Iceapelago Read online

  A dog sledge team comprising a dozen eager huskies was available for shorter trips within a five-kilometre range of the Summit Station. The huskies were smaller in stature and more fine-boned than their Alaskan counterparts. They had the same shaped head, ears and up-turned tail. Given the elevation of the facility, the use of the huskies was new and experimental. The basic idea was that the sledge used no fossil fuel and was therefore climate friendly. However, the effort required to feed, manage and water the huskies had been underestimated.

  The fact that they barked incessantly night and day didn’t endear them to the Summit’s residents. When they slept in the used packing crates provided, they did so with their noses tucked under their tails. All except the lead dog, the ginger-coloured ‘boss’ of the pack, who usually busied himself burying a bit of seal meat under the snow with his nose. He understood the concept of the future. The Inuit team in charge trained the pack and exercised them on a daily basis, not least because the dogs hated being tethered all the time. Once they realised they were going to be harnessed the pack yelped even louder with excitement. Each sledge was capable of dragging a load of 200 kilos of equipment and three people with ease. The Summit Station residents soon learned the key instructions: ah ta ta ta ta ta (faster, go faster), arittet (stop), haruuu, haruuu (go right): and, attuk, attuk (go left). Once on the move, the driver limited use of a coiled 5.5-metre whip made from a single strip of seal hide.

  The original building structures were designed to provide basic comforts over a short summer. The Big House, the centre of all social activity, consisted of a five-by twenty-metre elevated building, designed to minimise the impact of snow drifts, supported by ten poles. It housed the central meeting room, the base kitchen, dining area, communications office, bathrooms, showers and laundry facilities. The adjacent Green House comprised connected modules, including laboratories, a science room, a small kitchen, and the main living quarters of sixteen bedrooms for the senior researchers.

  A sprawl of Arctic geodesic tents was constructed around the compound each summer season to accommodate the students who actually enjoyed spending their spare time on poorly funded research in sub-zero temperatures. The tents were self-supporting and once securely staked down they coped with strong winds, flexing to resume their normal shape. The guy lines were anchored by being attached to a bag filled with snow, which was buried where it quickly froze solidly into place. Inside was a wall-to-wall sheet of closed cell foam, which provided insulation from the underlying cold surface of the snow. The tents and other basic creature comforts are perfect for resilient, young and keen researchers.

  Today, just twenty of the team were in the Big House for what was called ‘the melt season’– the four summer months from June to September at the top of the world’s largest ice sheet. Smaller two- to three-person teams were scattered over an area of 200 square kilometres making observations, including measuring meltwater flows and areas of dark ice, or low albedo.

  Lars Brun opened the briefing session.

  ‘These video images were taken yesterday by Phil Teahon on the north end of the Jacobshavn Glacier about fifty kilometres due north-east of Ilulissat.’

  The day room in the Big House at the Summit Station was lit up by the large TV screen; it was the centre piece of the room. The screen showed in vivid colours a cascading thirty metre waterfall of pure blue ice water. The flow was intense. The glacial river was exploding, roaring and pounding the perimeter of the sinkhole.

  Phil was fully equipped for the cold outdoors. He needed to be as the wind chill felt like minus ten degrees Celsius. He wore multiple layers under his black and white parka and had long thermals pants under his heavy trousers. His ski hat, goggles and cotton scarf kept his head protected. And the ski gloves he used every year in Colorado’s skiing resorts were the final touch. Fully protected he could only be recognised by his perpetual smile. You needed to have a good sense of humour to endure the trials and tribulations at the top of the Greenland Ice Sheet.

  Lars paused the presentation. He took another sip of the bitter Turkish coffee that only he had a taste for. It was his morning ritual. Some people exercised, but Lars made his coffee. Using a blend of arabica varieties he ground the beans to a fine powder using a grinder purchased while on a business trip to Ankara. He brought the mixture to the boil, added a spoon of demerara sugar and poured it into a traditional cezve coffee pot. Once frothed to his required taste Lars supped his nectar. He repeated the exercise as and when required during the mornings. No caffeine after midday for him.

  The small group of scientists had seen similar images during the previous year’s summer research programme but none as dramatic in terms of the strength of the flow of the meltwater.

  ‘Something must be changing,’ speculated Lars.

  Alice Kidney, who was doing a second summer tour at the Summit Station as part of her studies at the Geology Department of the University of California in San Diego, chipped in. ‘I was at that same location last year. It was a small crevasse with a low flow of meltwater. Now look.’

  She used the pointer to highlight where the ice water fell sharply under the surface. ‘It’s barely recognisable. There was a small sinkhole of, perhaps, two metres with a slow ice-melt flow. And that was at the end of the summer. It seems that the area has ruptured in quite a pronounced way during the winter. If that’s the case, what caused such a gaping hole? By the looks of it, Phil is observing the creation of a really deep chasm chamber.’

  She was a clever student whose outgoing personality had identified her as a leader. She was never shy of asking questions. Unless she got an answer she understood the questioning would continue. Her level of inquisitiveness was like that of a small child discovering the world for the first time. A charming trait in a child but a bit over-powering in an adult student. Her casual multi-coloured attire mostly dated from the late 1960s. She wore her signature bright red knitted beanie all the time. She was a Bohemian spirit whose thesis on the formation of ice caverns had brought her to the attention of Lars as a potential research fellow. She survived on black tea and biscuits of various hues and shapes.

  ‘We’re seeing the same picture at most of the other locations where we’re taking observations,’ remarked Lars.

  Lars switched the camera feed to Per Jan Landshurst, a colleague from the Geography Department of the University of Oslo in Norway who shared his passion for exploration and research. Per Jan was tall at over two metres and his strong beard and prominent features made him look quite distinguished, a trait Lars never noticed, he knew him so well. He and Lars had known each other since they attended kindergarten school in rural Norway deep inside the Arctic Circle. They played in the snow. They understood snow. They respected snow.

  ‘Per Jan, we’ve just seen footage from Phil Teahon showing a huge deterioration in surface conditions. What’s the story with you?’ asked Lars.

  Per Jan and his team were located some fifty kilometres due west of the Summit Station in an area that until recent years had not experienced any thawing. They were accommodated in temporary canvas tents for the week they expected to be on location. They were using one of the Station’s Bombardier ski-cats for transport, storage of supplies and as a communications hub.

  ‘More or less the same,’ replied Per Jan. ‘The chasm is not as developed as the one captured by Phil, but the ice-melt flow is at least double what it was this time last year. We need to assume the worst. There seems to be a uniform structural pattern of accelerated ice melt at all the locations we’re monitoring.’

  ‘I had a gut instinct that this was where we were going, Per Jan,’ said Lars. ‘So much so that I’ve made arrangements to do something quite radical to get to the bottom of this. Please return to the Summit Station as soon as you can. I will call all the teams back to base to discuss our approach for the remainder of our summer work programme.’

  A week later the Big House was packed. T
here was a noticeable buzz that had much to do with the rumours circulating about a new research project. Many of the summer students had had enough of staying in a tent for weeks on end without wi-fi and with nothing to do but talk, listen to music on a crackling radio and play cards. The importance of the ice-melt flow readings was, of course, fully appreciated. But they yearned to do something different.

  Lars had their full attention. He had hinted over the past days, through a throw away remark here and there, that the next phase of the Summit Station’s work was imminent.

  As the lead scientist, he called for attention.

  ‘When we left the Summit Station last year there were clear signs of significant flows of ice water melting at all the locations we monitor. Initial inspections over the past weeks suggest the extent of ice melt activity has greatly accelerated even at this early stage in the season. Many surface areas are slushy for the first time.’

  He paused for effect. He looked out across the room and saw that everyone was in eye contact. Perfect. He had their full attention.

  ‘The Greenland Ice Sheet, along with its Antarctic counterpart, contains ten percent of the world’s fresh water: some three-million cubic kilometres. If it all melted it would raise sea levels by over seven metres. Worse still, the flow of meltwater into the North Atlantic would probably stop the Gulf Stream: not good news for Northern European countries that have a temperate climate, at least for the time being.’

  He supped his coffee, paused to draw his breath and then continued.

  ‘We know already that Greenland’s lower peripheral glaciers at sea level have lost most of their refreezing capacity. Most of the meltwater at the top of the ice sheet is contained in what is called the ‘firn layer’ – a hundred-metre thick layer of compressed snow that acts as an efficient buffer for the meltwater that’s produced at the surface.’

  ‘That layer seems to be melting away?’ asked Alice.

  ‘You’re right, Alice.’

  She smiled at him and he responded with a look that went beyond a formal acknowledgement. She knew she was one of his favourite students, despite her never ending questions.

  Lars continued, ‘The latest evidence from the microwave imagers on the Oceansat-2 satellite suggests it takes over a week between meltwater generation at the apex of the glacier and its discharge at the ice sheet’s margins. I believe that this transition is in fact much shorter as deep rivers beneath us are hollowing out much of the ice sheet. The faster the speed of the transition the higher the probability that the ice sheet is fractured at multiple locations.’

  The Summit Station scientists saw the reality of climate change every day and didn’t need to be converted. Their job was to assess the pace and the impacts of the ice sheet melt. There was no dispute about the phenomenon. Yet there was limited evidence about what exactly was happening. NASA satellite images could not map the layers under the ice sheet. What happened a hundred metres below was largely a matter of speculation.

  ‘Our research programme for this year is going to be quite different, thanks to a meeting I had – on a golf course of all places,’ explained Lars. ‘I met a guy – an Irishman – called Sean Pitcher at the Masters a few months ago. He and I have been in regular contact since. I believe we’ve found a unique way to do our work to better effect.’

  Sean was dialled in on Skype Business. His face appeared on the large screen. He sat upright at his cluttered workstation with several colleagues peering over his shoulder.

  Lars noted immediately that he wore the same maroon sports shirt as when they’d first met, as did his colleagues. A very relaxed approach to ‘business casual’, he thought.

  ‘Team, this is Sean Pitcher, head of research at the Nova Marine Institute based in Oranmore, which is just outside Galway City in the west of Ireland. He and I bumped into each other at a certain sporting event I attended in late March in the USA.’

  ‘Hi Sean. How’s the game? I see you are still wearing your uniform!’

  ‘Just middling Lars. I’ve not played a round of golf since we met. Besides it rains here a lot as you may be aware. I’m a fair-weather devotee of the game. Anyhow, you and your project have kept me and my team busy. Immediately after this call we’re off to watch the Galway County Gaelic football team, hence the gear.’

  ‘OK, let’s get started, Sean. I haven’t told my colleagues in any great detail about what you and I’ve been discussing over the past weeks. So please give us an update.’

  All eyes were on the TV screen. Sean rubbed his ginger beard vigorously with his ruddy hands. A gesture he made when he wanted to settle his nerves before speaking.

  ‘I’ve designed a golf ball with an in-built tracker device that has all the functions we discussed in Augusta. Here it is.’

  Sean held a golf ball between his thumb and index finger.

  ‘Neat, eh?’

  ‘Sean, you might explain what you have done,’ said Lars.

  ‘This for all intents and purposes is a golf ball. But a golf ball with a difference. It has an external hard core that’s resistant to severe impacts. It should not, if our tests prove accurate, crack or disintegrate if it hits hard rock, or indeed hard ice.’

  Sean had barely got into his stride before he was interrupted.

  ’Sean, Alice Kidney here. How do you track these golf balls?’

  Ever the eager student, Alice asked the obvious question.

  ‘Alice, the prototype only had a basic electronic tracker device embedded. Lars persuaded me to add enhanced speed, height and distance reading features. This means when the golf ball enters the meltwater you will be able to track its progress – what I call its flow rate – as it descends through the ice sheet. Not only will you be able to monitor the speed of the descent but to plot its course until it stops moving, wherever that may be.’

  ‘Pretty neat, if it works,’ said Alice.

  Lars had forewarned him to expect a robust question and answer session. Sean continued.

  ‘Each ball has been implanted with a powerful microchip with an individual identity that can be linked to a satellite-based GPS platform such as Google Maps or a bespoke system that you might wish to use. It can also be tracked by a standard iPhone. I’ll provide the unique frequency signals that will allow you track every golf ball. Tell us your precise requirements and we’ll do what is necessary.’

  ‘Lars briefed me about last year’s communications upgrade at the Summit Station. You need high capacity broadband to link to the satellite that will be geo-tracking the golf balls.’

  ‘But golf balls are hard and can’t float.’ Alice continued the cross-questioning after a short pause.

  Lars was impressed with his star pupil’s ability to probe the claims that were being made. Sean’s patience was wearing a bit thin, however.

  ‘Good question Alice,’ he lied politely. ‘When Lars gave me his specification it was easy enough to substitute the hard rubber compression that you find within a standard golf ball with a softer filler. In addition, we used a thinner ‘Surlyn’ hard resin outer mantle to reduce weight. Believe you me, the engineering involved in producing a high-performance golf ball that floats is quite complicated.’

  ‘Sean, I’m more than impressed with your work,’ said Lars. ‘So much so that I would like to confirm the order of 1,000 of these wonderful devices.’

  ‘I had assumed that, so we’ve already made the necessary arrangements to get production going,’ replied Sean. ‘Actually, we’ve re-calibrated the assembly line and production equipment. I reckon it will take us three weeks to manufacture and test and another week to get the materials to you on location. Plan for a delivery around the middle to the end of August.’

  ‘Perfect. That timeline suits us Sean.’

  ‘Before I sign off, I’ve two surprises for you Lars. I’m making no promises, but we’re at the stage of advanced testing the optio
n of inserting a camera feature into the golf ball. It’s a bit more complicated, as you can imagine, but we’ll try to supply you with twenty of these special devices. Should they work, not only will you be able to monitor the progress of the meltwater flow through the Ice Sheet, but hopefully you may be able to see what is happening deep within the ice.’

  ‘Sean, if you can do that for us it could transform the value of our research. You’re a star! I hope we can get a round in Galway Bay Golf Club in the autumn.’

  Lars was more than comforted that Sean had a clear grasp of the brief.

  ‘What’s the second surprise?’ said Lars.

  ‘To honour your country, we’ll print each ball with the red and blue flag of Norway. When they appear in the Greenland Sea, or wherever, it will be clear who put them there!’

  ‘That’s a lovely touch, Sean. You are a character!’ said Lars.

  ‘Just doing my job,’ replied Sean.

  ‘Let me know when you have everything ready. I need to arrange shipment to the Summit Station via Ilulissat airport – no easy task.’

  ‘Slán, Lars.’

  ‘Guys, that’s the Gaelic for “goodbye”,’ said Lars by way of explanation to his colleagues.

  ‘You’re learning fast Lars. I’m impressed,’ said Sean, with a wide grin.

  The video link went dead before Lars could respond.

  Sean was in a rush. He and his colleagues drove as quickly as they could to the GAA stadium in Salthill where his beloved Galway team were playing their arch-rivals Dublin in the quarter final.

  Galway Harbour

  ‘You’ll have another one?’ He could not see the barman behind the partition but knew the voice well.

  Without a thought he replied, ‘Sure, why not.’ A few minutes later a hand appeared through a small service window and placed his pint on the wooden ledge beside him.

  Enda Killen, a veteran sea captain, had plenty of time off between voyages. It was one of the perks of the job. When not at sea, his preferred form of relaxation was an afternoon drink or two in the back snug of Doheny’s, a small family-owned pub on Shop Street, the main thoroughfare of Galway City in the West of Ireland. He liked Doheny’s because, unlike most other public houses in the area, it was quiet – a fact not unrelated to its dilapidated state. There were empty beer kegs scattered everywhere and many were used as seats. The owner thought hygiene was an unnecessary luxury and his premises bore witness to that. The restrooms were basic at best. The proprietor’s broken nose was indifferent to the many smells that blended in the air. He, like Killen, was set in his ways. He too didn’t have a particular liking for people. A strange affliction for one whose livelihood depended on the goodwill of his customers. As a consequence, students and locals avoided the place. That suited Killen as, with one or two exceptions, he preferred his own company when drinking.