Week Two of Work

The windy, snowy weather continues. Today we had sustained winds of 50 miles an hour and gusts to sixty.

Earlier in the week, an ice storm coated the buildings and walkways with a layer of slick, clear ice. This ice plus the wind makes walking and working outside treacherous.

My job today was to walk up the side of the glacier and check on the science cable that runs to my building. The winds and freeze/thaw cycles have buried the cable in ice and I intended to chip it out.

To get to the glacier, I got my first experience of "the backyard", the area that runs between station and the glacier. Right now the backyard is covered by 5' of snow but this summer it will melt out and we are allowed to camp back on the rocks.

Here's a few pics of me at work and the iced railings in station.

Departure of the Gould

"Line handlers to the pier !" was the call that rang out across the station.

Today was the day for departure of the Gould, the ship that brought us summer people in and is taking the winter people back to Chile. It gave me a reason to reflect on the changes that had taken place since I arrived a week ago. Of course I was more trained on my job, and I had gotten to know my co-workers. But I was thinking more about the changes in the water and sky. Since we arrived on an icy day, the sea ice in the harbor had moved in and out almost daily. I was fascinated by this phenomenon. On some mornings we awoke to find that the surface of the water was crowded thick with pancake ice, and then, just as suddenly, by afternoon the ice had moved on. Other days we watched big chunks of icebergs float in almost to station, twist and twirl and then, seemingly vanish. The ice almost seemed to breath. This morning the area in front of station was clear. We call the two bodies of water around our point Hero Inlet and Arthur Harbor and the ice had blown out from both overnight.

While it was here, the ship was tied up with enormous lines at the bow and stern, and the week of snow and ice since had frozen and buried them. When word came over the radios to free the ship, we went to work. Digging and hacking at the ice together, the seven of us on the stern team freed the lines.

The ship began to pull away and we waved goodbye. What to do next ? In commemoration of the departing crew, lots of folks participated in an uniquely Palmer tradition - the polar bear swim. Starting with Ken's backwards somersault, they lined up to jump into the -1 deg C water. Brrrrr....

All I can say about the swimming was that it looked very painful and was very short. This is a somewhat crazy place.

60,000 gallons of fuel

Palmer station is powered by twin diesel generators, the fuel for which is stored in the big white tanks on the hill. One of our tasks while the ship is here was to transfer over enough fuel for the next six months into our tanks. Because it carries a high risk of spillage, a big no-no under the Antarctic Conservation Act, this was a high stress operation that we've been planning for days. Today we started early.

















First we ran a hose from the ships hold, across the gangway to the fixed pipe on station.

Every few feet we placed cut off clamps that could isolate a bad section of hose.


Then, we turned pumps on aboard the ship to push the fuel towards station and took shifts watching the hose. With five people on duty at a time and fueling taking 6 hours, this took almost everyone on station. We watched the hose couplings, we watched the pumps, we walked the hose and inspected where it lay across the gangway.


And, at the end of the day, we had transferred 60,000 gallons of fuel with not even a drop spilled.

First Days at Work

The day after we arrived, it was time to get to work. The clear and calm weather that had greeted us on our arrival was gone and we were in for several days of icing and high wind.

Several of my most enjoyable tasks are outdoors. In good weather, being outside gives me astounding views of the glacier, station and nearby islands. But in wind, rain and icing, the work is shadowed by concerns of hypothermia or injury. This week, since lots of the weather fell into the rain and icing category, every task became an adventure, performed with blowing ice and snow stinging my face. For the VLF experiment, my regular tasks include climbing the glacier along the route of our cable and chipping it out of the ice.

Another task I do regularly is collect air samples to be sent back to labs at NOAA and Scripps. What scientists want to get in these samples is the clean air of Antarctica, the most pristine in the world. What they don't want to get is my exhaled breathe in the samples. So, I get to operate the equipment while I hold my breathe. Out on the snow and rocks this is more challenging than it was in the lab in Boulder. On the day I took my first samples, the only possible spot was surrounded by knee deep snow with a crusty layer of ice on top. With icy rain lashing my face my job was to place the collection unit, run away and then run back stop the sampling device. I went through this a couple of times just to make sure I got a sample without a trace of my own breath.






Down at station, here's what the ship looks like at dock. Its a dominant and familiar presence. Along with the other summer people I came in with, I am sleeping aboard until space becomes available in the station buildings. The photo is of Diane, the station chef delivering bagels to the ship's crew.

Arrival to Palmer !

If yesterday led me to think of poetry, this morning left me speechless. The captain kindly slowed the Gould during the night so that on first light we would enter the grandiose and narrow Lemaire Channel. What a spectacular sight, first navigated in 1858, the channel consists of: enormous sheer-cliffed mountains falling to the sea, iridescent green icebergs floating in clear blue water. The Lemaire is rimmed by the Antarctic mainland on one side and numerous islands on the other. The largest and most impressive is Anvers Island, my home for the next seven months. Along the way we passed crabeater and fur seals as well as a colony of Adelie penguins walking across the ice. We watched the penguins in awe as they slid along on their bellies or waddled along, looking down as they did for leopard seals that could leap out of the sea below.

One of my shipmates saw my face and captured my sense of awe. He asked, "You know the first time you looked into the Grand Canyon ? Well, it didn't even come close to this, did it ?" I was reminded of the first time I saw the moon through a telescope. Except, this time I was standing in the beauty, not just looking at it.

Rather than muck things up with words about the channel, I'll just post some images.

sunrise on the mountains:

birds and seals:

iceburgs and mountains:



































At lunchtime we pulled up to the dock at Palmer station. Low clouds had come in but it was still a gorgeous day. The natural setting of the station was stunning with numerous small islands nearby and an enormous cracked blue glacier on Anvers. I had seen from photos The 28 members of the winter crew came out to greet us and tie the boat up. From there the day was whirlwind - introductions, orientation, fresh baked cookies in the galley. For most of my shipmates this was a homecoming. Most had worked previously at Palmer and all except me had worked in Antarctica before. The place and jobs they were coming back to were familiar. For me, everything was new. I met my outgoing predecessor in the research associate job and started handover training with him.

I though to myself: "this is real. I am in Antarctica and I am about to start work."

Note: Many of these photos are courtesy of Scott Sternbach, professor of photography and NSF artist in residence. They are #2, 4, 7 and 9 above. All rights to these photos are reserved through Scott of course. You can see more of Scott's incredible work at: http://scottsternbach.com/

Day Two of the Drake: Sea Ice !

Today was a day pushing through the ice. I'm not sure what to say about so much strangeness and beauty so I'll just post this quote which flitted about my mind today.






From The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1798:

And no there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

The land of ice, and of fearful sounds where no living thing was to be seen.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken--
The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around:
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
like noises in a swound !

Entering the Southern Ocean

Since we left Punta Arenas the ride has gotten progressively rockier. The weather is still very good with no big waves but there are long rollers and the boat sways with each one of these. Last night I figured out that if I stuffed my pillows between me and the edge of the bunk I didn't roll so much and I could get to sleep.

All morning we continued our path south through seemingly endless steel gray water. And then in the afternoon, something changed. We went through a dense fog bank and then I could feel the air temperature cool. I went down to the lab to see the sea monitors so I could watch the sea surface temperature. The water was getting colder, seemingly by the minute, when I glanced at the monitor it was actually below freezing, about -1 deg C. We were entering the Antarctica Circumpolar Current and the Drake Passage.

At the bottom of the world, the waters of the Atlantic, Pacific and Indian Oceans meet and swirl around in a wind driven fury. Sailors commemorate these storm tossed waters according to their lines of latitude as the “roaring forties”, the “furious fifties”, and finally the “screaming sixties”. As the ominous names suggest, the waters of this ocean are turbulent. Persistent westerly winds generate strong swells and, sometimes, mountainous seas. At about 60 deg south the Antarctic Circumpolar current separates the subtropical waters of the other oceans from the body of water known as the Southern Ocean. This is the world’s biggest ocean current, flowing eastward at an astonishing rate of 153 million cubic meters per second, roughly a hundred times the flow of all the world's rivers.
Our entry into the Southern Ocean was through the very young Drake Passage. The Drake opened when Antarctica moved away from South America 30 to 34 million years ago; this separation of the continents allowed the formation of the Antarctic Circumpolar Current which chilled the formerly forested continent and covered it is glaciers. The Drake and the Southern Ocean are deep: 13,000 to 16,000 feet over most of its extent, as compared to an average depth of 12,000 feet for the other oceans. If you want to read more about the Drake or the South Ocean, there is a good website here: http://www.ecophotoexplorers.com/antarctica_southocean.asp

As we entered The Drake, my shipmates and I became ocean researchers. Understanding the interaction of the Southern Ocean with its neighbors is important to an understanding of global climate, and so, every 20 minutes we collected data. In shifts we measured the temperature, salinity, oxygen concentration, pH and other parameters of surface water. Probes dropped over the side transmitted additional data to 1500 feet.

Standing outside we began seeing more wildlife. Southern Giant Petrels were in sight most of the time as were Wandering Albatross, Greater Shearwaters, Snowy Petrels, Wilson’s Storm Petrels, and Cape Petrels. All of these birds are great wanderers who live 90% of their lives over the ocean. To deal with the salt water, they have evolved salt glands that takes the salt out of the water and secretes it through their nostrils. Sometime later a Minke whale passed us headed the other direction.




















Late in the afternoon we sailed into a field of sea ice. Wow. We had seen ice off in the distance a few times but this was the first time we had to travel through it. The ice was in crusty plates about 2 foot thick called "pancake ice" and as the ship slowed to 3 knots and plowed into it we could hear resounding booms as it hit the outer hull. Lots of people crowded onto the bridge and the mate let us all try a turn steering through the ice.























As afternoon gave way to evening, the ice grew thicker and the ship's crew turned on spotlights to see the path ahead. It seemed we were barely moving but the sound of the ice was a constant "knock, knock" on the hull. The mate swung the spotlights from side to side like giant eyes as he drove, looking for icebergs. Staring into the night from the bow was an unreal feeling. The powerful lights which apparently looked out a mile were eaten up by the darkness. I went to my cabin swaying with the ship and wondering what the next day would be like.