(by Pien Huang)
We work out from 4-4:30. First the Boatswain, then the 2nd Mate, then me. We complete three cycles each, isolating the biceps one day, and the chest the next; back, shoulders and triceps come later. The bench and the weights are in a cozy den. But the hatch opens to a private deck, and we bench looking onto the ocean.
We're on the “Endothil” program, minus the supplements, Jim’s program where we max out on each set. The two of them do, at least. They watch me carefully, pushing me, spotting me. "One more," Jim yells. "I lied. Another one!" But when I say stop, it is enough.
Jim is the motivator. "Let's go, Big Joe," he shouts. “No pain, no gain.” When he's up, his grunts are heard on the science deck. At first, I make the mistake of helping him count. Joe puts his fingers to his lips. "He likes to count double sometimes," he says. "Like seven, seven."
There’s always the Lebanese tape playing in the background. It cuts short of the workout, so we pause twenty minutes in to turn it around. The tape is Joe’s. It is one of the few physical things he has picked it up in his myriad travels; the rest exist in memory, as stories and photographs. There is a picture of Joe posted on the wall, sporting a cowlick and a leopard-print thong. “For motivation,” he laughs. He fell briefly into male-modeling in Mexico. He was a movie extra in China, where his character was killed off by a prosthetic elephant trunk. Eventually, he wants to settle in Colombia.
Jim’s favorite is tricep day. When I struggle on my fifth rep, he shouts, “Come on, now! No arm flab in the future!” Working out is always personal for him. He talks himself up and beats himself down. “I said I can’t,” he yells. “I should never say I can’t!” But the next moment, he is philosophical. “No pain no gain,” he says, bouncing lightly, taking jabs. “We’re like gorillas!”
He deflects on cardio day, smoking cigarettes while Joe and I jog laps on deck. We can only run on half the deck, and the rest of the loop is spent walking around cables and scientific equipment, climbing up and down stairs. Even so, I am winded by the third lap. We take a break, stretching in the salt spray, looking at the birds. “I was going crazy,” Joe shouts over the clamor of the engines. “I had to go outside.” He got serious about working out when he hit thirty last year. He is teaching himself Spanish, by workbook and podcast. In his off-time, he reads Borges.
My arms are sore, but they yield a satisfying firmness. They insist that the regimen builds tone instead of bulk. Even so, I'm told that I'll be benching more than my weight when we're through. Joe lends me his Buddha Balm, a tingling salve from Cambodia. “The scientists aren’t this much fun, are they?” he asks.
Monday, March 5, 2007
Friday, March 2, 2007
We are not alone
The crew has discovered my blog! I guess I better stop posting mean things about them! I'll continue posting from my 'rather disturbing view' however. haha~ Anyway it turns out that Joe Ferris, the Second Mate, keeps a blog. He's a real life adventurer, and he's full of great stories. It's a funny blog, and you can also read all the Chief Scientist's weekly reports there. Definitely worth checking out:
The Nuclear Powered Whaling Vessel Blog
Some other interesting links from Joe:
Shellback Ceremony
Red Nose Ceremony
Potty Mouth Sailor Adventure #1
Potty Mouth Sailor Adventure #2
A wog is someone who has not yet made an equator crossing, and they have to do a few things to become a shellback...
The Nuclear Powered Whaling Vessel Blog
Some other interesting links from Joe:
Shellback Ceremony
Red Nose Ceremony
Potty Mouth Sailor Adventure #1
Potty Mouth Sailor Adventure #2
A wog is someone who has not yet made an equator crossing, and they have to do a few things to become a shellback...
Contemplation
It’s been a little while since I last updated, or it feels like it anyway: time passes a little strangely on a boat. Sometimes I feel like a minute is about 4 minutes long, and sometimes I feel like an hour is about 63 minutes long. Anyway, I’ve been busy. Too busy to post! Why? Because I’ve been contemplating things!
With only 2ish weeks left on our voyage, it’s time to start putting it all together. What’s the meaning of all this stuff? So I’ve been doing a lot of contemplation, and contemplation, as they say, is 1% inspiration and 99% napping. That being said, the whole contemplation thing only works if you have something to contemplate about. Actually, the search for something to contemplate is not at all contemptible; it is a contemplatible thing in itself. It took me a while, but I eventually found my contemplatee, and it’s everything.
So I’ve started to put together a larger picture... what is my purpose on this research vessel and what is the purpose of this research vessel? Well, I’ve decided that my purpose is to do my job. I’m pretty lucky in that my purpose is aligned with what I’m paid to do: film and stuff. Public Outreach. I wasn’t able to clearly state the purpose of this research vessel, which made me realize that I have a lot to figure out. So to help me wrap my head around all this stuff, I’ve started writing a bit of an essay. Page 1 is about how I got on the boat, but you don’t need to see that. Here is page 2 of the essay:
It is an odd circumstance of nature that advanced scientific understanding is often based on factors invisible to the unaided eye; there is a certain amount of trust that the public must put into the work of scientists. Wise old fogeys frequently say we know nothing at all, but that is misleading. Knowing even just a little bit is a world apart from knowing nothing at all. We certainly know enough to require high degrees of specialization among scientists in different fields, and enough to render that degree of specialization arcane to the average person. There is a distinct problem, however, in the channeling of information from specialized scientists to the public; distortions occur.
Popular understanding of global warming depends on the public hearing about the work and words of a small scientific community. I do not imply that—against all scientific evidence—global warming does not exist; after all, the sky being intangible hardly disproves its existence. Nor do I imply that even given the existence of global warming it is largely inconsequential; all we have to do is look at the rather obvious and deleterious side effects, which include the aggravation of extreme weather patterns and the endangerment of climate-dependent animal and plant species. There was a recent stir about polar bears found drowning for the first time in recorded history as a direct result of warmer temperatures melting their ice floe homes. The trying circumstances of the warming phenomenon, however, are not considered immediately apparent or serious enough to enact swift policy change; the media and politicians have claimed that not enough is known, or that nothing is yet proven. Those are blatantly false statements, as global warming is readily observed, but it is still true that there is much left to be investigated. The climate is a giant, complicated mix of processes: air and sea gas exchange, oceanic transport, heat transfer, cloud formation, rainfall patterns... the list goes on. Ultimately, however, the study of climate variability depends on the detection of minute changes in the chemical and physical properties of the air, water, and land. And prior to this cruise, I had no clue what that meant.
So when I think about it, I have been an extremely privileged person to have witnessed the workings of a research vessel first-hand, and so I consider it as much an honor as a duty to report even the little I’ve come to understand. It’s like being at an exotic zoo, or better yet in the natural habitat of exotic species. I can finally see the scientific process at its source, before it gets dissolved and diluted in a two-minute news blurb. I’m getting close to the beast, for a scientist is a rare creature: often pale, often shy, sometimes noisy, and sometimes brilliant.
Pages 3 to 20 are about me, the things I like to do, and the things I will like to do when I get older. I’m still working on it. Anyway, thought you’d want to know what I’ve been up to.
With only 2ish weeks left on our voyage, it’s time to start putting it all together. What’s the meaning of all this stuff? So I’ve been doing a lot of contemplation, and contemplation, as they say, is 1% inspiration and 99% napping. That being said, the whole contemplation thing only works if you have something to contemplate about. Actually, the search for something to contemplate is not at all contemptible; it is a contemplatible thing in itself. It took me a while, but I eventually found my contemplatee, and it’s everything.
So I’ve started to put together a larger picture... what is my purpose on this research vessel and what is the purpose of this research vessel? Well, I’ve decided that my purpose is to do my job. I’m pretty lucky in that my purpose is aligned with what I’m paid to do: film and stuff. Public Outreach. I wasn’t able to clearly state the purpose of this research vessel, which made me realize that I have a lot to figure out. So to help me wrap my head around all this stuff, I’ve started writing a bit of an essay. Page 1 is about how I got on the boat, but you don’t need to see that. Here is page 2 of the essay:
It is an odd circumstance of nature that advanced scientific understanding is often based on factors invisible to the unaided eye; there is a certain amount of trust that the public must put into the work of scientists. Wise old fogeys frequently say we know nothing at all, but that is misleading. Knowing even just a little bit is a world apart from knowing nothing at all. We certainly know enough to require high degrees of specialization among scientists in different fields, and enough to render that degree of specialization arcane to the average person. There is a distinct problem, however, in the channeling of information from specialized scientists to the public; distortions occur.
Popular understanding of global warming depends on the public hearing about the work and words of a small scientific community. I do not imply that—against all scientific evidence—global warming does not exist; after all, the sky being intangible hardly disproves its existence. Nor do I imply that even given the existence of global warming it is largely inconsequential; all we have to do is look at the rather obvious and deleterious side effects, which include the aggravation of extreme weather patterns and the endangerment of climate-dependent animal and plant species. There was a recent stir about polar bears found drowning for the first time in recorded history as a direct result of warmer temperatures melting their ice floe homes. The trying circumstances of the warming phenomenon, however, are not considered immediately apparent or serious enough to enact swift policy change; the media and politicians have claimed that not enough is known, or that nothing is yet proven. Those are blatantly false statements, as global warming is readily observed, but it is still true that there is much left to be investigated. The climate is a giant, complicated mix of processes: air and sea gas exchange, oceanic transport, heat transfer, cloud formation, rainfall patterns... the list goes on. Ultimately, however, the study of climate variability depends on the detection of minute changes in the chemical and physical properties of the air, water, and land. And prior to this cruise, I had no clue what that meant.
So when I think about it, I have been an extremely privileged person to have witnessed the workings of a research vessel first-hand, and so I consider it as much an honor as a duty to report even the little I’ve come to understand. It’s like being at an exotic zoo, or better yet in the natural habitat of exotic species. I can finally see the scientific process at its source, before it gets dissolved and diluted in a two-minute news blurb. I’m getting close to the beast, for a scientist is a rare creature: often pale, often shy, sometimes noisy, and sometimes brilliant.
Pages 3 to 20 are about me, the things I like to do, and the things I will like to do when I get older. I’m still working on it. Anyway, thought you’d want to know what I’ve been up to.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Squit! cable kinks
There were some mysterious kinks in the cable for a few of the CTD casts last week. The cause was not known, but the working theory was that it had something to do with the rough weather causing the ship to roll, thereby introducing slack into the line. A slack line combined with deep ocean currents jerking the CTD package around probably created these irreparable kinks in the cable... but no one could figure it out for sure. There were no indications of unusual ship rolls or CTD movement.
It was my opinion that the kinks were caused by marine life. So I stayed up late one night and watched a rosette cast from start to finish, and I saw with my own eyes what caused the cable kinks. With my handy Nikon D70s, I produced this image:
It was my opinion that the kinks were caused by marine life. So I stayed up late one night and watched a rosette cast from start to finish, and I saw with my own eyes what caused the cable kinks. With my handy Nikon D70s, I produced this image:
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Dave, my bunkmate
I have just been informed that Dave’s parents are reading this blog. Well, I might at times seem like just an average mild-mannered blogger, but I’m a nasty muckraker at heart. So here it is: all the dirt on my bunkmate Dave.1. He looks 6’3” or something, but he’s not as tall as he looks. How does he do this? Well, have you ever seen the movie Gataca? The main character—-a genetically deficient short man—-really wants to look like an overachiever, so he gets his legs surgically elongated. But the moral of the story was: bad genes can still go a long way. I say: shoot for the moon, Dave, shoot for the moon.
2. Yesterday was hump day, the midway point of the voyage, so Dave forced me to switch bunks. Now I’m in the top bunk. He did this completely out of spite, but he didn’t realize that hot air rises and the top bunk is actually warmer and preferable. I’ll let him go on thinking he’s won a vicious little victory, but the truth is, Dave is too incompetent to even be mean. Poor upbringing, I say. Possibly bad genes too.
3. The joke Dave likes telling the most is a long winded story about a brick-throwing contest. It’s very long and stupid—-I refuse to go into more detail. If you’re curious, try googling it, I guess. Anyway, where did he get this joke from? Most likely from deficient childhood experiences.
4. Dave has been reading The Life of Pi for the past week, and he’s still only 50 pages into the thing. I’ll admit, I thought that book was one of the hugest, sloppiest turds ever, but still, what a slow reader! Combination bad genes and poor upbringing. Double whammy.
There you have it, Mr. and Mrs. Ullman... the truth about your son Dave.
Fire Drills
(by Pien Huang)
Sundays are for fire drills and steak. They used to be for wine too, but that was axed with the UNOLS (some category that encompasses all university research vessels) Prohibition some four months ago. Everybody still talks about it, but it’s more for conversation than for spirited discussion. It’s one of the few things we have in common. Three weeks in and we are still wary of offending each other, as we’ve got three more weeks to go. The only affable insult is to trash-talk in card games, so we play a lot of cribbage.
We’ve had three fire drills and one abandon ship drill so far. Fire drills are preferable, as they are indoors and less involved. You grab the life jacket from your room, and muster to the main lab. You have to wear a hat, and sometimes the forgetfuls pile sweaters on their heads. I played victim in one of the fire drills, which involved sitting in the bowels of the ship with a fog machine. It was misty and I imagined gorillas. Then I heard footsteps and remembered to call for help.
The weather is warmer, even as the wind and the waves are getting stronger. Our cables are kinking, but nobody knows why. This might be logged into the Captain’s binder of Non-Conformity Reports on the R/V Revelle, which date back to the unfortunate year 2004 when an overloaded winch “frisbeed” across a room, and the main cook stuck his hand in the industrial mixer. Most of their findings prescribe common sense.
The ocean makes me sick, but it comes and goes. Foul weather is coming on. We’re losing time because of cable kinks. At breakfast this morning, Anthony from Helium observed that nothing from his personal list gets done. Procrastinating without Wikipedia is just as easy, but less validating. I live inside my head. Every midnight I crave Ramen, and there is an endless supply. Overall, life is not bad, but never great.
Sundays are for fire drills and steak. They used to be for wine too, but that was axed with the UNOLS (some category that encompasses all university research vessels) Prohibition some four months ago. Everybody still talks about it, but it’s more for conversation than for spirited discussion. It’s one of the few things we have in common. Three weeks in and we are still wary of offending each other, as we’ve got three more weeks to go. The only affable insult is to trash-talk in card games, so we play a lot of cribbage.
We’ve had three fire drills and one abandon ship drill so far. Fire drills are preferable, as they are indoors and less involved. You grab the life jacket from your room, and muster to the main lab. You have to wear a hat, and sometimes the forgetfuls pile sweaters on their heads. I played victim in one of the fire drills, which involved sitting in the bowels of the ship with a fog machine. It was misty and I imagined gorillas. Then I heard footsteps and remembered to call for help.
The weather is warmer, even as the wind and the waves are getting stronger. Our cables are kinking, but nobody knows why. This might be logged into the Captain’s binder of Non-Conformity Reports on the R/V Revelle, which date back to the unfortunate year 2004 when an overloaded winch “frisbeed” across a room, and the main cook stuck his hand in the industrial mixer. Most of their findings prescribe common sense.
The ocean makes me sick, but it comes and goes. Foul weather is coming on. We’re losing time because of cable kinks. At breakfast this morning, Anthony from Helium observed that nothing from his personal list gets done. Procrastinating without Wikipedia is just as easy, but less validating. I live inside my head. Every midnight I crave Ramen, and there is an endless supply. Overall, life is not bad, but never great.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Hump Day
Today is hump day, which marks the midway point of the voyage. It’s sort of a sad thing: from here on out, it’s just science science science and no more icebergs. In a week or two, we’ll have passed far enough north to hit warm waters and shorts weather, but for now it’s a grind: a 3-hour cast followed by a 3-hour transit to the next station, and repeat. Breaks are made only to accomodate bad weather or equipment failure; everyone is on one of two 12-hour shifts so casts and the labs can run round the clock. I no longer see much of the midnight-to-noon ‘night sprites.’
It’s sort of like the famed “sophomore slump”: the weather’s poop and presently there’s little to look forward to but more of the same. We’re back in the rough seas of the Roaring Fifties, which really is not like going to Starbucks, which I’d sure like to do.
Of course, as some guy in The Life Aquatic DVD extras was quoted as having once said, ‘an optimist is someone who sees the opportunity in every challenge’ (while a pessimist sees the challenge in every opportunity). And I’ve discovered a sort of awesome opportunity: there’s a neat option in computer Solitaire that lets you tally your $ winnings over multiple games. Vegas baby! It’s really really fun and I consider myself a lucky person for having found it.
--------------------
Here are a few photos taken during our exit of the Antarctic region.
Anthony’s Helium/Tritium collection procedure is pretty cool. The final step is to seal off a sample in a glass bulb (by using a torch).
The CFC sampler wears crazy gloves.
The crew blast ice off the deck with seawater.
This is the optical device that’s cast once a day; it measures the spectrum of light absorbed at different depths, which give information about the types of organic matter present.
The water near Antarctica was very calm, being shielded from currents by ice and the continental shelf.
During our exit of the Antarctic region, we would often find ourselves surrounded by dozens of icebergs. The crew found it rather stressful.
The neatest iceberg we saw.
Another neat one.
We were told to look for splashes on icebergs; they’re bigger than they ought to be.
During some relatively calm water, we sent a Zodiac rescue boat out with Chief Engineer Paul and 3rd Mate Favi. Why? For the scenic opportunity, of course:
(courtesy of JJ Becker) Iceberg! Dead ahead! Yup that’s our boat. We’re within 80 yards of the iceberg.
(courtesy of Jim Swift) ’Guins!
It’s sort of like the famed “sophomore slump”: the weather’s poop and presently there’s little to look forward to but more of the same. We’re back in the rough seas of the Roaring Fifties, which really is not like going to Starbucks, which I’d sure like to do.
Of course, as some guy in The Life Aquatic DVD extras was quoted as having once said, ‘an optimist is someone who sees the opportunity in every challenge’ (while a pessimist sees the challenge in every opportunity). And I’ve discovered a sort of awesome opportunity: there’s a neat option in computer Solitaire that lets you tally your $ winnings over multiple games. Vegas baby! It’s really really fun and I consider myself a lucky person for having found it.
--------------------
Here are a few photos taken during our exit of the Antarctic region.
Anthony’s Helium/Tritium collection procedure is pretty cool. The final step is to seal off a sample in a glass bulb (by using a torch).
The CFC sampler wears crazy gloves.
The crew blast ice off the deck with seawater.
This is the optical device that’s cast once a day; it measures the spectrum of light absorbed at different depths, which give information about the types of organic matter present.
The water near Antarctica was very calm, being shielded from currents by ice and the continental shelf.
During our exit of the Antarctic region, we would often find ourselves surrounded by dozens of icebergs. The crew found it rather stressful.
The neatest iceberg we saw.
Another neat one.
We were told to look for splashes on icebergs; they’re bigger than they ought to be.
During some relatively calm water, we sent a Zodiac rescue boat out with Chief Engineer Paul and 3rd Mate Favi. Why? For the scenic opportunity, of course:
(courtesy of JJ Becker) Iceberg! Dead ahead! Yup that’s our boat. We’re within 80 yards of the iceberg.
(courtesy of Jim Swift) ’Guins!
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