Author: Wil Kleiner

Let the science begin! At long last, the Coast Guard duties are over, and we’ve moved east for our science stations. The scientists’ morale had nearly hit rock bottom, and a collective thrill ran through them as the captain announced the end of the Coast Guard operation. Unfortunately, it was short lived. In the absence of foreign icebreakers, the wind and ice teamed up to thwart our science ops, and our first couple stations had the ship fighting tooth and nail to maintain position in 30+ knot winds and massive, drifting ice floes. Finally, we conceded defeat, and began a day long transit south to lower stations, hoping for gentler weather and less ice, which we found (along with more polar bears along the way!).

Science is now in full swing, and I’m not sure any of the scientists are sleeping. We’re doing round-the-clock CTDs and mooring recoveries and deployments. I was curious what STARC’s role would be in this- in my experience on other vessels, marine technicians are typically closely involved in every step of the process. However, the Coast Guard deck crew handles pretty much everything on the deck, and the science team has two members overseeing the moorings. It was beginning to seem like our role would be pretty small, but that impression didn’t last long.

Between sensor maintenance, things going wrong and breaking, old issues being found as the gear gets put into use, and supporting the deck team and science, STARC has had plenty to do. I got an awesome opportunity when the CTD cable got kinked again and needed to be reterminated overnight for the next station. Because I’d walked through it the first time with Brandon and Cora and had the old one to check my work with, I felt pretty confident reterminating the cable solo. And I did for the most part! I stripped the new cable, soldered, and taped it while referencing the old one, and it worked like new. Brendon and Bowman helped me with the finishing touches, and getting the grips on where it attaches to the CTD- a deeply aggravating, multi-hand procedure. We all got it set and ready to go, and it worked! Additionally, we took the opportunity while the CTD was down to poke around the altimeter, which had been giving some funky readings as it approached the seafloor. We’d messed around with the positioning and had no idea what was going on, to the point I think we suspected the sensor itself might be malfunction. But Brandon and I poked around the cables and realized the cable itself was bad- apparently a pretty rare issue, and cool to see the problem in action as the multimeter’s beep-beep-beeeeep broke up while Brandon wiggled the cable.

In the quiet times during transit or a long CTD cast, I’ve started tackling design projects with STARC’s fancy 3D printer, which can print with rubber, a carbon fiber composite, and kevlar. I made some goofy little fish, then transitioned to functional things. I made a slip-ring-thing designed to keep the serial connections to the winch cables on board from getting twisted, which took four tries to get just right. I’m currently working on dummy plugs for some of our Seabird sensors while they’re not in use. My first four-pin plug came out perfectly- deceptively easy, as I’ve hit a wall with the two- and three-pin plugs. I’m on take 5, at least, and losing my mind- they’re off by fractions of millimeters EVERY time!

Taking a break from that, I made a couple little shims for the mooring winch. Although the deck’s got it handled, I’ve been trying to get outside during the moorings to learn what I can about mooring ops. The mooring-tech-in-chief asked if I could print something to wedge under the joystick to fix its speed, so I printed some shims that stick it in the right place. My second iteration was a success, a triumphant breath of fresh air. In my procrastination, dreading returning to the dummy plugs, I’ve begun knitting a sweater when my hands aren’t busy. I started this sweater a few years ago on my first scientific cruise, and I’m determined to get it done now- I want an extra warm layer!

Part of me feels like we’ve just begun science and part of me feels like it’s been going on forever, but the shocking truth is we don’t even have two more weeks before we head for home. It feels unreal, but so amazing, especially as it gets colder and we’re getting to watch the ice form. Today I saw pancake ice, an early stage of ice formation, for the first time, which speaks for itself:

Anyway, on to the next station! I’m having a great time, learning a lot, and only a little chilly. And the polar bear count is at 11- what a crazy experience!

Cheers, Wil

We are officially into the Chukchi Sea, and the Arctic Ocean! The difference is palpable. The Bering is shallow, muddy, and full of life, and the water has a more greenish hue that reminds me of fluoride. The water here is blue. Bright, sharp, cold, empty. Jellyfish don’t drift lazily around the surface up here, or at least not in the quantities of the Bering. The Chukchi feels like a sleeping sea, drifting quietly as ice crusts over its face. We haven’t gone through big ice yet, but small chunks- ice floes? Have begun bobbing by. Some are small chunks, the size of a chair or coffee table, but others are massive- the size of large rooms or the science labs on the Healy. And some of them have polar bears on them!!!!!!

The call came while I was working out in the Healy’s weight room. A person working out nearby suddenly dropped their weight, spun to me, said “We’re passing a polar bear!” And raced out of the room. I followed, heart in my throat, and after racing up several flights of stairs we popped out onto a port-side deck, where at least fifteen scientists and crew members were pointing everything from iPhones to absurdly large, telescoping cameras at a distant ice flow. I couldn’t see jack. But, as the Healy made a slow circle back around, I could make out a fuzzy, yellowish shape. I peered through binoculars someone handed me and there was not one, not two, but THREE polar bears! A mama stood up on the flow, regarding us suspiciously, while her two babies, probably the size of Great Danes, bumbled around the ice. The cuteness was unbelievable. Cora got a video of one of the babies flopping over. Coming from someone who ranks lower on the bear appreciation charts, I’m still utterly awestruck. I sent my extremely-fuzzy-shot-through-binoculars video to everyone I know. One of those moments I’m so, so grateful to be here.

We also saw a vaguely walrus-shaped lump! I really can’t describe it as anything but a lump, perched on a far ice floe floating away into the mist. I don’t *really* count it as a walrus sighting, but cool to have seen one in theory.

We’ve taken a break from our transit to the science locations for various Coast Guard activities, which has given the STARC team more time to troubleshoot and work through old issues before we get on station and it’s all-hands on the CTD. I’m amazed by how many problems can be solved just by turning something off and on again. Our ancient gravimeter, which Brendon introduced to me as a decrepit, suspicious machine so old its manual was carved on stone tablets lost to time, went dark a couple days ago, and at first everyone was like “Well, we saw it coming.” After a few days floating around the Chukchi with our to-do list getting shorter, Cora and I finally ventured into the depths of the ship to poke around the gravimeter, affectionally labeled “James” with a sticky note by some long ago martech of yore. Cora and I poked around, restarted the computer James was hooked up to, and lo and behold- gravimeter data. 

The largest project of the last few days has been reterminating the CTD. During a winch operation, its massive cable got kinked, so the last 20 feet were cut off. Brandon taught Cora and I how to strip and solder wires, something I’ve wanted to learn for a while. We practiced on some junk cable, and then took it to the real thing! I couldn’t believe they trusted the intern to touch the cable, but they let me solder one of the connections. It was a long process: stripping the wires, removing the cable from the CTD, soldering, wrapping in tape, reconnecting, reattaching the “thimbles” that hook the cable to the CTD, and more, but we finished just in time for lunch. It was an awesome experience to learn such a useful skill like soldering, then turn around and actually apply it. As I write this, the Coast Guard deck team just weight-tested the cable, and it sounds like it held up. I’m nervous but excited for its first deployment. 

I’m not sure what’s next on our agenda. I think the Coast Guard is going to continue their activities in the Chukchi for a while longer. The science party is definitely getting a little stir crazy, but I’m sure we’ll all miss the calm once we’re recovering and deploying moorings and doing CTD casts ‘round the clock. For now, I’m going to continue my current project- trying to build a bathymetry chart in QGIS that we can use on OpenCPN, our map/tracking software. The process is painstaking and frustrating at every turn, and thus far I’ve had no success. Hopefully my next blog post has a better update. 

Cheers, Wil

Wildlife count:

1 walrus (kind of)

3 polar bears

1 lost looking shorebird that almost flew into Cora 

Hello from the Bering Sea! I’m breaking from my weekly update plan to monologue a little bit about the quiet beauty of the ocean and the little things that make being at sea an experience like no other.

I’m in the process of waking up earlier and earlier to adjust to my 6 AM – 6 PM shift, and this is the first morning I wake up and start my shift before breakfast. I haven’t quite figured out a direct indoor route from the stateroom I share with Cora to the STARC computer lab, so I usually step out on deck and descend a stairway that feels more like a ladder to the correct deck. This early in the morning, the sun hasn’t risen yet, and it’s completely dark. The Healy goes dark at night, which means no outdoor floodlights or illuminated walkways save for dim red lamps, which are so subtle it feels like my approach to the lab relies more on muscle memory. The ship is enveloped in fog, blocking any moon or starlight or reflection from the seawater, and as I descend the staircase, the inky blackness might as well be space. And I, my center of gravity rising and falling as the ship heaves through the waves, could be floating out there in the vacuum.

Even in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness or Arizona desert, the darkest night is a cramped storage closet, full of leaves or sand or small creatures or just life compared to the sense of pure emptiness you get in the sea at night. It’s a feeling of complete aloneness, utter freedom, where it feels like the borders of reality are a little bit fuzzy, and maybe we’ve accidentally traveled a millennia and become a ghost ship in some distant future.

Descending the steep stairway, I near the water level, and from here the splashing of the waves dominates any lingering engine/exhaust/fan noise from higher decks. I try to discern a rhythm in the splashing, but though the rise and fall of the ship is uniform, every contact, every wave, every splash is unique, and the task is fruitless. Further aft, away from the prow of the ship, the splashing turns to hissing, as the roiling water churned up by the prow surfaces, fizzing like the Healy is a giant Alka-Seltzer tablet, bubbling away in the sea. This sound is consistent, waiting to encompass you the moment you get close enough, and it’s comforting, like holding a seashell up to your ear. I wish I could record this sound to fall asleep to every night, but the moment I leave the ship I know I’ll forget that ephemeral hissing, just strong enough for ears but too subtle, too blurry for an iPhone.

My first cruise, that planted the seed that led me to the UNOLS-MATE internship, was in the Bering. As my first watery love, something about it feels like home. I know halibut and cod drift tens of meters below us, crabs and brittle stars sifting through silty sediment. People on the coast are chasing the salmon runs, stocking chest freezers to feed themselves through the winter, and I’m sure we’re passing distant commercial fishing vessels, manned by college students and drifters and seasoned hands. This sea is cold, merciless, and unforgiving, and I know that will only intensify as we continue our journey north, to seas new to me. I know I’m just another speck in this sea, here just a moment in its aquatic eons. But the hissing bubbles whisper welcome home, and the dark, depthless night wraps me in its embrace.

I hit the deck, and am getting a little spooked by my inability to distinguish shadows from structures. On that first cruise we pulled up massive, 30+ foot jellyfish tendrils, and I’m not quite convinced there isn’t a gigantic, gelatinous leviathan waiting to pluck me from the ship as vengeance: This is for the sea nettles and moon jellies you keep yanking up on your multicore, punk! I fling myself through a door and spin into the lab, where my people, others who grasp the sea in its infinity, await, who also welcome me home.

Cheers, Wil

And we’re off! The Healy set sail (can I say that?) Thursday, chugging down the Aleutian Chain for science tests and drills before we start cruising up north to the Arctic for our stations.

But before that: I got into Kodiak Monday night, and met up with the STARC (Ship-based Technical Support in the Arctic) team mid-transition. I met Maya, Emily, and Christina as they were leaving, and Cora, Brandon, Bowman, and Brendon, my mentor, who are on the STARC team for this cruise. We got dinner, something we’d do every night in Kodiak before leaving, along with exploring different spots of coastline- getting our fix of restaurant food, nature, and solid ground before heading off for six weeks. I’ve been thinking about doing a critter count, inspired by Kaleigh’s bear count, but within five minutes of the first beach my starfish, sorry, sea star count was already astronomical.

My rough wildlife count for this week, on land, was: two kingfishers, one bald eagle, endless sea stars, one dead rockfish, many sculpin, even more anemones, and a few chitons. Zero bears but I’m fine with that (I’m Alaskan, I’ve had enough!). I am hoping to see a polar bear from a very respectful distance, but Kodiak grizzlies can stay away. Please. I’m now resetting the critter count for being at sea, though I can already add four puffins and a guillemot that Cora ID’ed.

Anyway, the moment I got situated on board, work began, with me lending a novice hand as we replaced a damaged GPS cable. But the real mission of the last few days has been final repairs on some imploded CTD niskins, and equipment setup for the new science party. Most of the damaged ones have been fixed or replaced, but we had a couple that needed gaskets replaced or springs re-tensioned. On a previous cruise I’ve collected CTD water samples, so this wasn’t too unfamiliar, but then we moved to setting up a new flourometer. I’m new to sensor setup, but Brandon walked me through the CTD configuration and installed the new sensor. And then, our first CTD test cast! One niskin didn’t deploy, but other than that it went well.

So much more has happened at such a lightning speed that I can’t quite put it on paper- tours of the ship, winches, water wall, sonar, etc. I’ll go in depth on these aspects as I work with them in the upcoming weeks.

The next few days we’ll be transiting north, working on setting up all our sensors ands making sure things are running smoothly. I will be tagging along and familiarizing myself with the STARC duties onboard, and working on outlining my goals for the internship. Additionally, hoping to establish a gym routine- the gyms here (yes, plural) are well-stocked and calling my name. I brought hang board holds, and Cora and I have been trying to do pull-ups and push-ups on the hour to stay energized. On a previous cruise I trained for a half marathon. Maybe my goal this time will be a couple pull-ups.

Looking forward to everything I have to learn and share with y’all.

Cheers, Wil