August 11, 2026
Waking on the third day at sea, there were a couple of issues that the team had run into in the night. My first stop, the analytical lab, the lab techs spent a portion of the night making cornstarch from scratch since the lab starch that was brought aboard wasn’t quite the color it normally is for oxygen titration. Several trials later, with three different prep methods, it was determined that the original starch could be used—there just needed to be paper placed under and behind it to see the color change as clearly as possible.
Up in the Jason control van, the camera exchange hadn’t gone precisely as planned. Irregular terrain, characteristic of the dynamic nature of Southern Hydrate Ridge, increased the time it took to place the 2026 digital still camera precisely where they wanted, so by the time we arrived to relieve the prior shift they were just getting ready to do the site survey.
This morning’s site survey was of a place called Einstein’s Grotto. A reliable methane seep for years, we were looking for the most active methane bubble plumes and any hydrates, chunks of methane ice, associated with them. Compared to previous years, the site had filled in, the slope of hummocked mounds rounding. The area was covered in bacterial mats as if lightly dusted by snow, and plenty of biology was scattered throughout the site. Soft corals dotted the landscape along with rockfish, crabs, and clams. Hagfish seemed to prefer to curl up at the bottom of the pits we glided over, but one or two writhed their way along the seabed. When we returned to the camera, there was a methane plume that had increased activity since we left it less than an hour earlier. It was now bubbling with enough vigor to create a cloud of sediment where the bubbles emerged from the seabed. Tucked under the ledge, a chunk of hydrate peeked out.
The dive ended right in time for everyone to go to breakfast without the need for a rotation. Afterwards, I checked in with the APL folks, our engineering team, to see if they needed a hand. Disassembling the newly retrieved camera, Izzie and I scrubbed the smaller parts to remove biofoulling (undesirable or harmful biological growth). Once flat planes were scrubbed and bristles shampooed, the whole student cohort was then given guidance on how to remove barnacles from the larger equipment – for example, the BEP. Eager to get the satisfaction of removal, we made quick work of the wide faces. Detail work would come throughout the voyage.
Back on duty, the next dive was wrapping up. Since it was a deeper venture though (to 2900 m), it was going to take Jason another hour and a half to return to the surface. During this time, Jason’s pilot, Tom, guided us each through handling a manipulator. To give some context, Jason has two “arms”, one on the starboard (right) and the other on the port (left), called manipulators. These allow Jason to do the fine tasks of setting up equipment, plugging/unplugging cables, and taking samples. The way they are controlled is by a smaller model of the manipulator that the pilot then moves around to cause Jason to mimic the move. Tom watched as we extended the arm out, brought in to touch the edge of Jason’s porch, and moved back to start position. While the left hand was moving between the controls and adjusting the joints of the arm, the right hand stayed firmly gripped at the end. The most important rule was no matter what, don’t let go.
After dinner, we did another set of CTD casts. Because it was right after dinner, there was a good-sized group of students working through the set of shallow water samples. Many hands and light conversation made easy work. Setting up for the deep cast (~2900 m), it was finally time to secure a mesh bag of our Styrofoam cups to the CTD rosette. Safely anchored to the bottom of the rosette, it would be several hours until we could see the unique ways in which they deformed. That would have to wait until tomorrow for me; I was finally off to bed.
August 10, 2026
To make a pot of coffee, you venture from the lab up to the galley. Affixed to the counter is a four-burner coffee station, one directly under the drip and three to keep warm. You take out the basket, fumble a filter into it, and attempt to place it under the industrial bean grinder. It is at this point that a crew member may also stumble into the galley, take one look at the way you are struggled to figure out how the basket clips in (turns out the arms go on the outside of the basket), and decide it’s best to give a demonstration. They are sure to point out the idiosyncrasies of the system to ensure you don’t accidentally overfill the pot. While the fresh batch is brewing, they happily relate what they do and how long they’ve been a part of the fleet.
This is, at least, where I find myself around 0500 after we sent the CTD down for the second cast of the day. Since it is a deeper cast (2900 ), there is more time to take care of the small morning rituals I didn’t have time for an hour earlier. When it’s time for the CTD to return to deck, the automatic winch system pulls it from the water and is positioned over the wooden palette it is stored on before being guided down by the ResTech, one of the ship’s marine technicians.
From these Niskin bottles, we gather samples for DO, temperature, DIC, salinity, and chlorophyll. Sunrise is an understated affair with a thick veneer of clouds lining the sky. There is a small window just off the horizon though the clouds that allows a brief view of the pink-orange disc before it slips behind the curtain. We won’t see it again until tomorrow.
Finishing the CTD sampling, it’s time to start the next Jason dive. After another breakfast rotation, when I return to the control van there is a flock of black-footed albatross floating in the water off the port. Stunned for a moment at the numbers, I take in the first wildlife I’ve seen since the sea lions when leaving port. I quickly collect myself to send the next person to breakfast and excitedly relay the presence of the flock to everyone present. When our relief shows up fifteen minutes later, the flock is already drifting away from the ship.
The next eight hours off, a not-insignificant portion is dedicated to cup decoration. Styrofoam compresses from hydrostatic pressure when at depth, so when doing a deep CTD cast, say 2000 meters, cups will shrink into shot glass versions of themselves. Each cup shrinks in different ways, and it’s a gamble on the actual uniformity of the final product. For my first cup, I take inspiration from some of the organisms we’ve seen so far: a couple of different illuminated comb jellies, an elongated siphonophore, and a slightly more traditional true jelly.
There is also plenty of time for one of our field engineers from APL, UW’s Applied Physics Laboratory, to demonstrate how she calibrates sensors before deployment. Some instruments benefit especially from calibration out in the field; others are calibrated in the lab and then verified in the field to ensure that nothing changes during transit. She graduated from UW’s School of Oceanography with a focus in marine technology and was part of the ERIS program.
Right at the end of my second shift, Jason was ready for a second dive. This was going to be a longer one though, both deeper and including some additional time for a site survey to observe what has changed at the location since last year. Before we knew it, the next shift was on, and we were off to bed to catch some sleep. Seeing the bottom would have to wait.
August 9, 2026
With breakfast at 0730, I had a (early for me) waking time of 0700. Due to paper-thin walls, I set all my alarms to vibrate only, doubling up with alarms both on my phone and watch. The anticipation of our imminent voyage had me waking periodically, looking gratefully at the time, and promptly falling back asleep in ninety-minute intervals. Eventually, around 0650, it was time to greet the day.
As promised, breakfast was a classic affair: fruit salad, yogurt, bacon, sausage, pancakes, and a slew of fried eggs. Afterwards we got our first introduction to the Jason control van. A wall of screens inside a large metal shipping container, there are three rows. The primary, closest to the wall of screens, is where the navigator, pilot, engineer, and science shift lead all oversee operations. In the middle, the secondary row is where the loggers (this trip, us, the students) document the dive using SeaLog and video. Lastly, along the back wall, there is a rather comfortable bench seat for spectators to perch atop with a small, stable desk for any work they bring along.
Following our brief introduction to the control van, we then got our CTD orientation. Standing for conductivity, temperature, and depth, the CTD is an iconic oceanographic instrument. Niskin bottles line the outer section of the cylinder, with a system of cables holding the tops and bottoms open for water to flow through. The primary sensor, the brain of the CTD, sits below the bottles, at the bottom of the cage. This way, as the instrument is descending in the water column, the brain collects the data first and then, when the marine tech wants, individual niskins are “fired” and capture the water sample at whichever depth the CTD is at. The Revelle’s CTD is largely the same as the Rachel Carson’s, with the addition of beads to the top lanyard and removal of the secondary loop on the carousel.
After the CTD review, the sound of the horn reverberated through the air, and we were on our way. Passing under the arched bridge acting as the gate to the port, the excitement on deck was contagious. Being on the person on the large ship as it heads out rather than a spectator, watching and wondering, was a heady feeling.
Once out of the port, a small boat sidled up next to us to retrieve their pilot who assists specially with the transit out of the Yaquina channel. Knowing that it was a reasonably sized boat, slightly larger than most I’ve been in previously if anything, didn’t change the fact that it looked like the toy boat from Ponyo next to our vessel. Carefully pulling up next to us, once they had acquired their pilot they peeled off, leaving us to start transiting to our first dive location.
After lunch, it was time for the abandon ship drill. Six short blasts followed by a long one, during the safety meeting the day before this alarm was made easy to remember by our ResTech telling us it sounds like, “get the f— out right noooooooooooow.” Hustling down from the Main Lab, we descended into the berthing area, retrieved our pfds and immersion suits, and went up to the bow on the O2 deck. I had a brief struggle with the basic stockade-strap style pfd, garnering an offer of help from one of the crew. After we all had them on, we were instructed on how to remove them and proceeded to lifeboat review. Once we were done with the rafts, the real fun began.
Down in the Main Lab, we watched a live demo on how to wriggle into the survival suit. Simultaneously too small and too large, the immersion suit is what you would get if you cross a wetsuit and an old-fashioned dive suit sans helmet. Instead, there was an overly tight hood with Velcro that was happy to attach to hair if given the chance. When fully in the suit, they somewhat resemble an older cartoon, leading to the affectionate nickname of “Gumby suits”. Many struggles later, we were all in and quickly out of our suits. Both items were re-secured in our rooms, and before we knew it, we had arrived at our first dive site.
While not on the first shift, I claimed a spot in the back row of the control van to see what was in store. The sites closest to shore are the most productive by far, shallow enough for ample nutrients to sink. This means that there is also plenty of biology growing on the equipment when we return. Upon opening the cable housing, we were greeted with a basketball sized plumose anemone perched at the end of the cable. Unplugging the cable and moving it became an even more delicate operation than normal. Not all the fauna was so lucky, a seastar getting crushed under the housing doors.
The Jason control van is a comfortable space to work. Quiet conversations lit only by the glow of transmitted video and the steady rocking of the boat underneath creates an almost soothing effect. Before nodding off entirely and to prepare for my first shift at 1600, I headed down for a nap.
After waking and getting ready for the next four hours, I checked in at the Main Lab. Jason had brought back two niskin bottles for sampling to calibrate the sensors using local ocean water samples in the lab. For the first portion of my shift, I assisted Joe and Mariela in preparing the samples for dissolved oxygen (DO), dissolved inorganic carbon (DIC), salinity, and chlorophyll. Each sample was prepped then packaged to continue back on land. Since there were only two bottles, one forward, one aft, it wasn’t long before it was time to go to the control van.
With an early dinner time between 1700 and 1800, we rotated positions to send everyone for food. Done with dinner, I began training in the logger position, ensuring as accurate documentation of the dive as possible. The other position, video logger, entails grabbing a series of photos to document the dive, as well as taking 4k video when necessary. Time flew by retrieving the old CAMDS, and before I knew it we were bringing Jason back on board.
A chilly sunset viewing followed by a hot shower meant it was time to hit the hay before the 0330 alarm rang in the start of day two.