Four Long Years
I'm not sure if you know this, but Longyearbyen is actually named after an American. His name was John Munro Longyear, and he was a pioneer of the coal mining industry on Spitsbergen. Longyear and I have more than nationality and an affinity for the Arctic in common, though. We were both born in the same state, Michigan, in the American Midwest. Not only that, but John Longyear was a notable timber and mining developer in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, and he served as mayor of Marquette, Michigan in 1890-1891. Just 118 years later, I moved to Marquette, Michigan, to earn my Bachelor's degree at Northern Michigan University. There is a Longyear Avenue in Marquette, not far from Northern's campus, and while I was a student at NMU, one of my dear friends lived in Longyear Apartments.
The Longyear connection is actually one of many examples of recurring names and numbers in the lives of myself and my family. I won't bore you with the other examples here, but every time an unexpected connection comes up, I take it as a small reminder that the course of my life has not been determined by chance. Call me crazy, but I believe there is a larger plan at work, and I am meant to be here.
As I now prepare to leave Longyearbyen, I can't help but reflect on the turn of events that have brought me here. My first time in the Arctic was in 2011, just after my graduation from Northern, on a research expedition with my colleagues from the Alfred Wegener Institute in Germany. I returned in 2012 for a similar expedition with the same group, then in September last year to deploy my settlement plates. We only stopped at the dock in Longyearbyen when I came back in January, so I was never actually in town that trip.
If I look at myself now, I have to admit I've changed a lot since that first trip four years ago. For starters, I know my way around here, and I'm perfectly comfortable adjusting to the polar climate. One of the most important things I've learned during this most recent trip is how much Arctic experience I actually have. I was shocked every time a classmate would turn to me for advice or direct a question at me just because I've been here before. I mean, there are plenty of people at UNIS and other institutions who have been coming up here for more years than me, and who are much more experienced and frankly better-equipped to conduct Arctic research than I am.
Still, I've started to see myself in a new light. After all, I'm a fourth-year Ph.D. student, and by now, I should have at least some idea of what I'm doing. One of the side effects of research is an acute awareness of how little you know, but this course has reminded me of all the things I do know, all the things I can do, all the things I have learned.
The Longyear connection is actually one of many examples of recurring names and numbers in the lives of myself and my family. I won't bore you with the other examples here, but every time an unexpected connection comes up, I take it as a small reminder that the course of my life has not been determined by chance. Call me crazy, but I believe there is a larger plan at work, and I am meant to be here.
As I now prepare to leave Longyearbyen, I can't help but reflect on the turn of events that have brought me here. My first time in the Arctic was in 2011, just after my graduation from Northern, on a research expedition with my colleagues from the Alfred Wegener Institute in Germany. I returned in 2012 for a similar expedition with the same group, then in September last year to deploy my settlement plates. We only stopped at the dock in Longyearbyen when I came back in January, so I was never actually in town that trip.
If I look at myself now, I have to admit I've changed a lot since that first trip four years ago. For starters, I know my way around here, and I'm perfectly comfortable adjusting to the polar climate. One of the most important things I've learned during this most recent trip is how much Arctic experience I actually have. I was shocked every time a classmate would turn to me for advice or direct a question at me just because I've been here before. I mean, there are plenty of people at UNIS and other institutions who have been coming up here for more years than me, and who are much more experienced and frankly better-equipped to conduct Arctic research than I am.
Still, I've started to see myself in a new light. After all, I'm a fourth-year Ph.D. student, and by now, I should have at least some idea of what I'm doing. One of the side effects of research is an acute awareness of how little you know, but this course has reminded me of all the things I do know, all the things I can do, all the things I have learned.
Every time I come to the Arctic, I fear it will be my last.
Well, it’s been 4 years since my first expedition, and I’m now leaving Svalbard
for my fifth time. I’ve slowly become integrated into the Arctic research
community, having gotten here via institutes in both Germany and Norway. I’m still
nowhere close to the inner circle of Arctic researchers, but I’m somewhere on
the edge, which is good enough for now. I have colleagues and connections and
no shortage of ideas. All I need to return here is some grant money.
Someday, when I’m a tenured professor, I’ll list “Arctic
biology” as one of my research interests on my university’s webpage, and I will
mean it. There are so many questions still left unanswered in the high North,
so many truths still unknown. I want to discover them all, no matter how
logistically difficult the research may be. I want to plunge myself into the
intellectual and actual darkness to learn things that no one has ever learned
before.
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| Photo by Carl Ballantine |
Kristin! I didn't know you wrote a blog until I saw in on FB! Too cool :) Its neat to hear some of the amazing things you have been up to! What an adventure!
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