North Atlantic Velociraptors

After a few days at sea, I had my routine down. In the mornings, I'd check on the instrument and note what gases we were seeing as well as different temperatures and pressures to note how the instrument was doing. In the back of the ship, I'd check on the racks of stainless steel gas cylinders containing the chemicals we use to react with our samples.

Tanks. A lot.

In the afternoons, I'd sit in the main lab at my computer and start processing the gigabytes of data we collect each day. Processed data gives me a better idea of how the instrument was performing over longer time scales, like days to weeks, instead of just the last hour's worth of real-time data I can see on the instrument computer screen. If anything looked unusual, I could make adjustments on the fly. In the evenings, I made figures to send to my adviser. Things seemed to be going well. The instrument was running with a few kinks to work out here and there. With 2 1/2 months of sampling ahead, nothing too pressing.


One day before lunch, I noticed a forecast pinned to the announcement board outside the mess hall. Before my brain could bring the swirling lines and colorful whorls into focus, a scrawled note caught my eye. Someone had written in large block letters "THIS WILL SUCK". Someone else had crossed out "WILL" and wrote above it, "MIGHT".

Wait. We're not going to Bermuda? 

I blinked a few times and read the forecast again. They were predicting 20-25 knot winds and 2-3 meter swells a few days before we reached Nuuk. We would also have to continue full speed ahead to arrive in Nuuk on schedule. This mean we'd be hitting the waves diagonally, which was far more uncomfortable than facing waves head on. As this sunk in, I appreciated both the honesty and the optimism of the comment.

A few gas standards strapped in for the ride ahead.  

I went to the lab located high and fore on the ship. Because of its position, it would take the brunt of the bad weather. I scanned the room for loose tools that could turn into projectiles and re-tightened the ratchets that lashed all our boxes to the walls. I even went over to our instrument, which is mounted to the wall and floor, and gave it a hard shake. Satisfied, I left the lab and secured the weather dogs on our lab door for the first time.



Later in my berth, I surveyed my many anti-sea-sickness options. There was fast-acting Dramamine, slower but longer lasting Bonine, and the nuclear option: Scopalomine, a dermal patch that takes 24 hours to kick in and lasts three days. I popped the raspberry tasting Bonine, slipped on my acupuncture wristbands and hoped for the best.

As I lay in bed, I could feel the gentle rocking motion of the ship getting stronger and more unpredictable in its rhythm. My room was located above the huge potable water supply. Normally I'd be half asleep lulled by the sloshing of hundreds of gallons of water in rhythm with its wave cousins. Tonight, as the storm grew in strength, the force and echo of water hitting its metal container made high pitched squealing noises that sounded like the velociraptors from Jurassic Park.

Russ, chief electrician, hanging out in the CTD hangar protected from the large wave action. 

Bonine proved to be a good choice and I managed to fall asleep, though not before catching air a few times. I slept on my back, in a snow-angle formation to prevent myself from being rolled out of bed. In this sort of tense state, I fell fast asleep and didn't wake before 10 AM the next morning.

Smile! We still have a kitchen!

The next morning, the storm was at its peak. It was surreal to wake up to the walls and floor moving around me. I took another pill, brushed my teeth and managed to climb the one floor up to the main lab without smashing into a wall. The normally bustling center of science on the ship was completely empty. All the computers were abandoned.

At lunch, scientists wandered in slowly. I wondered out loud how the stewards were cooking under these conditions. Someone informed me that at 3 AM a powerful wave had popped out a window in the kitchen as the chief steward was getting ready to start breakfast. The kitchen had been flooded, but cleaned and put back in order before breakfast. I realized all the windows in the mess hall had also been covered with their hatches.

Holes in thick aluminum tape covering our lab doors.
Courtesy of 20 knot winds and sleet. 

The storm lasted about 36 hours and I'm not ashamed to admit I was taking Bonine for most of it. We had less than a day now before we arrived in Nuuk. We limped into harbor just as the drugs wore off and I was just starting to feel like myself.

I was really proud of myself for surviving my first storm and tried to contain my excitement at being in port. I had a lot of work ahead of me, now that the ground wasn't moving any more, and I also knew we had many more days like this ahead.