Fifth Dispatch: Cruisin' Christmas

by Joanna Lott

hristmas at sea — no shops, no sales, no Salvation Army Santas, and no last minute shopping. Working on a research vessel in the Pacific Ocean five hundred miles from land is a strange way to spend Christmas.

Although 22 days at sea with no escape can seem interminable, time is strange out here; scheduled meals and meetings keep you super-aware of the time of day, but time on the larger scale of days and weeks is lost, as every day is essentially the same. Since departing Manzanillo on December 9th, we have had no weekends and no days off.

So Christmas Eve sort of snuck up on us and began like any other day. But after ALVIN's recovery and the subsequent science dance (tubeworms and mussels and clams, Oh my!), a sort of compressed holiday rush commenced. At 5:00 with the go-ahead from the Captain Chiljean, the party began. Cans of beer were rationed out (two per person) and a regular Fourth of July style cookout was underway, with barbequed chicken and ribs, coleslaw, pasta salad, and chocolate crisped rice squares for dessert.

What began as a dull, gray day turned sunny as if just for us. Christmas carols played over the ALVIN hangar sound system, and we mixed and a-mingled on the fantail as if we were at any other party, as if we hadn't been in constant company for the last 16 days. It was a treat to see the night operations scientists up during daylight hours, and to see the scientists and crew (those that weren't on watch) at play, even if only for a few hours.

After dinner we sorted through and distributed samples from a different kind of quantitative collection; creatively wrapped presents of every shape and size filled the huge collection bucket, usually full of mussels or tubeworms. We each drew a number from a Santa hat, and one by one we picked a present from the bucket or stole one from someone who had already picked. A flying pig toy was the most popular present. Everyone wanted that pig, but no one held onto it for long. In the end, Paul Vinitsky, oiler on the Atlantis, was the lucky keeper of the pig, and we were happy to know that the pig would stay on the ship.

A piñata was hung from the A-Frame with care, and blindfolded scientists took swings at it with a large pole until candy spilled out onto the deck. Then, as is a common Christmas tradition, we all started throwing each other in the pool.

Sopping wet (shoes and all) and getting chilly, a group of us decided it was time to get dry and get back to Christmas. So we set off to the lounge to watch “It's a Wonderful Life.

But first I headed off to the bow where I had an all too rare moment to myself — no camera, no notepad, no tape recorder. Just me and the sea and the spectacular Christmas sky.

The moon seems much closer out here — never very far out of reach. That night it was directly overhead, and though only a crescent moon, it was bright enough to reflect on the water and light up the puffy clouds. White clouds in the black, starlit sky. I silently sent Christmas greetings to friends and family. And then back to join the others.

Christmas Eve came as a much needed break sixteen days into the cruise — sixteen days of sameness, sixteen days of work. And in a few hours, it was over, and Christmas Day came and went like any other day out here. The sub launch at 8:00, recovery by 5:00, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and work, work, work in between.

Happy Holidays to everyone at home. Can't wait to get my feet back on solid ground.

Next Dispatch:Odds and Ends