Programs Blog

July 7, 2025

Time: 0330

Location: Somewhere slightly further north in the Pacific Ocean

Weather: Squally with a chance of even more squalls

Goooood morning blog readers!

As per Audrey’s introduction, I am the other half of the BNA (Blue Nature Alliance) lab hand team and the B in BnA (Brian ‘n Audrey). We have two deployments each day at 0930 and 2130 and I am currently working the night shift, which is why I’m writing this at the wee hour of 0330 after my nightly ramen lunch.

A near mirror of Audrey’s day, I usually wake up around 1415 in time to join the rest of the ship for class on the quarterdeck, but since today was Sunday, I was able to sleep in until 1600. To pass time before dinner, I opted to read in one of my favorite spaces on the ship: the couch in 16^th Street. My book of choice was American Gods by Neil Gaiman, which I purchased used for a dollar back home in preparation for this trip along with several other books. 

Dinner was a beautiful meal of mashed potatoes, miso quinoa salad, and tofu with beans (roasted chicken for the non-vegetarian folks). Following dinner, I usually have some free time before Deployment O’Clock. This time is usually devoted to socializing, playing cards, stargazing, napping, or reading. Today I opted to read a bit more, as I was nearing the end of the book and was eager to read what happened next. 

With Audrey already explaining in great detail the deployment process, I don’t want to bore you with the same details again, so rather, I’ll offer a bit more of an atmospheric description of a typical science station. In rougher seas, our hydrocast deployment tonight is punctuated with a pitching, lopsided rhythm as the hull is lashed by white-capped swells. These night deployments are calmer, almost solemn compared to morning tows, but despite the lack of words exchanged, I’ve always admired the purposeful communication that persists in the relative silence. Two people on taglines opposite the cargo, not a word between them, safely guide the several-hundred-pound carousel onto the science deck, their careful hands fighting the rocking ship and blowing winds. Then, once the CTD is thrown overboard into the depths begins my favorite part of the deployment: the waiting.

During each deployment, when the gear is in the water, we’re given the much needed opportunity to take a breath and appreciate what’s around us. Every night is a little different, and beautiful in its own way. Earlier in our journey and approaching the equator with the moon rising very late in the night, the sky was an inky, star-splotched marvel. Growing up in big cities, I had always wondered how constellations came to be—how people from Way-Back-When pictured animals and beasts and heroes from a seemingly random assortment of lights in the sky. Here though, the constellations nearly beg to be seen. The claws and carapace of Scorpio ending in the giant curve of Maui’s hook shining distinctly from the other stars around it. The Gemini twins shining in their unmistakable stick-figure bodies. The great mane of a lion with its front paws outstretched. Between the stars crawling their way across the night sky above us and the gentle flashes of bioluminescence in the waves below, it’s hard to decide whether to look up or down. 

In contrast, the stars are hardly visible tonight, obscured by the overwhelming presence of the moon and the thick, shifting clouds, making the atmosphere more like that of a misty twilight rather than the dead of the night. These nights are beautiful still, with the moonlight reflecting off the cresting whitecaps like aimless, shimmering ghosts. 

Once the waiting is over and the gear is aboard comes time for me to process the biomass samples. Armed with a headlamp, a sieve, spoons, and my favorite tweezers (the shorter, sharper ones—the long one is too heavy and unwieldly for me but I agree with Audrey; NEVER the square ones), I prepare to dive into what the ocean has provided for us. The samples range from the muted orange speckled with blue to the dull red of a tuna tartare, always with a distinct goopy yet crunchy texture. Within these samples lie the hapless objects of my study, admiration, and yes, often frustration: myctophids. 

Myctophids, commonly known as lanternfish, are a small mesopelagic fish that come up closer to the surface nightly to feed. Their beautiful black scales are accented with small bioluminescent photophores that glow as bright as their shining eyes. They are the subjects of my senior thesis, concerned with the contents of their guts as they relate to morphological differences between species. I have the incredible opportunity on board to see them in all their non-ethanol-preserved glory and take data directly from the source. To add a little personality and to show some love to these fish, the students have been helping me name all 377 (and counting) of them. My favorites include Shrimp and his equally tiny brother Bug; Koba, a mean, scarred fish with an eye missing, named after a character from my favorite movies; The Creature, Dichotomy, Epiphenomena, and ur so special, all named in the same burst of dawn watch stupor; and the nautically themed trio of Gybe, Jib, and The Preventor. 

Once the tow contents are sorted and biomassed, the hundreds are counted, and the myctophids are measured and named, my work day is over. Tonight, due to some misfortune with squalls and rough seas, there was no Neuston net deployment so I have some extra time on my hands (hence the long blog post), but I am usually finished by 0430 to 0530 and getting ready for breakfast and then bed. If there is time to kill, I’ll watch the sunrise from the aftmost deck boxes by the singing fishing pole holders that hum a haunting melody when the wind hits them just right. Following breakfast, I tag out with Audrey and head to my bunk to sleep and then do it all again. 

Thank you for reading through my midnight ramblings! I can only hope that these blog posts convey at least just a fraction of how insanely awesome it is to be out here and doing this work. I’m very grateful for everyone on board and everyone off the ship who helped make this voyage happen. 

An extra big thanks from Audrey and I to Randi and the rest of the lab back home and sending my love to Trevor and Andrea, Zoe and Omi, and my wonderful roommates <3

Brian J. Chang

Boston University