true sisterhood, some of us took off our parkas and made a wall around the yellow flag while each took a turn. My turn came and even with the wall of parkas, I was so cold by the time I took off all the layers that I couldn’t execute my mission, and finally aborted. At 24, I knew my bladder strength was up for the challenge. (Today, at 51, this would have played out much differently. 😊)

When everyone was ready, we hopped back onto our snowmobiles and made the hour-long ride back to town. It had been a dream day and I was sad that it was over. Yet, I was beyond thankful for the opportunity to be here and to have gone with my long-time friend, Jay—whom I met on my second trip down. Some of us come back year after year, and it becomes a family. A true home away from home.

We parked the snowmobiles on the sea ice in front of town and walked up to our dorms. I said goodbye to Jay, and headed for my room. What a great way to start the new millennia!