One Year To The Day

Just last week on the 7th March 2014 it was exactly one year to the day since I last stood in Svalbard.

The day after, 8th March 2014, I was a guest at my first wedding at Otamatea Marae (my ancestral marae, I have relatives buried in the cemetery!).

The wedding was excellent, good food, some dancing, and plenty of wonderful stories and traditions. But after being out under the hot, burny sun for an afternoon - which I enjoyed, dont get me wrong, my jandal tanline is under improvement - I was reminded of this time last year, when the sun that I had seen definitely had not felt at all warm, but was welcome none the less.

I spent something like 72 days without seeing the sun. It made me realise that our bodies are certainly linked in some way to sunrises and sunsets, the circadian rhythm running through our lives. But I dont want this post to be too reflective... Despite the sunshine reflecting off the ocean just outside, the cicadas singing their hearts out, and the smell of warm soil and plants growing...

This is going to be the story about my trip to see the sun return. I have blogged about this earlier (see Trip to See the Sun Shine)

To see the sun return in Svalbard, it requires hiking up a mountain, Trollstein (so named due to the large rock sitting atop it, kind of like a troll) on a particular day in February. I was to ski up, on borrowed cross country skis. Now, I was certainly still a beginner skier. I still am. It doesnt come naturally to me at all (Perhaps because my ancestors all kept their feet firmly planted either on the ground or deck of their wakas/ships).

The top of the mountain is in sight, with foggy cloud approaching...

But I made it most of the way, on my skis, without falling over. I took them off when I was close to the top as they started sliding backwards, and I didnt want to be skiing backwards down this mountainside!! Remember, I can barely ski forwards...

Taking them off and walking the last bit was great. Most of the town were also heading up the mountain to see the sun peek over the distant horizon and it was quite a communal occasion. At the top however, it was cold. Bitterly cold, that seeped through my gloves and I had to keep jumping about to keep warm! Further, it was cloudy.

That should have been a bit of a let down, getting to the top and seeing nought but clouds, but it wasnt. I had climbed a mountain (mostly in skis), which is certainly an achievement. And walking down, seeing the moody grey colour of the fjord surrounded by white snow, that was certainly something.

The view down Longyeardalen on the way back to town

This story doesnt have such a happy ending, no skiing off into the sunset or anything like that. I ended up incredibly sick with the flu, two days after, and spent my final two weeks either in bed, or trying to write my PhD.

However, it has meant that on a day such as this, with the sun beating down and vitamin D coursing through my veins, my PhD written and submitted, no skis in sight, I feel invincible!!

As for Writing Boot Camp though.... Eep I fell off the wagon! Ah well, better climb back on...

Memories

Recently, I was asked to write a piece about my adventures in polar regions. At first, I thought "I dont go 'adventuring', I am a PhD student. My life consists of reading about experiments, conducting my own experiments, discovering my experiments didnt work, then going back to try and fix them".

Then I realised that the PhD journey is in itself a bit of an adventure - you set off, not sure where your going to end up (or if you are, you find out its not as straight-forward as it might have been), pack yourself a kit of published literature, background knowledge and ideas. You venture out into the world, only to find that you either overlooked packing some vital clue, or that the way forward is criss-crossed with difficulties. You hike up high mountains of achievement and enjoy the view before sliding into valleys of despair when the analysis goes wrong, or a reviewer doesnt like your paper.

And eventually (I hope, as this is the bit I am approaching), you climb out of the last misty years, sore muscles (from sitting and writing too long), weary mind, and with a real sense of having experienced the adventure. I hope I shall be better for it!

However, writing this piece made me realise that I certainly have not filled in this blog with adventure memories as yet! So here is one of my favourites:

The Polar Bear (Summer, 2011)

I was polar bear guard for a student cruise, and we had hiked along a beach to get to this fabulous field site covered in moss, lichens and other plants just below a bird cliff. As we were walking along the beach we came across three sets of bear tracks, and Mertensia maritima, a beautiful grey-purple flowered sandy beach plant. It is otherwise known as 'Oyster Plant'.

Mertensia maritima on the beach.

However, soon after the students settled to working, a thick fog descended. We discussed packing up and leaving as visibility was getting worse, but patches of blue sky above persuaded us to stay for another 5 mins and reassess the situation. About 2 mins after that decision, the bear guard near the beach called out the word; “Polar Bear. Im not kidding! Polar Bear!”

With that, we all gathered into a group, behind those of us with rifles and flare guns. Nervous silence and all I could see was the head of the bear, ears pricked, watching us. We fired a flare, and it turned and ran over the small dune and into the ocean. We packed up all our things and started a quick pace back to where the boat would pick us up – the fog also lifted. Keeping an eye on the bear which swam along the bay as we walked along the beach, we got to the pick up spot. 

The sun was bright overhead, the bear was just floating in the middle of the bay, and the group was being shuttled back to the ship. I will never forget the moment that happened then, watching through binoculars; the bear swam into shore, and walked up on the beach and shook itself, fat rippling down its shoulders, drops of water sparkling, fur shivering down its back! The bear looked to the right, then the left and it saw us and it NODDED, as if to say “Oh! There you are!”. 

Bear tracks on the beach.

It started walking towards us, but when it got to a certain point, we fired another flare and it turned tail and ran away up the glacier. I shall never forget that moment though when the bear nodded towards me - and blow me down, it looked just like the Northland Hello (when you nod your head upwards, slightly raise your eyebrows in greeting of the other person).

Cutting Some Shapes on the Dance Floor

Flower Shape

Flower shapes can be divided into a number of classes. Here is a quick look at the common shapes, and some of the Arctic species that fall into the shape catergories:


Bowl (aka Parabolic bowl)

This shape is good for solar power apparently! The sides of the bowl reflect a large proportion of light into the center, allowing for maximum power production. In flowers, the same concept applies, with the center of Svalbardvalmue (Papaver dahlianum) being the 'hot spot' of the flower (below).

Papaver dahlianum in Endalen

D. octopetala in Adventdalen, Svalbard

Saucer

This is like a flat bowl. Not so much reflection of the sides and into the center, but there can be some. Dryas octopetala is a good example of the saucer shape, the eight petals form a shallow dish, with the anthers and ovaries in the very center of the 'saucer'.

D. octopetala in Adventdalen, showing common saucer shape.

Fluffy balls of cotton wool!

Sphere

The spherical shape can be applied in a few different ways. Arctic cotton grass is a sphere, with the fluffy balls on top of the stems. However, many Asteraceae species can also be considered spherical, such as Erigeron humilis.

Erigeron humilis below Hjorthamna

Saxifraga, you're so sexy...

Saxifraga species from Svalbard

The genus Saxifraga contains a wide variety of species. Many of these are found on Svalbard, 14 species counted from Rønning's 'Flora of Svalbard'.


Saxifraga oppositifolia is one of the species that I have come across most often. The species name "oppositifolia" is describing the leaves - small, stiff leaves that lie opposite one another. When you look down at a shoot, it will look like a square if the leaves are densely packed.  

It is one of the earliest flowering species (have seen it flowering in Endalen, with intense, purple-pink flowers at the end of May). In Norwegian, it is Rødsildre, or Purple Saxifrage. It is widespread throughout Svalbard. It has two growth forms, creeping and tufted. It has been suggested that these growth forms reflect different environments (creeping on ridges, tufted in less exposed places), but no obvious pattern has been identified.

Purple, tufted

White, tufted

S. oppositifolia also has two main flower colours, making it colour polymorphic. These colours are a dark pink to purple, or a very pale pink to white. I have observed large, iridescent flies (Calliphoridae) visiting S. oppositifolia flowers, but they did not seem to be choosing one colour over another.






In 2011, I took part in the International Polar Year Field School (held in Svalbard, see link: IPY Field School Information ). I guided a group of students in investigating heating and size in S. oppositifolia (it was supposed to be Papaver dahlianum, the Svalbard Poppy, however I was unaware that it does not grow on the calcareous soils found near Nordenskjoldbreen in Billefjorden). Although they found no significant effects of heating (Poster entitled "Sexyfraga" - Does size matter to heat things up?"), it was an interesting weekend looking at many different S. oppositifolia plants.