The major unsolved, non-scientific problem of our last trip in May was not being able to take Turner in with us. Our solution this time was to completely circumvent the system by getting into the glacier on our own resources. Doing this, however, was a bit more complicated than calling a taxi, and the circus began before we even departed for the trip.

For the past 4 years, Kristin and I have flown to Kaktovik for free since Kristin flies for the airlines that takes us there. This saves the project a lot of money, but adds an additional layer of complication in departure because we cannot make confirmed reservations in this way. That is, we get bumped by paying passengers. The week before the trip, I decided to purchase a ticket to Kaktovik as the flight was nearly full, so full that there was not a seat left for Kristin. We called in the night before our departure and learned that no flights had made in it to Kaktovik for the past few days. This causes two types of concern. First was that if our flight was cancelled, we would be at the end of a long line of previously bumped passengers, which had already filled all of the next week’s seats, totally hosing our project. Second, Kristin was already at the end of this line.

Turner: "Screw the plane, let's just drive there"

Being an employee, however, gave Kristin several other options. One was to jump seat on the cargo plane which often flies up there. The issue here is that she could not take Turner. But if I took him, and her plane did not make it in, I would be stuck in Kaktovik with Turner until she arrived, which could be a week later. Another option was to beg a seat on a charter flight to Deadhorse that was leaving that night, and then hope to get another ride from Deadhorse to Kaktovik the next day. Barrow was also another possibility, but these flights were similarly booked. So we arrived at the airport with these possibilities in mind, but hoping that by some miracle our flight would not check in full.

It checked in full. But the weather was bad in Kaktovik, so it also seemed like none of us would make it. So Kristin and I drove over to the hangar to assess the situation ourselves and find a solution in person. There we bumped into Walt, who was also in a similar standby situation, trying for the same flight for the past few days with no luck. We talked with the pilots and dispatchers, and after a while it became clear that we would not be taking off any time soon. So clear in fact that they gave our plane away to another route which had better weather but a broken plane. So we returned to the gate where the others had been waiting, letting them know that even if we had a plane there was no place to go.

Have diaper, will travel...

Baby's got places to go... 17MB

While Kristin went to get us some breakfast, we talked about the project a little bit. Bernhard Rabus returned with us this trip, as did Frank Pattyn. Denis Samyn came with Frank from Belgium, and Jenny March is a graduate student at UAF. We talked a bit about the weather, though mostly about how it had changed over the past 50 years. Kristin returned with coffee, muffins, and quiche, which we readily ate. The food was a double blessing apparently, first because it made us feel less hungry but second because it allowed us to stay in the airport and wait for the plane. By noon, confirmed passengers began drifting off in search of food and a place to sleep that night, freeing up a seat for Kristin. Now all we needed was a plane...

Mama's got a boarding pass and baby's eager to get going

As the day wore on, the weather began improving in Kaktovik. This was not necessarily a good thing though, as somehow word got out and paying passengers began showing up again, taking Kristin’s seat away. But it seemed that both the cargo and charter flights were still an option, though complicated, so Kristin returned to the hangar to see what she could make happen, leaving me with Turner. As it turned out, there were enough seats in the end and after 24 hours of uncertainty, not only did all of the glacier team make it to Kaktovik, but all of our cargo, the helicopter, and sunshine. The sunshine didn’t last long though, and within a few hours of our arrival, the fog returned and was still pretty thick when we woke up the next morning.

I'm always happy to stand by Turner.

Our road's namesake in full glory.

Having now all arrived, however, we could begin Act Two of our logistics nightmare. Throughout the summer we had been talking with Walt and Tom about them landing us on the tundra somewhere near the glacier. The main issue with this is that the most convenient airstrip is on the wrong side of the Jago River. So we brought a pack-raft with us in case we could not find a landing spot on the good side of the river, which was a good thing as no such place was found. But the recent rains made the option of a river crossing by foot or raft less palatable due to risks involved with falling into a cold, swollen river. So we made a command decision to land at Okpilak Lake, which was a much longer hike but involved no major river crossings, or at least so we thought.

So we spent the morning organizing our gear for the hike, organizing helicopter loads, and wondering how this would all work out in the end. By lunch time it seemed clear that the weather had broken enough to at least give it a try, so the four of us loaded up in the Tom’s 206 and headed south.

Tom: "Look Bernhard, there are only two of us up here, and I know it wasn't me that farted."

The flight was uneventful, and we soon landed on the open tundra near Okpilak Lake. Tom was not happy about how wet the tundra was and told us that he could not pick us back up here unless conditions improved substantially. As we watched him fly off, we donned our headnets and backpacks and began our 40 km hike to the glacier.

See you in a few weeks.

Taking off -- 18MB

One of these heads is not like the others...

The first obstacle was to hike up and over the old moraine of the Okpilak Valley. This moraine had not seen ice for more than 10,000 years, and so had plenty of time to build a soil and grow some vegetation. The issue here is that trying to climb a fairly steep hill composed of angular rocks covered with wet moss and willows is decent challenge even without a baby on your back. But we took our time and within a few hours had reached the top and took a nice break for snacks and a diaper change.

Strange looking backpack...

Oh.

An ancient moraine with contemporary passengers.

"Stairway construction in progress -- please excuse our mess"

Going up -- 7MB

Not exactly stairs, but it could be worse.

At least the view is nice.

Who's driving? 12MB

As we crested the top, we heard the helicopter flying around somewhere. Before Tom took off, I told him to tell Cal to give it a try as we had little lose at this point and the weather was showing some signs of clearing. This turned out to be a good decision, as the weather in foothills was fantastic, with clear skies all the way to the coast. I spoke to Cal on the Icom and he was already on his way back from the second trip. He was a little nervous about the fog growing again on the coast, but now had local weather reports on our end, which made the decisions more informed.

Okpilak moraine -- a nice place to change a diaper.

Bernhard: "Vat? You brought a baby on the hike?"

Turner: "Blah? Blew bro da german bon da bike?"

There used to big a big glacier between us and far hills.

The tundra was pleasant to hike on, and substantially easier than the moraine. We saw caribou and falcons, as well as many smaller birds and lots of mosquitos. There was plenty of water available, so we didn’t have to pack much of it. We filtered some for Turner and mixed in some powdered milk for his bottle, but the rest of us just drank it straight from the streams. We continued on for several more hours, hoping to camp in view of the glacier on Jaeger Pass, but by 9PM we were all getting tired and hungry and in search of a camping spot. As we descended the Krisscott valley, however, we noticed a sizeable stream in our way, and decided to cross it that night so that we could start the next day with dry feet. It was swift enough that it was a true river crossing, taking just one careful step at a time, but it was not too deep and even in the event of a spill we would not get washed down very far. Fortunately, however, we were lucky and proceeded on as the fog rolled in and enveloped us. The fog didn’t last for long, and soon we came across a nice dry spot near a pretty stream that was in sight of the glacier-covered headwalls draining into McCall Valley. So in the end we got to camp in view of glaciers and the Arctic Ocean, which in retrospect is probably one of few places in Alaska where one can do this.

Our first major stream crossing, a bit too desparate to take pictures in the middle.

This one was much easier.

Not sure if that's fog, or the steam rising from our boots.

Turner: "Can I use that? I need to call my broker."

Tents keep us dry at night if it rains.

But it was a nice night.

Table for four.

Tastes good -- 15MB

Spirits were high along the whole trip. Turner did great, and alternated largely between sleeping and make cute baby noises as he pointed out all the interesting things along the way. His patience was matched only by Bernhard’s, who was traveling at about half his normal speed without the slightest complaint. By the time we set up camp it was midnight, with dinner taking an hour more. Turner showed no sign of knowing the time, and was more interesting in picking up the rocks and making mosquito noises than sleeping. As we ate our meal, we saw Cal return to Kaktovik after transporting all the people and gear to the glacier. So in the end, it was a long two days, but finally we were all deployed and on our own, a situation I feel much more in control of.

Mmmm, stream water for breakfast.

Go dogs go!

The next day proved to be even more challenging than the first. Getting to Jaeger Pass was still a four hour hike for us, and the route down from the pass was perhaps the low point of the trip. Here was another steep, willow and moss covered moraine, covered with hidden sic-sic holes. Kristin was having trouble keeping her footing, as the stress associated with the fear of falling and crushing Turner led her to take very careful steps, which adds greatly to the difficulty and energy required. Combined with having a cold in the first place, it was turning this 500 m descent into an epic challenge, physically and emotionally.

Turner made the sign for doggie when he saw this one.

Hiking up to Jaeger Pass.

Sunny weather and light winds made this an enjoyable hike.

Another doggie. This one came running up from the other side of the pass, making us wonder what it was running from.

It might look benign here, but coming down this hill was some of the most treacherous hiking of the whole trip.

Finally at the bottom of Jaeger Pass, the low point of the trip, ready for some 'easy' hiking up the stream valley.

It's all uphill from here -- 12MB

Once on the valley floor, we had to skirt the river on the rocks it had left behind. This was substantially easier walking, but still a challenge. As the river began pressing into the bank, we had to scramble back up on the ancient moraines. This time they were not covered with willows, but they also had no soil on them and so were just a jumble of fairly loose, large, angular lichen-covered rocks. So our travel time did not improve. At this point Kristin and I switched backpacks, as the stress of plotting each step for 8 hours was a bit too much, and there was no possibility of erecting a tent anywhere in sight, except perhaps on the huge aufeis deposits that covered the rushing McCall Creek. I was probably a bit rougher with Turner than was Kristin, but he largely slept through it all, with only the occasional moan as I hunched over forward to scramble over something and put his body weight on his chest. After a few hours of this, I was even more glad Kristin had carried him most of the way.

Rocky, but at least not slippery.

We decided to hike up and around this one.

Here's why.

Here's why in motion -- 7MB

The aufeis was much easier walking, but papa and baby were hungry.

But after another few hours of this, it became clear that we needed to camp and give Turner a break. He had been amazingly good the whole trip, but he also had some large molars breaking through and had not eaten as much as normal along the way. So we made the decision to camp on the river gravels rather than hike up onto the glacier, which was now only a few hundred meters away. Though it was a bit rocky, it was nice to stretch out and get some food, and by midnight we were asleep.

At least the rocks were well-rounded...

Our great weather held yet another day, as we awoke to a brightly lit glacier, contrasting with our shadowed river valley. We had a quick bite for breakfast and headed off. Our spirits had returned again as we approached the terminus, and even though we still had to avoid a few substantial obstacles, we were soon hiking on ice.

Ice is nice!

First ice steps -- 5MB

The terminus is largely rock covered, and in between the rocks on can often find debris from previous expeditions. We found debris from the 50’s, 70’s, and 90s, and unfortunately even a bit that looked like something that might have blown away from our camp. And strewn between the boulders were survey stakes from the past 50 years, some even with their labels still attached and visible. Eventually we came across one of my weather stations, which we downloaded and made a few manual measurements with, as I had packed some equipment for this. By the early afternoon, we were at the main weather station and pressing onwards. Kristin and Turner had gone a bit ahead as Bernhard and I worked, and our radio traffic was intercepted by others on the glacier who said hello. After a little while we bumped into Gretchen and Art, who were filming various ice things, as well as our ascent up the glacier. We arrived at camp about 4PM, for the first time not having to set it up ourselves.

That electrical tape survived over 30 years, protecting the wood underneath.

Bernhard is holding the remains of his thermocouple string from the 1990s. To the upper-left of him you can make out the structure that holds the thermistor string I installed in his original location. Ice moves!

Bernhard: "If I stand here long enough, I can ride an active thrust fault."

Here we met up with the others and dried off a little, as it had begun sprinkling. Unfortunately it was not long before that familiar stress of dealing with field problems that shouldn’t exist began souring my mood. So after having just succeeded in completing a nice 40 km hike which was generally a lot of fun, and looking forward to celebrating my birthday that night as even more fun, I’m confronted with the buzz kill of wondering whether I'll have to deal with drama queens and mutineers for the rest of the trip. But I tried my best to keep my stress to myself, and a few margheritas, pieces of cake, and presents later, I was ready to sleep and wake up to a new day.

The weather this morning was not quite as good as it had been the previous few days, but still fine. I had reassembled the GPS system the night before so that it would be ready to go, and after a few hours of the normal fussing around on the first day of real work, Bernhard and Jenny took it out for a shake-down trip on the glacier just below camp. My frustration level remained high, though, as after making a plan for where to do the surveying, it was promptly ignored as they waded into the snow and crevasses of the middle cirque without skiis. Art and Gretchen joined them, and Frank and Denis went out to make some ice radar measurements in the confluence. I stayed behind in camp and sorted gear, backed up and checked out the weather station and GPS data we had already taken from the glacier on the hike in, built a small new weather station, and helped Kristin a bit with reorganizing the cook tent to be more Turner-friendly. By about 4:30, everyone had returned from the glacier as the fog and rain had made it unpleasant to continue. Though I was working at nearly full capacity most of the day, I still didn’t finish a few things that would have helped us for tomorrow, but after an hour of processing the GPS data the Bernhard and Jenny collected, we had an early dinner and by that time I was more interested in getting some sleep and checking out the photos from the trip than more work. So here it is, at the end of our first full day on the glacier. So far the trip has been pretty successful, and despite the normal level of problems with technology-intensive field work and some bizarre inter-personal issues, I know that at the end of every day I can look forward to curling up in the tent with my family, and this makes the rest much easier to ignore.

Turner: "Don't worry papa, everything is going to be OK."

Thursday, 10 August 2006, McCall Glacier

It’s been a productive few days.

The next day, after another late start, Jenny and Bernhard continued on with the GPS surveying, beginning in the lower cirque. While they did that, I continued to work on the new weather station to be deployed at the FRED GPS site and Kristin and Turner continued to unpack and organize our cook tent. I had planned to have a separate working tent this trip, but Jenny was now using it as a sleeping tent, so it became more of a storage tent and our cook tent was once again a combined eating and working place. But we arranged things such that generally speaking Turner had plenty of other things to play with than papa’s electronics.

Turner: "I wonder what this tastes like?"

Turner: "Hey baby, wanna check out my water crib?"

Turner: "No dad, let me show you."

Turner: "See, it's this one."

By mid-morning I had most things sorted out with the weather station, and so began preparing for work in the upper cirque. Here I needed to download a few weather stations, change some batteries, and reset the main FIRN station’s crossarm higher, to account for snow accumulation and keep it from being buried over the winter. By the time we were ready, Jenny and Bernhard were finished in the lower cirque. So Kristin, Turner, Art, Gretchen and I met up with Jenny on the way up; Bernhard took another route, hoping to get himself on camera on top of Snow Dome.

Hiking up to the upper cirque.

We found the weather stations in generally good health, though the lower CORE site was beginning to show signs of toppling over due to its design flaws. When installed, I had imagined it to be in the accumulation area, but pretty much it has been just at equilibrium, and the structure was really not designed for that. Once downloaded, we moved on to the upper stations, where we set up the megamid tent for Turner to have a place to play out of the wind. Once inside, he fell asleep and Kristin and I concentrated on the weather stations, while Bernhard and Jenny surveyed and Art and Gretchen filmed. We swapped out the batteries in the Onset microloggers and moved them higher up the pole, as next winter’s snow would surely have buried them. This is about the center of the accumulation area, so there is a trend of growth here, though slight. Once finished, we moved on to the FIRN monopod. I designed this station after some I had seen in Greenland, with a single thick aluminum pole holding everything up. There is a 3 meter section below snow level, but it was perhaps not long enough as one could shake the station, and it could well be sinking a bit. In any case the crossarm was now a bit low, and though it would not get buried this winter, the logger box would. In Fairbanks I had constructed some simple steps that could be bolted onto the mast, such that I could climb up and raise the cross-arm, and this worked reasonable well, with some additional muscle provided by Art.

Bernhard and Jenny postholing in the background while Turner sleeps in the tent.

It's impossible to level these things accurately.

Kristin: "What do you mean, 'Don't get the wires tangled? You mean more tangled?'"

Turner: "Who left this jungle gym on the glacier?"

By the time we were finished with this in the late-afternoon, the weather had noticeable changed for the worse. West winds brought snow and showed signs of worsening, so we were ready to head back to camp. By this time, Bernhard and Jenny were also ready to head back, as near the top of the cirque Jenny punched through a crevasse and was a bit shaken up. Crevasse falls are always a danger, but in general we know where they all are and avoid them. In this case, several factors conspired to lead to this, some of which were my own fault. I had given up trying to give advice on how to go about things, because I was sick of making plans which people ignore, so I let them take responsibility for their own safety in an area on foot which I had planned to go into on skiis. But unlike their rogue trip into the Middle Cirque yesterday, today I deliberately worked here at the same time as them, as I always carry a rope with me in case something unforeseen happens. Though nothing bad happened, it was a reminder to me to find a better way to deal with my own issues of being in charge and keeping people on task. In any case, Bernhard and I continued surveying a bit on the way down, and we all met back at camp as the weather continued to detoriate.

Glacier confab.

Well my broker says... -- 11MB

We processed some data that night and discussed plans for the next day. At this point we were in striking distance of completing the survey work in a single long day, which is always a big relief. But I also wanted to install the new weather station in that day, and doing this in the snow is a major pain. So we decided to wake up at 8 and decide on a plan then. That morning at 8 I was the only one awake, and after digging out the tent and 10 minutes of sitting around, I went back to bed as the weather was still generally snowy and windy. I can deal pretty well with equipment and weather troubles, but dealing with people troubles are always a challenge for me. So I just caught up on sleep and let the others wake up on their own and make whatever plans they wanted. After spending the afternoon processing data and making lists of things to do, I was extra clear about the next mornings’ plan of waking up whenever you like, but getting to work by 8:30. But again, at 8:30 the next morning, I was the only one working while the others drifted in and began making breakfast. At this point I just gave up on the others and limited my goals to just those things that Kristin and I could do together as a final recourse to avoid the stress that stupid things like this generate within me, and considered any other help a bonus.

Before...

... after.

In any event, it was a beautiful day, and by 11AM or so we were on our way. Bernhard, Art and Gretchen went off surveying and while Kristin, Turner and I headed towards the weather station. Frank and Denis left a short while later for some more radar profiles, and Jenny stayed at camp as she had not been sleeping or eating well, and had been feeling generally poor, perhaps due to the altitude. The new snow slowed traveling down a bit, especially for us, as had not brought the skiis for Turner’s sled, so we rolled him down-glacier on wheels. We set up the tent for him once again, where he took a long nap while Kristin and I worked on the new weather station. After a while, the survey crew passed us, and Bernhard and Gretchen continued on to the terminus while Art stayed with us to help out and film a bit. The work on the station went well, and after checking that it was running, we all continued down-glacier to change batteries in the thermocouple stations that I had downloaded on our way up the glacier from our hike. By 6PM, the sun had ducked behind the mountains leaving us in the shade, but we were all in good spirits and began the hike back up by about 7, with Gretchen and Bernhard staying on the other side of the river to complete the surveying there. The hike back up went reasonably well, though dragging the Chariot uphill on wheels through the snow was definitely a chore. But by about 11PM were all back in camp and ready for some food and sleep, after a successful day having completed nearly all of the survey and mass balance work.

Turner: "Welcome to Fantasy Glacier!"

Kristin: "We should have brought the skiis."

Kristin: "And gaiters."

At least it was all downhill...

Rolling in the snow -- 7MB

Turner: "What happened to that warm bright thing in the sky?"

Turner: "That's better."

Uphills were a little more challenging than the downhills.

Almost home.

Saturday, 12 August 06, McCall Glacier

I spent the rest of that day in camp, while the radar team, joined by Bernhard, worked down glacier. It was a nice day, with plenty of solar power to get some computer work done, and I was glad for the rest, both physically and mentally. As I rolled over in my bag about 8AM, I found it ironic that the one day I didn't set a wake up time, everyone got up on time anyway, and I decided that I just wasn’t going to bother with it any more, as Kristin and I could finish everything I wanted to complete this trip.

During the day, I worked with Art a bit to take some photos of Turner. What I had wanted to capture was something that would embrace the spirit of what IPY is looking for in terms of seducing the next generation of scientists into polar sciences. It turned out to be not so easy. We tried a variety of shots, some of which were quite cute, but none fully being something that could be widely reproduced, so we decided to think about it a bit more. Below is just a small selection of them.

This is one is part of a pair...

... with this one from 1958.

Jenny also spent the day in camp. She had been feeling poorly most of the trip, though no particularly ailment could be diagnosed, except perhaps something related to altitude and homesickness. For whatever the reasons, she was unable to keep herself warm, even in the cook tent with the stove on even though it was above freezing outside and most people were too hot. We talked a bit about her graduate studies at UAF and goals beyond that, and I had the impression that this trip was not seducing her further into glaciology. Though I couldn’t get any specifics, I think something about this trip was a bit overwhelming for her, and causing her to react in ways that were surprising to her too. In any case, I was still a bit on edge about the dynamics of our first few days together, so I just let her call her own shots.

As I reduced the data from the past few days, it became clear that the glacier is on the same trend of shrinkage as it has been for the past 50 years. The surface elevations continue to drop and the mass balance continues to be negative. At this year, though, there was accumulation in the higher areas, which is good for the glacier.

Perhaps the more interesting results from this trip are the ice radar measurements. Here Frank and Denis have made many new cross-sections of ice thickness, and learned something about the relative importance of the various accumulation areas around the glacier. Most significantly, the lower cirque has formed its own trough in the main valley that is much deeper than that from the upper and middle cirques. This supports something that we have long suspected, that the lower cirque is really the main driver of McCall Glacier growth or shrinkage. It is at an elevation such that small changes in climate can turn it into either an accumulation area or ablation area. Earlier this century, it was accumulating mass, but for the past 20 years or so, it seems mainly to have been an ablation area, and it is likely that this switch is responsible for much of the ice loss near the terminus.

Is he making radar measurements or downloading music?

Must be radar.

On the way back from the radar work, Bernhard and Denis took a hike into the Bur Cirque. Bernhard had been there a few days earlier during the survey work and found a lake that he had never noticed before. While they were there this time, however, they noticed that the lake had disappeared, by draining beneath the glacier; unfortunately neither had their camera handy to document this. Lakes are often found on the margins of glaciers, and many of them drain in a similar way. This one was a bit odd in that the lake itself was perched above the glacier and not directly connected to it. They spent some more time hiking up the valley and found the Bur Cirque glacier had nearly completely disappeared, and what was left was largely covered by rock. They also found a tunnel system entering this ice, but had no flashlight to explore it completely.

When everyone returned to camp, we ate some dinner and had a small birthday party for Turner, who turned One that day. It’s hard to believe that he’s already a year old, but he certainly has gained an impressive set of communication and motor skills during that time. For the most part, I believe that everyone enjoys his company and glad to have him here if for no other reason that entertainment. We’ve yet to watch a DVD, for example, as watching him seems to be entertainment enough. We brought a small portable playpen for him, but have yet to use it, as he enjoys walking up and down the tent, playing games with people along the way, and has not yet caused any major troubles. The playpen turns out to be more useful for storing electronics up off the wet floor in a place where they cant be stepped or sat on or knocked around. For the party, Turner dressed in his Austrian lederhosen outfit, and was the perfect alpine mascot for our expedition.

Our little Tyroler.

Turner: "The things I have to do to get some cake..."

Turner: "Fire! I can put it out with my bottle."

Birthday cake -- 7MB

Turner: "Well I guess that works too. Now let's open presents."

The paper was part of the present.

Paper ripping -- 12MB

Turner: "I've got molars now, see!"

I get the biggest piece -- 14MB

Turner: "I can't wait until I can use toothpaste too."

Afterwards, the light was nice enough that Bernhard decided to hike up Snow Dome to get his 10 minutes of fame on camera. Denis joined him and brought the radar, to determine the thickness of the ice cap. Kristin and I went to bed, with a radio on so we could have a look when the reached the top, while the rest watched them climb. It was after midnight by the time the got up there, and by then the weather had changed. But they were still visible walking around on the summit and managed to make some radar measurements, which revealed that the ice there is over 50 m thick. They returned to camp about 1:30AM, after apparently confusing the gullies on the way down and having to do some backtracking.

If you look close, you can see two dots near the top.

That's Bernhard and Deni, about midnight.

That morning I felt a noticeable and welcome reduction in my internal stress level. I made no plans for work except with Kristin, so we just woke up at our normal time and began making our own preparations to go to the upper cirque. The weather was a bit marginal, but the winds were calm and we did not have much electronic work to do. Bernhard joined us for the hike, and we had some nice conversations along the way about the glacier, various styles of glacier research, interpersonal dynamics, and the like. I wish that most days out here could have a similar pace, with only a normal workload such that the day could be enjoyed better without the added stress of wanting to accomplish twice as much because time was running out. Throughout the day, fog and rain came and went, but we were soon heading back towards camp, doing the very last of the surveying on the way back. Along the way, we found a cache of IGY C-rations that had melted out that summer, in approximately the same place that we had found similar debris melting out in previous years, within the ice fall from the upper cirque. We brought back a bunch of the cans for dinner that night.

'Nuff said?

Art and Gretchen joined us again for dinner, this time with the video and audio equipment. I opened a few of the cans we had found. The pound cake still tasted fine, but the milk had turned sour unfortunately. Everyone was in good spirits, and we spent a long time looking at the Quickbird image I had recently acquired. This image has superb resolution, able to image individual rocks. After a few minutes, I was able to overlay it in 3D in my visualization program, and this was really the icing on the cake. Here we could see the routes that Bernhard and Denis had taken before, the lake in Bur Cirque that was as of then filled with water, the flow stripes on the glacier that we walk over and wonder what they should be telling us. It was a nice way to end the evening, at least for the Nolans who went to bed early -- I rolled over at 2AM and still heard Art and Bernhard talking over a wide range of subjects.

Art wasn't convinced it was still edible.

Turner: "The chickens that laid this milk are long since dead."

Turner: "Bring me a bucket."

Turner: "More bucket?"

Monday, 14 August 2006, McCall Glacier

Once again the work is nearly done and its time to begin packing up.

That next morning all of us headed down to the lower glacier for a variety of purposes. Kristin, Turner, Jenny, and I concentrated on the weather stations, while the other conducted radar profiles and did some filming.

Much easier on ice.

Barely leaves a track.

Stream crossing can be a challenge, but this was an easy one.

McCall Glacier drive-through: "Can I take your order please?"

Ice walker -- 12MB

Our first task was to drill a new hole for the pole that holds the sonic ranger which measures snow depth and ice melt. So we had lugged the steam drill down glacier for this. We used the wide nozzle to ensure that the pole would not get stuck, and Jenny drilled a straight hole into which the 9 m pole dropped nicely. The next task was to finish up the weather station I had installed at the GPS site FRED. Here we had to attached another sonic ranger and also a solar panel to keep the batteries charged. All of the work went reasonably smoothly, and by about 5PM we went to check out the lake at Bur Cirque, which we had learned recently drains and refills periodically.

Jenny, steam-drilless extraordinaire..

All we need is a cup of coffee.

The Bur Cirque entrance is an interesting place. The glacier in front of it is covered by red rocks which come from far upglacier, but the rocks closest to the cirque are gray. This implies that there were several tributary glaciers that existed here in the past, one not far away that transported gray rocks nearest to the cirque entrance, and one that carried red rocks more towards the center of the glacier. Both of these came from the east facing valley wall, which is strongly shaded and even today snow clings here much longer than other locations in the valley. During the Little Ice Age, ending about 150 years ago, there must have been quite vigorous tributary glaciers coming from these walls, whereas from the opposite walls, morainal evidence indicates that these glaciers were much smaller and did not contribute nearly so much ice to the main glacier. It is likely the equilibrium line, which divides the area between accumulation and ablation, ran down the length of the glacier for quite a ways due to differences in shading, rather than being controlled by elevation as it is on many other glaciers. The glaciers on this western wall were so big, in fact, that they seemed to have dammed the Bur Cirque lake to more than 100 m over current lake levels.

You don't see this everyday. Well, we did, but you know what I mean.

Turner and I wanted to ride the water slide, but mama vetoed it.

Jenny found a 30-year old can of Shlitz in a meander of an abandoned stream channel. Unfortunately it was an empty. Apparently THEY got to ride the waterslide...

Next trip we bring "The Fog" on DVD.

The lower Bur Cirque. The main ice was up to the left, out of sight. McCall Glacier used to be as high as the red rocks on the right. I have a picture from 1958 that shows it nearly there.

The red rocks come from a tributary far upstream formed on red bedrock. Another tributary must have existed downstream over gray rocks and ended about here, else the moraine on the right would be red too.

The light gray rocks indicate the level of a lake that formed when the glacier dammed the Bur Cirque valley. But the modern lake is much smaller than the one that created that old shoreline, which was probably an annual feature during the 1800s.

The lake is smaller now, but still drains and fills throughout the summer.

Probably a first for the Bur Cirque -- 8MB

After exploring the lake region for a while, Kristin, Turner, Jenny and I headed back up to camp, stopping to make a few final measurements on the weather stations. The rest went up to the Bur Cirque glacier to explore an ice cave they had found there, but soon everyone was on their way back up. The weather was pleasant but cool, and before too long we were all back at camp by about 10PM for some dinner.

Uphills were much easier on ice.

Though still a bit of work.

At least for mama.

Baby mushing -- 22MB

Along the way, we discussed various scenarios of glacier evolution over the radio. We also discussed surveying the Hanging Glacier the next day and possibly some radar. We had some trouble surveying this in 2003, so we wanted to get it right this time and see how healthy it was. It was clearly retreating, noticeably so since starting our project. When we discussed doing this, I had assumed it would occur on the same lack-of-morning-schedule schedule that we had adopted by default, as I had gotten sick of making plans to get early starts which everyone ignored. But Frank wanted to do other things with the radar and so wanted Bernhard and Denis to get a 7 AM start for this work, which they agreed to. But there were still a number of issues associated with getting the data ready for re-surveying that needed to be worked out. It was already after midnight, and the thought of spending my night doing this just ticked me off, especially since we had gotten such a late start this day. Not to mention that being left to do the grunt work on my own by this same group, prevented me from doing any significant exploring in Bur Cirque. I don’t know why the issue of morning wake-ups get under my skin so much, but it just seems like the bare minimum of professionalism to be able to wake yourself up at a time agreed to the night before, and if you do sleep in then you make up for the time by just eating a pop tart on the run rather than a full on breakfast which delays everyone, especially while all this time I’m trying to get all of the days’ equipment sorted and packed on my own. I know its my project and the buck stops with me, but I’ve spent probably 5 months on this glacier already, and I’ve barely had 2 or 3 days to explore it, and these issues of getting up on time and having the slack fall on me to pick up are one reason for it. Waah.

In any case, I got the data sorted out by the agreed upon 9 AM launch, but as it turned out they had in the meantime made a new plan to do some radar profiles near camp first and go to the Hanging Glacier in the afternoon, so it was a waste of my lack of sleep anyway. But I tried to ignore it, and Kristin, Turner, Jenny and I headed up to the Upper Cirque to dig a mass balance pit and measure snow densities. The weather was foggy and overcast, with scattered rain and snow. But we moved reasonably quickly, dug our pit, and set up the megamid tent over it so that we could work out of the rain. Measuring snow densities in conditions like this are marginal at best, but we duplicated the measurements and have found them fairly reliable. Once we got back to camp, Bernhard and Denis were ready to head out to do their Hanging Glacier survey, and I sat down and ate an entire sandwich for the first time this trip, rather than just taking a bite here or there while on the move. It felt so good to do so, in fact, that I took Turner back with me to our sleeping tent, where we both took a nap. Nearly all of the work was done, and it was nice to relax.

When we awoke, the weather was still fairly marginal, but my last task was to install a new battery and storage module at the AHAB weather station, located on a ridge above camp. Jenny joined me for the hike up, which was made a bit slower by the wet rocks and large battery in my back pack. When we got to the top, the lower glacier was completely fogged in, and we could not even see the Hanging Glacier, which was a bit unfortunate as it would have been nice to see the surveying going on there. The work went well, but I was a bit distressed about the telemetry radio not turning back on as it should have. But we made our slow descent back to camp anyway, hoping that it would sort itself out, as we did not have the equipment needed to do any serious troubleshooting. I’m hoping that somehow it just got on the wrong sequence, and that it will turn itself on at noon today as part of the program’s failsafe instructions. The other unfortunate alternative is that by hooking up the storage module that it somehow erased the datalogger’s program. We’ll see at noon, at which point we might have to make another trip up there.

Today’s plan is mostly getting things packed up and make a plan for our various departures. Kristin, Turner, Bernhard and I are still planning to hike out, but we have various options for where to be picked up, which we need to discuss with the pilot. The others will leave by helicopter, but need some instructions on what to cache and what to fly out. I was hoping for a clear, sunny day today to get our batteries charged up, but it’s not clear whether that will occur or not. Now its off to breakfast and see what unforeseen issues will try to thwart our plans.

Tuesday, 15 August 2006, McCall Glacier

We met up in the cook tent that morning about 9AM. I spent the next two hours on the computer, doing some final downloads, backing things up, trying to communicate with the weather stations, etc, while everyone else ate a leasurely breakfast and chatted about random subjects. I finally cracked the whip at 11, which got at least our group going out the door to start getting our camp demobilized. However, 10 minutes later, Bernhard was back in the tent looking over radar profiles with Frank and Denis, which just sent me over the edge again.

This trip has been a stressful one for me, which takes a lot of the fun out of it. Perhaps ironically, neither Turner nor our hiking logistics have been a source of stress at all, and in fact Kristin and Turner are the only people here that I’ve felt I can really count on to help and stick to a plan. Of course Turner has a bit of his own schedule and when awake in the cook tent can be a handful, but he has really done great out here and has been a pleasure to be around. I find this all the more remarkable as he has had several new molars pop through his gums this past week. Most of my stress has come from my lack of ability to effectively communicate a plan and get some help implementing it, and all the while watch the non-critical research drop off the end of my to do list due to lack of time. It's clear to me that I need to find a better approach to motivating people and simply make the time I need to pursue the less critical, but perhaps more interesting research, or simply take a break and lighten up more. But easier said than done.

Chillin'.

Burnin'.

Once we had a fair amount of the gear organized and it became clear that the upper weather station was not going to come online by itself, Bernhard and I hiked up to it again, this time with everything needed to diagnose, fix or replace it until it worked. The morning’s weather was cloudy and calm, but gradually changed into rain and snow. So once we arrived at the top, we put up the megamid around the logger box and crawled under it to keep us and the equipment dry. As it turned out, it seemed that the cause of the problem was the addition of the storage module I installed yesterday. Somehow it not only blocked communication with the radio, but also reset the time and date in the logger. We checked through the program, and it remained unharmed. And once we removed the storage module and reset the date, all seemed to work fine. The radio turned itself on at the appropriate time and from camp Jenny confirmed that we had outside contact with it. So at least we can leave here with our telemetry in tact.

There are supposed to mountains in background.

After we returned to camp, I spent the next few hours sorting and packing the various boxes of gear and tools of my stuff, while everyone else lounged about it the cooktent. It didn’t bother me too much though, since this was largely something that was easiest for me to do on my own. That night we had a little Mexican night, with burritos, enchiladas, and margerhitas, and afterwards went outside for a group photo as the rain had stopped and the mountains were a bright pink. Art then brought out the video camera for some impromptu interviews and material for the blooper reel, and we celebrated our last night on the glacier together by dancing in the fiery sunset.

One of Turner's favorite games was to pull Sharpies out of funny places, like his shoes.

Spoons were the next best thing to Sharpies.

He also made a good bartender.

Apparently the Belgian national sport is midget-tossing. In the field, we must of course always improvise....

The GPS base station. Not much solar tonight, but still pretty.

Let's just put this whole WW2 thing behind us.

Time to dance -- 7MB

Art: "I guess I shouldn't have eaten that Fruit Cake, but I think you push this button here."

You wont find a more unusual collection of individuals on any other glacier in the Brooks Range.

It’s been an odd trip for me, with this trip having the strangest group dynamics I’ve experienced here – something about the combination of having some group dynamics develop before I arrived to the glacier, having a Belgian team on independent study, having a film crew also on independent study and on semi-independent camping, having a grad student and doctor as field assistants who mostly wanted to be on independent study, and having a one-year old that wanted to be on anything but independent study. With all these different directions happening, I didn’t get that sense that we reached the same level of group purpose and bonding that normally develops, which considering how we all arrived here is perhaps to be expected. So events like our several birthday parties and evening celebrations were not as revved up as they could have been, but we got some good work done and did have some fun, and that's about all one can hope for I guess.

So now it’s the next morning, and we are getting ready to head off for our hike. It’s been rainy this morning, but there is still some blue sky visible. Rain is not so much an issue on the tundra, but it would be nice to walk over the rocks when they are dry. I talked to Walt yesterday, and his suggestion was to hike to the Jago River strip, which is high and dry and landable in most conditions. While this makes for a shorter hike for us, it also means that we have to bring the raft and ropes for the river crossing. Hopefully the cool weather lately has reduced glacier runoff and the rain itself hasn’t been strong enough to swell the rivers, just make the tundra soggy. So now we try to finalize the process of trying to pack for one trip while demobilizing camp, and not getting things too confused.

Wednesday, 23 August 2006, Fairbanks

A week later we made it home.

We began our hike in the late afternoon, delayed a bit as the sun had broke out briefly and we took a few more pictures and video. I had been wanting to get a picture of Turner that would capture the spirit of IPY’s future generation of scientist promotion, but lately the weather was too bad for it. But with Deni’s help I think we got a few that might suffice during a break in the weather just before we left. Art also took advantage of the break to interview Bernhard and Deni about their hike to snow dome. But before long we were packed and ready to go, anxious to begin. Within minutes of getting out of camp and beginning our hike, my stress level dropped to near zero and it felt great to be on our way.

Destined to be the cover photo of the next "IPY Parenting"... I hope no one notices the missing silicon pyranometer.

Turner: "Blah, blah blah. Let's start hiking."

Ready for almost anything.

As we were getting ready, Michael Jackson stopped by.

The glacier had changed considerably in the 10 days or so of our visit. The new snow and its subsequent melt had turned the surface into taffy, with lots of hummocky white ice. Walking was still fairly easy though, and we made good time towards the terminus. I stopped at my stations along the way to ensure that they were still operational, and changed the batteries on the furthest one downglacier. We stopped several times to check out what we believe are thrust faults, and also the nature and origin of some of the surficial stream channels.

Our last look up the glacier 'till next year.

Still a little lumpy and slippery for him, but we had a hard time finding baby crampons.

As we approached the terminus, we discussed how we all felt a bit strange about our view. There’s something different about hiking down-glacier when you know that within a few hours that you will be hiking back up. Here we were leaving, and somehow this affected our perception of the scenery, like we were no longer in our own familiar little valley, but just transients passing through a spectacular patch of ground. And when it comes down to it, no one else before us had ever stood in this spot or seen the view from this angle, as the glacier surface is constantly changing in height and was only in this place once in the past 10,000 years, so we felt a bit special for just having stood here.

The weather was not as nice as it was on the way up.

Once we reached the terminus, we began recalling our trip up here and retracing our steps. Getting past the main terminal stream required scrambling up an over a small ice cored moraine that had recently been stranded, just a warm up for the scrambling of the next few miles. Fortunately, the aufeis was still largely intact, and we were able to save some time by hiking on that for a little while, as well as hike along the stream valley bottom for a while as the water was lower than during our approach. But soon we came to the canyon and had to retreat up the hillside, side-hilling on rocks covered by 10,000 years of lichens and 3 days of rain. Here the hiking stopped, and we began choosing each step carefully. Though there is only a mile or so of terrain like this, it was the most challenging of the trip, as even without a baby on your back it is quite easy to lose your footing and break an ankle or worse. Fortunately we were taking this on while we were still fresh and energetic, and soon we were past it without mishap and once again walking along the stream bottom.

Slippery rocks -- 7MB

Fortunately the aufeis was still mostly intact.

The rocks were MUCH more slippery in the rain, and the drop-off seemed even spookier in the fog.

Even these rocks weren't the most fun, but at least they werent underwater.

Kristin: "Did we hike all the way to Scotland already?"

Walking next to the stream was not without its challenges either, and we laughed when we realized that we considered this the easy part. But the rocks here were largely dry and on level ground, and though we could not hike at full speed, we were at least walking rather than choosing each step. Being here in the valley also gave us a good chance to check out the moraines left behind by the retreating ice from the last glacial maximum, over 10,000 years ago. Since then, the largest advance of McCall Glacier began only about 500 years ago and ended about the time that my great-grandparents were born. So all of the moraines we saw were likely recessional moraines, formed at time when the glacier terminus was stable for a few hundred years, during the process of retreating back from the Jago River, which began something like 12,000 years ago probably.

Getting easier, but still challenging.

Tundra, here we come.

Bernhard, as always, led the way down the valley and had an idea in mind for where to camp. Turner, however, had other ideas. We had been hiking for about 8 hours or so in the rain and fog, stopping for snacks and water but not really a meal. So Turner hadn’t really had a full meal yet, and with his new teeth continuing to come in, was getting a bit fidgety and distrustful of Bernhard’s “fifteen minutes” to get somewhere. So we hiked up one of the recessional moraines and found a nice patch of tundra to camp on and let Bernhard know by radio. The location gave us a nice view of this part of the valley, and getting into our tents, taking off our wet boots, and eating some hot food were a welcomed change. With full stomachs and mostly dry clothes, we went to bed about midnight, hoping for a morning filled with sunshine.

Turner: "Do they make Camelbacks for milk?"

It looks less level than it really was.

Turner: "Blah blah blah. What's for dinner?"

Turner: "My favorites! Though I'm so hungry I could eat the ass-end of a sic-sic."

Turner: "OK, let's go hiking again!"

We all slept in a bit in the morning, hoping that the rain on the tents would stop before we had to go outside. It did, but unfortunately the rain was replaced by snow. So we ate a quick breakfast, put on our cold and soggy boots, and got packed to leave in the snow. The air temperatures were just around freezing though, and within an hour or two we were into warmer air temperatures and hiking just below the fog.

The hiking this day was considerably easier than the day before. Now we were mostly either on the river bed or tundra. The valley began to widen and the mountains became less rugged as we neared the Jago River, so there was ample room for tundra walking. Here we found our first upright willow tree and many mushrooms. Bernhard was familiar with a few of the edible ones, but none of us had the ambition to collect them or a suitable container. One of them was almost as big as Turner, but he also passed on eating them. We did find many blueberries, however, and I stopped many times as I heard Turner saying “More? More?”

Lunch.

Almost tundra.

Soon the GPS said that we passed our last waypoint and soon after that the clouds lifted enough that we could see the Jago River valley. Though it was still several kilometers away, we hiked towards it enthusiastically. The walking was easy and the rain had let up, and we were eager to get a view of the open valley. We arrived at the river about 6PM, and set up a tent for Turner to get a diaper change, some food, and maybe a nap, while Bernhard and I went scouting for a suitable river crossing.

Our first view of the Jago River, and a forest of mushrooms.

Crossing the river was the major challenge of this part of the trip. We only had one small raft, just big enough for a person and a backpack, and the river was too wide and deep for us to try to cross on foot, at least while carrying a baby. So we wandered around a bit, scouting for eddies and rocks. We had the impression that it was doable, but after some discussion we thought it best to hike to the point closest to Tom’s airstrip, which lay upstream of McCall Creek. So we broke down the tent and loaded up again to cross the creek. At the mouth where it entered the Jago River, it was braided and barely shin deep, so crossing it was no difficulty, it just soaked our feet again. Interestingly, we all had the impression of our feet getting warmer with the new water, an indication of how cold and numb they had gotten previously.

When we got here, it was green tundra as far as you could see.

The GPS told us that the airstrip was only another kilometer away, and soon we were standing directly across from it. Along the way, we had found a very nice, flat, dry camping spot, and with now getting late in the day after a full day of hiking, we decided to wait until morning for the crossing when the river might be lower. We also measured out the length of this camping spot and found it just long enough to land a plane on, so we called in to Walt’s to report this and he confirmed that it might be a possibility. So we set up the tents and had a nice hot meal, this time in an old river channel rather than in the tents, to discourage Turner from becoming a midnight snack for the local bear population, of which there was plenty of evidence. We went to sleep hoping for a cold, dry night to shut off snow melt and a warm, sunny morning for our river crossing.

We got about half of what we wished for. It was one of the coldest nights we had so far, but rather than being sunny, we woke up to several inches of snow. While I like snow in general, this snow posed several problems. The most significant of these is that small bush planes don’t land in snow very well, and our little airstrip was now way too short in these conditions. We called in to report our weather and found that a storm was now coating most of the central and western Brooks Range with snow, and we actually had the least. So we stayed in our tents, nibbling on a few cheerios, considering our options and our supplies.

We woke up to winter.

Good weather for flying, but not for landing.

At this point, crossing the river seemed to make little sense, because we were not sure whether Tom’s strip would be any better than ours. Our options at this point were to sit tight and hope that the snow would melt, or to hike either up-valley or down-valley where larger strips might be accessible. Bernhard went for a morning hike and found that the snow seemed to get deeper up the valley. I calculated distances and hiking times towards the north using my GPS, and figured that it would take us about two days to hike to the Biddy strip out in the coastal plain, and about five days to hike all the way to Kaktovik. We had food for two more days, but with some rationing it could last at least four days, and there was of course plenty of water everywhere. We only had about four days of diapers though, so it seemed clear that a resupply of some kind would be necessary in the next few days. But given that the flying weather was fine and that the helicopter had arrived in Kaktovik to take out our friends on the glacier, such a resupply seemed quite possible.

So, given the possibilities, I was quite ready to hike out all the way to Kaktovik. The past few days of hiking had been some of the most pleasurable I’d had in a long time. I don’t know exactly what it was, but the combination of the exercise, the scenery, the company, and the adventure was just so comfortable that I wanted it to continue for as long as possible. I think it was the adventure that really had most to do with it. Our glacier trips had become somewhat predictable, at least in the sense that we take the Colin Powell approach and go in with overwhelming might with clear exit strategies and its always only just a matter of waiting for the weather to break and a helicopter to take us from point to point, as we sit warm and dry and full of food. In such cases, adventure in my mind is not an acceptable option, as it implies that not enough planning has been done. But out here, on foot and with limited supplies, unanticipated obstacles are an inherent part of the trip and radical and creative changes in plan are a necessary part of their solutions. It doesn’t mean that no planning is necessary, just that the planning has its limits. So, having just camped for two weeks and hiked for 40 miles without mishap, we were fully geared up and just needing a bit more food, so hiking another 50 miles to Kaktovik seemed like a perfectly reasonable option.

We decided to give the weather another day to settle down first though, hoping that the snow would melt and give us more options. In anticipation of this melt, Bernhard began clearing the snow around his tent so that the melt would not flow into it. His tent had no floor, so chores like this are necessary. The snow was perfect for snow balls, and Bernhard soon discovered that the easiest way to clear the snow was to roll large snow balls, like the kind one would make a snowman out of. By the time I joined him, he already had several large balls rolled up, so we began the process of stacking them on top of each other. Rather than the traditional form, however, we came up with something a bit more appropriate to the local fauna. Most importantly, however, we realized that this method was perhaps not only appropriate for clearing snow around tents, but also for runways. So went over to our would-be airstrip, marked out the edges, and began making snow men.

Turner's first bear encounter.

Mama: "Don't worry, he's as afraid of you as you are of him."

Within an hour or two, we had the makings of a tundra airstrip. We discovered several tricks to making the snow balls, and wondered whether they made their winter airstrips here like this in the stone age. By the time we were half-done, however, new snow was falling and we decided to abandon our efforts until morning, so that we would not have to do it again. But it seemed like a reasonable option to consider.

Our first tundra art project.

Swiffering the tundra -- 4MB

It's like a Swiffer, only rounder.

That night was colder than the one before. Turner was probably the warmest of all of us, as he was the only one with extra warm clothes, and he slept between us in our zipped-together sleeping bags. When we awoke, it was clear that the snow wasn’t going to melt anytime soon, and was now too cold to make snowballs, so we began considering our options again. We were not the only campers stuck in this winter wonderland, so we also had to factor in that Tom only had limited time to come get us in between dealing with the other dozen or so groups he had to deal with in a similar situation spread across the north slope.

By mid-morning, the snow had softened up a bit and weather had improved considerably. Tom wanted to try to come get us first, so Bernhard and I went about further clearing the runway. At this point, the snow was again perfect for this, and we were able to get nearly complete snow removal where we wanted it. Clearing the snow in this way also made for the ideal runway markings, as it created a nice rectangle of tundra in an otherwise snow-covered landscape. Once we had the strip cleared, we rolled the large snow balls off to the side, to prevent the wings from hitting them, and the extra bit of snow removal this caused made nice distance markers perpendicular to the runway. At just about the time we were finished, Tom flew overhead and scoped it out. He lined up over it several times, and eventually landed without mishap. Soon afterwards, Cal flew past in the helicopter on his way to the glacier, and it seemed like everything was coming together. Once we dropped off Kristin and Turner, Bernhard and I tried to go for a little flightseeing trip to take some air photos, but in just the time it took for that, the weather had closed in again and neither the helicopter nor the plane was able to get back into the mountains. So, after another full day of excitement and uncertainty, Kristin, Turner, Bernhard and I were back in Kaktovik while all of the others spent another night on the glacier.

The completed runway, waiting for an airplane.

Here it comes.

Not something you see everyday.

Turner: "Aw mom, why I am I the only one wearing a helmet?"

Turner: "Wake me up when there's something to eat."

We spent most of the next day, Saturday, waiting around for the fog in Kaktovik to lift, which it never did. We changed the groups’ reservations twice, once from Friday to Saturday, now from Saturday to Monday. The weather on the glacier was warm and sunny. We knew from many prior trips, exactly what they were feeling up there, with nothing to do because most things were packed up and not being able to get far from camp as the helicopter could arrive any moment. There was plenty of food, but this was the first time that Kristin and I were not the last people to leave, so Kristin, having purchased most of the food, was concerned that everyone was cursing her because this or that had run out. But food is supposed to run out near the end of a trip, and eating poptarts and spaghetti for dinner is perfectly acceptable. Other than wait, there was not much to do. We had no change of clothes, no computers, no equipment, etc, just a warm place to sleep, lots of hot food and drinks, and good company. Bernhard never spent a night here though, leaving on the Friday night plane so that he could have a day in Fairbanks to take care of some shopping and other chores before heading back to Canada. We had hoped to meet up Saturday night with the entire crew, but by Sunday morning he was back at home and our situation was the same.

Waldo's: The faces have changed over the past 30 years, but the furniture stays the same.

Turner: "You mean I can walk around in my underwear all day long?"

Turner: "But I don't want to go to bed! Fantasy Island will be on in 20 minutes."

We weren't the only ones that got snowed on...

Apparently the deck of cards came in handy.

And there was plenty of food.

Sunday afternoon, though, showed serious signs of improvement. Cal launched about noon and returned with Frank, Denis, and Jenny. In the meantime, after several conversations with Frontier, a new plane had been organized to take folks back to Fairbanks. So they quickly showered and got some food, while we watched the skies to the south gradually get cloudier. Cal returned from his second flight empty, unable to make it into the mountains. So Kristin, Turner and I waved goodbye to everyone getting onto the Frontier flight, wanting to stick around until everyone and everything made it off the glacier, just in case any issues came up. But later in the evening, Cal was able to get two flights in, one with Art and Gretchen and another with cargo, leaving just one or two more flights for the morning. So we had our third partial reunion that night, and crossed our fingers once again for the morning.

The weather was fine at the glacier.

Would you buy a used Nikon from these two?

The weather in Kaktovik was good too. At least good enough to tear down the Dew Line site.

Felicia never missed an opportunity to make Turner laugh.

Neither did Turner.

Do it again! 10MB

As usual, we woke up to fog. I drifted in and out of naps until about noon, at which point it seemed like things were opening up again. So Cal and I flew back to the glacier for what we hoped was the last load. It turned out to be beautiful weather, and we were able to make it in with no problems. It turned out that with some creative packing that we were able to get all of the remaining gear on this flight, as we were limited more by space than by weight, after some adjustments to our cache and solar panels we left the glacier to grow and flow in peace until our return next May. This was my first flight into the glacier this trip. Normally I snap a few random pictures along the way, but flying over our hiking route changed the way I look at things from the air.

We found a few clouds, but not enough to slow us down.

Okpilak Valley, where we were dropped off more than 2 weeks ago.

The top of the moraine on the right, and the streams we crossed. We changed a few diapers here.

Looking down on Jaeger Pass, McCall Creek, and the Jago River.

The natural wier and slippery rocks.

The aufeis.

It seems like cheating, flying over all this at 100 mph.

At this point, I was already due to be starting field work in the central Brooks Range. Tom and I had several conversations about using his plane for this work, as we could bypass Fairbanks and Bettles and save some time and money. But by this point, Kristin and I were developing get-home-itis and when we learned that there was space on the next Frontier plane for us, we opted to take it. With my parents coming to town at the end of the week, and having some major home construction plans in mind in the next week, we were beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed and wanting to sleep in our own bed for at least a night or two of peace before the next round of chaos began. So we loaded up just a few of our things amongst all of the caribou antlers and rifles that the hunters from Minnesota and Texas were bringing back, and headed for home.

We were met at the airport by Frank and Deni, who had just checked in for their flight back to Belgium, and we all went out for dinner and beers at Pikes, where we had the whole place to ourselves, since our flight had been delayed several hours and it was well past dinner time. So we had a few toasts, exchanged some digital files, and talked a bit future plans before dropping them back off at the airport for the red-eye flight. Here we bumped into Jenny, who was dropping off her sister on her way to her first year at college. And by midnight we were home.

Uncle Frank, demonstrating the principles of a beer bong.

Frank: "With beer it is a bit different..."

In our absence, someone had delivered tons of gravel and pushed it around the house, in preparation for our new building projects. Several people had stayed here and apparently done a fair amount of shopping, based on the price tags in our burn pile. And it was dark, something we hadn’t experienced since our trip to Colorado more than a month ago. But we were home, and glad of it. We slept in for real, for the first time in 3 weeks without feeling guilty, and took a long nap in the afternoon, letting the cares of the past weeks slip away. The only mistake I made was downloading and reading my 405 new emails, only about 10 of which had any substantial messages, none of which had any good news, except for an expenses-paid invitation to Las Vegas to be on a science panel. But such is to be expected and over the next week of ‘vacation’ while building a new deck and dealing with all of our cargo, these things will be sorted out.

During the trip, I guess I came to the realization that I can never be a successful bureaucrat or middle manager, trying to climb the corporate ladder. I’m a scientist because it’s probably the only job I can be good at, as here it is at least nominally valued that discovering, speaking, and acting on the truth is more important keeping your job and almost anything else. But as I slowly age and wise up, I realize that this is only a nominal principle, as our entire society is geared to the opposite – that keeping your job or career is the highest priority of all – and even most scientists can't escape this. And that’s not a condemnation, just a realization – our lives in general are mortgaged to the hilt, whether it’s for the money for a house, a car, college tuition, or just food, as well as for the time to make that money. It’s the rat race on such an unimaginably large scale that it’s impossible for individuals to break out of. But when looked at on this scale, the motivations and actions of individuals become clearer – the competition is steep enough that there is always someone waiting to jump into your place on the ladder if you slip, and with such a heavy individual reliance on societal infrastructure, any such slips can wreak havoc on the stability, security, and societal-ranking that we have grown accustomed to. So the tendency of individuals is always towards limiting their own risk of slipping – putting job security ahead of the truth, putting perception ahead of reality, and putting the future ahead of the present -- because this also reduces the risk of slipping of those standing on their shoulders and who might otherwise block their advance or worse. The best an individual like me can do is hope to find a large enough eddy to forget about it all for while before being swept further downstream during the next flood. For me, being a scientist in Fairbanks is that eddy.

But on this trip I rediscovered a new eddy, one which I would not have found again had our original logistical plans not been thwarted by The Man and caused me to slip a bit on the ladder. I get so little time while on the glacier to do anything but sort and prep gear, and have had so little time in the past few years to do any camping unrelated to work, that I had forgotten what a joy it is just to walk with everything you need on your back – a complete escape from the insanity of civilized people, so complete for me that it didn’t even occur to me that it was missing until I returned to it. I was content with the single-minded focus on simply moving forward, discovering and overcoming the next obstacle, and enjoying the simple pleasures of life like eating berries on the go, eating hot food cooked over an MSR, sleeping in a warm, dry sleeping bag, and being snow bound in a tent with my family. And doing this in such a pleasant area of the world, the Arctic, was certainly an added bonus – like a giant playground that we had to ourselves, not just something to study but something to be a part of. So I probably learned more on this trip than I have in many others, and I now see our access to helicopters as having been something not completely positive, as it led to somewhat boring logistics and field work with little room for serendipity, an essential quality not only of science but of personal growth. From this vantage point, not taking Turner to the glacier via helicopter due to ‘safety concerns’ becomes laughable compared with the dangers inherent with the alternatives we took him through, as well as the alternatives of modern suburban life. And in retrospect, nearly every time I've dug in my heels and refused to keep climbing the ladder, the resulting slip has landed me somewhere more interesting than the next step-up would have been, though in this case I wound up with a lot more pretty pictures and direct satisfaction than normal.

Home is where the diaper bag is, not necessarily where you pay property taxes...