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Central Pacific Edition

Mapping the Earth

One Swath at a Time

We have been scanning the seafloor for just over two weeks now and every day holds new discoveries. Though we like flat, boring terrain (all the better to see the Electra), we can’t help but be fascinated by the seep-sea world unfolding before us. With each recovery of REMUS, we eagerly scroll through the data to see what we have found.

Over 90% of the seafloor around here is flat as Kansas, but it is dotted with volcanic ridges, landslides, calderas, and cinder cones that occasionally stick up hundreds of meters or more. There are even major seamounts just outside of our search area, the most dramatic rising over 3,000 meters (10,000 feet) from the sea floor (but the peak is still over 2,000 meters deep).

A particularly interesting feature was recently imaged, which we call Packard’s Cone in honor of our REMUS OPS team leader. The image mosaic here reveals a perfectly circular rise reminiscent of Meteor Crater in Arizona … but half again as big and certainly of volcanic (vice impact) origin. The profile is also quite different, as this feature is actually a cone rising from the bottom rather than a depression (see illustration on page 2). The rim of the 1.8 km (1 nm) diameter feature rises 241 meters (almost 800 feet) from the seafloor, and its central cone is 389 meters (nearly 1,300 feet) high. As impressive as it is, we have imaged other much larger features this week including a seamount 16 km (8.5 nm) in diameter and 900 meters (3,000 feet) high.

None of the terrain we are mapping has been seen by humans before, so we give them our own names … Mt. Vinson, Dann’s Depression, etc. Technically, we can submit name suggestions to the cognizant government agency, which can choose to officially sanction them on future maps. However, they don’t like to name things after living people, so no one is volunteering to have an undersea mountain named after them any time soon.

Expedition Update

Amazingly, three vessels are on their way to our very remote location. S/V Sauvage will be rendezvousing with us around Wednesday to take Alan back to shore from where he can fly to to an engagement with fellow stratospheric explorer Joe Kittinger in Lancaster, PA. We’ll be saying farewell to a shipmate, but hope to bring him good news when we return. The next day we expect to see NOAA’s R/V Okeanos, out here exploring the Remote Pacific Islands Marine Sanctuaries. We may have an opportunity to visit them at sea. S/V Machias got underway from Honolulu yesterday bringing us a re-supply of transponder floats (and possibly some chocolate)! We’ll see her in about a week.

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Central Pacific Edition

Milestone Merriment

Halfway Day a Hit

It is a sailing tradition to celebrate the halfway point of a cruise, even if you’re not sure exactly when that point will occur. The Nautical Rodeo idea was conceived by Spence and Sue when they realized that the halfway point was just one day away. The timing was perfect to incorporate the event into our regular Sunday bar-b-cue. Some games and prizes were cooked up in a hurry. Bryan was asked to host the event as MC. A sound system and music was added and a firepit was concocted using the barb- cue grill. The program included dancing under the full moon, and a nightcap of smores.

We started the festivities with dinner at 5PM (a practical move as the Equatorial sun is quite intense at noon). Folks broke out their party attire (except the REMUS OPS team who were facing an imminent AUV recovery – the survey never stops!) Dave (decked out i n Hawaiian shirt and dreads) followed with a few remarks about the tradition of Halfway Day, and recognized the excellent service from the galley team, Pieter, Mardan and Susanto.

MC Bryan took over the mike to explain what an American Rodeo is all about: “The American cowboy after a long week of wrangling cattle out on the trail would be anxious for a bit of recreation. So they got together with other cowboys and show off their wrangling skills by roping calves, riding bulls and their horsemanship. It started out as recreational activity for cowboys, and today it has become a spectator sport, in which the competition is fierce and huge prize money i s awarded. There are not too many cowboys in these parts, but we have plenty of mariners. This Nautical Rodeo is a mariner skills participation event. Everyone is welcome to try.”

The first event was Competitive Knot Tying. Participants each had a piece of line in their hand, and upon the signal to start, judge Spence gave them a knot to tie. The quickest draw won.

The second event was the Heaving Line Toss. Participants each had three tosses of the heaving line in an attempt to drop the monkey fist in the bull’s eye, a trash can. The last event was the Jellyfish Throw. Teams of two tossed a water filled latex glove to their partner on the signal from the referee. After successful throws, one team member took a step backward, and tossed the glove back to their partner.

Prizes were awarded at the end of competition: an autographed photo of Pamelia Earhart, who regretfully could not be here.

The Rodeo wrapped up to much laughter and many splattered “jellyfish.” Unfortunately, clouds interfered with views of the simultaneous sunset & moonrise, but we were confident the events occurred anyway. Next was the bonfire. Music and dancing ensued.

A brief squall sent the revelers running for cover, and serving of Indonesian Style S’mores was postponed because REMUS operations and data analysis was started. They were served in the mess for snacks. Traditional s’mores, that gooey chocolatey marshmallowy thing between graham crackers was not possible. Chef Pieter has never heard of marshmallow before. He googled it and found that he didn’t even have the ingredients to make them. So instead he improvised a chocolate and peanut butter concoction between two wafer things. It was really quite good. He dubbed it “Indonesian style.”

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Central Pacific Edition

From Sea to Space

The Radio Guys Try to Contact the Mother Ship

November Alpha One Sierra Sierra … this is November Yankee Zero Victor Maritime Mobile, Region 3 aboard the Research Vessel Mermaid Vigilance calling…”

“Comm” Tom’s plaintive calls reached over the airwaves, trying desperately to make contact with the space ship whizzing overhead. It was our only chance … he just had to get a reply ….

“We must be on you, but can’t hear you … pretzels are running low …”

But it was useless. The orbiting space station dropped overr the horizon, leaving just a few meager “data packet bursts” t o tantalize us. Actually, this is not a science fiction story (though it may contain a few “alternative facts”). Inspired by our success during previous expeditions, the Radio Guys decided to see if they could get in touch with the Space Station. Turns out that two of the current residents, astronaut Commander Shane Kimbrough and Mission Specialist Thomas Pesquet are Hams, so they talk Rod, Tom, & Bryan’s language. They crafted a special hand-held antenna that could be pointed at the Station as it flew overhead (Don’t they have enough antennas already??), and with some help from Mermaid’s Electrical Engineer Sergiy, they got it working. They are also keen to speak with Peggy Whitson from Iowa, and we imagine our Russian-speaking friends on Vigilance may want to speak to the three cosmonauts on ISS.

A few emails to NASA (Kenneth Ransome at JSC Houston) got them the orbital transit times for our part of the world, and they were ready.

Marika and Sue held the antenna, Dave marked the transit times and azimuths (armed with Bryan’s green laser pointer), Tom manned the radio, and Rod-io supervised. Quite a crowd gathered for the 12:34 AM event, probably the largest congregation ever seen on the Mermaid’s bridge after midnight. Doc Pam was available (i.e., asleep in her cabin) in the event of injury. The Media Team was on hand to record the event, and a crowd of rubber-neckers hovered. It was probably just like waiting for Amelia on the Itasca!

As the transit began, Tom started his calls. “NA1SS” is the U.S. Amateur Radio Call Sign for the International Space Station. “NYØV” i s Tom’s call sign. “Maritime Mobile” identifies us as aboard a ship on the high seas. “Region 3” is the ITU (International Telecom Union) region of the world we are in, as agreed by international treaty.

Sadly, Tom’s calls were not answered, and we were all disappointed. Maybe the astronauts were asleep? Maybe they were afraid to be asked to teach a SEA School? Anyway, the Station will pass overhead regularly, and our Hams will try again.

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Central Pacific Edition

Hemispherical Swim

A Cap’n Joe Sea Story

I had an interesting day last year working the far reaches of the Pacific tending tsunami buoys, and I thought I’d share it with you guys as you’ve known me since Moby Dick was a guppy. Well, like most plans at sea (and I suspect on land as well – but I can’t really remember), our idea for the customary, mortifying and abusing ceremony of crossing the Equator (for the Pollywogs on board) and the transiting of the International Dateline (for the wannabe Dragons) did not work out.

Here’s what happened: Instead of the humiliating aforementioned ritual – which definitely puts most sailors off their feed for a day or so – we decided to go for a swim. Not just any swim but a swim for the record books! At least for our recorded ship’s log book. The “plan” was to station our research vessel exactly at the 180 degree line and the Equator; thus, a lap around the vessel would allow a swimmer to travel from the Eastern Hemisphere to the Western and from the Northern Hemisphere to the Southern. This would also take us from one day to the next (crossing the Dateline) and from winter to summer. We all thought this a capital idea and the timing was perfect as we were to be at this point at about 1200 UTC [Coordinated Universal Time – ed.] to further add to the allure. This can only be done at two places on earth and we figured that not many sailors have ever done it.

The crew and clients were all mustered at the Baltic door (an opening in the hull to allow access to the sea for pilot boats) on the main deck located just abaft of the beam to starboard. We set up a shark watch – an important thing in these waters. Everyone had a swimsuit on, except me – I had only some cut off dungarees – and we were just awaiting 2nd Mate Steve at the helm to get the vessel into final position for the swim. When Steve called over the radio saying we were “Here,” I, being senior man on deck, stood back a couple of fathoms from the opened Baltic door and paced briskly athwart ships and did (from what I was told later) an admirable dive for an ole sea dog into the Pacific Ocean. I was followed closely by R.W. (Rough Water) Watkins, one of our clients. He’s from Louisiana and he’s a good guy for a back deck bayou buoy boy; but I digress.

We surfaced from the dive and were immediately swept forward. The current was brutal. It looked like we were steaming at about 5 knots with an old Evinrude outboard with a bad carburetor attached to our backsides. We weren’t prepared for this. I was treading water, which I’ve been accused of before but it took on new meaning.

I hailed the gang at the Baltic door telling them not to go in the water. Thank goodness they didn’t but they did not react to a potential rescue situation either – it being after all a historic swim. The ship’s bo’s’n, Paulie, finally determined that R.W. and I were indeed somewhat in distress and fastened a line around himself, jumped in and swam after us. He looked like a large Mark Spitz in the water with his long hair streaming astern and we were some happy that he had taken action. Old Paulie got to R.W. and me just as the line he was towing came to the bitter end. I managed to tie a bowline and made it fast to my left wrist. R.W. was ahead of me and he managed to hold on as the deck crew was now mobilized to haul us back to the Jacobs ladder.

All the while this scene was unfolding, deckhand Mikey was prattling on about life lines, buoys, radios, life jackets, etc. We call him Alligator Man – because he’s all mouth and no ears. I darn near let go of the line and set back adrift rather than listen to his drivel. It took a while and some hard work on the crew’s part, but we finally made it aboard , unceremoniously, I can assure you. The crew, except for Alligator Man, knew better than to say anything except “You O.K., Joe?”

“Finestkind,” I would reply. I proceeded to the wheelhouse and relieved Steve so he could go swimming after we turned the vessel side-to the current. R.W. brought me a cup of coffee with a knowing smile, and I said “Good day to be at at sea, by golly!”

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