Iceberg Alley, the Book

And it’s done!

One of my projects during IODP Expedition 382 Iceberg Alley was to create a book that could be used as an educational resource related to our science. Through my communications with the public, I’ve realized many people don’t know the difference between land ice and sea ice. (E.g., “Are icebergs frozen seawater?”) I wondered, how can we convey the importance of Exp 382 work, if people—both kids and adults—don’t really understand how an iceberg forms and its relationship to the ice sheet? So, I set out to make something I hoped would appeal to and inform a broad audience.

At sea, I did the research and writing and sketched out illustration ideas for this and a similar picture book.

Thumbnails in the JOIDES Resolution core lab.

While I did a little painting at sea, I really needed to be back in my studio to successfully create the illustrations for this book, which are a mix of watercolors and watercolor collage. This process requires frequent movement between my art table and my desk — and lots of mess. When you combine this with how much time I sit staring into space and/or pacing, making these kinds of illustrations was not very practical in the shared spaces of a medium-sized research vessel in the heaving Southern Ocean!

Watercolors in the JOIDES Resolution conference room

Since I returned 5 weeks ago, I’ve been mainly working on this project. The transition from life on the Southern Ocean to regular life has its challenges—and there’s a particular kind of letdown that comes with it. (I’ve now successfully deposited two massive chunks of my soul in the Antarctic.) So, I feel exceptionally lucky to have spent a month painting, writing about, and thinking about the polar environment I love so much and processing all I experienced at sea.

Back in my studio

I loved making this book, and I hope it entices people to learn more about Antarctic ice and how Climate Change is affecting it.

This book will soon be available as a free resource from JOIDESResolution.org. It is dedicated to the brilliant, tireless, lovely scientists of Expedition 382.

Returned from the Ice (and Yet Not)

It’s hard to believe it’s four weeks since I returned from IODP Expedition 382 Iceberg Alley and Subantarctic Ice & Ocean Dynamics, a research cruise in the Southern Ocean.

I’ve sat down and tried numerous times to write something that captures this experience and my feelings about it, but it’s too vast, too extraordinary, too profound. I can tell you I miss almost everything about it: the beauty, the science, the learning, and the job of Education & Outreach Officer.

I miss a daily role in our important work and bringing our science to the public. That said, it continues… Since I’ve returned, I’ve given three presentations about our science and the melting of the Antarctic Ice Sheet to middle and high school students, with other talks scheduled. I’ve also been working on completing a book about icebergs, which will soon be available as a free resource on the JOIDES Resolution site.

Most of all, as I sit here alone in my quiet home office, without the rolling of the ship and the wheezing of the machines in the core lab, I miss a truly exceptional group of people.

In time, presumably, the words will pour from me. For now, I paint.

And paint…

Science via Magic—Meeting Jane Goodall

Earlier this week, I was thrilled to meet Jane Goodall. After her inspiring talk at the University of Rhode Island, I lined up with hundreds of others to have her sign a copy of her book, Reason for Hope, and have my photo taken with her. 

But it was not the first time we had met.  

Some people have asked me to tell how this came about, so here goes:

1.       It was 1992, I was living in Tokyo, and one day, I saw a flyer in the supermarket (this was before the Internet) saying that Jane Goodall was coming to speak. I was disappointed I couldn’t go.

2.       As well as teaching English, I babysat for expat families. A few days later, on the bookshelf in one home, I saw books by Goodall, all signed with personal messages.

3.       When the parents got home, I asked about the books and said Jane Goodall had always been my hero.

4.       “We’re friends with her. In fact, she’s coming to stay with us tomorrow. Would you like to meet her?”

It has always felt so magical that I was in just the right place at the right time. I went there for an extended afternoon tea, and Jane invited me to come back the next day. So, I did. She is even lovelier one-on-one than she appears on the screen.   

At that point in my life, I was struggling to find my way. Her generosity in helping me sort through some stuff and point myself in the general right direction was no less than life-changing. I came away from the experience clutching two promises, determined I’d fulfill them.

The first promise I fulfilled within a couple of years. I’ve been living it ever since, though it has certainly had its trials. But her example helped me give myself permission to follow my dream. (Back then, I thought I knew what my dream was, but felt I should probably do something more conventional first. I inexpertly expressed “conventional” as a degree in archaeology, living in Japan, then a stint in outdoor education, before I knuckled down and worked in restaurants while pursuing that long-desired career in kid-lit.)

But finding my way to keeping the second promise, which required further exploring the first promise, has taken me along winding paths, brushing past the obvious as I hurtled into various dead-ends. That was until earlier this year when I knew I was finally fulfilling it. (Isn’t it funny how something can be staring you in the face all along but be so difficult to truly grasp—until you’re suddenly ready?) To say I’ve been longing for some years to tell Jane how grateful I am—especially for the promises that have steered my life’s course—is an understatement. So, it seems quite magical that I should be given that rare chance and with such perfect timing.  

But I’m just one person affected by my experiences with her. Jane’s extraordinary empathy and spirit continue to touch so many apes—both the chimpanzees and us human apes. I hope you’ll watch her talk at URI.

Check out and consider supporting The Jane Goodall Institute and Roots & Shoots.

And my second promise? Well, I'll just say it has led me to my work on the SNOWBIRDS Transect research cruise, my illustration of Volcano Dreams by Janet Fox (coming next year from Web of Life Children’s Books), and my new science, art, and adventure blog. 

Thanks for reading.

And thank you, Jane.

The View from Here

As long as I can remember, I have gazed out at the ocean and wondered, “How could anyone go to sea?” How could anyone be brave enough to travel out of sight of land? Why would they want to? These thoughts caused a visceral reaction, a palpable fear, and the certainty it was neither something I desired nor something I’d ever willingly do.

But… I have always longed to go to Antarctica. So, when I was invited to join a research cruise in Antarctic waters as Science Communicator, I didn’t even need to think about it. I said yes on the spot. And for three years, I eagerly planned, read, studied, dreamed, and anticipated, keeping it all to handful of family and close friends as I waited for the cruise to come to fruition.

Yet I was very anxious about going to sea. The Southern Ocean is notorious for being the roughest ocean on the planet, and for 1000s of miles, we would be beyond sight of land, traversing waters long-known by sailors as the Screaming Sixties, Furious Fifties, and Roaring Forties due to their ferocious storms and raging seas.

Today, I sit in a coffee house in the small harbor town of Lyttelton, New Zealand, at the ragged tail of what has been an extraordinary and life-changing experience. From here, I can see the docked RV/IB Nathaniel B. Palmer—the ship we’ve lived and worked on for the last 42 days as we traveled from McMurdo Station, Antarctica, through the Ross Sea and Southern Ocean.

On our research cruise—which you can learn more about at www.snowbirdstransect.org—our science team studied diatoms, microscopic plants that produce much of the oxygen we breathe, form part of the base of the marine (and aquatic) food chain, and act as a carbon “sink”—taking the greenhouse gas carbon dioxide from the atmosphere and ensuring diatoms have a massive influence on our global climate. It has been an incredible honor to be involved in this project, and I couldn’t be more grateful for all I learned, the chance to communicate the science and share our journey with the public, the lovely, smart, and interesting people I met, and the opportunity to help contribute in my own small way to science, humanity, and our planet.

My days out there were filled with the joy of knowing I was exactly where I needed to be—that I was doing what I was born to do. It is terribly bittersweet to say goodbye to this interlude in my life, but I’m determined it will be only the first of such experiences. (There’s a learning curve associated with any new endeavor, of course, and when I do it again—as I must—I will have an even better sense of how to go about it.) During the journey, numerous people reached out and asked what the most amazing, unexpected, and difficult parts of the journey were. Only now do I feel able to answer those questions fully and honestly.

Most Amazing: That’s not something I’m able or willing to qualify. What wasn’t amazing? I flew in a Hercules cargo plane across Antarctica and lived at McMurdo Station for a few days. I experienced the aching humanity of Scott’s hut and gazed out over the frozen Ross Sea. I enjoyed—with all the senses—breaking ice. I watched Adélie penguins waddle-run and belly-swim across sea ice, humpback whales spouting, orcas hunting, seals, dolphins, and a vast array of Southern Ocean bird species. I sailed through a force ten gale surrounded by massive icebergs, got my hands dirty in 1000s-of-year-old sediment retrieved from the sea floor miles below us, was excited by diatom growth experiments, and observed almost daily my much beloved wandering albatrosses playing on the ship’s breeze. I arose every day looking forward to what it would bring, to the chance to share that with the public, and to spending time with those on our voyage. I even learned to play Mario Kart! And all this is just part of the magic…

Most Unexpected: How much I enjoyed being out of sight of land and sailing heavy seas. I never anticipated joyfully sitting in the ice tower, the highest and therefore rockiest part of the ship, in huge waves post-midnight. Or that being beyond sight of land, with only the uninterrupted line of sky and sea all around, would be so freeing and peaceful. How could I know my greatest anxieties about the voyage would become two of my greatest pleasures? That I would so miss the rocking of the ship? What a relief it is to have such limited Internet? How very little I need to be truly happy? That I’d be utterly changed in ways I have yet to process?

Most Difficult: Saying goodbye to the experience and to people I care for. Knowing that, unless I work very hard and push for it, I may not have such an opportunity again…

But therein lies excitement, too. You just never know what will happen. I have been blessed so far.

In the wee small hours of our final night of science operations, the handful of us who were awake stood outside the bridge, watching the Aurora Australis flicker and shimmer above the clouds on the southern horizon, ripples of energy pulsing rapidly across the sky toward us. That I was awake at the right time, with the right friend, and in the right place to experience this wonder is indicative of the magic of the journey, which has been as internal and spiritual as it is has been physical and scientific.

Finally, I am grateful to you all for your interest and enthusiasm and for sharing this voyage with me. I look forward to taking you out to sea, far from land, in powerful seas again.

#antarctica #antarctic #science #STEM #USAP #NSF #ocean#oceanography