Sailing the Synthetic Seas
December 22, 2007: Three weeks before departure
Though I was fairly certain I would look back on this moment and wonder what I had been thinking, it was an opportunity I couldn’t refuse: a month at sea, crossing the North Pacific Ocean in winter, a novice among an all-male crew of seasoned sailors. The mission, to investigate the rapid increase in plastic trash in our oceans, was one I’d been fascinated with for years.
From the comfort of the cozy Santa Monica cafe where we met with Captain Charles Moore to discuss the upcoming voyage, the prospect of raging seas seemed at once incomprehensible and terrifying. I cradled my steaming latte and pretended to follow as the crew launched into a detailed discourse on weather, while poring over the maps and navigation charts that covered the table. In reality, I heard little more than the captain’s sober warning: “This will not be an easy trip…our mission may be aborted due to severe weather.”
The discussion of safety equipment did little to quell my mounting anxiety. The idea of bobbing about in a survival suit amid roiling swells, GPS devices notwithstanding, seemed absurdly risky, especially from the warm comfort of this west side cafe.
As if reading my thoughts, Captain Moore looked me straight in the eye:
“So, Anna, have you had any further sailing experience since Guadalupe Island? You realize this will be much rougher...”
Moore was referring to my only other experience at sea, four years earlier with him aboard the same ship that would soon carry us across the Pacific. I had first met Moore in 2002, at a conference in Santa Barbara, and was haunted for weeks by his presentation. His documentary film Synthetic Sea detailed the steady accumulation of plastic waste in the Pacific, to levels so high that plastic outweighed zooplankton in some areas by a factor of 6 to 1. Far from a merely aesthetic issue, it seemed our plastic junk was infiltrating the marine ecosystem.
I jumped at the chance to volunteer aboard his 2004 research trip to Guadalupe Island, to gather evidence of plastic ingestion by seabirds 150 miles off the coast of Baja California. We spent several days traipsing around the starkly beautiful, uninhabited island looking for bird boluses. Evidence we found aplenty: Of the 30 stomach samples we collected from Laysan albatross, 100 percent contained plastic particles.
What had seemed to me a bona fide sailing voyage was by the captain’s standards a mere paddle in a puddle. Now, four years later, I couldn’t boast of any new experience. He put it more directly:
“Are you sure you can handle this trip?”
Not sure at all, I nodded yes, wondering how many times I’d kick myself for not knowing my limits. I quickly changed the topic, launching into some ideas I had for the expedition blog, and volunteered on the spot to maintain our communications at sea before being volunteered for anything else. At least I would be in good company. Glancing around the table at my comparatively salty crewmates, I assured myself that the others would make up for my nautical shortcomings. There was, of course, our captain, who could sail his ship single-handedly, spoke winds and weather patterns as a second language, and had logged countless hours at sea.
Then there was Jeffrey Ernst, Captain Moore’s newest apprentice and our youngest crew member. A recent natural sciences graduate from the University of Hawaii at Hilo, Ernst had taken Moore’s marine debris seminar and crewed aboard several research voyages. His boundless energy, constant activity and nimble fingers quickly earned him the affectionate nickname “boat monkey.”
Also from Hawaii, Joel Paschal had learned of Algalita’s upcoming voyage and volunteered to join as underwater videographer. The sea was Paschal’s true love: He lived on a sailboat in Honolulu, had worked for several months aboard an NOAA vessel removing debris from the Northwest Hawaiian Islands and seemed most comfortable with both feet on the bow.
Then there was Herb Machaleder, or “Doc,” our designated ship medic and a veteran sailor. Knowing that a UCLA surgeon and lifelong seaman would be on hand did wonders for my peace of mind.
And finally, there was Marcus Eriksen, Algalita’s director of research and education, Gulf war veteran, science educator and reputed adventurer. He’d already rafted the entire Mississippi on a boat he built from plastic bottles. For full disclosure, we had been dating for a while and thought a month at sea, sharing tight quarters and studying marine debris with four others, would be a romantic test of our relationship.
Three weeks later, I found myself on a plane for Hilo, Hawaii, from where we would embark on the sixth expedition in 10 years, an ongoing study into the ultimate case of “out of sight, out of mind.”
