One last look

Ted writes:

On Saturday, weather again looked to be clearing over the area of our lost “Site Beta” AMIGOS station, as well as over the Larsen C, so I joined a flight that was planned for another group (Dan McGrath and ‘Puma’, a Chilean graduate student) to get an overflight of our last unvisited site. The flight included the chief pilot for BAS/Rothera, Alan Meredith, and several BAS staff hands, Ben Tibbetts and Ian, to assist with the main objective, raising a Larsen C AWS station managed by Dr. Koni Steffen (also of the University of Colorado) higher to keep it from suffering the same fate as Site Beta. The difference is that the Site 108 AWS received about 2 feet of snow since last year. Site Beta received 30.

As we left Rothera behind us, we could see clearing ahead, and soon we were flying over the crest of the Peninsula. But below us the situation still was not good. Long streamers of blowing snow trailed off the surface, and from every rocky ridge. As we turned, I could see that the snow was moving about half the speed of the plane–and the plane was moving at 120 kts. Alan turned to me and said, “I’m sorry Ted, it’s just not going to happen.” I had to agree. We were still 20 miles from the site, and already there were low clouds building in addition to the snow streamers.

The plane turned east, and landed a short while later, in surprisingly calm air on the eastern side. “That turbulence we passed through on the way down,” (it was just a bit of bumpiness) “was the shear layer in the air. The high winds are above us now.” We spent the afternoon refurbishing a full weather station, raising it 3 meters higher so that it will survive at least 3-4 more years.

The team headed north on Sunday, November 21, arriving in PA around 6 pm. We’re now en route home, just in time for Thanksgiving, with several repaired stations and a plan to return next year.

The LARISSA AMIGOS Team of 2010/2011 wishes to thank AGUNSA, NSF, and especially BAS in Rothera for the excellent support we received, and for pitching in to help when needed.

High winds near the ridge crest of the Antarctic Peninsula prevented a search for Site Beta AMIGOS

The BAS Twin Otter lands near the AWS

A tripod system is used to raise the station and insert a pipe, keeping it above the snow (for a while)

Dan McGrath, graduate student of Konrad Steffen at the University of Colorado, led the repair effort.

Success

Ted writes:

Clear weather finally prevailed on the morning of November 18, and after one last check of satellite imagery, we bolted at noon in our 1970s-vintage DeHavilland Twin Otter (with brand-new instruments and engines) off the runway at Rothera, headed for the Larsen Ice Shelf. Aboard were myself, Martin, and Jenn, BAS pilot Doug Cochran, and a BAS staffer named Andy “Boat” Wilson – known as Boat because he is a diver and a boatman for the base, and a sturdy guy to have along.

A few puffs of grey cloud passed by on our way upward, but then gave way to one of the most glorious spectacles in glaciology: the Larsen Ice Shelves and the eastern coast of the Antarctic Peninsula. Spilling ice from the ridge, which sits in the southern storm track building snow, flows down like marshmallow cream through black, jagged peaks, and then spreads out to an impossibly flat, broad sheet of ice. Only the subtlest of rolls and ridges mark the history of the bending that the ice endured to reach the sea.

What we saw confirmed what we’ve learned from the data streaming in from the AMIGOS and other stations. While the west side of the Peninsula has experienced unusual snowfall, the east side, where our stations are, has been bone-dry and very warm all winter. Already there are melt ponds slowly filling, and the dry warm wind has scrubbed the surface down, exposing every crack and ridge.

Our first rendezvous was at the Scar Inlet AMIGOS site. Although the station is still functioning, two of the most important measuring devices have gone silent or intermittent over the winter: weather and ice motion. The camera is still working well for now. But as we circled the site, we realized that the landing last year was something of a miracle: the site is surrounded by dozens of narrow (2-foot wide)
cracks and slots. The pilot circled several times, determined to give us a landing if there was any chance; but the risk of bending a ski on the airplane was too great. We did manage to get several pictures of the site, and in some ways the news is good. The station is still standing, and with the anchors still firmly in place.

We then flew up the first major glacier feeding the Scar Inlet Shelf, Flask Glacier. A second AMIGOS there is working very well, but needed new software and a new snow reflectivity sensor. We use the snow reflectivity to gauge when melting occurs: the snow darkens quite a bit when it is wet. The landing went perfectly; right on the tracks from last year, and Doug pulled the plane right up to the station. The wind was brisk, but warm, right about at freezing. The station has about 70 centimeters of snow around it, but it is an oddity–everywhere around it is evidence of windswept snow surface.

While we were standing there, the camera came to life! It moved to the six set shots that Terry had programmed in months ago. I tried to remember the sequence, and started leaping around in the snow, trying to get in every picture. But the camera was too fast. So, in every one of those pictures, one second later, I’m standing right there smiling. Martin, Mr. Smarty-pants, let the camera come to him, by standing still, and Jenn just shrugged and kept working. Jenn and I opened the station and changed the software chip, while Martin removed the old snow sensor and installed the new one. A quick call to Terry confirmed it was all working again. We took off.

Martin’s main goal was to repair the GPS station on Leppard, and that was our next stop. Here again, the dryness and warmth of the winter and spring amazed us. There were crevasses and even melt ponds all over the glacier. We found the station, and as we had guessed, the solar panels had blown over during the winter. We had expected a major digging effort, but in fact the panels were just below the surface. It required about two hours to excavate them, stand them up again, and re-secure them. On the sat-phone again, the UNAVCO office confirmed we had a working station. Next!

It was getting late, now, the sun definitely lower as we rounded a cape on the ocean and approached the rusty-looking outcrop at Cape Framnes. Here Doug really had a challenge. None of us had seen this site before, and it was steep, icy, and loaded with narrow cracks. The outcrop was perfect for helicopters, deadly for an aircraft. We made three different low approaches, each one ending with some new Scottish swearing (Doug is from Glasgow), and a proper decision not to touch down. We eventually found a site 2.5 miles and 400 meters above our outcrop. Martin, Andy, and I hopped out, grabbed ice axes and the new satellite modem, and started hiking.

It was beautiful now, light winds, cool and refreshing, and we were walking downhill towards a stunning seascape. Walking and walking. The last 400 yards before the rock was a windswept blue ice surface, slick enough so that footing was tricky, but then we made it onto the rock.

The outcrop had a blasted appearance, shattered fragments covering a primeval surface of lakes, sand, gravel, boulders nestled between blue ocean, turquoise sunset sky, and pale blue ice. Truly: an end of the earth, and a spectacular place to be. The fix went quickly, and we paused to take in the surroundings before the hike back to the waiting plane.

***

I want to take this opportunity to thank the people at Rothera and British Antarctic Survey. At every step they have been generous, helpful, responsible, and eager to see us get our work done. I especially want to thank Doug Cochran, who did an outstanding job of piloting, and made the right decision on every single landing and attempt (IMHO). He pushed for our success, but never lost sight of the far more important safety decision. Andy “Boat” was a ready, cheerful helper for whatever we had to do (and he practically dragged my lifeless body up the hill after Cape Framnes, after a very tiring, hugely successful day.) And, when we finally flew into to the Rothera hangar, at 20 minutes to midnight, both Clem Collins (a veritable institution at Rothera) and Andy Barker were there to help get the plane in and unload our gear. Thanks.

The AMIGOS2 station was surrounded by narrow crevasses on the Scar Inlet Shelf, preventing a landing. (Martin Truffer)

Ted, Martin, and Jenn work on the AMIGOS station at Flask Glacier.

The Twin Otter landed right next to the AMIGOS station at Flask Glacier

Martin, Jenn, and Andy ‘Boat’ dig out the GPS station solar panels on Leppard Glacier. This station is primarily for measuring ice motion. (Ted Scambos)

Andy ‘Boat’ Wilson of BAS came along for the day. (Ted Scambos)

Martin repairs the Cape Framnes GPS crustal uplift measurement station. Andy is in the background. Note the open water of the Weddell Sea. (Ted Scambos)

A mountain range of the Larsen C section of the Antarctic Peninsula glows in the sunset. (Ted Scambos)

Ted and Andy climb back over windswept ice to the aircraft at dusk over Cape Framnes. (Martin Truffer)

Penguin at Rothera

The team is still waiting at Rothera for weather to clear up. In the meantime, Jenn’s roommate at base shares a photo of the lone Emperor Penguin that waddled up toward Rothera yesterday.

A lone emporer penguin visits Rothera Station on the Antarctic Peninsula. Photo courtesy Erica Di Lena

 

Still waiting

Martin writes:

When I was thinking about the timing on this trip to the Peninsula, I imagined us sitting in the Rothera bar by this time, telling tall tales about the big snow pit we had dug. With every beer the pit would get a bit deeper, and the weather a bit nastier, but us Antarctic explorers prevailed, rescuing the AMIGOS and pushing the frontiers of science by another nanometer.

Instead we are still waiting to get off the ground. The daily routine is pretty repetitive. Ted gets up in the morning and looks out the window. “It looks a bit better today”. That means you can see the next building now. Full of hope for what this day will bring we drag ourselves to breakfast. Ted sometimes joins the morning weather briefing, where decisions about the day’s flights are made. I see him come into the breakfast room with the look of a rejected suitor, and no more questions need to be asked.

The rest of the day we spent in our office room catching up with things left unfinished before leaving on the trip south. Ted obsessively downloads weather forecast maps: “Look, there is a weather window of 2.3 hours on December 23. I’m sure we’ll make it.”

Jenn is trying to be productive and make the best of the situation. She regularly talks to school kids back home, so she decided to go around and figure out what various people do on base. She got us a guided tour to the marine lab yesterday, which was pretty cool. They have an aquarium with a variety of sea spiders, clams, sea stars, etc. Mostly they look at the impact of climate change, and how these guys react to warming water. They have nice laboratory facilities for dissecting, cooking or whatever else biologists subject their critters to. The most amazing thing though is that they have a regular year-round diving program, which comes with its special challenges in the icy water.

Yesterday we had a visitor. A lonely Emperor Penguin showed up. It’s the largest of the penguins, and they don’t usually make it to Rothera. Apparently they get one or two a year, so people are excited. Penguins are just always a lot of fun to watch.

A lone Emperor Penguin pays a visit to Rothera Station. Photo courtesy Martin Truffer.

Storm at Rothera Station

Ted, Martin, and Jennifer are still stuck at Rothera Station, waiting out a strong storm. Once the weather clears, they will fly out to the field to work on the AMIGOS stations.

Wind and snow have kept flights grounded at Rothera Station for the past week. Photo courtesy Jennifer Bohlander

 

 

 

 

The sun dips down near the horizon at 11pm last night. Photo courtesy Jennifer Bohlander

Jennifer at snow school: part 2

Jenn writes:

The reason I have time to write so much today is that there is a terrible storm at Rothera today: windy and snowing.  None of the research planes can fly, and since that’s what we need to get our work done, we just have to sit and wait.  I’m thankful I’m doing this waiting at the base however and not in a tent.

So continuing on with snow school.  After retrieving Mark, we had to go back down to the base to gather our gear for the overnight portion of our training.  We loaded up our stuff and went about four kilometers away from the base.  The four of us got on the back of two skidoos that would take us up to the campsite.  The skidoo I was on was also towing a sled with all our sleep gear, which is important to note because on the way up the slope the sled tipped and some of our stuff fell out and starting sliding down the slope.  Our poor instructor had to go chase after it because there were dangerous areas on the slope.  So we got up there and started to set up two tents that sleep two people.  The tents are large heavy tents, not the kind you would backpack with.  Anyway, at about this point I realize, “I’m going to have to sleep in a tent with one of these guys.”  Another thing to mention is there was no place to go to the bathroom up there, not even the bucket that I will have available when we get to our research site.  So I was thinking it’s a very good thing I packed my GoGirl for this overnight trip. However, when I came up with my brilliant GoGirl plan I never factored in a man sitting in the tent next to me.

At the site, the wind was blowing very hard in short gusts and sometimes it came from one direction and then the next time it came from another direction.  Our task was to put some tents up without any part of them blowing away.  After we got the tents up we went into the trailer they have set up to have a cup of tea. In the trailer, Ben taught us about lighting the stove and lantern that we would have in our tents.  Then wind was blowing so hard outside that something from our gear flew by and Ben had to go get it.  I was thinking this poor guy must be so exhausted. He had been teaching us non-stop since 9:00 this morning and it was about 7:30, and now he had to go out chasing our gear.  After our tea we learned how to use the radio. We practiced talking back to Rothera Station to let them know we were okay.  I felt like reporting back, “I need to pee Rothera, got a solution for that?”

After radio it’s on to the tents and here is where Ben tried to get past the awkward part that one of those guys had to share a tent with the girl.  Two of the men were already kind of chummy, so they defaulted to each other, and that left poor Mark with me–Mark who I pulled off the mountain. I can’t really imagine what this kid was thinking, but I was thinking, “I still have to pee.” We got in our tent and set up our sleeping stuff and our stove and all.  Then we boiled some water to make our food, which is called “man food.” They call it “man food” to distinguish it from “dog food,” a remnant from when people used to bring dogs down here.  The bag of “man food” I had was vegetable casserole and the package read, “Best if used before 08/2006.” Very excited to have dinner, but I still had to pee.

To make “man food” you boil water and add it to a bag, seal the bag, and wait a few minutes.  I have to admit it wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever eaten. After dinner Mark said he was going out to go to the bathroom and I then had to tell this 23 year old boy that I have a bottle and a GoGirl and I’m going to take this opportunity to do the same.  He says “Okay, I’ll ask you if you are ready before I come back in.” Awkward! I was thankful to have the GoGirl though because the wind was still raging and I didn’t want to go outside and pull my pants down on this large flat expanse where we were camping–nowhere to hide!

Camping wasn’t too bad.  That lantern kept the tent warm and my sleep gear was pretty good.  In the morning it was cold and of course windy and I woke up pretty early and had to, you guessed it, pee again. So then I had to wait until Mark woke up, which seemed like an eternity, and wait for him to go outside again. Thankfully when we are in the field doing our work I have my own tent and can go whenever I want.

In the morning we packed up and started back to base.  This time not only did our gear flip going down the slope, but the skidoo flipped!  Before I knew it I did a flip in the air and landed facing the skidoo. The other guy on the back of the skidoo got his leg hit with the tow bar and he was in some pain.  I was just amazed by the acrobatic feat I retrieved from my past to help me avoid getting pinned under the skidoo.  Ben felt pretty bad about the whole thing, this poor guy, I can’t believe he has to go though this every time new inexperienced people come to the station. He has incredible patience, I would have lost it!

When we got back I found out that Ted, Martin, and I cannot be flown out to our site today.  This is not good news because the longer it takes for us to get out it potentially effects how long we will be here.  The planes are unable to fly in bad weather.  There is a very large storm going on today and it looks like we can’t fly until possibly Saturday!

Jennifer at snow school

Jenn writes:

I woke up Sunday morning and reported to snow school.  This is where they teach me how to live out in the field and save someone if something happens.  There are four of us in the class, three men and myself.  Our instructor, Ben, starts us off with putting up a basic tent and getting equipment to sleep on in the field.  I got my sleep gear issued from the US program while I was in Punta Arenas, but I watched the other guys get all their gear.  I have to say I was really shocked at how much warm comfortable stuff they get to go into the deep field:

US sleep kit (mine): foam pad, Therm-a-Rest pad, sleeping bag (a zero degree bag, which I thought “what the hell, it gets well below zero”), and a fleece liner.

British program: foam pad, Therm-a-Rest pad, some kind of shag carpet looking sheep skin thing, fleece liner (a thick one), and a great sleeping bag that cost like three times as much as the REI one I was issued.

We were all talking about the differences between the gear, and Ben said, “Maybe it’s because you Americans are so much tougher then us Brits.” I promptly corrected him and said, “No it’s either because we are just not as smart, or we’re cheap, or probably a little bit of both.”

After this, we got our climbing gear together to go learn crevasse rescue.  A crevasse is basically an opening in the snow that may or my not be visible.  If you fall in one it’s bad because sometimes they are VERY deep.  So if you are going walking around on the ice, you need to be roped up to one another.  Anyway we head out up over this hill that’s by the base to this area that has a cornice, which is like a shelf of snow hanging over a cliff.  So Ben proceeds to show us everything you have to do to save a person who falls into a crevasse (we just used the cliff for demonstration, and stuffed a duffel bag full of snow for the person).  Since I’ve never actually seen a great climber do all this stuff first-hand Ben is now the coolest person I’ve ever met, and he does it all with a British accent, which makes it even better.

After lunch we head back up the cliff and Ben asks this guy Mark, who is also in the class if he wouldn’t mind hanging over the cliff for a while.  He says he doesn’t mind, and then I jokingly say, “And I’ll save you.” Ben says, “That’s right you are going to save him because you need to learn this stuff for when you leave for the field.”

So the first thing I have to learn is how to use and ice ax to actually stop Mark when he falls into the crevasse.  I actually have to stop us both because when he goes over his weight is going to take me with him.  So Ben is tied up to me and we practice this by him just pulling me down the hill and I have to stop myself.  What you do here is you have your ice ax in one hand and when you start to slide (which comes on quite fast) you have to flip around, face the mountain, jam the shaft of the ax into the snow, and hold onto the top to stop yourself.  Ben and I tried it a few times and I didn’t do great but I managed to stop myself. However, you want to try and do it really fast because the longer it takes for you to stop the further down the crevasse your partner goes, and if you don’t do it quickly enough then you fall down the crevasse too and you are then both screwed.

Ben says “Okay, now we are going to try it with Mark.” My thought, or I might have said it out loud was, “You’ve gotta be  kidding me!.” Ben says, “You’ll do fine, and I’ll be tied to you and I can stop both of you from falling if I have to.”  So I look at this Mark guy and I say,  “Are you okay with this?” He says he is, and I think, “You’ve got to be on drugs if you think I’m going to be able to stop you.” Now I’m pretty freaked out but I have to do it, so here we go.  Mark is walking off toward the end of the cliff and Ben is reminding me that once I stop him I have to take this little rope loop (it has a name I just can’t remember) that is attached to me and wrap it around the ice ax to take the weight off my upper body.  So I give myself a little pep talk and, oh no, there goes Mark over the cliff. I turned around so fast and jammed that ax into the ground and used all the strength I had in my stringy arms, and to my surprise, I stopped him quite quickly. Ben then comes to help me remember what to do to secure Mark and then we go down near the edge to check on him. There he is just hanging and then Ben looks at me and says, “Okay, lets go pull him up.”  I say “okay,” but what I really meant to say was “no way.” So we set up this pulley system with all this climbing gear and then I’m supposed to be able to just pull him.  This guy wasn’t a huge guy, maybe 160-170 pounds, but honestly, the concept that I can pull this guy up is just not mathematically solid to me.  I start to pull and I’m really making no headway since I’m standing in slippery snow.  Ben says, “Turn around and just dig your boots in and start walking up the hill.” (Easier said than done, Ben).  I turn around and I think my shear will to be done with this exercise gave me the strength to climb up.  It took everything I had and at one time I was practically crawling up this mountain.  But I did it.  I pulled Mark up.  By far the hardest thing I had to do in my life ever, even harder then advanced calculus.

Arrival at Rothera

Jenn writes:

So after working for Ted for fourteen years and nagging him relentlessly to take me to Antarctica I finally arrived at Rothera Station yesterday evening.  Seeing pictures in no way can compare to seeing it in person, and I was absolutely blown away by the scenery when I got off the plane. I was also quite excited to get off the plane because the heater on the plane we took from Punta Arenas was broken, so it was much warmer outside then it was on the plane ride.  I could actually feel my feet thawing out as we descended in elevation.

Weddell seals lounge in the water near Rothera Station

After we settled in our rooms we had to rush off to Saturday night dinner, which is an event at Rothera. They ask you to dress a little nicer, clean up a bit, they put nice table cloths down, and your meal is served to you.  The food was very good, and they had a vegetarian meal for me, which I was very thankful for after spending almost a week in Punta Arenas.  It’s very meaty there.

Sunday I went on a walk around the island with a few other people who are new to Rothera.  The scenery was again, amazing, and there were Weddell Seals all along the walk, however no penguins, which my daughter will be very disappointed about.  She really wants me to return home with a picture of a penguin. It’s still early in the trip so hopefully I can do that for her.

Tomorrow I will go to snow school, which I’m sure some of my co-workers at NSIDC will have a hard time envisioning me doing.  Hopefully it will teach me some valuable things because, quite honestly, I’m not sure Ted or Martin have any confidence that I’ll be able to save them if the situation arises–I can’t really blame them though.

Also a note to our NSIDC co-workers, Ted and I are getting along surprising well, although Martin might think otherwise, we are actually still speaking civilly to one another.  Anyone who has ever listened to a conversation between Ted and I will understand how sometimes we can speak to each other with a bit of an edge.  So far so good, but we haven’t been out in the field yet.

Palmer to Palmer

Ted writes:

The LARISSA Glaciology Team made its way back to the RV Nathaniel B. Palmer, in two unusual leaps.

After getting picked up from Scar Inlet, we landed in Rothera Station, in the southern end of the Peninsula. We knew that if we wanted to get anything further done, we needed to get back aboard the ship. We had installed everything we had brought on Flask Glacier and Scar Inlet. We still needed to fix the SCAR inlet Web cam, and install a seismic listening station for glacier calving, and the ridge-top high-resolution AMIGOS camera. And time was running out: it was now February 17, and the Palmer would head north no later than the 26th.

The team saw these crabeater seals during a boat ride near Rothera Station.

As usual, the staff at Rothera were amazingly generous, taking us on an evening boat tour of some nearby islands while we waited for good weather for the next step. The boat ride was spectacular. Every shoal and beach teemed with wildlife.

The next day was February 18, my birthday. Not a birthday present in sight, but I thought if we could get back to the ship, well, I’d take it as a sign from The Big Guy that I was doing okay by him (or her). That morning, the Twin Otter pilot gave us some cause for hope. His plan was to fly us to Palmer Station, the U.S. base, and have us wait there for a helo pick-up from the ship. The only trick was the runway at Palmer, set on a small ice cap behind the base. The ice has been badly eroded by the warming climate in recent years. It has rarely been used since 1990, and in fact the only landing in years was a medical evacuation in 2009. I was thinking how ironic it would be if I were the first casualty of Antarctic global warming.

We flew between the bases (song: “The Blue Danube“) over the icebound landscape. Though every glance out the window was a masterpiece of landscape art, we at this point were able to read or nap as the dramatic sculpted architecture of the continent rolled beneath us.

And then we saw the “runway.” It was the most rutted, cracked-up, slush-pit of a glacier I’d ever seen. It was sloped, with the end of it as steep as a ski run, leading straight to a boulder field. The line of runway marker flags looked like some kind of practical joke. Even more humorous, the flags were numbered, in descending order, like a countdown in some movie thriller, “Four-hundred meters to self-destruct.”

A crowd from the station had gathered, taking bets no doubt on whether or not we would survive. But they picked the wrong pilot to mess with. Richie circled once, and then slapped the plane down on the uppermost third of the bobsled run—I mean runway—and then threw the prop into reverse (Amazing fact: on a taxi-way, Twin Otters can actually back up under their own power). We bounced to a stop, not quite crossing the “6″ on the doom countdown.

The Palmer people (total population 38) were really welcoming. But I was shocked when Ronald pointed out a “Happy Birthday” banner in the galley. As it happened, February 18 was also the birthday for the Palmer Station chef, Staci, and the back-up chef, Diane, had gone all out for a celebration dinner and cake. All I had to do was shout “and Ted!” at the right moment in the birthday song. We had a fun night at the Palmer bar and hot tub.

The team caught a ride from Palmer Station back to the the N.B. Palmer aboard the research vessel Lawrence M. Gould.

At Palmer Station, we noticed a large orange ship parked in front of the base. This was the RV Lawrence M. Gould, the other major U.S. polar research vessel, used mostly for oceanography around the continent. We learned that the ship was basically on stand-by for an entire month with little to do. We hatched a plan.

We pulled away from the pier on the afternoon of February 20th, with a thousand pounds of gear strapped to the deck of our new water-taxi, the Gould. Officially, the Gould was out to replenish its water tanks (it desalinates the sea-water) and pick up some devices for sediment studies from the Palmer. But for the five us, it was one fine ride.

This was my third birthday in Antarctica. So I guess I’m 3 in Antarctica years. Looking at the photo on our way out of Palmer, Martin informed me that Antarctica years seem to be a bit more taxing than even dog years. But as the two ships met up, at sunset in a coastal fjord, it seemed as if things were proceeding nicely for this toddler.

During a boat ride near Rothera Station, the team saw these crabeater seals.

Erin looks her best in a neoprene immersion suit.

Martin Truffer hams it up on a boat ride near Rothera Station.

Ted was surprised to find a “Happy Birthday” banner celebrating his arrival to Palmer Station.

The Palmer Station crew gathers for dinner in the galley.

Palmer Station, a U.S. Antarctic station, currently houses 38 people.

The runway at Palmer Station is now rarely used because it has cracked and sloped in warm temperatures.

The team caught a ride from Palmer Station back to the the N.B. Palmer aboard the research vessel Lawrence M. Gould.

The research vessel Lawrence M. Gould met up with the N. B. Palmer in a coastal fjord.

Rothera tour and Palmer visit

Ted writes:

The group took a tour of the island that Rothera lies on, which is rich with polar marine wildlife. As we described in December, Rothera is a medium-large base with generally about a hundred people there. The key is that it has both a good gravel runway and a pier for ships, making it a logistical hub for the region.

Our science liason with BAS, Tamsin Gray, offered to lead us on the trail to the north, along the rock and pebble beach there. It was a living nature park; penguins, sea birds, and several kinds of seals.  Adelies like to dance, Tamsin explained, fur seals are grouchy, and Weddell and Crabeater seals seem to be smug and puppy-like.

The ship, the N.B. Palmer was on its way to Rothera, to drop off our gear after our pull-out from the ice core camp, fuel up,  and drop off Martin Truffer, the missing member of the ice team. Our plan for deploying the AMIGOS and other sensors will be done by more Twin Otter flights, allowing the ship to move to the east side and spend much of that time working southward toward the Larsen B,  where were supposed to have been all along. It’s been quite a trip so far.

By noon, we could see the ship in the distance, and by 1:30 it was approaching the quay at Rothera, with most of its crew and staff standing on the deck waving. We held a planning meeting for the science, and a planning meeting for the Rotherites and Palmerainians. The idea was to give Palmer a taste of shore life, especially a taste at the tiny pub in Rothera’s main building. It was very successful.

Erin’s bike was on the ship, so she went for an evening bike ride before saying goodbye to it for a while. The Palmer departed at midnight with a happy glow surrounding it.

The N.B. Palmer arrives at Rothera. Photo courtesy Erin Pettit.

The midnight sun shines over Rothera Station in Antarctica. Photo courtesy Ted Scambos.

A fur seal blends into the rocks. Photo courtesy Ted Scambos.

Erin takes her bike for a last spin before sending it away on the N.B. Palmer. Photo courtesy Erin Pettit.

The team saw Adelie penguins, among other animals, on a trail north of the station. Photo courtesy Ted Scambos.

This crabeater seal appears to have a smile on its face. Image courtesy Erin Pettit.

Rothera Station is a medium large base with usually about 100 people. Image courtesy Ted Scambos.

The Palmerites and Rotherians hold a planning meeting. Image courtesy Ted Scambos.