Not much time for writing lately: integrating hardware and software for 5 different protocols, being not yet fully acclimatized, was challenging enough in itself. But both my oxygen saturation and the hardware testing are getting better, so it's time for a bit of reporting.
Concordia has been of interest to ESA as an ICE (Isolated and confined environment), which makes it an ideal testbed to study human acclimatization for future long-duration flights. That is easy to grasp in itself, but getting here makes it even more obvious. Whereas Dumont d'Urville is a coastal station, showing a variation in landscapes (glaciers, nunataks, islands, ice cliffs) and wildlife, Dome C is a desert. The station, with its two circular towers, might have landed from outer space (and I'm sure that, at the end of the winter over, some are longing for the mothership :-) . Of course, around the station, you find the usual container park, which seems perfunctory to Antarctic missions. Furthermore, since this place is like a Walhalla to astronomers, the landscape is dotted with telescope and observation domes. Then there is the summer camp: a couple of tents and containers allowing to accommodate the scientists and technical staff who are here only for a brief time during the accessible months. And at last, the caves, which are the natural freezers for sample storage.
On our second day here, we got a tour with the technical responsible, to show us around and inform us about the whereabouts and station 'etiquette'. The main prevention being of course about fire, for like on any other Antarctic station, this is the major risk here. The winter over crew is the fire squad, us 'tourists' are only required to memorize the escape routes, and find our way safely to the gathering points. Every story of the station has an emergency exit, with a door and an 'escape sock': fabric tubing bringing us safely to the ground. Tomorrow is our first fire drill exercise, can't wait to get in the sock!
Getting out of the station feels like kind of an Extra Vehicular Activity. Indeed, coming from the comfortable living temperature of 23°C in the two towers to the -37°C of the outside world requires a bit of packing up. And if there's no wind and a brilliant blue sky, chances are you'll end up sweating and puffing after 200 m. We tend to forget how much effort, and thus metabolic heat is produced, by simply getting around at 4000 m high.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Saturday, January 8, 2011
A small step?
After a last bout of cliffhanging suspense, we eventually boarded the plane, a Twin Otter, around 21.30 Thursday night. After a four and a half hour flight, interrupted by a complete surreal fuel stop in what seemed (and what definitely is!) the middle of nowhere, being a landing strip with a collection of Jet A1 fuel drums, we were 'delivered' to the far side of the world, being Dome C, aka Concordia station.
The sensation of infinity is almost uncomfortable, as if one could dissolve if not paying attention. The equivalent hypoxia of 4000 m above sea level is quite literally breathtaking, and one could easily suffer a Stendhalian kind of sensory overflow in this strangely empty landscape. The freezing cold (-32deg C) at our arrival was blown away by the exceedingly warm welcome. We were guided into the station, our luggage taken care of, we were fed, and repeatedly told it was entirely normal to feel light-headed, slightly dizzy and completely inadequate.
Unwritten rules at the station give you two days off upon arrival, to get acclimatized and make sure you allow for the timely detection of more severe symptoms of acute mountain sickness, beyond the 'normal' tiredness and slight headache. However, having eventually gotten the box of the experimental hardware here without opening it just seemed like suddenly putting off Christmas with a couple of days. So Eoin (who is the MD staying for the whole campaign here to perform the life science experiments, I'll get him to write a blog tomorrow, to introduce himself!) and I started quite gently with an inventory, which then evolved to a bona fide testing of all hardware and software. We encountered the expected problems, some of which we've already solved, and others which will be in a near future :-) the usual field science?
One element of the experiment wasn't foreseen, and we're still waiting for the definite answer of the technical service. One of the measurements of the protocol involves a 24hrs recording of core temperature. This is achieved through an ingestable sensor, which takes approximately 24hrs to travel through the participant's digestive system, in the meantime transmitting the temperature data to a recorder box. For obvious reasons, the sensor 'pills' are not reusable, and are thus supposed to be eliminated with the human waste. However, this being Antarctica, bathroom matters do reach beyond the usual "don't ask don't tell" policy. Indeed, human waste is incinerated here in what is very aptly called the 'incinolets'. And this of course raises the question of how the 'disposed' temperature sensors will behave in the more or less 500deg C of the incinerator. We are not exactly keen to make a name in science as the guys who blew up Concordia, and through its excrement incinerators that is! Field science it is?
The sensation of infinity is almost uncomfortable, as if one could dissolve if not paying attention. The equivalent hypoxia of 4000 m above sea level is quite literally breathtaking, and one could easily suffer a Stendhalian kind of sensory overflow in this strangely empty landscape. The freezing cold (-32deg C) at our arrival was blown away by the exceedingly warm welcome. We were guided into the station, our luggage taken care of, we were fed, and repeatedly told it was entirely normal to feel light-headed, slightly dizzy and completely inadequate.
Unwritten rules at the station give you two days off upon arrival, to get acclimatized and make sure you allow for the timely detection of more severe symptoms of acute mountain sickness, beyond the 'normal' tiredness and slight headache. However, having eventually gotten the box of the experimental hardware here without opening it just seemed like suddenly putting off Christmas with a couple of days. So Eoin (who is the MD staying for the whole campaign here to perform the life science experiments, I'll get him to write a blog tomorrow, to introduce himself!) and I started quite gently with an inventory, which then evolved to a bona fide testing of all hardware and software. We encountered the expected problems, some of which we've already solved, and others which will be in a near future :-) the usual field science?
One element of the experiment wasn't foreseen, and we're still waiting for the definite answer of the technical service. One of the measurements of the protocol involves a 24hrs recording of core temperature. This is achieved through an ingestable sensor, which takes approximately 24hrs to travel through the participant's digestive system, in the meantime transmitting the temperature data to a recorder box. For obvious reasons, the sensor 'pills' are not reusable, and are thus supposed to be eliminated with the human waste. However, this being Antarctica, bathroom matters do reach beyond the usual "don't ask don't tell" policy. Indeed, human waste is incinerated here in what is very aptly called the 'incinolets'. And this of course raises the question of how the 'disposed' temperature sensors will behave in the more or less 500deg C of the incinerator. We are not exactly keen to make a name in science as the guys who blew up Concordia, and through its excrement incinerators that is! Field science it is?
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Lost in transit
A major change of scenery: we have arrived at the French coastal station Dumont d'Urville. The last couple of hours, navigating the ice pack, were breathtaking. Spotting the first penguins and seals, enjoying the fine weather –for after our days at sea in a quite non-descript grey, the arrival occurred in an open blue sky– and feeling the cracks and bumps of ice shelf pieces along the ship was nothing short of magic! The last part of the navigation became quite tricky, because of the ice, and the crew was assisted by helicopter guidance, showing us the best way between small icebergs and along the iceshelf.
The arrival in Dumont d'Urville was quite festive. Indeed, most scientists return from year to year, and our welcoming was like a homecoming for many. The crew that will winter over here, 27 persons in total, was also complete with our arrival. Dumont d'Urville is built on an island, and consists of several buildings on a rocky penguin colony. Since this is breeding season, it looks (and smells!) like a giant chicken run, where pathways of steel grids take us humans above the hundreds and thousands of penguins present. Ornithologists are having a field trip!
We were supposed to leave for Concordia by plane the next morning, being January 4th. However, that plan seemed ever evolving, and yesterday was mostly spent preparing and waiting for a plane that never came. Current state of transfer status involves our departure on Friday morning (January 7th), however, this seems like an eminently adaptable and flexible schedule. People "in transit" have not been allocated accommodation on the base, so we remain in what begins to feel like home, namely the ship.
In the meantime, we enjoy the Antarctic summer. For this really feels like summer, despite the temperature not getting higher than 2 or 3°C. The sky is blue, the sun in fierce, and we're hopping along any possible field trip by boat or hiking around the base. I paid a lengthy visit to the medical facility, which is astonishing. Indeed, there is a dentist's practice, a patient room, an X-Ray machine, a usual practice room and a full blown OR, equipped with anesthesia hardware and everything. MDs spending a campaign here first train in military hospitals in France, where they are trained in the most basic techniques in dentistry, surgery and anesthesiology.
The arrival in Dumont d'Urville was quite festive. Indeed, most scientists return from year to year, and our welcoming was like a homecoming for many. The crew that will winter over here, 27 persons in total, was also complete with our arrival. Dumont d'Urville is built on an island, and consists of several buildings on a rocky penguin colony. Since this is breeding season, it looks (and smells!) like a giant chicken run, where pathways of steel grids take us humans above the hundreds and thousands of penguins present. Ornithologists are having a field trip!
We were supposed to leave for Concordia by plane the next morning, being January 4th. However, that plan seemed ever evolving, and yesterday was mostly spent preparing and waiting for a plane that never came. Current state of transfer status involves our departure on Friday morning (January 7th), however, this seems like an eminently adaptable and flexible schedule. People "in transit" have not been allocated accommodation on the base, so we remain in what begins to feel like home, namely the ship.
In the meantime, we enjoy the Antarctic summer. For this really feels like summer, despite the temperature not getting higher than 2 or 3°C. The sky is blue, the sun in fierce, and we're hopping along any possible field trip by boat or hiking around the base. I paid a lengthy visit to the medical facility, which is astonishing. Indeed, there is a dentist's practice, a patient room, an X-Ray machine, a usual practice room and a full blown OR, equipped with anesthesia hardware and everything. MDs spending a campaign here first train in military hospitals in France, where they are trained in the most basic techniques in dentistry, surgery and anesthesiology.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
First iceberg spotted!
Yesterday, at the passing of 54°04' South, we were called on deck to view our first iceberg. Pictures are waiting to be uploaded, for it was really magnificent! According to the captain, it's quite high up north. And along with the sightseeing opportunity, everyone is coming back to life: people don't look too greenish anymore, as the sea has indeed subdued to a true gentle rocking.
And of course, we celebrated the new year, twice actually: once at Hobart time, and once more an hour later at Dumont d'Urville station time. It started as a quiet nice evening, and ended in passionate discussions about facebook and the new world (dis)order, just like a decent party ought to be!
I'm getting to know my fellow passengers (conversations begin to rise above the usual level of commenting various degrees of seasickness and the different prevention strategies), and the number of scientists/projects represented in this campaign is quite impressive. But then again, France has a long standing tradition of Antarctic activities, and a whole infrastructure supporting the research program. From glaciology over climatology, marine biology, ornithology and geology, this looks like the mother of all field trips for scientists!
Friday, December 31, 2010
What's up doc?
First medical duty on board today… One of my fellow passengers woke up during the night to relieve a most normal physiological function, but in the process of getting back into his berth, had a close and violent encounter between his face and the side of afore mentioned berth. Which was the preamble to me being woken up at 5 by the next of kin to Elephant Man. Luckily, a raid to the freezers allowed me to make a quite convincing icepack (frozen snickers wrapped in kitchen plastic then in a towel), which proved effective for my patient does look quite human again. A slightly beaten up human that is, but no further harm done. O, and for the record: performing minutious care and examination of an injured eye in the constant rolling and swaying of our mini icebreaker: quite the experience, and I'm sure my patient will agree…
Apart from that, life is quite peaceful on board, with its continued routine of eating and sleeping. Since the rolling indeed got gentler, I gave a shower a try this morning (after The Eye, I was quite awake, for once!): felt good, but also extremely reckless, just the kind of thing to break your neck!
A couple of facts about our boat: it's a class A ship, and the smallest icebreaker. 65 by 12.8 meter, it rallies the 2700 km between Hobart and Tasmania five times during the summer season. We are taken care of by an extremely nice crew: they told me this assignment was a pleasure for them, for they often see the same scientists returning from year to year, and it ensures a good working atmosphere: everybody is happy to be here. I'll make sure to enclose pics from life on board as soon as I get back to a connection allowing for this.
Apart from that, life is quite peaceful on board, with its continued routine of eating and sleeping. Since the rolling indeed got gentler, I gave a shower a try this morning (after The Eye, I was quite awake, for once!): felt good, but also extremely reckless, just the kind of thing to break your neck!
A couple of facts about our boat: it's a class A ship, and the smallest icebreaker. 65 by 12.8 meter, it rallies the 2700 km between Hobart and Tasmania five times during the summer season. We are taken care of by an extremely nice crew: they told me this assignment was a pleasure for them, for they often see the same scientists returning from year to year, and it ensures a good working atmosphere: everybody is happy to be here. I'll make sure to enclose pics from life on board as soon as I get back to a connection allowing for this.
A very happy new year to everyone!
Nathalie.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Pitch'n roll!
Nearly 24 hrs on the boat right now, and the captain has commented the situation as "gently rocking". Well, let me tell you: beware of evaluations by seamen... Luckily, I have industrial stocks of The Magic Cocktail, being cinnarizine and dimenhydrate. No fish-feeding for me :-) but a constant impersonation of a substituted junkie. And I'm far from being the only one: we (read the not so sea worthy passengers) sleep for the best part of the day, because of the side effects of the drugs.
The scenery is high sea, so water and waves, and the occasional rainbow. Temperature hasn't dropped noticeably yet, and luckily, there is a great cook on board (French ship, what else…)
Since there is no MD on board for this crossing over, I've also been appointed ship surgeon (as long as everybody keeps sleeping the drugs off rather than trying to part from his/her stomach, it's quite an easy job. So, I've taken quarters in the "hospital", being more a gentrified sick bay.
Passengers on the Astrolabe are mainly French and Italian scientists rejoining different bases around Dumont d'Urville. I'm sending this blog through the satellite link we have: no internet, but the possibility to send and receive mail messages, as long as the size remains manageable. Let's check if this works...
Nathalie.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Arriving in a time wrap
After a thirty-something hours journey, I'm eventually in Hobart. I've had two night flights (Frankfurt-Singapore and Singapore-Melbourne), and somewhere in between, I've lost a day :-)
Actually, I should say we, for I'm lucky to have a travel companion: MACE, who's the proud representative of the 349 Squadron of the Belgian Air Force. He "flies for charity", as himself and his logbook (which will by then be a historical document, no less) will eventually be auctioned. Mace travels around the world, and even made it to LEO (lower earth orbit for the not-so-geeky among our readers) as a companion to our Belgian astronaut, Frank De Winne. And since he (Mace, not Frank of course...) doesn't like to stay at home (being Kleine-Brogel) for too long, he tagged along to what seemed a nice little trip to the far side of the world. So far, he's been cooed over by the crews of the 4 commercial flights we lined up to get here. Captains have dutifully logged the flights and flight attendants found him too cool for school, quite a show. Hope he doesn't get seasick...
'Caus indeed, we have boarded the Astrolabe, the ship from the French Antarctic Task Force and the Institut Polaire Paul-Emile Victor, which travels between Hobart and the French coastal base Dumont-d'Urville. Actually, based on some overly optimistic view, I expected a somewhat, ahem, bigger vessel... If what I've been told about the roughness of southern seas is true, we're in for quite a rollercoaster ride!
So, no work today: wandering in Hobart, to walk off the jetlag in plenty of sunlight (I'll get to the scientific background of this later, for now, the cognitive and physiological effects of the previously cited jetlag get the better part of my CPU power. And briefing on the ship at 18.00. We sail tomorrow...
Nathalie.
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