 |
Breaking through Arctic ice on the R/V Lance
|
We approached the city of Philadelphia at Station 7. The
scientific crew on the R/V Cape Henlopen
would burst into song:
“Shut up, you talk
too much,”
the opening line from
a popular song in 1985 by the hip-hop group Run DMC.
Station 7 in the calm inland waters of the Delaware River
was an easy place for the team to have gotten all their sampling and analytical
systems in place and before reaching the more open Delaware Bay. It was the
start of an oceanographic cruise—a mixture of hard work, tumbling seas, and camaraderie.
Being on an oceanographic cruise is completely different
than a pleasure cruise! The food is usually pretty good, if you have a decent
cook, but the staterooms are primitive; you usually share with someone you
don’t know too well, and showers are limited. In addition, the work of sampling
the ocean, lake or river you are cruising on is usually a 24-hour activity with
some time in the day for sleeping and eating, but little time for “rest.”
Once on the ship, the people who are on board set up their
own social strata just like in the larger world. Those who don’t get seasick
are in the higher class, while those throwing up over the rails, not so much.
The Chief Scientist is the Big Dog with constant access to the ship’s Captain
and crew. It’s a demanding, but rewarding, job that I enjoyed when I was given
the chance. It’s not uncommon for shipboard relationships to develop after a
few days of being away from shore.
Taken together, it’s a big intricate dance with people in
their set roles, the rhythm of the sea, and the constant pace of activity. I
thrived under these conditions.
My first cruise was a short, student cruise on the R/V
(standing for Research Vessel) Longhorn,
the University of Texas ship. In the mid 1970s, the Longhorn was pretty funky
and had a pitch and roll to it that made many seasick (https://isotopequeen.blogspot.com/2020/03/patrick-l-parker-got-lot-of-isotope.html).
In the early 1980s, my dad took me out to the Delaware Bay on his small boat to
collect plankton for hydrogen isotope analyses.
 |
My dad's fishing boat
|
My first set of serious cruises was with Jon Sharp of the
College of Marine Studies at the University of Delaware. Jon and I had a funded
NSF project working with his three competitive students: Luis Cifuentes, Jon
Pennock, and Rick Coffin. We carried out 24 cruises with 26 stations extending
from Trenton, NJ to the mouth of the Delaware estuary over a period of two
years. Jon liked to call our cruise track going along the “spine” of the
estuary from freshwater near Trenton all the way to full saltwater at the mouth
of the Bay.
As we proceeded from Station 7 with everyone singing, we
passed Station 10 at the mouth of the polluted Schuylkill River and then
reached the open bay at Station 15 where the Henlopen started to develop a motion guaranteed to induce
queasiness in many of the science team. Luis Cifuentes turned a pale green,
stopped singing, and passed his chores on to hearty postdoc David Velinsky.
Professor Dave Kirchman just disappeared, turning his work over to his
students. Those still working buckled down, secured anything that could move
and carried on. These cruises on the Delaware estuary were only 2-3 days long,
just long enough to get a good pair of sea legs and get used to the constant
motion. But they were run in a highly precise manner with plenty of good will.
David
Velinsky writes:
“I met Marilyn and Chris in late 1987 for my postdoc
interview and we ended up in Lambda Rising [an LGBT bookstore in Dupont Circle]
looking for birding books. Needless to say they did not have any birding books,
but that was ok! I met her at the Upton Geophysical Laboratory eating peanuts
and running the old Dupont IRMS. I have known Marilyn since that day! I feel
that the freedom to explore some new areas while working at the lab with
Marilyn was a key point in my career and it was a wonderful time; I appreciate
her help and guidance. I remember leaving for a field trip and having to check
Marilyn on the Eppendorf pipettes to make sure she was calibrated to deliver
1.0000000ml; not sure that went over too wellJ”
My next set of cruises (1989-1990) took place in the Pacific
Northwest on the R/V Clifford Barnes,
a small ship holding only 6 scientists and two crew members. I was working on a
project studying microbial manganese formation (https://isotopequeen.blogspot.com/2020/02/egos-and-manganese-nodules.html)
with Brad Tebo (then at Scripps Institution of Oceanography). Our research took
us into Canadian waters off the coast of Vancouver Island. We departed from
crowded Seattle harbor, steamed north to the eastern coast of the island to a
place called Saanich Inlet, famous to geochemists who study ocean basins like
the Black Sea that have deep water with no oxygen. Basins like this have
different microbial processes in them than the majority of the ocean’s
oxygenated waters.
We were excited to try to fit three science projects into
one small lab, which was a real challenge. Furthermore, The Barnes had only one stateroom for
scientists, so I spent a week living with 5 other big men. I was stuffed into
one of the lower bunks in a small space littered with dirty clothes, smelly
shoes, and more disarray than I was used to.
We took turns cooking the meals, since there was no room for
a cook. Some of us were gourmet chefs, but postdoc David Velinsky was
inexperienced in this regard. He made barbecued chicken grilled on the back
deck, which wasn’t as done as it should have been. Also, the grill had been
placed in the plume of radioactive bicarbonate that was being acidified on the
deck. The next day, people’s stomachs grumbled and it was thought folks might
have had a touch of food poisoning. (I did not eat any raw chicken and was
fine.)
 |
Fighting over radioactive chicken with David Velinsky
|
Also on the Barnes,
we did not have a marine technician so we worked all of the sampling gear
ourselves—putting out the “wire”—a metal cable attached to a winch that allowed
us to collect samples hundreds of meters to the bottom of the inlet. Attached
to the end of the cable was a special container (Niskin or GoFlo sampler) that
was designed to collect water at specific depths. Fortunately for me, although
he was not a chef, Velinsky was very experienced with all aspects of sampling
and lab work, so things ran smoothly. It was tedious work, but satisfying to do
our own sampling. I learned a lot.
Inevitably on the Barnes,
the head (the toilet) stopped up. As the only woman on board, I was silently
accused of creating the problem because we women use more toilet paper and we
might flush sanitary products—both something I was careful not to do. So, we
had to do our “business” in a bucket, parade it outside, and dump it away from
our sampling location. Ugh. We were very glad to get back to port at the Univ.
of Washington.
My next set of cruises (1993-1995) was on the R/V Cape Hatteras (https://isotopequeen.blogspot.com/2020/11/carmen-aguilar-and-russell-cuhel-1994.html).
Postdoc Mark Teece had these memories about Cruise 6 to the Sargasso Sea with
Hurricane Marilyn and me as Chief Scientist.
Mark Teece writes: “My
first cruise and first scopolamine experience, so the first morning at sea was
still an unhappy one. Coming into the galley I was greeted by the huge spread
of breakfast and was only able to eat dry biscuits while everyone else tucked
into pancakes and bacon. It took me 4 years to be able to eat a biscuit without
getting itchy cheeks.
I bunked with
the best first dude – a towering man who was in charge of the CTD casts. On the
first rough night out of port, I let go of the door and it slammed into the
wall really loudly right next to his head. Needless to say, I was not popular
with this crew member and then there were lots of snide remarks about young
idiotic stunts for a few days!
This ribbing stopped
when a few nights later we went through some really rough seas and I
was unceremoniously tossed out of my top bunk and landed on the floor.
Totally disorientated I made it out of the stateroom! and
somehow ended up in the engine room in the middle of the night. The next
day I was hurting badly from my fall and the first mate seemed satisfied
that I had got my required punishment and was nice to me from then on.
 |
Hollander, Teece, Van Mooy and Filley
|
I helped with
the sediment cores, and I remember sitting in the galley through the night
listening to the winches bringing up the cores (and eating Saltines) for hours
and then when it triumphantly arrived on deck it was empty! The sides of the
corer were all scratched and the top looked like it had landed first. So the
corer was sent down again, and then left to hang in the depths for a few hours
hoping to right itself before the final drop to the sediment. Thankfully that
was successful and then sectioning of the core started with Dave Hollander in
charge so the intensity of collecting mud was at an all time high.
I had just
arrived from England and was told to bring some old clothes for the cruise –
needless to say I had not brought many old clothes in my one suitcase from
England. So I came equipped with lots of plain T shirts, which it turned out
needed to have pockets or else they were undershirts. So many things for an
Englishman to learn. Luckily some helpful people drew pictures on my shirts so
they looked okay. Then when the wedding was happening, I had no “good” shirts
and certainly none with a collar that Marilyn specifically told me that I had
to wear. So I bought a golf shirt off Ben for two Sharpies (onboard currency
not unlike a cigarettes in juvenile detention!).
The cruise was a
great experience and it was fabulous to drive down with Ben and Tim as I knew
no one in the country! Thankfully there are no pictures of my duct tape attempt
at boxing up a corer for its journey home!”
 |
Ben's first hydrocast, Sargasso Sea 1995
|
Ben Van Mooy writes: “What an awesome
cruise! I sorted through all of our old photos we keep in the basement
last night, and I found the cruise photos! Tiffany, my wife, and I
toasted Dave Hollander (1959-2020) and had a few more tears. But what fond
memories the photos brought back. It was my first cruise, and, therefore,
was full of all of the other firsts. Thanks so much Marilyn. It was
a true turning point in my life. And thanks to you Mark and Tim; you made it an
absolute blast. I believe I took my first CTD cast--the first of what is
now certainly many hundreds. Ah, yes, going past the Gulf Stream and into the
Sargasso. A respite from the waves for all, I'm sure. Again, for
me, this was the first of many cruises punching through to that glorious blue
water and getting some relief from the sea-sickness. Hurricane Marilyn was
near. My mind was blown and so was my hair (back when I had hair). This
is one of my fondest memories of Dave, when the energy of the world matched his”
 |
Hurricane Marilyn arrives
|
Tim Filley writes: “This was my first
and only cruise. You made sure I got experience on most of the sampling
tools (CDT, Cores, zooplankton tows), but I spent most of my time separating Trichodesium (those produced a pretty
soluble cyano-pigment from those that did not). I also separated
zooplankton. I remember keeping careful pencil renderings of all of my
“important” discoveries in the tow cup.
Surprisingly, I did not get seasick and
I decided to not use the scapalomine. I seem to recall I looked forward to the
chef’s meals - they were quite excellent. I used his homemade fiery
habenaro hot sauce liberally.
When we were getting ready to send down
the corer I felt a bit embarrassed that I was unaware of the tradition of
bringing a Styrofoam bust, that everyone signed, to send down to the watery
depths to squeeze to a shrunken head. I managed to scrounge up a block of
Styrofoam, get it signed by my crewmates and send it down – I still have the
squished block to this day.
 |
Tim and Mark, Sargasso Sea 1995
|
I had the privilege of being charged
with taking the video of the Carmen-Russell wedding ceremony. I walked
around the deck getting people to give their congratulations. When it
came time to ask the captain to offer his well wishes I trained the camera on
him and he said, in what I thought at the time was a mildly scary voice, “Do
not take my picture”. I put the camera down and slowly backed away.
I remember the excitement of working on
deck while experiencing the storms of Hurricane Marilyn. There was some,
not much, comfort in being tethered to a safety line so we did not take the
plunge. The call to go to our rooms because seas were too rough was a bit
scary. Being told we had to chain ourselves in our bunk while the boat
was being tossed to and fro was downright terrifying (and a bit
exhilarating).
It was the first time I ever saw wave
crests illuminated by phosphorescent algae. I would love to see that again.
Working with that fantastic group of people convinced me I wanted to do my
postdoc at only one place – The Geophysical lab. “
 |
Experiments to test the effects of rainwater on plankton growth, 1995
|
I veered into
Astrobiology for several years after this. It was not until 2004 that I set
sail again, this time in Arctic waters off the coasts of Svalbard at 78-80 degrees
North latitude. Although we were berthed on a ship, our sampling took place on
shore. That shipboard feel was still there of course, but rarely did we have to
work under the difficult conditions I'd encountered in the path of a hurricane.
 |
M/V Polarsyssel lower deck where we got off the ship, 2004
|
The first ship of this
project, the M/V Polarsyssel, was an
outdated icebreaker used normally by the Governor of Svalbard on missions to
view his territory, and was not designed as a scientific ship. Our labs were
below decks in containers, but the staterooms were nice and it had a homey feel
to it. Working alone in my mini-lab measuring ammonia concentrations with
multiple repetitive steps, I now used earbuds attached to my computer to
provide mindless music. My daughter, a rap lover, had loaded up my iTunes with
her favorite songs. One day I found myself singing along with the rapper 50
Cent singing “I’m high all the time. I smoke that good shit.” Something about
being on a ship doing science.
 |
Verena Starke in small lab
|
Several contrasts to
US ships—alcohol was allowed on board and the cook was awful. The first
difference led to some fun and fine dining, but had its drawbacks when
Norwegian scientists drank too much (https://isotopequeen.blogspot.com/2020/01/a-life-of-sport-i-have-real-track-record.html).
The second drawback in terms of food quality improved on subsequent voyages. At
every meal we were served cold cuts, pickled herring, and bland cheeses, but
the position of them on the buffet table moved from main course (breakfast) to
sides (lunch) to appetizer (dinner). I learned what good Norwegian food was and
adapted to it.
We transitioned to
the R/V Lance (https://isotopequeen.blogspot.com/2019/08/research-rhythm-svalbard.html)
a couple years later and conditions for lab space improved, as well as the food
and logistics. Most important was a specially constructed hot tub on the upper
deck. The crew built it out of plywood and tarps, filled it was cold seawater,
then warmed it with the hot exhaust from the engines. It was the scene of
nightly relaxation and some mischief. What happens in Svalbard stays in
Svalbard!
One of my last
voyages was on the M/V Kakivak, a
ship owned and operated by Inuit of upper Quebec and Nunavut (https://isotopequeen.blogspot.com/2020/02/earths-earliest-signs-of-life-if-we.html).
Again, a small ship with one stateroom held all eight scientists, while the
crew slept on the shoreline. As we went to sleep each night, we told stories
and jokes like we were kids in summer camp. We also prepared all meals in a
little stove on the floor of the main cabin where the Captain steered the ship.
 |
The mighty Kakivak Hudson Bay
|
When we crossed
Hudson Bay from the mainland to the Belcher Islands, there was a fierce storm
rending many of our group sidelined by seasickness. What surprised me, however,
was the lack of navigation equipment on the ship. The Inuit traveled using only
topo maps and a compass! Fortunately, they were experienced seamen and we landed
where we needed to go.
 |
Cooking on the Kakivak for 12 people
|
Being able to do
your sampling on land made things much easier in many ways, but I missed that
feel of togetherness as we steamed in places where land was far distant and the
waters were deep. Today, from my desk in Mariposa, California, I am so glad I
had the chance to sample the deep sea, breathe the fresh wind, and get my sea
legs under me. If you ever have the chance to “sail”, take it!
