Tag Archives: new zealand

Explorers

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On Monday evening, a Canadian research helicopter in northwest Nunavut crashed into the Arctic Ocean. Three men from the CGCS Amundsen research vessel were on board, examining the sea ice from above to determine the best route for the ship to take. All three were killed in the crash: climate scientist Klaus Hochheim, commanding officer Marc Thibault, and pilot Daniel Dubé.

The Amundsen recovered the bodies, which will be entrusted to the RCMP as soon as the ship reaches land. The helicopter remains at the bottom of the Arctic Ocean (~400 m deep); until it can be retrieved, the cause of the crash will remain unknown.

Klaus Hochheim

During my first two years of university, I worked on and off in the same lab as Klaus. He was often in the field, and I was often rushing off to class, so we only spoke a few times. He was very friendly and energetic, and I regret not getting to know him better. My thoughts are with the families, friends, and close colleagues of these three men, who have far more to mourn than I do.

Perhaps some solace can be found in the thought that they died doing what they loved best. All of the Arctic scientists I know are incredibly passionate about their field work: bring them down south for too long, and they start itching to get back on the ship. In the modern day, field scientists are perhaps the closest thing we have to explorers. Such a demanding job comes with immense personal and societal rewards, but also with risks.

These events remind me of another team of explorers that died while pursuing their calling, at the opposite pole and over a hundred years ago: the Antarctic expedition of 1912 led by Robert Falcon Scott. While I was travelling in New Zealand, I visited the Scott Memorial in the Queenstown public gardens. Carved into a stone tablet and set into the side of a boulder is an excerpt from Scott’s last diary entry. I thought the words were relevant to Monday night’s tragedy, so I have reproduced them below.

click to enlarge

We arrived within eleven miles of our old One Ton camp with fuel for one hot meal and food for two days. For four days we have been unable to leave the tent, the gale is howling about us. We are weak, writing is difficult, but, for my own sake, I do not regret this journey, which has shown that Englishmen can endure hardships, help one another, and meet death with as great a fortitude as ever in the past.

We took risks; we knew we took them. Things have come out against us, and therefore we have no cause for complaint, but bow to the will of providence, determined still to do our best to the last.

Had we lived I should have had a tale to tell of the hardihood, endurance, and courage of my companions which would have stirred the heart of every Englishman.

These rough notes and our dead bodies must tell the tale.

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The Mueller Glacier

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Recently I was lucky enough to pay a visit to the South Island of New Zealand. I am actually a Kiwi by birth (that’s why it’s so easy for me to work in Australia) but grew up in Canada. This was my first visit back since I left as a baby – in fact, we were in my hometown exactly 20 years to the day after I left. We didn’t plan this, but it was a neat coincidence to discover.

Among the many places we visited was Aoraki / Mt. Cook National Park in the Southern Alps. It was my first experience of an alpine environment and I absolutely loved it. It was also my first glacier sighting – a momentous day in the life of any climate scientist.

There are 72 named glaciers in the park, of which we saw two: the Hooker Glacier and the Mueller Glacier. The latter is pictured below as seen from the valley floor – the thick, blue-tinged ice near the bottom of the visible portion of the mountain. As it flows downward it becomes coated in dirt and is much less pretty.

Along with most of the world’s glaciers, the Mueller is retreating (see these satellite images by NASA). At the base of the mountain on which it flows, there is a large terminal lake, coloured bright blue and green from the presence of “glacial flour” (rock ground up by the ice). According to the signs at the park, this lake has only existed since 1974.

In the photo above, you can see a large black “sill” behind the lake, which is the glacial moraine showing the previous extent of the ice. Here’s a photo of the moraines on the other side, looking down the valley:

It’s hard to capture the scale of the melt, even in photos. But when you stand beside it, the now-empty glacial valley is unbelievably huge. The fact that it was full of ice just 50 years ago boggles my mind. Changes like that don’t happen for no reason.