M. Bear takes a tour

Okay, people.  I am quite displeased with Miss Staci right now.  She sleeps all day, and she works all night.  What's a strapping young bear to do?  She hasn't even caught me any salmon like she promised.  I don't have any  TV, there is no indoor pool facility, and no Lido deck on this ship!  In addition, the cruise activities do not fit in with this bear's jet-setting lifestyle.  So, I'm exacting revenge.  Today, I snuck out of my stateroom and took my own tour of the Oscar Dyson all by myself - something Miss Staci  never did for me.  I am also on an auxillary mission to find salmon.  I also took over her blog to make sure that you have all of the pictures so maybe YOU can enjoy some ship life, too.  And if I find a salmon, I'll probably eat it all and there won't be any to share.  That's what the Kodiak Brown Bears taught me last week.  No sharing! 



While Miss Staci and Miss Cat were out whale watching, I took a tour of the Oscar Dyson.



First, I taught myself how to sail in the direction of the Salmon!



Excuse me!  I would like some order here!  I'm trying to hold a meeting about the lack of salmon onboard!  What?  This is a Pollock ship, you say?  Ok.  I can eat those, too.







Then, I took myself out to the bow of the ship!



I found a lounge with a wide selection of movies to watch! 



The man behind the metal:  Mr. Oscar Dyson himself, ladies and gentleman.

 

Here I am on the stairs.  They are awfully steep - Miss Staci can't even climb them half the time.  She's always runninginto walls on this ship.  Thank God I am so stealthy and agile, otherwise I would look as silly as she does climbing stairs!

Well, I made it all the way up to the bridge.  Here I am sitting in the Captain's chair - Miss Sarah, the XO  let me hold the log book, too!  She was very busy today avoiding whales, but she let me drive for a little bit.  I think that is too stressful, and would much rather enjoy a nice nap instead of having such responsibility.

I think I will spend the afternoon salmon hunting from the flying bridge.  If Miss Staci won't  catch me any salmon, I guess I gotta go do it myself.

This concludes Marshmallow's tour of the Oscar Dyson.  I will now put the computer back exaaaaactly where I found it so Miss Staci doesn't know I hijacked her blog and her camera.  I hope you have a good idea of what the ship looks like and you can get a good sense of just how big and incredible it is!  After a nice hot meal, I think I might return to whale watching.   We've seen at least fifty humpback whales and even more gray whales, even two or three Orca.  Miss Staci thinks they are pretty.  I think they are food. 

Until Next Time,
The Man
The Legend
The Marshmallow






Death Match II

Hey, folks!  I have two Teacher At Sea posts on my other site.  Follow along by clicking on this link, especially if you want to hear of my encounters with fossils and Kodiak Bears, of which there both are plenty:

www.teacheratsea.WordPress.com/category/Teachers/staci-deschryver

Also, check out Cat's blog, my fellow TASer!  www.blueworldadventures.blogspot.com She has some adorably cute cartoons that explain science in a funzie way.


Here you go, as promised - the second installment of the "Don't listen to the Corpspeople when they say something is fun" blog.  Actually, as you may have predicted, this day, too, was also a blast, but one should never waste a good experience by sparing the suspense.

Last week, while we were patiently awaiting departure, we were looking for alternate activities that might help us to explore Kodiak in a manner that would befit a Kodiak native.  While we were discussing what to do with our day, Matt, a NOAA Corps Officer, made an incredible – and by incredible, I mean ridiculous-  suggestion.

"Why don't you go climb Pyramid Peak?"

Umm...why don't I go climb Pyramid Peak?  With a name like Pyramid,  it's surely a gentle stroll in the moss-covered wood - flat on all accounts. 

Sound the warning alarms.  "It's a lot of fun."

Okay, I thought I had learned my lesson on this while clinging for my dear life to the side of a ship trying to get the nerve to jump off the back.

"Sounds great!  How do we get there?" 

Apparently…not.

And it was that simple.  Off we went to climb Pyramid Peak.  I must admit, I fancied a hike that was off the Coast Guard Base, as the same loop I was frequenting every morning was getting a bit, well...predictable.  I might even admit to being a bit cocky at this juncture - I mean, sure, it's called Pyramid Peak, but so is every other pointy-looking outcrop west of the Mississippi.  Besides, I'm from Denver, bro.  I have a gnarly set of lungs built for mountain climbing, road biking, mountain biking, and snowboarding.  In fact, I even checked last week and I'm starting to grow Billy Goat Horns I'm so agile on the stone...Bring it, Pyramid.  You're nothing to me in infinite stealth and stature.  I squash you.  Like bug.  I laugh in the face of your 2400’ summit.  I hike 2400’ in elevation every morning in my sleep – on the way to school – uphill – both ways.  By the time I’m done with you, Pyramid, you’re going to wish you had never fallen victim to tectonic uplift, only to be trounced upon by the likeness of me.  You’re going to wish you never let me on your trail.  You will shrink in size by the time I’m finished, you insignificant blot on a topo map. 

Then I saw the trail.

From a distance, Pyramid Peak looks like a pyramid.  But not just any pyramid.  Like a big, narrow, steeply angled, pee-down-your-leg it’s-so-sketchy pyramid.  But, at this moment, I couldn’t turn back.  I was in for the long haul.  I contemplated backing out.  “You know what guys?  I don’t need to go up this – the view from here is good.  Besides, I climb crap like this all the time, I don’t need to do one this small…”  I pictured the reactions from my colleagues and thought better of it.  Guess there’s only one way to go.  Up.

Now, Pyramid Peak in all of its Pyramid-ish perfection would, in fact, have been a nice stroll had they cut the trail like NORMAL PEOPLE.  However, this trail was designed largely in a perfunctory fashion – as in, straight up the steepest side.  At the conclusion of this hike, I sat down and wrote a strongly worded letter to the only people who would be so silly to cut a trail in this fashion.  Below is an excerpt:

Dear Alaska Anti-Switchback Coalition,

You, sirs, have truly outdid yourselves.  Thank you for shortening our hike by making it NEXT TO IMPOSSIBLE TO WALK UP.  I intend to write a strongly worded letter to your competing organization, Persons For Reasonable Hiking, post-haste. 

Sincerely,

Lady Who Does Not Enjoy Walking Straight Up at a 60 Degree Angle for Extended Periods Of Time.



Marshmallow also decided to write a strongly worded letter:

Dear Sirs,

Your trailblazing, in my opinion, was quite legendary.  Thank you for making the trek up Pyramid straight up the 60 degree hillside.  In this instance, you have shortened the hike time by approximately 2 hours and you saved countless steps of boredom as I rode the entire way in the comfort of my backpack.  If you receive any strongly worded letters from someone by the name of Lady Who Does Not Enjoy Walking Straight Up at a 60 Degree Angle for Extended Periods Of Time, it is best to ignore her pleas for the addition of a normally cut trail for normally cut people.  She is always trying drag me along on these stupid walks.  This causes me to miss my critical afternoon TV program lineup.  I get very cranky when I miss the Jersey Shore.

Sincerely,
M. Bear

Well, at least one of us had a leisurely afternoon.

The hike really was astounding on multiple levels.  First, it was astounding to me that Alaska finds the need to further prove their ruggedness by trailblazing directly uphill.  Second, it was astoundingly beautiful.  Once we cleared the first ridge, you could see bays on either side of the mountain, and across to another mountain range – possibly on the mainland of Alaska, but I’m not entirely sure.  Everything was green, and the moss-covered ground was a thick duck down underfoot.  We saw a Ptarmigan and her babies scuttling around on the ground, and even had a nice Salmonberry break (of course…) midway up the trail.  In some places the trail was so narrow and the overgrowth was so tall, it was in my mind an African safari – only Kodiak Brown Bears lurking around every corner, which, in my humble opinion, sure beats an angry Hippopotamus. 

We didn’t quite make it to the top of Pyramid because the climb did get quite sketchy toward the top.  It was about a twenty foot section of 5.5 or 5.6 climbing that would necessarily be downclimbed to return to the car.  Translation:  Stay Where You Are.  I suspect this was the “fun” part that the NOAA Corps enjoys so much.  But, we had a beautiful view from the base of the area, and felt pretty accomplished regarding the climb – I mean – Hike. 

As we sat at the (almost) top, we heard a roaring in the distance.  As soon as I looked up, a float plane flew by us – right at eye level!  We waved, and the plane “waved” back by tipping his wings back and forth.  If I were in that plane, I would have strangled the pilot – well, except I would have needed him to land, so Strike that…but it would have scared the daylights out of me.

I can’t decide that if it was the uphill or the downhill that caused me to walk like I had steel rebar in my legs for the next three days.  It was incredible to me – I thought I would have problems with my lungs tiring before my legs, but at this elevation, the opposite was true.  I did, however, have a really easy time recovering from my frequent breaks while trudging uphill – directly uphill. 

So, if you’re ever in the area and feeling a bit suicidal, climb Pyramid Peak.  You’ll love it.  “It’s a lot of fun.”  No, seriously.  It's a lot of fun. 

The Hard Corps

Don’t forget to visit my other blog at http://teacheratsea.WordPress.com/category/Teachers/staci-deschryver  to see what sorts of scientific shenanigans I’ve been up to! (Especially fellow educators and students if you are out there following!) I visited an underwater petting zoo!  Now, if that doesn’t get you to visit that blog, I contest that you are a large curmudgeon. 

 I would like to take this opportunity to inform all of you reading at home that my experiences with the Corpspeople aboard the NOAA Ship Oscar Dyson have been quite incredible.  Twice they tried to kill me in the last two days.  Okay, okay… that’s an obnoxious overstatement.  Let’s just put it this way – when someone from the NOAA Corps or the Coast Guard says “This would be a lot of fun,” one should seriously consider the source.  These people jump out of helicopters and drive ships in 40’ seas for crying out loud.  I’ve discovered (hindsight is 20/20) that it might take a little more than the average jolt to get the adrenaline flowin’.

In all reality, I did have a complete and total blast in the last two days, particularly during the attempted homicides, but let’s face it, it’s way cooler to talk about these sorts of activities as though I’m having a near-life experience.  Which, I can say in absolute honesty, I did.  Below is a verbal re-enactment of Death Match I.  I figured I would go the Harry Potter #7 route on this installment, because there’s nothing like stretching out a good story.  

First, in light of the recent injury on board and the subsequent time that we’ve spent at the docks, the crew of the Oscar Dyson decided to have a “Safety Stand Down Day” on Friday.  I might contest at this juncture that it should have been named the “Safety Jump Down Day,” but more on that later. 

The first portion of the morning was spent quietly eavesdropping on frightening topics such as fighting fires and avoiding getting racked by moving ship parts while milling about in your daily duties.  Part of the training included an activity involving a shipwreck and fifteen survival items.    I had to rank order the survival items by importance, 1 being the most important to 15, being the least.  It was a friendly competition to see how well we ranked these necessary items in comparison to the experts.  I won.  This is a scary notion, in my humble opinion, though not overly surprising given my recent obsession with the impending 2012 apocalypse.   However, I can’t quite put my finger on why the fact that I won was so frightening.  I have narrowed it down to three plausible reasons, of which I would like you to be the judge.

Reason #1:  I am a teacher on a boatful of sailors and burly crewpersons.  Given my skill set, Charles Darwin indicates that I should be the first to go…not the first to survive.

Reason #2:  I based my reasoning on item ranking specifically by determining which items could be used for starting and/or maintaining a fire…on a rubber life raft.

Reason #3:  I didn’t really pay much attention to the importance of food because Bear Grylls says I can live for two weeks without it.  I figured we would be picked up by then.  (Some of you will be pleased to know that I did, however, place the 160 proof rum as #4 on the list above all other food items – but not for the reasons you suspect).

 Not only did I get a really cool activity to use with my students (Thanks, XO!!) I did win a prize for my surviving efforts – a waterproof cigarette case, of which the contents would surely kill me long before the need to build a fire on a rubber life raft would.  It’s actually a really cool case that can be repurposed for my wallet and/or various sundry items – I’m thinking a variety of fun-size candies will do well in a receptacle such as this.  One should never sacrifice chocolate to the soggy-sea monster. 

After a nice lunch, the afternoon took a turn for the fun.  We went out on the back deck and watched a deployment of a survival raft.  The lead safety officer chucked a barrel over the side of the boat where it crashed 28ish or so feet below on the water. 

What’s really neat about these rafts is that they are self-inflated by carbon dioxide tanks attached to the side.   I always wondered who drew the short straw in needing to blow up the life raft in the event of an emergency.  It turns out the answer is nobody.  They think of everything around here. 



This is how the life raft is "packed".  We got to use ones that recently expired so that we weren't wasting any money or expending life rafts that may need to be used later on.  Yes.  Life rafts have an expiration date.   



Now comes the part where they made their first attempt on my life.

 The lead safety officer casually glances up at the crew and said “Who would like to don an immersion suit, jump overboard, and swim to the life raft?”  I pondered for a moment. Do I want to put on a survival suit and jump into the ocean?  A million questions flooded my mind.

Jump off the boat from 25 feet up?  Are you kidding me?

Don a survival suit?  No thank you, please.  I am currently surviving just fine onboard this dandy seaworthy vessel, and see no reason to alter my current state.

Jump off a ship that’s working perfectly fine and swim to one that must be powered under my own capacities?

Do I suppose that school of jellyfish in the water below will sting?

 Did I not just eat a delicious slice of pizza a mere twenty minutes ago?  Aren’t there strict regulations against swimming for thirty minutes after a meal? 

As I pondered all of these questions, I realized the most important consideration of all.  If I’m going to jump off a boat, get stung by killer jellyfish, experience side bending post-meal cramps and drown, a Coast Guard base is probably the best place to do it.  Meh.  I guess that settles it.  Do I want to don an immersion suit and jump into the water?  Indeed, I do. 

Thankfully, we moved down one deck for the jump, reducing the chances of death by about 15 feet.  Not thankfully, I was informed by Ren, the Chief Medical Officer, that sometimes when too much air gets in your survival suit, you might, in fact, come up feet first, rather than head first.  Great.  So now I will jump before I know if I’ve secured my water wings to my arms or to my ankles.  I may as well just grab them.

I’ve jumped off of high “things” before into water, but typically I avoid the balking that would ensue otherwise by refusing to look over the side so that I don’t know what I’m hucking myself off of until I’m mid-air and there’s nothing I can do about it.  This policy has served me well in the past, particularly for the purposes of preserving the image of being an adrenaline-seeking beast.  In this case, however, we had to walk carefully to the side of the rail, climb up, and do the one thing that would make my aforementioned beasty façade wilt like a daisy in a hothouse.  I had to look down. 

I didn’t know what to do.  Do I climb back down, disrobe the gumby suit and watch in shame as those below gleefully splash about in the water?  As I’m pondering my current state of affairs while balancing precariously on an eight inch rail, the CO of the ship (Commanding Officer – yeah, the big boss) who was in full scuba gear in the water for safety purposes says the word I could have waited all day to hear.  “Clear!”  Uh oh. 

“Now?”

“Step out and away from the side.  You’re clear.”

“It’s okay for me to jump now?”

“Yes.  You’re clear.” 

“So, I can jump down now?” 

“Yeah, whenever you’re ready.  You’re clear.”

Are you kidding me?  I’m not ready…

“I’m gonna float, right?”

“CLEAR!”

I took one full breath, glanced around at all of the people in the water who were standing by for anything that could possibly go wrong, considered once again that I was on a Coast Guard Base swarming with people who would jump at the chance to save anyone stranded in the water – even me – and I climbed dejectedly off the ledge and back into the ship.

Just kidding, I totally jumped.  It was so awesome.

To those who know, it was a total HOLD IT! moment for me.  This experience ranked in the top 3 things I’ve ever done. 

Being in a survival suit in the water is like wrapping yourself in your own pool floatie.  It’s not a wetsuit – I had pants and a sweatshirt on underneath and remained comfortably dry (for the most part) the entire time.  Swimming is a bit cumbersome, but they recommend doing an elementary backstroke to get to where you need to go – in this case, the life raft.  The immersion suit was so floaty that I thought I should require a pineapple drink to enjoy in the water, as all people who float this handily certainly do.  I then realized I was there for experimental purposes and we were conducting a safety drill, so I snapped back out of it and rejoined the fun taking place in the ocean.

We got pulled in to the life rafts, we jumped out of the life rafts, we switched life rafts, we tested the capacity of the rafts by putting eight people into one, we practiced flipping them over and re-flipping them back again, practiced paddling from inside the raft to a specific location (which is actually really difficult) and paddled about with the jellyfish, which were actually moon jellies – the kind that don’t sting. 

I have to say that climbing into the life raft and sitting cramped under a canopy with eight people was difficult enough on its own.  I seriously don’t know how people can do it in rough or stormy seas.  Rarely does a ship go down in the glass calm weather we practiced in today, and never around a network of people who were ready to jump in at the first sign of trouble.  There are only two entrances (exits?) on the raft. We were basically huddled up in a giant kickball. I thought about what it would be like to be tossed around on the ocean with that many people essentially trapped inside the raft.  I also recognized my gaff at prioritizing fire-starting items in a covered rubber environment for survival purposes.  I have heard stories of rafts getting flipped with people inside who did live to tell the story, however I wondered what incredible miracles had to take place for them to be able to do so.  I can assure you, when you hear those stories, the people who tell them have probably softened them to a great extent, as this situation is not for the weak of heart, stomach, or any organ, for that matter.      

When we finally got out of the water, I asked one of the NOAA Corpsmen, Matt, how often they get to do something like this.  He told me that they only get to do it about once every two years, and rarely off the back of a ship into the ocean.  To my knowledge, Cat and I are the only Teachers at Sea who have had the chance to do this.  The abandon ship drills are typically not so…ahem…involved.  We usually bring our survival suits to the deck with the things we need and sometimes practice getting into and out of them so that we can remain well practiced at a skill that certainly needs to be on autopilot when things turn for the worse.   I haven’t even done a standard abandon ship drill yet.  I just flat out abandoned ship.

It was an extraordinary experience – both fun and sobering.  Even though we have not left yet, we’ve  experienced a lot of things that we otherwise would never have had the chance to do.  I’m just glad I found the courage to participate.  It made me really appreciate the dangers of this line of work.  I always respected the stories of the people who have been through something as terrible as a ship sinking, but now that respect has another edge to it – I almost know the feeling.  Almost. 

We Have Arrived...and We Have Not Left Yet...

Hey, folks!  If you want to learn more about my scientific-like shenanigans, please also visit:

http://teacheratsea.WordPress.com/category/Teachers/staci-deschryver

You'll love it, I promise. 

Well, here I am! It is a small miracle that I have arrived in Kodiak with only 2 near misses to speak of. 

As I boarded the plane to leave Denver, the pilot happily announced that we would be "shoving off" early.  Pleased with this information, I quietly settled in with a book and began reading.  And reading.  And reading.  And then I noticed we were not moving.  After about twenty minutes we were politely informed that a navigation issue would put us "slightly behind schedule."  For an hour and fifteen minutes.  Now, this is the first of three legs I have to make to get to Kodiak, and I only have an hour and a half to get from my current plane to the plane that will eventually bring me in to Anchorage.

Needless to say, my years of Olympic sprint training came in handy when the plane finally did land in Seattle.  I also utilized some hurdle skills over what I have now determined to be poorly placed gate seating in SEA-TAC.  As the blast doors were closing on my portal to Alaska, I ran down the ramp with only seconds to spare.  My BAGS, however, decided to stop and get a Cinnabon during the transfer, because as I eagerly awaited them in Kodiak, they did not arrive in style as I did.  I pondered what it would be like to travel on a ship with two t-shirts and a pair of shorts for three weeks in forty degree weather.  Thankfully, Alaska Airlines did not want my bag as much as I did, because they promptly dropped it off on the next flight in to Kodiak.  I learned that it would be quite easy to acquire my sluggish cargo when the airline employee took me out the front door and pointed at my motel which was across a field about 100 yards away. Since it doesn't get dark until 11:30 in these parts, I just made the quick trek back over when the plane came back. 

Kodiak's airport is...tricky.  Let me describe to you how the landing went from the passenger perspective on a plane where EVERYONE got a window seat.  It went like this:

Ocean, Ocean, Ocean, Ocean, Ocean, Ocean - Runway - 5,000 foot tall mountain.

You may have recognized the absence of buffer words such as "field," "space", "grass", "hangars", "parking lots", or "cows."

To put it bluntly, the pilots were pretty gangster, in my humble opinion.  Imagine what that looked like from the cockpit.  I would try to imagine it, but I was busy witnessing it out the front window myself while simultaneously trying to not to pee down my own leg.  Three cheers for those guys.  They were beasts.

After spending the night in the Hotel I made my way to the ship where I made my grand entrance in true Staci fashion by promptly tripping over this:

 Ah yes, welcome aboard, girl with two left feet.  You will get along swimmingly here, especially when the boat is actually moving.  You might want to consider practicing your walking before we actually shove off and nasty words like "pitch" and "roll" invade your pedestrian vocabulary.

Of course, three to five people saw the whole thing.  An excellent first impression, I suspect, as the crew knew in that instant that they would at the very least have some entertainment for the next three weeks. 

As we were waiting for our staterooms (I love that word - stateroom - having a stateroom makes me feel ever so slightly more important and dignified.  Excuse me, sir, could you please get out of my way?  I have a stateroom to go to),  there were abandon ship drills taking place.  As if that wasn't a friendly enough reminder that being on a ship is, indeed, dangerous, someone was injured during the drill.  This extremely unfortunate situation has put us in a position to wait for a few days before we are cleared to sail.  So,we are patiently waiting in port until we have someone to replace the injured party.

So, for now, I will have some outstanding adventures on shore in Kodiak.  I discovered they do not roll up the streets until about 5 am around here, mostly because it doesn't even get dark until 11:30 at night.  So there is plenty to do and plenty of daylight in which to do it.  Hopefully we will be underway shortly so that I can report on how well I cannot walk when the ship actually moves.  For now, the door jambs do a nice job of reminding me just how much I don't know.

Till next time, folks...

So, I'm on a ship, but i's a DIFFERENT ship!

Hello, everyone!  Well, we finally got everything straightened out.  The R/V Thomas G. Thompson fell a little "ill" and is currently sick in drydock.  As a result, the trip got pushed back to the point where I could no longer make it onboard with that crew.  I am so thankful to the members of this ship who were willing to take me on board, and I wish them good research and happy sailing!

However, I did get my cruise placement yesterday on the Oscar Dyson!  I will be leaving on July 21st to do a Walleye Pollock Fisheries Assessment in the southern portions of Alaska.  I will post more as I learn further details of the trip - for now, visit teacheratsea.noaa.gov if you get some free time.  We've had our first teacher of 2011 set sail in the gulf of Mexico to do some hydrographic surveys and based on his blog, he's had a fantastic experience!

So much time, so little to do...Wait...Strike That. Reverse it.

Well, it's almost time.  I've trained, I've communicated, I've met, I've chatted. 

I have not packed.

As one might suspect, packing for an ocean trip is not easy.  As my momma always used to say when I panicked about forgetting something when traveling "Gee, Stace, you aren't going to the moon.  It's not like there won't be a Walgreens where you're going."  Well, I think it's safe to say at this juncture that there will be no mid-ocean Walgreens, much to my chagrin.  But do you know what I found out from my partnering teacher about what IS in Alaska?

 Birds.  Who knew? 

This adds a whole new dimension of anxiety for me.

 Those of you who don't know might find it interesting that my relationship with birds is tenuous at best.  Well, let's not mince words.  I'm deathly afraid of birds.  Now, I understand they are a functional part of our ecosystem, they eat mosquitoes, and I'm sure they perform some other perfunctory purposes.  But YOU try getting attacked by a stump-footed pigeon in front of the Natural Histroy Muesum of London for your sandwich and tell me how fantastic they are.  Trust me, the Mary Poppins "Feed the Birds" song most certainly does NOT play out as depicted in the film.  The second you throw your last kernel of corn to the flood - I mean, flock - their beady eyes turn to you like a crazed 4-year-old who just discovered his older sister took the last donut.  It's apocalyptic. 

Despite my misgivings, Cat (the other teacher who is traveling with me) told me of one type of bird living in Alaska that might actually be kind of cute.  The Puffin.  Here is what I decided about birds, particularly the Puffin, with respect to this particular boat trip:

 If I had to reintroduce myself to an appreciation for the species, it would be by manner of puffin, dodo, or penguin. Since dodo and penguin are not hemispherically accurate in this instance, one might suspect that a puffin would be an excellent candidate as a "gateway bird" for viewing and, I shudder to think, enjoyment.

So, my friends, as I depart on my adventure, I would like to take this moment to pay homage to our friend, the Puffin.  Any opportunity to see a Puffin is an opportunity for me to reconcile my differences with our beaked ancestors.  As Cat pointed out, birds stemmed from the T-Rex on the evolutionary chain, meaning that by definition malice and a voracious appetite flows through their blood. 

Happy trails (sails?) my friends.  My next post will be from the Big Blue! From Seward's Folly! From the last Great Frontier!  From the Lido deck!  Wait...

(Still) Getting Ready!

One thing I've learned over the course of the last three to four months is that even change changes on the ocean!  Since I last touched base with all of you, my latest travel orders indicate that I am going both into and out of Kodiak!  You all may recognize the name "Kodiak" because it is painted on the back of almost all of the Deadliest Catch ships.   (You may also recognize the name Kodiak because it's the coolest island in Alaska.  And I'm going there. Twice.)

I am hoping to get the opportunity to hike out to the 1964 Alaskan Tsunami line on the island if I get some time.  I've heard that it is accessible in a few locations on the island.  If you've never heard of the 1964 earthquake, I'll give you a quick rundown.  Armed with this information, you will now be able to hold your own in style at any cocktail party thrown by members of the US Geological Survey, should you ever find yourself there.  One can never be too prepared.   

On Good Friday (of all days) in 1964, a large (9.2) earthquake struck the area of Prince William Sound.  To date, this is the largest recorded earthquake in the United States.  Let's keep it that way. 

All of my Earth Science Honors students know to practice caution when throwing around magnitude numbers, especially with very old and very large earthquakes. (In this case, it's a double whammy.)  The moment magnitude scale was not introduced until a few years after this particular earthquake.  If you recall, seismologists use Moment Magnitude to measure very large earthquakes, so when you see a number like 9.2, the automatic assumption would be that this particular scale was used.  Not so, in this case, as it wasn't invented yet.  It's like assuming that World War II fighter pilots used GPS to land planes.  The technology didn't exactly exist.  Now, I will say this with a caveat -  the numbers may have been back-measured with this particular scale after the fact and the 9.2 is a revised (and legitimate) number.  I'm having a hard time finding any information on what type of scale they used to arrive at this number.  Any smart people out there who can help me with this?

*I took this photo from:  http://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/states/events/1964_03_28_seismogram.php
This is the long-period seismogram, the vertical component.

 According to the USGS website, the quake was so bad that the seismograms couldn't even keep up with the darn thing and they had to reset the machines the following day because even the seismographs gave up after about 1 minute of recording.  Either way, it was quite ugly.  Until the Sendai quake (Japan Quake this year), this was the Cloverfield of Earthquakes - particularly because it was a giant monster, and no one really knew any details - just that they were getting attacked, and get they needed to get out.  Run first, ask questions later.  Stay out of tunnels. 

As if the quake wasn't a nasty enough beast, the fault that it occured on was a thrust fault at the bottom of the ocean.  (Earth Sci kids:  If the bells and warning whistles are not going off in your Earthly-adept heads right now, I've failed you as a trainer of natural hazards.)  When the Earth moves (as in a quake) along a thrust fault (as in Alaska) at the bottom of the Ocean (as in the Pacific), our planet gets the added bonus of a tsunami threat.  This particular threat was carried out in true planet fashion shortly after the quake struck.  A thirty foot wall of water overtook little Kodiak island.  Fortunately, most people knew to get to higher ground, and few lives were lost.

Now, you may ask: "What did our lovely Earth accomplish in performing such a show?"  According to the USGS, maximum displacement in some locations was a much as 14 feet.  Let me help you put this in perspective.  If you built a house along this displacement line, and your house managed to survive the ride (probably not), you would need to stand on your own shoulders almost THREE TIMES to get from your mailbox to your house.  Armed with this information, you should never complain about bringing in groceries again.  At least you don't need a ladder.  Keep in mind also, that displacement is a vector quantity and goes in three dimensions, so your house could be moved 14 feet down, right, or left (or some combination of the four), depending on where it was located.  In Kodiak, the ground subsided (sank) about 5 feet in some places.  One might say that Mother Earth "rearranged the furniture" that day, and by furniture I mean coastlines.

*I took this photo from:  http://libraryphoto.cr.usgs.gov/cgi-bin/show_picture.cgi?ID=ID.   This is the area of maximum displacement, which doesn't occur where the man is standing, it's actually closer to the trees. 

*I took this photo from http://libraryphoto.cr.usgs.gov/cgi-bin/show_picture.cgi?ID=ID.   This is on Kodiak Island - in the area that subsided 5 feet.  Apparently, this road is not the place to be during high tide, as it gets washed out - which didn't happen before the quake struck. 

This historic earthquake almost always gets an honorable mention in the question "What was the largest quake ever recorded?"  As you know, (or may not know) that question doesn't really have an answer, and anyone who gives you one is just giving you their opinion.  He or she should, however, make mention of a few noteworthy quakes, this being one of them. 

Did I say that I would give a quick explanation?  I lied. 

Either way, some of the scientists have graciously offered to give me a lift from the hotel to the ship (hallelujah!), so depending on if I have time or not, I would like to make the hike up to the uppermost wave line on the island.  What can I say?  Some people like to look at animals, I like to look at rocks.  Nerd alert!

Ladies and gentlemen, I have stalled long enough for today. It is time to return to school prep work for next year.  Until next time...