Tag Archive for 'Weather'

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What is White

Light reflecting off ice crystals

Light reflecting off ice crystals

Day 16; February 7, 2009; Vesleskaervet, Dronning Maud Land, Antarctica
Average Daily Temperature: 17.78˚ F
Average Daily Wind Speed: 13.42 mph
Feels Like: -2.35˚ F

A colour is never merely a colour, but the colour of a certain object…
-Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Phenomenology of Perception

Here in Antarctica there is snow and ice virtually everywhere, a fact that may at first seem elementary but upon deeper reflection is infinitely complex. The impressive quantity of these natural crystalline elements extends as much vertically as they do horizontally, permeating the air and cloaking the land. The depth of the ice beneath my feet approaches 30 feet, with the thickest ice on the continent measuring nearly three miles. Above the frozen land, even the sky is saturated with floating ice particulate, which are seized by the wind, and whirled about at chaotic speeds. These icy eddies allow for the quality of air that encourages the magnificent atmospheric optics that I see throughout the day.

The luminous expanse of the ice fields tempts my eyes to peer out toward the boundless horizon, as if trying to redefine the periphery of my own vision, enticing me to look beyond the limits of my former perceptions. There, hanging on the diaphanous line between land and sky, I see only endless snow and ice. Even in the direction of the mountains to the south, where the nunataks of the Ahlmann Ridge Range break the flatness of the terrain, it is the insistent presence of snow and ice that prevails.

It would be natural to presume the whiteness of such a landscape, and yet the more time I spend watching the environment each day, the less I believe in white at all. While there are momentary glimpses of something that feels like white, as when the mid-noon sun pushes its strong rays against the landscape so that the sheer brightness of its downward angle eliminates all hope of color, in truth it is luminosity that reigns. White, then, seems to become only a vehicle for the action of light upon the landscape, yet what is persistently baffling is that white can only exist as a consequence of light.

The idea of white is rather like the idea of zero. In a sense they are both elusive, and at the same time they each define entire systems, in science and mathematics, respectively. While they themselves are intangible, they give birth to their own infinities. Both white and zero each contain within them their own intrinsic paradox: white appears to the eye as the absence of all color, and yet it can be scientifically proven that it is comprised of all color, while zero is the sum total of nothingness and yet it can be proven to exist. Interestingly, they have both in various ways referred to the idea of the void. White and zero are lone wolves, isolated, like the continent of Antarctica itself, from the very things to which they are intrinsically connected.

White is not, itself, a color in the visible spectrum of light, but rather the sum total of them all. If you take all the color frequencies in the observable gamut, which range from 380 to 750 nanometers, you would get white light. Sir Isaac Newton, standing on the shoulders of earlier optical scientists, showed us these basic principals in his legendary prism experiment. By placing a prism in the direct path of the sun, he saw that white light divided into the pure spectral colors otherwise known as violet, blue, green, yellow, orange, red.

If white is the summation of all spectral color, then why do we experience white to be the absence of it? While Newton’s discovery furthered science in extraordinary ways, what of this theory of quantitative differentiation tells us of the millions of other colors we experience that have no name? The world as we see it with our senses is not merely comprised of these six colors.

Philosophically, white has always been attributed to the “blank canvas,” new beginnings, and is a beacon for peace and purity. Yet, is anything actually white? When we think we perceive white, we actually can still see bits of other colors, as light reflects and refracts across objects and surfaces. For instance, observe an average white-painted wall throughout the course of a 24-hour period. At first you take for granted that it is white because you expect it to be white. However, when you look more closely, and with time, you will see how slightly bluish the wall is by the window at midday, and slightly yellowish it is by the lamp you turned on after sunset, and how an orange chair is reflecting slightly onto the wall, making a glowing orangey spot of color appear.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, the great philosopher and color theorist, was less interested in separating the spectrum into its divisible parts, as Newton was, but investigated instead the vague space between the pure colors, where the clear delineation between one color and the next was more mysterious. He looked not to the individual wavelengths but to the merging of short-wave light and long-wave light. He looked to where light interacted with itself. His research began with the notion that color, or light, was in fact a perceptual act that necessarily included a more introspective interpretation.

Looking out toward the horizon, with the subtle hues of colors blending and overlapping before my eyes, I begin to see the wisdom of his thinking. This complex system of light, and our seeing of it, maintains that the world of natural phenomena lies quite beyond the mind.

The observer does not see a pure phenomenon with his eyes, but more with his soul. Information from the eye depends on the disposition of the organ at the moment, on light, air atmospheric conditions, matter, manipulation, and a thousand other circumstances.
Goethe, January 15, 1798 (From Goethe’s Color Theory)

Observing, then, pure phenomenon itself, like the suns rays bouncing off the snow, or refracting through suspended ice crystals that are blowing in the strong Antarctic winds, I don’t perceive just one color, but many simultaneously. These substances—ice and snow—are prisms in their own right, and so display for us a myriad of colors as the result of light passing through them as they mingle together throughout the land and sky. But, then, the question remains, what color are all the individual frozen water crystals themselves? Are they white?

Physiologically, white is the perceptual experience which is elicited by light, and which subsequently activates the three kinds of color sensitive cone cells in our eyes in equal amounts. There is virtually an endless number of combinations of colors in the visible spectrum that will stimulate these cones in such a way—in other words, the illusion of white can be accomplished by an almost infinite number of luminous color circumstances. So then where does white exist? Is it a function only of our mind?

As I watch, minute-by-minute, the way the light interacts with the ice, snow and floating crystalline particulate, I am ever fascinated by the realization that what is purportedly “white” before me, is truly anything but. Explicit indigos, barely pale blues, vague, misty yellows, severe and subdued pinks, impossible violets and lavenders, farouche grays. These, and a million others, are the colors that pervade the sky and land here. Even if they are ever so softly imbuing the surface of the pale ice or snow, the color is present, and changing subtly throughout the day. Virtually everything in this landscape is a refracting surface, waiting to scatter and reflect light. Antarctica literally holds light within it. As coherent sunlight (white light) moves slowly throughout the environment here, it shimmers across and beneath the ice and snow, making everything luminous from the inside, and displaying colors that seem unimaginable.

Looking out again to the landscape as if for some clarity, I watch the deep interplay between light and crystal and find respite in its mysterious nature. Goethe reminds me, “…the highest is to understand that all fact is really theory. The blue of the sky reveals to us the basic law of color. Search nothing beyond the phenomena, they themselves are the theory.”

***

Take Over

Boot toss during the Take Over games at SANAE

Boot toss during the Take Over games at SANAE


Day 14; February 5, 2009; Vesleskaervet, Dronning Maud Land, Antarctica
Average Daily Temperature: 19.4˚ F
Average Daily Wind Speed: 22.15 mph
Feels Like: -13.82˚ F

My alarm sounded, startling me out of a deep sleep. The foreign noise alerted me to the fact that it was 6:30am and time to get ready for our journey to Grunahogna—the gorgeous rock mountain 40 kilometers away that I see from my studio window here. I was elated to be going on a new adventure. Travel within Antarctica is never without a particular mission, due to the incredible expense. Given the $9000 per hour flight cost while airborne, our scheduled helicopter flight to Grunahogna this morning was not a scenic tour. Though we would indeed be graced by exquisite close-up views of the area’s many nunataks during our quick, low-flying flight, the day’s goal was to retrieve a snow accumulation flag that ITASC had placed there 2 years ago.

Groggy and puffy-eyed, I quickly dressed into my warm gear, made sure all my camera equipment was in my backpack, and grabbed my sleeping bag, which we were required to bring on any flight away from the base in the event of an emergency landing or a surprise storm. Walking into the dinning room, where I was to meet Thomas, Alfons and 1stborn for our flight, I looked out the window and stopped in my tracks. White-out conditions, fierce wind, and snow flurries. We wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Although the mild storm didn’t last beyond lunch, and the afternoon was gorgeous, our flight was canceled for that day. Normally, we would have just flown in the afternoon the minute the conditions turned favorable. But today was “Take Over,” and so starting at Noon, the base was on a sort of holiday.

Take Over is the name used to mark the time in the year when the team who has just spent the entire winter at the base (a 14 month duration, from December to the following February) hands the base over to the team who has just arrived and will now stay here through the next winter. Those who have “wintered over” as it is called, and those who are about to “winter over” go through a very formal process where the one team, SANAE 47 (the name refers to the fact that they are the 47th expedition team from South Africa) literally signs the duties and the responsibility for the base over to the next expedition team, SANAE 48, who arrived here on the boat in early January. But before the formalities of the paperwork are performed, there are games to be played and championships to be won.

The tournaments had actually begun last night, with the first rounds of darts, pool and ping pong (or table tennis) causing a happy cacophony to arise from the bar and game room most of the night. Somehow, I had been signed up for pool, and after dinner, I heard my name being called for next game up. I enjoy pool tremendously, however I am not endowed with a fantastic ability for geometry, having always been much more proficient at algebra. Unfortunately, imaginary numbers do little to assuage the need to deliver a pool ball into a corner pocket, and alas I found myself feeling exactly as I did before a geometry exam: intensely apprehensive. Despite the horrendous game I played, I actually won, owing to the fact that my opponent managed to sink the white ball whilst he was sinking the black ball. Et voila! I believe I am the only winner of a pool game in the history of pool that managed to win with every one of my pool balls still on the table! Mortified, and yet winner, I would have to endure yet another game.

Games resumed after lunch today, and with the stormy weather having finally calmed, the out-of-doors boot toss and tug-of-war commenced, lasting until early evening. Cocktails were then at 7pm, with the formal six-course meal at 8pm. Throughout the wonderful meal, which included some traditional South African foods, the team leaders from SANAE 47 got up to share their reflections, stories and gratitude for the year’s trials and successful research, and acknowledged the hardships they had endured over their isolated winter stay.

There are only 10 or so members on a team each expedition year, so it is a very small group of people who brave the whole 14 months. During the harsh winter, they are completely cut off from the rest of the world because there are no flights in or out of Antarctica. It is not until December, the start of the research season, that the boat brings the rest of the people who make up the now 76 researchers, scientists, engineers and administration staff that populate the base during the three months of summer. But harsh weather is just around the corner again, and so as early as next week, everyone who is not wintering over, including me, will begin to pack up and return to the ship and depart to Cape Town.

During the talks, Ross Hofmeyr, who is the Team Leader for SANAE 47, spoke affectingly about his team and their intense and fulfilling year. His words were so moving, that I found tears welling in my eyes when he gave us long pause by finishing with this quote from Sir Ernest Shackleton:

We have pierced the veneer of outside things.
We have suffered and triumphed,
grovelled down yet grasped at glory,
grown bigger in the bigness of the whole.
We have seen God in all his splendor,
heard the text that Nature renders,
We have reached the naked soul of man.

Before dessert was the official signing over of the base, and then everyone rushed back to the game room for what would become a late night of dancing and the final rounds of the championships. As you might imagine, I was defeated in my second game in the pool tournament. Yet after the championship was finally claimed, and the pool table once again open for additional folly, I was actually challenged to another game! By some mathematical anomaly, I thereafter held the table for four straight hours! It was as if suddenly, points, lines and surfaces emerged from the unknown and I was able to actually sink my pool balls, even accomplishing some fancier moves. Finally releasing the table to a true master, I realized it was way too late. Yet the festivities had everyone in the party spirit, and as I walked down the corridor back to my room, I could still hear laughter and the curious din of Afrikaans and Zulu echoing throughout the hallways.

***

Encountering the Sublime

The Sun shining through blowing ice crystals as our airplane landed at SANAE Station

The Sun shining through blowing ice crystals as our airplane landed at SANAE Station

Day 7; January 29, 2009; Vesleskaervet, Dronning Maud Land, Antarctica
Average Daily Temperature: 15.3˚ F
Average Daily Wind Speed: 22.82 mph
Feels Like: -18.97˚ F

Yesterday morning, I awoke to a wild wind and intense anticipation. After a quick shower, I put on the first layers of gear, looked over the rest of my bags, making sure all was accounted for. My phone rang, and Thomas said the flight was confirmed and he’d be over straight away. Just enough time for a quick coffee, checkout, and then off we went to fetch Alfons and head to the airport.

The flight departed from the Cape Town International Airport, and the television monitors listing departures did in fact say “Antarctica” and indicated we would be departing from Gate B1. Although procedures seemed predictable, we were far from being a normal flight. With hand-written tickets we were ushered by the staff of ALCI (Antarctic Logistics Centre International), a Russian operated organization, straight through passport control, quick security, and then off to our gate.

The Ilyushin 75-TD converted Russian cargo plane was remarkable. A projection screen hung at the front displaying our flight information, normal airline seats were bolted to the floor to create a cabin-like feel, but then all around were the signs that this was not a luxury aircraft, but a rugged work-horse meant for utility.

Exposed pipes and insulation, wires and cables, and the Russian text hand painted on various instruments all combined to make one feel that we were in some sort of a time capsule. In an effort to make the space feel more habitable, huge flags from many of the countries who do heavy research in Antarctica and are members of the Treaty, lined the walls, bringing bright color and and a sense of unity.

The flight to Antarctica, despite some of my fears of turbulence, was in fact smoother than my flight to Cape Town. And the crew and staff of ALCI were masters of making our journey more comfortable. Sandwiches, coffee, snacks, juices, fresh fruit and chocolates were served throughout the flight, the beautiful nature programs by David Attenborough were projected onto the screen. Best of all, we were allowed to go down and up to the two flight decks at the cockpit (the second lower deck had window views below the aircraft, so you could see directly downward).

Arriving 6 hours later at NOVO Base, I stepped off the airplane and put my feet onto the ice of Antarctica. Words do little to express the exhilaration I felt. After four years of hard work and pushing steadily uphill to get the project even this far, sometimes against severe obstacles, my heart soared with a sense of accomplishment and gratitude. This beautiful vast frozen landscape is indeed the one I’ve been dreaming about. I fell immediately in love with Antarctica—in a strange sense, it felt like home.

The rest of the afternoon and evening were spent base-hopping in order to reach our ultimate destination, SANAE Station. From NOVO we were flown in a smaller aircraft to Neumeyer, which took about two hours. The flight was intensely gorgeous, and became even more so the closer we got to the German Base, which is right off the coast. From the plane, I could see huge icebergs floating close to shore, some of them the size of lower Manhattan.

We also passed over the second largest glacier in the southern hemisphere, called Jutulstraumen, which feeds the Fimbul Ice Shelf (120 miles long and 60 miles wide). The landscape changes discernibly when you fly over a glacier, and the world below looks unlike anything I have ever seen in a photo. The vast ice field suddenly seems to push upwards, bulging slightly, and is marked with rhythmic striations, geometric cuts, shimmering patterning, and a sense of enormity (both in surface area and in depth) that matches the Grand Canyon, or even deep space.

The only natural reaction I could manage when I saw this glacier was to cry. Nothing had ever seemed so beautiful, so powerful, so rare. Completely taken over by the emotion of the moment, I could not help but feel again the sense of urgency I’ve had from the first moments of initiating this project all those moons ago. How can I bring this back—this deep connection, this incredible nature, this extraordinary continent? How can we protect this unparalleled place?

At Neumeyer, we had some time to explore the base while they unloaded crates and passengers and refueled the plane. There is a new structure being built at Neumeyer, because the old one, which sits far below the ice’s surface, is sinking farther into the glacier it rests within as the ice moves out toward the sea. Descending into the base, you can literally feel the weight of the ice around you, the solid mass providing insulation and protection from the cold and wind.

Just a short walk from the entrance to the base is an artwork by German artist, Lutz Fritsch. The piece, titled “Bibliothek im Eis” (Library in the Ice) is a wonderful and surprising work. While the library itself is functional, in the sense that it has books, and provides a space to read them, the installation is in fact far more than what you see initially. The piece is a tangible experience of solitude, time and isolation.

As we took to the air again, heading now to our ultimate destination, I could not help reflect on how humans have attempted to normalize our being here, in spite of the starkly inhospitable environs. Looking at all we must do in order to survive in Antarctica, the question lingers: should we be here at all?

Our arrival at SANAE was an initiation into the extreme weather that is possible here. Just as we began to approach the base, a massive wind storm blew in, and I could see the snow blowing quickly at about a foot off the ground, floating over the landscape like river water over rocks. The runway had been cleared that morning, awaiting our flight, but the wind had been coming from a different direction then. The pilot tried to land four times, and had to ascend each time at the last minute for fear that the strong winds blowing at the plane sideways would tip the wings as he attempted to touch the ground.

In the end, the pilot had to land without a runway, making his own in order to accommodate the fast changing winds. We touched ground, slid on the plane’s skis until finally coming to a halt. The warm light from the low sun shown through the whirling snow, and the world outside looked like thick luminosity.

The cold does indeed follow the wind, and descending from the plane, I found myself putting on the remainder of my gear. I could hardly see anything in front of me, except refracting light bouncing off the blowing, airborne ice crystals. With visibility closing in rapidly, and the base still a kilometer’s drive away, efforts were made to quickly load the sleds which were attached to skimobiles, and go. The wind was painfully biting as we raced up to the station to beat what would be white out conditions in mere minutes.

Entering the base, the warmth of the inside immediately won out over the cold, and as I took off the 40 or so pounds of gear I had on, I began to realize that the SANAE station was designed to bring comfort to an otherwise uninhabitable environment. Anchored to the top of a gorgeous rock mountain, with shear cliffs that fall into the snowy landscape 600 feet below, and look out across a pristine landscape of ice fields and mountains, the bulbous and colorful structure feels a bit like a space station. Lacking almost no amenity, it is indeed a welcome respite after a long journey, and the forbidding weather outside.

***

Wonderstruck

Day 6; January 28, 2009; Flight to SANAE Station, Vesleskaervet, Dronning Maud Land, Antarctica
Average Daily Temperature: 19.4˚ F
Average Daily Wind Speed: 26.17 mph
Feels Like: -19.85˚ F

Today, I do not have words.
I must show you…

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***

Solar Eclipse

Sunrise over Cape Town just before the eclipse

Sunrise over Cape Town just before the eclipse

Day 4; January 26, 2009; Cape Town, South Africa

Dawn seemed to arrive too quickly, and while I was excited for the morning’s events, I awoke somewhat reluctantly to meet the day.

Today was the New Moon, and also an Annular Eclipse of the Sun, which was partially visible from Cape Town.  I had brought film with me to document this eclipse for a Light Recording installation I want to create. Having never recorded a solar eclipse before, I was eager to stand witness as the moon traversed in front of the sun, which it would do just after it had risen above the horizon.

Thomas had arranged for me to spend the morning at Bobby and Lorna’s house, which has a great view of the morning sun being up the mountain a bit, in order to record the event. Their idyllic garden, terraced with succulents and rocks, was the perfect studio for the morning’s work.

It is such a stunning event to watch an eclipse. A wonderful reminder of the fact that humanity stands upon an incredible planet, and exists amidst a brilliant system of other celestial phenomena. We are so lucky to be on Earth—what a rare and spectacular view of the Universe we have!

After I completed the recordings, Thomas and I went to pick up Alfons, who had spent the morning writing at his hotel, and we darted off to our Flight Briefing with ALCI (Antarctic Logistics Centre International), the company that would be flying us to Antarctica tomorrow. However, upon arrival, we learned that our flight was in fact delayed.

Originally, we were supposed to leave on the 27th, but then they changed it to leave a day early on 26th, which forced us to change our outbound flights to Cape Town. The day before I left for Cape Town, ALCI switched it back again to the 27th. So, hearing of the now 3rd change, we were all a bit frustrated, but when we learned why they had, we became intrigued.

Apparently there have been huge blizzards and really bad weather in Antarctica, and everyone we spoke with, at ALCI and at SANAP said the same thing: it has been the worst weather they’ve seen in Antarctica for 8 years!

So, patiently we must wait for a window of clear weather to land—they told us today that they would try to fly out on the evening of the 28th, but that it was tentative, and that we might not end up leaving until the 30th. They must be completely sure they can land the airplane; otherwise they risk having to turn around mid-flight and fly us back to Cape Town. The plan was to call in to their office at 9pm tomorrow night, and confirm the schedule.

We spent the rest of the afternoon joking about whether we were actually going to get to the Antarctic continent or not, whilst finishing up the shopping for the remaining items needed for our expedition.

***

Meeting the team

From the left: Alfons Hug, Thomas Mulcaire, Ben Opperman, Erika Blumenfeld, Bobby De Beer

From the left: Alfons Hug, Thomas Mulcaire, Ben Opperman, Erika Blumenfeld, Bobby De Beer

Day 3; January 25, 2009; Cape Town, South Africa

The morning started with a bit of a technological jam—my cell phone, which I use as my alarm, didn’t adjust to local South African time from Amsterdam, and was off by an hour.  So, as I was just sitting down to breakfast and coffee at 8am

From the left: Alfons Hug, Thomas Mulcaire, Ben Opperman, Erika Blumenfeld, Bobby De Beer at the Hermanus Magnetic Observatory

thinking I had a nice leisurely hour to awaken to the day, Thomas walked in to fetch me.  As it was in fact 9am, and we had to leave at once to pick up Alfons and head to SANAP for our gear fitting, I gulped down what I could in a few minutes, and off we went.

Cape Town is a beautiful city—remarkably so.  Table Mountain is stunning, and is a strong architectural backdrop to the soft historic lines and colors of the mostly Dutch-inspired buildings. As it is summer, everything is in bloom, and so color abounds. Opposite the mountains is the vast sea, which is a mixture of the Atlantic and the Indian Oceans. Alfons is awaiting us, and jumps in the car as soon as we pull up to his hotel. He is immediately friendly and we begin chatting at once, asking about Lunation 1011, one of my video works, and The Polar Project. Our destination is right on the wharf, so the quick drive from Alfons’ hotel and their offices was gorgeous.

Once inside the SANAP offices, Alfons was first to receive gear to try on, followed by me, and then Thomas. The process was quite humorous, as we all got in and out of clothing that was too large or too small, and all of it utterly absurd for the summer weather here in Cape Town. But you had to try on all three of the layers at once, with the boots and the hats, to make absolutely sure that all was the right fit.  Zaid Watson, who is in charge of this department at SANAP and generously agreed to come in on a Sunday to outfit us, was exceedingly patient and helpful. Even so, my outer gear is simply too big for me, owing to the fact that I think a “small” is meant for an average-sized male.  But in the end it works well enough, and in fact, it is the only option.

The fitting took us three hours, and we each walked out with three large duffel bags filled with everything we would need to stay warm and safe in sub-zero temperatures. Our 9 bags hardly fit in our little car, but we managed to squeeze in and race off to our next appointments.

Having dropped luggage off at our respective hotels, we went to go pick up a good friend of Thomas’ who would be joining us on a two hour drive up the coast to Hermanus, where we would visit the Hermanus Magnetic Telescope (HMO), one of ITASC’s sponsors, and meet the scientists who had helped with the engineering of the GROUNDHOG, ITASC’s Automatic Weather Station that we will be relying on to help us predict weather in the field. They also helped build the UMTHOMBO WOMLILO solar and wind powered unit, which is where we will get all of our electricity for our mobile base.

Bobby De Beer hopped in our tiny little red Volkswagen, we zoomed off to Hermanus. The drive was incredible, with huge dark-cliffed mountains lining the one side of the highway, and the ocean lining the other. I felt myself settling into to the adventure, and enjoying all the “new” that travel brings. We were all taking and getting to know each other, and the day was a crisp blue.

Bobby owns a huge shop and a company that builds sets for television and movies. Films and commercials from all over the world come to him to build whatever place or prop they need.  It was Bobby and his crew who built the mobile base structure, based on an original design by architect Pol Tayler. The structure, named ICEPAC, an acronym for ITASC Catabatic Experimental Platform for Antarctic Culture, is currently being erected by our colleague Ntsiki, who is in Antarctica already, with the help of two Brazilian research scientists at the SANAE base.  We recently received photos of them putting it together, and the structure is like a line drawing on a piece of white paper, its black geodesic skeletal structure stark against the Antarctic ice fields in the background. Apparently severe storms have prevented them from continuing efforts, and so we will complete the construction of it when we arrive.

Once in Hermanus, we stopped by the Magnetic Observatory to pick up Ben Opperman, who is a research scientist there and also a collaborator on the development of GROUNDHOG and UMTHOMBO WOMLILO. Squeezing all five of us into the car, we head to the seaside for a long Sunday lunch, featuring local fish, some wonderful South African wines and some very interesting conversation that oscillate between art and science, our expedition, and personal anecdotes.  Everyone I’ve met here has been so fantastic, warm and generous of spirit. Ben and I spoke at length about the auroras and the data they collect from them in the Antarctic, at the SANAE base. There may be an opportunity for me to access this data for my project, as I want to record the audio that the aurora’s make during the time I shoot the final piece.  Andrew Collier, whom I met briefly later in the afternoon, is the HMO research scientist in charge of what they call the “Whistler Experiment,” named for the whistle-like sound that auroras emit.

After lunch Ben gave us an extensive tour of the observatory and its museum, and then we set off for the nearby home of Pierre and Jeanne Cilliers. Pierre is the Head Scientist at HMO, and he also sits on the Board of the National Research Foundation, another of ITASC’s sponsors. Pierre was also involved in the development of the UMTHOMBO WOMLILO. We all sat on their garden terrace and enjoyed additional delicacies and stories about our various projects and collaborations.

On the drive home, in the darkness out my window, I searched for the Southern Cross, a constellation I have longed to see for years and years. Alas, it wasn’t quite late enough, and was still below the mountainous horizon.

Back at my hotel, I went straight to sleep after some quick emailing, exhausted from the long, rich day.

***

En Route

Flight tracker screen shot on flight from Boston to Amsterdam

GPS flight tracking screen shot

Day 1; January 23, 2009; in flight from Boston to Amsterdam

As we began the ascent to 39,000 ft, nearly two hours ago, I looked back out my window toward the waning lights of Boston, which dimmed by my growing distance. Tiny luminous points of light, poised static in the blackness, formed a nebula in my mind. A real star, tinier yet, hovered just above tip of the plane’s wing, glowing like a beacon to the lights below.

My journey to Antarctica has truly begun. No more preparations. No more arrangements to be made. No more wishing. I’m en route, toward the farthest reaches of our planet. The feelings and thoughts in my head are a mixture of deep excitement and elation swirled with the utter exhaustion from the hectic pace of the last month.  Since I accepted the invitation to join the ITASC team on their third and final expedition of their IPY project, my time has been a race to assemble the strange and unique gear one needs to survive in the Antarctic environment, as well as gather the necessary equipment for my own admittedly obsessive art-making habit.

My dear friend David Hirschi sent me a lovely “Bon Voyage” email earlier today, noting that he couldn’t imagine how one prepares for a trip to Antarctica. His email echoed my own similar thoughts throughout the last few weeks. What constitutes preparedness? My personal affects seem relatively meager considering the 49 days I will be on this remote journey, and yet I’m still well over my weight limitation for the flight to Antarctica due to the extensive photographic and video gear I’m bringing. Possibly harder than the question “what do you bring?” is the question “what are you willing to leave behind?”

My item list still seems rather astonishing to me, given that 3 weeks ago, I owned relatively few of these things:

•    My new, and much beloved, Canon 5D Mark II, which I was grateful to acquire (despite the 2 month nationwide backorder!) owing to the good graces of the Santa Fe Camera Center.
•    A 24-105 mm Macro and a 70-200 mm Telephoto lens with UV and polarizing filters.
•    Battery grip with scores of batteries and respective chargers
•    Portable yet steady tripod
•    Two of my hand-built “Light Recording” devices with adaptable parts for on-site configuration, and 100 sheets of 4×5 film.
•    A fully equipped Panasonic HVX200 high definition video camera, which is on loan through the generous support of Panavision.
•    My computer, two 500 Gig tiny portable hard drives and almost 30 Gigs worth of Compact Flash cards.
•    Power cords, Firewire and USB cables for every electronic device I’m carrying, surge protectors and plug converters, and back-ups for each of the aforementioned.
•    An iridium satellite phone, generously donated to my journey, and which is noted for working at any location on Earth as long as you are outside under the sky (a device truly after my own heart!)
•    A voice recorder (I’m hoping to interview some of the research scientists I meet, as well as the other ITASC team members)
•    Hoards of hand and feet warmers (I am simply one of those unfortunate people who never seems to stay warm. The stark irony of this is not lost…)
•    Stores of energy bars and chocolate (One burns more calories in extremely cold environments.  It will be necessary for me to average about 4000+ calories a day in order to not loose significant weight.)
•    Patagonia’s capilene and polypropylene cold weather base-layers, and Taiga expedition grade down booties for indoor foot protection.
•    Various precautionary meds and vitamin C packs.
•    Minimal toiletries, with an emphasis on lotion and lip balm (Antarctica is the driest place on Earth…)
•    An extreme conditions thermos (in a possibly vain effort to keep my tea hot in -20F!)
•    A roll of Duct tape (the ultimate quick-fixer of all things)
•    Two ice saws (for building igloos at our mobile base)
•    A book (Merleau-Ponty’s Phenomenology of Perception who’s 530 pages should keep me well occupied, if not utterly confounded).
•    A compass and some pens.

Now I’m more than half way across the Atlantic, and the plane rumbles in the air turbulence as we approach the windy shores of Ireland far below. I look over my list again as a way to somehow connect with the unknown that lies before me—these are the things that will travel with me “there”. It is a rather interesting experience to relate one’s moment to a collection of particular things. If my journey can be defined, or at least contextualized, by the contents of my luggage, then one might argue I could be traveling virtually anywhere. Yet, in my heart, I feel almost as if I’m going to the Moon.

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Terra Incognita

antarctica-map2As I prepare for my first trip to Antarctica, now just weeks away, my mind is abound with visions of all the possible permutations of white. My imagination is confounded by the seemingly obvious fact that I cannot know this place in any capacity until I am fully there, feet planted solidly on the ground, eyes absorbing the view of vast ice deserts, breath taking in the cold air.

The existence of Antarctica was first predicted by the ancient mathematician, astronomer and geographer, Ptolemy (1st century AD), who claimed that there must be a southern landmass to balance the North Pole.  He named it terra incognita, “unknown land,” and amazingly it would be approximately 1600 years before its existence would be confirmed. According to history, Antarctica was first officially sited by humans in 1820. Thus, the continent has been an invisible and mysterious place to us humans for the majority of our existence.  I find this a rather stunning truth.  We had, in fact, peered deep into the universe with telescopes long before we had ever seen the 7th continent on our Earth.

Antarctica is entirely extreme, being the coldest and windiest continent on our planet. It is also the driest climate, making Antarctica the largest desert on Earth. It is roughly 4.5 million square miles (14 million square kilometers) in size, which is about the size of the contiguous 48 United States plus about half of Mexico. There are no permanent residents on Antarctica, and even during the “busiest” of science research seasons, there are still only several thousand people on the continent at one time, and they are spread out across 16 research stations operated by various countries for scientific and educational purposes.

For the last four years, I have been reading and absorbing all I can find about Antarctica, and have, rather obsessively, explored this mysterious and remote continent through images, facts, stories and my imagination.  Yet, I am awed by the knowing that the true essence of Antarctica remains firmly and deeply unknown to me. Indeed, what could possibly prepare someone for a journey to the only naturally uninhabitable continent on Earth?

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