Author: bsullivan

While in Newfoundland, I had the extraordinary opportunity to join a National Geographic expedition documenting the migration of icebergs into Canadian waters. These massive ice formations, calved from Greenland’s glaciers, are carried south by the powerful Labrador Current. Witnessing this phenomenon firsthand was both humbling and deeply sobering. Yet, what captivated me most wasn’t the towering icebergs but the persistent, almost musical sound of tiny air bubbles escaping the ice and rising to the surface.

These pockets of air, trapped within the ice for millennia, can serve as time capsules. Scientists analyze them to reconstruct past climates, charting the ebb and flow of carbon dioxide, methane, and other gases overtime. This research sheds light on how Earth’s atmosphere has evolved and, crucially, how today’s unprecedented levels of greenhouse gases compare to historical norms. Carbon dioxide, often referred to as the planet’s thermostat, plays a central role in regulating global temperatures. However, the relentless burning of fossil fuels has flooded the atmosphere with this potent greenhouse gas, disrupting our planet’s delicate life support systems. Polar regions, with their reflective ice and permafrost, are among the most vulnerable to these changes, and they’re warming at more than twice the global average.

Standing on the deck of the ship, gazing across the icy horizon, the magnitude of the crisis became unmistakably clear. The icebergs, majestic as they were, carried with them a warning: the Arctic is changing, and the ripple effects will be felt far beyond these waters. My thoughts soon turned to the upcoming climate summit in Paris, where world leaders will convene to negotiate an agreement that will determine the trajectory of future generations. Building the momentum needed for meaningful climate action will require public awareness, education, and a shared sense of hope. I am determined to play my small part, optimistic that we can solve this crisis if we are willing to work together. Documenting these changes in such a fragile and remote region feels like bearing witness to history in the making.

On a moonless night in 1942, four British carriers — the Saganaga, Lord Strathcona, Rose Castle, and PLM 27 — succumbed to a German U-boat attack, while transporting iron ore in support of the war effort. Today, these wrecks lie in close proximity on the ocean floor, spanning depths ranging from 70 to 160 feet. After completing my peak performance buoyancy training, I felt ready to embark on my first wreck dive!

Taking a giant stride off the stern of the dive boat, we began our descent. Out of the blue emerged the ghostly silhouette of the Saganaga wreck. The anchor, catapulted midship during the attack, still stood upright on the deck as if frozen in time. Swimming the length of the ship, we marveled at the snow-white anemones and vibrant green urchins adorning the hull. With our tanks filled to 3,000 PSI of nitrox, we adhered to the rule of thirds and turned back at 2,000 PSI to ensure a safe ascent. During our three minute decompression stop, I spotted a red lion’s mane jellyfish pulsating through the water column — one of the largest jellyfish species in the world.

After our surface interval, we embarked on a second dive closer to shore, descending to approximately 35 feet. At this depth, we encountered a gaping crevice in the bedrock, teeming with arctic marine life from red sculpins to lumpsucker fish. It was carved by retreating glaciers during the last ice age, and when sea levels rose, the ocean flooded in. Now adorned with colonies of mussels, we watched as sea stars, each the size of dinner plates, slowly crawled over the mussels in search of a meal. Upon surfacing, we returned to the boat, brimming with excitement and exchanging high fives after such an incredible dive.