Antarctica, I Owe You One

I absolutely cannot summarize this experience in words, it is just too big on so many levels. But, as the adventure comes to an end, I would like to highlight some of the unforgettable moments and try to express what this place has meant to me. I must first say that my favorite memories will not only be of the extraordinary moments but will include the plainer routines that made up my daily experience here. That said, sampling in the zodiak will stay with me as one of my favorite routines. Alice and I would quietly go about our respective tasks and as I was sitting in the back of the boat, I would look around and just want to stay. It is a rare and special moment, especially in my seemingly fast-paced lifestyle, that I simply want to do nothing but be still and stay put. Relatedly, I am thankful for the time in the boats because we got to experience how different each day was. Sometimes it snowed, sometimes we had to hold on tight, sometimes the sun would peek through the clouds and reflect brilliantly off the mountains.
           The mountains alone are a separate highlight at the top of my list. Never did I think about seeing huge, tall mountains covered in snow and surrounded by water. I will never get over the odd and incredible impressions that dominating aspect of the landscape gave me. Completely captivating. A third feature of the landscape that I loved were the sunsets. Perhaps because they were rare or perhaps because sunsets are something that everyone can relate to, I'm not sure which. What made these sunsets special, though, were the icebergs that littered the foreground and how the low-lying clouds around the mountains were tinted orange. Sometimes the sunset glued all of the pieces together in my mind - the water, the ice, the rocks, the mountins, and our place in it.

         Something else I will unquestionably take with me is all of the wildlife that gives personality to the landscape. I cannot believe all of the marine animals I saw and got close to. The whales, the penguins, the seals.... all of it was awesome. That brings me to camping. I described it in an earlier post, but that feeling of being surrounded by raw, unadulterated nature is something that I never want to forget even though there is little room for that sentiment in "the real world."
           One aspect of this landscape that will stay with me is its expansiveness. Perhaps it is so evident because of the tall mountains, or maybe because you can look to the horizon and see it as your domain because nobody can ever claim it or develop it. I always try to observe my surroundings in all of their detailed complexity but I try to simultaneously see myself as the dot that I am. This was particularly easy sitting atop the glacier looking at the mountains that vanish into the distance not because of foggy clouds but because they actually keep going as far as you can see. The only way that I can think to convey the beauty of this expansiveness would be to tell you to close your eyes and create a mental collage of all of my photographs and allow that stitched image to extend infinitely to the horizon. I know that's what I'm going to do when I am surrounded by billboards and traffic lights.
             Hugh says that the real world will never be the same. I'm not convinced that this is true, but it does beg the question of how much of all this I will be able to carry with me. I know that you cannot hold onto everything in life, but I cannot help but think that this experience has changed me. The problem is that when old routines and habits set in, your current circumstances really dominate your past experiences - even if they are incredible, they tend to melt away. Perhaps the two things that I am determined to bring with me are the positivity and the peace that I have felt. Being so excited on a daily basis completely trumps all other rollercoaster feelings that are a part of life - it's a constant emotional high. When I tried to figure out why being at Palmer station was so easy for me, I came up with two things: no money, no cars. Never worrying about finances or sitting in traffic is a beautiful thing and it actually gives you the opportunity to see what you become when stripped of the usual concerns.
         All that said, when people kept asking me whether I'd be back or want to be back, the answer was far from a no-brainer. Living in Antartica gives you so much, but you have to give up almost everything in return. It works for some people. A notable Antarctic researcher once said that if you shake the earth, all the misfits fall to the bottom. I don't think that's entirely true, but you can look around and understand why certain people are just happier here. Speaking of people, the community that I found at Palmer is perhaps highest on my list of unforgettables! I will never forget the smiles and generosity that I met here. Working here felt very really and meaningful, but some might see Antarctica as an escape from everything. I'm not sure how my own perspective on this will change with distance, but maybe it's a little of both. My biggest hope is that there will always be a space inside of me where I can go to relive this incredible adventure. Through this trip, I have been reminded of how important it is to let my imagination run free and allow my heart and mind to simply explore the world.

    Thanks to my friends and family who have been following me in all of this - it means a lot. An even bigger thanks to my bunkmate, travel and gym buddy, my partner in exploration, laughter and microbrial crime, the one and only, Alice Alpert. This wouldn't have been the same without you for a companion!

Oh, Antarctica, it's been great - I owe you one.

The Journey North

Even though we are retracing the same path that we sailed over a month ago, I wanted to write briefly about it because no two journeys are alike.  Right from the start, it has been completely different in both the scenery and people's priorities and mindsets.  We had quite the send-off.  Even though it had been snowing for hours, everyone gathered in their warm gear to wave goodbye to us.  A group of ten or so were even carrying towels under their arms.  Why, you ask?  It's a good-luck tradition to take the plunge off the pier bumper as the Gould departs.  So sure enough, as we pulled away, surrounded by snow and ice, we saw our friends jumping and diving into the frigid water.  As Palmer was being swallowed by the dense clouds, we watched the penguin island go by and each took in the station for the last time.  Still in good spirits, we headed inside and out of the snow for what famously became the day of naps.  The Neumayer chanel was hidden from view by the clouds, so I felt no guilt in sleeping until dinner.  Thus began the routine of resting, sleeping, eating, and taking in the sights. 
             My favorite spot on the ship by far is the bridge.  You get to look at the charts and name the islands or sit at a back table and read while looking out the windows.  This is where I have spent most of my time, strategically avoiding the myriad movies that have been playing in the lounge, none better than Beverly Hills Cop.  From the bridge, Alice and I absorbed the last icebergs and Antarctic ice-covered mountains on the map and I am still holding the beauty of that afternoon in my mind.  For some reason, our shipmates did not seem as sentimental or eager to absorb the view.  In truth, a strange divide has become apparent between those who stayed at the station versus those who spent the whole month on the ship.  Naturally, the two groups would have drastically different experiences, but some people seem more eager to exchange photographs and stories than others.  Some folks are also very eager to get off the ship, for one reason or another.  One that immediately comes to mind is the rolling.
         I woke up from one of my naps, climbed to the main deck, and suddenly felt awful.  Why are we rolling so much?  Aren't we still along the peninsula?  Right then, I knew that we were in for a much rougher ride compared to our previous journey.  The constant and relentless swaying of the ship has been entertaining and fun (once you get used to it), but it definitely makes everything you do more tiring. I thought stairs and sleeping were a challenge before! Well, let's just say that I learned the value of bracing yourself and of using the adhesive placemats in the galley - without them your neighbor would suddenly lay claim to your dinner!  Despite my improved balance, I still avoided the shower.
            Sitting up in the bridge seeing the horizon sway back and forth in all directions is so interesting because you forget how huge the ship is when it is tossed about like a toy in a bathtub.  The ocean is just that big and that powerful.  Another interesting artifact of sleeping downstairs in the berthing vans is you are privvy to the powerful booms that reverberate through the walls when the waves hit the ship at the right angle - they send a shockwave of rattling vibrations through our quarters... very tough to sleep through, but made me chuckle all the same.  It's hard to get annoyed or frustrated at anything in an experience like this. 
        As I said before, some people are anxious to get off, but I am really enjoying these days on the boat.  Before, it was forced relaxation.  Now, it is the only buffer I have between me and going back to school!  I have mainly spent my mornings up on the bridge enjoying the view and catching up on schoolwork.  It has been a lovely transition, despite having moments when you feel so heavy that all you can do is sleep!  The view has been mostly ocean, but what an ocean it is.  Through the Drake Passage, the water is this unbelievable color of blue because nothing grows in it - no plants or even animals to absorb and scatter the light.  Birds will also occassionally encircle the boat for a few hours.  The beautiful cloud patterns complete the picture.
        Other than that, we have a fire drill this afternoon and dock around 2am Sunday morning.  Customs will meet us and then we are free to frolic about Punta Arenas for the day - I've heard rumor of a chocolate shop that we missed the first time around!  We're also staying in a beautiful old hotel with a glass greenhouse that sits directly on the town square.  Yep, traveling in style. An update: we saw these dolphins once we entered the strait of Magellan - so fun!  They were playing in our wake. 

Antarctica By the Numbers

Last night the station band gave us quite the send-off.  We had 2+ hours of rock 'n roll and many smiles into the wee hours of the morning.  Today the line-handlers will untie us and off we'll go, waving goodbye to Palmer station and heading for the open ocean.  It's been snowing all morning and everyone is in good spirits.  Stay tuned for final thoughts after the trip north, but first, Antarctica by the numbers......

  

Scint vials processed: 1500

Photographs taken: 900

Fantastic meals: ~100

Beatles songs in the Rad Lab: at least 40

Peaceful nights sleep:30

Days on the ice: 27

Bowls of homemade granola consumed: 15?

Mornings out with Bruiser: 12

Hours spent in the cold room: at least 9

Marine mammal species sighted: 8

Birthdays celebrated: 7

Cruise ships boarded: 6

House mouses and GASHs: 5

Evenings in the hot tub: 4

Climbs up the glacier: 3

Named icebergs: 2

Fantastic research buddy: 1

Polar Plunges: 1

Beautiful sights: Infinite

Great conversations and smiles: Countless

What a fantastic adventure.

Day of the Whales

There are a few pictures up around the station that are titled "Day of the Whales, 1987" that depict zodiaks meters away from big, curious humpback whales.  I never expected to experience this myself, but we marked Feb. 1st as "Day of the Whales, 2010."  A day that merits this designation is more than a series of lucky close encounters or distance spout sightings.  Rather, "Day of the Whales" refers to a whole day or even several hours where many pods come into the area to feed and play.  Not only that, but for me it means that everything is about them rather than us, when they could care less about our presence.  Well, today was certainly one of those days and it was........ for fear of using the word "surreal" yet again, I will call it phenomenal.

       Where to begin on humpback whales... Let me first set the stage.  Alice and I were regrettably retained in the lab throughout the day and became more and more agitated about being cooped up inside when we could here exclamations of awe over the radios from those out on the boats following the whales around.  But, we got lucky in the late afternoon and were able to sneak away when we heard that they were still there.  The first few dorsal fins and tails we saw just overwhelmed me, but the bubble feeding was an entirely different and more incredible sight to witness.  We could see a ring of bubbles forming on the surface..... then a fin..... then a sudden burst of activity with three or four gaping mouths surging into the air.  This was always followed by a mix of strangely curved and colored body parts as the whales sank back under the surface.  These were not just isolated displays but continued happening for at least an hour and in multiple pods around us and far off into the distance.  Day of the Whales indeed. 

        What was perhaps most incredible about this experience was how close we got to the animals.  We kept a safe and respectful distance, most of the time.  We were so close that we were occasionally overwhelmed by their awesome but gross-smelling spew.  I felt like a whale pod groupie.  They would surface, give us a frothy baleen show of bubbles, swim briefly underwater, and repeat.  Each time they moved, we moved alongside or behind and then oooooed and aaahed when they came up again.  

         Three things surprised me most about getting up close and personal with the humpbacks today.  First is the distinctly recognizable variation that you can see between each individual.  We practically had our small pod named within ten minutes.  "Oh, that's orange tail," or "there goes curvy fin!"  Their flukes really are like fingerprints, where no two are alike, but I always thought you needed fancy imaging techniques or binoculars to distinguish between them.  As it turns out, that is not the case at all.  Second, is their form.  Humpback whales are somewhat oddly-shaped creatures when it comes down to it.  I have seen dozens of textbook outlines and diagrams, and I have even been whale-watching.  However, none of these previous exposures had prepared me for the immensely large chin pouch or how strangely flat the tops of their heads are.  Their surfaces are also very heterogeneous.  Everyone has heard of the barnacles that mooch off this gracious host, but those little mounds combined with the natural nubs they have on their heads and flippers make for a very lumpy sight.  Lumpy but spectacularly graceful, of course.  Diagrams also don't do justice to the distinct grooves that run all along their underside.  Third, humpback whales are not just black, grey, and white.  Whether it is algae also hitching a ride on their huge bodies or whether it is true skin pigment, these whales have orange and brown patches on their chin like a beard!  The white underbelly is a beautiful contrast to their sleek black heads. 

           We followed one pod along the backside of the penguin island as they moved away.  At one point, they seemed to take a turn in front of us and suddenly, the unbelievable happened!  One and then another of the whales breached and flew into the air.  The second even added a half twist for effect.  We were all nearly speechless!  It was like a postcard or some other picture-perfect representation of reality.  The penguins and birds were also taking advantage of the krill that the whales were driving to the surface.  It was a beautiful display of natural excitement.  Overall I think the most awe-inspiring aspects of them are their size and grace.  Their backs are massive coming out of the water; pinnochio really could have been easily swallowed in the surge of water entering their bodies.
            As you can imagine, this was an incredible ending to our final, more normal day here at the station.  Tomorrow the boat arrives and the whole place will be abuzz with cargo operations, changing room assignments, and a great amount of science equipment being disassembled and reassembled or packed away.  It is difficult to imagine what it will be like having our big ship docked at the pier and seeing distantly familiar faces that signify leaving.  Last night, the Gould did a fly-by and appeared out of nowhere off at the very limits of our boating range.  It went something like this: "IS THAT THE GOULD?!?!?!  Nooooooo!"  It just feels like an intrusion to even think about disrupting the routines we have established here. 

          But, in truth, I am ready to come home and have so much to look forward to when I do.  I am only trying to convey how strongly confused and emotional this transition feels.  But, I am guessing that once the ship arrives, it will all feel natural to carry my suitcase down the plank and back into the bowels of the ship.  It has just been such a grand adventure, and because it has been so big, I almost don't feel too sentimental about it.  There haven't been any "lasts" to worry about because I have already absorbed more than I ever thought possible.  Thank you, whales, for the great show.  They must have known it was a special night! 
         

Climate and the Peninsula

 I mentioned climate change in passing in an earlier entry and I wanted to take this opportunity to elaborate on this subject as it relates specifically to the Antarctic Peninsula.  Climate change is such an enormously complex issue scientifically, politically, ethically, socially, and geographically, that it is impossible to make generalizations that answer the scariest and also the simplest questions about the future.  I have known that this controversial topic is one of the most difficult to communicate, but it has actually been the cruise ship passengers that have reminded me of its intrigue and mystery among general audiences that don't live and breath these thoughts and words daily. 
       Our boss, Hugh Ducklow, is a master of climate change communication and I never would have suspected it.  He has a scientific presentation about changes they have observed on the peninsula that had me on the edge of my seat because he makes it into such a good story.  I will not be able to reproduce the story here (I lack his practice), but I will try to explain the highlights of the picture that has started developing from the information collected in the very project that I am a part of.  I will spoil one punch line to emphasize how fascinating this system is.  The western side of the Antarctic Peninsula is the fastest-warming place on the planet.  It seems like a self-centered statement coming from an antarctic researcher, but the records don't lie - average winter air temperatures have already risen 11 degrees F in the last several decades.  While this is a huge number, I find it interesting (and wonderfully scientifically pure) that Hugh speaks about the data and his curiousity before he taints the topic with socio-political dramatics and fear-driven woes.  (This description should not leave you with the impression that he is unconcerned.  Rather, it seems as though he can turn his science and social switches on and off, which is an ability that I admire).  
        If I have learned one thing about Antarctic ecology, it is that sea ice matters.  As it turns out, sea ice matters a great deal.  Sea ice is important for all of the animals in the food web, but most importantly, it is absolutely essential for the teeny-tiny plants that support all life in the ecosystem.  The microscopic plants are eaten by vegetarian sea-insects such as itty-bitty shrimp and krill, which are in turn eaten by sea birds such as penguins.  And we all know what eats penguins!  That's right, the seals. Imagine sea ice as a very thick, retractable roof in a greenhouse that is designed to give the plants the perfect amount of light and warmth (or cold).  Clearly, it is not simply the presence or absence of a roof that the plants depend on, but their growth changes depending on how thick the glass is and how many days of the year it covers them.  Sea ice shades the plants underneath during the winter but the thick layer of freshwater sitting at the sea surface also prevents the water from mixing.  Mixing is neither good or bad, but these plants are used to a specific amount of mixing, just as they are adjusted to a specific amount of sun and nutrient-rich food.   
       So, what happens when temperatures warm up?  Simply put, less sea ice forms.  In some places where there used to be permanent sea ice, it now breaks up during the summer.  In this case, the plants are getting more light than they used to and are actually growing more than they used to.  More plants means more krill.  In other areas, such as our own Arthur Harbor, the story is changed slightly.  Here the sea ice traditionally only covers the surface in the winter.  Now there is no ice to keep the surface calm, so the winds mix up the water and the plants are sent much deeper than they are used to being.  And just like people, plants need to take in more energy than they use, and once they sink to where it is too dark for them to get energy, they die.  This is a problem for krill, people who try to study and collect krill, and mostly the penguins.  More complicated, it is not bad for all penguins.  The Adelies have suffered the most within recent decades, but the gentoo and chinsrap penguins have moved in from south america and find these krill patterns very well suited to their breeding season.   
        One common misconception (possibly the biggest), is that all of these small changes will even out in a geographic region, or even across the globe.  Unfortuantely for the Adelie penguins and other long-lived animals such as tigers or bears, old habits die hard.  Penguins return to the same historical nesting colonies for decades and if those areas no longer overlap with krill hotbeds, they cannot simply move in search of more food.  This is a complex idea known as the match-mismatch hypothesis that is well-known in ecological circles.  It happens everywhere and at unpredictable rates.  This is the largest fear for ecologists worldwide, not because they are all tree-hugging, panda-loving idealists, but because of the natural products and processes that we depend on.  Of course, no one wants to see the world's last polar bear, of course, but there are so many other interesting and complex implications of change. 
      Not to delve too deeply into these issues, but one last misconception is that this mismatching would find balance again, similar to a pendulum that always finds equilibrium.  This would certainly be true except for two main problems: time and space.  These changes are happening so fast and we have not left animals and plants the space to move to where they find it most comfortable.  The issue of space is irrelevant for Antarctica, so I will return to the topic at hand. 
        The tip of the peninsula is slowly becoming warmer and wetter while the southern reaches are becoming colder and drier (bad news for those dull conversations at McMurdo!).  The reason that it is warming so quickly here is the strong ocean current that continuously circles the continent unimpeded by land.  The water stores a great amount of heat and energy from the friction and runs right into the peninsula finger!  An interesting point that Alice made clear for me is that the reason Antarctica became so cold in the first place (hundreds of millions of years ago) is that this strong current completely isolates it from the weather patterns that are driven by winds nearer to the equator.  This current alone shows how complex and interconnected everything is, from weather to sun to seals - it's a very old system.
       My intentions with this post were no more or less than to show how hugely complex one relatively small area of the planet can be when talking about change.  Complexities abound and this is what is hardest to explain when someone asks a pointed question about the ice core carbon dioxide or how fast the glaciers are melting.  So, I think if I could have one wish or suggestion for anyone thinking about these difficult issues now and into the future, it would be to step back and think simultaneously about the intricacy of even the smallest areas and the interconnectedness of the world at large.  It makes me think, wow. 

The Lemaire on the Amsterdam

Let me first begin by saying that this has been one of the most beautiful days in Antarctica so far, which strikes me as a perfect way to begin saying goodbye.  Another routine cruise ship visit was slated for today, one very similar to the Veendam, but what an incredible experience it turned out to be.  Our two zodiaks greeted curious faces on the upper decks of the Amsterdam this morning, which is on a four-month "grand voyage" around the world.  Today their destination was the Lemaire Channel and we were all thrilled for the chance to see it in the blue sky weather window that surprised everyone this morning.  A statement I have heard echoed throughout the station is that the Lemaire on a clear day is the most coveted and sought-after Antarctic experience.  Now I can say that there is definite truth to those words. 
       You know the distant mountains that are the subject of many of my photographs?  Well, we got up close and personal with them, where their height and majesty truly left me speechlessly smiling.  They are just so big, so spectacular, and yet so unassuming - they have existed for hundreds of millions of years and here they still are for us to gape at.  Midway through the cruise, the captain announced the location of a penguin colony to eager onlookers that immediately dashed to the port side of the deck to see them.  One of the more normal-seeming passengers that was standing next to me was having difficulty spotting them.  I said, "See that lighter-brown, backwards 'C' shape?"  She was following me.  I then said, "See those ants dotting the path?"  She couldn't believe that they looked so small on the rocks.  Yep, the mountains are just that enormous.  There is a particularly large, dark rock pinnacle near the entrance of the passage and Alice commented that it reminded her of those giant statue men that line the river in Lord of the Rings. This idea definitely conjures a bit of the magic that you feel being there.  But, at the same time that your eyes don't believe the scenery, it also feels almost natural to be experiencing it at this point in our adventure. 

         Once we had sailed well into the channel, the captain announced that we would soon turn around and retrace our route so that they could return the scientists and keep to their timetable.  I didn't think much of it at the time, but making that turn was totally surreal from the bow!  The captain even did an extra 360 that made me feel like I was in some sort of movie or magnificent snowglobe.  The way out of the channel was just as beautiful with the sun playing with the curves in the distant glacier mountains.  It is incomprehensibly expansive, with mountains and slopes and piedmonts extending as far as you can see, with the additional bonus of the earth giants in the foreground.  We did not see nearly as much wildlife as last week on the Veendam, but the mountains stole the spotlight anyways.  Alice and I found a fantastic spot on the lower walkaround deck where we could enjoy the view on the way home while staying out of the ferocious wind. 
         I cannot speak about this day without describing certain oddities about this particular group of passengers.  Yes, there are the slouched, bedecked women in too much make-up and yes, there are the "regular" people that you hold your breath for, but there is also something strange that happens in the middle of the spectrum, and it seemed concentrated in this group.  As soon as we got out of the elevators, passengers were wide-eyed and started asking to take our pictures.  We graciously consented, but after a while, I started to wonder if the crew had somehow built us up to quasi-celebrity status! 
        The most annoying part, however, was this group's insistence that we were underfed.  These comments are pretty typical because everyone wants to know what and how we eat, but I cannot tell you how many times I was told to make a doggie-bag and smuggle some extra cookies to our "poor friends" back at the station.  Usually we can change their minds, but this group was verging on insulting!  That said, we did thoroughly enjoy their buffet.  Sitting at lunch with a group of the support staff that don't usually venture out was one of the day's highlights.  Everyone took advantage of the salad and sushi bars and the ice cream that practically came with Bailey's on top (I had never been exposed to this apparently well-known practice).  Despite the good quality of our food at home, the ship did send us back to station with about twenty boxes of much-appreciated fresh fruit and vegetables, so much so that our taxi zodiaks' call names became "grocery carts one and two."  Lots of happy faces (and clean-cut and shaven!) came back to the station where we enjoyed cocktail hour and an italian-themed dinner.  A wonderful Saturday. 

Rice Crispies Anyone?

I have written a few times about how dynamic this place is, and I wanted to note that it is not only visually.  This place is full of such a range of sounds that change throughout the day depending on the weather.  One of the interesting sounds that fascinate me each time I experience it is the delicate popping of brash ice.  You can only hear it on a calm day and the pieces have to range from bowling ball to fist-sized.  You don't even have to listen hard for the snaps, crackles, and pops.  You can imagine it as what happens right when you put ice cubes in a glass of water, except continuous.  It's all you can hear out on the water on a calm day with the ice all around you.  If you're really paying attention and looking, you can see tiny ripples encircling each tiny chunk as they crack and change.  Unfortunately, I don't know exactly why it happens, but it makes them seem alive!
         Another equally interesting but perhaps more beautiful sound is what you hear when these same brash ice chunks clink together with a light swell.  I can only think to describe it as a combination between a chandelier in a small aftershock and the sould of someone sifting through pottery shards.  The tinkling sounds can only be heard in the boat when you yourself are relatively still, because the sound of the boat going over these ice chunks is less than pleasant.  It has come to mean adventure and excitement in my mind, but you can hear each and every ice chunk either hitting the pontoons or slowly scrunching under the boat from the front to the back until it hits the propeller with a big clunk (and sometimes even causing the boat to lurch!).  Just imagine trying to drive an inflatable (but sturdy, of course) boat through a dense field of sharp, glass rocks.  While Bruiser is the biggest, baddest, strongest boat they have here on station, he is still no match for the ice and you must slow down and practically idle through it, trying your best to steer away from the chunks that are half the size of the boat.  Large patches of the stuff can really impede your forward progress, but it's a great opportunity to remember that there's never a rush.
        Being in the boat is not the only way to enjoy the diverse sounds of brash ice.  I have discovered that our "backyard" is a fantastic place to go for adventure and quiet.  We have a large space of land behind the station where the glacier continues to recede, but the fun part for me is that you can boulder-hop along the harbor and it's just too much fun.  Each nook and cranny presents something beautiful to watch and I think this sentiment is rooted in my love for intertidal zones.  Intertidal zones in any coastal area are arguably the most dynamic ecosystems because the animals that live there have to cope with being completely immersed and then completely dried out through the day due to the changing height of the waves and tides.  There aren't too many intertidal creatures here, but that doesn't make these antarctic tidepools any less beautiful to me.
         When I climbed down to the shore, I was again struck by the heterogeneity of the landscape.  Even from my bedroom window, the rocks all look dark brown.  However, upon closer examination, they are filled with reddish and golden yellow colors.  In addition to that, they are covered by the one species of moss that grows here.  The area is also littered with beautiful ice chunks that are just waiting to be swept back out at high tide.  Coming back to my original point, you can sit here and enjoy the tinkling of the ice chunks as they bonk each other and the rocks with each small swell.  Imagine ice bumper cars!  It is from this vantage point that I often watch seals atop their ice platforms floating out of the harbor.