Spending one week on board the CCGS Amundsen has been a humbling, inspiring, and altogether amazing experience for me. As I said before, it has been a great privilege, too – not even Nature’s science reporters often get to see spots as grandiose and pristine as the Canadian Arctic.

Change comes faster to this unique environment than most of us would have thought ten or twenty years ago. With climate change and global warming proceeding at an unexpected pace, it seems doubtful now if we can preserve even to the next generation the Arctic as we knew it.

It is important that scientists bring this unconvenient truth to the attention of decision-makers and to the world’s public. It is equally important that scientists understand the complexity of changes in the Arctic and what they may bring about. Without this detailed knowledge any strategy of mitigation or adaptation will all too easily fail.

From everything I have seen during my short stay, from the commitment, enthusiasm and hard work of everybody I have met here, I have no doubt that the CFL study will very substantially add to this knowledge. My week on board the Amundsen has certainly widened my own understanding of this fragile environment.

Many thanks to David Barber, Dan Leitch, the Canadian Coast Guard, all CFL scientists, and the amazing Amundsen crew, for having made this possible.

Quirin Schiermeier

Posted by Quirin Schiermeier at 08:14 PM | Permalink

Spending time on board a research ship inevitably blurs the separation line between reporting and doing science, even though most of the time the 'science' part of it is limited to dragging a sled-load of gear out onto the ice or, at best, pulling up a sampling net from a dive hole.

But today I have perhaps contributed to science a little bit more than usual, if only by passing on information. Yesterday evening I handed Dave Barber, the chief scientist of the Circumpolar Flaw Lead study, a paper coming out on Friday in the journal Geophysical Research Letters (which my ever-alert colleagues had sent me). The paper describes how, in a model, Arctic sea ice loss leads to strongly accelerated permafrost thawing on land. Dave promised he would read it.

When I entered his office this morning, he was brimming with enthusiasm. "Very interesting stuff," he said. "We should really start looking for what's going on in the Canadian permafrost. A model study like this could direct an observational study. Actually, I think I'd like to do this myself."

The paper, written by a team led by David Lawrence of the National Center for Atmospheric Research (NCAR) in Boulder, Colorado, suggests that if massive sea ice loss, such as occurred last summer, will happen ever more often, Arctic land warming could triple in the near future. This would have an effect on the rate of permafrost melting up to 1,500 kilometres inland on the continents surrounding the Arctic Ocean.

Continue reading "On board the Amundsen: how sea ice could affect permafrost" »

Posted by Alex Witze at 02:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

From the editors: We've posted a Flickr set of some images Quirin (yep, that's him in this photo) took aboard the Amundsen, available here.

Posted by Alex Witze at 12:51 PM | Permalink

Having spent almost five hours out on the ice yesterday, I feel dog-tired today. People here are telling me that this is normal. (No, it was not a bar night yesterday).

In the wee hours of the morning we left Darnley Bay, where we had stayed put for the last couple of days, and set out into the Amundsen Gulf. Today is an open water day, with lots of sampling activity going on on deck, for nutrients, contaminants, seafloor sediments, plankton - the whole range. My cabin mate Mukesh, who’s never been in a boat on the ocean before, is getting bounced around on a zodiac they have just put at sea to do some optical profiles and deploy a drifting meteorological buoy. And the poor boy gets so easily seasick …

Here’s a picture of Dave Barber, our always busy chief scientist.

The sky is still perfectly blue, but a fresh easterly breeze is blowing, and the waves are not that small. The Amundsen is gently rolling and steaming, amplifying my tiredness and the sensation of dilated time. I have only been on board for six days now, but it feels like I’ve been seafaring for weeks.

This feeling of being astray in the otherwhere of the world ... I guess at heart I am a romantic.

A number of visual artists and composers have been, or will still come, on board the Amundsen to try to evoke through their art the essence and mood of the Arctic. David Scott, a composer with the Manitoba Chamber Orchestra, is in the process of writing a musical piece based on impressions he gathered during his stay in spring. Another Canadian composer, Vincent Ho, will come on board during the next leg of the CFL study. He plans to write a piece for the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra, which will be performed during the Winnipeg new music festival in February 2010.

Together with his brother Doug, a retired professional photographer, Dave will also produce a coffee table book about the CFL. He showed some slides yesterday as a foretaste.

Dave is always keen to point out that one of the intentions of the CFL study is to merge western scientific knowledge with the aboriginal tradition of knowledge. In fact, the traditional knowledge team, which carries out surveys among the Inuit and other people living in the Arctic, is the largest of the ten CFL project teams.

In summer, a group of Inuit pupils will spend some time on board the Amundsen to team up with the scientists and take science classes, from meteorology to marine biology. I bet they will like it a lot.

Quirin Schiermeier

Posted by Quirin Schiermeier at 01:17 AM | Permalink

“The scatterometer is purring like a kitten“, Randy Scharien proudly told the sea ice team when we came back from the ice today, just in time for lunch (Tuna Salad, Italian Sausages with Rosée Sauce, Queen Elizabeth Cake – have I mentioned that Jacques Beaudet, our chef cook from Shawinigan, Québec, is a true wizard?)

Randy, Mukesh and I had set out onto the ice after breakfast to troubleshoot the radar scatterometer, which is supposed to take time series of the physical surface properties of the sea ice.

The generator-driven machine had stopped runing at some point early in the morning. I rolled my eyes when I saw the complicated set-up. But Randy hooked up a keyboard to the console that controls the radar, hit a few keys, and got the radar running again in less than a minute. “Just a software glitch,” he said. “No big deal, fortunately."

At a spot nearby, Mukesh has installed a prototype laser device with which he measures surface roughness over a melt pond (as an indicator for turbulence at the air-water interface). Besides being awfully skilled mechanics, computer programmers and mathematicians, Mukesh and Randy remote sensing experts. The reason why they are interested in the physical properties of ice and melt water - their electrical conductivity, resistance, and permeability to microwaves – is because this information helps the interprete and calibrate satellite data, such as images from NASA’s ICESAT and Canada’s Radarsat missions.

Satellite sensors cannot easily distinguish different surface features of the frozen ocean – ice, melt ponds, and the transition zones between the two - which all have very different properties, for example in terms of how they reflect the incoming sunlight. ‘Ground-truthing’, as scientists call it, is therefore necessary for getting the best out of satellite data, and ultimately for improving the predictive skills of sea ice models.

A note:

The daily sampling, data collection, repair work, and what not, is being done regardless of weather and light conditions. Right now it is bright and unusually warm , so warm actually that one doesn’t even need to wear gloves outside.

But this is exceptional. At more extreme temperatures, turning knobs, using laptop computers, untying knots, twisting a piece of wire, or just taking notes, gets very challenging. Just bear in mind that during most of the Arctic winter one cannot work without gloves on for more than a few seconds without risking serious frostbite. This aspect of polar research is not always appreciated.

Quirin Schiermeier

Posted by Quirin Schiermeier at 04:50 AM | Permalink

June 8, 2008

Perfectly clear skies, for the sixth day in a row now. Dave says that in he has never experienced such an extended period of sunny weather in the Arctic in 25 years.

Being exposed to intense sunlight 24 hours a day the ice just keeps melting away. We’re six weeks or so ahead of where we should normally be, in terms of climatology, says Dave.

We do have found a spot in Barnsley Bay where the ice has not yet broken up, but the melting ponds are getting larger and large. Some ponds have started to drain through the ice column, which weakens the ice even more.

Anyways, I went out onto the ice for the firts time today. I helped a team collecting water samples from a hole they had yesterday drilled in the one or so metre-thick ice.

Leaving the ship by the gangway, wearing heavy rubber boots and the obligatory red Mustang suit, was a strange sensation. From afar, the mighty red hulk firmly locked in the ice is a majestic view. The morning air was fresh and not too cold, the silence overwhelming. Brent carried the gun that is mandatory for team’s heading out to the ice,. We didn’t encounter a bear, though, only a seal popped up its little head somewhere near.

The hole is in half a kilometre’s distance from the ship. We put all necessary stuff – canisters, hoses, some bars and a rather heavy battery – in two large plastic sleds which we dragged without too much effort across the ice and through the numerous melting ponds along the way. The greenish icy water through which we waded looked treacherous, but proved knee-deep at best.

While we recovered the water samples, from two metres and seven metres depth, the diving team that had set out with us began pitching a tent for the scuba divers which are supposed to start their programme in the afternoon. In the distance, small groups of red-clad scientists were busy deploying and reading all kinds of exotic instruments.

But there’s not much time left for doing exciting things on the ice, at least not in the area around here. We will likely stay here until Monday, and then steam to a mooring station in the Amundsen Gulf to do sampling work in open waters. Later in the week, Dave plans (but plans can change quickly here) to sail on into the fast-ice on the northern side of the Gulf, where the latest satellite images suggest that the ice is still more stable.

Quirin Schiermeier

Posted by Quirin Schiermeier at 02:45 AM | Permalink

June 7, 2008

“On an expedition like this there’s always a plan A, B, C for what to do,” chief scientist Dave Barber said at the science meeting yesterday. These little meetings are being held every evening in the officer’s lounge to dicuss plans for the next days, lab time allocation, the ship’s course, and the like. “But sometimes you need to go along with plan I, J or K, ” he added, reminding everybody that field work in the Arctic doesn’t always go smoothly.

What had happened? Well, the condition of the ice had pretty much spoiled yesterday’s programme. When at around 7 pm we got to the spot of a former ice camp where a number of instruments had been deployed just three days ago, and where the teams (and I) were supposed to set out onto the ice to collect data and install new instruments, we saw that the ice had since broken in slabs separated by gurgling water. The only instrument still in sight was a meteorological measurement tower drifting on an ice floe, precariously close to a large pool of open water. This was not the spot where you would like to walk out onto the ice.

Dave had the skippy boat put to sea to recover the station. In the meantime, the helicopter hasd set ut in search of the other missing equipment. It turned out that most of the stuff, sediment traps and the like, had drifted some two and a half miles west. Everything was eventually found and recovered.

At first I was a little disappointed that I had to stay on board. But well, the little rescue episode, helicopter and all, seemed also quite dramatic. (Be assured that not even on an icebreaker exciting things happen every hour. The first thing really you have to learn here is that you’ve always got to wait) .

But then Dave said that such things happen all the time. The really remarkable thing about it was that all equipent was recovered. Normally, when the ice breaks up, pieces of equipment will just fall into the ocean and get lost.

Now, the problem is that the ice edge has become really quite weak. The strong wind in the last few days has sufficed to break up the ice in some areas.

What will happen next is not yet quite clear. The ship will likely have to relocate several times in the next days and weeks to find spots where instruments can be installed. We’re now supposed to steam to Darnley Bay, just east of Franklin Bay, and try our luck there. If the ice everywhere in the region turns out to have become too thin we might not be back in the ice at all, doing other things in open water instead. There’s quite a lot of action going on on the bridge right now. But as Dave said, whatever happens, there’s always a plan X available.

Quirin Schiermeier

Posted by Quirin Schiermeier at 12:11 AM | Permalink

June 6, 2008

A perfect sunny day again. There was no night, no darkness, not even a dawn. With bright daylight lasting for 24 hours, time seems to stand still. Meals and other little rituals that structure a day gain a new significance when the sun never sets.

A few observations:

Arctic exploration is no longer the male business it used to be. At least half of the partcipants in this leg of the CFL study are female scientists, mostly PhD students and postdocs. The ship is also commanded by a woman, Captain Lise Marchand.

In trems of safety and comfort, the expedition has little in common with what 19th century explorers must have risked and endured when setting out towards the poles. The Amundsen is no luxury liner, but life on board is just as enjoyable as as would be a stay in a hostel for the dedicated young outdoor lover. With the nearest store a 60-minute flight away, we are still pretty isolated out here. One young scientist who has been on board for 16 weeks now told me this morning that the Kiwi she had for breakfast (from the fresh supplies delivered yesterday) was the first fruit she had eaten in three weeks.

The morning was dedicated to ‘familiarization’ with the safety and security rules. We went on the life boat, tried on life jackets, learned what to do and where to gather in case of an emergency, and so on. A brief medical examination, too. In the afternoon there was an alarm exercise.

After lunch the ship has started to move. Just minutes later we reached the ice edge and continued in open water. We are now steaming to a near-by spot in the ice where ice sampling tools and other equipment are to be deployed. I will join one of the teams who will go out onto the ice. Mukesh, my cabin mate who studies the physical properties of sea ice, has been fiddling around all day with a laser profiler he is meant to install in the evening. Our cabin looks like an electronics workshop.

There is less sea ice in the Amundsen Gulf than one would typically expect at this time of year. At which point the remaining land-fast ice – the ice attached to the coastline - will start to break up nobody kows. Dave Barber says it may happen next week, but that it could just as well be next months. In any case, everybody here whose scientific work involves ice is trying to get it done as long as the ice is still there.

The ice along coastlines, and the permanent ice pack covering the central part of the Arctic Ocean, have been shrinking in recent years. What causes the dramatic retreat is not exactly known. It seems to be driven by climate warming, which is more pronounced in the Arctic than in most other parts of the world. Changes in atmospheric circulation may also play a role. But whatever the physical causes may be, shrinking and thinning sea ice will affect Arctic people and ecosystems alike. One of the purposes of this trip is to find out how.

Quirin Schiermeier

Posted by Quirin Schiermeier at 03:03 AM | Permalink

June 5, 2008

After an epic journey, on four planes and one helicopter, I have at last arrived on board the CCGS Amundsen.

The final leg of my trip, the short transfer from Inuvik to Cape Parry at the northern tip of Canada’s Northwest Territories, was easily the most spectacular flight of my whole life. The tiny aircraft flew at very low altitude, so that every barren hill and every glittering lake in the tundra below seemed almost seizable. Then we were out on the frozen Franklin Bay, an inlet of the Amundsen Gulf, and headed towards the edge of the fast ice. We went down on a gravel airstrip next to an abandoned cold-war early warning station. From there a helicopter took us on board the icebreaker which is currently staying put in the fast ice at only a few ship lengths distance to the ice edge.

I was not the only person to get on board today. It was in fact a full crew change for Leg 9 of the Circumpolar Flaw Lead Study, currently the largest project in the International Polar Year research programme. Some 80 crew members and scientists were replaced – a logistical masterpiece.

First thing we did upon arrival on the ship was carrying down from the landing platform to the main deck the immense amount of cargo - personal luggage, scientific equipment, food - which the helicopters had also delivered. What remained of the afternoon was dedicated to getting familiar with the ship and with life on board. After dinner the newcomers met in the small conference room for a first get-together with captain Lise Merchand and chief scientist Dave Barber.

Even so, many things are still a bit confusing to me (I'm a landlubber, really). About some of the exciting science that’s being done here I will report throughout the next seven days. But one thing I do already know: It is a great privilege to be guest here, and to be able to report from a spot most people, science reporters included, never get to see.

It was in Winnipeg in the very early morning today, when sitting around in a hangar and waiting for the charter plane to arrive that would take us to Inuvik, that I began to realize that I was embarked on a real adventure. The feeling of excitement lingers on as I’m now sitting in a cabin I share with a PhD student from India who just went to sleep. The ship engines gently roar, but we’re not moving. Looking through the porthole I see a seascape depicting grandiose white nothingness bathed in the mild light of the midnight sun. It is an eerie yet transcendent view, acknowledging as it does the silent glory of nature and the frailty of our wishes.

Quirin Schiermeier

Posted by Quirin Schiermeier at 05:31 AM | Permalink

Nature reporter Quirin Schiermeier is spending June 5-12 aboard the Canadian research icebreaker CCGS Amundsen, as part of a project to study climate change in the high Canadian Arctic.

The Circumpolar Flaw Lead System Study, led by David Barber of the University of Manitoba, is one of the largest projects in the International Polar Year research programme. During the field season, from October 2007 to August 2008, more than 200 scientists from 15 countries will be studying the impact of climate change on sea ice, Arctic peoples, and marine ecosystems in some of the biologically most productive areas of the Arctic.

Quirin will board the Amundsen in Inuvik, in Canada's Northwest Territories, as the crew changes over for Leg 9 of the expedition. You can read his trip diary on the Nature newsblog here; more about the Amundsen icebreaker here; and more about the Circumpolar Flaw Lead study here.

Image: Arctic Ocean Sciences Board

Posted by Alex Witze at 05:21 PM | Permalink