Monday, October 29, 2012

A Long, Slow Slog


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Monday, October 29, 2012

Science

SCIENTIST AT WORK October 26, 2012, 6:26 AM 4 Comments

A Long, Slow Slog

By AARON PUTNAM
The Thampe Chhu valley.A.E. PutnamThe Thampe Chhu valley.
Aaron Putnam, a postdoctoral research scientist at the Lamont-Doherty Earth Observatory of Columbia University, is a leader of an expedition to Bhutan to examine links among climate, glaciers and water resources in the Himalaya.
Tuesday, Oct. 2
After having crested the craggy, high pass of Tampe La, which lies about 4,700 meters (about 15,400 feet) above sea level, we descended back into forest to reach the Galapangchu camp deep within the Thampe Chhu valley, about 3,900 meters (about 12,800 feet) above sea level.
The Thampe Chhu is a tributary of the Mangde Chhu, which the Bhutanese rely on as a major source of hydroelectricity. Over the course of the next few days, we will follow this milky blue stream to its source at the melting glaciers of the Rinchen Zoe region.
Our arrival at Galapangchu was greeted with cold afternoon rain associated with the lingering monsoon. The low river terrace on which we were camped turned into a mud bath as both rain and hungry horses pummeled the soft ground. After an early sunset and dinner, we settled into our tents, eagerly anticipating a new dawn that would bring us one step closer to our field site.
As seems to be usual now, David Putnam (a geoarchaeologist at the University of Maine at Presque Isle, and my father) and I woke well before dawn. The combination of early bedtimes and racing minds leaves us each morning staring helplessly at the inner walls of our tent, hours before the sky begins to brighten.
Our camp cook is always first to emerge from the darkness to prepare the day’s meals. His subtle, hypnotic prayer chants lure us out of our tent. The cook has come to expect us to rise around this time, and generously greets us with hot naja (cardamom sweet tea) that we sip while awaiting the dawn.
Nomads leaving Lunana.D.E. PutnamNomads leaving Lunana.
AARON PUTNAM
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This day was no different, except that I was charged with the task of waking early our mountain expert, Mike Roberts, of Adventure Consultants, based in Wanaka, New Zealand. Because the field site we’re aiming for has no established camp nearby, Mike agreed to scout a campsite with our head guide, Karma Tshering.
Given that within the last few months Mike has reached the summits of both Mount Everest and Mount Kilimanjaro (among other high peaks), he expected to be able to tolerate the deleterious effects of rapidly ascending to high altitude.
After a long wait, the sun finally cast its rays upon the cold valley bottom. I woke Mike, who quickly set off to scout a place for our high campsite at about 5,100 meters (about 16,700 feet) above sea level. The rest of us packed our gear and headed toward our next camp, named Darlay Marpo, situated about 10 kilometers (a little more than 6 miles) upstream and to the north at about 4,700 meters (about 15,400 feet) above sea level.
Because our trek on this day would take us on a gradual ascent past the upper limits of fir and juniper, I departed camp armed with tree-boring equipment in addition to my personal gear. Trees growing at the upper edge of their altitudinal range can be highly sensitive to even modest changes in atmospheric temperature.
Ed Cook (Columbia University) and Paul Krusic (formerly at the Lamont-Doherty Earth Observatory of Columbia University and now at Stockholm University in Sweden), our climate scientists, have successfully reconstructed past air temperature variations from Bhutan juniper. Having observed spectacular juniper trees during our descent from Tampe La, we decided to be ready with the appropriate tools if we intersected similar stands of trees during our climb toward Darlay Marpo camp.
After walking for a little more than 3 kilometers (about 2 miles), I came upon the upper limit of fir trees, but in contrast to the path we had taken the previous day, no prominent belt of juniper trees existed beyond the fir. Instead, juniper bushes clung low to the ground in among rhododendron trees, which was not ideal. Alas, our hopes of collecting samples from old, large juniper trees along the way to Darlay Marpo were dashed.
At that time, the cold mountain drizzle began. Given that my pack was unusually heavy because of the unused tree-boring equipment, I skipped lunch and walked fast toward our next camp to relieve myself of the load. The track was an endless train of irregular boulders from which the lichens appeared to have been scraped.
As I gained altitude, I began to feel the toll of the progressively thinning atmosphere. Each step began to feel more like three, each breath was less satisfying, and my pace slowed.
I finally arrived at Darlay Marpo camp, where I was pleased to abandon my heavy, rain-soaked pack. Because I had skipped lunch, I was the first to our campsite. The others trailed, and the horses bearing our camping and scientific gear were even farther behind.
Eventually Summer Rupper (a professor at Brigham Young University) and Josh Maurer (her student) appeared, along with two of our guides, Sangay and Sangay K. The temperature had dropped, and the wind had gained speed.
Summer clung to the ground in the fetal position; after overcoming a stomach virus, she was cold and exhausted from the trudge. The guides and I tried to build a small fire from nearby shrub branches, but it could radiate little heat against the fierce wind and rain. No horses or gear had yet arrived, and the light was beginning to wane.
Summer Rupper at Darlay Marpo.D.E. PutnamSummer Rupper at Darlay Marpo.
David arrived a short time later. The walk had also taken a toll on him. The long slog had stolen his energy, the altitude had taken his breath, and the cold, damp wind had robbed his body of heat. He was rapidly descending into hypothermia.
David is a crusty man from northern Maine who is used to spending the cruel winter months working in his 47-acre woodlot. Growing up, I perceived him as impervious to weather. However, this situation was different.
By that time a few of our 25 horses had arrived, one of which carried a single tent. I had carried my sleeping bag in my pack during the day, so we erected the tent and David curled up in the sleeping bag to prevent further heat loss.
More horses arrived slowly into the evening. Mike returned exhausted from his campsite scouting. Ed and Paul were the last to appear, dead tired from the blustery walk. All were able finally to have a hot beverage well after sunset.
Late in the evening, some of the horses still had not arrived, which signified confusion somewhere down the line.
Given the exhausted state of our crew and the disorganized nature of our camp, it has become apparent that our ascent to high camp will be delayed, and it is by no means clear whether all will be able to progress farther.
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