Today we deployed our first ozone monitoring system. Arriving early at the helicopter terminal to weigh ourselves in (198 lbs, including parka, helmet and pack), we loaded our equipment (1400 lbs, including 12 lead-acid car batteries) into a Bell 212 (Huey) helicopter. Inside the helo, with the whine of the turbines increasing in pitch, and the rotor blades beginning to careen across my vision, I felt some hurry in deploying the four-point harnesses across my body and strapping into a radio-equipped helmet. Facing backwards in the cabin, I couldn't see the activity of the pilot and it was hard to keep track of what was taking place. By the time I was fastened in, the ground was receding amid a blast of dust. We flew up over the massive fuel storage tanks in the saddle above town, around the outside of Observation Hill, and then out over the sea ice.
As our flight path separated from Ross Island, we could look back and see the ridgeline of Hut Point Peninsula. The Castle Rock volcanic monolith and other bare promontories rose from the snowy ridge like dark teeth from a bleached jawbone. Except for a nice wave cloud, the upper flanks of Mt. Erebus were visible, and a small puff of steam rose at crater top.
From the air, it was apparent that the seals were clustered around holes through the ice, and would mostly stay within a hundred feet of their holes. Tracks on the snow, like bananas scattered side-by-side along a line, showed a seal had made some distance by repeatedly flopping. We checked out several icebergs, both in open water and frozen into the sea ice. From the patterns on the sea ice surface around one berg, it seemed that the berg had been plowing through the ice and letting new ice form behind: on one side of the berg a wedge of sea ice was broken up and on the other side the ice was unblemished.
We passed low over Marble Point, our destination. Marble Point is a small peninsula that protrudes into the Ross Sea from the Antarctic continent. It points back at Ross Island over about 50 miles of water. The pilot put the helicopter into a bank, and scanned the ground for the weather station and a cleared area to land. We landed, then started another flurry of unbuckling, de-helmeting, bagging the helmets and attaching the bags to the seatbelts we buckled behind us. We stepped down the skid to the ground, grabbed our survival bags and, within thirty or forty seconds, our ride was gone. A second helicopter landed a few minutes later and we unloaded the equipment to the site.
The next six hours were occupied in a well-practiced routine of frame assembly, wind turbine and solar panel mounting, electrical connection, and lots of testing. There was also some battery hauling and Cro-Magnon rock lugging. The system was anchored at each corner: two rock bolts, one long steel stake, and a deadman (buried-style) anchor. Any empty moments were occupied with staring at the incredible ablating glacier face just inland. In the photo above, the automated weather station looms above the human-height structure that we installed.
The ground was made up of rocks of diverse composition, including plutonic rocks such as granite and gneiss. Rocks were separated by coarse gravel and some little sand, but the surface was soft and airy. Even a soft step crushed the soil surface and left a deep impression. It was a notable change from the hard, dark volcanic pumice of the McMurdo Area.
