Entertainment Aboard the Brown: Surviving a World without Wi-Fi

In some ways, living aboard a research vessel is like going back to a simpler time: a time before internet.  Or at least, a time when the internet was slow and precious… like maybe the 1990’s.  We swing between the extremes of coffee-shop-speed internet and inching along at the speed of AOL version 1.0.  Except it often doesn’t load at all, so there’s no knowing if “you’ve got mail!” 

This may come as a surprise to millennial readers, but it actually hasn’t been that painful to go without internet, probably because most everyone on board has very little leisure time to begin with.  What is left is spent reading, reflecting, and even (God forbid!) having real life conversations with other human beings.

In case you don’t have the audacity to attempt that last option, here’s a survival guide of things you can do if you find yourself in a Wi-Fi crisis aboard the RHB.

1.     Watch a Movie

The RHB is equipped with a movie lounge, brimming with leather recliners sporting a huge flat screen TV!  There are also binders upon binders of DVDs to choose from, and screenings of new releases are scheduled every evening.  It pays to have navy connections—they send us boxes of new DVD’s around the time that they hit theaters!  For a while, this room was mostly dedicated to screening real time football games.  Yes, real time.  How we lack Wi-Fi but manage to get perfect cable TV in the middle of the S. Pacific is beyond me, and is a gleaming testament to the American dedication to sports.

2.     Read

I hear it’s like watching a movie, except in your head.  The RHB has an extensive collection of books with genres spanning Ocean and Maritime themed, Popular Fiction, and the full “for Dummies” training book collection.  There’s also a variety of board games to explore, although I’ve yet to see one picked up outside of the ship’s board game night (another wonderful way to pass the time).

3.     Go Outside

This one even applies on land.  But on the Brown, some truly spectacular views await you if you step out onto the bow or venture out of the sampling bay.  However, this option is very limited by weather conditions.  Previously, going outside had been a good way to get drenched in S. Pacific surface water and possibly fall flat on your butt. Now, though, there’s a very good chance you’ll spot an iceberg! And possibly even some penguins playing slip-n-slide on top of it!

4.     Send stuff to the bottom of the ocean!

Funny thing about the bottom of the ocean:  there’s a lot of pressure down there.  Usually this is the bane of an oceanographer’s existence.  It crushes sensors and implodes landers and makes everything much more expensive to produce.  But somewhere along the line, an oceanographer realized they could use it to their advantage, to shrink stuff!  If you put a Styrofoam cup down to 4000m, it comes back a lot smaller (see pictures).  And if you color said cup with sharpie it makes for a once-in-a-lifetime souvenir of your time at sea.  The effect is particularly cool with the Styrofoam heads you can find at a beauty salon. You just have to be very careful to position the laundry-bag full of Styrofoam well on the CTD rosette, so as to not disrupt any of the sensitive equipment going down.  It’s a task best left to experts.  Disclaimer: for some reason, Styrofoam plates do NOT shrink well.  They turn thin like a potato chip and crumple, but maintain their original diameter. 

5.     PLAY BINGO!

The RHB has the best BINGO scene ever experienced outside of a nursing home.  You will soon find yourself chanting along with the regulars.  “Under the B, 10!” “Ouch!” The best part, by far, though, is the prizes.  You may find yourself going home with a keychain sized barrel-o-monkeys game, assorted candy, Ron Brown swag, or even one of the coveted hand-drawn bookmarks designed by our own Bruce Cowden.  This season’s theme is Easter Island Moai statues.

6.      Go shopping at the Ship’s Store

At this point you’ve convinced yourself that the culture of the Brown is something you never want to forget.  So pick yourself up a branded T-shirt or custom spill-proof mug at the ship’s store! Operated by Mike Lastinger for 20 minutes after dinner each night, all proceeds to towards morale boosting activity for the crew (and sometimes scientists, to boot!).

Microplastics in the South West Pacific and Southern Ocean

Alexander Sidelev

(Microplastics, N2O and tritium sampler)

Microplastics pollution is one of the most misunderstood ocean phenomena in the modern world. While hearing the word, microplastic, most people assume that it is simply visible bits of trash floating in the ocean. While to a certain degree such statement is true, the plastics that are the focus of our research require a microscope to be viewed. Such small pieces of plastic also have a peculiar water column distribution. Most of the polymers used in production of plastics are less dense than water, allowing for a greater viscosity of microplastics though the vertical water column and a significant spread across the surface layer. Such distribution creates a problem magnitudes greater than simply having trash in the ocean waters. These small pieces of plastic harm the trophic structure of plankton and pose a great threat to all marine life. Our goal is to collect a substantial amount of empirical data to improve computer models of microplastic presence. The greatest source of error in any numerical model is incorrect assumptions due to a lack of accurate empirical data. The samples collected will provide a basis for which a model of the region could be built. A better model will provide a greater understanding of microplastic pollution and an easier way to convey the issue to the general public. Without direct observations of microplastics like the ones we collected here, the world will be reluctant to do anything about the problem. By collecting samples and presenting the data we hope to improve outreach and better our general understanding of the dangers plastics pose to the ocean environment. 

 (sometimes we catch krill in addition to microplastics)

(Microplastic net)

 (we deploy over the side while the boat is on station. The current pulls water through the net and we collect anything that is to large to pass through our fine mesh net)

Happy New Years!

Bethany Kolody


Happy New Years from the Ron Brown!  Or as we like to call it here, “Andrew day,” in celebration of the New Year’s Eve birthdays of everyone onboard named Andrew.  (Pictured below: Andrew Babbin and Andrew Collins hard at work with the CTD Rosette). 

To celebrate, the crew cooked up an amazing New Year’s Eve Ball complete with a photo booth, non-alcoholic fizzy toasts, and roaring dance jams.  I can’t help but admire the dedication that must have gone into acquiring 2017-themed photo booth props and confetti-filled party poppers far enough in advance to have them in the middle of nowhere on the ocean on New Year’s Eve.

Several guests came dressed to the nines.  Our hostess, Lydia, sported a smashing party tuxedo, and House came in full pirate attire. 

We were even visited by the mystical lobster-horse!  A creature as majestic as the unicorn, with the head of a horse, the claws of a lobster, and the heart of a hard-core partier.

Ultimately, though, we were all put to shame by the Capitan, who looked downright regal in his navy formalwear.

At midnight, there was even a ball drop! (The ball looked suspiciously like a fishing buoy cleverly disguised with shiny aluminum foil).  My idea of decorating the CTD and dropping it into the ocean at midnight was firmly vetoed by both scientists and crew, but the buoy-drop was satisfying nonetheless...

All told, I can say with certainty that I will never again have a New Year’s Eve like this one.  Thanks to all who made it unique, and especially to the crew members who poured their love and energy into making our little ship seem that much closer to home!

 (Remy, Bonnie, Lydia and Alexandra)

 

(Bythany and Javiera)

 Conrad, Alexandra, and Mariana)

(Gordy)

 (Lydia and Mark)

 (Cathy and Alexandra)

 (Alexandra and Remy)

 (Brian, Lydia, Mark, House, Josh, Dan, Alex, CO Kamphaus)

Anatomy of a CTD Cast

Paige Logan

CTD watch stander, Salinity analysts, Argo float deployment specialist

The primary mission of this cruise is to take CTD casts every 0.5° latitude (~55km) along the 103°W meridian from Baja California to Antarctica. At our current speed, this works out to about 4 casts per 24 hours. Since they are so important to the success of this cruise, and now we have done so many on leg 2, we thought it was time for a blog post detailing how they work.

First, let's go over what exactly makes up a CTD.

A CTD is a set of sensors that we lower down to the seafloor in order to measure conductivity, temperature, and depth. Conductivity is used to estimate the seawater’s salinity, which is important for examining a number of processes in the ocean. However, the instrument package we lower at each station contains much more than just a CTD (though people on the ship often mistakenly/lazily refer to the whole package, known as the rosette, as a CTD). The CTD itself sits in the middle of a large metal frame, connected to a 6,000+ meter long wire that allows two-way communication between the ship and the package. It samples continuously at 24 Hz (24 samples per second) both on the way down to the seafloor and the way back up to the surface, allowing us to monitor the water column structure throughout the entire cast. Around the outside of the frame sit 24 Niskin bottles, which are cocked open at both the top and the bottom by lanyards connected to a carousel of latches in the middle of the frame. As we bring the package back up to the surface, we pause at a number of predetermined depths and tell individual bottles to close their caps (via an electrical signal down the wire to the carousel) to capture 11 liters of seawater at that depth for analysis back on the boat. In addition to the CTD, there are a number of other important sensors in the center of the package that, like the CTD, sample continuously on both the downcast (to the seafloor!) and the upcast (back to the surface!). There are two oxygen sensors (a primary and a secondary), an altimeter (to tell us how close we are to the seafloor), an ADCP (acoustic Doppler current profiler, to measure velocity), Chipods (high resolution temperature probes, to examine small-scale ocean mixing), a transmissometer (to measure how far light can penetrate into the water), a backscatter (to estimate the amount of particular organic matter), and a fluorometer (to estimate chlorophyll concentrations). As you can probably tell, we try to put as many sensors as possible on the rosette in order to get the most bang for our buck from each cast.

So, how does one of these casts work exactly? 

The work begins 30 minutes before we reach the station. In order to be as efficient as possible with our ship time, we try to do all the prepping of the rosette while we're cruising between stations. First, we empty the Niskin bottles of any remaining water from the previous cast (a task best done with boots and waterproof pants on). Next, we connect the lanyards to carousel to cock open lids of the bottles. Lastly, we check that our smorgasbord of sensors is operating correctly on deck (e.g., salinity should be zero, temperature should be the air temperature).

Once on station, the CTD watchstander (that’s me during the day, Conrad during the night) starts up the CTD from inside the computer lab. The survey technician and a lucky volunteer then work with the winch operator to lower the instrument package over the side of the ship. The winch operator controls the cable attached to the CTD, paying out more or less cable to allow it to move up and down in the water. The cable is composed of a two-way communication wire surrounded by an incredibly strong metal casing (this casing enables it to hold the weight of the whole instrument package, ~ 1700 lbs). Once the instruments are in the water, the CTD watchstander is in charge of examining the data coming in from the sensors to verify that they are all operating as they should be. Once we get within 100 meters of the bottom, the altimeter turns on to tell us the distance between the package and the seafloor. From inside the computer lab, we watch this information very carefully in real-time so we can radio the winch operator to stop the package before it hits the bottom. This is always the most nerve-racking part of the cast since no one wants to be responsible for crashing the rosette into the bottom! Typically we can get the package within 10 meters of the bottom. Quite impressive given that it is connected to a rocking and rolling ship! On the way back up, we stop the package at a number of predetermined depths to collect bottle samples. Since there is typically much more structure in the ocean near the surface than at depth, half of our bottle samples are actually taken in the top 1000 meters (of a typical 3000-5000 meter cast). Once we get the instrument package back on deck, usually 3–4 hours after the start of the cast, the bottle sampling begins! Different scientists on board use the water from the Niskin bottles to examine everything from chlorofluorocarbons (CFCs) to rare earth elements to nitrogen isotopes as we speed on to our next station, but you’ll have to hear about that in a later post! Once everyone is done sampling, we start emptying the bottles for the next cast and run through the whole process all over again!

Here is the rosette in all of its glory! Andrew Collins is pictured collecting samples for dissolved inorganic carbon (DIC) analysis.