Author: Mari Figueroa

It’s official; we’re set to arrive in Nome on the 15th. I’ve secured my hotel room for two days, and my flight is scheduled for the 17th. Last night was a wild experience—we were tossed around like rag dolls! My roommate sustained injuries, and we ended up at the hospital together. We had to secure ourselves in our beds with life jackets, creating makeshift “tacos.” What a way to spend our last night.

Today is demobilization day. I’ve packed up and prepared everything. The captain handed me a service letter and a challenge coin; I couldn’t believe it. I bid a final farewell to the crew, feeling a tinge of sadness, capturing the moment with numerous pictures.

The captain expressed concern about leaving the harbor, so we opted for a small boat transfer, which turned out to be quite enjoyable. With our third mate at the helm, we made it to shore and headed to the Aurora Inn. Once on solid ground, I went for lunch with our chef, Evan, at the polar cub cafe.

It was delightful. Later, we hit the bar, spending most of the night saying goodbyes and engaging in conversations with the science team, making a quick stop at the gift shop, and then back to the bar, we practically closed it down. As everyone headed to the airport or their hotels, the chef and one of the engineers made dinner plans and enjoyed pizza and sushi. The night ended with a night cap with some of the crew before bidding them farewell at the hotel for the last time. I woke up, indulged in a leftover slice of pizza, and spent most of the day indoors. I collected rocks and revisited the Polar Cub Inn for breakfast, just having a nice chill day before I needed to travel.

Later, I returned to the bar, sipping on those fantastic ginger beers (Cock and Bull) that I had the day before, leaving a $20 bill with a note on the ceiling. I was excited that the next day I would be going home. I took one last walk outside and enjoyed the ice and snow and the long Alaska sunsets.

Arriving at the airport at 8:30am, I learned that our flight got delayed until 11:30 am. Despite the initial assurance of holding the Seattle flight, plans changed, and we all had to be rebooked. I originally planned on getting to Sacramento at around 10pm, but now I was going to arrive at 12:04 am, on my birthday. 

I arrived home at midnight, exhausted. Despite the fatigue, we drove home, and to my surprise, my sister and her boyfriend were there with cake, turkey cupcakes, balloons, In-N-Out burgers, and champagne—a heartwarming welcome. We talked until 2 am, sharing stories and memories.

Afterward, I hit the sack and slept until 11 am. Now, I’m taking it easy, enjoying some food, and unpacking. I’m finally back home. Thanks everyone for reading along on my adventure, I appreciate it. For the last time, thanks for reading. 

Mari 🙂 

Today was the day. I continued my daily routine trying not to think about it, today was the day. Changing the sea water filters below on the engineering deck, done and dusted.Today is the day. We get a call over our radios, okay it’s happening after lunch.  

Conducted a CTD for the science party. Buoy engineers were rushing past us getting the buoy ready to be lifted and untying it and bringing in tables to the Baltic room. It’s starting to look more like a war room. Everyone keeps checking the weather, it’s in the negatives today and the wind isn’t blowing too hard. Good.   

Trying to keep my mind off of the lift. I headed to the bridge for a full shift with the chief mate, where we encountered huge ice ridges and snow. So we did what the ship was designed to do in this instance, the ‘back and ram’! This consists of  creating space behind us with our thrusters and clearing the ice. We back up as much as we can, then give her all she’s got and ram through whatever is in front of us. We needed to get through all of this ice if we were to deploy the buoy. The time was edging closer. 

 

 

Following this, I left the bridge to attend the second and final buoy meeting. This deployment is the primary purpose for our expedition and the R/V Sikuliaql, WHOI, and UW had their best teams on this boat for a reason, and this was why. This lift, considered one of the most difficult operations the ship undertakes, requires not only two cranes and crane operators working simultaneously, but also needs at least 8-10 taglines preventing the buoy from swinging and that’s just the set up. The complex process involves 3 evolutions in total.  (1) lifting the buoy from a horizontal to a vertical position, (2) rotating it 180 degrees in the air, and then (3) carefully positioning it over the side without any collisions—a truly complex operation. 

After the meeting we all enjoyed a hearty lunch knowing the teams would definitely need it. With the chilling -4 degrees Celsius outside, we bundled up in our warmest clothing before heading to the Baltic Room. This room housed essential equipment like CTDs and AUVs, and served as the ‘command center’ for our ambitious lift.

Divided into three teams, the first team consisted of crane operators, our bosun, and day bosun, supervised by the captain who would be joining us down on deck. Their responsibility was to maneuver the cranes safely, ensuring a precise and secure lift. The second team, composed of tag liners, included the buoy engineers, one of the chief scientists, and the most experienced crew members. Their role was crucial in handling the buoy to prevent any damage to its instrumentation, and most importantly keep that 6 ton behemoth from swinging. The third team, the runners and floaters, remained in the Baltic Room, ready to assist and ensure the safety of those working outside.

Before the operation began, everyone suited up and gathered in this makeshift war room complete with cameras, tables, schematics, computers, radios, and scattered clothing and food.  Expressing her confidence and excitement, the bosun assured us that we were well-prepared for the task at hand. The room erupted in applause, and we conducted final checks to ensure everyone was well-protected from the frigid arctic conditions.

The atmosphere was tense as those not directly involved in the three teams (me and a few other scientists) ascended to the third deck for a high vantage point. Everything unfolded in threes—three teams, three decks, and three floors above the action.

The setup felt like an eternity, with each moment filled with anticipation and nerves. This operation was the culmination of the entire cruise, and there was no room for error. The lift, seemingly lasting for hours, required meticulous attention to detail. The first evolution involved lifting the buoy from a horizontal to a vertical position, a seemingly straightforward task but made challenging by the protruding bottom instruments beneath the buoy. When everyone was ready, it went dead silent and all we heard was the wind and the sound of the cameras starting to record. The cranes started to move and make noise and all the lines started to tighten, and tighten, and creak, and the crane team started to back up as the buoy started to rumble, and shake and make noise. Our bosun called out orders for everyone to hold onto their ropes with everything they have…then it started to lift.

The first evolution had begun. The tension heightened when a close call prompted the chief scientist to call an all-stop. Repositioning was crucial, and with her guidance, the lift continued without incident.

The buoy ascended into the air, and the teams successfully completed the first evolution.

 

The second evolution involved rotating the buoy mid-air, a complex task that required tag liners to skillfully transfer their lines from one cleat to another, looking from my vantage point very close to a choreographed dance. The operation proceeded smoothly, showcasing the expertise of the crew.

 

 

The buoy reached the desired position, marking the end of the second evolution.

 

The final stage, Evolution 3, involved carefully positioning the buoy over the side without collisions and releasing it into the water. Tag liners played a crucial role in this phase, swiftly removing their lines as the buoy descended into the water. The final moments were entrusted to the main engineer, who shouted “RELEASE!” as the buoy was set free, completing the mission. Below is the moment of the release.

 

It felt like hours, but due to the expertise of our bosun and everyone involved, it took only 30 minutes for all 3 evolutions. I was astounded. 

With the night ending on a high note, our successful operation was celebrated with cheers, high fives, and hugs.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As we sailed away, the sky treated us to a breathtaking display of the aurora borealis, a fitting end to our challenging journey. 

And so, with our final mission accomplished, we eagerly looked forward to Week 7: Going Home. 

Thanks as always for reading, I’ll be home soon. 

Mari

As the title suggests, it’s all about ice, ice everywhere. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Operations continue as we venture deeper into the ice, and I find myself on deck as a line handler on the crane. Being a part of these operations, getting the REMUS and their other instruments out of the water, is always challenging, rewarding, and a great experience. Our Bosun and deck crew are amazing, and they always get the job done, even in single-digit weather with a -12 degree Celsius wind chill. This is definitely the coldest I have ever experienced, even with the mustang suit.

 

 

Apart from my daily duties, we are nearing the end of the cruise and internship, and now I get to work on more side projects. I’m focused on gaining more experience with 3D printing and designing. So, naturally, I found a mini version of the REMUS (left) that we’ve been deploying and recovering for a month, and I printed it. He’s adorable and ive started to paint it (it’s a work in progress!). I also was able to print a surprise birthday gift for my dad (on the right) since I am going to be on the boat for his birthday. He reads these blogs so surprise! Happy Birthday Dad! I’ll see you soon. 

I also get to practice some more complicated soldering techniques since we have all the equipment.

Between all the fun projects, I celebrated Halloween for the first time on a ship, which was very enjoyable. Everyone was excited for Halloween because we knew the chef was hiding all the candy somewhere. On Halloween morning, it was like Christmas because on each table, there was a huge bowl of different types of candy. All the chocolate was gone by the afternoon; it was like the candy hunger games. I’m not kidding. Once again sharing our pumpkins below that the crew and I made to celebrate. You can also see more of the halloween decorations that were in the mess hall in the background. And lastly i wanted to share my family’s small ofrenda we did this year for dia de los muertos since I missed it.  

 

 

 

As mentioned earlier, as we approach the back half of the trip, we need to prepare for the deployment of the big buoy we have on board. It’s enormous, weighing almost 6,000 pounds, and it’s an awkward lift. I attended the first meeting (out of the two we will have) that lasted about an hour, discussing the logistics of safely lifting this massive buoy off the ground. It will undoubtedly be a challenge, and since I’m new, I won’t be part of the lifting team. This means I get to stay warm and watch the entire lift, which promises to be an impressive endeavor. While still attending meetings, ice briefings, and training sessions (including ship safety jeopardy), we performed our first deep CTD cast of the trip. I took part in launching and recovering, as well as keeping an eye on the winch to ensure it didn’t coil in on itself. We went to approximately 3780 meters.

Operations continue every day like clockwork, with each person having their specific role. I usually serve as a line handler for the crane. As we repeat the process, we continue to refine and make changes, and it goes smoothly every time, which has been nice. However, on this second-to-last night before we headed further into the thicker ice and farther north, into the upper 70 degrees North, we encountered a malfunction. We were lowering our AUV over the backside of the ship with our A-frame, and suddenly, the hydraulics malfunctioned, with fluid spraying like a fountain. It seemed that a gasket had frozen and broken. So, we had to halt all operations and check each other to ensure we didn’t have any hydraulic fluid all over us. Everyone was fine, and the captain called for an immediate stop, but we had to get the AUV back over the side and pivot to use the crane instead.

Amidst all these operations, I had a strong desire to learn more about sea ice navigation. I had the opportunity to do a full shift with the chief mate on the bridge, steering the boat, navigating through ice ridges, and learning about sea ice radar reading. It was an incredible experience, as I got to drive a 260 ft polar-class vessel! It’s undoubtedly one of the top 10 life experiences for me. I wish I could share the video because the chief mate started to play Pirates of the Carribean music for me as I was driving the ship. Im at the helm lookng out the window at the spotlights and steering by hand. It was terrifying and awesome. 

 

So, with all the deployments and recoveries we’ve been doing, we knew at some point, the scientific team would conduct their ‘dress rehearsal day’ for their AUVs. We didn’t know exactly when it would happen, but when I woke up (my roommate is a scientist), she told me that ‘today was the day!’ they would pull out all the stops. This was the final test before we headed up north to the upper 70s, where they would launch it, and it would remain under the ice for the entire year. Everyone was in high spirits, thinking we were finally moving closer to one of our last mission objectives before we transit to the upper 70s, drop off everything, and start preparing for the journey home. Little did we know that their dress rehearsal day would turn into the biggest operation of the entire trip, something we hadn’t anticipated. It quickly went downhill.

Their dress rehearsal transformed into something known as the Long Walk. It doesn’t happen often if the ship and crew can help it, but sometimes it’s necessary, as we discovered today.

We found ourselves in a position in the ice where we thought the open water would hold and not completely freeze over, but we were wrong. The ice pressed in from all sides. This wouldn’t normally be a problem, but we had an AUV in the water that we needed to recover. Unfortunately, it became entirely trapped under the ice and was malfunctioning, causing it to swim further and further away from the ship. We couldn’t move too much, risking hitting the AUV. So, we had to wait in the dark on deck and watch as a flickering light under the ice blinked at us, trying to come closer. It was beeping, trying to alert us to its location. It was a distressing sight and the scientists had it beeping as loud as it could, yet we could still barely hear it. The ice was at least 2 feet thick.

In this situation, the only thing we can do is send someone out into the dark to walk on the ice with saws and tools. They would have to cut through the ice to create a hole large enough to clip the AUV to the crane, allowing us to pull both the AUV and the person out. When we realized what was happening, the captain, Bosun, and Chief Mate had to decide who would go out onto the ice to perform this task, and the chief mate volunteered. We had emergency sleds ready for him, lowered over the side. Back-up team members were prepared, suited up in case they needed to go out and assist the chief mate if he fell through the ice or if something worse happened. It took the entire crew and most of the science team to ensure every safety measure was in place, with polar bear guards on alert, before the chief mate descended onto the ice in the pitch-black darkness. When I say pitch-black, I’m not exaggerating; you can’t see anything beyond the ship’s lights. You only hear the crunching and shearing sounds of the ice colliding.

I, once again, served as a line handler, and aided in hoisting his safety equipment over the side of the ship for him to use. Our captain made a final attempt to get as close to the AUV as possible to minimize the chief mate’s walk. The captain’s driving skills were impeccable, and he covered half the distance. The chief mate then climbed over the side of the ship on a metal ladder. As he descended, he reminded everyone of our responsibilities in case he fell through the ice or became trapped beneath it with the strong current in the area.

He ventured over the side, and the entire ship and crew fell completely silent, holding our breaths as he descended the ladder and got on his emergency sled. We turned off our lights, and then we spotted it—the blinking lights of the AUV, trying to break through the ice surface, accompanied by its loud beeping. As a last-ditch effort, the scientists hit the command for the AUV to come home (back to the ship), and miraculously, it worked. The AUV started swimming towards us, and we saw its lights drawing closer. It reached the ship, and we handed down ice picks and spears over the side while our chief mate hammered away at the ice. However, the ice wasn’t breaking; it even broke one of the tools. In a desperate attempt, we dropped the 600-pound crane on it, but it remained unmoved. 

My mentor, Bern, found a huge ice saw in the tool shop, and that did the trick. We finally saw the AUV beneath the ice, but we weren’t done yet. Because of the boat’s position and the strong current, we had to be extremely careful not to hit our chief mate and the AUV with the ship. Our chief mate hooked it and within seconds he  got back onto his sled.  When we heard that click, like a normal procedure, I was attached to the crane hook, ensuring that the hook and the AUV didn’t swing as it was hauled over the side. However, this time, I had never pulled a rope faster in my entire life. I hoisted the AUV back onto the ship, and we finally had it on board. Our chief mate was next, and our captain was there to pull him back to the ship with a safety rope attached to the chief mate. Once the chief mate was close enough, he climbed the ladder and was safely back on board. Cheers erupted from the crew, the scientists, and from the bridge over the radios. We had successfully recovered our chief mate and the AUV together, safe and sound.

The only thing left to do was get the emergency sled back on board. My rope was once again attached to the crane hook, and I hauled the emergency sled back onto the ship. The crew unhooked my rope, and we went back to business as usual, but everyone’s adrenaline was still running high. I couldn’t sleep for a couple of hours, so I kept looking at all the photos and videos of our chief mate on the ice, ive shared a few I have below. In one of the pictures that was taken of the crew watching, you can see me in the back hoisting my fist in the air because our chief mate found the AUV and had broken it free. We had successfully completed an long walk.

 

Now, we’re heading to the upper northern latitudes to complete the last part of the mission—dropping off the AUV and the buoy. We are currently at 75 degrees North and 142 degrees West on our way to do just that, breaking through the ice. Then, we’ll start our journey home. It’s hard to believe it’s almost over. Thanks, as always, for reading.

Mari 

This week has been a bit of a catch-up for both this blog and our preparations for the cruise. Technical issues with the blog site have led me to combine updates for weeks 3 and 4. We’ve officially set sail, leaving port behind as we make our way toward the icy waters of the Arctic. Yay!  My time spent helping with lines and maneuvering the boat in Dutch Harbor however has been invaluable practice, especially in the challenging weather conditions: Hail, Rain, Sleet (you name it we had it).

This picture below (left) is the culprit and was the cause of all our problems. The other picture (right) is a picture of us lowering the engine part down from the top deck to the engine room 6 floors below us.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As we head further north, the darkness of the Arctic winter settles in. Week 3 marked the farewell to our last day of real sunshine, and we know we won’t see a clear blue sky and sunlight like that again until we complete our mission objectives and depart from the Arctic Circle in mid/late November. Below is the last picture I got of the sun. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now that we’re en route to the ice, the real work begins, and our daily routines fall into place. Each morning, I start my day by working with OLEX, our ship navigation software, to update routes, locations, and schedules, while keeping a close eye on our course. I also check and log data for our underway sea water systems, pumps and flows to ensure everything is running smoothly. Additionally, I utilize the 3D printer to produce various parts and equipment as needed. Cataloging and maintaining our technical equipment is another crucial part of my responsibilities. We regularly conduct CTD casts, using our handy CTD system, and present the resulting data to the scientists to aid them in their work. Toward the end of the day, I assist the first engineer with any additional tasks that may arise. Recently, I had the chance to fabricate and carve parts out of aluminum for the sea gliders that the scientists needed. There’s always something to do, and I thoroughly enjoy it. 

 

We’ve (being the marine technicians) encountered our fair share of technical challenges, such as fixing the Gravity meter by replacing the gyro, crucial for maintaining balance as the ship moves. Interestingly, the technology we use has connections to missile guidance systems, which was a fascinating discovery. We also had the daunting task of fixing our ice radar, just as we are getting underway. In between these big marine technician projects, our daily schedule is filled with ice briefings, boat fire/evac drills, and safety meetings.

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

 

 

 One briefing brought news of a potential change to our trip’s destination due to the extended time we spent in port for engine repairs. Originally planned to end in Nome, Alaska, we may now need to consider Seward, Alaska, as the dock in Nome might be frozen over by the time we return later in the winter. The final decision is still pending, and we find ourselves uncertain about our position next month. 

While we do have quite a bit of work to do, it’s important to find moments to relax and unwind. During my downtime, I’ve been enjoying various activities with the crew. We’ve been watching football, engaging in ‘friendly’ Mario Kart competitions (the engineering boys are really competitive), and indulging in scary movie nights with all the candy you can eat. In fact, we even managed to carve pumpkins, injecting a touch of seasonal festivity into our journey.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I am writing this we are at 74 degrees 53.799’N and 150 degrees 39.407’W and recovering gliders. I am officially writing to everyone from the top of the world, we finally made it. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

See y’all next week and to those who celebrate, happy all hallows eve, samhain, dia de los muertos, etc. 

 

 Mari  

 

During Week 2, the old scientist group officially had left to make way for the new arrivals in Dutch Harbor for the AMOS cruise. I settled into a marine tech routine, delving into the ship’s depths to clean filters, prepare the CTD for the upcoming cruise, check the niskin bottles, polish fridges, and set up the lab space for the science party. I even assisted in fixing a fume hood, an entirely new experience for me; I was feeling like a handyman onboard.

After a day of work, one of my mentors, Bern, took me into town to show me around and buy a mustang suit, although it turned out to be the wrong size. Instead, we ended up driving around the town to explore and visit attractions, such as the old Russian church and the beautiful World War II memorials and Coast Guard graveyards. It was an enjoyable day, but while in the graveyard, Bern accidentally stepped on a marble grave shaped like a book with a beautiful poem on it, which belonged to a woman named Jacqueline. Strangely, moments later, as we descended the mountain towards the car, I heard a ‘yelp!’ and turned around to see my 6’4 mentor with his entire leg stuck in a hole in the ground. I couldn’t help but wonder if Jacqueline might have been upset with him, though I’m not superstitious, just a little stitious. I made him apologize, and everything turned out fine.

Back on the ship, we learned that one of our engines was no longer working, and the science party was arriving, along with my other mentor. We were possibly going to be stuck in Dutch Harbor for at least a week or more while we ordered spare parts for the engine, and a major storm with potential 80mph winds was approaching. Despite these challenges, the engineers worked tirelessly to diagnose the engine issue and prepared to replace it.

While all this was happening, the crew and the rest of us who were temporarily stuck had some free time once our shifts ended. I explored the town with the crew, visited a saloon, went hiking, took walks around the town, enjoyed milkshakes, and indulged in my favorite pastime—visiting Alaska Dutch Harbor Supplies to check out the cool gear for sale. I ended up buying a vest, which I’m quite fond of. For those who know me, please don’t judge; my other vest had ripped, and this carhartt vest is incredibly warm.

I experienced my first Friday the 13th on a boat, and superstition prevailed as no operations were conducted that day. Good luck favored me though as I finally got my mustang suit, which would keep me warm and cozy in the icy conditions.

The setback with the engine allowed the science party time to refine their instruments, make necessary adjustments, and conduct numerous tests in the bay over the last two days. Surprisingly, this delay turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as all the instruments were now primed and ready for deployment in the ice. Confidence was at an all-time high, and witnessing the AUV deployments and recoveries was a fascinating experience. I’ve included another set of pictures from my onshore adventures exploring the islands and practice deployments and recoveries. If the engine gets fixed next week, we should finally be on our way to the ice. Fingers crossed. Thank you for reading, and see you next week!

 

Mari

On the morning of October 4th, I was awakened at 6 am in the Aurora Inn, Nome, Alaska, by our electrician and another technician. We were eager to check the weather and the status of the R/V Sikuliaq, our research vessel, but the fog, wind, and bad weather were definitely not in our favor. We couldn’t even catch a glimpse of the boat on the horizon. With no Wi-Fi in the hotel, we headed to the Polar Cub Café down the street to get online and see if there were any updates. Plus, the café provided a partial view of the dock, where we hoped to spot the ship.

(Sidenote: While at the café, the mooring technician and I almost ordered reindeer meat by mistake. That would have been an adventure.) Despite our efforts and waiting another hour, the boat remained pretty elusive in the fog. We made another attempt to reach it, riding in mud-covered vans (my first time, their second) but the boat still hadn’t arrived. But, we were greeted by a pleasant surprise: we saw beluga whales near the dock, at least four of them! I considered this unexpected wildlife encounter and the $13 spent on the trip definitely worthwhile. 

Returning to the Aurora Inn, we waited patiently for another couple hours, with periodic updates. Finally, the fog started to dissipate and sunlight came out and we spotted the ship approaching the dock from our inn’s windows. The electrician stayed behind to finish some work, but the other technician and I seized the opportunity on our third try. With bags in tow and maneuvering through mud, we embarked on the sketchiest thing I’d ever seen—a 30-foot moving ladder on wheels. It transported us safely onto the boat however. 

Once on board, I quickly took a rapid COVID test and met with my contact, who introduced me to my living quarters and explained my daily responsibilities. The entire ordeal, from our early morning start to boarding, had taken us until around 2 pm. I was ravenous, and my lunch of steak, mac and cheese, and orange juice tasted like the best meal in the world. To cap off the day, I joined the third mate in watching the end of “Young Frankenstein,” which I found hilarious. It was a great first day, and I was relieved to have finally made it on board. My room even had a large porthole, allowing me to enjoy the breathtaking Alaskan sunrises and sunsets.

I had heard rumors of the great food on the ship, and the next morning, October 5th, I eagerly looked forward to breakfast. I was not disappointed. The breakfast tacos with egg, sausage, black beans, and enchilada sauce were the best I’d ever had. I also indulged in steak with scrambled eggs, hash browns, and bacon. It had been a long time since I’d eaten like that, and to make matters worse, the food was unlimited throughout the day. I’m pretty sure I’ve gained a pound or two already from all the fresh blueberry pies, scones, cookies, and snacks.

The following days, the 5th, 6th, and 7th, passed quickly after my initial day. I focused on learning my responsibilities and familiarizing myself with boat procedures, including reading numerous SOPs and safety manuals, studying schematics, and completing paperwork. I had the chance to flush out the CTD, replace some pilons, and work with instrumentation in the ship’s bowels to prepare for the science party. Learning to identify alarms and sounds for irregularities was crucial in the rough seas, and I certainly earned my sea legs. Occasionally, I would visit the bridge to gaze at the horizon, and on my second day, as Los Lonely Boys’ “How Far Is Heaven” played, it felt fitting to witness such a stunning sunrise.

As we sailed toward Dutch Harbor, south of Nome in the Aleutian Islands, the weather warmed, and the snow became less prevalent. Currently, we are offloading gear in Dutch Harbor in preparation for the arrival of the next science party on the 10th, just two days from now. I’m excited to meet them, as I’ve read papers from almost everyone who will be on board. While I probably won’t confess that i’m a huge fan, internally, I’ll be freaking out.

This cruise primarily focuses on deploying and testing an AMOS ice-gateway buoy (heavy), or IGBH, equipped with different ocean and engineering sensors, as well as deploying, operating, and testing an Arctic-capable REMUS 600 AUV. We will also be recovering up to five SGX engineering gliders deployed from an earlier research vessel, the R/V Healy, earlier in the season. Additional glider deployments may also be on the agenda. Lastly, we will conduct over nine shipboard deep CTD casts.

This first week of the trip is really about preparation for the weeks to come, so I will be doing a big photo dump on this post of my little adventures in Nome (aka looking at all the old gold mining equipment), my work station, bridge views, etc. with whatever I have in my camera at the moment. I’ll document my experiences throughout the trip with photos and videos of all the fun things I’ll get to do listed above.

Thanks for reading, and stay tuned for more updates.

Mari 🙂

Hello!

 

My name is Marisol Figueroa, but everyone calls me Mari! I am currently a graduate student in the physical oceanography lab at Moss Landing Marine Labs in Moss Landing, CA. I study internal waves, wind, and biogeochemistry in the nearshore at the mouth of the Monterey Bay Submarine Canyon. I am going to graduate/defend in Fall 2023 and am looking forward to going on this cruise and starting the next part of my scientific journey.

I have been given the opportunity to join the R/V Sikuliaq research cruise to the Arctic with the University of Alaska, Fairbanks and I am beyond excited. I am using this internship as a launching point to get more into the fields of marine technology and ocean engineering as I want to continue in this field as a future career.