Research nirvana and Cuban coffee in the Far Field

Gulf thunderheads at dusk

We call it the “Far Field.” It is the reason scientists here on the Nancy Foster chose this remote, seemingly empty portion of the Gulf of Mexico to study. The Far Field is why we are such a long way from Florida, practically north of Mexico now, and working in water that is two miles deep. The Far Field is so-named because it is “downstream” from the actual spill site. Yet the Far Field is absolutely vital to understand if we wish to know where both the fresh and the weathered oil will end up going.

The Far Field consists of the Loop Current and several eddies associated with it in the eastern Gulf of Mexico. The largest eddy has been named “Eddy Franklin,” a warm, clockwise-turning feature. If you inspect this graphic closely, you can see other, smaller eddies on all sides of Eddy Franklin.

Photo credit ROFFS™

Cyclonic eddies turn counter-clockwise; anti-cyclonic eddies turn clockwise. In this picture of the entire Gulf, the cyclonic eddies show up in blue, the anti-cyclonic in yellow-red hues.

Photo credit University of Miami, Rosenstiel School of Marine and Atmospheric Science

Depending on the behavior of the Loop Current and its eddies, oil from the Deepwater Horizon spill can either stay mostly confined here in the Gulf, or it can be pulled around Florida and up the east coast of the U.S. All of our measurements, and certainly the cruise track itself, are aimed at better understanding this Far Field in order to improve forecasts about any current-assisted oil movements.

For the past several months, the Far Field has confounded us with its incredibly complex structure. It is a pattern not witnessed this dramatically since 1998, another time when the typical bulge of the Loop Current pinched off entirely, and a large, clockwise-circulating eddy ultimately wended its own way into the western Gulf. Why should we care? Right now, ocean currents are placing an unusually large number of obstacles in the path of the oil going very far, very quickly, away from the spill’s ground zero. And that is a good thing.

Today, we are sampling the middle of Eddy Franklin. For a seabird biologist, to be able to interpret one’s sightings in such a rich context of instruments, maps and data, all of it in real-time, is research nirvana. Yesterday, we discovered a modest hotspot for seabirds at a convergence (border between two currents) formed by two smaller eddies east of Eddy Franklin. Today, I found two kinds of seabirds inside Eddy Franklin that were unexpected. One of them was such a surprise that its presence here is sure to create a buzz — the conservation implications are great.

Other discoveries during these last 24 hours were gratifying for non-scientific reasons. I learned that our commanding officer is an avid birder, and I was able to show him three new seabirds he had never before seen. I learned that scientists from Miami brought the means to brew and share rich, dark and very sweet Cuban coffee to celebrate our completed station work. And, too, I’ve learned that going beardless can be survived, even if it is achieved with a very dull razor on a rocking ship.