November 25, 1996

Canada Glacier from Lake Hoare Camp

A series of grey cloud shoals obscured Mount Discovery and the Royal Society Mountains; the sky was closing in, a white wash, and talk of cancelled flights were mumbled around the Galley. It was 6:30am, and I had received my instructions from Robin Abbott, the Helo Ops (Helicopter Operations) coordinator, to show up at about 8:15 for weigh-in and manifest. I was planning to spend the week in the McMurdo Dry Valleys, trying to make sound recordings of glaciers. At 8:30 I met Paula Adkins at the pax (passenger) terminal. Paula is the camp manager for Lake Hoare--the hub and staging ground for most of the scientific research in the valleys. An Antarctic veteran, this is her second season as coordinator. We had spoken by telephone the week before and she gave me an overview of what to expect.

Our pilot, Rich Dipboye, consulted with Flight Operations and we milled around the hangar and waited for about an hour before the decision to fly out to Lake Hoare was made. "Your call," said Robin to Rich. The weather, while iffy in McMurdo, seemed to be okay across McMurdo Sound. With our gear loaded and a modest resupply for the camp, the three of us boarded the A Star helicopter and lifted off over the ice. As McMurdo Station faded beneath the hum of engines, we made for Taylor Valley, some 50 miles across the sound. Below, working sea ice cracks traced dark lines through the sastrugis and wind buffeted ice. Weddell seals were hauled out and scattered near the openings. In the distance the horizon changed to a leaden slate--open waters. Rich, Paula and I chatted over the intercom in our helmets as Commonwealth Glacier and Lake Fryxell appeared nested between Mount Barnes and Mount Coleman at the mouth of the Taylor Valley. Paula would have liked another day in MacTown, but was happy to be going "home" for Thanksgiving.

We cleared Commonwealth, whose mushroom terminus eased to the valley floor, banked slightly and rose up over the Canada Glacier. Lake Hoare camp came into view in the shadow of the terminus--a hamlet of blue-grey huts, a Jamesway, an orange fish hut and a few flecks of yellow, white and purple tents irregularly spaced on the surrounding moraine. Lake Hoare issued from the Canada Glacier, along the valley floor: its surface a broken cross hatching of ice which had frozen and partially melted and refrozen for a seeming eternity. The ice in the centre is more than 10 feet thick and never melts completely; the aquamarine blue "moat" around the shores undergoes a seasonal thaw.

Canada Glacier

Lake Hoare Camp (Hamlet of buildings in the center of the photo).

As the helo touched down, Paul Langevin came out to greet us and help with offloading of gear and supplies. Rich took-off immediately for a day of flying supplies and personnel up and down the valley, then out to Marble Point on the sound. The weather turned, and he ended up being grounded there for the next day. We got in just in time. With everything stowed, it was time for my orientation...

Prior to my requesting time at Lake Hoare, I had been told that, "they run a pretty tight ship out there, lots of rules and do's and don'ts." In my sense of field camps so far, I had been struck by the variety of social dynamic and cohesiveness of the different groups. These intimate gatherings of men and women from diverse backgrounds are working under challenging, if not stressful, conditions and often in isolation for significant stretches at a time. Each group develops their own identity--a culture of shared experiences reflected in a shorthand of language and idiomatic expression. As a transient, passing through a number of camps, this has always been a delight to me. For the most part, everyone has been very welcoming and the group synchronicity a positive and energizing encounter. Lake Hoare was no exception.

Paula sat down with me and went over the "rules." These turned out to be nothing more than a common sense articulation of how to get on in a fragile ecosystem, one where human impact can have a devastating effect on the habitat. Issues of waste management were covered--going to the bathroom is not as straightforward as one would think; all human waste is retrograded, or packaged and shipped, back to the United States for disposal. That means you carry a pee bottle with you at all times out of camp. The other guidelines made for an easeful camp experience for everyone--how to check in and out, radio contact protocol, and the daily routines of cooking and cleaning. Paula has a quick wit--a keen, and often bawdy, sense of humour; she can raise a good blush in her male colleagues. Her maternal proprietorship of the Lake Hoare camp created a pleasant, familial context and a sibling tenor to the relationships between camp members.

Lake Hoare comes from Canada Glacier meltwater.

Nate Booth (left) and Dave Kasmer (right)

Nate Booth and Dave Kasmer, hailing from the University of Wisconsin at Madison are at Lake Hoare Camp working on a stream hydrology project--monitoring glacial stream activity. Their supervisor, Harry House had not arrived on site yet, but they have been setting up and monitoring 17 glacial stream gauges and flumes in the Dry Valleys. Be sure to check out the US Geological Survey Antarctica Stream Hydrology web site for more information about this research. Today, Nate and Dave planned a hike around the terminus of the Canada Glacier to check in on the well-being of one station--battery levels, mechanical parts, etc. I looked at this as a good orientation and asked if I could join them for a walk around the glacier. Paul Langevin joined us and we set out part way on an ATV, bouncing over anomalies as cracks spread out and opened across the moat ice around Lake Hoare.

We drove part way, and set out on foot. The silence was astounding once we rounded the terminus, away from the din of the generator at camp. After a few kilometres, I decided to stay behind: listening and trying a few recording techniques around the apron of the glacier's terminus. This was a sheet of ice radiating in haphazard fashion from around the base of the glacier's terminal walls. Paul, an experienced glaciologist and climber, took a few moments to get me oriented--what to look for in terms of danger and concern. Deeply fissured overhangs were best to be avoided.

I sat and just looked in wonder at the formations before me: the glaciers and the litter of debris in the moraine--boulders, rocks, pebbles and sand of infinite variety in shape and colour. From a distance, everything appeared monochromatic--shades of grey and brown. At the surface, eons of geological history had been churned up in shards of schists, granites, sedimentary and igneous material. Overlaying the seeming chaos of the moraine, were channels of snow, outlining polygonal shapes from seasonal freezing. I had seen these from the air. On the ground, they formed inconclusive networks of puzzle pieces as far as the eye could see. Paul, Nate and Dave returned in a few hours. The wind had picked up and the temperature was beginning to drop. It was time to head back to camp.