A Lesson of Their Own

A Lesson of Their Own

Jeff Gunderson, College of Wooster

“How is everyone?” my trail leader asked after a long stretch across the entire Lemon Creek Glacier. Perhaps in the royal sense, my answer to that question would be that I had never been better. I mean, I was immersed in a beautiful landscape, surrounded by incredible people with many having expertise in my immediate academic interests. In that moment, however, I simply replied with a resigned ‘so-so’ gesture and continued to trudge on. My feet were sopping wet with freezing cold snow melt, the emerging blisters on the backs of my heels were each the size of a quarter and the windy rain had reduced visibility to a whopping 8 meters in all directions. All I could think in the midst of my disquietude was that I “only had two more hours of this awful slog to go” before I could return to the shelter of camp 17. To put it aptly, I was miserable for I had brought myself lower than did any of my perceived woes. 

Rainy day out on the Lemon Creek Glacier. Photo by author.

I have since received time to reflect and the sun’s rays to rejuvenate (seriously, I’ve never been so happy to see the sun). As such, I have concluded there is something powerful in experiencing your own ugliness. By putting on display the worst possible reality you are capable of propagating, you enable yourself to improve and grow as an individual. Trust me, as someone who nearly ritualistically makes love to the snow by how much he falls on skis, I know now that patience and a positive attitude are crucial to survival on the Juneau Icefield.

Sunny blue sky on the Fourth of July. Photo by author.

I am able to see the beauty inherent to the otherwise ordinary or mundane. Take the Fourth of July, for example. With the humility gained from the day before, falling during ski practice was a pleasure and loads of fun. The sky was a whole new vibrant shade of blue and the sun shone with a brilliance I hadn’t ever taken the time to appreciate. In the evening the most majestic sunset emerged, dousing the sky in strokes of bright orange and pink. Even though I had expected the Juneau Icefield Research program to expand my academic horizons, I feel as the mountains and glaciers are teaching a lesson of their own. As to what that may be I am only beginning to understand. So the next time I am asked “How is everyone?” without regard to my immediate deterrents, I will reply with “great!” and wholeheartedly mean it.

Sunset on the Fourth of July. Photo by author.

The Journey from Juneau to Camp 17

The Journey from Juneau to Camp 17

Arianna Varuolo-Clarke

We started off on the morning of Tuesday, June 30th from the Home Depot Parking Lot in Juneau. The trail name is the Lemon Creek as it follows the Lemon Creek River which begins at the Lemon Creek Glacier. This is approximately our destination where the first camp of the season, Camp 17, as it is perched on a nunatak between Ptarmagin and Lemon Creek Glaciers. If we are travelling on the Lemon Creek trail along the Lemon Creek River which begins at the Lemon Creek glacier, then we must be close, right? But this is not the case. A full days hike lies between the Home Depot Parking lot and Camp 17.

We start off the hike walking through the rainforest. This may sound odd as we are hiking on to an icefield and but part of Juneau is classified as a temperate rainforest climate. Hiking through this rainforest includes the “Vertical Swamp”. The Vertical Swamp is a section of the hike in which it is relatively steep for about an hour. This section is also typically pretty wet with water running down the trail you are trying to ascend, hence the swamp part. Luckily it was not too swampy for us on this day, but it was indeed still very steep.

A little while after going through the Vertical Swamp, we ascend further above tree-line. At this point, the terrain mellows for a little while as we travel through rolling hills. We heard a few marmots on this part of the trail but I did not get to see any of them.  Soon we get to a point where we can see the Ptarmagin Glacier. This is the steep long glacier that now stands between my trail party and Camp 17. If we looked close enough through the clouds we could even see the camp, but we were still about 2 hours away. In order to get onto the glacier we first had to travel through the valley. We hike over landscape that was once covered by the glacier. Then we walk over snow for a little while and there are large exposed cliffs to our left as we are hiking. At one point our trail party leader, Adam, spots mountain goats on the cliffs. There were about 20 of them! I think I heard one as it was running along the cliff because I heard the distinct sound of heavy strong hooves hitting stone and reminded me of a horse galloping. 

View of Camp 17 from the outhouse, called the Venus Fly Trap. Photo by author.

Once we get onto the glacier we are about an hour long steep hike up the Ptarmagin until reaching Camp 17, our home for the next 10 or so days. To ascend this kind of terrain it is truly a matter of just one step in front of the other and one step at a time as we climb the glacier. Ibai, another field staff member, skied down to retrieve my backpack and that was one of the happiest moments of my day, only to be topped by finally arriving atop the nunatak at Camp 17. Some of the folks that had already arrived came out to cheer us on during the last bit of the hike. At the top there were a lot of high fives and hugs and we were all quickly rushed inside for dinner. When I walked into the cookshack it was like entering a new world:  the Icefield world. Everyone just looked so cozy and excited and they were all so welcoming. It was a really great experience and I look forward to the rest of the summer with more similar experiences!

A view from Camp 17 looking towards the dead branch of the Norris Glacier. Photo by author.

Stuck At Camp 17

By: Maya Smith (Winston Salem State University) and Josh Ivie (Tarleton State University) 

Imagine being super excited about the next traverse to Camp 10. You have all of your bags packed and you’re ready to leave only to find out that the weather has decided that you need more time at Camp 17 before moving on to Camp 10. While we were all anxious to get to Camp 10 we never realized what Camp 17 had in store for us the next 5 days.

There were no more blue skies; it looked as if we were in a ping pong ball. It was a complete whiteout outside. The storm came like never before. We were all quite surprised; we had never seen a storm like that at Camp 17 before. Oh but the time that we would spend at Camp 17 was amazing.

For the first couple of days there were four trail parties left at camp so we made postcards for each other. We didn’t know what we were going to do. So we turned to BANANAGRAMS!! While this game was foreign to some, after a whole day of non-stop games we realized that Bananagrams would be a major part at our time at Camp 17.

After an entire day of fun the next day we were hoping to get the next two trail parties out (weather dependent of course). After a successful attempt we managed to get them out. This left the last two trail parties. Of course there was more Bananagrams played for hours, but after lunch our fearless leader Annie realized that our fresh oranges were beginning to go bad and that we would need to eat all four cases because they would not make it to Camp 10. So the challenge was accepted. Everyone had to eat four oranges and anyone who ate more than ten could get on the wall!! This is the most amazing experience to witness. 

The Battle of Tang Mountain completed (Photo by Alex M. French).

There were only three people who were able to get on the wall Dougal “Bane of Citrus” Hansen, Melissa “Luna” Brett, and Stan “The Ant” Pinchek. 

The Tarp Fort in the Library. Story telling time (Photo by Alex M. French

Also doing our time at Camp 17 one of our safety staff members had an idea to build a tarp fort around the fireplace and shared many different stories. It was a wonderful bonding time. Lastly, we took our trail apples and made delicious apple pies that we ate for the next couple of days.  So, while we were anxious to get to Camp 10 we had a wonderful time at Camp 17.

It was Surprise Postcard night (Photo by Alex M. French)

Our Trail Apple Pie (Photo by Maya Smith)

Observational Science

By: Mariah Radue

July 7, 2014

At Camp 17, I have found a kindred spirit in John Muir. From the JIRP recommended reading list I was introduced to his book, Travels in Alaska, and decided to bring it along with me as a break from lectures and articles. I knew his reputation as a mountaineer, adventurer, environmentalist, and nature lover and I was eager to read his perspective on the Alaskan landscape.

John Muir began his career as an explorer in the Sierras in California at the end of the 1800s. He was awestruck by the majesty of the sloping granite peaks and giant Sequoias. In his wanderings around Yosemite he convinced himself that glaciers were the only natural force that could have formed the deep U-shaped valleys. His main motivation in traveling to Alaska was to better understand glacial processes and relate them back to his beloved Yosemite.

Though not as rugged or adventurous, my path to Alaska somewhat mirrors Muir’s journey. I first learned about glaciers in a college geomorphology course in Northfield, Minnesota. During the last glacial maximum, SE Minnesota marked the margin of the Laurentide Ice Sheet, which blanketed most of North American. As a result, the landscape around Northfield is not flat as many accuse the Mid-West to be but rather it is full of vestiges of a dynamic glacial system. In the class we mapped eskers (subglacial river deposits), kames (supra glacial lakes), and glacial outwash river plains. Imaging the power of ice on the landscape ignited my fascination with glaciers and drove me to Alaska and JIRP to better understand how glaciers work and to marvel at the blue glacial ice.

I have enjoyed reading Muir’s perspective as he discovers coastal Alaska because of his intense powers of observations. Muir describes the landscape of southeast Alaska poetically through colorful descriptions of fast flowing glacial streams and sharp mountain peaks. He also includes exact values that must the result of painstaking notes like calculated temperature averages and thickness of glacial deposits. His writing offers an insight to his field methods and field notebooks—how you need both numbers and language to describe a landscape effectively.

During JIRP, I am striving to see Alaska much like Muir would, quantifying my observations scientifically and reflecting on the extreme beauty that is around me. I think that this is the natural way to immerse ourselves in the Icefield. For the past two evenings, we have been graced with stunning sunsets from our vantage point at Camp 17. We talk about the orientation of the sun relative to the Earth, the path of the sun in the sky, the changes in length of day, and the rate that the sun moves. In addition to understanding the sunset scientifically, none of us can deny the depth and beauty of a sunset behind the Chilkats and the Fairweather Ranges. The colors in the sky range from deep purple to magenta to rose pink and mist in the mountain valleys captures the rosy pink light, spreading it across valley floor. The water of Gastineau Channel reflects pockets of the fading sun light creating a patchwork of yellow and deep blue. It is impossible to comprehend all of the mountain profiles as they extend inexhaustibly into the distance. We find ourselves lost in the splendor of the landscape.

As earth scientists we try to understand the natural world through numbers and equations, creating models to predict changes through time. The beauty of JIRP is that we are immersed in the landscape and experience the Icefield through snow pits, isotopes, and geophysical measurements and breathtaking sunset. We also get to appreciate the magnificence of the Alaskan landscape giving us a greater reason to try and understand how it works.

GPS Surveying

By: Kurt Powell

730am. Wake up call. I roll over to go back to sleep in an attempt to restore as much energy as possible before another day on the icefield begins.

745am. Someone’s alarm screams beside my ear. I roll over again in hope to regain my necessary slumbers.

755am. My alarm calls to me. I rise gleefully, knowing that by the time I arrive at the Cookshack, the breakfast line will be near empty, so I won’t have to wait for food. It’s a great start to a rainy day at C-17.

Promptly after smooshing into a packed table and eating a couple of spoonfuls of hot peanut butter oatmeal, Annie, the camp manager, calls out “Goood Mooorning”. We respond with a weary good morning as we have only finished a quarter of our coffees. Daily shout outs to the cook with resounding applause are heard from outside of the camp, today’s agenda and work details are quickly stated – today we are doing science. This is exciting as safety training has been successfully completed as of yesterday, and we are all ready for this new adventure of doing science. Probing, mass balance pit digging and GPS surveying are available to everyone’s excitement; we all become a little more eager despite the fact that our coffees are now only half drank. Annie announces all the assistant GPS surveyors have already been selected as the JIRPers whose first names start with the letter K; Kim, Kelly and Kurt. My name starts with a K! Thrilled, finally science is about to occur, science that mysterious thing that we have travelled so far for, I am about to do this thing called science and GPS surveying.

Shortly after finishing my meal, everyone is about to start their second coffee and the morning conversation picks-up, the buzz of excitement from today’s agenda flows into the conversation, people slowly begin to file out as time moves on. I make my way to my sleeping quarters to gather my daily materials.

1025am. We all meet in the staff shack as Scott and the German surveyors, Martin and Paul, pull out the equipment that the team will be carrying for the rest of the day- a tarnished yellow bag with black alloy structure supporting the antenna, a controller, and a circular GPS unit node on a tall metal rod. They briefly explain the logistics of the system–find the spot, press buttons, move on, done. We divide into two teams to discuss how and what points of the Lemon Creek Glacier we will survey. We will be traveling by skis along lines of latitude measuring pre-arranged points every fifty meters or so.  This is done in order to find the glacier’s snow depths. Kelly and I throw on our personal packs with the teams’ lunches packed inside, and Kim throws on the GPS backpack. Raining more heavily now than early today, I feel that today will be amazing and we make our way down to the glacier.

1045am. With our skis strapped on, both teams head south making their way to the first locations. Martin begins to explain to Kim and I how to use the controller, a few swift button pushes and we arrive at the home screen. We select the point in which we want to measure, travel to it, locate the measuring point within a 50cm radius, press measure to send a signal to the satellites to ratify our measurement, alter a setting to show that we have measured this specific point and move on to the next point. Shortly after Kim nails her first point within a few centimeters, we move on and ski into the rain.

Paul teaches Kim how to use the survey equipment

In a short matter of time Kim is hitting every surveying point within a few very short minutes with wicked accuracy. As we cross beside Lake Linda and begin to ascend its mountain side, she hits her points and we travel north along the farthest reach of the glacier.

While Kim surveys, Martin and I ski behind chatting about the EU and the status of Germany post-2008, the cost of the equipment, his part-ownership in his surveying company and how he has been a part of JIRP for the past nine years.

Skiing along the mountain-side, the group begins to separate with the oncoming white out and intensifying rain storm. Feeling the distance grow between us, the gradient of the mountain side amplifies and I begin to realize that I am not as confident in my skiing ability as I once thought. Stopping and looking down, I stare at potentially steep fall downward, a blanket of white covers all that I see below, gusts of wind cause me to teeter side to side, the rain begins to seep into my jacket with its cold jaws clamping around side. One moment passes into another, and dazed, I think to myself that I could seriously get hurt here…  pausing yet again, I take a deep breath.  I stride forward attempting to catch-up to my team as I have fallen even further behind, the cold following closely behind me.

Kelly taking measurements on the Lemon Creek glacier

Quick elongated strides allow me to close the gap, the cold fades away, and we reconnect at the end of the mountainside.  Relieved, we ski down a less steep hill side to group together to enjoy lunch – JIRPs famous peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwiches.

Swapping packs with Kim, I begin to orientate myself with the cardinal directions and punch the first settings into the controller. Hopefully I will be as quick as Kim.  Beep…Beep, the controller received its coordinates from the responding satellites, I step forward, Martin and Kim follow closely behind me. Striding forward I am within two meters of the point of measurement, I stop and inch my way forward still, the screen on the controller flashes to show a display of my location as an X and my point within 50 cm as a large zero. I fiddle with the tall rod trying to place it correctly, one step this way, no the other way, no back again, damn – my frustration begins to build, all while Martin and Kim patiently wait for me to work it out.

Some five minutes later I feel satisfied with my work, I send off the coordinates, and I am finished my first point. My second point is quicker, third more efficient. My confidence grows, perhaps I’m not as fast as Kim, but I am capable.

The hours fade away just as the cold wind blows past us, and the afternoon slips away without hesitation until I arrive at my last few points. I notify the group that I am feeling relieved, and even victorious as we have finished this quest to acquire snow depth of Lemon Creek glacier! Martin looks at me with a kind smile and we turn to ski towards camp.

Survey crew Paul, Kim, and Kelly pose in the middle of a cloudy Camp 17

??? pm. Cold, wet, sweaty, tired, hungry, I have lost track of time, it been a full day. From the bottom of camp I look up at the cook shack with icy, wet, dripping skies on my shoulder and I can only hope that there will be some food left for me, I don’t care if there is a line anymore.

Special thanks to the GPS crew, JIRP coordinators, fellow students, my family and especially my editor in Windsor for making all of this happen – its been a life changing ride.

The Wet Traverse: Adventures of Trail Party 1

by Elizabeth Kenny, Bowdoin College

After over a week of safety training, it was finally time to traverse to Camp 10. Everyone was excited to see a new part of the icefield. We waited in anticipation for a helicopter to come in and transport some of our gear to Camp 10 so that select staffers could open camp before we arrived. There was a day’s delay due to the weather, but the following day at 5 in the morning the first trail party (Kirsten, Lindsey, Elias, Luc, Alex Z, and I along with safety staff Zach and Jon) was off. It was a perfect morning, with blue sky and amazing snow conditions for skiing!

Kirsten, Elias, and Alex beginning the traverse.  Photo by Elizabeth Kenny

Excitement was high as we rapidly made our way down the Lemon Creek Glacier towards an area where the snow had melted away, revealing beautiful blue glacier ice. As it was a bit slippery, we took off our skis and slowly crossed.

Crossing the ice on the Lemon Creek glacier.  Photo by Elizabeth Kenny

Looking back on the Lemon Creek glacier.  Photo by Elizabeth Kenny

However, as we began our ascent of Nugget Ridge, ominous clouds began to move in from Juneau. As we split into two four-man rope teams in order to safely cross a crevasse zone, the storm was drawing nearer. It soon became so socked in that you could hardly see the person in front of you on the rope. As the first party, we were responsible for setting a safe track for the following trail parties. This proved to be a difficult task, and we ended up going in a very large loop, spending nearly two hours skiing roped up. The rain was coming down harder and the wind was picking up as we made our way down the other side of the ridge.

Roped up while making our way through a crevasse zone in a white out.  Photo by Elizabeth Kenny

This was the type of weather we had been hoping to avoid. Had we known that it was coming, we probably would not have started our traverse that day. However, weather on the icefield is unpredictable. At that point our only option was to continue on to a cache that had been set up to support our night of camping on the glacier. It was slow going as we made our way across Death Valley in the rain, with sun cups on the snow significantly restricting our progress. Finally we reached the Norris Icefall, our last obstacle before the cache. Not one item of clothing was dry as we roped up once again, but we did so quickly in an effort to keep everyone warm. After reaching the top of the icefall, it was a short ski to the cache, where we were finally able to stop for the night. After almost 15 hours on the trail everyone was exhausted, so after a quick dinner of chili it was off to bed. The second trail party arrived at camp shortly after us, equally wet and tired.

                  Unfortunately, the tents we had were no match for the pouring rain outside. The next morning the majority of us woke up just as wet, if not wetter, than we had been the night before. It was still raining, and once again poor visibility prevented us from seeing any of the surrounding icefield. We learned that the next trail parties decided not to head out that day due to the weather, but once again, we had no choice but to power on. After scarfing down some oatmeal and hot chocolate, both groups began to travel together on the last stretch of the traverse. It felt like we were on a white treadmill, with nothing visible except for the skiers in front of us. Despite the cold and rain, everyone remained in relatively high spirits. The day was long and tiring, but just when we thought we couldn’t go any farther, Camp 10 appeared through the fog!

Camp 10 finally appearing! Photo by Elizabeth Kenny

Cheers of excitement arose as we made our way to the base of the nunatak. The short climb to camp felt like quite an ordeal after skiing so much for the past two days, but at least we were finally there. Wet clothes were quickly shed and hung up to dry as we moved into our new bunks, and after a warm and filling dinner followed by a quick camp tour, we could finally rest at our new home. This traverse was a classic example of Type B fun on the icefield – it may not have been fun while we were doing it, but it is certainly something we will never forget.

Learning to Ski

by Randall

During the first week at Camp 17, we spent the majority of our time learning all the skills necessary to cross the Juneau Icefield, including everything from tying knots and crevasse rescue to to  ski practice. JIRPers come from all over, so skiing ability varies greatly. Some people have never stepped into skis in their entire life, while others are powerful alpine skiers or graceful tele-skiers. Needless to say, ski practice was hilarious and there was non-stop carnage. The first day was full of yard-sales, blood, sweat, and tears.

Ski practice on the Lemon Creek glacier

The former alpine skiers are now in tele set-ups, which is like learning a foreign language. Soft leather boots and free heels make for squirrelly skiing when you’re not used to it. A few of the staffers, are dedicated and experienced tele-skiers (including the JIRP director, Dr. Jeff Kavanaugh, who is probably the best tele-skier on the glacier… and the one with the biggest ego).  They have demonstrated the skill and finesse necessary to execute a proper tele turn. After a week of ski practice, everyone can competently ski down any intermediate slope.

Fortunately, there is no lack of ski slopes at Camp 17. Fifty feet to the east of camp is the Lemon Creek Glacier, which offers an excellent bunny slope to start working on pizza-french fry transitions. To the west is the Ptarmigan Glacier (also known as the “Gnarmigan”), a much more formidable slope.  It’s steep and covers about 1000 vertical feet. At age 79, Alf Pinchak skis the Ptarmigan every morning before anyone else even wakes up, making all us youths feel lazy.

Looking down the "Gnarmigan" glacier

                  As a die-hard snowboarder, looking around at the lines on the surrounding peaks is a bit tantalizing. I haven’t skied in six years so I’m way out of my element stepping into two planks rather than one. Hills that would have been like a walk in a park on a snowboard now seem like gigantic mountains and I spend half the day falling and getting back up. At the end of ski practice, I’m usually soaked to the bone with snow filling every bit of clothing I’m wearing. That said; it’s definitely fun to be learning something all over again.

 Now that we are all feeling somewhat comfortable in the tele set-ups, most afternoons consist of ski practice on the Ptarmigan (weather dependent). It’s a great way to practice turns when the day’s activities are done. Along the ridge where the Ptarmigan starts, there are various lines down, some steep and some shallow, which allows for skiers of all levels to practice.

Alf Pinchak (age 79) on the right carrying his skies to the Lemon Creek Glacier while a student struggles to get up.

French Alex, Hannah, and Kim during ski practice on the Ptarmigan on a beautiful day

Notes from a JIRP Alum

by Jay Ach

As a JIRP alum, returning for the first time since 1973 and 1975, I am struck by the similarities to what I remember from some 40 years ago.

Weather has kept us at Camp 17 for longer than expected, so I can only judge from past and present Camp 17 experiences.  The infrastructure here is almost identical; some buildings have been changed or extended to a small degree, but it’s all immediately recognizable.  Certainly on this side of the Icefield, the weather has not improved over the decades.  All field parties were supposed to be in Camp 10 by now, or at least well on their way.  Instead, two parties that left in a brief spell of good weather are completing their two day traverse to Camp 10 today, while all others are holed up at Camp 17, waiting out horizontal rain driven by 50+ MPH winds.  The new flag raised over the camp two weeks ago has been blown to shredded tatters.

Student spirits are far from tattered, however.  Days of comprehensive glacier travel training, including knot tying, belaying, prussiking, self-arresting, building crevasse rescue systems, and learning or improving cross-country and telemark skiing transformed a group of students from new acquaintances to a group of competent scientist/mountaineers constantly on the lookout for each other.  Staff personnel is, of course 100% different from when I was here before, but exhibit the same awesome degree of competence leavened with abundant irreverence that I experienced as a student.  The last two days of being all but confined indoors in a couple of small buildings due to inclement weather would cause any normal group of strangers to go bonkers.  Given the sense of team that has formed, though, spirits have stayed incredibly upbeat and the tremendous good humor and frequent bouts of hilarity have been wonderful.

The sense of group, of being a team on an expedition, and watching out for the good of the group as opposed to one’s own self-interest, was one of my most enduring life lessons from my previous JIRP experiences.  It is great to see that the same lessons are still being transmitted to students decades after my own experiences as a JIRP student.

The science is still way cool too . . .

Introduction to Digging Mass Balance Pits

by Carmen Braun   

Today marked the first day we weren’t all doing safety training!  While some JIRPers continued doing some safety training, others expanded our horizons to probing and surveying, and nine of us began digging mass balance pits.    After the standard morning time activities (wake up call, breakfast, and work duties), we started getting ready.  Considering the fact that most of us were already wet after our work duties, we all knew we were in for a cold, wet day. 

Those of us responsible for digging mass balance pits were divided up into two groups, each with a safety staff member to show us the ropes.  We skied north down the glacier for about half an hour before arriving at the dig location. The other group’s location was a bit closer to camp.  Upon arrival, we got to work right away, after covering our packs with our tarps in a futile attempt to keep them from getting wetter.  We dug, rotating positions from time to time, for about 4.5 hours.  That warms you up quickly!  My group was really quiet; I spent most of the time in a zone where the only thought in my head was where to shovel.  It was very meditative work.  The other group was chatting most of the time, which I’m sure created quite a different atmosphere. At one point, Dougal, one of the guys in the other group, started yelling out names of things he hates as he chopped at the snow. In these cold and wet conditions, I was very happy to just dig.   However, in nice weather, I can see how digging with a little music and good conversation would be great as well.

As for the actual digging of a pit, everyone starts in the pit until snow starts to accumulate around the edges.  At that point, one moves to clear the rim of snow and the other four start focusing on one quadrant each.  We would rotate from time to time at the beginning, but I think I spent about 3 hours in the same quadrant after that.  Eventually, you have one quadrant that is very deep, and then the other three become progressively shallower.  The one in the lowest quadrant eventually starts passing snow to people in higher ones so they don’t need to throw the snow up and out of the pit. 

This has been a low accumulation year, so we only had to dig to a depth of about 2.25 meters to find last year’s layer.  It was really fun to finally see all the structures people had been telling us about, like the ice lenses and the layer of less dense depth hoar that formed above the much more dense snow from last year.  We finished our pit before the other group, but they had all the scientific equipment so we skied up to their pit to grab that.  Most of our boots were at the point where water sloshed from the toes to heels and back each time the angle of our feet changed.  My overmitts had started retaining water long before, so each time I brought my poles up water splashed over my fingers.  We ended up just separating into two new groups, one to head back to camp, and one to do the measurements because so many of us were very cold at that point. 

I am pretty sure we all enjoyed ourselves, at least in the type B version of fun.  Below are a couple quotes from other students.

“If it’s raining it sucks” – Jenny

“I like it, it’s my friend” – Matt

“No matter how vertical you think the walls are, they’re not.” – Kelly

“A good way to stay warm in the freezing cold rain.” – Randall

“Chat through adversity.” - Randall

“Good way to get in shape.  Once we get to the dry parts I think it will be really fun!” – Natalie

“If I ever want to become an ice sculptor, digging mass balance pits will prepare me well.” – Danielle

Erik talked about how it’s the only way to really see the inside of a glacier, in a way we are evolutionarily developed to understand. He compared it to probing, which is completely uninformative for the senses we use.

“Sometimes it’s like highway construction, one person is working and five people are watching” – Tristan

(This was in reference to a pit we dug where the last annual layer was only 92 cm below the surface.  It ended up being about 1m3; we fit 7 people in there and took a couple selfies once all the science was done!)

Fourth of July on the Icefield

by Danielle Beaty

Waking up to a socked in C-17.

I woke up this Independence Day to a completely socked in Camp 17. It wasn’t the typical Fourth of July weather to be expected, with near white out conditions and continual drizzle, but we made the most of it nonetheless. We spent the day traversing across the Lemon Creek Glacier in rope teams of four, and attending lectures about wilderness medicine and virtual field realities that we will help create on the Juneau Icefield.

Rope team practice

For dinner, we ate American classics including mac and cheese, baked beans, spam, and homemade bread.  For dessert, we had peach cobbler and cake topped with blue m&ms, powdered sugar and jam to look like the American flag. After dinner, the sky cleared so several JIRPers and I hit the Gnarmigan for tele-skiing under the setting sun (The Gnarmigan is the appropriately renamed Ptarmigan Glacier for its gnarly ski run). Back home, I have a family tradition of skiing Mt. Hood each Fourth of July, so I was happy to be continuing the tradition. The sky was a brilliant orange color, and the view as we skied down was glorious. The snow was like soft spring corn, excellent for practicing my telemark turns.

The most lovely Fourth of July cake!

Skiing to celebrate America!

 Lindsey and I prepared a “Fourth of July Dance Party Playlist”, so after the day’s activities were through we cleared the cook shack of tables and chairs, and danced the night away to very American-themed music. Perhaps the highlight of Fourth of July on the icefield was Luna’s rendition of Miley Cyrus’s “Wrecking Ball” music video, using a climbing rope and prusik hitches whose primary purpose is for crevasse rescue. Though Fourth of July on the icefield wasn’t necessarily traditional, it was one for the history books and my most memorable one yet.

Dancing like champions