Defenders of Wildlife Blog

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. Read the full story

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. Read the full story

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. Read the full story

Gulf thunderheads at dusk

We call it the “Far Field.” It is the reason scientists here on the Nancy Foster chose this remote, seemingly empty portion of the Gulf of Mexico to study. The Far Field is why we are such a long way from Florida, practically north of Mexico now, and working in water that is two miles deep. The Far Field is so-named because it is “downstream” from the actual spill site. Yet the Far Field is absolutely vital to understand if we wish to know where both the fresh and the weathered oil will end up going.

The Far Field consists of the Loop Current and several eddies associated with it in the eastern Gulf of Mexico. The largest eddy has been named “Eddy Franklin,” a warm, clockwise-turning feature. If you inspect this graphic closely, you can see other, smaller eddies on all sides of Eddy Franklin.

Photo credit ROFFS™

Cyclonic eddies turn counter-clockwise; anti-cyclonic eddies turn clockwise. In this picture of the entire Gulf, the cyclonic eddies show up in blue, the anti-cyclonic in yellow-red hues.

Photo credit University of Miami, Rosenstiel School of Marine and Atmospheric Science

Depending on the behavior of the Loop Current and its eddies, oil from the Deepwater Horizon spill can either stay mostly confined here in the Gulf, or it can be pulled around Florida and up the east coast of the U.S. All of our measurements, and certainly the cruise track itself, are aimed at better understanding this Far Field in order to improve forecasts about any current-assisted oil movements.

For the past several months, the Far Field has confounded us with its incredibly complex structure. It is a pattern not witnessed this dramatically since 1998, another time when the typical bulge of the Loop Current pinched off entirely, and a large, clockwise-circulating eddy ultimately wended its own way into the western Gulf. Why should we care? Right now, ocean currents are placing an unusually large number of obstacles in the path of the oil going very far, very quickly, away from the spill’s ground zero. And that is a good thing.

Today, we are sampling the middle of Eddy Franklin. For a seabird biologist, to be able to interpret one’s sightings in such a rich context of instruments, maps and data, all of it in real-time, is research nirvana. Yesterday, we discovered a modest hotspot for seabirds at a convergence (border between two currents) formed by two smaller eddies east of Eddy Franklin. Today, I found two kinds of seabirds inside Eddy Franklin that were unexpected. One of them was such a surprise that its presence here is sure to create a buzz — the conservation implications are great.

Other discoveries during these last 24 hours were gratifying for non-scientific reasons. I learned that our commanding officer is an avid birder, and I was able to show him three new seabirds he had never before seen. I learned that scientists from Miami brought the means to brew and share rich, dark and very sweet Cuban coffee to celebrate our completed station work. And, too, I’ve learned that going beardless can be survived, even if it is achieved with a very dull razor on a rocking ship.

Photo courtesy of NOAA

After abandoning the rest of his life to hurriedly catch the research vessel Walton Smith on its voyage from Gulfport, Mississippi, bound for Miami, Florida, biologist David S. Lee settled into a familiar routine of the sea watch. Given how far north the ship remained during the afternoon of June 7, he was not really expecting much in the way of interesting bird life. The ocean, however, has an uncanny way of delivering surprises to a persistent researcher, and Dave is very persistent.  Read the full story