It is good to be back in New Zealand and good to be back in Christchurch. It has been quite a few years since I was last here -- 2000 -- but the memories come flooding back, almost all of them positive.

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On that trip I went straight from clearing New Zealand customs at Auckland -- the large city in the middle of North Island and the commercial capital -- to Christchurch, halfway down the east coast of South Island. The rest of New Zealand can wait until I come off "The Ice," as the Antarctic is universally referred to. Not only is this term appealing in its brevity, there is in it an implied reverence and respect that I find equally appealing.

Right now I am on a mission: to get to The Ice and fulfill my objectives there, so I have to keep my eye on the ball. Because this is mid-season, there are fewer flights from these latitudes then when the bulk of the summer personnel are going in or out, roughly October and January. As a result, the 12-hour flight from L.A. to Auckland and the subsequent two-hour flight on to CHCH included a dozen or so folks that I quickly identified as fellow Antarcticans also headed all the way south. I would have pegged them anyway, but a few special program-issued bag tags didn't hurt for confirmation.

We have all settled at the same charming Victorian hotel near a perfect little park, and have quickly bonded due to the shared experience we are about to undergo and interests in common. Of course, I am the only artist.

Due to the dramatic change in time zones (New Zealand/Antarctic time is 18 hours ahead of EST), none of us could sleep past 5 this morning. The sloth of over 30 hours in transit, the insomnia, and the extraordinary beauty of the enormous botanical gardens a block away attracted us all, individually, and when we intersected in our morning jogs under eucalyptus, holly, sequoia, Norfolk pine, cork, birch, kauri, rata and so many other trees from all over the globe, all in gigantic proportions due to the fertility of this geologically young country (only 5 million years) it was a bit comical. Similiar minds in similiar circumstances think along similiar pathways, it seems.

The middle of today was occupied by catching a shuttle out to the airport some ten miles out of this charmingly Old European town as far from Europe as one can get, to the headquarters of the U.S., New Zealand, and Italian programs. The US program is by far the largest. The main purpose of this was to ensure that the government-issued clothing actually fit, was appropriate to different jobs we have to perform, and to the different environments we will be performing them in. The only way to do this is to try everything on, sometimes several times as the many layers must be examined in differing combinations. Thirty-below in deep field is no time to find that one has two left gloves. The difficult part is that it is mid-summer here, and about 80 degrees. Merely putting on clothing designed for 60-below is a chore as one rapidly overheats from the activity. This is but a prelude to tomorrow's miseries.

Tomorrow at 6 in the morning we are to report back to headquarters. Our first task will be to don all this ECW (Extreme Cold Weather) gear all over again. But this time we must keep it on, before and during the flight. If, heaven forfend, we should go down on land, the survivors, if any, would be in a pretty fix; the ECW could perhaps keep them alive long enough to be rescued. If we ditch in the water there is no realistic hope of survivors.

We will swelter in this gear for several hours if we are lucky, longer if we are not, as the plane is loaded with our bags and other cargo, fueled, checked and rechecked, and so on.

Then we are off. I will report further soon. Kia Ora -- Maori for "best regards."

Next: The flight south.