by Melissa Gray

‘Twas the night before December, and all though the ship,

The crew sat at their watches, we were halfway through the trip,

The OBS were sunk to the seafloor with care,

In hopes that some seismic would be recorded there,

 

Those not on shift were snug in their bunk beds,

While the booming of air guns blasted in their heads,

And I in the lab, my coffee cup full,

Was reading a paper and finding it quite dull.

 

When out from a cell phone arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter,

Away to the computer she went with a jog,

It was Marialena’s turn to enter the log.

 

I could see from the frantic looks to me she was tossing,

That it was time to log an OBS crossing,

And as the boat rocked causing some to turn green,

We read out loud the data from the screen:

 

“The lat! The long!

The time, UTC!

Wind speed and direction!

The boat’s SOG!

Gravity and Magnetics!

There’s no time to stall!

Now record them! Record them!

Record them all!”

 

As we finished our log, craving a martini,

Came the cry that we were in Santorini!

So up to the bird lab the scientists flew

To take another picture, we had a hundred or two.

 

And as we stood watching the rising sun,

We heard the explosions of each air gun,

And as we were leaving and were turning around,

Up the stairs came the PI’s with a bound

 

They were dressed all in fleece from their head to their feet,

Brandishing cookies, that mid-morning treat,

A bundle of papers they held in their hand,

A bundle of papers I would not understand.

 

His eyes—how they twinkled! The main GoPro bearer!

As he started his filming going in the caldera!

The sun on the rise on the volcanic sill,

Would make an excellent movie, time lapse or still!

And with the small camera held tight in his hand,

We watched as we sailed though that volcanic land.

And so with a sigh went the sciency bunch,

Because, as you see, it was time for lunch.

 

In the galley the food was piled high on the shelf,

And my stomach grumbled, in spite of myself.

With the scrape of a plate and the clang of a spoon,

We decided a beer could not come too soon.

 

The Langseth did groan as she continued her work,

Finishing a line and turning with a jerk,

And with her 4 air guns trailing her stern,

She shot out more seismic so we could all learn.

 

And so as my watch comes to an end,

I wish you the best with you’re logging, my friend.

With my strange sleeping schedule I turn off the light,

“Happy watch to all, and to all a good night!”