looking back, i see that i haven't really described where i've been
living for the past month. since i have ample time for meditating on
my surroundings now that the sampling is finished (actually, with a
week to go before we arrive at port, 'excessive' time might be more
truthful), here's a bit of info about our digs.
i share a cabin, about 3x6m, with a benthic biologist from uruguay. we
get along famously, having startlingly similar senses of humor and each
eagerly studying the other's language. i can't actually imagine being
randomly thrown into co-habitation with someone more compatible, and
i'm well aware that not everyone on the ship has been quite so lucky.
one of the other biologists, who has his own room, shares a bathroom
with a russian guy we have informally christened 'senor enojado' (mr.
angry) - among ourselves only, of course, so shh - because he never
smiles, and in fact meets any attempt at pleasantries with a heavy
scowl. apparently, he also mutters to himself constantly in a low,
semi-threatening tone, when using the shared bathroom. did i mention
that i love my roommate?
but i digress. the cabin is a little like a shared twin college dorm
room, with furnishings in shades of blond wood and a nice dusty blue.
there are two twin berths, each at normal height but with raised sides
(for sleeping security during heavy swell), and drawers underneath.
there's a desk under the porthole and a dangerously comfy sofa (site
of many a siesta, some unintentional). there are several small
bookshelves affixed to the walls, each with a bar across the front to
prevent sudden avalanches, and the three tall cupboards all have
similar bars across their shelves, plus locking doors. one corner of
the room is cut out by our 1.5x2m bathroom, a true 'water closet,'
which contains a compact sink, toilet and shower. the floor is
recessed a little so that the water from the shower runs freely over it
but not into the main part of the room; the ship's movement eventually
herds the slosh into the corner with the drain. mercifully, the
bathroom is also well ventilated - the floor is dry within about two
hours after a shower and laundry hung in there also dries quickly.
this ship, designed in part for acoustic work, is unusually stable and
quiet - we can't always tell without looking outside whether we're
moving forward or not. its normally gentle roll, perpendicular to the
beds, is actually rather soothing, and apart from the occasionally
noisy maintenance work during daylight hours, peaceful sleep is
possible at any time of day (and believe me, i've tried them all. the
only time i couldn't sleep was when a strange, rhythmic thumping
started up nearly exactly above my head - i figured it was some kind of
maintenance thing, as usual, but in fact senor enojado was on the top
deck jumping rope. go figure). we've had to address a couple of small
creaking issues in our room - carpentry, right-angle corners and
constant swaying don't seem to go together very well - but through the
cunning use of paper wads, bandanas and occasional blunt force, we've
won nearly every time.
and so we've spent four weeks in our little cubby in the sixth deck,
about 9m above the sea surface (on average). in our gently rocking
sleep, i think we've traveled about 2000km, which is kind of a strange
thought (plus another ~5000 during waking hours). we have floated
anywhere from a dozen meters to five kilometers above the seafloor and
doubtless passed by many unseen strange creatures, and we've traveled
over about 45° of latitude. (the chilly weather now certainly drives
home how far we've come from the tropics.) it's also odd to realize
that for four weeks, we've lived entirely within a 110m-long steel box,
and haven't seen trees, or cars, or dogs, or a newspaper. (our
newsless bubble was burst briefly when the pebbles slyly fed me a
rumor about michael jackson's death being a publicity stunt... my
credibility on board was shot for a few days after that.) it's odder
to realize that we haven't actively missed most of these things, apart
from our respective important people onshore (news hoaxes
notwithstanding).
i remember the culture shock of returning from my previous voyage in
2004 - suddenly on land, there were street lights, shoe shops, tall
buildings. we had just lived for three weeks without any of this; was
it really necessary? gradually we got used to city life again, and
bought cups of coffee and high-heeled boots and electronic gadgets, but
i think one of the things i like the most about time at sea is the
stepping back from these things for a while. for a few weeks, i don't
need any of them (well, ok, i confess, my music player has been
extremely useful during whale-watches); on future trips (if any), i
think i would only extend my packing list to include many more books
and several kilos of chocolate. it's a good life out here, and while i
will be very ready to be home by the end of six more days without any
work to speak of, i know that i will also look back on the weeks spent
in our little floating world as happy ones.
well, weТve come a long way since the first squid report i made after
we completed superstation 1. now weТre up to station number 9, and we
have just one left to go (although weТve been collecting some extra
samples as the chance arises). weТve found 40 species from 21
families, and a good mix of things from the surface waters and things
that live much deeper. our little friend Pterygioteuthis gemmata (with
the lovely photophores) has been present in nearly every sample, while
some other things we have only seen once on the whole trip. and nearly
every catch has brought in at least one thing we havenТt seen
previously, so itТs still exciting whenever a sample comes in.
our favorites so far, in addition to Vampyroteuthis and the
silly-looking cranchiids, have included some more cranchiids (one in
particular, Egea inermis, is just a beautifully clear sac of fluid, but
with huge golden googly eyes); a tiny, bright-red deep sea squid called
Bathyteuthis; several onychoteuthids in perfect condition (but iТm a
little biased); and a few different species of Histioteuthis, a genus
of particularly spectacular squids that are covered in blue-green
photophores, and have one huge eye and one Сnormal-sizedТ eye.
and yesterdayТs trawls brought in some more bizarre and wonderful
things. the benthic sample contained two specimens of a small, round
squid called Heteroteuthis dagamensis, endemic to this region and not
previously encountered on this cruise; two other new records for the
cruise followed in the nekton samples. the first was a small squid
whose family we couldnТt even decide on at first, but after some
research we think it may be Alluroteuthis antarctica (since we are in a
region where antarctic species occasionally turn up, especially in deep
water). the whole second trawl contained one single, lonely squidlet
(among the fish, crustaceans, jellies and pyrosomes) Ц but one that, as
far as we know, has only ever been recorded once before by anyone
(although weТll have to check the literature when we get back to
shore). itТs a very strange-looking thing, with almost perfectly
circular fins and a gladius (or СpenТ) that extends in a thin spike so
far beyond the fins that it nearly doubles the animalТs mantle length.
this seems to be a paralarva first described in 1920 (from the
sargasso sea) by s. stillman berry, who poetically called it
Enoptroteuthis spinicaudata. it probably belongs to belong to the
family cycloteuthidae (not previously encountered on this trip), but we
canТt say much more about it yet, except that weТre excited to have it!
one thing i had hoped to encounter, especially in this particular area,
has not turned up yet. itТs a species or group of species with a lot
of associated systematic confusion (their family status isnТt even
certain), and it was first reported from here (the walvis ridge), so
chances of finding it here should be reasonably high. thereТs still
one station to go and iТm keeping my tentacles crossed, but even if it
doesnТt turn up this time, thereТs plenty to keep me busy and i
certainly wonТt complain. i just wanted to officially let the squid
gods (or cthulhu, or whoeverТs listening on the cosmic ceph frequency)
know that if they feel like rewarding me for being a good little
teuthologist this year, a few specimens of Walvisteuthis in the next
net would really make my day.
i spent many blissful summers at a set of camps in northern minnesota
that teach foreign languages to kids through immersion. the kids come
for one, two or four weeks, and do all the usual fun summer camp stuff
(swim, play outside, get poison ivy, push food they donТt like around
their plates three times a day), but while theyТre there, they only
hear the target language spoken by the staff. they are free to speak
english among themselves of course, but at the table, and when
interacting directly with staff, they are encouraged to use words and
phrases in the foreign language, and it works amazingly well. i
learned norwegian this way, two weeks at a time, for six years. later,
when i learned (much more) german, i went back and taught for five
years, and that too was incredibly good for my language skills Ц
speaking only german for six weeks a summer was like a mini
living-abroad experience, and i loved it.
but itТs been a long time Ц 21 years, actually Ц since i had the Сnew
villagerТ experience and tried to learn a language from absolute zero,
just by being immersed in it. yet here i find myself, listening hard
to the shipТs announcements (all in russian), to see whether i can
catch anything at all. by studying a detailed wall chart of the ship
with labels in both languages, i refreshed my memory on the cyrillic
alphabet, by sounding out words that were similar and extrapolating the
letter sounds i didnТt know (СtweendeckТ is СtveendekТ (will have to
insert cyrillic characters when i get back, sorry), СelevatorТ is
СliftТ (i mean, er... what elevator? this isnТt a luxury outfit, you
know), Сmeteorological laboratoryТ is, well, Сmeteorologiski
laboratoriaТ or something like that). apart from the really alien
characters, like the letters for СzhТ and Сch,Т i managed to get most
of them on my own. for the rest i entreated help from a friendly
kitchen guy, who has also been trading us some informal russian lessons
for some english and spanish ones. embarassingly, while we learn to
say Сgood morningТ and Сthank you,Т he (an avid reader of english
detective and crime fiction) is perfecting phrases like Сi wonТt answer
your questions until i consult my lawyer.Т (we do wonder what his life
on land involves.) he also used the word СinsalubriousТ in casual
conversation the other day. but lessons in humility are always good
for the soul, so i can grit my teeth and soldier on with Сa little, and
very badlyТ (my hypothetical answer to the question Сdo you speak
russian?Т, probably doubly useless in that (1) no in their right mind
will ever, EVER think i can speak enough russian to even comprehend
that question, and (2) a much safer answer would just be СnoТ). and as
my understanding of the letters and sounds improves, he has less and
less occasion to laugh at my attempts to render the phrases i learn
into intelligible written form, although i think my handwriting will be
like a russian five-year-oldТs for a good long while yet.
with my newfound skills, i can have such meaningful exchanges as Сhello
/ goodbyeТ (at any time of day, i hasten to add), Сthanks / youТre
welcome,Т Сhow are you? / well, thanks, and you?Т (this last actually
occurred unprompted yesterday with one of the mates in the bridge Ц
apart from the ridiculous look of concentration and 10-second delay
between question and answer while i dredged the words out of my brain,
i was very proud. we wonТt talk about the fact that my russian
experiences must always be cheerful because i can only say that iТm
doing well), and i can ask how to say something in russian, probably
the phrase i use the most often but with the least effect, since i have
to hear the word/phrase at least five times before i can remember it.
yesterdayТs other big accomplishment was reading the names of the
countries whose flags are stored in wooden cubbies in the bridge, for
when the ship is in foreign ports Ц Сiapano,Т Сnova zelandya,Т
Сavstralia,Т Сurugvaya,Т Сegyepto.Т look out, next i might actually be
able to read the menu in the dining hall! ... although then i would
have to decide whether the joyful anticipation of, say, pizza, would
cancel out the dread of knowing in advance that we were having
liverwurst for breakfast (like this morning).
i donТt think iТll be turning spy any time soon, or passing myself off
as a local if i ever make it to russia, but iТve always loved foreign
languages, and i have to say iТm having fun with this one. the
pleasantly camp-like atmosphere probably helps, although the drawback
of being on a shipful of adults is that they dare to serve things like
aspic and tongue. luckily, i can now say, Сno, thank youТ ... assuming
our friendly russian teacher hasnТt taught us to unknowingly say Сmy
buttocks are on fireТ instead.
every morning (well, those when we aren't still in the lab at
daybreak), we are awakened by an announcement at 7am. today, it went
like this: 'good morning, everybody. ship's time is seven o'clock.
today is friday, the 13th of november. we are still drifting at the
station.'
two things about this announcement struck me, although i didn't think
them related at the time. first, it's friday the 13th. second, we
should have had two nekton samples, starting around 4am, and the
station should have been finished by now. yet here i was, still
happily in bed.
it turned out there may have been a connection after all, at least to
anyone of a superstitious nature. while reeling in the first nekton
trawl, just as the catch was being lifted from the water, the cable
holding the net snapped - literally, twang, ends flying and crew on
deck ducking for cover. this could have been completely disastrous, but
by extreme luck, it wasn't - no one was injured, and what's more, the
net wasn't lost. the seaward end of the snapped cable wrapped itself
twice around the top of the gantry used to deploy and retrieve the net,
securing itself in place in just about the most unlikely way possible.
so the net dangled, but in relative security, until an additional
cable could be secured to reel it in. (this was all related to me over
breakfast, just before i spilled my cup of tea over most of the table -
i'd like to say that that was also abnormal bad luck, but i should
probably just confess that i'm not the most coordinated person in the
morning.)
when the catch was finally brought in, we weren't sure what it would
hold, and what condition it would be in after all the morning's drama
and delay. but we should have predicted that if there was one day of
this cruise destined to bring in Vampyroteuthis infernalis, the vampire
squid, friday the 13th would be it. and not one, but two specimens -
both small (mantles about the size of a walnut and an almond), but in
quite good condition, relatively. Vampyroteuthis is an ancient order
of cephalopods, with a very gelatinous body and thin, delicate skin
that ranges in color from brick red to deep purple-black. it looks
like a small octopus, with eight shortish arms and a deep web, but it
also has paddle-shaped fins and two photophores (light organs) at the
end of the mantle, and two tentacle-like sensory filaments that retract
into pouches near the first (dorsal) pair of arms. our larger specimen
was in better shape, although its mantle was inside out (we gently
rectified this before fixing it in formalin). the oral face of its
arms and web were deep, solid, inky black and the tiny finger-like
cirri on the arms could still be seen. the eyes were perfect and some
shreds of delicate skin still clung to the mantle and fins, and both
photophores were present. although Vampyroteuthis is not terribly rare
in the oceans, specimens of it are rare, especially in decent
condition, so today we consider ourselves lucky indeed.
(how's that for an enticing title? ... accurate, at least.) guess
what, we're still at sea, still eating four times a day, still watching
for whales, still sampling at night, still catching up on sleep during
the day. of course there are interesting aspects of each of these, but
overall there's nothing earth-shattering to report for now. so i'll
adress them in order.
still at sea: we're at about 12°S now and have been having very windy
weather, with fine misty spray constantly wafting around even the
uppermost deck, some 12m above the surface. some nights are cloudy but
some have spectacular stars, and the other night the moonrise was
particularly lovely - the amber half-moon floated huge above the
horizon for about an hour. we have movie nights every couple of days,
and the south american contingent and i have been exchanging language
lessons by writing down and explaining song lyrics, which is good fun
and excellent for the vocabulary.
still eating: the food continues to be mostly good, with a few extreme
exceptions. my new un-favorite is something called 'herring in a fur
coat' (and doesn't that just sound appetizing) - it's chunks of raw,
salted herring under a mat of shredded/grated pickled beets, bound
together with mayonnaise. i threw up a little in my mouth just writing
about it. and chicken jello was on offer again yesterday at afternoon
tea. but let's be positive: we've also had chocolate layer cake (about
1/5 of a cake each - portions are nothing if not generous), tangerine
ice cream, and many good soups.
still whale-spotting: the other day we saw a group of baleen whales
breaching in the distance. which is to say, we saw the splashes
(considerable) and the spouts, which told us they were baleen whales.
we didn't see the whales themselves (that would be too much
excitement), so we don't know what species they were. but the fact
that there were about six suggests humpbacks; most of the other baleen
whales are solitary.
still sampling: we've had about a dozen samples in total, and have
about another 20 to go. results have been excellent - among ~200
specimens of squid and octopus, we've seen 27 species from 13 families,
a very nice diversity. the strangest are still the cranchiids (like
Cranchia scabra, of golf-ball-resemblance fame) - the latest bizarre
newcomer has its eyes out on stalks longer than its arms; the arms
themselves form just a small rosette at the end of a long 'neck.'
there are enoploteuthids with hundreds of blue-green photophores
scattered in tiny galaxies over their ventral sides, deep-sea
mastigoteuthids with long tentacles covered in tiny suckers, and
octopuses that are completely transparent except for the eyes and
shiny, spindle-shaped digestive gland/liver. (i will put links to
information on these species when i get home, but in the meantime you
can find them on the tree of life project, if you're interested - www.tolweb.org,
i believe.) where we have enough material within one species, we are
also saving some specimens or tissue samples for DNA analysis when we
return, which will help determine how closely these species are related
to other cephalopods.
still sleeping: daytime naps are critical to our night-time
productivity. the siesta (or siestita, depending how much time is
available) is a near-holy concept and can be interrupted only if the
napper is in danger of missing a meal. in fact, with 35 minutes before
lunch, i think i can just squeeze one in...
yesterday afternoon, we sailed across the equator. although we joked
about feeling the bump as we went across, this is actually a big deal
at sea, attended by rituals and ceremonies that are specific to each
ship. those who have not crossed before (at sea; by air and land don't
count) are initiated, usually in some way that involves getting dirty
and wet. and our ship is no exception. the crew had been building up
to this for a week, giving each other and the 22 of us equatorial
newbies significant conspiratorial or ominous looks. (actually, that's
about all the communication we get from many of the crew, since they're
russian and there's a rather significant language barrier.)
announcements were made on the ship's intercom much more frequently
than usual during the morning (all in russian, of course), and we were
instructed to stay away from the aft deck until 13.30, when we were to
appear in, yes, clothes that could get dirty and wet.
with some trepidation, but mostly curiosity, we arrived at the
appointed time - and to what a sight! a makeshift hip-high pool had
been constructed on deck and filled with seawater. the costumed crew
represented king neptune and his queen, several sirens, some very
impressive sea demons (painted black from head to toe, with masks,
tails, grass skirts and cuffs, and various noisemakers), plus some
other apparently more random characters - a nurse, a bizarre
hairdresser, the ship's captain in full uniform, and a wizard. don't
ask me, i just work here.
the initates were corralled into a roped-off waiting area and then led
forth and presented to the oceanic royalty singly or in small groups,
kneeling before them and receiving liberal smearings of black goo from
the sea demons, plus ice down the backs, dustings of flour, strands of
spaghetti hung from the ears and many other physical delights. each
person or group was given a task to complete, from playing soccer with
the sea demons, to drawing portraits of neptune, to carrying the sirens
around the deck piggyback. the biology team (mercifully abused as a
group) danced around the deck with the demons, ultimately forming a
conga line. some initiates also had to crawl through a large
pipe/tunnel while being rolled around on the deck and receiving
percussive encouragement on the sides of the pipe; apparently it was
also full of potato peelings. everyone was ultimately dumped in the
pool. (and all of this was accompanied by speeches and possibly
explanations... but of course they were in russian, so it all remained
a mystery to us.) after about two hours, all hoops had apparently been
jumped through satisfactorily and we were released. i suspect that the
showers that followed made a significant dent in our fresh water
supply. and i still have flour in my ears.
but in the evening, there was a feast - a barbecue on the aft deck, the
best meal we have had so far, with grilled chicken and pork, baked
potatoes, fresh veggies (usually in short supply), pickles, watermelon,
and spanish melon. this probably sounds like a standard barbecue to
you, but to us, after two weeks of a plate arriving with three food
items, which you either eat or don't, this was like christmas.
quantity! variety! choices! given our drooling, they probably had
to hose down the deck afterward. (on a side note about food, further
to my earlier observations about sea fare, another two unfortunate
meals have been presented - liver and tongue. by extreme luck, my
lovely, carnivorous roommate is somewhat ambivalent to vegetables, so
we've come to an arrangement that suits us both.)
the luxurious, languorous meal continued on into the evening hours -
another nice change, since we're usually in and out of the dining hall
in about 20 minutes. we were presented with certificates of our
equatorial crossing (which we are apparently supposed to bring along on
future voyages to avoid repeating the spectacle - but of course that
will only work if future crews can read russian; for all we know, they
actually say that we failed and should be initiated again next time).
a little dancing rounded out the day, and everyone went to bed full
and happy - if still a little floury, and smudged black in some strange
places.
on monday night we reached our first 'superstation,' a central point
around which we would deploy several kinds of sampling gear. ten
superstations are planned for the voyage, with 5-10 separate samples to
be taken at each - a variety of benthic, mid-water and surface
biological samples, plus hydrological, acoustic and geological data.
the first net (midwater, the most likely to catch squid) was shot at
about 1am and recovered around 3.30. those who would work with the
specimens collected in this sample (the fish team and ceph-heads) had
rested in advance, napping during the previous day and in the earlier
part of the evening, since the catch would need to be sorted and
photographed while fresh. the fish people would first sort out their
animals, then pass the rest of the sample on to the other squid guy and
me for second sorting; we would pull out any cephalopods, and
photograph, ID, and fix them in formalin, and fix the rest of the
sample as well.
when the first net was retrieved, bad luck had struck again (an earlier
test run of the benthic gear had suffered two malfunctions) - the
cable designed to hold the net open while sampling had come loose at
one end, so the net had essentially been towed with the mouth either
slack or mostly closed. the entire sample was about two handsful. but
there were some interesting things - hatchetfish, some very toothy
deep-sea fish with interesting lights and barbels, several different
kinds of shrimp, and two small squid.
while the net was being repaired, a plankton net was towed from the
ship's bow, but no cephs came in. the second deployment of the larger
net, however, which finished around 6am, was much more satisfactory,
containing about 45 small squid and octopus, from five different
families. these included some baby argonauts, a small species of squid
called Pterygioteuthis gemmata with absolutely beautiful opalescent
photophores (light organs), and a ridiculous-looking cranchiid squid
called Cranchia scabra, whose mantle is a transparent, perfect sphere,
and covered with pointy tubercles that make it look like an inside-out
golf ball. i promise pictures when i get back!
over the course of that day (tuesday), two more relevant tows came in,
bringing representatives of another three families, from the squid
group i study to a couple of very strange gelatinous octopuses. all up
we had about 100 specimens, all fascinating and mostly in excellent
condition (enough so to keep us wide awake working until after dinner;
then we crashed, and slept a large portion of the next day as well).
so the eight days' travel just to reach the first station were worth
it, and hopefully the remaining ~3 weeks will be just as good!
although the days tend to run together a bit out here, each is usually
marked by at least one unique event. the day before yesterday, it was
the flying fish. they leapt out of the water singly, in small groups
or by the hundreds, to spread their huge pectoral and anal fins and
glide away from the ship's bow, just centimeters above the water but
for dozens of meters at a stretch. when they caught the sun, they
flashed silver, blue and copper, and they were quite lovely. i had
seen them before but never so many and never at such leisure. they
have excellent directional control (best demonstrated by the one that
launched itself toward the looming bow, experienced a small mid-air
freak-out and then deftly executed a tight u-turn to splash down a safe
distance away). watching whole airborne schools is nothing short of
marvelous. but i did find myself wondering whether, in their ingenious
avoidance of marine predators, they ever put themselves into other
harm's way.
well.
yesterday afternoon on whale watch we were joined by a young gannet.
its aerial grace was breathtaking (although it did unfortunately
remind us that our friendly neighborhood owl was rather far from home
and its usual comfort zone). it wheeled and soared, scratched itself
in mid-flight with its bright orange feet, zoomed past the ship and
then dropped back to make another swooping pass. and soon, it began to
dive - not into the water, but skimming just above its surface, in hot
pursuit of (you guessed it) the flying fish.
the chases were intense. the gannet would make a few high passes, then
drop and put on a burst of speed and rocket over the low waves; the
gliding fish shortened their flights noticeably in response, and
usually escaped back into aqua firma just centimeters from the pursuing
beak. of the ten or so attempts i witnessed, i believe the gannet took
three unlucky fliers, diving briefly into the water following each
catch and floating smugly for a few moments before rising to start
again.
watching the whole sequence elicited the usual mixed feelings - the
excitement of the chase, the admiration for the sleek and speedy
gannet, and the simultaneous inner cheer whenever the splash of safety
came just in time. and as usual, these emotions had absolutely no
bearing out the outcome - probably for the best, since i caught myself
half-hoping that a higher trophic power (say, a whale) might suddenly
rear its head and snatch the careening gannet in a blaze of karma. (of
course no such preposterous event transpired. but my camera and i
were ready just in case.)
