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The bucket we found to carry the fish had been used to send something down to the station sometime in the past. There were no stores at McMurdo Station, and we saved and reused everything. This bucket was ugly. It was black, with yellow and red paint all over it, because it had been used several times for one thing or another. The top had a lid we could seal, with about 30 little tabs that could be bent down to lock it in place. It had a handle, and I carried it with me on the way home, never letting it get out of my sight.

At the end of the cruise, the 93 fish that were collected were very carefully injected, wrapped in cloth, and placed in the 5 gallon bucket. They were small, most about 6 inches. They belonged to New Zealand, and were loaned to me to take home and work on. This collection of fish was one of the main reasons for the entire expedition, and I had it, in a bucket, to carry home. It was a very heavy responsibility.

The trip home for me started on a ship, from the station to New Zealand. The bucket shared my bunk. In New Zealand, I had to wait for a military air transport flight to San Francisco, and the bucket shared my room with me. The flight to San Francisco was long, we didn’t have jets then, and the bucket shared my seat with me. We landed at Travis Air Force Base, in San Francisco.

They put me in a car and drove me to the San Francisco airport, where I would take a regular commercial flight home, to Southern California.

I had been gone for about five months. I had not shaved or cut my hair in that time. I had bright red hair down past my shoulders, and a full red beard all over my face. When I was on the ice, everyone look like that, but it was 1959, and the hippy movement hadn’t become popular in the cities yet, and I was to the city person, some sort of mountain man, and probably mentally deficient.

I was wearing a red plaid, wool shirt, and an old pair of wool Army issued pants. To make the picture complete. I was carrying my ugly bucket in one hand and my ice ax and my steel crampons in the other hand, because I couldn’t find any way to pack them. Can you imagine what would happen now, if I tried to get on an airplane with an ice ax and a bunch of metal crampons?!

I walked up to the counter to buy my ticket, set my bucket down and was totally unaware of how I was affecting those around me; I just asked for the first flight out to Los Angeles. The lady behind the counter, told me there is a plane leaving in 20 minutes, I think she just wanted to get rid of me as fast as possible, and gave me a ticket. I took my ticket, and reached down to pick up my bucket, and it was gone.

I panicked! I grabbed a lady standing next to me at the counter and said, “Did you see what happened to my bucket?”

She didn’t say anything. Her eyes were as big as saucers as she was shaking. I realized later that she was terrified from looking at me. Her husband said, “The custodian took the old bucket away that was sitting on the floor. Is that the one you mean? There he goes, over there,” and pointed. I looked through the crowd of people that were milling around, and he was headed for a door that said employees only. I panicked about losing my bucket, and being late for my flight, and ran after the man, calling out, “That’s my bucket.” and waving my arm in the air to get his attention. It just happened that the arm I was waving was also holding my ice ax and my crampons. People scattered, and I suddenly had a clear path to the custodian. I reached him just as he got to the door, and he, for the first time, heard me and turned around. I was right on him, waving my ice ax; he dropped the bucket, and slammed himself against the wall.

I didn’t have time to explain anything, I had to catch my flight. I picked up the bucket and just said, “That’s my bucket.” Then I turned and ran to catch my plane again. The people gave me a clear path, even though I was no longer waving my ice ax around.

I made my plane and sat in the backseat, by myself, okay with my bucket and ice ax. The flight attendant came back after we got in the air, and in a nice calm voice asked, ‘Where are you coming from?” I told her the Antarctic, and she asked, “How did you get to the San Francisco airport?” I told her it had all been military transportation. She just said, “Well, that explains a lot,” and left. It wasn’t until then, that I realized what had just happened. I chuckled to myself all the way home.

When I got home, I looked in the mirror and I even scared myself.