Soon after the immense rear cargo door opened.
Sean strolled out as if this was something he did every day of the week. As he sucked in his first lungful of cold clean Greenland air, he began a conversation with a tall civilian who Lars reckoned was a Scandinavian about fifty years of age. He looked learned and carried his weight well. He wore a grey padded waistcoat and sported Chinos. His Ray Bans and the absence of a hat suggested he was aware of his appearance. As they got closer, he recognised Benny Lundt, the man he had spoken with at the climate action conference a while back.
Lars walked out to greet them. The cold air hit him hard.
‘Tikilluarit Kalaallit Nunaat, or Welcome to Greenland for the tourists among you.’
‘Have you arranged a tee-time in this land of forty shades of white?’ joked Sean as he gave Lars a hug.
‘Yes, we’ve a four-ball arranged at the indoor pitch and putt.’
Benny spoke before more golf talk got in the way.
‘I’m not on the passenger manifest but, like Sean, I couldn’t resist travelling to observe this unique experiment. As you may know, it was me who arranged the plane, the Humvees, the drones and their operators.’
‘You’re most welcome Benny,’ said Lars. ‘Great to see you again. We’ve an interesting few weeks ahead of us. And many thanks for the transport in particular. Having access to the Humvees will make our job so much easier.’
Benny was quite proud that he had not only managed to borrow two Norwegian army Bombardier Humvees and experienced drivers but also had the opportunity to have them fitted out for the tasks that lay ahead. These machines could travel in practically all conditions in sub-zero weather over snow and ice terrain. They were designed to transport heavy equipment to remote destinations. Their Vickers aluminium suspension, driven by a sprocket on each side, gave its crew an easy ride. The airtight cabin could accommodate six people in comfort in sub-zero conditions.
‘Let’s get you and the equipment to the Summit Station,’ said Lars.
‘I’ve sorted that,’ said Benny, with a wry smile.
‘I have helpful friends in high places who, when they heard what you were trying to do, offered us the use of a heavy lift military Sikorsky helicopter. We can transport all the equipment to the Summit Station, weather conditions permitting.’
‘Let’s make a start then,’ said Lars.
‘Less haste, Lars. As the helicopter will not arrive until first thing in the morning, I’ve taken the liberty of booking us into the Hotel Icefjord, one of the better accommodations in this part of the world. Time for a bit of recreation, given that we’ll be full on from tomorrow.’
Sean gazed out the window of their taxi as they drove through the town. He soon concluded it would never win the Tidy Towns Competition. Arctic clutter was everywhere: sledges in various states of disrepair, drying racks hung with halibut, seal and polar bear skins pulled taut on stretchers, construction waste, abandoned children’s toys, broken ladders, bottles, cans, containers, plastic and cardboard packaging, wires, rope and cabling, and drying clothes flapping frozen on lines.
Ilulissat’s residents kept over four thousand huskies on the perimeter of the town. The associated acrid smell of their waste permeated everywhere. Outside most houses, skimobiles lay covered on packing crates awaiting winter.
They met up before dinner and sat out on the sun-filled balcony that looked out on the array of icebergs of all shapes and sizes that filled the expanse of Disko Bay. An iceberg the size of a tennis court floated gently fifty metres from their table. In the near distance the edge of the Jacobshavn Glacier could be seen. Speed boats zigzagged across the bay transporting tourists, mainly Danes, on whale-watching and other excursions. The small shrimp fleet out of Ilulissat’s small harbour was scattered along the horizon with their brightly painted boats clearly visible amidst the icebergs. A great setting for a pre-dinner drink.
‘Try Taseq, the local craft beer.’ Lars’ frequent visits to Ilulissat gave him critical local knowledge.
‘I thought it best if we had an honest chat just among ourselves before we transfer to the Summit Station,’ said Benny. ‘Sean, once Lars told us about the features of the golf balls and their potential, we moved heaven and earth to mobilise resources to assist with the delivery of the project. In addition, and not unrelated to your meeting with Lars, our American friends decided to share some critical but unpublished data about the Greenland Ice Sheet with us.’
As he spoke there was a sound like a gunshot followed by a loud growling sound with a low pitch that seemed never ending. ‘What in the name of the Lord is that?’ exclaimed Sean.
‘Calving glaciers,’ replied Benny. ‘Get used to the constant noise. It never stops at this time of the year. You will hear the sounds of glaciers big and small cracking, splicing and falling into the sea as small icebergs day and night. We are, after all, looking at the world’s largest graveyard for maritime glaciers.’
‘What have the Americans told you?’ Lars interjected. He wanted to talk shop.
‘You were right all along, Lars, said Benny. ‘Your theory about the hollowing out of the Greenland Ice Sheet is shared by our American cousins. They base their findings on seismic records but, like us, they need to get the data that we hope Sean’s mobile friends will produce. Thankfully, they have agreed to leave us to our own devices and will not interfere with our work – even though we’re using their precious Summit Station, as I was reminded constantly!’
‘There is no such thing as a free lunch,’ chipped in Sean.
The conversation continued with a large Greenland smokehouse plate, including whale, seal, musk ox, caribou and halibut, being plenty for all. Tapas Greenland style. Several Taseqs loosened up the conversation.
‘What a sight,’ said Sean as the sun slowly lowered its yellow glow over the skyline.
Sean noticed that the ‘tennis court’ iceberg that was in front of them when they arrived had moved over the horizon on the tidal current.
It was close to midnight and still the sun shone bright. He was tired. It had been a long day. Not many people travel from Galway to the west coast of Greenland in one day.
‘You know I’ve never experienced a day when the sun shone for a full twenty-four hours. It must be near midnight. When is it time for bed?’ said Sean.
‘Later’, said Benny. ‘Our turn to give you a surprise.’
‘Explain please.’ Sean put an empty bottle of Taseq on the table.
‘We’re going on a midnight trip to the Jacobshavn Glacier,’ smiled Benny.
‘Is this some kind of a joke? I’m usually tucked up in bed at this hour.’ Sean feigned a yawn.
On cue, a skiff with ‘World of Greenland Tours’ on its prow drew up at the dock beside the hotel. Powered by twin Yamaha engines it had the speed and agility to manoeuvre in all kinds of sea conditions. Tonight, though, only a light breeze blew.
‘Lets’ go then,’ said Benny.
‘But I’ll freeze. I don’t have any suitable gear,’ said Sean.
‘All will be provided. The boatman has head to toe survivor suits – and you can borrow my beanie!’
Within minutes the private tour to Jacobshavn Glacier and the floating city of icebergs, began.
‘Sean, we decided to show you the practical side of the melting of the Greenland Ice Sheet at this most prolific of maritime glaciers. Sit back and enjoy the scenery and the experience.’ Benny knew this midnight trip would help Sean better appreciate the importance of Project Masters.
Around the bend from the hotel they met the first colossus: an iceberg almost four hundred metres long and as high, which had multiple jagged edges and crack lines where gravity and erosion were working their way through the ice faces. Its neighbours, hundreds of them, were of all sorts, shades and sizes. The ice comprised several layers reflecting various shades of light testifying to their
different ages and qualities.
Behind the first line of icebergs others were stacked up as far as the eye could see far out to the edges of the Baffin Sea. The skiff slowed down as they went through brace ice, the small remains of what were once large icebergs. The brace ice was everywhere as were smaller icebergs that moved at remarkable speed with the tide. They moved further out and sailed alongside icebergs that towered into the sky. The larger ones were stationary. Their base was lodged against the seafloor. They were mainly white, but most had noticeable lines of what appeared to be black soot along their columns. Some had thin layers of a brown substance running in parallel. The biggest, a tabular iceberg, was shaped like a large box with squared features and sharp perpendicular edges almost a hundred metres high. Sean remembered that only ten per cent of icebergs were visible above water.
He could hear the delicate sound of the melting ice dripping from sharply angled bergs. The common feature was the growling, groaning noise that filled the midnight air as calved sections crashed into the sea. The rolling and turning plates of ice made louder, angrier noises as they scraped against each other.
Sean stared in silence at this never ending and ever-changing vista that defied description. The geology and white landscape made a deep puzzle.
How could words be used to describe a wonder of the world?
Little auks, hundreds of them, soared above the frozen icebergs. They came to Greenland each year to breed, nest and fledge their young on south-facing talus slopes. The sound of the beat of their wings competed with the growling of the icebergs.
The boat man steered the skiff slowly into Kannia Bay. On the shore side one could make out the board walk into this UNESCO site. Even at midnight there were hikers on the trail taking advantage of the full light under a high cloud ceiling.
‘Look, starboard side!’ shouted the boatman.
To Sean it looked like a puff of smoke. Then a broad black back appeared with a triangle tail some two metres out of the water. Another puff, then another.
‘Humpbacks. I think we’ve six around us. They come into this bay as it is shallow and full of fish and squid, their staple diet. I’ll cut the engines so that we can observe them in silence.’
The following twenty minutes left Sean in awe. The whales, part of a small family pod, drifted at slow speed around the bay within a short distance of the skiff. They were chasing their supper and were in no hurry. At regular intervals they surfaced and expelled air. They glided majestically from one side of the bay to the other as the bay was full of food. The male, all of thirty tonnes and some twenty metres long saluted the boat as he breached just twenty metres away from them. Sean could see the creature’s eye and wondered if he returned the stare. As quickly as they appeared, they disappeared.
Sean’s senses were in over-drive.
They were not the only people to witness the passage of the humpbacks. A two-person kayak moved at a more relaxed pace off their bow. The person in the front held a small harpoon that’s always thrown from the right. They were fishing for seals. The paddles dipped effortlessly without stirring the inky blue water.
Anticipating Sean’s concern for the fragility of the kayak in the presence of the world’s largest mammals, Benny explained. ‘Don’t fret Sean. These are Inuit ‘umiak’ kayaks and are made of sealskin. These kayaks are perhaps the finest craft that mankind devised. It is less a boat or a canoe than an extension of man himself. For generations their basic design has allowed hunters successfully navigate across turbulent waters, through waves and around surly bucking ice masses.’
As the boat turned back towards the hotel a loud shot gun sound echoed around them.
‘Wait. Eyes left, quickly.’ The boatman was again on alert.
Turning around, they witnessed a large blue-white section the size of a double decker bus calve off a tall iceberg in front of them. As it began its collapse from the top of the iceberg, it shattered with splinters of ice and snow flying in all directions. It hit the water with a loud thump.
‘Brace yourselves,’ roared the boatman.
He had no sooner spoken than the huge chunk of ice that had split re-emerged from its dunking in the dark blue sea. Such was its size that the waves it generated tossed the skiff like a kite in the wind.
The short return to the hotel’s dock was uneventful. Sean slept in fits and starts as the summer sun poured into his bedroom all night. The body in daylight wanted no rest. His understanding of the power of ice was enhanced. It gave his contribution to Project Masters a context. That’s exactly what Benny and Lars had intended.
The arrival of the helicopter ‘first thing in the morning’ required them to return to the airport for 7 a.m. They were joined on the apron by the airport dispatcher, a small man, an Inuit, who knew not to ask too many questions.
The familiar distant roar of helicopter blades slowly filled the air. To the south, what turned out to be a Sikorsky S-64 Skycrane twin-lift helicopter grew from a dot in the distance to a giant of the skies. It landed a hundred metres from the rear open door of the Hercules C-130. Its six-blade main rotor, powered by Pratt & Whitney turboshaft engines, blew all dust and loose rubbish to the extremities of the airfield.
Two Arctic adapted Bombardier M15 model Humvees, four-tracked, quarter-tonne utility vehicles, were driven out from the plane’s interior. These were going to transport goods and personnel to various sites located within a medium range of the Summit Station. In addition, Benny had procured two of the Norwegian military’s drones with their support crews and an array of accessories, which soon followed.
Proud of his toys, Benny beamed. ‘This is the best flying crane on the planet. Yesterday it was servicing oil rigs off Ekofisk in the North Sea. Today it is at your disposal for forty-eight hours. I reckon two round trips to the Summit Station will have everything on location before close of business tomorrow.’
‘Lars, Sean, you have a choice of transport for a change! Twin Otter or Skycrane?’
‘Skycrane,’ they replied in unison.
‘Hey guys I’ve never flown in a helicopter before,’ pleaded Sean.
‘This is another Greenland experience for your memoirs,’ said Lars.
In short order the support personnel were transferred to the Twin Otter.
Later, as the noon bell rang at the Summit Station, the Sky Crane was already in the air on its way back to Ilulissat. It would be back on station at the Ekofisk oil platforms the following day, its job done.
Once the visitors had settled into their Arctic tents, Lars convened a meeting in the Big House.
‘Benny, I want to put on record how really appreciative we all are. We’ve been struggling for years to get resources to carry out our research. In the space of a matter of weeks you have mobilised all the kit we need to deliver Project Masters. Best if I give you the floor. I know you wish to share some thoughts with us about the strategic importance of the task ahead.’
Benny put the project into context.
‘We’ve known for some years that the hot summer extreme melt event of recent years impacted almost the entire of the 1.7 million square kilometres surface of the Greenland Ice Sheet. The likely cause was an anomalous ridge of warm air, acting as a strong heat dome, that became stagnant over Greenland. Data from the QuickSCAT scatterometer revealed that the pace of the ice melt has accelerated in recent years. The eastern region of Greenland, just north of the Arctic Circle appears to be the worst affected.’
‘What’s a scatterometer?’ asked an inquisitive Sean. ‘These things are above my pay grade!’
‘It’s a device that transmits electromagnetic waves and measures the returned power of the waves scattered back from the snow and ice on the ice sheet, which is quantified by a radar parameter called backscatter,’ replied Benny. ‘Clear?’
‘I guess so.’ Sean smiled, embarrassed for having interrupted Benny’s presentation, but real
ly none the wiser.
Benny continued his talk.
‘To date, most of the research has concentrated on reconstructing the extent and the dynamics of the Greenland Ice Sheet during the last ice age. What we’ve been trying to do is to predict how the ice sheet may respond based on evidence of landforms left behind during the last ice age. We know that the ice sheet covered the continental edge when it was at its largest extent. It then retreated eight kilometres to the middle shelf, during a period that’s called the Younger Dryas some twelve thousand years ago. It was stable for a while until it retreated a further hundred kilometres during the final deglaciation. This dramatic collapse has possible implications for our understanding of the future evolution of the Greenland Ice Sheet.’
‘Forgive me Benny, but where does Project Masters fit into the scenario?’ Sean’s second interruption was more serious.
‘The ice sheet contains enough water to raise global sea levels by some seven metres. We’ve, unfortunately, been fixated by the impact that this might have on coastal communities. Specifically, we’ve spent a lot of research effort to date trying to predict scenarios of sea level rises. All doom and gloom stuff.’
‘That misses the point. Significant sea level rise is not an immediate prospect, or at least I hope it isn’t,’ added Lars.
‘Got it in one,’ responded Benny.
‘What has become the number one research priority is the extent to which the increasing evidence of significant fresh off-flow from the ice sheet is impacting on the Gulf Stream, the upper limb of what is called the Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation – AMOC in our jargon. As we all know, salty water sinks at high latitudes, it pulls warmer water from lower latitudes to replace it. There is evidence that some of the columns close to the south and south-east of Greenland that move warm water across the North Atlantic have weakened by as much as forty per cent in the past five years. Earlier this year a US submarine under the Arctic Ice Sheet east of Greenland tried to measure the giant chimneys of cold dense water that normally sink down to the seabed to be replaced by warm water. Of the ten giant columns that had been there during a previous research visit only two remained.
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