Taku Terminus

Taku Terminus

Mickey Mackie, Harvard University

Isabel Suhr, Lewis and Clark College

Mickey:

The rotors picked up speed with a deafening roar. I felt a wobble, and the helicopter was lifted into the air. Isabel and I were on our way to the Taku Terminus to assist a research team with field work. I was in the front seat. The window stretched to the floor and I could see the Taku Glacier beneath my feet. Camp 10 disappeared in the distance.

We flew low to the ground and crossed over the section we skied across to get to Camp 10. It was now streaked with ice and crevasses.

Crevasses on the Taku Glacier. Photo: Isabel Suhr

A wondrous sight appeared on the horizon: trees, thousands of them. I basked in the magnificence of the first greenery I’d seen in weeks. I was still in shock when we touched down in camp, our home for the next week.

Isabel:

Camp life at the Taku Terminus field camp was very different from life on JIRP. Instead of a permanent camp, we each had a small tent to sleep in, plus a large communal tent for cooking and one for gear storage. We camped just past the terminus of the glacier, on flat exposed sediment between Taku Inlet and the outlet streams from the Taku Glacier. It was very strange to be among plants again! 

Camp at the Taku terminus. Photo: Mickey MacKie

There were thirteen people at camp including Mickey and I, and we worked on a variety of different projects on the Taku terminus. Jason Amundson, from University of Alaska Southeast, was in charge of the camp, and the other scientists were all from UAS or University of Alaska Fairbanks. In addition to the scientists, Jason’s wife and four-year-old-daughter were at camp, which made our mornings and evenings really fun.

Mickey:

15,000 lbs of gear, a glacier, and three crazy scientists are what you need to drill a borehole in the ice. Martin Truffer from University of Alaska Fairbanks led the operation. The boreholes were made using pressurized steam. Water was heated in a container called the hot tub and was fed through a tube into the hole.

Lowering a camera down the borehole. Photo: Mickey MacKie

These holes can be used to get sediment samples, do dye tests, or study glacier deformation. Martin put a camera in the hole, and we were able to see a subglacial stream. It was exciting to see how technology is used to learn more about glaciers.

Isabel:

The project Mickey and I did the most work for was a seismic survey. Jenna, a grad student from UAF, was the lead on the project and Mickey and I, and another undergrad from UAF, were field assistants.

Seismics are a good way to get information about the bottom of a glacier and what is below it. To do a seismic survey you need seismic waves to measure, whether they are from an earthquake or from a manmade explosion. We used a Betsy gun, which fires blank shotgun shells. To create the seismic waves, we bored a hole a half a meter or so into the ice, then placed the Betsy gun in the hole. To fire it, we hit the top of the gun with a sledgehammer, which then fired the blank at the bottom of the hole, creating seismic waves. It was quite the explosion!

Brief video showing the firing of a Betsy Gun for the purposes of creating and measuring seismic waves on the Taku Glacier Terminus

To get information from the Betsy gun explosions, we used two types of instruments to measure the seismic waves we created—geophones and geopebbles. Both are seismometers: they measure vibrations in the ground. The geophones are single-component seismometers, which means they have one sensor to measure seismic waves. The geophones then all connect to a cable, which relays their information back to a computer. The geopebbles are a little different: they are three-component seismometers, so with their three sensors they can track the direction of movement of the seismic waves. They also have a built-in GPS and can transfer information wirelessly. We used a combination of geophones, for dense sampling over the point of interest, and geopebbles, for measurements farther from the shot locations.

Mickey placing the geophones. Photo: Isabel Suhr

Over the three days Mickey and I helped with the project, we started by checking out the seismic line we planned to use, then placed the geophones and geopebbles in the ice, then finally fired shots from the Betsy gun at intervals along the line. It was pretty cold and wet work, but we really enjoyed getting a chance to see what conducting a seismic survey was like!

Mickey:

Through mud, over moraine, to the ice we strode.

We went in a line – I was at the end of the row.

I walked across what seemed like solid ground

And found myself shifted several feet down.

I felt the ooze seep into my pants

And realized that I was stuck in quicksand.

As I stood immobilized in that murky pool,

All I could think was, “This is so cool!”

Strong arms grabbed me, and with many a tug

I was finally lifted out of that mud.

Dear reader: if in quicksand you ever should fall,

I hope that unlike mine, your pants don’t have a hole.

Post-quicksand. Photo: Isabel Suhr

Isabel:

Getting back to JIRP from the terminus turned into quite an adventure. After a day of weather delays, we changed plans to go through Juneau on the way back to Camp 10 rather than straight to Camp 18. To get to Juneau, we got a lift from Brian, a very kind airboat operator, across the inlet to his airboat base, where he had a helicopter of tourists coming in from Juneau. The airboat ride was amazing—since it has a giant fan instead of an outboard motor, we could go into very shallow water without risking running aground. On the way back to the airboat base, we took a look up the Norris River to the Norris Glacier, which had a calving front. It was very cool to see the icebergs and hanging blocks of ice that were about to fall! We took another look at the calving front from the air on the helicopter ride back to Juneau too.

Isabel in the airboat. Photo: Mickey MacKie

The calving front from the air. Photo: Isabel Suhr

Being in Juneau was strange—we had gotten so used to life on the icefield that being in civilization again was a shock. Luckily, after a few hours we could get on a helicopter to Camp 10 to rejoin our friends!

Serendipitous Disconnect

Serendipitous Disconnect

Ella Keenan – University of Wisconsin- Eau Claire

Rachel Medaugh – University of Miami

Joel Wilner – Middlebury College

“There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after”- The Hobbit

Looking out from Camp 8 (Photo Credit: Scott Braddock)

An important part of our search was the time we spent at Camp 8. There’s something special about that single roomed building in the middle of nowhere. It’s not the fact that four JIRPers were sent up Mt. Moore for the seemingly useless purpose of radioing between camps that can’t actually hear each other, nor the white mold growing near your head while you sleep, nor the creepy voodoo doll of “Lucifer” hanging above the identically named furnace. And it’s certainly not the 70mph winds knocking you off your feet if you ever feel the need to venture outside. Although all of those things do add a certain uniqueness to the experience, there is something more profound that makes Camp 8 special.

Camp 8 is riddled with the reflections of years of JIRPers who had nothing but time to sit and think. Here is the place where you lose and find yourself, where you break from your usual existence to put on the cloak of another. Whether it be breaking from your inhibitions and sitting on the roof in 60 plus mph winds, drinking hot Tang in an age-old JIRP tradition, or basking in the glory of the view from Mt. Moore, not worried about how you’ll get down in those 60mph winds or other worldly obscurities. You can be happy for a few breaths because you just feel free, there in the moment.

An important part of our search was the time we spent at Camp 8. There’s something special about that single roomed building in the middle of nowhere. It’s not the fact that four JIRPers were sent up Mt. Moore for the seemingly useless purpose of radioing between camps that can’t actually hear each other, nor the white mold growing near your head while you sleep, nor the creepy voodoo doll of “Lucifer” hanging above the identically named furnace. And it’s certainly not the 70mph winds knocking you off your feet if you ever feel the need to venture outside. Although all of those things do add a certain uniqueness to the experience, there is something more profound that makes Camp 8 special.

Camp 8 is riddled with the reflections of years of JIRPers who had nothing but time to sit and think. Here is the place where you lose and find yourself, where you break from your usual existence to put on the cloak of another. Whether it be breaking from your inhibitions and sitting on the roof in 60 plus mph winds, drinking hot Tang in an age-old JIRP tradition, or basking in the glory of the view from Mt. Moore, not worried about how you’ll get down in those 60mph winds or other worldly obscurities. You can be happy for a few breaths because you just feel free, there in the moment.

Ella and Rachel at the top of Mt. Moore (Photo Credit: Scott Braddock)

On the moon, the Apollo astronauts had only each other and the distant view of their home. All of human experience lay before their eyes, and from a heavenly post they calmly observed. But they were not isolated from humankind; rather, they achieved fuller human experience in their shared serendipitous disconnect.

Camp 8 crew enjoying the sunset from the roof.  (Photo Credit: Scott Braddock)

Here too, at Camp 8, we leave behind our society: the friends we’ve made and have grown close to on the Icefield. We may simply gaze upon the land where we’ve grown close to one another, separated by a ferocious void of wind and space. As we few at Camp 8 support each other in our isolation, we grow closer as human beings. When we return to the rest of JIRP from Camp 8, itself a microcosm of how JIRP relates to the rest of the world, we will return with the knowledge that splendid remoteness is as essential to survival as food, water, or air.

Last night at Camp 8 (Photo Credit: Ella Keenan)

Get Them to the Cache

Get them to the Cache

Joseph Wolf, Minnesota State University, Mankato

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

From day 15 on the Juneau Icefield

            Trail Parties consisting of five to six students along with two staff members started their traverse to Camp 10 from Camp 17; two days and 23 miles in total.  The first day started at Camp 17 and finished at the Norris Cache.  This traverse was an obstacle course, full of both expected and unexpected challenges throughout. 

            Our journey started at 6:00 AM. Waking to the sounds of rain, we packed our 50 lbs. backpacks, made trail lunches of cheese, lettuce, and peanut butter sandwiches, two Snickers bars, and a half dozen granola bars, and ate a wholesome breakfast of oatmeal and peanut butter.  At 7:00 AM, we started our descent of the Camp 17 ridge, which lead to the Lemon Creek Glacier.  We started skiing down glacier until we were stopped by a large section of exposed blue ice.  At the blue ice we transitioned to crampons, metal spikes that strap around hiking boots.  This was one of the first years JIRP students had to crampon down the blue ice on the Lemon Creek Glacier due to the record breaking low snowfall this past winter.  Walking across the blue ice and weaving around open crevasses was an amazing experience.  A loose crampon had my nerves on edge and I watched each foot step carefully. 

Exposed Blue Ice on the Lemon Creek Glacier

When our trail party finished traversing the maze of blue ice, we started up the south facing slope of the Lemon Creek Glacier and then across the plateau of the Thomas Glacier. The weather was fierce--strong wind, thick fog and drizzling rain made it hard to see more than 10 yards in front of us.

 The next part of our journey had us boot packing up Nugget Ridge over loose rock to reach a safe snow patch where we would continue skiing.  There has been a light-hearted argument ongoing betweenfaculty member, Seth Campbell, and head safety staff , Ibai Rico, if we should call our journey up Nugget Ridge boot packing or simply, walking.  Seth Campbell is in support of “boot packing up Nugget Ridge”, while Ibai Rico is in support of “walking up Nugget Ridge.”  Keep in mind Seth Campbell has a Ph.D., teaches Wilderness First Aid classes, and is an avid mountaineer; Ibai Rico has a master’s and is a professional mountaineering guide in the Alps, Scandis, and the Himalayas. If you ask me, they’re the same thing. Just plain semantics.  

The next leg in our journey descended the Camp 13 slope.  With the white out conditions continuing, starting down the slope was becoming difficult while dodging deep crevasses. Our route was safely staked out by a couple of staff members a few days before.  Before this descent, the crevasses I have seen were never that wide or deep but the ones I saw here contained large holes the size of small houses, spider-webbed with snow bridges.  Two hours later, around 7 PM, the Camp 13 slope lead us into Death Valley, a wide-open flat plain of snow about 3 miles across.  This was not a difficult ski per se, but I needed to keep up my endurance, grit, and perseverance for this long ski and the following scramble up the Norris Icefall.  

In Death Valley, looking at the Norris Icefall in the distance

The Norris Icefall was the toughest part of this whole traverse.  Our trail party arrived at the base of the icefall at 9 PM and had two hours left before we arrive at the Norris Cache, where tents and hot canned soup were waiting for us.  Annika Ord, one of our trail party leaders, stated we would have to be focused and give our full attention to the next mile.  Broken ice, full of large crevasses, and very narrow walking paths were waiting ahead of us.  A couple of times on the icefall, we had to walk on a thin patch of snow with deep crevasses on either side – very nerve-racking.  By the end of the trek through the icefall, we were alert and wide awake, even though we just spent the last 16 hours skiing and hiking through the most treacherous of terrain and weather conditions.

Our arrival at the Norris Cache was one of the best feelings I have experienced on JIRP.  To have completed the hardest portion of the 2 month traverse, was a great lifetime accomplishment – having never cross-country skied and having never experienced Southeast Alaska weather before this summer.

Looking onto the Camp 13 Slope leading to Death Valley.  From the vantage point of Norris Cache

(All photographs taken by author)

Glaciology is Mathematics

Glaciology is Mathematics: The perspective of a master of mathematics student

James Headen, Elizabeth City State University

Panorama of Camp 10. Photo by author

ʃ8xdx...2x²+2x²… 3a=12x², regardless of the equation, there exists an explicit solution (definition: a function expressing a solved relationship between variables). Although mathematics has its share of implicit solutions (definition: an unsolved relationship between variables), the solution still has a variation of some finite (definition: known value) equation. Glaciers on the other hand, have so many unknowns that solving or drawing near a conclusion can be overwhelming. And that is the exact reason I’m drawn to nature’s canvas. 

Sunset view looking westward from Camp 17. Photo by author.

My background is strictly mathematics and physics, therefore any knowledge gained about glaciers is extremely new. I am a novice with any activity associated with glaciers and even using glacier terminology is unfamiliar. Such subjects as basal sliding, surface velocity or even measurements of movement uses an amazing quantity of mathematics. For instance, flux quantities are a mathematical representation of glacier movement. I enjoy observing the effects a simple derivative can have on glacier factors. For instance, constructing a simple differential equation with parameters such as height, length, gravity, and variables that represent changes in position interval exponents, produces a surface velocity at a specific point. Together, a motivated group of individuals and I are using these equations to create a cross-section model of the Taku Glacier. My portion focuses on using differential equations, the Pythagorean Theorem and GPS coordinates to extract surface velocity for specific points. Every day is the perfect balance of lab time with your project team and field time to experience the JIRP tradition. 

Representation of velocity flow along a glacier surface

Originally, I felt my mathematics would be put in the back corner during the length of the program, but I have experienced quite the opposite. Consequently, I can honestly say JIRP has a little bit of something for everyone. Whether it’s the mathematics student, the biology student, the programmer or even the outdoor enthusiast, each interest has life here at JIRP. 

Mathematics is everywhere……even at camp 18. Photo by author.

But can math really answer the deep questions of the icefield? My honest answer is YES!!

To understand the icefield requires mathematics. Math helps us understand glacier behaviors. In understanding the movement of glaciers, we can track possible areas of crevasses and map the general topography. Knowing these characteristics will increase safety for future exploration.

Mathematics helps us understand how climate impacts glaciers and in turn helps us understand how glacier change influences downstream ecosystems. Nature is math. To understand nature, we create mathematical representations (also known as models) to describe and predict its cycles. Through this we can prepare for future changes in our environments.

So to the aspiring JIRPmaticians, math lives here on the icefield! 

Ruminations from a JIRP Faculty

Ruminations from a JIRP Faculty

Donald Voigt, Research Associate, Penn State University, College of Earth and Mineral Sciences

Students aren’t the only ones inspired, challenged and stretched at JIRP. As my second season on the Icefield draws to a close, I feel that I am starting to earn my FGER stripes and maybe it is time for my reflections.

I was inspired by the sight of Tadhg coming into Camp 18 on one ski after the failure of his binding on the traverse from Camp 10. Full pack. Big full pack. One ski. He was laughing.

I discovered that Spam is better with Siracha, lots of Siracha. And that oatmeal with Spam is a thing; for supper. Maybe a good vs. evil sort of thing. And I still don’t understand Pilot Bread, an Alaska thing made in Virginia. Like saltines with the nutrition removed.

I was inspired by the constant interruption of our class discussion by ice falls from the Vaughn Lewis Glacier behind me. The subject was the physical properties of ice; go figure. And I was challenged by having to draw the phase diagram of water upside-down on a white board; without a net. Way out of my comfort zone.

Don Voigt challenging himself to draw the phase diagram of water upside down. Photo by Kristin Timm.

I was dismayed to find out that the fancy new activity tracker I am wearing doesn’t care about the weight of my pack. Or that the 3000 steps I took were more vertical than horizontal. It also didn't seem to work while skiing. But that didn’t seem to matter at the end of the day when talking to friends about the trip and the glories of skiing in the ping pong ball.

I was challenged to keep up with a dozen student climbing up from Heather Camp in 45 minutes to make it back in time for dinner when it took us an hour to make the descent.

And I am always inspired when the student staring off into space, seemingly not paying any attention, comes up with insight that causes me to start making plans for next year’s season on the Icefield.

Ogives: Glacial Masterpieces

Ogives:Glacial Masterpieces

Joel Wilner, Middlebury College

If you’ve made it to this website, chances are you’ve seen a picture of the dramatic Gilkey Glacier and its ogives – curving bands of ice on a glacier that alternate from dark to light.  Also known as band ogives or Forbes bands, ogives (pronounced oh-jives) are among the planet’s most extraordinary natural phenomena in terms of both aesthetic quality and scientific intrigue.

On yesterday’s long traverse to Camp 18 from Camp 10, my trail party was stuck in a whiteout for most of the trek. Today, though, the skies cleared and we were afforded an astonishing panoramic view of the Gilkey Trench, the Vaughan Lewis Icefall, and the Gilkey Glacier’s famous ogives. The sudden sight of the ogives is admittedly overwhelming, particularly after a “ping-pong ball day” in a whiteout. 

A close-up view of the arced bands of ogives below Camp 18. Photo by author

Scientists have proposed several different ideas about how ogives form. However, there are certain things about ogives that we know for sure: 1) all ogives form at the foot of icefalls (icefalls are jumbled, chaotic regions of a glacier in which ice moves much faster than elsewhere in the glacier, usually because of a steep slope), although not all icefalls create ogives; 2) the ogive bands begin as a series of bumps on the surface, sometimes five meters tall initially, but eventually flatten out; and 3) each pair of dark and light ice bands in an ogive system usually corresponds to one year of a glacier’s movement. An early idea proposed that the ogives are formed by pressure waves, just like pushing a spoon through a bowlful of thick honey. This idea theorized that as the icefall slides faster each summer than it does in winter, the speed increase causes the icefall to compress the ice below, gradually forming annual waves in the ice.

 The Vaughan Lewis Icefall (bottom left) and the ogives (right) it produces. Photo by author.

However, some scientists have seen holes in that theory, arguing that compression force alone cannot fully explain the bands, so a second theory was studied and proposed. This second theory contends that since ice speed is far greater in an icefall than elsewhere in the glacier, ice stretches as it enters the icefall, similar to water stretching as it flows over a cliff into a waterfall. As a result, the surface area of any ice that enters the icefall increases. This means that in summer as ice from the icefall melts, much more ice melts at a time than anywhere else on the glacier. More melt means that more debris and dust that was stuck inside of the ice is revealed, creating the dark troughs of the ogives. Ice that spends winter in the icefall is able to accumulate more snow and reveals less debris, emerging from the icefall as the light crests of the ogives. Glaciers flow faster in the middle, so the bands are shaped into arcs.

So, why do some icefalls produce ogives and others don’t? Scientists speculate that it again has to do with stretching at the beginning of the icefall. In order for the right amount of ice to be stretched, it needs to travel through the zone of rapid stretching in a short amount of time – six months or less. If it takes much longer for ice to move past the onset of the icefall, the stretching will be off and the icefall won’t generate ogives. Many different factors can affect this, including steepness and climate conditions.

 I feel incredibly fortunate to be able to observe these rare, unique natural wonders firsthand. Sometimes, we forget that nature isn’t all just random disorder. From the shattered shards and chaos of icefalls emerge these works of art, with remarkable regularity and precision. Nature is indeed an artist, and in her chaotic ways she paints masterpieces.

The Vaughan Lewis Icefall. Photo by author

Mass Balance Project 2015 Video

The 2015 Glacier Mass Balance project crew created this video blog to give readers a better sense of their efforts. Enjoy!

Peering Beneath the Ice

Peering beneath the Ice

Anna Clinger—University of Michigan

Word was out. A large crevasse near camp had opened up and soon, a group of us would be heading out to explore it.  Armed with our harnesses and prussiks, we skied out to the site and began setting up anchors to belay down the openings. From a distance, it was hard to tell the difference between the crevasse opening and the rest of the snowpack. But this can be the scary thing about crevasses—you really have to keep an eye out since you might not realize just how close you might be….

Ari tying her final safety knots with the crevasse opening several meters behind her. Photo by author.

Much of our traverse has been spent zig-zagging around crevasses. Cautionary tales of slips and falls have been ever-present. During safety week at C-17, we learned to self-arrest and maneuver pulley systems. Knots upon knots were taught and tested. And then as we roped up to travel over Nugget Ridge and the Norris Icefall and during pretty much most of our treks in and out of camp, we kick and glide past these unassuming windows into a hidden world below. 

Field of crevasses near our Camp 18 nunatak. Photo by author.

While maneuvering the cracks has become a part of our daily life, it’s sometimes difficult to wrap our minds around the size and depth of a crevasse.  In lecture, we’ve talked about their formation in terms of glacier movement. The glacier is constantly moving, evolving, and deforming.  As the glacier flows down the valley slope due to its own weight, it travels over underlying rocks, between mountains, and around nunataks (exposed rock at the surface of the ice). The shape of the surrounding environment helps dictate the flow of the glacier and creates a path down the valley towards lower elevations. Each of these obstacles can provide resistance to glacial movement.

We can then characterize the movement by whether or not the flow is accelerating (extensional flow) or decelerating (compressional flow) which often depends on the thickness of the ice and the direction the rock under the glacier is sloping. During extensional flow, the bedrock slope underneath the glacier is getting steeper so the ice moves faster.  This process can cause the ice to break or fracture at the surface as the ice gets pulled apart. Inversely, if the bedrock slope is less steep down-glacier, compressional flow can occur, which essentially pushes the ice together and causes the surface ice to break apart. These fractures are the formations we’ve come to know as crevasses.

One by one, we took turns exploring down into the crevasse. I was one of the last to go and it was really strange to watch them slowly disappear into the snowpack for 15 to 30 minutes at a time but soon they’d lunge back over the snowpack lip and rejoin the group.

Looking up, out of the crevasse. Photo by Lara Hughes

Soon, my turn came around and, after a final double and triple check of my knots, I began to lower myself down into the hole. I didn’t realize how nervous I was until I noticed my arms shaking as I let more rope out.  I slowly made my way down and was soon hanging in mid-air, occasionally testing my weight on a sketchy snowbridge and scanning this new, unfamiliar world around me.   

Drew all the way at the bottom of the crevasse. Photo by Lara Hughes

The most incredible thing was how illuminated the crevasse was. Light danced off the walls down onto the icy spires extending from below. The towers were twisted, interwoven, and warned me against testing my luck too far. As I tied my leg prussik, I attempted to balance between two drop-offs. Water was dripping everywhere. I zipped my rainjacket tightly and repositioned my rope which had become slightly forgotten in my state of awe. The crevasse extended much deeper than this year’s snowpits--I could see the layers of previous years’ snow, firn, and ice. They were lodged like history books hidden in the glacial walls. Books that help us better understand our icefield home which can seem so steady at the surface. But as our traverse continues, I’m learning more and more that we’re only just beginning to unfold its mysteries.

Lara in a crevasse. Photo by Drew Higgins

And as I slowly began my ascent up, I couldn’t help but feel lucky to have this chance to explore the icy cavern but incredibly thankful to have helpful guidance (and a few strong pulls) from up above to carefully return back to solid ground.  

How White is Snow?

How white is snow?

About the concepts of snow reflectance

23th of July 2015

Adrian PETER, University of Berne, BE, Switzerland

Katherine POPYACK, Hartwick College, NY, USA

Elizabeth PERERA, DePaul University, IL, USA

In everyday life we experience different surfaces reflecting light. Whether it be by the sun shining into the sea during a nice boat ride or a skyscraper’s window reflecting the sun’s rays, we all know how it feels to be momentarily blinded by the sun. This is because the light from the sun travels to the earth whereupon it bounces off the surface and shoots directly into your eye (if the angle is correct).

A second observation we probably all make is that, compared to light colors, darker colors get warmer under the sun. That’s why in summer, wearing a white shirt rather than a black t-shirt in is often preferred, which scientifically is due to the relative amount of reflected sun rays to the absorbed sun rays. The darker a surface is, the more light it absorbs and the warmer it becomes.

So we’ve just stated two major processes. First, light is likely to be passed onwards by bouncing off a surface. Second, not all the incoming light will be reflected – a portion will be changed into heat and therefore absorbed by the surface. This all depends on the features of the surface.

This relation between incoming and outgoing light is referred to as reflectance. The higher the reflectance, the brighter the surface.

But why does this matter? Snow is white, right? Although most snow appears white to the human eye, there are in fact many different shades of white. Moreover, snow may also be covered by dust, soot, organisms or other debris. Individually, every single impurity reduces the mirroring ability of snow and leads to more surface melt. Additionally there are also light spectra we humans cannot see which also impacts the reflective properties of a surface. Such spectra are near infrared or ultraviolet.

But why do we care? By measuring the reflectance of snow we try to determine the impact of several parameters on the ability of snow to reflect light. Elizabeth wants to determine how much the grain size of snow crystals matters, Katherine is focusing on a particular species of reddish algae that is able to live in cold/harsh conditions, and Adrian is asking how much black carbon and dust are affecting the brightness of the snow. Although there are more surface properties that affect Icefield reflectivity, up here we are limited to only one instrument to measures spectral radiation (called a spectroradiometer).  On a maritime glacier such as the Taku in Southeast Alaska, surface processes are playing a major role in mass loss. 

JIRP students Katherine, Lara and Elizabeth (from left to right) taking reflectance measurements. Photo: Allen Pope

Here at Camp 10 on the Juneau Icefield, we have the opportunity to take reflectance measurements with our boots in the snow (in-situ). Our normal routine involves grabbing the scientific gear, our skis, some snacks, and skiing over to field locations to collect data. In order to take reflectance measurements  we point the sensor above spots which have the specific features of interest, save the readings, and add notes manually (e.g. coordinates and description of what we measured and observed).  Back in camp we process the data we’ve collected on the computer (over a hot cup of coffee) and compare it to our notes. Afterwards we analyze our processed data by comparing it to what we understand snow reflectance should look like. If we are able to find some patterns in the shape of the reflectance curve (e.g. same depression at same locations for every measurement of dirty snow) we may be able to link it to specific features and therefore gain an answer to our questions.

At the moment we are focusing on plotting and then comparing our first few measurements. Hopefully we will be able to provide you with answers in the next weeks. Stay tuned!

If you’re keen to know more, check out this video, too: 

Science is Complicated

Science is Complicated

Austin Carter, University of Michigan

I’ve always thought of science as a simple, routine-like discipline: sample data, analyze data, and report data. However, there are a multitude of obstacles that make it more difficult, and I’ve come to understand this through my experience with JIRP.  For my individual research project, I’ve decided to collect rainwater samples, measure the isotopic concentration of those samples, and compare this to the temperature at which the rain fell. The idea is to create a relationship specific to the Juneau Icefield between stable water isotopes and temperature (for more information about isotopes see Jutta Hopkins-LeCheminant’s blog entry). My project originally sounded like a piece of cake because all I had to do was collect rainwater and measure temperature. How hard could that be? However, it became much more involved than I expected and although I’ve hit many “speed bumps” during my research, I’ve learned from each experience and grown as a young earth scientist. Here are a few skills I’ve learned so far:

Author collecting rainwater samples at Camp-10. Photo by Blaire Slavin.

Slow Down and Think First. When I first decided what I wanted to research, I became extremely excited and wanted to start immediately. During the first rainfall, I quickly threw on my rain jacket and rain pants, found a nice spot outside, and set out my first sample bottle around a pile of rocks. I waited hours, checking on it regularly, to see how much water I’d gathered. To my surprise, I had collected very little water; that is to say not enough to be considered a “sample.” Because I rushed into my project without thinking first, I didn’t consider using something with a bigger surface area to collect more water to pour into my small sample bottles. Having learned from this mistake, I now use a big silver bowl to capture a greater amount of water and have more appreciation for thinking ideas through before executing them.

Be Creative. The “teeth” on the zipper of my $300 waterproof Arc’teryx rain jacket fell off, rendering it useless because I couldn’t zip it together. Considering that my project meant I needed to be outside every time it rained in order to collect samples, I would get really wet without a proper rain jacket. When it did rain, I got creative and wore a fashionable black garbage bag over my body to keep me dry and, unexpectedly, it kept me rather insulated too.  Even if a substantial amount of planning is made on selecting quality equipment, I now know that problems can still arise and it’s always a great decision to try to think outside the box to solve any issue that occurs. Luckily, my mother shipped a replacement jacket to me that arrived by helicopter fairly quickly so I retired the garbage bag for good.

Be Patient. I’m probably one of the few students on this program who gets incredibly thrilled when it rains. Most people dislike it because it means they’re going to be both wet and cold, but for me a storm means I get to collect more rainwater and ultimately acquire more data. However, weather can be unpredictable, especially when you’re on top of a mountain. Most days I find myself waiting for the gloomy weather to flow in before I can continue with my project; it’s unfortunate but that’s necessary for my project. Data collection isn’t always instantaneous and sometimes waiting for the right moment is all that one can do.

Analyzing rainwater samples using a water isotope analyzer. Photo by Blaire Slavin.

Since getting to the Juneau Icefield, I’ve learned an incredible amount about remote field work and how to be a better earth science researcher. Because of JIRP, I’ve gained and will continue to gain valuable scientific skills that I will utilize on future research projects. For now however, I can’t wait to put what I’ve learned into practice as I continue to figure out the results of my rainwater analysis.