Here Comes the Sun
[This post written 6/22/08; position: lat -57’45”, long -42’56”; temp -2C; wind chill -18C]
When we got up this morning, the storm was well and truly over. As I lay in bed this morning, I sensed a certain brightening, and when I opened my eyes I saw fingers of sunlight streaming into the cabin. Outside, it was as if there had never been a storm. The sea was calm and smooth. It was so warm that the ice on the decks had turned to slush, and everywhere, icicles were drip, drip, dripping. Awhile later, I was out on deck, admiring the brilliantly lit facets of the small iceberg we had arrived at during the night, and generally soaking up the sun.
I heard at breakfast that the drone the engineers launched last night was recovered, so everything was set for the launch of the real thing this morning — a Lagrangian Sediment Trap (or LST). The LST is a fairly complex device designed to capture particulate matter as it drifts downward beneath an iceberg. It can be programmed to sink to a specified depth, stay there for a specified length of time or until a specified amount of material has collected, then return to the surface and signal that it’s ready to be picked up. The top picture shows the LST being launched. In the middle, you can see it on deck with some people for scale. The red flag on top makes it easier to see it as it floats on the surface waiting to be retrieved. The funnel-like objects are just what they look like. Sediment drops into the wide mouths of the funnels and falls through narrow tubes into receptacles.
What sorts of things turn up in the receptacles? Tomorrow we will probably have a better idea. But what’s expected is everything from dead organisms to dust and pebbles released by the melting ice.
Later, as we circumnavigated the iceberg so Steve Rock could use his special sonar to create images of its underwater portions, we discovered a mob of chinstrap penguins perched on one of the lower portions. (Captain Mike took me aside the other day to explain to me that “flock of penguins” is incorrect. Collectively, they are referred to as a “mob of penguins.” I hope I am not just being gullible.) They seem to like chunks of ice that are good-sized, but have sloping surfaces that can be scaled by penguin feet. In other words, the ice has to be shaped so they can climb or flip themselves out of the water onto it and then walk some distance up it. This frequently entails hilarious antics that include sliding back into the water willy-nilly. It’s fascinating to watch them. I got some pictures of them, but we were a little too far away for my lens, and there wasn’t enough light, so they aren’t great. I will save them for the horrendously long slideshow I plan to subject people to when I get home. 🙂
Toward sunset, I heard radio chatter that made me wonder if something was up with the iceberg. The captain announced that the sonar team should suspend activities temporarily while he moved the ship out to a safer distance. And someone else said they could hear the iceberg popping and groaning. I pulled on my boots, grabbed a jacket and the camera, and headed for the bridge. The iceberg was beautiful in the pale light of sunset. Then, all at once, a large chunk of it broke away and fell into the sea. This seems to happen in slow motion, I suppose because the pieces of ice are so large. The water rises up in a spray, and powdered ice flies like smoke. From our distant vantage point, it was a lovely thing to watch. Kudos to Captain Mike for his preternatural ability see it coming well ahead of time.