It's been a week of harsh weather, here. It all blew in on Sunday, and since then there's been no visibility, 30 knot winds, and a lot of shut-in people looking for things to do. I happened to have plenty of things to do, so I was actually relieved to be excused from field trips. I've only got one or two trips left before relief, anyway. Assuming relief happens, of course.
Anyway, the wind finally died down today, and we could see again. I used the opportunity to ski out to the CASlab (Clean Air Sector; a lab outside the base where vehicles can't go within a km, and delicate instruments measure...clean air, I guess).
After a brief chat with Neil, who runs the lonely lab, I wandered back to base and checked that my Linear Motion Sensor setup was, in fact, Sensing Linear Motion. And then I had a moment.
I haven't been too poetic in this blog, to date. Yes, Antarctica is beautiful. Some people's blogs wax lyrical regarding the vast emptiness of the place, and of course one can gaze in beauty at the penguins, and so on. I prefer to talk about the Onion, and flatulence, and the like. But as I left the linear motion sensor to go back to the main building for supper, events conspired to create the magical moment.
Usually, I plan ahead on my iPod to get some good lively music going when I ski - some Zeppelin, Great Big Sea, even Kim Mitchell in odd moments. But at this time, Rachmaninoff's Prelude in F was playing. I was too close to the building to bother fishing out the iPod to change it. Don't really know why it was on there to begin with - two friends of mine have raved about Rachmaninoff in the past, so I added it (Blumenthal, Devastator...I'm looking at you).
Then, a solitary beam of sunlight pierced the clouds to light up the ice cliffs far off on the horizon. And, best of all, a storm petrel (a black swallow-like bird, rare at Halley) came by and swooped around in circles around me and some nearby snowmobiles for a few minutes. And it cavorted and sweeped in time with the music. I just stood there and soaked it in - it was surreal, and beautiful. If I only had my camera!
But then it was over - the petrel left, Weird Al Yankovic came on next on the iPod, and I walked into the main building to smell my dinner - brussel sprouts. Reality asserted itself in the most brutal way possible!
Wednesday, 12 December 2007
Sunday, 9 December 2007
Ships, skiis, and automobiles.
Our schooner and our sloop in Ferryland they do lieThat's an excerpt from Ferryland Sealer (with a direction change); one of my favourite songs by my favourite band, Great Big Sea. I'm sure it's available on iTunes! Check it out. It's the only song I know about icebreaking, in any case.
They are already rigged to be bound for the ice
All you lads of the Southern we will have you to beware
She is going to the ice in the Spring of the year
Laddie whack fall the laddie, laddie whack fall the day!
Our course be south-south-west for two days and two nights;
Our captain he cried out 'Boys, look ahead for the ice!'
And we hove her about standing in for the land,
And 'twas in a few hours we were firm in the jam.
Laddie whack fall the laddie, laddie whack fall the day!
Yes, the Shackleton has now hit the ice, and the icebreaking has begun. This year, the ice is thick. From satellite scans, it hasn't been this thick since 2002, and that year, the Shackleton didn't get in at all. However, this year, with Halley IV arriving on a very expensive ship behind the Shackleton, the captain will be very motivated to find a route. Whew, wouldn't want to be him at the moment.
And it's confirmed; we're unloading at the Creek. The duty postings are posted on the bulletin board; it was funny seeing everyone on base crowd around the sheet, as if they just posted the volleyball team at high school. My job, predictably, is "Sea Ice Driver's Mate", meaning I'll be sitting in a Sno-Cat and loading/unloading from ship to shore. I'll probably be driving a bit, too. My "mate" is Rich Burt, my partner-in-crime for all my field trips. So we know we'll get along just fine.
Anyway, it's Sunday morning here - my day off. And the weather is absolute crap, so it's really a day off. Might curl up with a book, some movies, or maybe a long game of Civ IV. But first I thought I'd show off some of the vehicles around here. Almost all of them have been purchased or modified in Canada. I shall introduce them in increasing order of boo-yeah.
So, we start with x-country skiis. You can ski within the 2km perimeter of the station. In the clean air sector, one quarter of the circle, that's all you can do. I don't ski as part of my job, but I try to do the perimeter a couple times a week, just to partially undo some of the damage my new food regime is wreaking.
Next, the skidoos. Here, we see some of the base skidoos, which are pitiful in comparison to my powerful new field skidoo. The idea is that I need the best and most powerful, as a breakdown for me is much more of a problem than a breakdown in the backyard. But these are still good for chugging stuff between buildings. We use them with sledges to drag stuff around, and it's surprising how much a skidoo can pull. All of these skidoos have stickers showing they have been purchased from a dealer on Hwy 11, near Midland/Penetanguishene.
I'll skip the field skidoos - you've seen mine.
Next, the tracked quad. I forgot to take a picture of one, so I stole this off another website. (an Australian one, actually!) These machines are great. I remember that my old neighbour Derek once had to choose between an ATV and a snowmobile, and he went with the ATV for fuel economy, if I recall correctly. This thing is a bit of both.
Now, the comfy vehicles. The Sno-cats are the big people-movers around the shelf - and they will be our sea ice vehicles. Relatively light, but still capable of hauling up to 6 tonnes, which is our sea ice limit. They break down fairly often, though (to be fair, they were never meant to be hauling 6 tonnes around).
And finally, the big boys.
Bulldozers, tracked John Deeres. and the Cat Challengers. The John Deeres are our versatile machines; they can lift containers around, and will be all-purpose machines on the base.
But the raw power machines are the Challengers, whose sole role will be transport across the ice shelf, from Creek to Halley V. Back and forth, 24 hours a day, other than maintenance periods.
And so, all these machines lie in wait, ready to be unleashed upon the tonnes and tonnes of supplies slowly making their way in our direction. All that is between us and this cargo is several hundred kilometres of sea ice.
Laddie whack fall the laddie, laddie whack fall the day!
Wednesday, 5 December 2007
Tick....tock....waiting for relief.
It's official; the HMS Shackleton raised anchor at noon today in Capetown, and is now on its way down here with all of our supplies and new people. And, it's escorting a much larger ship, containing most of Halley VI. There is a pool on when it arrives; I think I have the afternoon of the 16th. Winner gets a T-shirt.
Question is, where will it land? And will I get to see it? These questions are somewhat related.
I'll back up a moment. Let's talk about ice. There are two major types of relevance: shelf ice and sea ice. Shelf ice is what I'm sitting on right now - or what my building is sitting on, to be specific. The Brunt ice shelf is - for all intents and purposes - part of the continent hanging over the ocean. Pieces of it break off, naturally, but it's more or less a permanent fixture, in some shape. Ice shelves can be huge; mine is several hundred square kilometres, and there are much, much larger ones. And they're thick - a kilometre or more. Enough to support any vehicle or structure
Sea ice, on the other hand, is frozen ocean. Often it's no more than a year old. It can be two, three metres thick; it can be flat or jagged; it can break up and flow away with the current in a matter of days. This happened while I was at Rothera - one day, ice as far as the eye can see, next day, all water.
Anyway. When it comes to unloading a ship, the major question is: are we willing to unload onto sea ice? Or, stated differently: How far are we willing to drive to find the perfect place to unload everything straight onto the shelf?
This is the question that is being debated by loads of people. I haven't figured out the dynamics of who has the final say in this decision, but I believe it's whittled down to two people: Martin, who is in charge of the vehicles, and the captain of the Shackleton, whose authoritas can't be challenged by anyone, of course. A sea ice relief is much more complicated. Heavy vehicles can't go on the sea ice. The construction workers will not go on the sea ice (it's not in their contract, apparently). So, if it's on sea ice, I will probably be at the ship, on the sea ice, unloading it. If not, I'll be at the base, packing stuff away (I've got a spot right below my bed for the London Pride).
It looks like we're down to two places - N9, a shelf ice location about 60km away; and Creek 8, which is a location that Toddy and I found about 10km away that requires a sea ice unloading. I think they're leaning towards Creek 8.
I've filched this picture off the blog of Richard, the base doctor, from last year. This is a sea ice relief.
If it is a sea ice relief, I will probably be sleeping on the ship and not too close to e-mail. But I'll let all y'all know if that's the case!
In the meantime, I'll still be blogging about things and stuff around here. Hopefully until the afternoon of the 16th, so I can score that T-shirt!
Question is, where will it land? And will I get to see it? These questions are somewhat related.
I'll back up a moment. Let's talk about ice. There are two major types of relevance: shelf ice and sea ice. Shelf ice is what I'm sitting on right now - or what my building is sitting on, to be specific. The Brunt ice shelf is - for all intents and purposes - part of the continent hanging over the ocean. Pieces of it break off, naturally, but it's more or less a permanent fixture, in some shape. Ice shelves can be huge; mine is several hundred square kilometres, and there are much, much larger ones. And they're thick - a kilometre or more. Enough to support any vehicle or structure
Sea ice, on the other hand, is frozen ocean. Often it's no more than a year old. It can be two, three metres thick; it can be flat or jagged; it can break up and flow away with the current in a matter of days. This happened while I was at Rothera - one day, ice as far as the eye can see, next day, all water.
Anyway. When it comes to unloading a ship, the major question is: are we willing to unload onto sea ice? Or, stated differently: How far are we willing to drive to find the perfect place to unload everything straight onto the shelf?
This is the question that is being debated by loads of people. I haven't figured out the dynamics of who has the final say in this decision, but I believe it's whittled down to two people: Martin, who is in charge of the vehicles, and the captain of the Shackleton, whose authoritas can't be challenged by anyone, of course. A sea ice relief is much more complicated. Heavy vehicles can't go on the sea ice. The construction workers will not go on the sea ice (it's not in their contract, apparently). So, if it's on sea ice, I will probably be at the ship, on the sea ice, unloading it. If not, I'll be at the base, packing stuff away (I've got a spot right below my bed for the London Pride).
It looks like we're down to two places - N9, a shelf ice location about 60km away; and Creek 8, which is a location that Toddy and I found about 10km away that requires a sea ice unloading. I think they're leaning towards Creek 8.
I've filched this picture off the blog of Richard, the base doctor, from last year. This is a sea ice relief.
If it is a sea ice relief, I will probably be sleeping on the ship and not too close to e-mail. But I'll let all y'all know if that's the case!
In the meantime, I'll still be blogging about things and stuff around here. Hopefully until the afternoon of the 16th, so I can score that T-shirt!
Sunday, 2 December 2007
I woke up on Saturday...
...to find myself in a crazy new place. Halley Summer 2007 has officially kicked off!
Who are all these people? The planes have been busy bringing in plant technicians, vehicle dudes, sparkys, chippys...and now, when I walk down the hallway, I don't recognize half of the people. I can only imagine what the poor winterers feel. For 9 months, there are 15 of them wandering the hallways. Now, there are 50 people running around. And soon, there will be 100!
And, lucky me, I was on gash duty for Friday and part of Saturday. I've never been a busboy at a restaurant (although at my first job, I did serve food at a mini-putt), but cleaning up after 50 people and a high-octane chef seems to be a hell of a lot of work. That was definitely my last gash duty, though; amongst the arrivals are the Saints - the BAS name for the domestic assistants which now do all the cleaning, laundry, etc. Their name comes not only from their worthiness for reverence, but also because they come from the island of St. Helena, just off the coast of....nothing. A good place to send a French emporer in his exile.
But back to Halley. One of the new people, who came alone last week from Rothera, is my new field assistant, Rich B, as we retire Toddy to stud. Actually, Rich is the new wintering field assistant, so he'll be staying around here for the next 18 months. And, as my project is the only one where you can get out to see all corners of the Brunt Ice shelf which we call home, it makes sense from him to join me in mapping it. Here's an odd-angled picture of him in a hole:
And here I am, digging said hole (pardon the helmethead):
This hole now contains a radar reflector, also shown in both pictures. One of the ways we're going to try to track the movement of the ice shelf is to observe it from satellites. Problem is, there's not much to track. Visible features change from season to season. So, if we bury a large metal corner - shown in both of the pictures above - these locations should light up on a radar picture. We'll find out in a few months!
One of the other changes for the summer is that the alcohol rationing has gone into effect. No more hard liquor, and wine/beer limited to two per night. This is fine by me - didn't break those rules most nights anyway (except the occasional gin and tonic). But it did leave the problem of hard liquor disposal - so we disposed of it last night in a cocktail party. The drinks were locally named ("Windy Fart", "Sex at Precious Bay", "Unhinged Zone", and (my favourite) "Onion Overflow") and the bar was predictably packed. I bailed out early, as I'm still trying to work on GMT time. But the rest of the crew managed to finish the job.
And now, here I write, as I'm surrounded by a) hungover people, b) sleeping people, c) the veteran drinkers, and d) the ascetic. I class myself somewhere between c) and d), I suppose, for the moment.
Who are all these people? The planes have been busy bringing in plant technicians, vehicle dudes, sparkys, chippys...and now, when I walk down the hallway, I don't recognize half of the people. I can only imagine what the poor winterers feel. For 9 months, there are 15 of them wandering the hallways. Now, there are 50 people running around. And soon, there will be 100!
And, lucky me, I was on gash duty for Friday and part of Saturday. I've never been a busboy at a restaurant (although at my first job, I did serve food at a mini-putt), but cleaning up after 50 people and a high-octane chef seems to be a hell of a lot of work. That was definitely my last gash duty, though; amongst the arrivals are the Saints - the BAS name for the domestic assistants which now do all the cleaning, laundry, etc. Their name comes not only from their worthiness for reverence, but also because they come from the island of St. Helena, just off the coast of....nothing. A good place to send a French emporer in his exile.
But back to Halley. One of the new people, who came alone last week from Rothera, is my new field assistant, Rich B, as we retire Toddy to stud. Actually, Rich is the new wintering field assistant, so he'll be staying around here for the next 18 months. And, as my project is the only one where you can get out to see all corners of the Brunt Ice shelf which we call home, it makes sense from him to join me in mapping it. Here's an odd-angled picture of him in a hole:
And here I am, digging said hole (pardon the helmethead):
This hole now contains a radar reflector, also shown in both pictures. One of the ways we're going to try to track the movement of the ice shelf is to observe it from satellites. Problem is, there's not much to track. Visible features change from season to season. So, if we bury a large metal corner - shown in both of the pictures above - these locations should light up on a radar picture. We'll find out in a few months!
One of the other changes for the summer is that the alcohol rationing has gone into effect. No more hard liquor, and wine/beer limited to two per night. This is fine by me - didn't break those rules most nights anyway (except the occasional gin and tonic). But it did leave the problem of hard liquor disposal - so we disposed of it last night in a cocktail party. The drinks were locally named ("Windy Fart", "Sex at Precious Bay", "Unhinged Zone", and (my favourite) "Onion Overflow") and the bar was predictably packed. I bailed out early, as I'm still trying to work on GMT time. But the rest of the crew managed to finish the job.
And now, here I write, as I'm surrounded by a) hungover people, b) sleeping people, c) the veteran drinkers, and d) the ascetic. I class myself somewhere between c) and d), I suppose, for the moment.
Thursday, 29 November 2007
A boring video...
I just realized that on my creek trip, while I was waiting for Toddy to take some pictures, I took a brief video of my surroundings. Not particularly interesting, but it is my first video. I'll take a few more later, I imagine. So, welcome to the ice shelf, somewhere between Creek 7 and Creek 9.
Wednesday, 28 November 2007
A quick story
...and it's going to have to be quick, as tonight is movie night and they're playing the Big Lebowski - I can't miss that!
It's been sunny down here for the last couple days, and yesterday we did more relief-hunting along the Creeks. Today, we went down a creek (like a fjord; but smaller, and all ice, of course). Toddy abseiled in first; then, when he was halfway down, I heard a wumph and saw a good chunk of the creek collapse!
I was quite nervous, of course, and yelled for Toddy. He couldn't hear me, because he was yelling his own choice expletives. He wasn't in danger, of course - he picked the right spot to abseil, as he should, after decades of experience. But still, a bit unnerving to watch, and awe-inspiring.
The funny part, for me at least, was that while I was waiting for Toddy, I was watching 6 penguins slide along in a line on their tummies, about 1km out on the sea ice. That's their "long-distance" method of travel. But when we started yelling, they scrambled up and stood in a half-circle watching us, moving their heads slightly. You could almost picture them conferring about the situation:
"What's all that about?"
"Dunno. Want to go check it out?"
"Uh.....no. Doesn't involve us. Those orange creatures are just weird."
"Hm. Well, let's get back on the road, then. I want to get to that iceberg over there by the end of the day."
And so, they dropped back on their bellies, and off they went.
It's been sunny down here for the last couple days, and yesterday we did more relief-hunting along the Creeks. Today, we went down a creek (like a fjord; but smaller, and all ice, of course). Toddy abseiled in first; then, when he was halfway down, I heard a wumph and saw a good chunk of the creek collapse!
I was quite nervous, of course, and yelled for Toddy. He couldn't hear me, because he was yelling his own choice expletives. He wasn't in danger, of course - he picked the right spot to abseil, as he should, after decades of experience. But still, a bit unnerving to watch, and awe-inspiring.
The funny part, for me at least, was that while I was waiting for Toddy, I was watching 6 penguins slide along in a line on their tummies, about 1km out on the sea ice. That's their "long-distance" method of travel. But when we started yelling, they scrambled up and stood in a half-circle watching us, moving their heads slightly. You could almost picture them conferring about the situation:
"What's all that about?"
"Dunno. Want to go check it out?"
"Uh.....no. Doesn't involve us. Those orange creatures are just weird."
"Hm. Well, let's get back on the road, then. I want to get to that iceberg over there by the end of the day."
And so, they dropped back on their bellies, and off they went.
Sunday, 25 November 2007
A quiet weekend
And so it was.
Friday, though, saw the influx of some new people, as I mentioned. Six more inmates were shipped in, including the Halley VI project manager, a new sparky, and...well, I haven't found out yet about the others. They came in on the same "Nice try, Lao Che!" plane that we did; but from the other side - Capetown to Novo (Russian base) to Troll (Norwegian) to here. And the same crew, out of the 'Shwa (Oshawa, ON, Canadia).
They came bearing a few gifts - for me, a set of radar reflectors, some new GPS equipment, cables, a camera battery charger (which I neglected to pack first time around), and some maple syrup. This is all stuff I packed myself in September, except the charger. Nice to see it again, though.
As they were a bit spaced out upon landing - a feeling I can understand - I didn't see too much of them on Friday. But yesterday, they all made it out to the bar, for a good night. After a few ports, I was busy convincing many of the winterers that they should look into island real estate in Nova Scotia. Not sure why, really, but it is pretty cheap.
Also, the dawn of Saturday morning revealed a clear crisp day to go do another rosette site, so we did. (And I should air-quote "dawn", as the sun certainly never left the sky all night!) But, now that you're all rosette experts, there's not much need to talk about it. I did take a picture, though; this time, it has my noble steed in it as well:
After that, things manked up quite a bit, and we lost visibility. Pity, as I was going to show off the vehicles in this blog entry. Maybe the next one.
And, what the hell, let's throw in another penguin picture, since things are slow at the moment.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)