January 30, 2013: What's Next?

Hello family and friends,

I just thought I should post an update to fill you in because I may not be able to get to a computer for a couple of weeks.
My season in Antarctica is coming to a close. Tomorrow I leave for WAIS (West Antarctica Internal Support) Divide. I'll be meeting Dave and a small crew of carpenters, who flew out two days earlier, to close down the camp for the winter. They told us it should take about 7-10 days to dissemble all the buildings but that, of course, is weather dependent. I hope it doesn't take much longer because we have a flight to catch.

On February 13th Dave and I redeploy--retracing our steps through Christchurch, Sydney, and back to the good ole U.S. of A. From L.A. Dave and I will be taking a ten day hiatus from each other. I'm flying home to Missoula to play in the mountains while Dave will be heading to San Diego to play in the ocean. I'll meet back up with him in Portland--where we will enjoy the north west for a week with Dave's family.

On March 1st we'll be leaving for South America. I have dreamed of visiting this continent since I was a child--ever since my father showed me his slides of mountainous Ecuador and its Galapagos Islands. On February 2nd I'll set foot in Lima, Peru--a few days shy of my twenty-seventh birthday. It's funny, I always thought South America would be my first big adventure.

So far we have no itinerary, no plan except to bus south to Patagonia--stopping at whatever town that sparks our fancy. We don't know where we'll end up, and that's how we like it. Although I do have my sites set on making it to the Galapagos Islands at some point during our travels. I'll get some pictures of those Blue-Footed Boobies for you, Dad.

I will continue to blog while traveling--although my posts might be few and far between depending on where we are. I'll do my best to keep you all informed and well supplied with pictures. I can't wait to have my camera pointed at 15,000' (plus) peaks!

Adios,

Jenna

--Sorry I had some technical difficulties with my last video blog. I'll get those videos working when I get back to the States.

January 24, 2013: Carp Stock (Video Blog)

Here's a couple songs from Carp Stock 2013. The picture is a little dark but you can still hear us...

A happy (belated) birthday, Danielle!

January 13, 2013: When The Wind Calls

Gravity is every where. It effects trees, water, us--and everything we know macroscopically. Fundamentally it interacts with nature. It pushes. It pulls. Credited for the existence of planets and stars and for keeping us in orbit around the sun--for the changing tides. Leaves float gracefully to the ground--unable to hold on any longer to dancing, delicate branches. Creeks rage and fall in turbulent beauty from the slopes of mountains, the place in which they were born. And we are forever being drawn down, down, down--our feet on the ground, our bodies uncrushed by a perfect,  gentle balance of force. Gravity is unseen, yet we know it exists--we feel it. We understand how it works, but no one knows why. 

Some weeks ago I found myself on a quest in the Dry Valleys--on a search for mummified seals. I find these poor deceased animals fascinating. They are an unsolved mystery. An anomaly. Why an animal, who belongs in the sea, ends up in the mountains, is a question that has left biologists baffled. They awkwardly crawl away from comfort, food, and companionship, and towards the unknown and certain death. 

Penguins do it too. They walk into the mountains and they can't be stopped--its been tried. Scientists have physically turned the poor creatures around and pointed them towards food, their colony, towards home. But seconds later, they turn right back around and continue on their strange journey. The theory which stands is that they have lost their poor little bird brains.

I usually have great luck spotting wildlife where ever I go. I am just as lucky when it comes to finding dead wildlife. It wasn't long before I had located not only a mummified seal, but also the remains of a penguin that had wandered deep into the interior of the valley. The seal lay halfway up the stony ridge, facing down towards a mountain lake. It looked peaceful--as if it had stopped to rest and take in the view. 

The wind-polished bones and quilled feathers of the penguin lay at the base of a moving glacier--undisturbed for who knows how long. What had these animals felt? What unquenchable desire took them from their home, and into the dangerous unknown? They weren't looking for food--they would have relocated along the coast--instinctively knowing that water equals life. Maybe they came here to die--driven by a diseased mind or body. Or perhaps, like some Inuit tribes of old, these individuals practiced the act of leaving their colonies when old age and their impending deaths were near. There are many hypotheses. 

I am just as intrigued by the behavior of some arctic explorers. Shackleton, Amundsen, Scott and others who have walked into the interior of the continent--away from safety, food, and human contact--into a harsh, freezing, and very often, deadly place. Were they mad?

Continuing my quest, I walked down the ridge and along a frozen Lake Hoare, and found myself face to face with a cricking and cracking Common Wealth Glacier. I made my way along the side of the massive expanse of ice, and discovered a slotted path. A rocky, sloping, ridge on my left, and the giant slab of moving ice on my right. I was literally between a rock and a hard place. The sun was high enough to cast its rays down and illuminate my path with an ethereal glow. I continued on, stopping occasionally to examine and touch the living ice that I walked so closely beside. Waves and dimples from wind and sun erosion decorated the wall of glaciated accumulation. 

I eventually reached the top, and the canyon opened up to reveal a wide expanse of mountains, glaciers, and turquoise-colored lakes. The sun warmed my face as I looked upon the amazing landscape. At that moment, standing in silence and awe, I knew why. Why explorers entered this land, braving the elements and gambling with their mortality. I understood why penguins waddled, and seals crawled towards these mountains--leaving instincts behind.

It calls. It called me now as I stood alone, looking into Pandora's box. I only had a nalgene of water, one peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and a light carharrt jacket, but I considered walking towards these layered mountains--disappearing into the wilderness, never to be seen again. Maybe in 5,000 years they would find me sitting against a boulder, gazing longingly at a valley I was hoping to visit. And they would wonder why. I stood and stared at the layered mountains, my brain tumultuously fighting against my heart's desire to keep walking.

After a while, sense and self preservation began to poor back into the  channels of my clouded brain and the voice began to fade and become quiet. I turned and gazed back at my small camp that was now invisible in the distance. I looked north, towards foreign lands and uncharted waters. Towards places I had yet to see and new adventures. Towards life, and loved ones.

The force that envelopes many, drawing them in, spell-bounding them against their will and good sense, did not over power me that day. Perhaps years from now, when I am old and ready, I will return to this valley and gaze upon this magical wilderness. I will hear the voice again, hear the call, and I will answer--joining the misunderstood souls of seals, penguins, and adventurers who put instincts aside to venture into the unknown.




When the wind calls you know that somewhere in the mountains it has found the answers that you were looking for.The pull of the horizon overcomes the inertia of reason...and you just have to go.

-Vikram Iberia

January 5, 2013: Antarctic Articles

Here are a few articles that describe some of the research going on here in Antarctica:

This artcle is about the LDB (Long Duration Balloon) Project that NASA is heading up. When I first arrived at McMurdo I got to help set up some of the buildings that supported this project. Through out the season Dave and I have seen multiple launches of these giant balloons--a very cool sight.

http://www.csbf.nasa.gov/antarctica/ice.htm

Another article on the LDB Project.

http://www.scientificamerican.com/article.cfm?id=launch-success-for-telescope&page=2

This next article discusses some of the research being conducted in the deep field camps. WAIS is mentioned--the camp where Dave spent a month setting up. Dave and I will be going to WAIS (that's right, together!) some time in late January/early February to close down the camp for the winter. A process that should take less than two weeks to complete--as long as the weather and mechanical delays don't slow us down.

www.nsf.gov/news/news_summ.jsp?cntn_id=126388&org=NSF&from=news

I would love to go to Wizzard (another deep field camp). The research is similar to Vostok--a Russian research base that has recently drilled down to a sub-glacial lake that has been isolated for millions of years. Whoa.

http://antarcticsun.usap.gov/science/contenthandler.cfm?id=2765

This one gives some information and history on the Antartican Society. Originally a club, this organization has been growing in size since its beginning in 1960.

http://antarcticsun.usap.gov/features/contenthandler.cfm?id=2782

Every one loves photos! Here is the official Antarctic Photo Library.  

http://photolibrary.usap.gov

  

January 2, 2013: Happy Holidays From Antarctic! (New Years)

I love the gloves, Mom!

HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM ANTARCTICA! 2012 was a great year. I found myself a job at the bottom of the earth; I did a respectable amount of traveling with my special man-friend; I spent a wonderful summer on the river; and I met many new friends along the way. I have 365 days to see if I can top this past year. I'm looking forward to trying.

Here are a few more pictures and videos for the special friends and family in my life. I hope this new year is a great one for you all--filled with health, happiness, and resolutions that do not fail. 

~This first video is of our New Year celebration--"Ice Stock 2012/2013." It was a fun night full of music, a chili cook off, and lots of crazy McMurdo fun. Please excuse some of the characters in this video.

Me, "Stans With A Mustache (aka Mr. America), Kevin "middle finger" Lions, and Dave--a little before midnight

~Right at midnight!

~Hiking up Hut Point Hill with Dave on New Year's Day.

~The Day after all the festivities... back to work.

December 25, 2012: Happy Holidays From Antarctica!

It's time for another video blog!

More videos will be added next week on New Years Eve.

Happy Holidays to my friends and family! Hope this season finds you all happy and healthy.

December 18, 2012: Words Beyond Speech

Hiking in the Taylor Valley

When the Muse comes She doesn't tell you to write; She says get up for a minute, I've something to show you, stand here. --Michael Goldman

Alone is good. It makes me feel self dependent and strong. Solitude allows me to listen, and in the stillness I realize that there are words to be heard.

It is a wonderful thing to escape from the hustle and bustle of station life and to explore a still, quiet mountain valley. A few weeks ago I found myself in paradise--alone in the Taylor Valley, walking along a frozen Lake Hoare. A welcome therapeutic escape from a [sometimes] stifling McMurdo.

The first ten minutes after leaving my crew behind I was stiff and quiet--still feeling the burden of social confinement. But once I realized that I was alone, really alone, my shoulders dropped with relief, and my pace picked up with an extra skip in my step--like a young filly released from her stall.  Then the songs started.

I rarely sing when I'm alone (for a number of reasons), mostly because "alone" isn't always alone. I've been caught, on more than one occasion, by passing hikers, swinging a stick and singing at the top of my lungs. I am always left red-faced and silent as the grave as they suppress their laughter and politely pass by. These days I remain pensive and quiet on the trail. My only exception is if I lose my bear spray in the Bob Marshall. In this case I will sing Elton John's Tiny Dancer at the top of my lungs.

My constraints broke down and I began to sing loud and boisterously. I sang until my throat was dry and I became bored with my own voice. Soon my song faded away and all that I heard was the clicking and clanking of my backpack and the crunching ice beneath my feet. Like I said, solitude is good. To leave people behind, even those close to me, and become "one" again--to regain my individuality--this is important to me. I cleared my mind as I walked--shutting out and turning off all external and internal noise. And that's how it starts.

Finding silence, true silence, is difficult. I've experienced it only on a few occasions, and when I do, I have existential experiences. I have usually been alone when this happens--it is more conducive--and I have always been in the natural world. Words or thoughts pop into my head suddenly and so randomly that sometimes I feel like they are a gift from the universe. It's like unseen forces know that my mind is quiet, my heart is open, and that I am ready and willing to receive its secrets or words of wisdom. Some times I feel like I am being rewarded for putting myself in a place, physically and mentally, to receive these insights.

I once had an experience (as I like to call it) in the Grand Canyon. I discovered (or was enlightened to) my own insignificance. There, in The Big Ditch, I understood my place in this world. I learned that life goes on with out me and that my previous world view (in being the center of the universe) was the belief of my inner child. The harsh beauty and shear scale of the canyon showed me just how small and insignificant I was--and I was okay with it. In all honesty, I was relieved. All of a sudden I felt connected, no longer detached. I found my place and with it came acceptance, confidence, and a burning desire to make the most of my short time.

This inner voice started when I was alone and in a predicament. I had climbed too high on the red rocks and I had a treacherous, steep, decent ahead of me. I sat for a long time thinking. I thought about how foolish I was to have put myself in that situation. I thought about how if I slipped, there was a good chance that I would not have been found--I had strayed far from the direction I had told my companions I was heading. I thought about how unfriendly this place was--how every misstep could result in injury or death or, at the very least, cactus in my hands. I thought about my water supply, about my family and my dog back home, and whether or not I had paid my student loan bill before I left. And after I thought and thought, I suddenly stopped thinking and sat quietly. And that is when my lesson began.

But that wasn't the only time I had an experience. I once heard, I swear I heard, nature's voice  while I sat in my little red kayak in an eddy while my tourists swam and splashed and disturbed what little peace there was left to disturb. As my ears and mind became acclimated to the noise, and I drew my thoughts away from the chaotic scene, something within me grew quiet. My mind became still, along with my body, and my focus fell on the water that held me in its calm embrace. I watched the currents converge. Watched as they swirled and twirled in a turbulent yet graceful dance. I saw minos float like dark clouds--turning from puffy cumulous to thin cirrus at the slightest disturbance. The sun penetrated the water and reached its friendly rays towards the dark green depths. The light flickered on the surface like diamonds--so brilliant!

I first heard it while taking in all these sites. It was a whisper, a mumble, at first, but grew in volume and audibility. As crazy as it sounds, the river was speaking to me. But it wasn't just the river. It was the natural world, the universe, it was life's voice that I heard. I listened hard but I couldn't make out her words. If only I was alone! If only these people would disappear and I was free to sit for hours and give my full attention, my full commitment, I know I would have understood, maybe even had a dialogue. But as it were, I sat and strained my ears for the words that never came. I may not have heard the words, but I felt their meaning and an inner peace set in. At that moment I knew I was on the right path, that I was living a life that was harmonious and in concordance to the universe.

Once again I felt my insignificance, I understood my role as a short burning clump of matter, a convergence of atoms. To know you are not the center of the universe, but part of it, is such a beautiful feeling! Why anyone would want a universe centered around humans and religious orthodox is beyond me. This life, as it is, is perfect to me. It's a gift of free will--to be who you want, to do what you want, to go where you want, to love who you want and not be pre made or pre destined towards anything in particular.

One of the last times I heard this voice was while I was skiing in the backcountry on a snowy day. I had stopped to rest on my ascent--tired from trying to keep up with Ryan who is unnaturally fast up the mountain. Whether he is hiking, skinning up a trail or plowing a new one, he leaves me, and anyone who dares to try and keep up, in the dust. This unnatural speed makes me, at times, wonder if he is indeed my relation and not part machine. But, I suppose we do have the same squinty eyes when we smile. So.

I sat in the snow--quietly watching plump snow flakes float down like feathers from swollen pillow-clouds. Every now and again Manny (who is the only one who can keep up with Robot Ryan) broke from his side to check on me. At this moment both Ryan and Manny were some where "up" and I was alone. Stillness set in and quietly fell around me in a thick blanket. Every once in a while I could hear a faint "jingle" from Manny's collar and then, once again, quiet. At this moment I felt rather than heard it. Magic!

As a child, my imagination was sacred. Belief in the unseen was part of my every day life. Books, and make believe, and Santa Claus--any thing and every thing was possible. My friend Abby's favorite stories is about the day I found out the truth about Santa Claus. Since we are close to Christmas I will share it with you. But be warned, it is a sad, sad story. 

I was young--around eight years old--and pretending to be a journalist. I decided that since I had heard rumors, I would investigate the validity of certain holiday persons and also special occasion persons (aka tooth fairy).  

I chose my unsuspecting Mother as my first source. "Mrs. Witkowski" I began, "is it, or is it not, true that the tooth fairy is real?" I sat poised and confident, holding my "My Little Ponies" notepad and pink-sparkled pencil. 

"Honey, are you sure you want to know?" Was my poor, trapped mother's reply.

"Yes."

She tried to soften the blow with her words, but the terrible "No" was all I heard. My head and heart dropped, but I was determined to remain strong. I asked my next question.

"Mrs. Witkowski, is the Easter Bunny real?" My voice waivered.

In a soft, sympathetic voice, "No, honey."

At this point my eyes began to tear up and I gripped my pink-sparkled pencil tightly.

Forgetting formality, "Santa?" I squeaked.

A slow, mournful head-shake was my Mother's answer.

I tossed my pink-sparkled pencil and "My Little Ponies" notepad aside and threw myself on the floor and cried and cried. My heart, as silly as it sounds, was broken. The magic was gone. An entire world that I loved had disapeared. Vanished. Growing up and leaving behind the world of make-believe was sobering. I wanted magic, mystery, and the prospect of anything being possible. All I found with age was impossibility, improbability, doubt, and painful truths--a dry non fiction life.

Sitting in silence, watching individually unique and detailed frozen water molecules settle on the out-stretched arms of Lodge Pole Pines and straining my ears to hear them land, I rediscovered this forgotten world. The voice was again present--mentoring my open mind. I began to think of atoms and protons. My thoughts turned to multiple dimensions and parallel universes. I thought about these other worlds that run on their own set of rules--rules that look nothing like our own--breaking the confines of gravity and the laws of the universe as we know it. This is real magic. Magic that surrounds us unseen. Magic that makes and maintains us. Gravity, electromagnetism, relativity,  quantum mechanics, string theory. How intriguing! Real-life magic that competes with fairy tales. On this day, I began to look at the world through childlike eyes again. 

It seems that every time that I break away from people, and allow myself to listen, the Universe speaks and teaches me a new lesson. Alone on a frozen lake of crystals, surrounded by ancient glaciers and jagged granite peaks, immersed in breath-taking beauty, I am a child again--full of spirit, and eager to learn. I still giggle, wide-eyed and amazed at this big, beautiful planet. There are moments that jump-start my heart. Moments that dazzle me. They are fleeting, but they are real. They are tangible. I live for these moments. 

Magical Antarctica:

Words beyond speech

A voice articulated by silence

Silence and absentmindedness 

Lost in the beauty of nothingness

And the grace of being one with yourself

-JLW