From: Haley Smith Kingsland, Stanford University

 

 

 

 

Brian Seegers, Greg Mitchell, Elliot Weiss, and Brian Schieber (Photo by Brian Seegers)

 

 

The world-class waves of Black’s Beach in La Jolla, California, inspired Greg Mitchell to become a marine biologist at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography. At age thirteen in the late 1960s, Greg read an article in Surfer magazine that featured Black’s Beach and the Scripps scientists pioneering the surf. Having spent his childhood summers crabbing, fishing, sailing, and surfing in Galveston, Texas, Greg immediately envisioned himself at Scripps with a career that would combine his fascination for the marine environment and passion for surfing.

 

As an undergraduate, a life-changing Biological Oceanography class with professor Daniel Kamykowski, then at the University of Texas Marine Science Institute, brought Greg even closer to Scripps. Kamykowski introduced the technical feasibility of using satellites to map phytoplankton distribution across the world’s oceans — today a robust operation — that set Greg’s graduate work at the University of Southern California in motion. Now a Research Biologist at Scripps, Greg’s ICESCAPE work focuses on improving current satellite algorithms so he can better understand how light supports the Arctic ecosystem through photosynthesis.

 

Satellites measure ocean color, data with which scientists can create detailed maps that illustrate regions of high chlorophyll, the green pigment phytoplankton use during photosynthesis. But interpreting satellite data is tricky because satellites measure the ocean’s color without distinguishing between chlorophyll and other materials in the water that all scatter and absorb light differently. “Satellites detect the color of the ocean,” Greg explains, “but you also need to understand what’s in the water. If we want the most accurate chlorophyll algorithm, we need to take into consideration these other things that are not chlorophyll and quantify how they affect the ocean color.”

 

Together with colleagues Rick Reynolds, Dariusz Stramski, and Stan Hooker, Greg’s team is investigating how particles within the open ocean both scatter and absorb light. “We know that particles like phytoplankton absorb light for photosynthesis,” Greg says, “but we’re also looking at all these other different constituents— bacteria, decomposing algae, other particles— to see how collectively they affect the absorption and scattering of light.” One aspect of Greg’s work explores colored dissolved organic matter (CDOM) — or photosynthetic biomass that’s decomposed by bacteria or other organisms — and how it absorbs light to affect ocean color. “If CDOM absorbs the light, that light’s not available for algae,” Greg says. “The Arctic Ocean contains more CDOM than other regions of the global ocean, but how much more, and how exactly that’s affecting the chlorophyll algorithms, are important to address.”

 

“We need to get the details of the Arctic ecosystem well-studied so that the algorithms and models are accurate,” Greg continues. To that end, his group is also collaborating with chief scientist Kevin Arrigo’s team to conduct lab experiments that will quantify algae’s absorption of light and determine the rates of photosynthesis. “There are certain things you can only do with a ship, and certain things you can only do with a satellite,” Greg explains. “We’re developing the mathematical equations that relate what we see on the ship to what the satellite can actually observe.” In conjunction with satellite data, their process models will not only allow scientists to better understand future scenarios related to climate change, but also reprocess historic data and start looking at an integrated picture of the Arctic Ocean over time. “I enjoy asking questions we don’t know the answers to,” Greg says. “Science is all about questioning the status quo and not just accepting prevailing paradigms.”

 

But this surfer’s life isn’t all about science. Greg has been writing a play — a modern-day Romeo and Juliet — with lyricist Brian Yorkey, Tony Award and Pulitzer Prize winner for the Broadway hit Next to Normal. And he’s spearheading cultural and biological conservation of South Pacific Islands as founder of the Pacific Blue Foundation. Known for his vivacity on the Healy, he and a few other researchers represent the science party on the ship’s Morale Committee.  Even in the main science lab, Greg keeps spirits high with jokes and Cheshire cat sightings within graphs of data on computer screens. And back home, Greg doesn’t book his calendar before 10 a.m. “I may be in the lab at eight,” he says, “But if the waves are good, I’m surfing.”

 

 

 

 

Greg mentors Elliot Weiss (left), who graduated from UCSD this spring. “Working with young people is very important to me,” Greg says. “They share the same dreams, motivations, and excitement, and I love seeing them grow in their careers.” (Photo by Haley Smith Kingsland)

 

 

 

 

Brian Seegers works in a radioisotope experiment isolation van, where he measures how quickly algae in water samples take up radioactive carbon dioxide for photosynthesis.  (Photo by Haley Smith Kingsland)

 

 

 

 

Brian Schieber and Rick Reynolds deploy the optical package from the fantail. The package includes a fast repetition rate fluorometer (FRR) that measures photosynthetic physiology of algae, as well as an AC-9 that measures absorption and scattering of light within nine different wavelengths. (Photo by Haley Smith Kingsland)

 

 

 

 

Rick Reynolds, Kuba Tatarkiewicz, and Greg Mitchell rinse the optical package upon its return to the fantail. (Photo by Kathryn Hansen)

 

From: Haley Smith Kingsland, Stanford University

 

 

 

Bob Pickart (left) and Frank Bahr (Photo by Haley Smith Kingsland)

 

 

Bob Pickart was a college junior and summer student fellow with the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution in Massachusetts when he embarked on his first oceanographic research cruise through the South Atlantic. As a math and physics major, Bob appreciated the opportunity to apply his scientific background to the real world. “I knew after the end of that thirty days that this was for me,” he remembers.

 

Bob is now a Senior Scientist at Woods Hole. As a physical oceanographer, he studies ocean circulation and dynamics: where, how, and why water masses move. Since he’s an expert in high latitudes where storms and winds prevail, Bob’s role in ICESCAPE is to provide the science party members, many of them biological oceanographers, with knowledge about the physical characteristics of their water samples so they can better understand trends they discover in phytoplankton distribution, nutrient levels, and carbon dioxide concentration.

 

Bob and his right-hand-man, Frank Bahr, create property and circulation plots using information from the CTD — an instrument that measures conductivity, temperature, and depth of seawater — coupled with data from the Acoustic Doppler Current Profiler (ADCP). “I wouldn’t have sailed without Frank!” Bob exclaims, because Frank is a guru at analyzing data from the ADCP, which emits sound that reflects off bugs in the ocean to detect the direction and speed at which the water moves. “I like playing with data,” says Frank, who grew up sailing at his local yacht club in Germany. Sometimes the duo can produce their plots as quickly as ten minutes after the data are collected!

 

“Not only do we supply the biologists with information, but I like to think that we’re helping stimulate discussion amongst the biologists and the physical oceanographers,” Bob says. “And that’s going to lead to interdisciplinary science— more collaboration and a better understanding for all of us.”

 

Known for his endearing excitement in the Future Lab whenever the Healy approaches a spot of particular interest, one of Bob’s passions is a current that runs along the edge of the continental shelf called the “shelf-break jet.” In the Western Arctic, Pacific Ocean water from the Bering Strait forms this current at the boundary between the shallow Chukchi Shelf and deep Canada Basin. It’s so narrow and difficult to find that Bob and his colleagues didn’t completely verify its existence until eight years ago.

 

Bob studies two different processes, winds and eddies, that affect the shelf-break jet and thus impact the biology within the water. Storms blow winds from either the east or west that result in wind-driven exchange of water and properties. But when the wind isn’t blowing, the current along the edge of the shelf becomes unstable and forms large meanders. These can often pinch off to form “eddies” (big swirls of water) that then move into the deep ocean. “I think the formation of eddies and their subsequent migration into the open Arctic is a major factor in setting the interior properties which impacts the ecosystem of the central Arctic,” Bob hypothesizes. He wants to know more, and hopes to find and survey an eddy in order to sample its physical, biological, and chemical properties very carefully. Studying just one would yield fundamental information that Bob could then extrapolate to consider the impact of one or two hundred eddies per year in the Western Arctic.

 

Bob’s eyes spark as he speaks about the prospect of eddy chasing. For him, eddies are an example of the thrill of oceanography that hasn’t waned since he was a college junior. “When I first got into the field only thirty years ago, people were arguing about how much water gets transported by the Gulf Stream,” he recalls. “I was thinking to myself, ‘This is a pretty fundamental thing, and yet they’re arguing about it? This is fantastic! There are so many unknowns that are ripe for looking at.’ I still feel that way today. The field of oceanography is so young. And now throw climate change into the mix. It’s wide-open science and incredibly important for us to know what’s going on.”

 

 

 

Niskin bottles on the CTD rosette collect seawater from various ocean depths. Here, Bob has a rare moment alone in the CTD rosette room before scientists come rushing in to gather water from the Niskin bottles. As the water samplers scurry around him, Bob maintains order and records the amount of water taken from each bottle and by whom. (Photo by Haley Smith Kingsland)

 

 

From: Kevin Arrigo, Stanford University

 

 

 

This 420-foot icebreaker is a maze of spaces!

 

 

I was awakened by the incessant buzz of my cell phone, which was greedily slurping up all the e-mails I had accumulated over the last few weeks. 

 

Although I was groggy, it occurred to me that I must be in cell phone range! I looked out my porthole, and gazed upon the unassuming skyline of Barrow, Alaska.  After sleeping a bit longer, I called my lovely wife Jan to see how things were going — and to hear her familiar voice. Of course, I woke her up too, but she didn’t seem to mind.

 

We chatted for a bit about this and that and the subject of the ICESCAPE blog came up.  She said, “I love the blog and all the science stuff is cool, but what we really want to know is ‘What is it like to live on an icebreaker?’”

 

“What a great idea,” I thought.  So here goes…

 

I’ll never forget the first time I set foot on the Healy.  It was last fall and the ship was in dry dock in Seattle. Part of our ICESCAPE planning meeting included a tour of the ship and so a few scientists, NASA officials, and Healy crew jumped into vans and drove the mile or so from the Coast Guard base to the dock where the ship was being worked on.

 

Now, I had worked on the R/V Nathaniel B. Palmer a few times, an icebreaker used by the National Science foundation for their Antarctic operations. At 310 feet long, it’s an impressive ship. But that experience did not prepare me for the 420-foot behemoth that is the Healy!

 

We had to climb a dizzying gangway to get on the ship and within 30 seconds of entering the first door, I was completely lost. My first thought was “It’s going to take me two weeks just to find my way around this thing!” With its numerous stairwells and long twisting and turning passageways, I getting a sense of what it might be like to live inside of an ant hill. Surprisingly, though, within a day or so of boarding the ship for ICESCAPE, I could pretty much get to most places I needed to go without making any wrong turns, including my room, the mess hall (where we eat), and the labs.  It took a few days more to find the helicopter hanger, Aft Con (where they run the winches), and Aloft Con (three decks above the bridge— where they drive the boat when in heavy ice). Two weeks in, I found the laundry.

 

Life on the Healy is surprisingly comfortable. The ship is so large and so well engineered that rough seas are not a big problem— except for a few with sensitive stomachs. We get fed in the mess hall three times a day— four if you opt for 11 pm mid-rats (rats is short for rations)— and the food is pretty good. The rooms are quite big for a ship, even if you have a couple of roommates. Everyone has their own bed, desk, and cabinet for their clothes. Each pair of rooms shares one bathroom complete with toilet (called a “head”) and shower, which might be a bit tight for some, although I haven’t heard any complaints. You won’t see much color, though. Virtually everything is painted a light khaki. Walls, ceilings, doors, furniture— even exposed screws, pipes, and wires.  It looks very military but you get used to it.

 

As scientists, most of our day is spent in the labs, and there are a number of them on the Healy. The Main lab is by far the largest and where most of the scientists and much of the analytical equipment is located. A few scientists have set up shop in the smaller Wet lab and one research group is housed in the Biochem lab. The Future lab has a few computers for general use and lots of space for people to set up their own laptop workstations.

 

When we’re not working, some people go to the Science Conference Lounge to surf the web, check e-mail, play cards, or watch television (Armed Forces Network). Others prefer to hang out on the bridge or on one of the many decks and take in all of the beautiful scenery.

 

Keeping morale up is an important goal on board the Healy and so there are lots of scheduled events for both scientists and crew to look forward to. Last week we had a rousing ceremony to acknowledge those who crossed the Arctic Circle for the first time (yup, I was one of them). We just finished our World Cup Soccer pool, which our resident NASA journalist, Kathryn Hansen, won under a cloud of controversy. The mustache-growing contest is in full swing— mine’s looking a little thin — and gray.  The 3-on-3 basketball tournament resumes tonight. And we begin the ping-pong and foosball tournaments in the next few days. And if that isn’t enough, Saturday nights are for both Bingo in the mess hall and a movie in the Helo Hangar. Although days on the Healy are long, they are never boring.

 

Finally, no description of life on the Healy would be complete without acknowledging its wonderful crew. They are a part of everything we do and without their much-appreciated efforts on the scientists’ behalf, life on board the Healy would be dreary, and more difficult, indeed.

 

 

 

 

A stateroom viewed from the doorway. “You’ll notice our lovely hammock to provide the tropical island feeling whilst onboard!” says Becky Garley of the Bermuda Institute of Ocean Sciences. (Photo by Becky Garley)

 

 

 

 

Becky Garley’s stateroom viewed from the porthole. (Photo by Becky Garley)

 

 

 

World Cup soccer games have consumed both crew and scientists alike. Here, they cheer on teams from the mess deck. (Photo by Karen Romano Young)

 

 

 

Emily Peacock and Food Service Specialist First Class Hernan Cintron bake croissants together. (Photo by Shohei Watanabe)

 

 

 

Greg Mitchell, Elliot Weiss, and Alex Quintero entertained everybody with fantastic music during our Fourth of July barbeque in the helicopter hangar. (Photo by Jim Swift)

 

 

From: Kevin Arrigo, Stanford University

 

 

 

 

Stan Hooker (Photo by Kathryn Hansen)

 

 

“NOW there will be a boat brief on the bridge in 10 minutes.”

 

That’s the cue for Stan Hooker of NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center in Greenbelt, Md., and his research associate, Joaquin Chaves, that it’s about time to leave the relatively comfortable confines of the USCGC Healy and embark on a short but important voyage of their own aboard the Arctic Survey Boat (ASB). This small gray metal vessel will carry the team of optical oceanographers less than a mile away — far enough to avoid the enormous shadow cast by the Healy. The ASB also allows them to maneuver in and around the loose pack ice to make their light measurements under a variety of different conditions.

 

Stan wants to understand what happens to sunlight between the time it enters the ocean and is reflected back out to space, eventually to be measured by our suite of Earth-observing satellites.  In some sense, he is interested in answering a variation of the age-old question, “Why is the ocean blue?” In his case, it’s more like, “Why is the ocean green?” Or greenish-blue? Or brown? The color of the ocean can tell us a lot about what’s in the water and because we can measure the color of water from space, we can use satellites to tell us what the surface ocean contains.

 

But we need a translator. A sort of optical Rosetta Stone. That’s where Stan’s work comes in. He makes detailed measurements of the color of the ocean — actually, he measures absorption and scattering at many different wavelengths of visible light. He does this by lowering a number of different light sensors over the side of the ASB and letting them sink slowly below the surface, making measurements all along the way. This gives him an idea about how the total amount and the color of light changes as it penetrates the upper ocean.

 

He also collects samples of water and brings them back to the lab to measure what in the sample is giving it color.  By linking the color of the ocean to what’s in the water, Stan constructs a sort of optical translator. Then, when a satellite sees a piece of ocean of the same color, we can be pretty sure about what lurks below its surface. Green water screams phytoplankton— large numbers of those little green algae. Blue water indicates a virtual biological desert. Yellow-brown water means lots of river runoff from the land.

 

Because the Arctic Ocean see-saws between open water and ice cover, and is surrounded by land strewn with big rivers dumping a huge amount of material into its shallow waters, it is a complex place to make these kinds optical measurements. Stan sees this as a challenge. If he can decipher the meaning of the varied colors of the Arctic Ocean, understanding other simpler parts of the world ocean should be a snap.

 

 

 

 

The ASB comes back aboard after a full station’s work. (Photo by Haley Smith Kingsland)

 

 

 

 

Joaquin Chaves (Photo by Karen Romano Young)

 

 

From:  Haley Smith Kingsland, Stanford University

 

 

 

 

Laura King (Photo by Haley Smith Kingsland)

 

 

Describe your job on the Healy. What’s a typical day like for you?

 

As the Engineer Officer onboard the Healy, I’m responsible for the operation and maintenance of the most complex and technologically advanced power plant within the Coast Guard. I also provide support for all shipboard scientific hardware and equipment.

 

A typical day is full of paperwork, meetings, juggling what gets fixed when, scheduling maintenance and drills so as not to interfere with science operations, and arranging for parts and repairs once we’re back in Seattle.

 

What brought you to the Healy, and what do you like best about your work?

 

I was stationed onboard the Healy in 2004-2007 as the Assistant Engineer Officer. I enjoyed it so much that I came back for a second tour. Plus I get extra money for sea pay! I really enjoy meeting all the scientists, learning what they do, and taking them on tours of the engineering spaces so they can see what I do.

 

How does this science mission on the Healy compare to other Coast Guard missions you’ve served on? What do you find most interesting about the science party’s presence on the ship?

 

I’ve been stationed on two High Endurance Cutters: Alaska Patrols (Fisheries and Law Enforcement) and South Patrols (Drug and Migrant Interdiction and Search and Rescue). We only went out for short periods of time.

 

Working with the scientists aboard the Healy is so different. The science party is our customer onboard the Healy whereas on other cutters, the customer is the U.S. government. We get to know the scientists and learn what they do and how their work helps the grand scheme of things for Arctic exploration. In 2004, the scientists found a mountain in the ocean and named it Mount Healy and in 2005 the scientists found several species of jellyfish that had never been documented. We also circumnavigated North America. Only two other Coast Guard Cutters can claim that and you can’t do that as a white hull sailor.

 

When you’re ashore, what do you like to do for fun?

 

I like to ride my motorcycle with my husband, ride my bicycle with my daughters, read, swim, and go for long walks. I love to hang out with my husband David, our two girls Britney (8) and Sarah (6), and our Corgi Barbie. It’s so neat seeing things through their eyes. Britney can’t wait until she is old enough to ride on Mama’s Boat for an overnight trip. When Sarah was asked, “What does your Mama do?” Her reply was: “She works on a big red boat in the Arctic, making money, and she gets to see real live polar bears from her ship.”

 

 

From: Matt Mills, Stanford University

 

 

 

 

Matt Mills samples water from the CTD rosette. (Photo by Haley Smith Kingsland)

 

 

It’s 3:45 a.m. and I’m just climbing into my bunk. I’ve been on shift since 3:00 p.m. and I’m a little tired. I’ll sleep until somebody pages me for another station or, more humanely, the On-Ice Brief sometime around 9:00 a.m. this morning.

 

It’s particularly busy these days because we’re sampling stations both in the sea ice and in the open water next to the ice. At almost all stations, we collect water and/or sea ice from different depths. We’re mainly interested in the tiny one-celled algae that live either in the ice or in the water under and next to the ice.

 

When I say we’re interested in algae, I mean we want to know how much algae exist, how fast they’re growing, what they’re made of, and what their environment is like. In some ways, algae are much like us in that they are made up mostly of carbon, nitrogen, and phosphorus, and it’s useful to know how much of each of these elements they contain under different environmental conditions. To do that, we also measure light intensity, temperature, nutrient content, and the saltiness of their environment. By measuring all these things (and many more!) at many different stations, we hope patterns will emerge to help us understand how the environment controls the growth of algae here in the Arctic.

 

Sampling. What does that mean?

 

In the sea ice, it means drilling into the ice and extracting an ice core that we cut into four or five 8-inch pieces so they fit snugly into our sample bottles.

 

In the water, things are much more high-tech. At each station, we stop the ship and slowly let a metal frame called a rosette sink from the surface to the bottom of the ocean while suspended from a metal cable. Our rosette holds twelve 30-liter bottles and an instrument package called a CTD (it measures Conductivity— a proxy for saltiness—Temperature, and Depth). There are other instruments on the rosette that tell us how many particles, including algae, are in the water. On the way down, all bottles on the rosette stay open and the CDT and other instruments record data that are sent back to the ship’s computer where myself and other scientists can see, in real time, the physical characteristics of the water and where the algae are located. Then, before the rosette begins its ascent, I quickly decide with input from several other scientists what depths we want to close the 12 bottles to collect our water samples.

 

This is usually pretty easy because we have standard depths where we always collect water. Likewise, we are now in a routine so I pretty much know what everybody needs. However, sometimes the water looks particularly interesting. Maybe there are unusual layers of salinity, temperature, or algal abundance. Then we mix it up on the fly with people changing their plan as they see the data flash on the screen.

 

“Can you close my bottles at the bottom, at the surface, and at that chlorophyll maximum right at 23 meters?”

 

“Wait, our surface bottles have to be closed at 4 meters not 2!”

 

It’s a pressure-packed moment because I have to quickly calculate and recalculate how many bottles to close at each new depth so that everybody gets his or her water. We have to get it right because once the rosette begins its slow rise back to the surface, we can’t send it back down, and scientists do not like it when they don’t get their water.

 

Luckily, we have a great group here that helps me make these decisions and gives me enough time to get it right. There have only been a few mistakes. Eventually, the rosette is brought to the surface with all the bottles closed at the correct depths. Now we can sample!

 

Sampling the rosette is not a free-for-all, although it may look like one. There’s a specific order to who samples first and who samples last. First, Susan collects a sample for oxygen. Then Marlene and Mike get water to measure its carbon content. Scott gets water for nutrients and salts. Karen samples for oxygen isotopes, then Atsushi his CDOM (kind of like the stuff that gives tea its brown color), and Eva her bacteria sample. Last are the “water hogs” like Cedric (for chemicals leaking into the ocean from the land) and The Arrigo Group (Kate, Molly, Zach, and Gert, as well as Elliot, whom we adopted from another lab group). The water hogs basically drain the remaining bottles, taking anywhere from 15 to 30 liters for their measurements.

 

Now the real fun begins. OK, not really. Once we have our water, we have to pump vast quantities of it through little filters that trap all the particles, which are mostly algae, for different analyses. If things go fast, this can be done in two hours, but when algae are scarce or are particularly “snotty” —  some produce lots of mucus —  things go slow and we may filter water for four hours. Ughhhh! Have you ever watched water drip? That is basically the job!

 

After the filtering is done, we freeze some filters, dry others, refrigerate some, and immediately process others. Then we clean up, prepare for the next station, have some coffee or a meal, and hopefully, steal a moment to go on deck to breathe in the cold Arctic air or try to find a polar bear or walrus on the surrounding ice.

 

My pager just went off. I guess we are at another station.

 

 

 

Gert van Dijken, Zach Brown, Christie Wood, and Matt Mills sample water from under the sea ice. (Photo by Haley Smith Kingsland)

 

 

From: Christie Wood, Clark University

 

Christie Wood (Photo by Molly Palmer)

 

 

It’s 9:15 a.m. and I’m still in bed sleeping because I worked late in the lab last night. An announcement awakens me over the loudspeaker: “On-Ice Brief on the bridge in 15 minutes!” I quickly roll out of bed and head upstairs to the bridge where several of my colleagues have been on the lookout for a good floe. The glare from the ice is almost blinding as I look out the window to see the chosen spot. They’ve managed to find a flat section of sea ice on a floe that is otherwise covered by rubble field. It’s a beautiful location covered with aqua colored melt ponds.

 

Once the entire ice team is present, we begin the “On-Ice Brief.” One of the Coast Guard crew reviews the rules and regulations for our on-ice deployment and then we discuss what the Coast Guard calls a GAR model in which both the Coast Guard and science team give their assessments of the risks involved with the day’s mission. They consider aspects such as supervision, crew fitness, environment and complexity. Once our plan for the day has been approved, we pack all of our gear onto sleds, grab a quick lunch, get suited up in our MSD 900 dry suits, put on our helmets, and head to the deck.

 

Don Perovich (affectionately known by many of the crew as “the Don” in reference to the The Godfather movie) accompanies the swimmer and swimmer tender onto the ice to make sure the area is safe. Don says, “It reminds me of Christmas. First the parents have to see if Santa was there and after that, the kids get to come out and enjoy all the presents.” Once we get approval from the bridge, the crew uses a crane to transport our gear filled sleds onto the ice, and then one-by-one we head down a very steep ramp called “the brow” onto the ice.

 

The ice in the Chukchi and Beaufort Seas is covered in melt ponds this time of year and one of my favorite parts of working on the ice is getting to explore them. When I reach into the pond to take a sample, I’m always amazed at how quickly my bottle hits the bottom. The bright aqua color of the ponds makes you think they are much deeper than a few inches. However, talking to Don Perovich and Bonnie Light at lunch one day, I learned that the color of a melt pond is not related to its depth but to the properties of the ice beneath it. As a result, when you walk across a shallow melt pond, it can look like you’re walking on water!

 

There are three teams of scientists looking at various properties of sea ice and the under ice water column, all hoping to gain a better understanding of the role of sea ice in the Arctic ecosystem. Each of the groups described below has a piece of the puzzle and by working together we can get a more complete picture of the complex interactions between light, sea ice, and biology. This will help us understand how changes in sea ice cover may affect the Arctic in the future.

 

 

Set Up

 

 

Gear transported to the ice. (Photo by Christie Wood)

 

 

Scientists dressed in the required MSD 900s and helmets survey the location while waiting on deck for the equipment to go out onto the ice. (Photo by Kathryn Hansen)

 

 

 

Bonnie Light and Ruzica Dadic drag a sled full of equipment across a melt pond. (Photo by Kathryn Hansen)

 

 

 

Scientists set up for a day of work on the ice. (Photo by Kathryn Hansen)

 

 

 

Chris Polashenski and Benny Hopson drill a hole in the ice to be used by the different teams for water sampling and measuring light levels below the ice.  (Photo by Kathryn Hansen)

 

 

Stanford University Group

 

While out on the ice, Kevin Arrigo, Matt Mills, and Zach Brown from Stanford University take ice cores and water samples from beneath the ice. They’ll bring these back to the lab to look at the biological activity of the sea ice. Of special interest are the ice algae, the small single-celled photosynthetic organisms that provide food for a wide variety of Arctic creatures.

 

 

 

Matt Mills and Zach Brown taking water samples. (Photo by Karen Romano Young)

 

 

 

Matt Mills gets ready to cut a core into sections while Zach Brown holds the tarp up to block the sunlight. (Photo by Haley Smith Kingsland)

 

 

Clark University Group

 

Meanwhile, my group from Clark University sets up our optical equipment to examine how light varies with depth in the water under both bare and ponded ice. At the same time, I sample the water under the ice to understand how material in the water impacts the amount of light available for algae. We also measure oxygen isotopes (different forms of oxygen) to learn if the water is coming from terrestrial sources or sea ice melt.  Finally, we examine ice cores taken from both the bare ice and the ice below the melt ponds to see how their thickness and composition affects the amount of light that reaches the underlying ocean.

 

 

 

 

Karen Frey lowers the optical profiler down through the water column below the ice while Luke Trusel monitors her speed and the tilt of the instrument on a laptop computer. (Photo by Christie Wood)

 

 

 

 

Christie Wood takes water samples from various depths below the ice. (Photo by Luke Trusel)

 

 

 

 

Luke Trusel stands in a melt pond next to the Icepod (a tripod containing two sensors one above and one directly below the ice that measure the amount of incoming light). (Photo by Karen Frey)

 

 

 

The optical profiler goes down through the ice under the melt pond. (Photo by Luke Trusel)

 

 

 

Karen Frey and Christie Wood collect water samples from a melt pond. (Photo by Haley Smith Kingsland)

 

 

 

Benny Hopson drills holes in the ice core for Karen Frey to take temperature measurements that Chris Polashenski records. (Photo by Haley Smith Kingsland)

 

 

CRREL & University of Washington Group

 

On another section, Bonnie Light and Ruzica Dadic measure light below both bare and ponded ice. They use a sensor attached to an arm that extends out under the ice and can be rotated to create a circular path. Among their many measurements, they look at the range of light that algae use during photosynthesis.

 

During much of our time on station, Don Perovich and Chris Polashenski can be seen roaming the perimeter of our site. When Chris isn’t drilling cores and auger holes, he’s venturing into the melt ponds surrounding our site hoping to learn how the underlying sea ice prevents ice melt water from draining into the ocean. Meanwhile, Don conducts surveys of ice thickness with an electromagnetic induction instrument, and he measures the amount of light reflecting off the ice surface.

 

Don is also known for his sweet tooth, and halfway through each station he comes around with a much-anticipated treat. The surprise Oreos, M&Ms, butterscotches, lemon drops, or root beer candies he brings taste a hundred times better than normal because we’ve been focusing on our work for so long!

 

 

 

Ruzica Dadic takes optical measurements under the white ice and melt pond. (Photo by Kathryn Hansen)

 

 

 

Bonnie Light logs the spectral data on her laptop computer. (Photo by Kathryn Hansen)

 

 

 

 

Don Perovich conducts a survey of ice thickness using an electromagnetic induction
instrument. (Photo by Christie Wood)

 

 

 

 

Don Perovich surprises Haley Kingsland with candy. (Photo by Karen Romano Young)

 

 

From: Kevin Arrigo, Stanford University

 

“Why do we do the things we do?” 

 

It’s a question that’s been around since the beginning of time and for which there certainly is no general answer. I have found, however, that even actions that don’t seem to make sense on their face probably serve some useful purpose. Or at least they did at one time.

 

The last three days on the USCG Healy have been a veritable frenzy of activity. Sure we have been doing the usual station sampling, but now, something different has been thrown into the mix. You see, a few weeks back, in the early stages of ICESCAPE’s foray into the Arctic, we crossed the Arctic Circle. For many of us, this was our first crossing and somewhere deep in out guts, we knew that it was an important milestone.  But how to mark such an auspicious event?

 

Not surprisingly, the Polar Bears had the answer. No, not those poor endangered beasts struggling to find enough sea ice on which to scrounge a living. In this case, “Polar Bear” is the name given to those onboard ship who’s crossing of the Arctic Circle has already been appropriately recognized. They have been “initiated.” And as Polar Bears, it is up to them to see that the rest of us, the “Blue Noses,” properly celebrate our own crossing into Arctic waters. That we too get “initiated.”

 

Now, it turns out that the reason a few weeks has passed since our crossing is that this “initiation” ceremony takes some planning (as chief scientist, I knew when the event was likely to take place, but as a fellow Blue Nose, I was not privy to any of the details).  Another reason for the delay is that it builds tension. Every Blue Nose on the Healy has been hearing rumblings about a possible “initiation” for weeks. Rumors were flying like bats in a cave. As the Fourth of July holiday neared, the tension built to a fever pitch as many assumed this would be the most likely time for the “initiation.” Emotions ranged from terror to pure excitement. And although a few opted not to be “initiated,” the vast majority of Blue Noses welcomed the opportunity. 

 

“Bring it on, Polar Bears!”

 

And bring it on, they did. For parts of the last three days. Unfortunately, the laws of the sea prohibit me from divulging any details. Suffice it to say, the Polar Bears went to extraordinary lengths to make our initiation a memorable one. Planning and executing a three-day extravaganza for some 40-plus Blue Noses could not have been an easy task.  But the Polar Bears, especially the “Coasties” as we call them, really pulled it off in spades. It was one impressive event that at different times induced a sense of trepidation, confusion, unbridled joy, boredom, a little bit of disgust, and overwhelming accomplishment among the Blue Noses.  It’s something we will all remember for the rest of our lives.

 

Now, you may be asking yourself a question similar to that posed earlier, “Why go to all that trouble?” The cynical among us might say that it is simply a chance for Polar Bears to inflict on someone else what they had to endure themselves. I’m not naïve enough to believe that there isn’t a bit of truth to this, at least with some Polar Bears.  However, if that motivation played any role in our initiation, it was very small. Infinitesimal, in fact.

 

I think the “initiation” persists because it brings people closer together, a goal that’s particularly important for people living and working within the close confines of a ship.  Sharing a common set of challenges under highly charged circumstances levels the playing field. It forces you to work with people you might not otherwise work with in ways you might not otherwise work. Everyone is vulnerable, everyone is equal, and everyone is trying to achieve the same goal. From such experiences, stronger bonds can be forged and a better team is built. And that makes it worth all the effort.

 

Job well done Polar Bears!

 

Now, I can’t wait until next year when I’m a Polar Bear. Blue Noses— BEWARE!

 

 

 

Davey Jones made multiple appearances during Arctic Circle crossing initiation. (Photo by Jim Swift)

 

From: Kevin Arrigo, Stanford University, with interview by Haley Smith Kingsland, Stanford University

 

 

 

Dariusz Stramski and Rick Reynolds (Photo by Haley Smith Kingsland)

 

Light. During our waking hours it surrounds us almost constantly, yet we usually give it very little thought. However, our perception of the world surely would be very different without it.  ICESCAPE takes light very seriously. That’s because it not only allows us to perceive this spectacular Arctic environment, but also tells us a great deal about that environment.

 

ICESCAPE has three research groups dedicated to studying light in the ocean, a science usually referred to as “ocean optics.” One of them, led by Rick Reynolds and Dariusz Stramski of the Scripps Institution of Oceanography, is focusing on how light interacts with the myriad shapes and sizes of particles that float beneath the ocean surface. Rick and Dariusz are especially interested in tiny particles that are rarely studied but the most abundant.

 

Dariusz became interested in optics at a very young age. “I was interested in a very spectacular phenomenon— the optical effects you observe on a sunny day on the shallow bottom of a swimming pool; the mosaic of brightness of light sweeping across the bottom.” He was hooked.  Rick’s interest was an offshoot of his graduate studies of how algae absorb light to make sugars during photosynthesis. “I wanted to understand what controls how algae grow, and to do that you have to understand light.” He was also intrigued by the challenges of being an oceanographer— while at sea, one has to be ready for anything. As Rick observed, “You just learn to improvise when you’re out here because there’s not a convenient hardware store anywhere around if something breaks. Take an oceanographer and give him a roll of duct tape and cable ties and he can get you to the moon.” Fortuitously, both scientists found themselves at the University of Southern California in the late 1980’s, where they forged a close collaboration that continues to this day.

 

Rick and Dariusz use a few different techniques to study how light interacts with particles. In one, they take water samples and put them into a few different state-of-the-art particle counters.  However, these instruments don’t just count the particles— they determine their size, and if possible, identify what they are. In the other technique, Rick and Dariusz drop a suite of instruments right into the water and measure how much light is absorbed and scattered at different depths. By comparing these two sets of measurements, they can better understand how particles affect the optics of water, including its color.

 

Why do this? Because once we understand what gives the ocean its color, we can measure that color and learn a great deal about what is in the ocean. A blue ocean? In addition to the natural color imparted by water molecules themselves, probably lots of little particles that scatter but don’t absorb much light— but not much else. Kind of a desert. A green ocean? Lots of phytoplankton that absorb blue and red light and reflect green. A veritable oasis. A brown ocean? Either lots of colored dissolved matter (like the stuff that makes your tea brown) or floating particles of dirt and mud (when near the coast). We hope that with enough information, we will be able to distinguish these scenarios and tell different phytoplankton groups apart just by measuring the color of the ocean.

 

Today we measure ocean color from space using satellites. However, as Dariusz notes, “If you want to get some information about the surface ocean from satellites, it’s a very, very difficult, challenging problem. We want to know about seawater constituents—phytoplankton, or other types of things in the water— from light that leaves the ocean and eventually reaches the satellite sensor. The big challenge is that the contributions to that signal, to light that eventually reaches the satellite signal, comes from very many types of things that are suspended in water.” Thus, Dariusz and Rick’s keen interest in the minute details about what kinds of particles are in seawater and what each of them does to light.

 

Fortunately, ICESCAPE’s slice of the Arctic Ocean has proven to be optically quite variable, providing many different colors of water for the duo to sample. As Rick puts it, “One of the interesting things for me so far on this cruise has been how things change so dramatically in such a short distance.” Yet our intrepid oceanographers remain undaunted about sampling Arctic waters. “It’s an exciting place to work because it’s challenging,” says Rick. Dariusz echoes, “This is a type of profession in which you’re always challenged intellectually and you’re always discovering things— and re-discovering perhaps. Oceanography is really a wonderful profession and I would recommend it to anybody.”

 

I couldn’t agree more!

 

 

 

From the fantail Rick deploys the IOP, an optical package that includes instruments to measure the backscattering, loss, absorption, and attenuation of light in the water column. (Photo by Haley Smith Kingsland)

 

 

 

Rick and Brian Schieber, also of Scripps, bring the IOP back inside after it’s made its measurements underwater. (Photo by Haley Smith Kingsland)

 

 

From: Haley Smith Kingsland, Stanford University

 

 

 

Emily Peacock and Sam Laney (Photo by Karen Romano Young)

 

 

Don a pair of earmuffs and follow Sam Laney down to the “Garden Level.” Past the noisy winch and steering rooms, Sam works in a small space at the stern of the ship where a sampling tube extends through a hole in the Healy’s hull into the ocean. The tube collects seawater that Sam and his technician, Emily Peacock, analyze for phytoplankton distribution using a medical instrument that’s been modified to take pictures of phytoplankton cells.

 

Sam is a phytoplankton ecologist and assistant scientist in the biology department at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution in Massachusetts. ICESCAPE is the first time this instrument, the Imaging FlowCytobot, has sailed on such a long, comprehensive cruise. The phytoplankton photographs it produces provide the science party with both the amount and types of phytoplankton species at different ocean depths. “It’s a new way to gain insight into what really is the number one question in ecology: who’s living in a certain environment?” Sam explains.

 

Indeed, the Imaging FlowCytobot differs from a traditional microscope because of its ability to detect and photograph almost every large phytoplankton cell in each water sample. Thus Emily and Sam’s work is establishing extensive baseline data that will help future researchers identify changes in the Arctic phytoplankton ecosystem that might result from climate change.

 

“Strictly by appearance, I think my favorite Arctic phytoplankton species is Navicula pelagica, because it looks like a necklace,” Emily says. This species inspired her to make a new category entitled ‘Jewelry’ in the digital picture library that she maintains and updates to support the Imaging FlowCytobot.

 

“People love charismatic megafauna like whales and walruses, but life on the microbial scale is also very, very interesting because it’s like life on another planet,” Sam echoes. “It’s really hard to appreciate how tricky it is to be a phytoplankton cell in the ocean. For example, we see these spines on Chaetoceros — but are they defensive spines? Or do they act like a parachute and keep Chaetoceros from sinking too fast? Do they do both? Do they do neither?”

 

“It all boils down to the question — what’s life like for these guys on the microbial scale and how do they get by?” Sam continues. “You can’t ask them questions. They’re just this little black box — or little green box — responding to changes in their environment.”

 

Sam thrives on the challenge of studying phytoplankton, while Emily, a part-time professional baker who surprised her Healy shipmates with chocolate croissants one morning, is also passionate about competing in AKC agility trials with her two Chihuahuas. “I like being a really effective assistant and reducing somebody’s stress because they have my help,” she says about her collaboration with Sam. And perhaps their teamwork will persist far into the future, since Sam considers his phytoplankton research “one big, career-spanning puzzle!”

 

 

 

 

The Imaging FlowCytobot lives in a small room well into the depths of the Healy. (Photo by Haley Smith Kingsland)

 

 

 

The Imaging FlowCytobot took these phytoplankton pictures from a water sample taken at ICESCAPE Station 8 in the Bering Strait. These micrographs show chains of Thalassiosira sp. as well as an oval-shaped dinoflagellate. (Photo by Sam Laney)