#Pine Island Glacier

[adomainname]

Glacier Calving: The Powerful Force Behind Massive Waves and Climate Change Insights

Glaciers, those monumental rivers of ice flowing from high mountain peaks and polar regions, are not only stunningly beautiful but also hold incredible, often unpredictable power. Among the most captivating and intense events involving glaciers is glacier calving—a natural process where enormous ice chunks break away from a glacier’s edge and crash into surrounding water. This dramatic phenomenon not only creates an unforgettable visual display but also generates massive waves. In this article, we’ll explore glacier calving, what causes it, the powerful waves it creates, and the broader implications for ecosystems, human activity, and climate science.

What is Glacier Calving?

Definition: What is Glacier Calving?

Glacier calving is the process where large pieces of ice detach from a glacier's edge and fall into the adjacent water. These ice chunks vary in size, from small pieces to massive blocks as large as multi-story buildings. Calving is a powerful and visually spectacular event that can produce waves felt miles away.

Where Does Glacier Calving Occur?

Calving occurs most frequently at the terminus (the end) of glaciers that extend into bodies of water like lakes, oceans, or fjords. It’s most common in polar regions, such as Greenland and Antarctica, where glaciers meet the sea. These environments allow ice chunks to break off and fall into the water, forming waves that can be incredibly powerful and far-reaching.

How Does Glacier Calving Happen?

Calving happens due to the natural movement of glaciers. As a glacier moves forward, driven by gravity, the ice at its edge becomes thinner and fractures. Over time, these fractures deepen, eventually causing large chunks of ice to break away. The forward motion pushes these ice chunks towards bodies of water, where they drop, creating an impactful and sudden splash.

The Science Behind Glacier Calving and Wave Formation

Ice Dynamics and Fracture Mechanics

The constant advance of glaciers creates stress along their edges, leading to cracks and fractures in the ice. When the ice reaches a critical fracture point, large sections break off. This detachment causes sudden displacement as the ice hits the water, creating waves that can be extremely powerful.

How Does Glacier Calving Generate Waves?

When an ice chunk detaches and crashes into the water, it displaces the water around it, creating a splash and powerful shockwaves. The size and intensity of the resulting wave depend on the size of the ice chunk. Larger ice pieces create more significant waves, capable of traveling far distances.

Wave Propagation in Glacier Fjords and Bays

Once a calving event occurs, the waves created by the impact move outward from the point of collision. In confined areas, like fjords or bays, these waves can be particularly intense. They bounce off rock walls, sometimes becoming even larger and more forceful, and can travel for kilometers, posing a danger to anything in their path.

The Impact of Calving Waves on Ecosystems and Human Activity

Environmental Impact: How Calving Waves Affect Marine Ecosystems

Calving waves can have a significant effect on local ecosystems. The waves stir up the seabed, displacing marine organisms and disturbing habitats. Over time, repeated calving events can also erode coastal areas, affecting both flora and fauna in the surrounding environment.

Human Implications: Why Calving Waves Are Dangerous

For people living in or near glacier regions, calving waves can pose severe risks. Fishing vessels, research ships, and tourist boats are especially vulnerable, as calving waves have capsized boats and caused substantial damage in the past. Coastal communities near glaciers or fjords may also feel the impact of these waves, making it important for ships and local authorities to remain vigilant.

Climate Change and Glacier Calving: A Connection with Global Implications

Climate change is accelerating glacier calving worldwide. Rising temperatures cause glaciers to melt and thin, making them more prone to calving events. This not only increases the frequency of calving but also contributes to global sea level rise as more ice melts and enters the ocean. Areas like Greenland and Antarctica, where calving is occurring at unprecedented rates, are contributing significantly to rising seas—a growing concern for coastal cities and communities worldwide.

Notable Glacier Calving Events and Their Massive Waves

To understand the sheer power of glacier calving, let’s look at some notable glaciers known for their spectacular calving events.

Jakobshavn Glacier, Greenland: One of the fastest-moving glaciers globally, Jakobshavn has witnessed some of the largest calving events on record. Chunks of ice as large as skyscrapers break off, creating waves that can be felt miles away.

Hubbard Glacier, Alaska: This Alaskan glacier is known for periodic large calving events that generate waves affecting cruise ships and other vessels in nearby fjords. This glacier’s movements attract scientists and tourists alike, both drawn by its power and potential risks.

Pine Island Glacier, Antarctica: As a significant contributor to ice loss in Antarctica, Pine Island Glacier’s calving events are substantial enough to be detected by seismometers thousands of miles away, showcasing the global scale of calving’s impact.

Fascination and Caution: Observing Glacier Calving Events

The Appeal of Glacier Tourism

For many tourists, witnessing a glacier calving event is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The intense sound—often compared to a thunderous "crack" or "roar"—followed by a massive splash and radiating waves, creates a powerful, memorable scene. Locations such as Alaska, Greenland, and certain parts of Antarctica are popular destinations for this reason.

Safety Precautions for Viewing Glacier Calving Events

Despite their allure, calving events are highly unpredictable, and the waves they generate can be dangerous. Tourism operators and guides near glaciers must take strict precautions, maintaining safe distances from glaciers to ensure the safety of visitors. Special care is necessary for boats, as the waves can capsize small vessels that venture too close.

The Future of Glacier Calving and Its Impact on Sea Level Rise

As climate change continues to increase global temperatures, glaciers worldwide are expected to retreat and calve more frequently. This trend not only raises the likelihood of dangerous waves but also leads to long-term impacts, such as accelerated sea-level rise. Glacier calving events remind us of the urgent need to address climate change and mitigate its effects on our planet’s natural systems.

Conclusion: Glacier Calving as a Reminder of Nature’s Power

In summary, glacier calving is a breathtaking natural event and a powerful force with significant environmental, social, and scientific implications. From the thunderous crash of falling ice to the waves that ripple across fjords and bays, glacier calving captivates us while serving as a stark reminder of the interconnectedness of Earth’s natural systems. As climate change continues to reshape our world, glacier calving highlights the need to understand and preserve these fragile ice giants that are vital to our planet’s health and future.

By understanding glacier calving, its causes, and its consequences, we not only gain insight into one of nature’s most spectacular displays but also increase our awareness of the urgent climate issues facing our planet today.

Go To The Power of Glacier Calving

[emilybeemartin]

Inktober Days 10-12

Day 10: "Fortune"

On the farthest-flung spit of the Florida Keys are a handful of islands bearing the second-oldest surviving European name in the US, recorded by Ponce de León for the abundance of sea turtles and the lack of fresh water (Florida’s name is considered the oldest). Shallow straits create a ship trap that has claimed hundreds of vessels from the age of sail, including loaded Spanish treasure galleons. Old lighthouses stand as memories to the effort to guide ships through lucrative but risky channels. Rising from Garden Key is a hexagonal fortress—Fort Jefferson, the largest all-brick fort in the US, which housed Union prisoners during the Civil War. Under the turquoise water are some of the most intact coral reefs in the continental US. The water teems with sea life, and in addition to several year-round seabird species, the islands serve as stopovers for migrating birds. It’s a treasure trove lousy with natural and historical abundance. A vast fortune of biodiversity and human history.

This message is not brought to you by Visit Dry Tortugas LLC—it’s brought to you by a too-romantic ranger who’s a sucker for lonely maritime outposts and would desperately like to visit this unusual little member of the National Park Service.

Day 11: "Wander"

Some parks more than others seem to invite visitors to wander. It’s the twists of a path, dipping in and out of the rises in a landscape. It’s the light filtering through dark forests, promising something new beyond the branches. It’s the shoulders of a massive mountain standing like a beacon, or its invisible summit covered in clouds. Mount Rainier, like so many other protected places, seems to beckon—come. Explore. Take it in.

But stay on the path—alpine habitats are fragile.

Day 12: "Spicy"

Olympic was the first park I fell in love with, and it was a twenty-year long-distance relationship. A National Geographic article I read in high school painted a picture of verdant rainforests dripping with moss, wild windy coastlines, and high snowy peaks. I desperately wanted to see these places myself, stand under the towering cedars and breathe in their spicy scent. My desire to visit was so strong that the summers I worked in Glacier and Yellowstone, I would constantly plot the drive west, hoping the travel time would somehow get shorter. It was eleven hours. I could do that in a long weekend, couldn’t I? Take one of my precious few days off and just blitz to the coast?

The plans never worked out, which is probably for the best. Instead, after two years of Covid-cancelled plans, my husband and I decided to make the trip together from the east coast. It was infinitely better than a snatched day and a half all alone. For a week, we explored the glaciated mountains, rocky beaches, and primordial rainforests. After two-thirds of my life spent pining after this park, it was everything I’d dreamed it would be and more.

[musingmelsuinesmelancholy]

Some things I’ve been thinking about. At times being an American trad witch is incredibly frustrating and at others it’s absolutely exhilarating, rewarding. Reconnecting with my ancestral ( primarily french and scottish ) lore, magical practices, witchcraft etc has and will continue to inform my practice but I’ll never be a “french” witch. I’ll never be a “scottish” witch. I can find a lone hawthorn or a sacred tree guarding a hidden spring to tie the cloutie to, I can divine via a snail’s mucus trail, Fly to the Sabbath to meet The Abbess, heed the Dame Blanches, pluck the golden bloom with songs to St Columba, safeguard me and mine via silver, spring water and juniper. Yet there’s many things I’ll never know or be able to do. Whether that’s because these things are so tied to the land or a specific place, language barriers, ( working to overcome this one ) or due to the ( well warranted) gate keeping of lore and practices.

This used to be a source of great confusion for me. I think because I was afraid( due to my previous new age fuckwittery ) to experiment, do anything other than what I understood as “traditional”. My understanding being too rigid at the time; the pendulum swung from one end of the spectrum to the other. This delayed my progress and “froze” me. I was left wondering what an “American” trad craft would look like; most our books do come from a European POV. Learning of our own magical traditions as well as those of my Canadian family ( still working on that one haha ) helped. Reading Robin Kimmere helped. Reading Schulke, him being an American and writing on American plants, helped too. I’ve come to know Sugar Maple and Plantain as powerful spirits. Both teaching important lessons on how to rectify my ancestors mistakes, to foster relations with the First Peoples and how to incorporate the magic of this land into my craft. Rather than being frustrated by my being American I see it as a challenge now. I get to explore spirits, plants, places, animals, spiritual/physical ecologies ( is even really a difference between these?) completely unknown to my ancestors. I get to reconcile the old and the new. To learn from Spirit Direct. Tradition isn’t the worship of ashes, it’s the preservation of Fire. New wood must be added to keep The Fire burning. The Devil of this land certainly is a spirit of the unknown.

I am the land, the land is me.

I don’t own it, to it I owe all.

To it my body will return, the tithe paid.

I’m not rolling hills of heather, white chalk cliffs, the monk’s island nor the azure coast. The memories of these places echo distantly in my blood, sung alive by my ancestors shades. Part of me they’ll always be; yet it’s not who I am. Not what I am.

I’m craggy shores, dull-jade waves bearing down upon the tired rocks. I am musky pine forests veiled in mist. Sun-venerating oaks hugging the shoreline. Bleeding alders in damp ground swelling. Proud maples sustaining generation upon generation with their boiled blood. Death-grey clay, exposed by running spring.

I am the kudzu, the itching moth, the knotweed, the Norway maple, the ivy wrecking havoc upon the land. My surname and light skin proof of a genocide ongoing. I am my ancestors sins; the specter of the Old Growth forests, their grief hanging over the land like a fog. Every interaction with The Land tinged with sadness, loss.

I am my maternal side’s copper curls. Melusine’s pride. Ave Landry! Ave Gauthier! Forebears mine.

I am my paternal side’s grief. The end result of decades of cultural warfare. The Jesuits stole our name….my hair will not be cut.

Never will I libate these glacier carved valleys with booze.

I am the plantain, learning a kinder way. The sumac reclaiming the orchard.

My Februarys, my Marches aren’t snow drops and daffodils peaking through the frozen ground. They’re steely skies and walls of sleet. Bloodroot heralds winters wane; not Brigid’s flower.

My June isn’t fields of poppies, it’s seas of crimson staghorn blooms skyward reaching.

My augusts aren’t golden shafts of wheat, swaying in summer’s last breaths; they’re explosions of neon-violet and honey-yellow. Corn ripening on the vine, supporting the climbing bean. The cicadas song reverberating.

Old Michaelmas marks harvest’s end, October potatoes long buried in soils darkness finally exhumed. The Devil his Rosy Briar to ascend and plunge.

With Novembers first snows the Dead come in.

I’ll never process around a standing stone nor know what it is to live and eat off the land my dead lay in. Finally, I’m learning to be at peace with this. To love and know the land I live on. I’ll always be a stranger here, a guest. I hope to be a good one.

[arendaes]

July's reading roundup! Unfortunately I had a bit of a slump in the middle of the month so I only finished three books, and of those three I only really liked one 🥲 but I'm reading two books right now that are great so hopefully August is a more productive month! What I read is basically being controlled by which of my holds come in at the library, so the next few months will be interesting lol

Thoughts under cut

Spells for Forgetting seemed really promising. Contemporary fantasy and murder mystery set on small island where magic is a fact of life...it sounded right up my alley. Unfortunately it was so boring. The plot was moving at a glacier's pace, and the character development was nonexistent, which made the fact the FMC was pining for the MMC all the more mystifying. Like, girl, why? He's the most boring fictional man I've ever read about! I ultimately DNF'd at 22% of the way through. Good thing I did, because I looked up spoilers for the murder mystery and that is some goofy, Hot Fuzz-esque shit that worked in that movie because it's a comedy. It's less satisfying as the conclusion of what's supposed to be a serious murder mystery.

I then moved on to Belladonna. I originally wasn't all that interested in reading this one, but when two reviewers who I trust had different opinions on it I decided I needed to see what the fuss was about. And what it was was frustrating. It's another fantasy murder mystery with a Gothic romance flair. The plot was solid, though I didn't particularly like the conclusion of this mystery, and I actually didn't mind the heroine Sigma. But the love interest is the literal incarnation of Death, and boy do I have thoughts on that. Namely, that I expect better from primordial deities than to be chasing after teenage girls. Sigma having a connection with Death was fine, in fact I liked the idea of that, but that connection being romantic in nature does not work. I have thoughts on how it could've been more interesting to me personally, but those thoughts don't matter because that's ultimately not what this book was. What it was was a subpar romance between Death and a 19-year-old girl he's known since she was a child. It was weird, and for that I gave 2.5 stars. I may continue the series, just because I do think the non-romantic plot was strong. The author had already set up the next book at the end of this one, and I have to admit I'm curious. It's not high on my list right now though.

And the last book I've already talked about a bit was Gideon the Ninth. I'm not exactly sure "high" is how to describe what my expectations were going into this book, but I certainly had some. For the most part, they were met. It's a good book, Muir's a great writer and I did thoroughly enjoy the cast of characters and the plot (just realizing all three of these books were murder mysteries.) What I wasn't completely taken with was the necromancy itself; the worldbuilding and magic system didn't do much for me. Otherwise I really liked it, I gave it 4/5 stars, and I already have Harrow the Ninth on hold at the library.

Right now I'm still reading Are Prisons Obsolete? by Angela Davis. For the most part I listen to audiobooks but this one I'm reading digitally so it'll probably take me a bit longer to make it through despite it's short length. I'm also reading The Fifth Season by N.K. Jemisin and just...wow. Her hype as an author is definitely earned, I am loving this book so far. Looking forward to telling you all how I feel about this one next month 😊

[starshinedragon]

SSO: LIFE WARDENS The magic trees of Jorvik

Main tree: Jordrassil in the Jorcrater -> The Crater is where the first pandorian contact happened, Aideen met the centaurs -> She combined the 3 magics (Light, Earth, Pandorian) and fought Garnok. -> Jordrassil is the first tree, manifestation of Aideen’s life powers. -> Also the place where she dispersed, gave up her light and souls to the creatures of the island -> Master portal- planted many other trees on the island, so she can get around quicky in the war. -> Jordrassil has the strongest hints of Aideen’s light (other than MC) would be a top prize for G to corrupt

Life Wardens: Primeival trees -> Fast travel system, their roots for portals after saying the right incantation.  -> From Jordrassil you can fast travel to ANY (living, friendly) tree -> From other trees only to the next in the network -> Guarding and strengthening any magic: Aideen’s or Garnok’s if corrupted. -> They can be awakened and speak, have different personalities.

1. Harvestlands: -> Sleeping Widow: Forgotten Fields. Helped Lisa, 1st one we meet. Wants to reconnect with the other Trees. Protective of the little one also growing in the Forgotten fields. -> Golden Lady: Scarecrow Hill. Grows Golden Apples, which are pure Aideen/Light power. Neighbors and best friends with the Widow. -> Ancient Sentinel: Wildwoods. Protected by the Wild Horse tribes. There is a pandorian rift underwater in the lake, through which Pandorian magic seeps through, infects the area. We close it when Garnok fully corrupts Pandoria and manage to prevent the Sentinel from being corrupted. -> Singing Yew: South Hoof. Helped Justin. Slumbering in the fields, the winds blowing through the branches make a song. -> Silent Poplar: Firgrove Mountain. Very mysterious. Turns out a hundred years ago he was corrupted and almost lost to the darkness, but they used the cleansing ritual to save him. -> Hidden Willow: Fort Maria. Hiding underground in a cave, guarding the library. The first place we go when we unlock the Tree Portal fast travel system. Guards the knowledge about the Life Wardens.

2. Winterdale -> Fire Glory: Ashland. Red pine, likes the warmth there, very lively, constantly talks about how much she likes the warm and finds the fires and the volcano beautiful. -> Glacier Heart: Dino Valley. Sister to the Ashland one, likes the cold. Constantly annoyed by Fire Glory’s neverending chitchat about Ashland, which she can hear. -> Astral Crown: Starshine mountain. Next to the Secret Stone Circle, protects it, she is why the DRs can’t come close to the circle. -> Silver Runebark: Rimefang woods. Silver leafs, revered by the Kallters, likes them, his bark covered in glowing azure runes. -> Wise Leaf : Anvil woods. Helped the druids protect the forest from DC, gives them advice. Talks in verses, metaphors and tales.

3. Springvalley -> Royal Cedar: Blossom woods. Majestic and reliable, he has been guarding the Blossom woods and Springvalley from the storm in Winterdale. -> Everbloom Elm: Everspring plateau. Covered in various flowers, she’s very proud of them. Gives you some random herbs every day if you go say hi to her. The tree is so full of herself, she’s basically giving you an autograph, don’t worry about it. -> Sun Queen: Suncrown lake. Cleansed from corruption by MC and SRs. Protects the Von Blyssen manor and vineyard. -> Twilight Oak: Morrinweald. The source of the valas’ power. Was corrupted by dark powers, later cleansed by MC and SRs.

4. Summerplains -> Restored Guardian: The Great Clearing. Was cut down long ago. We grow it back, like the one in Forgotten Fields. -> Elder Witchwood: Old Morass. She liked to watch the rituals the witches did in the swamp. Quickly becomes best friends with Pi and Mrs Holdsworth. -> Shadow Chestnut: Claymore mountains, hidden. He was tasked with keeping an eye on the Claymores- they have been serving evil for a long time. -> Aspen King: Lone Star canyon. Yellow-golden leaves, huge tree. Likes the Lone Star Cowboys, who bring gifts (anything from horseshoes to elk skulls). 

The New Fast Travel System: -> Advantage of using the trees: you pay for the trailer rides, but you use the tree portals for free. -> With all 4 big areas unlocked, you will need to cover great distances. You have a lot of choices: 1, Trailers (costs money, but most accurate, quickest) 2, Tree portals (free, but less accurate, takes a bit of time) 3, Pandoria portal in-between shortcuts (free, jumps great distances, but least accurate). -> Trailer rides now cost more money the farther the distance you go. Prices: 25 JS:  if you travel inside a great area (e.g. staying inside Harvestlands). 50 JS: if you travel to another great area next to you (e.g. from Harvestlands to Winterdale) 75 JS: travel to another area second next to you (e.g. from Harvestlands to Springvalley) 100 JS: travel to third next area (e.g. from Harvestlands to Summerplains) -> [Keep it in mind, that by our game design the JS cap has been raised to 100.000 and you earn more money, via reworked quest rewards.]

[rjzimmerman]

Acadia National Park Confronts a Rising Tide (Sierra Club)

The glaciers are melting in Glacier National Park. The forests around and in Yosemite National Park are burning down. Seasonal bodies of water are forming in Death Valley National Park. All sort of human and weather or climate associated events are doing damage to the Everglades. The Rio Grande sometimes flows through Big Bend. Joshua trees are not propagating and might someday burn down in Joshua Tree National Park. The time is way passed for the National Park Service to redefine "conservation" as "preservation," and do something, as best it can, to protect these public lands and their inhabitants, from human caused harm.

A major storm in January 2024 sent Mount Desert Island's Seawall Road into the Atlantic Ocean, a harbinger of things to come as surrounding Acadia National Park contends with climate change and sea level rise. | Photo by Kyle Paoletta

Over the course of four days in January, a one-two punch of winter storms walloped coastal Maine and destroyed infrastructure across Acadia National Park that rangers are still repairing as they gear up for the millions of tourists who visit every summer. Following nearly identical tracks up the East Coast, each weather system brought hurricane-force winds and a record-setting storm surge of ocean water that flooded, and then flooded again, seaside areas all over Mount Desert Island, which is home to not only the national park but also several towns and a mishmash of state, federal, and private land. 

The Gulf of Maine is warming faster than almost any other body of water on Earth, and climatologists estimate the tides around Mount Desert Island are likely to rise by a full foot over the next 25 years. The temporary sea level rise brought on by the January storms offered a peek into what could be a new normal by mid-century, forcing officials at Acadia to confront the reality that restoring the current damage will require a much more rigorous process than merely rebuilding roads and trails, many of which were established over a century ago. It's a situation that illustrates the inherent tension between the two missions of the National Park Service writ large: conservation and tourism.

On the west side of the island, pine trees part to reveal sweeping views of the Atlantic Ocean where a state highway passes over a natural breakwater formation called Seawall. In January, the storms dragged away hunks of asphalt from that roadway and covered a nearby picnic area in rocks and the trunks of 700 or so trees downed by winds gusting in from the ocean. Down the road, one of the Park Service’s interpretative panels had been fully uprooted and tossed aside, as if by a giant. Subsequent storms that rolled over Mount Desert Island during the spring deposited yet more stones in the picnic area, forcing rangers to keep putting up orange cones to dissuade visitors.

When I visited in April, officials at Acadia were still in the early stages of recovery. The facilities crew had its hands full with repairing 1,000 feet of the Ocean Path, a vital trail in Acadia that connects two popular destinations: the island’s only sandy beach and Thunder Hole, where the dramatic crash of waves into a granite chasm draws some of the park’s largest crowds. Fixing the Ocean Path was just one line item in the tens of millions of dollars in damage sustained by Acadia. 

[josiebelladonna]

i should continue the narrative of vostok and the fallen sailor, though. it not only sends up my fascination with antarctica (and antarctica is damn fascinating and perfect for merfolk, too) but it reminds me of all of my fantasies of alex. there were penguins and a school of fish, and a couple of screwy scientists, too.

me and him cozying up under the campfire light and the aurora australis throughout the dark months of april and may, nuzzling alone together in a cozy nook between pine island and the thwaites glaciers…

…more updates as well as more fics…

i think i’ll look into anonymity, the anonymous collection on ao3. get away from everyone including myself for the summer. this doesn’t mean i’ll stop my regular fics, though: it just means i need to put on a mask in some circumstances.

[tales-of-the-nine-realms]

TALES OF THE NINE REALMS; WORLDBUILDING

Sovereign

adjective sov▪︎er▪︎eign

of the most exalted kind 

At the time of the old gods' death Yggdrasil was one land with no borders or kings. But over 400 years Lords and kingdoms arose and nine realms came to be. These Realms clashed and struggled for ultimate power resulting in a war spanning multiple generations that came to be known as The War of Realms. In the aftermath of the war the sovereign rulers of the Realms entered into an alliance creating The Council of The Realms which is ruled over by the High King. This High King also has sovereignty over all of Yggdrasil.

Nine Realms:

Arlheim - located on the western coast. Borders are marked by the Daggry Mountains to the north, the Lycon River to the south, and the Aleborg River to the south. Mostly farmlands and woodlands. Located here is Valhalla, the largest and most powerful city in all the Nine Realms. The High King's court and The Council of The Realms is held here.

Elfheim - located north of Arlheim. Borders marked by Daggry Mountains to the south, the Great Sea to the north and west, and the Lycon River to the east. Very mountainous with deep valleys covered in thick pine forests. The Light Elves dominate the land and there are very few non-elves living there. The court of the Sovereign Queen of Elfheim is located in the city of Gimli.

Darhkhiem - located east of Elfheim. Borders are marked by the mountains to the north and east, the Lycon River to the west, and the Leda River to the south. Mostly grasslands and rolling green hills. Many mining towns are located here. The court of the Sovereign King of Darhkhiem is located in the city of Heliodor.

Stonehiem - located north of Darhkhiem. Borders are marked by the Lycon River to the west, the Great Sea to the north and east, and mountains to the south. Filled with ice-capped mountains, glaciers, and frozen barren tundras. The least populated realm. The court of the Sovereign Queen of Stonehiem is located in the stronghold of Rothguard.

Jotunheim - located on the eastern coast. Borders are marked by the Great Sea to the east, the Trollem River to the west, and the Ironwood to the north. Mostly woodlands and low rolling hills. The court of the Sovereign King is located in the city of Skyguard

Mannheim - located in the center of Yggdrasil. Borders are marked by the Lycon River to the west, the Leda River to the north, the Trollem River to the east, and the dead woods to the south. Very flat plains and farmlands. Many roads run throughout Mannheim that connect the other Realms to one another. The court of the Sovereign King of Mannheim is in the city of Kattenguard.

Esaheim - located south of Mannheim. Borders are marked by the Nidhog Gorge to the west, the dead woods to the north, the Trollem River to the east, and the Great Sea to the south. The realm was once lush forests but due to active volcanoes the land has become barren. The realm was ruled from the city of Sutguard but has since been abandoned.

Fenheim - located on the southern end of Yggdrasil. Borders are marked by the Nidhog Gorge to the east, the Aleborg River to the north, and the Great Sea to the west and south. Mostly forests and swamplands. The court of the Sovereign King of Fenheim is in the city of Andvar. Andvar also holds the largest Library of Archives.

Marheim - located to west in the Great Sea. A collection of five islands: Iona, Antrim, Alban, Argyail, and Notun. The court of the Sovereign King of Marheim is on the island of Notun.

(follow for more)

[xtruss]

The research vessel Nathaniel B. Palmer works along the ice edge of the Thwaites Glacier ice shelf in Antarctica. Photo by Zuma Press

How We Came to Know and Fear the Doomsday Glacier

It’s the world’s most vulnerable glacier and key to the stability of the West Antarctic Ice Sheet, yet we’re only now getting to know Thwaites Glacier. What took us so long?

— By Marissa Grunes | January 3, 2023

RAM! The bright red hull of the US Coast Guard icebreaker Glacier slammed onto the ice. Every rivet of the 95-meter-long ship shuddered with the impact. It was 1985, and the researchers aboard were sailing through one of the world’s most remote places: the Amundsen Sea, Antarctica. A graduate student onboard, Jill Singer, got to try her hand at breaking ice during the voyage. “You push the throttle or thrusters up,” she explains. “It would lift the front of the Glacier out of the water enough to drop down on the ice and break it.” RAM! After several days of charging at sea ice with bone-aching resolve, the Glacier broke through.

“[We] broke into … a beautifully calm, ice-free sea, the eye in a hurricane of ice,” glaciologist Terry Hughes later wrote of the moment—one he had been dreaming of since at least the 1970s when he first started worrying about glacial collapse.

The Glacier became the first ship to sail into Pine Island Bay.

The US Coast Guard icebreaker Glacier in Pine Island Bay, Antarctica, in 1985. Photo courtesy of John B. Anderson

The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change predicts sea levels will rise almost half a meter by 2100. That water will displace several million people on coastlines around the world. Much of the water will come from the region around Pine Island Bay. Specifically, it will come from what’s been dubbed the “Doomsday Glacier”: Thwaites, one of our planet’s largest glaciers, which is roughly as extensive as Great Britain.

Glaciers form when snow is compacted into ice over hundreds of years. As the weight of new snow and ice presses down, the ice beneath starts to flow like a river. Thwaites is an outlet glacier, meaning it flows all the way to the ocean. There, its coastal edge stretches 120 kilometers in a dazzling white wall of ice that looms up to 40 meters above the surface of the ocean and reaches over 200 meters deep.

Thwaites and its neighbor Pine Island Glacier drain about one-third of the West Antarctic Ice Sheet—the ice sheet extending west from the natural dividing line of the Transantarctic Mountains. The two glaciers are breaking up into icebergs far more quickly than new ice can be created. Already they contribute five percent of annual sea level rise, or roughly 0.18 millimeters annually: the equivalent of dumping over 20 million Olympic-sized swimming pools into the ocean each year. And if Thwaites collapses, its shape and location mean the rest of the West Antarctic Ice Sheet could go with it. All told, that’s enough water to raise sea levels by over three meters, redrawing coastlines and transforming the planet we know.

Map data by ArcGIS

Researchers like Hughes have been raising concerns for nearly 50 years about the glaciers that flow into Pine Island Bay and the surrounding Amundsen Sea embayment. Yet coordinated international research of the region only took off in 2018, with the formation of the International Thwaites Glacier Collaboration. Today, the potential collapse of Thwaites Glacier is among the largest environmental threats to global civilization—and we’ve barely begun to understand it. What took us so long?

As it turns out, Pine Island Bay is one of the hardest places in the world to reach. The story of how we know what we know about Thwaites is also a story of the challenges—and triumphs—of science at the bottom of the world.

Pine Island Bay is a small indent in the coast of West Antarctica. It feeds into the stormy and ice-choked Amundsen Sea—the only sector of Antarctica that no nation has bothered to claim. It’s remote even for Antarctica: the closest permanently occupied research station is 1,500 kilometers away.

The first ship known to have reached the Amundsen Sea was commanded by Captain James Cook. In January 1773, he and his crew on the HMS Resolution were the first humans to cross the Antarctic Circle, the invisible line of latitude at 66° south. Cook had been sent south by the British government to determine whether land existed below Australia, a region of longstanding curiosity to members of England’s leading scientific institution, the Royal Society. A year later, the Resolution again crossed the Antarctic Circle but was stopped short by what Cook described as an “immence Icefield … so close packed together that nothing could enter it.” The ship was at S 71°10′, W 106°54′. According to legend, young midshipman George Vancouver clambered to the bowsprit and waved his hat over the icy waters, declaring himself the southernmost human in history. The ship’s coordinates became known as Cook’s ne plus ultra—Latin for “no more beyond.”

When Cook turned back, the Resolution was less than 300 kilometers directly north of Thwaites Glacier. It’s a short distance by today’s standards, yet when a modern edition of Cook’s journals was published in 1971, his ne plus ultra in that region remained unbroken. In 200 years, no one had sailed farther south into the Amundsen Sea than Cook.

Pine Island Bay was first seen not by sea, but by air. In the 1940s, the US Navy organized Operation Highjump, which sent aircraft carriers to map different parts of the Antarctic coast. The USS Pine Island, named for Pine Island Sound in Florida, was sent to the Amundsen Sea. But the Pine Island never entered Pine Island Bay. Instead, its aircraft returned with the first aerial views of the embayment.

With little incentive to brave the harsh conditions of the Amundsen Sea, the US Navy and Coast Guard focused on other Antarctic regions over the following decades. By 1980, Pine Island Bay remained the largest unmapped coastal area below the Antarctic Circle.

The aircraft carrier USS Pine Island in the Amundsen Sea in January 1947. Its aircraft took the first images of Pine Island Bay, the location of Thwaites and Pine Island Glaciers. Photo courtesy of National Archives, photo no. AAE-518

Around that time, though, Hughes had begun to ask questions about the region. The glaciologist, who called himself a “cowboy scientist,” was outspoken and had a flair for making dramatic statements that could distract from the science. But he was also respected as a keen theorist whose papers bristled with mathematical equations predicting the behavior of glacial ice under various conditions.

As early as the 1970s, Hughes was concerned with two problems not then widely studied: a warming planet and the potential collapse of the West Antarctic Ice Sheet. He had become involved in a major project to reconstruct the growth and collapse of ice sheets during the last ice age. This project had drawn his attention to Pine Island Bay as a coastal area where the outer edge of glaciers might calve or break apart into icebergs with especial rapidity. Hughes had noticed that satellite images showed a surprisingly short glacial shelf. Why did the glacial ice not extend all the way across the bay? Outlet glaciers generally flow into an ice shelf, a floating expanse of ice reaching over the water. In certain cases, this floating shelf can buttress and protect the “grounded” inland ice that rests directly on bedrock. A similarly sized glacier in East Antarctica, David Glacier, flows for 100 kilometers over the ocean. Pine Island Glacier’s floating ice, by contrast, is half that length.

At the time, scientists knew the planet was slowly warming, but many believed Antarctica was safe: simply put, it was too cold to fail. Hughes wasn’t so sure. He worried that the lack of a large floating ice shelf in Pine Island Bay indicated instability among the nearby glaciers, which reach deep into the heart of the West Antarctic Ice Sheet. In 1981, he dubbed Pine Island and Thwaites Glaciers the “weak underbelly” of West Antarctica: glaciers whose weakening could trigger the catastrophic collapse of the West Antarctic Ice Sheet. And he did mean catastrophic. Most of West Antarctica might be open water within 500 years; the oceans could rise by over a meter in one human lifetime. With the bombast that raised eyebrows among his colleagues, Hughes titled one of his research papers “Deluge II and the continent of doom: rising sea level and collapsing Antarctic ice.”

An aerial view of a shrinking glacier: Pine Island Glacier between 2000 and 2019. Photos by NASA

When Hughes sailed past Cook’s ne plus ultra and entered Pine Island Bay in 1985, he was a guest onboard with no official funding. Yet he hoped to learn more about Pine Island Glacier—particularly, whether it was flowing too fast to be stable. Ice and wind conditions in the bay were so bad, though, he was unable to collect useful data.

For the National Science Foundation (NSF), which had funded the research cruise, curiosity alone couldn’t justify the fuel needed to ram ice day and night on the taxpayer’s dime. If there were a glaciological fire smoldering in Pine Island Bay, as Hughes argued, NSF needed to see the match. Hughes hadn’t found it.

In fact, early satellite data was casting doubt on Hughes’s theories. In 1972, fresh from the space race, NASA and the US Geological Survey had launched the first Earth Resources Technology Satellite (now renamed Landsat). “Remote sensing has revolutionized glaciology,” says glaciologist Karen Alley. “It’s not that long ago that nobody even had a picture of the whole continent,” she adds, referring to Antarctica. “And now we have continent-wide ice thickness and flow velocity.”

Throughout the 1980s and early ’90s, studies based on Landsat satellite images suggested that Pine Island Glacier was not only stable, it was actually gaining ice: 50 gigatonnes of ice per year, according to one estimate. It was fattening up to match its nickname, the PIG. Thwaites Glacier—an afterthought in these studies—was apparently growing, too.

It seemed Pine Island Bay shouldn’t be considered an area of concern. Hughes wasn’t convinced. The bay’s lack of floating ice shelves still raised his suspicions. Without data to support his theories, though, there was little he could do.

How did the studies using Landsat get it so wrong? “There’s a lot it doesn’t do,” Alley explains. Landsat specializes in capturing data at the surface; it turns out the crucial information Hughes needed was hidden beneath the ice, where Landsat couldn’t reach. But a different type of satellite technology was about to turn glaciology on its head.

In 1991, the European Space Agency launched the first European Remote Sensing satellite. It carried instruments for a new technique called radar interferometry. Eric Rignot, a glaciologist at the University of California, saw the technique’s potential, particularly after following its use on a NASA space shuttle a few years later.

Images from the Earth Resources Technology Satellite (now called Landsat) revolutionized Antarctic science, giving researchers aerial views of the continent and its ice. Photo courtesy of the European Space Agency

Using radar interferometry, Rignot was able to pinpoint facts about the glaciers that had once been invisible. He could see deformations in the ice with accuracy up to one millimeter. He could read ice movement not year to year, not even month to month, but by the hour. Most importantly, he could locate the grounding line.

When it comes to glacial collapse, the action is at the grounding line, where a glacier lifts up from the bedrock and begins to float over the ocean. It’s also where ocean water gnaws at that glacier’s base, loosening it from the bedrock. Much of West Antarctica’s ice is grounded well below sea level, in a bowl-shaped marine basin. Warmer ocean water can flow downhill into this bowl, melting the ice at the grounding line and causing it to move inland. When floating ice melts, it doesn’t change sea level: it’s already displacing ocean water, like ice cubes in a glass of water. But when the grounding line retreats, once-grounded ice melts. That does increase sea level and also destabilizes the glacier: the ice is thinned out from below and breaks apart more easily. In the sloping marine basin beneath Thwaites, the wall of submerged ice stretches over 1,000 meters deep, giving the water an enormous surface area to work on. The water can push the grounding line inland rapidly, only slowing if it encounters bedrock that is elevated—say, an underwater ridge or mountain that “pins” the ice. Thwaites Glacier has one such pinning point, about 40 kilometers behind the current grounding line. That pinning point sustains pressure against the glacier’s interior, like a flying buttress pressing against the wall of a cathedral. If the ice shelf is loosened from that pinning point, the glacier may pour its ice out even more rapidly.

The grounding line is where the bedrock, ice, and ocean meet. Pinpointing its location and how it moves helps inform researchers about a glacier’s stability. Illustration by Mark Garrison

Researchers can’t tell how fast the grounding line is retreating if they don’t know where it is. With this vital information, Rignot was getting melt rates orders of magnitude higher than ever seen before. He calculated that a major glacier in Greenland was melting by up to 20 meters per year. (Previous data had suggested that even the most vulnerable glaciers melted about 10 to 20 centimeters annually.) Rignot knew the figures would look wild to many of his colleagues. “Woah! Maybe my data is bad,” he thought, “but the evidence is piling up that these melt rates are way bigger.” He received pushback throughout the 1990s. It was hard for many to believe glaciers could disappear that fast. What could destroy a glacier so quickly?

The answer arose from an unexpected source. An oceanographer at Columbia University in the City of New York, Stanley Jacobs, thought the ocean might be involved. He knew of Hughes’s work and in 1991 had published a paper urging “icebreaker penetration and detailed oceanographic sampling” of the “largely unknown” Amundsen Sea. He wanted to take a ship back to Pine Island Bay.

The ocean’s importance may seem obvious now, but at the time researchers were more focused on flow velocity than on what happened when the glacier reached the ocean. In glaciology, Rignot says, few thought the ocean could matter: “It wasn’t on the horizon.”

The ocean is notoriously difficult to study. It’s expensive and dangerous, even in the best conditions. Rignot’s improved satellite data was so good that he mostly worked from his office in California. Where the ocean was concerned, though, satellites weren’t enough. Satellites can give temperatures only at the surface, where ice melt and subzero winds make polar water very cold; they can’t reach the deeper warm water.

“To get data in the ocean, you have to go there,” Rignot says. In 1994, Jacobs did just that.

No one had broken through the ice around Pine Island Bay since the voyage of the Glacier a decade earlier. “We were going into essentially uncharted waters,” recalls the oceanographer Adrian Jenkins, who joined Jacobs onboard. “No one knew where the edge of the continental shelf was—it was mismapped.”

Their cruise started in the more accessible waters of the Ross Sea, south of New Zealand. There, the team found extremely cold ocean water—about -2.2 °C, well below the freezing point of fresh water. As they followed the coast toward Pine Island Bay, though, something changed. They entered Sulzberger Bay, around the corner from the Ross Sea, and found water at 0 °C.

The water got warmer still as they approached their goal. “We managed to get the ship into Pine Island Bay, which was obviously the place above all others I wanted to get,” Jenkins recalls. “And the observations changed our thinking about the region.” Startled by the warm temperatures, he taught himself the scientific software MATLAB onboard and coded up some rough estimates. “I found these really high melt rates, like 100 meters per year—I thought way too high, way too high,” Jenkins recalls. “I thought there must be something wrong; I spent the next 10 years trying to figure out what. Turns out it’s not so much of an overestimate as I thought.”

An image captured on February 11, 2020, by the Copernicus Sentinel-2 mission, shows ice that had recently calved off the Pine Island Glacier. Photo courtesy of the European Space Agency

Initially, though, the team had trouble publishing their results. A paper they submitted to a major publication was rejected without outside review, dismissed as not being of sufficiently broad importance.

Rignot became a key ally. His work had focused on Greenland, but he knew of Hughes’s seemingly niche obsession with Pine Island Bay. He was intrigued by Jenkins’s high melt rates, which aligned with the figures Rignot had found in Greenland. The warm water that Jacobs and Jenkins had discovered in Pine Island Bay brought the whole picture together.

“I had heard this theory on the instability of West Antarctica,” Rignot recalls. He began looking at radar interferometry data on Pine Island Glacier’s grounding line, and “Boom! It was flashing on my screen. Something big was happening here.” He took almost two years to publish his calculations: “I wanted to be darn sure that what I was seeing was real,” he says. “Because if it was real, that was very significant.”

At a conference in 1997, Rignot presented findings indicating that Pine Island Glacier’s grounding line was retreating by roughly 1.2 kilometers per year.

“This was where Eric’s work set the world alight,” Jenkins remarks. Jenkins, Jacobs, and their colleagues had shown that the glaciers were melting faster than previously thought, due to the warm ocean. But melting can still be a relatively stable process and not always a problem. The danger arises when the grounding line retreats, giving warm ocean water ever greater access to the interior of the ice sheet. In these cases, the glacier may not melt slowly like an ice cube—it may collapse like a cathedral.

Today, Rignot’s calculation holds: researchers believe Pine Island Glacier’s grounding line retreated by around one kilometer per year in the two decades before 2011 (it seems to have slowed down recently). Thwaites continues to retreat around the same rate of one kilometer a year and loses around 37 gigatonnes of ice annually. (That’s enough to bury the contiguous United States five millimeters deep in ice every year.) When Hughes started looking into Pine Island Bay in the 1980s, he may not have understood the mechanisms, but he was right to worry.

Changing the direction of Antarctic research is like driving an icebreaker, though. It’s slow and expensive. After the 1994 cruise, it took NSF six years to send a ship back to Pine Island Bay, and the ice was so thick on the first attempt (in 2000) that Jacobs couldn’t get close to Pine Island Glacier. In the meantime, he and Jenkins continued publishing with Rignot to strengthen their case that warm water was rapidly shifting the grounding line.

Finally, in 2009, their ship broke through. It had been 15 years since anyone had sailed these waters. Now, though, they had new cutting-edge technology: Autosub3, a fully automated underwater drone. Autosub3 confirmed Jacobs’s original suspicions that the ocean was the culprit: a deep band of warm water, called Circumpolar Deep Water, was getting under the glacial shelf. It had already eaten an enormous cavity under Pine Island Glacier.

Thwaites Glacier as captured by the Copernicus Sentinel-2 mission, November 26, 2020. Photo courtesy of the European Space Agency

The next generation of polar researchers responded to these developments at the bottom of the world. David Holland, a Canadian mathematician interested in modeling ocean-water-air interactions, had been on the second plane to land atop Pine Island Glacier in 2007. He knew that ocean currents respond principally to wind and other atmospheric patterns, and had developed a sophisticated weather station to find out what the atmosphere was up to. He and two assistants camped out on Pine Island Glacier five summers in a row before they shifted their focus to Thwaites.

They were still figuring out where to focus their research, he explains. Building on previous work, Holland’s team started at Pine Island. But, he says, “while we were there, we thought, Shouldn’t we be next door at Thwaites?”

The storms around Thwaites and its vast extent make it especially difficult to study. In 2004, a joint project between the United States and the United Kingdom had included the first systematic airborne survey of the topography beneath Thwaites, revealing patterns of ice flow into the glacier’s interior and its connection to the surrounding ice sheet. The scope of its possible impact was becoming clear.

Thwaites is larger than Pine Island Glacier—much, much larger. It has a wide front—over 120 kilometers—and its base slopes steeply down to nearly 1,000 meters below sea level. These dimensions give the warm ocean water a lot of ice to work with. Moreover, Thwaites’s catchment basin, meaning the ice that flows into the glacier, is around 700 kilometers long, the distance from Boston, Massachusetts, to Washington, DC. In short, it’s the perfect candidate for collapse on a massive scale. Today, Thwaites contributes more sea level rise than Pine Island Glacier by a factor of four to one.

For decades, though, the focus had been on Pine Island Glacier. The two glaciers are neighbors—but on an Antarctic scale of over 50 kilometers of thick sea ice between the most accessible ice fronts. In fact, since earlier cruises had been so intent on reaching Pine Island Glacier, it’s possible that nobody saw Thwaites from shipboard until 2019. And as Holland found when he sailed there in January 2022, the glacier’s disintegration is making it even harder to reach.

Headlines in December 2021 announced that the Thwaites ice shelf might “shatter like a car windscreen” within five years. That’s hard to say for sure. We do know that the floating ice shelf acts like a buttress, keeping Thwaites’s inland, grounded ice stable. We also know that the ice shelf is fracturing into icebergs at unprecedented rates. If the ocean drives the grounding line back too far, it can cause runaway melting.

Thwaites is a cork in the bottle of West Antarctica. Its vast size and central position mean that its collapse could trigger a reaction across the entire West Antarctic Ice Sheet. It’s possible this happened around 125,000 years ago, when sea levels were about six to nine meters higher than today. West Antarctica won’t fall apart overnight. It might take a few hundred years. But if it does happen—as many researchers fear it will—it will redraw global coastlines.

Holland sees the planet in terms of a simple principle: “play with the atmosphere, expect change.”

Unusually warm ocean currents are melting the ice. Those currents are driven by shifting wind patterns: stronger winds displace cold surface water, allowing deep warmer water to rise up and pour over the continental shelf into the marine basin beneath the glaciers. The winds, in turn, respond to one thing: changes in air temperature. And those changes are caused by greenhouse gas emissions.

In short, Holland says, “the winds will change the ocean, the ocean will melt Antarctica—and the water is coming to visit you.” There is evidence that atmospheric changes can raise sea levels by several meters within the space of a century. But the systems are so complex that they’re hard to predict. We have apps on our phone to tell us the weather tomorrow, Holland remarks, but we’re a long way from having such apps for the ocean or ice sheets. In fact, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change asserts that predicting the “dynamic contribution” of ice sheets “remains the key uncertainty” in sea level rise projections.

Science is a fallible, communal human process; it moves by slow self-correction, threading its way through uncertainties like a ship among icebergs. In Pine Island Bay, where the ocean charts themselves are still being updated, precision is vital. But precision takes time, and Thwaites’s time seems to dwindle with each new study.

— Marissa Grunes is a Science Writer and Literary Scholar who has written on the cultural and scientific history of Antarctica for Atlas Obscura, Nautilus, and the Boston Review, among other places.

[graff1980]

Tonight, I saw steps set in stone, grey rocks that ascend to a pearly gate view and cloudy throne, the peak of dreams as close to clouds as my human resilience allows.

Clean water sparkled, and glaciers gleamed as the Southern Ocean steamed setting adrift a strange mist, in a world that borders on fictious with one rainbow bending across steep cliffs, and cloud kissed Islands as far as I can see.

Highway curves are chased by large swaths of Pine trees that rise and fall along these sweet coastal roads revealing truths only true travelers know.

Sadly, I am only a lonely interloper. Such majestic mysteries are not for me, but a fraction of their essence is gifted via the internet presence of two delightful trekkers.

-2022

[mapsbyw]

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Streaming Snow and “Sea Smoke”

Pine Island Glacier, along with neighboring Thwaites Glacier, garners attention as one of the main pathways for ice flowing from the West Antarctic Ice Sheet to the Amundsen Sea. It has also been one of the fastest-retreating glaciers in Antarctica, and ice on its seaward edge regularly fractures and calves off icebergs—some large enough to be named. In October 2024, however, it was the atmosphere above the ice that stole the show with a display of blowing snow and “sea smoke.”

Satellites are usually unable to capture clear images of these near-surface atmospheric phenomena because clouds tend to be present when they occur, said Christopher Shuman, a University of Maryland, Baltimore County, glaciologist based at NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center. This was not the case on October 10, 2024, when the OLI (Operational Land Imager) on Landsat 8 acquired this image. It illustrates “the power of the wind,” in this case racing out to the edges of the continent from the cold interior, he said.

In this image, “sea smoke” appears to form at the very edge of the glacier’s terminus, as well as over open water along its northern edge, Shuman said. This phenomenon occurs because of a stark difference in temperature between the ice and the water surrounding it. Here, winds are pushing water and sea ice away from the ice front, driving an upwelling of relatively warm water to replace it from below. Sea smoke forms when cold air moves across the warmer water, and when the cold air cannot hold the water vapor it encounters, it quickly condenses into small ice crystals.

The wind is also kicking up snow from the surface of the adjacent West Antarctic Ice Sheet, accounting for more streams of white across the scene. The origins of some of these plumes are particularly visible near the jumbled shear zone along the south side of Pine Island Glacier, shown in the detailed image below.

The two phenomena seen here are a testament to the strength of springtime winds over Antarctica. “One really shouldn’t be surprised to see winds coming out of the interior with all the cold winter air that’s been isolated there for months,” Shuman said. The ice sheet’s mass of cold air sets the stage for katabatic winds, which develop when that relatively cold, dense air flows downslope and rushes out toward the coast.

In parts of Antarctica, including the area around Pine Island Glacier, strong winds can transport and sublimate enough snow to have significant influence on the surface mass balance of polar ice sheets. However, the extent to which blowing snow contributes to the loss of surface mass is not fully understood due to the difficulty of collecting ground-based data at these sites and gaps in satellite observations.

NASA Earth Observatory images by Wanmei Liang, using Landsat data from the U.S. Geological Survey. Story by Lindsey Doermann.

[weather-usa]

Rare satellite view reveals unusual plume above critical Antarctic glacier

Earlier this month, a NASA satellite captured a rare view of a crucial glacier in western Antarctica that appears to be "smoking." This phenomenon, known as “sea smoke,” isn’t actually smoke but fog—forming as white, wispy clouds above the dark ocean near Pine Island Glacier.

Weather Forecast For 90501 - Torrance CA:

https://www.behance.net/gallery/203666151/Weather-Forecast-For-90501

The "smoke" effect is a result of wind and water interaction. Strong winds cleared away ice and cooler water, allowing warmer water to surface. This warmer water released humid air into the dry, cold air sweeping over it. The temperature difference caused the moisture to condense into fog.

From the ground, this would resemble a scene from a haunted house, with a ghostly mist cloaking the water’s surface and giving the illusion of smoke.

Sea smoke itself isn’t unusual—it can occur whenever extremely cold, dry air moves over a warmer body of water. This phenomenon is often observed on the Great Lakes during the season's first Arctic blast, when the lake waters remain relatively warm.

However, spotting it over Pine Island Glacier via satellite is rare, as this area is typically covered by clouds, according to NASA.

Pine Island Glacier is a crucial, closely monitored region of Antarctica that faces significant threats from a warming climate. This glacier functions like a drainage system for the massive ice sheet bordering it, channeling a steady flow of ice into the surrounding ocean.

Since the 1990s, that flow has been accelerating “dramatically” as the glacier becomes destabilized by warmer air, ocean temperatures, and reduced snowfall, hindering its ability to replenish its ice, CNN previously reported.

Alongside the neighboring Thwaites Glacier, known as the “Doomsday Glacier,” Pine Island Glacier has been losing ice at a rapid pace over the past few decades. Together, these glaciers could independently raise sea levels by several feet.

These glaciers also act as barriers, helping to prevent the collapse of the Antarctic ice sheet behind them, which contains enough ice to raise global sea levels by a staggering 10 feet.

See more:

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-60043

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-60044

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-60045

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-60046

https://weatherusa.app/zip-code/weather-60047

Climate and Average Weather Year Round in 44408 - Columbiana OH:

[zehub]

Photo du jour: une fumée de mer Antarctique au-dessus du glacier de Pine Island

Le glacier de Pine Island constitue l'une des principales voies d'écoulement de la glace de la calotte de l'Antarctique occidental vers la mer d'Amundsen. La glace située à

[travelnew]

Parashar Lake

It was our second last day of Spiti in a jeep safari. We were going to Parashar Lake in Mandi. The weather was sunny and we crossed a cloudburst affected area in our vehicle. This was the first time I was seeing nature's fury so close. The cloudburst had happened two days ago and there already was a winding road made through the rubble of boulders by the JCB machines. A concrete bridge had been washed away.

My understanding was that cloudburst happens over a small area. But this devastated area was long. The cloudburst must have taken place higher up and the water must have swelled to wipe off everything in its flow down. That's what we crossed safely. The lenght of the affected area was longer than its breadth. The bulldozer must have created a curvy S-shaped road through the debris of huge boulders and the villagers were using this road by foot or vehicle.

Then as we ascended the regular tarred road, the scenery changed to tall pines and clouds. It was cool and foggy. Visibility was reduced to around 10 metres and the winding road was such that it was impossible to look around the corner turn and honking was compulsory at every twist. We reached the top and were surrounded by clouds. This was my third visit to Parashar Lake and I had imagined that nothing would be seen in the clouds. It was exactly that. We reached the lake and couldn't see anything except clouds over the lake in the bowl of the mountains.

(Now this is my understanding and it has to be taken with a pinch of salt, as I am not a geologist. Parashar Lake must have been a glacial lake during the ice age). The glacier and the snow must have melted leaving the lake in a bowl of the mountain at the top. Now comes the most beautiful part of the setting. You must have realised how unique this lake is and it has an island inside it! This floating island is a round plate covered with grass, whose color changes from green to brown to white as per the climate or snow. From the top, the first look of this lake resembles an emerald. A jewel in the mountains. Sun is shining on the green emerald island floating in the middle of the lake. The island never touches the edge of the lake and the island moves! I have been to this place twice, separated by years and the island has been at different locations in the lake! It is said that the depth of this lake is unfathomable.

Observe the MOVEMENT OF THE FLOATING ISLAND IN THIS EMERALD LAKE!

The poojari or the guruji of the Parashar Rishi Ashram told us the following story:

A scientist or a diver had dived in this lake to understand the mysterious floating island. The diver couldn't, but their observations were, that the island is made of of mud on which the grass grows. Surprisingly the mud doesn't disintegrate in the water and there is a cone like structure below the island, tapering off like a whirlpool's spin.

Rishi Parashar is the son the of Rishi Vashisth and father of Rishi Vyas.

Rishi Vyas narrated Mahabharat and Lord Ganesh wrote it.

Parashar Rishi knew the future even when he was in his mother's womb and was reluctant to be born to avoid him fathering his son, Rishi Vyas.

Rishi Vyas would narrate Mahabharat and Parashar Rishi didn't want the war to happen.

So for 12 years Rishi Parashar gathered the future of the mankind in his mother's womb and then took birth.

Rishi Parashar meditated for 63,000 years at Parashar lake and then he took samadhi here.

As a child our poojari's grandparents told him and the family that nobody is supposed to talk loudly at this serene lake. Peace and quiet. It is so peaceful here, that there is no need of even the birds to sing or chirp. Only the melody of the bell that is rung with devotion at the Parashar Rishi Ashram is the sound heard when devotees come for darshan.

The lake is 71% water and 29% island. The proportion matches the land and water percentage of the Earth!

Now comes our experience. Though I had been to this emerald lake of Rishi Parashar twice (you can check the photos here of my 2013 & 2019 visit) and I had done the pradakshina of the lake, I didn't know what to experience till my friend Terrvaller (Tosh bhai) told this. Tosh told us that let us do the pradakshina of the lake bare foot. He said that the Earth around this lake doesn't hurt at all. There is grass, there are thorns, there are plants and there are insects. Hairy caterpillars which if touched will cause stinging and itching. But I trusted my friend and another friend joined us in the barefooted pradakshina. We three went around. The mud around the lake's periphery was wet and soft. The feet went in, but there was no bad feeling and the mulch was like massage to the legs. Our feet sunk in the soft velvet and it was enjoyable. There are stones, pebbles and rocks in the path. If you pick them up, they are the regular stuff, which are hard and will hurt when walked without shoes. But here, even stepping on them while doing the pradakshina doesn't hurt. They just stay there. Not a single bump happened to the open toes. Neither did we ever step on a thorn or a caterpillar. The thorns of the plants don't touch your feet at all. The grass and its flowers are like the green carpet with colorful jewels all around, welcoming the devotee to experience silence and magic.

That's the power of these ancient places. Do not go with music played on your mobiles or speakers. Do not chatter around the lake. Do not speak. Just watch, sit or stand and absorb the silence and know what you are missing from your routine life.

Preserve the sanctity of the region, respect the local villagers and do not take selfies with the dieties.

(Pardone my misunderstandings or wrong connections in the article written about divinity, when I felt the divine magic).

Himachal Pradesh is the Land of the Gods.

[gautammander]

The top 7 Parks and Nature Attractions in Sweden

 Sweden is renowned for its breathtaking parks and nature attractions, offering visitors a diverse tapestry of landscapes and outdoor experiences. From rugged mountains and ancient forests to pristine archipelagos and cultural heritage sites, Sweden's natural beauty captivates travelers from around the world. These destinations provide a tranquil retreat amidst unspoiled wilderness, ideal for hiking, wildlife viewing, and exploring unique ecosystems. The country's national parks, such as Abisko and Sarek in Swedish Lapland, showcase dramatic scenery with towering peaks, glaciers, and expansive tundra. 

These areas are popular for trekking along well-marked trails and experiencing the midnight sun or northern lights, depending on the season. The Stockholm Archipelago, with its thousands of islands and picturesque coastal villages, offers opportunities for sailing, kayaking, and relaxing on sandy beaches. Closer to cities like Stockholm and Gothenburg, parks like Tyresta and Skuleskogen provide easy access to ancient forests, geological formations, and coastal vistas. These parks are havens for biodiversity, housing rare plant species and diverse wildlife, including moose, deer, and a variety of bird species. Whether you seek adventure in the wilderness, tranquility by the sea, or a glimpse into Sweden's cultural heritage, the country's parks and nature attractions promise an enriching experience for nature enthusiasts and outdoor adventurers alike.

Here are some parks and nature attractions in Sweden.

1. Abisko National Park: 

Swedish Lapland's Abisko National Park is well-known for its breathtaking scenery and outdoor pursuits. It is home to the well-known Abisko Canyon, which provides amazing views of the northern lights in the winter. Hiking trails such as the King's Trail (Kungsleden) allow visitors to explore the extensive wilderness, and a chairlift up Nuolja Mountain offers panoramic views of Lake Torneträsk and the surrounding mountains.

 2. Sarek National Park: 

Sarek National Park, also in Swedish Lapland, is a remote and rugged wilderness known for its untouched nature and challenging hiking trails. It's part of the UNESCO World Heritage Laponia area and offers some of Sweden's most spectacular mountain scenery. Popular activities include trekking along the Padjelanta Trail, which crosses through the park, and admiring the dramatic landscapes of glaciers, towering peaks, and deep valleys.

3. The Archipelago of Stockholm: 

The Stockholm Archipelago, which stretches eastward from the Swedish capital into the Baltic Sea, is made up of hundreds of islands, islets, and skerries. For those who enjoy the outdoors, it's a paradise with sailing, kayaking, and island-hopping options. Discover quaint fishing villages, unwind on sandy beaches, and take in the peace and quiet of the unspoiled natural surroundings. Popular starting sites for exploring this lovely archipelago are Vaxholm and Sandhamn.

4. The National Park of Tyresta: 

The southern region of Sweden is home to Tyresta National Park, renowned for its biodiversity, untamed landscapes, and old forests. Hikers and lovers of the great outdoors will find paradise here, as routes wind past serene lakes, along rugged cliffs, and through thick pine forests. Rare plant species, deer, and moose, as well as historical relics like Viking ruins, can all be found in the park. Visitors can get a peek at Sweden's natural heritage in the Tyresta town and nature reserve.

5. The Archipelago of Göteborg: 

Located close to Gothenburg on Sweden's west coast is the Göteborg Archipelago, another breathtaking natural wonder. It is made up of more than 20 islands, each with a distinct personality and charm. Hiking along gorgeous trails, swimming in crystal-clear waterways, and taking boat cruises to explore charming fishing communities are all available to visitors. Popular locations in this archipelago are Marstrand, with its fortress and sailing regattas, and Vrångö, with its sandy beaches and natural reserves.

6. Laponian Area: 

Renowned for its unspoiled natural beauty and rich Sami cultural legacy, the Laponian Area in Swedish Lapland is recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It consists of two natural reserves and four national parks: Sarek, Padjelanta, Stora Sjöfallet, and Muddus. With its stunning scenery of mountains, rivers, and wide-open tundra, the area provides unmatched chances for hiking, fishing, and wildlife viewing. The traditional way of life and strong ties to the land of the Sami people are also available for visitors to learn about.

7. Skuleskogen National Park:

Skuleskogen National Park is renowned for its distinctive geological formations and coastal scenery. It is situated on the High Coast in northern Sweden. It has the well-known Slåttdalsskrevan, a striking canyon with a hiking path that winds down its slender valley. The park's untamed coastline provides sandy beaches, swimming and kayaking opportunities, and expansive vistas of the Gulf of Bothnia. Skuleskogen is acknowledged for its post-glacial rebound and biodiversity and is included in the High Coast UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Conclusion

In conclusion, Sweden's parks and nature attractions offer a gateway to exploring the country's stunning natural beauty and diverse landscapes. Whether you're drawn to the rugged wilderness of Swedish Lapland's national parks like Abisko and Sarek, the tranquil islands of the Stockholm Archipelago, or the ancient forests of parks like Tyresta and Skuleskogen, each destination provides a unique and memorable experience. These parks not only preserve Sweden's rich biodiversity but also offer recreational opportunities such as hiking, wildlife watching, and cultural exploration. Visitors can immerse themselves in the serenity of pristine environments, discover rare flora and fauna, and connect with Sweden's cultural heritage. For travelers planning to visit Sweden, understanding the visa requirements is essential. Applying for a Sweden visa ensures smooth entry and allows ample time to explore these natural wonders. Whether you're interested in witnessing the northern lights, experiencing the midnight sun, or simply enjoying the peace and beauty of Sweden's parks, a well-prepared visit promises to be both rewarding and unforgettable. Incorporating these natural treasures into your travel itinerary ensures a deeper appreciation of Sweden's natural heritage and a truly enriching experience in one of Europe's most captivating destinations.