Do You Realize??

Thule, Greenland arrival

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Fri, 15 Apr 2011 00:28:00 +0000

Last summer I was fortunate enough to join a small research team that went to Upernavik Glacier, near Upernavik, Greenland. Instead of blogging about the experience, my partners and I watched World Cup coverage via Danish TV. And I finished my thesis.

Now, I find myself in Thule, Greenland, for the Greenland Inland Traverse. The plan is to haul supplies to Summit, Greenland, via land. Thus, traveling 1,174 km across the ice sheet, collecting scientific data along the way. You can track our progress here:

http://www.datatransport.org/grit/monitor

And can find my advisor describing some of the science we will be doing here (watch the youtube video, there's some talk about undergrads, but also about the science of snowpits, etc.)...

http://now.dartmouth.edu/2011/04/dartmouth-glaciologist-navigates-polar-ice-caps-and-the-classroom/

More details to come, time allowing....

Thomas

NEEM Camp, now

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 19:41:00 +0000

http://www.climatecentral.org/video/greenland-drilling/

This appeared on the News Hour with Jim Leher on Oct. 19th, 2009.

Myself and four others began the digging/building/etc. for NEEM camp.

Quite a bit different there now.

You can see a photo I took at the 4:09 mark of the video.

Fishing in Ilulissat

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Fri, 22 Aug 2008 12:44:00 +0000

My walk to the ice in Kangerlussuaq left me well-rested(mentally) to continue my interviews and adventures in Ilulissat. Ilulissat sits at the head of the worlds largest outlet glacier (outlet glacier = glacier that drains an ice sheet/field, usually to the ocean), Jakobshavn Isbræ (also known as Ilulissat Isfjord). Long story short, the glacier has retreated rapidly in the last few decades and has become the poster child for global warming. The monstrous icebergs clogging the water surrounding the fjord and the area's designation as a UNESCO World Heritage Site make Ilulissat THE tourist destination in Greenland. If you've been a tourist in Greenland, chances are you went to Ilulissat.

My first trip to Greenland in May/June 2006, I was fortunate enough visit Ilulissat as part of a radar mission to 'sound' (determine the depth/thickness) the Jakobshavn outlet glacier. This second/return trip had me eager to see the changes (both with the glacier and the community) in the past two years. Since my 2006 visit, Ilulissat had seen a who's who of world political leaders visit to "witness climate change in action". The political fanfare and media attention contributed to an already active tourist industry and word had it that Ilulissat was undergoing rapid change.

"Word" turned out to be correct, as the Ilulissat I left in 2006 differed in many ways from the one I arrived to this July 2008. Several new swanky hotels, a maintained campground, the merger of several tourist companies into the monopolistic beast "World of Greenland Tourism", even a micro-brewery, just to name a few changes. And the relative silence. In 2006 there were ~8,000 sled dogs in Ilulissat that gave the city it's own yipping and howling soundtrack. Apparently incessant barking dogs are bad for tourism as, combined with shorter winters, the sled dog population has decreased by almost half. The shorter winters meaning less demand for transport (via sled dog) to the fjord for fishing/hunting.

A faint trail that I hiked to the ice fjord on in 2006 was now a major tourist highway, with several different tour groups in route, including tours in French, German, Danish, and English. Pictures of this trail and other noticeable changes to be posted at a later date.

My initial days in Ilulissat were spent tracking down contacts, meeting with the local museum about collaboration with my project, and going out seal hunting west-coast style (lots of shooting, high-speed pursuit, and limited seals). My main contact then had family visit and thus was otherwise occupied. I then struggled for a few days trying to track down "phantom" contacts. Eventually I ended posting up at the docks, just waiting and watching as fishermen came and went, attempting to arrange fishing trips in broken Danish (from both sides, my own and the fishermen). Strangely enough, I ended up going out on a fishing trip with what I thought was one of my contacts. I later learned that this person had the same name as one of my contacts (what are the chances, in a town of 5,000, that I meet the 'other' Christian Aqqaluk Jensen? And that he is willing to take me out fishing? And the entire time I'm talking to him like I know him because I assume we've communicated prior, hahaha, he was a good sport and undoubtedly thought I was crazy).

The fishing, much like the hunting, had an unpredictable timeline. We went out in mid-afternoon and set a line that had 1,500 baited hooks on it. I missed the baiting part, but I imagine that after the first 9, the next 1491 go pretty quickly. I never got an "opportunity" to bait and disprove my theory...but I haven't lost any sleep over missing out. After setting the line, we boated back into Ilulissat, waited four hours, then returned to collect at least 300 very large halibut, several red fish, a few rays, and various other strange looking fish. Collecting the fish took around six hours and my hands got just as cold as they ever did while on the ice. We returned to Ilulissat around 3AM, covered in fish guts and completely exhausted. Aqqa then would get up and do it all over again the next day (of course rebaiting 1500 hooks). Unbelievable.

Media Attention

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Tue, 12 Aug 2008 09:06:00 +0000

Lots to catch up on, but let's start with all the media coverage that Greenland and the NEEM Ice Core Drilling project have received...

On August 1st there was a solar eclipse visible in Greenland. The NEEM project used the occasion to invite Distinguished Visitors (DV's) to the ice. The DV's included the head of the IPCC (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, journalists from Time magazine (thanks for alerting me to this Craig!) and the New York Times, the chancellor of KU, and lot's of important politicians from Denmark. I was at the airport in Kangerlussuaq on the day they all arrived, but I missed getting to meet any of them as I was heading a different direction.

As a result of the visit, there has been a flurry of press about the NEEM project and Greenland in general. In addition to having my self-important blog, I can now feel even more special since I know and have worked with almost everyone in these articles. It is really interesting to read about people and a place you know. I think the quotes chosen don't quite represent the camp dynamic or the individuals... And I have a strange urge to shout "Johnny Come-Lately!" to all this media attention. But the same could be shouted at me, as I've only worked with Greenland since 2005. But even in 3 years you can feel how much more attention is heaped upon Greenland, the ice sheet, and global warming. Global warming/climate change is the "rainforest" of the 80's and early 90's. Will the attention hold?

Time Magazine:

http://www.time.com/time/health/article/0,8599,1828971,00.html

http://www.time.com/time/health/article/0,8599,1829365,00.html

An article with pictures right where I camped

The New York Times / International Herald Tribune

NYT: The Iceman Cometh
Friedman: The Iceman Cometh

Friedman: Learning to speak climate

Denmark: Flush with energy

I hate how he let out (my) secrets about Denmark.

But the most important media coverage in the past week has been

Worthington Brother's Hit the Road for the Royals!

http://www.kccommunitynews.com/articles/2008/08/08/miami_county_weekend/sports/doc489c599f2d344843451458.txt

Teasers:

“Jeff came upstairs and just asked me if we wanted to go to a Royals game, since I was old enough to drive,” Jarrod said. “I was like, ‘OK, how come we have never done this before?’”

"They all packed into Jarrod’s old car and made the trip.."

This 'old car' wouldn't be the classically luxurious Ford LTD, would it?

"Jarrod and Jeff put their pants on just like the rest of you - one leg at a time. Except, once their pants are on, they make gold records."

"I don’t know if guys are supposed to keep scrapbooks or not.” -- Jarrod

Solid gold.

A Walk to the Ice

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Tue, 22 Jul 2008 03:36:00 +0000

After returning from the ice I was spent. My long summer day began on May 5th. Since that time I’ve been either exhausting myself physically (shoveling snow all May) or mentally (my interviews and my project). Not only have I had to think about who my next interview would be, what questions I needed to ask, or what approach-on-the-fly I needed to take, but I also had to constantly plan my next step. Weather dictates all travel. Most towns I’ve been in don’t have travel offices or an Air Greenland ticket office (the Greenlandic Monopoly Airline). So in addition to weather, access to internet (where I can buy tickets) also dictates travel. If that wasn’t tricky enough, there is also the Greenlandic mentality of meetings, schedules, and the future. For example, if I have a contact in Maniitsoq and I try to arrange a meeting a week in advance, good luck. Maybe they will be around, maybe they will be out hunting, maybe the weather will be bad, maybe they will just flat forget or blow me off, maybe something good will be on one of the two free TV stations, maybe it will be Greenlandic National Day and thus a week worth of relaxing, maybe, maybe, ummpah. Maintaining any sense of time is made even less significant when you consider it never gets dark. Have I mentioned that I am a little crazy at this point? Long ago I saw the fairly lackluster movie “Insomnia” in which Al Pacino goes to Alaska to investigate a crime and slowly goes crazy because of the constant daylight. I discarded the movie as an exaggeration (“how could it be that bad, you can always just cover the windows?” I thought). Well, now I realize you can’t always cover the windows (tents!) and even when you do, your body still knows it’s light outside and somehow wakes up at 4AM and thinks it could be noon. Even as I type this, it is almost midnight, the sun is on the horizon, my past three days bedtimes have been 2AM, 7AM (out hunting all night/morning), and 4AM, and I’m not even tired (physically). Anyway, back to a lack of time consciousness of Greenlanders… On one hand I really admire it. About three years ago I gave up wearing a watch because I didn’t want time to rule me. I still don’t want it to rule me, but it sure would make my adventure easier if Greenlanders at least acknowledged it a little bit. The reason it is wearing me out is I can’t plan any flights with more than a weeks worth of time. I couldn’t say back in June, “Hey -contact name- on the east coast, do you think it will be okay if I show up in town from July X to July XX, would you be available then?”. The answer is a heartfelt maybe. So let’s say I want to plan two visits in advance? For example after the east coast, I’m going to head to Ilulissat on these exact dates… not happening. I have to cross that bridge when I get to it. And that bridge doesn’t approach until I finish my interviews on the east coast. And that might not happen until well after my original planned departure date. Refocusing, the point of this ever-increasing rant is that once I returned from the ice, the solo traveling and the constant planning (both for my project and for travel) had caught up to me. I was ready for a break.

It just so happened that two NEEM colleagues (Vasilis and Ernesto, Greek and German respectively) had completed their time helping out with operations in Kangerlussuaq and invited me to join them on a backpacking trip to the ice calving zone (the margin of the ice sheet where large chunks of ice break off in dramatic fashion). I couldn’t resist and justified the trip by telling myself a break would only improve any further research (which isn’t that much of a stretch).
We headed off for four nights of backpacking (we cheated slightly in that we used a truck to drive us up half of the road that leads to the ice cap). This is the same road I naively decided to mountain bike up in 2006, thinking the 25 on the road sign meant kilometers since Greenland was technically Denmark. For those that don’t remember the story, Sonde Stromfjord (now called Kangerlussuaq) was a former U.S. military base and it turned out to be a 50 mile round trip mountain bike ride gaining several thousand meters in elevation all told. So yeah, I’ve had plenty of that road and didn’t mind riding halfway up it).

We spent one night camped in a narrow mountain passage by the outlet stream rushing from the ice sheet. The soft horizon light was much easier to appreciate knowing that I didn’t have to plan my next three days. Greenland’s absence of trees meant an absence of firewood meant an absence of campfire smoke meant an excess of Mosquitoes.

The next day we hiked to the edge of the ice sheet and I continued my free advertising for Mountain Hardware tents at yet another breathtaking campsite. The pictures can’t do justice to the eerie creaking and cracking of the slowly advancing ice monolith. The occasional rumbling advance of the massive wall sounded like distance rolling thunder. Throughout the evening crashing ice would draw us away from conversation as we leered and sometimes even jumped up to actively appreciate the event.

We spent the next day relaxing by the ice wall, reading, writing, and generally marveling at the calving ice eruptions. In the evening we packed up and hiked to a large lake. The lake served as basecamp for two students from Alaska that were conducting fieldwork. We had met them at KISS (Kangerlussuaq International Science Support, the scientist dorm in town) and they invited us to join their placid campsite. On the hike to the lake we saw five musk ox (two adults and three adolescents). The next two days were spent doing hikes from the lake, one to Caribou Valley (where we saw musk ox) and one to the Alaska guys research site (they are examining gas flux between vegetation and the atmosphere)

Great discussion accompanied the trip (mostly centering on the upcoming U.S. Election and girls; As two independent topics… considering the five of us had/have spent a combined 38 weeks away from females). Strange for me to say it but it was nice to finally have some company while traveling. Vasilis and Ernesto’s almost marital-like bickering (they’re former roommates) and humor kept me entertained and I concluded the trip in a relaxed state.

Tired Campers...

Science on Ice

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 19:31:00 +0000

Went to Summit Camp for an NSF Science and Education Visit. The group consisted of a mix of Americans, Greenlanders, and Danes. Going in, no one really knew what exactly was the purpose of the visit or what we would be doing. I learned about my involvement in the trip while I was on the ice at NEEM and figured I would be the only one lost with regards to the trip. So it was nice (and even more confusing) to discover that no one had a clue. There is supposedly a blog/webpage dedicated to our trip (I linked to it in a previous post), so I will let that explain most of it. Instead here are some pictures and random musings from the time at Summit.

Summit is higher in elevation than NEEM (3300 meters compared to 2600 meters?) and I noticed the elevation. Aside from my mountain ascent (only 1,000 meters) while on the east coast, it had been since Geography Field Camp, Summer 2007 since I’d been above 10,000 feet or done any mountaineering. I don’t know if I was lucky or my previous high altitude experience helped but the effects of altitude soon faded. Others weren’t so lucky. The first day was spent mostly lounging around, adjusting to the elevation, drinking water, and touring some of the science facilities.
The amount of infrastructure is amazing and I rant about this in a post for the Visit Site log. Basically, Summit is a U.S. run camp, meaning the NSF contracts a logistics support staff that contructs camp and keeps it running. At NEEM, the scientists ARE the ‘logistics staff’. There were approximately 52 people at Summit Camp, including our group of ~13. We slept in the scientist Tent Village (JLL/Colter Bay anyone?) and of course has excellent food from the camp cook. The camp staff did an amazing job of catering to our group and making the experience incredibly comfortable and interesting. In the winter, four campers keep the camp open and I must admit I’m a little curious to try that out. A three month shift with three others in near complete darkness? Well, I’m in the midst of surviving three months of near solo traveling in total light… so why not try wintering over.

The next day we toured all of the facilities at camp, got to launch a weather balloon, viewed a double sided snow pit (note the visible layers which relate to the accumulation radar data I work with at CReSIS)

I gave a presentation about ice cores, accumulation data, and also hunters and locals knowledge of climate change. It went okay (only two or three nodded off) considering that I threw it together with two weeks notice, no laptop, and no real resources other than help from a NEEM colleague. And since the majority of the group spoke Danish, the text of the presentation was in Danish.
It was later in the summer and thus much warmer than my time at NEEM. And with all the support staff, warm buildings, and great food, it was luxury. The final day myself and a Danish teacher teaching in Greenland borrowed skis and went cross country skiing on the ice. It was my first time trying cross country, but my downhill skiing skills gradually tranferred and allow us to get some distance from camp.

So again, my luck continues as I got to visit Summit, a place that would normally only be accessible if you had ongoing research. It is of particular interest for me because it is the site of all my accumulation data I work with. The data was collected in 2005 before I arrived at KU and so it was great to finally see the terrain connected to my data.

Back to the ice

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Tue, 08 Jul 2008 01:04:00 +0000

Heading back to the ice sheet, this time to Summit Camp from Tuesday to Friday. Follow the progress at...

http://www.polartrec.com/greenland-education-tour-08

http://www.polartrec.com/greenland-education-tour-08

Hiking and Camping

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Sat, 05 Jul 2008 22:57:00 +0000

Notice the tallest peak in each of these picture?

The view from the top looks like this:

The day after the seal hunt, I went on a camping and hiking trip with the family hosting me: Dr. Hans Chritian (last name omitted, but you might recognize HC from the NEEM blog, we were at NEEM together), his wife Eva, and his two sons Carl (12) and Anatoli(8). The area we planned to camp and hike was across the bay from Tasiilaq. Rather than hike all the way around the bay, Dines' brother Lazarus boated us across the bay. Five minutes into the boat ride, we ran out of gas. So I am officially bad luck to have in a boat if you are a Mikaelson brother (remember the engine troubles with Dines?). Gert, the third brother, brought us fuel and we were on our way a short time later.

We set up camp in a gorgeous area in the shadow of the most prominent peak in the range, Mt. Polheim.

The next day, Carl, Hans Christian, and a joining party, hiked five hours through snowfields, rockfields, etc., and did some minor fifth class climbing (only a few small sections with ropes) to reach the 1000 meter summit. The views were incredbile. The water from the glaciers here in Greenland is so pure, you can drink it straight from the streams. At first I was hesitant of this idea, being used to giardia and other parasites in Rocky/Sierra Nevada Mountains. But after watching everyone else repeatedly drink without problems, I succumbed without consequence. Tasty and it made hiking a lot lighter, not having to carry a camelback.

Can you spot Tasiilaq?

We were only planning to camp one night, but the campsite was too pristine to leave after only one night. Eva butchered the seal that Dines had saved from the previous hunting trip, the boys caught fish, we had a lovely seal and fish dinner, and stayed another night. The next morning we awoke to find the bay choked with ice (yes, it moves in and out that fast), so perhaps we would have a third night of camping? It looked that way until around 1pm, when Lazarus managed to navigate a weaving route through the ice.

Adrenaline Junkie? Seal Butcher? Neither?

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Sat, 05 Jul 2008 22:46:00 +0000

I survive the "day" trip with Dines and what do I do two days later? Yep, agree to another "day" trip hunting in icy waters with Dines. It was kind of him to invite me (and I suspect he didn't mind that I was paying for his food and gas) and he did return me safely the last time (eventually), so how could I not? Selective short-term memory.

This time I packed for anything. Three weeks camping on a barren rock? Ski mountaineering? Scuba diving? I was ready. Or at least my pack felt like I had an oxygen tank in it. When Dines picked me up in his boat, I was pleased to see we would be joined by Dines' girlfriend and a neighborhood youth. This meant we HAD to be going on just a day trip, right?

Perfect weather accompanied us out to sea. Waters were still icy and this time we headed further away from the coast where "there will be lots of seals bathing on the ice". Sure enough, there were lots of seals stretched out on the ice, basking in the sun. "Lots" being at least ten different seals seen in about a one hour period.

After Dines missed his first two opportunities at a seal, his girlfriend declared that it was time for her to take care of business. She grabbed the rifle and decidedly bagged the next seal we saw. "That is how it is done" her confident smirk expressed to Dines. Then it was the youngster's turn. Nic, approximately 11, also bagged the next seal we saw, a large (approx. 300lbs) male. The girl and the boy now had both shot seals. The friendly pressure was squarely on Dines. Which he kindly redirected to the American. It was time for me to shoot my first seal (according to the group).

When I shot at the seals in Nuuk, I basically knew there was no chance that I would hit one. Those seals were at long ranges and only peaked above the surface providing a minuscule target. None of my experienced Nuuk companions had hit a seal, so I figured even if I tried to shoot one, I would miss. Here, in the icy waters of the east coast, the seals were making themselves large, slow moving targets by basking on the icebergs. So a dilemma. I don't really need to kill a seal. I have no use for it. But the people I am with would make use of every part. If I declined, then I am basically rejecting their culture. But can I decline while conveying that I admire their way-of-life, it's just not for me? But the next seal would get shot at whether I was the one doing the shooting or not. What to do, what to do? Peer pressure usually galvanizes me into definitely not complying.... hmmm, I will leave the outcome as a mystery for the readers to create their own story.

Within two hours we had four seals (one large male, two medium to large females, and one 2yr old, about the boats weight limit) on the various surrounding bergs. I noted for future reference that the boat could either hold 2 passengers and 20 dogs or 4 passengers and 4 seals.

Now to collect the seals. Dines used several special tricks to get the hefty seals from the ice into the boat. Again, such specialized knowledge on display. A quick and dirty description is that he used the boat to drag all the seals to the edge of one iceberg, then used the passengers (yes, I got to go stand on a floating iceberg) to leverage the iceberg like a see-saw so that the edge holding the seals would be above the edge of the boat. My initial hesitation to scamper around on a floating iceberg that looked like it could dissolve at any minute, eased only slightly as I tromped on the berg. Sure it could hold four heavy seals, but it still had patches of aqua blue water where soft spots and holes existed. The surface of the iceberg had a soft layer resembling new fallen snow on a lawn. Two to three inch deep footprints showed our paths. Everyone once in a while, as if the whole experience wasn't exhilarating enough, a foot would plunge deeper as your heart tried to jump up your throat. I tread lightly.

Weighted down with the seals, we slowly motored our way back to Tasiilaq. Okay, I thought, finally a day trip that ends at a reasonable hour (around 5pm). Not to be. We still had to clean the seals, of course. The three big ones were to be feed to Dines' dogs. So we headed to a shore close to his dog island and began the seven hour seal cleaning process. I'm not bothered by motion sickness. I've cleaned public toilets for Overland Park Parks & Rec. But I'm not a big fan of blood and guts. So I was a little apprehensive about helping with the seal cleaning process. I didn't really know what to expect for myself. Could I handle it? Dammit... if we bothered to kill four seals, then I'd better respect the seals by putting them to use. And that included cleaning them. But what did "cleaning" entail? That's what I was afraid of. Of course, before we could start the cleaning process, we had to have the dinner Dines had packed. Full stomach, then seal cleaning? Great.

The cleaning process entailed Dines' girlfriend skinning the seal, then Dines and I butchering up the seal into hunks that the dogs could eat. Dines would remove the bladder and toss it overboard, but that was the only part that didn't become dog food. The process was trying at first. I had to mentally talk myself through it, sticking to carving the upper body and meaty parts while avoiding the innards. I told myself it was just like biology class, dissecting a giant mammal instead of a worm/frog/cat. My other duty was to bail blood from the boat. We had to clean the seals in the boat because they were too heavy to remove from the boat and drag ashore. The amount of blood in a seal is astounding. I would guess at least 70 liters per seal. For the first seal, I mostly bailed blood as it was easier to handle than slicing up intestines. Dines and his girlfriend were surgeons. It was a little scary to see how swift and efficient they were with knives. They could join the mob, no problem.

After the first seal, I was adjusted. It was actually incredibly fascinating to see all the organs and the inner workings of a seal. By the end of it all, everyone was completely covered in blood. Gory doesn't begin to describe it. Surprisingly, it was human. The experience reconnected you with the food chain. For humans to be where we are now, this process has occurred almost eternally. If you eat meat, it at some point had to go through this butchering stage. I am so glad I decided to participate and not let my stomach fears get the best of me (Dines had offered to take me back if I needed/wanted). It was a long process. And now the smell of seal intestines is forever etched in my memory (they STINK!!!).

I wanted a picture to document my participation, but because everything was covered in blood, I had to have Nic take the picture. I later learned that he didn't get my bottom blood soaked half in the picture :(

We had a huge amount of seal meat now. How much can twenty hungry sled dogs eat? Almost all of it. We bagged one-fourth of the meat (three seals) and gave the rest to the dogs. The 2 yr old seal would be saved for people to eat and cleaned another time.

The day trip concluded as we returned to Tasiilaq after midnight. In any other country, a person walking the streets after midnight soaked in blood and carrying a knife should be a concern. Not in Greenland.

Day Three: 'yes definitely... maybe'

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 01:21:00 +0000

The third morning of my 'day' trip I again found myself waking up on a floor after minimal sleep. And again I found myself in the home of incredibly gracious hosts. Paulus, rescuer from the night before, happened to be both a skilled hunter and fisher but also the mayor of Tiniteqiilaq. Tinit is the closest inhabited area to the Helheim Glacier, a major outlet glacier that drains the interior ice sheet and clogs the fjord with ice (and thus oxidised freshwater, thus fish feeding grounds, thus good fishing, thus employed fisherman in Tinit, thus a slightly more populated and cheery settlement, thus probably why the settlement is located near the glacier in the first place; see how fun it can be to make connections and think geographically!?). Anyway, had a nice breakfast with Paulus and his family and Dines before the waiting officially began. First we needed to wait for the store to open. Once the store opened, we then had to wait while they tried to track down the parts we needed. They didn't have the parts, but they suspected they would be able to find someone in town that did. How long this might take? Well, they didn't seem too hurried. And Dines didn't seem to worried (remember that laid-back approach I described).

We returned to our host house where Dines and Paulus napped to pass the time. I made a new friend Thomasine, 2yr old granddaughter of Paulus. We watched my favorite animated Disney classic, Sword in the Stone (complete with dubbed Danish voices). It had been awhile since I'd seen it, but I was surprised how much I remembered. After that, more waiting. Around 4pm we got word that parts had been secured. We remained unhurried and finally departed for the boat around 5pm. Once at the boat (where we had left it in steady ice), fruitless attempts at restarting (yes, more pull-starting) continued. Next course of action, we tugged the boat back to Tinit. Upon return to Tinit, Dines was able to tend to the engine properly. Got it running again, bid farewell to Paulus and went to pick up the twenty dogs that we had left on their respective islands. The dogs were thrilled to see us, but not thrilled enough to make the herding any easier. As I chased skittish dogs around an island about the size of a basketball court I wondered why sled dog drivers didn't carry a lasso. Once the happy family was aboard, we departed for Tasiilaq, heading clockwise around the island via a narrow fjord. This new direction was different than the path we took prior, and though a bit longer would supposedly be less ice filled.

As mentioned prior, East Greenland seems to be the Teton Range (Grand Teton National Park, Wyoming) in all directions. This alternate route was no different. Jagged peaks rising thousands of feet out of icy waters. Makes the Tetons look like a minor regional or city park. The views didn't last long as we motored into low clouds about 40 minutes into the 3 hr trip. At first the cloud made it look like we were in the dry-ice heaven sequence of a movie. Everything glowed a soft yellow. We couldn't see the sun's outline, but could tell the general direction it lay. After our day of waiting the sun was low in the sky and temperatures were again dropping. The ground clouds became dense fog and we soon lost site of all coastline and sun direction. A gray muddled mess with pale luminescent icebergs seeming to increase in number as the fog thickened.

As on the first day, Dines was (almost wildly) swerving in and around bergs at a swift speed, all the while my wide eyes revealing my unease/disapproval. But this time visibility was nonexistent. Light mist accompanied the fog. I struggled to make my eyes focus on something, the limited contrast in grays and hues worsened by the spitting mist. Dines' solution was to remove his glasses. Okay. I tell myself that no sign of coast, constant changes in direction, icebergs, and a squinting skipper are not problematic. Needless to say, I didn't succeed in tricking myself. But it could be worse, right? We turn a bit late, collide with a small berg, a wave breaches our side and I am now wet. Prior, I was cold and dry. Now I'm cold and wet. But again, I remind myself that the glancing encounter with the ice could have been worse. This mantra quickly looses its comfort value. Ice is thick enough that we have now slowed and reversed directions several times, including several 360's. My typically perfect sense of direction has failed. I have zero bearings. And judging by how frequently (and borderline frantically) Dines is now glancing left and right in search of a coastline, I doubt he knows any better.

Still happy in fog

Around this point, the story becomes hard to convey. I am now very concerned that we are both lost and soon to be stuck in the ice. I am cold. I decide that being wet and cold is much worse than the cold I experienced on the ice sheet (and that was -55 C windchill). I am shivering. I am past the point of picture taking. Earlier I took some video and a few pictures. Those were carefree, happy hey-look-at-us-in-the-fog times. Neither Dines or I have spoken in a long while. The helplessness of the situation that was once nagging gently in the back of my mind is now throbbing. We have driven past the point of return. We no longer have enough fuel return to Tinit. And the ice closing behind us likely wouldn't allow it even if we did have enough fuel. I am second guessing every turn and decision Dines makes, yet I keep my mouth shut. I sigh and force myself to stare at the floor of the boat. I can't keep watching our near misses and meandering path. I stare and space out for 5 to 10 (?) minutes. I acknowledge the very real possibility that I will bury myself in 20 dogs to stay warm enough to last the night. Man-cuddling for warmth not only seems probable, the thought doesn't phase me. That might best reflect how dire the situation had become.

I make a mental survival checklist. My multi-tool is in my left vest pocket. We have no dry matches. I have no idea where Dines' satellite phone is, or if it is even dry. Where is the bucket for bailing water if ice punctures the boat? How long ago did we last see land? What is the maximum possible distance we could be from land? How far off coast could we be (the south part of the island is no longer a fjord, instead only bordered by open icy ocean (and we had been boating long enough that we could easily be out to sea at this point). If something were to happen to Dines, how useless am I? Why did I get in this boat again? How much food do we have? Approximately how much fuel do we have? Who was the last person to see us and when? My hosts in Tasiilaq know that weather can change plans, so they wouldn't be concerned for at least another four day. I laugh to myself, well at least freshwater is not a problem (the ice). I begin having thoughts similar to stranded mountaineers on Everest. Would I pay $1000 to be on safe land? Yes. $5000? Yes. $10000? ...not yet, but give it 10 minutes. Will I get in a small boat and head into icy waters again assuming I make it out safe this time? The answer at times like these is always 'no', but if you make it out, you always ease your stance and take the risk once again. Just like having a close call climbing or when people get caught breaking the law (''oh I will never do that again'' and then they do).

I snap out of what has become semi-destructive survival planning. How much longer before I ask Dines if he knows where we are going? We have now made a 180 due to impassable ice. But then the 180 becomes a 270 from our previous direction. We are lost. We have to be....

Dines yet again displays perfect timing, sensing my tension. He leans over and stiffly asks

'Where are we?'

Where are we?

He concludes his statement with a wry smile. Relief. He is joking. Air fills the void in my lungs. If Dines can joke, then surely we are fine. Right?

Five long minutes later we spot land. Yes! At the very least we can now camp on solid ground.

We then pass by several islands or inlets (too foggy to tell the difference). Okay, I wonder, we see land now, but how in the world do we know where we are or which direction Tasiilaq is. We pass two more islands or inlets. Were they the same ones we just saw? I am soooo incredibly turned around. And Dines's Garmin GPS is off and also wet.

And just like that, Dines leans over and says 'we're here'. WHAT!?!?!?!? Just like that all my survival scenarios begin to fade. I decide to keep them ready until I am firmly on ground or see proof that 'we're here' (I'm a Show-Me Stater by birth). The specialized knowledge of keeping your bearing in zero visibility, recognizing nondescript glimpses of rocky land, and somehow safely navigating home... I am at a loss for words.

We spend another 20 cold minutes dropping off dogs on islands before I set foot in Tasiilaq. I then shower to regain warmth. Definitely ties with my first shower coming off the ice (the 23 day showerless streak). Prior to collapsing for 12 hours of solid sleep, I marvel at the last three days or the lifetime I've just experienced.

Retrospective (or dénouement?)

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 16:54:00 +0000

Taking a break from describing my recent epic trip, I've been meaning (but avoiding) posting on a different subject.

There is only one TV station in Greenland, which shows a mix of Danish, Greenlandic, and bad American programming. On June 20th, when sitting down with my host family to watch some TV, I noticed the programming guide (yes, the one channel has a program guide that lists what's upcoming, pretty hilarious). Listed was an American movie. I haven't seen the movie. I have no desire to see the movie. But the title struck an introspective and sobering cord:

''I Know What You Did Last Summer''

Had it already been a year since I started chemo? Where did the time go? Fortunately Greenland felt a far cry from what I did last summer. But how easy it has been to conveniently forget the past, shuffle it away and not constantly appreciate good health and cherish friends and family.

I am stubborn. I am independent. I defiantly wanted to deal with cancer in my own way. I pushed away my parents, insisting on mostly solo visits to the hospital. I wanted it to be my battle. Not something that added to others worries. Selfish, yes. I am introverted and independent. I want to thank my folks for mostly respecting my wishes. Thank you, I love you.

Despite my stubborn efforts, and how I would like things to be perceived, I did not and have not walked alone, last summer, or at anytime in my life. This post has been weighing on my mind since that movie title reminded me of last summer's experience. I have been putting it off because I will do something completely un-Thomas. A dénouement, all-things-revealed, if you will (for those Fry-English students). I rarely name names or mention specific personal stuff on the blog (again, I despise blogs. Self-indulgent!!). But as I said, I haven't been alone. So here goes an INCOMPLETE and rambling list of thanks. I can't emphasize how incomplete this will be, if I don't mention you, please don't think you are forgotten or unappreciated...Heartfelt gratitude to...

My folks, Will, and family, as already mentioned. Alsyon, for being stable for me when I wasn't (and for letting me beat you on long cycling rides). Nathan for being listening ears, a pirate, and constantly positive (and for letting me beat you at tennis). Ryan and Kevin for dragging me on The 'Whitewater/Paleskin' kayak expedition down the KS river and climbing in Warsaw, MO. Jon, Michael M., Ryan, and Craig, of SIPN lore. Michael P., Goose, and Jacob of Drexelite/Drexelian lore (and their spouses). Shaun (and your folks), JW, Bec, Straus, Brandi, etc., etc. of 'burg lore. Bill for Seinfeld and good music (what else do you need?). Heather and Hilary (and the Wease!) for hospital visits. Heather for constantly pushing me to apply for the Fulbright, without that, no Greenland. Chris (of the J. Brown variety) for listening to me and providing me the comfort to include the KU world into last summer's path. Dr. Gogineni and Suseela for support and amazing Indian food. Joshlong and Mark for food and Techmo Bowl pick-me-ups. Beetons, Germans (Stephan & Susanne ;), Mark & Jen, Zac, Trudy, Jenny, Natehaas, Victoria, basically KU Geography (and our soccer team). Joel, for being my fellow geographer in the CReSIS trenches, always listening to my griping and sharing some cynical laughs. Nichole for perfectly timed mix-CD's and letters. Kuhlman, waddup. Support from Cat, Aric, and Earl. Cousin Ben. Going back a bit, Kate for good recycling times and listening during an overworked and confusing time for me. And Erin, for having to witness me give away my best to others while you were left with my worst.

Thank you.

Again, an INCOMPLETE list, but I had to get this post out, otherwise I would procrastinate indefinitely trying to form an impossibly complete list. Ugh, nervous sweat, this sharing stuff is not for me. So email me with your complaints, I'd love to hear from you.

Thomas

I don't have my laptop, but working from pictures already online...

Day two...

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 16:29:00 +0000

After a full day of boating through ice and hunting seals Dines and I finally collapsed at 2AM in the comfort his aunt's Isertoq home. My body exhausted from the physical labor and my mind fried from the mental games of the icy waters. During the eight hours in the water my mind would drift to how reliant Dines and I were upon a small dish of fiberglass, plastic and metal. One errant collision with an iceberg and we would be introduced to unforgiving icy water. All the weaving in around bergs wasn't just for dramatic effect. We were hitting gaps in the ice and watching them close in behind us. After a month on the ice with cold toes, I had little desire to be trapped in the sea ice in a small boat waiting to be crushed. The ride was a lesson in control and letting go. What at first seemed as random decisions and chaotic impulses about which direction and gaps to take were instead the display of an incredibly developed knowledge and intimacy between Dines and his green land. Dines' eyesight likely matches mine (he wears glasses), yet his vision is acutely tuned to his surroundings. I was the moth, drunkenly hoping to avoid the cave walls, Dines was the bat, his sonar eyes seeing every stalactite, stalagmite, and every possible path around potential obstacles. Dines, to my confusion/frustration would bypass what appeared to be obvious gaps in the ice and instead take roundabout channels and backtracking turns. My mind would scream out '''Dines! Why do we keep making it harder on ourselves!! What am I missing!!??'' All the seals seen on our trip, Dines spotted well before I saw them. He would calmly point in what seemed like an arbitrary direction and say 'There's a seal'. I would scan and squint and strain, but resolve nothing. What seal? Dines was The Boy Who Cried Seal. We would drive in the direction pointed, my skepticism in tow. Every single time, every time, a seal would appear from the glimmering oasis of ice. This same vision guided us through the churning ice currents. So despite my shaky confidence in the vessel, I had repeated evidence of Dines' skills at the helm. We never got stuck in the ice and we were safely in for the night. Is there a greater appreciation for such pure knowledge than the gratitude for one's safety? How do I convey this knowledge to those that didn't witness and benefit from such skill?

The previous post might have cast a glum tone about the Isertoq settlement. The warm homes and the people creating the receptive warmth deserve more words. Kind, unassuming, and genuinely happy, the residents gleefully accepted Dines and I into their homes, generously offering seal, narwhal, salmon, hot tea and coffee. Quick to smile and easy to laugh, they exude a calming benevolence that transcends the language barrier better than any people I have encountered. Greenlanders, much like myself, can appreciate each other's company in silence. So yes, some of the pictures and my tone from the previous post might have been depressing, but the people are uplifting.

Though the trip started as a 'day' trip, I had brought my field notebook on the off chance that we would stay in Isertoq. But before I could interview local hunters the next morning (Monday), I got to spend four hours playing dog herder. I awoke to find Dines trying to catch a fugitive dog. I am an experienced cattle herder. These skills do not transfer to crafty sled dogs. What started as three of us trying to corner the escapee on a sliver of peninsula gradually devolved into fourteen or so townsmen scrambling over the entire island to catch this dog. After four hours and three end to end laps across the island, the exhausted dog took to water, much to the delight of the exhausted pursuers. The dog had used water in several previous escapes from peninsulas, but this time he boarded an iceberg instead of achieving dry land, thus providing enough time for a kayak capture party. The kayakers managed to get a rope around the dog before he made a break for land. Once onshore, I managed to grab the rope and secure the dog. The capture came at the cost of a dry left foot but I also gained the respect of the hunters helping with the chase. We all congregated at the town hall, reliving the chase, and I parlayed the meeting into an interview session with eight hunters (with the help of Dines's translation skills). It was perfect. Exactly what I had hoped for during my time on the east coast of Greenland.

With all dogs accounted for, it was now time to play 'How Many Sled Dogs Can Fit in a Boat with Thomas?' I helped Dines load his dogs with the plan being to boat back to Tasiilaq. Of course certain dogs fight with other certain dogs, so the loading process was much like the logic game of crossing a river with a fox, chicken, and grain one at a time. Since we were only making one trip each dog had to be place in a specific location.

How many dogs can ride in a boat with me?

Two hours and three-fourths of the way to Tasiilaq, Dines saw something in the ice he did not like and we abruptly rerouted to the settlement Tiniteqilaaq, another two hours to the north up a similar ice choked fjord. It was near 6pm at this point and I was ready for our 'day' trip to conclude, not stretch into another day. But whatever Dines saw must have been bad, as we extended our tour and significantly rerouted (Tinit left us slightly closer and with less chance of being iced in than returning to Isertoq).

Everyone needs a great '2nd Worst Mechanical Failure' story if for no other reason than building suspense for 'The Worst...'. Rerouting to Tiniteqilaaq (Tinit for short) provided me with the perfect '2nd Worst...' story. Halfway up the fjord to Tinit and precisely equidistant to all nearby settlements (about 1.5 hrs by speed boat) we experienced engine troubles. Over the next two hours we advanced about 200 meters as Dines would tinker with the engine, get it working, advance ten to twenty meters before it would die and the cycle resume. Large treacherous icebergs surrounded us, yet Dines whistled, laughed and smiled the entire time. And it wasn't a show or some nervous mask. He was completely content and happy to be out in the fjord, fiddling with a broken motor and enjoying my company (and don't forget the dogs. Dogs, dogs, dogs!).

Engine woes with looming 'bergs The way of life in the north enforces extreme patience. Patience isn't even the right word, as 'patience' implies expectations and waiting for something ahead. The mindset here is dealing with what's immediately in front of you. Play the hand you're dealt. There is no alternative. Weather changes, ice conditions change. Nothing is guaranteed. Cross the bridge when you get to it. It doesn't exist until you arrive at it, no sense in worrying about it. This approach of ease is enviable. (There is a Greenlandic word 'ummpah' which roughly spelled and translated means 'yes, I will definitely do that.... maybe'. Ummpah definitely reflects this mindset of unpredictably). I tried and tried to watch Dines as he happily went about fixing the engine and repeatedly failing. Unfortunately my cold wet foot (remember the dog chase?), a boat packed to the brim with dogs, and our repeated attempts at starting the engine (we were pull-starting it) were beginning to wear on me. The sun was low on the horizon, it was around 10PM and temperatures were dropping. Several times we had to paddled to escape drifting dangerously close to building sized icebergs.
Row, row, row your boat (notice tired dogs at this point) Finally, Dines resigned to the fact that we would not restart the engine anytime soon. Incredulously, he was still cheery. He took my Iowa/maternal family's mentality of 'laughing things off' to another level. Now that the event is behind me, I hope I can carry that mindset with me. At the time I was mostly concerned with making it off the boat with my left foot.

Too much ice to paddle to shore (and it would have been a long, long paddle even if it was possible), too exhausted to attempt any more futile pull-starts, a boat full of hungry dogs (five days since they last ate)... what do we do now?? Luckily Dines carried a satelitte phone. He called a friend in Tinit to come pick us up. No answer. He called another friend in Tinit. No answer. We sat in defeated silence........ Now what? The first chink in Dines' indifference armor crept out of his mouth 'If only my cousin's had left that bucket' (when we departed Isertoq, his cousin took a bucket containing parts and food out of Dines's boat. The cousins were heading to Tasiilaq too, and since we had a full boat of dogs and gear, they were doing us a favor by removing weight. The bucket held now valuable food and extra parts that would surely fix our engine troubles). But that was the most regret or 'What if? thinking Dines displayed. Meanwhile, my mind was ablaze with 'What if? What do we do now?' After an hour or so of dejectedly paddling away from giant icebergs and staring at a foggy future (and literal fog approached from a distance, at least nature has a sense of irony). Foggy future? As the fog approached Dines finally reached one of his friends on the phone. We would be saved! Ummpah.... Maybe. Another hour or so and Dines friend found us based solely on the description: 'We are in the fjord between the two large rock walls and near big icebergs'. Again incredibly specialized knowledge. The fjord was at least 7 miles wide and 50 miles long, 'large rock walls' and 'big icebergs' were everywhere. But somehow Dines' friend, Paulus, found us. Paulus brought spark plugs and restart efforts continued another forty minutes (pull-starting yet again) without success. Soundly defeated, Paulus towed us back towards Tinit. The 'night' dragged on as we still had to find an island to drop the dogs off on. Make that two islands (some of the dogs don't get along, remember?). Nearing collapse, my foot had at least manage to regain some warmth amidst the pull-starting and dog wrangling. We eventually left the dogs on two islands and made it Tiniteqilaaq, where Paulus's floor teleported me into Tuesday.

The trip continues in another post....

Three days or a lifetime?

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 14:00:00 +0000

Many accounts, narratives, etc., from the Arctic hold common themes of quest and defeat, aspirations and accomplishments. A disconnect to the landscape itself develops as the land often fills the role of adversary. The lands' indifference to human life makes it a target of contempt. Somthing to be conquered or overcome. The landscape is reduced to a stage for the exposition of a personality or for scientific (guilty) or economic theory, or national or personal competitions (oil, minerals, race to the pole, etc.). The land becomes a tool; something to exert oneself against; to cast one's character in the light of enobling ideals; to sojourn among exotic things; to make collections and erect monuments. Rare were ventures to the north without a thought of ownership or utility. Few endeavors or travelers lacked timetables of accomplishment. With every expeditoin into the landscape, however, the hope of a fresh experience, that the land would reveal istself, or that feelings of beauty or solitude would penetrate deeply. Allowing the land to be a source of wisdom requires perceiving it's light and dark side. Or not conforming the land to binary categories (light/dark, continuity/change, surface/depth, right/wrong) in the first place. As I have written in a previous post, we all apprehend the land imperfectly, even when we go to the trouble to wander in it. Our perceptions are colored by preconceptions and desire.

So I am one of those travelers whose prescence is dictated by a timetable. And my views are colored with my own preconceptions and desires. Despite this, will attempt to relay the experience of the past three days...

On Sunday morning I interviewed a local hunter that moonlights as a dogsled tour guide. Dines (pronounced DEE-ness), born and raised here on the east coast of Greenland, has good English skills and the interview went so well that he invited me on a day trip to a nearby settlement to pick up his sled dogs. In my mind 'day' menat we'd return before the day was over and 'dogs' meant the plural of dog (more than one, maybe six?). From the 10AM interview we scrambled to ready ourselves for the improptu trip. I tossed some warm clothes and my camera in a backpack. My inquiries about bringing a sleeping bag, toothbrush, contact solution (overnight supplies) were met with 'no, no, we'll return'. I then served as porter and financial backer of the expedition, as we spent the next three hours driving people around town (Tasiilaq), buying fuel & groceries, and and hauling bags for a family that would be following us to the settlement (Isertoq) in a seperate boat. Their boat resembled a miniture tugboat. Emphasis on miniture considering they were a family of three generations and nine total.

As Dines and I departed Tasiilaq, I wondered aloud why the family needed to follow us?

Because of the sea ice, of course. It was safer to travel in tandom in case the sea ice was too thick and we had to turn back or were trapped in the ice.

Wait what? Sea ice? Suddenly Dines' meager boat looked even smaller. Trapped? Aha, the first hint that our 'day' trip could be anything but. Thoughts of my sleeping bag, or rather the absence of, were quickly swept away by the awe-inspiring ice choked waters. The scene reminded me of a quote about encountering such striking and humbling beauty that the observer is left with the feeling that their life was but a prelude to witnessing such beauty. I wouldn't go so far as to say I have lived soley to experience that moment of sailing into the icy mountain fringed waters, but it was close.

Boating in the ice

Needless to say, I took many pictures and even video, which I must post at a later date. Despite Dines extreme skill in weaving/racing in and through large and small icebergs, I couldn't help but nervously cringe as loud thunks and chunks struck the boat. The journey was breathtaking and several times we found ourselves between large ice chunks, the motor churning at full throttle trying to power us to open water. At the exact moment my mind was considering how easily the boat could be punctured by ice, Dines, reading my mind, volunteered that the boat was enforced with seven centimeters of extra casing to protect the hull. I have no idea if this was plenty or lacking, but I decided to let it be a good thing. Full throttle was proving tutile, so I was dispatched to the front to hack at the ice and navigate the boat Venice-style. Going was slow and we reversed our course or dead-ended like a mouse in a maze. Sunny skies and calm winds laxed our pace and I basked in the adventure. As the ice began to ease and our boat accelerated, Dines inadvertantly tested my blood pressure and nervous system during a three second span in which he spotted a flock of Eider ducks, snatched up his shotgun, and fired both cartridges. Two shots, three fowl. All while cruising at 40km/hr and in an instant.

Swift moving ice and closing gaps seperated the following family from our trail, but judging by Dines reaction this was completely normal. We stopped in an area of relatively sparsely 'berged water and had a late lunch. A shear vertical wall bordered the 'cove' where we stopped for lunch and just happened to be a favorite seal hunting spot of Dines. After lunch we trolled around quietly in search of seal. The hunting here differed greatly from that which I did in Nuuk. Seal is a staple of the diet and this particular day Dines' dog were awaiting food (seal) in the settlement. Thus we had to get a seal. We would hunt until we had one. We spotted a total of around twelve over the course of three hours, with Dines taking two. Dines and a seal
The seals he shot turned out to be small, but combined with the now four Eider ducks (a favorite food of Dines's girlfriend) in the boat, Dines was satisfied. We continued on towards Isertoq, now weaving around islands and inlets in addition to the icebergs. During our hunt the other family had passed us and we caught up to them hunting edible Rose Root plant on a rocky shore (pictures of the seal, plant, etc. at a later date). Rose root tastes like something you'd find in a fresh salad, similar to a spinach taste but bitter. After the plant hunting, we continued on to Isertoq, with the icecap gradually rising from shore the rest of the way.

Isertoq

Isertoq is a settlement of sixty to seventy people. Incredibly small. One store, a post office, a church, and a small community building. The ice cap rising from the ground nearby, Isertoq is a common starting point for ice cap crossings. Upon arrival we went straight to greet Dines' dogs. White Greenlandic Sled Dogs. Usually sled dogs are working dogs, not pets, but because Dines dabbles in sled dog tourism, he has raised his dogs to be friendly with people. The dogs can go for long stretches without food and are usually kept on small islands or chained on long lines on rocky coasts. The dogs received Dines with pure jubilation. Dines' soft commands and manner with his dogs redefined kindness. After a while of greeting and straightening ropes, we visited Dines two aunts in town. Offers of food were abundent and it gradually became apparent that we would be staying in Isertoq for the night (it was already 10pm anyway).

Cropped

Uncropped

Without mincing words, the settlement is depressing. Dilapidated buildings, trash everywhere, yet surrounded by stark beauty. As Charles Kinney, Jr. describes Greenland, it is a bipolar polar community. Stark beauty masking social distress.

Contrast

Beauty

During my time in Isertoq I was invited into three different homes. I ate seal, raw and cook. Cooked blubber. Dried narwhale. Fresh caught salmon and halibut, raw and cooked. But more on food for another post. The homes I entered were strangely juxtaposed from their ragged exterior. Comfortable, decorated, homey. Modern appliances (TV's, DVD players, stereos, etc.) and Danish designed home furnishings. Nice sinks and kitchen wares, yet no running water. There is no running water in the entire settlement. All go to the town water tank for their water needs. The out of place interiors amongst the apparent poverty left me contemplating using the description '2nd World'. I hate the terms 1st world/3rd world, but the awkward mixing of Danish and Greenlandic society will have to be described as Second World for the time being.

After friendly visiting we finally ended the day around 2AM with plans to deal with the dogs, etc., tomorrow.

This post is long enough, the next two days will be descibed another time.

Flock of Seals

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 04:52:00 +0000

The picture is misleading, I love animals.

I went seal hunting again and even fired upon a seal and several different flocks of seals. Can you call it hunting if nothing is hit? More accurately, I went out shooting again with two teachers that moonlight as shooters. I am beginning to realize why their primary occupation is teaching. Anyway, had a wonderful evening dinner-picnic in front of the waterfall and glacier in the picture. The photos were taken around 8pm and midnight. I leave for the east coast and unknown internet in a few hours, so I decided to post this pictures while I could.

Love the comment Eddie. If I actually received enough comments to give out awards, you would win the (would-be) prestigious ''Comment of the Month''

Summer of Light

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 04:43:00 +0000

To clear up any confusion, almost all the blog entries since I left for Greenland have been typed up on someone elses laptop, away from internet access. I save the post, then later place it on the blog once I find internet access. The last post with pictures was quickly written on the spot.

This current post is being written up offline, so it could end up being outdated.

For the last week I have been in Nuuk making contacts and having meetings with the Foreign Ministry, city hall, the national museum, the tourist office, etc. An American teacher has been my lifeline, connecting me up with great resources (including this laptop which I'm typing this up on).

On Wednesday I gave a presentation to a class of freshman at a high school. I talked about climate change, global warming, and Greenland's perspective. They looked pretty bored, and it didn't help that they are in the midst of learning English, rather than fluent speakers like most Danish adults. But it was a great experience and it definitely helped refine my presentation skills for young audiences. And even though they seemed only marginally interested in something that is directly impacting their country, they were probably still better behaved than an american class of the same age for a similar presentation.

After school, the teacher of the class invited me to join him and two of his friends on a boat trip to hunt seals. The teacher is a Dane that has been living in Greenland for four years. The hunting serves as an escape from town and is a normal recreational activity. There aren't many roads that go very far in any direction and ice/icebergs clog the harbor for much of the year, leaving residents of Nuuk with a 'tiger in a cage' complex. When the water becomes safe enough for small boats the city breaths an exuberant sigh of relief. Boats take to the inlets and nearby islands like kids racing out at recess to claim the prime swings. So having a boat and going for a cruise serves a particularly liberating form of recreation. Pictures from the beautiful trip once I return to Denmark or a cheaper internet connection. We spent about fours hours boating around islands and inlets off the coast (in the waters of the Davis Strait). The hunting consisted of scanning the waters while boating around, looking for dark spots or ripples in the water. Once a seal was spotted, the boat was stopped, and the marksman waited for the seal to resurface. Once the curious seal popped his head up to investigate, he was greeted with shots from a .22. The seals were never closer than 70 meters, so don't confuse the image above for hunting groundhogs (a la Jon's wedding weekend). We saw about five seals, but the marksman didn't shoot any. The boat was fairly crowded with the four of us on it, so I was relieved that we didn't have to find room for a bloody 200 pound dead seal. I'm not sure what the group had in mind for the seal, but I imagine most of it would have been put to use, as they complained of other recreational hunters just killing seals for sport rather than making use of the meat, skin, etc. After failing to shoot a seal, we cruised by some small icebergs before returning from our venture. The weather was gorgeous, bright sun and clear skies, and I am looking forward to posting pictures.

The next two days were rainy, cold, and dreary, exactly like the Danish winter. I used the weather to conduct most of my interviews and schedule new meetings. The American teacher and I had dinner with a reporter from the local paper. The paper was featuring the teacher in a spread and article that came out on Friday and I got to tag along for the dinner.

The Summer of Light continues, though Nuuk does get "darker" than NEEM camp. But it is a very, very relative darkness, similar to a dark/cloudy thunderstorm day (which I hear has been quite frequent in the midwest/plains region lately). The flooding in Iowa and the tornado in Manhattan, KS, actually made CNN international news here in Nuuk. It was a brief one minute spot and it was interesting to see the coverage. Returning to the light, everyone keeps mentioning how the light makes people manic and I am starting to wonder if I am succumbing to the power of suggestion. I feel tired most all the time and the amount of light leads to a constant guessing game about what time it might be. Despite feeling tired, falling asleep is a bit of a chore as you have to trick yourself into thinking you're laying down for what looks like an afternoon nap. And when you wake up, whether it is 3AM or 10AM, it looks and feels the same. Waking up anytime in between means you likely don't fall back asleep.

The sea was angry that day...

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Sun, 15 Jun 2008 17:19:00 +0000

..like an old man trying to send back soup in a deli.

Like George Costanza, I battled the angry sea on my boat trip from Maniitsoq to Nuuk. The weather was terrible and the waves were turbulent, making for a rather rough nine (9!) hour boat ride. Luckily I had a bunk with a curtain where I could attempt to sleep. After the first hour of queasily trying to adjust to the rocking, my stomach settled and I was able to sleep some. But I will have to write more about the ship later (60 wild school kids on a field trip, feeling like I was on moving ground for the next day, etc.)

Instead I will use this internet time to post some compressed pictures from the ice. I don't have current pictures, so these will be from May...

Flying along the coast:

What happens when you spend three weeks with the same guys, relying on each other for entertainment...

Formal Saturday Night Dinner:

Later that night:

Traveling the Coast

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Sat, 07 Jun 2008 18:40:00 +0000

I left Kangerlussuaq on Thursday bound for Maniitsoq on the coast. I arrived in Nuuk instead. After circling a cloud and fog embanked Maniitsoq, the pilot flew us on to Nuuk. Next flight to Maniitsoq would be on Friday, thus I found myself stranded in one of the better places to be stranded. The airline put me up in the nicest hotel in Greenland, Hotel Hans Egede, and gave me a 185 kroner (~$40) meal certificate to Hereford Beefstou, the fancy steakhouse in the restaurant. Sounds like a lot for one person, but Denmark is expensive and Greenland is really, really, expensive. I got grilled salmon (I had already had a steak when I was there in December, and I now know I am a KC steak snob), a baked potato the size of a tennis ball, a spinach sofflet the size of a reese's peanut butter cup, and a beer. Total cost of the meal without tip, 300 kroner (~$67). Even though americans are now griping about food prices, we still have it good.

Then a relaxing evening with, strangely, television. I got to watch coverage of US politics and world news for the first time in a month. Then Friday I caught my flight to Maniitsoq on a cramped Twin Otter plane. The radar surveys I participated in 2006 were on a Twin Otter. But that was with a total of six people on the plane, counting pilots. This flight has probably 18 people counting pilots. The in-flight service consists of the pilot turning around and sarcastically asking (in Danish) if anyone wants coffee. It was fun and the views were amazing as always. I'm in Maniitsoq now, staying with an American teacher teaching English here in Greenland for the U.S. State Department. Chuck has been a great contact and has put me in touch with several hunters, fisherman, and members of the community. And he is letting me use his laptop to type this up. Internet is still hard to come by though and this will likely not be posted until it is several days old.

The plans are to talk to and interview people here in Maniitsoq, then move on to Nuuk for meetings with government officials, museum folk, and residents. After that I head to the east coast to Tasilaq and a small settlement outside of Tasilaq for more of the same. I also found out yesterday that I get to participate in a National Science Foundation education trip to Summit Camp on the Greenland ice sheet from July 7th to July 11th. One of the heads of NSF's Polar Program sent me this email requesting I serve as one of the 'science experts' for this expedition. I will be hosting two American school teachers and serving as the most underqualified 'science expert' that this joint Danish-US-NSF venture has ever had. So now I need to find a way to brush up on my ice and 'scientific' knowledge while I am on this coastal expedition. I can't escape it. Hotel CReSIS, you can check out any time you want, but you can never leave. But this opportunity is too amazing to avoid.

Return to the Coast

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 01:18:00 +0000

Above is an attempt at linking to one of the many photos I took that can be viewed on the the NEEM website (http://neem.ku.dk/)

Haven't had a chance to type up much these last few days. I returned to the coast (along with two other NEEM team members and a German TV crew of four) yesterday evening. I was promptly victim of a cruel practical joke which involved the showers not working. After an hour of enduring the joke, I was indeed able to shower. The shower was all I hoped it could be. Then I achieved my second goal, which was sleeping in less than three layers of clothing.

Today, we celebrated our return to the coast by promptly returning to the ice. But this time we drove the steep, winding, up and down road to the edge of the ice. This is the same road that I mountain biked to the ice in 2006. The 17 hour, 70 kilometer round trip bike ride took about two hours in a four-wheel drive vehicle. The ice has receeded heavily since 2006. I went on my bike ride at almost the same time of year in 2006 (I think it was June 3rd, 2006). I am amazed at how much less ice there is just two years later. I am really looking forward to comparing my pictures from today to the 2006 pictures. For example, the black and white crevasse picture that is featured on a CReSIS postcard, that long flat area of ice and the crevasse itself are gone. Completely. I just hope I am misremembering how much ice there was in 2006. Otherwise, this warming business is happening even faster than I suspected.

Summarizing this brief post, I'm safe, sound, and thawing.

Okay, more to come later...

Fun with Numbers

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Fri, 30 May 2008 00:44:00 +0000

Fun with Numbers

70……km/hr, max speed achieved on a snowmobile
32……Days since I last shaved (and I still don’t have a beard)
32…....Knots, strongest winds experienced
22….. .Days since my last shower
8……..Average number of Snickers/day consumed by camp
4……..Different languages that I can say ‘Donald Duck’ in: Anders An (Danish), Donald Duck (French, with thick accent), Kali Anka (Swedish), Donald Duck (English).
4……..pairs of long underwear top and bottoms I brought (twice as much as most everyone else. And now that I’m here, I see why they didn’t bother bringing more, it’s too cold to change clothes)
2……..number of birds I’ve seen while on the ice
2……..times a day things need to be dug out of snow drifts
1……..number of times my contacts, contact solutions, and toothpaste froze solid overnight in my tent before I learned to keep them near the heater in the kitchen weatherport
0……..number of times the sun has set for me since May 5th
-4…….Degrees C, the warmest temperature we’ve had (but it was accompanied by 27 knot winds, thus it didn’t feel like -4.
-25…...Degrees C, what seems to be the average temperature
-57…...Degrees C, the coldest windchill experienced

If I think of additional numbers that are interesting, I’ll post them.

So my (and others) off-ice departure date got moved two days back to May 31st because of cargo weight and workload. And for the past two days we’ve been in the midst of a storm, which might postpone my departure from the ice even longer. I actually don’t mind staying on the ice longer, as I’ve adjusted to the cold and the camp has developed a cozy dynamic to it. But I was looking forward to showering today (May 29th, the day I was supposed to return to the coast).

If you’re following on the http:\\neem.ku.dk site, then maybe you’ve seen that there has been lots of structures built and progress made. I now live in a red weatherport, no longer a yellow dome tent. Same roommates, but unfortunately the weatherport is much colder than my old quarters. Water bottles, boots, clothes, etc., freeze overnight (rather than drying, in the case of the clothes). I am now using a modern version of a technique passed down from my father. Pretty much anytime we’ve been camping as a family, my Dad will tell the story of a bear hunting trip to Colorado. His feet were so cold that my Grandpa placed stones from the campfire in my Dad’s sleeping bag near his feet. Well, now I place boiling water in my nalgene bottle and then place the bottle at my feet in my sleeping bag. Works like a charm, Thanks Dad! Too bad I only thought of it six days ago.

With lots of time to think while shoveling snow, I’ve stumbled upon The Empire Strikes Back. I probably haven’t seen the movie in ten years, but I now recall that part of the film occurred on an ice covered planet. Luke Skywalker must slay his strange two-legged steed and crawl inside it’s entrails to stay warm. In former times, I was appalled at the thought climbing inside the entrails of an animal to stay warm. Now, I wouldn’t mind having one of those animals. I curious to watch the film again and notice if Luke’s face (or anyone that was ‘outside’) was extremely red from the wind/cold? And where did they shoot this part of the film? On an ice sheet? Or a huge studio?

But just to be clear, I am having a great time here. It just happens that I end up typing these posts at the end of a long day. So perhaps I mention the cold or the labor a little more than I would if I wrote this up around lunch time.

I learned to drive a Flex-mobile (the large blue and orange tracked vehicles in the pictures) to groom the skiway. And related to the storm I mentioned above, I got to groom from 10pm to 3:30am (when the wind was calm and visibility relatively good, plus it’s not like the sun goes down making it so you can’t work). But while groom, I got to see a sun halo. I could probably find a decent way to explain how a sun halo forms and what it is, but instead, I’ll let you google it. Basically, it is a rainbow that encircles the sun. So that was neat to see. I also saw another bird, a lost seagull. And a commercial airplane flew overhead yesterday, some speculated it was an Oslo, Norway to Anchorage, Alaska connection. Something different, to see signs of civilization.

More to come...

Blame it on the Tetons...

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Mon, 26 May 2008 01:17:00 +0000

Blame it on the Tetons...

In addition to the incredibly vivid dreams I've been having (sound sleep from the exhaustion?), I have been noticing many similarities between this ice sheet experience and my first summer in the Tetons.

To start, the excitement and mild anxiety of heading off into the unknown. An adventure. I had been to the Tetons before, just like I had been to Greenland before. But not as an employee living in Employee Village of Jackson Lake Lodge and not to the ice sheet. A small concept of the surroundings to ease the void of the unexpected.

Strangers from a wide geographic range coming together to spend large amount of time together in close quarters. The Tetons has New Zealanders, Russians, and residents from AZ, PA, MT, WY, CA, LA, etc., etc. The original five here on the ice sheet hail from France, Sweden, Denmark, Iceland, and the US. The four 'new' arrivials are three Danes and one more from the US. A few more cultural differences than the regional differences that were realized in the Tetons. All meals are together. When it was just the original five, breakfast was at 7, lunch at 12, dinner anywhere between 9 and midnight. Now that we have a cook, it is very much like the Tetons and the Elegant Elk, with a hearty meal waiting for you. Breakfast at 8, lunch at 1pm, dinner at 7pm. Meals bring the different working groups together, just like the Tetons. The first ten minutes of any meal is without speech. Only the sound of voracious appetites restocking on calories zapped by the cold. After the initial feeding frenzy, conversation, joking, and plans for what’s next are discussed. The meal concludes slowly, with everyone staring at each other hoping for another discussion or inviting topic to delay the return to work and the cold.

Next, the relative isolation from the outside world galvanizing a social group. Even though Jackson Lake Lodge was only 40-50 miles from Jackson Hole, there was a definite feel of isolation. ‘Isolation’ has a more negative connotation than I’m intending. Perhaps the term is secluded. Email addiction hadn’t afflicted society too severely yet (and computer time at the Whistle Pig was hard to come by anyway), cell phones didn’t work at the Lodge, and there was no TV. Few summer employees had vehicles, so for the most part, Jackson Lake Lodge was an island. On the ice, the field leader calls via satellite phone to the home base in Kangerlussuaq once a day to give a report. The first five days in the field there wasn’t any time to set up the special internet connection. Now that the internet is set up, it works only half the time, and there is always a queue to use it. We are only able to access text based email. No surfing for news or pleasure. Much like the Tetons, the evenings are spent sitting around conversing with each other or turning in early to read. Working, eating, and living on top of each other, we’ve established multiple running jokes and themes of discussion: food, cultural differences, U.S. politics, religion, and movies. (The world is definitely more concerned about the upcoming U.S. elections than the U.S. itself. And yes, I realize that there is more interest in the US than normal this year. But the world is even more intrigued.) The camp moral is great and the humor of the people and positive attitudes towards the work makes the days enjoyable.

During the working day, we are now like a small ant army, each with their own roles and specialties. Again, using the Teton analogy as you cruise around camp on a snow mobile you see the different ‘crews’ at work (1st summer: George and Brett at the bellhop station, the Griswold sisters at the front desk, Camelia in the giftshop, Erin & Levi in the warehouse dungeon, Wayne with the maintenance crew, Sarah with the convention thugs. etc., etc.). On the ice sheet: Jim grooming the skiway, Klaus and Hans Christian doing carpentry for the domes, JP messing with the communications, Gäel and I snowblowing trenches, Sebastion helping out where he is needed, and Sverrir moving mountains of snow and fixing everything he touches. The big projects (raising the domes, building the garage, etc.) bring all the person-power together, and then we scatter back to our specific projects.

Days off are also similar to the Tetons. But I should say hours. In the Tetons you had one day off a week. Here we are free from working duties from 5pm Saturday evening to 10AM Sunday morning. Saturday evening is a big party with shirt and ties. And dresses if there were any girls here.

More to come…

the 'place' called NEEM

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Fri, 23 May 2008 16:05:00 +0000

Since internet time is rationed and hard to come by, Swedish Jim has allowed me to type up a long post on his laptop, for later posting when internet access become available. Thus some of this post may be outdated.

I don't know what details have been included in the reports on the http:\\neem.ku.dk website, as ironically, we are unable to check the site that is posting updates on our progress. Instead of day-to-day monotony, I will try to post on my general impressions and other points of interest that I've experienced.

No adventure begins without objectives based on the imagined nature and content of the place to be explored. The course of discovery is guided, then, by perceived notions. The results of exploration are modified by reports written and interpreted in the light of persistent illusions and by attempts made to fit new information into partly erroneous systems and frameworks of geographical understanding. Working with people that had been on the ice sheet before, and having been to Greenland twice before myself, I had well-informed ideas of what the experience might entail. And contrary to this paragraph’s buildup, and to my own surprise, the general experience of the ice sheet has closely matched my expectations.

The 5 of us stepped onto a searing white abyss, the roar of the C-130 temporarily masking the eerie, all-encompassing silence. Think of the sound dampening qualities of new fallen snow, and then consider that there is no bustle of traffic or human activity to muffle. Complete and total snow-absorbing silence. Flat whiteness in every direction. Inexplicably, a snow bunting flew within 30 feet of us a minute after we exited the plane. To see a bird, or any form of life, this far inland on the ice is remarkable. The bird was certainly lost and its survival doubtful. But it was neat to be greeted by this bird. We haven’t seen anything else since.

I’m guessing the neem.ku.dk site details what we did those first few days, but in summary, we were frantically digging out cached supplies in order to prepare shelter and groom a skiway so that we could receive more C-130’s and supplies. There was a small weatherport waiting for us that housed a kitchen with microwave, coffee maker, stove, tables, and food from last year’s traverse. Much more luxury than I was expecting. We worked in sunlight until 12:30AM that first day. The 2400m above sea level adding to our exhaustion. The next 7 days would be more of the same. I was expecting hard work, but perhaps not this constant and exhausting. Since then the last few days have slowed considerably (relatively?), today being May 22nd. I was also expecting to be sleeping in quarters that would be heated. Not so. And of course the zipper on my sleeping bag broke five minutes into the first night. But I’ve adjusted to the -30 C nights and my fleece bag liner does the job. Ice cold fingers and toes are the norm, but those ‘in the know’ know it doesn’t take an ice sheet for me to have cold feet.

The unending white horizon leads to mirages. Such mirages often occur whenever a mass of warm air lies over a body of cold air. Light rays that under other conditions might travel straight off into space are bent, or refracted, back earthward in a series of small steps as they pass through layers of air at different temperatures. Evenly spaced layers of successively warmer air work like a series of eyeglass lenses, each of which is successively less corrective. A ray of light passing through them all is bent back earthward in a smooth arc. Under mirage conditions, sunlight reflecting off this sequence of slight temperature inversions creates the appearance of a high grayish rampart in the distance. The wall appears in outline and detail exactly like a distant palisade seen through the earth’s blue haze because the astigmatic atmospheric lens has broken the white ice up into areas of light and shadow. So often when looking to the horizon, you see what appears to be a floating, perfectly horizontal bank of clouds, or flat vertically raised gray mountain ridge. I estimate seeing a mirage like this every other day.

Mirage or not, the white horizon fades into nothing in all directions. Instead of isolation, the landscape wraps up the camp we have created. It becomes easy to forget that there is nothing but ice for hundreds of miles. The geography of the mind confines itself to what is visible. I have to remind myself of the remoteness. That has been an unexpected difference. Instead of feeling marooned on an island, the white blanket fractal-like repetition of terrain lulls the mind into a deceptive comfort zone. If your world is only what you can see, you forget there is anything to be isolated from. What outside world?

More to come...

~77 N

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Mon, 19 May 2008 00:01:00 +0000

Finally, satellite internet access from 77 degrees N on top of 2600 meters of ice, 500km from the nearest minor settlement. So this will have to be a quick post. Sorry not enough bandwidth for pictures, but again, refer to neem.ku.dk or whatever I posted previously (We can't even check that site because it has too many pictures slash data, so email me and let me know what it look likes).

Can't reply to all or any emails, so this post must suffice.

We arrived on May 7th and worked almost non-stop the first 5 days. Myself and four others, -36 C at night -20 C during the day. Cold toes and fingers are pretty constant, but now after 11 or so days my metabolism, body, etc. have adjusted and I barely (ha!) notice. I bunk with frenchman Gåel and swede Jim in a yellow, unheated dome tent. Was a little surprised that we would be without heat throughout the Greenland 'night'. The sun never sets of course. Pretty much exhausted from the first few days of digging out and establishing this incredibly remote camp on the ice sheet. Now we have constructed several weatherports and other structures and with recent new arrivals, the camps population is now 9.

Many pictures and stories to tell, but internet time is out for the day. Keep emails coming and I will post when I can.

Thomas

Greenland Bound & Website to track progress

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Sun, 04 May 2008 20:39:00 +0000

I leave for Greenland in about 8hrs. I will be dropped off on the ice sheet on Tuesday with 5 others. We will be "opening" the NEEM Ice Core Drill site/camp. Shoveling snow and braving the cold, we won't have internet for a few days (or showers for even longer). I don't know if/when I will be able to communicate, but if I am, it will be with text only.

You can also keep an eye on what I'm up too at the official NEEM site:

http://neem.ku.dk

Preparing for the Ice Sheet

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Sun, 04 May 2008 20:36:00 +0000

Photos from the Centre for Ice and Climate. Preparing for the NEEM Ice Core

Ice and Climate

Fulbright Gathering

noreply@blogger.com (Thomas) — Sun, 04 May 2008 20:31:00 +0000

Fulbrighters visit Danish Parliament, then Danish bar..

Fulbright Photos