The three day port call in Dutch Harbor was a much needed break from the sea, for myself, and for most of the crew. My time was primarily occupied with visiting museums and hiking in the snow capped hills of the surrounding area. I tried to spend time for most of the port call by myself. On the ship I spent so much time constantly being surrounded by people, being alone seemed like a luxury. Dutch Harbor is always a nice place to stop for a couple of days. There is always so much to see; bald eagles perched on street lights, sea otters swimming along the shore, fishing boats gliding in and out of the bay. It seems just yesterday I arrived to Dutch Harbor for the first time, ready to depart for the Arctic. So much has happened since then, I’ve seen and learned so much in the last eight weeks, but Duth Harbor is the same as when I left. At the same time, when the ship cast off for departure, I was ready to leave. Albeits its beautiful nature, Dutch Harbor is a transient place, a rest stop really, nothing more. We sailed off into the Gulf of Alaska, bound for Juneua. I had volunteered for the night shift, partly to provide relief to my colleagues that worked nights all cruise, and partly to have time to work on my own projects. Working nights at sea has its merits, mostly the uninterrupted chunks of time to focus on specific tasks. As I’m finishing up my internship I’m applying for jobs, and dedicating time to supplemental reading of the science behind the measurements taken in the last science mission. I had anticipated a rather boring transit through the Gulf of Alaska with an uneventful work week. And at first everything was fine, as we left the Aleutians, we passed by a pod of sperm whales to to our port side. The sighting was a moment of joy for just another day at sea. But within the first couple of days underway things started to go wrong. First we had to turn and wait out a storm in the Unga strait, just north of Dutch Harbor. While there, we were in constant rain, engulfed by a thick fog. Two days we spent drifting back and forth in the Unga strait. By the third day the command decided that the seas have calmed down enough to sail through.
One of the drawbacks of sailing on an icebreaker, is the fact that it handles poorly in waves. The rounded bow is ideal for breaking ice, but it also takes the full force of a wave in non ice bound seas. When we hit roughly ten foot waves, we felt the force of each one. In addition, Gulf of Alaska has an almost constantly confused wave state. This is due to a peculiar physical oceanography of the region. Bound by mountainous terrain on three sides, and the Pacific current to the south, Gulf of Alaska is effectively a massive gyre. The mountains also provide large influxes of freshwater during the melting season, which create eddies all along the coast. The strong wind shear drives these eddies along the coast in what is known as the Alaska Coastal Current. Combined with the complex bathymetry of the ocean floor, riddled with seamounts and trenches, the effect is a confused sea state. My research into the subject was sparked by looking at the seas from the deck, and observing such unique wave front structures. Most notable is the irregular period of waves, which can not be accurately predicted by forecasts. With comprehension of these factors, I understood the caution of the ships command in sailing through this region.
The STARC team, myself included, prepared for the seas thoroughly. We had identified all potential hazards, and secured them. Yet since high seas are such an unusual event for the ship, there are things that we overlooked. I guess that’s a good lesson to learn, to accept that there will be failure. That’s something everyone at sea accepts, that you can’t prepare for everything. But I was not nervous at all, in fact I was kind of excited for high seas. I’ve seen high seas, three years ago, during my time in the South Pacific. At the time I was volunteering on the NOAA ship Ronald H. Brown. I was nervous then, as it was my first time at sea. By now, things like high waves and storms excite me. Mostly because it is thrilling, to be on a rolling ship, where things fly off into the air, unexpectedly. Of course, part of my excitement is rather vain, as high seas always make for a good story to tell back on land.
When I reported to my shift in the computer lab, we were still sailing through waves of about ten feet. It was kind of let down for me, we were so prepared for a storm, and it did not happen. But I accepted the fact that not all of my time here is going to be exciting, and worthy of stories to tell. Unfortunately that’s a big part of going to sea, preparing for something that never happens. I got through most of my shift working behind my laptop, and that’s when it happened. The ship took a roll, with such great force, that computer monitors flew into the air. I was shocked, I genuinely believed that the monitors were bolted down to the table, as it turns out, they were not. The ship continued to roll well over twenty degrees from side to side. We were in high seas. My excitement quickly drowned in a rush of adrenaline, the things we overlooked, found they’re way into the air and dropped crashing onto the floor. We spent the next hour cleaning up and tying down everything that posed a threat in the roll. We were lucky, of all the computers that fell, only one was broken. The galley however was not as lucky. They lost one of the ovens, and two others moved across the kitchen, since they too weren’t bolted down. Elsewhere on the ship a drum of hydraulic oil spilt in one of the engine rooms. Everyone was up and moving, cleaning up the mess. Maybe that’s why I like high seas, the solidarity of everyone aboard facing the same challenge. By breakfast the seas have subsided, and we were laughing off the events of the night prior. When its only things that get damaged, it’s easy to laugh. Working on the ship, is one of the few places where events like this are laughed off, almost as soon as they are done. Of all the places that I could be right now, I’m happy that I find myself here, aboard the Healy.
During one of the work lulls, the bos’n taught me some knots: the clove hitch and the bowline. Now when I’m sitting with nothing to do I’m thinking ‘the rabbit comes out of the hole, around the tree, and back into the hole’. We have had several sub launches. I am in charge of the cameras and have gotten the routine down. During one of the sub recoveries, I was able to throw the tow line out. While it didn’t get very far, the line made it into the water and I stayed on the boat so I consider it a success.
