Nick, Part 3

It's time again for our favorite guest-poster. Ladies and gentlemen,
Nick Huynh!



24 APRIL 2014

The sun has just broken free from the clutches of the horizon, lifting
the dark veil of night to reveal a quiet blue sky mottled with grey
clouds, some of which stand firm against the rising golden gleam while
the others simply shy away blushing pink. Having become accustomed to
mornings that merely fade into paler shades of grey, being able to
witness our sun paint the southern sky with subtle yet rich colors is
both numbing and invigorating.

We've finished sampling water from another station and I won't be
needed
at the bottle rosette again for several hours.

If not for the sudden onset of fatigue, which has likely precipitated
from my lack of rhythmic sleep, I would happily retreat to a
wind-sheltered nook somewhere on the ship, continue my slow progress
through Tolstoy's War and Peace, and watch the sun consume the hours as
it ventures west. For the sake of ship morale, though, I must try to
subdue my potentially contagious lassitude and find some rest. It has
been some time since I've attempted to fall asleep this early in the
lit
day. Fingers crossed I don't climb into my bunk only to be greeted by a
racing mind and a fidgeting body.
24 APRIL 2014

_Brrrreeeevvuuuummbreeevuuummbrreuummbreevummm ttzz ttzzz tzz tzzzz
tzzzz tzz tzz tzz CHIRP!_

Have I slept for long enough?

There's still light creeping through the edges of the cabin porthole.

What time is it?

Arrgh. Yikes, must remember to dim the telephone brightness before
going to sleep next time.

11:00.

Curses. Still early.

_Brrrreeeevvuuuummbreeevuuummbrreuummbreevummm ttzz ttzzz tzz tzzzz
tzzzz tzz tzz tzz CHIRP!_

I wonder if we're on station yet.

Where's that remote?

That's my phone again.

And that feels like War and Peace.

There you are. Ok. Not upside down. Power button top left.

_Brrrreeeevvuuuummbreeevuuummbrreuummbreevummm ttzz ttzzz tzz tzzzz
tzzzz tzz tzz tzz CHIRP!_

Oh, looks like the clouds rolled in.

_Flip._ Back deck. CTD bottle rosette is still on board.

_ Flip._ Baltic room. Doors are sealed.

_Flip._ Bow. We're still moving.

_Brrrreeeevvuuuummbreeevuuummbrreuummbreevummm ttzz ttzzz tzz tzzzz
tzzzz tzz tzz tzz CHIRP!_

_ Flip._ Current position. Station 63 ETA 0 hours.

0 hours? But we're haven't stopped…

_Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrpphhhhwwwwwooooooooooosshhhhhhhhhhhh_

Aha, there goes our landing gear.

_BBBBRRRRRRRPPHHWWWOOOOOOOOOOSHHHHHHHH rittiinnnggtatiiinng
tatatatatatata tititititiitatata_

You can hear all the hidden loose bolts and screws in the walls and
cabinets rattle just slightly more as the bow thrusters fire up,
slowing
the ship to a halt. The ship underneath you initially rumbles with the
same sound as a landing jetliner and then, after you sway forward for a
moment, it calms to a vibrating hum similar to that of a moving
elevator.

_brevum brevum brevum brevum brevum brevum brevum brevum ttzz ttzzz tzz
tzzzz tzzzz tzz tzz tzz CHIRP!_

Listening to the ship shudder and strain as it decelerates brings to
mind the thought of something we left on land: the sound and feeling of
open and undisturbed silence. I had not noticed it's absence before,
but
now that I have, I look forward to meeting it again.

Boy, the things you remember to appreciate when at sea…

_brevum brevum brevum brevum brevum brevum brevum brevum ttzz ttzzz tzz
tzzzz tzzzz tzz tzz tzz CHIRP!_

Well, now that I'm awake, best I go downstairs and see if I can be
useful.

27 APRIL 2014

"116."

"DIC, 116 on sixteen!"

"CFCs clear on 20!"

"DOC, five on five!"

"Five on five; you have a duplicate on five, DOC!"

"Roger, thanks!"

"Nuts and salts, ones on one!"

"Ones on one, nuts and salts!"

"Alkalinity on 8!"

"Not yet, hold for pH, alkalinity!"

Dialogue around a freshly recovered CTD bottle rosette is similar to
what one might hear over radio communication. As water samplers move
back and forth from the rosette with their filled and unfilled bottles,
flasks, vials, or syringes, each calls out the number of the sampling
container they are about to use followed by the number of the rosette
bottle they are about to draw water from. A designated bottle cop
either
echoes the sampler's shout or instructs the individual to pause,
ensuring that water from each rosette bottle is drawn into the right
sample containers in the right order.

At the start of the cruise, it often took us over three hours to finish
sampling the bottles around the rosette. After over five weeks at sea,
we have developed a systematic efficiency that has enabled us to drain
the rosette within two hours.

Performing the same motions for every station, for the past 70
stations,
has certainly been enough practice to maximize the speed at which we
maneuver and work around the rosette. Deviations to our established
work
routine are hardly apparent until there is a transformation in the
weather. Even then, those alterations are ever so slight and are mostly
centered on what to wear and where to place a queue of sample bottles.
Conditions might be calm enough that merely boots are needed to remain
dry while sampling outside; they may be rough enough that the only way
to avoid the discomfort of cold and damp clothing is to don a full set
of foul weather gear. The swell may be small enough that there is
little
worry over leaving a sample bottle at your feet; it may be large enough
that anything left unsecured on deck is likely to be swallowed and lost
to the sea.

Like the adjustments to our sample routine, the contrasts between our
days also seem to be dictated by the mood of the sea and the tone of
the
sky. Whether it is midday or midnight, the walk to an awaiting meat and
preserved produce breakfast is either fluid and effortless or awkward
and staggered. Sleep at day's end either comes quickly with a gentle
rock or comes as a slight struggle against rousing plunges. Time in
between breaking fast and falling asleep is filled by a variation of a
few activities: watching film, reading literature, procuring data,
running the treadmill, contemplating crosswords, checking e-mail,
nodding off, and for some, writing what appears to be ancient Arabic
code. The largely uniform pattern of the waking hours might seem
agonizingly monotonous, but actually, it can be quite enjoyable as it
fosters an even balance between solitude and social engagement. In the
same way that you can always find time for yourself, you can always
find
someone who is keen to exchange meaningful and trivial conversations.

You can find Brendan or Lynne contemplating copious lines of numbers on
a computer screen and distract them with questions about ocean theories
on circulation; make an espresso with Mike and talk about his
aspiration
to become an ocean engineer and pursue an endless summer of surf;
stumble on Veronica knitting a sweater for her mother and listen to her
remarks on the incongruences between Australian and American English;
bump into Isa just after her workout and hear her perspective on
balancing marriage with a career in science; or you can pay a visit to
the Captain while he scans the horizon from the bridge and learn about
his outlook on war history and life as a sailor.

With days seemingly distinguishable only by changes in weather, life
aboard the Palmer can become as mindless and routine as sampling around
the rosette. But with 55 others living and working with you on the
ship,
the final weeks of your adventure at sea can be as enriching and
stimulating as the first few.

.