The physicals of the boat
You might wonder what it’s like to live on a 308’x60’ boat. I can tell you a few things. The ceilings are low-ish, the corridors are narrow, the rooms small, the stairs steep. There is a lot of noise, I mean a lot. The Nathaniel B. Palmer was built in 1992 and what aesthetic there is comes from that era.
My room is one of three rooms that do not have bunk beds. It is supposed to be used for higher level grantees or NSF people. I asked for the room when I was on the vessel in September, saying that though I wasn’t a bigwig, I had ice time that should qualify me. They gave it to me and then I got it again when I came back. It has some advantages besides not having a bunk. It’s always a single, never shared, including the bathroom. There are actual drawers and a cabinet that is big enough to hold clothes and other items. The porthole is right by the bed and there are no walkways outside so the view is private and unrestricted. It’s the only bed that parallels the hull, which may or may matter, depending on your seasickness quotient.
The big disadvantage is that it is directly above the kitchen. When the kitchen is in operation, the enormous exhaust fan gets turned on and it is directly outside of the back and left side of my room. I would like to look for a decibel meter to find out how loud it is when it starts up (jet engine) and while it’s running. The wall vibrates, I am surrounded by the dreadful noise, it’s in my bones and in my teeth. I have lain awake wondering whether being in the room violates OSHA standards for workplace noise. I wear earplugs which are only minimally effective. Yesterday I changed the bed so that my head is away from the deafening roar. It was slightly better.
Another challenge is that the edge of the bed is above my hips so it’s a chore to get up into it. It’s too high to boost myself up with my woeful upper arms. It’s too tall for me to get my knee up on the bed. I end up throwing my upper body across the bed, then trying to grab the other edge of the mattress to pull myself up.
Throughout the ship there are ways to keep things and people from falling and being bashed about while the seas are rough. There are handrails in the hallways and none of the office chairs have wheels. There are lips and rims and barriers and latches on cabinets and counters to keep things from sliding around. The condiments are contained in metal boxes on the tables and the refrigerator has dividers. Walking up and down steps while the boat is moving is physics in action. If the boat is on the downslope, it’s easier to step up. If it’s on the upslope it’s hard to get to that next step, so, just wait for a second until it slopes down again! Either way your balance is not normal. Good thing I have good proprioperception.
For our last vis-a-thon, we were to come up with a 'proposal’ to visualize our ‘project’. She wanted us to use 10 index cards and just go wild with ideas. These proposals will be handed over to Rhode Island School of Design grad students to collaborate with in making a final piece of science art. For example, one woman thinks of a textile depiction of silica concentrations in the water column. The projects will be displayed at a museum in Massachussets next fall. I confess I was lost with this, since I have no project. I don’t work with data or instruments or theories. I just starting simple writing on the cards.
My index cards:
my life below 60 south - a map
who even belongs here
the skies, the ice in the water. salt water - the lights - the colors
black rock and battered rusted metal
what have i missed
9000’ of ice topped by sastrugi
two different big metal tubes
150 people - Dunbar theory - 44 people
how high - how extreme - how cold
We mingled among others to share out thoughts and get input. I just laid my cards out in rows. The facilitator has a saying - My favorite is everyone’s. She told me she thought my proposal was almost complete (and she’d never seen that before). The cards themselves being the medium, my phrases astonishing and evocative. She said I probably wouldn’t even need a RISD collaborator, I could write 10,000 index cards and they would just figure out how to display them. All righty, I can go along with this as long as it’s interesting. Soon to be seen at the Fall River museum of contemporary art.
