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July/August 2004- National Oceanic and Atmospheric
Administration/National Marine Fisheries Service large whale survey
cruise. Departing from Seattle, Washington and traveling 20-200 miles
off the coast of Canada, Alaska and to the tip of the Aleutian Island
Chain. Approximately 300 ft. research vessel with 15 scientists
and 15 crew, we stopped in port in Kodiak for a few days, in Adak, and
Dutch Harbor.
“Travel remains a journey into whatever we can’t explain, or explain
away…I know in my own case that a trip has really been successful if I
come back sounding strange even to myself; if, in some sense, I never
come back at all, but remain up at night unsettled by what I’ve
seen.” Pico Iyer, from Sun After Dark
Second Day Out
July 4
July 10/11
Stability
Kodiak
August 16
Stalemate Bank
the 'poems'
Second Day Out
No matter how much you may talk to your neighbor, no matter how much
you try to communicate, no matter how much you advertise your emotions,
you will always have an internal, opaque space that in all but the most
unique circumstances is accessible only by you. It cannot be opened or
read by will, cannot be shared at will; it’s yours regardless or
whether or not you want it.
As we left port yesterday each person on board was dealing with what
was in their opaque space. Leaving port when you will be at sea for a
long period of time is a significant event for almost everyone. I
wanted to be on the flying bridge, and felt a little silly bringing my
camera, until I found that all the scientists were coming up to the
flying bridge, many with cameras, and many with cell phones. Members of
the deck crew were on the lower deck, watching the people below.
Several people came to the dock to see us off, and Roberta, Katie’s
friend, was at the Freemont drawbridge to take pictures as we passed.
We went through a lock system and many of the people on land were
taking pictures of the boat. You get a pretty high-and-mighty feeling
when Seattle traffic is stopped repeatedly for each drawbridge that has
to raise as you pass. People have to be patient here.
I just felt the boat turn and know that we’re leaving Puget Sound
now. Today was spent getting fuel, practicing with crossbows, doing a
mail run and now we’re off. Some more training after dinner tonight,
and tomorrow will start the regular research schedule. Whales!
Dinner is early, at 4:30-5:30. All the meals are scrunched together.
Breakfast is at 6:45-7:30 and lunch starts at 11:30. The sun doesn’t
set until after nine and as we creep north that hour will grow later.
We are expecting 18-hour days and are expected to work as long as the
sun is up (rotating watch schedule).
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July 4
I tried not to wake Katie or Lilian as I got ready for the day. Julie
was already up and in the mess. She was scheduled to go out on the
small boat today and so had to be ready to go (having eaten breakfast
etc.) by 6:00. Yesterday had been quite warm so instead of the long
underwear, fleece and warm-up pants with wool socks and hiking boots, I
was opting for jeans, t-shirt, sneakers and fleece. The blue
outer-shell is going to be a constant for the trip. I stopped in the
mess long enough to make a mug of hot chocolate before heading up to
the flying bridge. It was a popular place. Jay (our chief scientist),
Todd (our small boat coxswain), Cornelia (head of observers), Richard
(long term observer legend) and Julie were already there. I made my
cocoa and beat a path up to my post. It was my last morning on the 6:00
shift (we rotate through 2-hour shifts which are split into three
posts- left Big-Eye, recorder, and right Big-Eye) and I only had to do
forty minutes on the right Big-Eye before I could return to my toasty
cocoon.
It was a gorgeous morning. I climbed the eleven stairs up to the 01
deck (from the Main deck where my room and the mess are located),
walked down the hall and out the door to the right, up 12 steps to the
bridge (02) level, and then up 14 more stairs to the flying bridge.
Cornelia and Jay had beaten me up there and were setting up. Cornelia
was going to be the recorder first thing. Jay was attaching a cylinder
with a video camera to the top of the Big-Eyes. So what are Big-Eye’s?
They are humongous binoculars. Technical terminology. They’re humongous
binoculars with 25x magnification that are semi-permanently set on the
ship and can be raised and lowered by a motor and have 360-degree
notation on the bases, and with reticles from the horizon marked inside
the lenses so an observer can call out a relative position of a whale.
The reticle is a measure of how far away an object is that you are
looking at. If you put the 0 reticle line at the horizon, whatever line
measures up with the whale (or seal, or porpoise, or piece of
driftwood) you are looking at can convert into a distance from the
ship. I went to my big Tupperware container and pulled out my wool
fingerless gloves and exchanged my Tilley hat for a wool one, put my
shell in the container and pulled out the two cases of cd’s. There’s a
stereo set up there and we’re allowed to listen to music while we’re on
effort (when there haven’t been whale sightings yet). I brought the
cd’s over to Cornelia because the recorder plays the DJ role. Back at
my assigned Big-Eye I loosened the screws that hold it in place and
motored it up to my chosen height, then refastened the screws. Loosened
the knob that allows the binoculars to swing up and down which is how
we keep something in sight even when the boat is moving in a large
swell. I swung the three-foot long binos over to the 90-degree mark,
reached forward to rest my hands on the string underneath that gives us
the most control, and set about the task of looking for whales and
dolphins for the next forty-minutes.
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July 10/11
I, and you too I am sure, have often heard the phrase “half the fun is
getting there.” It’s a reminder to focus on the journey itself
and not the destination. I had the six am watch this morning and while
I was supposed to be scanning the water with the 25x power Big-Eye
binoculars my visual path often led me past the water to the mountains
and evergreens on the shore beyond. The sun was shining intermittently
making my four layers of clothing sufficient to stay warm. There were
no whales to be seen, mountain views or not.
A research cruise takes the normal idea of a journey and turns it
around completely. The destination becomes just some place to have to
return from, while all the importance is on the path and what you
encounter along the way. Instead of ticking days off a calendar until
“you arrive” (though most of us are eagerly anticipating the
much-talked-about bar in Kodiak) each day or each turn on the track
line is an accomplishment. It’s good training for all journeys, be they
journeys over land, water, or other less tangible substrates.
As journeys go, straight-lines, such as those offered by the highways
of South Dakota, or calm waters, offer a certain somnambulistic charm,
but it’s hard to appreciate your surroundings when they are always the
same and offer no challenge.
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Stability- 7/19/04
She gripped the handlebars, sweat dripping down her face, and
thought to herself, “It’s good this thing is bolted down” as the floor
dipped 11-inches on the far side and her Stairmaster entered a tilted
universe. Two seconds later it, and all the other bolted down
exercise machines, righted themselves before tipping 11-inches to the
right. Living on a ship in medium-swell added a whole new dimension to
working out. “This has got to be burning extra calories,” she reasoned,
tipping back to the left. The ship turned into the swell (must be
following a whale) and then she alternated between the sensations of
climbing up stairs versus climbing down them. Tilt-a-whirl meets
Stairmaster. Quick, patent it; it’ll be a hit in Southern California.
An advantage to ship-life is that you learn not to take certain things
for granted. Like walking. Or that if you set something down, say a hot
beverage, that it will still be where you left it three seconds later,
instead of three feet away, or in your lap. Everything on a ship is
designed so that it can be contained and stabilized when the ocean
decides to act like an ocean and not like a lake, or a piece of tarmac,
or the head of a whale, but that’s another story.
And in addition to not taking things for granted, you learn greater
appreciation for certain forces sometimes forgotten, like gravity. When
balance is gone, disrupted by a largish ocean wave say, gravity takes
over, with a vengeance. And you’re left wondering, “what did I ever do
to you anyway?” as you peel yourself off the floor of Deck 01 and
muster your remaining dignity as you weave the rest of the way down the
hall.
So it brings to mind the question, “is stability just an
illusion?” The terrestrial equation involves a substrate that is
perceptually solid and stationary except during earthquakes. The ground
doesn’t appear to move, and so we don’t have to expect it to. Sure
scientifically speaking the tectonic plates move incrementally each
year, the oceans are rising, covering sandy lower elevation areas grain
by grain, but for the most part, the ground is the ground is the ground
and it ain’t goin’ anywhere. You can build houses on it, you can build
roads, you can build cities, and they will still be the same, save for
wear and tear, ten, twenty, one hundred years from now.
Our dramas unfold without a second thought to our stability. Areas
prone to earthquakes build structures designed to attempt withstanding
the occasional tremors and quakes, but otherwise continue on as if the
ground was as stable as it is in Iowa. And why shouldn’t they? What
works 98% of the time is pretty good. We’re living by the law that the
ground is stable. Likewise we live by many other laws which are now
proving untrue in greater realms. Is that any reason to stop using the
laws when they still work in our limited world? No I don’t think so.
But it is a reason to keep in mind that while we operate as though the
world is predictable, it perhaps is not.
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Kodiak
So there we were, mud spattered, rained on and sweaty, Liz with mud
embedded in her fingernails from trying to scrape the road away from
the front bumper of our rental Corolla, Holly bringing back a fence
rail she’d wrenched free after being deposited on her rump for her
efforts, me wrestling with the jack and triumphant Julie, bringing back
a twig to give the tires traction.
 
The four of us had been out touring the island of Kodiak, and after a
fun filled morning which largely consisted of taking pictures out the
car windows because one: it was Alaska and it was cold, and two:
we were all hung over from our first night on land (and hence with
access to alcohol) after thirty days at sea. We had seen buffalo on the
beach (which warranted getting out of the car) and a cowboy (who did
not). But then we made our way onto the site of a rocket launch
facility. It turns out to be the only privately operated rocket launch
facility in the country, but other than a warning sign and some very
tall buildings without windows, there wasn’t much to see. The main road
led us down to a beach which had some decent surf. There were two
motivated surfers who must have been very buoyant in their wetsuits.
After the requisite pictures and appreciation of Alaskan coastline, we
piled back into the car (remember, it was cold) and began to make our
way back up the road. About a quarter of mile later we saw a tertiary
dirt/mud road leading up a hill. It was unmarked, which meant to us
that it wasn’t off limits. I mean, they’d tell us if we weren’t
supposed to take a low-clearance rental car up a pot-hole filled,
rutted, mud road in a location which was fairly remote, where we
couldn’t get cell phone service, and where might roam the largest bears
in the world. Don’t ya think?
So onward we went. Biologists, yes. Intelligent? That’s up for debate.
About fifteen yards onto the road, as our tires begin to spin a little,
Holly brings up the fact that she owns and is used to driving a Jeep.
The concept of low-clearance, non-4-wheel drive vehicles are a little
foreign to her. Ten yards later she makes the observation that it would
be best to keep going on the road because if we even slowed down we
would surely be stuck. We looked around. There was a rocket launch
building in the far distance, but that was it. So up we went. At the
top of the hill we spied an especially deep hole and knew we’d reached
the limit of what our Corolla could do for us. So we stopped. I noticed
that to the left of the road was grass and offered the suggestion,
rather flipply that we could just back onto the grass and turn
around. As Holly put the car into reverse she made some comment about
famous last words. I began to say that I could get out and check the
side first, but it was too late. We hit the side of the road, a good
eight inches below the level of the grass and promptly got ourselves
good and stuck. Ten feet further down the road the grass was almost
level with the road. Oh well.
Holly tried reversing, and pulling forward, which really was spinning
the tires backwards, then forwards, as the car sank deeped into the
road. We all tumbled out and inspected the situation we found ourselves
in. I suggested three of us sit on the trunk to hopefully give the
front tires more clearance and have Holly try to pull forward, but it
didn’t work. After trying to push the car in both directions we began
to look for alternate solutions. Holly and I located the jack in the
trunk near the spare tire. I couldn’t find a decent place to set up the
jack, so picked the second best option behind one of the front tires
and began using a fairly ill-designed jack if I do say so myself. It
didn’t sink as far down in the soft ground as I’d anticipated and
actually began to lift the car a little, little bit. Julie, Liz and
Holly went off to try to locate wood and brush to put near the tires to
give the car better traction. Liz and Julie headed down the hill and
Holly went to the nearby fence and I tried to get more clearance under
the car. Holly returned with a two-by-four that she’d wrenched from a
fence, and Liz and Julie came back with a twig and a story about a
branch with a piece of human hair on it. Liz began to claw at the mud
under the front bumper and Julie joined her. Holly worked on one of the
tires. We made jokes about people watching us with binoculars. After
placing the wood in the appropriate locations we tried moving the car
again, but no dice. It began to rain.
More moving of wood and spinning of tires, when we saw a blue pick-up
truck making its way up the road towards us. Swell. I was happy to see
help, but it was a bit of an embarrassing situation. We knew we
shouldn’t have been on that road, and were four girls, stuck with a
rental car. What were our options? We decided to play dumb. And smile.
When the truck got close enough to see the occupants we saw two guys
inside, grins spreading from ear to ear. At least this wasn’t going to
be a hostile encounter.
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August 16
We are hiding behind Semisopochnoi Island this morning. Woke up last
night around 2 am to our chair skidding across the floor as we hit bit
swell. I heard that there were 40 knot winds last night so we turned to
go hide.
Yesterday we passed the islands of Kanaga and Tanaga after leaving the safe harbor of Adak.
If you look at a map showing the Aleutian chain and find the group of
islands just west of the 180 degree longitude line (or the second to
last group of islands in the chain) that is where we are as I’m writing
this. The ship is rocking back and forth in a 9-foot swell and I’m
trying to keep my balance even while seated, as we turn to approach a
group of killer whales. There haven’t been humpbacks for days, but we
have seen several sperm whales.
 
Last night I woke up at 2 am as our desk chair went skidding across the
floor. Everything that was loose on the desk and on top of the
mini-fridge when flying and several drawers slammed open. I learned
this morning that we’d hit 40-knot winds. During the hour or so that I
spent gripping onto my upper bunk to keep from also ending up on the
floor I could feel the ship turn. We ran for cover and woke up this
morning behind the shelter of Semisopochnoi Island. At noon we
left the calm water and headed out further west. Our plan is to make it
to the end of the chain and then zig-zag our way back to Dutch Harbor
by the 28th. Two days ago we had also been forced to run for cover and
spent the day in a sheltered bay off Adak. They ran liberty launches so
we were able to spend some time exploring the island. Few notes of
interest: the one bar on Adak has the best mozzarella sticks I’ve ever
sampled; there are more bald eagles on Adak than permanent human
residents; eagles are great and all, but they don’t drive pick-up
trucks that can rescue four scientists who wound up eight miles outside
of ‘town’ three hours before liberty expired.
 
I have twelve more days on the ship. My roommate asked the other day if
I was counting down, and I hadn’t been then. I’m not anxious to be off
the ship, but will be happy when the time comes. And yes, I am now
counting down the days. I have learned a lot, experienced a lot, and
made many new friends. The stark and active beauty of the Aleutians has
been surprising. The short arctic grass makes the volcanic folds of
rock look like a velveteen cloak of a lady of the lake. The sea usually
looks a dull, dark gray or steely blue, while the accompanying wind is
anything but dull. The dogged puffins bring the only spot of warm color
with their orange, toucan like bills and webbed-orange feet splayed
back as they attempt to fly with stomachs gorged on krill. Overall
there is the impression of life; this is most definitely not a desert,
at least not in the summertime. But there is also a great feeling
of space.
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Stalemate Bank
8/18/04
There was a soft knock, knock, knock on the door. “Come in!” both Beth
and I said. The door opened a crack and Juan Carlos’ soft, accented
voice said “Siri, we’re launching on sperm whales.”
“Alright, I’ll be right there.”
I quickly shut my computer I’d just restarted, put it in its padded
case in the bottom drawer of the desk, threw my empty diet soda can in
the trash (no aluminum recycling on the ship), did a mental check of
everything I needed and realized that everything was already either in
the wet lab or in my dry bag out on the deck because we’d been out
earlier in the day on some killer whales.
I went into the wet lab where Juan Carlos was already putting on his
mustang suit. I pulled out my rubber boots (with nifty wool-felt
insoles) from under the counter and grabbed a bright orange padded
mustang suit. They’re not waterproof, but they’re warm and act as life
preservers making them ideal Alaskan field wear. I traded my fuzzy,
slip on fake-leather Walmart shoes that I get to wear on boat days for
my rubber boots after putting my mustang suit half on. I stuffed my
gloves, baseball hat, ear warmer and sunglasses in my pockets (big
pockets) and put on the required hard hat. Outside AR1 was waiting at
the rail and Todd was already loading the boat with the gear left by
its side from the earlier excursion. I grabbed two bags and crawled
over the chains and under the suspension wires that keep the boat at
the rail throughout the day. Barb soon joined us and we were waiting on
Juan Carlos and the rest of the deck crew who would assist in lowering
the boat into the water. Merlyn strided past, man-in-charge for the
moment. I was taking off my hard-hat and sliding off my mustang suit so
I could add a sweatshirt to my layers and I wondered if I was going to
get a lecture. Never sure how strict they are on these protocols. After
the boat was loaded and the okay had been given by the OOD
(Officer-On-Deck), with Merlyn at the crane controls and Kevin and Jake
steadying the ropes we were lowered the two stories down to the water.
Todd started the engine up, Juan Carlos released the stern line and I
undid the large hook to the line on the bow and we turned sharply away
from the starboard side of the ship. I handed my hard hat to Barb (to
stash up front) and went to the stern of the boat to grab the cameras.
We’ve developed a little routine that works pretty smoothly and has us
ready to id whales in short order.
 
Our target was a sperm whale. We’d been seeing very large males lately.
Acoustics had several they’d been tracking and the flying bridge had
visuals on at least two. We were directed to the area where one had
been seen diving and put the directional hydrophone in the water. Juan
Carlos thought it was close; we drove a 1/4 mile and he listened again;
closer; so we waited. Sperm whales click while they are diving; it’s
usually a slow, rhythmic click. Click…..click…..click…..click with
maybe a echolocation buzz as they close in on some prey. They dive for
around forty minutes, so waiting can require some patience. Once at the
surface though, they usually blow frequently and can stay visible for
around ten minutes. Our animal did indeed surface a short distance away
from the boat and we drove over the get the fluke id shot and a biopsy
sample. He was a lumpy bumpy individual, about 50 feet long. Every
fifteen to twenty seconds he would exhale from his left-of-center
single blowhole. How many animals are asymmetrical? All the deep
divers, but I think they’re it. Sperm whales, beaked whales…I guess fin
whales have asymmetrical coloring, but sperm whales are shaped
asymmetrically. Weird.
Our buddy was very cooperative and gave us a big fluke-up dive and we
got good photographs and then Juan Carlos shot the dart. But the dart
stuck at the base of the fluke and we didn’t see it again.
After we spent some time trying to relocate this whale to retrieve our
dart we were giving up and got a call from the McArthur that they had
killer whales, and humpback whales! We hadn’t seen humpbacks since
before Dutch Harbor. Granted we’d had fog for several days I was
beginning to think the humpbacks didn’t venture this far west. We were
past the furthest west Aleutian island (Attu island) and all that lay
in front of us was Russia, and we weren’t going to Russia. But what we
didn’t know (on the small boat at least) was that we were crossing a
shallow water area called Stalemate Bank. It’s a small-medium size
bank, as far as banks go, and was only 33m below the surface. Most of
the surrounding water was at least 1000 m, much deeper. We took off
towards the McArthur which was several miles away by then and as we got
closer the air was filled with a fishy smell I associate with
krill-filled water. There were birds everywhere and we drove past a
flock of about 300 sooty shearwaters
Unlike the past four days or so, there wasn’t much fog and we could see
about 7 miles to either side of us. The sun had briefly peeked out from
behind some clouds and the birds were sitting in an area shining from
the sun. As we approached they all began to take off, rows of them at a
time with the running on water take-off that these sea-birds all seem
to have, especially after a big meal. It was very geometrical-looking.
Kind of like an Escher-sketch.
A group of killer whales was between us and ship and we decided to
spend a few minutes trying to get biopsies and photo id’s from
this group before continuing on to the ‘bill-payers’ as the humpbacks
are referred to on this ship. This group of orcas proved to be
just as evasive as the group we worked in the morning. Even though the
feeding/hunting behavior of transient killer whales is fascinating, I
have decided that I am not fond of working around them because I just
feel like we’re harassing them. And these were residents or offshores
anyway, not transients. We were turning and waiting for the group to
surface again when Juan Carlos pointed to a bird and said “is that a
short-tail?” There were a lot of albatrosses out, but the laysan
albatross is the most common in these waters, and sightings of
short-tails are rare. So rare, actually, that we have to log the
location and fill out a special form each time one is seen. I snapped a
few pictures of it as it began to fly away, verifying that it was
indeed a short-tail with it’s distinctive pink beak and felt fortunate.
After the bird was gone we went back to racing after the killer whales.
Finally we gave up and headed towards the humpbacks. The swell was
probably at least 4-6 feet making it impossible to see over when we
were in the trough. Barb and I were bracing ourselves in front of the
consul, cameras zipped up in our Mustang suits. The people on the
flying bridge told us that the two humpbacks we were approaching had
initially been fluking up, but had ceased ever since the Mac had been
close. When we got close it looked like it was a mom and calf. They
were traveling and the mom was arching as she dove quickly. After a few
sequences like that Barb made the suggestion that we back off and let
them get ahead of us a bit and get the fluke photograph from far away.
I was in full agreement though Todd was hesitant. Since it was a mom
and calf we wouldn’t be able to biopsy them anyway so the fluke photo
would be the only data we could collect. We backed off and sure enough,
after three or four short dive sequences the mother did indeed fluke
up. A couple of dives later her calf did as well so we got the data we
needed. There was another humpback close by so we left that pair and
went over to the whale that the ship had been referring to at the
“bird-eating whale”. He apparently had been surfacing in the middle of
large groups of birds. He was very cooperative and we got a good fluke
photo of him in the midst of the birds and then got a biopsy as well
and good dorsal photos. Meanwhile the ship had gone back on
course and speed and was barely still in sight. There were a
number of smaller groups of killer whales around so we decided to stay
and work these as well. The birds were still numerous and I was taken
with a small grey one with a forked tail and angled wings, and dark
patches near or over its eyes. Barb thought it was a Leaches storm
petrel, but Juan Carlos corrected her and said it was a Forked-tail
storm petrel. A confirmation from the bird book later showed that Juan
Carlos was correct. They seemed to be in pairs and would swoop
gracefully around the boat. Barb also spotted a group of
phalaropes sitting together. She seemed to be a fan of the phaloropes
and said that their presence confirmed the presence of krill. They are
also small gray birds, but look a little less hunter-like than the
petrels.
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oh yeah,the 'poems'
The wind is howling
The sea white-capped
I think we’re overdue
For a nap.
The ship has turned
Into the glare
There’s no way I’d see
a whale out there!
But we stay on effort
Hard-core observers
Rain soaked, comfy-
bed deservers
Caribbean music
Wishful thinking
To be on a beach
Tropical drinking
Oh, there’s a breach!
Reticle five,
Give me a camera!
It’s about to dive!
Out of my way
You foolish bums
Research is on
Ain’t this fun?
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Crossing the line
No cause for dread
Yesterday to stern
Tomorrow ahead.
Today is no more
Water changed too
From US to Russia
Where’s biopsy’s taboo
Vodka shots all around
Yes it would be grand
To celebrate Russia
‘til we couldn’t stand.
But a dry ship we are
And a dry ship we’ll stay
“til Dutch Harbor sees us
on the 28th day.
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Drawers slamming open
Chairs skidding’round
If it wasn’t secure
It’s now on the ground
Potted plants where
They shouldn’t be
oh please oh please
Let’s find a lee!
Prayers are answered
Behind Adak we hide
Liberty granted
Down the ladder we slide
To shore we go
Adventure awaits
Otters we sought
But there was no trace.
Fair Adak we love,
Though spare indeed,
One bar and one phone
What else d’ya need?
Back to the Bering
Again as before
Things not locked in place
Are now on the floor.
And so it goes
On our floating home
O’er calm seas and rough
We continue to roam.
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