December 26, 1999

Steve Dunbar scaling the apron of the Marr Ice Piedmont with a Jiffy auger.

One aspect of the Antarctic experience, which can be very humbling, is the unpredictability of the weather. As beautiful as it has been the last few days--it was not to last. Today brought high winds and, intermittently, a driving horizontal rain. With the recent sunny days, we noticed a lot of calving from both icebergs and the neighbouring glacier terminus. This morning, while we were adjusting the wind harp on the roof, we were fortunate enough to see an iceberg slough sheets into the water. The ice slides destabilized the berg's center of gravity and it "turtled," or turned over, crashing into another nearby iceberg. The impact sent a 50 foot spume into the air. Sounds echoed across the harbor like artillery volleys and, in time, several large waves crashed into the shore. Steve took it all in and noted, "If we were out in the boat, I don't think that we would have been turned over, but it would have been a pretty wild ride!"

Steve Dunbar (left) and Andy Young (right) boring a 2 metre hole into the ice with a Jiffy auger.

The wind seemed to abate at lunchtime, so we decided to take a sound reconnaissance trip to a sheltered cove in the lee of the Marr Ice Piedmont. Here, the glacier has one branch with a fairly uniform terminus and accessible apron, or skirt. I was curious to bore into the ice at this point and drop a pair of hydrophones down the channels to listen to some of the inner dynamics of the glacier's progress. We caught up with Andy Young, who had been enjoying a quiet siesta in the galley, and the three of us put together the necessary gear: I concentrated on getting the recording equipment together while Steve and Andy, both veteran ice climbers, got various specialized climbing necessities and accessories packed. We left Station in a slight northerly wind and a darkening sky to the south.

Andy Young enjoys a brief, rain-drenched moment at the tip of the Marr Ice Piedmont.

The transit was quick and we offloaded the gear on a rocky spit just below a slightly inclined part of the terminus. Rivulets ran in different directions over the rocks carrying debris into the cove--a silty discharge that clouded the water into an opaque teal green. Across from our landing, huge chunks of blue ice fractured and tumbled into the water. Some of the larger pieces seemed to bounce off the face of the glacier in slow motion, producing a resounding crack as they broke free and an impressive splash when they hit the water. As sheltered as we were, it began to rain much harder and the wind increased. No sooner had Steve and Andy drilled about 2 metres into the ice and lowered a hydrophone, than we heard the radio crackle, "Sound guys, sound guys...this is Palmer Station. Listen, the wind is picking up to about 40 knots, with gusts hitting close to 50 knots." They wanted to know what we planned to do and to encourage us to beat a fairly hasty retreat. Steve and Andy were not particularly concerned--for now and given our protected position. However, I noticed that they had quickly made an assessment about the prospects of being stuck and considered alternate routes back to Station: namely, travelling close to shore in the lee of the glacier, making a long circuit around Arthur Harbor. We laughed at the prospect of staying out but both of these guys are search and rescue professionals and had been thinking and planning ahead--just in case. We decided not to linger more than a few minutes: just enough time to give me a chance to listen. We still have plenty of time and plan to come back when the weather gets better. I could hear the wind howl across the ice, catching the rim of the channel that they had cut and sending sherds of ice scattering down the face. Occasional strains within the glacier itself could be heard and the intimate details of melting--twizzling, popping, chirping sounds that were pronounced over the din of subglacial streams. We packed up and bounced back to Station, quite soaked!