Life Below The Galapagos, Part 4

Digital Dan Dubno Ships Out And Prepares For His Deep-Sea Dive

(CBS)  The Riftia wave, pop, and hide. Crabs scuttle. Strange fat-headed purple Bythitid-something-or-other fish dart around pointlessly. Bottom fish of the ocean, by and large, are pretty darn ugly, probably because it's so dark they just don't need to look good. The similar-looking rat tail fish is my favorite in the all-around-yucky department. Fat heads taper away into long, rat-like tails.

On the ocean floor, two kinds of crabs compete at the vents: the scientific names I've learned are "fat crabs" and "skinny crabs." It should be no surprise that the skinny crabs run from the fat ones. These bone-white crabs are scattered over the ocean floor, quietly waiting. Suddenly, out of the starboard window, I see frenzy. Ten crabs roil over a giant mussel. Literally a dozen more crabs race to the spot. The mussels are bright yellow and look somewhat sulphurous. Like Riftia, they also live off vent bacteria, feasting on toxic microscopic life that grows quickly on their shells.

Our list of tasks is daunting, but back and forth the Alvin goes: exploring volcanic glass flows... carefully placing instruments... mapping the vent site region with a camera array on Alvin's bottom. Every few seconds, another strobe flashes. Port and starboard observers control their own video cameras: pan, tilt, focus and zoom. There are two recording decks on board and we switch between views to monitor and record the science. But mostly, we stare between amazing video from the cameras and amazing sights from the side window.

The pilot has the best view of all: a head-on wonderland of life and motion. Four "HMI" camera lights brightly light his center view port. Pat, the pilot, also has the only "seat" in the house... a square box under which some spare emergency gear is stowed. Behind us are three oxygen bottles and several canisters of chemicals that, when opened, remove carbon dioxide from the sub's atmosphere. The air is chilled and, at first, easy to breathe. After awhile (feels like minutes but it's actually several hours) your head begins to throb as it senses the reduced oxygen levels inside Alvin. Some pilots pop a couple of Advils before each dive to offset the gentle, inevitable malaise.