All Good Things Must Come to an End

by: Natalie Raia, The University of Texas at Austin

Portable JIRP Blog, this is Portable Natalie conducting her two-month post-JIRP check-in.

            Exactly two months ago, 33 students solemnly, groggily departed from University of Alaska-Southeast housing. We were returning to family, friends, school, modern conveniences, and once-familiar, but now seemingly foreign lifestyles. Today, I sit on a plane bound for the Geological Society of America conference in Vancouver, where many JIRPers will be gathering to present the research products from our summer on the icefield.

            Now, our last blog entry leaves us packing up a charter bus in Atlin, and though many of you may now have heard stories from JIRPers you know, or have been through the journey yourself, I’d like to fill in the gaps of those final, turbulent, poignant days.

            August 15th: We departed Camp 30 in Atlin, B.C. and took a scenic drive to Skagway, AK. We waited in Skagway for the ferry to Juneau. How bizarre it was to walk confined to sidewalks streaming with tourists, to stand in the ferry station surrounded by fluorescent lights, and to hear the voices of relatives on the phone. Looking at fellow JIRPers’ glazed, wide-eyed faces, it was apparent that I was not the only one who was overwhelmed by the sudden shift in environment. Boarding the ferry, JIRP overtook the solarium on the top deck, and settled in for the ~5-hour ferry ride with our sleeping bags. The rainy weather cleared (“it’s burning off!”) as we proceeded down the Inside Passage. Soon, sleeping bag sumo wars, ballroom dance lessons, and general JIRP revelry filled the upper deck, to the entertainment of the occasional non-JIRP passerby. All too soon, that glorious ride ended as dusk settled and we docked in Juneau. Wrestling our gear onto school buses (again, much to the amusement of passerby wondering precisely what we could possibly be doing with skis in August!), we returned to University of Alaska Southeast housing.  Dorm mattresses had never seemed so luxurious! Truly, we were coming full circle, and going home.

JIRP overtakes the top deck of the ferry from Skagway to Juneau.  Photo by Natalie Raia

            August 16th arrived. Like a point in the horizon that the safety staff swore was “Camp such and such” on a traverse, August 16th had always been a day way off in the future, something hazy that never really seemed to be getting close until all of a sudden, you arrive. Well, that final day began with JIRPers pretending to go about business as usual. I wrote a “plan of the day” in my journal—as usual; we had cereal at the pavilion—as usual; we even had morning announcements and work details—as usual. Nevertheless, this was anything BUT a “usual” day. After practicing presentations in the morning, we went on one last hike—appropriately, to John Muir's cabin. The day passed in a dizzying blur of science, meals, and trails through the woods, and soon I found myself on a bus headed back to Mendenhall Glacier Visitor’s Center. In an all-too-fitting fashion, a misting rain descended on Juneau as we gathered to complete our one last task.

One final hike to John Muir's Cabin.  Photo by Natalie Raia

            I think I had an unshakable grin on my face the entire presentation. It was impossible to not be moved, proud, and content to watch and listen to my JIRP family talk about their hard work and passions. I looked upon the face of each person I had lived with, learned from, worked through challenges with, and come to respect and appreciate to the utmost extent. As I sat in the audience, I reveled in the fact that I could count myself in this group of remarkable, eclectic people. The atmosphere was loose and it was obvious that JIRPers (and the audience) were having fun recounting the summer’s activities. And then it was over…I distinctly remember boarding the bus and Prince’s “1999” was playing on the radio—in some sense, the perfect song—upbeat and celebratory, but the lyrics tell a slightly darker story about endings, about running out of time.

            “Sleep is for the weak” was the unofficial motto from there on out! With just hours left (shout out to the 4 am departure crew!), we attempted to bring some sort of closure to a two-month, perspective-altering ordeal. Ha. Good luck! JIRP awards, a final video, and a well-written rap closed out the evening as people drifted about saying goodbyes and trying to maximize every minute left.

            Dawn.

            No more mass balance pits. No more sunset skis. No more tan line contests. No more wet socks and sun-screened faces. No more Pilot Bread with peanut butter and brown sugar. No more glacier dragons. No more “Science!” No more icefield. And just one traverse left: the traverse without a trail party, the traverse no one tells you about—the hardest traverse of all.

            Somehow two months had passed, and this bizarre, beautiful social experiment (“Hey, let’s throw 30+ complete strangers together and have them live in confined spaces in the middle of an icefield under less than ideal conditions!”) was at an end. Through quietly irrepressible tears that surprised this normally reserved author as the plane took off from Juneau, I was left with a singular line of questioning: How? How does this social experiment succeed? What is the “secret” of JIRP’s transformative power in the lives of generations of young, aspiring scientists? How?

            The largest part of the answer involves the development of the program under Dr. Miller and his wife, Joan—I am convinced. Their life’s work and legacy live on not only in the incredibly valuable scientific record JIRP produces, but also in the alumni and people who return year after year because it is such a transformative program. The second part of the answer is the students. The experience succeeds because JIRP assembles a group of diverse individuals from all corners of the U.S. and beyond. Despite our individuality, I thought about the common core values we necessarily share, and I’d like to describe some of them briefly.

            We are dreamers. We dream of a healthier planet—one in which our own human footprint is reduced. We dream of graduate school, of careers in engineering, environmental science, geology, and the list goes on. We dream of lives lived close to and in harmony with nature. Lives lived deliberately, surrounded by people we care about. We are dreaming.

            We are seekers. A never-ending thirst for knowledge drives us forward. Always searching for new ways to examine our beliefs, change our perspectives, and expand our horizons. We aim to learn from each person we meet.  We seek out and celebrate their best qualities. We are seeking.

            We are explorers. Testing our physical limits, pushing the bounds of our comfort zone, we never stop moving and never settle. Every new corner must be rounded, for we know that around each bend lies a new adventure, a new way to reinvent and reimagine ourselves and the world we live in. We are exploring.

            And finally, we are free spirits. Each JIRPer brought a unique addition to the summer. Artists, musicians, writers, singers, dancers, athletes, thinkers, and outdoorsmen (and women!) abound. We are compassionate characters, possessing a delicate sensitivity coupled with extremely tough mental faculties and willpower. We are soaring.

Kelly Hughes takes an incredible sunset above the Gilkey Trench.  Photo by Natalie Raia

            The bruises and blisters have healed. Clothes have been washed (I hope!). Photos shared. Departing tears have dried. But memories prevail—Step, step, stepping up the Ptarmigan. Prusiking on July 4th, surrounded by delightful pandemonium. Aching through the snow at 3:23 am. Kick, step. Kick, step. Stark red, white, and blue waving in front of resolute Towers and miles of dazzling white snow. The ping of shovels striking scientific gold. Kick, glide. Kick, glide. Haunting silence in a cavernous crevasse. The joyous laughter on sunny days. Swish. Swish—crunch. Marmot calls and gurgling glacial streams pointing down, down. Step. Step. Step. During our last radio contact with the icefield, a catch in the strongest voice does me in: “…going clear.” The unsaid phrase, “for the last time,” hangs in the air. A single tear escapes me, for as she packs away the disassembled radio, the thunderous icefield is silenced. The Icefield. Perched on the hill, turning my back on that staggering, immense place. One last, fleeting glance—quickly, quickly, the trees are swallowing us. Will I ever return? Rain strikes still waters in that pristine inlet, disrupted by the inconvenient arrival of civilization. Wonderful wind whistles on that massive, open deck, sweeping us closer, closer to the end. The End. A new kind of deep-rooted ache, stamping memories on my heart that read, “Delivered via Icefield.” Delivered via JIRP. Yes, memories prevail.

            And so, with the tenor of life permanently, beautifully disrupted, we carry on. Step, step, stepping. Never settling, never stopping, always fulfilling that Emersonian ideal: Books. Nature. Action.

            We are dreamers. We are seekers.

            We are explorers. We are free spirits.

            Now and forevermore, we are JIRPers.

All good things must come to an end. And through this end, all is well. Mighty fine, mighty fine.

JIRP 2014, going clear.

For the last time.

The sun rises through the clouds on the last day at Camp 17.  Photo by Natalie Raia

Our Time In Atlin

By: Danielle Beaty, University of Colorado Boulder

Emotions were high as I stepped off the boat onto the docks in Atlin. For one thing, the sun shone brightly on the newly showered faces (some people were even wearing jeans which was a shocking sight) of all the people I had missed the last couple of days. I ran to them (which proved to be difficult considering my legs were so sore from the previous day’s traverse) and there were hugs all around. The sadness I had felt toward leaving the icefield was replaced by my excitement about being together again in such a beautiful little town. After a quick passport check from the mounties, Luc greeted me with a box of freshly picked flowers, berries and scones, and then I threw my gear down hoping I could eat some scones and relax for a bit. Mary was quick to gather my trail party, however, and give us a camp tour of the place. The final camp we stayed in was an old hospital building, and the rooms were quite eerie so most people opted to sleep out on the docks. I preferred this anyway, because we were there during a meteor shower. That first day I did laundry, showered, explored the small town of Atlin (I was startled every time a car drove by), lounged on the docks, went thrift shopping to buy clothes for our JIRP Thanksgiving celebration, and enjoyed fresh food which was such a treat. That night the sky was clear, and we enjoyed a meteor shower on the docks until our tiredness overtook us. 

The best sleeping spots around (Photo: Alex Mischler).

The next day was a bit rainy, which gave my group an opportunity to finalize our project presentation. Afterwards, while most of us were out goofing around (eating ice cream, skipping rocks, roller skating, playing on a play structure, dancing in the street) Maya, Kurt and some staff prepared a phenomenal Thanksgiving meal, complete with turkey, stuffing, two kinds of gravy, mashed potatoes, green beans, fresh baked bread, corn, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie and apple pie.

Tristan and Luc skating around town (Photo: Laurissa Christie).

The first serving of many more to come (Photo: Laurissa Christe). 

Luc, Laurissa, Danielle, Lindsey, and Kate after Thanksgiving dinner (Photo: Laurissa Christe). 

The next day was presentation day, so we all practiced giving our presentations to one another, and gave each other feedback. I was very impressed by all the hard work everyone had put in this summer. There were several people on cookie duty, which meant preparing tons of cookies for the townspeople to enjoy. After dinner, we all walked a few blocks to the Atlin Rec Center. Everyone really took the feedback from earlier in the day to heart, as I thought the presentations had improved tremendously. I was very proud of my fellow JIRPers. After everyone had shared their research, I stuck around talking to the locals. Everyone I met was very passionate about the work JIRP does, and many of them had been coming to the JIRP presentations for 10, 20, even 30 years. It was great to know our summer’s work was appreciated. After dinner, I walked back to camp and the realization that JIRP was coming to a close really hit me hard. I wasn’t ready to accept that the next day we would leave behind the quaint town of Atlin to head to Juneau. I was nervous for the culture shock of being in a big town full of people I didn’t know, where not showering for two months or dressing in JIRP style would be scoffed. We spent one final night on the docks, then packed up and boarded a bus after one last final group photo.

Tristan killin' his presentation (Photo: Laurissa Christie). 

Everyone joins the group photo before leaving Atlin (Photo: Alex Mischler)

The Final Traverse

By: Melissa “Luna” Brett, Radford University

Saying goodbye to Camp 26 with a view of the medial moraine we used as the first part of our trail, and a view of Atlin Lake in the distance (Photo by: Maya Smith)

The last few minutes at camp 26 were spent with a handful of rock samples, turning each one and weighing them in either hand, carefully deciding which couldn’t be lived without and which were too heavy to carry on the long and icy journey ahead. With a pack full of the “can’t live without pile” and an empty “too heavy to carry pile”, I set out with our trail party across the immense Llewellyn Glacier. The weather was cold and sprinkling, but staying on the move kept everyone warm as we quietly walked along the medial moraine watching the sunrise.

“The Great Blue Landscape of my Wildest Dreams” (Photo by: Elizabeth “Lizzie” Kenny)

The sun was fighting the gray sky, casting long and sharp shadows into every corner of my vision. The crunch of crampons under our feet and the whipping wind was all that could be heard at first, and all around was the lonely morning light illuminating the colorful, sharp peaks jutting from their ice covered feet. Small meandering streams trickled along atop the glacier, joining forces as wild rivers, drilling deep and roaring holes down into the dark blue depths of the glaciers’ heart. Some places were as clear as glass, with a colorful variety of sediments locked in place, others areas were filled with a variety of stripes and swirls of every shade of blue imaginable, and everywhere there was a sense of slow and steady change. Giant, unimaginably deep crevasses were all around, and we slowly made our way through the groaning maze toward the lake and beyond the mountains ahead.

The journey takes us beyond ourselves, and into another world (Photo by: Elizabeth “Lizzie” Kenny).

One last step and the ice would be behind us. I stood there for a second, looking ahead to the outwash plain, and then over my shoulder, looking back not just to the blue ice behind me, not just to the long challenging weeks on the icefield, but back at all the things that brought me here; all the hard work, all the risks, all the right choices and all the wrong ones. All the people who have helped me along, all the times I looked out the window and didn’t go, and all the times I opened the door and left. They were all there with me, and with a deep and satisfying breath, I wiped the tears from my face, turned and stepped off the ice. With an exciting strength the group hiked on, through rocks and sediment of every shape, size and color imaginable. Chatting with each other to make the time pass we moved swiftly through the quickly changing landscape, through a variety of ecosystems with their exciting and forgotten scents. Trees! Beautiful trees and shrubs creeping in around us until we were fighting our way through, which isn’t an easy task with new blisters and tall skis sticking out from the tops of our packs, but the sound of laughter and encouraging words kept the group going.

Trees! Finally back to the land of plants (Photo by: Elizabeth “Lizzie” Kenny)!

Dry boots were a thing of the past once we hit the marsh, and people were just tromping through creeks now with reckless abandon. Beaver dams, lynx and bear tracks, birds and squirrels were all welcoming signs that the Atlin Lake inlet was near! One last break on top of the ridge with a view of the now far-off glacier, one last group picture full of smiles and pride, one last hoist of the overstuffed and heavy packs, and on we went, dropping down into the woods. The forest was like a good long hug from an old friend, deep green pines, bright green mosses, the sound of water and wind through the aspen leaves, all so familiar. The last few steps brought us to the shore of the lake, and in that moment we had crossed the Juneau Icefield, traversed from Juneau to Atlin inlet on what will always be for many of us, the greatest journey of our lifetime.  

The team says one last goodbye to the Juneau Icefield (Photo By: Matt Pickart)!

Connecting Glaciology, Hydrology, and Ecology on the Juneau Icefield

By: Kim Quesnel, Stanford University; Lindsey Gulbrandsen, State University of New York, Oneonta; and Laurissa Christie, University of Guelph

Since the main focus of JIRP fieldwork is mass balance (digging snow pits to determine the annual health of the glacier), the hydrology group decided to examine the relationship between mass balance and stream flow on the Lemon Creek and Taku glaciers. Both glaciers have historic mass balance data and also feed into United States Geological Survey (USGS) gaged streams, giving us two datasets to use in our analysis. Additionally, we will also be using meteorological data (temperature and precipitation) in our models.

Laurissa cores a sample of snow in the mass balance pit. 

The goal of our project is to examine the fluxes in glacial accumulation and ablation and to determine the impact of changing glacier dynamics on downstream ecosystems (both terrestrial and marine) which are dependent on glacial melt water. For example, salmon habitats require specific streamflow and sediment conditions to spawn, and changes due to accelerated melt may impact their habitat and breeding environments. We are excited to see different relationships between all of the variables, and we are waiting to get back to our respective universities to continue to analyze data.

Kim looks at a supraglacial stream.

French Alex, Kim, Laurissa, and Natalie measuring a stream.

In addition to looking at the overarching hydrology of icefield, we also took several field trips while we were at Camp 26 to look at the water features in the ablation zone. We mapped hydrologic features, looked at the evolution of supraglacial streams, and explored ice caves under the Llewellyn glacier. 

The hydrology group! Laurissa, Kim, Lindsey, and Carrie.

Geobotany and Entomology on the Juneau Icefield

by Polly Bass, University of Alaska, Anchorage, Matanuska Susitna College

Today I am at camp 18 above the Vaughan Llewis Icefall and Gilkey Trench.  Some of the objectives of the geobotanical and biological sciences research group this summer include: Continued monitoring of permanent vegetation quadrats; Evaluation, retrieval and redeployment of temperature data loggers at some of the permanent plots; Investigation of possible invasive species at C18; evaluation of Saxifraga sp. found on the Mount Moore nunatak in 2013, re-evaluation of an observed Taraxacum sp., and investigation of a Draba sp. not before seen on the icefield nunataks. Work at camp eight on Mt. Moore revealed a second species of Saxifrage present. The two Saxifraga members are the only vascular species observed and recorded on Mt. Moore during the relatively long history of JIRP.  The vascular plants on Mt. Moore were found to inhabit a specific geological dike of fissile aphinitic intrusive igneous mafic composition.

Polly Bass leads the JIRPers on a geobotanical field lecture at Camp 10.

Grasses are being collected for a collaborative project with Saewan Koh at the University of Alberta in Edmonton. Saewan is exploring the relationship between the Neotyphodium ungus in grasses, and grazing by herbivores. In the Ruby Range of the Yukon Territory, the presence of the fungus has been identified as a deterrent to grazing. Poaceae family members and, in particular, Festuca genus members were collected at several sites to determine if the observed influence of the fungus on the forb impacts grazing across a latitudinal gradient.

Sean Schofield from the University of Wisconsin, Madison, has joined us to continue the investigation of Nebria lituyae and N. nivalis, two species of Arctic/alpine beetles. Dave Kavanaugh began an investigation of Nebria sp. in the Paradise Valley region of the icefield in 2012. In 2013, student, Ben Slavin collected Nebria at several nunatak sites for Sean Schofield’s research. This year, Sean is expanding on Ben’s work to include more sites. He is interested in understanding the distribution of the species across the icefield nunataks, and how the species migrated to the sites. He will also explore the adjacent environs. Additional collections and observations were made adjacent to the icefield in the Mt. Roberts and Mt. Gastineau areas. Future work will benefit from further collaborative field efforts between the geobotanical and entomological research groups. These joint efforts will strive to correlate habitat, substrate, and microclimate variables influencing the presence and absence of icefield flora and microfauna.

Phyllodoce glanduliflora on the icefield.  photo by Alex Micheler

JIRPers gather around during the geobotanical lecture.

Field Work of the Seismic Bandits

by Dan King, State University of New York at Oneonta

The Other Seismic Bandits:

Lizzie Kenny, Bowdoin College; Julian Alwakeel, Florida International University; Josh Ivie, Tarleton State University; and Mike Staron, Keene State College

Our Project:

Most research groups here at Camp 10 have now prepared, or already begun, their various projects. The seismic group, or the “Seismic Bandits” as we’ve come to call ourselves, has completed our research because all of our fieldwork needed to be done on the Taku Glacier.

Our research became a race against the clock upon our arrival at Camp 10. The delayed departure of the latter trail parties from Camp 17 certainly didn’t help our cause. Our faculty research advisers, Don Voigt and Kiya Riverman (both from Penn State University) were set to fly out of camp just under two weeks after the arrival of the first members of our research group  ( Lizzie and I) and our fieldwork needed to be concluded prior to their departure. Don and Kiya were also kind enough to provide the group with all of the essential equipment needed to conduct our fieldwork. Just a few days after arriving at Camp 10, our group began testing the field equipment in Icy Basin, just a couple hundred meters Southeast of Camp 10. Collection of the critical data for our research project did not begin until all of the Bandits had arrived at Camp 10 several days later.

In the past, Don and Kiya have typically used explosives for their seismic work. However, since we didn’t have permits for seismics, we used a sledge hammer, and occasionally an instrument known as “Betsy,” for a sound making device. Betsy is a surprisingly light piece of equipment that fires blank 12 gauge shotgun rounds into the glacier.

Before I get too specific, I’ll take a step backward… Our original goals were to use standard methods of seismic reflection to determine the depth of the Taku Glacier, and also to determine the underlying material (bedrock, sediment, water, etc.). We also planned to do seismic refraction surveys in areas of both low and high strain on the Taku Glacier in order to create firn density profiles. Firn is snow that has survived at least one entire melt season. It is denser than fresh snow, but not as dense as glacial ice. Using the firn density profiles that we create from our surveys, we hope to better understand how regional strain can affect the rate at which firn densifies into glacial ice. Firn densification is important to consider when trying to understand ice flow dynamics – this is where our work becomes valuable.

After getting into our fieldwork, we decided unanimously that we would prefer to devote our time to the refraction surveys, and to drop reflection from our work entirely. We did this, in part, because we were crunched for time, but mainly for other reasons: While seismic reflection had been used on the Taku Glacier before, refraction surveys to examine properties of firn densification have not. The Bandits agreed that it would be best to devote our time to a single research project that was unique to the area, and our advisers supported that decision.

We conducted 4 refraction surveys: two in areas of relatively low strain, and two in areas of relatively high strain. Each individual survey, however, was conducted in the same manner. We would start by laying out 500 meters of cable in a line, with nodes at 20 meter intervals. At each node, we dug a hole, buried a geophone, and connected it to the node. The cable was connected to a magical box called the “geode”. Also connected to the geode, was the trigger switch, which we connected to the end of the sledge hammer, or to the mallet used to trigger Betsy. We ended up using the sledge hammer much more than Betsy because it was faster and worked just as well, if not better. The geode was connected to a battery and our laptop. These connections made up our temporary seismic station for each survey.

One of several temporary seismic stations.  Don Voight - left, Kiya Riverman - right;  photo by Dan King

Starting at the closest geophone, and gradually moving to a distance of 20 meters, we would place the “shot” then take several recordings. The “shot” is the term for each sledge hammer hit. When ready, the Bandit manning the computer would say, “Quiet on the line,” to eliminate noise interference from the group, and the person manning the sledge hammer would strike a metal pipe on the surface of the glacier. The impact would trigger the switch and start a timer. The computer then recorded the magnitude and time of arrival of the sound wave(s) produced by the shot at each individual geophone, which we analyzed back at camp. Shots were usually taken 0-20 meters away from the first geophone, at an interval of 2 meters each.
 

Although the fieldwork was repetitive, we never got bored. Each of the Bandits learned the various team roles, and became masters of using the equipment. After a while, I became the designated sledge hammer-er… The team even started calling me “Thor.” Mike’s ski ballet was also a brilliant source of entertainment during our brief moments of down time. In the end, we were all able to walk away with great data and close bonds from our memorable moments in the field. All that’s left now is to return to camp and crunch our data.

Don, Josh, Julian, Lizzie, Dan, Kaya - right to left; Mike - center; photo by Randall Stacy

I’d like to thank Don Voigt and Kiya Riverman, not only for their instruction and the use of their equipment, but also for the enthusiasm and patience they expressed while working with the Bandits. I speak for us all when I say that it was a pleasure to work with you two. We couldn’t have done it without you. Perhaps the Bandits will someday reunite.

Portable Cloud 9

by Jennifer Berry, University of Michigan

Camp 9 – Plan of the day

8:45 – Roll over in sleeping bag to do morning check-in

9:30 – Actually get out of sleeping bag to make breakfast

9:45 – Eat breakfast with a topping of nutella

10:00 – Press 4 buttons to sample aerosols

10:05 – Press same 4 buttons

10:10 – Press same 4 buttons

10:15 – Press same 4 buttons

10:20 – Press same 4 buttons

10:25 – Press same 4 buttons

10:30 – Go crazy after pressing same buttons so many times. Decide to sample every half hour

11:00 – Eat chunk of frozen nutella

11:15 – Think about eating lunch

11:30 – Warm up nutella on pilot bread using the cover of the pot of boiling water

12:00 – Make and eat lunch, dessert of nutella

14:00 – Wonder what exactly happened in the past two hours. Eat more nutella

14:30 – Pick out all the M&Ms from a few bags of GORP for a nice present for the mass balance group coming in a few days

15:00 – Brainstorm GoPro ideas

15:30 – Throw GoPro tied to a rope into the bergschrund

16:00 – Eat more nutella

17:00 – Throw rocks into bergschrund

18:00 – Stare off into space

19:00 – Make and eat dinner. Wonder why you’re eating so much despite not having done anything all day

20:00 – Dessert of pilot bread and nutella

20:15 – Try melting M&Ms because Jenny admitted to really only eating fruit when it’s covered in chocolate

20:30 – Notice that M&Ms aren’t melting. End up squishing M&Ms onto apple slices

21:00 – Wonder how we ate a large container of nutella in less than 3 days

23:00 – Lights out

For those that aren’t that familiar, every day at camp the staff tells us the plan of the day so everyone can know what’s going happening. Camp 9 is slightly different though, being only one building and holding a maximum of 8 people. When I was at C-9 there wasn’t exactly much to plan and there were only 3 people at camp, so we ended up coming up with a joke “plan of the day”. The walls of C-9 have these kind of plans of the day going back decades, each one hilarious. Most of them talked about sleeping in late and discussing odd things like how many cups are in a quart (but does anyone really know that off the top of their head?). One of my favorites went something like “Initiate search for mass balance group by yelling,” followed by “observe silence in the fog.” All of these plans posted on the walls show how much free time you get at C-9, and my stay was no exception.

Camp 9 (aka Cloud 9) in a whiteout.  photo by Gillian Rooker

I was at Camp 9 to set up atmospheric sampling instruments away from the burn pits of the other camps. Sent all the way from Michigan, I had a 2B Technologies ozone monitor, an AeroTrak, and a microAeth in order to look at ozone, black carbon, and size-resolved particle counts of the atmosphere. We had a sampling line run out from the porthole window, up a metal pole that we conveniently found already at C-9, to up inlet that stuck above the roof. So far there hasn’t been much of a chance to look into the results of this study, but even just the data on the monitors shows some really interesting events going on. The first day we turned on the instruments we saw that the ozone values were around 250 ppb (around of the levels of ozone found in Mexico City) and after that it started to slowly drop down, but there were also really high particle counts in the atmosphere at the same time. Sadly, at the close of the first day things started to go wrong. One of the ozone monitor wouldn’t connect to the computer, meaning that the data was only logged onto the internal memory of the monitor. This left the chance for the loss of the data if the monitor stopped logging data, which naturally happened at the end of the first day. Just around that time, the AeroTrak stopped being able to reach the proper flow level. This mean that the only way to sample was to manually hit start every couple of minutes. I’ve been told that everything going wrong is a part of field work, but it certainly is frustrating. In the end, the generator breaking was the final nail in the coffin of my study.

Camp 9 still in a whiteout.  photo by Gillian Rooker

Beyond the frustrations of field work, Camp 9 was amazing. After spending most of the time in large camps with upwards of 50 people, being in a one building camp with only 2 other people felt like a vacation. It was a very relaxing change to be able to sleep in a bit and sit outside (when the weather permitted it) while reading books and writing letters. I was able to go to Camp 9 two separate times and the first time there the weather was beautiful. It was rather windy, but if you sit behind the right corner of the building you could be blocked from the wind but still facing the sun. Camp 9 is the closest thing you can get to a vacation on the icefield. We only had to start the AeroTrak sampling every 30 minutes and fill up the generator every 5 hours. Even though my second trip was during a whiteout that included rain and snow, it was just as enjoyable. I loved my time at Camp 9 and I was really sad to leave it behind when my study came to an end.

Packing up Camp 9 after the generator died.  photo by Gillian Rooker

Alternative JIRP

by: Stephanie Romano (Binghamton University)

The goal of Alternative JIRP is to analyze fossil fuel consumption at each of the camps and to determine solar and/or wind availabilities in hopes of propelling JIRP into a more sustainable future. The project based on the four main camps (17, 10, 18, and 26), and will be conducted my mentor, graduate student Kim Quesnel from Stanford University, and me.

Camp 17 and Camp 10 currently use a 2.5 kilowatt generator to power electronics including lights, laptops, radios, cameras, and a projector for lectures. When they are occupied, both camps have a consistent load of 1.5 kilowatts for about 11 hours. This equates to a daily consumption of 16.5 kilowatts (16,500 watts). These readings will be used to estimate how much wind or solar power would be necessary to continue current operations.

Thus far, hourly solar radiation measurements have been taken for Camp 17 and Camp 10 using a pyrometer (measured in watts/m2) in both “bluebird” and cloudy/rainy weather. Radiation measurements are recorded with a percentage probability of the different weather conditions; for example, “Cloud 17” has poor weather about 80% of the time. Radiation measurements will continue at the two remaining camps (Camp 18 and 26) when we arrive.

Meteorological stations have been recording wind measurements at Camps 17 and 18 for a few years. I am currently analyzing these readings and using average wind speeds to determine if wind turbines are a feasible option. Unfortunately, a reliable record of wind speed has not been found for the other two camps.

Findings at this stage suggest that solar and wind power could be a feasible option for JIRP camps. Additionally, these alternative technologies could serve as learning tools and possible future projects for JIRPers.

We have submitted an abstract about this project to the Geological Society of America (GSA) and hope to present our final report at their annual meeting.

Below I have included a figure expressing Camp 17’s solar availability and generator usage.

Solar availability and generator usage at C-17.

A Grand Day Out

by Hannah Rosenkrans, University of Montana

A bluebird day opened up the Vaughn Lewis Glacier, revealing crevasses, snow bridges, and bergschrunds previously hidden by the clouds and rain. The location was perfect for the goal of the day: learn how to rappel. We roped up to approach the crevasses and stopped in the wanded-off safe area, where we dug strong anchors in the dense, wet snow.

Mary and Danielle make sure their harnesses are in order.

Hannah is pumped to go rappelling.

As you first back down into a crevasse, a symphony of wet, dripping sounds engulfs your ears. Nervous hands guiding the rope through the rappel device quickly find a rhythm as excitement and awe take over, crampons sticking fast into the wall.

Luc makes rappelling look easy.

Rappelling into a crevasse feels like going back in time. The compacted snow at the surface gives way to the layers of ice that have hidden from the sun. The thin crack at the surface conceals the overhanging lip and chasm below. Smooth walls line this icy world, exposing the processes of compaction and metamorphism that affect snow beneath the surface. The sunlight only makes it halfway down the walls, leaving the imagination to wonder just how far the dark holes descend. Ice sculptures etched from dripping water and the rare glimpses of sunlight expose the juxtaposed hardness and fragility of ice.

Lindsey gets a little hungry during her adventure in the crevasse.

Kim is fearless down in the crevasse.

Ascending out of the crevasse back up to the surface, looking back one last time into the shadowed depths, there is a feeling of reassurance – reassurance that there will always be places to marvel at, wondrous worlds tucked just out of sight, and those who willingly venture into their realms.

Laurissa is having a great time rappelling!

Camp 18 Opening

by Barbara Burger, Technische Universitaet Muenchen

The first trail party to Camp 18 (Kate, Newt, Ben, Mariah, Hannah, Mike and I) arrived after a long day in a whiteout with the first snowfall of the trip. It was very windy and rainy, but the view from camp was amazing. We skied down the hill to the camp and saw the big icefall of the Vaughan Lewis Glacier on the left and the amazing Gilkey Trench in front of us. The Gilkey Glacier has beautiful alternating wave crests called ogives that appear as dark and light bands of ice. When I saw the view for the first time, I knew that Camp 18 would be my favorite camp of the icefield.

The view from Camp 18: the Vaughan Lewis Icefall and the Gilkey Trench

 After we put our backpacks into the sleeping areas and changed out of our wet clothes, we went into the cook shack, where we were in for a big surprise. Imagine all the chaos a few mice and rats can create during the year the camp is not occupied. The rats destroyed some food packages and chewed through an important part of the stove, which delayed dinner. Luckily, Ben and Newt repaired the stove very quickly, but while they were occupied we started sweeping the cook shack. The next two days would be filled with similar activities: we swept all the buildings, washed all the dishes (plates, pans, and pots - it took us one entire day), bleached all the shelves, sorted and organized the food from previous years, and unpacked the books in the Benstitute (the library building that Ben Partan built).

The wood stove area before cleaning.

After the first day, we got help from Jon, Jenny and Gillian, who did the traverse from Camp 9. It was a lot of hard work to clean everything, but it gave me a new perspective on our camps. It was good to see in person how much work goes into opening a camp - I now appreciate more than ever how nice and clean our camps are when the majority of people arrive. Of course, we also had a lot of fun during the cleaning days. We were a really fun group and had plenty of free time to cook together (on one day we had crepes, cinnamon rolls, homemade bread and pizza), sit next to the wood stove and talk, or just look at the amazing scenery outside.

The C-18 Opening Crew: Hannah, Mariah, Jenny, Gillian, Mike, and Barbara