As I depart for my 10th expedition to Antarctica, I find myself reflecting on what brought me to this point. Essentially, my career in polar marine biology has been made possible through the generous collaboration and immense amounts of teamwork provided by others.

Not surprisingly, ecological field work in the harsh environment of Antarctica requires more teamwork than most admittedly collaborative scientific enterprises.

I learned this early in my career during my first venture south to the subantarctic island of Kerguelen. How quickly I was introduced to the immense logistical enterprise of field support required to sustain polar researchers.

Shelter, medicine, clothing, scientific supplies, food, and wine (yes, wine... Kerguelen is, after all, home to a FRENCH Antarctic station) must be ordered, inventoried, packaged for transport, shipped, re-inventoried, unpacked, and stored on station. My appreciation for this logistical complexity only intensified when I shifted my Antarctic research program to continental Antarctica.

McMurdo Station, site of seven of my expeditions and by far the largest of Antarctic research stations, has a population that swells to more than 1000 people at the height of the austral summer. One can just imagine the logistics of provisioning this small town designed to support science.

To complicate matters, essentials (and believe me, everything falls into this category) have to be ordered years ahead of time to allow time for shipment by sea. Only a few items such as occasional boxes of fresh fruit and vegetables or critical pieces of delicate scientific equipment can afford to be shipped by air.

As I depart now for the U.S. operated Palmer Station on the Antarctic Peninsula, I am reminded that even a small station that houses but 40 individuals requires a tremendous team effort and lead time to provision needed supplies.

In a similar fashion, the pursuit of scientific questions requires much collaboration. My own endeavors in the field of polar marine chemical ecology would have long been shelved had it not been for the good fortune of meeting up with a marine chemist who complemented my training in ecology. Dr. Bill Baker, a professor of natural products chemistry at the University of South Florida, brought to the table considerable synergy, fresh ideas, technical expertise, and an uncanny knowledge of field operations for someone trained as a bench-top chemist (complete with superb diving skills).

Dr. Chuck Amsler, an Associate Professor of Biology at UAB and an internationally renowned marine plant biologist with polar experience, completed our three-man leadership team. Importantly, Chuck broadened the questions we were asking about the evolution of chemical defenses to include polar marine plants.

Moreover, creative insights, late night discussions rehashing scientific theories, assistance with field and dive operations, and a multitude of scientific publications and presentations have resulted from our collective backbone of Antarctic research assistants, graduate students, and postdoctoral fellows.

Undergraduate honors students have assisted in analyzing our Antarctic samples in laboratories at our home institutions. Technicians at the National Cancer Institute and the UAB Cystic Fibrosis Center have processed hundreds of our Antarctic samples, searching for compounds that might yield new drugs.

Professional divers, plumbers, electricians, carpenters, medical doctors, stockroom assistants, communication experts, helicopter and plane pilots, sailors and deck hands, dishwashers and cooks, have all, in myriad ways, made our Antarctica science program feasible.

All told, as I prepare to depart once again to the quintessential “Deep South," I am struck with a sense of gratitude for all those who share in the collaborative spirit that makes possible the scientific enterprise in this formidable, yet equally provocative, environment we call Antarctica.