Post-Mission Reflections

So…did we find the BHR? I honestly don’t know.  Did we find two potentially interesting cultural sites? It’s very possible.  Will we ever get to find out what they are?  I sure hope so.  But this project is about so much more than cannons on the bottom of the sea.

Someone once told me that sometimes it’s the process that is most important.  This was the fourth collaborative BHR mission between the US and French Navies in as many years.  It was the most complicated one yet, with U.S. teams on all three ships (most of us not knowing how to speak French), a two-way flow of knowledge and experience from all personnel, training for the French crew on the Autonomous Underwater Vehicles, and a joint quest that is a symbol of our nations’ intertwined maritime histories.  It is a quest that belongs to everyone – the interested citizen, the history buff, the donors who support the Ocean Technology Foundation, the men and women who serve or have served in the Navies, and the young student whose interest in marine technology is piqued by reading about the BHR missions.  I advocate for these missions because they are life-altering -- for me, and hopefully for all those involved, even in some small way.

I don’t really know what to do with this blog at this point.  Sometimes it is a matter of months before any other mission-related events occur, but I will continue to post any new as they happen.

The best way to monitor the blog is to sign up for the email option, and you will automatically receive any new posts via email. If you have any questions or comments for me, you can always email me directly at melissa.oceantechnology@gmail.com.  Thanks for sharing this amazing quest!

I want to express my deepest appreciation to the Commanding Officers and Crews of ANTARES, STYX, and LAPLACE, the latter which also hosted an outstanding team of hydrographers from SHOM, the French Hydrographic Office.  Your Admiral gave you this mission because he believed so strongly in each of you. You have tested the limits of your ships in many ways, and I hope they exceeded your expectations.  Know that you are tougher and more determined than you may have thought, having been much farther from home than usual, and having braved the notorious North Sea in vessels not necessarily suited for it.  Know that you are the ones who really made this mission successful. You inspire me, and I will miss you.

To Bruno, John H. and Jon W.:  Many, many thanks for your leadership and unwavering faith in what we are doing. I only wish you could have been out there with us to see first-hand the hundred positive impacts of your support. You have changed lives, and there is more to come...

It's Not Over Yet

Thursday, June 7

As usual, the weather forecast was for strong winds and moderate to heavy seas. There was a strong low depression moving over the U.K. and by tomorrow there would be gale force winds. We reminded ourselves that the weather could not be trusted, and the Captain ultimately decided that it would be all right to continue the survey.  All day long, for hour upon endless hour, we looked at images of the seabed and noted some unexciting targets. Again, nothing appeared to be what we would expect of a shipwreck, or at least a pile of half-buried ballast.  Around 2:00 pm, we saw something on the computer screen that looked “different.” Not like rocks, and not like sand waves, but something out of character with its surrounding environment.  It was 15 meters long and 3 meters wide, and had some vertical sections that seemed oddly out of place on the bottom of the ocean (see image below). 

About half an hour later, we spotted another interesting target. This one was smaller, but again looked a lot more interesting than the surrounding seabed.  We don’t know if part of it could have been buried and not visible, as often happens with shifting sands.  But we marked its location and decided we liked it.

It was getting late in the afternoon, and the seas were picking up.  STYX was working several miles from us, preparing for a diving mission, but we radioed them to ask for an AUV mission instead, in order to further investigate these new targets.  The AUV has higher resolution imaging and can fly closer to the seabed than the towed sonar system.  We gave them the coordinates of the targets, and they prepared for their mission, which would begin at 6:00 pm.  It would be the last one of the evening, and if the weather forecast was correct, the last one of the entire mission, which would end a day early.  We had one chance to get more information on these targets.  At 5:00 I spoke with the AUV team and they said that the wave height was borderline for working safely, but they still planned to go ahead with the mission.  At 5:30 I was called to the bridge. The AUV team informed us that they could not carry out their final mission.  The seismic ship that was working in our area was coming through, and both of our ships had to move out of the way. With the weather worsening by the minute, there would be zero chance for another mission, even after the seismic ship cleared the area.  
So that was it.  There is always that one dreaded moment during a mission when I know it just isn’t going to happen this time. And that I have to go back home and tell the Admirals again that the results of the mission are inconclusive.  Could I ramble off a list of excuses?  Sure. Weather, equipment failure, not enough time, etc.  But this is just the nature of the beast, and anyone who has worked in salt water knows and accepts this.  When planning a mission, we automatically take the total number of days of the mission, and assume that we will be able to work for only half of those days.  Mother Nature does not negotiate, and too many other circumstances are beyond our control.

After seven years, I should know better than to feel incredulous and frustrated that a mission ends with more questions, but it still doesn’t get any easier.  Surveying in the North Sea is the ultimate test of endurance – of people, vessels, equipment, and spirit. But I think we all passed with flying colors. Where do we go from here, and most important, what have we learned?

Mysterious Rings and Offerings to the Gods

Wednesday, June 6

Last night was the worst night yet, by a mile.  The 27-knot winds were from the southeast, meaning that we could not seek shelter near the shore as we did the previous night.  The ship pitched and rolled all night long, and it was tough just to stay in my bunk.  I took an extra blanket and stuffed it along one side of my bed. With my knees braced against the wall and my back pressed into the blanket, I was able to remain stationary for at least part of the night.  I must have woken up every half hour, hearing the noises of an unstable ship – pots clanging loudly in the galley, doors slamming shut after they worked themselves open, plaques falling off the walls.

I got out of bed at 5:30 since there was no point trying to sleep, and found my way to the bridge. I believe that this is one of the secrets to fighting seasickness, because you can see the swells coming in advance, anticipate the ship’s movements, and adjust your balance accordingly.  The waves were breaking over the bow, and the skies were their usual North Sea grey.  The mood on the bridge could only be described as somber, and the five men on duty were silent and unmoving due to lack of sleep, seasickness, and general misery.  I asked the Executive Officer what they usually do when morale is low, and he said, “Work.”  Since we couldn’t work, I asked what else we could do.  His response was, “I don’t know, morale's never been this bad before.” 

For some humor, I told the crew I was going to make an offering to the sea gods and goddesses, so that they would bring us better weather.  Legend says the gods like sweet things, so I collected some chocolate and fruit, and held a brief ceremony where I made a request and tossed little bits of sweets into the sea (photo left). They thought I was crazy, but I think it may have worked.

A few hours later, in spite of the stormy forecast, the bridge crew began having earnest conversations, and though I couldn’t understand French, I could tell by the feeling in the room that something was happening.  They had noticed the wind speed decreasing, and decided to wait half an hour to see if it would continue declining.  If it did, we could launch the sonar and get back to work.

30 Minutes Later

The mood of a ship changes in an instant, and word traveled fast that we now had an opportunity to work.  There was a tangible excitement in the air as crew members darted through the passageways, giving commands, putting on their gear, preparing to fire up the sonar system and get it in the water.  It was like the fog had lifted, and now there were smiles everywhere. One of the crewmen was whistling the theme song from the movie "Rocky" and it made me smile.

The final word from the Captain was that we were “go for launch,” so the Thales DUBM-44 sonar was deployed (photo top right), and we were off. We surveyed for the rest of the day (sonar command central is on bottom right), but did not find any really compelling targets – only ones that looked like rocks.  In the meantime, the divers on STYX dove on a few targets and described them as “rocks and sand.”  Still nothing solid to pin our hopes on.

Follow Up Note from Last Week: The Rings on the Seabed

Throughout the entire mission, we had been having to give way to a much larger commercial ship that was doing seismic surveys to search for oil in the seabed. In conversation about the target we had seen earlier in the week that consisted of two 35-foot rings, we wondered if these were perhaps some equipment left behind by the seismic ship.  I spoke with the ship’s Captain via the radio, and he indicated that the rings were not related to their work.

So once again, we towed the sonar over the location where we had seen the rings, and were surprised to find that they were no longer visible.  We thought that perhaps these were very large schools of fish who were circling their prey, but I asked a fisherman about this, and he was doubtful the fish would have been schooling that close to the seabed. The other popular theory had something to do with UFOs.  Forget about finding the BHR – I’ll take a UFO discovery any day, or even Atlantis!  But the rings will have to remain a mystery of the deep.

The Vessels and Monday Activities

At the beginning of this blog, I purposely had not described the vessels we were using, in order to protect their locations, since they are military vessels.  Since they have now moved on to their next missions or are transiting, I am sharing their photos below. Week 1 was spent aboard the 59-meter hydrographic ship LAPLACE (following these links will take you out of the blog, so you will need to hit the Back button to return). Laplace is beautifully equipped for oceanographic survey and mapping.  Its usual missions are mapping the French coast.

Weeks 2 and 3 have been on the STYX and ANTARES.  STYX is a 41-meter dive support vessel with a team of divers and the US Navy Autonomous Underwater Vehicles we are using for target investigation. This past week, I was based on ANTARES, a 28-meter long vessel whose mission is sonar surveying.  The two ships work together in their missions locating and clearing mines along the French coast. The divers are trained to deactivate the mines – not a job I would want.

LAPLACE

ANTARES

STYX

Monday, June 4

We have spent the past two days transiting from the port of Hull, England, and waiting for the weather to improve. Having done no surveying and having nothing new to report search-wise, this post, like some of the others, will focus on life aboard a French Navy ship.

Today I will attempt to describe the hideousness that is an angry North Sea, particularly when you are on a very small ship that is not meant to work in the deeper waters offshore.  I don’t think there is a single one of us who has escaped feeling the effects of literally being pounded into one wave after the next. The sea state is a "5", meaning there are 20+ knot winds and waves of about 4 meters.  We are tossed about, and two people are feeling so crummy that they are lying down outside on the aft deck. The XO has assigned someone to check on them periodically to make sure they are still with us and did not fall overboard. We are getting our butts kicked by Mother Nature once again, and have no chance of winning.  In my brief check on the status of my team of two (the ones lying out on the deck), another crew member runs out the door to the stern and bends over the rail.  I feel so bad for everyone, as they are not used to working in heavy seas. I feel particularly bad for the cook, who wasn’t well and had to continue producing meals for 25 people, while boiling huge pots of water that sloshed about, and with the smell of food permeating the air. Maybe it’s because I have already been out here for two weeks, but I have been spared the seasickness. I will count my blessings and try to keep everyone's morale up as best I can. 

The forecast for the next two days is not good, with the sea state reaching a "6" (4-6 meter waves and very rough seas) by tomorrow.  We talk about heading inshore to the shelter of Flamborough Head, which we have done on previous expeditions.  It seems like an eternity (only a few hours) until we are granted permission from the British authorities to anchor near the shore for the night.  Our companion vessel, STYX, is about 10 hours behind us in the transit, as they had engine trouble in port and had to wait for the next tide in order to sail.  Based on our terrible transiting experience, they chose the inshore route and had a much more comfortable ride up to Flamborough Head, where they moored next to us for the night.  We will travel together to the survey area in the morning, and hope that conditions allow us to continue the survey.  A good night's sleep should do everyone good.

Wrapping Up Week 2

Our week ended a bit early, with a port call Thursday-Monday, so we are in England for the weekend.  Week 2 did not go as smoothly as the first week, but we managed to get some good work done. The sonar system was down the first three days, but valiant attempts by the crew to repair it paid off, and we covered about 13 nautical miles of seabed.  We do not have any spectacular targets, but there is one that is very intriguing - not in that it's the BHR, but we have no idea what it is.  On the sonar, it appears as two perfect large white rings, almost intertwined, and each one is 12 meters in diameter, and about 3 meters thick.  The sonar experts pronounced it "bizarre."  It is within diving depths, so we may check it out. I could not get a good screen capture of it, but hopefully will this week and will share it with you.

I am feeling a little bruised and battered from fighting the movements of the ship in the swells, and trying to constantly maintain balance, but not always succeeding. My daily commute is transfer by zodiac from one vessel to another in order to watch the sonar data coming in, and then going back to the other ship in the evening to see the results from diving and AUV operations. I'm getting to be an expert at putting on the bulky orange jumpsuit that's needed for protection against cold and waves during the transfers. I continue to be impressed with the efficiency of the French Navy - launching and recovering the zodiac takes about 4 minutes, and they do it several times a day.  The divers operate out of zodiacs as well, and each dive takes 4-6 divers in the boat who each get a ten-minute dive.  It is an easier process than I thought and again, very efficient.

Morale was getting a little lower than normal with the heavy swells and difficulty sleeping, and everyone was working very hard, so....it was time for a barbeque on deck with sausages, lamb chops, pasta salad, melon, appetizers, and ice cream bars for dessert.  The Captain and several crew members from the sonar ship came over to join us as well.


Next week I'll be living on the small sonar ship, since I spent this week on the dive support ship, and I want to get a feel for all operations, and get to know as much of the crew as possible.  This mission is unusual for all involved, because they usually conduct missions for 2-3 days, and stay a lot closer to home in Brest, FR.  It's just another very special aspect of this adventure!

Phase Two Begins

We begin Part 2 of the survey after a very brief night in port.  It is still beautifully sunny and warm here, so the weather gods are being kind. I hear the vessels we'll be on this week tend to bounce around a bit, so we are keeping our fingers crossed. We end Week 1 with the following stats.  After having noted more than 1100 potential targets, we have narrowed them down (a target can be as simple as a lone boulder on the seabed) and prioritized them according to grades, just like in school.  There are 8 "A" targets, 22 "B" targets, and 45 "C" targets. I do a lot of expectation management, because people tend to get excited thinking that one of the "A" targets has got to be BHR.  But it's all relative, and the "A"s mean that these were the best out of all of the targets, but still may not shout "Shipwreck".  For example, here's an "A".  The horizontal lines, the size, and the object near the bottom are unusual features of the seabed in this area.

Here's a "C" target that's likely a couple of boulders, but still is different than the surrounding seabed.  The blue lines are 10 meters apart and we use them for measuring.

We'll head out this morning to our two ships, have a meeting to get everyone on the same page, and then the crews will be eager to get to work. The ship we used last week has already been in contact and is handing over data to these two who will carry on the mission, so once again it is great to see the communication and organization of the folks involved. I'll post again next weekend and hopefully will have some interesting news from our divers and AUV team.

Day 3

Things are still going well, and we continue to collect targets from the sonar data.  There is one target that has a magnetic signature associated with it, so we will mark it for further investigation with divers or Autonomous Underwater Vehicles. We spend many hours looking at images of sand and rocks, and it’s a tough call as to whether a target merits additional research or not.  We have had the usual amount of equipment malfunctions, but everything gets repaired quickly.  It is a luxury for us to have an entire team of hydrographers who are used to looking at sonar images, so they do the first review of the data as it’s being generated, choose targets, and we look at the data afterwards to further narrow down the choices. One of the hydrographers created the mission logo below..

There is a crew of about 50 on the ship, including me and three other women who share a room.  It’s difficult to get to know everyone in such a short time, but we are making progress.  Today we were invited to dine with some of the crew in their mess, and they were curious about the mission and what we were finding, so it was good to be able to chat with them and answer their questions.  Tonight we are invited to dine in the Petty Officers’ Wardroom, so this will be another great opportunity to get to know more of the ship’s crew.  It’s an honor for us to be welcomed into the respective ranks.  The favorite question seems to be:  “Did we find the BHR?” and I think they are a bit disappointed when I say that we won’t know that until Phase Two Operations with the divers and AUVs.