The land without time
"Out there's a land that time don't command
I wanna be the first to arrive"
- "Ends of the earth" by Lord Huron
Before ever embarking on this Arctic adventure, I figured being in 24-hour darkness would mess with my body clock. That's just a given. I thought I would have uniformly high serotonin levels and have to constantly fight the urge to sleep, but it's actually turned out to be the exact opposite. As I write this blog, it's approaching midnight, and I find myself wondering why I should sleep. After all, it will be just as dark when I wake up tomorrow.
It's very easy to lose track of time when it's constantly dark outside. I find my only way to orient myself is by mealtimes. Food is only served during the day, and I know what time it is by what I'm eating. In case you're wondering, this isn't just true in the Arctic - it happens to me every time I'm on a ship working weird shifts.
I think the lack of time up here contributes to Arctic researchers being very laid-back. You would think that in such a difficult environment, we'd need to be on the top of our game just to stay alive and get valuable data. I for one tend to run in a high gear whenever I really need to get something done. Those around me, though, are much easier-going.
Part of the relaxed manner up here might be because the communities are very small. It's not like there are 5,000 different groups of people trying to get stuff done, and we all have to keep to a rigid schedule to succeed. If you need to change what time the ship comes into port, you just call the port watchman. No big deal. There probably aren't any other ships coming in that day anyway. You probably even know the watchman by first name. If something doesn't happen now, it can happen tomorrow, and nobody panics. The sky will look the same anyway.
Speaking of the sky, you know those fantastic photos of the northern lights you always see at art fairs? Brilliant stripes of green, red, and yellow light up a night sky with mountain-shaped shadows in the foreground. You know the ones I'm talking about. Well, they're all lies. Vicious lies.
There was a dim aurora in the sky when we docked this afternoon. Honestly, I never would have noticed it if another student hadn't pointed it out. It almost looked like a thin, pale green cloud or like the last rays of a green sunsent were peaking out from behind a mountain. The aurora stayed for about an hour, alternatively waxing and waning in strength. I noticed that another scientist had gotten a fantastic picture of the green light, and in fact, the aurora in the photo seemed stronger than I was seeing with my eyes. Hm, I thought, how did she do that?
Well, as my companion explained, it is quite easy to get a fantastic photo of a mediocre aurora. You just leave the shutter open for 30 seconds or so, and all the light that enters the camera during that period of time will be recorded. Friends, I will never believe an art fair photo again! The people marketing those photos are not travelers with incredible luck to stumble upon the strongest aurora ever known to humanity! They're just leaving the shutter open. They're cheating!
I wish I could illustrate my point to you with a photo of the aurora I saw, but honestly, it wouldn't be worth showing. It would be a black rectangle. I will never trust an art fair photo again. Lies, just vicious lies.
I wanna be the first to arrive"
- "Ends of the earth" by Lord Huron
 |
| This polar bear greets you in the Kings Bay cafeteria. |
Before ever embarking on this Arctic adventure, I figured being in 24-hour darkness would mess with my body clock. That's just a given. I thought I would have uniformly high serotonin levels and have to constantly fight the urge to sleep, but it's actually turned out to be the exact opposite. As I write this blog, it's approaching midnight, and I find myself wondering why I should sleep. After all, it will be just as dark when I wake up tomorrow.
It's very easy to lose track of time when it's constantly dark outside. I find my only way to orient myself is by mealtimes. Food is only served during the day, and I know what time it is by what I'm eating. In case you're wondering, this isn't just true in the Arctic - it happens to me every time I'm on a ship working weird shifts.
I think the lack of time up here contributes to Arctic researchers being very laid-back. You would think that in such a difficult environment, we'd need to be on the top of our game just to stay alive and get valuable data. I for one tend to run in a high gear whenever I really need to get something done. Those around me, though, are much easier-going.
Part of the relaxed manner up here might be because the communities are very small. It's not like there are 5,000 different groups of people trying to get stuff done, and we all have to keep to a rigid schedule to succeed. If you need to change what time the ship comes into port, you just call the port watchman. No big deal. There probably aren't any other ships coming in that day anyway. You probably even know the watchman by first name. If something doesn't happen now, it can happen tomorrow, and nobody panics. The sky will look the same anyway.
Speaking of the sky, you know those fantastic photos of the northern lights you always see at art fairs? Brilliant stripes of green, red, and yellow light up a night sky with mountain-shaped shadows in the foreground. You know the ones I'm talking about. Well, they're all lies. Vicious lies.
There was a dim aurora in the sky when we docked this afternoon. Honestly, I never would have noticed it if another student hadn't pointed it out. It almost looked like a thin, pale green cloud or like the last rays of a green sunsent were peaking out from behind a mountain. The aurora stayed for about an hour, alternatively waxing and waning in strength. I noticed that another scientist had gotten a fantastic picture of the green light, and in fact, the aurora in the photo seemed stronger than I was seeing with my eyes. Hm, I thought, how did she do that?
Well, as my companion explained, it is quite easy to get a fantastic photo of a mediocre aurora. You just leave the shutter open for 30 seconds or so, and all the light that enters the camera during that period of time will be recorded. Friends, I will never believe an art fair photo again! The people marketing those photos are not travelers with incredible luck to stumble upon the strongest aurora ever known to humanity! They're just leaving the shutter open. They're cheating!
I wish I could illustrate my point to you with a photo of the aurora I saw, but honestly, it wouldn't be worth showing. It would be a black rectangle. I will never trust an art fair photo again. Lies, just vicious lies.
Comments
Post a Comment