the
explorers
journal
EST. 1921
the
bipolar issue
winter 2009/2010
k r i st i n l a r s on
Antarctic dreams: a journey into an ephemeral world
jon b o w e r m a ste r
Antarctica: exploring the white continent by kayak
n ic k s mi t h
90° north the easy way
v ol . 87 no . 4 I $ 8 . 0 0 I w w w.e x p l or e r s .org I
the explorers journal
w in t e r 2 0 0 9 / 2 010
cover: Late Austral summer ice
breaks up in the Ross Sea, Antarctica.
Photograph by Kristin Larson.
the bipolar issue
Emperor Penguin Daycare on Coulman Island, Antarctica. Photograph by Kristin Larson.
bipolar
features
90º
North the E asy Way
text and images by Nick Smith, p. 24
Antarctica:
Exploring the White Continent by Kayak
by Jon Bowermaster, images by Fiona Stewart, p. 30
An
ta r c t ic D r e a ms
text and images by Kristin Larson, p. 38
Atext dandatimages
e wbyiMike
t hLibecki,
V ir p.g46i n E a r t h
specials
TJimrClash
ie schats
t e with
atDon5 Walsh
0 about his
historic voyage to the bottom of the sea, p. 14
regulars
p r e s i d e n t ’ s l e t t e r , p. 2
e d i t o r ’ s n o t e , p. 4
e x p l o r at i o n n e w s , p. 8
e x t r e m e M e d i c i n e , p. 54
finding sanctuary
in the pacific
text and images by Jean Kenyon, p. 20
e x t r e m e c u i s i n e , p. 56
r e v i e w s , p. 58
w h at w e r e t h e y t h i nk i n g ? ,
p. 64
the explorers journal
W in t e r 2 0 0 9 / 2 010
president’s letter
Polar impetus
When the concept of The Explorers Club first took root in 1904,
the poles epitomized the expedition goal of greatest allure. A few
years later, when the Club’s members and colleagues conquered
these, this achievement only served to further augment the furor
and enthrallment relating to these extreme destinations. Still considered among the world’s most mystical and magical places, the
poles represent its axis of rotation, where the Earth’s meridians
meet and its time zones meld together. Today, the polar ice caps
are in jeopardy, portending potential environmental imbalances
and the unknown consequences that these may yield. This environmental predicament has garnered the poles an even more
substantial role than originally envisioned, serving to motivate
exploration and field research in a manner such as never before.
What is clear from this research—much of it carried out by members of The Explorers Club—is that the extensive climatic changes
that the Earth has undergone have greatly impacted overall weather
and temperature conditions, abetting the extinction of numerous
species of flora and fauna. As Darwin pointed out, long-term
changes in atmospheric conditions can have far-reaching implications. What this will mean and to what extent the current warming
may be caused by human versus natural factors, in addition to what
these changes will bring, are still topics of intense debate.
A warming Earth, albeit detrimental to many species, has
proven beneficial to others. Impacts on fragile ecosystems, anthropogenic effects on wilderness and the environment, research
on climate change, and how this and contributors such as acid
rain, PCBs, and other pollutants are affecting species and their
habitats are being evaluated from the field to the bench. The
increased knowledge of environmental shifts also significantly
impacts resource-based activities and industries, the planning of
urban areas, and the development and maintenance of infrastructure, including the sourcing and sustaining of energy needs.
Today, the stakes for exploration are ever higher.
Lorie Karnath, President
THE
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The Best of Indonesia
Port Moresby to Manado
February 15–March 6, 2010 (20 days)
Manado to Bali
March 2–18, 2010 (17 days)
with Mike Messick (MN ‘96)
Discover extraordinarily diverse cultures and
wildlife amidst tropical islands such as New
Guinea, Ternate, Sulawesi, Komodo,
Sumbawa and Bali aboard the luxurious 64cabin expedition vessel Clipper Odyssey.
The Mighty Amazon
Circumnavigation of Newfoundland
with Margaret Lowman (FN ‘97)
with Alfred McLaren (FE ‘71 & EC Past President)
April 4–20, 2010 (17 days)
May 29-June 7, 2010 (10 days)
Explore the heart of Amazonia on this
remarkable, 2,000-mile journey that
encompasses virtually the entire navigable
length of the River, from the Peruvian
rainforest to its delta on the Atlantic Ocean,
aboard the all-suite, 50-cabin Clelia II.
Highlights include the largest colony of puffins
and the first European settlement in North
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the explorers journal
w in t e r 2 0 0 9 / 2 010
editor’s note
a world of extremes
As the winter chill sets in for us in the Northern
Hemisphere, the Austral summer in Antarctica is well
underway with more than 1,000 researchers setting
foot on the White Continent from the U.S. Antarctic
Program alone—up from the average 150 who live there
during the dark winter months. While each season brings
new insights into the workings of Earth’s southernmost
landmass, this season marks a particular milestone. For
it was on November 12, 1969, that six women stepped
off the ramp of a ski-equipped LC-130 Hercules, becoming the first to set foot onto the three-kilometer-thick ice
cap at the South Pole. Much has changed in the 40 years
since women researchers began working there. Just ask
Kristin Larson, whose story appears on page 38. Larson
has spent the better part of two decades traveling to
Antarctica—at first as Winter-over for the U.S. Antarctic
Program and most recently as an attorney specializing
in international environmental policy. Complementing
Larson’s stunning imagery, we have a report in from Jon
Bowermaster, who recently wrapped up his multiyear
Oceans 8 Expedition there.
Venturing to our planet’s northernmost reaches, big
wall climber Mike Libecki shares with us his harrowing
first ascent of Greenland’s Discovery Wall, while contributing editor Nick Smith reflects on a rather sublime
journey to the North Pole and contemplates what the future may hold for such fragile environments with illustrious
pasts. We also raise a toast to Don Walsh, who in January
will mark the fiftieth anniversary of his historic dive into
Challenger Deep. At some 10,924 meters (35,840 feet)
it is the deepest place on Earth and a place to which no
human has dared return.
This issue we offer a world of extremes. Enjoy!
Angela M.H. Schuster, Editor-in-Chief
A leopard seal basks in the sunlight, oblivious to the Oceans 8 expedition kayakers nearby. Photograph by Fiona Stewart.
experience the thrill
of
underwater flight
“As an aircraft and submersible pilot since
the 1960s, I was excited to fly the Super
Aviator. This is truly a new direction in
submersible development.”— D o n Wa ls h
Dr. Don Walsh with SAS Flight
Instructor Captain Alfred S.
McLaren, USN (ret.)
FLIGHT TRAINING IN maui, hawaii
BEGINS february 2010
1, 2, & 3-DAY COURSES
w w w. sub av i at or s .c om | 8 8 8 - 8 0 9 -7 9 4 8
the explorers journal
w in t e r 2 0 0 9 / 2 010
the explorers club
Board Of Directors
President
Lorie M.L. Karnath,
MBA, Ph.D. hon.
Honor ary President
Don Walsh, Ph.D.
Honor ary Directors
Robert D. Ballard, Ph.D.
George F. Bass, Ph.D.
Eugenie Clark, Ph.D.
Sylvia A. Earle, Ph.D.
James M. Fowler
Col. John H. Glenn Jr., USMC (Ret.)
Gilbert M. Grosvenor
Donald C. Johanson, Ph.D.
Richard E. Leakey, D.Sc.
Roland R. Puton
Johan Reinhard, Ph.D.
George B. Schaller, Ph.D.
Don Walsh, Ph.D.
Special Director
E.O. WIlson, Ph.D.
PATRON S & S P ON S OR S
C L A S S OF 2 0 10
V i c e P r e s i d e n t, C h a p t e r s
l e a d e r O f E x pl o r at i o n
Anne L. Doubilet
William S. Harte
Mark S. Kassner, CPA
Daniel A. Kobal, Ph.D.
R. Scott Winters, Ph.D.
Joseph G. Frey, C.D.
($500,000+)
Mabel Dorn Reader*
V i c e P r e s i d e n t, M e mb e r s h i p
Daniel A. Kobal, Ph.D.
V i c e P r e s i d e n t, Op e r at i o n s
Col. Donald T. Morley
C L A S S OF 2 0 11
Capt. Norman L. Baker
Jonathan M. Conrad
Constance Difede
Kristin Larson, Esq.
Margaret D. Lowman, Ph.D.
Vice President, Research & Education
Julianne M. Chase, Ph.D.
Treasurer
Mark S. Kassner, CPA
Ass i s ta n t T r e a s u r e r
C L A S S OF 2 0 12
Josh Bernstein
Joseph G. Frey, C.D.
Gary “Doc” Hermalyn, Ed.D.
Lorie M.L. Karnath, MBA, Ph.D. hon.
William F. Vartorella, Ph.D., C.B.C.
the explorers journal
E D ITOR S
Officers
William S. Harte
S e c r e ta r y
Robert M.T. Jutson, Jr.
Ass i s ta n t S e c r e ta r y
Kristin Larson, Esq.
b e n e fa c t o r s O f E x pl o r at i o n
($250,000+)
Richard H. Olsen*
Robert H. Rose*
Michael W. Thoresen
Pat r o n s O f E x pl o r at i o n
($100,000+)
Daniel A. Bennett
Donald L. Segur
C o r p o r at e Pat r o n O f E x pl o r at i o n
Rolex Watch U.S.A., Inc.
Corporate Supporter Of Exploration
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MBA, Ph.D. hon.
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Ed i t o r - i n - C h i e f
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C o n t r i b u t i n g Ed i t o r s
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Jim Clash
Michael J. Manyak, M.D., FACS
Milbry C. Polk
Kristin Romey
Carl G. Schuster
Nick Smith
Linda Frederick Yaffe
S U B M I S S ION S
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SAVE THE DATE
The President, Directors, and Officers of the Explorers Club
&
dinner co-chairs
Leroy Chiao FN’05 and Richard Garriott MN’98
present
The 106th Explorers Club Annual Dinner
On the Cusp of Infinity
Exploring the Universes Out There
master of ceremonies
Dan Aykroyd
award winners
Donald C. Johanson, Mabel Purkerson, James M. Chester, Steven Squyres
March 20, 2010
The Waldorf-Astoria
an “out of this world” event
Tickets on sale now at www.explorers.org
(Tickets and seating requests are on a first come first served basis.)
image courtesy NASA/ESA/ Hubble Collection
e x p l or at io n ne w s
edited by Jeff Blumenfeld, www.expeditionnews.com
Eric Larsen steps out for the environment in Antarctica
Eric Larsen has left for the
South Pole to begin his “Save
the Poles” expedition, the
first ever to the North Pole,
South Pole, and summit of
Mt. Everest in a continuous
365-day period. His goal is to
document the changes occurring in these last great frozen
places. Larsen will also use
the expedition as a platform
to advocate strategies for reducing carbon emissions and
collect scientific data.
To help tell the story, Larsen
is partnering with the Wolf
Ridge Environmental Learning
Center and the Protect Our
Winters Foundation. Together
they will produce 12 hours
of environmental awareness
8
curriculum for classroom
use. Larsen will also team up
with the Center for Biological
Diversity to petition the senate
and president on the need for
stronger environmental legislation. For information and
to follow Larsen’s progress:
www.savethepoles.com
An t a r c t i c a i s T h e
place to be
education a priority
Chilean kayakers and explorers Cristian Donoso and Mario
Sepúlveda have embarked on
a 1,600-kilometer (994-mile)
journey during which they
plan to follow a maritime and
terrestrial route from the coast
Escape from death
Valley
on the trail of the lost ‘49ers
Allan Smith, a 47-year-old film
producer from Lancaster, CA,
is planning a solo expedition
to retrace the escape route of
the “Lost 49ers” out of Death
Valley to Barrel Springs, near
Palmdale, CA. This 30-day
expedition, planned for late
December, will involve a
442-kilometer (275-mile) trek
on foot in the dead of winter,
crossing the Mojave Desert,
and into some of harshest terrain known to man.
Smith, president of the Los
Angeles Adventurers’ Club,
and member of The Explorers
Club, hopes to generate
awareness among schoolchildren and the general public
about a band of pioneers who
Eric Larsen treds on thin ice. Photograph by Lonnie DuPre.
“ S av e t h e P o l e s ”
Depar ts
to the highest summits of the
Antarctic Andes. It’s a land
and sea expedition covering
a never-before navigated section of the Antarctic Peninsula.
“The main goal of this expedition will be to alert the public
about the effects of global
warming on the Antarctic
coast,” Donoso said.
Donoso and Sepúlveda
have gained notoriety for
their self-supported kayak expeditions across Antarctica
and Patagonia, paddling waters not previously plied by
man. For more information:
www.andesantarticos.com
EXPLORATION NE
NEWS
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EXPLORATION
have been all but forgotten.
“This trek will highlight the trials and tribulations that these
pioneers went through and tell
people the story of Juliet Brier,
who led several of the the
pioneers out of Death Valley.”
In the Western classic, Death
Valley in ’49, William Lewis
Manly, himself one of the
great heroes of the West, said
of Brier, “All agreed she was
the best man of the party.”
Smith plans to cross the
Panamint Mountain Range
and China Lake Navel
Weapons Base before heading across the Mojave Desert
and into Barrel Springs where
the last pioneer died after
drinking copiously from the
spring. The expedition will be
filmed with a state-of-the-art
Trius 4K/3D camera system,
one of the most advanced
digital cameras in the world.
For more information: Allan R.
Smith, [email protected].
across the white
continent in style
concept vehicle off and rolling
Andrew Moon, 50, and
Andrew Regan, 45, long-time
fellow explorers from the
Cayman Islands and Geneva
respectively, have set off on the
Moon-Regan TransAntarctic
Expedition, a 5,556-kilometer
(3,000-mile) motorized traverse of the White Continent
using two Science Support
Vehicles and a bizarre-looking
Concept Ice Vehicle, a cross
between a snowmobile and an
ultralight airplane. Departing
from Patriot Hills, they plan to
ascend nearly 3,000 meters
to the Polar Plateau en route
to the South Pole. From there,
the team will travel north to
McMurdo Station on the
coast.
Whille polar researchers
often rely on planes and
tracked vehicles, Moon and
Regan hope to demonstrate
that wheeled utility vehicles
powered by biofuels can
provide an effective means
of transport for research
teams working on the ice.
Developed by Lotus, the Ice
Vehicle travels atop three independently suspended skids
and is powered by a modified,
rear-mounted, bio-fueled engine that reduces emissions
by 70 percent. It is capable of
operating in temperatures as
low as -72ºC (-98º F).
the explorers journal
Terror-ible news
following up on Franklin’s fate
A few snippets of copper
may be a vital clue toward
solving one of Arctic exploration’s most haunting mysteries: what happened to Sir
John Franklin’s two superbly
equipped ships—Erebus and
Terror—when he and the 150
members of his expedition
perished while searching for
the Northwest Passage more
than 160 years ago.
Costly rescue expeditions
continued for almost 20 years
after his disappearance, urged
on by Franklin’s formidable
widow, Jane Griffin. However,
evidence confirming Franklin’s
death was only discovered
in 1859. Dumped supplies
were recovered along with
personal possessions, letters
describing his death and those
of many of his senior officers,
and finally bodies—later studies
would confirm that Franklin’s
men prolonged life as long as
possible by resorting to cannibalism—but his twin ships,
10
Erebus and the Terror, have
never been located.
Now Robert Grenier, a
Canadian archaeologist who
has led the hunt for the ships
for the past 30 years, believes
he can close in on the Terror
at last—if only he can borrow
a Canadian government icebreaker for next summer’s diving season. Analysis of sheet
metal and clippings of copper,
which he recovered last year
from nineteenth-century Inuit
summer hunting camps, have
convinced him that they once
formed the protective plating
over the Terror’s hull and that
the ship lies deep beneath the
icy waters of a narrow inlet
south of King William Island.
A m u nd s e n s e a r c h
u nd e r w a y
vanished plane sought
Norway’s navy has headed
to the Barents Sea where
they will scour more than 90
square kilometers of seabed
close to the island of Bjørnøya
in hope of finding the missing
seaplane of legendary polar
explorer Roald Amundsen,
who disappeared in the vacinity 81 years ago.
The first explorer to navigate the Northwest Passage
that connects the Atlantic and
Pacific Oceans in 1903–1906
and the first to reach the South
Pole in 1911 after an epic contest with Englishman Robert
Falcon Scott, Amundsen is,
together with Fridtjof Nansen,
Norway’s biggest name in
polar exploration.
In 1926, Amundsen flew
over the North Pole in an airship, the Norge, with Italian
explorer Umberto Nobile and
American adventurer Lincoln
Ellsworth. Despite growing contension with Nobile,
Amundsen offered two years
later to rescue him and his
crew. They had flown to the
pole again on the airship Italia
and crash-landed on the sea
ice on the way back. For the
unprecedented international
rescue effort, the French
government made available
to Amundsen a twin-engine
Latham 47—at the time an
ultramodern aircraft.
On June 18, 1928, around
4:00 p.m., Amundsen, Norwegian pilot Leif Dietrichson,
and four French nationals took
off from the town of Tromsø.
Between 6:45 and 6:55 p.m.,
the crew sent a radio message, then nothing more:
the seaplane and its crew
disappeared, probably off of
Bjørnøya, the southernmost
island of the cluster that make
up the Svalbard archipelago.
Since his disappearance,
only a pontoon and a fuel tank
from the Latham 47 have been
recovered. The circumstances
discovery of the Franklin expedition boat on King William’s Land by Lieutenant Hobson (1859), illustration from Harper’s Weekly
EXPLORATION NE WS
EXPLORATION NE WS
of the crew’s disappearance
have never been established
and their bodies have never
been found. The Norwegian
Navy vessel KNM Tyr, equipped
with two underwater robots, is
searching the seabed for the
seaplane’s engines.
Time to eat
the dogs?
a new exploration blog
Fans of exploration usually can’t get their hands on
enough material about the
heroes of yesteryear and the
modern-era adventurers and
explorers who continue in
their footsteps. We recently
became aware of the blog
Timetoe at the dogs .c om—a
wealth of information about
exploration and its place within the cultural imagination. It’s
written by Michael Robinson,
a historian of exploration and
assistant professor of history
at Hillyer College, University
of Hartford. The author of
The Coldest Crucible: Arctic
Exploration and American
Culture (University of Chicago
Press, 2006), which covers
the American heyday of Arctic
exploration, from 1850 to
1910, Robinson studies the
role of exploration in American
culture. His website contains
book reviews, film reviews (including an analysis of exploration themes in the animated
movie, Up), links to numerous
exploration resources, an
easy-to-read four-minute dissertation on Darwin, and even
a look at why expeditions fail.
As for its name? In 1907,
Arctic explorer Robert Peary
declared that, “man and the
Eskimo dog are the only two
mechanisms capable of meeting all the varying contingencies of Arctic work.” Men, he
contended, were tricky mechanisms to control. Dogs, on the
other hand, were powerful and
reliable. And, of course, edible.
When they broke down, they
were fed to healthier dogs.
And when these healthy dogs
failed, or when provisions ran
low, they were fed to the men.
Sometimes this happened as
a last resort. More often than
not, however, it was a part
of the plan, a calculation of
food, weight, and distance,
Robinson tells us.
the explorers journal
over, under, sideways, down
“Jim, if I say ‘eject’ three times and you don’t pull
this chord immediately, nothing but a smoking
hole will be left in the space next to you.”
Test pilot Dave Stock is pointing to the
yellow-striped ejection loop under my seat, just
between my legs. Grinning, he quickly confides
he wouldn’t eject his seat first (and leave that
smoking hole next to me!), but he is trying to reinforce urgency in the event that, God forbid, our
Cold War-era Electric Lightning aircraft should
get into trouble.
In fact, Stock goes on to tell me, I’m safer here
than in a commercial jetliner precisely because
of the ejection seat, which has a parachute attached to it. In a 747, there’s no backup if things
go suddenly wrong.
While Stock is prepping me on emergency
evacuation procedure, his ground crew straps
me into the cramped two-seat cockpit. We are
about to fly side by side to Overberg, the oncesecretive South African airbase that wasn’t officially on maps until the mid-1990s.
When I signed on for this, I knew it wasn’t going to be first class in a Lear Jet, but emergency
ejection wasn’t something I thought much about.
No matter, here I am perspiring wildly, outfitted
in a black flight suit, heavy boots, helmet, and
oxygen mask. Is this how Chuck Yeager, the
first man to break the sound barrier, felt before
his historic flight in 1947? We are scheduled to
12
break the sound barrier, too—probably go faster
than Yeager—but do it in a plane built later to go
much faster than Yeager’s Bell X-1.
We’ve gathered at Thunder City, the private
Cape Town airbase founded in the early 1990s
by entrepreneur-pilot Mike Beachy Head and
co-owned by British billionaire John Caudwell.
The place is famous for thrilling wealthy tourists
in ex-military aircraft. A few hundred brave souls
before me, many from the U.S., have tested their
intestinal fortitudes in old jets, including the
Strikemaster, Hawker Hunter, Buccaneer, and
Electric Lightning. The most expensive flight
($17,000) is the Lightning, considered the
crown jewel of the British Cold War air fleet.
Civilians can’t do these stunts in the U.S. or
Western Europe; private aircraft are prohibited
from breaking the sound barrier over land. That’s
why the Concorde could only fly over the ocean
and the main reason for its ultimate demise.
I had flown supersonic before, twice, so I’m
no stranger to exotic aircraft. In 1999, Russian
pilot Alexander Garnaev took me to 84,000 feet
above Moscow at Mach 2.6 in a MiG-25 Foxbat,
with Space Adventures. Then in 2003, on the
last flight of the British Airways’ Concorde, I was
served champagne and chocolates in a much
more comfortable environment at 60,000 feet
traveling Mach 2.
The Electric Lightning will not take me as fast,
jim clash (left) and Dave Stock prepare for flight in the electric lightning. Photograph by Masaya Abe.
by Jim Clash
nor as high, as the MiG or Concorde, but it will
do something potentially more unsettling: rapid
vertical ascent coupled with aerobatics. Because
I am susceptible to motion sickness, I am particularly apprehensive. Stock, an ex-South African Air
Force veteran with over 15,000 hours in the air,
tells me that if I do get sick, just pull my oxygen
mask to the side and unzip the top part of my flight
suit (and vomit there). I force a weak smile.
Stock, 46, holds numerous air records, some in
this very plane (registration: ZU-BEX). In 2006, he
attempted to break his own dead-start-to-9,000meter vertical climb record of 102 seconds, with Sir
Richard Branson aboard, only to fall short by two
seconds when an afterburner on one engine failed.
At my preflight briefing earlier, I learned that the
Lightning is quite an aircraft. Built in the late 1950s/
early 1960s, it can fly to more than 75,000 feet and
hit Mach 2.2. But it is best known for the ability to
climb vertically at an astounding 50,000 feet per
minute. Less than a dozen of the original fleet of 337
built (including prototypes) are still in operation.
After a smooth takeoff we pivot to vertical then,
with full afterburners, climb to 10,000 feet within
seconds. I fight intense G forces and maneuver
my head to the right to watch the ground below
quickly recede, as if we are in a rocket. Then we
do a mild roll, level off and begin a gradual climb.
So far, so good.
Though Stock and I are seated next to one another under the same transparent canopy (he is on my
left), we still must communicate via radio because of
engine noise and our oxygen masks. At 30,000 feet,
the height at which passenger jets cruise, Stock
gets radio clearance and we begin to accelerate
again. Supersonic speed can only be achieved up
high because a sonic boom near the ground would
break too many windows in Cape Town.
As the Earth and clouds continue to recede, the
sensation of speed becomes hard to judge; the
frame of reference is gone. When we approach
the speed of sound—about 678 mph at 30,000
feet—Stock gives me the stick (since we are in a
trainer, I have controls, too).
I ease it forward. The dashboard gauges and
plane immediately react. When the gauge flashes
Mach 1, there’s slight turbulence, then the ride becomes incredibly smooth. I can only imagine what
the sonic boom outside the aircraft sounded like.
We hold steady at Mach 1.07 most of the way to
Overberg. The flight is fun, even easy—and I enjoy
a bird’s-eye view from the cockpit. I leisurely take
video of the dashboard instruments and Cape
Agulhas, the southern tip of Africa, clearly visible
from 40,000 feet up.
Twenty minutes into our flight, we near Overberg
and slow to subsonic speed. The ground is up,
the sky down as Stock does another 360º roll.
Then we descend rapidly and, 20 feet above the
runway, I brace for landing. But we don’t land; just
continue evenly above the pavement.
What happens next is somewhat of a blur. Stock
suddenly pulls the aircraft up, and we go into a series of gut-wrenching rolls, turns, dives, and I-don’tknow-whats. My body is wracked with 5-G jolts that
alternately pin my head to my lap, then against my
seatback, then back to my lap, etc.
There’s an old saying about God and riding
shotgun on aerobatic flights. Your first thought is,
“Oh God, I’m going to die.” Once you get sick,
“Oh God, please let me die.” And, at the end of
the flight, “Oh God, I’m so glad that’s over.” I can
honestly tell you I experienced all three in the
span of just seven minutes, the length of time the
aerobatics went on, though to me it felt like hours.
Stock did things in that aircraft (and to my stomach!) I couldn’t believe. I dry-heaved repeatedly.
Safely back on the ground, we climb from the
aircraft and shake hands. I’m a bit wobbly, to say
the least. Stock tells me that to qualify for the air
show here he had to prove the plane, and himself,
airworthy by performing a full aerobatic dress rehearsal of tomorrow’s stunts. “You may not realize
it now,” he continued with a glint in his eyes, “but
in a week you’ll understand that this was a lifechanging experience.”
At the time I’m sure he had no idea how that
statement would play out, nor did I. I didn’t stick
around for the air show. My next adventure—a
360-foot rappel off Table Mountain—was calling.
On November 15, I noticed an article in the Cape
Town Sunday Times about a fatality at Overberg
the previous day. A fighter jet developed problems
with its hydraulics system, the lifeblood of an aircraft. Its pilot steered clear of the crowd, dumped
fuel, and attempted to eject. After three tries, he
said, “Ejection seat failure,” and crashed in a ball of
flames. The article said an investigation had been
launched into what happened with the hydraulics
and why the canopy release/ejector seat failed.
The pilot was Dave Stock and the aircraft was the
Lightning I had flown in only hours before.
the explorers journal
Trieste at 50
interview by Jim Clash
On January 23, 1960, Don Walsh and the late Jacques
Piccard took the bathyscaphe Trieste to the deepest
place on Earth, Challenger Deep aT the bottom of the
Marianas Trench, setting a world diving record of 35,840
feet below sea level. In the half-century since, no human has returned to Challenger Deep—the only foreign
visitors have been the unmanned ROVs Kaiko and Nereus .
Since that historic dive, Walsh has been down many
times—namely in the Russian MIR submersibles. He has
visited the wrecks of the Titanic and the Bismarck , as
well as the Atl antic Ocean Thermal Vents. He was even
involved in pl anning the 2007 Russian MIR dive to the
North Pole floor. Walsh’s big dream now, however, is
to go the other way—up. Asked if he would take a comp
trip into suborbital space on SpaceShipTwo , the next
14
gener ation of private spacecr aft being built by Burt
Rutan (and marketed to rich tourists at $ 200,000 a pop
by Virgin Gal actic Airways), he replied without hesitation, “Of course! ” Are you listening, Richard Br anson?
On the eve of the fiftieth anniversary of that famed
foray into the deep, Explorers Journal contributing editor
Jim Clash caught up with Walsh, now 78 and a retired
USN Captain who runs International Maritime Inc. out of
Myrtle Point, ORegon, and serves as Honorary President
of The Explorers Club. On the anniversary itself, Walsh
plans to be in the Antarctic, where he has a mountain—
the Walsh Spur near Cape Hallett—named after him.
Jim Clash: Let’s begin with the months leading up
to January 23, 1960.
Lieutenant Don Walsh, USN, and Jacques Piccard in the bathyscaphe TRIESTE on January 23, 1960. image courtesy NOAA Ship Collection
Don Walsh on the ultimate
voyage to the bottom of the sea
Don Walsh: We had been doing increasingly
deeper test dives since getting to Guam in August
1959. We started in the harbor there at just 400
feet, then by November, had gotten down to
18,500 feet, and by January 24,000 feet. For the
[deepest] dive, we had Trieste pulled out with a
baby tug from Guam, more than 200 miles away.
Our mothership was a destroyer escort. We went
out with the escort for a few days before, making
soundings for the deepest point. We used blocks
of TNT, measuring the time from explosion until
we heard the echo come back from the seafloor.
So nine seconds is deeper than seven seconds,
that kind of thing. Trieste was then towed out at
5 knots, because it’s pretty delicate. If they went
much faster, things would start to
fall off. We were able to race out
in the escort at 14 knots.
JC: Tell us about the dive.
DW: It was a long day. I’d guess
we worked 15 hours. We started
early, when the sea state was
about 7, so it was bumpy. The
Trieste doesn’t have a lot of freeboard and floats very low in the
water. Then it was just another day at the office.
My office happened to be a very special place,
the cabin of the Trieste. The point is that operating
one of these things is a lot like flying an airplane.
Whether you fly around in a short pattern, or fly
to the other side of the continent, you have to
pre-flight it, check off a list, take off, and get to altitude. Then, no matter how long a distance to the
end point, you have the same things with landing.
A longer day just means the time between takeoff
and landing is greater. In the Guam harbor, we had
to do all the same things as at Challenger Deep,
but the harbor dive was only to 400 feet, a few
minutes. Our big dive lasted nine hours!
JC: What did you see on the way down?
DW: It’s absolute darkness with lots of critters out
there—invertebrates. How do I know that? Many
are bioluminescent. They generate light for feeding. So there was that light show outside. And
we just kept going down. We knew somewhere
around 36,000 feet we would find bottom and,
when we finally did, the depth gauge read some
37,800 feet. We thought, “Wow, we’ve really
found something no one else knows about.” Turns
out we had calibrated the depth gauge in freshwater, and the difference in density between salt
and freshwater made that [gauge discrepancy].
Anyway, it was a bit of a thrill!
JC: Describe the bottom.
DW: It was yellowish-white and didn’t look quite like
sediments we had seen before. It’s diatomaceous
ooze, the skeletons of diatoms. Because calcareous ooze is shells of small critters in the sea, and
calcium-based, it dissolves at great depths. So
we were left with bottom sediment inert to pressure—just little balls of glass, if you look at them
microscopically. To me, it was like being in a big
bowl of milk. We couldn’t really feel the bottom,
but we did see it coming up.
Once we landed, the bottom
sediment stirred up this big
cloud. That normally happens on
dives, so we weren’t surprised.
But usually by the time we tidy
up everything and get out the
cameras, the cloud drifts away.
In this case, it never did, so we
didn’t get any clear pictures of
the deepest part of the ocean.
JC: How long did you stay there?
DW: Forty minutes. It became apparent that the
cloud wouldn’t go away for a long time, and we
had to get back to the surface to hook the tow to
the tugboat in daylight because it’s pretty hazardous. It requires somebody to lean down in front of
Trieste and pick up a towing wire, the other end
of which is connected to a 1,200-ton, seagoing
tug—a good way to lose a hand. Plus conditions
had moved up to sea state 8. It was January too,
so even at that tropical latitude, days are shorter.
JC: Before you were in the milky ooze, encounter
anything alive down there?
DW: Just before we landed, a flat fish was
seen—like a sole or miniature halibut. Now that’s
important because it’s a fairly high-order marine
vertebrate and, because of the nature of the fish,
it is a bottom-dweller. It isn’t just something that
had swum down there to rest. It’s something that
lives there. So if you see one, there are more. Now
that’s been a matter of controversy. Many people
told us we didn’t see it. The first to get pictures at
that depth were the Japanese with ROV Kaiko—its
the explorers journal
the deepest place on Earth
Artist David Batson’s depiction of the Bathyscaphe Trieste
“ ‘touching down” on the floor of Challenger Deep, 35,840 feet
below the surface. Image © ExploreTheAbyss.Com
machismo, bravo-bravo stuff. Most want to use
these things as a platform, a tool for their work.
They don’t want adventure. So what better way
than to take one of only two such craft in the world
to a record depth to get people interested. Our
max-depth dive was to prove the reliability of the
platform in the deepest place—now let’s fill the
depths in between.
JC: Being first to go so deep, were you worried
about the enormous pressure crushing Trieste?
DW: No, it was well engineered and tested beforehand. Old man [Auguste] Piccard did scale model
tests of the hull, and it
was actually good for
50,000 feet. So we
were prepared for a lot
greater depth, had a
pretty good safety factor
built in.
JC: Feel any terror down there?
DW: Every day in the office was a challenge. But
terrifying is putting too strong a point on it. I had
been in submarines for years before that. You
can drown in a bathtub. Depth really is
irrelevant unless you’re
a scuba diver and
have to worry about
decompression. But in
enclosed environments
like submarines and
submersibles, you have
to be a person who
doesn’t have claustrophobic feelings and
be able to understand
what you’re doing.
There is risk in all of
it. What you work on
is the skill/luck ratio,
and hope that skill is
more than 50 percent.
Frightened or terrified,
nah, none of that.
JC: Are you surprised
that no human has
returned to Challenger
Deep since your dive?
DW: Actually, yes. When
Jacques and I surfaced
that January day, we
thought it might be
a year or two before
there would be other
expeditions exploring
the deepest place on
Earth. But it just didn’t
happen.
JC: You’re not worried about your record falling?
DW: Only if somebody gets to a point 10 to 20
meters deeper—or unless somebody goes faster.
If you go faster, you’ll bury yourself deeper in the
bottom sediment. It’s not like quicksand, and
we’d done it before with dives in other places
where mud is up to your view-port and you have
to work yourself out of it. Our dive was not really about making a record. Anybody who thinks
that doesn’t understand what we were trying to
do. Oceanographers are a pretty conservative
bunch. Like most scientists, they’re not too keen
on getting into some strange contraption wearing
red berets and suits of lights with the American
flag on one side and patches all over it. That’s all
18
JC: In 2007, the Russians sent a Mir submersible
to the bottom of the Arctic Ocean and claimed to
be first to the “true North Pole.”
DW: You have to get a good geographer to define
North Pole. It is just the axis that goes to the center of our Earth. It’s got a south and north end but
where are you, on the outer skin of the planet or
somewhere in space? I’ve never troubled myself
to find out what that means. But the dive to the
real North Pole was a nice hook. What if [Robert]
Peary and the others were walking around on
frozen water at the North Geographic Pole, but
actually it is the floor of the Arctic Ocean 14,500
feet below the ice surface? Maybe that’s splitting
hairs. But when you’re trying to get attention and
raise financing, it’s a good device. And it may be
the bathyscaphe TRIESTE hangs from a crane in preparation for launch. image courtesy time/life.
name is Japanese for “trench.” They were able to
park it for a while and, sure enough, the cloud did
go away eventually. We knew it would, too. But
the current at the deepest place is very subtle and
wasn’t going to make a lot of difference for the
amount of time we could spend there. Kaiko did
get pictures of critters, but no one apparently has
seen that elusive flatfish.
true. It certainly was an achievement, but to compare it to man landing on the Moon and things like
that, it’s a bit over the top. Their PR machine ran
overtime on that one!
JC: You’ve been down in the Mirs yourself, to see
Titanic. What’s that like?
DW: I like to say Russian Mir pilots have spent more
time on Titanic than Capt. [Edward John] Smith.
Smith was on it what, 48 to 51 hours? These pilots have done 100 dives. Usually the dive lasts 9
to 12 hours, with five hours spent at the wreck, so
that’s 500 hours right there. To me, the dive was
quite interesting. The Russians really know where
everything is. You want to see the champagne cellar, well, that’s over here. The kitchen galley with
pots, pans, crockery? That’s over there. Personal
goods, shoes and so on, that’s in this area. These
guys can really whip around on the seafloor, so
people going on the later trips get a real benefit
because the Russian pilots don’t waste time. The
thing is falling apart rapidly, though. I think Bob
Ballard wants to blame it on tourists, but nature is
doing quite a job on it.
JC: How did you feel when your partner Jacques’
son, Bertrand, became first to circumnavigate
Earth nonstop in 2000 in the Breitling Orbiter
balloon?
DW: I’ve known Bertrand since he was two. I’m kind
of an extended family member. I was happy for
him, to say the least. I was the one who nominated
the Piccards for the Explorers Medal (2001). In
the history of exploration, I can’t think of another
family where you’ve had three generations doing
world-record things. [Jacques’ father] Auguste
went up to 70,000 feet in a balloon in 1930, a time
when prevailing wisdom in the medical community
was that above 20,000 feet you surely would die.
There was Jacques, of course, with me in Trieste,
and then Bertrand. By the way, Bertrand is building a solar-powered airplane to navigate the world
nonstop at an airfield near Zurich.
JC: Where will the next great ocean discoveries
be made?
DW: The more we look, the more we see, and be
prepared for the unexpected—and the ability to
be surprised. That’s one problem with unmanned
vehicles. As Roger Revelle once said, “You can’t
surprise an instrument.” There’s always going to
be a need for man, even though the ROV systems
are much cheaper. You probably know why most
submersibles’ maximum range is 20,000 feet?
At that depth, you can see 97 percent of the
seafloor. That means only 3 percent is between
20,000 and 36,000 feet. If you’re a bean counter
and engineer, it’s easy to see why you’d design
something for two-thirds the depth capability at
less cost and get a 97 percent on return, if you
will. I do believe there’s a need for maximum depth
exploration systems to cover that 3 percent. As
Sylvia Earle has said, that 3 percent is equal to the
area of the United States, including Alaska and
Hawaii, and half of Mexico. It’s a big number.
JC: What’s left on your “bucket list”?
DW: As I told former President Clinton, I want to go
into space. They had an event at the White House
celebrating explorers. I was sitting next to Bob
Ballard, Sylvia Earle, and Buzz Aldrin—all the usual
suspects. Clinton asked some of us to stand up.
Since I was in the front row, he said to me, “You look
like you’re ready to go again.” I said, “Mr. President,
I’d rather go to space next time.” He forced a weak
smile and went on to something else.
JC: What do you remember most, 50 years later,
about being on the bottom?
DW: A sense of accomplishment. That was the
sum of all our feelings. We told our seniors in the
Navy—and to some extent, the world—that this was
what we were going to do, and we went out and
did it—and with a very small team of 14 people.
We put the whole thing together, and planned and
executed it with U.S. Navy funding. There was a
great sense of satisfaction because here I am,
sole representative of those 14 people, sitting on
the bottom of the ocean with a reasonable expectation of getting back up. “Well, guys, we did it,
and I am here to tell you that.”
JC: Anything else you want to add?
DW: I’m sure you wanted more, “And there I was
upside down, 10,000 feet, my seatbelt broken,
and my parachute isn’t on,” and all that stuff. Our
dive wasn’t a search for press or fame. We had a
job to do, and we were successful. It set in motion a lot of things that came about over the years.
More than 250 manned submersibles were built
after Trieste. It’s all part of the tool kit of oceanographers working the deep sea.
the explorers journal
finding sanctuary in the
text and images by Jean Kenyon
In January 2009, former U.S.
President George W. Bush
designated three remote Pacific
Island areas as national monuments, protecting them from
energy extraction and commercial fishing. It was an important
move for conservation. The protected areas, which represent
the largest marine conservation
effort in history, extend nearly
100 kilometers (50 nautical
miles) off the coral reefs and atolls within the
three monuments, totaling more than 500,000
square kilometers (195,280 square miles). Each
20
location harbors unique species
and some of the world’s rarest
geological formations, from a
bird that incubates its eggs in
the heat of underwater volcanoes to pools of boiling sulfur.
At a White House ceremony,
Bush stated, “For seabirds and
marine life, they will be sanctuaries to grow and thrive. For
scientists, they will be places to
extend the frontiers of discovery.
And for the American people, they will be places
that honor our duty to be good stewards of the
Almighty’s creation.”
Divers survey reef fish at Maug, a volcanic crater within the Marianas Trench Marine National Monument.
Pacific
Located within the territory of American Samoa,
Rose Atoll Marine National Monument protects
the lands and water of Rose Atoll, the world’s
smallest coral atoll and one of the most remote. A
striking feature of Rose Atoll is the pink hue of the
fringing reef, caused by the dominance of elaborate formations of crustose coralline algae that
are the primary reef-building agents in shallow
waters. Despite its small size, Rose Atoll supports
the largest populations of giant clams, nesting sea
turtles, nesting seabirds, and rare species of reef
fish in the territory of American Samoa. The Pacific
Remote Islands Marine National Monument
includes seven atolls and islands scattered
throughout the central Pacific that are farther from
human population centers than any other U.S.
area: Johnston Atoll; Howland, Baker, and Jarvis
Islands; Kingman Reef; Palmyra Atoll; and Wake
Island. They represent one of the last frontiers and
havens for wildlife in the world, and comprise the
most widespread collection of protected areas for
coral reefs, seabirds, and shorebird under a single
nation’s jurisdiction on the planet.
The Marianas Trench Marine National
Monument in the western Pacific consists of three
units. The Islands Unit includes the coral reef ecosystem of the three northernmost islands of the
Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands:
Farallon de Pajaros, Maug, and Asunción. The
second unit is the Marianas Trench, the site of
Challenger Deep, the deepest place on Earth. It
is approximately 1,740 kilometers (940 nautical
miles) long and 70 kilometers (38 miles) wide
and lies within the Exclusive Economic Zone of
the United States. The Volcanic Unit is a series
of 21 active hydrothermal submarine volcanoes
and vents that support unusual life-forms in
conditions of extreme heat and acidity. The former president’s actions build on his designation
in June 2006 of the 362,000-square-kilometer
Papah ānaumoku ākea Marine National Monument
in the Northwestern Hawaiian Islands, a portion
of the Hawaiian Archipelago that extends more
than 2,222 kilometers (1,200 miles) from the
populated main Hawaiian Islands to Kure Atoll, the
northernmost atoll in the world.
As a marine ecologist working with the National
Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s Coral
Reef Ecosystem Division based in Honolulu,
Hawaii, I have been privileged over the past eight
years to conduct more than 500 scientific SCUBA
dives on the reefs encompassed within these
four U.S. marine national monuments. While my
particular specialty is corals, I work with a multidisciplinary team of other biologists, oceanographers, ocean engineers, mapping specialists, and
data managers to establish baseline integrated
ecosystem assessments and conduct long-term
monitoring at more than 50 islands, atolls, and
reefs throughout the U.S. Pacific. Our goal is to
provide sound scientific data that increase understanding of processes on coral reefs that are
relevant to developing sound management strategies at local, regional, and global scales.
Our field surveys, conducted at annual or biennial intervals, have increased our knowledge of the
biological composition and ecological processes
characterizing these remote reefs, most of which
had received little in situ investigation prior to our
studies. In the early years of our program, virtually
every dive was at a site that had never been seen
by human eyes before.
Our surveys have substantially increased
awareness of the diversity of scleractinian (hard)
corals in numerous remote locations throughout
the U.S. Pacific, including the four new marine
national monuments. We have documented at
least 103 new coral records at Rose Atoll, where
few surveys had been conducted. At Baker,
Howland, Jarvis, Palmyra, Kingman, Wake, and
the Northwestern Hawaiian Islands, coral species
records have increased at least 36 percent, 72
percent, 26 percent, 63 percent, 52 percent, 104
percent, and 160 percent, respectively, relative
to records existing before our surveys. Optical
habitat mapping surveys have revealed mesophotic coral ecosystems occurring at intermediate depths of 30 to more than 150 meters in the
Hawaiian and Mariana Archipelago, American
Samoa, and the Pacific Remote Island areas.
With high abundance and biodiversity of reef resources, these mesophotic coral ecosystems may
serve as refugia for shallow-water reef organisms
as they increasingly become more affected by human activities and ocean warming.
Similar to corals, limited lists of algal species
existed for the majority of coral reef ecosystems
of the U.S. Pacific before our surveys. Knowledge
of algal biodiversity has increased from 90 to
327 species in the northern Commonwealth of
the Northern Mariana Islands, from 20 to 104
at Howland and Baker Islands, from 0 to 115 at
the explorers journal
Giant clams have been poached in many areas of the Pacific but are abundant at Kingman Reef in the Pacific Remote Islands National Monument.
Jarvis Island and Kingman Reef, from 40 to 121
at Wake Atoll, from 104 to 184 at Johnston Atoll,
and from 41 to 157 at French Frigate Shoals in
the Northwestern Hawaiian Islands. Moreover,
contrary to many stereotypes about healthy coral
reef ecosystems being dominated by corals, many
near pristine reefs of the U.S. Pacific contain macroalgal populations that cover as much substrate
as coral does. These native macroalgal populations play an important role as a food source, and
macroalgal meadows may provide critical habitat
for juvenile fish and invertebrate populations.
When implementing ecosystem approaches to
management, these algal-rich habitats need to be
included for effective conservation.
Our program’s surveys of coral reef fish populations suggest potential overexploitation of this
resource. Comparative analyses throughout the
U.S. Pacific show a strong decreasing trend in
fish abundance from remote to populated islands.
Fish biomass density is more than 260 percent
greater in the Northwestern Hawaiian Islands
than in the urbanized main Hawaiian Islands;
more than half of the total fish biomass in the
Northwestern Hawaiian Islands consists of apex
predators (mainly sharks and jacks), whereas this
trophic level accounts for less than 3 percent of
the fish biomass in the main Hawaiian Islands.
Similarly, the coral reef ecosystems within the
Islands Unit of the Marianas Trench Marine
National Monument have high numbers of apex
fish predators, greater than anywhere else along
the Mariana Archipelago. These northern islands
also have the highest biomass of large fish in the
Mariana Islands. The rare bumphead parrotfish,
the largest parrotfish species, thrives in these
waters and at Wake Atoll, but has been depleted
throughout much of its range and is included on
the IUCN Red List of Threatened Species.
When I meet new people and tell them about
my work, their first question is often, “How are the
reefs doing?” My report card is a mixed one. Even
these remote locations, so distant from population centers, have suffered from the far-reaching
effects of human carelessness and lack of foresight. At Rose Atoll, iron leaching from the metallic
debris of a Taiwanese long-line fishing vessel that
went aground in 1993 triggered a bloom of cyanobacteria (commonly though erroneously called
blue-green algae) that has spread over the years
from the grounding site along an extensive area of
the outer reef, killing corals and the rose-colored
coralline algae for which the atoll is named. The
fish fauna, characterized in undamaged parts of
the outer reef by a trophic pyramid of herbivores,
planktivores, piscivores, and apex predators,
has subsequently become dominated by large
schools of grazing herbivores. At Wake Atoll,
cyanobacteria similarly flourish around the metallic remains of a shipwreck, and unexploded ordnance poses a hazard to divers. At Johnston Atoll,
the site of a chemical munitions disposal facility
until 2000, many large, old colonies of table coral
that provided shelter and food for butterflyfish and
other reef fishes have succumbed in the past few
years to a wasting disease of unknown etiology.
At Palmyra Atoll, World War II-era military construction destroyed lagoonal coral communities,
which have failed to recover in the subsequent
70 years. In the Northwestern Hawaiian Islands,
derelict fishing gear, much of it originating from
north Pacific fisheries and driven south by prevailing oceanographic currents, entangles sea turtles
and endangered endemic Hawaiian Monk seals,
and destroys corals. Two episodes of mass coral
bleaching in the Northwestern Hawaiian Islands,
in 2002 and 2004, were triggered by prolonged
periods of elevated sea surface temperature,
which in turn may be linked to the hovering specter
of climate change. Despite these and other human
threats, the reef ecosystems now contained within
these four new marine national monuments remain
the most pristine to be found within U.S. waters.
In a world of shifting baselines, they provide us
with a reminder of how reefs should look and
function and, as natural reservoirs of biodiversity,
they improve the planet’s resilience to climate
change. From these protected waters we can gain
knowledge that can be applied elsewhere to improve coral reef management in more populated
areas. Thanks to this unprecedented conservation
achievement, future generations of marine explorers will have the opportunity to unravel the tangled
mysteries of nature in the midst of the Pacific.
biography
A Fellow of The Explorers Club since 2007 and the author of more
than two dozen scientific publications on coral reefs, Jean Kenyon,
Ph.D., has been a lecturer, naturalist, and dive guide on expedition
travel cruises throughout the Caribbean, Pacific, and Indian Oceans
and to Antarctica, including several hosted by The Explorers Club.
the explorers journal
90º north
text and images by nick smith
A century ago no one had been to
the North Pole for certain. Today,
you can sail to 90° North as a tourist on a Russian nuclear icebreaker.
Explorers Journal contributing editor Nick Smith did just that and, gl ass
of chilled vodk a in hand, ponders the
issues involved when you travel to
the end of the Earth the easy way.
For more than a decade I’ve been
writing about North Pole affairs, the history of
the region’s exploration, its climate, ice cover,
and biodiversity. And although I’ve interviewed
climatologists, photographers, conservationists,
and sea captains, the people associated with the
pole that I’ve enjoyed listening to most are those
explorers who have traveled in the region on foot.
These are the people who seem to instinctively
understand the big picture, the people with ice
in their blood. I’ve learned much about the Arctic
from classic explorers such as the late, great
24
Wally Herbert to today’s notables, including Pen Hadow. Over
the years I’ve become fascinated
by what draws human beings to
this desolate frozen desert at the
end of the Earth, but never once
thought I’d go there myself.
Before the twentieth century, no
one had even seen the North Pole,
much less set foot on it. We know
that a century ago—in 1909—U.S.
naval Commander Robert E. Peary and his colleague Matthew Henson might have gotten there
on foot with a team of dogs. Peary certainly believed he’d achieved his goal, but some commentators think he may have fallen short by as much
as 100 kilometers. Richard Byrd may or may not
have reached 90º North in an airplane in 1926. In
1948, Russian Alexandr Kuznetsov set off under
the instructions of Joseph Stalin to fly north for
scientific and strategic purposes, and in so doing
became the first person to undisputedly set foot
A polar bear waits for a ring seal to surface; Nick Smith at the Geographic North Pole; a Russian orthodox monument to lost explorers on Franz Josef Land with the 50 Years of Victory in the distance.
the easy way
on the pole. In 1968, Ralph Plaisted reached it from
Canada by a combination of snow scooter and air.
In 1969, Briton Wally Herbert broke new ground,
and his arrival at the North Pole by dog-sledge was
the crowning moment of one of the greatest ice
journeys of the century.
Since these landmark expeditions, there have
been many successful arrivals at the pole by fixedwing aircraft, helicopter, and even parachute; by
surface traverse, whether complete, one way, or
partial; by submarine (USS Skate was the first in
1959) or surface vessel. Of these, the first was
the Soviet icebreaker Arktika, which reached the
pole on August 17, 1977. Since then, there have
been 65 Soviet or Russian voyages to the pole,
of which 64 have been in nuclear-powered ships.
Twelve other icebreakers from five nations have
made token expeditions to the top of the world,
but the Russians are the experts.
The reason for this, according to Captain
Dmitry Lobusov of the Russian nuclear-powered
icebreaker 50 Years of Victory, is simply that there
is a need. Of those countries with extensive Arctic
Ocean shorelines, only Russia relies on the commercial transportation of goods through the sea
ice. “We have a very vast country from west to
east and there is need to carry cargo by sea and
so we need an ice fleet.” Lobusov explained how
the development of nuclear technology has led to
icebreakers of increasing power and range, with
the ability to remain at sea for long periods without
refueling. In the Arctic summer, when the atomic
fleet is less in demand for keeping commercial
seaways open, the 50 Years of Victory becomes
available to adventure tourism companies such as
Quark Expeditions, which commissions the ship
in order to make the armchair explorer’s dream of
going to the North Pole a reality.
I joined the Victory at Murmansk on the extreme
northwest of Russia, on Kola Bay. Way inside
the Arctic Circle, the world’s northernmost city
consists almost entirely of glum Communist tenements hastily thrown up after the Second World
War. After near annihilation by the Germans,
who had an airbase only eight minutes away,
Murmansk was designated one of only 12 “hero
cities” in Russia. In 1943, Harper’s published an
article about Murmansk by Dave Marlow, called
“How It Looked to a Merchant Seaman,” in which
he quotes a Scots-Canadian mess-man saying,
“They’ve took a beating here.” The mosquitoes are
like flying fortresses and the only dabs of color are
the buttercups and dandelions that seem to grow
everywhere in Murmansk.
We sailed for a week via Franz Josef Land, the
northernmost Russian archipelago, and landed at
Cape Tegetthof, where we saw the wind-blasted
remains of explorers’ huts. Then to Cape Fligley
on Rudolf Island, from which Kuznetsov departed
on his successful flight to the pole. We saw polar
bears, kittiwakes, walruses, ivory gulls, and memorials to dead explorers. As we reached the higher
latitudes, we navigated through the last of the open
water before crunching our way through the pack
ice that got denser and denser as we approached
the pole. Were there any ice conditions that the
Victory couldn’t negotiate, I asked the captain
through his interpreter Irena. “No!” was the reply.
When I set foot on the ice at the North Pole, I
was the 22,500th person to do so, give or take a
small margin for error created by the possibility
of unrecorded military expeditions reaching 90º
North. The pole is, of course, an imaginary place,
a point on a grid of invented geometry, that in reality is no more or less impressive than a thin membrane of ice floating on the surface of the Arctic
Ocean. The ice that is here today is not the ice
that was here yesterday or will be here tomorrow.
There is no marker other than one you may bring
yourself, and the sapphire blue pools of water that
lie on the surface of the multiyear ice here are just
as beautiful here as they are at 89°N.
In his poem “Burnt Norton,” T. S. Eliot wrote of
what he called “the still point of the turning world.”
At the Earth’s “axle-tree,” he imagines the past and
future to coalesce in a place where the spiritual and
terrestrial worlds meet. And although it may be too
fanciful to say that to stand at the pole is to stand
with one foot in another world, if you look directly
upward along the Earth’s axis, you will come to
Polaris, the North Star, the so-called celestial pole.
Look down and, after a couple of meters of sea ice,
there are 4,000 meters of sea beneath your feet.
Then, after 14,000 kilometers of planetary mass,
you will reach sea level at the South Pole, after
which there are another few hundred meters of
rock, followed by 2,835 meters of ice. If you have
managed to maintain a straight line down through
the globe, you will end up almost in the middle
of the geodesic dome of the Amundsen-Scott
Science Research Base at the South Pole.
The significance of the intersection of all lines
the explorers journal
breaking the ice
The Russian nuclear icebreaker 50 Years of Victory parked
in a pan of multiyear ice at a ceremonial North Pole close to
90º North.
of longitude depends as much on who you are
and how you got there as anything else. I arrived
at 11:57 p.m. on July 15, 2009, sitting in the bridge
bar of the world’s largest nuclear-powered icebreaker, with a glass of ice-cold Russian vodka in
my hand. Something like a hundred passengers
from 24 countries had gathered below me on the
bow deck in the bright midnight sun to wander
around with their global positioning systems, anxious to be the first to claim that theirs read “90°N”
exactly. Of course, any such claims were irrelevant
because the icebreaker was only at the pole when
the Captain said so, and his GPS on the bridge
was the only one that mattered.
As champagne corks popped, we cheered and
congratulated each other on our passive achievement, as if we’d arrived on skis after weeks of
doing battle with pressure ridges, half-starved,
frostbitten, and with exhausted dogs. A ringed
seal popped its head out of a channel of inky black
28
water to see what the commotion was about and
to find out what was breaking the rhythm of the
creaking ice. There were no birds and despite the
razzmatazz that goes with this extraordinary adventure tourism, it was possible to detect something of the deep primal spirituality that has lured
the great explorers of the past to this pinprick of
nothingness in the middle of nowhere.
Accounts by explorers who arrive on foot after
weeks of man-hauling sledges over pressure
ridges vary wildly on how time at the pole is spent.
Some scrape together the last of their tobacco
and alcohol for an all too brief party, while others
become stranded while waiting for the Twin Otter
to get in to pick them up. Tom Avery describes
how, in 2005, he arrived at the pole with four other
humans and 16 dogs only to see an immaculately
dressed woman step off a helicopter with a bottle
of champagne. She was leading a small group of
tourists who had flown to the pole (presumably
tourists crowd on deck as the 50 Years of Victory encounters pack ice for the first time on its way north.
from an icebreaker) on a once-in-a-lifetime ultimate tourist experience, as marketed by high-end
adventure travel companies.
The jury will probably remain out forever on
whether tourists should be allowed to travel to
ecologically sensitive destinations such as the
higher latitudes of the polar regions. The prevailing sentiment on the 50 Years of Victory was
that—provided the operator transacted its business responsibly—the environment came first and
we didn’t cause any unnecessary stress to the
wildlife. That being the case, we not only had a
right to enter this pristine world, but we had the
opportunity to come home as ambassadors, to
write articles, and tell our friends exactly what it is
we’re supposed to be protecting.
As we returned from the pole, the sense of anticlimax was inevitable, but on July 20, I reminded
some of my fellow travelers that we should celebrate the fortieth anniversary of the Apollo 11
lunar landing. After all, we had more in common
with one of the astronauts than most of us might
have suspected. In 1998, Buzz Aldrin traveled to
the North Pole on a Russian nuclear icebreaker.
He too went with Quark, only he sailed on the
Sovetsky Soyuz, on a trip organized by The
Explorers Club and headed by Mike McDowell
and its former president, Alfred S. McLaren.
Aldrin’s experiences were remarkably similar to
ours aboard the Victory, and indeed, “except for
comments about the cold, I never heard a negative
word.” While at sea, Buzz spent much of his time
skipping lectures and designing a new rocket on
the ship’s stationery, and like me he kept a journal.
“There’s something about being at the top of the
world that’s exhilarating,” Buzz told me recently.
“We set up a baseball diamond and played a
game of softball at the North Pole, and a group of
younger passengers even took an extremely brief
swim. The adventure was priceless.”
the explorers journal
a n ta rc t ic a
exploring the White Continent by kayak
The Antarctic affects our lives
through forces so deep and
elemental that we are not even
aware of them. Each Austral
winter, a halo of sea ice forms
around the White Continent,
and each spring trillions of
tons of freshwater are released
into the world’s ocean as it
thaws. Because Antarctica is
essentially uninhabited and
without industry—save for a
few research stations—any
ecological and climate disturbances there are wrought by global forces. More
than two decades ago, scientists prophesied that
one of the first signs of human-influenced climate
change would be the collapse of the Antarctic
Peninsula’s ice sheets. Today, this is precisely
30
what is happening.
For the past decade I’ve
been circling the world by
kayak, one continent at a time,
looking at both the health of
the world’s seas and the lives
of people who depend on
them. I knew I would complete my OCEANS 8 project
in Antarctica, along its 1,111kilometer-long peninsula.
Some of you may ask, “Why
Antarctica? Isn’t its story well
known? What more is there
to learn?” The reality is that as the ice along the
Antarctic Peninsula changes—and it is changing
fast due to record warming temperatures—it affects the climate and weather of the entire planet,
as well as the condition of our one big ocean.
Antarctica from atop the mast of the Pelagic Australis.
text by Jon Bowermaster, images by fiona stewart
Our plan was straightforward: Get as far south
as possible—by kayak, sailboat, and on foot—until
the ice stopped us, to see firsthand just how the
ice is changing and what the impact of humanity
is on this fragile landscape.
For this six-week expedition, on which we are
carrying Explorer’s Club Flag #51, I am joined by
an experienced international team of seven: New
Zealander Graham Charles, who’s spent more
time in a kayak in Antarctica than any person alive;
Chilean Rodrigo Jordan, who’s climbed Everest
(twice) and K2, and runs the South American
equivalent of Outward Bound; Tasmanian naturalist Fiona Stewart; round-the-world sailing champion Skip Novak; and a trio of longtime OCEANS
8 team members—Orange County-based lawyer
and navigator Sean Farrell, photographer Peter
McBride, and filmmaker John Armstrong. As experienced adventurers and storytellers, we had a
common goal to bring back a record of the peninsula today that will stand for many years to come,
in words, photographs, and video.
We will be traveling there by boat, though not
the standard cruise version but a private, iceready yacht. While it would have been easier
(and far less expensive) to travel on one of the 30
cruise boats that prowl the peninsula each Austral
summer, the Antarctic Treaty, which governs
activities on the continent, requires that any private expedition that gains approval from its home
country must be responsible for its own search
and rescue. Further permits were required from
the U.S. State Department, the National Science
Foundation, and the Environmental Protection
Agency. Collectively, these agencies make it difficult to arrange a private adventure here, and for
good reason. Antarctica is one of the last places
on the planet one would want to find oneself in
trouble.
After a rather calm five-day crossing of the
Drake Passage aboard Skip Novak’s 74-foot
Pelagic Australis, we take our first paddle strokes
on a grey day, circumnavigating Enterprise Island
about 275 kilometers down the west coast of the
peninsula. It is a relief to be off the Australis and
tucked snuggly into our kayaks. The sea is calm
as we pull around the first corner to find the channel leading out to the Gerlache Strait, which is
chocked with icebergs. Near shore we work the
kayaks through thick brash ice; it’s like paddling
through a field of bucket-size ice cubes. Big,
spectacularly blue icebergs, temporarily grounded in their journey out to sea, stud the heart of
the channel. While the sky above is clear and
windless, the far horizon is dark and foreboding.
A snowstorm is on its way.
Rodrigo nervously pulls alongside my boat.
Although he has traveled in Antarctica—having pulled heavily laden sleds through the Thiel
Mountains deep in the continent’s interior a few
years back—he has spent relatively little time traveling by sea, especially in a small boat, and is a
bit apprehensive about this kind of travel. I assure
him that although we are separated from the cold
ocean by just millimeters of kevlar, fiberglass, and
carbon fiber, we’ll be fine. Collectively, we have
dozens of years of experience and will stick together, just in case. I tell him that the beauty of
traveling by kayak, especially here in this oversized, ice-chocked place, is in the independence
it allows and the feeling of aloneness it offers,
which is why virtually every cruise boat coming to
Antarctica now carries a few kayaks on board.
He nods in agreement, but I’m not sure he’s
completely convinced. “What happens, huevón,
if you end up swimming for your life in this cold
water?” he asks me. “Are you still going to feel so
thankful for your ‘independence’?”
“If that should happen, my friend, and I’m
convinced it will not,” I tell him, “my only counsel
is don’t let go of your boat…and be glad you’ve
already lived a full life.”
We spend our days coming and going from the
Australis—camping, climbing, exploring by kayak
and on foot. Ten days into our expedition, we pull
our kayaks up onto Peterman Island about 500
kilometers south of the peninsula’s tip, where
we’ve spied a big yellow tent. This modest shelter
is the base of operations for biologist Melissa
Rider, who has spent the past five summers here
monitoring wildlife, along with two colleagues from
the Washington, D.C.-based environmental group,
Oceanites. While temperatures have been relatively warm—30ºs during the day, teens at night—we’ve
paddled through some heavy rains, which have
turned the ice and snow along the coast to slush.
Upon our arrival, Rider crawls out of her tent
under a light snowfall. Pulling up the hood of her
red parka, she motions to follow her alongside a
penguin trail etched deep into the snow, for one
of her thrice-daily countings of the Adelie and
Gentoo penguins and blue-eyed cormorants that
the explorers journal
nest here. According to Rider, it is clear from her
data that Adelies on Peterman are disappearing.
“French explorer Jean-Baptiste Charcot was
here 100 years ago and photographed the island
covered with penguins,” says Rider as we walk
along the trail, “so we know exactly how much
things have changed. In the past five years, the
Adelie population has declined dramatically.”
“Dying?” I ask. “Not necessarily,” she says,
“they may just be moving further south. They are a
cold-loving bird and are having a hard time ‘making
a living’ here, which means building nests, having
chicks, and feeding them. It has simply gotten too
warm for them, which I can’t believe I’m saying since
it is Antarctica. What we don’t know is where they
are going. Unfortunately, there aren’t many scientists working south of here to monitor them.”
“I was surprised when I started coming here four
years ago; I had worked previously in other, colder
parts of Antarctica. One hour after the first time I
arrived, it started to rain and didn’t stop for 14 days.
I was shocked. All this warming means that just
since last year we’ve lost 20 percent of the Adelie
population on Peterman. If the trend continues, the
island will be devoid of them by 2020.”
More than a week after leaving Peterman Island,
we have paddled our way to a small archipelago
known as the Fish Islands, where we make camp.
The following morning, I wake to frost covering the
inside of our tent wall; snow has replaced the rain
and sleet we’ve endured for the past week. I peek
out our big two-man tent and the kayak anchoring
it is sheathed in ice. We hoped to climb nearby
Sharp Peak today, which looms 1,200 meters
above our camp. Instead, it looks like we may be
stuck in our tents, picking lint out of our Velcro.
Another downside to all the rain is that it’s far too
wet and slushy for safe climbing.
In the late morning, Rodrigo and I hike to the top
of a 150-meter ridge to scout the terrain. A wet
snow is falling and we sink into soft, knee-deep
snow. We carry a crevasse probe for the dim light
makes cracks in the surface difficult to see. From
the top of the slope, Sharp Peak fades in and out
of cloud cover. Although Rodrigo can visualize
the route to the top, he is not optimistic about our
chances of getting there.
“In a perfect world we would make a second
camp just beneath that col,” he shouts over the
wind, pointing to exposed rock just below the peak.
“But this is not a perfect world. It’s going to take us
32
ripples in the water
In Antarctica, the most powerful sounds are the plop-plop-plopping of
porpoising penguins all around and the drip-drip-drip of melting ice.
Blue skies
We had a nine-day stretch of incredible, blue-sky weather, with
temperatures climbing into the 40ºs F— increasingly common at
the height of summer along the peninsula. The weather is good for
paddlers but bad for Antarctic ice.
ages to cross that stuff; we certainly can’t attempt
it today, too dangerous. We need to wait for a clear
day; we need to be able to see. Of course, on a
sunny day the snow will get even softer. If we are to
climb that we’ll need to stay at least a week.”
As we walk back downhill, a giant glacier calves
with a thundering roar, filling the ice-chocked bay
with even more large chunks of ice. Leopard seals
asleep on several floes in the middle of the bay
barely notice. I have been to Antarctica a dozen
times and it is the sounds of the continent—the
crack of that glacier or the blow of a humpback
whale (you most often hear it before you see it)
and the constant screech of hundreds of thousands of penguin parents imprinting their voices
on their young—that stick with me most powerfully
when I’m back home.
Given the poor climbing conditions, we decide
to get back on the water. We break camp and drag
our heavily laden kayaks back out to the sea over
a field of meter-high ice cubes that line the beach.
A week south of Sharp Peak we paddle up to
a small dock that leads to the Ukrainian science
base called Vernadsky. Formerly the British
base Faraday, Vernadsky was turned over to the
Ukrainians a decade ago when the UK decided
to abandon it. We pull into the base on a sunny
day, knowing it will be the last contact we’ll have
with humankind for the next 370 kilometers, so we
drop anchor for a day. South of here, Antarctica
grows more exposed, windier, and wilder, and
becomes even less forgiving.
Fourteen Ukrainian men—most from Kiev—live
and work at Vernadsky year-round, continuing
what may be the best meteorological record on
the continent, which stretches back more than 50
years. It was at this metal-and-cement-block station that the ozone hole growing above Antarctica
was first discovered 20 years ago.
A rudimentary wooden ladder leads up to a tiny
bedroom where, five times a day, Dennis—a geophysicist known here simply as Ozone Man—slides
back a small square panel in the roof and pushes
the scope of his oblong measuring machine out
into the sky. Someone has been doing this every
day for more than 20 years from this very same
small room and that is how the world knows about
the ozone hole, which was created by man-made
chlorofluorocarbons (CFCs) in the atmosphere.
Ozone Man—a black ponytail hanging down
his back and wearing light blue overalls over a
the explorers journal
heavy wool sweater—shows us graphs pinned
to the wall that charts the monthly variations in
ozone coverage going back two decades. It was
at its thinnest in 1993–1994 and he explains how
proud he is to be the sole monitor of the hole for
the world. The ozone has rethickened during the
past decade, due in part to the worldwide ban
on new CFCs.
When I tell him how amazed I am that such a
seemingly simple machine, jammed up through
a small hole in the roof, is responsible for such
an important discovery, he jumps back at me,
smiling. “It is not a simple machine! There are
complicated optics inside! There is nothing automatic about it, it is all manual. It is the very best!”
When the Brits first discovered the ozone hole,
they thought their measurements were off so they
replaced the machine. When the new machine
produced the same results, they reinstalled the
original one.
Vernadsky is also known for unfurling the finest red carpet on the continent and we’ve arrived
on a party night. A sailboat carrying a team of
elite British soldiers—17 men and 1 woman on a
training mission—have been invited in for homebrewed vodka (its recipe tightly guarded by its
maker, the same man who oversees the base’s
diesel engines) and shortly after we join them in
the bar, trays filled with shots are being passed
around. Suffice it to say, a long night follows and
the specifics of what happens in Antarctica, I’m
afraid, must stay in Antarctica…though somewhere we do have photographs of McBride in full
dance mode modeling an oversize bra over his
fleece and a certain skipper being carried out of
the southernmost bar in the world.
A week after paddling away from Vernadsky, on
a sunshine-filled January day, we reach nearly 68º
South, the southernmost point of Crystal Sound.
We are two degrees south of the Antarctic Circle
and the temperatures reach into the 40ºs; sunburn
becomes the biggest concern of the day.
Our map shows a pair of channels leading to
Marguerite Bay. We attempt to thread our way by
kayak through the meter-thick pancake ice before
running into solid ice that runs several kilometers
to shore. Through powerful binoculars we can see
that the two channels we’d hoped to navigate are
frozen solid. Clambering onto an ice floe, we pull
our kayaks up and consider our options. One is to
drag the kayaks some 50 kilometers over the ice
to Marguerite Bay, which might allow us to keep
paddling south. The downside is we would most
likely have to drag them back again, requiring a
weeklong journey we simply can’t afford. Sadly,
like every visitor to Antarctica, we’ve reached our
turnaround point.
The end of our expedition fills me with both joy
and regret. The former, because I know I will keep
coming back to Antarctica as often as I can; the latter, because the camaraderie and teamwork of this
exploration will be hard to match. I believe it is important that we keep coming back, that Antarctica—
especially its evolving peninsula—be closely studied
and watched. Although on many days the land looks
impenetrable, covered by snow, ice, and glaciers,
like Alaska piled on top of Alaska piled on top of
Alaska, I know from the scientists who have worked
here for decades that it is changing fast, perhaps
faster than anywhere else on the planet. Just as the
world is seeing a new Arctic as its ice disappears,
very soon the Antarctic Peninsula will also take on a
new meaning as its ice recedes.
What I have learned during my ten years of exploring the world from sea level is that although all
of the planet’s coastlines may look different, they
are linked by a changing climate and a small handful of serious environmental challenges. Now, after
Antarctica, I have been privileged to see them all,
and will keep a close eye on them as they continue
to evolve.
A c kn o w l e d g m e n t s
Our Antarctic expedition was made possible by grants from
the National Geographic Expeditions Council, the Will Steger
Foundation, Vertical SA (Chile), the Mark Paul Terk Trust, and
by corporate funding from Mountain Hardwear, Necky Kayaks,
Kokatat, Werner Paddles, and Timberland/Earthkeepers.
biography
A six-time grantee of the National Geographic Expeditions Council and
award-winning writer and filmmaker, Jon Bowermaster, MN’06, is
author of ten books and producer of more than a dozen documentary
films. His website and blog (Notes from Sea Level, www.jonbower
master.com) reports on the world’s coastlines, the people who live
along them, and issues of importance to anyone interested in and
concerned about the planet’s ocean. His companion book to Oceans,
the new Disney Nature film, will be published to coincide with the
film’s premiere on Earth Day, April 2010. Bowermaster lives in Stone
Ridge, New York.
Monumental Ice
Nowhere on the planet has warmed more during the past 50 years
than the Antarctic Peninsula. Despite the increase in average
temperatures, a lot of awe-inspiring glaciers still line the coast.
Antarctic
Dreams
a journey into an ephemeral world
text and images by kristin larson
a solitary scientists peers through an opening in the erebus ice tongue in early spring.
Throughout time, Antarctica has remained almost as remote and untouched as the Moon. It
wasn’t until 1773 that James Cook first wandered
into the Southern Ocean, and another 50 years
before Antarctica was touched by human hands.
Yet Antarctica has long resided in our collective
imaginations. Even the Ancient Greeks sensed
its presence, calling the South Polar Region Antiarktos, or the “Place Opposite the Bear,” in contrast to the Far North, which they knew as Arktos,
or the Great Bear, after the constellation that rode
above it.
As a kid, I knew Antarctica only as the white
fringe along the bottom of maps, but all that
changed when, as an aspiring photographer, I
first laid eyes on the striking images of the White
Continent by American landscape photographer,
Elliot Porter. It was Porter’s photo from Bull Pass,
high atop the snow-free Dry Valleys of Antarctica—
with its subtle gradations of light and broad, naked
sweep of desolation that captured my imagination. I vowed to one day see that place for myself,
and, as if by fate, only five years later I too joined
the small group of humans that have spent time in
the spectacular geographic maze known as the
McMurdo Dry Valleys, formed by katabatic winds
plunging off the vast Antarctic Plateau to the
ice-strewn waters of the Ross Sea. It was 1988
and I had traveled there as Winter-over Science
Manager for the United States Antarctic Program.
The winter research program focuses primarily on
astrophysics and upper atmospheric processes,
including ozone density over the pole.
As a photographer, I relished the winter months
of total darkness capped on either end by weeks of
gorgeous 24-hour twilight, a luminous landscape
bathed in pink and butterscotch. I learned to love
the dreadful ferocity unleashed in Antarctica during its winter isolation. Quite simply, it terrifies and
captivates all who experience it.
After two winter seasons, I was asked to manage the much busier and highly diverse summer
science program, a transition that coincided with
the opening of a new 4,000 square-meter stateof-the-art science laboratory in McMurdo. As
part of my work, I traveled into the “deep field”—
Antarctic parlance for the interior of the continent,
accessible only by ski-equipped Twin Otters and
LC-130 Hercules aircraft or tractor-trains.
During these forays, I observed scientists extracting ice cores to understand Earth’s climate
history, and working to identify Antarctica’s
tectonic connection to other continents. I also
camped among thousands of Emperor Penguins
as I assisted researchers in determining how the
birds survive foraging trips of more than 500 meters underwater and for more than 20 minutes at
a time.
The late 1980s was a time of increasing awareness of Antarctica’s precarious ecosystem and its
importance for understanding global processes,
which spurred the adoption of new environmental protection protocols by the Antarctic Treaty
parties. I soon found myself at the center of discussions, debates, and strategy sessions about
science and environmental protection, with a little
bit of domestic and international law thrown in
for good measure. Ultimately, I would exchange
my parka and ice ax for a business suit and law
degree in Washington, DC.
I still cannot fully explain my attraction to
Antarctica. Initially, I went there out of curiosity
but soon I was hooked. But why? Perhaps it is the
quality of perpetual renewal that lies at the heart
of Antarctica’s attraction. The intense activities of
each season are erased by the shifting sugar-fine
snow, the annual disintegration of the vast sea
ice, and borne away on ceaseless winds. Except
for the few “permanent stations”—a term that
acknowledges the transitory nature of man’s toehold in Antarctica—everything else disappears.
Antarcticans are not distracted by the footprints
of their predecessors. Rather, each sojourner to
the vast Seventh Continent is presented with an
untrodden path and a trackless horizon—the very
things that drive us to explore.
biography
Kristin Larson, FN’02, who has logged more than 50 months of “ice time” in Antarctica, including two winter-overs, practices
environmental and transactional law in Washington, D.C. A member of The Explorers Club’s Board of Directors and co-chair
of its Legal Committee, Larson has penned several scholarly articles as well as fiction and non-fiction pieces, drawing on her
Antarctic experiences. Kristin Peak, on Ross Island, Antarctica, was named in her honor
dry valley waterfall
Most glacial melt in the McMurdo Dry Valleys sublimes
directly to air, adding very little liquid water to this largely
ice-free region of Antarctica. It was thus surprising to
come across this frozen waterfall in the upper Taylor Valley.
The force and volume of this now frozen torrent formed a
tunnel through a large hanging glacier in the otherwise
barren landscape.
Mummified seal
Mummified seals in the Dry Valley regions of McMurdo
were first reported by Robert Falcon Scott’s team in 1905,
and have been found as much as 50 kilometers inland over
extremely rugged rocky landscapes and more than 1,500
meters above sea level. The Dry Valleys support very little in
the way of life due to their arid, cold, Mars-like conditions,
which however are perfect for mummification. Recently, carbon dating of seal mummies revealed that some of the dozens
of seal carcasses are in excess of 2,500 years old. There are
no generally accepted explanations for the presence of these
grisly relics in the otherworldly Dry Valley landscapes.
SUMMER MELT POOLS
At 77.88° South, McMurdo Station is the southernmost shipaccessible point on the continent and well below the Antarctic
Circle. As such, the station is subject to a single long polar
day and a single long polar night, each lasting approximately
five months, capped on either end by a month of prolonged
crepuscular light. During these seasonal transitions, the
entire landscape is transformed; awash in spectacular color
and unusual cloud formations. This image was taken from Hut
Point, near McMurdo Station in late January.
A dat e wi t h
virgin Earth
text and images by Mike Libecki
I have a love-hate relationship
with gravity. It is my friend as well
as my foe, and its dual form—the
good and bad, the negative and
positive—makes this beautiful
relationship possible. The challenges of big-wall climbing would
not lure me without the possibility of being blown off a wall by
hurricane-force winds while aiming to stand on a virgin summit.
46
This pairing of man and stone
and obsession with big-wall ascents has gone on for nearly two
decades, during which I have
undertaken five expeditions
to the unknown peaks of East
Greenland, most recently this
past summer.
My love affair with Greenland
began quite by chance. Shortly
after I returned home from a trip
Josh Helling enjoys a sweet 5.11 finger crack on pitch 5 of discovery wall. Facing page: Ice floes en route to Skjoldungen.
a first ascent of
Greenland’s Discovery Wall
to Baffin Island in 1998, I listened to more than
a month’s worth of messages on my answering
machine and was intrigued by one from David
Briggs, someone I had never met. He had seen
granite towers that “resembled large canine teeth”
while endeavoring to ski across Greenland from
continent’s east coast. Eager to return, he was
looking for a partner for his expedition. Three
weeks later, I found myself on a plane to Chicago
where I would finally meet Briggs and head north
to climb the Fox Molar, a beautiful white granite
tower 150 kilometers north of the town of Tasiilaq
in east Greenland—the cracks there superb, clean,
and dry.
Little did I know that this expedition would lead
to a decade-long love
affair with one of the
most glorious places
on Earth. Greenland
offers a wondrous
world of whales, polar
bears, foxes, and seals;
endless wildflowers of
every color of the
rainbow—many edible;
traditional hunting and
fishing with the local
Inuit; and magical boat
rides in harsh, ice-choked seas; with the glorious
bonus of 24-hour sunlight reflecting off glassy,
blue-white icebergs of every shape and size.
For last summer’s expedition, I was joined by
my closest and most trustworthy climbing partner,
Josh Helling. From our early training days on El
Cap through punishing ascents on Baffin Island
and in Antarctica, our partnership has grown as
solid as the granite we often hang from. We have
an unspoken, shared focus on safety, respect, and
the conviction that success means coming home
alive; standing on the summit is icing on the cake.
A climbing partnership is one of the most important relationships in life. It is handing over your
heart and breath, your fate and future, the hope
you will get see your family and friends again.
In August, Josh flew out to meet me in Utah,
where we boarded the first of three flights that
would take us through New York to Iceland, then
to Tasiilaq, Greenland. From there, we would
travel some 425 kilometers in an eight-meter-long
Arctic fishing boat to Skjoldungen, the gateway to
virgin granite walls.
Making our way toward Skjoldungen, we passed
through a maze of electric blue icebergs, which
bobbed up and down in the rolling sea swells, and
white geometric plates of frozen ocean dotted
with black-and-gray-spotted ring seals oblivious
to our presence. As I gazed out over the dark blue
sea and endless floes that sparkled like diamonds,
I could see steep black mountains in the distance
striped with white couloirs. My nostrils numbed
from the Arctic air as I took in long deep breaths.
After 35 hours, we reached the giant mouth of
the Skjoldungen Passage, where serpentine glaciers snaked their way down the mountains, like
huge white tongues reaching to taste the ocean.
“Skjoldungen” means a “Shield for the Children.”
Yet the terrain before us
could hardly be considered child’s play.
Once inside the
passage we were embraced by rock walls
and pointed towers resembling witches’ hats.
We spent the morning
looking for potential
routes, inspecting each
through
binoculars
and riflescopes as we
looked for systems of cracks that led to summits.
Waterfalls slithered and hissed from icecaps hundreds of meters down to the ocean.
When the captain of the boat let us know he
was nearing the halfway point of fuel capacity,
we had to decide where to be dropped off so he
could turn back toward home.
Unfortunately, two routes that we fancied
showed sections of rotten, loose rock on close
inspection, which almost certainly meant disaster.
Then, Josh and I spotted a system of superthin
cracks on an hourglass-shaped section of granite
near the back of the 75-kilometer-long passage.
We had found our destination. After making a date
with the captain to be picked up a month later, we
unloaded six huge duffels and haul bags containing
more than 300 pounds of fuel, food, supplies, and
survival gear, including a satellite phone and rifles
just in case a random polar bear was desperate for
dinner and we did not feel like being digested.
As our boat pulled away, the familiar smell of
rain was in the air. Lenticular clouds rushed high
into the sky like long, white brushstrokes; angry
the explorers journal
weather could very well be on the way. Above
our drop-off point on a rocky shore, steep
slabs and talus formed a 300-meter-long
ramp up to the base of the face of granite we
wanted to climb. Within moments, we found
ourselves under siege as a swarm of mosquitoes declared war. We noticed there were
two different species of mosquitoes and one
kind of gnat or fly. When the gnat found bare
skin, it left a small spot of blood where it had
bitten off a chunk of flesh. We had to wear
head nets from that point on.
If there is one thing I have learned over
the years on my expeditions to Greenland,
is that the wind gods like to play games.
I have endured plenty of rain, snow, and
wind—nothing much over the 40-mph
range—so I expected to have similar, fairly
casual weather. I was dead wrong.
We had just set up camp when short
gusts of wind caused enough concern for us
to double-check our tent anchors. Suddenly,
out of nowhere, came stronger gusts that
tried to lift our tent and snap the cords anchoring it to the ground. Within moments,
the tent walls began to cave in from horrific
gusts that bent the poles down far enough
to touch our sleeping bags. We quickly
repacked everything we had just unpacked,
put on our Gore-tex, and stood with our
backs against the interior tent walls, trying to
help the tent withstand the severe lashing.
The wind roared with the sound of a rumbling freight train as it came in off the ocean
and walls around us. Both Josh and I were
blown down and our tent exploded and
ripped in two. With tent poles flailing like
slashing swords, our dwelling had turned
into a savage monster. We dove out of the
tent-beast and watched as its broken poles
and nylon limbs thrashed around. Luckily,
we had our bivy sacks ready and huddled
behind boulders and a wall of haul bags.
The blast of wind that destroyed our tent
was a pitaraq, an Inuit word for katabatic
wind. In less than an hour, the wind calmed
to a lazy breeze.
Later that morning, we made coffee and
oatmeal in the rain and started shuttling loads
Skj o l d u n g e n p a s s a g e
Walls of granite with serpentine glaciers embrace the icy waters of
Skjoldungen Passage. The peak in the distance is Skjoldungen
Island, just off the Greenland Coast.
Jumaring toward the summit
Josh Helling jumars to our high point before the summit push.
Glaciers in the distance snake their way down the mountains like
giant tongues to taste the water.
to the base of the wall. The only good thing
about the wind was that it had blown the vicious bugs away. As soon as the wind died
down, however, the bugs were back in full
force looking for any morsel of human flesh.
Rain moved in for several days after the
windstorm, slowing our progress. Over the
course of a week, we managed to get our
gear to the wall and fix a few pitches while
the bugs continued their banquet.
The sun poked its head out now and then,
allowing us to climb 250 meters up, where
the splitter cracks we had spied from the
boat began. From there, a finger crack the
thickness of a Clif Bar split the gold face
as far as we could see. We set up our portaledge, on which we put up another tent.
The view below was nothing short of
magical, a turquoise ocean passage dotted with white icebergs drifting in the fjord
currents. Shadows of neighboring towers
moved across the valley.
Josh gracefully moved up the first section
of 5.11 finger cracks. I was envious; it was
one of the best unclimbed pitches I have
ever seen. His pitch ended after 60 or so
meters under an arching corner that went
up 20 meters more. I had to take him off belay so he could stretch the rope to reach his
desired anchor point. Cleaning pitches can
also be glorious: getting to see the pitch for
the first time, realizing how much fun it must
have been to lead.
The next pitch was up into a blank face
that ran for six or so meters, then continued
into another hairline, pencil-drawn crack
that led up further than we could see. Soon
I was on lead, nailing in blades, arrows, and
the eensie-weensiest Black Diamond cams.
I called down to Josh, “Send up the
hooks!” On each daisy chain, I clipped a
small selection of hooks, so that each end
offered a Swiss-Army-knife selection. After
finishing this delicate ballet-like pitch, we
set up our portaledge, hung up our stove,
and talked about life the way friends as
close as brothers will do.
The following day, it was time to make a
push for the summit, we probably had about
300 meters to go from our high point. The
next pitch, the crux pitch, began with a
mixture of overhanging off-width/squeeze.
The only way Josh could fit into it was by
taking off his helmet and his rack of gear,
clipping them below the squeeze opening,
then, climbing in. After fixing a few pieces of
gear into the wider chimney above, he lowered to retrieve his helmet and rack, hauling
it below him as he climbed back up so it
would all fit. Sixty meters of rope stretched
up from my harness when I faintly heard
Josh yell, “Off belay.” I could see that if Josh
had fallen, most likely the gear would have
stopped him, but only after rope-stretch,
turning Josh into the little metal ball inside
of a Pachinko machine bouncing off jagged
stone chimney walls as he fell. Josh finished
the climb—the last pitch, a loose, spicy 5.9
covered with lichen and moss—while the
sun played hide-and-seek behind the distant mountains.
Three weeks after being dropped off by
our gracious captain on the windy shore, we
found ourselves on the summit looking west
over the massive Greenland Icecap. We
could see many arrowhead-tipped towers I
had never seen before, more virgin towers
waiting. To the east, we could see over the
tops of mountains that made up fjord walls
and ridges; beyond that lay the open Arctic
Sea and icebergs the size of cruise ships.
On the summit, we explored flat, glaciercarved stone fields and shallow ponds of
water so clear the water was invisible. The
melted icecap water was cold and pure.
With this fulfilling ascent, I found closure for
my obsession with the Arctic and felt ready
to focus my energy on other remote lands
rumored to contain more virgin summits.
biography
Mountain Hardwear athlete Mike Libecki pursues his passion for
exploring the world to find untouched summits, which has taken
him to all seven continents. Libecki lives with his wife, daughter,
several dogs and cats, and potbelly pig near the mouth of Little
Cottonwood Canyon in Utah. He has been named “father of the
year” at his daughter’s school two years in a row.
a view from on top
The sun plays hide-and-seek behind distant mountains. The pristine
landscape and 24 hours of summer sunlight make this corner of
Greenland a climber’s paradise.
Extreme medicine
J a c k F r o s t Nip p ing
at y our t oe s
best be vigilant when the cold wind blows
by Michael J. Manyak, M.D., FACS
Explorers have often been subjected to cold
environments either by design or by accident.
Beyond survival itself, the prevention and treatment of cold-related injuries should be of great
concern. Chief among these is frostbite, but nonfreezing cold injuries such as chilblain, pernio,
and trenchfoot can be significant. Breathing
problems due to increased secretions and decreased pulmonary function can be caused by
cold air.
Frostbite occurs when tissue freezes, forming
54
ice crystals. Skin freezes at 21ºF but can occur
more rapidly and at higher temperatures if wind
and moisture are present. Cells can survive
freezing and thawing but small blood vessel
damage causes clots to obstruct circulation,
leading to tissue death. Researchers in Finland
reported that while the annual incidence of mild
(13%) and severe frostbite (1%) tends to be
more common in men and people with exposure
to cold at work, such cases are also associated
with leisure activities. Among the factors that
Toes blackened and damaged from Frostbite. Photograph by Thomas Mcavoy for Life magazine. Facing page: Frostbitten hand of a member of the British Antarctic Expedition 1910–1913. Image courtesy the Scott Polar Research Institute, UNiversity of Cambridge..
your health and safety in the field
increase frostbite risk are diabetes, cardiac conditions, peripheral vascular spasm (Raynaud’s
phenomenon), and heavy alcohol consumption.
The surface areas of structures farthest from
the heart—ears, nose, fingers, and toes—are
most
susceptible
because the body
conserves heat by
first
constricting
vessels to organs
non-essential
to
life. Feet are particularly susceptible
through
mechanical trauma and
moisture condensation. According to
Swedish research,
moisture in footwear
is the most important variable that
affects thermal insulation and comfort.
Moisture in combination with motion may reduce
insulation and thus protection against cold by
45 percent. So foot protection and comfort is
essential.
The first principle in management of cold
injuries is to prevent hypothermia, which starts
the cascade of physiological responses leading
to tissue injury. Maintenance of heat production
requires proper attention to food, exercise, and
insulation with nonconstrictive clothing and protection from moisture.
If frostbite develops, the best treatment is
rapid and continued submersion in warm water
(40º–41ºC/104–107ºF) for at least 30 minutes. But this is often very difficult in the field
because it requires sufficient fuel and water for
a complete thaw and the temperature must be
tightly controlled, which is best managed with a
thermometer. Too much heat or the dry heat from
a fire can desiccate tissue and extend the damage. It is much better not to thaw the body part if
there is a chance of a refreeze, which will result
in even greater damage. Do not massage the
body part to minimize further trauma to the damaged tissue. As the body part thaws, it will turn
red as blood flow returns but nerve reactivation
will cause pain and strong medication may be
needed. Blister formation after thawing suggests
more severe injury, especially if filled with blood.
The body part should be wrapped with sterile
bandages with pads between digits and elevated. Rapid evacuation should be initiated. If you
are in a location with access to the Internet or a
satellite phone, digital images can allow
immediate access
to hospital-based
specialists who can
assess cold injuries
and advise on early
field care.
Tissue is also
susceptible to nonfreezing cold injury.
Chilblain is a condition characterized
by itchy, painful,
swollen skin after
a few hours of exposure. Pernio is a
similar condition after longer exposure and presents with reddened
skin in addition to the other symptoms. Early
administration of analgesia and the avoidance of
secondary exposure are important. Both these
conditions resolve after drying and rewarming
with no prolonged damage.
Trenchfoot is a much more serious condition that results from several days of cold, wet
feet. The white, cold feet become red, hot,
and painful after warming and these symptoms
intensify over the next few weeks; permanent
hypersensitivity and disability is possible. All
of these conditions emphasize the need to
keep feet warm and dry.
Frostbitten areas may take weeks to reveal
dead tissue. The condition from which tissue
recovers within a few days without permanent
damage is sometimes called frostnip. With actual frostbite, the salvaged tissue may remain
cold-sensitive for years. This was impressed
upon me by a patient who, as a young Marine
decades ago, fought his way out of the Choisin
Reservoir in deep winter during the Korean War.
He complained more about the continued effects of his frostbite than the surgical problem
that required my services.
So bundle up, keep your feet dry and warm,
and come inside for the spirits!
the explorers journal
Extreme Cuisine
food for the epicurean adventurer
by Linda Frederick Yaffe
“…one strong cup of te a is bet ter than t went y
we ak ones. …the te a should be put str aight into
the pot…if the te a is not loose in the pot it never
infuses properly.”
—George Orwell, A Nice Cup of Tea, 1946
There is no reason to forego a nice cup of tea
anywhere in the world. Not only cheering and
welcome, tea is included in many trekkers’ safety
kits. Hot tea—taken with a sweet snack as soon
as you begin to feel cold—could preclude a more
serious core body temperature chill. Pack loose
tea: it makes a tastier brew and leaves no soggy
56
teabags to pack out. Paper tea bags take years
to decompose and should never be left in camp.
Carry an interesting assortment of your favorite
loose teas—premeasured for one teapot in bags
if you’re backpacking—and savor a bracing
cup anywhere, along with a ready-to-eat sweet
homemade snack.
Biography
A California-based writer, Linda Frederick Yaffe is the author of Backpack Gourmet, High Trail Cookery, and the recently
released Solar Cooking for Home and Camp.
Tenzing Norgay and Sir Edmund P. Hillary enjoy a fine cup of tea following their successful ascent of Everest on May 29, 1953. Photograph by George Band, Copyright Royal Geographical Society
teatime in the outback
Ou t b a ck T e a
The equipment is simple and lightweight: a lidded cooking pot, cups, some loose
leaf tea, and one square foot of nylon net.
1. Bring to a full boil as many cups of treated water as you want
cups of tea.
ensure a future
for the world center
for exploration!
2. Turn off stove and add to pot:
1 to 2 teaspoons loose tea leaves per cup
3. Quickly cover the pot, swirl the leaves, and let steep for 3
minutes.
4. Stretch a piece of fine mesh nylon net across the side of the
pot and strain the tea into the cups.
5. After you have enjoyed your tea, widely disperse the tea
leaves, shake the nylon net to clean it, and pack it away with
the pot and cups.
E ng l i s h E ne rg y B a r s
makes 24; weight for 1 serving = 1½ ounces
1. Oil a 10 × 13-inch glass casserole dish.
2. Gently heat in a skillet or saucepan just until bubbling:
• 8 ounces English toffee bits
• ¾ cup honey
3. Meanwhile, place in a large bowl:
• 9 cups puffed rice cereal
The Lowell Thomas
Building preserve a
brick campaign
4. Pour the toffee mixture over the cereal and stir. Let cool for
5 minutes then add and mix well:
• 4 ounces coarsely broken bittersweet chocolate
5. Press firmly into the casserole dish. Cover and refrigerate
for 2 hours. Bring to room temperature, then cut into
24 squares. Wrap individually before storing at room
temperature.
Appl e- Coc on u t
Roll- Ups
makes 16; weight for 1 serving = 0.5 ounces
1. Dry-toast in a skillet until light brown, then set aside:
• ½ cup sweetened, flaked coconut
2. Cover 4 mesh dehydrator trays with oven parchment paper,
then lightly oil the paper.
3. Spread on the trays, one cup per tray, to form 8-inch-diameter
circles:
• 4 cups homemade or commercial applesauce
4. Sprinkle the toasted coconut evenly over the
applesauce circles.
5. Dehydrate at 145ºF. for 7 hours, or until firm and leathery.
6. While still warm, roll up the dried applesauce sheets and cut
Founded in 1904 “to promote exploration
by all means possible,” The Explorers
Club© has become the premier resource
for expedition planning and research.
This fabled venue has also played a primary role for those pushing the limits of
knowledge and human endurance as a
place to share the results of their expeditions with the greater public.
Today, we have embarked on a multiphase restoration of our historic headquarters and the extraordinary archives
it houses—phase 1 will cost an estimated
$1.5 million. To underwrite this effort,
we are offering for sale “virtual bricks.”
The purchase of bricks—which cost $50
each—will enable us to procure the necessary materials and expertise to carry
out this important project.
To learn more, please contact President
Lorie M.L. Karnath at 212-628-8383, or
e-mail: [email protected].
each roll into 4 pieces.
7. Let cool completely before storing in 1-serving-size bags.
the explorers club
46 East 70th Street, New York, NY 10021
212-628-8383 www.explorers.org
reviews
edited by Milbry C. Polk
Terra Antarctica
a film by Jon Bowemaster
48 minutes • Oceans 8 Films; 2009
• www.jonbowermaster.com/store.php
• $20 • Reviewed by Angela M.H. Schuster
“In Antarctica, it is all
about the ice,” renowned
58
kayaker and filmmaker Jon
Bowermaster tells us in the
opening scenes of his latest
film, Terra Antarctica, an
inspiring audiovisual ode to
one of the most beautiful,
and fragile, landscapes on
Earth. Bowermaster, who
has spent the better part
of three decades kayaking around the globe, had
made numerous forays to
Antarctica prior to the expedition documented in this
film. And, in doing so, he
had witnessed firsthand the
environmental changes taking place in this remote and
largely inaccessible part of
the world.
Bowermaster and his
kayaking team call on a collection of research stations
charged with environmental
monitoring. Although the
Antarctic Treaty mandates
that Antarctica is to be set
aside as a scientific preserve, free of military activity, Bowermaster highlights
the financial and logistical
challenges nations face
in maintaining their tenuous toeholds on the White
Continent. Some, he notes,
have resorted to staffing
their stations with military
personnel, just to keep their
bases open. Terra Antarctica
succeeds in conveying the
sheer scale of the continent
and its relative desolation.
Among the most dramatic
sequences in the film are
those of a collapsing ice
arch—which crumbles piece
by frozen piece—and an informative presentation of the
annual waxing and waning of
the Antarctic Ice Sheet.
RE VIE WS
He cautions that when you
encounter a live wire, don’t test
it with your palm, as the reflex
action will cause your hand to
grip the wire. Explorers Club
members will be amused at
the often pithy contributions
of familiar members like Jim
Fowler. Wiese ends by saying
that explorers should to “give
back” and a few examples he
gives of what others have done
are inspirational.
Born to Explore
How to Be a Back yard Adventurer
by Richard Wiese
368 pp • New York: Harper paperbacks,
2009 • ISBN-10: 006144958X, ISBN-13: 9780061449581 • $18.99
Former
Explorers
Club
President Richard Wiese has
written Born to Explore: How
To Be a Backyard Adventurer,
a how-to outdoor guide for
kids. Wiese says the inspiration for this book came about
during a trip to Antarctica with
Students on Ice, a group of
high schoolers led by Geoff
Green, who were learning to
be ambassadors for the polar
regions. Wiese’s tone is informative, sometimes personal,
and instructional. Some of
his suggestions require more
commitment and technical
expertise such as building the
“six hour” canoe or making
a thumb piano. His “Altoid”
survival kit is also quite clever.
Wiese points out that the
inside cover can double as a
reflector. Since much is based
on Wiese’s own experience,
we hope his advice on how to
engage with electrified wire
did not come at a great cost.
The Lost City of Z
A Tale of Deadly Obsession in the Amazon
by David Grann
352 pp • New York: Doubleday, 2009
• ISBN-10: 0385513534, ISBN-13: 9780385513531 • $27.50
While serving in North Africa
with the British Secret Service,
Colonel
Percy
Harrison
Fawcett learned to survey and
make maps, a skill he took with
him on subsequent expeditions
to South America to explore
unknown territory for the Royal
Geographical Society. On
one of his expeditions to the
Amazon he claimed to have
discovered an ancient city.
In 1925, Fawcett—who had
since morphed into a daredevil
adventurer with an admiring
public hungry for his adventure
stories (the character Indiana
Jones is based on him)—took
off in a swirl of press with his
twenty-one-year-old son and a
friend to search for the City of
Z, convinced it was the source
of the legendary El Dorado.
When they failed to return, the
ensuing media frenzy lured
scores of others to search for
the lost explorers and the fabled
city. Many of them also never
returned. New Yorker writer
David Grann came across the
story of Fawcett while doing
research on Arthur Conan
Doyle’s novel The Lost World
and was, like countless others,
hooked. He had the added
advantage of discovering an
untapped trove of Fawcett’s diaries, which convinced him he
had a real chance of success.
One crucial clue Grann found
in Fawcett’s papers was that
he had deliberately changed
the location of the city to throw
others off the trail. Grann
admits that he is not the exploring type, yet even he ventured
into the Amazon to search for
clues. Grann’s book, The Lost
City of Z, comes along at a
time when archaeologists like
Anna C. Roosevelt and others
have challenged the long-held
belief that the Amazon was
an untouched wilderness.
Roosevelt’s discoveries are
pointing to a very different picture of precontact Amazonia,
which give credence to the
reality of Fawcett’s lost city.
Grann’s own expedition has
surprising results. This is a
grand adventure and a great
detective story. Can’t wait for
the movie.
the explorers journal
RE VIE WS
The Place Where
You Go to Listen
In Search of an Ecology of Music
by John Luther Adams,
foreword by Alex Ross
180 pp • Middletown, Ct: Wesleyan,
2009 • ISBN-10: 0819569038, ISBN-13: 9780819569035 • $24.95
The music of the spheres
was first hypothesized by
Pythagoras as a harmonic
or mathematical way of understanding the relationship
of the movement of heavenly
bodies. Musician John Luther
Adams’
wondrous
book,
The Place Where You Go
to Listen: In Search of an
Ecology of Music, chronicles,
much like an expedition diary,
the discovery, exploration, and
creation of a unique fusion of
music and the natural world.
Adams’ goal was to transform
the ever-changing sound
waves created by natural phenomenon—the Aurora borealis,
a phenomenon others have
reported as having a sound
component; the motion of the
Earth’s plates; the cycles of
the Moon; and the movement
of the sun—into color and music. What motivated him was
his desire to reinstate the bond
he believes humans once had
with their natural surroundings,
and to try to instill harmony
again.
60
He begins his journey with
noise, “the sound of chaos,”
out of which rose the “patterns
that connect us to everything
around us.” Like all explorers,
he relied on maps to find his
way and on inspiration drawn
from
indigenous
peoples
throughout the world, who still
find musical harmony in their
surroundings. Adams says,
“Our individual and collective
identities are fundamentally
shaped by the places we inhabit. But in recent times we’ve
lost many of our deepest connections with place. And as
we’ve forgotten where we are,
we’ve also forgotten who we
are.” Adams’ Place Where You
Go to Listen gives us back this
profound sense of place.
T h e L a nd o f E a g l e s
Riding through Europe’s Forgotten Country
by Robin Hanbury-Tenison
224 pp • London: I B Tauris, 2009 • ISBN10: 1845118553, ISBN-13: 978-1845118556
• $35 • Reviewed by Nick Smith
Recent books by Robin
Hanbury-Tenison have tended
to be either autobiographical or works of reference.
And while his two-part
autobiography—Worlds Within
and Worlds Apart—and the
new edition of the Oxford
Book of Exploration have been
welcome, what we’ve all been
waiting for is a proper travel
yarn from the veteran explorer,
the man the Sunday Times
named one of the top thousand people of the twentieth
century.
It was certainly worth the
wait, because Land of Eagles,
Hanbury-Tenison’s
account
of his horseback expedition through the little-known
European country of Albania,
is almost certainly his best
book to date. On the one hand,
it is a homage to the English
Romantic poet Lord Byron,
who famously rode through
this rugged land during the
days of the Grand Tour. On the
other, it is a beautifully crafted
exemplum of travel writing at
its best—the sort of travel book
Eric Newby used to write.
Interspersed with digressions and contemplations on
the history of Albania, Land of
Eagles reveals an anomalous
country—the only truly Islamic
member state in the 27country European Union. It has
had more than its fair share of
invasions, bloodshed, ethnic
cleansing, and political upheaval over the centuries. But paradoxically, from the twenty-firstcentury perspective at least, as
Hanbury-Tenison points out, it
is also one of the most remote
and traditional countries in a
fast-changing Europe, which
has apparently forgotten about
it. This volume is destined to
become required reading for
those who want to learn more
about this fascinating country.
THE EXPLORERS CLU B c h a p t e r c h a i r s
46 east 70th street, New York, NY 10021 I 212-628-8383 I www.explorers.org
N at ion a l ch a p t er ch a irs
Al a sk a
John J. Kelley, Ph.D.
Tel: 907-479-5989
Fax: 907-479-5990
[email protected]
At l a n ta
Roy Alexander Wallace
Tel: 404-237-5098
Fax: 404-231-5228
[email protected]
Ce n t r a l Fl or id a
G. Michael Harris
Tel: 727-584-2883
Fax: 727-585-6078
[email protected]
Chi c a g o / G r e at L a k e s
James S. Westerman
Tel: 312-671-2800
Fax: 312-280-7326
[email protected]
G eorg e Rog e r s Cl a r k
Joseph E. Ricketts
Tel/Fax: 937-885-2477
[email protected]
G r e at e r P ie dm on t
John Adams Hodge
Tel: 803-779-3080
Fax: 803-765-1243
[email protected]
J u p i t e r Fl or id a
Rosemarie Twinam
Tel: 772-219-1970
Fax: 772-283-3497
[email protected]
Ne w E n g l a n d
Gregory Deyermenjian
Tel: 978-927-8827, ext. 128
Fax: 978-927-9182
[email protected]
N or t h Pa cif i c Al a sk a
Mead Treadwell
Tel: 907-258-7764
Fax: 907-258-7768
[email protected]
N or t he r n C a l if or ni a
Alan H. Nichols, J.D., D.S.
Tel: 415-789-9348
Fax: 415-789-9348
[email protected]
in t er N at ion a l ch a p t er ch a irs
Pa cif i c N or t h w e s t
A rg e n t in a
P hil a d e lp hi a
A u s t r a l i a - Ne w Z e a l a n d
Rock y M o u n ta in
Canadian
Ed Sobey, Ph.D.
Tel: 206-240-1516
[email protected]
Doug Soroka
Tel: 215-257-4588
[email protected]
Karyn Sawyer
Tel: 303-717-8863
[email protected]
S a n D ieg o
Hugo Castello, Ph.D.
Fax: 54 11 4 982 5243/4494
[email protected]
Christopher A. Bray
Tel: 61-403-823-418
[email protected]
Amanda S. Glickman
Tel: 250-202-2760
[email protected]
www.explorersclub.ca
Capt. Robert “Rio” Hahn
Tel: 760-723-2318
Fax: 760-723-3326
[email protected]
E a s t As i a
S o u t he r n C a l if or ni a
G r e at Br i ta in
S o u t he r n Fl or id a
I ce l a n d
David A. Dolan, FRGS
Tel. 949-307-9182
[email protected]
Pamela L. Stephany
954-568-5938
[email protected]
Southwest
Brian Hanson (Chapter Liaison)
Tel: 512-266-7851
[email protected]
S o u t h w e s t Fl or id a
Jim Thompson
Tel: 727-204-4550
[email protected]
S t. L o u i s
Mabel Purkerson, M.D.
Tel: 314-994-1649
[email protected]
Texas
C. William Steele
Tel: 214-770-4712
Fax: 972-580-7870
[email protected]
Wa s hin g t on , D C
Polly A. Penhale, Ph.D.
Tel: 703-292-7420
Fax: 703-292-9080
[email protected]
Steven R. Schwankert
Tel: 86 1350 116 3629
[email protected]
Barry L. Moss
Tel: 44 020 8992 7178
[email protected]
Haraldur Örn Ólafsson
Tel: 354 545 8551
Fax: 354 562 1289
[email protected]
N or way
Hans-Erik Hansen
Home Tel: 47 22-458-205
Work Tel: 47 67-138-559
[email protected]
P ol a n d
Monika M. Rogozinska
Tel: 48-22-8484630
Fax: 48-22-8-484630
[email protected]
Ru ss i a
Alexander Borodin
Tel: 7-095-973-2415
[email protected]
S o u t h As i a
Mandip S. Soin
Tel: 91-11- 26460244
Fax: 91-11-26460245
[email protected]
W e s t e r n Eu ro p e
Robert E. Roethenmund
Tel: 49-173-611-66-55
[email protected]
RE VIE WS
You want to go where?
How to ge t someone to pay for the
trip of your Dreams
by Jeff Blumenfeld
244 pp • New York: Skyhorse
Publishing, 2009 • ISBN-10: 1602396477,
ISBN-13: 978-1602396470 • $24.95
Jeff Blumenfeld has drawn
equally on his years of publishing Expedition News, an
informative monthly newsletter
for the exploration community,
and on his years working as
a public relations specialist
in what he calls “adventure
marketing,” to provide unique
insight into the ins and outs
and ups and down of financing expeditions. In his book,
You Want To Go Where?, he
points out right away that most
of the expeditions we know
from history were supported
by political leaders, mercantile
organizations, or the military.
Today, we look to the titans
of industry and foundations to
help us live our big dream.
One key, Blumenfeld says, is
to be able to cogently answer
the “so what” question. You
must be able to artfully tell
a funder why this expedition
is important to do. Next, find
a charitable tie-in. Everyone
needs a hook to get his or
her story noticed. Blumenfeld
makes the distinction between
expeditions for scientific purposes and adventure trips.
Among the projects he profiles
are Norman Vaughan’s expedition to Antarctic to climb a
mountain named for him, blind
climber Erik Weihenmayer’s
Everest expedition, and Dan
Buettner’s MayaQuest expedition of the mid-1990s. Buettner
was among the first to have
people to follow his expedition
in real time via the emerging
Internet. Blumenfeld’s book is
a great resource for explorers
and others who want to turn a
lifelong dream into reality.
Huautla
Thirt y Years In One Of The World’s
Deepest Caves
by C. William Steele
269 pp • DAYTON, OHIO: CAVE BOOKS,
2009 • ISBN 978-0-939748-70-9• $24.95 •
Reviewed by Jim Chester
Huautla: Thirty Years in
One of the World’s Deepest
Caves by C. William Steele
is far more than an account
of incredible exploration. It
is a thought-provoking book
that chronicles the 32-year
investigation
of
Sistema
Huautla—a seven-cave system
in the Mexico state of Oaxaca.
At -1,475 meters (-4,839
feet) Sistema Huautla is the
twelfth deepest cave in the
world with 20 entrances and
62 kilometers (39 miles) of
passages.
Cave exploration is something out of the ordinary that
requires equally extraordinary
effort to handle it. In other
words, it can be serious stuff,
especially in places like
Sistema Huautla where death
just “licks it chops” at a miscue. As might be expected,
people like Steele wouldn’t be
wandering these underground
chasms unless they were
“pretty darn good.” As Steele
tells us, egos are high; demand
for expertise is even higher.
The mix can lead to personal
drama as well as incredible
feats of exploration. It is all in
this book. I might add that this
story is entirely played out in
the shroud of eternal darkness.
Steele, whose name is
synonymous with Mexico cave
exploration, joined this effort in
1977 and has been with it ever
since. He can also write. If you
have ever been just a little curious about these odd ducks
who live for the stygian places
on our planet, or have thought
about what it would be like to
be somewhere as remote as
the surface of the Moon with
a mountain wrapped around
you, this book will set you
firmly on the edge of your seat.
THE EXPLORERS CLUB LEGACY SOCIETY
“As the Founding Chairman of
our Legacy Society, I know the
important role it plays in assuring
a strong future for our Club. If
you make a bequest to The Legacy
Society, as I have done, be sure to
specify that those funds are to be
added to the Legacy Endowment!
Join us!”
—William E. Phillips, MR’90
Robert J. Atwater
Capt. Norman L. Baker
Barbara Ballard
Robert D. Ballard, Ph.D.
Samuel B. Ballen
Mark Gregory Bayuk
Daniel A. Bennett
Josh Bernstein
John R. Bockstoce, D.Phil.
Bjorn G. Bolstad
Capt. Bruce M. Bongar, Ph.D.
Garrett R. Bowden
Harry Davis Brooks
Lt. Col. Jewell Richard Browder*
August “Augie” Brown
John C.D. Bruno
Lee R. Bynum*
Virginia Castagnola Hunter
Julianne M. Chase, Ph.D.
Maj. Gen. Arthur W. Clark,
USAF (Ret.)
Leslie E. Colby
Jonathan M. Conrad
Catherine Nixon Cooke
Constance Difede
Mr. & Mrs. James Donovan
Col. William H. Dribben, USA
(Ret.)*
Sylvia A. Earle, Ph.D.
Lee M. Elman
Michael L. Finn
Robert L. Fisher, Ph.D.
John W. Flint
Kay Foster
James M. Fowler
W. Roger Fry
Alfred C. Glassell, Jr.
George W. Gowen
Randall A. Greene
Jean Charles Michel Guite
Capt. Robert “Rio” Hahn
Allan C. Hamilton
Scott W. Hamilton
O. Winston “Bud” Hampton,
Ph.D.
Brian P. Hanson
James H. Hardy, M.D.
Judith Heath
Robert A. Hemm
Gary “Doc” Hermalyn, Ph.D.
Lotsie Hermann Holton
Charles B. Huestis
Robert Edgar Hyman
J.P. Morgan Charitable Trust
Robert M. Jackson, M.D.
Kenneth M. Kamler, M.D.
Prince Joli Kansil
Lorie M.L. Karnath
Anthony G. Kehle, III
Anne B. Keiser
Kathryn Kiplinger
Thomas R. Kuhns, M.D.
Hannah B. Kurzweil
Carl C. Landegger
Bill Phillips in Zermatt
Michael S. Levin
Florence Lewisohn Trust
J. Roland Lieber
Michael Luzich
James E. Lockwood, Jr.*
Jose Loeb
John H. Loret, Ph.D., D.Sc.
Margaret D. Lowman, Ph.D.
Robert H. Malott
Leslie Mandel
Robert E. McCarthy*
George E. McCown
Capt. Alfred S. McLaren,
Ph.D., USN (Ret.)
Lorus T. Milne, Ph.D.
James M. Mitchelhill*
Arnold H. Neis
Walter P. Noonan
Martin T. Nweeia, D.D.S.
Dr. John W. Olsen
Kathleen Parker
Alese & Morton Pechter
William E. Phillips
Prof. Mabel L. Purkerson, M.D.
Roland R. Puton
Mabel Dorn Reader*
Dimitri Rebikoff*
John T. Reilly, Ph.D.
Adrian Richards, Ph.D.
Bruce E. Rippeteau, Ph.D.
Merle Greene Robertson, Ph.D.
Otto E. Roethenmund
James Beeland Rogers, Jr.
Rudy L. Ruggles, Jr.
Gene M. Rurka
Avery B. Russell
David J. Saul, Ph.D.
Willets H. Sawyer, III
A. Harvey Schreter*
Mr. & Mrs. Donald Segur
Walter Shropshire, Jr., Ph.D.,
M.Div.
Theodore M. Siouris
William J. L. Sladen, M.D.,
D.Phil.
Susan Deborah Smilow
Sally A. Spencer
Pamela L. Stephany
Ronnie & Allan Streichler
Arthur O. Sulzberger
Vernon F. Taylor, III
Mitchell Terk, M.D.
C. Frederick Thompson, II
James “Buddy” Thompson
Marc Verstraete Van de Weyer
Robert C. Vaughn
Ann Marks Volkwein
Leonard A. Weakley, Jr.
William G. Wellington, Ph.D.
Robert H. Whitby
Julius Wile*
Holly Williams
Francis A. Wodal*
* Deceased
A s l on g a s t h e r e i s Th e Ex pl or e r s Clu b,
you r n a m e w i l l b e li s ted a s a m e m b e r of Th e L ega c y S o c i et y.
THE L EGACY S OCIETY COMMITTEE
Theodore M.Siouris (Chairman), Robert J. Atwater,
August “Augie” Brown, George W. Gowen, Scott W. Hamilton,
Brian P. Hanson, Peter Hess, Helen Kahn, Kathryn Kiplinger,
William E. Phillips, Mabel L. Purkerson, Jack Rinehart, and Jim Thompson
for additional
information
contact
the explorers club
46 East 70th Street
New York, NY 10021
212-628-8383
[email protected]
WHAT WERE THEY THINKING ?
great moments in exploration as told to Jim Clash
On top of the world
with Jamling Tenzing Norgay
Jamling Tenzing Norgay had yet to be born when his
father, Tenzing Norgay, conquered Mt. Everest with Sir
Edmund P. Hillary in 1953. Yet, he was destined to stand
atop the 8,850-meter (29,035 foot) summit himself as part
of the 1996 expedition that made the IMAX film Everest.
JC: You were filming on Everest in 1996 when
those eight climbers perished.
JTN: It was our day to summit. When we saw the
inexperienced climbers going up, we decided
to wait. People were high on the mountain too
late. At 3:30 p.m. [turnaround was at 2], guys
were still climbing up. Through the telescope we
could see a line going toward the summit. The
weather played a major role, but it wouldn’t have
had they gotten up and down faster.
JC: Let’s talk about your own summit day, two
weeks later.
JTN: My desire to climb Everest grew after my
father died in 1986. I wanted to climb to understand him. At a lot of places on the mountain, I
imagined what those guys were thinking, where
they might have slept. On our final day, halfway
up from the South Col, I was really strong. I felt
my father was in front, pulling me, or behind
64
pushing me, because I didn’t know where this
energy came from.
JC: Your thoughts at the top?
JTN: I took my goggles and mask off, and cried.
Then I thanked Miyolangsangma [the goddess
of Everest] and left photos of my parents and
His Holiness the Dalai Lama, and a toy that
belonged to my daughter, Deki. I could see my
dad there, right in front of me, with a big smile.
He was telling me, “You know, you didn’t have to
come this far.” And then I realized, I really didn’t
have to climb the mountain to understand him.
The irony was that I had to climb the mountain to
find out that I didn’t have to climb the mountain.
JC: Your summit pose was the mirror image of
your dad’s.
JTN: Since Hillary took the picture of my father in
that famous pose—with one hand up holding the
ice ax and flags—I thought it would be nice to do
the same photo of me. I tried to strike the pose,
but I had the wrong hand up!
For more of Jim Clash’s columns/videos, see www.forbes.
com/tothelimits or www.youtube.com/jimclash.
the explorers journal
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