Dispatches from the Field

By Nancy Marie Brown

t's easy to spot the Americans at an Italian ristorante," writes David Pacchioli in a dispatch from Italy. "They're the ones who are rolling their eyes, holding their breath, glancing at their watches. The evening air is magnificent, the sidewalk table is plunked down in the middle of the 16th century, but somehow atmosphere is beside the point. We're done eating, their body language is screaming. What are we doing still sitting here? The waiters seem oblivious. All around, Italians are engaged in spirited after-dinner conversations."

Image Courtesy of Richard Lutz, Rytgers University, Stephen Low Productions, and Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution. Pompei worm, caterpillar worm, and crab, denizens of the deep seen by scientists on the research vessel Atlantis.

What's our associate editor doing in a piazza in Rome listening in on other people's conversations? In a word, his job.

Research isn't just about results. As Pacchioli recently explained to one researcher, "Part of what our magazine tries to convey is that research is a process, a human endeavor, complete with obstacles, false starts, triumphs, disappointments, surprises, in short, all sorts of difficulty and excitement (as well as tedium and humor)." It's a journey from wonderment to knowledge, and some of the landfalls along the way afford excellent opportunities for education. Claudia Probart, for instance, studies the nutritional benefits of the Mediterranean diet. She had a hunch lycopene and omega-3 fatty acids weren't the whole story, and decided to research the social aspects of Italian eating: the long walks, the lingering conversations. "My students are as likely to work in a think tank on bioengineering as they are to join the Peace Corps," said Probart, who arranged the seven-week-long International Program in Nutrition for undergraduates. "I want them to understand the whole spectrum of issues related to the food we eat." Pacchioli's report on Probart's research appears in the Dieting Italian Style article of this issue.

But you didn't need to wait until the magazine was printed to read about it. You could have gone to Rome with them last July, at least virtually, if you'd known where to point and click.

It's an experiment we started two summers ago — and now that we've worked out the kinks, we're happy to advertise the fact. We've expanded our presence on the World Wide Web at www.rps.psu.edu to include an on-line edition of Research/Penn State. Along with our searchable archive — full text of each magazine back to 1993 — we're giving our readers the opportunity to watch research as it happens. Even to ask questions of our faculty in the field.

Last winter, for instance, freelance writer John Pollack invited Research/Penn State Online on a trip to Antarctica. Geoscientist Andy Nyblade and other Penn State researchers, along with colleagues from Washington University in St. Louis and the University of Alabama, were setting up an array of seismometers across the icy desert to better understand the crust and mantle beneath the continent. Just getting the equipment out there — and the researchers back to base — was an adventure. As Pollack wrote, "Our chopper swung in fast and low, and we all scanned the massive ice field that spread beneath us like a white sea. 'It's supposed to be right here,' the pilot said, his voice crackling through the headset inside our helmets. 'I'll make another pass.' The target of our search was critical — a buried cache with the fuel we needed to make it home to McMurdo Station, some 250 miles to the north. Find it, and we could be eating a hot supper within hours. Miss it, and a long day in the field could suddenly become a whole lot longer. But watching the blue shadow of our helicopter chase us across the blowing snow, I had a question: just what does a fuel cache look like?" (To find out, see A Season in Antarctica.)

A month later, Joanna Lott, our new assistant editor, found herself on the research vessel Atlantis, hovering over the East Pacific rise. On the ocean floor beneath her, Penn State biologist Chuck Fisher and his students piloted the submarine Alvin, collecting specimens of the exotic creatures that live in the extreme environments around hydrothermal vents. On her first day out, she e-mailed us a dispatch: "The Dramamine kicks in around 5:30, and I am able to eat dinner," she says at the end, her relief apparent across the miles. "After dinner I catch my first sunset at sea — pinks and yellows on the horizon break up the never-ending blue, which slowly turns to slate gray. Soon black night settles in. The line where ocean meets sky disappears, and this 3,200 ton ship seems airborne, as the stars sway back and forth in the great black sea of night."

It'll be a while before we find out what deep-ocean secrets Fisher uncovered on that trip, or whether Nyblade's seismometers will really reveal what undergirds Antarctica. But a lot of learning will have gone on in the meantime, for the researchers, their students, and the readers of Research/Penn State Online. A lot of learning and, we guarantee, a lot of fun.

As Lott wrote when she was welcomed aboard the Atlantis, "They tell me I will get bored — I think they must be joking."

Tune in to www.rps.psu.edu and find out where research will take us next. Or email us at editor@rps.psu.edu and we'll let you know in advance.