even the sewage pipes have to be insulated.
More than 80 percent of Greenland is covered by ice. Locked into this enormous glacier is 8 percent of the world’s fresh water supply. Except for researchers like those at Swiss Camp, no one lives on the ice, or even ventures out onto it very often. (The edges are riddled with crevasses large enough to swallow a dogsled or, should the occasion arise, a five-ton truck.)
Like all glaciers, the Greenland ice sheet is made up entirely of accumulated snow. The most recent layers are thick and airy, while the older layers are thin and dense, which means that to drill through the ice is to descend backward in time, at first gradually, and then much more rapidly. A hundred and thirty-eight feet down, there is snow that fell during the time of the American Civil War; 2,500 feet down, snow from the time of the Peloponnesian Wars, and, 5,350 feet down, snow from the days when the cave painters of Lascaux were slaughtering bison. At the very bottom, 10,000 feet down, there is snow that fell on central Greenland before the start of the last ice age, more than a hundred thousand years ago.
As the snow is compressed, its crystal structure changes to ice. (Two thousand feet down, there is so much pressure on the ice that a sample drawn to the surface will, if mishandled, fracture, and in some cases even explode.) But in most other respects, the snow remains unchanged, a relic of the climate that first formed it. In the Greenland ice, there is nuclear fallout from early atomic tests, volcanic ash from Krakatau, lead pollution from ancient Roman smelters, and dust blown in from Mongolia on ice age winds. Every layer also contains tiny bubbles of trapped air, each of them a sample of a past atmosphere.
Much of what is known about the earth’s climate over the last hundred thousand years comes from ice cores drilled in central Greenland, along a line known as the ice divide. Owing to differences between summer and winter snow, each layer in a Greenland core can be individually dated, much like the rings of a tree. Then, by analyzing the isotopic composition of the ice, it is possible to determine how cold it was at the time each layer was formed. Over the last decade, three Greenland cores have been drilled to a depth of nearly two miles, and these cores have prompted a wholesale rethinking of how the climate operates. Where once the system was thought to change, as it were, only glacially, now it is known to be capable of sudden and unpredictable reversals. One such reversal, called the Younger Dryas, after a small Arctic plant— Dryas octopetala —that suddenly reappeared in Scandinavia, took place roughly 12,800 years ago. At that point, the earth, which had been warming rapidly, was plunged back into ice age conditions. It remained frigid for twelve centuries and then warmed again, even more abruptly. In Greenland, average annual temperatures shot up by nearly twenty degrees in a single decade.
As a continuous temperature record, the Greenland ice cores stop providing reliable information right around the start of the last glaciation. Climate records pieced together from other sources indicate that the previous interglacial, which is known as the Eemian, was somewhat warmer than the present one, the Holocene. They also show that sea levels during that time were at least fifteen feet higher than they are today. One theory attributes this to a collapse of the West Antarctic ice sheet. A second holds that meltwater from Greenland was responsible. (When sea ice melts, it does not affect sea level, because the ice, which was floating, was already displacing an equivalent volume of water.) All told, the Greenland ice sheet holds enough water to raise sea levels worldwide by twenty-three feet. Scientists at NASA have calculated that throughout the 1990s the ice sheet, despite some thickening at the center, was shrinking by twelve cubic miles per year.
The Greenland record reveals that