November 12, 1996

Little Razorback Island

Once again, the weather held a sunny, but windy day in store for us. At 8:30am we were loaded up and ready to make our way out to Little Razorback Island--to the north and a little less than a mile from the seal camp at Big Razorback Island. We stopped by the seal camp for a brief visit and then moved across windblown sea ice to a dive hut which had been placed in the lee of Little Razorback the week before. The heat was on and it was nice to come in out of the wind. Pulling up the trap door in the floor, Rob inspected the condition of the dive hole; ice had formed, but it was not hard. Outside, we pulled a styrofoam and plywood sandwich cover from an alternate dive hole. It had frozen over with about 2 inches of ice. In this area, where Weddell seals are known to use the holes, it is not uncommon to enter a hut and find a sleeping seal on the floor. If a hole is in use, it is good to have another exit from the water. The plan was to lower the video camera into the water at the outside dive hole, and then Tracy and Rob would dive from within the hut, swim over and position the camera in such a way that I could see seals surfacing for air. The snow had been cleared from the surrounding sea ice, thereby increasing the visibility below.

Tracy made a sweep of the hut and checked the food supply--it is important to have a good stock of snacks and drinks for coming out of a dive. Rob wired the generator, which we placed in a box on the roof, with many layers of insulation to prevent the transfer of engine roar into the water. This would have ruined the recordings. The wind picked up and we were almost blown off the topside. After a false start and a flooded engine, we finally got the generator going. Rob assembled the camera and we lowered the rig to the bottom which was only about 20 feet below the dive hole.

Dive hut at Little Razorback Island

"Yeah, there's a nice level spot and then it drops off into a canyon; we should be able to get you a good shot of the dive hole," Rob said, as he lowered the cables down.

Back in the hut, Rob and Tracy suited up; I noticed how similar the ritual of dressing and their accompanying gestures were to the days before. My cue was automatic, as I helped with mittens, zippers and tanks. Last season, Tracy made nearly 60 dives. We discussed the importance of a slow and methodical preparation; nothing can be overlooked or rushed, as the consequences of an oversight may be fatal.

Rob assembles the underwater camera

Tracy suits up.

The plan was that Tracy would position the camera, I would check on the monitor to see if the light and angle were right, and Rob would surface at the outside hole to relay messages. After some fine tuning, we got a nicely framed view: the dive hole was at the top of the screen, barely visibly, and the sea floor at the bottom of the screen, with a view into the blue. As they adjusted the angle, I could see modulated blues and greens of the ice from below; what a wonderous world they must be seeing down there! The bottom was rocky and covered in starfish and sea urchins. This was quite a contrast to the more sandy floor out of McMurdo Station. Rob helped me drill a hole through the ice to place a second hydrophone about 200 feet distant from the outside dive hole.

With everything in place, Tracy and Rob packed up their gear, wished me well and said they would be back at the end of the week to setup another sea urchin experiment. As the Spryte rumbled over the ice to Big Razorback, I unpacked my gear and set up shop. I had decided to stay out at the dive hut and the sealheads offered me a cot, sleeping bag and an invitation to join them for meals and evening cocktails. Not a bad deal!

As the afternoon wore on the wind died down. Outside, in the stillness, I could hear the seals calling through nearly 6 feet of ice--booming sounds, long trailing trills and chirps. With the camera, I was hoping to get video tape of seals vocalizing near the dive hole--on the assumption that they would avail themselves of the opportunity to surface for breathing. Before I had dropped my hydrophones into the sea and glanced at the monitor to catch a glimpse of a Weddell seal moving to the hole. I opened the door of the hut and heard the exhalations. This was a good sign; hopefully he would be back later.

The sun moved around to the west casting a different light on Mt. Erebus, modeling the mountain in such a way that it appeared to have moved. The crevasse fields were thrown into high relief: turquoise with lapis lazuli shadows. Steam billowed from the vent, indicating little wind at the summit. Mt. Erebus is a sentry over the Dellbridge Islands. I walked over to the seal camp and noticed how the warm weather had opened up whole networks of cracks in the sea ice which, I might add, was still a good 5-7 feet think in most places. When I arrived, Don Siniff greeted me with an embarrassed laugh and a twinkle in his eye, "I thought you were a penguin!" He had seen me trundling across the flats and even with binoculars not quite made me out. I told him that I do have a bit of a sway and a swagger and, with a periodic stop to look around, I could easily be taken for an emperor on a walkabout. Apparently, a lone emperor penguin had passed through camp a few days before, stopping briefly to check everything out, and wandered off again onto the ice.

The rest of the crew were soon to arrive and we settled in for an evening of dinner and wine. The days events were recounted: seal sightings, tales of tagging and the condition of the ice, as the weather had been warming up. Talk turned to other facets of our lives... It turns out Rob Jensen had been in the Peace Corps for 3 years, dividing time between Cameroon and Morocco where he worked tracking the Atlas leopard and worked on a number of other wildlife projects. Having spent several years of my childhood in Algeria, I was interested to learn of his experiences. Tom Gelatt had worked in Africa on a lion telemetry study and had some colorful stories from the bush in Tanzania. Dinner has been a wonderful time for sharing our wonder about the natural world and having a good laugh about life in field work. The sun had passed the southern promontory of the island; it was getting late and I wanted to get some work done. The guys offered to let me take the Eland, a lightweight snowmobile, back to the dive hut. This would make for a quick commute back and forth.

Back at the hut, I turned on the tape recorder and started listening. Little Razorback has fewer seals than Big Razorback and no mothers with pups. Of the nine animals I could see from the hut, most were males. However, the sea was just as alive with sound as I had experienced last week. At about midnight I heard pulses and the deep whisper of air passing over vocal chords--these sounds were close and pushed the meters on my ape recorder. I checked the monitor and a seal gracefully spiralled towards the light of the hole. No air was being exhaled in the act of making sound--the voice resonated through blubber, flesh, fur and water. The animal drifted up for air, boomed a couple of times and floated off into the darkness. The floor was a constellation of starfish and worms...

Setting up shop in the dive hut.

Doug on the Eland.