Icebergs

McMURDO STATION, ANTARCTICA

The temperature has taken a significant dip today, with the wind chill pushing -50 F. The clouds have rolled in, and blowing snow makes it hard to see much beyond the transition to the sea ice. But two days ago, the skies were clear and the ambient temperature hovered near 15 F, and the wind was gentle most of the day. I had the good fortune to find myself in a hagglund out on the sea ice, a few hours from town, helping to scope out cracks and drilling to check the thickness of the ice as we scouted a route to the ice edge.

The morning started off cloudy, but the clouds quickly burned off as the sun rose over Mt. Erebus. The skies cleared, and the sun and shadows made the big drifts and potential cracks easy to spot. After going as far as we could safely travel before the ice thinned out, we turned to head back, finding ourselves with plenty of time to spare, and no imperative to be back in town. We followed the Kiwis’ tracks to see how far they had gotten, and then, parking the hagglund, set out on foot to map out the perimeters of two icebergs locked in the sea ice. The wind had picked up a bit, and I added a heavier coat and mittens to my layers. I looked back to note that the Barne Glacier was swathed in blowing snow, faint and golden in the bright sunlight. 

We walked around the larger of the two icebergs first, stepping over cracks, finding footing between chunks of fallen ice. Cracks in the berg glowed blue in the sun, and the only sound was that of our boots crunching in the snow. 

 Peering into the cracks, I could see the strange patterns that form in the ice, the frozen bubbles, some that are elongated and appear to have frozen while migrating to the surface. There is something about standing at the foot of an iceberg that seems grand and amazing, the stuff of National Geographic films, and the stuff of childhood dreams. I lagged behind examining ice, snapping photos, while my companion walks ahead, GPS in hand. The sky unbelievably blue, we stood for a long time, watching the swirling snow rolling over a small snow bank, glistening slightly in the low late afternoon sun. 

Rounding the second iceberg, I caught a glimpse of a sundog and a nacreous cloud beyond the iceberg, and I am reminded that I live in the most amazing place on the planet. At least it seemed so in that very instant, when I am overwhelmed by the grandeur, and not being eaten alive by the biting wind. As we headed home, the sun sank low behind us, the snow covered peaks glowing pink. Out my window, a nacreous cloud evolved, growing ever more colorful, reminding me of holograms and fish scales and oil slicks in parking lot puddles. I stop once and climb out to look back and see the sun, firey orange, nearly sinking into the horizon. Indeed it was an altogether perfect day.