Faith
After 6 lander deployments, the final score stands:
Team Sweetman: 11.5
Forces of nature, failed electronics, and other random crap: 6.5
We win.
To be honest, I was just relieved the lander came back. This deployment was different because Andrew allowed me to take charge. I was a bit nervous at first, but as I worked through the process of readying the lander, I was actually surprised at how calm I felt. By now, I know my way around the instrument, and Andrew made no secret of his faith in me. When the lander had successfully returned to the surface and was about to be recovered, Andrew actually approached me on deck, stuck out his hand, and congratulated me for getting her back. Best adviser ever.
Two of the chambers worked, but the third one failed to close. It was dumping mud as we pulled the lander out of the water, so unfortunately, we didn't get any samples from it. We thought for a while that the battery may have run out of power and not been able to close the chamber all the way, but when we took the lander computers off and brought them inside, we could see a different problem: the computer housing had water inside. Obviously, water doesn't mix well with electricity.
There are two ways that water can get inside the titanium housings and kill the computers. Either saltwater leaks in through an improper seal, or freshwater condenses from the humid air inside. We combat the first problem by cleaning and greasing the O-rings before each deployment, and by tightening the lid down with screws. We combat the second problem by heating up the air inside the housings before closing them, making the gas expand and rush out of the chambers before they're sealed. There's a lot of water vapor in the tropical air, and it can become liquid when the housing cools down at depth.
As Andrew pulled the computer out of its chamber, we both noticed the water droplets on the sides of the batteries, and my heart sank. He quietly inspected the circuit board as I ran my finger along the battery, then touched it to my tongue. "Fresh or salt?" Andrew asked.
I didn't taste salt, but we ended up deciding that the water had leaked in from the outside. It was the only explanation that made sense. Only one of the two circuit boards was damaged, indicating water must have dripped onto it from the lid above. The best we can figure, I put too much grease on the O-rings or failed to remove a speck of dust.
Yes, that's all it takes to ruin your equipment at 400 atmospheres of pressure.
I beat myself up for a while, but Andrew made sure to remind me that the lander was insured. I cost him a circuit board and a pile of paperwork to replace it, but as we put the computer housing back in its box, he said words I probably won't forget for a while:
"Going back, if I had to put you in charge again, if I had to choose to trust you with the deployment or not, I would do it again. I would trust you with it again."
I honestly don't know how I ended up with a mentor who trusts me so much. No part of my memory could recount what I did to deserve this, but I guess there must be something. Knowing that he has faith in me makes me have more faith in myself.
All things considered, I'm going to count this lander deployment as a learning experience. Of course Andrew was still the brains behind the operation, but I was a much more active set of hands this time. I was able to successfully deploy and recover a quarter million-dollar instrument, and I got back two-thirds of the samples we were hoping for. The only casualties were a circuit board and my inner perfectionist.
Some day, probably sooner than I realize, I'll be a professor in charge of my own lab. I'll conceive of compelling scientific questions and come up with ambitious plans to answer them. I'll have my own expensive instruments, my own cruises, my own students. On that day, like every day, I'll struggle with the self-doubt that always lurks at the back of my brain, but the difference will be this: I will remember Andrew Sweetman's faith in me, and I will know that I can actually do this.
Team Sweetman: 11.5
Forces of nature, failed electronics, and other random crap: 6.5
We win.
To be honest, I was just relieved the lander came back. This deployment was different because Andrew allowed me to take charge. I was a bit nervous at first, but as I worked through the process of readying the lander, I was actually surprised at how calm I felt. By now, I know my way around the instrument, and Andrew made no secret of his faith in me. When the lander had successfully returned to the surface and was about to be recovered, Andrew actually approached me on deck, stuck out his hand, and congratulated me for getting her back. Best adviser ever.
Two of the chambers worked, but the third one failed to close. It was dumping mud as we pulled the lander out of the water, so unfortunately, we didn't get any samples from it. We thought for a while that the battery may have run out of power and not been able to close the chamber all the way, but when we took the lander computers off and brought them inside, we could see a different problem: the computer housing had water inside. Obviously, water doesn't mix well with electricity.
There are two ways that water can get inside the titanium housings and kill the computers. Either saltwater leaks in through an improper seal, or freshwater condenses from the humid air inside. We combat the first problem by cleaning and greasing the O-rings before each deployment, and by tightening the lid down with screws. We combat the second problem by heating up the air inside the housings before closing them, making the gas expand and rush out of the chambers before they're sealed. There's a lot of water vapor in the tropical air, and it can become liquid when the housing cools down at depth.
As Andrew pulled the computer out of its chamber, we both noticed the water droplets on the sides of the batteries, and my heart sank. He quietly inspected the circuit board as I ran my finger along the battery, then touched it to my tongue. "Fresh or salt?" Andrew asked.
I didn't taste salt, but we ended up deciding that the water had leaked in from the outside. It was the only explanation that made sense. Only one of the two circuit boards was damaged, indicating water must have dripped onto it from the lid above. The best we can figure, I put too much grease on the O-rings or failed to remove a speck of dust.
Yes, that's all it takes to ruin your equipment at 400 atmospheres of pressure.
I beat myself up for a while, but Andrew made sure to remind me that the lander was insured. I cost him a circuit board and a pile of paperwork to replace it, but as we put the computer housing back in its box, he said words I probably won't forget for a while:
"Going back, if I had to put you in charge again, if I had to choose to trust you with the deployment or not, I would do it again. I would trust you with it again."
I honestly don't know how I ended up with a mentor who trusts me so much. No part of my memory could recount what I did to deserve this, but I guess there must be something. Knowing that he has faith in me makes me have more faith in myself.
All things considered, I'm going to count this lander deployment as a learning experience. Of course Andrew was still the brains behind the operation, but I was a much more active set of hands this time. I was able to successfully deploy and recover a quarter million-dollar instrument, and I got back two-thirds of the samples we were hoping for. The only casualties were a circuit board and my inner perfectionist.
Some day, probably sooner than I realize, I'll be a professor in charge of my own lab. I'll conceive of compelling scientific questions and come up with ambitious plans to answer them. I'll have my own expensive instruments, my own cruises, my own students. On that day, like every day, I'll struggle with the self-doubt that always lurks at the back of my brain, but the difference will be this: I will remember Andrew Sweetman's faith in me, and I will know that I can actually do this.
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