From Farm Girl to Antarctic Explorer

Keri Nelson, a Korean adoptee raised on a Minnesota farm, embarked on an unexpected journey to Antarctica. Drawn by a childhood longing, she discovered a unique community and a profound connection to the land. Witnessing firsthand the impact of climate change, she became a passionate advocate for its preservation. Facing extreme cold and internal struggles, she learned to navigate the continent's demanding environment

Can you tell us a little about your upbringing?

I’m a Korean adoptee who grew up on a farm in Minnesota. My dad was a farmer, with a lot of family in the area, and my mom was an elementary school teacher. My sister (also a Korean adoptee) and I were some of the only people who weren’t white in the community. (My brother is a caucasian adoptee.) I had a really happy childhood in that farm town. At the same time, I wondered about things and people and places outside that little town, and as a kid, I didn’t know if there was anyone around who even knew what that felt like. I know now that there were, but I didn’t know that then.

Before stepping foot on the Icy continent of Antarctica, what were you doing?

Before working in Antarctica, I worked as a journalist, and as a registered nurse before switching careers a third time and heading to Antarctica. I’ve now worked in Antarctica for 16 years. I’ve spent 11 summers and 6 winters on the continent, at McMurdo Station (south of New Zealand), Palmer Station (south of Chile and Argentina) and the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station (which sits at the South Pole.)

I found out about the place in a conversation with a childhood acquaintance whose cousin had done some random job in Antarctica years before. I think I was just delighted to find out that visiting Antarctica wouldn’t cost me a dime. In fact, I could be paid (an extremely tiny amount given my practical skills at the time) to work there. I actually didn’t even know I COULD go there.

`First expeditioners ever in Antarctica`

As soon as I arrived, I knew I had found my tribe. It was just a feeling, but I knew it instantly. A bunch of fun, cool weirdos - and not always weird in the way you think. There are a lot of people there who embrace their unique individuality, and find things to do in the world that are things I’ve never heard of. I loved it - the community and the set-up - immediately. And I fell in love with the continent in other, more meaningful ways as the years went by.

Now I’m hooked. My love is pure. I love Antarctica and I’m very pro-people who love Antarctica. I’m writing a book and broadcasting on social media as (Simply Antarctica) and I’m podcasting with my friend and fellow Antarctican Cassa Grant, about lessons we’ve learned about finding adventure in this world (Antarctica Did That For Me, on Spotify and Apple). I think adventure can be found in any life, on a lot of different scales, and we want to encourage people to go out and look for it.

Upon first arriving on Antarctica - Can you take us back to that moment. What were your initial feelings when you first arrived?

There are a lot of ways to get to Antarctica, but my first arrival was at McMurdo Station, and in the American program at that time, that meant arrival on a military plane. A C-17, to be exact, an enormous military cargo plane.

There aren’t a lot of windows on the plane, so you probably won’t see the landing or even know you’ve landed sometimes until you sense all motion stopping. So I had no idea what it would look like outside until the door at the front of the plane opened and this bright white light came pouring in, along with a lot of white frozen steam clouds and very cold air. It was loud - jet engines still running. A plane of 140 people all dressed in enormous (just physically bulky clothes, carrying huge bags full of other gear) jostled to get out of the plane. It’s really noisy, and really cold and really exciting all at the same time. I couldn’t even believe where I was. I was so happy. And I was right to feel all of those things. It actually ended up being the start of a huge adventure for me, and it felt just like that - like the start of a huge adventure.

How long were you first stationed there and what was your role?

That first year, I was there from August until February - just over six months. In the US Program that’s known as Winfly and Summer. My first job was leading a small team of janitors, cleaning dorms and work centers across the station. When I worked at McMurdo Station, that summer season population would swell up to 1200 people sometimes (technically more than the station could house, but possible as people would come and go frequently to field camps) and that meant at the time, a staff of more than 20 janitors.

Does it surprise you to hear that being a janitor in Antarctica was an excellent job? Because it was. We had a lot of fun, and it was a job that helped me fall in love with Antarctica.

What are some of the biggest changes or developments you've witnessed in Antarctica since you first started working there in 2007?

A couple of things come to mind. The first is that, like everything now, the internet casts an intense spotlight on everything that happens in Antarctica. I kind of enjoyed being “away” from the world in those first years of my career when connectivity was much worse. But of course, tech transforms the way scientists can gather data on the continent, and that boosts what we know as humans about the world.

The second thing is tourism. Antarctica has become a lot more accessible to a lot more people. More than 100K people visited Antarctica in the 2022-23 season. That’s a number that makes my eyes pop. There are big challenges ahead as more people visit, environmentally and logistically. It also means that, on a personal level, Antarctica is more accessible than it has ever been, and that’s good news for the people reading your publication and listening to my podcast, Antarctica Made Me Do That. It means this kind of adventure is possible, and I know we both love that.

Finally, and really, most importantly, I’ve seen so much climate change, even in the short time I’ve been there. It’s not so apparent at McMurdo Station, the first place in Antarctica I worked at, but it is profoundly visible on the Antarctic Peninsula, where Palmer Station is located, and where I’ve spent most of my recent years in Antarctica. In just a few years time (as I’ve documented on my Simply Antarctica social media accounts) I’ve seen whole islands appear out of edges of glaciers, completely melt out, and become actual geography of the area. In just a few years!!! That is insane, to me, the kind of chance I should (MAYBE) see over a lifetime, happen in front of me, day by day. The scientists there are recording enormous changes in the water column and in other data, like how far animals are traveling to even find food that can cope with the changed ocean environment. Witnessing this is sobering. It’s no longer theoretical.

Have you faced any significant challenges or obstacles during your tenure in Antarctica, and how did you overcome them?

I give a lot of credit to people on this continent for facing challenges on a daily basis that seem to come out of thin air. Will the icebreaker arrive in time to clear a path for the fuel tanker? How on earth do we keep doing Antarctica science and keep COVID off the continent? How do we change logistical operations as the once-reliable sea ice changes?

As intense as Antarctica’s physical characteristics are (the coldest, highest, driest, etc.), for me, my internal landscape has always led to my biggest challenges there. And I think that’s true for a lot of people who work in Antarctica. The state of relationships (romantic or friendship or work, on-ice or off-ice) has been at the heart of some of the biggest challenges I’ve seen people face, and I’ve certainly not been immune.

I would like to issue a challenge of my own to these Antarctic institutions to continue to put serious work towards tamping down on harassment and assault of working staff at these stations and to prioritize the people being assaulted over those doing the assaulting. It’s work that needs to be done in a serious, non-lip service way - no excuses, because this continent, and its people, deserve better.

What was the coldest temperature ever reached while you were stationed in Antarctica?

For me, it was about -60F (it was still, so that was windchill and ambient). It was cold, like, you could die and you could feel that cold, but also, nowhere near the cold you can experience in Antarctica. At the South Pole in winter, they are always cheering for it to reach -100F below, just so they can experience it, and I don’t think that happens every season.

Was there ever a moment where you really felt the cold? As in, you were outside for work but you quickly came back in after realising it was too much?

Absolutely. It is sometimes so cold (especially in Antarctic winters, and especially at places far south, like the South Pole) that you can feel how quickly the cold could kill you. You sense how instantly all of your skin would freeze if you don’t take care with layers and breaks to warm up. It’s sobering, and definitely changes my personal behavior when it’s extremely cold.

Tell us what you love most about Antarctica and your reasons behind going back again and again?

This answer has changed over the years for me, only because I find more and more things to value. Many people will say the Antarctic community is something to return to, and they’re not wrong. It’s a great, vibrant, unique community. For me these days, though, it’s more a love of the continent that I feel most when I’m not there.

I love the idea, written in the treaty, that Antarctica is for everyone. We’re trying down here. We’ve agreed to only do activities that benefit all of humanity, through knowledge and art and international cooperation. We’ve got a chance here (still) to try to be better humans here than we’ve turned out to be in other places. You know, that’s hope. So for me, Antarctica is the ultimate hopeful place because we still have a chance to do better there because we know better.

Also for me, as a Korean-American adoptee, there are very few places (even the places I am from) who meet me, and assume I’m “really” from there. I like Antarctica because no one is “from there”. No one deserves to be there more than anyone else. Because, actually none of us really belong there. Finally, I’m in a place where all of us face the world from that equal philosophical starting place, and for me, that’s a really unique experience.

Looking forward, what are your goals or aspirations for your future work in Antarctica? Are there any specific projects or areas of research that you hope to explore further?

I’m always looking for new opportunities to interact in different ways with Antarctica. At the moment, I’m really inspired by some things I have to say about the place that I just haven’t seen in the current dialogue. Absent of someone much more distinguished saying it, I’m going to try to fill those shoes. So I’m writing a book, trying to offer a different lens of a relationship with the continent that doesn’t include conquering some aspect of it, and honours the way a relationship with a place and community like that can unfold over many years.

I’ve also started a podcast called Antarctica Did That For Me, with my fellow Antarctican Cassa Grant, and we’re trying to reach people who are trying to notice and nurture the adventurous parts of their hearts. We want to connect with those folks and show them how tuning in to those parts of themselves really can lead to satisfying lives. Both Cassa and I are farm girls from really rural places. We ended up living lives that seemed big to our own hearts, and we want to help other people do this too.

UPDATE: Since first speaking with Keri from Simply Antartica, she has informed us that she is definitely going to be working at Scott Base next season. This will mark her 17th season, 4th base, and the second country she has worked for.
A huge congratulations to you Keri from Simply Antartica