Mars on Earth Journal by Sam Burbank 30 June 2001
Hello All!
Resolute 06 30 01
Midnight sun. I remember first experiencing midnight sun, years ago on a
motorcycle trip to Alaska. One night we were in Fairbanks, camping, not
far from the city center. As the trip went on, our hours had slowly
changed, later to bed each night, and a little later to rise, though not
correspondingly so. We were sleeping less. At three in the morning this
night a hot air balloon fired its burners nearly directly overhead,
shocking everyone, as we sat outside talking. We could hear their voices
and laughter as they floated away, who knows to where? Ballooning at
3:00 am. They represented the spirit of the place, and time of year,
well.
The Fairbanks winter is long and tough, and they make sure to have a
very good time in the summer, sleeping little, doing a lot outside. It’s
the same here.
A number of the HMP took a walk last night, beginning around 11:00 pm,
the idea being to visit one of the Thule archeological sights southwest
of the town, maybe an hour away on foot. The Thule people lived here a
millennium ago, but then left, leaving their small whale bone homes
behind. Oz suggested that a faster, direct route to the site would be to
walk straight across the bay and then meet the main road there, instead
of walking it all the way around the curved bay. Hmmm. You think it’s
still safe? Oh, yes (with the appropriate Scottish accent), they’re
still driving their skidoos across there. And when we were near the
water we ran into two local teachers who had just taken their dogs out
on the ice for a walk; no problem, still very sturdy.
Not once had it occurred to me: oh, maybe a walk on that bay would be
nice, even though you can see clearly from most of the town that it is
frozen solid. There is no analog in my life to walking onto an ocean, an
ocean that stretches out as far as the eye can see, and that, had you a
reason, you could walk and walk and walk onto. An ocean! Without a boat,
an ocean is something to be in, not on.
The teachers had been wearing tall rubber boots, and it soon became
clear why. The sea was thawing. Still lots of thick ice underfoot, but
with puddles laying on top like very shallow rivers running everywhere,
joining together here and there, creating island of icy snow to walk on,
before one had to jump from one to another. The water was usually not
deep at all, an inch, maybe, on average, sometimes less, though at other
spots the ice was actually separating for the season, allowing a view of
6 or 8 inch crevices leading to kind of ocean most of us know. These
were a little hair-raising.
Oz had good boots for this, and so trudged on through all but the
deepest puddles, sometimes slowing his geologist’s gate to allow the
rest to catch up, especially those of us without such proper footwear,
and who had to follow one piece of ice to another, weaving through,
looking for easier spots to jump from island to island. Something about
this mode reminded me of a younger sibling trying to catch up with the
big kids. Wait up, guys, I can make it. Once Oz stopped in one of these
shallow puddles. It was astounding: he was walking on water, the deep
blue beneath, midnight sun above. Somehow there was nothing to indicate
the depth of the thing, just a clear reflection off the blue water, and
ice surrounding him. Of course we all did it then; Photos for mom;
Omnipotence! There would have been a great photo of the group from here,
but Oz and I both decided to close our eyes as the shutter snapped. If
it was printed small, maybe.
The midnight sun is addictive. On each consecutive night there are more
of us up, working on papers, writing, filming. This is what I remember
from last time here too; stepping off the Twin Otter and being greeted
by joyful, baggy-eyed faces, and always being able to find someone up
doing something interesting, no matter the hour. The other thing I
remember, and had conveniently forgotten, is how, even with all of
this daylight and waking time, it’s impossible to do everything you want
to. Planning too much. And so the lack of journal entries so far. I’ll
try to do better with that. It’s the video editing in the field that’s
the problem, a job that, at home at least, often takes double the time
of shooting per job; that won’t work here. It’s an interesting
technology demonstration, but the last thing I want to do is spend my
time in the arctic indoors.
We’ve settled in here now, past the point of being anxious to get to
Devon; though, just as I write this, we have a new glimmer of hope, a
chance to get in possible on a Twin Otter, and if that won’t work,
possibly a helo. No, I take back that first line, we’re all ready to get
out of here. You should see how the mood of the room has changed with
this news: what will need to bring? Maybe go in light, just sleeping
bags? Who’s first?! No, we’re ready, the calm is an illusion.
Resolute is celebrating Canada Day today. The town fire engine was
loaded up with kids and drove through town with a barrage of cars and
ATVs and motorbikes following, all honking horns and revving motors. The
whole town seemed to be there, and I was shocked by how many of the kids
on the fire engine (of course I rode it too!) knew the names of HMP
members: look there’s Oz. Is that Pascal? Hi Samson. The admiration
these kids have for the team here was obvious and I wondered again how
we might make more of a connection with the local population. From the
top of that fire engine, the HMP looks almost like a traveling science
circus, coming through with tales about Mars and NASA, flying out to a
place even more remote that this, each member from a different place,
almost all with a different accent. They must be quite a sight to see
for a young person living so far away from most of the world activities.
Space suits on Devon Island; what are they doing up there?
In Fairbanks they knew they had this season coming; they had been
through the winter, dealt with the engine heaters, plumbing breaks,
dark. Now the sun was out, exactly as good as that had been tough. I
almost feel like I’m getting away with something here, enjoying the 24
hour day as I do; I didn’t put my time in, didn’t pay the dues in
December. Why aren’t there aren’t more people who just migrate from one
pole to the other, following the sun? Come to think of it, you could
make the case that some of the HMP have done just that with their
careers.
We continued on, across the bay, some walking a reasonably straight
course, others, like me, still weaving through, looking for a dryer
route. There was always a way through, though sometimes it was 50 yards
that way, and then back that way, as you visualized a course through
this natural maze; this all on a frozen bay near the magnetic north
pole, under midnight sun.
