R/V Oceanus: Chuginadak 6/24 – 6/26
 
As we departed Atka under sunny skies and a slowly diminishing swell (which still left us battered and bruised from our chamber recovery mission) we set sail to the east, for the island of Chuginadak (Chuggin-ah-dak). Before we leave each each island, the Konar lab and the Oceanus’s crew set out trawling gear for short intervals. Part of this project involves looking at kelp subsidies to offshore ecosystems; that is, how much kelp material is being transported into deeper waters which can then be used as food for other organisms.
 
After the trawl we began our transit. For the next 18+ hours we were pounded by over 10ft waves and 30knot winds, not the most pleasant sailing conditions. One of the engineers muttered something about us at least heading down seas, but either way it was a bumpy ride. Fortunately, there wasn’t really a whole lot to do, so everyone did their best to catch on some much needed sleep. We’ve all been trying to “rack-out” as close to midnight as possible, but on most nights that’s just not possible. The day-long steam passed uneventfully, aside from a particularly nasty wave that managed to break a tie-down line that was holding down some of our dive gear. Fortunately, Doug and I were able to re-secure everything before any of it was lost.

​After a long day in the storm everyone was more than relieved when we dropped anchor at Chuginadak, right under the slope of an immense volcano. Our anchorage was surrounded by mountains, but four of the volcanos really stood out once the fog cleared. As part of this project we were hoping to walk some of the islands’ beaches for otter carcasses (and some “Aleutian treasure”) but up to this point we hadn’t had any time to do so. On Chuginadak everybody in the Edwards’ lab was frothing to go ashore, and on our second and final day we were finally able to stretch our legs.
 
Landing on any of the islands is no easy feat; one has to find a safe place to run a boat in as close to shore as possible, without flipping in the surf. In more tropical places a little bit of submersion is OK, but without proper immersion protection (like drysuits) things can turn ugly very quickly. Fortunately, six of us went ashore without any issues. Living on a boat for a week can make you a little claustrophobic; after a few perplexing minutes of standing next to one another on the sandy beach, we each dispersed for a little solitude. Chirping birds, a gentle breeze through the grass and the smell of Arctic wild flowers were a much welcomed change of pace from the hum of a diesel engine and the smell of algae (and other things) in the wet lab. But all too soon we had to head back to the Oceanus; at this point we still had to eat dinner, collect our chambers and sort our samples before heading to the next island.
 
I’m pleased to say that our chambers were deployed and recovered without any issues. After Adak and Atka, I think our lab has this whole chamber thing on lock. Phycology Team 7. Working in the Aleutians has had its challenges, but I’ll never get tired of steaming to dive sites under snow covered mountain, volcanos and grassy, windswept shores. Coming up from a dive under a volcano, with another in the distance, is certainly a unique experience. 

​Have you ever wondered what it’s like to dive in the Bering Sea? First you’ve got to learn how to dive in a drysuit, and master all of the associated bells and whistles, which is easier said than done. Swimming in a drysuit through a kelp forest is like trying to pull an inflated trash bag filled with lead weight through the water. To reduce drag, we do our best to be streamlined, like a fish. Being “trim” helps us swim through a relatively challenging and inhospitable environment as efficiently as possible. But we’re not here just to look good underwater, our job is to conduct experiments and take good data (a year’s worth of data in three weeks, remember?)
 
SCUBA diving has become a much safer recreational activity, and scientific diving takes it to a whole new level. As a science diver you still work on your trim, but only after you’ve attached all of the tools you’ll need on a given dive. PVC poles fashioned into squares (aka a quadrat), meter tapes, and slates to write on are just a few of the typical things you’ll find clipped to a scientific diver. Now factor in the drysuit, which is kind of like diving in a vacuum-sealed rain jacket. Add on base layers, heavy undergarments, and about 30 more pounds of lead weight than you’d typically wear with a typical a wetsuit, and you’ll get an idea of what it’s like. 5mm gloves limit dexterity (but so do frozen fingers so it’s a give-and-a-take) and a 7mm hood helps seal in as much warmth as possible. We struggle into our undergarments and blast through inclement weather just to buy about an hour underwater. But believe me, it’s worth it. I wouldn’t trade this for anything.

One of the most important things you can bring into the field out here is a thermos full of piping hot water. After a 30min dive we use the buddy-system (integral to diving in general) to pour hot water into each other’s gloves to try to bring back some sensation.
 
Oh, you might be wondering about the vacuum part of this analogy. To fight off “suit squeeze” (because everything compressible compresses at depth) we pump in air from our tanks into our drysuits. A wetsuit works by trapping a layer of water between you and the neoprene, allowing your body heat to warm the water. A drysuit does the same thing, but with air inside the suit; the base layers help seal in that heat.
 
Well, that’s it for this phycological update. We’re continuing our eastward journey, across the Samalga Pass, to Umnak Island and our next sampling stations.
 
And, as always, don’t forget to tune in to the Edwards’ Lab blog!

​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. 

​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!

R/V Oceanus: California to Alaska, Adak to Tanaga 6/16 - 6/21
 
 
Just over a year after starting a jet-set internship with the National Park Service, I found myself in an all-too familiar position; packing and re-packing my bags. The airline’s strict 50lb weight limit per bag meant that I was trying to shave off every gram possible. Normally it’s not too hard packing for a three-week trip. But when that trip involves living on, and diving in, the Bering Sea, things get a little interesting.
                                                       
Hold on, let me back up.
 
About a year and half ago I found myself in Dr. Matt Edwards’ office, hoping that I would be able to catch his attention and vie for a spot in his kelp lab at San Diego State University. After the appropriate formalities, he cut right to business. Matt told me that he had already submitted a grant proposal, along with his colleague Dr. Brenda Konar (from the University of Alaska Fairbanks) to spend two consecutive summers diving in the Aleutian Islands. At that time, he was looking for graduate students who would double as diving technicians for the upcoming research cruises, and asked me if I was interested. I nearly jumped out of my seat; living on a research vessel and diving in the Aleutian Islands sounded like a dream come true.
 
Soon after the meeting, I applied to Matt’s lab and was accepted along with fellow UCSC alums Tristin (M.S. student) and Scotty (Ph.D. student). It didn’t take long for us to bond over our shared interests in marine ecology, scuba diving and Phycology in General. Long hours in classes and in the lab quickly devolved into shenanigans during which we frequently asked ourselves, “what was Matt thinking, bringing us all together like this?” Or rather, “which one of us is getting left on one of the Aleutian Islands first?”
 
Flash forward to June 2016; I have just completed my first year of graduate school and am looking forward to our upcoming expedition. It hardly seems real; we were fortunate enough to load the research vessel, the R/V Oceanus, in San Diego in early May, and were planning on meeting her and the rest of the science team on Adak Island, the most populated of the Aleutian Islands (n=~300 islands). We’re expecting water temperatures in the mid to low 40’s, and air temperatures just a few degrees warmer. The Aleutians are typically blanketed in fog in the summer months, so even though we’ll be working under the midnight sun we’ll hardly see it at all. Packing for a trip like this takes a clear mind.  Under our drysuits we wear layer upon layer of fleece and wool, and specially made undergarments. Onboard the Oceanus, the interior cabins are warmed, so pants and T-shirts are fine. On deck, layers come in handy along with Xtratufs; outings to shore require even more planning. After packing clothes for all sorts of scenarios, we each still needed to fly with our dive gear, and a whole assortment of scientific equipment.
 
I departed from Los Angeles on a cold, foggy morning, and I was just beginning to wrap my head around what was coming.
 
In Anchorage, Alaska, I met up with the 12 other scientists and immediately jumped on the once-a-day flight to Adak Island, some 1800 miles to the west of Anchorage. Let me introduce the team! From the SDSU contingent, led by Dr. Matt Edwards, we have Scotty, Genoa, Tristin, Sadie, myself, and Dr. Ju Hyoung from South Korea. Dr. Brenda Konar brought herself, Ben, Sarah, Alex, Jacob and a new student Aaron. For the past year we’ve been Skyping in with Alaska team, discussing our respective plans and sharing data and scientific papers. Seeing the Alaska team in the flesh really brought everyone together; even though many of us had just met for the first time there were no strangers here.
 
The flight to Anchorage foreshadowed our upcoming expedition; the warm and sunny Anchorage skies soon gave way to endless clouds. A brief break in the clouds revealed the water below; an angry, white-capped, dark-grey sea. When we broke through the clouds to land on Adak I was instantly taken aback; looming cliffs and rolling green hills gave way to mountains obscured by clouds. These islands are as breathtaking as they are inhospitable. There are no trees dotting the grassy landscape on any of the Aleutian Islands; it’s hard to believe that at the height of WWII some 60,000 military personnel called Adak home. Not to mention the native Aleuts, who managed to scratch out a living on some of the larger islands. Or the Russian fur traders who wiped out the sea otter populations on all but a few islands.
 
The loss of sea otters is actually what has brought us all here in the first place. When the Russians sold Alaska to the U.S. over a hundred years ago, the sea otters were all but extinct. A few remaining colonies were put under federal protection in the early 20th century, and since then they have made a nascent comeback. That is, until some 40 years ago when Dr. Jim Estes (Matt and Brenda’s PhD advisor), documented a rapid decline in sea otter abundances. Further, Jim noticed a correlation in the kelp forest communities on islands that had otters versus islands that did not. Mainly, islands with otters had extensive kelp forests, and those that did not had urchin barrens. Jim’s work on the decline of sea otters, the increase in sea urchin barrens and the decline of kelp in the Aleutian Islands became the standard for describing what happens in a trophic cascade when top-down controls on communities are released. The sea otters eat urchins, who eat kelp. Lots of otters (at the top of the food chain) means fewer urchins, which means there is less grazing pressure on the kelp, which makes up the basis of the ecosystem. Without the otters, that top-down control is reduced, and the sea urchin populations increase to the point of removing all algae except encrusting coralline algae from the ecosystem (see blog post one for a discussion on urchin barrens).

​We are here in the Aleutians to further describe this pattern of kelp forest loss, and in greater detail to describe differences in net ecosystem productivity (see blog post one) between three ecotones: 1) urchin barrens, 2) kelp forest/urchin barren transitions, and 3) kelp forests across the island chain. Our mission, now that we have committed to accepting it, is to deploy our benthic chambers (see blog post one) on each island, in each of three ecotones, and to let the associated sensors record the data we’ll need to describe these communities. Each chamber has an oxygen sensor (used to log either photosynthesis or respiration) and a PAR sensor (photosyntheticlly active radiation aka how much usable light is in each system). In total we have 9 chambers, 12 sensor arrays (one outside of a chamber in each ecotone as a control), and 18 lengths of heavy chain (two per chamber) to deploy and then recover the next day. Every 5 hours or so we open the chambers to refresh the water and to check up on them before leaving them to run overnight.
 
This year, we’ll be working on six selected islands east from Adak (except for our first island, Tanaga, which is slightly to the west); next year we’ll target six more islands further to the west. Regardless of what wayward politicians might say, you cannot see Russia from the Aleutians. But, apparently on Attu Island (the furthest west) there is a sign at the Coast Guard air station that reads, “This isn’t the end of the world, but you can see it from here.” Stay tuned, I’ll investigate this further on next summer’s cruise.
 
Loading the Oceanus in Adak felt starkly different than a month earlier when we first loaded some of our field equipment onto the Oceanus. Sunny San Diego is no comparison to the Arctic wildness that is the Aleutian Islands. We hardly had a minute to take in the incredible scenery; we had only a few hours to unpack all of our equipment, and to prepare our gear before the overnight steam from Adak to Tanaga. After it was all said and done, and after a thorough safety briefing from the captain and crew, we were off into the Bering Sea.  
 
In our anchorage on Tanaga we were surrounded by breathtaking views. The glassy sea gently lapped at the rocky shores of cliffs towering into the fog. Our bay was at the mouth of a glacial valley, which led to a towering snow-covered volcano looming high above in the thick fog. The Oceanus is equipped with two rigid bottom inflatable boats (“RIBs”), and two smaller inflatables (one of which we loaded from our lab in San Diego). The crew helped us launch all four of the smaller boats off of the Oceanus using a hydraulic crane, and just like that we were in the water.
Brenda’s team, who are conducting benthic surveys at Dr. Estes’ historic sampling sites, took off in one RIB and inflatable, leaving us with other two boats.

As we puttered out to our dive sites, the cold air whipping past our faces, I was really glad to have already donned my drysuit. The crew let us convert the wet lab (which has access points to the deck and the main cabin) into a drysuit staging area. We strung up hangers to let our suits dry, and there is even a high-powered heater so typically we’re sweating by the time we’re finished suiting up.
 
I’ll never forget that first plunge into the Bering Sea. As I rolled off of the inflatable all I could think was that I hope my drysuit zipper and latex wrist and neck seals hold; the last thing you want out here is a flooded drysuit. Thankfully, the only rush of cold water I felt was against my neoprene covered hands and head; the instant ice cream headache gave testament to the 42ºF water. I was certainly thankful that the extra room in my drysuit allowed me to wear two layers of base layer tops and bottoms underneath a fleece onesie.
 
I’m pleased to say that deploying the chambers at Tanaga went off without a hitch. Our set up was really concise; we were able to find a perfect transition and barren area, and then an adjacent kelp forest around a nearby point. After working out our deployment and recovery strategies, the Edwards Lab was excited to finally test the experiments we’ve been preparing for over the last year. Working in the barren and transition zones was pretty easy. However, the kelp forest site proved to be a little bit more interesting. The dominant canopy forming kelp in the Aleutian Islands is Eularia fistulosa, also known as the dragon kelp. We soon came to the conclusion that “dragging kelp” might be a better common name. Unlike the giant kelp (Macrocystis pyrifera) back in California, dragon kelp individuals grow as one single stipe reaching towards the surface, with a long continuous blade on either side. Swimming through the kelp forest here is like swimming through fly paper; gauges, hoses, chain, chambers, and divers get impossibly stuck.
 
Aside from a few shake outs, Tanaga can be written off as a success. After two long, but smooth, days we departed from our anchorage and headed east back to Adak, our next sampling site. Time to thaw my fingers and catch up on sleep! Stay tuned for our next adventures on Adak and Atka. 

And be sure to check out the Edwards' Lab blog for more up to date action! 
 
​

​Hello! And welcome to Baron von Urchin. This blog is dedicated to the pursuit of adventure, science, and the adventure that is the scientific process! I’ll be your host, Pike Spector.
 
So, where to begin? Well, I just finished my first year of graduate school at San Diego State University. After receiving a B.S. in marine biology at UC Santa Cruz I worked a series of interesting, if albeit challenging, jobs and internships that eventually, by some circuitous path, led me to join Dr. Matt Edwards’ phycology lab at SDSU. For those of you that don’t know, phycology (\fī-ˈkä-lə-jē\) is the study of algae. You may be asking yourself, “Algae? That’s weird, I like fish”. But, I am here to convince you that algae are always interesting. First tidbit, algae is actually plural; alga is singular. Thought-provoking eh?
 
Most of my background related to marine ecology, in some capacity or another, has revolved around SCUBA diving. My theory is, if you want to study anything in the ocean you’re going to have to get your face wet, at least a few times. While many recreational divers tend to opt for warm, sunny and tropical dive destinations, I have always been enamored with temperate rocky reefs, mainly the vast forests created by the giant kelp, Macrocystis pyrifera. Giant kelp forms the foundation of an extensive food web that supports many commercially and recreationally valuable fish, invertebrates and algae. Kelp forests support some of the highest biodiversity of any marine ecosystem in temperate waters. However, kelp forests, especially near highly populated coastlines, are being threatened by a variety of anthropogenic (human derived) sources. These disturbances, such as pollution, overfishing, and coastal development can alter the community with devastating consequences.
 
Which leads me to the crux of my master’s thesis. At one point, between college and graduate school, I worked on a kelp forest restoration project in Palos Verdes, California. Primarily due to overfishing, and the loss of major predators, sea urchin populations in certain areas of the coast, are rapidly increasing. Urchins typically feed on kelp detritus (think leaf litter, but from kelp), which is a vital part of kelp forest ecosystems. Hiding in cracks to avoid being eaten, sea urchins wait for floating pieces of kelp to drift by. However, if the aquatic buffet line shuts down, then the urchins come out of their hiding spots and start chowing down on kelp itself. Urchins can remove whole kelp plants just by chowing down on the kelp’s base, aka its holdfast. Once the kelp is gone, the urchins tend to devour any other algae in their path. Once all the algae are gone, the zombie-like urchins go into a sort of mediation mode, where they can survive on the tiniest bits of food. We call these large aggregations of half-starved urchins “urchin barrens” because nothing can grow there. Any settling young algae is immediately grazed by the urchins. It takes a large disturbance event to remove the urchins, such as a strong El Niño, or the hammers wielded by dauntless volunteer divers.
 
While working on this restoration project (aka while spending hours underwater smashing hapless urchins with a hammer in each hand) I started to wonder about how the community might look like once the urchin population is kept in check. Being a field technician by trade, I opted to couple extensive diving surveys with some experimental field methods to address my questions. For my master’s thesis I will travel from Monterey to Santa Barbara, Palos Verdes to San Diego and even south of the border into northern Baja California to investigate the differences in Net Ecosystem Productivity between kelp forests and adjacent sea urchin barrens. You might be wondering, “what in the world is Net Ecosystem Productivity anyway?”. Well, I’m glad you asked. Let’s go slow. Basically, NEP is the combination of photosynthesis and cellular respiration. Photosynthesis is the process that plants and algae use to turn sunlight and carbon dioxide into sugar and oxygen. Cellular respiration is essentially the metabolism of the cells in your body, and in the bodies of other organisms. Cellular respiration uses oxygen molecules to make energy; typically, carbon dioxide is the by product. So basically, plants and algae make oxygen (and sugars), and everything else uses it up. Right! Well, not quite. Plants and algae also respire, so we can look at the balance of a given system by knowing the components of the process: oxygen and carbon dioxide.
 
Great! So, now we know that there is a difference between photosynthesis and respiration. Now what? Why do we care? Basically, since algae, in this case giant kelp, form the basis of the ecosystem, we are concerned with its productivity. The more giant kelp in the system, the more plant matter is made and hence more energy (in the form of complex carbohydrates) can be cycled through the system. Everything from tiny snails, to mussels, scallops to oysters, shrimps to crabs, fish to birds, and dolphins to whales in temperate waters has some kind of kelp derived carbon in it. That’s pretty impressive! Now, lets say we want to measure the productivity in an urchin barren. What do you think we’re going to find, more photosynthesis or more respiration? If you said more respiration you’d be right!
 
Essentially, I am going to be looking at the amount of productivity versus respiration in a kelp forest and an adjacent urchin barren. Sounds simple enough right? Well, actually it really isn’t that hard to do these days. We can use oxygen sensors to measure the amount of oxygen made (aka photosynthesized) or used (aka respired) in a given volume of water. Ah yes, a given volume of water. That’s where the fun comes in. The ocean is a big, big place, and we’re not interested in the oxygen made or used in the whole ocean, at least not for this study. So, the Edwards Lab as been working in conjunction with another lab at SDSU to find a way of capturing a volume of water and containing it for a period of time long enough to see what’s going on. This initiative was started as a result of an upcoming expedition our lab is undertaking, but more on that soon (spoiler alert: we’re going to the Aleutian Islands!).
 
Low and behold, in just four short months, we were able to make 18 photo-respiration chambers, aka tents, to be deployed in both kelp forests and sea urchin barrens. And guess what, they work really well! My lab mate, Genoa, who is investigating the infamously invasive algae Sargassum, was able to deploy chambers on Catalina Island last month. And recently Genoa and another lab mate, Scotty, and I deployed chambers in Palos Verdes for both my study and Genoa’s project. Real science! (results pending).
 
Well, now that you’re caught up, I hope you’ll agree that algae are at least somewhat interesting. Still not impressed? Then stay tuned for the next post about our upcoming expedition to the great white north!