Long Nights, Short Days
[This post written 6/14/08; position: lat -57’49”, long -44’28”; temp -6C; wind chill -28C]
There’s a lot of interest in the penguins, so here’s a picture, courtesy of Rob Sherlock, one of the MBARI research techs.
We’ve had a few comments with questions in the past day or so. First, for Katie, who mentions that the water around the new iceberg seems very dark and asks whether it’s cloudy. No, the water’s not cloudy. When the sky is overcast, you can’t see very far into the water, but I think that has more to do with the light than with stuff in the water. Sometimes the melt water from glaciers is cloudy from ground up terrestrial matter the ice releases as it melts. But I didn’t notice anything like that in the water around the new iceberg. Judy, thank you. I am beginning to feel a little better, largely thanks to Cooper, one of the ship’s med techs, who gave me some Meclozine. Good thing, because the water’s kind of rough today! Nick, hi, nice to hear from you. I am making an effort to get outside each day. It really is an effort, too. There are so many good reasons to stay in.
It has been days since we last saw the sun. Among the iceberg denizens, sensitivity to the lack of light seems to vary a lot. Many are not bothered at all. Others seem irritable or glum. Some are bothered by it, but are mounting efforts to counteract it in various ways. I suppose what we are currently enduring is not much different from mid-winter in Seattle. Well, probably fewer hours of daylight. At this location, the sky begins to brighten around 7:30 a.m. By 2:30 p.m., it’s getting dark. So that’s about six hours of light. The cloud-cover has been extremely thick, though, sometimes with fog. So most of the time, it’s a sort of twilight. As if the day never really gets underway.
Speaking only for myself now (as I can’t really know how others are feeling) it’s hard to get up in the morning. Some of this is probably due to my seasickness. I’m fairly comfortable as long as I am horizontal. As soon as I get up, I begin to feel queasy. So, knowing what will happen and overcoming the resulting aversion, is always my first big project of the day. But I think it would be hard even if I were feeling better. It seems partly physical — maybe Circadian rhythms messed up, but to be honest, it’s more like a wish to hibernate.
Once I’m up, it’s hard to get going. Things happen slowly, and there’s a feeling of brute effort. Most of my compatriots are making diligent efforts to spend some time in the gym each day, which helps enormously. I haven’t felt well enough to do it for the past week or so, but I do try to climb up to the bridge (about six flights of stairs) once or twice a day. And I take my camera out and snap pictures of whatever seems most interesting. Even those who are getting plenty of exercise outside in the cold seem to benefit from planned workouts on a regular basis. Those of us who are spending most of our time inside make an effort to get out into the fresh air for at least a few minutes each day. This is no small act of willpower. There are layers of clothing to be gotten into and then out of. Stairs to be climbed, etc. It would be oh so easy to give into inertia. But cabin fever is real, and it makes you feel awful. So girding one’s self is well worth the effort.
The blogs keep me going, as the science keeps the researchers going. Having something worthwhile to do, and a real connection with the outer world, is a big key. I think I might go nuts if all I had to do was read and loaf. As someone who occasionally writes science fiction, one of the reasons I wanted to be part of this voyage is so I could better imagine what it would be like to live on a spaceship, or in cramped quarters as a colonist on some other planet. I think back to the old movie, 2001: A Space Odyssey, in which no one seemed to have much to do beyond keeping an eye on things (and arguing with HAL). This, I think, would be incredibly difficult.