Ice, Pyramids & Polar Conundrums: A Dave & Steve Joint Rambling

It’s 6 a.m. in Dave’s garage‑office. Outside: Oregon drizzle. Inside: two laptops, a stack of declassified U‑2 aerial photos, and exactly one working space‑heater. Steve is on Zoom from Vermont—Victorian study, cat on lap. The morning’s agenda: Is there—or was there ever—a giant stone pyramid lurking under the geographic North Pole?

Opening statements

Dave: “Wake up, people—Antarctica gets all the pyramid buzz, but the Arctic is the real frozen cover‑up.”

I’ve got three pillars of suspicion, Steve:

  1. Satellite‑oddities: SAR (synthetic aperture radar) returns from 2014 show a symmetrical tetrahedral anomaly about 12 km under the ice sheet. That’s not your grandmother’s basalt outcrop.
  2. Ancient cartography: Mercator’s 16th‑century polar map depicts a “Rupes Nigra” mountain at 90°N. What if that ‘rock’ was a weather‑worn capstone? Where did that intel come from?
  3. Global power lines: The so‑called ley‑line grid intersects the pole at a node consistent with Giza’s longitude offset when you factor precession. (Yes, I did the maths.)

Steve: “Dave, you magnificent iceberg‑chaser—let’s pump the glycol brakes.”

Here’s why I rate the odds at ≈ 5 %:

  1. Glacial turnover: The polar ice sheet is sea ice, not land ice. Below it? Water >4,000 m deep. A limestone pyramid doesn’t float, last I checked.
  2. Tectonic context: The Lomonosov Ridge is volcanic/igneous. Carving and hauling 2‑million‑ton blocks across open Arctic water c. 10,000 BCE strains every known civilisation timeline.
  3. Occam’s Arctic Razor: Radar “symmetry” + human pattern‑seeking = pareidolia 101. Show me seismic reflection data—then we’ll talk.

Rapid‑fire round

Dave: What about isostatic rebound exposing land during the Younger Dryas?
Steve: Shorelines move, but the geoid stays wet at the pole. You’d need a mini‑continent, not rebound.

Dave: Admiral Byrd’s 1947 flight log—redacted pages at latitude 90° N
Steve: Byrd flew Antarctic, not Arctic. Plus, fabrication city.

Dave: Nanodiamond layers in Greenland ice core GISP2 = cosmic impact. Could’ve melted a land‑ice cap revealing pyramid, later refrozen.
Steve: Cool paper—impact layer ≈ 12,900 YBP, yes. Still water below, friend.


Common ground & what it would take to convince us

RequirementDave’s angleSteve’s baseline
Seismic tomographyCrowd‑fund a private icebreaker, drop nodes, prove density contrast matching dressed stone.Agreed—but peer‑review the modelling, publish raw data.
Core samplesVibracore drill into anomaly, look for worked granite, tool marks.Must include uncontaminated controls; chain of custody public.
Historic corroborationRe‑examine Norse sagas & Chinese cartography for polar land references.Sure—plus linguistic analysis to rule out metaphor.
Remote sensingUse NASA‑OPERA & CryoSat‑2 radar altimetry with machine‑learning shape detection.Share algorithms open‑source; avoid confirmation bias.

Bottom line: Dave says probability 60 % after proper inquiry; Steve sits at 5 % but loves the hunt.

Dave: “When we’re proven right, I’m claiming naming rights—‘Morrison Monolith.’”
Steve: “You can have the naming rights if I get first crack at the museum curation. Deal?”


Reader challenge

We’re handing the ice‑axe to you: explore the sources, weigh the logistics, and tell us if Dave’s “Arctic Giza” holds water—or is sunk by it.

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Posted by Steve Caldwell

Location: Edinburgh, Scotland Age: 52 Background: Former high‑school history teacher in Leith; now independent historian and storyteller. Bio: Did you know that the cobbled closes of Edinburgh hide more buried secrets than any medieval dungeon? That’s the sort of thing that keeps Steve Caldwell up at night—or rather, in the National Library archives at dawn. After 23 years inspiring students with tales of Bannockburn and the Enlightenment, a rejected proposal to modernise the curriculum sent Steve on a mission to spotlight the bits official history books “politely” ignore. From forgotten Scottish women inventors to suppressed global breakthroughs, his investigative zeal is matched only by the glint in his eye when he finds a footnote marked “inconclusive”. When he’s not poring over 18th‑century ship logs, you’ll find him hosting informal walking tours along the Royal Mile, teasing out stories the tourist guides miss. Expect every post to begin with a wide‑eyed “What if I told you…”, because Steve firmly believes that the past is the best conspiracy of all.

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