Penguin on the Runway! And other tales...

There's no denying that it's been an eventful couple of weeks here at McMurdo. Thankfully, we've still been able to fly and get a decent amount of work done. So much so, in fact, that we only have three trips left to make, and two weeks to make them. It's not guaranteed that we'll finish, but I'm optimistic.

Since 1/18, the day after I got back to McMurdo, we've successfully serviced sites at Brimstone Peak, Fishtail Point, Minna Bluff, and Mt. Coates via helicopter. Fishtail and Minna Bluff were both night flights, so some of the days have been pretty long, because we wake up at 6 am to check the schedules anyway. So when we don't go to sleep until 2 am... Insanity ensues. But so do some nice pictures.

Brimstone Peak at the far northeastern end of the Transantarctic Mountains

Travis, Kiya, and I perched on a cliff over Skelton Glacier at Fishtail Point (photograph by Doug Bloomquist)

Evening at Minna Bluff

Even though we've still got things to do, activity here is winding down toward the end of the season in two weeks. The days we haven't flown, we've been packing up miscellaneous cargo for shipment back to the US or for storage until next season. Lots of lifting and hauling and moving and filling out reports and paperwork. The other day, I accompanied a large piece of cargo from the base here down to Pegasus runway (about 14 miles away) because the cargo had to be put in a storage container down there. I got off the shuttle at the airport and it only took me about 10 minutes to find a forklift and move the cargo to the container, but as I was walking back toward the shuttle, it drove away, and I was stuck waiting an hour for the next one. So I decided to mosey to the end of the runway and get a closer look at the mountains, when I came across something I certainly didn't expect.

This guy!

This adult male emperor penguin has evidently been hanging around for a while. According to people I've talked to, they'll hang out around the runway this time of year to molt before heading back to a nearby rookery. A few of my fellow researchers had seen this guy, but none had gotten this close - I felt quite privileged, and I was glad I missed my shuttle!

I've also done a bit of hiking in my downtime, something which wasn't really available out at WAIS due to the total lack of elevation change or hard ground surface. Last Thursday Jie and I hiked out to Castle Rock, a large volcanic left-over about 3 miles northeast of McMurdo, to take in the views of Mts. Erebus on Terror on the exceptionally clear day. It was a fun diversion, with some rock-scrambling and steep climbs, and the scenery was, as always, incredible.

The view from the top of Castle Rock. Mt. Erebus is directly over the ridge and Mt. Terror is to the right. If you're not getting a sense of scale, Erebus is 12,448 feet and rises from sea level (that's the ocean reflecting over to the left).  

Stopping for a drink on the way down (photograph by Jie Chen)

As we've been working during the day and blowing off steam at night, I've discovered a number of new skills. I got very competitive and shut out every competitor I played one night at foosball in one of the bars (only to be crushed the following night by Paul) and I discovered an enjoyment for darts. I've also gotten into the habit of taking a walk around base late at night before going to bed. The weather is getting colder, windier, and sun is getting lower and lower every day (around midnight it actually starts looking like sunset!). Last night I went my usual way toward the dorm and saw something I hadn't seen in about two months. I looked east and saw an odd object in the sky, and it took me two or three seconds to realize it was the moon, showing just barely above the ridge over Scott Base. It was an odd moment - one that made me think about what coming here has done for me, and whether I'm prepared to leave in two weeks.

The moon shone briefly over McMurdo Station last night.

Early morning fog off Cape Armitage. At 1:00 am, this is the lowest the sun gets in the sky; nevertheless, it can certainly look like a sunset.

Search Called Off

When Antarctica was first explored, a return home was not guaranteed. In some cases, it wasn't even expected. But since humans first made landfall on the Antarctic continent, the goal has always been to make Antarctica ever more accessible and safe. Permanent bases have been established, treaties have been signed, regulations have been dictated, and seasoned explorers have been employed to guide the newly initiated. At times, the degree of regulation over our activities here is frustrating. But at times, like this past weekend, we are reminded that Antarctica, despite the presence of humans for over a century, is a hostile place with deadly tendencies.

For anyone who's been following the news, or for anyone who hasn't:

On the evening of January 23rd, last Wednesday, McMurdo communications received word that a KBA DeHavilland DHC-6 Twin Otter, bound for the Italian station at Terra Nova from the South Pole with three Canadian crew members, had lost communications and was missing over the Transantarctic Mountains. An emergency beacon was activated but there was no indication whether it was done manually by the crew or automatically by a crash. Search and rescue (SAR) was immediately dispatched but they were continually hampered by low visibility, blowing snow, and mountain winds up to 100 knots. In the meantime, details emerged. The beacon was transmitting from 3,900 meters (nearly 13,000 feet). A remote monitoring system had shown the plane, with its experienced pilot and crew, on its designated course at 4000 meters. It suddenly dropped to 2,700 meters, then pulled back up at 140 knots before abruptly halting at 3900 meters.

Finally, on Friday morning, the clouds broke. A LC-130 immediately flew out to a field camp 50 kilometers from the crash site with 1250 pounds of fuel. Two others followed closely with additional fuel and supplies to support the two helicopters and two small planes that were then able to commence searching. The tail wreckage was spotted late Friday morning on a steep slope near the summit of Mount Elizabeth in the Queen Alexandra range, a notoriously stormy and unpredictable area. There were no signs of activity around the crash site. Aerial reconnaissance took place through Friday and Saturday.

On Sunday, SAR crews were able to land helicopters 300 meters above the crash site and make their way down around avalanches and crevasses. They recovered some equipment, including the cockpit voice recorder, which was located in the tail of the plane. The cabin was partially collapsed and filled in with packed snow, and a crushed and leaking fuel tank prevented any chance of entry to the cabin and cockpit. After a full evaluation of the site, it was determined that it was very unsafe for the SAR team to continue operations.

The flight crew remains missing, but analysis indicated the crash would have not have been survivable. As Antarctica begins its descent into winter, the search for the bodies has been called off until next season. A message from the McMurdo Area Manager today read: "All EOC [Emergency Operations Center] are now focused on the safe return of the deployed support aircraft and JSART [Joint Antarctic Search and Rescue] teams to McMurdo and Scott Base."

Please, if you have a moment, spare a thought or a prayer for the families of those lost:

Bob Heath, Inuvik

Perry Andersen, Collingwood

Mike Denton, Calgary

A Brief Introduction to Projects and Places

With work at WAIS nearly done (only one site left to go!), me and three other POLENETters hopped on a LC-130 and, after boomeranging once and spending an additional night at WAIS, made it back to McMurdo, where we’ll have three to four more weeks of work before returning home. We’ll be using a combination of airplanes and helicopters, but since we are in McMurdo two weeks ahead of schedule, they weren’t exactly prepared for us (understandable), and so we’re on backup priority rather than first priority for a little while. Thus, I’ve got some free time, and it’s just as well, because it occurred to me in the process of writing this blog post that I haven’t described what it is that I’m doing in sufficient detail, and some of the things I’ve said probably haven’t made much sense. So here, while I’m sitting around and not doing much, I’ll endeavor to introduce you to the project I’ve been working on and the places I’ve been spending my time.

POLENET, or the Polar Earth Observing Network, is an internationally collaborative program commenced in 2007 which is dedicated to studying the inner Earth, tectonic plates, climate, and even Earth’s magnetic field using high-precision GPS and seismic sensors located in Earth’s polar regions. The data from these sensors can be used to any number of ends, including measuring deformation of Earth's crust, measuring and predicting ice mass changes (e.g. melt and accumulation of ice on glaciers), and imaging the structure of the inner Earth. All of this can be accomplished simply from knowing the millimeters of displacement of crust over a year, or by recognizing the behaviors of different types of seismic waves as they travel through the Earth.

The project is generally headed up by Ohio State, though there are principal investigators from around the world in order to support its various components, including station groups in Greenland (G-NET, led by Ohio State's Mike Bevis), the Arctic circle regions of Scandinavia, and Antarctica (A-NET, led by Ohio State's Terry Wilson, my adviser). The PIs are typically responsible for logistics and, of course, the science. However, support is necessary when actually designing and constructing the stations themselves. The GPS stations are designed and constructed by engineers from UNAVCO, a non-profit, university-governed research consortium with a pool of very high-tech, very expensive equipment. The seismic stations are the responsibility of PASSCAL (Program for Array Seismic Studies of the Continental Lithosphere), a similarly endowed research group at New Mexico Tech associated with the Incorporated Research Institutions for Seismology (IRIS). Each of these groups, while involved in research all over the globe, has a dedicated polar research team which aids the scientists in achieving their goals. All the groups work closely together - at minimum a budgetary necessity, as many GPS and seismic sites are co-located.

Since I'm working under Terry, I tend to stick to the GPS side of A-NET. Though I've had some experience with seismic sites, and I know something about them since both seismic and GPS groups shared a work tent this year, I'm much more familiar with GPS instrumentation. Stations are typically set on bedrock (though there are a few on ice) and consist of a weather observation device, two or four solar panels, an Iridium antenna, a GPS receiver, 16 to 22 rechargeable 12 volt batteries, and optionally one or two wind turbines, all mounted on a metal frame and anchored to the rock. The GPS antenna is bolted to bedrock on a high point near the support structure. 

The GPS station at Brimstone Peak at the north end of the Transantarctic Mountains. The electronics are housed in/on the frame structure in the foreground. The GPS antenna monument is in the background at left.

The GPS is sensitive enough to detect movement on the scale of millimeters and it transmits data via the Iridium satellite network. Keeping the antenna bolted ensures that it is consistently measuring only the movement of the rock and that it is not being moved by such other forces as wind or snow.

However, just because the GPS can't be moved by it doesn't mean the station can't be affected by the weather. This is where I come in. These stations, even though they transmit automatically, are routinely affected by their respective environments. Solar panels can be shattered by windblown rocks. Connectors can be loosened by annual ice build-up. Sometimes, as is the nature of electronic equipment, things just shut down for no apparent reason. Once, before my time, a battery case exploded. So the stations must be constantly maintained and repaired, and my job is to assist the UNAVCO engineer(s) and PI, if present, in performing this maintenance.

The stations are located, and well-spaced, all over Antarctica. Therefore, we fly to each one, and it is imperative from both a budgetary and logistical standpoint to have bases of operations relatively central to the locations. This year, we had three people stationed at the South Pole, and the rest of the team (14 people, divided between the first and second halves of the season) split their time between the West Antarctic Ice Sheet (WAIS) Divide field camp and the US Antarctic Program (USAP) base of operations at McMurdo Station.

I'm part of the field team for the second half of the season. I arrived mid-December and I'll be here until mid-February. The team for the first half arrived at the end of October and left at the end of December. I spent the first part of my time here out at WAIS, in the middle of the ice sheet. As it's mostly flat and white out there, with GPS stations on nunataks (mountain peaks exposed above the ice), we flew everywhere in fixed-wing aircraft. We used one Twin Otter (De Havilland DHC-6) and one Basler BT-67 (based on the Douglas DC-3) to access our sites. Generally speaking, the Twin Otter is more maneuverable and handy in tight runway situations, and the Basler is able to carry more cargo and more people.

The Basler (left) and Twin Otter (right) parked at WAIS

Mt. Carbone and the Basler - this is typical of the landing conditions for sites accessible from WAIS Divide.

WAIS Divide (1,759 meters in elevation, 1,639 kilometers from McMurdo) was 'settled' in 2005 as part of a deep ice drilling project. Chief among their goals were a) to drill a core in the southern hemisphere comparable to the Greenland cores for comparison of climate conditions, and b) to create a replicate coring technique with which they could extract multiple cores from select periods of time for more in-depth or repeat analysis where original analysis would destroy the sample. When it was built, the drill housing was on the surface of the snow. Unlike other buildings, though, this one had to stay at an absolute elevation so that there was reference for the core depth relative to the 3,465 meter thick ice sheet. So, seven years later...

The main entrance to the drill housing at WAIS Divide

The first goal is an ongoing project, but the second was achieved just after I arrived and it was very exciting. Since most of the camp population (40-50) were drillers, the atmosphere afterward was very jovial, aided by the fact that it was the holiday season. And, well, by the fact that there's not much to do out there.

Life at WAIS was pretty quiet. You knew everyone, everything, and the snow was always clean. Even the heavy machinery (forklifts, etc.) didn't leave any more than a depression. The principal forms of entertainment were movies, card games, cross-country skiing, and sometimes outdoor games, when we were so inclined. When the generators weren't running to power the drill, it was eerily quiet, but it was wonderful hearing the snow fall lightly on my tent as I fell asleep. When the LC-130 came in to deliver cargo or people, it was larger than any single building or machine in camp, except for maybe the drill and its housing.

A late evening juggling circle at WAIS Divide: me, Travis, and Dave (photograph by Jie Chen)

Once we finished with the work at WAIS, we migrated to McMurdo Station, the center of USAP operations. Located on an island(ish) in the Ross Sea, dwarfed by Mts. Erebus (the southernmost active volcano in the world), Terror, and Bird, and opposite the Transantarctic Mountains, McMurdo is an ideal jumping-off point for access to all of our sites in the area. There are a multitude of these because, as I mentioned above, there are mountains, and mountains mean exposed rock and tectonic activity. Mountains also mean lack of runway space, so most of the work out of McMurdo is done via helicopter, more specifically a Bell 212 or a Eurocopter AS350. These versatile machines mean multiple things: 1) we can access more places, and 2) we fly lower. Because McMurdo is at sea level and near the sea, the scenery is quite a change from the flat white of the ice sheet. More scenic, if a little more treacherous, and with more wildlife (note: no polar bears).

A NSF Bell 212 at our Brimstone Peak site - not an ideal place to land an airplane

A small group of emperor penguins shuffles away as the helicopter passes over the Ross Sea ice.

Life in McMurdo is different, to say the least. The population is around 900, the buildings are all permanent, there's constantly a hum of machinery, there are two bars, lots of recreational opportunities, and the ground is mostly undisturbed by snow, at least in town. There are also beds and bedrooms, something which I am struggling to get used to again after sleeping in a tent near freezing for a month, and vehicles with wheels rather than tracks. I'm getting used to it, and I'm grateful for the multitude of things to keep me busy, even if life is a little louder and more impersonal. What's funny here, of course, is that a town of 900 in the states is minuscule. Here, it's the big city, with all the amenities, and there's even a 'next town over': New Zealand's Scott Base, barely a stone's throw away, in case one feels inclined to do some international traveling.

Top: WAIS Divide field camp, with 'tent city' at left and 'town' at right; below: McMurdo Station from Ob Hill

And on that note, I'm going to walk back to my room, brush my teeth with running water over a sink, and head to bed on my real mattress with blankets. Plenty more photos in the coming days. I was overly conservative with my camera at WAIS because I was afraid too much flat and white might be boring. But here there be mountains!