Evigheds Fjord, Eternity Glacier. Western Greenland, September 2009. It was named Forever Fjord because it seemed to never end. It is 62 miles long. The glacier itself is a shadow of its former glory. You can now see a large prominence of rock, which was covered by the ice not so long ago. 
Evigheds Fjord, Eternity Glacier. Western Greenland, September 2009. It was named Forever Fjord because it seemed to never end. It is 62 miles long. The glacier itself is a shadow of its former glory. You can now see a large prominence of rock, which was covered by the ice not so long ago.
Camille Seaman 
When There Is Sunshine. Antarctic Peninsula, February 2010. Antarctica is big, but the sky is bigger. The clouds that cover Antarctica can seem enormous, and when the clouds are lit by the sun, magic can happen. I tend to spend as much time as I can out on deck, always looking, always ready. On this evening my diligence was rewarded.
When There Is Sunshine. Antarctic Peninsula, February 2010. Antarctica is big, but the sky is bigger. The clouds that cover Antarctica can seem enormous, and when the clouds are lit by the sun, magic can happen. I tend to spend as much time as I can out on deck, always looking, always ready. On this evening my diligence was rewarded.
Camille Seaman Stranded Icebergs Detail II. Cape Bird, Antarctica, December 2006. It was a special treat to be in the Zodiac with fellow photographer John Weller and John Palmer as our pilot. We casually cruised around these “stranded” icebergs (icebergs stuck on the rocky bottoms of the shallow coast) while we kept a safe distance. We had ample opportunity to admire the subtle colors of algae in the ice: pinks, browns, and pale greens.
Stranded Icebergs Detail II. Cape Bird, Antarctica, December 2006. It was a special treat to be in the Zodiac with fellow photographer John Weller and John Palmer as our pilot. We casually cruised around these “stranded” icebergs (icebergs stuck on the rocky bottoms of the shallow coast) while we kept a safe distance. We had ample opportunity to admire the subtle colors of algae in the ice: pinks, browns, and pale greens.
Camille Seaman Stranded Iceberg. Cape Bird, Antarctica, December 2006. It was Christmas Day. I was feeling a bit melancholy about being so far away from my seven-year-old daughter. As our ship, the I/B Kapitan Klebnikov, approached Ross Island we could smell and hear the Adelie penguin colony long before we could make out their shapes on the shore.
Stranded Iceberg. Cape Bird, Antarctica, December 2006. It was Christmas Day. I was feeling a bit melancholy about being so far away from my seven-year-old daughter. As our ship, the I/B Kapitan Klebnikov, approached Ross Island we could smell and hear the Adelie penguin colony long before we could make out their shapes on the shore.
Camille Seaman Terminus, Raudfjord, Svalbard, June 2010.
Terminus, Raudfjord, Svalbard, June 2010.
Camille Seaman The Cloud Makers Detail. Antarctica Sound, February 2010. In the middle of the Antarctic Sound, like some floating ice stone henge, a mass of giant tabular icebergs produced their own clouds.
The Cloud Makers Detail. Antarctica Sound, February 2010. In the middle of the Antarctic Sound, like some floating ice stone henge, a mass of giant tabular icebergs produced their own clouds.
Camille Seaman Rasmussen Glacier. Scoresbysund, eastern Greenland, August 2006. Not many people on the planet get to spend time on the east side of Greenland. Those who visit Scoresbysund are rarely disappointed. The jaw-dropping vista of the Rasmussen Glacier is epic on any day.
Rasmussen Glacier. Scoresbysund, eastern Greenland, August 2006. Not many people on the planet get to spend time on the east side of Greenland. Those who visit Scoresbysund are rarely disappointed. The jaw-dropping vista of the Rasmussen Glacier is epic on any day.
Camille Seaman You Go First. The Ross Sea, Antarctica, December 2006. Orcas were patrolling the sea ice edge. The Adélie penguins seemed to be having a conversation, which I imagined went something like this, “You go first! I went first the last time!”
You Go First. The Ross Sea, Antarctica, December 2006. Orcas were patrolling the sea ice edge. The Adélie penguins seemed to be having a conversation, which I imagined went something like this, “You go first! I went first the last time!”
Camille Seaman Gentoo Penguins at Port Lockroy. Antarctic Peninsula, December 2005. Port Lockroy was established as a British base during World War Two. It was in operation until 1962. The islet that it is situated on is so small that you can walk around it in less than ten minutes. Gentoo penguins nest there. There is no plumbing or heat at the station, which is now a museum.
Gentoo Penguins at Port Lockroy. Antarctic Peninsula, December 2005. Port Lockroy was established as a British base during World War Two. It was in operation until 1962. The islet that it is situated on is so small that you can walk around it in less than ten minutes. Gentoo penguins nest there. There is no plumbing or heat at the station, which is now a museum. Port Lockroy has the greatest number of visitors each year, more than anywhere else in Antarctica. It must be because of its awesome gift shop and post office.
Camille Seaman Stranded Polar Bear, Lower Savage Islands. Canadian Arctic, August 2008. I had no idea what adept rock climbers polar bears are. I watched as this bear climbed up and up to perch on this rock. On these islands the bears have nothing to do but wait. Sleep and wait and look for bird nests or anything else (including polar bear cubs) that they might be able to eat.
Stranded Polar Bear, Lower Savage Islands. Canadian Arctic, August 2008. I had no idea what adept rock climbers polar bears are. I watched as this bear climbed up and up to perch on this rock. On these islands the bears have nothing to do but wait. Sleep and wait and look for bird nests or anything else (including polar bear cubs) that they might be able to eat.
Camille Seaman Siberian Drifters. Svalbard, July 2008. Taking photos of walruses hauled out on a beach can be like photographing a bunch of potatoes. It takes patience and preparedness; they always eventually move, shift, or scratch. If you are patient, you might even get a face-to-face gaze like this one.
Siberian Drifters. Svalbard, July 2008. Taking photos of walruses hauled out on a beach can be like photographing a bunch of potatoes. It takes patience and preparedness; they always eventually move, shift, or scratch. If you are patient, you might even get a face-to-face gaze like this one.
Camille Seaman Looking at the Icebergs. The Ross Sea off Franklin Island, Antarctica, December 2006. John Palmer is a medical doctor from Australia. When he is onboard the I/B Kapitan Klebnikov as resident doctor, his duties also include acting as the traffic operator for the ship’s two helicopters. Here, he looks off into the distance where two massive icebergs are about to collide in a strong swell.
Looking at the Icebergs. The Ross Sea off Franklin Island, Antarctica, December 2006. John Palmer is a medical doctor from Australia. When he is onboard the I/B Kapitan Klebnikov as resident doctor, his duties also include acting as the traffic operator for the ship’s two helicopters. Here, he looks off into the distance where two massive icebergs are about to collide in a strong swell. One of the helicopters (too small to see in this image) had flown out to observe the icebergs up close.
Camille Seaman 
When Camille Seaman started photographing icebergs and other arctic wonders, she wasn’t thinking about climate change. She simply found the frozen landscape and white vistas visually stunning.
Still, you can’t help but associate her images with the ongoing conversation about climate change. Seaman, 45, says she too sees her work as directly connected and aptly titled her new book of pictures from the two poles Melting Away .
“Honestly, I was out there because I thought, ‘What an amazing place,'” she says. “I wasn’t thinking this as record of posterity but was lucky in the end to create work that was on the right wave.”
The project started more than a decade ago when Seaman visited Alaska, Svalbard and Antarctica. She was drawn to the rugged, unforgiving country and couldn’t keep herself from photographing all she saw. The views and wildlife made for beautiful, serene photos, of course, but Seaman also felt a connection to her Native American heritage. Her father is of the Shinnecock tribe on Long Island, and she grew up with a deep understanding of, and appreciation for, nature. She saw those icebergs as part of her own world.
“I approached them as my relatives, literally, and not in some poetic way,” she says. “I saw them as part of my lineage, as part of my existence. And I think that kind of approach allowed for emotion to be present in the photos. I saw them as more than chunks of ice.”
The images Seaman made on those first trips gained recognition when he showed them at Review Santa Fe and the Eddie Adams Barnstorm Workshop. Associated Press photographer David Guttenfelder was so taken by them that he personally delivered them to David Griffin, who eventually published them in National Geographic.
That led to a stint as the ship photographer aboard the I/B Kapitan Klebnikov, a Russian icebreaker. She would spend five summers in the Arctic and five winters in Antarctica on various tourist and research vessels. Her photographs documented her own experience while also bringing this rapidly changing world closer to people who will never see it with their own eyes.
She stopped traveling to the polar regions in 2011 in part because she didn’t want to contribute to their demise by traveling aboard airplanes and ships burning fossil fuels. Seaman also worried that, although her photos helped spark conversations, they weren’t doing enough to foster true change.
“I stopped going because it felt so futile,” she says. “I felt like no picture I could take would make enough of a difference.”
Seaman hasn’t given up though. Her photos continue appearing in magazines worldwide, illustrating the issue and explaining what might be done to slow the change. She’s also a senior TED fellow; she created The Earth Academy, an online educational resource about sustainable living; and she is a member of the Council on the Uncertain Human Future.
People often ask her what they might do to address climate change. Rather than offer the typical answers—minimize your carbon footprint, recycle, etc.—she turns the question around and asks people what they might like to do about it. It’s not her job to tell people what to do, she says, but she feels a responsibility to engage in the conversation.
“If we can create a conversation and start to collectively talk about different ideas for how to ensure these places that I’ve photographed will exist for their children and their children’s children,” she says, “then I feel like that’s a healthy response to the work.”
Parrot