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!

A twin otter with ice penetrating radar equipment lands at WAIS for refueling

In order to maximize the short season here, the camp works 6 days a week,
sometimes through the entire week if things need to get done because of
weather or technical delays. When I arrived, the work schedule was
transitioning from one to three shifts. The first morning, most of the camp
ate together, but by the end of the week, the only times most of the camp
was in the galley at the same time was the Sea Level Party and Christmas.
Otherwise, folks are spread out and work in the drilling arch, the galley,
communications, outside on the winter storage areas, or grooming the runway
and camp. There is an elaborate variety of tasks to keep the camp habitable
in this environment. Every few days winds produce drifting that must be
leveled out to make the area passable on foot, ski-doo or planes.
Even with grooming, walking around is a bit of a workout. The snow is fine
and relatively hard, except that it is ever shifting with soft and firm
areas. It reminds me of walking on a beach. My foot sinks a bit into the
drifts and is firmer on the packed areas. Though the accumulation is high
here, the snow packs tight, so we never need snow shoes.

Footsteps left behind after a big wind

I spend as much time as possible walking or skiing around the camp. But I
always go inside before I would otherwise because of the cold, especially if
I am standing still drawing. I retreat to the Science tent with its small
desks where I can use my watercolors and computer. The graduate students and
other scientists come and go, working on papers, proposals or catching up on
email.
We have access to a very low bandwidth (56 bits/sec) server that uplinks to
a satellite approximately 5 hours every morning. So I can post these blogs
emails to family. Unfortunately, photos are too big to send through this
system, so I will post these once I return to McMurdo.
Speaking of my return, I am due to take a flight out of the camp tomorrow,
but the wind just picked up so it will likely be canceled. The flight
system here is a bit confusing to me, but unfortunately, it does not flex
with the weather, so I may not get back to McMurdo for several more days. I
will keep you posted! :-)

To all of my friends, family and colleagues-

Have a wonderful holiday.

crystals in the air

WAIS field camp is taking the day off tomorrow with many festivities planned. There will be cookie decorating, hors d’oeuvres, a big feast and an elephant gift exchange. And, for sure, it will be a white Christmas!

drawing white

Yesterday morning I took off on a snow machine driven by the fabulous GA
(general assistant) Sucha, to get beyond view of camp. We planned to follow
the route to Byrd Field Camp, marked by flags every 1/4 miles. The weather
has been overcast with flat light, but it was forecast to get worse, so the
camp manager (another amazing woman) suggested I go while the weather was
mild.

It took about 45 minutes to get ready; many layers for the ride – long
johns, thermal pants, wind bibs, wool shirt, vest, primaloft jacket and of
course, the beloved Big Red. We also packed cameras, tripod, warm tea, food,
a radio and GPS.

We first zipped down the skiway (an ice runway, for planes equipped with
skis) heading west and caught sight of the green flags that marked our way.
We traveled over the wind swept snow, a bit bumpy, but it was a good
reminder of our space and helped confirm that we were actually moving. It
was a bit unpleasant to have two stroke engine exhaust blowing in my face,
but lovely to gain so much distance from camp.

I looked out to the horizon. In some directions it was indicated by a faint
change in tone from snow to sky. It other directions the white became a
wall. If I looked away from the flag line in front and behind us, it was
impossible to gauge distance.

About half way, we stopped for a radio check, looked around and snapped a
few photos. It was no time at all before we got to 7 miles – our arbitrary
destination. Then Sucha was able to turn off the skidoo engine and there
was just the wind and white.

I reflected on William Fox’s writing in his beautiful book, Terra Antarctica
about our impulse to seek empty spaces. I have desired this experience for
so long and spent two years actively working to get here. This desire was
motivated by a few impulses that I understand and several that remain a
mystery. First there is the simple curiosity of space. What is undefined
space like experientially? Will it alter my perception, and if so, how? Will
this give me insight into mortality, the ultimate lack of sensation? And how
does this differ from other meditative states?

What I did experience first hand is a clarity of vision that comes with
limited input. For instance, the flags became supremely important and jumped
out at me. Without them we would have driven in circles and without a GPS
device would have likely lost our way. Also, I was more aware of wind
direction, aided by the strength and consistency of the blow on the plateau.
Even with the wind, there was a stillness and quiet that I can’t really
reconcile.

I am aware of the holidays, because there are decorations in the galley and
a big feast celebration is planned, but solstice went by without the power
that I feel towards it in lower latitudes. The sun revolves around lower and
higher in the sky above the white, giving me little indication of the
turning of seasons.