life at sea – Page 2 – NOAA Teacher at Sea Blog

June 22, 2015August 21, 2021

Bill Henske, Turns Out You Might Need That Skill, June 22, 2015

NOAA Teacher at Sea
Bill Henske
Aboard NOAA Ship Nancy Foster
June 14 – 29, 2015

Mission: Spawning Aggregation Survey
Geographical Area: Florida Keys and Dry Tortugas
Date: Monday, June 22, 2015

Weather Data from the Bridge: East winds 10-15 kts. Seas 2-4 ft (1 ft inside reef) Isolated showers and thunderstorms)

Science and Technology Log

Remotely Operated Vehicles (ROVs)

We were talking on board today about the olden days, you know, when Jaques Cousteau and Marlin Perkins could reliably be found on a majority of American televisions. Remember Generation X?

Jeff from FWC at the controls of the ROV searching for signs of spawning aggregations.

Yes- we are in our 40s now. Kids my age had the spirit of scientific adventure to look forward to on Sunday nights. The same generation of kids grew up with monitors and joysticks, interacting with worlds that were somewhere beyond the “real world” on our Ataris and Commodore computers. Our 1980s parents might be incredulous to learn that we are now doing these same things to investigate critical habitat, monitor fish populations, and gather geographic data. I know many futurists predicted it would happen but the grownups I knew were skeptical, to say the least.

NF3 Dive Boat loaded for ROV Mission — NF3 Dive Boat loaded for ROV Miss

The remotely operated vehicle has been a staple of marine research for many years now. Called an ROV for short, these devices are human operated machines that can do many of the same things humans divers can do but in much more difficult circumstances, for much longer periods of time, and at greater depths. ROVs are “employed” by resource managers, marine scientists, construction crews, engineering companies, and just about anyone else who has work to do under water.

We have been using an ROV on our current mission on the Nancy Foster to collect fisheries data. With the ROV we can investigate different areas identified on hydrographic maps and from previous studies without labor intensive dive operations. The ROV does not need to stick to a dive schedule and as long as it has power and a willing operator, it can do its job. The ROV has several components that must all be brought onto our dive boat in order to operate.

The primary need of the ROV is electricity. Rather than running on combustion or cellular respiration, which both require oxygen, the ROV needs a steady supply of electrical current. Because many variables can affect the power demands of an ROV such as speed, depth, wind, and current, the FWC team has chosen to operate a small generator to power their ROV.

ROV being set up for deployment. Note the spool of tether cable and control panel.

The ROV has a specialized cable that carries the electricity from the boat to the motors. This cable, called a tether, also carries the signal from the controller to the motors to tell the ROV where to go. The video input the ROV gathers is relayed through this cable in order to allow the operator to see through the “eyes” of the ROV, and, of course, record what it sees.

Operating the ROV requires a good deal of coordination. The craft is controlled much like a slow, unresponsive airplane. It can move forward, reverse, side to side, up and down, and operate at a tilt. This dizzying array of motions are necessary to track and study the reef fish as they travel through the Florida Keys National Marine Sanctuary.

Jeff from FWC records the coordinates before beginning ROV survey

Jeff Renchen of the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission (FWC) is, among many other things, our ROV operator on this cruise. He is using the small ROV to collect data on spawning aggregations of several important fish species. Jeff explained that the ROV allows researchers to explore deeper than divers are able to easily go. ROV camera operations can follow aggregations of fish and provide insights into the behaviors and conditions of spawning fish, as well as structures and locations that are important for spawning behavior.

With the ROV in the water Jeff takes it for a swim away from the boat. Once the ROV’s line has 50 feet of slack, the tether is attached to a drop line. In strong currents, it is possible for smaller ROVs, like the one here, to get carried off. The drop line allows us to raise or lower the ROV in the water column faster, increasing our ability to focus in on fish of interest or specific depths.

Personal Log

There are some things that seem special no matter how many times you have seem them before. I remember a long time student of Appalachian ecology saying that he could not remember what he had for lunch but he could describe every time he had seen a bear. There are some things in our world that have that the ability to mesmerize us, silencing the combating thoughts that often clutter our minds and setting a reset button somewhere in our brain stem.

One of those things that stands out for me, and kindly keep it to yourself if you disagree, is seeing dolphins interact. We came in from some drop camera operations on Wednesday evening and found this pod of dolphins playing in the wash of the Z-Drive motors of the Nancy Foster. There would more footage but if you are taking video rather than living in this moment, you are probably doing it wrong.

Watching dolphins play and interact appeals to so many of us. I think it reminds us of the pleasure of physicality and the joy that can be had as social creatures.

Then there is the thrill of hearing “There’s a shark” from the scientist monitoring the camera you have been steadily lowering below a 17 foot dive boat bobbing in the small but steady waves.

The enormities of life at sea give us an awe inspiring sense of scale. Every day at sea there is at least one endless horizon and yesterday they surrounded us on all sides. Just past sunset I caught this small cumulonimbus that had previously drizzled on our afternoon drop camera trip. I thought about the thermal energy required to make such a structure. I wondered at the amount of fresh water it carried. And then my brain quieted down and I just watched it.

May 13, 2013August 11, 2021

Bill Lindquist: Mapping the Ocean, May 9, 2013

NOAA Teacher at Sea
Bill Lindquist
Aboard NOAA Ship Rainier
May 6-16, 2013

Mission: Hydrographic surveys between Ketchikan and Petersburg, Alaska
Date: May 9, 2013

Weather on board. Taken at 1600 (4:00 in the afternoon)

Clear skies with a visibility of 10+ nautical miles
Light variable wind
Sea wave height – O
Air temperature 17.3° C
Water temperature 7.2° C

It's hard to get enough of this majestic view. — It’s hard to get enough of this majestic view.

Science and Technology Log: Mapping the Ocean

The work we do on board the Rainier is all centered on the task of gathering data of the ocean bottom – shoreline to shoreline. These data are used to update the nautical charts (maps) used by sailors. The project we have been working on is a section of Behm Canal in SE Alaska.

Hydrographic data on parts of this stretch of water haven’t been updated for over 100 years. The tools and methods utilized have changed significantly during that time. Hydrographers of 1900 lowered a rope tied to a lead weight to the ocean bottom. Measurements were taken on the length of rope. The area we were surveying ranges from 150 to over 300 fathoms (one fathom = 6 feet) deep – that is a lot of rope. At each measure, they sighted a bearing to two or more locations on shore to locate where on the chart they could mark the depth. It’s surprising how closely their data matches what we found with the use of sophisticated modern techniques.

So how is it done? A good activity in the classroom is to make a sounding box with an ocean floor shaped on the bottom of the box. The top is covered and marked with a grid. Skewer sticks can be inserted at the grid corners, pulled out, measured, and transferred to another grid. A map is made. If only it were as easy. Simply put, modern hydrographers ping sound waves (sonar) from the bottom of the ship. The sound waves travel through the water to the ocean bottom and bounce back. We know how fast sound travels so measurements of time can be made and the distance calculated – just like the skewer sticks. If only it were as easy!

See the following website for information on hydrographic survey techniques. http://www.nauticalcharts.noaa.gov/mcd/learnnc_surveytechniques.html

My learning curve has been high as I have tried to understand all the moving variables that need to be taken into account before an accurate map can be made.

Here’s what I am beginning to understand:

Starts with referencing benchmarks – both vertical and horizontal (see blog, May 7) to gain a standard of tidal variation (high and low tide can vary by as much as 20 feet) and GPS location.
A measurement is made from the ship’s deck to the water surface. The twin sonar beams are located on the bottom of the ship. We know how far it is from the bottom of the ship to the deck – subtracting the deck to the water line gives the distance below the surface the sonar equipment is found at the time of measurement.
The chart is marked off in rectangles. A line is marked for the ship to follow. Traveling at 10 knots, the multibeam equipment located on the bottom of the ship pings sound waves and measures how long they take to return from the bottom. A broad swath of ocean bottom can be measured at the same time. These data are transferred to a computer in the plotting lab where the computer archives it and generates visual images as they come in.
The speed of sound varies in different water conditions, including temperature and salinity. Making it more complicated, temperature and salinity varies by depth in the water column beneath the ship. To capture these variables, we cast out a Moving Vessel Profiler (MVP) behind the ship while we travel along. The MVP looks like a small torpedo and is affectionately referred to as the fish. Attached is a sensor that reads temperature, conductivity (a measure for salinity), and depth. These data are transferred along a cable bound within the attached line to a computer on board the ship. “Casting” the fish means letting the line out until the fish approaches the bottom of the ocean – or 500 meters of line – whichever comes first. At that point the fish is retrieved. The data acquired as the fish makes its journey is transferred to the Plotting Lab computer.
The sensor on the “fish” captures temperature, conductivity, and depth data on the water column beneath the ship.
As the ship moves along the ocean surface it is subjected to constant movement. It pitches up and down from front to back (pitch), rolls side to side (roll), and rises up and down with the ocean swells (heave). As the survey data is collected, heave, roll, and pitch data is captured to allow for adjustments in the sonar data. All of this varies further with the tide level. All these data are captured and fed into the Plotting Lab computer.
Data from the ship’s multibeam sonar comes to the Plotting Lab
The ship travels its projected line, turns around and comes back on another.
Small boats with similar beams are dispatched to capture the same measurements closer to the shoreline where it is too shallow for the ship (for tomorrow).
This continues until the full ocean bottom in our project area is captured.
Finally all these data sets are brought together and stored.
During the off season, the data sets are utilized to generate the finished nautical charts ending a long, sophisticated process.

Personal Log: Life on the sea

I have to admit the living spaces on board a working ship are a bit tight. My “state room” measures approximately 10’ x 12’ and is shared with a roommate. In that space are our bunk beds, a sink, desk, and locker closets. I can’t sit up in bed without hitting my head on the bunk above. Shared between two rooms is a bathroom that is only 4’ x 8’ with a head (mariner’s term for a toilet) and shower. All this space rests on a floor that drops with the curve of the ship approximately 10” from one end to the other. The hallways in the ship are narrow and the stairways steep. Everything is bolted or tied to the floor or table to keep them from being tossed about in choppy waters.

While tight, I have yet to hear anyone wish for more. Perhaps the salt that runs in their mariner blood provides the sustenance they need to thrive in these close quarters at sea.

While my shipmates will call the Rainier home for the duration of the research season, I will be on board for only two weeks before I return to the comforts of my own home and spacious bed. I have to respect these hardy folk for who they are and all they do.

A cozy state room at sea - looking toward the door. — A cozy state room at sea – looking toward the door.

The shared "head" offers the comforts of home. — The shared “head” offers the comforts of home.

A porthole window offers a majestic view.

May 8, 2013August 11, 2021

Bill Lindquist: Life at Sea, May 6, 2013

NOAA Teacher at Sea
Bill Lindquist
Aboard NOAA Ship Rainier
May 6-16, 2013

Mission: Hydrographic surveys between Ketchikan and Petersburg, Alaska
Date: May 6, 2013

Weather Data from the Bridge

Clear skies
10.5 C (51 F)
Wind: 4 knots out of the south

Science and Technology Log

Navigational Science

My iPhone will pinpoint my location on a highway map and lay out a course to get me wherever I need to go. Navigating by canoe from lake to lake within the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness (BWCAW) requires a map, compass, and discerning eye. The tools of navigation on board an ocean-going vessel requires far more than a phone or a map and compass, yet similarities do exist. As a guest on the bridge, I had the chance to witness the team effort put in to safely get us where we needed to be. Like canoeing, navigation begins with a map, compass, and a good plan.

A path (track) is drawn on the nautical charts with waypoints identifying track adjustments to be made. Compass headings to get from one waypoint to the next are written in. Progress along this track is regularly noted on the chart. While paper and pencil keeps the track grounded and secure, the primary navigation on the Rainier is electronic. Digital charts created by earlier surveyors are displayed along with our location pinpointed by GPS data accessed through high power receivers atop the ship – difficult at times in these remote portions of SE Alaska surrounded by the mountains. The track penciled on paper is plotted digitally and the journey begins. The Conn officer reads the map and calls out to the helmsman the heading to take.

The helmsman repeats it to assure it was heard correctly and turns the ship’s wheel to the new heading noting it with a dry erase marker on a small whiteboard on the helm station. The ship’s heading is indicated by an overhead digital compass display and held steady until the next waypoint is reached. Safe navigation requires a smoothly running team. The Conn officer and helmsman continue back and forth making any necessary adjustments while a third keeps a close eye on the radar. Another scans ahead with binoculars to note any floating debris to avoid.

Depth is continuously monitored along with notations of tide and currents. Weather conditions are recorded. All operations are carefully coordinated and monitored by the assigned Officer on the Deck.

Complicating navigation in this part of Alaska is the difference between the geographic north pole and magnetic north pole. Our compasses align with magnetic north – a different place from geographic north or “true north”. All charts and maps reference true north. Failure to account for this difference leads to getting lost. In Minnesota true north and geographic north are so close the difference is seldom noticed. In this area of Alaska the difference between true north and where a compass points is approximately 17 degrees. Fortunately, the ships gyrocompasses automatically account for this difference and report headings aligned with the true north of the charts.

Following our plan, we made it today from Ketchikan to Burroughs Bay in Behm Canal. Our work plan called for anchoring in the bay and getting to work in the morning. To anchor my canoe I simply throw out a small anchor attached to a rope and am set. Successfully anchoring the Rainier required the joint work of many. Within much of the bay the waters far enough from shore were too deep to gain a sufficient hold to keep the ship in position. With the ship’s Commander in charge, we maneuvered within the bay carefully monitoring the depths to identify a suitable location finally finding a shelf that appeared would work. The drop anchor command was given and 16+ fathoms (one fathom equals 6 feet) of chain held within the confines of the ship for six months quickly reeled out raising clouds of dust. It held.

Personal Log

Life at sea

There is a palpable pulse to the floating community that must exist to live and work together on a ship at sea. The quarters are close with minimal space to roam. The ongoing work lies amidst the everyday tasks of living causing leisure time to mix with work time. The functions of the ship go on 24 hours a day. On the ship Rainier, distinct, but united groups work side by side: NOAA Corps officers, survey technicians, the maritime crew, stewards, the ship’s engineers, and the occasional Teacher at Sea. To successfully collect the terabytes of data going into the making of new and revised nautical charts, all members of the ship’s personnel must work as a cohesive whole.

I have been blessed with a warm reception from each of these groups. The ship’s Commander and an Ensign welcomed me at the airport ferry and escorted me to the ship. The Ensign helped begin to unravel the labyrinth of passageways that eventually brought me to my state room. A conversation with my roommate gave me a glimpse into the role of the NOAA Corps. A crewman caught me in my roaming and offered a guided tour of the bridge and small boats. I was given an introduction to the personal side of life at sea by another over coffee. Yet another provided an extensive introduction to the complexities of modern navigation found on the bridge. An engineer provided a close up tour into the bowels of the engine room. These expressions of welcome were offered freely. It was evident that each of these people are proud members of this Rainier community, living and working side-by-side on a daily basis. Life at sea isn’t for the partially committed. Each of these people give up extended months at a time away from their loved ones in their commitment to this task. I was struck by a conversation with the engineer shared over breakfast. After a break from sea life, he found he had to return to sea to satisfy the salt water coursing in his blood.

I made it. I am officially a teacher at sea. Life is good.

November 9, 2011August 11, 2021

Paige Teamey: November 6, 2011

NOAA Teacher at Sea
Paige Teamey
Aboard NOAA Ship Thomas Jefferson
October 31, 2011 – November 1, 2011

Mission: Hydrographic Survey
Geographical Area: Atlantic Ocean, between Montauk, L.I. and Block Island
Date: November 6, 2011

Weather Data from the Bridge

Clouds: Clear
Visibility: 10 Nautical Miles
Wind: SE 9 knots
Temperature 14.3 ° Celsius
Dry Bulb: 11.5 ° Celsius
Wet Bulb: 8.9 ° Celsius
Barometer: 1030.0 millibars
Latitude: 41°10’59″ ° North
Longitude: 072°05’63″ ° West

Current Celestial View of NYC:

Current Moon Phase:

Current Seasonal Position (make sure to click on “show earth profile):

http://www.astroviewer.com/

http://www.die.net/moon/

http://esminfo.prenhall.com

http://www.learner.org/

Science and Technology Log

Sunset on either Thursday, Saturday, or....two months ago :).

Frank said an interesting thing today that resonated with a feeling that I have been unable to define. He said that when you are working at sea, every day is a Monday. This specific survey trip is 12 days long, which translates to 11 Monday’s and one Friday. That means there are no weekends, time is not longitudinal, rotational, or accompanied by changing scenery (going from home to the subway to school…all different backdrops). One day drips into the next, sparked by small things that you note as change and reference with a new day. We even had to vote on whether to observe daylight savings this weekend, or pretend it did not exist until we landed in New London on Friday.

I awoke yesterday and had the same breakfast I have had for the past week (still tasty, thanks Ace!!); however, there was nothing to punctuate why this day was indeed Saturday and not Friday. Mike the E.T. sat at the same table he had the day before and piled one condiment after the next onto his breakfast until perfection was reached, just as he has done each prior day. I smiled and laughed and told jokes with each of the crew members just as I have each day since I arrived.

The mess hall is like an accordion. It acts as a center piece that brings all of us together. After each meal the crew disappears back to the their stations. In this 208ft ship 36 members find their space and focus moving back to our stations to perform our individual duties. When meals begin anew we are pulled back together to resonate until we move away yet again. This center piece is essential otherwise we would continue with our duties whether it be Tuesday evening or Sunday morning. I enjoyed thinking about Frank’s sentence. This idea spoke of time not in hours or minutes, but as a continuum. Time on the TJ is marked with very simplistic relatively small changes that many of us would not pay attention to in our regular New York lives. A small conversation that sparks ideas, or subtle nuances that you begin to discover in an individual especially while sharing silence together, or a new smell that is adrift in the air that allows you to remember Tuesday from Friday (remember Tuesday when we smelled…). A series of simplistic small moments allows you to mark one day from the next.

Brilliant Tom prepping 3102 for a secure departure from the TJ.

There is a lovely gentleman named Tom who has been on numerous ships for over 30 years. He told me his line of work suits him best because he likes being able to keep to himself and if he was unable to work on ships he would be a hermit high on a hill (just a little joke). He has marked time by haircuts or noticing his shirt is slowly falling apart, or having to shave. He does not speak in days, just marked events. His longest time at sea without seeing land was 167 days…

Yesterday, Saturday…I mean Sunday, was marked by a small rock dove staring at me from the deck while I was standing on the bridge as I normally do with Joe and Tony during the 4-8 shift. The dove landed on the steal guard rail and then nestled in an incredibly small nook located in the bow next to the front mast and remained with the ship for the next two hours. It puffed its feathers to a measurable extension and settled in with the rest of the TJ crew. This dove punctuated my day and allowed me to differentiate time from Saturday.

"It's the people that make you happy--that is why I continue. Without people it is like having one shoe," says Tom.

There is constant conversation involved with seeing family, returning home, having creature comforts in hand’s reach, and kissing a wife, husband, or missed child. However many of the crew have also spoken of how even though time away from the ship is welcomed, after a while, they miss these days. Working with and on the ocean takes a certain kind of someone. These individuals tend to have patience, perseverance, and motivation to live on a ship and continue with focus each Monday. Each crew member on the TJ seems very much at ease and almost in a Zen-like state. From what I have observed there is no bitterness or disgruntled workers roaming the ship. Everyone here has served on multiple ships and is self-contained. Silence marks most of the day and conversations occur naturally when the tides are right.

For the last three days I have spoken with every surveyor on the ship at length to understand each stage of the nautical chart making process. I want to know the history, the importance, and most importantly the science. There are many stages and processes that go into the eventual updated chart (this process can take upwards of 1.5 years depending on the layout, and how well the data was accurately retrieved). I have been learning about this information and shooting videos bit by bit in order to make an introduction to hydrographic surveying for those that are following (thanks mom). November 3-5 have been my devoted days to understanding these new ideas. I will hopefully finish with the editing and have the video published soon.

Until then, smooth sails with no gales.

Personal Log

Meals:

Breakfast: Scrambled eggs with cheese and two pancakes (coffee of course!)

Lunch: Grey noodles…no seriously

Dinner: Spicy noodles with green beans (YUM)

October 23, 2011March 12, 2021

Cathrine Fox: Issue Fifteen: So you want to be a scientist…

NOAA TEACHER AT SEA

CATHRINE PRENOT FOX

NOAA SHIP OSCAR DYSON

JULY 24 – AUGUST 14, 2011

Mission: Walleye Pollock Survey

Location: Kodiak, Alaska

Date: October 20, 2011

Personal Log:
Perhaps you are sitting at your desk right now, contemplating finishing work that you probably should be doing, or putting the last touches on a college application, or wondering if anyone brought any treats to share that are sitting in the lounge waiting your attention. Maybe it is late at night, and you are wishing that your work tomorrow was just a little more exciting.

Winslow Homer, Breezing Up. National Gallery of Art.

What if your work tomorrow looked like this? Why not choose a life at sea instead? Think of this: thousands before you have gone off to sea… …and while it isn’t as romantic as it once was with pirate attacks and years away from home, it is now a lot more comfortable. Perhaps you have always dreamed of becoming a commanding officer of a ship, or a boatswain, or an engineer… How does one do it? How do you get to live, work, and learn through the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration? Look no further friends, I have just the right reading material to get you started: So you want to be a scientist? (Cartoon citations 1, 2 and 3).

Of particular interest to me (not surprisingly) are the opportunities for science research and exploration. I was captivated by Dr. Edith Widder’s research about bioluminscence, interested in the 2004 Titanic Expedition, and humbled by the wealth of knowledge presented in interviews with people from a variety of ocean careers.

Until our next adventure,
Cat

Mission: Hydrographic Survey Geographical Area: Atlantic Ocean, between Montauk, L.I. and Block Island Date: November 6, 2011

Mission: Hydrographic Survey
Geographical Area: Atlantic Ocean, between Montauk, L.I. and Block Island
Date: November 6, 2011