Glass Half Frozen

Day 46 Aboard the Aurora Borealis II

My nose is cold, my hands and feet are cold, and I’m pretty sure my core body temperature is below freezing. When I signed up to “save the polar bears”, freezing my butt off for 15 hours a day is not what I meant. I am much more comfortable in my heated laboratory with all my samples in neat, labeled containers in front of me. 

Instead, I got roped into this “immersive” research experience by my co-scientist and husband, Oliver. He’s always been the more adventurous and audacious of the two of us. Always willing to jump at the first opportunity to travel, even if it’s to the center of an iceberg thousands of miles from home. When he first shared the idea with me, I will say I wasn’t thrilled but I was intrigued. After all, what scientist wouldn’t want to be part of a potential revolutionary expedition?

We boarded the Aurora Borealis from some port in Newfoundland nearly 7 weeks ago and are now drifting ever so slowly, deeper and deeper into the Arctic Circle. Something they didn’t warn us about when we first boarded was how bleak the journey would be. Standing at the rails of the deck each day, like I am right now, all there is to see is white. Neverending ice and snow for miles on end. I suppose the view can be beautiful, at times, but that is when you aren't preoccupied with staying warm.

Oliver has been the only splash of color in my life these last 46 days. He is a ray of sunshine both figuratively with his positive attitude and literally with the bright yellow jacket he dons each morning.

Speaking of which, I notice a yellow figure striding over to me from the bow of the ship. As always, Oliver has the biggest smile on his flushed face despite the sub zero temperature. I often think of him as the personification of a golden retriever. 

“Good morning, Evelyn,” Oliver sings, arms outstretched to give me a hug. “or should I say my human popsicle?”

“The latter term would be most accurate” I say, burying my face in his sunshine jacket.

“Ready for another beautiful day of saving the Arctic from impending doom?” He whispers in my ear.

“Saving the Arctic” is a bit of an exaggeration of what we do here on this purgatory of a ship. As part of the arctic acidification team, Oliver and I spend most of the day taking water and ice samples. While I would describe the work as tedious and monotonous, Oliver would describe it as “revolutionary to the realm of science”. 

Ever-optimistic Oliver, I often call him. He is one of the very few people in this world who can make the best out of any situation. I guess that's why we compliment each other so seamlessly. He is the perfect “glass half full” to my “glass half empty”. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply.

************

We’ve nearly finished loading our equipment onto the dinghies on board when the deck beneath us shudders.

“Woah, what was that?” I gasp, panicked. In the few months we’ve lived on this ship, we’ve gotten used to its typical aches and pains. That, however, was definitely not normal.

“Maybe we’ve hit an iceberg,” Oliver laughs. “Quick, Rose, get into the lifeboat.” He mimes jumping into the boat and paddling away frantically.

“That’s not funny” I say to a giggling Oliver. Something was definitely wrong, but Oliver’s lack of panic sets my anxiety to rest. At least for now. 

Oliver and I employ one of our other team members, Aidan, to assist us with loading the drill we use for minor ice coring into the dinghy. It should be the last bit of equipment we need for today’s expedition. 

We have the drill nearly secured when every alarm bell on the ship starts ringing. The air is filled with a never-ceasing, high pitched screech. I cover my ears against the noise and I look to Oliver. The same questions I have swirling in my head are mirrored on his expression.

What is going on? Are we sinking? Are we going to die?

Oliver and I both start to run towards the captain’s deck to figure out what all the commotion is about. 

Fear settles deep in my bones and scenes from The Titanic immediately pop into my head, no doubt thanks to Oliver’s joke earlier. Except, in the event that we do sink, this research vessel is much smaller than Titanic. So, if it only took a few hours for that massive passenger ship to sink, it would only take a few minutes for us to follow it to the bottom of the ocean.

Just as I complete the thought, the same deck that shuddered 15 minutes ago begins tilting gradually towards starboard. I grip onto Oliver’s shoulder to remain balanced and we both topple to the ground. I try to scream but the thin, frigid air seems to have frozen my lungs. 

Suddenly, I see figures emerging from the bowels of the ship and the tension nearly releases from my chest. I begin to stand once more to approach them. Finally, someone will explain what is going on and assure us that they have everything under control. Except, that isn’t what happens. Watching the figures thrash about, I finally understand the saying “running around like chickens with their heads cut off.”

I quickly realize that something is very, very wrong and that Oliver and I need to get off this ship immediately. First, I look for Oliver. I glance to my left, which was where I saw him last, only to find him gone and the space beside me empty. Frantically, I search the deck while shielding my eyes from the biting wind. 

I spot figures in black, blue, purple, green, and just about every other color before spotting a lemon-colored blur shuffling around our research dinghy. Dang it, Oliver. I think. Why are you worried about your research at a time like this?

It is only then that I realize he isn’t worried about the equipment on the dinghy. He’s trying to turn it into a lifeboat by chucking the equipment onto the deck. Each piece he throws out slides down the deck and eventually makes an Olympic worthy dive into the waves.

I run to him. Or rather I slip and stumble my way over to him on the uneven deck. I’m nearly next to him when I remember that the ice core drill wasn’t fully secured on the dinghy. I look at it now, tilting dangerously against its unfastened restraints. 

“Oliver! Get away!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “It’s going to fall! Oliver! Get away!” I doubt my voice goes very far against the arctic gusts, but I scream louder nonetheless. My heart in my throat, I keep screaming and stumbling and flailing my arms. Desperately trying to get Oliver’s attention.

He must sense my desperation because he looks up at me for a moment. I try to signal to him to get away but I’m still too far away for him to understand my words. The subtle panic on his face makes me want to hold him close to my chest and shield him from all of this.

The ship is still tilting, making the deck a steeper and steeper incline and also straining the ropes on the drill more and more. Everything seems to freeze the moment that the drill starts to slip. My stomach drops and I cannot seem to move. Then, it falls.

It hits Oliver in the shoulder, narrowly avoiding his head. He hits the deck with a thud. The drill smashes through the railing, and plunges into the frigid water. I try not to think about what would have happened if Oliver was a mere few inches to the right.

 I finally regain control over my limbs and struggle the rest of the way to him on my hands and knees. When I reach him, he is still breathing and conscious. Just dazed I believe. 

“Oh, thank God” I whisper to myself, wrapping my arms around his neck in relief.

I look up at the dinghy and notice that the incline of the deck is having a similar effect on the dinghy’s restraints that it did on the drill. The ties are supporting more and more of the little boat's weight. At any moment, the dinghy could snap its restraints and plunge through the rail and into the water just like the drill.

I look around the deck dismally and comprehend out loud “ We aren’t getting off this ship” As soon as I utter those words, my eyes fill with tears which spill over onto my cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Oliver murmurs. “How did Jack and Rose do it? All we need is a door right?”

“How could you be making jokes at a time like this?” I say, tears streaming.

“Oh, I’m not joking. Let’s go get a door.” He offers, already attempting to get to his feet. “I think the one in the sleeping quarters will do.”

I put a hand on his chest to stop him. “There’s no point,” I say. 

“Keeping you alive, that’s the point” He retorts.

“Didn’t you even watch the movie? Jack dies in the end because there’s not enough room on the door!”

“Then I guess Jack had his priorities straight.” He answers, stoically.

“Besides, there’s not enough time. We’ll be 1000 feet under ice water in two minutes” I whisper in his ear, afraid to say it too loud.

He hugs me close to his warm chest and wraps his baby duckling colored jacket around me. 

“Well, then I guess that means,” He whispers back, giving me a gentle kiss on the forehead. “We have all the time in the world.”