Summer is progressing nicely and after one week we're all rushing against a four week deadline to finish our tasks before the ship returns and brings winter back. The weather is warm and moist, with heavy layers of fog rolling silently into the base each night. Thick enough to spread the sun into a soft ball of flame but thin enough to permit a view of the brilliant blue sky and whispy cirrus clouds arching overhead. The fog is formed as air over the ice free ocean warms and absorbs moisture then moves over the cold ice shelf. This cooling as the damp air hugs the frozen ice shelf forces the moisture out to coat everything with a layer of ice.
At first thin plates grow. Enough to weigh down a kite and keep it from lifting upwards. A flaky paste that paints a white sheen onto the orange buildings. As the night progresses the layers of ice grow until thick panes of clear glassy ice hang from every surface, pole and rope.
As the sun climbs higher in the sky the posts and walls below the ice warm and let their clinging coatings slide free. Beneath handlines long lines of twirled tubes lay upon the glittering snow. By the signpost jagged fragments point skywards and glint with the blue and white and orange and grey of shapes that loom behind them.
|^Back to Top^ | © Alex Gough 2007-01-17 | RSS 0.91 | RSS 2.0||In which it never gets dark|