Thanks to M. Deany

The man, the myth, the legend. Photo: Sylvestre Guidi


Now that I'm back in something like the modern world and have been able to wade through all the email and even speak to a few of my peeps on the telephone I've realized that while I was away a wave of confusion has been sweeping western civilization. Just how was antarcticiana updated in my long absence in the field camps of the McMurdo Dry Valleys?

Everything you've read here for the last two months came to you courtesy of the man of the hour, Michael Deany, who stayed up late into the evening on his days off, slaving to update this blog from files I managed to intermittently send back to McMurdo on passing helicopters. All this for neither personal gain nor glory. I owe him an enormous vote of thanks for all his efforts. Deany, even my mother thanks you from all the way in New Jersey; I spoke to her this morning and she asked me to impress upon you how wonderful it was for all my loved ones back home to be kept in touch with the movements and adventures of our happy little film crew.

Any typographical snafus, editorial catastrophes or errors of poor taste and judgement remain my sole responsibility; I signal only one to faithful readers. Two adjacent missives inadvertently contained the same text. For those of you who still eagerly want to know about dead seals and the Pecten Gravels, allow me to refer you here.