Florida State University : Research in Review

Day 5 - Wednesday, 09/17/08

Position: at 9:30 a.m. N42 33.7 W131 59.7

First thing over coffee with the crew this morning, I wasn’t surprised to learn that most members of the science team were still in their racks. My roomie Buz certainly was, and sleeping a well-deserved sleep of the just. The team hauled aboard their last cast of the multi-corer at 3 a.m. Then, Allison and Sam oversaw the deployment of their CDT device. At first light, they were the only souls in the lab, obviously bone-tired but like the young scientists they are, happy with their prize: a fresh collection of seawater samples taken at discrete levels throughout what scientists call the photic zone—the uppermost layers of oceans where phytoplankton soaks up the sun’s energy. Allison has high hopes she’ll collect enough data on this trip to push her closer to a Ph.D. in phytoplankton ecology.

The last cast was, by chance, in deeper water—about 3,200 meters. It became the sixth successful deployment of the mission so far, and the last at this location. Although the goal was eight, since yesterday morning at 9:30, a total of seven casts were made, albeit the first being a failure. Chief Scientist Thistle pronounced six good samples pulled from the first stop a success by any measure, and asked the captain to point the Sur toward a new waypoint, about 180 or so miles S-SW on a course of 224 degrees. The course suggested an ETA of about 5 p.m.

Over (more) coffee with Capt. Jeff on his a.m. watch in the wheelhouse, I was curious about the seeming lack of sea traffic in our area. Since dropping off the continental shelf two days ago we’ve encountered only three or four vessels, including a cargo ship with a Chinese-speaking captain this morning, passing 20-odd miles off our starboard bow, heading southeast. Jeff, eyes fixed on a featureless horizon, said flatly, “We aren’t close to any major shipping lanes. Nobody ever comes out here. We’re really in the middle of nowhere.”

On the long ride to our next position, Jack, ever the angler, deployed three hand lines into the roiling wake of the Sur. In short order, Jack heaved aboard a small (around 5 lbs) fish strongly resembling the familiar greater amberjack (Seriola dumerili). The beautiful fish had the telltale yellow-gold bar painting its lateral line and extending through its eye. But its caudle (tail) fin was more yellow than I remembered seeing in our Gulf amberjacks. A friendly debate ensued over the fish’s true identity. Jack initially identified it as a juvenile yellowfin tuna. I demurred, saying the fish had to be a member of the huge jack family. Soon, Jack exclaimed “Ah, I know! It’s a yellowtail!” For a Floridian, of course, the name hardly fit. To anglers and seafood lovers in the Sunshine State, “yellowtail” means only one thing—yellowtail snapper (genus, species), unquestionably one of the finest-eating fish (and most beautiful) found in Florida waters. Jack soon ended the argument by producing a book of Pacific fish, and sure enough, there was a description and picture of Jack’s yellowtail (Seriola lalandi). I learned that the fish, indeed a carangid (or jack), grows to five feet in length, is commonly found in the region and is considered excellent table fare.

Nearing our waypoint at 5, suddenly both Jack and I had fish on! After I’d seen his first fish flopping on deck I had wasted no time in getting my 6/0 in gear, and now it was screaming. Capt. Jeff signaled to the wheelhouse to back down a bit, and Jack soon had a six-pound albacore gasping on deck. Tightening my drag slowed my fish and soon I had a glimpse of it, a fine tuna a hand or two larger than Jack’s. The beautiful fish waited until a large landing net was fetched before spitting the hook right at the surface. Dang! Catching my first albacore would have to wait!

In position by 5:30, with wind picking up from the SW, we swung the multi-corer off the deck at 6:40, position 42 34.338N and 132 00.359W. Our depth was 3,600 meters—eight Empire State Buildings could stand end-on-end beneath our keel! We figured the weight of water on the body of a crab at that depth would be in the neighborhood of 5,100 pounds per square inch. As if crabs were bothered by physics that would otherwise crush a human into goo in a nanosecond. Such was my sobering thought as I sat with chums for Chef Karen’s fresh dinner table laden with steaming linguini accompanied by a heavenly aromatic meatball, tomato and fresh basil sauce served with garlic-buttered French toast. Ah, anything for science!

At 9, with seas running 6-8’ we succeeded in putting the corer back on a pitching deck without getting anyone hurt, except in the morale department. Only one of the coring tubes contained anything to qualify as a decent sample. A decision was made to remove the wooden struts at the corer’s base, in theory to allow it to penetrate the seafloor more readily. Stripped of its wooden footing, the individual corers were re-cocked and the apparatus lowered once again into the inky abyss, amid a steady rainfall. I suddenly was glad I’d remembered to bring my foul-weather gear.

As the night wore on, building seas steadily eroded our confidence in our chances for retrieving good samples. By 10, winds were steady at 20 knots, gusting to 25. At his watch, Capt. Jeff thought we might have to “call it” if the winds reached 30.

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