Simoneaux: In service of science, a month among icebergs

Published 1:30 am Monday, November 20, 2017

By Larry Simoneaux

“The Roaring Forties are strong westerly winds found in the Southern Hemisphere, generally between the latitudes of 40 and 50 degrees. The strong west-to-east air currents are caused by the combination of air being displaced from the Equator towards the South Pole, the Earth’s rotation, and the scarcity of landmasses to serve as windbreaks. … Similar but stronger conditions occurring in more southerly latitudes are referred to as the Furious Fifties and Shrieking or Screaming Sixties.”

— Wikipedia

In late November of 1997, I was about two years into a desk job at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration ship base on Lake Union. “Restless” would be the mildest term I can use to describe how I was feeling.

Knowing that a very good friend was in the midst of a long deployment and that his ship was coming up on a layover in Hobart, Tasmania, followed by a month-long leg to the Antarctic Ocean, I called him.

Ignoring the saying that: “Below latitude 40 degrees south, there are no rules. Below latitude 50 degrees south, there is no God,” I offered to make that trip in his place. This, both to give him time back home and me the opportunity to get away from an inbox that never seemed empty.

The trip was going to take the ship into the Antarctic Ocean in an area below latitude 65 degrees south (See: “Ugly”). It was planned to allow a group of scientists to take water samples at various locations to see whether the chemicals that were thought to be causing the “Ozone Hole” in the atmosphere were also present in the water column.

A word about scientists who go to sea.

My hat is forever off to these men and women. They have to submit proposals for studies and grants, get them approved, join a ship for a specified period of time, and get their work done in that period regardless of weather, malfunctions, breakdowns, seasickness, bruises from bouncing off of bulkheads, or whatever. As a group, they are focused, disciplined, highly intelligent, interesting, have a great sense of humor, and are happy to be doing their work. In short, a pleasure to work with.

With the scientists and their gear aboard, we departed Hobart and turned south. I think we saw our first iceberg on the third day out. My first thought when it came into view was something along the lines of “Ruh – Roh.” Our ship was a bit over 300 feet long. The berg was bigger — a lot bigger.

Too, in the days that followed, the weather got “snottier” (a nautical term), the bergs larger and more numerous, the waves higher, the wind stronger and the work tougher. We were now stopping every 30 miles or so to put instruments into the ocean — all while plowing through the weather down there.

In addition to the weather, there were also those icebergs and ice fields to deal with. And, as luck would have it, toward the end of the sampling period, there came the day when a sampling station happened to be in the middle of an ice field that covered several (many) square miles.

The good news was that, on that day, the wind and seas had gone calm and we could see — both visually and on radar — a path into the field that would allow us to get to the site. The bad news was that we didn’t know how long the calm conditions would last or the path remain open.

Thankfully, both the executive officer and the operations officer — Jim Morris and Michele Bullock — were outstanding people (aka: “water walkers”) I’d known and served with for years. We got together with the scientists, talked through the time needed, the pros and cons of the operation, the safety margins required, and, ultimately, decided to go in.

I’d love to say that it all went as planned, but “Brother Murphy” — along with his laws — was waiting for us. As we were retrieving the instruments (along with several thousand meters of cable), the winds picked up and our path out started narrowing — rather quickly, was what I thought.

In what I still believe was my calmest manner, I “asked” that we hurry things up a tad lest we spend the next few weeks trapped in the ice. I think everyone noticed what was going on as I can’t remember an instrument retrieval from that depth ever happening that quickly either before or since. In short, we were “out of there.”

It was probably the longest month of my career, but one I’d repeat in a heartbeat — even though I noticed that my hair seemed a bit grayer when we returned to port.

Whether any wisdom accompanied that gray hair remained up for debate.

Larry Simoneaux lives in Edmonds. Send comments to: larrysim@comcast.net.