by RJ Corgan
“Is Jason the ex you aren’t talking about?” Bruce asked with a grin.
“Exactly,” Kea said firmly. “Talking about it no more will I. The day has been long enough.”
“What about that one?” Bruce indicated the edge of the field with his chin. “He looks like trouble.”
“Who?” Kea followed his gaze to see Tony walking along the line of tents, his hands jammed into the pockets of his windbreaker. “Oh, him. That’s Marcus’ graduate student.”
“He seemed very friendly with the girl at the visitor center,” Bruce observed with amusement.
“Yes,” Kea agreed carefully. “He’s is quite a fan of Ísadóra.” She hoped Tony knew what he was doing. The young Icelandic woman’s father ran a supply store in Reykjavík. In addition to owning the company they were renting the jeep from, he was a tremendous tank of a man.
“Is he a good guy?” Bruce pressed.
“Tony?” Kea considered. As far as she knew, Tony was engaged to Jennifer, a biology graduate student back at the university. Over the last two months with no Jennifer around, Ísadóra appeared to have fit the bill. “He’s... very good at his job.” She took another long sip, letting the drink warm her throat. Exhaustion numbed her mind, lowering her defenses. “I have to say...” she gave her friend a long, honest look. “You look like something Death threw up.”
Bruce roared. “Now that’s the Kea I remember. And thanks.”
“Anytime.” She laughed along with him, but followed up with, “So, what’s up?”
“Long days.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose and gave a little snort. “And longer nights. We lost a key person recently, Andrea, who was just fantastic. Not that start-ups aren’t tough enough.”
“I got that impression.” Kea remembered Max and Derek mentioning Andrea. “Tempers do seem to be running high.”
“Yeah well, we’ve all had a rough couple of months. We’re hoping this,” Bruce gestured at the kids, the mountain, the sky, “gets everyone to chill out a bit.”
“This ain’t Turks and Caicos,” she pointed out. “I can’t promise to chill them out, but I can guarantee eight days of hard labor.”
“Like I said,” Bruce smiled grimly, “team building.”
To Kea, team building exercises implied resolving pre-existing conflicts, airing embarrassing personnel issues, and sometimes resulted in discrimination lawsuits. In short, drama.
“While it is great to see you,” she said carefully, “I do feel the need to remind you that our team is here to do science.” She recalled how the group had shifted their tents into two separate encampments. Even at dinner in the visitor center, the split between the teams had been even more marked, with the Corvis group taking their food back to the main tent. “Not to mend emotional divides. Otherwise, we’d charge a lot more.
“We’re not direct competitors,” Bruce explained. “Corvis does engineering, and we’re just software development. We have teamed up on a couple of projects, but lately, things have been a bit strained, financially.”
She waited, but this time Bruce seemed content to let the conversation stall. For the sake of her own team, she pressed one last question. “Is there anyone I should watch out for?”
He seemed hesitant to reply. “In what way?”
She considered how to phrase the question without being offensive. “Well, you know, aggressive, reckless troublemakers. That sort of thing.”
“Kea, we’re two startup companies made up of engineers and developers desperate to make a fortune,” Bruce answered quietly. “We’re all aggressive, reckless troublemakers.”
Kea stared sadly at the gooey remains of the hot chocolate powder that hugged the bottom of her mug. “Oh goody.”
Chapter 3
Day Two
Kea stared at her reflection in the jeep’s mud-spattered side mirror. A tired face smeared with streaks of white sunblock blinked back from behind the scratched frames of her old glasses. While she could get away with wearing her contacts around the shelter of the grassy campsite, the high winds and loose grit on Skeiðarársandur made them impractical. The unfamiliar weight of the frames on her nose made her feel insecure and awkward, as if she were back in grade school.
She gripped the armrest fiercely as Julie took the turn off the highway and juddered onto the dirt track that led toward the glacier Skeiðarárjökull. Glancing back at the volunteers crammed in the back of the jeep, she saw them chatting and laughing, oblivious to the shaking and skidding of the tires. The instant coffee had done little to reinvigorate her spirits, and as she watched the landscape bounce past her window, she willed her brain to wake up.
The track traversed an old floodplain, an irregular expanse of sand that stretched out for kilometers on either side, covered with patches of moss and fine grass. The land was pockmarked by huge circular depressions that grew progressively wider as they got closer to the glacier. It looked like someone had carpet-bombed the entire plain. These gaping cavities, called kettle holes, were formed by gigantic ice blocks that had been ripped out of the glacier margin and became stranded and then buried by the floods.
Julie hit another turn too quickly, and Kea’s stomach lurched as they sped up the dirt ramp to the Háöldukvísl dam before screeching to a halt. With a sigh of relief, Kea stepped out to supervise the unloading of the volunteers. She used the opportunity to survey the dam. Plowed into place from sand and gravel a few decades ago, it had been constructed by the Icelandic Roads Authority. The dam was erected due to concerns that flood waters would wipe out the highway bridges, as they had in 1996.
No danger of that now, Kea thought, looking across the vast trench that lay between the dam and the snout of the glacier. To the east lay Öræfajökull, its crisp white peaks basking in the bright morning sun. To the west rose the dark wall of Lómagnúpur, its upper reaches swathed in mist. To the north, between the dam and the glacier margin lay a series of broad lakes and innumerable swarms of braided streams and channels that crisscrossed the depression. In the 1940’s, the ice would have nestled right up to the jeep, but today the glacier was a dark form that slumbered up the valley, four kilometers distant.
She often thought of the glacier like a giant thumb pressing down on a hose. The bigger the thumb and the harder it pressed, the more river channels were squeezed out onto the sandur. Now that the thumb was retreating up the mountain - more like an index finger now -it left the remaining river, the Gígjukvísl, draining the middle of the enormous valley. While still an imposing channel in its own right, the Gígjukvísl was nothing compared to the five channels that had dominated this plain for a century. The retreat of the drainage basin into the depression left the Háöldukvísl drainage channel, and the dam, high and dry.
Kea shielded her eyes from the sun and considered the rapid retreat of the glacier over the last decade. It seemed as if it was crawling shamefully back into the embrace of its mother, Vatnajökull. I’ve given up for now, the glacier seemed to be saying. But I’ll be back, just you wait. Someday.
I hope so, she thought mournfully.
Marcus called for everyone’s attention. He had propped up a large laminated map on the back of the jeep and started scribbling on it with a dry erase marker.
“The first word we’d like you to learn,” Marcus began, not waiting for Kea to join him, “and my personal favorite, is jökulhlaup. This is the Icelandic term for large floods that emerge from a glacier. Jökull means glacier, while hlaup means running. These large-scale outburst floods may be caused by the release of water trapped within the glacier due to melt, severe rainfall, or even volcanic activity. Here we have not just volcanic activity as a source, but additionally, Lake Grænalón,” he pointed on the map to a spot in the mountains where a large lake lay alongside the glacier, “which can also drain if the water can generate enough pressure to lift the ice dam.”
Marcus seemed so energized, so eager to please the crowd, that Kea couldn’t help but wonder why the thought of destroying his career de
lighted her so much. If only he would just stay out of her way and let her get on with her work.
Or, she reflected, am I just still holding a grudge against Carlyle for engineering this whole scenario?
Both, she decided. Definitely both.
As Marcus reeled off figures of the last great flood in 1996, Kea noticed that most of the team appeared to be paying attention, or at least taking photographs of the landscape and nodding occasionally. Bonnie was smiling politely, but Kea could tell that her mind was somewhere else. One girl in a tank-top, Nadia, was playing a game on her phone, furiously jabbing away with her thumbs. She appeared unimpressed when Marcus revealed that the flood’s discharge had rivaled that of the Amazon River. Several of the other volunteers were blinking slowly, trying to keep awake.
Kea walked to the front of the crowd and caught Marcus’ eyes. She gently rubbed her throat, hoping he’d take the hint. Oblivious, he looked past her and continued discussing the implications of glacial overburden pressure on sub-glacial drainage regimes.
“We want you to understand why we’re here,” Kea leaped in once Marcus paused to draw breath. “The big ‘what is this all about,’ if you will.”
Marcus finally took her cue. “Indeed. These floods and the surges, the rapid advances, are all mechanisms that we think would be similar to those at work within continental ice sheets that were active during the ice ages. The retreat of the glaciers here, and the resulting exposed landforms, provide us with an opportunity to understand the processes that may have formed the similar landscapes under the ice sheets during the last ice age…”
Kea drifted back to check on her equipment in the trailer while Julie and Tony took up the narrative, thanking the volunteers for their time. Without their assistance, they pointed out, they would never be able to collect all the data they needed for their graduate work, given that the glacier itself was over twenty kilometers across.
Once they had finished wrapping up the safety briefing, Marcus herded the team across the dirt parking lot, Dr. Carlyle’s walking stick held high, Kea noted. She had spent ten minutes this morning searching through the crates looking for the wretched thing.
I should have guessed he’d steal it.
“We’re going to head down into the proglacial depression,” Marcus said, waving to the bottom of the steep slope, some thirty meters below. “From here, it’s a forty-minute walk to the glacier margin, but it’s fairly level. Just take it slow and steady. Remember, we’re not splitting up into teams until after we cross the lake and get on the ice. All right then, let’s head out!”
Kea, still fumbling in the back of the jeep’s trailer, shook her head in irritation. Once again, Marcus hadn’t waited for her but had taken the lead, leaving her to follow up from behind. She unlocked the secure box in the trailer where they kept the valuables and, with more force than necessary, shoved aside the satellite phones, emergency cash, and spare batteries in order to pull out the air compressor. She tucked it into her pack, locked the box and then, making sure no one was looking, hid the keys in the wheel well. They had learned from past experiences that it was better to keep the keys with the vehicles. It was difficult to evacuate someone for a medical emergency if the person with the keys to the vehicle was several kilometers away on a glacier.
She stood back up and nearly yelped in alarm: Tony’s head peered over the edge of the trailer, a delighted grin on his face. His sudden appearance was surprising enough, as he normally went out of his way to avoid her. His joyous expression also meant that he had something he wanted to share, and that was never a good thing.
“Did you hear what went down last night?” Tony came around the side of the trailer, pure delight etched into his face.
No ‘hello’ or ‘good morning? Kea sighed and placed a hand against the trailer to steady herself. “No… what?”
“Sometime last night, someone dropped anchor right in front of Max’s tent.” Tony grinned. “He stepped right in it this morning.”
“I’m sorry,” Kea said as calmly as she could, “I have no idea what you’re talking about-”
Tony giggled. “Someone left a huge, steaming pile of-”
“Enough!” Kea cut him off once the realization hit her. “You’re kidding me, right? Please tell me this is a joke.”
Tony shook his head, still smirking.
“Why didn’t someone say something?” Kea rubbed the bridge of her nose with her fingers, mentally trying to will the problem away. “You sure it wasn’t a dog or something?”
“No dogs around. I only know it happened by overhearing Erik and Jon talking on the ride out.” Tony helped Kea lift her bag out of the trailer. “Max was livid, apparently.”
“I can imagine.” The thought of a man as large and as powerful as Max, angry and soiled, did little to calm Kea’s nerves. “What happened?”
Tony shrugged. “I guess they buried it.”
“That’s not-,” Kea held up a hand to stop him from providing further details. “I meant, who did it?”
He pulled a face. “Didn’t say. They were muttering about team Corvis, of course. My money is on old Gary.”
Kea groaned. “I’m so not equipped to deal with this.”
“True,” Tony said thoughtfully, “I suppose if we could get our hands on a genetic test, we could find the owner- “
“Stop,” Kea snapped. “Just stop.” She paused, watching as the team marched away across the cobbled plain, stretching out like a line of ants as they receded into the distance. “If no one’s bothered to complain, then I guess we do nothing.”
“Seriously?” Tony seemed outraged that she wasn’t going to escalate the matter further.
“We tell Marcus and Julie,” Kea said calmly. “And when we re-group at the lake, we’ll deliver a lecture on safety, and remind them to leave the shenanigans for another time. Besides,” she added reasonably. “It could have been anyone. There are hundreds of campers at the site, and many spend every night drinking.” She pulled on her pack. “No need to create a crisis if there isn’t one,” she added as they began the slow descent down the slope to the plain below. “And try to stop enjoying this so much.”
***
As they hiked toward the ice, the group descended a giant staircase composed of dry river bottoms and lake beds. Sands and rocks of different textures formed the base of each terrace, showcasing flow conditions that had been dominant during various phases of past floods. They continued down into the widest, and lowest level, where vast plains of gravel were deposited during the most recent flooding event in 1996. The uneven terrain made for an arduous hike, particularly for those hauling the heavier gear. The long hike was unavoidable, since the shorter route along the eastern portion of the glacier was unstable, adding another two hours there and back every day. They spoke sparingly, intent on the view and carefully watching their step as they trudged across the plain.
Eric and Jon had been drafted as the main workhorses. Between them, they carried the thirty-pound bundle that held Kea’s love child, a new ‘miniaturized’ piece of gear she had convinced her old university to loan her, after much begging. Even in its miniature form, the device was still about the size of a large ice chest. She and Bonnie each had batteries stuffed in their packs to power it, no small weight either. Andrei, Marcus, and Derek took turns marching with Marcus’ thermal drill strapped to their back, the laser probe case carried between them.
The Ground Penetrating Radar kit was scattered between Julie and her team, while Fernando and Cole assisted Zoë with her gear, two large lightweight boxes that sporadic gusts of wind threatened to knock out of their grasp.
As Kea marched, the glacier margin and lakes in the distance bobbing up and down every step, never seemed to get closer. The plain was several kilometers wide, filled with nothing but sand, cobbles, and yawning kettle holes. Some rocks on the sandur were the size of her fist while others exceeded two meters in diameter.
Iceland had delivered another rare gorgeous day, lit with
bright sunshine and startlingly clear blue skies. The air in front of them shimmered as the sun warmed the sandur. White, football-sized rocks stood out against the dark sands, their forms crumbling into brittle sheaves like potato chips. Though broken, they still retained their overall shape, each slice separated by millimeters.
Freeze-thaw action, Kea judged, studying the decayed rocks. While not as dramatic as a flood, the alternating process of freezing and thawing that occurred in this region could destroy even the most durable of materials. She couldn’t help but stare at the fragmented rocks as she marched onward. No longer whole, but still retaining the overall shape of the form it once had. She felt an aching sympathy for the rocky corpses.
Oh dear, Kea thought, I’m sympathizing with a stone, that’s a new low. I may have even hit rock-bottom.
Wincing at her own pun, she saw that most of the others were far ahead. Shrugging, she forced her feet back into their plodding rhythm as she pressed on across the valley. She was so deep in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice that Nadia had slowed down to keep pace with her until she asked a question.
“Everyone’s talking about the glaciers retreating,” Nadia commented. “But the map in the visitor center showed them much further up the valley when the land was first settled.”
Kea noticed that the young woman had yet to break a sweat despite her pack. Her slender legs were hidden in her snow pants, and the arms of her jacket were tied around her waist. She wore a bright pink tank top that Kea wouldn’t have had the nerve to wear in a hundred years. “Like this was all grass and forest and stuff.”
“This area used to be very different a thousand years ago. Much more populated,” Kea agreed. She nodded to her graduate student who was a few paces ahead of them. “Although Julie’s the historical expert...”
Julie shot Kea a ‘gee thanks’ expression. “The Little Ice Age lasted approximately from 1500 to 1900 AD,” she spouted. “When the glaciers extended much further south of where they are today. Before that, however, the climate was thought to be much warmer. From the location of abandoned farms and churches, we can infer the positions of many glaciers that terminated far up the valley. Buried birch logs have been found at the foot of Skaftafellsjökull, suggesting that they’d been transported out from beneath the ice by floodwaters...”