"From a ship in the Labrador Sea, scientists are tracking how gases move through global waters – a rare natural phenomenon that may be crucial to the management of the climate crisis".
"Darkness is falling and I’m up at the top of the research vessel Maria S Merian, on the bridge. This is its control centre, with big windows providing an uninterrupted view of the stormy sea in all directions, and long banks of screens and maps displaying data funnelled from inside, around, above and below the ship. Out here in the open ocean, keeping a close eye on what nature is up to is essential. The lights are off so that dark-adapted eyes can scan the waves, and the first officer is using the speakers to fill the space with smooth jazz and calm.
I am holding on to the rail beneath the window with both hands, one leg braced against the desk behind me, as the ship rides up a wave about 8 metres (26ft) high, then plunges down the other side. It’s like a large rollercoaster; you feel yourself floating just after the peak of the wave and then, as the ship hits the trough, you tense to withstand the additional force from the floor.
While the views are dramatic, we’re here in the Labrador Sea because of something that no human can see directly. In this north-west corner of the Atlantic, between the southern tip of Greenland and Newfoundland, in winter – in the cold and continually stormy weather – we can live inside a particular scientific phenomenon for many weeks. We’re here to learn about a process that is fundamental to the way our planetary engine ticks. All around us, the ocean is taking a deep breath – literally. Cooling between late November and February causes a deep mixing between surface waters and the waters at depth, facilitating a vital transport of gases. I’m part of the UK contingent of an international team of scientists here to study how that happens."
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