White-out christmas!
Dec. 25th, 2007 08:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
poletopoleShip's Position at 12:00:
Late last night, we were in a field of exceptional and interesting ice. The open water was streaked with narrow white-grey ribbons of thickening ice, like cream sitting on top of a thinner liquid. These open areas were interspersed with large zones of slush had set and frozen between lumps of ice and roundish floes, and the effect of that was like lace — of the white ice suspended in turquoise-aqua-grey ice.
I woke at 01:40 and again at 06:00 and looked out to find the ship pushing slowly — slowly and arduously — through a white, white field of thick ice. I couldn't see more than twenty meters from the ship's rail — the wind whistled like a jet turbine around the cracks in the porthole and the ice groaned and gave way reluctantly with deep, dark splitting sounds, tilting up as little as possible to make an opening for the ship to press forward. Massive plates of it had to be moved to make the smallest advance. This was the heaviest ice seen on the trip yet, I believe, but as satellite images received from Mawson Station show open water on the other side of this band of difficult ice, there is reason to persist instead of backing out and going around.
The scheduled 07:00 wakeup call does not come and shortly before 08:00 the ship halts; the wind is screaming at about 40 knots, driving the ice against the ship and pushing the ship off course. The chief officer cannot keep us on course and the wind and current are moving the ship more than the four engines engaged. The captain and expedition staff decide we'll wait it out: the tide will shift, so will the wind, and we'll be able to get on. Since midnight the ship has traveled 8 nautical miles. No penguins today, but I hope for tomorrow.
Biting wind, driving fine icy snow, screams across the ship all morning; the white-out outside the windows is painful to look at, so great is the glare. Two Adelie penguins pass the jammed ship, quonking, clambering over the ice: there must be water somewhere. Later I hear penguins but cannot see them; the ice floes are piled high and tipped and the penguins are somewhere behind them.
Small gifts and cards are exchanged; I find a tiny stuffed penguin from V. in my mail envelope and two cards. I haven't got anything adaptable to the purpose, unfortunately! The afternoon is occupied by lunch, chat, a briefing about the staff's hope that we arrive tomorrow sometime at Amanda Bay (a small bay near Davis Station and the Amery Ice Shelf), movies, a history lecture on artistic representations of the poles, and the like. David the artist puts up a few of his recent plein-aire watercolors, including several he did at times when the temperature was low enough to flash-freeze-dry the washes, which creates a unique pattern of pigment due to the ice crystals that form and sublimate. Dinner is another extravaganza and so large that I cannot do the incredible, decadent, perfect traditional Christmas pudding stuffed with fruit justice. On the basis of the pudding, V. announces (in Italian) a desire to marry the pastry chef.
Around 18:00 the wind shifts and lessens and the cloud cover begins lifting. By 19:30, dinner time, the sun is shining, the ship is going through the packed ice again (now that the ice and wind are not actively resisting) and reaches more open water at about 8.5 knots, and there is perceptible forward movement. Hooray! And, the streaked clouds at different levels in the sky promise a photogenic evening sky and sunset-sunrise.
- 66°40.9' S 69°47.7' E
- Course In drift; Speed -- (0.5 kt W drift speed in current/ice pack)
- Air temperature 0°C; Wind 36 kts; Direction 100°
- Weather: Wind, snow; Visibility 0.5
- Ice Cover: 10/10
- Distance covered past 24 hours: 163.1 nautical miles
Late last night, we were in a field of exceptional and interesting ice. The open water was streaked with narrow white-grey ribbons of thickening ice, like cream sitting on top of a thinner liquid. These open areas were interspersed with large zones of slush had set and frozen between lumps of ice and roundish floes, and the effect of that was like lace — of the white ice suspended in turquoise-aqua-grey ice.
I woke at 01:40 and again at 06:00 and looked out to find the ship pushing slowly — slowly and arduously — through a white, white field of thick ice. I couldn't see more than twenty meters from the ship's rail — the wind whistled like a jet turbine around the cracks in the porthole and the ice groaned and gave way reluctantly with deep, dark splitting sounds, tilting up as little as possible to make an opening for the ship to press forward. Massive plates of it had to be moved to make the smallest advance. This was the heaviest ice seen on the trip yet, I believe, but as satellite images received from Mawson Station show open water on the other side of this band of difficult ice, there is reason to persist instead of backing out and going around.
The scheduled 07:00 wakeup call does not come and shortly before 08:00 the ship halts; the wind is screaming at about 40 knots, driving the ice against the ship and pushing the ship off course. The chief officer cannot keep us on course and the wind and current are moving the ship more than the four engines engaged. The captain and expedition staff decide we'll wait it out: the tide will shift, so will the wind, and we'll be able to get on. Since midnight the ship has traveled 8 nautical miles. No penguins today, but I hope for tomorrow.
Biting wind, driving fine icy snow, screams across the ship all morning; the white-out outside the windows is painful to look at, so great is the glare. Two Adelie penguins pass the jammed ship, quonking, clambering over the ice: there must be water somewhere. Later I hear penguins but cannot see them; the ice floes are piled high and tipped and the penguins are somewhere behind them.
Small gifts and cards are exchanged; I find a tiny stuffed penguin from V. in my mail envelope and two cards. I haven't got anything adaptable to the purpose, unfortunately! The afternoon is occupied by lunch, chat, a briefing about the staff's hope that we arrive tomorrow sometime at Amanda Bay (a small bay near Davis Station and the Amery Ice Shelf), movies, a history lecture on artistic representations of the poles, and the like. David the artist puts up a few of his recent plein-aire watercolors, including several he did at times when the temperature was low enough to flash-freeze-dry the washes, which creates a unique pattern of pigment due to the ice crystals that form and sublimate. Dinner is another extravaganza and so large that I cannot do the incredible, decadent, perfect traditional Christmas pudding stuffed with fruit justice. On the basis of the pudding, V. announces (in Italian) a desire to marry the pastry chef.
Around 18:00 the wind shifts and lessens and the cloud cover begins lifting. By 19:30, dinner time, the sun is shining, the ship is going through the packed ice again (now that the ice and wind are not actively resisting) and reaches more open water at about 8.5 knots, and there is perceptible forward movement. Hooray! And, the streaked clouds at different levels in the sky promise a photogenic evening sky and sunset-sunrise.
