On my night watch, Argo's aft thruster failed. As long as it's still in the water, we don't know exactly what the problem is, but it's getting power and control inputs, and it's not working. Steering and positioning of the fish is now much more difficult, with only one thruster. People started to talk about recovering Argo tomorrow for servicing.
On my day watch, we were crabbing along as best we could (remember, the ship is still being steered manually, which is pretty hit or miss, and now Argo is limping too). I was reading in the control van, Will was piloting, when I heard him yell and haul hard on the winch. We all saw the obstacle go by, apparently a rope from an anchor on the bottom. Will hauled the fish up as fast as he could, not knowing what it was or what it meant.
Now we were nervous: did we snag it? If so, what's it connected to? Would the unknown rope break before Argo's cable? If there's a float on the upper end, it would get dragged down until it hit Argo, and if it's a glass sphere (usual), would it implode and knock out our vehicle? We watched the winch's readout of cable tension, and thankfully, it stayed in the normal range (between 12 and 13 thousand pounds) and didn't rise substantially. So okay, at least we're not tethered to the bottom.
At least, not for the moment. If we were dragging a line and passed over some wreckage, we could snag it on the wreckage (massive hunks of twisted steel). Not good. Such a rope could also get sucked into the thruster prop, fouling it. While discussion went on, I was piloting, and I pointed out that Argo was pointing in the direction of travel, and the thruster couldn't turn it at all. This seemed a good indication of something dragging behind, but it also meant we couldn't turn the vehicle and look.
So I hauled Argo up a hundred meters or so (still watching the cable tension nervously), and managed to get the vehicle turned enough for the downward looking camera to see the rope: several strands twisting in the current. That settles it; up she comes. Clearly time for some repairs. We figured this was the anchor line for one of Oceaneering's transponders, from last year's survey.
After workout and dinner, Argo was recovered, and I went back to the fantail to look. Several strands of slim orange line, maybe 100 meters of it, snagged on the aft thruster (which had a broken clamp, and was hanging right out of the frame). Turns out this is a message line from _Derbyshire_, which is typically tied to a little rocket and fired over to another ship, to haul over a tow line or something. At least, we've cleared away one possible obstruction for Jason.
Some of the crew have taken advantage of the lull in ship operations to fish from the transom, with big sea poles and drag lines, while the techs swarm over Argo like a Gran Prix pit crew. Another beautiful sunset, fluffy clouds backlit with orange haze. Too cloudy to see either the Green Flash or comet Hale-Bopp. I will keep looking.
At lunch we had a nice touch, the galley crew had little Easter baskets, using the green plastic baskets that strawberries come it, with assortments of candy. Homely but much appreciated favors.
Tonight's movie is "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" with Jack Nicholson. Never saw it before, it's a great flick.
1200 - 1600 We have traveled to an outlying anomaly, to check on whether it's a stray piece of the wreck. It looked like a rock on sonar, and up close, it really looks like a rock. It's pillowy basalt, of the kind generated by underwater lava flows, old enough to be dusted with sediment.
Also there's a lot more biology in this area, including something which makes marks in the sediment that look very much like footprints. The _Derbyshire_ was carrying pelletized iron ore, which has spilled all over the wreck site. It glitters under Argo's lights like a carpet of diamonds on black velvet, very pretty, but it covers the sediment, and must make life difficult for creatures that need to find food wherever they can.
Several of the crew are into crossword puzzles, and they share some of their photocopied puzzles in the electronics lab. So I cracked out my book of the New York Times puzzles, photocopied some, and passed them around. Will Sellers has done the same with some of the Boston Globe puzzles, but they are too easy!
I can tell I've been at sea too long when the high point of my day is finding Nutter Butter cookies in the galley, rather than boring old Oreos. Is this livin' large, or what?
In the afternoon I cut out a paper fish and managed to tape it to Pierre's back, but it fell off before he noticed. Will S made a matter of fact report to Andy (WHOI team leader) about wrecking the vehicle, and really had him going! We do get our jollies.
Today we are doing "dangle" surveys, hanging Argo in one place for detailed looks at specific sites, rather than towing it along. This is even more boring than running lines (if possible), at least for the pilot.
My code development goes very slowly. Steve had asked me to fix a SeaNet bug, and I did get it done, just in time to find that he had gotten impatient and fixed it himself. This pricked my pride, a little, and I was about to explain that I could have done it with ease if I didn't have to stand watches, which break up my available time into useless fragments, and keep me somewhat sleep deprived. But then I took a deep breath and let it go, it's not that important.
In the evening I saw an unexpected novelty: a ship! A huge megacarrier, along the lines of the _Derbyshire_ except this one had four big spherical tanks amidships, so I would guess it's carrying gas or liquid cargo. I sat on the hangar deck and watched it come up to starboard, pass astern of us against the sunset, and move off to port in the deepening twilight, approaching to within maybe a mile and a half. At that range, such a ship appears totally immobile. The only way to tell that it's moving is to spot the slow-motion bursts of white at the bow, where it's crashing through the sea. I thought about the people aboard, what we must look like to them, what nationality they are. It seems a little silly to get excited, but after a month of looking at nothing but the infinite horizon, it was a real treat.
Pierre is getting easier to deal with. He's not always micromanaging me anymore, sometimes he will just say "Stay on this line" and let me decide how and when to use the controls. This makes me feel better. It's hard for me to work with people who act like they don't respect me. (It's also hard for me to work with people that I don't respect; I am better at piloting and identifying things on sonar than he is, even though he's supposed to be experienced in this business. Perhaps he's finally caught on that letting me do my job achieves better results, which is good for everybody.)
On the other hand, Eric (the video guy on watch) can be very trying. He's a nice guy, but constantly chattering inane opinions and jokes that aren't funny. Either he has very little to do, or he's not doing what he's supposed to, because he's usually talking to the rest of us. I appreciate Sartre's "No Exit" like never before; I can't go anywhere, so I just have to put up with it and get through the watch.
The weather continues springlike and mostly nice, although I see almost none of it, I live by fluorescent light and cathode rays most of the time. It's worth noting that, in the middle of the ocean, it's always humid, and almost always windy, so there's only a narrow temperature range that will feel comfortable, and it does feel pretty comfortable most of the time. I understand that Boston is in the middle of a major blizzard right now!
So here's some more info about the hierarchy of the ship's crew. Below the captain, there are three mates (one for each bridge watch), and below them are half a dozen Able Bodied Seamen, who are called "A.B.'s" when you're being polite, and "deck apes" when not. (A larger ship would have a rank of Ordinary Seamen below that, and maybe a bosun, who's in charge of "physical plant" maintenance of the hull.)
Below decks, there is a separate hierarchy. Below the chief engineer, there are three assistant engineers, and below them are four Oilers. (A larger ship would have a rank of Wipers below that, which is pretty low!) Engine room crew are called "snipes" when out of their hearing. And the galley includes a chief steward, assistant steward, and mess attendant.
I saw some video tonight, part of "The Black Stallion" and the beginning of "The Nutty Professor" with Eddie Murphy playing about a hundred roles, very funny.
Most of the ship's crew lives in Seattle, when they're not on the ship. Some character sketches:
Glen, the captain, looks like a harried Will Riker, often with hair askew. He's friendly enough, but usually seems preoccupied and busy, which I guess is understandable. On the rare occasions when he's not dealing with running the ship, he's fishing from the fantail. We might get fresh mahimahi or yellowfin one of these days.
Jimbo (mess attendant) is a young thin guy, buzz cut and pierced ears, talking about going to college. He's eager to learn (we had ongoing discussions about number theory a while ago) but just doesn't have much background. (I appreciate my education all over again.)
Julie (A.B.) is a young girl, with a brunette forelock in her eyes and a cute smile with dimples. She's nice, but shy, and doesn't hang around much (probably being on a ship full of guys will do that). I can see that this kind of job is an opportunity for a kid with few skills to get out of the house and earn some money, but it doesn't have much of a future ashore.
Mike, the computer operator, is an older guy with graying beard. He's been helpful in getting things working, and fun to share crossword puzzles with. They usually play Jarhead Radio (US armed forces station in Okinawa) in the computer room, which limits my stay there.
Suzy (assistant steward) was friendly at first, and would sometimes fix me vegetarian options when the menu was meat-centric. But now she's not talking to me. I think she overhead me talking about being Pagan; turns out she's a fundamentalist Christian. Oh well. It's amazing how insecure they seem to be, as a group.
There's a shuttle scheduled to meet us early next week. It will be bringing a new P-code setup, and there will be much rejoicing. It's also bringing a crew from the Discovery Channel, to do some filming. Hopefully this will be interesting without being too disruptive. We've asked for fresh vegetables and fruit, also (the salads are getting kinda sad), but I don't know if we'll get any supplies.
The weather, which was cool and cloudy for a while, has turned sunny and warm. I'm making a point of getting some sun in the mornings, before I go on watch, so that I won't look like a cave troll when I get home.
In the evening, the stars were brilliant, and we had a great view of Comet Hale-Bopp, about twenty degrees above the southwest horizon. To the naked eye, it looks like a star with a fat fuzzy tail. I went up to the bridge to borrow binoculars, so I could see the head and corona, very beautiful. I pointed it out to several of the Brits, and they appreciated it.
Around lunchtime, there was an announcement on the ship intercom: a large school of tuna sighted off the starboard bow. (I looked, but couldn't really see anything.) The captain and several others mobilized their fishing rods and launched a boat, but came back empty handed.
These are the last couple of days of Argo operations. We've all been working at this for a long time now, and people are trying to do what they can to keep spirits up. I made popcorn and brought it to the control van for munching. Will Sellers found some Christmas tree lights and strung them up in the control van, the kind with an electronic controller to make them flash in different patterns. Dana didn't like them, saying that they were inappropriate for the mission (since the _Derbyshire_ is a grave site). I'm uncertain whether he's joking or not, but anyway, the lights got taken away.
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