BARROW, ALASKA– (By Robyn Higdon) Barrow always surprises me, and makes me feel silly in my expectations. I was last here in August, 2007, for a scouting trip with the crew. As we approached Barrow last summer, the tundra was filled with small streams and ponds that shimmied and sparkled in the afternoon light– one of the most beautiful landscapes I had ever seen.

So as we took off from Fairbanks yesterday, the last leg of our journey, I had Julie and Ronald standing by with cameras: “The last half hour in to Barrow should be a solid mass of snow. Be ready to shoot out the window– it will be a nice contrast to our summer pictures.” But, as always, Barrow proved my expectations wrong.

“Solid mass of snow” doesn’t begin to describe what we saw. I expected a landscape of blinding, constant white. Instead, it was made up of blues and a hundred shades of white. Is “clear ice” a color? It should be.

The ice shelf extended about three miles off the coastline and then broke up into floating sheets and icebergs. I don’t know if I have ever seen anything so lovely, and I realized that I was holding my breath with wonder.

Endless miles of ice.

The ice off the coast is constantly changing. It is solid for a few miles today, but could be double that next week, or half that the week after. The sea currents, temperature, and snowfall all play a part in shaping this ever-morphing landscape.

There has been a lot of snow this year, so despite slightly warmer overall temperatures, there is a late spring. We arrived in Barrow and found the streets muddy, full of dank potholes and dirty snow. When Joe from the Barrow Arctic Science Consortium (our hosts) met us at the airport and drove us out to the station, though, it felt a bit like a homecoming. I have a real sentimental fondness for this place.

As the ice begins to melt, the streets of Barrow become a series of watery potholes.

Glenn Sheehan, BASC’s Director, gave us a call on the radio: “Exploratorium, you up?” “We sure are!” I answered. “Hey Robyn, why don’t you and the crew stop by my house after you are settled in?” By this time it was 9:30pm and we had been traveling since early morning, but we accepted. After calling Arctic Pizza for a delivery (there is a $12 charge, as it is delivered by taxi!), we went over to Glenn’s, a few doors down from the crew’s hut. We chatted with Glenn, his wife (one of our correspondents, Anne Jensen) and daughter, two high school students who are here to work with Anne, and a couple of scientists who are scouting Barrow for a project next winter.

We were suddenly getting really tired. I looked up at the clock and it was almost midnight. In a sleepy state, someone asked, “When is sunset?” The reply came (without a hint of sarcasm): “August 2nd.”

Midnight outside Barrow.

Clearly exhausted, we excused ourselves. I dropped the crew off at Hut 267, and headed back to the dormitories (the hut only sleeps 3, and since I am only here for a week, I am staying in the dorms.) It was silent. I was overwhelmed with the odd feeling that it was midnight and sunny. The light had barely changed since we arrived at 7:00pm.

The crew’s hut, #267, at the BASC facility. BASC is located on an old navy base about a mile outside of the town of Barrow.

I walked slowly. The landscape is so stunning, it touches me and somehow fills my chest. Where there had been a giant ocean last August, there was a seemingly endless white frontier. I could see for miles out towards the horizon.

My ears were cold; I realized I had stopped walking. I was just standing there, very still. Suddenly the silence was broken by the chirp of birds. Snow buntings– little white ones with black wings. “Are these night birds or are they confused day birds?”, I wondered. It would have to wait until morning. I needed to get some sleep.

The Chukchi sea, where we videotaped a baby grey whale frolicking last August. Now it is a solid ice block, extending about 3 miles out.