So its been a long time since I wrote anything, or at least it feels like a long time. To be blunt, not a huge hell of a lot has happened since then. The main feature has been rain, a little more rain and then some more rain, followed by rain and a little bit of wind. We have managed to get another site installed and partially installed a couple of other sites, but weather has not been friendly. I think we last left off on the 23rd of August, something to do with a boat trip to Isertoq if I can remember that far back correctly. That was over a week ago, so what has happened since then? Hmm. We fixed the antenna at the Helheim site, same kind of deal as the last visit to Helheim, crammed into a 212 helicopter this time. The first and only time we've been able to use it so far. It way bigger than the 222 and can haul quite a bit more gear which is nice.
The flies at Helheim were atrocious. I figure I swallowed at least three when yomping our gear from where the helicopter landed (near where the team studying glacial earthquakes were installing their seismometer) out to our site, maybe 300m over marshy terrain. Then there was a trip back to Tasilliq that Thomas, on one side of the helicopter, thought was amazing. On the opposite side of the helicopter I fell asleep. Helicopters seem to do that to me — it's almost criminal with the scenery around here, I know.
The next day, Saturday, was a little breezy in town, but Per the pilot explained that to the south, where we wanted to go, there was a Piteraq coming down the Helheim fjord. The Piteraq, is "like here, but hundred times worse" he said. These local storms spring up when there's a high pressure zone over the ice sheet and low pressure over the sea. These winds can reach ferocious speedsm, and there's a warning system of lights around town, warning of their probability, although unlike the security warnings at US airports the warnings seem to change infrequently and don't seem to change arbitrarily.
"Why would you need a warning system for high winds?" I thought. Bendt explained that he remembers a Piteraq in the early 70s, when he was a kid, that wiped out Tasilliq. Just tore it off the island. Houses gone, people killed. That was before modern construction techniques or fiberglass boats had made it here. So now when I think Piteraq warning, I think Hurricane warning or tsunami warning system, but for a tiny local area. It's treated with the same severity here. So there was a Piteraq at Isertoq to the south.
"Maybe we should go another direction?"
"Good Idea" agreed Per.
So we headed north. Waaaay north. Further than we have been before, all the way to the mouth of the Kangerdlussuaq fjord, where even from an altitude of 3000m we could see the massive icebergs in the bay were being tossed around like styrofoam. I guess there was a Piteraq here too, then. Thankfully at our altitude we managed to fly over the winds and land at Mikis Fjord. The site is on a high ridge above the Fjord, where according to imagery and maps there should be a glacier. I guess it's pretty much gone now. There aren't many other big load changes possible in the area, so the site should be fairly stable. Thomas and I started building while Abbas and Per went to a nearby airstrip at Sodalen where most of our gear had been pre-staged by Twin Otter, what seemed like weeks ago. They were going to take some inland to the glacier site we needed installed. Thomas and I actually called them on the satellite phone as they seemed to be gone a very very long time. When they got back Abbas was a little ashen.
"No way we are going inland." He said.
"Windy?"
"Very." was all he said.
He had instead packed all the gear into one of the huts at Sodalen; he'd guessed that it might be a while until we got back to the site. The pilot didn't even try to get to Kangerdlussuaq, the flight to Sodalen had been enough. Per had flown a lot in this region and pointed to part of Mikis Fjord where he said it once took him half an hour to fly from "there to there", a distance of what looked less than 5 kilometers. Why did he not just give up? We asked. "I needed fuel."
But he said the trip out of Mikis Fjord was "Shoooom!" like this he gestured. "Like out of a cannon! It spit me out."
The Piteraq winds only extend so far out to sea and can vary with altitude, sometimes they're strong up high, sometimes they're not. Per flew home watching the waves. If they were blowing away from land, he would move out to sea. If the waves were going towards land, he would follow them close to the coast. Of course, in the back both Abbas and I nodded off. Thomas, up front, said the flight was incredible: Icebergs, cliffs, abandoned settlements, active settlements. And I missed almost all of it! I did wake up very briefly to see the abandoned world war II air base where there are literally mountains of rusting fuel drums, a couple of 1950s-era trucks and the skeletons of several buildings. At first I thought the fuel drums were large patches of moss or marsh. I was still half a sleep, but then it came into focus that there were thousands of them. Just lying there. I don't know who's responsible for them, but trash in the landscape seems to be a fact of life around here in some ways.
I should point out, however, that Tasilliq is actually very nice. According to Gordon Hamilton (U Maine), the trash bins we see around are only 6 months old or so. The kids sometimes have T-shirts saying "I clean my town." The local community decided to clean up the town in the last year. In the first few days the kids collected 9 tons of beer cans! And although there is still some work that could be done, it really isn't bad around most of the town. But around Kulusuk Airport, Kulusuk town and at some of these abandoned military relics from the cold war, it can be pretty bad, mostly old old vehicles and fuel drums.
We tried the next day to go to Kangerdlussuaq again. The satellite image was clear of clouds, but the glacier was ominously black — black is warm, warm is windy. Even so Per thought we would have a good chance, as the winds could be quite close to sea level but the site we wanted was at about 1000m. After two hours of flying and according to the navigation within 10 minutes of landing, we had to go over some substantial mountains, 3000 meters or so high. as soon as we crossed them the fun began. Even with all our power set for moving us forward, the helicopter was merrily ignoring pilot input and happily going sideways at 70 km/h instead of forwards. This was at about 10,000ft. Per didn't even offer us a choice of going further, just turned us right round and said he wouldn't waste our time or put us into that level of danger. "We go home." he said. "At ground level..." He left the sentence unfinished and just shook his head. My heart sank. This was almost our fourth week here and our third attempt to get to this site. Scientifically it's a really interesting site and to visit the site is one of the main reasons I wanted to be on the eastern field team. It now seems we’ll have to trust the stuff is safe in storage in the hut until next field season.
The day was not a complete washout, though. We had enough time that we flew back to the south and chanced the winds farther south still. We managed to get to Koge Bugt, where we found a prime site, right near the front of the glacier. The beautiful banded gneiss bedrock had obviously only been exposed recently, there were none of the mosses or lichens obvious at other sites, and only a few flowering plants. Delicate minerals in the rocks, that are usually susceptible to weathering, had not completely broken down, even in the harsh Greenland climate.
Unfortunately, time was limited so we didn’t really get to take a look around. It is one of the most frustrating aspects of working on a project like this. I do this work as I love to be outside. But when you’re building equipment you have to focus completely for 2-3 hours on building the equipment. When you’re finished the pilot always wants to leave. When you are at a place like Koge Bugt this becomes infuriating, as always time is money. This and being away from my girlfriend so much are the worst aspects of my work. At most of the places I have been on this trip I could do extra science if I had had a couple more hours, and at most of them I would have liked to just stop and soak it in – I can’t, and it all feels like a trip where you spend hours flying to a gorgeous place, install a bombproof bit of gear then have to spend hours flying from the gorgeous place, without actually experiencing the place. It's like a vacation when you try to do too much and forget you’re on vacation until its far too late.