Ice Station Polarstern

Background

From a long association with scientists from Alfred Wegener Institute, I was invited to join a summer drift station project staged from the R/V Polarstern in the multiyear ice pack along the eastern coast of the Antarctic Peninsula. Our trajectory would follow roughly the northward drifts of Shackleton in the Endurance and the Ice Station Weddell project in the early '90s. I hoped to compare measurements in southern hemisphere pack ice with its Arctic counterpart, and proposed deploying two masts with turbulence instrument clusters (TICs). In addition to my SonTek ADCP, I collaborated with Tim Stanton, Naval Postgraduate School, to deploy two of his acoustic Doppler profilers.

On the long flight to Capetown, we were somewhere over Africa when the captain announced in a crestfallen voice that George W. Bush had won his second term as president. There was obviously no gasp of jubilation from the mostly European and African passengers. Saundie had given me a book to read on the trip entitled What's the Matter With Kansas which explored why red America consistently voted against their own economic interests. During the cruise I lent the book out so often I think almost all the scientists aboard read it. It was perhaps telling that later on when a mean looking leopard seal took up residence on our floe, the German biologists immediately dubbed her Condaleesa (after Condaleesa Rice, W's Secretary of State).

As we circled to land in Capetown, we could see the Polarstern waiting for us in the harbor. Springtime in South Africa was delightful, and in the couple of days before sailing we were able to sample the food and beer in the lively port area, and to appreciate the beauty of the city. We spent the last night before sailing aboard. Robin Muench and I were assigned a good cabin down the passageway from the Chief Scientist's office and quarters. We and two scientists from MIT were the only Americans aboard.

Narrative

We sailed from Capetown on Nov 6. The long voyage across the south Atlantic gave me a chance to finalize software and analysis routines, and get to know some of the 50 or so scientists aboard, as well as the operation of a German research vessel. An exercise area, sauna, and small swimming pool, along with a slop chest featuring good, reasonably priced South African wine smoothed return to "project mode." After feeling pretty queasy for most of the first day, as is typical for me, I ventured down to try out the stationary bike and other exercise equipment. As I peddled away, one of the younger scientists entered the area, stripped off her clothes and jumped in the pool. This was not an American research vessel! But "when in Rome," so over the remainder of the cruise I used the sauna routinely, often in mixed company.

On Nov 11, we passed Bouve Island, reported to be the most remote place relative to other land on the planet. Still far away from entering the ice, we were in a constant parade of large icebergs drifting eastward.

After entering the ice, there were days when the pressure was so great that we made almost no progress, but on Nov 25, we reached a floe thought to be suitable and began setup. My first task was putting in a hydrohole about 300 m off the ship's bow and inboard from the floe edge. Without a hot water drill, we had to revert to the old method of drilling a circular pattern of 20 cm holes then chipping the webs in between. This is laborious, and on the first afternoon, a number of the younger scientists watched and helped chip. We quit for the evening. When I returned the next morning to finish breaking out the plug, the only help was from my fellow Northwesterner, Robin Muench, and the ship's physician, Claus Peter-- we laughed about the three oldest guys on the ship taking on one of the hardest tasks. Others who needed ocean access through the ice observed my operation and opted for thinner ice, farther into the floe. That turned out to be unfortunate because water seeped in from the thinner, more porous ice, making the whole operation more difficult and requiring several more days. Sometimes experience counts.

By late on Dec 1, I had my measurement program up and going and settled into a project routine that turned out to not at all unpleasant. I would typically ski out to the tent before breakfast to check that data collection had continued all night. I would make backup copies of the data, and take them back to the ship to check on a linux computer in the scientists' dry lab, where I had an assigned seat. I would look for any instrument glitches or changes in the data that suggested adjustment, for example, in mast depth, etc., then return to the floe to make adjustments and other routine maintenance. In other words, business as usual.

One thing that stood out was that almost every morning when I skied out to the hut there would be three or four penguins waiting for me. I would often greet and talk to them; they were completely unafraid of me and seemingly curious. One seemed particularly fascinated by floats to which my instruments were tied in case of sudden break up; whether she thought of them as giant eggs I'll never know. My tent was not far from a promiment pressure ridge, more like a peak, that we quickly dubbed Mt. Erebus. Often the penguins would line up, walk up to the peak and slide down, sometimes time after time. One would be hardpressed to not think that they were doing it for fun. Still, life wasn't all fun and games for penguins-- there were often leopard seals about. Although I never saw one catch a penguin, I did see a confrontation play out between a big, very mean looking leopard seal and a smaller Weddell seal in open water forward of the ship. One evening a call from the bridge came to the dry lab, and several of us rushed up just in time to see the Weddell seal literally in the jaws of its predator, pull itself out onto the ice. Somehow it escaped those jaws and began moving across the ice at a speed that I estimated by looking at my watch as between a fast walk or slow trot. Amazing, even more amazing was how the thwarted leopard seal cruised around in the lead, looking really mad! A crew of divers helping with biological measurements were often stymied by leopard seals. Although the divers considered the danger low, their directive was to stay out of the water when leopard seals were in the vicinity.

Every evening I would ski my GPS around the perimeter of the floe, then back aboard take a sauna and swim, drink a glass of wine. Life was good! In the end the data I gathered on those skis turned out to be quite useful for documenting changes to the floe, which were substantial during the time we were there.

Then came Christmas Eve. I was feeling pretty bad about being away. Saundie and I had spent only one Christmas apart before, that time under particularly trying circumstances for her. I took the satellite phone out to my tent to phone home in privacy. We had a long, pretty unsatisfying call that extended through dinner. I wasn't worried about food because there was to be a Christmas Eve party later that evening. Turned out there was a party, but no treats-- just beer or wine. Several of us tempered our alcohol intake, because just before the party got underway, the bridge had reported a new crack in the ice that looked serious. Several of us left in anticipation of an early morning and by 0500 on Christmas morning, we were organizing a major recovery. I worked closely with the Finns to recover my oceanographic equipment and their met tower and gear. In that situation, turning fifty scientists out on the ice willy nilly might not have been good, but the crew handled the situation well, and by late afternoon on Christmas day, most of the gear was secure with personnel back on board for a Christmas feast on the helo deck. As we celibrated, however, we began getting reports of the terribly destructive tsunami in Thailand. Later, news media in Europe repeatedly called the ship to pursue the story that our ice breakup was related to that singular event. Most of us thought that connection to be unlikely. However, we certainly recognized the severity of the catastophe, and later held an auction raising money for relief.

After the ice stabilized, I was able to establish a new site, off the port stern, and resume measurement. Now, rather than penguins, a young leopard sea took up residence on a small pressure ridge near the site. It seemed pretty laid back, and I never felt endangered, but my friendly penguins were gone. The remaining week of the project was relatively uneventful, instrument recovery went well, and the ship started northward to exit the ice for our return to Capetown. One indelible memory from that time is standing on the bridge as the ship inched forward in dense fog between two towering icebergs, seemingly so close you could have touched them on one side of the ship or the other. Surreal.

After leaving the ice, our captain requested permission to visit the National Park on South Georgia Island. Although the park and port had not yet opened for the season, permission was granted and we were able to spend the better part of a day there. Shortly after we got ashore the weather cleared, revealing the overwhelming beauty of the area, both in the physical terrain and the variety of wildlife. Jouko Launiainen and I climbed up the hill behind the village and marvelled at the ruggedness of the mountains to the west that Earnest Shackelton and his companions had crossed to get to the whaling station and rescue. We paid homage at Shackelton's gravesite; his story remains one of the greatest adventures ever. A footnote is that in the museum on Grytviken I saw a chart with dates of the drift of the Endurance, and noted that our position on Jan 1, 2005, was within about 15 km of where the Shackleton party had been on Jan 1, 1916.

We then began the long haul back to Capetown. Evenings were often filled by talks on various subjects, including one by our skipper that I found fascinating. The shipping company he worked for, which operated the Polarstern, had utilized sail well into the 20th century, and their tall ships could often beat powered ships in the run from Chile to Europe. I didn't ask about their cargo, but suspect it was mainly gauno. On another occasion, I organized a slide show on Svalbard by a number of scientists aboard who had connections there, including some of my past students at UNIS. My passage was buoyed by the knowledge that I would be met by Saundie and Megan for a long anticipated vacation in South Africa.