Schuyler Borges
Antarctic Fieldwork
Our time has come to an end...2/15/2019 One thing I've learned about performing Antarctic fieldwork is the need to be adaptable in an ever-changing environment both ecologically and socially. We've remained quite busy as the end of the season has progressed, and only more and more has been added to our plates. We've struggled getting back into the Canada Glacier ASPA (Antarctic Specially Protected Area) as the weather has only gotten more mercurial, and we've had many groups come and go from Fryxell camp, including members of our own team. On January 15th, Lee Stanish and I headed back to McMurdo to do some chlorophyll (Chl-a specifically), ash-free dry mass (fondly abbreviated AFDM), and freeze-drying analyses on our samples. Thankfully, one of our other Co-PI's, Jeb Barrett, was able to join Mark and Sarah in the field to help continue taking samples while Lee and I were gone. But nevertheless, things kept changing.
Going off on a tangent real quick, performing chlorophyll, AFDM, and freeze-drying analyses on the mats helped us determine 1) how much chlorophyll was in the mats, 2) how much biological or organic material was in the samples (AFDM), and 3) what other pigments were present in the mat samples (freeze-drying for pigment analyses). The freeze-drying didn't directly give us the pigment concentrations, but was done to ensure our samples didn't degrade as they are being flown to Virginia Tech, where Sarah and I will perform pigment analyses on them at a later date. We performed chlorophyll analyses using a fluorometer, which measures the fluorescence or amount of excitation of molecules in a substance. This process was not simple to say the least, and I've learned that biological lab analyses are detailed, complicated, and time-consuming. It definitely can be fun and obviously worthwhile, but way more intense than I could have imagined (to all my lab friends out there, you guys rock. I now understand a glimpse of your lives). AFDM was actually pretty easy and only involved baking our samples in an oven to remove all the moisture and then ashing them in a muffle furnace to get rid of all the organic material. Learning how to use the freeze-dryer was also fairly straight-forward. But yes. The take away being: lab analyses = time-consuming shit (unless you're C-505 or C-504, the LTER limno and algae ops teams, who did 500 samples in 2-3 days). While Lee and I were back in town, we met up with some friends from the LTER for a Frosty Boy competition. Now, Frosty Boy is a very serious thing in McMurdo. It is the glorious, non-dairy, gluten-free ice cream that is enjoyed by all (most people don't realize it's dairy-free because it tastes so good that people often say it's better than soft-serve in the States). It's got some weird chemical ingredients in it that makes it non-dairy and makes some skeptical. Nevertheless, you can't go to McMurdo and eat in the Galley without trying Frosty Boy. It's not just a delicious treat. It's an experience. Anyways, this competition, like Frosty Boy itself, was taken very seriously. Contestants were given a time limit, were confined to the ingredients of the Galley only, and could only win if they consumed their entire Frosty Boy creation. They were judged based on several criteria of which included, "The best use of Frosty Boy," "The most delicious Frosty Boy," "The most colorful Frosty Boy," and "The best celebration of Frosty Boy." The person with the most votes wins and the four judges, Dr. Dianne McKnight, Dr. Thomas Powers (endearingly referred to as "Topper"), Amy Chiuchiolo, from University of Montana, and myself, tried to ensure that there were no ties by voting for one creation a minimum of two times. Kat Penzkover, from University of Colorado, even 3-D printed a medallion for the winner, which will be passed on from year to year to every new Frosty Boy winner. Byron Adams, Co-PI of the LTER soils team (C-507) from BYU Provo, ultimately ended up winning with his simple, yet aesthetically pleasing creation. He now proudly hangs his medallion above his desk in Crary, the science building in McMurdo. As our time came to a close in McMurdo, Lee prepared to leave the Ice, and I flew back to the field to join Mark and Sarah (Jeb and I traded places on the helo as I was remaining at Fryxell and he was headed off to Lake Bonney with the rest of the soils team). On my way back, I got an up-close and personal view of orcas swimming along the sea ice. As the sea ice started to retreat, more and more wildlife was able to be viewed on our trips to and from McMurdo. What was interesting though was that the temperature started to cool pretty rapidly at the end of January, and fall arrived earlier than usual despite the sea ice breaking up more so than usual. This made for some pretty unfavorable weather days, which made our work hard. We did end up getting our last visit to Canada in. However, we barely pulled it off. We then lost Sarah as she went back to McMurdo to perform lab analyses for C-507 (we tend to use our event numbers as indicators of the scientific groups working in Antarctica), and Mark and I started to prepare for camp pull out as well as finishing up our remaining fieldwork. C-508, the LTER lakes diving team, joined us for our remaining time in the field, and it was awesome getting to see them in action. They tried to dive in the moats of Lake Fryxell, but because the lake was starting to refreeze, the moat ice was not yet hard enough to poke a hole through and too unstable to walk across without falling in, making it difficult to not destroy the microbial mats in the lake. We weren't the only ones having to battle the climatic shifts. Despite all of the changes we've experienced, we've been able to navigate through them all. We've achieved above and beyond what we said we were going to accomplish in the proposal, and with only one field season, we left with 5 years worth of data. We would have been happy with a paper or two coming out of the work we did, especially with all of the obstacles we've faced. But we'll leave the season having enough information to write more than a few papers, and we'll be able to write future proposals to go back. It's been a pretty successful season to say the least, and I'm pretty proud of our team. When we finally returned to town, things began to get hectic as Mark had to unexpected leave the field. Being the only one from my team left, I've had to finish out the remaining tasks, which have included finishing lab analyses as well as returning equipment and such. Thankfully, everyone in McMurdo is nice, and I've had lots of people helping me out. However, I've had this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. You spend 24 hours, literally every waking moment with the same four people for 2+ months in the field. And then suddenly they're gone, and your home, your family, your life has changed. One thing that'll be hard for me to describe to others is that life in the field became our home. It wasn't a vacation, a trip, or a "time away." It was literally where we stayed and never left for 3 months. Our specific fieldwork in the Dry Valleys was unique in that we were stationed at Fryxell Camp for the entirety of our season, so not everyone who does Antarctic fieldwork might feel similarly. However, not waking up in that sleeping bag, being engulfed by ever-lasting sunlight, is weird. And not talking or seeing the people who I've shared so many experiences with the past 3 months is also weird. It's as if I'm in Purgatory, unable to be in any definitive place right now. Nothing is really familiar anymore (what is showering?), and being around so many people I don't know is overwhelming (stranger danger, man). The night before our last day in the field, I sat on the helo pad and just listened. Listened and watched my home for the last time. And for the first time, I internalized how alive this place really is. The sound of bubbles breaching the surface of the still lake indicated the presence of breathing organisms deep below. Occasionally, a piece of organic material gracefully floated to the surface and moved across the pristine water before disappearing underneath the ice. The cracking, breaking, and falling of chandelier ice suggested the warmth of summer is somehow still alive and persistent. The caving of Canada Glacier in the distance and the heat of the sun preventing me from freezing as I sat there watching supported this notion that summer wasn't dead yet. The Dry Valleys can easily be misinterpreted to be lifeless. But even the microscopic, seemingly basic indications of life are beautiful, complex, and important. For so long I've only appreciated the lifeless. But the truly extraordinary part of this place is how alive it truly is.
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Schuyler BorgesAstronomy and Planetary Science PhD student at Northern Arizona University Archives
February 2019
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