Scientists and pilots were sitting around the table saying hey-hi-ho, but
seemingly getting nowhere. But eventually they must have agreed on
something as most of them had left the room when I came back after
breakfast - a priority of mine long afore endless discussions on whether
sonds should be dropped upstream or downstream of the lidar beam or
whatever.

Idar, Emma and Miguel were our first group of quitters today. There had
been some snow during the night, so for the first time in three weeks I
had to sweep the windshield before heading off. Jón Egill had gone for a
walk, so Emma did not get to say goodbye, but your regards have been
delivered.

Back from the airport I ended up in the midst of a snow ball war between
different groups of Germanitts. How shall it ever be peace on earth if
people cannot see a smooth white field without going to combat? One may
wonder. Well, after having emptied their arsenals they took off to the
airfield. Some problems in logistics today, but that might have been the
first slip of that kind. Yours truly had to solve a minor transportation
crisis, which I didn't mind, as it gave me a moment together with The
white beauty in the hangar.

Snowing continued showerly, and this fact suddenly led to a decision by
our brave pilots not to fly today. So in stead of going for a polar low,
we went for a polar no. As today's weather was not very much different
from a regular (though nasty) winter day in the north, and as commercial
traffic was running quite normal, it is said (but not observed by this
observer) that some heat fluxes could be measured between a couple of
campaign members. The film crew might have been near this eruption, so
their production might be worth seeing after all.

In defense of the no-fly-decision may be noted the possibility that the
airport could have been closed later on, leaving The beauty with no other
option than going to an alternate haven, where she and her precious
payload would certainly freeze the hell over night. Snowing certainly
increased during the day, at times making even driving along the local
roads a pain, so the decision was slowly more accepted in all camps.
As our Icelandic field marshal sat staring at the picture of an extremely
beautiful polar low (one might even call it polar love), the air crew came
to his relief with an offer to fly a short flight tomorrow morning. So it
will be, if snowing stops. Plans were made and filed, and we all smiled.

Next Berit, Beathe, Harold and Matthias left us, leaving the operation
room rather empty. I started packing computers, Øyvind backuped terabytes
of data, Jón Egill visited the gym, and Astrid and Fode made their last
filmtakes of snowflakes. The film crew then left for the airport. At last
everybody can behave normally (or should we say with their standard
abnormalities), except for the still existing danger of meeting a stray
paparazzi. (Astrid could not find Christian to bid him farewell, but I
gave him a hug or to for her, which he had the courage to mean that she
would have presented better herself. Ridiculous.)

Our German friends later on invited us to a pleasant dinner prepared by
the masterchef Wolfie Messer. Very nice indeed and danke schön.

That's about it. Enough said about a day when nothing really happened.
Tomorrow of course will be the delayed flight, then packing. If all goes
as planned, the fourteen that bravely has stayed to the end will have left
this island by 4:20 p.m. We will have left the island, and the island will
have left everlasting marks on our souls. Will we ever by the same? The
answer my friend, is blowing around the eye of the most beautiful polar
low.

Some snapshots enclosed, although there was not much to see today. Also -
for those with a short memory - I have hastily set up a gallery of most of
the people who have been around. You might notice the lack of DLR members,
but I hope Frank will help me out here by sending me a copy of the nice
group picture with the beauty, so that I can spread that tomorrow.

Oki doki and good night
g-