A ghostly world this morning. Woke to thick fog. Up on the bridge it’s white on white every where you look. We’re crunching through quite thick sea ice now. It slides and scrapes and chimes and clatters along the hull next to where I’m writing, a symphony of ice and snow and metal. Sometimes it’s so thick that the ship can’t get through and then we stop, back the ship up and try another lead. Watching the ice crack and break to let us pass and the patterns of the sliding, upturning ice in the black water is completely mesmerizing.
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