A Taste of Bering Sea Weather

​R/V Oceanus: Adak and Atka 6/19 – 6/23
 
After leaving Tanaga we had an easy steam back to Adak; we were now truly beginning our eastward journey. Although we had only been on station at Tanaga for two days, it felt odd to see the random assortment buildings and docks that dot Adak’s shores. We sailed through the night back to the harbor where we had met the Oceanus only a few days earlier, but by this point that seemed like a lifetime ago. As we woke up time seemed irrelevant; was it Saturday or Sunday? Our schedules are now based around the galley’s schedule: breakfast is from 0715-0815, lunch is from 1115-1215, and dinner is from 1715-1815 (that’s 5:15pm to 615pm). The whole crew usually eats together, and the cooks Don and Sean make sure there is always more than enough to go around (even providing vegetarian options). There are snacks and other foods available 24/7 next to the tireless coffee pot that never gets turned off.
 
The crew on the Oceanus are a salty bunch of sailors that have all spent considerable time working on research vessels. They’re jacks of all trades, and are always willing to help us out, especially when we come back brain dead after a long day in the field. Or rather, after we clock out from even longer evenings in the lab. Matt has joked several times that we’re taking a year’s worth of data in about 3 weeks, to which I usually respond, “you can sleep when you’re dead”. Often we’re up past midnight sorting samples and prepping gear for the next day. Having the sun set at around 1am keeps things pretty interesting, but I guess that’s what the endless coffee pot is for.
 
Regardless of grogginess, we took off from our safe anchorage on Adak, puttering out of the harbor and to our next dive sites. Although this time we got stuck with the slower RIB, aka the “Water Taxi”, no one complained about the view as we chugged along. After Tanaga’s crystal clear waters, the Monterey Bay pea soup-like visibility of Adak was a little disheartening. Adak is by and far the most populated of the Aleutians, so it stands to reason that the water wouldn’t be as pristine. Nevertheless, we deployed our chambers and took off like a herd of turtles back to the Oceanus. Everything was going pretty well at this point. However, by the next day things started to take a turn for the worse.
 
The Aleutians are known as the birthplace of weather, and true to that the weather can turn at any moment. On our second day at Adak, as we went to collect our chambers, we were greeted by absolutely massive snow-covered volcanoes instantly appearing through the fog and clouds. These monoliths had been hiding behind the cloud cover the whole time, right in front (and above) us! Our anchorage was protected by a breakwater, so we thought little of the weather as we marveled at the picturesque behemoths. But as we rounded the breakwater we instantly learned a lesson about the Aleutians; spontaneously seeing 8,000ft volcanoes towering above you isn’t a very good sign at all.
 
Recovering the chambers took all of our bravado; from the barren site perched on a ledge in 30ft of water to the kelp site further up the pinnacle, everything under the surface was in turmoil. Above the water our boats were mercilessly tossed in the endless 3-4ft waves. For those of you playing at home, you need three things to make good surf: constant wind, fetch (large, open water) and enough time for the wave trains to separate. Well, the Aleutians have plenty of wind, and almost no fetch. So the wave trains didn’t have time to separate out (that’s how “sets” are made by the way). As we were beaten and battered, doing our best to retrieve our chains, buckets, floats, sensors and chambers, we rallied behind our valiant crewmember, Doug (operating the better of the two RIBS, the “Red Rocket”) who never stopped smiling through the chaos. All in all, we only lost a couple of buckets and two lengths of chain. Nothing we can’t repair or jury rig. And without any injuries to the dive team, I’d say we did pretty well, given the circumstances. Take that Adak!

Our anchorage at Adak, after the storm

From left to right: Pike getting excited before a chamber rescue dive (Photo by Tristin McHugh); Genoa, Tristin and Sarah sorting samples; Scotty getting a little too excited about a dragon kelp sample

​After the heroic recovery, we decided to wait out the storm for a few hours, hoping things would have quieted down by the morning. Well, our 12-hour steam to Atka gave further testament to the weather in the Aleutians. There’s no rest for the weary; even though we were all tired the jarring motion of our vessel rocking in the wind and waves kept everybody’s nerves frayed. That, and the seemingly endless amount of samples we still had to process.
 
By the end of it, we were all glad to to hear the chain (aka the anchor) drop into the calm waters of Atka Island, our 3rd island so far. The calm and gentle seas were reminiscent of Tanaga; we were all ready to leave Adak behind. Our anchorage at Atka was as beautiful as any other; a huge waterfall, with barely visible caribou dotting the landscape, careened out of the mist and into the sea below. Wide beaches stretched along the coastline begging for exploration. But we are here for one thing and one thing only, to deploy our chambers and to. Get. The. Data!
 
Our deployments on the morning of June 22nd where by far the fastest we had done so far. Our barren site was just inside of some wash-rocks; the transition zone was perched in shallower water just above the barren on a rocky ledge. In a quintessential arrangement, it would appear as though wave action kept the urchins at bay, allowing some algae to seek refuge on higher ground (something that Brenda had shown in a previous study). The crystal clear waters made everything really easy; we could kick from the rocky barren site up to the transition zone without having to get our bearings on the surface.
 
Our kelp forest site was even more interesting. We deployed our chambers on the inshore side of a rocky pinnacle that rose sharply out of an urchin barren up to the surface. Like a reverse tree-line, the thick kelp forest started at about 20ft and extended all the way to surface. In miniature troughs along the pinnacle’s slopes, urchins crowded in high numbers. But above the trough divers were instantly lost in the dense understory algae.
 
As we headed back to our sites after lunch to check up on our chambers the wind had started to pick up, and some swells had started to move through the previously calm water. But we thought little of it. That is, until we descended at our first site. The barren was deep enough that the wave energy had little effect. However, we decided to collapse our chambers in the transition zone, gathering the sensors and leaving the rest behind to be collected the next day. Likewise, at the kelp site we collapsed one of the tents and removed the sensors, hoping that everything else would be fine overnight.
 
The next day the wind had calmed down, but now 5-6ft groundswells were pitching and rolling the Oceanus. For the first time, we were unable to leave the smaller boats tied up alongside; we now had to hoist the boats on and off the Oceanus anytime we wanted to dive. A quick assessment of our barren site showed that the groundswell’s energy had been pummeling our chambers all through the night. We hastily collapsed our tents, grabbed the sensors and booked it to our kelp site. We did the same thing there; we collapsed the tents, took stock of the damage, grabbed the chambers and headed back to the Oceanus to formulate a chamber-rescue plan.
 
After a somber lunch, hoping that the swells would die down, we raced back to our sites. Now waves were breaking on our transition site; whitewater frothed around our previous anchorage. But we had a plan. Rather than risking the boat, Matt, Scotty and I swam a-ways into the barren/transition site to secure everything with lines that we would then run to surface. Once on the surface the Rocket, piloted by none other than Doug, would come gather the lines so that Tristin and Genoa could haul the heavy chain and chambers up onto the boat, while the ocean raged around us. We did the same thing in the transition zone; the wonderfully clear water was now a frothing mix of whitewater and suspended particles. Mind you we did this all wearing drysuits, which require a specific suite of skills to operate safely, but more on that later.
 
But we weren’t out of the woods yet, we still had to collect the remaining chambers from the kelp site. Although things looked calmer from the surface (we had a deep channel just inshore from our site after all) every so often a nearly surf-able wave would unceremoniously crash down right on top of our surface maker buoys. This was going to be fun. Our plan this time was to drag everything off of the pinnacle into the deeper water below, where things would be a lot less hectic. After 30min of struggling in the dense kelp, searching for lost gear, we finally managed to secure everything, hauling our white lines to the surface. 

The Red Rocket steaming off to the barren site on Atka. Photo by Tristin McHugh

​Feeling victorious, we sped back to the Oceanus, where offloading our gear from the RIBs next the massive vessel was just as treacherous as loading them up. But, almost as an apology, the sun came out, revealing the splendor of Atka Island, just before we picked up the anchor and steamed right into the belly of yet another storm.
 
I’d just like to give a quick shout-out to Pelican Floats (™?) and zip-ties. Both of these relatively simple objects held onto thousands of dollars of scientific equipment during a nonstop battery of merciless waves. And another shout-out to the whole Edwards’ Lab! Everyone had a part to play, and no one lost face. One team, one dream!
 
Stay tuned for more exciting phycological updates from the Aleutian Islands. And, as always, be sure to check out the Edwards' Lab blog
 
Chuginadak or bust!

Atka's apology. The calm before (and after) the storm