Rabini Rocks
Early morning, or so claims my clock, but as I look about on deck it seems much the same as last night or even yesterday afternoon – we continue to live under the midnight sun. Somewhere behind a solid blanket of low clouds and fog there is a sun, but I cannot tell exactly where. My other senses are chased about by a persistent breeze, cold and definitely unpleasant before coffee. But none of this is nearly as disorienting as what rise for the sea directly in front of the ship… they call it Rabini Rock.
Geologist Jim Kelley is bobbing about the deck with a large predatory grin of immense satisfaction, just perfect. Rabini Rock is an ancient flow of lava that cooled just perfectly. It became columnar basalt, strange columns, Nature’s circles, mostly hexagonal, one next to the other next the other. But these are not straight like Grecian architecture or marching soldiers, they have been lightly stirred like thick toffee, so the rock lies sometimes vertical, sometimes horizontal and at other times they are everything in between. And there is not just rock, but kittiwakes too, crying and calling at the end of the nesting. And we put down the boats for rides closer up and the fog threatens. Then we go into the helicopters and ride to the top of the ridges and the fog glowers. Below hunting Arctic foxes sniff, run and yap to each other, “Here, over here, come here!” Beneath our feet the ground is patterned, playful designs of dark winter where flowers wink and mosses carpet. And we return to the ship, amazed, awed, almost overwhelmed by this day in the Arctic as we have been every day and our blood flows a little faster and our breath blows a little stronger and our world seems a lot bigger, or is it that we are just a bit smaller.
Early morning, or so claims my clock, but as I look about on deck it seems much the same as last night or even yesterday afternoon – we continue to live under the midnight sun. Somewhere behind a solid blanket of low clouds and fog there is a sun, but I cannot tell exactly where. My other senses are chased about by a persistent breeze, cold and definitely unpleasant before coffee. But none of this is nearly as disorienting as what rise for the sea directly in front of the ship… they call it Rabini Rock.
Geologist Jim Kelley is bobbing about the deck with a large predatory grin of immense satisfaction, just perfect. Rabini Rock is an ancient flow of lava that cooled just perfectly. It became columnar basalt, strange columns, Nature’s circles, mostly hexagonal, one next to the other next the other. But these are not straight like Grecian architecture or marching soldiers, they have been lightly stirred like thick toffee, so the rock lies sometimes vertical, sometimes horizontal and at other times they are everything in between. And there is not just rock, but kittiwakes too, crying and calling at the end of the nesting. And we put down the boats for rides closer up and the fog threatens. Then we go into the helicopters and ride to the top of the ridges and the fog glowers. Below hunting Arctic foxes sniff, run and yap to each other, “Here, over here, come here!” Beneath our feet the ground is patterned, playful designs of dark winter where flowers wink and mosses carpet. And we return to the ship, amazed, awed, almost overwhelmed by this day in the Arctic as we have been every day and our blood flows a little faster and our breath blows a little stronger and our world seems a lot bigger, or is it that we are just a bit smaller.
