« "THE JUNGLE" AT LATITUDE 84º SOUTH

The profound fascination the Antarctic held over the first explorers has not diminished in the slightest; on the contrary, it increases relentlessly as the rest of the planet undergoes vertiginous transformations. The Antarctic remains as unaltered and wild as ever thanks to international agreements guaranteeing its preservation and which only permit long-term activities with scientific objectives. For every visitor to these polar regions there are thousands of enthusiasts who, at home, feel trapped by the magic of this extreme environment, and who support the strict measures of preservation that exist today. Those of us who have dedicated part of our lives to working in the Antarctic are conscious not only of the enormous privilege that society has offered us but also of our commitment to the advancement of scientific knowledge and to spreading that knowledge by every available means. If only we were able to transfer part of the excitement of the Antarctic experience to our concise information, tables and graphs.

Undoubtedly, the general image of life in the Antarctic consists mainly of the impressive colonies of marine vertebrates. Penguins, seals, and whales always make the front page but very few are aware of the creatures that inhabit the continent. Nevertheless, the areas free of ice are not uninhabited: plants of modest growth such as lichens and moss, as well as photosynthetic seaweed and bacteria are relatively common. They can be found on rocky outcrops of the Transantarctic Mountains up to latitude 86º south, in the fumaroles of active volcanoes, under the surface of frozen lakes, and in nunataks2 and costal cliffs all over Antarctica. These simple yet versatile organisms, which are very well adapted to extreme conditions, can even be found in the ice and several centimeters under the surface of rocks. The lichen group alone is made up of over four hundred species, many of which are only found in the Antarctic. The same goes for the mosses, with over one hundred species described to date. The single-celled seaweed dyes the snow covering the glaciers red or ocher, and the cyanobacteria colonize ample areas of more or less damp soil, and dominate the plant life of Antarctic lakes. In short, it’s a world that very well could be like the one that existed over all the emerged regions of the planet four hundred million years ago, before the development of familiar leafy and flowering plants.

During the months of January and February of 2003, I had the opportunity of participating in a small expedition from New Zealand to the southernmost point of the Antarctic continent where plant life in certain abundance had been detected. The promising leads came from a geological expedition that forty years previously had visited an area of the Transantarctic Mountains situated between latitude 83º and 84º south. Following these indications and after several years of preparation, New Zealand organized a botanical expedition to this remote plant population. The collaboration of the Italian base Terranova and from the American base McMurdo was essential, and clearly shows the extent and quality of international cooperation in Antarctica. After a few tiring days of skiing, our small group –made up of three scientists and a guide from New Zealand– celebrated the discovery of at least sixteen lichen species and one moss specie in the most remote location in the world. This is a story about that expedition and its significance in the area of botanical research in the Antarctic.

BOTANY IN THE ICE

Antarctica is the only continent in the world which remained free of human presence up until a littler over a century ago. Therefore, everything was new and this stimulated several countries in the process of scientific-technical revolutions and colonial expansion. Beginning with James Cook’s first voyages (1772-1775), a special effort made to carry out rigorous meteorological and oceanographic observations. However, the first mention of Antarctic plants was made by a seal hunting expedition in the South Shetland Islands, led by the American captain Napier, who in 1820 collected Usnea aurantiaco-atra, without a doubt one of the most abundant and most characteristic lichens in the region.
J.D. Hooker was the first botanist to visit Antarctica. He formed part of the famous British expedition led by James Clark Ross (1839-1843), who made so many geographic discoveries in the region that the Ross Sea was named after him. His collection included, of course, U. aurantiaco-atra, as well as ten other species of lichen mostly from the eastern region of the Antarctic Peninsula. During the period in which most Antarctic exploration occurred (1880-1920), several Spanish expeditions made significant collections of lichen and moss and the results were published by the most notable taxonomists of the time.

But the “Heroic Age” of Antarctic exploration ended shortly after the Great War and research would not resume again on a regular basis until after the Second World War. The same happened in other scientific fields, the “International Geophysical Year” (1957-1958) would become a landmark for botanical research in the Antarctic.

The creation of permanent or temporary bases in numerous parts of the South Shetland Islands, the Antarctic Peninsula and continental Antarctica, facilitated access to Antarctic ecosystems and provided much more favorable working conditions to scientists from all over the world. Logistical improvements also allowed the start up of ecological, microclimatic, and eco-physiological experiments, fundamental to understanding the how and why of plant survival in the Antarctic. Today, phenomenon with effects on a global scale, such as the changes in climate, or on a local scale –the hole in the ozone–, mean new challenges which have revitalized research in this field.

Since the beginning of its activities in the Antarctic, Spain has maintained its interest in plant life. Even before the first Spanish base in Antarctica was installed on Livingston Island (“Juan Carlos I”, in 1988), Doctor Josefina Castellví of the Instituto de Ciencias del Mar, or Institute of Ocean Sciences (part of the Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, CSIC, or Superior Council of Scientific Research) gathered a considerable collection of lichens on King George Island, the largest of the South Shetland Islands. After returning to Spain, she looked for a specialist who could identify her specimens and, as luck would have it, someone mentioned my name. This was my first contact with Doctor Castellví and Antarctic science. Her collection was the embryo of a herbarium of Antarctic lichens, which today is made up of over two thousand specimens. Another fortunate factor was the choice of South Bay, on Livingston Island (South Shetland Islands) as the location for installing the first Spanish base in Antarctica. This enclave has proven to be one of the richest in plant species of all Antarctica. Recently, and in only the few square kilometers free of ice around the Spanish base, about two hundred species of lichen and fifty species of mosses have been identified; in other words, approximately half of the total plant varieties found in Antarctica.

Since my first expedition under the direction of Doctor Castellví to Spain’s Antarctic base, Juan Carlos I, in the Austral Summer of 1988-1989, I have had the opportunity of returning nine times to Antarctica. Six of my trips were to Livingston Island, where the other Spanish base, Gabriel de Castilla, operates. The other four trips were made in collaboration with Chile (to Robert Island and King George Island, also in the South Shetlands) and with New Zealand (to Granite Harbor, Victoria Land and Valles Secos, McMurdo Sound). Of all of them, the trip in the beginning of January of this year to the Transantarctic Mountains (Mount Kyffin, 83º 44' S) was the riskiest and most attractive from the standpoint of botanical exploration.

THE TRANSANTARCTIC MOUNTAINS

“Everything here is so impressive; all of the shapes are so gigantic that words cannot do justice. We are the first four human beings to be amazed by these marvels of nature, and sometimes it seems to us that much time will pass before others set foot in these distant lands.” (Shackleton’s Journal3, December 4, 1908, at the Transantarctic Mountains, near the Beardmore glacier.)

The profound impression these mountains made on Shackleton has repeated itself on the few who have followed in his footsteps. This is one of the most remarkable mountain chains on the planet. It flows in a long, continuous, smooth curve for over 3,700 kilometers (2,236 miles) of the continent, from the Oates Coast in the northeast, to the Pensacola Peninsula in the Wedell Sea. They rise up majestically to over 4,000 meters (13,123 feet) above sea level. Pink granite peaks or black crests formed by Paleozoic sedimentary rocks rise up amongst the spectacular blue cascades of ice and rolling landscapes of never ending snow. On occasion, the remains of inactive volcanoes and their unmistakably characteristic basalt formations can be seen; a group of limited chromatic ranges yet with unsurpassable harmony. Without a doubt, the stories of the first explorers made deep impressions on writers such as Lovecraft4, who, inspired by this mountain chain, wrote one of his most horrific stories, “At the Mountains of Madness.”

But it isn’t just their height or their great proportion that makes these mountains unique. The large mountain chains of other continents are dividing lines with two well marked slopes; the Transantarctic Mountains form a buttress which contains the polar ice cap, like an enormous prisoner who withstands the pressure of the greatest glacial formations on our planet. The ice is over 4,000 meters (13,123 feet) thick, overflowing from the high mountain chain in many areas. Therefore, the mountainous barrier confronted by the first explorers wasn’t an obstacle which had to be overcome in order to enter into a new country, but a staircase allowing access to the highest and most extensive plateau in the world, where the altitude almost always over 3,000 meters (9,842 feet) and the thinning air reached temperatures below -80º C (-112º F) in the winter. In reality, the “country” –with its mountain ranges, valleys and even lakes– is found underneath, buried by these three to five kilometers (1.8 to 3 miles) of ice: certainly a lost and inaccessible world.

IN SEARCH OF THE SOUTHERNMOST GREENERY IN THE WORLD

IT isn’t surprising that Shackleton didn’t provide references on plant life in these impressive mountains. There are very few lichens and mosses that reach an altitude above 80º S. The majority of the rich variety of Antarctic lichens and mosses (totaling over five hundred species) are concentrated in the westernmost part of the Antarctic Peninsula and adjacent islands, while further to the south the plant communities decrease sharply both in the number of species as well as in biomass. Plant diversity on the Antarctic continent continues to wane reaching a minimum in the Dry Valley region (77º S) with only five lichen and two moss species. But the southern frontier of Antarctic plant life is not clear. Isolated references of some lichen species along the Transantarctic Mountains do exist, but nothing that would suggest more or less developed plant communities.

For that reason, the news that came from the geologists and mountaineers from New Zealand who explored the Mount Kyffin area at 84º S in the seventies was especially surprising. They confirmed having seen numerous lichens growing in the rocky crests, and to emphasize their findings, they designated one of the areas as “The Jungle”. The temptation was irresistible. After several years of preparation, New Zealand was ready to put a group of biologists at the foot of these intriguing mountains. Our team was composed of Doctor Ian Noag, the Canadian entomologist, Professor Roman Türk, an Austrian botanist, Brian Steati, mountain guide and expedition leader from New Zealand, and myself also as botanist. We came together for the first time on January 3, 2003, at the Antarctic base, Scott, where we arrived from Christchurch (New Zealand) in an A141 American cargo plane.

For three days we prepared the equipment, and under Brian’s supervision, familiarized ourselves with some of the logistical peculiarities of the sophisticated camps from New Zealand; for example, the “Primus” which was our only means of combustion. This little camp stove of Swedish origin has been an absolute prominence in the Antarctic for more than a century. The contrast between the solid, although archaic, appearance of the stove and the lightweight, sophisticated electronic equipment found in abundance on today’s Antarctic expeditions is amusing. Lighting the burner requires a course on the adequate handling of alcohol, kerosene, the starter, the particle filter, and the extremely thin and essential cleaning needle for the valve which releases the fumes. What is certain is that once lit, after following all of the rules, it produces a clean and very efficient flame, unaffected by freezing or pressure changes. The same can be said for the heavy polar tents, which, since the days of Scott and with hardly any change in design, continue doing an excellent job; and you can even light the “Primus” inside. What more could you ask for enjoying the Antarctic environment? If all goes well, a hot meal and relatively warm surroundings are ensured in any situation; if not, carbon monoxide poisoning followed by an atrocious headache will most likely force us to envy the penguins sleeping out under the elements.

Fortunately however, our expedition didn’t have to repeat all the steps of the “Heroic Age”. In the first place, the never-ending seven hundred kilometer (435 miles) journey over the Ross Barrier would be substituted by a flight of just a few hours in a Twin Otter plane. It was an unforgettable experience for all of us, including the pilots who had never before ventured that far down south. One by one, we passed the Transantarctic Mountains to our right while to our left the immense Ross Barrier remained undisturbed. Before arriving at our destination we flew over the gigantic Beardmore Glacier, the route of access to the South Pole on Shackleton’s expedition (1907 - 1909), and Scott’s (1910 - 1912). Finding a place to land wasn’t an easy task in the undulating snow-covered terrain between the mountains and the crevices of the glaciers. It took the pilot an hour of low flying to make a decision; meanwhile we all tried to calm our nerves by attempting to locate the famous “Jungle” among the few snow-free ridges.

Finally, we set up camp at a point equidistant to the different mountains that we proposed to explore. We bid farewell to the plane, which would return to rescue us in six or seven days, and got to work on the preparation of what would be our bathroom and kitchen by excavating two trenches in the snow. The weather remained stable. The sun followed its circular course with barely any change in its height over the horizon, but at some point it would be time to get into our sleeping bags and try to go to sleep.
“The way south is drawn out clearly before our eyes, at our feet a vast glacier extends between two tall mountain chains which go from north to south in an almost a straight line (…) the “true road” that leads to the south” (Shackleton’s Journal, December 4, 1908 at the Beardmore Glacier).

Deceived by the lack of references and the Antarctic’s transparent atmosphere, we made the same miscalculation as our famous predecessors. We thought our objective was at arm’s length. We planned a five or six-hour roundtrip journey on skis to reach the closest crests, with a brief climb up the rocks and ice once we got there. The truth is that after several hours, only the rhythmically passing kilometers on the GPS forced us to accept that we were advancing. Our points of reference remained almost unchanged. When we finally arrived at the rocky ridge we discovered the subtlety of Anglo-Saxon humor. “The Jungle” consisted of a few lichens growing here and there on the more exposed rocks. Nonetheless, considering our location we had to agree that this extremely reduced representation of plant life really deserved such a resonant name.

The simple walk that we had anticipated that morning turned into an exhausting excursion that was bringing us to the limits of our strength. After over ten hours of skiing and climbing a seven hundred meter (2,296 feet) slope under the sun’s relentless rays, the energy, and the two liters (0.5 gallons) of water and tea that each one of us carried was depleted. Our backpacks, filled with samples of lichen-covered rocks, felt heavier and heavier complicating the descent as we skied down some of the steeper hillsides. The last kilometers before arriving at camp were truly dreadful. The snow seemed like burning sand that in no way could quench our thirst after eighteen hours in that frozen desert.

I now almost happily remember that first trip; but that blinding night, too tired to fall asleep, I wrote down my impressions which were still quite fresh…

“We put on our skis, having taken off the sealskins, fasten our heels into the skis, and begin the decent. A nightmare. Especially for Roman and me. Our backpacks weigh over twenty kilos (44 lbs) and our control of the skis is poor because of the mountain boots. Every soft mound of snow, every time a ski breaks the snow’s surface or accelerates on a sheet of ice: to the ground…Impossible to get up with the backpack on. Must take it off and put it back on once I have recovered my balance. Exhausting. When we get to the flat area, everything hurts and I have difficulty breathing, but there are still fifteen kilometers (nine miles) to the camp. I’m dying of thirst. The weight of the pack causes an intense pain in my shoulders. I advance, hallucinating. I remember Scott and I realize: if I let myself fall, I won’t get up again. I have never exerted so much effort in my life. I pass Roman who stops too often to catch his breath. It isn’t that I feel much better, but when not in movement, the weight of my pack becomes even more insufferable. Brian is last to collect the flags we used to mark our route, and what is left of us. The tents can still not be seen; only Ian, who looks like a tiny little dot in the distance and the flags, which seem further and further away from one another. At times I feel like I am heading along a channel with walls of snow on both sides. At some point I have to stop to breathe. I decide to stop at every flag. I throw all the weight over my ski poles, completely bent over, and I exhale almost screaming. After a few more flags, I really scream. The camp appears like another mirage. I still have to stop a couple of times before reaching it and drink, drink. In no time I guzzle down two cans of soda and a beer. I practically can’t eat, everything tastes terribly salty to me and my palate hurts. Water, lots of water, tea with lots of sugar, two aspirin, and into the sleeping bag. It’s 12:30 at night, it’s snowing, I can hear the tent flapping in the wind. I write automatically, almost without thinking. This day has been too long, too hard.” (Mount Kyffin, January 7 to 8, 2003).

In the following days our estimations were more accurate, and, accompanied by good weather, we were able to explore a good portion of the rocky crests near the camp. We found other, even denser Lilliput5 jungles and cataloged a total of sixteen species of lichens and one moss, and we even found small colonies of Collembola (insects) and mites (small arachnids) that lived on the more developed lichen: a record at this latitude. To our surprise, a good part of these species correspond to lichens that are very common in the Arctic and the tall mountains of the Northern Hemisphere. In fact, I had seen some of them on the Gredos and Peñalera peaks (Guadarrama). In a way it was like returning home, but it was impossible to rid oneself of the unease caused by the presence of these old acquaintances so close to the South Pole. How did they get here? Or the other way around (why not), how had they gotten over there? Today we know that the Antarctic began to get cold many millions of years before the Arctic did, and it could be that a good part of the alpine and polar lichen flora was Antarctic in origin. And at any rate, how do these organisms prepare themselves in order to survive in such an inhospitable place? At this moment, we are analyzing the collected specimens from a physiological point of view in hopes of responding, at least partially, to this question.

THE SCIENTIFIC SIGNIFICANCE OF MOUNT KYFFIN

The main contribution to Antarctic science from our small expedition to Mount Kyffin is the discovery of an authentic plant community, relatively rich in species, at a latitude at which only a few isolated sightings of lichen existed. For over half of the varieties found, this area is its southernmost limit of dispersion, in some cases over seven hundred kilometers (435 miles) from the next closest population. In the sometimes laborious search for these communities, we have been able to establish their ecological characteristics: they seem to develop only on Paleozoic sedimentary rock that is dark in color, in areas with crests exposed to wind and the layer of snow is never deep. The combination of dark colored rocks and fine layer of snow permits the absorption of radiation and slow melting of snow over the rocks during the summer. In this way, the lichens are provided occasionally with liquid water, although the air temperature never exceeds the freezing point.

The presence of these lichens, mosses and small invertebrates in such an isolated place allows a comparative study of their genetic material. In this way, it was possible to establish the relationship between these extremely southern populations of our planet and other Antarctic populations, or those from the rest of the world. These results should contribute to explaining the origin and the migratory routes of Antarctic flora and provide insight as to whether they are recent or postglacial populations or the remains of the ancient Gondwanaland flora of over at least fifty million years ago when the Antarctic was still connected to Australia and South America.

From ecological and physiological points of view, we believe the importance of these discovered communities is immense. The abundance of some of the species found in many other places in the Antarctic, and even in Tierra del Fuego, facilitate physiological studies in relation to very marked climactic gradients. Mount Kyffin would have the most extreme climate and lowest average temperature, Tierra del Fuego the warmest and most favorable. Between them, there are a whole string of Antarctic areas that should give us a clue to the adaptive strategies of certain species of lichens and mosses to colder and colder environments. Lastly, the presence of a very simple microecosytem with primary producers –lichen and moss– and consumers –Collembola, mites and bacteria– suggests the possibility of integrated studies of microclimates, growth, energy balance and the flow of nutrients in an exceptionally extreme environment. In conclusion, it could be said that a new geographic and climactic frontier for life on this planet has been found. As with all frontiers, it involves risks and challenges, but it also holds the key to understanding what we have left behind.

The results from our small expedition have been well received by the scientific community of the Antarctic, which under the auspices of New Zealand, are preparing longer, more ambitious visits to the Mount Kyffin region. After our experience, our advice is that they use snowmobiles and mobile camps. The area to be explored is far too vast to always have to return to a fixed point, and the majority of us scientists are not professional mountaineers capable of dragging along heavy sleds for days at a time. The southernmost “mini jungles” of the world await a thorough investigation before they will reveal the secrets of their long history and the key to their survival in the most remote location on the planet. Hopefully we will be able to continue contributing to this effort.

Leopoldo García Sancho