The Colours of Summer

Emma Micalizzi

The days that have been three days away in the forecast since before we got here have finally arrived, and with them blue skies and temperatures above ten degrees.  It is a very welcome intermission after a long period of gray days with temperatures just above zero and rain, and before what is forecasted to be another week straight of rain.  I also figure that these couple days are among the nicest that we’ll have, as the mosquitoes have also appreciated the warmer weather.  They were out for the first time yesterday, but they must be drowsy from the long winter as they have landed on me without biting.  That being said, I’m sure it won’t be long until their blood-thirst kicks in.  

Some of the flowers we have passed walking between sites:  (top row) arctic poppy (Papaver sp.), alpine milk-vetch (Astragalus alpinus), red-tipped lousewort (Pedicularis flammea), (bottom row) Arnica (Arnica angustifolia), arctic thrift (Armeria scabra), and Labrador tea (Rhododendron lapponicum).

The (slowly) thawing Frobisher Bay.

The Sylvia Grinnell River flowing.  The white is not snow, but icebergs that have broken off and floated down from upstream.

The ice is starting to melt here.  Walking along the bay, you can smell the ocean and there is a continual thunder from the melting and collapsing of mountains of icebergs that have piled up over the winter.  Along the Sylvia Grinnell River, many large pieces of ice from upstream have washed down to an iceberg traffic jam at the mouth of the river.  There are very large icebergs that have been pushed tens of meters up from the shore.  The composition of these icebergs looks like many long, narrow shards glued together, and there is the occasional sound of breaking glass as the ice shatters apart.  The tundra is coming back to life at quite a pace as well; it was really noticeable this week.  Already we’ve seen many of our plants come into flower, as well as a colourful greeting on paths from flowers that we hadn’t expected to see for a while, such as poppies (Papaver sp.) and arctic bladder campions (Silene involucrata).  Zoe has sent word saying that flowers such as mountain avens (Dryas integrifolia) are also out at Lake Hazen.  It seems here that as each early bloomer finishes flowering, several more new species come into flower, and our walks between sites are getting more full of life every day.

Unfortunately in Iqaluit, the dump is still burning and the smoke can really fill some of the valleys where we work.  It truly puts a damper on the mood of enjoying the sun, fresh air, and flowers when your lungs are filling with burning plastics and chemicals.  We have borrowed some masks that were kindly lent to us, but I resent when I need to wear what’s essentially a gas mask to spend time outside (but it’s certainly better than without the mask!).  Fortunately the wind is in our favour sometimes, and other times we can pass over a ridge to duck out of the smoke.

An example of some of the interesting structures of the icebergs along the Sylvia Grinnell River.

Like the plants, Iqaluit appears to be coming alive with the warmer weather.  The summer solstice is this weekend, Alianait Arts Festival is next weekend, and then there’s Canada Day, followed by Nunavut Day.  This all means that there’s going to be lots going on in the next few weeks and I’m looking forward to getting to experience some of the local culture.  Every day, the tundra gets more alive and I think my life in Iqaluit is only going to get more colourful as the summer progresses.

Stranded in Resolute

Zoe and I are here in Resolute Bay, Nunavut

                                             

Panic struck this morning when my finger touched the bottom of my blistex jar and I realized that although I’m only a few days into this journey in the arctic desert I’ve already used up a good portion of my lip remedies. My skin is cracked and shrivelled much like the dehydrated food that remains packed away in our duffle bags. For the past three days, instead of setting up camp and digging into our space meals, we’ve been feasting on mountains of heavenly food, cooked by the very talented staff here at PCSP, as if it’s our last meal on Earth. Every overflowing plate (and subsequent food coma) is rationalized by the notion that it’s our last chance to fill our bellies before relinquishing civilization for two months. But, to our disappointment each morning (after yet another hefty breakfast) we are informed of the latest reason for delay: the cargo’s not here; the cargo’s still not here; oops, now there’s a blizzard at every stop to our destination. I fear if we are delayed any longer that by the time we make it to Lake Hazen we’ll be so plump and lethargic that we’ll make the perfect target for a hungry four-legged visitor. 

A Thule archaeological site outside of Resolute Bay 

Being marooned on an arctic island and being continuously stuffed with delicacies isn’t as tragic as it sounds. We’ve been fortunate to have seen a very handsome little arctic fox just outside the window, a Thule camp site complete with sleeping platforms and whale bone architecture, the vibrant downtown core of Resolute Bay (it’s actually the tiniest, quietest town ever; you could sprint across it in five bounds), and some moulds of evolutionary treasures (Tiktaalik and Puijila). I look forward to what tomorrow brings but sure hope that good weather, all the cargo we need and a functioning airplane are in the mix! 

Puijila skull mould (left) and Tiktaalik mould (right)

Impressions of Iqaluit

Emma Micalizzi

View of part of the town from a hill behind the hospital.

When I arrived in Iqaluit, my first impressions were that it wasn’t as cold as I thought it would be.  And for the first several days we were lulled into a false sense of security.  With the warm weather, I wore fewer and fewer layers until a day with gusts of wind up to 80 km an hour, followed by snow and freezing rain in the next several days, reminded me that we are still in the arctic.  The city of Iqaluit is sort of like the weather: it can be nice if you stand the right way.  The town is full of colourful, brightly painted houses sitting atop the frozen Frobisher Bay, with rolling, snowy blue hills in the distance.  But the dump is on fire and the noxious smoke seems to follow us wherever we go.  The city is also littered with garbage.  Walking to the field sites, we pass old couches, mattresses, broken down cars, coffee cups, dirty diapers, and pop cans.  Fortunately, there is a town clean-up next weekend that should help to get rid of some of the garbage (but hopefully not our plant tags!).

If you stop to look closely at any spot in the tundra, chances are that plants are growing there.  What looks like an infinite area of vast, empty space is actually full of life.  The plants here seem to ignore any bad weather and many species are already flowering, but at the cost of having the occasional coat of freezing rain.  The animals are also busy despite the weather. We’ve seen lemmings, bumblebees, and several birds. Zoe points out whenever we see a Lapland Longspur, Snow Bunting, or Wheatear, and I am learning that there are really very few songbirds here.  I am most fascinated by the ravens up here, however, which seem to have developed a complex vocabulary full of many distinct noises that sound unlike  anything I’ve ever heard before.

A perseverant snow buttercup (Ranunculus nivalis).

A willow (Salix sp.) catkin before and after being hit with freezing rain

 

I am enjoying the experience of being in Iqaluit, and I look forward to when the brown hills of the tundra become green and flowered.  Some of the views along the hikes to and within the sites are stunning - I am having a hard time believing that this is my summer job when it’s not far off from what I would be doing for fun.  I look forward to watching the plants green up, flower, and set fruit and I look forward to seeing what Iqaluit has to offer this summer.

The view along my "commute" - taken from Apex Trail

Plants on hold

Zoe Panchen
 
We had a small snow storm on Wednesday evening, only a few centimeters but enough to cover the plants. The Bearberry (Arctous alpinus) was completely covered at our sites at Apex so we were unable to count the number of flowers open on each plant on our Thursday visit. However the Snow Buttercup (Ranunculus nivalis) flowers were just peaking out from the snow so we were able to photograph and count the flowers. Such are the challenges of field work! By Friday most of the new snow had gone but some of the flower buds on the Purple Saxifrage (Saxifraga oppositifolia) at Sylvia Grinnell Park were a little frost nipped.

A Bearberry (Arctous alpine) plant we a monitoring
buried by the snow storm

Snow Buttercup (Ranunculus nivalis)



Emma photographing
Snow Buttercup (Ranunculus nivalis)

Hudson Bay Company Buildings
on the shores of Frobisher Bay, Apex



First Flowers

Zoe Panchen



Purple Saxifrage (Saxifraga oppositifolia)
just coming into flower along Apex trail, Iqaluit

There are just a few species starting to flower around Iqaluit. The first flowers of purple saxifrage (Saxifraga oppositifolia) is about a week ahead of last year. I found the same spot along the Apex trail where we had seen them first flowering last year and sure enough there was one small plant on a south facing rock slope with a few flowers just beginning to open.









First snow buttercup (Ranunculus nivalis)
in flower on a hill above Apex

Some of the snow buttercup (Ranunculus nivalis) plants we are monitoring are also in flower. These buttercups are nestled in a shallow mossy gully but we have also seen one in flower on the edge of the Iqaluit Cemetery.

The bearberry (Arctous alpine) and several willow species (Salix) are also in flower now.













We had heavy rain in Iqaluit on Sunday. Monday brought strong winds and the temperature plummeted so by Tuesday many rocks and streams were coated in interesting ice patterns. We found these sedge stems encapsulated in inch thick ice in Sylvia Grinnell Park.

Ice encrusted sedge stems at Sylvia Grinnell Park