I can’t tell you were I am, or what we are doing geologically, but I can tell you that it’s cold and we are surrounded by ice.
These are opening lines to letters home from exploration season. It’s very hard to have a blog during exploration season, because our work is “tight hole” and “Loose lips sink ships.” It feels like I am a war correspondent.
We are in the far north, at the end of an ice road, surrounded by a desolation of ice and snow. Most people think the tundra is a sheet of frozen ice, perfectly smooth, covered in deep snow, ready for ancient explorers. This is not the case. We actually have very little snow on the ground. Yes it is all white, but you can still see grass stalks sticking up. The grass is caked with snow and looks more like strange albino cattails. There are small rises and dips in the crystal prairie, occasionally dotted with small animal tracks. The elevation change is measured in inches rather than feet. The only places that are truly smooth are the many frozen lakes surrounding us. They’re covered with some of the finest powder ever seen. If there was any kind of slope, the skiing up here would be the best in the world.
There is beauty if you know where and when to look for it. For example, the sunrise and sunset have never looked more beautiful. A great orange ball slowly sinks into the cloud and exhaust haze, causing the long orange and pink glow that serves as twilight and lights our path to work. Some days the horizon is crystal clear and you can see the instant the orange ball “touches” the ground. Other days, the exhaust cloud makes the whole place look like it’s trapped in a fog bank. Why is the exhaust so thick, you ask? Well, two reasons. The first is that we never turn a vehicle or generator off this time of year. It’s so cold that if we did, the engine would die and not work again for 6 months. The second is that all that exhaust has nowhere to go. It’s so cold that it can’t rise. If you want to know which way the wind is blowing just look at a smoke stack. We are literally making our own weather. A few rare days the wind has blown hard enough to clear our cloud away and we have stunning visibility of 5 miles or more. Yesterday was one of those days, and on the way to work (from the man camp to the rig), we saw two red foxes hunting on the tundra. They looked black against the light and I’m not sure either one got the mice or voles they were hunting, but they were beautiful to watch. The sky also provides beauty in another way. If you can find a reason to get away from the rig lights, and the clouds part, and you look up, not only do you see some of the most spectacular stars, but you also can see the Northern Lights. We are so far north you have to look to the south to see them. Sometimes they are weak and slowly dance and wave across the sky from horizon to horizon, other times they are like a little kid’s sparkler and wave and dance in such a hurry it is hard to see the whole dance. In doesn’t matter how many years you have worked here, or how many times you see the lights. Every time is still magical.
The most common questions friends and family ask is “How cold is it?” And when you first get here you start by giving them the number “Oh, today it’s -35” or “It’s -45 out right now”. But what does that actually mean? We have been here for 18 days right now, and we have only seen the thermometer rise to about -35 for two days. Count them two days. On those two days you could walk outside without the parka on and go “Yeah this is nice” for about 5 minutes. The cold didn’t suck the warmth out of you as soon as you stepped outside. Your face didn’t hurt after walking 10 ft. The rest of my time here, the cold in the biggest enemy. The Artic can literally steal your breath away. Any patch of bare skin feels it first, but that is quickly followed by your lungs. Every time you breathe in, you feel the icy hand reach down your throat and try to squeeze a little more heat out of you. Fun fact, the air you breathe has to be at body temperature and moist when it reaches the lungs in order for oxidization to work. That’s why when you breathe out on a cold day you can see your breath. And why if you aren’t careful you can get dehydrated quickly in the Artic. Thankfully, my job is mostly inside. The guys that spend a lot of time outside have layers and layers and layers they put on. Hands, face and feet are the most critical. They get the cold the first and worst. Even inside the wrong pair of socks can ruin a day. Your boots never change but your socks do. The boots are insulated and against the cold ground you need it. The problem comes at the socks. If your socks are too thin you toes will be cold and stay cold all day. If your socks are too thick they won’t fit in your boots. If they are thick and still fit in you foots your feet will sweet all day and by lunch time your feet will be cold and nothing you do will fix that. so socks have to thick enough and warm enough to keep you warm and dry but not so thick that your feet over heat. It’s a very fine balancing act.
So what does it mean when it’s 45 below? Another fun fact, 45 below is the same in Fahrenheit and Celsius. It is also below the point where most companies say it’s time to stop working. Not this group! We work on, cold or no cold. The problem is when we get to -47. Two degrees. Doesn’t seem like much right? It’s enough. Minus forty-seven is the temperature when steel gets brittle. And everything we do involves steel. When it’s so cold your coffee in an insulated cup, gets cold before you reach the truck. When you feel the hairs in your nose turn to ice crystals and stick together after 3 breaths. That’s what we mean by cold.
I can’t tell you were I am or about the supper cool tools we are using or what the rocks are doing but I can tell you that it is cold.
