Antarctica email Reflections

1) On 3 24, 2011, Amy Robinson wrote: ”How was Antarctica?”

2) On 3-5, 2011 12:00:59 PM MDT I responded to Amy;

Re: Scott Eaton: Antarctica anecdotes

To: Amy Robinson

Subject: Fwd: Scott Eaton: Antarctica reflections

Hi Amy,

As I  edit my videos I think about my answer to your earlier question and I keep refining my thoughts. I am doing this as part of my attempt to answer the questions many have asked; 1) "What was it like?" 2) Was it worth it? (The $; the time.)

In some ways Antarctica is like going to the moon because it requires 2-3 days of rough unique travel south through the Atlantic ocean, across the Line of Convergence and the Southern Ocean that protectively surrounds Antarctica. 

Long before the ship leaves port I had read Quark brochures warning of the ocean's crossing, but doing so by twisting the syntax so that we may feel cheated if it isn't rough. Others' experiences recount the 'difficult' stormy, high seas waiting for us. 

As land lubbers our senses are gently lulled by the easy passage down the Beagle Channel into the Drake Passage. The wave pattern's boat rocking begins but only enough to titillate our anxieties. 

Finally as the intensity increases over the hours we accept the adventure of it; the drunken stumbling down the ships corridors; the panicked stretch for a handhold and the palpable shift of flesh on my skeleton lying horizontal as I drift off to sleep.

Ultimately, like the remembered moments when we learned of a President's assassination or when the Towers came down, a particularly large wave hits the ship; a projector shifts splashing its warped image across the ceiling as piles of dishes fall from a nearby dining room counter shattering on the floor. 

We gasp in instant primal fear until the floor settles down to its lesser motions. Only then did I truly begin to empathize with the past's heroes in their smaller, fragile wooden sailing ships. Remembering the schism between their risk and our relative security, we bluster thru our 21st Century timidity and realize finally, why, in part, we chose to come here in the first place.

In Antarctica: 

Once among the rock, ice & snow of Antarctica there is the dominant perception of black, white & grey. Even when the sun is out it is stark: the black of rock, the white of snow & ice, the grey of the water & the weather's close enveloping cloud cover and the occasional dramatic cloud clusters that compete with patches of blue sky. 

Even when the sun dominates, not far off ominous dark, low hanging cloud banks approach often under-hung with misty, fog-like curtains stretching down toward the water seemingly foreshadowing their intent to eliminate all views and any smidgens of non-grey color in its path. Even the penguins, birds & whales seem just black or black & white. The mind is overwhelmed by Antarctica’s magnitude and this pristine starkness.

But like a neophyte artist that slowly realizes that a tree's green color springs not so much from one green color as from a range of black to light green colors, patches, shadows and reflections, you slowly begin to notice that not all IS black or white, that not all grays are the same. 

The ubiquitous black & white penguin's feet and bill are dark red to pink; different species have different black & white body patterns; maybe different colors. The Macaroni penguin has a shock of yellowish-orange macaroni-like feathers on it's head.

The male seal may look black from a distance, up closer it is only so on top, the balance of color ratchets down thru the grays as does the female. On shore some seals almost perfectly parrot the different colored water & glacially rounded beach rocks and stones eroded from earlier ancient drifting continental masses. This natural camouflage forces you to be wary of your own careless path across a shoreline because fur seals apparently bite if you step on them or get too close.  Duh!

The albatrosses and petrel's black & white motif seem so consistently similar to the penguin’s … that until you see the pure white Snowy Petrel up close. Its all white body, cute rounded head and black-dot eyes seem too cuddly for words.

The dramatic white 'battleship' icebergs lying across a broad sea so like Teddy Roosevelt's "White Fleet" are more often off-white or if up closer, washed with haunting swaths of dark, rich green-blue color transitioning smoothly down thru the shades to a thin wash of color. 

Sometimes the sun loitering behind the cloud's is sufficient to accent across the entire snow & ice landscape a glacial blue and itself accented by a barely perceptible reddish wash of algae all of which can reflect perfectly off the water.

Yet now, half way thru my video editing process, I notice even more so than earlier the subtleties of color, reflections, shades, shapes & shadows. During one particularly brilliant moment the sun's position is reflected off the rock and stone in shadowy reflections in near exact replicas of the color variations themselves onto the still water surface. Often there are the subtle reddish, yellow or green algae colored patches on the snow.

Always the traces of man's intrusions are obvious. Curiously, I had almost unconsciously subtracted that from the equation of my observation. Moments ago I thought, "Oh yeah, and there are also these human 'sites' and their "huts'." The sites are either the legitimate research sites of various nations or the faux research sites of nations wishing to maintain a presence in Antarctica in case such presence may give it a competing right in the future. 

These huts may be used mostly in the summer season, but minimally staffed in the winter. Others are simply painted each year or minimally maintained. Each nation by tradition uses a particular color of paint , if any at all, to ID its holdings. One even had a tourist shop and a museum respectful of the lifestyle. Interestingly, I spoke briefly with a man who lived year round at one or more sites over time that thoroughly enjoyed his unique opportunity; much like the early American West's self-isolated mountain man or Canada's early French trappers.

That should be it!

Bye!

Scott