Last night – day eight? nine? – of an epic storm that has held us hostage out here in the South Atlantic, the wind hit 51.7 knots. 50 knots translates to about 60mphs and at that speed the wind is audible. Physical. Like a chorus of shrieking witches, the dark side of nature laughs at you, tossing you about like a toy. You can do nothing but watch the angry ocean, water spraying so fine it pixelates. If I look into the wind, I’ll pay for that luxury; pins and needles of rain burrow into my face, my pores. In a word, it’s awesome. To witness the raw power and force of the ocean in a frenzy is to be audience to the incomprehensible. No human made creation, perhaps with the exception of a nuclear bomb can show such fantastical energy.

At all times, someone must be on deck to watch over our vessel, looking to the horizon for other ships (we are in a shipping lane) and watching to see if the wind swings, increases – anything that might go awry.

I want to write about our research. I want to write the environmental story that we’re making here, but all I can do is talk about the weather. Talk about why humans will expose themselves to such vulnerability for the sake of science. But as I sit here below deck, dry and writing, my mind is distracted by the boat heaving up and down. I’m wishing I could be in my bunk, asleep. All I can think about is my fragile mental state, tired, so tired. Storms never last this long. Yes, I find beauty in watching this power, but to be this physically exhausted makes for an agitated state, one that makes writing, sharing – hell, just being – difficult. And there is no escape. Capetown is weeks away.

But perhaps I can get a bit lost in my words here as I describe the work we are here to do. I will try, enervated as I am; obsessed as I am with the weather.

We sample the ocean every 60 miles or so for plastic pollution. As I’ve noted before, this is the first expedition in the world to ever do so in the South Atlantic, and being a part this crew is exciting. Being a part of a new discovery is an honor. But the glory quickly fades once the sea acts up. The view from deck never changes with the exception of the weather, the clouds, and the moon phases. Each wave is different of course but they come and pass so quickly their shape is never committed to memory. Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink.

Even in these chaotic seas, where the state of the sea drives that which would normally float (plastic) down, we’re still finding more plastic than biomass in our sampling. The deployment and retrieval of the trawl is extremely dangerous. In this world, you don’t want to step to the edge of the boat. Though only six feet off the water, it might as well be the cliffs of Dover. In the space of a few seconds, the deck will rise and fall 20 feet, and that doesn’t account for the tangential, lateral movements, either. During the day, you can watch the ocean, and make your movements on deck based on anticipating what the next wave will do. But at night, mother ocean is a constant mystery. At any moment she can take you down. Hard. You simply don’t take chances. Falling overboard here is certain death.

Turning a ship like this around takes a bit of time, at least a quarter mile, and by then, you’re lost in the dark swells, nothing but a head bobbing from a vantage of infinity. To avoid this, we’re all wearing harnesses and strapped to the deck at all times. We are safe from death by following a strict protocol, but injury is another matter. Even in the time it’s taken to write this, we’ve had a close call. Ten minutes ago, a rogue wave broke over the stern of the ship and took our crew member James, one of the pro surfers, aboard across the deck from the cockpit to the helm, washing him at least 20 feet. Clipped in, he’s alive.

For now, I’m dry below and I am writing my words. And I’m safe from a storm that will not end. But today, I don’t want to end this post here. To end now means to go back to the present moment. The wind. The waves. Prayer for a rising barometer. Prayer for a conversation where we don’t talk about the weather.

The post All We Do Is Talk About the Weather: Day 14 In a Transatlantic Plastic Tale appeared first on EcoSalon.

I’m now just over a week at sea, having left Angra Dos Reis (Anchorage of the Kings), Brazil on November 8th. Our crew is now some 1100 miles out, sampling the ocean for plastic pollution every 60 nautical miles or so. As I sit here, a storm rages outside, and uncharacteristically of the South Atlantic, the wind is coming from the South, not the North, Northwest. We have yet to find the trade winds, which makes our 72 foot sailing vessel heave and ho beyond comfort.

Thus far, we’ve found what we suspected would be in the South Atlantic. Plastic. The gyre, or what is popularly referred to as a ‘garbage patch’ is still about 600 miles from our position, and so far, we’re not finding a prolific amount in our samples yet, but that will most likely change as we get farther into the gyre. The weather will change, too, and we expect very light winds and very calm seas which should reveal the garbage out here in better detail. Big seas tend to hide the plastic, driving it down into the water column.

Chelsea, one of our scientists, is monitoring the water for pollutants and pollutant uptake in virgin plastic that she drags behind the boat. But her most groundbreaking work has proven that pollutants like PCBs, DDT, and PAHs that plastic absorbs in the marine environment can in fact transfer to a fish’s tissue after ingestion. So far, she’s proved this in her lab in San Diego, and is looking to repeat the experiment with samples taken from the field. In our case, that’s the middle of the ocean. The possible ramifications of this notion are startling. Throughout a predator fish’s life, she’ll eat thousands of fish, and if each one is polluted, that amount of pollution will biomagnify throughout the predator fish’s life. If that predator is say, tuna, and you’re eating a some sashimi with friends – well, you see where this is going.

Personalities and Killing Fish

It’s actually kind of funny, this crew; as is typical of our expeditions, we take a very diverse group of people and personalities in order to share different perspectives on this issue as we conduct outreach once we’re back home. But out here, what I love is that each person tends to approach the same moment or experience, differently. There’s Jody, our filmmaker, who barks in romantic Moby Dick Captain Ahab-isms and caught a fish yesterday. He had a fairly sizable Dorado (Mahi-Mahi) on the line, and he swore like a 19th century pirate in verse, excited by the ‘fight with the watery beast from dimensions that excite the imagination’ as he pulled it to the boat.

Meanwhile the scene is complimented by a just-awake Chelsea, who is pulling out a clipboard and donning latex gloves methodically in order to collect the liver and stomach of the fish for her research. Then you have Dale, the first mate Kiwi, who is verbally abusing me at the helm (when a fish gets on the line, you want to slow or stop the boat) the whole time this is happening. After we land it, he repeatedly and savagely stabs the fish in the head  (“die you c#nt bastard!”) trying to get the thing to die quickly. The constant vulgar barrage of words from Dale’s mouth towards me and the fish is essentially New Zealandish for “hey guy, I actually really like you.” (Special note here – if a Kiwi isn’t giving you an exceedingly large amount of crap, he doesn’t care for you – verbal abuse where he comes from is tantamount to a term of endearment.)

Then you have Rich, the Santa Cruz warrior poet who will look at the whole spiritual side of taking an animal’s life for food, and he’ll be respectfully thanking the animal for providing us with a meal. Also on the scene is the pro surfer from SoCal, Mary Osborne, videotaping the whole drama with an astonished or horrified look on her face, not used to this sort of primal ritual splayed out in front of her. As well, you have Anna, deeply saddened by the whole escapade, sensitive to the butchery in front of her.

What I love about being here, in the middle of nowhere, crammed into a tiny ship for a month is the purity of spirit that emerges in everyone sharing the experience. To be at sea for 30 days is no easy thing, and you’re counting on the people you’re with to keep you happy, healthy and alive. That interdependency is sublime. Yes, we’re all on an environmental mission, doing some crucial work, but there are a lots of hours in the day in which to play. Joke. Be. Kill fish. This precisely is why the sea calls to me and why I care for her health so. It’s why I’m here.

The post To Catch Plastic and To Kill a Fish appeared first on EcoSalon.

Plastic is everywhere. It’s littering our oceans, and even has its own homeland: a behemoth floating mass of plastic known as the Pacific Garbage Patch or, as Planet Green called it in an informative guest post, the “Oh My”¦What Have We Done!?” Scientists say it’s twice the size of Texas (that still state-of-the-art term for Big) and growing. Already aware of this? Well, how about this? The demand for recycled plastic far exceeds its availability. So yeah, maybe we ought to do some fishing.

Electrolux certainly thinks so, as it hits the high seas (all of them, in fact), to gather plastic and make vacuum cleaners. Yep. Vacuum cleaners from the sea. (I so bet you never experienced that sentence before. Probably won’t ever again.) They’re even calling it that. Kinda. The company’s “Vac from the Sea” program “aims to bring attention to the issue of plastic pollution and at the same time combat the scarcity of recycled plastics needed for making sustainable home appliances.”

“There are plastic islands, some several times the size of the state of Texas [See! Everyone loves to say that!], floating in our oceans,” says Cecilia Nord, Vice President, Floor Care Environmental and Sustainability Affairs, Electrolux. “Yet on land, we struggle to get hold of enough recycled plastics to meet the demand for sustainable vacuum cleaners. What the world needs now is a better plastic karma.”

Unfortunately, we’re all not going to be able to buy into the program, as they plan to only make a limited number of these suckers, which will be “put on display to decision makers and consumers as part of spreading the word.” The plastic debris will be “harvested” from the Pacific, Indian, Atlantic (which has its very own “patch,” recently fearlessly explored by one of our writers), and Mediterranean oceans, as well as the Baltic and North seas, by diving, fishing and scavenging. It’s hardly an assault on the mainland of that floating Texas, but it’s a start.

If you’re looking to get involved or follow the program’s progress, check out their blog and Facebook pages. Oh, and there’s a cool little video posted over at Crisp Green, too.

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