By SUSAN DIETERLE
Ames Lab Public Affairs
After coping with polar bear sightings, a cracking ice pack,
constant daylight and sub-zero wind blasts, the term "field experiment" will
probably never be quite the same for Jim Liljegren.
Liljegren, an atmospheric researcher at Ames Laboratory, was aboard a ship May 13-June 23
that is drifting with an arctic ice pack to allow researchers to study polar climate
conditions. He and scientists from throughout the world are spending six-week shifts
aboard the Des Groseilliers, a Canadian icebreaker that was intentionally frozen into the
ice last fall.
Throughout his stay, Liljegren sent e-mail messages describing his experiences. A
condensed version of his transmissions follows.
May 15:
I arrived on board the Des Groseilliers on Tuesday. The days have been full during the
transition with the previous ARM (Atmospheric Radiation Measurement program) operator. My
duties keep me very busy.
The weather has been mild for the Arctic (10-20 F). The wind makes it feel much colder, of
course. Today, the winds were up to about 17 mph. The snow is definitely getting warmer,
so the melt season will soon be here.
We are now at 76.3 degrees north and 165.3 west. To date, this is the farthest north the
ship has been.
May 18:
Jumper Bitters (the logistics chief for the project) used the helicopter to look for some
oceanographic buoys today and reported several leads (cracks in the ice) opening to the
south. He also saw several polar bear tracks around the leads. Jumper and Capt. Claude
Langis gave a shotgun safety training class on Thursday. When the weather permits, we will
have target practice.
On Sunday, the chef prepared an excellent brunch: beef and chicken pies, quiche, cheese
crepes with strawberry compote, bacon, sausage, ham and a variety of fruits. Apparently,
all of the Canadian icebreakers have excellent food, although the chef of the Des
Groseilliers is particularly renowned for his culinary talent.
May 20:
We are now at 76.19 N, 166.25 W and drifting west. Since my arrival, we have drifted about
21 miles. Although it is not that cold (14 F), it has been windy (20 mph), which makes for
a noticeable wind chill when I check our instruments on the ice.
The ARM instruments have been working so well that I have been able to assist other
scientists. On Monday, I literally "rode shotgun" with another scientist and
stood on guard for polar bears while he serviced a portable atmospheric mesonet station.
Working out in the cold takes a lot of energy. At the end of the day, we were very hungry,
so we enjoyed our excellent roast pork dinner.
May 22:
I tend to lose track of time. Our measurements are all on Greenwich Mean (or Universal)
Time; this is what I set my watch to. The ship runs on Alaska Daylight Time. However, we
are so far west that solar noon is about 3 p.m. ADT, but 11 p.m. GMT. Because the sun
doesn't set, I never have a good feeling for time. There are no "days," really;
time just seems to continuously flow. So I have, at times, been up for 20-22 hours working
and writing.
May 26:
It was warm (mid-20s F) and sunny with low winds for several days last week. More typical
weather has returned - overcast and windy (wind chill is -40 F). My Goretex jacket and
pants, down vest, polar fleece jacket and pants, and long underwear keep me toasty warm,
however. The Sorel Glacier boots are heavy, but warm. I'm also glad I got the glacier
glasses with the side shields because the cold, dry wind is hard on the temples - it's
like a giant ice-cream headache.
Unfortunately, the power supply on our most important instrument failed last week. Maybe
we will get a replacement next week when the aircraft comes to pick up the guys who are
just here for three weeks.
Fortunately, the ARM microwave radiometer has been working very well. The data look good
and I wish I had more time to devote to studying them.
A few days ago, Jumper Bitters went out in the ship's helicopter with a couple of
oceanographers looking for data buoys. While they were out, they saw a lot of seals - the
favorite food of polar bears. They kept soon spotted a polar bear, a large male, finishing
his seal meal. Jumper said the bear was very white. He said the bears become sort of
cream-colored in the Arctic night, but are bleached white by the sun when it rises in the
spring. This makes them very hard to identify against the white snow. Legend has it that
when they are waiting for a seal to come up to a breathing hole in the ice, polar bears
cover their black noses with their paws so the seal can't see them. So if I see a bear
holding his nose, I'll know I'm on the menu.
May 27:
We have now drifted west of the 168th (W Longitude) meridian. Russia, here we come! We are
now out of the comfortable range of the Twin Otter. The plane has a range of 700 miles and
we are 367 miles from Barrow, Alaska. They prefer to be able to turn around and fly back
to Barrow if the conditions at SHEBA are not safe for landing (as they did two weeks ago).
Apparently, we no longer have that luxury unless fuel dumps are set up along the way or
unless the payload is reduced to increase range.
We had freezing rain early this morning. As I write this, the temperature has risen above
freezing (1 C), so the snow melt is upon us. Jumper Bitters and Bob Shepherd (the other
logistics chief) have driven large mooring posts into the ice around the ship to hold
things together as best they can.
May 28:
We are now at 76.63 N, 168.06 W. At least for now, we have stopped drifting west and are
going north. We have drifted about 55 miles northwest since I got here.
The sky is overcast with low, gray clouds. It has been drizzling steadily all day. The
snow is turning to slush. The relative humidity is 100% and the winds are about 12 mph -
pretty much like Iowa in March. Trying to keep the water off the instrument domes and
lenses is futile until the drizzle stops.
May 30:
This morning I was awakened by five blasts on the ship's horn - the signal for polar
bears. I scrambled out of bed, quickly dressed, grabbed my camera and raced up to the
bridge, only to find that almost everyone else had gotten there ahead of me.
Directly north of the bow and heading toward the ship was a large, male polar bear at a
range of 1,100 m. Jumper Bitters and Bob Shepherd drove out on snowmobiles to meet the
bear. At first, the bear approached them - curious, I suppose, to find out whether they
might make a good meal. Then he turned and ran with Jumper and Bob chasing him and jumped
into a large lead. Jumper later said the bear broke through the thin ice with his
head-long dive and could be seen swimming beneath it. He broke out on the opposite side of
the lead, shook off the water and just sat and looked at them. He seemed to know they
could not follow him.
About a half-hour later, Capt. Langis announced that a female bear with a cub could be
seen west of the ship at about 1,000 m. The female bear was about half the size of the
male we had seen earlier; the cub was only a little smaller than the female.
To prevent them from getting closer to the ship, the helicopter was dispatched with Jumper
and Bob aboard. As the helicopter approached, the two bears turned and ran to the large
lead west of us, dove in, swam across, shook off the water and proceeded to roll in the
snow! They cavorted and played, largely ignoring the helicopter. Eventually they laid down
on the snow and snoozed. They really were adorable.
Bob said it was lucky for the female and the cub that the male had disappeared. The male
might have killed the cub to bring the female "in season" so that he could mate
with her. The natural world is harsh.
Bob and Jumper said polar bear tracks could be seen close to the ship. I'll keep an
especially careful watch the next time I check our off-ship instrumentation.
June 3:
My daily routine usually goes like this:
When I wake up about 7 a.m. local time, I use my Macintosh (which is connected to the
ship's intranet) to check the status of the ARM data system to make sure that data have
been acquired and processed while I was asleep, and that the system has maintained its
connection with the global positioning satellite (GPS) unit. If necessary, I compose
e-mail messages, which are transmitted daily from the ship at 8:15 a.m. and 5:15 p.m.
After breakfast, I climb five flights of stairs to the bridge to check the ship's heading
and position for comparison with the ARM GPS system - these must be accurate to properly
position our instruments that track the sun. The ice floe not only drifts, but it rotates,
too. This makes solar tracking a challenge.
I go down one deck to the "Special Navigation Chart Room" where the ARM data
system computer is located. I review plots of the data since 00:00 GMT (4 p.m. the
previous day) to look for problems, such as misalignment of a sun-tracking instrument,
gaps in the data record, inconsistencies between various sensors, etc. I note any problems
so that I can address them when I inspect the individual instruments.
Next I go to the helicopter deck at the stern to begin my inspection of the ARM
instrumentation. I check that they are running; that their windows, domes, mirrors, and
lenses are clean; that they are level; and that their cables are in good repair.
After lunch, I work on special projects, such as calibration and analysis of the microwave
radiometer data, improving the documentation for my successor and helping other
researchers.
At 3 p.m., I check our instrumentation on the ice. Richard Vander Kolk from the University
of Alaska goes with me. He carries the shotgun and the radio and watches for bears while I
work. If the sky is sufficiently clear that there are distinct shadows, then I check the
alignment of our solar-tracking instruments. I also check that all the off-ship
instruments have power and that they are clean and level. When I first got here, I had to
de-ice some of the instruments daily; now, I have to re-level some of them every day
because the snow is melting and the instrument stands are shifting.
After dinner, I usually work on data analysis. Around 7 or 8 p.m., I help Richard Vander
Kolk fly his tethered balloon. The balloon (about 2 m in diameter and 4 m long) is filled
with helium and carries a sensor package aloft that measures temperature, pressure,
humidity, wind speed and wind direction. The flight normally takes about 1.5 hours.
After the balloon flight, Richard and I go over all of the ARM data acquired that day to
look for any problems or interesting events that need to be noted in the data record.
Every evening, the system takes the data from each ARM instrument and automatically
generates plots, including comparisons between instruments, and puts them on the ship's
web page for ship-board researchers to view. Richard then writes up the summary.
I generally return to my room (about 8 x 12 feet with a porthole view) around 10 p.m.
There, I again check the data system and often compose e-mail. I usually get to sleep
about midnight.
There are some TVs and VCRs with a good movie selection, I hear. I have not had time to
watch them. Most folks here try to have a 9-to-5 day, but I can't seem to fit everything
in. I try to go to "bar nights" (8-10 p.m. Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays) to
relax and find out what other folks are up to. We also have science meetings Sundays at 7
p.m.
June 4:
We are at 76.89 N, 167.31 W, and drifting northeast.
Melt ponds formed Tuesday night. The Twin Otter made its last flight to Barrow until the
end of June. Passengers had to be ferried by the ship's helicopter to the runway because
of a large lead. They got out just in time; this morning, the end of the runway had been
cut off by a new lead.
One of the instrument stands with solar and infrared radiometers is nearly surrounded by
melt ponds. I sink into the snow nearly up to my knees when I check the instruments, and
there is a lot of water under the slush. There are also a lot of cracks forming in the
snow, which means there are also cracks in the underlying ice. I walk very carefully
through the slush since I can't really tell where I'm putting my feet, even though I have
been told that this is multi-year ice (it doesn't all melt) so it should be safe to walk
on.
The fog was so dense today that the captain would not permit travel to some of the
outlying measurement stations because he was concerned that people would get lost. Not
good, especially with the polar bears still around.
Yesterday, fresh bear tracks were spotted around the gangway leading to the ship, and this
morning a polar bear was seen moving toward the ship. Jumper and Bob chased him off.
June 5:
We are at 76.93 N., 167.12 W. and drifting northeast.
Today was a four-bear day! The bear alarm sounded at about 10 a.m. A large male was
spotted about 1,000 m from the stern of the ship. The fog was thick and it was snowing, so
the bear was difficult to see. Once again, Jumper Bitters and Bob Shepherd rode out on
snowmobiles to scare off the bear. They reported that its pawprints were 12 inches across
- a very large bear, indeed.
About an hour later, a female bear with two yearling cubs was spotted near one of the
outlying measurement stations. When Jumper and Bob approached, they saw her pummeling the
instrument enclosure there. For food? For fun? Who knows? They eventually chased her and
her cubs off.
During the day, many of the scientists are off the ship, either working in their
laboratory huts or measuring the properties of the snow, ice and ocean. That makes the
presence of a bear a real hazard, especially in foggy conditions where visibility is poor.
Jim was due to leave the ship June 23 and return to Ames on June 25. Deadlines and space considerations allowed us to print reports from the first four weeks of his trip only. However, this fall's edition of Inquiry magazine will have a complete story about his experience in the Arctic.
Publication date: June 1998
Related material:
Scientist in arctic longer than expected
Update: Ames Lab scientist will "go with
the floe"
Last revision: 6/25/98 sd
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