Defenders of Wildlife Blog

See an interview with Defenders chief scientist Chris Haney as he reflects on his recent trip down to the Gulf, carrying out a project aboard NOAA’s ”Nancy Foster” as part of an official federal response to the Gulf oil disaster. Chris was looking for the kinds of damages that marine life had experienced as a result of the spill, specifically signs of oiling, signs of distress, any carcasses or dead birds and the general abundance of seabirds found very far away from land.

“Looking at the oil as the sun broke the horizon, it was a rainbow sheen of oil as far as you could see. It was, quite honestly, the ugliest ocean water I’ve ever seen.”

It has now been a few days since I returned home from the science expedition aboard NOAA ship Nancy Foster. Here in Washington, DC, the heat is even more oppressive than it was down there on the Gulf coast. Our weekend weather is supposed to top 100 degrees. Re-entering terrestrial life itself takes a surprising bit of adjusting, especially diving so abruptly into the frantic pace that drives all modern life.

Scarcely have I caught up on rest, unpacked equipment, and backed up data, and it is time to do it all over again. There are two NOAA expeditions heading into the Gulf and departing before the end of July. Only this time it would not be me going along: I had hired two observers to go instead. One was to depart Pascagoula on July 24; the other was leaving out of Key West on July 29.

Tropical Storm Bonnie, courtesy of NOAA

But now, a newly formed Tropical Storm, called “Bonnie,” is aiming at both departure ports! Each observer is jittery when we speak by phone. And not because they are worried about the waves, swell and wind. Rather, they are afraid the ships won’t go at all, that the projects will be canceled. Disappointment in their voices prompts me to offer faith-based platitudes that the research is too important to ditch, and the ships will indeed get out eventually. I understand such enthusiasm for exploration all too well.

 Some readers may wonder why I’ve not talked in more detail about the seabird results, at least those I’ve been able to interpret so far between all of the logistical juggling. All science relies upon external review, so I’m reluctant to draw firm conclusions without critical input from my peers. But there is another reason for my reticence. Some of these data may be sensitive because of their evidentiary value in gauging the impacts of the Deepwater Horizon oil spill. There is a right way and a wrong way to disclose such information, and I certainly wish to the do the former.

 What I can say is that I am barely able to contain excitement over the preliminary results. I spent two evenings this week plotting locations of seabirds that we encountered along the research track of the Nancy Foster. These locations were then superimposed on various maps of the Gulf’s oceanographic features. Despite the ocean looking flat and featureless to our eyes, it is neither. Satellites and shipboard sensors show that seabirds in the eastern Gulf of Mexico pick their locations smartly. It would be bitter irony indeed if their foraging skill in finding these feeding hotspots puts them at risk of injury through oil contamination.

Neuston nets are used to catch small fish and other sea life within a few inches of the ocean surface

Samuel Johnson once remarked, “Being in a ship is being in a jail, with the chance of being drowned.” There is practically no risk of the latter nowadays; there are far too many safety precautions and back-ups. But a sense of confinement can be quite real on the largest of research vessels. Seasoned mariners find ways to cope, or at least put off this reckoning.

Today is our last day, however, and everyone senses that this temporary detention is nearly over. Everyone is eagerly awaiting arrival into Pascagoula around 3 this afternoon. Words like “pizza” and “beer” are spoken with special reverence. After all, most of the crew and science team have been at sea for almost three weeks. Continue Reading

We are close to the vast array of rigs and support ships here at the Deepwater Horizon spill site. We navigate the Nancy Foster carefully around our various sampling stations. Much of the day we wait on local shipping controllers before moving to another station, occasionally to within a few miles of the well head itself.

Our research mission had two primary objectives. One objective was to study the Far Field to understand how ocean currents transport the spilled oil. A second objective, and no less important, was to test water samples at depth to see if accelerated bacterial feeding caused by these huge volumes of spilled oil depletes oxygen so essential to marine life. We had received special permission to sample at great depths extremely close to the spill site, a task we also shared with NOAA research vessel Pisces. Continue Reading

Sometime before midnight yesterday, our expedition’s principal investigator, Ryan Smith, jumped up: “Hey, come look at this!” A monitor in the dry lab prints out continuous readings in lines of different colors for sea surface temperature, salinity, oxygen and chlorophyll. The blue line for salinity has just nose-dived, plummeting more than two parts per thousand. This was not evidence yet of oil; rather, it told us that we had run into the outfall of the Mississippi River, a 20-30 foot thick lens of freshwater sitting on top of the saltier Gulf. We were getting close…

After a fitful night’s sleep, I awake to find absolutely everyone energized and bustling. Normally, the ship’s crew works on a 4-hours-on, 8-hours-off cycle, whereas the science team works 12 and then rests 12. Today, however, everyone was up, and it was easy to see why. High on the flying bridge, I could see the Deepwater Horizon surrounded by its myriad support platforms and tenders. It looked like a distant skyline from a small city. At breakfast, one member of the science team was near tears describing first looks at the massive amounts of oil. Another describes with wide eyes a large “oil pancake” that she found during the night watch.

Our first station is 8 nautical miles east-southeast of the Deepwater Horizon. The Gulf here swarms with traffic. On the bridge, the radio crackles constantly with instructions, requests and warnings. A seismic survey vessel advises us to maintain at least two nautical miles of distance away from them. Helicopters fly by, and a few small planes buzz low overhead. Scanning the horizon, I count at least 37 vessels. These research and support ships are clustered so thickly together, even the radar console gives up and just stacks them all on top of each other.

When I looked down below the Nancy Foster, I see a thick sheen everywhere, in every direction, as far as I can see. The smell is perceptible but not over-powering; it reminds me of the odor of fuel and water from an outboard motor on a lake. The water looks un-naturally opaque, almost like thin paint, and I see dirty foam tinged yellow-brown floating on the surface.

Because of contamination, the science team and crew confer on how to deploy the CTD (conductivity-temperature-depth) rosette over the side without fouling it with crude oil. The high-pressure fire hose is deemed the best means to rinse the instrument as it comes back on board. Ultimately, though, everyone is resigned to losing this $107,000 instrument. NOAA chiefs have declared that the data to be gained are worth the loss of this and another vital piece of gear, the $70,000 MOCNESS trawl.

I stand an hours-long morning watch to see if I can find any seabirds here. It is a search in vain. I see no birds, no marine mammals and no large fish. Finally, just before noon, I see a bright green clump, no more than 10-12 inches in diameter, floating just below the surface. It is a plant, washed far offshore by the Mighty Miss from some land or coastal ecosystem. And swimming underneath it, defying fate, are a dozen small fish no bigger than minnows.

This morning I awoke to find that we were in the midst of a protracted station, this time just a bit north of the middle of Eddy Franklin. Station work involves deploying an array of different instruments, some of which can take an hour to send down to the depths and then retrieve. So after a light breakfast, I caught up on paperwork, and started an analysis in which I plotted marine bird distributions on a map of sea surface altimetry. A thunderstorm passed over us, building up the seas for a good roll, and drenching the deck crew manning the gear outside. Continue Reading