Everything ... in its right place

Making uniformly wide (= safe) dive holes through the sea ice in Antarctica has always been a major challenge. For example, at our research sites at Explorers Cove, the sea ice is usually 8-21 feet (roughly 3-7 meters) thick, and layered with wind-blown sediment from the Taylor Valley - factors that create a host of problems. Blasting holes with dynamite worked well in the past, but in this post-9/11 world it is a logistical nightmare to use explosives. The only reasonable option is to slowly melt a dive hole using a Hotsie. Unfortunately, the Hotsie is a gizmo that wasn't designed for this purpose: it's a glorified carpet steam cleaner!

Keeping a Hotsie functional for the 2-3 days needed to melt a hole requires vigilance (and a toolkit). Recently, we've resorted to belief in "order" in order to keep it working.

To wit:

Now that we align its components in orderly ways, with expression of great love and devotion to the Hotsie, we are cranking out perfect dive holes. (Well, almost 50% of the time.)

I'm thinking of starting a new religion ...

Even the icicles were dirty ...

This photo was taken on Nov. 15, 2010 -- roughly 2 weeks after the katabatic windstorm on Halloween. Large piles of sediment, blown onto the sea ice, are seen everywhere.

The sun was warming the labyrinth, forming icicles on the undersides of its various features.

Closer inspection revealed that these icicles were vested with sediment. They seemed to be serving as "fine sediment flypaper." I wonder if icicles have been viewed in this context before, and I wonder what role, if any, this process plays in sediment deposition?

Dirty ice everywhere ... a sign of the times? Don't worry - like everything else, icicles come and go, come and go.

Perception and perspectives on sediment

I mentioned earlier that perception is difficult here. For example, icebergs and mountains can look like they are nearby, but are really many miles away. There just aren't enough visual cues to judge distance accurately (at least for this New Yorker's eye).

Mt. Coleman seems to be a stone's throw away when viewed through the kitchen window.

The mountain seems much farther away when camp is viewed from atop a nearby ridge.

The mind often encounters difficulties when dealing with unfamiliar spatial and temporal scales. With respect to our research, I simply can't imagine how many tons of sediment are deposited on the ice each year at Explorers Cove, and how much of it gets dumped onto the sea floor. Measuring this process and determining its impact on life in the Cove are major goals of the project.

Explorers Cove shoreline, seen from a helicopter. Sand from the Taylor Valley is blown by katabatic winds onto the sea ice, forming large sand dunes along tide cracks and other surface irregularities.

The tide crack behind me is layered with sediment from different storms over the past 10 years; a dune of coarse sand and pebbles rests against its (and my) base.

As Earth continues to warm during this interglacial period, more and more land will be exposed on the southernmost continent. In a real sense, what we see today at Explorers Cove is a peek into Antarctica's near future.