Grunehogna

Titan 1, on the ice field next to Grunehogna

Day 15; February 6, 2009; Vesleskaervet, Dronning Maud Land, Antarctica
Average Daily Temperature: 18.14˚ F
Average Daily Wind Speed: 11.63 mph
Feels Like: 0.69˚ F

It was half an hour before lunch when I finally awoke. On my way to the dinning room to find some caffeine, my stomach clearly announcing it was ready for a meal, I ran into the helicopter pilots of Titan 1, Neall Ellis and his son and co-pilot, Kevin Ellis. Wishing me a good afternoon, they told me that we would be flying to Grunehogna in 30 minutes and to gather my things. With my first cup of coffee sloshing over the rim of my mug as I ran around getting all my gear and equipment together, I felt a rush of elation at the prospect of journeying into the field.

We were all a bit frenetic from the quick notice of our departure. Alfons was actually down at our mobile base and Thomas had rushed off on the skimobile to fetch him, but before long everyone arrived at the hanger at the north end of the base. Titan 1′s voice thundered loudly, its two sets of blades slicing the air at top speed in opposing directions, and we were quickly airborne. Flying over the base and around our nunatak, we then turned south and glided out toward the mountain range in the distance—the view which I photograph incessantly each and every day.

The Titan 1 aircraft is a Kamov Ka32, which was built in Russia and designed for extremely heavy lifting. It has two sets of counter-rotating propeller blades, and therefore requires no additional tail propeller, which reduces its body length yet provides a lift capacity of 11,000 pounds. The helicopter is specially equipped to fly in extreme cold conditions, and can carry up to fifteen passengers and a crew of three. Today, we were a total of nine.

The afternoon grew more beautiful with each moment. The air was noticeably warm, almost gentle, as there was no wind blowing at all, but the light was strong and captivating. As we passed by the other massive rock formations along the 15 minute flight to Grunehogna, the details below were spectacular—we were only flying about 500 feet off the ground. Clearly visible were the patterning the ice and snow makes from the winds. Each continuous wave spread out over the drifting snow to fit perfectly into the next. The sun demarcated the altitude of each crest with strong highlights, marking the frozen ground as if a natural drawing, like charcoal on white paper.

The mountains here are striking. Intensely hard rock jutting upward across the ice planes, makes me wonder at the history of this place. How did this all form? Vesleskarvet, the name of the nunatak upon which we are living, is at the north-eastern edge of the Ahlmannryggen (Ahlmann Ridge) of mountains. Ahlmann Ridge, 71°50′S 2°25′W, is a broad, mainly ice-covered ridge, about 70 miles long, and scattered with other nunataks, Grunehogna being one of them. The ridge rises between the Schytt and Jutulstraumen Glaciers and extends from Borg Massif northward to Fimbul Ice Shelf here in beautiful Queen Maud Land. I must speak with the Geologists here at the base to learn more about the age and formation of this area…

Reaching the edge of Grunehogna, one realizes the shear strength of the wind in Antarctica. Catabatic winds, as it is called here, blow out from the large and elevated ice sheets of Antarctica toward the sea. The buildup of high density cold air over the ice sheets combined with high elevation brings enormous gravitational energy, which propels the winds to incredible speed, sometimes surpassing even hurricane force. The catabatic winds carve a deep incurvation at the base of the nunataks as they blow around them. Like a moat, these wind scoops surround these majestic rock castles, leaving a frozen lake at the bottom in hues of the lightest blues and rippled like the surface of water. One has to look closely to see that it isn’t actually a moving body, but solid, because your mind doesn’t expect it to be as such.

The day flowed on. Thomas and 1stborn, along with the help of the rest of the group, dug intensely into the snow to find the buried snow accumulation flag, our day’s mission, which ITASC had placed there on their 2006 expedition. They had the exact GPS coordinates, but even with a twelve foot diameter hole which was in places 4 to 5 feet deep, we still could not find the flag. Suppositions were put forth: could it have blown free and away, could it have been so buried by a storm that it was much deeper than we could dig, could it have moved from its original location by the natural flow of the ice toward the sea? We may never know. In the end, we made a large hole, a full day’s effort, for seemingly nothing. Spirits were down, even as we made strong coffee over the camp stove to keep the energy going and have something warm to keep the cold at bay. When we received a radio call from the base saying that we could stay an extra hour in the field, we continued the search, but to no avail.

The flag might have eluded us, but the day did not. In spite of the disappointment of not fulfilling the journey’s purpose, a vastly different aspiration was perfected: to simply be here, and experience Antarctica in all of its wonder and magnificence. To have spent the day feeling in my bones the immense thickness of the ice below my feet, and the ancientness of the rock mountain towering above me—I was steeped in the essence of this place.

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