Third Cruise

Finally on the water! The nagging issues were resolved, the problems fixed, the gear brought aboard and stowed. So now we're on our third cruise, which is officially known as the second cruise. I suppose that's because my first cruise, the four-day shakedown punctuated by Hurricane Alex, was in fact the zeroth cruise. So while this is known officially as the second cruise, it's my third trip to Louisiana, my third absence from my family, and my third situation on the water, so to speak. So I'll go ahead and refer to it as the third cruise.

And as usual, I have pictures.


Carl working on the towed mass spectrometer. Mass specs are fascinating pieces of equipment--they identify the chemical content of solids, liquids and gases. There are various methods and designs, but the basic operating concept is this: a sample is vaporized, so the molecules are floating in a vacuum. Those molecules are then given slight electrical charges, which makes them susceptible to magnetism. They're then shot past a magnet, which bends their flight according to their mass: the heavier the molecule, the less its flight is bent; the lighter the molecule, the more its flight is bent. A sensor picks up where the molecules hit, calculates the amount of bend in their flight, and determines the identity of the molecule. Pretty amazing.

Generally, tools like that are used in the lab, in the safety and comfort of a dry-land setting. This instrument is towed in the water, as deep as 1500m down, to analzye chemicals still within the ocean. To my knowledge there is only one other like it on the planet. And now we're using it...sort of. Some water got in one of the connections today and shut us down, while the spectrometry team got busy troubleshooting it. (Marine science, if you haven't gotten a clear sense from me yet, involves an awful lot of troubleshooting. To mix a Thomas Edison quote with one from Yogi Berra, Ocean science is 99% perspiration, and the other half is troubleshooting.

A tangent which still bugs me: between my first and second cruises, when I'd first heard that we were going to have the use of this incredible gizmo, I began reading up on spectrometers, so I'd have some kind of clue as to what we were working with. Borrowed some books, hunted up some PDFs online, the ordinary routine. But, as it turns out, there's a world expert on mass spectrometry, as applied to oil spills, at the oceanography school where I got my master's. So hey, why not go ask him some basic questions about what we might expect to see? Sure, I'm a neophyte or less at chemical analysis of the ocean, but certainly the general reading I've done, and a thoughtful talk with an expert, could lead me to some more meaningful questions that I'd be able to ask him. Why not, you know? So I e-mailed him and showed up at his office.

My reception was polite, but hardly accepting. And he was very quick to deny any relevant knowledge: "I work in the lab, not in the field. I really wouldn't know anything about what you're doing." Right. Nothing about various types of spectrometers, sensitivity issues, equilibration time issues, what types of chemicals we might expect at depth...nah. By analogy, it's like going to a world expert on the letter A, and asking for help. Only he tells you, "Well, I specialize in upper-case A. You're interested in lower-case a, which is totally different, so I can't help you."

I'm not in love with commercial or corporate culture, by any means. But there are things about academic culture which positively disgust me, and intellectual cowardice is one of the biggest. It's as if by taking one of these specialists six inches out of his playpen, he's suddenly in foreign, unknown territory. My baby girl has more spirit of adventure than many professors.

Alright, that tangent is over. Moving on to the next pic...

The rosette, with twelve remotely-operated bottles which we can open electronically and obtain samples at the depths we choose. Below that, beneath the towel, is a complex little instrument which measures salinity, temperature, and pressure (i.e. depth), as well as the content of dissolved oxygen and chemical content based on emitted light. The light sensor is known as a fluorometer. It emits a spectrum of light, which causes certain types of chemicals to give off light spectra themselves. The fluorometer measures the intensity and frequencies of returning light, which gives us an indication of the chemicals in the water (not as precise as the spectrometer but not as difficult to use, either). Another neat little instrument.

The mechanical sidearm to which the singlebeam sonar is mounted. Problem is, when we put the arm down and moved along at our survey speed of 5 kts, the arm began vibrating against the ship's hull at about 4 beats/second, moving in and out about 2-3 inches at waterline. This wasn't good for anything, least of all our observations or the sonar unit, so we slowed down. Then it appeared that the bolts on the lower flange had been bent by the vibrations, and we couldn't draw the arm back up...so we're waiting on a sawzall and some very tough blades to cut the bolts and replace them.

Meet the new winch, same as the old winch. (Well, it's newer, and smaller, and the cable won't carry as heavy of a load. But I thought the line was neat, and besides, it's still a winch.)

The tarp. One of the ongoing problems on this boat is air conditioning. With daytime temperatures over 100 deg, and as many people running around on the boat as there are, the AC units are hard put to it to keep us comfortable. So some of the more inventive science crew rigged up this tarp over the control van to provide shade. It reminds me of Istanbul, where the side streets have sheets stretched out from the buildings on one side to the buildings on the other side, covering the entire street in shade and beautifully knocking down the intensity of the sunlight.

Not one of the kill bore drillers--we're not near the site yet. It's simply another drilling rig, possibly one of the ones shut down by Obama's ban. I've seen three different definitions of "deep Gulf"--500 ft, 500 m , and 1000 m--so this one might qualify, or not. The smoke leads me to believe it's working, but I'm not sure. A petroleum engineer I'm not.

Big tough Jim. This is not the first job I've worked on with him. He's as solid and steady as they come, an old survey hand who knows every practical aspect of the job. He's the deck boss, and he's a good choice. When he's not surveying on the high seas he lives in the mountains of Thailand with his young wife. On the muggiest and most sweltering 100+ degree day, he'll say brightly, "It's just like home!"

Ever wonder how we get trash off a boat? We put the garbage bags into much bigger bags made out of some kind of plastic burlap, with web handles. A crane dangles its hook overhead, we loop the bag handles over the hook, and the crane takes the garbage away. And that's how we get rid of trash on a boat.

Unless we're outside of any nation's exclusive economic zone, in which case we could dump almost anything except plastic overboard with impunity.

The back deck, a scene of activity as we prepare to launch the spectrometer.

Jim, Carl and Ryan talking things over.

Fellow oceanographer Dennis keeps an eye on proceedings.

The official boat photographers. Though really, only Craig (on the right) is the official photographer. Ann Marie just sweetly finagled her way closer to the action by claiming to be the backup. For legal reasons--since all basic aspects of a photograph must be documented (location, time date, etc.)--we've designated one (and only one) photographer. So the poor lawyers have some clue of what we're talking about when we write about mass spectrometers, and rosettes, and our other tools of the marine science trade.

Eric and Carl on station at the winch, as we get ready to deploy the mass spec.

Jim, the deck boss, sole man on the rear deck.

Managing the instrument as the winch and A-frame lift it (note the angle of the A-frame as it carries the instrument away from the deck and over the water).

Walking the instrument back. That can be a hazardous job in even moderate waves. If an instrument weighing even 50 pounds starts swinging with much velocity, it can hurt you pretty badly--especially if it hammers you up against the A-frame.

Winching the mass spec down. Note Jim's right hand, pointing down: drawing circles with your index finger pointing down means "lower". Drawing circles with your index finger pointing up means "raise". Making a pinching motion with your thumb & forefinger pointing down means "lower very slowly". Doing the same, but with fingers pointing up, means "raise very slowly". Clenched fist generally means stop. And a string of expletives means the instrument slammed into the rear of the ship and probably needs fixing.