The At-Sea Experience

Going to sea to make oceanographic measurements is one of the last two romantic jobs in the world. (I think the other is game show host, but that's the topic of my next book.) The sea has always held humans in its sway. Ever since that fateful Tuesday morning eons ago when our ancestors crawled from the muck of some pond, we have yearned to return. There is something primordially relaxing about just being on the water. The slow sway of the boat deck under your feet, the warm summer breeze that caresses your face, the warmth of the setting sun that paints the sky with streaks of red. When you are working at sea, always remember that people pay large sums of money to go on sea cruises. You may find solace in these thoughts when you can't stand on the heaving deck of your 50 m research vessel being buffeted by 6 m high waves, when the gale force winds are causing spray to crash over the sides of the ship soaking you to the bone, and when, in all of this, you have to wrestle a 500 kg buoy from the sea, praying that you don't get crushed or thrown overboard. Working at sea is great.

Even when you are comfortably inside your shipboard laboratory, difficulties abound. Because of the rolling seas, everything must be tied down. During a stretch of calm weather numerous small objects such as tools, supplies, or laptop computers will be brought out of storage and left to sit on table tops. When the wind and waves grow again, as they invariably do, loud crashes will be heard to emanate from the lab as a result of these items falling to the floor. And when things really get rough, you'll find that you'll have to wedge yourself into bed in order to sleep; you'll have to keep both hands free in order to catch yourself as you walk down a corridor; and you'll even have to hold onto your plate at meals in order to steady it so that the food does not slide off onto the table.

To further compound these difficulties, your goal in going to sea is not to perform manual labor under rough conditions, although that may be one of your jobs. Your goal is to make scientific measurements at sea. Scientific measurements, of any kind, are difficult to make well. Scientific measurements at sea are doubly difficult. You may be operating under conditions that will stress your mind and body. And throughout this you'll be expected to operate complex and sensitive electronic equipment and data acquisition systems. As the waves and environment wear on your body, the accelerations, shocks and salt air will corrode your equipment. Equipment will break when you are far from shore and the nearest Radio Shack. Equipment failures are a fact of life at sea and you will have to learn to deal with them. When I go to sea I don't wonder if something will break, instead, it is a question of how often and how many things will break.

If you haven't planned carefully you may even run out of supplies. I was on a cruise once where we ran out of paper. It's difficult to do science without paper! If you think that is outrageous, how about the story related to me by a colleague regarding an experiment on a U. S. research platform where they actually ran out of drinking water! (If this ever happens to you, pray you are on a European research platform. Then at least you can switch from water to beer.)

And despite all of these difficulties - all of the stresses of life at sea, the isolation, and the hardships - you'll be expected to bring home the data. No excuses. The success or failure of your cruise will be judged in the short term by whether you succeeded in making high-quality measurements, and in the longer run by the science that you and others are able to decipher from these data. The importance of your success cannot be over-stressed. Your career may well depend on it. No data, no analysis, no papers, no tenure. It really is that simple. If you think this unjust; if you think people should be given credit for a good attempt, think again. Think about the large sums of money that some sponsor has invested in each cruise. Going to sea is not a game and it is not for the unprepared, unwary, or undedicated.

On the positive side, there is no feeling that I know like successfully completing a long and arduous cruise. There is no satisfaction that I know like overcoming the elements, the equipment failures, personnel conflicts, and all the rest that go with sea tests, to bring home the data. At the end of a hard, successful cruise I have a feeling of elation and a feeling of accomplishment that only other sea-going oceanographers can fully understand. In sharp contrast, at the end of an unsuccessful experiment I feel like death. I guess it's just the Vince Lombardi in me.

I realize that this may seem overly dramatic to many. But these are the ways I think about working at sea. In later chapters I will try to explain why I feel this way and why I think you should too. My overall reasoning, though, is quite easy to understand. I think that preparation, knowledge, experience and attitude are critical to success. Of these elements, attitude is the one attribute that forces you to do your best. While experience takes time to acquire, a positive attitude and the resolve to succeed will lead you to prepare and to gain the knowledge necessary to succeed.

Of course, the at-sea experience is not one of isolation. I know of no sea-going oceanographer that does his work alone. There are invariably other oceanographers, engineers, technicians and crew aboard a research vessel. In fact there are so many others involved in a typical oceanographic experiment, that if you want to work alone, you should stick with theory. Your work may well depend on the relationships you forge with others on your cruise. For example, I work hard to be on good terms with the deck crew because I know that my success depends upon their skill and diligence in handling my equipment during deployment and recovery operations. I try to stay on the good side of the technicians and engineers as I may need their help to repair wayward equipment. And naturally a good relationship with fellow scientists is important to insure that you get sufficient data opportunities on the cruise as well as cooperation in the post-test analysis phase. This book cannot teach you how to get along with people, but I will stress that your relationships with your shipmates may determine your success or failure.

Finally, going to sea is not all work. It should be both educational and fun. Inevitably there are long stretches of little to do. In an extreme case, one colleague actually became so bored on a cruise that he talked the Bos'n into letting him chip paint! Personally I prefer less strenuous activities, but I can understand my colleagues desire to do something, even anything. In a more personally constructive vein, I suggest that you work on forming good relationships at sea. Then, the in-between times can be fruitfully spent in conversations with your new friends that can teach you many new things about the sea, about ships, and about your profession. Alternatively, you can spend all your time watching movies. It is your choice.

I have been in this business for over 25 years and I still believe that I can learn something from the most junior seaman that I meet, as well as the top scientist. What I know of deck handling, comes from the teachings of countless deck crew that have befriended me over the years. My knowledge of navigation comes from numerous late night hours on the bridge conversing with the third mate. I have been taught knots by cooks and ocean acoustics by ship engineers. The fact that people know a lot should not be amazing. Instead we should be amazed at our own tendency to categorize and dismiss the knowledge of others. I treat each cruise as an ongoing seminar and suggest that you do the same. It will not only make the time fly, but it will improve your knowledge of, and standing within, your chosen profession.

I close this briefest of introductions to life at sea with some words from the opening to Moby Dick. Melville's words express a passion for the sea far better than my own feeble demonstrations ever will:

Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street; and methodically knocking people's hats off - then I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings toward the ocean with me.

Actually I lied. There is one more point I want to make before I close this chapter. Throughout this book I make suggestions touching on all aspects of life on board ship. As you read on, you'll probably come to believe that I have an authoritative opinion on every subject under the sun, no matter how small or mundane. And finally you may come to the conclusion that I am either one arrogant SOB, or the only person in the world to go to sea with, or some combination of both. I think it is important to address this right up front because I hope that such mis-impressions won't cloud the information I am trying to convey.

As to the first possible conclusion, it is true, as I said in the introduction, that there is a certain arrogance that accompanies experience. My defense is that I do not believe that I have all the answers, and you shouldn't either. I'll tell you a bunch of things in this book, but you should concentrate on how the experiences I relate might be helpful to you in your work. Most of the knowledge that I try to relate here I have gained from others. So in the truest of senses, I am but the messenger.

As to the second possible conclusion, I do think I'm reasonably good at what I do, but I have been to sea with a lot of people that are better oceanographers and better field scientists than I am. This I readily admit. It could be that I'm writing this book instead of them, simply because they are out at sea working and I am not. In any case, there are wonderfully talented people throughout our field, and one of the messages of this book is to seek them out and learn from them.