Dear Arctic, my accidental acquaintance,

So, here we are. You and me. You never called me - I never looked for you. But still: Here we are. 

I was sent here, you were not expecting visitors. Obviously, we did not have the smoothest start. You presented me with thick ice when I wanted to steam forward, and with broken floes when I wanted to stay. You came with fog when I needed to see, and with sun when I looked for even lighting. When I put my stuff somewhere, you built a melt pond around it, but when I wanted to measure the pond, it would drain. 

On the other hand, it might not be only you to blame. Did I pack for fourty degree below zero? Yes. Should I have packed for melting temperatures in summer? Well, this one's on me. Did I build an awesome measurement apparatus? Yes. Should I have taken into account the transport in a pulka, over ridged terrain? Hm. Another point for you.

We might have struggled a little bit with each other, but over time we might have also grown fond of each other.

It is now a third of a year since we first met. Things have found their rhythm. I would spend every day with you, in work and adventure, in observing and learning. And at night you would wait, bright and white, outside my window, for me to wake up. I would pack the pulka, every evening, with gear and with chocolate, eager to get to the ice. And you would wait, with stoic patience, when I had to stay in the lab.

It was a good time, an intense time, that we had. I am happy that I got to know you. But all things come to an end. Soon I will have to leave. I will go back to my mid-latitudes, which right now seem to be further away than the South Pole. I might miss you a little. You might miss me a little. But eventually, we will be fine. I could write you a message in a bottle, or you could send me a buoy. We might not stay in touch forever. But I will keep you in my heart. 

But now go. Go, have a good freezing period and have a good night.

Yours, Felix