Month: October 2013

After living aboard the USCG Healy for two + weeks, I am finally becoming accustomed to living on a large ship. Thankfully my greatest fears of being violently seasick have yet to come true and, in fact, the pitch and roll of the boat often rocks me to sleep. My days have blended together becoming a blur, judged not by the time, but rather what part of my shift I am in and when the next time I can sneak away to some corner for a strategic nap. I have learned to appreciate the simplest things, like a Snickers bar handed out after dinner. I have also been very lucky to find myself in the company of a crew and group of scientists, who teach me something new each and every day. They also have the uncanny ability of making fun of themselves, just as easily as they can give me a hard time for doing something as awkward as walking into a stationary container box or falling off a chair. I have also found myself going from some serious conversations about politics or science to laughing hysterically about nothing at all in a five-minute time frame—all of which makes the long days go by so much quicker.

The hours are long and the schedule tight. My “day” usually begins around 0330 and I start my 12-hour shift at 0400; however, these hours are a generalization and they have been shifted many times to better match a CTD line. Although a CTD line may not last my full shift, they often do, so I struggle to find the time to visit the gym, eat a meal and, most importantly, write a blog and maintain my journal. Even the weather and the increasingly dark days have taken on a familiar pattern. Since boarding ship, we have had at most 5 days with sunshine, while the rest have been gloomy, foggy and grey. When the sun does show itself, it stays along the horizon all day long creating an almost permanent pre-dusk glow. Since entering the Arctic Circle, we have also been losing day light at a rate of close to 10 minutes a day.

Mealtime is one of my favorite times of the day. While the food may not be the best and is similar to the cafeteria food I quickly abandoned in college, it is the main social affair of the day. For each meal, the galley is only open for an hour, so almost everyone who is awake on the boat shows up. At first, the crew sat on one side and the scientists sat on the other, much like a high school cafeteria, but that lasted about a week before the science crew (the coastguard members that we work with directly) joined the ranks of the scientists. Beyond mealtime, there is little interaction with the crew unless it is at one of the organized “events” that include science lectures, Saturday morale night (an activity and movie played on the big screen) or Sunday trivia. Working as part of Team CTD, I also spend a significant portion of my day with different crew shifts that come in and out of the lab space. Otherwise, interactions include frequent passing in the narrow hallways and stairs or short conversations at one of the two gyms aboard the boat. Which brings me to one of the few things that I will not actually miss about living on the boat: navigating the myriad of doors. Because of the need to secure everything at all times for transit, all doors are secured from both the inside and outside. There are also watertight doors between every section of the boat. In order to isolate any flooding accidents, these doors are secured by opening and closing a bar handle. When walking anywhere, everyone jockeys to be in the middle of the group so that we can avoid opening and closing the heavy doors.

Communication on the boat takes me back to my youth when all the “cool” parents had pagers. The only way to find someone who is not in the same room with you is to dial their pager number and wait patiently for them to call you back on the phone that is on whatever room you are in. Although it is not always the most efficient method of communication, it seems to be a good match for the ship life.

Since we have been underway, we have passed several significant landmarks and seen some things that few people ever get the chance to see. Breaking ice is absolutely wild and not like anything I have experienced before. The boat relies on brute force to blaze a trail for us to follow. As the boat moves, it crashes up and down while the ice crumbles beneath its weight. There are then long scratching noises along the side of the boat as huge chunks of ice move past us. The thicker the ice the louder and bumpier the ride becomes. While we were on the ice, the crew saw one polar bear; unfortunately, I missed it because I was squeezing in breakfast before the next CTD cast. We have also had the rare opportunity to cruise past the Smoking Hills of Canada, which are deposits of lignite (carbon-rich shale and pyrite rich in sulphur) that can ignite spontaneously as the hill erodes and the mineral veins are exposed to the air. Finally, as we headed west again, we took a detour to watch the sun set over Herschel Islands. We were lucky enough to have the clouds lift just enough to let the sun shine through.

The first several days of our journey had us steaming northward in the Bering Sea, through the Bering Strait and into the Beaufort Sea. The Bering Strait is significant because at its narrowest point (57 miles), it separates the eastern most point of Asia (Cape Dezhnev, Russia) from the most western point of North America (Cape Prince of Wales, Alaska). As we traveled through the strait, I was taken back to lessons taught in elementary school Social Studies and tried to imagine the strait as a frozen land bridge that served as a major migratory route from Asia into North Americans for nomadic humans as they followed the herds in search of food. Unfortunately it was both too dark and too foggy to see both Russia and Alaska as we passed through, I hope that on the way back that we have to opportunity to be in this unique location.

Once in the Chukchi Sea, not only had we officially left the Pacific Ocean and entered the Arctic Ocean, it was finally Team CTD’s turn to join the science fun aboard ship! CTD is an acronym for Conductivity, Temperature, and Depth and serves as the primary tool for determining essential physical properties of seawater. The data collected with the CTD includes information on the temperature, salinity, chlorophyll, and oxygen levels. The water that is collected is used to verify the computer generated numbers, as well as supply water for nutrient, methane and phytoplankton counts. The advantages of a CTD are its remote sensing capabilities and accuracy. The CTD itself is very lightweight and can be used at depths up to several thousand meters. A shipboard CTD, such as the one on the Healy, is made up of a set of small probes attached to a large metal rosette wheel. The rosette is lowered on a cable down to the seafloor, and scientists observe the water properties in real time via a conducting cable that connects the CTD to a computer on the ship. On the Healy, it is the Coast Guard crew is in charge of lowering the rosette, while I am in charge of operating the computer.

As the CTD operator, my primary responsibility is directing the winch driver as to when stop the CTD to collect the water samples. A remotely operated device allows the water bottles to be closed selectively as the instrument ascends. After the CTD is recovered, it is also our job to make sure that samples are collected in the correct order, gather the water for salt samples and set up the CTD for the next cast. A standard CTD cast, depending on water depth, takes about 15-60 minutes to complete. The whole process is then repeated at each pre-determined site along the transect line. There are nine of these transect lines throughout the Beaufort Sea that are part of different projects. As the cruise continues, I hope to understand more about each of these projects, but as it stands, I understand that the main goal of this cruise is to better understand the flow patterns of the Pacific and Atlantic currents in the Beaufort Gyre and how they are impacted throughout the year by storms and ice.

I am part of a two-person team. The other part of the team is a student from Russia, who is currently working on her PhD in oceanography from the University of Moscow in association with Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute (WHOI). My partner is also my roommate, but we rarely see each other because when I am working, she is sleeping and vice versa. When we do see each other, there is a bit of a language barrier, but her command of English is far better than my non-existent command of Russian. When each of us is on duty, there is very little down time as so much science is being done and the CTD is in high demand as it is gathering data for multiple projects. Before my first time operating the CTD, I was walked through the whole process only once, leaving me very nervous for my first shift. I, however, had a watchful and extremely helpful eye guiding me through the first few casts until I got the hang of the process. Fortunately, my fears proved to be unfounded as I, was able to pick up the important skills rather quickly and, by the end of the first day, I was able to operate the CTD pretty much independently and without any major mistakes.

The regimentation of daily life on the Healy has been quite an adjustment. Meals are served for an hour and only an hour, weekly room checks are required, and the crew is called by their last name and rank. I have yet to figure out what all of the acronyms stand for, however I have begun to understand the chain of command. Fortunately, for me I have developed several nicknames including, the girl who lost her shoes (as it turns out this was actually not my fault as another girl from the science crew had mistaken them for her own and showed up to breakfast an hour later with them on). For someone, who is not known for her neatness, the need to stow everything and leave nothing out has been quite a challenge. Furthermore, I have yet to grow accustomed to the daily drills, in which we must check in while the crew practices for emergency situations. The most recent drill included several fake fires throughout the boat, a flooding in the boiler room and one of the crew getting a piece of metal stuck in his chest. All of which is highly simulated with fake blood and all. I am absolutely impressed with the efficiency in which the boat and crew function and complete daily tasks without questions and little complaining.

As we have been underway, one thing that I am extremely grateful for is the size of the Healy as we pitch and roll through the rough seas. When I look out the window at the sometimes 10-20 ft swells all I can think about is how glad I am not trying to navigate one of our small DISL boats. Getting accustomed to this constant pitch and roll has been another major adjustment for a “balanced challenged” person such as myself. Thankfully, I have not been seasick; however, walking down a hallway without crashing into the walls is a constant struggle. The listing of the ship has also added a whole new dimension to daily tasks such as working out and showering.

Although I have yet to see a whale, I did see the Northern Lights for the first time. I have seen them many times in pictures and I have heard about how beautiful they are, but nothing compares to seeing them in person. On this particular night, I got a pounding on my door around 11:30 p.m. (just as I requested) if the Northern Lights were going to appear. At the time I was getting some much needed sleep before my next shift, which was set to begin in several hours. Although I was exhausted, I knew I didn’t want to miss the opportunity, not knowing if it would ever come again. Once up on deck, I stood with three other people in the nipping cold and was mesmerized by a giant green brushstroke that painted itself across the sky and then slowly faded away. I was so happy that I actually got to witness this natural beauty first hand. If I do get the opportunity to see them again I plan to whistle at them as I was told by a fellow scientist aboard the ship, who is an Inupiaq Native from Point Hope, Alaska, that this will encourage them to dance.

My first day of this incredible journey began at 4:30 PST as I set out for the San Francisco airport for a series of flights that would end 12 hours later in the tiny fishing port of Dutch Harbor, which is located on the Aleutian Island of Unalaska, Alaska. During WW ll, Dutch Harbor was one of the only locations on US territory to be bombed by the Japanese. Today, it is the largest fishery port in the United States and transfers huge harvests of king crab, pollock and cod from the continental shelf in the Bering Sea. Dutch Harbor is beautiful with sweeping vistas that include its resident active volcano Mount Makushin. I wish I had more time to explore the island but at 8:00 on the morning of my second day, I “reported for duty” on the USCG Healy.

The USCG Healy is nothing less than impressive. When I arrived on the boat for the first time, it was still dark in Dutch Harbor, so all I saw towering above me were the lights of the small, highly efficient city and community I was about to become a part of. Commissioned in 1999, the USCG Healy is currently the only active large icebreaker in the Coast Guard’s fleet. It is designed to break 4.5 ft. of ice continuously at 3 knots and can operate in temperatures as low as −50 °F. It was named in honor of Michael A. Healy, a highly influential captain in the US Cutter Service (which preceded the Coast Guard) during the last half of the 19^th century. Healy spent many years in the Alaskan waters acting as a judge, doctor and policeman to the Alaskan natives, merchant seamen and whaling crews. Also a pioneer in arctic navigation, he made science a key part of each of his missions, attracting the attention of renowned naturalist John Muir, who accompanied him on several expeditions. As a legacy to Healy, the Cutter Healy is designed to conduct a wide range of research activities in addition to its search and rescue, and resupply services.

Within the first ten minutes of boarding the ship, I had already been lost three times, overwhelmed by the maze of hallways that all look the same. A good portion of the first day was spent in safety training, which included all of us donning the very unfashionable, terribly cumbersome “gumby suit,” which is a special type of waterproof dry suit that is designed to protect the wearer from hypothermia from immersion in cold water, after abandoning a sinking or capsized vessel, especially in the open ocean. The exercise provided high entertainment for all and, hopefully, we will never need to put the suits to real use. The rest of the day was spent getting my sea legs, gazing at the spectacular scenery and exploring the ship, which includes more than 4,200 square feet of scientific laboratory space, numerous electronic sensor systems, and oceanographic winches. Whether it was watching bald eagles fight on shore, witnessing the efficiency and skill of the Coast Guard crew, or learning about the science being conducted on board, I must have said, “that is the coolest thing I have ever seen” at least three times every hour. I, however, still continue to get lost and need to find new ways to get to where I need to be. Hopefully, in the next 24 hours I will become comfortable enough to get around without asking for directions from every person I see. If you would like to know where I am at all hours of the day the ships progress can be followed at: http://mapserver.healy.polarscience.net/ Tonight we will start to head North to our intended destination in the Beaufort Sea with promises of science, whales, northern lights and ice!