A change in the weather and suddenly my slow day becomes packed with activity. Snow has blown in across McMurdo Sound, preventing air travel back to the main base at McMurdo Station. The two helicopters that had been running deliveries in the Dry Valleys are stranded – and they’re taking sanctuary here at Marble Point.

Pilots, helicopter technicians and passengers crowd into the house to wait out the weather. They’re on the couches, they’re in the kitchen, and they’re joking around.

And they’re all hungry.

We are the Dry Valleys pit stop: a place to stop and rest, to refuel and to get a hot meal. The helicopters fly in and out of McMurdo Station but travel predominantly here in the Dry Valleys on the Antarctic continent. Their commute? A 50-mile stretch of the Ross Sea. The Dry Valley field camps, all outposts of scientific research, run on tight supplies and often house their residents in tents. That’s how Marble Point, set up specifically to serve the working fleet of helicopters and their crews, came into existence.

At first glance, the camp doesn’t look like much. Apart from the main building, we have two one-room bunkhouses for stranded pilots and passengers, a small workshop, and a generator shack that provides us with electricity. From the outside, the camp appears to be several mislaid toolsheds. When you walk through our tiny coatroom into the main building, however, you are greeted by a real home with a kitchen, living room and all.

Right now this home is packed. I have pots on every burner: lentil soup, beef stew, stir-fry, and one skillet that I’m considering for hamburgers. “Who wants theirs with cheese?” I call into the living room. I pull another tray of cookies out of the oven.

The adventure of cooking at Marble Point largely consists of the element of surprise. Forty-five minutes earlier, I was ready to pack it in for the day; no one was scheduled to stop here for fuel or for lunch. But when a sudden snow flurry prevented further flying, I found myself with a full house of hungry people.

It pays to keep cookie dough ready and on hand.

The station manager, known to all as “Crunch,” puts on music: bluegrass girls and raspy-voiced men sing in the background. I lean back on the counter, relieved that everyone has been fed. The coffeemaker finishes up and I take a cup for myself.

Radio and phone alert us to changes; we carry portable VHFs – very high frequency radios – and an intercom in the house broadcasts the Helicopter Operations channel. Liz from the helipad in McMurdo calls us directly. “Can you see Hogback Hill and 13 Mile Iceberg?” she asks me, checking on our visibility.

The weather is clearing: I can see both. The decision is made to fly again. I pack up cookies in tinfoil and everyone clears out. The choppers take off and Marble Point is quiet again. I take the few leftovers and pack them up, freezing some and putting a few things aside to add to tomorrow’s meals.

This is the dichotomy of living at Marble Point: One minute it is a bustling hub of activity, a gas station, diner and rest stop. The next it is solitary, beautiful but desolate, a few buildings on a wind-scraped stretch of rock between a glacier and the sea.

We are the only sign of human activity for miles and miles around. Just a 15-minute walk away from the house, with the helicopters gone, you can stand on top of a hill and be totally alone. Even the sound of the generator disappears.

It is, on a continent of extremes, quite the contrast.

You can’t predict which side of Marble Point we will be seeing. Like all who work in Antarctica, our lives are shaped entirely around Mother Nature. A blizzard could cut us off from everything for days, or a blizzard could give us a house full of company. Each day’s helicopter flight schedule comes out at 6 p.m. the day before, but like all of the plans we make here, it’s just a guideline. The Antarctic weather will decide what really happens.

Meg Adams, who grew up in Holden and graduated from John Bapst Memorial High School in Bangor, shares her Antarctic experiences with readers each Friday. For more about her adventure, information about Antarctica and to e-mail questions to her, go to the BDN Web site: bangordailynews.com