Poems by David Ek
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Ice Remembered
by David Ek
David currently lives along Virginia's Cedar Run, a tributary to the world-renowned Chesapeake Bay watershed.
The vast expanse of polar ice may conjure images of a bleak and foreboding lifeless expanse or perhaps a frozen nothingness backdrop to a perilous sci-fi adventure. This landscape is so disjunct from our normal world experiences and perceptions that it is probably easier to visualize life on Europa than in these Terran wastelands. In the mind’s eye, this wildness is unlike the inviting forested wilderness of the familiar lower 48. However, as is often the case in the natural world, reality is closer to science fiction than our antiquated imaginations can penetrate or perceive.
None of these thoughts were on my mind, years ago, as I was penetrating deep into the heart of the North Cascades Range of Washington State. It was there, on this dim and overcast spring day, that a brief encounter with ice worms on subarctic glacial ice first piqued my awareness of life in ice. There truly is a worm species that lives its entire life within glacial ice. I later found out that they do not often surface. Apparently, the environmental conditions aligned just right for them to arrive at the top of their world and I at the bottom of mine—at that specific time and place. Later, my curiosity led me to find out what other life forms live on the edge.
Scientists’ knowledge of life in extreme environments has exploded in the last couple of decades. Their discoveries have opened minds to the abundance and variety of life forms that even science fiction writers barely imagined—wildly more exotic than the lowly and pedestrian ice worm. Intrepid investigators have found tiny algae, diatoms, and crustaceans in interstitial spaces buried deep within polar ice; not just a few scattered individuals, but a rich trove of microorganisms that sustains global life processes.
Whether carpeting the underside of sea ice or buried deep within icy chambers, Arctic microorganisms provide the subsistence for krill and clams. Krill and clams feed arctic cod, which nourish walrus and narwhal, and these in turn feed polar bears. This overly simplistic food chain depiction does little justice to the complexity of biological processes that have developed over eons. This interconnectedness, and those in the Antarctic, go beyond the confines of the Polar Regions—the reach is global.
Planetary oceanic currents transport rich nutrients to the far recesses of the Earth. Not only does this transport mechanism include horizontal circulation of oxygen and nutrients, but sinking and upwelling circulation adds a vertical dimension. Temperature differences between the warm tropics and cold Polar Regions drive this conveyor belt. This in turn influences atmospheric processes such as the Jet Stream. Even remote air masses are highly influenced by solar radiation reflecting off polar ice. Without these global systems, northern areas that were warm may cool, southern areas that were cool may warm, and biological hot spots, including commercial fisheries, may move. Even small system changes may trigger global paradigm shifts such as magnetic pole reversals, global climate change, mass extinction, cessation of the Jet Stream and Trade Winds, and sea-level rise, in other words, a cascading series of radical global disruptions—many of which human societies perceive to be critical to their health, geopolitical strength, economy, and way of life.
Not everyone who grew up in Arctic cultures can articulate fully the scientific basis of these global processes, but they know it intuitively. These people often have a deep understanding of the pulsating rhythms of life surrounding ice. They understand that the ever dynamic but dependable ice is the life-blood of not only the Arctic but also of their life, culture, identity, and soul.
As I delved deeper into these mysterious worlds, I was reminded of the famed anthropologist Franz Boas. While spending time with the Inuit of the Canadian Arctic, he marveled at the number of words that Arctic cultures had for snow and ice. This may indicate the importance that snow and ice play in their life, for each separate term describes a significant yet subtle characteristic that to other people is simply ice or snow. Such is the state of people disconnected from the complex real world.
The real world of an ice climber is usually confined to the narrow field of vision necessary to decide where, in intense concentration, to sink crampon spikes into the right icy nook, or where to guide the graceful swinging arc of the ice hammer to form the best bite. Because of the importance of ice to an alpinist, they too have many words or modifiers describing the physical characteristics of ice. For instance, cold temperature forms "brittle ice," which can easily splinter and shear the climber's bite, which in turn enables gravity to deposit the offender in a cloud of spindrift at the icy bottom. Another type of ice that climbers find undesirable is "punky ice." My personal favorite climber-coined ice modifier is "cheesy ice." Good clean ice forms a solid bite for crampons and ice tools that hold you firmly and safely to the mountainside. Imagine how secure you would feel if the hold that you were trusting your life to had the consistency of soft cheese.
If your life depended on the type of ice encountered, perhaps you too would use a variety of names to describe ice. Because subtle environmental changes can dramatically alter the characteristics of ice, some climbers believe that the many forms of ice reflect the ice's specific whimsical personality, and that, as with any other whimsical being, that mood and personality can turn at any given moment. Therefore, for many ice climbers and alpinists, a climb may become a personal relationship between human and ice, and for any relationship to flourish, each party must fully understand and appreciate the other.
Although an ice climber's lexicon may be crude compared with the rich Inuit languages, both emphasize the importance that subtle environmental, weather, and climatic changes can play in determining the characteristics of snow and ice. These changes can extend from the narrow confines surrounding the pick of an ice axe to entire landscapes, and even interlink into one integrated global climatic system.
It is startling to compare modern-day and historic photographs of polar and glacial ice. Pack ice is not as expansive as it once was; therefore, the ice-free waterways are opening the Arctic to expanded oil and mineral exploitation. Ice shelves are breaking apart and cast adrift. Mt. Rainier's Paradise Ice Caves hasdisappeared, as will soon all the glaciers within Montana’s Glacier National Park. Such changes are happening faster than most scientists predicted.
Reflective ponderings on historic photographs of the Earth’s once mighty “permanent” ice may one day be comparable to looking at historic sepia prints of long-dead relatives and casual friends from by-gone eras. There may have been many wondrous stories of this mysterious world left untold and never captured on a single photograph—simply lost in time. Who would have thought that my realizations and ice-awakenings could have originated from the chance encounter with a worm?
Clearly, there is more than one way to use, and value, ice. Perhaps the majority of us, although far removed from the Polar Regions and magical icy realms, will one day appreciate the importance and fragility of ice, once it, like our casual friends captured on smudged sepia prints, is long gone and its many distinct and fascinating traits faded from memory.
© David Ek