Here is part 2 of the text of a presentation Amy gave at the National Federation of the Blind Annual Convention in Orlando, Florida (#NFB24) on July 6, 2024
So, what do oceanographers do? Many think we only study what are sometimes called, charismatic megafauna: Whales, dolphins, sharks. But Oceanography is actually a vast field of study, focused on a highly complex physical, chemical, biological and geological environment that covers 70% of Earth surface. It is intricately connected to our climate, and to all life on Earth. It is in constant motion, from waves at the surface, to slow-moving but powerful currents in the abyss. These currents creep along more slowly than walking speed, but they transport huge volumes of salty water, heat, tiny marine plants and animals, and greenhouse gases like carbon dioxide. But where do all these currents go? Are they changing as the planet warms? It’s not easy to figure this out. Below the sun-lit surface, the ocean is an inhospitable environment for both humans and the most sophisticated research tools. There is the crushing weight of the water overhead. There is the cold; About 3 degrees Celsius. There is corrosion. If not well-protected, oceanographic instruments will quickly stop working with exposure to the salt water, and it’s pitch dark. No one, sighted or not, can physically see what is going on with the currents at those depths.
So how do we measure ocean currents?
With my research team, I release hundreds of freely drifting buoys in currents more than a mile below the sea surface. We track them underwater using sound as they trace out the current pathways across entire ocean basins over months to years. Using these and other tools, we have discovered how one current can change the path of another one deeper in the ocean. We’ve learned how warm currents in the Gulf of Mexico fuel hurricanes, and how rotating features the size of Rhode Island trap salt, heat, and marine plants and animals in their swirling currents like a slow-motion tornado and transport them thousands of kilometers across the ocean.
The most thrilling aspect of being a physical oceanographer for me is going out on research ships. Just for the record, these are not like cruise ships! They have large working decks, science labs, dorm-like staterooms, cafeterias, and if you are lucky, an exercise room. I’ve sailed extensively around the Atlantic and Indian Oceans on these ships, staying at sea for up to 6 weeks at a time. After I lost most of my useful vision, I had to give up working with equipment on the open deck, but I can still lead the expedition as the primary decision-maker, or chief scientist, as we call it. I depend on some sighted assistance though, because most of the data being collected on the ship is still not accessible in real time for blind or low vision scientists.
On one such expedition in 2001, I was chief scientist on a research ship in the Indian Ocean. The currents in this remote region were a complete mystery, and we were mapping them for the first time. While on station off the coast of Somalia, we noticed a small boat approaching with six men who appeared to be wearing some kind of uniform. They didn’t contact us by radio, which would have been normal operating procedure. Instead, they circled around our ship, shouting words we couldn’t hear. Then suddenly, one of them stood up brandishing a rocket propelled grenade launcher. Immediately recognizing the danger, our captain quickly got our ship underway at top speed, which was all of 15 miles per hour. The other boat started chasing us. Everyone on our ship was ordered to their staterooms and told to lock the doors, in case what we now realized were modern-day pirates, got on board.
For about an hour, they trailed close behind us, firing rifles and grenades to try to get us to stop so they could get onboard. Our captain knew better though, and just kept us moving as fast as possible. It’s almost impossible for someone in a small boat to jump and climb up the side of a moving ship. Eventually, sea conditions forced the pirates to give up and turn back toward shore. This was one of the most frightening experiences of my life, right up there with trying to cross any street in downtown Boston. My PhD studies didn’t prepare me for this test of leadership. Even though no one nor the ship was harmed physically, everyone was traumatized to some degree. It was my responsibility, along with the captain, to maintain a sense of calm and carry on with our research, even though I myself was as rattled as everyone else.
If you are interested to learn more about modern-day piracy, oceanography, and my career through the lens of an outsider looking in, check out the book “Seven-tenths: Science, love and piracy at sea” by David Fisichella, available on Amazon and on BARD.
