"Sanctuary Sampling"

by Volunteer
Rich Littleton
June 14 - 16, 2004

So, how'd a guy like me end up in a place like this? There I was, struggling to work the hydraulic levers of a temperamental winch on a bouncing 38-foot boat in choppy water while my crew mates tried to wrestle a swinging 150-pound instrument array so it could be lowered - by me and the cranky winch - into the northeast Pacific Ocean off the northern coast of Washington state. Two days before, I'd been leading the good life in Seattle, Washington, hoping for some sunshine to happen.

I'd gotten my wish in that it was a beautifully clear day out on the Pacific with decorative clouds in the distant sky. But the water was tumultuous because of the wind and so Liam Antrim, one of the marine scientists, had other things on his mind, because he was busy fighting to stop the wild swing of the instrument array while he struggled to keep his balance on the fantail of the research boat - the Tatoosh - and also fought to keep from being tossed overboard into the choppy and chilly Pacific by the heavy instrument package which lunged back and forth from an "A-frame" style of crane on the bouncing boat.

The other scientist/team member and the boat's skipper, Andy Palmer who'd piloted the Tatoosh through the swells and growing chop, also fought along side Liam on the stern of the boat after racing from his captain's chair back to the work deck after he'd been tweaking the engine rpms to make the winch behave or when he wasn't guiding the nylon cable into the winch to prevent tangles that could jam the mechanism.

Between the wrestling bouts with the rosette, Andy and Liam had to teach me - an eager but very green volunteer crew member - how to run the winch properly so I wouldn't crash the rosette into them or the boat, or part the cable or break the attached gear. They were forced to rely on this volunteer because the bucking boat and the swaying equipment and the straining gear required at least three people: Andy, Liam, and the volunteer. They were stuck with me, and I was stuck with the impulsive winch ("wince"?) and the requirement of keeping a steady hand on an unsteady platform.

So, why were we out there doing all this? To keep a longish story appropriately longish, this research team works for the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) and the NOAA team had the job of gathering water quality data from the Pacific Ocean near the Washington state coast in an area called the Olympic Coast National Marine Sanctuary.

The team took samples of the water at various locations on several course lines and at all depths from the bottom up. The purpose of the sampling was to monitor the condition and quality of the water in the marine sanctuary. Among other things, they measured the salinity, the oxygen content, the temperature, and the clarity (light penetration factor) of the water in this part of the ocean. Water can be affected by such things as pollution, temperature, current direction and strength, and nutrients. When the water changes, the animal life in and on the water is often affected. Temperature change can favor, or disfavor, some species of sea life. Upwelling currents bring nutrients that feed the entire food chain in these waters, so when the currents slow, the nutrients decline. Oxygen can be depleted in the source waters flowing into the coastal waters if certain bacterial pollution gets into the water and uses up much of the oxygen for the bacteria's own activity. That leaves too little for healthy sea life.

So NOAA keeps watch on the water. That has a bit of a biblical ring to it?

To get the water quality data, the team lowers electronic monitoring equipment down into the ocean from the research boat, the Tatoosh. The rosette referred to above is a series of instruments and sampling chambers on a metal frame, which instruments measure temperature, pressure, salinity, oxygen content, algae content, and other things. This instrument array has to be lowered and retrieved at different points reaching out more than 30 miles from land. Because the 150-pound rosette is so heavy, it has to be lowered and raised with an electric motor - the winch. Getting the heavy rosette up off of the boat and down into the water and later back up onto the boat again can be a challenge that grows as the wind velocity and wave height grow.

On this particular day, the challenge grew steadily as the afternoon progressed and the waves built, until Andy Palmer, as the skipper of the boat, made the decision to cut short the sampling work in order to avoid greater and greater risk of injury to people or damage to equipment posed by the increasingly turbulent water. Andy has been the NOAA research and technical team skipper for more than four years and has never had an injury or serious equipment damage, because he is deliberately conservative when it comes to safety on his boat. He made the decision to pull in and stow the equipment and head in to port at La Push, Washington, rather than let the grumbling sea wash away his margin of safety. The sampling could be done another day, but it is such a mess when your boat tips over.

I helped Liam fasten down the rosette, stow away the other monitoring instruments, and tidy up the lines. We then went inside the cabin to enjoy the ride back in to port.

It's while traveling to and from the work sites that we can concentrate on the marine life all around us. Usually, we're too busy when we're in the middle of the sampling tasks to gaze at the sea creatures. However, earlier that day, a couple of humpback whales rudely made an untimely appearance right when we were busy jockeying to get exactly on station. (Andy says there was only one humpback, and he does have a good eye for what goes on out there. But, two whale spouts that came close together seemed to indicate that, either Andy's one whale was so talented that it was swimming backwards, or there were two of the animals.)

The day before, while Andy and I were bringing the Tatoosh out through the Straits of Juan de Fuca (the water way between Canada's Vancouver Island and the north coast of the U.S.'s Washington state), we saw two orca whales. Andy identified them as two males. Fortunately, I had brought my camera with a telephoto lens, so I rushed out of the cabin and edged cautiously up to the foredeck where I loaded in fresh high-speed film. The camera has a motor drive so I was able to catch the whales as they breached the next time and ran on the surface for about 5 seconds. I aimed, focused, and just held down the shutter release while the camera churned through the frames. I figured I'd make the cover of National Geographic with these pix. However, a few days later in Seattle, I found out that my camera had not grabbed the film tongue when I loaded it, and the film did not move into the camera. No film meant no pictures at all. I could have cried.

Because of their extensive experience out on these waters, Andy and Liam had come to recognize most all of the sea creatures. They'd point out porpoises, sea birds, or whatever other sea life that would show up.

I, myself, was trying to get familiar with the sea birds. Andy pointed out shearwaters (gull-like but sooty gray and larger). We even saw an albatross (even larger). These two birds live mostly on the deep ocean and go on land only to breed, so few people, other than sailors, get to see them.

I learned to identify the common murre (merr), because, echoing their name, they seemed to be common in the area. The common murres are a breed of alcid which are short-tailed, black and white sea birds that can swim under water by using their wings, suggestive of a diminutive penguin. Ominously, Andy informed me that these birds used to be even more common. Apparently, where we'd see three or five murres, he used to see a whole flock.

One of the unique alcids that we saw is the rhinoceros aucklet, a plumpish black and white sea bird that, in summer, adds a small vertical protrusion about where a rhinoceros has its horn. It's a chuckling treat to spot one scooting low over the water wearing its little "rhino horn" just as a banker wears a three-piece suit and spectacles: as naturally as can be.

Another visual treat is the tufted puffin. Its black and white alcid's body (called "chunky" by some) is led by a delightfully wondrous large bright yellow bill having a bright orange point. The bill seems too big for the bird, is fat from top to bottom, and looks like something put on at a costume party and then left in place for the taxi ride home. You can identify this bird by the grin on your own face.

Finally, let me mention the pigeon guillemot (gill'-uh-mot'). Also an alcid and also black and white, its profile definitely makes you think of a large black and white pigeon, but with bright orange legs and feet. Seeing them on the water gives you no hint of one of their special talents: they live in burrows they, themselves, dig in firm dirt cliff faces. You can see some of these dug-out burrows on the Washington coast at Yellow Banks, south of Sand Point near Ozette.

Alcids do come on land and so can be seen by whoever is sharp-eyed and has a good pair of binoculars.

Added to all of the sea birds (and the whales), we saw eagles, sea lions, harbor seals, and porpoises. This gives new meaning to the saying, "This place is a zoo!" It is, indeed!

In any case, this trip was a success for me: An ocean voyage, a fascinating mission, an experienced and amiable crew, intriguing animals, and one of the most beautiful parts of the world. Not a bad way to spend a bit of one's life.

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