We arrived late in the evening on the 21st. Overcast, virtually
black sky. Took us a good part of the night to set up camp and it
wasn't until the next day towards noon with the sun edging up just
under the horizon that we were able to see well enough to begin
placing the camera.

Our biggest problem was finding a way to insulate the cables that run
from the camera to the computer in the ark. 5 meters long and
exposed to the low temperature and wind blowing off the water, there
was significant data loss. It wasn't until close to evening
yesterday that we got it worked out and were able to make a clean
capture. Camera has been running since midnight but the weather is
still very overcast. Hoping the howling wind we've had since the
middle of the night will clear away some of the clouds and give the
moon a chance to light things up.

Ben and Devin have been scurrying around ensuring every detail is
covered. Ropes to hold down the ark from tipping against the wind;
hot coffee; salmon cooked over a fire (that only stays lit as long as
you blow on the embers).

The arks have diesel heaters, so no worries for staying out of the
cold and getting good sleep.

Without the extreme contrast of light and dark, day and night that
comes with the sun, we have fallen into a timeless land where the
ever-so-slightest shifts in the clouds makes drastic changes in the
light on the ground. Every so often the clouds clear away, leaving a
hole for the moon to shine down on the ground in an eery - almost
daylight - type light. But as this may happen at two in the morning,
or six in the evening, we are beginning to lose the references that
make for 'day' and 'night'. The only thing that keeps us tied to a
'normal' rhythm is our desire to eat, but even that is becoming
skewed as evidenced by the fact that someone has to look at their
watch (Devin!) to see if it's time for a meal. We're just getting
around to breakfast and it's already 11h40. We've been up since 8,
tending to the camera as well as the wind's displacement during the
night of the loose bits of the camp.

When we arrived at the Kiruna airport on Friday, my attention was
drawn to an older woman sitting in the arrival area wearing
sunglasses. Already very late in the day, with no sunlight having
shown for at least a week, and none to come for at least another, my
first thought was of the pretensions of a city-chic starlet trying to
way-too-cool her way in front of the viewfinder of a camera. It
wasn't until we got out to Tornehamn and into the night that it
occurred to me that the woman was protecting her eyes from the bright
tungsten lights of the city. Once you've adapted to living without
daylight, once your pupils have dilated to see in the night, the last
thing you want is to see the glare of a lightbulb. I had kidded Ben
about his wanting to bring flashlights. Thankfully he insisted as we
wouldn't have been able to get things up and running if I had had my
way. But now that we've been in the open landscape for almost three
days, none of us is very quick to turn on a light lest we lose our
ability to see.