{"id":40893,"date":"2023-01-03T00:05:01","date_gmt":"2023-01-03T08:05:01","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/hakaimagazine.com\/?post_type=custom_features&p=40893"},"modified":"2023-01-10T08:41:01","modified_gmt":"2023-01-10T16:41:01","slug":"how-we-came-to-know-and-fear-the-doomsday-glacier","status":"publish","type":"custom_features","link":"https:\/\/hakaimagazine.com\/features\/how-we-came-to-know-and-fear-the-doomsday-glacier\/","title":{"rendered":"How We Came to Know and Fear the Doomsday Glacier"},"content":{"rendered":"

RAM! <\/em>The bright red hull of the US Coast Guard icebreaker Glacier<\/em> 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\u2019s most remote places: the Amundsen Sea, Antarctica. A graduate student onboard, Jill Singer, got to try her hand at breaking ice during the voyage. \u201cYou push the throttle or thrusters up,\u201d she explains. \u201cIt would lift the front of the Glacier <\/em>out of the water enough to drop down on the ice and break it.\u201d RAM! <\/em>After several days of charging at sea ice with bone-aching resolve, the Glacier <\/em>broke through.<\/p>\n

\u201c[We] broke into \u2026 a beautifully calm, ice-free sea, the eye in a hurricane of ice,\u201d glaciologist Terry Hughes later wrote of the moment\u2014one he had been dreaming of since at least the 1970s when he first started worrying about glacial collapse.<\/p>\n

The Glacier <\/em>became the first ship to sail into Pine Island Bay.<\/p>\n

\"The<\/a>

The US Coast Guard icebreaker Glacier<\/em> in Pine Island Bay, Antarctica, in 1985. Photo courtesy of John B. Anderson<\/p><\/div>\n

The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change predicts sea levels will rise almost half a meter by 2100<\/a>. 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\u2019s been dubbed the \u201cDoomsday Glacier\u201d: Thwaites, one of our planet\u2019s largest glaciers, which is roughly as extensive as Great Britain.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

Thwaites and its neighbor Pine Island Glacier drain about one-third of the West Antarctic Ice Sheet\u2014the 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\u2019s enough water to raise sea levels by over three meters, redrawing coastlines and transforming the planet we know.<\/p>\n

\"map<\/a>

Map data by ArcGIS<\/p><\/div>\n

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<\/a>. Today, the potential collapse of Thwaites Glacier is among the largest environmental threats to global civilization\u2014and we\u2019ve barely begun to understand it. What took us so long?<\/p>\n

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\u2014and triumphs\u2014of science at the bottom of the world.<\/p>\n

Pine Island Bay is a small indent in the coast of West Antarctica. It feeds into the stormy and ice-choked Amundsen Sea\u2014the only sector of Antarctica that no nation has bothered to claim. It\u2019s remote even for Antarctica: the closest permanently occupied research station is 1,500 kilometers away.<\/p>\n

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<\/em> were the first humans to cross the Antarctic Circle, the invisible line of latitude at 66\u00b0 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\u2019s leading scientific institution, the Royal Society. A year later, the Resolution<\/em> again crossed the Antarctic Circle but was stopped short by what Cook described as an \u201cimmence Icefield \u2026 so close packed together that nothing could enter it.\u201d The ship was at S 71\u00b010\u2032, W 106\u00b054\u2032. 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\u2019s coordinates became known as Cook\u2019s ne plus ultra<\/em>\u2014Latin for \u201cno more beyond.\u201d<\/p>\n

When Cook turned back, the Resolution <\/em>was less than 300 kilometers directly north of Thwaites Glacier. It\u2019s a short distance by today\u2019s standards, yet when a modern edition of Cook\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n

\n

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<\/em>, named for Pine Island Sound in Florida, was sent to the Amundsen Sea. But the Pine Island<\/em> never entered Pine Island Bay. Instead, its aircraft returned with the first aerial views of the embayment.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

\"The<\/a>

The aircraft carrier USS Pine Island<\/em> 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<\/p><\/div>\n

Around that time, though, Hughes had begun to ask questions about the region. The glaciologist, who called himself a \u201ccowboy scientist,\u201d 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.<\/p>\n

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 \u201cgrounded\u201d 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\u2019s floating ice, by contrast, is half that length.<\/p>\n

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\u2019t 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 \u201cweak underbelly\u201d 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 \u201cDeluge II and the continent of doom: rising sea level and collapsing Antarctic ice.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"An<\/a>

An aerial view of a shrinking glacier: Pine Island Glacier between 2000 and 2019. Photos by NASA<\/p><\/div>\n

When Hughes sailed past Cook\u2019s 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\u2014particularly, 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.<\/p>\n

For the National Science Foundation (NSF), which had funded the research cruise, curiosity alone couldn\u2019t justify the fuel needed to ram ice day and night on the taxpayer\u2019s dime. If there were a glaciological fire smoldering in Pine Island Bay, as Hughes argued, NSF needed to see the match. Hughes hadn\u2019t found it.<\/p>\n

In fact, early satellite data was casting doubt on Hughes\u2019s 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). \u201cRemote sensing has revolutionized glaciology,\u201d says glaciologist Karen Alley. \u201cIt\u2019s not that long ago that nobody even had a picture of the whole continent,\u201d she adds, referring to Antarctica. \u201cAnd now we have continent-wide ice thickness and flow velocity.\u201d<\/p>\n

Throughout the 1980s and early \u201990s, studies based on Landsat satellite images suggested that Pine Island Glacier was not only stable, it was actually gaining <\/em>ice: 50 gigatonnes of ice per year, according to one estimate. It was fattening up to match its nickname, the PIG. Thwaites Glacier\u2014an afterthought in these studies\u2014was apparently growing, too.<\/p>\n

It seemed Pine Island Bay shouldn\u2019t be considered an area of concern. Hughes wasn\u2019t convinced. The bay\u2019s lack of floating ice shelves still raised his suspicions. Without data to support his theories, though, there was little he could do.<\/p>\n

How did the studies using Landsat get it so wrong? \u201cThere\u2019s a lot it doesn\u2019t do,\u201d 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\u2019t reach. But a different type of satellite technology was about to turn glaciology on its head.<\/p>\n

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\u2019s potential, particularly after following its use on a NASA space shuttle a few years later.<\/p>\n

\"ERS-2<\/a>

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<\/p><\/div>\n

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.<\/p>\n

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\u2019s also where ocean water gnaws at that glacier\u2019s base, loosening it from the bedrock. Much of West Antarctica\u2019s ice is grounded well below sea level, <\/strong>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\u2019t change sea level: it\u2019s already displacing ocean water, like ice cubes in a glass of water. But when the grounding line retreats, once-grounded ice melts. That does <\/em>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\u2014say, an underwater ridge or mountain that \u201cpins\u201d 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\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n

\"infographic<\/a>

The grounding line is where the bedrock, ice, and ocean meet. Pinpointing its location and how it moves helps inform researchers about a glacier\u2019s stability. Illustration by Mark Garrison<\/p><\/div>\n

Researchers can\u2019t tell how fast the grounding line is retreating if they don\u2019t 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. \u201cWoah! Maybe my data is bad,\u201d he thought, \u201cbut the evidence is piling up that these melt rates are way bigger.\u201d 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?<\/p>\n

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\u2019s work and in 1991 had published a paper urging \u201cicebreaker penetration and detailed oceanographic sampling\u201d of the \u201clargely unknown\u201d Amundsen Sea. He wanted to take a ship back to Pine Island Bay.<\/p>\n

The ocean\u2019s 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: \u201cIt wasn\u2019t on the horizon.\u201d<\/p>\n

The ocean is notoriously difficult to study. It\u2019s expensive and dangerous, even in the best conditions. Rignot\u2019s improved satellite data was so good that he mostly worked from his office in California. Where the ocean was concerned, though, satellites weren\u2019t enough. Satellites can give temperatures only at the surface, where ice melt and subzero winds make polar water very cold; they can\u2019t reach the deeper warm water.<\/p>\n

\u201cTo get data in the ocean, you have to go there,\u201d Rignot says. In 1994, Jacobs did just that.<\/p>\n

No one had broken through the ice around Pine Island Bay since the voyage of the Glacier <\/em>a decade earlier. \u201cWe were going into essentially uncharted waters,\u201d recalls the oceanographer Adrian Jenkins, who joined Jacobs onboard. \u201cNo one knew where the edge of the continental shelf was\u2014it was mismapped.\u201d<\/p>\n

Their cruise started in the more accessible waters of the Ross Sea, south of New Zealand. There, the team found extremely cold ocean water\u2014about -2.2\u00a0\u00b0C, 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\u00a0\u00b0C.<\/p>\n

The water got warmer still as they approached their goal. \u201cWe managed to get the ship into Pine Island Bay, which was obviously the place above all others I wanted to get,\u201d Jenkins recalls. \u201cAnd the observations changed our thinking about the region.\u201d Startled by the warm temperatures, he taught himself the scientific software MATLAB onboard and coded up some rough estimates. \u201cI found these really high melt rates, like 100 meters per year\u2014I thought way too high, way<\/em> too high,\u201d Jenkins recalls. \u201cI thought there must be something wrong; I spent the next 10 years trying to figure out what. Turns out it\u2019s not so much of an overestimate as I thought.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"satellite<\/a>

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<\/p><\/div>\n

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.<\/p>\n

Rignot became a key ally. His work had focused on Greenland, but he knew of Hughes\u2019s seemingly niche obsession with Pine Island Bay. He was intrigued by Jenkins\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n

\u201cI had heard this theory on the instability of West Antarctica,\u201d Rignot recalls. He began looking at radar interferometry data on Pine Island Glacier\u2019s grounding line, and \u201cBoom! <\/em>It was flashing on my screen. Something big was happening here.\u201d He took almost two years to publish his calculations: \u201cI wanted to be darn sure that what I was seeing was real,\u201d he says. \u201cBecause if it was real, that was very significant.\u201d<\/p>\n

At a conference in 1997, Rignot presented findings indicating that Pine Island Glacier\u2019s grounding line was retreating by roughly 1.2 kilometers per year.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis was where Eric\u2019s work set the world alight,\u201d 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\u2014it may collapse like a cathedral.<\/p>\n

Today, Rignot\u2019s calculation holds: researchers believe Pine Island Glacier\u2019s 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\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n

Changing the direction of Antarctic research is like driving an icebreaker, though. It\u2019s 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\u2019t 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.<\/p>\n

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\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n

\"Autosub3\"<\/a>

Autosub3, a fully automated underwater drone, helped confirm that warm water was getting under the ice shelf in Pine Island Bay. Photo by Pierre Dutrieux<\/p><\/div>\n

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.<\/p>\n

They were still figuring out where to focus their research, he explains. Building on previous work, Holland\u2019s team started at Pine Island. But, he says, \u201cwhile we were there, we thought, Shouldn\u2019t we be next door at Thwaites?\u201d<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

Thwaites is larger than Pine Island Glacier\u2014much, much larger. It has a wide front\u2014over 120 kilometers\u2014and 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\u2019s 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\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n

For decades, though, the focus had been on Pine Island Glacier. The two glaciers are neighbors\u2014but 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\u2019s possible that nobody saw Thwaites from shipboard until 2019. And as Holland found when he sailed there in January 2022, the glacier\u2019s disintegration is making it even harder to reach.<\/p>\n

Headlines in December 2021 announced that the Thwaites ice shelf might \u201cshatter like a car windscreen\u201d within five years. That\u2019s hard to say for sure. We do <\/em>know that the floating ice shelf acts like a buttress, keeping Thwaites\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n

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\u2019s possible this happened around 125,000 years ago, when sea levels were about six to nine meters higher than today. West Antarctica won\u2019t fall apart overnight. It might take a few hundred years. But if it does happen\u2014as many researchers fear it will\u2014it will redraw global coastlines.<\/p>\n

\"satellite<\/a>

Thwaites Glacier as captured by the Copernicus Sentinel-2 mission, November 26, 2020. Photo courtesy of the European Space Agency<\/p><\/div>\n

Holland sees the planet in terms of a simple principle: \u201cplay with the atmosphere, expect change.\u201d<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

In short, Holland says, \u201cthe winds will change the ocean, the ocean will melt Antarctica\u2014and the water is coming to visit you.\u201d 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\u2019re hard to predict. We have apps on our phone to tell us the weather tomorrow, Holland remarks, but we\u2019re 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 \u201cdynamic contribution\u201d of ice sheets \u201cremains the key uncertainty\u201d in sea level rise projections.<\/p>\n

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\u2019s time seems to dwindle with each new study<\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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\u2019s <\/p>\n

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