September 5, 2024
I’ve finally landed on a subject for a research project! I will make an engagement video about snowblowers: ephemeral, underwater bacterial blizzards. Once I talked with Deb about my wide-ranging interests in oceanography and my passion for the intersecting spaces where geology meets chemistry meets microbiology, she urged me to investigate snowblowers. During these rarely observed, months-long phenomena that occur after mid-oceanic ridge volcanic eruptions, bacteria that live under the seafloor burst from fresh fissures and blanket new lava fields.
First observed in 1991, there are surprisingly few research papers examining these transient biological communities. I have had so much fun doing background research into this elusive topic but am nervous to enter the world of video production.
I find writing and other artistic activities taxing because they ask me to share a bit of my soul. I find safety and refuge in numbers, seeking the structure of processes while I shy away from ambiguity and interpretation. Don’t we all love it when there is a cleanly correct answer and we obtain it? My perfectionism runs amok when there is no right answer to run towards in art—there is only endless editing in the hopes of effectively evoking the specific yet broad. Art asks us to impact individuals personally through activating the innate human experience. The line between doing so effectively and ineffectively is wiggly and transparent.
Yet the power of art in communication is undeniably profound. A driving force behind my desire to be a “sailor scientist” is to ensure folks outside academia have meaningful access to science. Dense scientific papers don’t reach most people outside academia; art does. The more I consider my values as a scientist and review my commitment to science communication, the more I realize the importance of this project professionally. I want to do cool science and talk about it with everyone! An outreach video through the OOI is a fantastic platform to do just that. I remind myself that I am not setting out to make a work of art and that perfect is impossible. Instead, I will wield art as a tool to decode science and make it widely accessible and useful.
September 2, 2024
We took a field trip up to the bridge! The bridge is spacious and open with short ceilings that make me feel tall. The over-180-degree panoramic view of the ocean is breathtaking. Andrew, the First-Mate, boisterously greets us and regales us with stories of his colorful life after he asks every single one of us who we are and where we are from. The captain, Derek, sits behind the classic wooden steering wheel off to the left. He laughs about stories during the days before the boat was dry. When Morrigan cheekily asks him what he does around this place, he laments that his job is mostly emails and paperwork now.
It strikes me how all paths appear to lead to administrative management if you ascend high enough through the ranks. I chat with a mate, Liz, who has been sailing for 17 years. A fellow dancer, she shares with me how she finds space and time during cruises to practice belly dancing and how dancing on the ship improves her skill on land.
Ever since my first voyage, I’ve crafted major life decisions around returning to sea. Whenever I am on a vessel, my mind runs wild strategizing how to get back aboard—even before I have stepped off the ship. Perhaps I will sail during long periods as an marine technician or on less frequent cruises as a scientific researcher. On land, I think often about the logistics required to ensure I have access to the ocean. Who will watch my sweet, baby, angel dog Michi? And when will I dance?
Hearing Liz talk about dancing gives me the peace to know I will also find a way on future trips. Sacred and essential to my being, I discovered my passion for dancing initially through social partner dancing. In styles ranging from salsa, merengue and bachata, to zouk, kizomba and country two-step, I seek out dancing with others as a way to commune with myself.
Through the shared rules of rhythm, I am brought out of my brain and into community. The concept of frame in dance is a physical manifestation of boundaries in relationship: by maintaining our shape in space with a responsive energy imbued in our limbs, we take responsibility for our role in the dance and hold our partners accountable to listening to our needs and abilities. Through the consent and communication transmitted through frame in a social dance, there is freedom to be playful and whimsical and safety to be vulnerable. Though I miss this exchange of energy and the community of social dances whenever I am away, I am heartened by Liz’s reminder that my relationship to myself through dance is not contingent upon having a partner. I, too, can be present in my body as I dance alone on the ocean.
September 1, 2024
After my morning shifts watching a robot travel over ropey basalt flows on the bottom of the ocean, I walk onto the deck of the R/V Atlantis. My eyes always take a few moments to adjust to the pastel sky and white-capped waves that touch the horizon in every direction. After my night shifts, I walk out to the hum of machinery and the slapping of waves as a giant crane casually hoists tens of thousands of pounds of machinery onto our deck or performs equally herculean tasks with ease.
Whenever the rhythm of my days at sea begin to feel normal, I widen my eyes, take a deep breath and look around again. I see 1500 m below my feet while I stand on a giant floating box of metal in the middle of the ocean. My office is a dark computer cave at the bottom of the sea and my foyer is the bright, light world at the very top. My backyard is the sky.
But it’s not all utopia out here, ya’ll! We get no private space because we’re not allowed on the deck alone because they don’t want us landlubbers to fall off the boat and die. My social anxiety is magnified on the boat while I figure out how I fit in with a small group of strangers that I am suddenly living with 24/7.
At times, I feel like a little kid “playing” at science when all the adults get to do the real fun stuff. I’ve even found myself missing my restaurant work lately! When we are lining up to practice a simple sampling procedure I think I already know, I daydream about the bartending days when I would expertly organize the chaos of a packed restaurant. Making six drinks at one time while cashing out two different tables and running food in between credit card swipes—oh, does it feel good to be good at stuff!
But then, I remember the many years of work it took for me to gain that level of skill and confidence and I am warmed by the patience of my mentors as they gently clarify procedures to correct my understanding and offer gentle nudges to improve my technique. Sure, I can run circles around a restaurant but I need time, exposure and practice walking (no running on the boat!) around a lab.
VISIONS ‘24 offers all that and more that for the low, low cost of sacrificing some personal space. Sharing a room again reminds me how to remain adaptable and mindful of others. Connecting with so many new people is exciting yet daunting; it takes time and patience to see in what direction relationships will grow. Luckily, the ship requires me to be brave!
We all eat together in the galley every day. There is no time or space to wallow in wonder about how people feel about me. So, I wonder just a little bit less every day. I’ve always known this was a valuable educational opportunity, but I am newly filled with how much of a personal privilege it is to be here.
I reflect upon my past few days as I stargaze. If I soften my eyes while looking up at my backyard, the rocking ship appears still while the stars swing like a pendulum above—back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I am immersed. Watching the stars or the waves, any time of day, immediately calms my body and mind. I feel at peace as tension drains from my cells. The endless circumlocutive chatter behind my ears begins to fade. Perpetually indecisive, these visceral signs are how I know I’m in the right place. Life asea quietens the omnipresent noise and distraction of our messy world. All that is left is me.
August 30, 2024
Oh boy, has the science officially commenced! Since (mostly) silencing my inner saboteur, I’ve been “sciencing” non-stop! I suppose I’ve had the occasional break to eat (only three deliciously square meals a day), sleep (in 2-hour segments) or write my blog posts (aka work on a jig-saw puzzle while I think about maybe starting my blog post two days late).
First, we helped one of the undergraduate researchers process samples from the previous Leg of the cruise. We conducted two CTD (a giant contraption that has a bunch of sensors that measure different water qualities and really big bottles that collect water samples) casts. The bread and butter of ocean tech, knowing how to set-up, collect samples from and reset a CTD after a cast is a vital (and super-duper fun) skill for any field oceanographer.
I love jumping up onto the giant metal frame and clipping and reclipping and twisting and untwisting all the doohickies! My most favorite part is flooding the deck with leftover Niskin bottle water after we’ve harvested all of our samples.
I brushed up on my knot tying skills with our hilarious and handy Sicence Support Group marine technician, TR, as I helped to deploy the CTD, helping to steady it while a giant retractable arm thing lifted it and sent it to the dark deep.
A major component of the VISIONS cruises is maintaining the Regional Cabled Array (RCA), an ocean observing platform with over 150 instruments connected to 900 km of electro-optical cables that run from the NE Pacific seafloor to land, sending real-time data about the water column and ocean floor.
The RCA provides a constant stream of high-resolution information about the geology, chemistry, biology and other physical aspects of underwater life across the Juan de Fuca plate. Our “inside-maintenance-man” is Jason, a remotely operated submersible vehicle that can go deep, deep onto the ocean floor, capable of enduring extreme pressures and temperatures. With his robot arms, he can do it all—from scooping up scientific samples, carrying baskets full of sensors up and down in the water column and plugging and unplugging giant, waterproof cables—Jason can do it all! Everything except for untangling cords at 1500 m deep, that is (a difficult feat for even the most seasoned knitter).
Jason is controlled by a three-to-four-person team within a giant blue shipping container. The inside of this control “van” is covered in a wall of computer screens within showing various views of the deck of the ship and off Jason itself. While engineers control this fancy schmancy diving robot, us students sit in the back logging important actions that occur during the underwater dive (basically we click a button and type a few words every couple of minutes).
Soon, we will be seeing breathtaking scenes of otherworldly microbes and sea creatures amid a backdrop of underwater volcanoes and hydrothermal “smokers” at depths that few people ever get see in their lifetime (which can include YOU if you watch our live feed!).
Up ‘til now, however, my shift-mate and I have logged 12 fascinating hours of descents and ascents where the most exciting thing to happen was the afore-mentioned, unfortunately tangled cable. Our critical task on such dives is to Maintain. Constant. Focus. (Read: not fall asleep). While every student has their preferred method, I choose to maintain a constant, four-hour wiggle/dance (with or without music*).
Even though it starts out slow, I am struck by how quickly this complex technology is becoming familiar and personally (as a scientist though so maybe scientifically?) relevant. With each shift in the van, I understand more of the lingo and learn more about the function of each of these underwater instruments.
Before my very eyes, non-descript tools and boxes and other thing-a-ma-jigs are transforming into impressive technology I recognize and can be excited by!
To all the patient engineers, scientists and student mentors aboard the ship who explain acronym after acronym and repeatedly remind me where to reference information: thank you.
*See Paige’s blog for information on the infamous “Brat” dance party.
August 28, 2024
This long and, at times, underwhelming day had stark streaks of beauty and moments of melancholy followed by healing self-reflection. I see now why they always omit the boring days in adventure stories—it’s just simpler.
During this 22-hour long transit from our site off the coast of Oregon to Axial Seamount, waves exterior to the ship were tumultuous but the interior was calm. While our trusty crewmates who have been here since Leg 1 dozed in and out to catch up on weeks of precious rest, some newcomers sought solace from the seasickness and were also sequestered in their cozy cabins.
Meanwhile, back in the lab, I did arts and crafts! I made a sailor’s bracelet for my brother and a soon-to-be-shrunken Styrofoam cup of art. With my new friends, I sat on the deck and enjoyed the gentle sea spray from our cerulean wake. I also saw a pod of porpoises (sorry bio pals, I don’t know the technical term so opted for the alliterative). Later, I was mesmerized by videos from VISIONS cruises years past of the otherworldly life at hydrothermal vents we are soon to see “in person”. Perhaps boring isn’t so bad.
With all this free time, I had ample time to think about my near future in research. What will I research while on this cruise? Chemistry? Geology? Geochemistry? Mysterious dissolved organic matter at hydrothermal vents? Sediment stuff? Microbes? How can I fully take advantage of this experience while still being present and having fun? What sort of research lab do I want to pursue when I get back home? How do I translate my energy and broad excitement for this world of oceanography into a specific form that gets me where I want to go? Where do I want to go?
As I spiral into these thoughts, I notice that the idleness of this day has lulled me into the insidious trap of comparison. From professionals at the forefront of their field to undergraduate peers that are engaging, intelligent and impressively accomplished, I am lucky to be surrounded by folks I respect and admire. I remind myself (and maybe YOU, if you’ve ever felt like an imposter) that to admire others is not, by nature, to doubt self. I first fell in love with life at sea because of the sense of belonging and community—everyone has a role, and though they may differ, all are respected and valued. The moment I tell myself I don’t belong is the moment I cut myself off from this dedicated and welcoming VISIONS community. I will admire my peers for their determination to achieve specific career goals while I celebrate the fluidity and freedom of my own wide-ranging passions for oceanography.
I unwind my brain and go to watch the now dark cerulean wake. I will pick my research project another day and remember to bask in the beauty of this boring day.
August 27, 2024
My trip to sea began yesterday, when we departed Seattle, WA for Newport, OR in vans from the University of Washington campus. I had the distinct pleasure of carpooling with Deb Kelley and Rika Anderson, two world class scientists with extensive experience exploring hydrothermal vents. Our conversation ranged from seasickness (when, to my great horror, I found myself telling the story of puking “spectacularly” at the fair) to their personal science journeys and history with VISIONS. They were endlessly accommodating as my fellow Oceanography classmate, Paige, and I peppered them with incessant questions throughout our six-hour trek. With each conversational turn, my thrill for our impending adventure on the R/V Atlantis intensified.
I was greeted by the ship by my friend Leo, fresh from Leg 2 of the cruise. After a short tour of the boat, they gave me tips and tricks of life on the boat. Most of all, they reminded me to sleep! So excited to “nest” in my new home for the next two weeks, I unpacked and organized my things immediately (which, as anyone who has ever traveled with me knows, is quite the anomaly).
After meeting the crew, we were left to our own devices to grub on a delicious meatloaf dinner in the galley. After my decade-long restaurant career, I was delighted to meet the galley crew—recognizing them as kindred spirits immediately. Us VISIONS students proceeded to build our characters for my first ever Dungeons and Dragons campaign! Enter Chi Chi DeVayne, a dancing Rock Gnome Bard Sailor, inspired by the talented performer and beloved drag queen.
Day one at sea has been characterized by a dueling duality—I am simultaneously bristling with anticipation to begin “sciencing” at sea while staving off the sneaky lethargy from seasickness meds. After a short yet tasty breakfast, a long yet goofy safety briefing (I dare you to don an exposure suit gracefully!) and a lengthy yet dreamy nap—I find myself refreshed and at peace, swaying gently with the sleepy ship as many of my fellow shipmates slumber.