Dry Valleys

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Across the McMurdo Sound and about 50 miles north of here lies one of the rarest and coolest regions in the whole world... Even here in Antarctica, where glaciers and snow-capped mountains are the norm, this region is considered the holy grail of all research locations and the closest place on earth to the conditions we imagine might exist on Mars... The McMurdo Dry Valleys.

Everyone eats their heart out over people who get to go to these obscure field camps within the Dry Valleys and the photos never really do the region justice. What's so special about brown rocky mountain peaks and barren valleys? Nothing, except when they're in Antarctica (98% covered by ice) and full of microscopic living organisms (the only ones on the continent!). So, when I heard that all of the Carps would be rotated through closing the field camps throughout the Dry Valleys at the end of the season, I made sure to schedule my redeployment (departure) flight near the bitter end of the summer so I wouldn't miss out on my big chance.

To paraphrase Wikipedia: As for the science, the region includes many interesting geological features such as the Onyx River (Antarctica's longest at a whole 18.6 miles long) although it is only running a few months per year. It is also one of the world's most extreme deserts, named The Dry Valleys because of their extremely low humidity and their lack of snow or ice cover because all snow that accumulates sublimates (changes from a solid to a gas) off at a higher rate than accumulation. The Dry Valleys constitute around 2% of the continent, and form the largest relatively ice-free region in Antarctica. The valley floors are covered with a loose gravelly material, deposited by the glaciers that run off the mountains and through the valleys. The unique conditions in the Dry Valleys are caused by katabatic winds (from the Greek word for 'going down') which occur when cold, dense air is pulled downhill simply by the force of gravity and reaches speeds of 200 mph, evaporating all moisture - water, ice and snow - in the process.

The Dry Valleys are also home to Lake Vida, a perpetually liquid lake (its freezing point is lowered because it is seven times saltier than sea water) that is covered by 62 feet of ice. By drilling down and studying samples, scientists have found 2,800-year-old microbes in the ice above the lake that came to life when the ice thawed... which could tell us something about life on Mars, where frozen surface water is speculated to hold life-forms...

Endolithic plants have been found living in the Dry Valleys, sheltered from the dry air in the (relatively) moist interior of rocks. Summer meltwater from the Valleys' overhanging glaciers provides the primary source of soil nutrients. Scientists consider the Dry Valleys perhaps the closest of any terrestrial environment to Mars, and thus an important source of insights into possible extraterrestrial life. As such, it an environmentally protected area so all of the field camps take extreme measures to capture all garbage and human excretions to bring back to McMurdo, vehicular traffic is severely limited (and all gases and chemicals for such are carefully dispensed), and every research project needs to go through extensive environmental appropriateness reviews to make sure that it will not impact or alter the unique environment of the Dry Valleys in any way. This makes carpentry pretty restricted as well, which just adds to the fun and adaptability of working on this continenet!

Soooo, getting on with my adventure. Although I had been battling the "crud" for the past few days, on our scheduled day I suited up in my ECW (extreme cold weather) gear and went down to the helo pad with three of my coworkers and one member of the BFC (Berg Field Center, the maintainer and distributor of all camping gear). We were heading to Mount Newall, one of the 337 worldwide monitoring sites for CTBT (the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty... you know, the nuclear non-proliferation agreement) radio-frequency repeater, power generator (complete with a wind turbine and solar panels!), and a small hut for those who work on the equipment and/or get stuck there overnight. We were tasked with going up for a few hours to close up this hut for the winter and do any necessary maintenance, but speaking of "getting stuck..."

As we entered the valley between the Trans-Antarctic Mountain range and flew up the Taylor Glacier, the view was incredible. I *snap*snap*snapped* the shutter on my camera out the many views of the helicopter windows and front windshield. Breathtaking. Though the casual chatter in our helmet speakers about the beloved coffee house reopening (we've been repairing the roof that caved in from snow accumulation) and recent whale spottings, the pilot came over the headset microphone to inform us that the cloud ceiling was pretty low and he couldn't make out the top of Mt. Newall. Since he didn't want us to get stuck up there (where the weather is notoriously nasty), he resolved to "drop us off" at Lake Hoare (one of the more established field camps) for a few hours while the helicopter shuttled scientists and fuel around between the field camps and then he would reevaluate the weather conditions to see if they were right for us to complete our tasking. None of us seemed to mind this side trip and since there weren't any Beakers (as we affectionately call the NSF-funded scientists) at the camp, we had free-range of the valley to explore at-will.

Like good carps, we first took a stroll over to the "new" Jamesway that a few fellow carps had rebuilt recently with specially ordered blankets (apparently since they date back to the Korean War, the only way to purchase new parts is on ebay.com and we willingly fork over $700 per four foot section for any blankets in good shape... I think I might have found my market niche...) and chrome batten strips (instead of scrap plywood). I also spotted a bright yellow and orange box that I had helped construct a few months prior that looked unnervingly out of place in such an incredible setting. After admiring our handiwork, we set out to take in the natural sights of the region. The camp (a main cooking/bunk building, a few outhouses, a few research lab huts, a shower room, and some scattered Mountain and Scott tents) was situated in a valley between two stunning mountains alongside a now-frozen lake. The valley was completely closed in, however, by two massive glaciers "pouring" (or so they appeared) into the valley from either side. Closest to the camp was the Canada Glacier in all its sheer icy glory. In the distance, we could make out the "flow" of the other- the Seuss Glacier- named, obviously, for everyone's favorite author of "The Cat in the Hat." I would love to know the back-story behind that… We hiked over to the glacier, observed its massiveness and water-like tendencies to "flow" and "snake" downward, and felt the smallness that is humanity in comparison to these giant currents of ice. I then checked out the "Shower Room" which was in fact a hut with a heater, some pots to collect ice berries, and a water bag hanging from the ceiling. Apparently, you melt some water, heat the room to a comfortable temperature and sponge bathe with the gravity-fed trickle. It's a good thing that it's too cold and dry to sweat very much down here...

Soon frigidness, hunger and exhaustion set in and we rambled back up to the main building for a sandwich and a couple winks of sleep. I decided to make use of the unoccupied computers connected to the internet via satellite phone to catch up on a few emails... that is, until the connected dropped out and I succumbed to sleep. Internet from "Mars," it's coming folks… An hour later, one of my coworkers and I got the inkling to go for further explorations (the other two had been to Lake Hoare before) and bundled up to set out across the frozen lake. We had heard that it was recently frozen, however, and took every step precariously to avoid the massive cracks and occasional snowdrifts that hid potential pitfalls in the ice. Whereas some parts of the ice were completely transparent, most of the surface had interesting formations and textures which had formed due to the winds during the freezing process just weeks before. As we were trekking closer to the Seuss Glacier and chatting away, we suddenly heard a *buzzzz* overhead and immediately perked our ears up. Sure enough, seconds later the pilot came over the radio to say that they had spotted the top of Mount Newall and were returning to pick us up. We hurried back to the hut as fast as our FDX Blue Boots would shuffle, and returned in time for me to relieve myself into a "P" bottle, gather my water bottles (which I had kept inside the hut to keep from freezing), and stage our bags near the helo landing area. Minutes later it touched down and we braved the swirling winds and loud motor to reload our cargo and re-strap into our seats in the belly for the next leg of our journey.

From Lake Hoare to Mount Newall was a short but very vertical flight. We passed up and over the Canada Glacier and continued north and up to Mount Newall, circling a few times over the few buildings perched on the summit before actually setting down. The ride up included breathtaking vistas of snow-covered mountains in stark contrast with wind-scoured rocky valleys and the bluest-of-blue lakes at the bottoms. Upon arrival, we put on lots of facial wind protection, pulled on two pairs of gloves each, grabbed our carpentry toolbags, and slid open the helo door. Since the helo was waiting to pick up some Beakers at the Lake Bonney field camp later that afternoon and had finished all of its other flights, the pilot decided to shut down the rotators and radioed into MacOps to allot us 1.5 hours of ground time for us to complete our work. We set to our tasks immediately, uprighting the U-Barrel next to the outhouse, closing the shutters, and putting batten strips and covers on any exposed seams and vents around the hut to protect it from the snow and winds of the winter months. Meanwhile, our BFC representative inventoried the food and other survival supplies inside the hut and performed maintenance on the stove and fire extinguisher. About twenty minutes we were all done and free to *snap*snap*snap* the incredible 360* panorama views that encircled these wind-whipped huts on the summit. Looking one way we could see Lake Vanda and the other way we spotted the open water of the McMurdo Sound. In between, the mountains rolled out like dollops of whipped cream and the valleys ran between them like hot fudge (like the food analogy?!?).

I could have taken in the views all day, but pretty soon we were ushered back onto the helo and as soon as we had strapped in and the rotors had resumed spinning, we dropped off the mountain with such an elevation change that my ears popped and I felt like I was at the craziest carnival ride of my life. It was like something one might experience at Six Flags, only with incredible natural scenery instead of plastic palm trees and overspending American families between me and the ground. We continued to loose elevation as we swooped along yet another glacier (check out the snaking pattern!) and circled the Lake Bonney camp. This one, too, was situated alongside a lake and surrounded by steep mountain peaks and stark white glacial infringement. We landed on the specially-constructed helo pad (a wooden deck with a big "H" painted on it for the helo skis) and helped the two Beakers strap on their helmets, connect their ear and mouth pieces to the helo intercom, and finally secure their shoulder and belt straps around their Big Red Parkas, not an easy feat when wearing giant gloves under the pressure of the helo rotor whip above.

On the way back to McMurdo, we flew over the single tourist cruise ship that has boldly sailed into the McMurdo Sound this season. They were docked near some floating ice and were shuttling people on flights across the Dry Valleys in tiny A-Star helicopters while others stretched their sea legs on the ice. First thinking they were penguins, we buzzed them overhead to get a closer look and were greeted with enthusiastic waves as if we were a spectacle to behold. We decided that our red-and-blue NSF 212 helicopter was a lot nicer looking than their little white one (it's Antarctica after all.. there's plenty of white around here!) and buzzed off. The ship was not expected to dock in McMurdo until the following day, and thus we thought it was pretty cool to be the first McMurdoites to spot it. Apparently, the cabins range from $15-20,000 for this once-in-a-lifetime experience... something I'm getting paid to live to the fullest!

Next up... real wildlife! As we flew along the shipping channel (that the icebreaker had carved a few weeks prior), we spotted some black-and-white specks and flew down to investigate... it was a pair of emperor penguins waddling towards us! We hovered for a few minutes as they did their penguin thing, and then they grew bored and flopped to their bellies to go for a swim in the icey waters. A few minutes later, our helitec (co-pilot/loadmaster) spotted some movement in the water and we again swooped down... whales! We all gasped in amazement as five (or so) orca whales frolicked in the water, arching up and down and shooting straight up in the air, as sku birds circled overhead. Try as I might I could not catch a single photo of the action (just the splash as they returned to the water) but the memory will be imprinted in my mind forever. What a view- you couldn't even script something close. To complete the tour of every-animal-in-our-vicinity, we saw a bunch of Weddell Seals lounging next to the sea ice cracks as we flew back into McMurdo... eight hours of excitement and worlds of experience later. Next up… Mars!!!

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