Sledge Golf, Coal Nunatak

During our field work in the Antarctic, we journaled about our adventures on the IPY-SCOTIA (International Polar Year-Sedimentary Connections and Ocean Thoroughfare in the Antarctic) website (http://web2.geol.sc.edu/barbeau/ipy/index.asp). The following journal entry entitled "72 Degrees South! (BOOYAH, DAVE!)" was published by me on the 6th of January, 2009. Here's what Dave had to say about it:

Editor`s note: As a result of the temporary dismemberment of Sledge Golf detailed below, Ms. Amanda Savrda is now officially (and officiously) the member of Team Barbeau who has traveled the furthest South -- hence her one-upmanship in the title...dlb

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72 Degrees South (BOOYAH, DAVE!)

When Dan and I were uplifted from Belemnite Point on the morning of the 4th, we were unable to land at Burns Bluff because of poor contrast and unable to land at Mars Glacier because of crevassing, so we were put down at Coal Nunatak. Coal Nunatak, located at -72.08 S -68.55 W, consists of some of the southernmost exposed rocks on Alexander Island. Dave and Ferg were able to be airlifted straight into Burns Bluff after their away-day in the LeMay`s because the weather improved, so for a few days, Sledge Golf will consist of Sledge Golf, Coal Nunatak and Sledge Golf, Burns Bluff.

Coal Nunatak, lovingly renamed "CONUN" for sampling purposes, is an even more alien place than Belemnite Point. Sledge Golf`s camp ground at Belemnite Point was nestled amid beautifully stratified mountains with sparkling hanging glaciers in a valley that provided us with a view across George VI Sound towards the crystalline peaks of the mainland peninsula. CONUN, on the other hand, is more subdued topographically, and blocks the view of the Sound to the east. Looking to the south, the view from our camp is nothing but white, and white, and white. Occasionally, in the distance, Dan and I would catch glimpses of a glaciated peak and some insanely immense ice cliffs, probably from somewhere on the peninsula.

Yesterday, the weather was absolutely stunning, and Dan and I were able to get out and sample some of the sandstones on the Nunatak. With blue skies and temperatures well above freezing, we thoroughly enjoyed basking in the warmth of the intense Antarctic sun on the organic-rich outcrops of CONUN. The geologic history of CONUN is quite exciting, because its strata tell the story of a series of sea level rises and falls. Some of the beds of terrestrial sandstones contain entire fossilized forests! We were able to see some beautiful plant and animal fossils, and even some of the coal from which CONUN derives its name. Dan found some beautiful fossilized ferns in the talus piles while I was sampling. The sandstones I sampled contained glints of pyrite (fool`s gold). Needless to say, CONUN has a lot going on for one Nunatak.

Today, we enjoy another warm day without jackets, and bask, yet again, in the unsetting sun of the southern Summer, proped up outside on our P-bags (Personal bags, containing our sleeping bags, etc.). We`re waiting for the for Twin Otter aircraft to pick us up and reunite us with the other half of Sledge Golf, who are already out sampling the granitoids of Burns Bluff.

The final Twin Otter is in sight. Brilliant, beautiful red against a background of the bluest of all sky blues. Its time to finish taking the tent down, and to time to pack the radio away.

In the words of Dan over the radio back to Rothera, "This is Sledge Golf, Coal Nunatak, going clear."

Flying over George VI Sound.

Fossilized flora of Coal Nunatak.

The sandstones of Coal Nunatak. Hammer for scale.

Strata of Coal Nunatak. Dan Fitzgerald for scale.

More fossilized fauna (~100 Ma)!

The slopes of Coal Nunatak.

Cross-stratification in Coal Nunatak sandstones.

Beautiful sandstones.

Dan contemplates the rocks as I sample.

Windscoop.

Sample area.

Scree.

Looking west from Coal Nunatak to our skidoos.

Coal Nunatak.

Marker flag.

Dan.

My crates of Coal Nunatak sandstones for thermochronometric analyses.

My shadow in the snow.

Steve flying in to pick us up.

Steve "buzzing" us.

Steve landing on the "runway."

Taxiing right up to camp.

Dr. Dan "Honky Cat" Fitzgerald. BAS Mountaineer Extraordinaire.

Belemnite Point- Sledge Golf's 1st Camp

The continuing Antarctic Field Work Saga... better late than never, right?

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Belemnite Point

At the 8:00 AM weather briefing on December 31st, 2008, we received the go-ahead to make the move to our field area at Burn’s Bluff. The flight apron was abuzz with activity, as the two Twin Otter aircraft were loaded up with all of the equipment necessary to keep Sledge Golf sheltered, safe, and successful during a two week stint in the field. Dave and Dan (one of the excellent BAS mountaineers assigned to our project) were on the first flight to ferry our kit (equipment) out to the field site, and a second Twin Otter soon followed them down the runway, disappearing to the south above an ice-berg dotted Marguerite Bay.

The first Twin Otter leaving Rothera to lift Sledge Golf into the Field with Dave and Dan aboard.

Ferg and I waited eagerly to hear whether the other half of our Sledge party would be able to land in Burns Bluff. After mid-morning Smoko, we were told that contrast was too poor to land at the Bluff, and that we would instead set up our first camp at Belemnite Point, a bit further south and some 30km or so across George VI Sound on Alexander Island.

By the time 1 o’clock rolled around, the Twin Otters had returned from the 2 hour ferrying of half of our gear southward and were back at Rothera to retrieve the rest of the gear and the rest of Sledge Golf.

The Twin Otter and Doug, our pilot for our lift into Belemnite Point.

Loading up the "kit."

Ferg (BAS Mountaineer Extraordinaire) waiting to fly to BP.

BAS Twin Otter.

I stood outside of the tiny, pretty, red, twin propellered plane and was almost shaking with excitement. Hoisting myself into the back of the Twin Otter, I walked past our equipment to a tiny bench seat behind the cockpit and sat down next to an oval window. As we lifted off the runway, I could feel my heart beating loudly in my ears over the sound of the propellers. We circled around Rothera once and then headed south as we broke through the clouds.

Rothera Research Station from above.

I soon spotted the high eastern peaks of Alexander Island off to the west. How funny it was to greet those mountains. It was like greeting an old friend. I felt like I knew those mountains because I had studied their history. It was at that moment that I realized then that I knew more about the geography of the Antarctic Peninsula than I did of the state of South Carolina! We continued on above the clouds, passing along the center of George VI Sound between Alexander Island to the west and the Antarctic Peninsula to the east. Ferg, who was riding “shotgun” steered the plane while our pilot read a book. I stared out the window in awe, taking in all of the white and blue.

The peaks of Alexander Island.

Self portrait. Taking it all in.

Descending...

The descent into Belemnite Point was incredible. The Sound remained mysterious and shrouded until we broke through the clouds, as towering, stratified mountains revealed their skree-cut and glacier draped flanks. You know that a place is beautiful when even the folks who make their living there stop and stare and have their breath taken away. As we lost altitude, tiny dots turned into black flags waving to us in welcome along the sides of a snowy runway. Soon the tents and Dave and Dan came into view. Touch down… home sweet home in Ablation Valley.

The Twin Otters at our Belemnite Point camp.

Tracks in the snow. This is one of my favorite photos.

Professional Antarctic Explorers. Dan and Ferg, Sledge Golf's BAS Mountaineers.

The planes getting ready to leave us.

After unloading the rest of the equipment, we watched the Twin Otters race away in the snow and disappear into the sky in the distance, leaving no sign that they were ever there except 4 people, 3 tents, 2 skidoos, boxes of food and equipment, and the traces of skis in the snow.

The last "Twotter" and one of our tents.

Nestled into Ablation Valley along the northern flanks of the fluvio-deltaic sandstones and shales of Belemnite Point, our camp was guarded by a hanging glacier on the peaks to our west. From the doors of our north-facing pyramid tents, we could look north to the flanks of other nunataks, and east across the ice-choked George VI Sound to the mountainous and snowy spine of the Antarctic Peninsula. (A gigapan of our field camp: http://www.gigapan.org/gigapans/14977/ )

Sledge Golf's camp at Belemnite Point.

My front doorstep for a few days. Looking across George VI Sound to the craggy, snowcapped spine of the Antarctic Peninsula.

Ablation Valley. Our "runway."

The Sun over GVIS.

Looking ~20-30km across George VI Sound to the Antarctic Peninsula. Burns Bluff, one of our other field sites, can be seen in the left third of the photograph.

For a bit of a New Years Eve adventure, we split into two groups to scout out the field area. Dave and Ferg linked up and drove the skidoos around the Point in search of sampling locales and uncrevassed travel space. Dan and I hiked around Belemnite Point taking a series of gigapans of the Ablation Point and Himalia formations. Dan and I returned to camp before Dave and Ferg, so he brewed some tea in our tent and made some extremely delicious pesto and sundried tomato in olive oil tri-color pasta (thanks, Dan!). When Dan and Ferg returned to camp, we all toasted to the New Year over sips of very warming whiskey.

Dan fires up the stove in our tent to get dinner started.

The next morning we doubled up on the skidoos and went to take our first sample of Antarctic rocks. In the cold, dry air on New Years day, I busted off a chunk of Antarctica with my rock hammer and placed it in a bag labeled “BP1” for Belemnite Point, Sample 1.

Collecting sample BP1.

Collecting sample BP2 on New Years Day.

After a lunch on the rocks of tuna, corn, cheese, and biscuits brown, we split up to do some sampling. Dave and Dan fought their way up the skree for several hours to collect some higher elevation samples, and Ferg and I traveled east to collect some coarse sandstones lower in the section. After a long day of sampling, Dan made chili con carne for supper, which we had with mango chutney and aubergine (egg plant) pickle. Done with our sampling in the area, we spent the evening relaxing in Ferg and Dave’s tent, and Ferg acquired the nick-name “Fergilicious” and Dan became “Honky Cat” (if you see me sometime, I’d be happy to tell the stories behind those nick-names).

January 2nd, 2009, the weather was poor, so the earlier portions of the day were spent contemplating the geology of the area. When things cleared up a bit, Dave and I ventured out to take gigapans of some of the spectacularly folded strata at Belemnite Point (see one of our gigapans at http://www.gigapan.org/gigapans/15006/).

Dave advertising for Mac, warm and comfy during the early-day lie-up on the 2nd.

A shout out to my Alma Mater. War Damn Eagle!

January 3rd, we awoke to winds gusting more than 30 knots and nil visibility, so it quickly became a no-fly lie-up day. The wind whistled around the tents and it was quite snowy and cold. After lunch, Ferg and Dave came to visit Dan and I in our tent for a game of Scrabble. Dan kicked our butts, and I think Ferg made up a word.

When we woke up on the morning of January 4th, the weather had improved enough that we were given the go-ahead to relocate to Burns Bluff. The plan was for Ferg and Dave to go into the LeMay Range for an “Away Day” of sampling and for Dan and I to fly into Burns Bluff if the contrast had improved enough.

'Round Rothera Point and a Ridge Named Reptile

The following post includes my first few days on the Antarctic Peninsula in December 2008. If you've yet to read about my time in Chile and my flight to Antarctica, see previous posts!

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I had trouble sleeping the first night at the Station from all of the excitement. I was in total shock to be in Antarctica… to feel, as I did in Tierra del Fuego, that I was on a completely different planet… and once again, lucky as hell to be there. The Dash-7 had safely deposited me in the middle of stunning, white, glaciered, iceberged nowhere. I awoke early on the 26^th of December to what would be the first of many spectacularly beautiful days on the Antarctic Peninsula. Blue, blue skies, blindingly brilliant snow. I shared a room with my friend Mel, who I had befriended during my time in Cambridge, UK at the British Antarctic Survey’s Briefing Conference and Field Training in September 2008. From room 31 in Admiral’s Accommodation Block, we had a spectacular view of the gravel runway, Mt. Leotard, the South Cove, Reptile Ridge, the ski-way, the Traverse, and the airplane hangar, and the 4 or 5 feet of Winter snow that still hadn’t melted around the Station.

Admiral's room 31.

The spectacular view from room 31.

After breakfast in a dining room lined with windows that faced the ink-blue and iceberg-strewn North Cove, I went for a walk around Rothera Point with several folks, including Chris (sculptor extraordinaire), Celine (meteorologist), and Adam (plumber) who I had also met at Conference earlier in the year. The jaunt around Rothera Point was beautiful. The icebergs stood out crisply colorless against the deep blue water. Weddell seals sunned themselves lazily along the shoreline, easily mistaken for fuzzy granitic boulders. Penguins zipped through the water, threw themselves onto rocks, and sat, curious and staring, wiggling at all the humans walking past in their funny hats. It was amazing. Blue and white and a tiny bit of rock, as far as the eye could see. After the nice tour around the point, I got to have lunch with Terri (marine biologist), Johnny (mechanic), and Tony (electrician), several more friends from Cambridge.

North Cove.


The runway, apron, hangar, and Reptile Ridge.


Celine and Chris during our walk around Rothera Point.


Looking east toward the Antarctic Peninsula proper.


Lazy seals. (center)


Gorgeous.


Penguins! (center)


Ink-blue Antarctic water flaunting icebergs.


One of the BAS Twin Otter aircraft. (center)


Mmmm... icebergs!


Mt. Leotard from the deck of Old Bransfield.


Some weird ice.

The 27^th of December was a beautiful, busy day of orientations and on-Station training. In the morning, we spent some time at a first aid refresher courtesy of Doc Matt, and had the chance to give intramuscular injections to a sponge, which, I must say, was well doped-up by the time the 10 or so of us had stabbed it with our luer-lok needles. In the afternoon, Johnny gave us some instruction on skidoo driving, and Celine and I were freaking out as he was telling horror stories of people rolling skidoos over on slopes because they were not distributing their weight correctly. My first skidoo ride consisted of me cautiously and nervously driving myself up and down the ski-way, with a spectacular view of the Station below, strangely anthropogenic and anomalous against the snow-covered peaks of the Antarctic Peninsula saw-toothing the blue sky across the Bay.

The Ski-way, the Traverse, and a Ridge named Reptile.


The sun over Mt. Leotard.


Mt. Leotard around 2 AM.

That afternoon, Sledge Golf (our field team, consisting of Dave, myself, and our two BAS mountaineers, Dan and Ferg) gathered to look over maps and discuss field work plans. We gathered together a bunch of “kit” (BAS-speak for gear or equipment) for the next day’s crevasse rescue training and pyramid tent camping. I was given my “female urination device,” called a “She-wee,” which is, for lack of a better way of describing it, a prosthetic penis of sorts, to allow a woman to pee standing up without having to remove her trousers. In my journal, I described it as “a grotesque pink/flesh-colored monstrosity.” Haha.

The 28^th of December was a Sunday and everyone on base had the day off, but Dave and I began our field training. We started with a crevasse rescue refresher in Fuchs House, where I had to recall all that I learned while training with BAS in Derbyshire, UK. I repelled myself down from the loft to sway back and forth in mid air in front of the entrances to the hallway and equipment rooms, where I then switched out my abseiling (repelling) kit for jumaring kit to make my way back up the rope. After lunch that day, we walked across the gravel runway over to the hangar to load up our skidoos for an afternoon of training and our evening out.

As I drove across the traverse, my skidoo caught a rut, and because I wasn’t throwing my weight up-slope as much as I should have, my skidoo started to zip off down the hill outside of the red and black flags that marked the safe area of travel. At the time, I vividly recall thinking that I was going to die, but I slammed on the breaks just outside of the flags and managed not to unwillingly “explore” any crevasses. Dave and Ferg had to help me get the skidoo back on track, because I almost flipped it over. You may read this and think “Man, she’s an idiot,” but you had to be there, and after the fact it was all quite hysterical, especially since Dave did the same thing about 2 minutes later, except he got his skidoo lodged in the snow and had to have Ferg help him dig it out (which afforded me some time to take some nice pictures). Needless to say, after that I understood that Johnny was exactly right when he told me I’d have to do a little extra throwing of weight with my small stature… I would have to put my entire body on the uphill or outer side of a turn whenever I was driving.

Sweet Caroline. My training 'doo.

Looking east, from the Traverse, panning from north to south:






A view north along the Traverse from the seat of my skidoo.

We didn’t have to drive very far before Ferg pulled over next to four red flags and told me to gear up in my crampons and “jingly-janglies.” We were going to repel down into a crevasse!!! Ferg moved a large piece of plywood from the snow and revealed a gaping, glowing hole in the side of the Traverse. Ferg went down first, and then I roped up and went down, digging in my crampons and showering icicles on Ferg below as I bumped them off of the back and top walls clumsily with my helmet. After about 3 meters of descent, the crevasse opened up into a cavern, where Ferg was standing on an icy floor in the eerie, but stunning, bluish glow of down-lit glacial ice. I linked into the guide ropes on the wall and climbed over into the “Waiting Room,” a vestibule with ice pillar walls, so that Dave could descend into the bluish darkness, too. We followed Ferg into the bowels of the glacier as I attempted to master crampon footing for the first time. We traveled down and around and in and out of all sorts of narrow spaces and ledges placed precariously over deeper holes. We dug our crampons into floors, walls, and ceilings. In the icy blue glow, we marveled at the icicles- stalactites, stalagmites, and pillars of the glacial world. Ferg turned on his headlamp and shined it upwards so that the tiny crystals on the ceiling caught the light, dispersing sparkles in all directions like stars twinkling through an atmosphere of synthetic night sky. I have no pictures of our journey into the crevasse. Only images afforded through words. It was beautiful and silent and blue.

After exploring the crevasse and getting a quick lesson from Ferg in ice screw placement, I jumared up the wall of the crevasse’s entrance, followed by Dave and Ferg. We re-packed our skidoos and turned back down the Traverse to sit at the top of the Ski-way and snack on turkey and coleslaw sandwiches while taking in the view. Rothera, below, sat nestled into the bay among epic, glacier-cut mountains that swept their steep sides gracefully, but decisively downward, to plunge into the deep icy blue of calm Antarctic waters dotted with the whites and blues of icebergs.

Having sufficiently refueled ourselves, we geared up and linked up and trudged our way into a snow bowl to practice traversing a near-vertical windscoop in crampons and self-arresting on steep, snowy slopes. We descended into the bowl as another training group was doing their self-arrests. I watched and laughed as Mel, Terri, and Magda threw themselves down a slope that would be dumb to even walk on if you were anywhere else in the world. They were having a blast being rough and tumble in the snow. They left while we were doing our crampon work and we took over their self-arrest spot, where a nice ice slide had been formed through the softer snow. We started by going feet first, face down and digging our axes in… then feet first, face up… and then head first, face down… and finally head first, face up! I very nearly concussed myself on some waylaying chunks of ice, but still had a blast.

After self-arresting, we hiked out of the windscoop and back up to the skidoos, and then tore off towards the Caboose. We ate some biscuits and had a couple of cups of tea, and then began to set up the pyramid tent that we would sleep in that night, next to the igloo that Graham and Chris built a few nights earlier. It was a nice, albeit child-sized, igloo built from ice-bricks that they quarried from a nearby snow-pit. We dug out a large square area of softer snow and then set up the faded orange tent, laying the ground sheet and packing in all of the wooden boards, wooden kits boxes, and personal bags, the same way we would during our weeks in the field. After a bit of HF training, Ferg cooked rice pilaf for dinner. After peeing (quasi-successfully and quite hysterically) with the aid of my She-wee at the pee flag, I spent my first evening in a pyramid tent quite warm and quite comfortable, and awoke in the morning to my first Antarctic snowfall. Beautiful chunky snowflakes racing down from graphite gray clouds.

Looking up at the ceiling of the Caboose.


A view from inside the pyramid tent of snow falling on the Caboose with Reptile Ridge in the background.

The 29^th was a busy day of more crevasse rescue training, which included making snow anchors and me throwing myself blindly over a ledge while roped to Dave to simulate falling down a crevasse. It was fun, despite the fact that an allergic reaction to a nasty mix of sunscreen and melting snow in my eyes resulted in symptoms similar to those of snow-blindness. My eyes and nose were watering so profusely when I was rigging up the Z-pulley system to pull Dave up from over the ledge that I could barely see and I had to wipe my boogers in the snow. I think it amused Ferg to no end. Despite the discomforts of cold and the plethora of boogie, I managed to remember all of the technical stuff… I was able to put in snow anchors, abseil down over the ledge to “check” on Dave, jumar back up over the ledge, prep the ledge, and then pull Dave up over the ledge using the Z-pulley system I rigged myself. Not bad for a gal from Alabama with little snow experience and no mountaineering experience what-so-ever... and boogers running down her face.

After a day of rest and preparation on the 30^th, Sledge Golf received the go-head on the morning of December 31^st, 2008 to fly via BAS Twin Otter to our field sites further south. I was going to celebrate New Years along George VI Sound at about 70 degrees South!

(Next Post: Antarctic Fieldwork)