October 25, 2012: Antarctica Defined

A professor of literature once told me that it tried his nerves to witness the abuse and misuse of the english language. He used the word awesome as an example--a word used, by most of us, daily and nonchalantly. The definition (according to Merriam-Webster) is as follows: inspiring feelings of awe, admiration, or wonder. 

Since hearing the professor's rant on the subject, I often catch myself in the dirty act of decimating words. Is this sandwich awesome? I now ask myself. Was my day incredible? Was it really? By definition? I am not a fundamentalist like my professor friend. Orally, I fall into the same category as the majority of my generation. We are word hippies--counter linguists. We have started a movement to change the form, meaning, and context of the English language. Who cares about proper semantics or pragmatics? Those kinds of things are old-school--reserved for our parents. We reject proper grammar and are lazy to the core. We toss exclamation marks around like pennies--a form of punctuation reserved for the most shocking, thrilling, loud, bold, and poignant of sentences.

This is the evolution of language, I suppose; But I still think of the professor, and I think of him now, when I am in a situation that calls for the use of these powerful words in the context that they were meant to be received. I feel confident in my choice of words and punctuation when I describe Antarctica. This place, this continent, is awesome!

LAKE FRYXELL

Lake Fryxell--Antarctica Specially Protected Area (ASPA)

I was suppose to fly Tuesday, but our trip was pushed back two days due to inclement weather. Each day of being grounded caused fresh disappointment. We finally received the thumbs up on the third day, and my heart soared as we stepped onto the helipad--my first helicopter ride! The feelings I felt as the helicopter lifted off the earth are hard to describe--but the main word that came to my mind was impossible! What an incredible machine and what an innovative species we are for making it fly. 

Our landing pad at Lake Fryxell

Taken on our flight to the Dry Valleys

The clouds hung heavy in the Taylor Valley as we crossed over the frozen sea and entered the mountains I had, until now, only seen from afar. They are the quiet strangers, standing tall across the bay, that I have been itching to form an acquaintance with. I've been known to have a poetic imagination, but I was not prepared for the ethereal world that I would find there.

A veil of clouds hang over the mountains surrounding Lake Fryxell

 After forty-five minutes of flying we landed at Lake Fryxell. As we unloaded our tools and supplies I scoped out our camp--consisting of one jamesway tent and five small, green, labs used for scientific research. After transporting some propane and tools to our work site, the helicopter flew back down the valley--taking its noise and leaving us in silence.   



The small camp at Lake Fryxell



 

I feel like I must broaden my vocabulary in order to properly describe this place. Its beauty is shocking to the system. I literally forget to breath, forget to blink. Its only when my lungs burn and my eyes sting that I remember that I am human and that I don't belong in this enchanted world. This harsh climate is a constant reminder that I am here as a visitor and to encroach on this land's grace could be disastrous--even deadly. Standing quietly, surrounded by powdered mountains and vast, clear-blue skies, in the presence of active glaciers, time seems to stand still. I feel primitive and young in such an ancient place.

Our job at Lake Fryxell was to build two polar havens--they are buildings/tents that will be used to keep scientists warm as they drill into the ice looking for discoveries. We completed the construction of one of these buildings on day one--finishing around 7pm. A spaghetti dinner in the warmth of our communal jamesway followed. After dinner I took off to see if I could get a better look at one of the surrounding glaciers. 

Our polar haven construction

Picturesque mountains framed from inside the polar haven

Distance is deceptive in Antarctica. What looks like a short walk can turn into miles and miles. It was a beautiful evening and, although I was tired from the day's work, I really didn't mind the distance. My journey took me across the frozen lake and, as I walked, shallow bubbles frozen in time cracked and popped under my feet. The sound, like pop rocks candy, made me stop dead in my tracks on more than one occasion--even though I knew that the surface was thickly frozen and impossible to breach. Still, unsettled by the sound, and my brain's active imagination, I kept my eyes down looking for signs of danger. As I walked I noticed odd shapes in the ice; clear spots where you could see bubbles--ike frozen lava lamps--at least four feet deep; And cracks that split and spliced--like frozen, hollow veins--making patterns and designs. Beautiful! I have never encountered an artist whose talent can compare to nature's. I stopped several times to kneel and brush away the snow--trying to get a better look at these works of art. I wish I had a push-broom so I could have cleared away a larger area. 

There were places where the wind had yielded its artists' chisel and sculpted the ice into mineral-like deposits--much like quartz or diamonds in appearance. The low light from the sun played off the surface and the ice became alive as it danced and sparkled. This brittle, transparent, crystalline solid held more value to me (intrinsically and extrinsically) than any diamonds that I could wear on my hands, neck, or ears.

Diamonds in the ice

 

Despite the distractions I encountered, I finally reached the foot of Newall Glacier. What an impressive sight! Standing in its shadow, dwarfed by its massive size, I once again found my self staring with wide, unblinking eyes at another one of nature's wonders. As I stood still and quiet, I began to hear cracking, and it did not come from my feet. The glacier was breathing! I heard it. It heaved and groaned from the pressure and stress of its massive size and the friction it encountered. I was a witness to morphology! I was there when the deformation of ice and gravity actively shaped and carved the Taylor Valley. I wonder what this place will look like in a few hundred-thousand years.  

Newall Glacier

After straining my ears for a while, I finally broke the glacier's spell and made the journey back to the warmth of the jamesway. I curled up in my mummy bag and slept soundly next to the furnace.  

The following morning we continued our construction of the polar havens. I love this job! They come in pieces, like a puzzle, and have to be assembled and enforced using nails, screws, and lag bolts. The final step, once they are standing, is to drill v anchors into the ice to hold the tents secure against the wind. We completed our construction project in record time--giving us a couple of hours to burn before our scheduled flight out of the valley.

Despite secretly wishing the flight would be delayed another day, the helicopter arrived on time and we loaded our gear and said goodbye to Lake Fryxell. The sky was clear and the view of the valley was pristine. En route to McMurdo I saw more glaciers, icebergs frozen in the sea ice, and random colonies of seals--their inactive, slug-like bodies sprawled out on the sea ice. 

A shot of a glacier from the air

An iceberg frozen in the sea ice

It was a beautiful adventure!--my first taste of field camps and the dry valleys. I am hoping that the future holds more tasking and more flights into the interior of Antarctica.