December 14, 1999

Iceberg in Arthur Harbor.

The day was off to a good start, with a mild westerly wind blowing at less than 10 knots. Pete Duley, Michele Rosenshield and Erik Chapman are researching feeding habits of seabird communities. They had recently completed a rotation of various study sites in the surrounding islands and had reported sighting about 150 elephant seals hauled out on Humble Island. This would be a good recording opportunity; we would try to make some underwater recordings using the International Transducer Corporation 6050C hydrophones which have been donated to the project. Thomas Poulter, of Stanford, once described their vocalizations, "The musical sounds of the elephant seal have been heard only from under water; they sound like random notes on a xylophone." At the surface, these giants bellow, roar, and fart but beneath the surface the sounds are quite different--not unlike walruses.

Chip Dunn (left) and Doug Quin (right) recording ice melting and calving from the Marr Ice Piedmont. (Photo by Steve Dunbar)

Steve got the Zodiac ready and, along with Chip Dunn, we made for Humboldt, noting currents and sheltered areas along the way. A leopard seal bobbed to the surface in our wake and disappeared. The elephants seals were scattered about the skerries off the coast, hauled out on rocky beaches. They lounged in groups, nuzzled side by side like great sausages in an uneasy alignment. Periodic outbursts were accompanied by rearing up and displays of power and dominance. The waters were relatively quiet: a distant leopard seal could be heard beneath the steady din of churning pack ice and crash of waves against the shores. We explored a number of haul out sites and saw no animals in the water.

Steve eased us through the brash ice and the lead we created quickly closed behind us. We moored in a small cove whose waters were an opaque aquamarine blue, clouded by fine glacial sediment. The anchor and hydrophone disappeared within a few feet of the surface. Around us, the terminus of the Marr Ice Piedmont rose in neon blue cliffs, yielding a variety of textures borne of sudden, violent calving and the buffeting action of rain and wind. In the lee of the glacier's walls, the water was like glass; beneath, the sounds of cracking and creaking ice ricocheted around our boat.

At lunch, word of a humpback sighting made the rounds around the tables. Tracy Shaw and Andrew Altieri had been out tracking krill at Station E--at the limit of the 2-mile periphery beyond Palmer. They had seen a few blows from a passing whale, possibly two. If the wind did not pick up, I wanted to head out into more open waters right after lunch. Steve and Chip were game and we set out immediately. As we neared Bonaparte Point, we came upon a new perspective of one of the icebergs that has been slowly rotating around Arthur Harbor. In the absence of anything familiar, the shape had an architectural suggestion. It reminded me of a fantastic LeCorbousier construction, sweeping up in spiral to a crenelated peak. As we passed, the swell increased, as did the wind. A driving snow pelted us. The consistency was hard, beaded, almost hail and pricked like pins and needles in our faces. It was shaping up to be a long afternoon, but if there were whales in the area, we might get lucky!

The Marr Ice Piedmont from Arthur Harbor.

We reached the 2-mile limit and radioed our position to Lora Folger back at Palmer. Steve lowered the hydrophone and we drifted--trawling for sound. I could not hear any whales. However, we were not disappointed. Numerous leopard seals were calling--low modulated drones, whistles and abrupt ascending tones. Distant pack ice crackled like radio static and a nearby iceberg provided us with the occasional slam and bolt of a thundering fracture. The swell was picking up to 3-4 feet; chinstrap penguins circled the boat and cawed; Steve got seasick; we were all getting a little cold. After a couple of hours, Chip suggested that we visit Shortcut Island and a nearby cove--sheltered in a similar fashion to where we had been earlier. When I had been on the Gould he and Steve had identified this as a possible recording site and they were anxious to share it with me. We pulled out of the swell and wind and listened to the popping and crystal breaking sounds of ice--like floating in a large blue daquiri! We dawdled there for a spell and then Steve realized that we had slipped out of radio contact--away from the line of sight to Palmer and/or any of the radio repeaters. We could hear Lora checking for us, "Palmer Station...Sound Guys...this is Palmer Station...Sound Guys, come in..." Since we had been touching base every time we moved and more or less every 20 minutes, she was beginning to wonder. Steve throttled us out at full-bore and we checked in. The Zodiac slapped headlong into wind and waves. Chip got a good soaking on the homeward leg.

The hot tub was a welcome destination after dinner and a group of us talked and watched the evening sun yawn across the Marr, illuminating the crevasse fields and throwing their recesses into deep shadows. Several gentoo and Adelie penguins gathered nearby. A perfect end to the day...