On the Ice

10-14-09

Antarctica, at least this far south, and during this time of year, is seemingly a place of biological sterility. Until yesterday I had spent nearly two weeks down here without seeing as much as a glimmer of non-human life, plant, insect or otherwise. There are no birds, rodents, bugs, grasses, mosses, anything that one might associate with life. I have come to realize that I (and I believe most people as well) truly need to be in touch with natural life to keep feelings of utter solitude and disconnection welling up too strongly inside. Without this contact I begin to feel very much like an alien on my home planet.

After days of this or that training, and countless logistical miscues we have finally made it out to our field camp at Big Razorback Island. At a half mile long and nearly 200 feet tall this volcanic spine of an island serves to shelter our tiny camp from the full force of the prevailing winds that rip down the slopes of Mount Erebus or off of the endless Ross ice shelf. We are not the only ones who seek its shelter from the brutal extremes of daily life down here. A few Weddell Seals tucked tightly in lee of the island, have given birth not more than 100 yards from our back door.

I know that the presence of those seals has done more to satiate my requirements for life than I have fully comprehended. Seeing their massive tube like bodies basking in some unfelt heat signals to me that this place can in fact support life, and that no, I am not completely out of my mind.

It also helps that these seals are the exact reason that we are out here. Yesterday as we rode our snowmobiles along the tidal cracks that form around anything that does not move with the currents or tides of the Antarctic Ocean we saw our first seal pup. A brown grey blob (although spindly in comparison with its mother) the size of a Labrador Retriever squirming on the ice next to its 1100 pound parent.

Since it is our job to place tags on every seal pup born in this part of the Ross Sea we treat this is as our first opporitunity to work. The tagging equipment and handheld data recorder come out, and as a group of six we simply walk toward them. The mother cranes her neck to watch as we approach but is unimpressed and paces her head comfortably back on the ice. We are now less than fifteen feet from the pair and they have yet to show any signs of fear, excitement, or anything other than lethargy. Shawn and Glenn walk still closer until they are standing over them. Shawn grabs a back flipper and gently pulls the newborn (frozen umbilicus still attached) away from its mothers side, before quickly punching a plastic cattle tag into each hind flipper. With that, Shawn lets go and the pup squirms back into the side of its unfazed mother.

We troll along open water cracks, working our way from one seal to the next, but find no more pups. Our day is done. We will be back tomorrow.