The Three Musketeers, and others...

One of the most distinctive features of this landscape are its icebergs and I would like to share some of the wonder that they have inspired in me.  Icebergs are so intellectually and visually intriguing that it is difficult to know where to begin, so pardon the mental scatter, if you would.  If I could only convey two things about "bergs," it would be that (1) no two are alike, and (2) that your brain cannot make sense of their unique shapes because it is nearly an impossible challenge to perceive how they might have melted that way.  It's a frozen cloud game and everyone is encouraged to play.  You do not have to have a child's imagination to see the magnificent castles, gaping craters, smooth hillsides, endless tunnels, weathered boulders, and the countless other abstractions that float by.  The best thing is that they stick around.  You can even invent stories about them.

       One epic tale was concocted the moment Alice and I moved into our room.  We looked out the window and saw these enormous icebergs floating a stone's throw away behind our nearest island, just begging for a history.  I said, "wow, we should give it a name!"  In the excitement of the moment and the shuffle of our first hours as official Palmerites, I suggested, "how about The Three Musketeers?"  The name has stuck even since we have learned that they are really all for one.  The intrigue grew as the light played beautifully on it's surfaces at dusk and each day, we speculated about how it melted that way and we schemed to get a closer look.  One evening, a whole week later, we were finally set for the long-awaited adventure.  We approached by boat and it was quite a scene, with the large mountain peak and the glacier hill behind it.  Our plan was to circle it in the zodiak and The Three Musketeers did not disappoint.  Of course, we had to explain to our boating companion where the name had come from, since clearly it was one big piece.

      Our beautiful neighborhood iceberg was full of surprising shapes and even had complementary icicles hanging from the top ledge.  It has a pointed spire and two slanting plateaus.  It also has layers of horizontal blue stripes from when the glacier formed.  As we rounded the berg, we caught a glimpse of the brilliant blue color where the nearly invisible ice still barely holds the pieces together below the surface.  Water directly underneath or near the base of the bergs always appears bright blue because you're looking through less sea water.  If I worked for the International Ice Patrol, I would call it a medium pinnacular dry-dock for it's turret and hollow inside pool.  But because I'm just me, I prefer to think of them as simply awesome, wondrously large blocks of broken glaciers - completely solid and entirely asymettrical snowflakes, for a giant.
            Their size leaves an impression on you, almost as if you've just visited some geological national monument.  But even if you remember and imagine how much bigger they are underwater, size alone is not the whole experience.  For me, the way they float so quietly all day, seemingly unchanged, is part of the attraction and awe.  Before we became more personally acquainted with our musketeers, we watched each day as they shifted in and out of the inlet with the winds and currents.  At first we weren't sure that they were on the move, but as the days passed, they went from one side of our window to the other and back.  After our most recent storm, they were blown out of the inlet and out of sight, gone.  Now they're back, though farther away impressing more distant islands.

         Of course, icebergs aren't the only hard water substance down here.  We've got sea ice, brash ice, pack ice, glaciers, snow, and piedmonts.  Sea ice occurs where the surface of the ocean freezes over and is most common in the winter here at Palmer Station.  Brash ice, on the other hand, plagues our boating excursions constantly.  Brash ice is a sea of "growlers," or mini ice chunks, that is created when our backyard glacier calves into the ocean.  These small bergs are also beautiful and unique.  You think that because they are small, they would move out of the way.  However, Alice likens them to large rocks and she's right - that's exactly what it sounds like when you ride over it in the boats.  This ice doesn't even have to come from our glacier.  Sometimes we'll wake up in the morning and our entire harbor is covered, the ice having blown in from elsewhere.  But what blows in must eventually blow out, so the sea and the ice are subtly ever-changing.  Kind of peaceful if you think about it.  I don't believe that icebergs could ever get old.