Stella Jane

We were three hours outside the port of New Bedford, MA, before I thought of it. I stepped up the stairs to the wheelhouse and got the captain's attention. 

"Hi! Um, what's the bathroom situation on board?" I asked. 

"Oh!" he jumped up, stepped away from the pilot's chair, and strode out onto the deck. 

I followed the captain outside and watched with curiosity. First, he grabbed a 5-gallon bucket and filled it partway with seawater from a hose. Just inside the open engine room door, he set the bucket down, grabbed something off the wall rack of tools, and laid it on top of the bucket. He seemed to be digging for something else in the pile of jackets and boots. I walked slowly toward the engine room as my curiosity morphed into horror. The bucket had a toilet seat on it. The captain found what he was looking for - a roll of toilet paper - and hung it on the tool rack on the wall. 

He gestured toward the engine room door. "You can close this..." 

I nodded. 

"...and then..." he made a motion like dumping the bucket over the side of the boat. I stood, still and silent. Lord, help me. 

Science is such a random career. One day, you're having passed hors d'oeuvres at a country club. The next day, you might be peeing in a bucket on a fishing boat - or anything else in between. 

I survived the trip out to Georges Bank on F/V Stella Jane, bucket notwithstanding. The captain and his deck hand were incredibly helpful and made sure I got all the larvae I needed. We lowered my plankton net into the water over and over again, completing all 10 stations for my scallop project in just 10 hours. As we turned to head back to shore, I wasn't even seasick!

About 3 am, I woke to feel the boat pitching in the waves. Actually, "pitching" isn't the right word - bucking like a bronco would be a more accurate description. We hit a particularly large wave, and I was lifted off of my mattress, only to slam back down a second later. I looked across the cabin - the deck hand was lying comfortably on his back, eyes closed, and snoring. How?

I laid on my side and braced myself against the ceiling with one arm. When that became too uncomfortable, I rolled over on my stomach and sprawled out like a starfish. For 4 hours, I rotated myself like a rotisserie chicken, bracing with one limb or another each quarter turn. The words of a deck hand from my trip this summer rang in my head. He said that collecting scientific samples was "so much easier than fishing." I was beginning to believe him. 

At 8 am, I stepped off of F/V Stella Jane in the port of New Bedford. I was exhausted, bruised, and smelled like a garbage truck. But I had my samples. All was well.