The trip north into the Coast Range took me through a glaciated landscape that looked as if it had recently emerged from under the ice. In fact the land is relatively fresh; the last glacier receded from these valleys less than 13,000 years ago, a blink, geologically speaking. I thought a lot about West Antarctica winding through these valleys. Both of these areas have had ice covering them, are next to a coastline and if (or when) the West Antarctic Ice Sheet melts, it will have an inland water body surrounded by mountain ranges, very similar to the northwest. I began to think about the ice as a shell, covering the earth and suppressing the potential for life. The valleys we drove through felt young and raw.

Once at the White Saddle Ranch, we settled in to wait for good weather and the need for a helicopter trip to bring down ice core from the field camp on the Col. My husband Paul and I spent the next day sketching and made dinner for graduate student Kelley Sterle, who was coordinating logistics and supplies. That night we heard from the field camp that the weather was stable and they had 20 meters of ice core to be taken down to a freezer truck waiting at the Ranch. I was in luck, so began tossing through all my equipment to head up early the next morning. I had to take a full compliment of mountaineering gear in the extremely unlikely event that we would have to climb to a lower elevation (I chose not to contemplate this too deeply). I also took up some sketching supplies and what I hoped would be treats for the research group.

Yes, the helicopter trip was amazing. The exceedingly competent pilot Les pointed out various features as we flew over the valley towards the peaks of the Coast Range, including where he had grown up. The helicopter rose above the green and browns of the lower elevations and into a white and granite land. I was surrounded by glaciers swirling between peaks, broken and cobbled ice falls, steep avalanche slopes striped with crevasses. There were several aqua blue melt lakes glowing in the middle of the scimitar glacier. In about half an hour we crested the edge of Combatant Col, gleaming white in the early morning sun. From our height, the tents of the camp looked like little dots, but the tower of the drill was distinct and I saw several folks waiting at the landing site ready to load the cores drilled the night before.

Camp leader Niki Bowerman gave me a tour and then, like most of the other team, retreated to her tent for much needed rest. Summer daytime temperatures can reach well into the 60’s on the Col, so the team drilled, logged and packed up the cores at night. I set myself up to sketch the two peaks, Combatant and Waddington, that defined the col like two bookends. The other two edges of the Col dropped away steeply to flow down the Scimitar and Tiedemann glaciers creating a slightly bowed table of snow about the size of two football fields. Looking Southwest, dark gray granite spires poked above white and blue and the Homathko Ice Field spread like cheese cake across a range in the distance. To the north, endless peaks floated into the distance. Though not visible, the coast and densely populated Vancouver Island were less than 20 miles away. Unbelievable to me as I contemplated overland travel and listened to avalanches rumble off of Mt Waddington.

To avoid being sunburned to a crisp, I popped back and forth between my solo tent, the group tent and sketching on the snow. I took a short nap and prepped food for dinner, wanting to stay awake for part of the drilling operation. It turned out to be a good idea given the night ahead. Various members of the crew emerged and retreated throughout the day, but at about 7 pm everyone gathered in the group tent looking for coffee and food to prepare for the nights drilling.

Set apart from the camp, the drill tower stood outside, secured by guy wires. A small box housed the motor and controls to raise and lower the cable and drill. This drill has been operating on remote glaciers throughout the world for several decades, though most of the parts have been replaced over that time. It is a simple, but effective design for drilling shallow cores. The seasoned drill operator, Bella, uses experience and finesse to fine tune and troubleshoot variable conditions. The DISC drill used for the WAIS Divide Ice Core Project, on the other hand, must cut through 2 miles of ice, and preserve the ice at a much colder temperature. This state of the art drill is housed inside a metal arch building and is operated remotely using a complex computer program that receives input from multiple sensors mounted on the drill. I admit to feeling biased towards the relatively low-tech machine, as it appeals to my anachronistic tendencies. But I know that it isn’t capable of pulling up ice and atmosphere trapped in the ice sheet 100,000 years ago.

Now back at my studio, I am using my sketches of the peaks and col to create a triptych of drawings. I grapple with the range of scales and tones of white. The glacier landscapes have a beauty that is so frail and a strength that I am incapable of fully grasping. The white and the wind pushes all other thoughts aside. So I work on the images, my goal to convey a tiny glimpse of these astounding places.

The art and science class presentations were a little bit different from each other. I first visited an 8th grade art class at Eckstein Middle School. In this particular class, the kids have chosen to take art as an elective for the entire year so I had a luxurious 1 1/2 hours for our activity. We began by talking about precipitation; visualizing snow falling through the air and what it would encounter on its way to the ground. I then distributed the tubes, “tampers”, and the marshmallows and particles. Each table of 4 kids were instructed to press the particles into marshmallows and add them to the core tubes. As the “crystals” accumulated, they tamped them down to mimic the pressure of more accumulation. At a certain point I yelled out “Volcano” when they were instructed to dump a little pile of Nerd candy to create an ash layer. This turned out to be a very exciting moment; they were very interested in seeing the Nerd layer in the cores they created. The kids then were asked to make drawings of the cores. They blew me away with their talent and focus. I love the variety of the styles. Scroll down to the bottom of this post to see some of their drawings.

The following week I joined Emily Elasky’s 8th grade science classes at Mercer Middle School. There were four classes back to back (whew), with a lunch break in the middle, so I had to make sure everything could be set up and cleaned quickly. Again the kids worked in groups of four students and were predictably agog over the opportunity to do a science project with marshmallows. The students made their cores and were then asked to write responses to several questions: What events in nature would affect the distribution of different particles? How would you test the core to determine the distribution of particles? What could you learn about the climate from testing for particles? The project reinforced several concepts about climate, how glaciers form and how the ice traps particles.

After the activity, I showed them pictures from my journey to Antarctica, talked about the National Science Foundation artists program and showed a video about the drill operations (thanks to Heidi Roop and Thomas Bauska). I wanted the students to see how similar the pursuit of science and art can be and to illustrate the myriad ways that we can all learn more about the world around us. Of course it is impossible to gauge the influence that my visit had on these kids. I know that they rarely get an opportunity to learn about the diverse ways that artists develop ideas. Or to consider the wide range of opportunities that are available for scientists, artists or virtually any occupation.  I assumed I would never be able to travel to Antarctica, certainly not to create art. But once I determined that it might be possible, the path to this project opened up for me.

Drawings from Erin Shafkind’s 8th Grade Art Class at Eckstein Middle School

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The plate is 18″x18″ and is inspired by patterns of gas bubbles in ice core samples. I have been creating different images for a couple of years now, but it seems to hold my interest. I have made about 15 smaller and 6 or so larger plates, and print them in different combinations to create a large series of monotypes (meaning that they are each unique, rather than in an edition).

The next plate is from a newer series I am working on to document the WAIS Divide camp. This plate shows the “moose” door into the drill arch. You may be able to see the image in this photograph. The arch was built in 2004 and at this point is almost buried by the drifting snow. More soon!

“Easton Glacier” 24″x48″ 2010, graphite, gesso, acrylic

Traveling to and existing in the beautiful white expanse of the West Antarctic Ice Sheet has been a dream since childhood. Now, back in my daily life, holding onto the experience is like holding onto ice that will inevitable melt or sublimate away. All I can do is watch as it morphs in my brain from a series of complex and layered memories to more concrete, but remote stories that can be stored and recalled as I sift through ideas to visually express “the place of white”.

Back in the studio, these memories are requiring a bit of processing, so to speak. Prior to my trip south, I was creating drawings of Northwest glaciers (see Easton Glacier, above). Now, I am making lots of sketches and experiments to flesh out my Antarctica “field notes” into more developed work that carries the thread of the previous drawings, but hopefully captures this place.

It is a bit terrifying to venture into such unknown territory. The white space is so unlike the dirt and bark of my previous subjects. It requires me to pay attention to what is really important about making new work. Are artists required to stay within boundaries defined by previous work, or are we free to explore any media and marks that express the new ideas? And where is the balance between continuity and monotony?

Walking around Discovery Point at night

The journey to Antarctica was both difficult and oddly familiar. Having read many stories about the U.S. Antarctic Program (USAP), I vaguely recognized many places and activities. At the same time, is was all strange and a bit overwhelming, though not in ways I predicted. I assumed the cold would be the most challenging aspect of being in Antarctica, but it turned out to be fairly easy to cope with. If it was windy, I tolerated a limited amount of time outside, though more time if I was dressed properly. If it was foggy, I couldn’t see to draw. Changing clothes to be comfortable both outside and inside was a high art form and occupied a measurable portion of the day. For me, the most difficult aspect of the weather was needing to being ready to shift activities at a moments notice. I tend to draw slowly, and because of the ever changing conditions, relied heavily on my camera to capture these places.

It was summer there, so the weather was relatively mild, less severe than my friends in Fairbanks often experience. The coldest conditions I experienced were in the ice core handling arch at -25°C (or -13°F) and during the moderately windy days we had while I was there, creating a windchill of approximately -20°F. Of course this is cold, but nothing like winter temperatures, and I had the Big Red – an amazing warm coat that was like a portable shelter.

My tent at the WAIS field camp - a toasty "Arctic Oven"

I struggled much more with “phantom” weather and fears of a “white out”. Before going into the field, all USAP participants must attend a two day snow survival course.  We went through a “white out” scenario wearing white buckets on our heads while trying to locate our instructor lying outside. The most troubling part of this exercise was watching another group lose their orientation within minutes of being beyond the tent. We were told that white out conditions can occur quickly; but how quick I wondered? Apparently, it is particularly easy to lose track of weather conditions while engaged in your work. So every time I wondered out to draw or look around, the fear of white out followed me around like a bad memory.

This fear dissipated gradually over the two weeks I was at the WAIS field camp. I was surprised and a bit embarrassed by how long it took to acclimatize to the conditions of camp. The actual altitude at the WAIS Divide is 1766 meters (5783ft), but cold air is less dense and the atmosphere is thinner at the pole. These factors mimic higher altitude conditions (i.e. less oxygen, pant, pant!). I was told that the equivalent altitude was about 8000 feet. Walking around the first few days in bulky clothing through drifting snow in flat light was exhausting.

Footsteps left behind after a wind storm

Eventually, I did acclimatize and wandered about the camp taking in all of the images and activities around me. I made several visits to the drill arch to see just how the cores are acquired. While I was there, the drill had to travel approximately a mile down, cut a 3.3 meter section of ice and return to the surface with it. Each run took over 2.5 hours. I stared at the cable as it traveled along, trying to imagine this depth. I wanted to believe that I could perceive the distance, the thickness of the ice that I stood on. But I could only grasp it within a story that I told myself similar to how I am describing it now in words.

It was only slightly easier to perceive the flat white space of the plateau. Seen from 20,000 feet, the camp appeared as tiny marks on a large white sheet of paper that faded into the edge of my vision. Walking around, it looked like a very large field of white. I could gauge distance by using markers that are placed to determine weather conditions. I told myself the story that the third black marker was three miles away, so I could see three miles of space. But again, I had no real physical or sensory understanding of this space.

Instead, the large white space began to alter what I focused on and what I thought about. At first, the white appeared without definition. After being outside walking or skiing I began to see finer grained details in the snow and subtle variations in the white of the overcast ski. The flags were a very important feature in the landscape, taking on much greater meaning than they would have anywhere else.  They are used to mark routes, danger, food, fuel and supply caches and even where to pee.

I brought back all of these impressions, along with 1500 photos,  a small book of writing and sketches and about 18 small drawings to sort through in the studio. I have begun to make some preliminary drawings and etchings and will share progress of this work periodically over the year. I will also continue to post stories and pictures from this amazing trip.  Below is a small collection of photos:

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Gas bubbles in a small section of ice core.

Thin sections of glacier ice are incredibly beautiful. I love to gaze into these clear windows filled with little bubbles; some spherical, others oblong, all holding ancient air.  The ice refracts light from its crystal faces into multiple planes of shimmering color. I see them as lovely sculptures, but scientists prepare them to study the physical properties of the ice core. I spent some time in the Arch at the WAIS Camp to learn a bit about this aspect of ice research with John Fegyveresi, who works with Richard Alley of The Pennsylvania State College.

Crystal grains can just be made out in this photo

He is at the WAIS field camp to prepare thin sections from every 20 meters of the ice core. These will be sent back to the National Ice Core Lab, where they will be photographed and measured in a variety of ways. One feature to quantify is the bubble number density. There is a measurable relationship between the density of the gas bubbles and temperature. John is developing a method of counting bubbles in a section as well as describing their shape using digital imaging and software. This information goes into a model with other data to reconstruct past atmospheric temperatures and further understand glacier movement and dynamics.

A section of ice being smoothed on a microtome

Watching him prepare his slides, I couldn’t help but think of myself and other artists in our studios creating lovely objects. He begins by shaving a section of the ice core with a microtome. The first smooth side is frozen to a glass plate with water, which doesn’t take very long in the Arch (kept at -27C degrees). The other side is then smoothed and glued with a special adhesive that works in low temperatures. The goal is to have a perfectly smooth seal of the glass to the ice. The slide is then carefully packed to be shipped with the other cores to the National Ice Core Lab in Denver. There the sections will be cut like an open face sandwich. One side will be used to study the gas bubble structure; the other side will be used to study ice crystal or grain qualities.

If you can't see the ice runway, then your plane will not come.

Many people here have stories of boomerangs, delays and canceled flights trying to get to or from Antarctica. So I must embrace my situation as a quintessential experience of visiting The Ice. I was originally scheduled to fly out of McMurdo Station for Christchurch, New Zealand on January 5th. This process began the evening before at “bagdrag”. All passengers (or PAX as we are called) literally drag their bags up the hill (or more likely get a shuttle ride) to check in. We must have our Extreme Weather Gear (ECW) in tow.  Checked bags are weighed first, then me, with my ECW and carry on bag in hand. That was the last time I saw most of my clothes and equipment.

Hiking around Discovery Point at night

The next day, I awoke to learn that my flight had been canceled earlier that morning, so took a walk around town, made what I thought would be my last sketch of Mt Discovery and explored Crary Lab and other nooks and crannies. I also got a chance to see the freezers that house the ice cores from the WAIS Project. To my great reassurance I was given the third degree before the cargo folks figured out who I was, why I might want to see the containers and took me out to see them. The freezers are checked at least 6 times a day to insure their function. From the moment they come off the plane from WAIS, to the moment they are loaded onto the ship northbound, they are cared for by cargo staff. It was great to chat with the friendly guy who happily showed me around the storage area.

Freezers full of very valuable cargo, bound for the United States

The next day, though conditions hadn’t improved, we were instructed to meet for transport to the ice runway. On the way out in the fabulous Ivan the Terra Bus, wind was blowing snow around and we all knew that this was a journey in futility. But the plane had left Christchurch and was a half hour away from the station. There was a sliver of hope that the wind would die down long enough for the plane to land. Especially since among other Distinguished Visitors (DV’s), Sir David Attenborough was aboard, coming to film on the continent. But the flight was aborted or “boomeranged” and returned to Christchurch.

This morning (January 7th) I woke to heavy snow fall and winds, though the plane was initially on delay, it was soon canceled again and I set about hand washing my meager collection of undergarments and am trying to keep myself entertained – hence this story. I also sketched the view from Crary Library again – when in doubt, look at something. Hopefully the clearing weather this afternoon sticks around and the next time you hear from me I will be in New Zealand.

Sketch of the Brown Peninsula and the Pyramid in the distance

The weather station at WAIS is monitored several times a day to determine wind speed & direction, temperature, pressure and ceiling hieght. Sometimes a weather balloon is launched to confirm the cloud ceiling for aviation.

Weather drives everything in the United States Antarctic Program; flights happen or don’t, camps get re-supplied or don’t, work progresses or doesn’t. Even moderate winds in sub-freezing temperatures can make outdoor work difficult or impossible. Of course knowing weather conditions would make planning that much easier. But predicting the weather here is more complicated, and less precise than I realized.

Most of us are used to “double doppler” radar and other advanced technology to help us plan our day. Though weather becomes difficult to predict more than several days in advance, we can usually rely on the 48 hour forecast. But there is far less satellite coverage and monitoring in Antarctia than almost anywhere else in the world. I spoke with Mike Carmody the head of meteorology for Raytheon in support of the USAP, who, lucky for me, was stationed at WAIS to learn a bit about how weather observations and forecasts are made.

There are two centers in the United States that monitor conditions here. First is the Antarctic Meteorological Research Center at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. They collect and distribute the data from approximately 140 automated weather stations installed around the continent (to compare, the US has weather monitoring every 40 miles or so) and manned stations operated by the US and other nations.  The other is the Navy’s Space Warfare Center, a civilian naval facility in Charleston that takes this data, plus satellite and ground observations from several locations to forecast the weather for aviation.

Like all weather forecasting, a model is used to predict conditions in the future. But here is the thing to remember, models used to predict weather in the United States are informed by over 100 years of continous weather data. Antarctica has only been continously occupied for 50 years, and only in a few locations. So the model that is used to predict weather here is based on very scant data.  Plus there is the added complication of conflicting information between satellite and ground observations. The satellite picture gives a broad sweep, but cannot see under the clouds to determine visibility, etc. The ground observer can describe current conditions accurately, but cannot see beyond that. So operations has to weigh all of this information before sending planes into the sky risking that they might not be able to land in poor visibility and flat light.

Watercolor sketch of my beloved "Big Red"

It really drove home for me another important goal of the ice core being acquired at the WAIS Divide. Data from the core will give very accurate information for annual temperatures and atmospheric conditions for the past 10,000 years. This will be added to the weather models to improve predictions. In the meantime, I don’t ever go anywhere in Antarctica without my Big Red (the high loft, very warm coat issued to all participants in the USAP)!

On top of OB Hill, the Ross Ice Shelf and Black Island in the background. It's warmer here!

McMurdo Station – Happy New Year! I am working on a few blog posts for the new year, so stay tuned. In the meantime, check out the blog of a science graduate student Heidi Roop, who is working at WAIS.  She is sponsored by the Exploratorium in San Francisco and took great video equipment into the field. These will be posted once Heidi returns to McMurdo in February. Exploratorium:Ice Stories

I am sending off 2009 with a flight out of WAIS Camp to McMurdo Station. It
will seem like the tropics to me since it is above freezing there. Though I
am sad to be leaving the WAIS community full of fabulous people, I am glad
that my flights are working out almost as scheduled.
Tomorrow there is a big music festival at McM called IceStock – too bad I
forgot my tie dye!
There are a couple of blogs in the hopper that will be posted in the next
few days AND PHOTOS!!!!!

Stay Tuned and Happy New Year!