Alert is located north of the Arctic Circle, on the tip of Ellesmere Island, 450 nautical miles or 518 miles (829 kms) from the North Pole. It is considered undisputed Canadian territory because they have a post office. The winters are long, cold and dark while the summers are short, cold and near constant daylight. The ground is permanently frozen. Canada has a military base there, a leftover from the cold war.
One fall day Bob walked to the end of the runway, to what would be a beach line if there was water instead of ice, and picked up a piece of shale. Later he wrote the GPS coordinates on it in black felt pen. 82o 23’ 38” N and 62o 20’ 5” W. He brought the shale home with him and kept it for several years, a reminder of his time in the North. When he found out I was going to Antarctica, he asked me to take this piece of rock with me and leave it as far south as I could.
I was traveling to the Antarctic Peninsula on an environmentally friendly ten day cruise. We would sail from Ushuaia, Argentina across the Drake Passage and then cruise the Peninsula to the Antarctic Circle, weather and icebergs permitting. I was to leave the rock at the furthest southern longitude as I could.
This was not to be an easy task. It is forbidden to take or leave anything on the Antarctic. The expedition crew members watch the tourists like hawks, waiting for them to do something forbidden, like pick up a souvenir or leave something behind. Mostly they are watching for littering or interference with the wildlife but they always seemed to be around when you were contemplating doing something you were not supposed to be doing. Their eagle eyes seemed to miss nothing.
So I enlisted the help of my Irish roommate, Molly*. Together we hatched a plan to complete my mission. She would keep watch while I found a suitable place to leave the rock. I pestered the ships crew for daily GPS coordinates of our location, waiting until we reached the southern most point of our trip. Finally the day had come. We had gone as far south down iceberg alley as we could on this trip, finishing up just north of the Antarctic Circle.
In the morning, I slipped the rock into my pocket before we left the ship. Molly had worked out a way I could casually drop it from my glove. We were like a couple of conspirators, planning how to pass on confidential information to the enemy. That morning we talked in whispers, staying together and avoiding other expedition members. We walked through the snow looking for an isolated spot that had similar rock. Finally I found the perfect place to leave the rock. It was a rocky outcrop covered in penguins and penguin droppings. Molly scanned the horizon for our keepers and then gave me the all clear sign. I dropped the rock on the ground. It fell but the side with the writing on it fell face up. This was a disaster. What if someone saw it? What if they figured out who had left it there? I had to bend down and turn it over. Where were the watchers? Would they see me? In a panic I reached down and flipped over the rock, and then I picked up another piece of rock. An Antarctic rock for Bob. I quickly stashed it in my pocket, hoping I had not been seen. I then took several photos of the old rock and its new home.
Later, over a bottle of wine, Molly and I celebrated the successful completion of our mission. I stashed the new rock in a dirty sock, worrying that I might be searched for contraband when we left the ship.
I harassed the first mate for the GPS coordinates for our morning stop. I told him I wanted to know how far south we had come but really I wanted to be able to write the coordinates on the Antarctic rock and to tell Bob where his rock ended up. When we got back to Ushuaia I sent the postcard to Bob.
Someday in the distant future a young geologist will find that piece of shale on the Antarctic Peninsula and be totally baffled as to how it could have gotten there. Maybe he/she will be able to read part of the longitude and latitude off the face of the rock, which he/she will find even more confusing. How did this piece of rock find its way here, he/she will ask? Maybe it will even be the topic of a scientific paper discussing theories about migrating rock. Who knows what the future holds for Bob’s relocated rock.
The po stcard I send my brother-in-law, Bob*, reads “mission accomplished” followed by longitude and latitude coordinates from just north of the Antarctic Circle. My brother-in-law spent one dark, cold winter in Alert, the northern most point in Canada.
Alert is located north of the Arctic Circle, on the tip of Ellesmere Island, 450 nautical miles or 518 miles (829 kms) from the North Pole. It is considered undisputed Canadian territory because they have a post office. The winters are long, cold and dark while the summers are short, cold and near constant daylight. The ground is permanently frozen. Canada has a military base there, a leftover from the cold war.
One fall day Bob walked to the end of the runway, to what would be a beach line if there was water instead of ice, and picked up a piece of shale. Later he wrote the GPS coordinates on it in black felt pen. 82o 23’ 38” N and 62o 20’ 5” W. He brought the shale home with him and kept it for several years, a reminder of his time in the North. When he found out I was going to Antarctica, he asked me to take this piece of rock with me and leave it as far south as I could.
I was traveling to the Antarctic Peninsula on an environmentally friendly ten day cruise. We would sail from Ushuaia, Argentina across the Drake Passage and then cruise the Peninsula to the Antarctic Circle, weather and icebergs permitting. I was to leave the rock at the furthest southern longitude as I could.
This was not to be an easy task. It is forbidden to take or leave anything on the Antarctic. The expedition crew members watch the tourists like hawks, waiting for them to do something forbidden, like pick up a souvenir or leave something behind. Mostly they are watching for littering or interference with the wildlife but they always seemed to be around when you were contemplating doing something you were not supposed to be doing. Their eagle eyes seemed to miss nothing.
So I enlisted the help of my Irish roommate, Molly*. Together we hatched a plan to complete my mission. She would keep watch while I found a suitable place to leave the rock. I pestered the ships crew for daily GPS coordinates of our location, waiting until we reached the southern most point of our trip. Finally the day had come. We had gone as far south down iceberg alley as we could on this trip, finishing up just north of the Antarctic Circle.
In the morning, I slipped the rock into my pocket before we left the ship. Molly had worked out a way I could casually drop it from my glove. We were like a couple of conspirators, planning how to pass on confidential information to the enemy. That morning we talked in whispers, staying together and avoiding other expedition members. We walked through the snow looking for an isolated spot that had similar rock. Finally I found the perfect place to leave the rock. It was a rocky outcrop covered in penguins and penguin droppings. Molly scanned the horizon for our keepers and then gave me the all clear sign. I dropped the rock on the ground. It fell but the side with the writing on it fell face up. This was a disaster. What if someone saw it? What if they figured out who had left it there? I had to bend down and turn it over. Where were the watchers? Would they see me? In a panic I reached down and flipped over the rock, and then I picked up another piece of rock. An Antarctic rock for Bob. I quickly stashed it in my pocket, hoping I had not been seen. I then took several photos of the old rock and its new home.
Later, over a bottle of wine, Molly and I celebrated the successful completion of our mission. I stashed the new rock in a dirty sock, worrying that I might be searched for contraband when we left the ship.
I harassed the first mate for the GPS coordinates for our morning stop. I told him I wanted to know how far south we had come but really I wanted to be able to write the coordinates on the Antarctic rock and to tell Bob where his rock ended up. When we got back to Ushuaia I sent the postcard to Bob.
Someday in the distant future a young geologist will find that piece of shale on the Antarctic Peninsula and be totally baffled as to how it could have gotten there. Maybe he/she will be able to read part of the longitude and latitude off the face of the rock, which he/she will find even more confusing. How did this piece of rock find its way here, he/she will ask? Maybe it will even be the topic of a scientific paper discussing theories about migrating rock. Who knows what the future holds for Bob’s relocated rock.
* names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent
If your would like to visit the Antarctic yourself (and look for Bob's rock) check out
the following websites:
To find out more about environmentally private sector travel to Antarctica check out the International Association of Antarctica Tour Operators website at:
http://www.iaato.org/
http://www.iaato.org/
