RV Belgica broadens its horizons
Belgian science has a new research vessel. The Belgica is the third to bear this name. But in contrast to its predecessors, this ship is large, technically sophisticated, and equipped for research at depths of up to 5000 metres. Not only that but it’s comfortable on board too. Even so, the North Sea is still the North Sea.
There’s a sense of excitement in the computer suite adjacent to the deck. The Secretary of State, ministers and public broadcasters have just left. On screens everywhere, the scientists from the Royal Belgian Institute of Natural Sciences (RBINS) and Ghent University are watching themselves on the news. Biologist Marie Cours approaches us. ‘I’ll show you to the cabins where you can leave your things.’ This is her third voyage aboard the new Belgica, making her an old hand. Spacious cabins, each with their own shower, comfortable beds, plenty of wardrobe space and two large desks await us. This is very welcome for a scientific research campaign lasting several weeks, though we’re only staying a single night. Snow has been forecast with temperatures around freezing, so my roommate and I have packed extra warm clothing for that night’s sampling.
The Belgica’s official name is RV Belgica: RV stands for Research Vessel. It’s the third research vessel to bear the name. The previous Belgica had been in service since 1984 and with over a thousand research voyages and around a million kilometres on the clock, it was overdue for retirement. That vessel was also built as a research vessel for a number of scientific disciplines, but it was much smaller and simpler than this new ship.
The very first Belgica was a converted whaler in which the Belgian sailor and discoverer Adrien de Gerlache sailed on his almost fateful South Pole expedition from 1897 to 1899. But this is the first Belgica with this much space and equipment for scientific research: fourteen labs totalling 400 m2, two drop keels and a whole array of winches and nets ensure the operational comfort and safety of the scientists.
The ship can map out the entire water column and study the seabed and substrate up to a depth of 5000 metres. Robots, such as autonomous vessels, submarines and planes, drones and sophisticated drilling equipment are also welcome aboard. The new Belgica can sail on the North Sea, the northeastern Atlantic, the Mediterranean and the Black Sea. The ship has an ice class for summer operations in Artic regions.
International
There’s still time before the officers’ safety briefing, and we newcomers decide to go exploring. First, we go up the ladders to the control room. There may be railings everywhere but there’s also a strong, ice-cold wind. Most of us decide to give the two ladders to the crow’s nest a miss.
Only Jeroen Venderickx, an experienced technician with a solution for everything, is willing to go one ladder further. He has even built a special trap for studying amphipods. It’s supposed to land on the seabed and then be recovered a day later. One of the reasons Venderickx is on board is to test it out, but he’ll mainly be helping out in the lab.
‘This campaign consists of 12-hour sampling cycles at three different points. We’ll start at midnight, until tomorrow afternoon when we’ll sail back to Zeebrugge. The next day, we’ll sail out again to sample the next two points for 12 hours each. Three full days every month: you can imagine that every additional pair of hands is welcome.’
We head down below once more, on the inside this time. This takes us to the bridge by accident. Are we actually allowed to be here? Naval officer Sam Mollet has the answer. ‘You are now, as it’s no longer a military vessel. But try not to touch anything,’ he adds with a smile.
The Belgica is now a naval auxiliary vessel. The Belgian government is the owner, but it’s managed and operated by the French shipowner Genavir, a research vessel specialist. ‘They also supply the crew, except for my two colleagues and I.’ Mollet is referring to the team of three Belgian naval officers who are in charge. ‘The RBINS takes care of the sailing schedule.’
Mollet and his colleagues have been working more or less continuously since the start of December, when the Belgica departed Vigo in Spain, where it was built. Four months’ worth of amazing stories. ‘Yesterday, we sailed within a few metres of the wind turbines,’ the officer explains in the glazed section of the floor on the bridge. ‘Now all we can see is the wharf, but yesterday we saw the base of the turbine.’
His pride in the ship resonates through his stories. ‘The Belgica’s special positioning system allows it to remain stationary with great precision. The ship will not move more than one metre.’ This opens up a whole new world of research possibilities. ‘A lot of other countries would love to have their own Belgica, that’s for sure.’
In May, the ship will sail with researchers from the Eurofleet programme to Portugal, the Strait of Gibraltar and the Mediterranean Sea. And there’s talk of Spitsbergen and Greenland for 2023. ‘Not the North Pole,’ the researchers emphasise with a laugh. But Mollet believes the Belgica can do so much more. ‘She moves, you can feel it.’ Where would he like to send her? ‘To the Pacific Ocean.’
Safety first
Bad news arrives shortly before the safety briefing: we have to delay our departure by several hours. It’s not just we landlubbers who think the wind is heavy; it’s really getting stronger. It’s reached Beaufort 8 just outside the port of Zeebrugge. Oceanologist and expedition leader on this campaign, Michael Fettweis, discusses the news with his team. ‘It’s not that the Belgica can’t sail under these windspeeds, but our instruments could be damaged if we drop them into the sea.’
That means the ship should drift as little as possible from its position during sampling. ‘We have to take samples at the same place every month, for a twelve-hour period,’ Marie Cours explains to me. ‘And we have to put a tripod down with sensors for continuous measurement of turbidity, particle size and flow rate, and pick up the previous month’s tripod.’
‘We will amend the work programme,’ Fettweis decides. ‘Rather than taking turbidity measurements and samples from midnight until tomorrow afternoon, we will work from 2 o’clock in the night until 2 in the afternoon. That way we can be back in port on time in the morning.’
With over a thousand research voyages and around a million kilometres on the clock, the previous Belgica was overdue for retirement.
While it’s not intended to be funny, the atmosphere is merrier during the safety briefing. Jeroen Venderickx volunteers to test the fluorescent yellow lifesaving suit. The Belgica is equipped for all eventualities, and that includes genuine emergencies. The suit is intended to prevent hypothermia if it’s necessary to evacuate the ship and end up in the sea. OfficerSeppe Machiels expertly packs Venderickx in and demonstrates the life jacket and emergency signals.
We wonder how we will get the gloves on unaided, and whether the suit is suitable for smaller, more delicately built persons such as some of the women on board. ‘It’ll have to be,’ is the answer. Either way, our primary and more challenging task is avoiding getting lost. ‘Remember on which deck – which floor – of the ship the important places and emergency exits are.’
Furthermore, we’re not allowed to charge any devices in our cabin while we’re not there. ‘Almost half of fires on board ships are caused by overheated electronics.’ After the briefing, we secure all the tables in the computer and meeting rooms to the floor with special straps. Gradually, we start to understand why most of the infrastructure on a ship is fixed in place, or can be, and why there’s a barrier around our beds. Safety first.
Seasons, tides, algae and sediment
While we await the signal to depart, the researchers explain why it’s so important that they can stay out at sea long enough each month. Michael Fettweis and Auria Kallend are researching the same subject – the interaction between sediment particles and plankton off the coast – and each of them studies a different aspect of this.
The waters of the North Sea around our coast are known for their turbidity. ‘This is caused by silt. The fine sediment particles are a mixture of mineral components and organic matter such as phytoplankton and zooplankton. The sediment concentration in the water column varies from season to season: during the winter the dissolved concentrations are much higher than during the summer. The water around our coast is clearer during the summer.’
Fettweis has been studying sediment for his entire scientific career, but the main cause of the seasonal variation only came to light a few years ago. ‘We used to associate the turbidity of the water with stormy weather, which was believed to disturb the silt particles more. But that only plays a small part. The actual driver of the seasonal cycle is the phytoplankton.’
Michaël Fettweis explains his field of research.
Kallend continues: ‘Phytoplankton are single-cell organisms. They start growing in springtime. The first species, the pioneers, live in turbid, relatively dark water. As they grow, these pioneer species produce what are called transparent exopolymers, a kind of viscous gel. These cause the dissolved sediment to bind, making the particles bigger so they sink to the bottom more easily.’
So these pioneer species make the water clearer, and pave the way for species that need more light? ‘That’s right. We measure the size and concentration of the particles and try to link that to the succession of species. This is why we analyse the species and their dominance, the chemical composition of the water, the exopolymers and the physical parameters of the water.’
Parallel to this project, Marie Cours is researching a way to record phytoplankton with DNA meta-barcoding. ‘The traditional morphological determination of the species is specialised, time-consuming work. DNA may be able to offer a solution for long-term system analyses like this. But first we need to link the correct DNA to each species.’
‘On order to gain a complete picture of the seasonal cycle of the species, the production of the exopolymers and the article size and composition, we take samples in the same locations every month for a year,’ Fettweis explains. Cours adds: ‘Because of the major Eurofleet campaign in the Mediterranean Sea, the Belgica will be unavailable for our next sample collection. We are looking for an alternative.’ The fact that the researchers have to measure for a twelve-hour period in each location every time is due to a different cycle. ‘When the current is strong, the sediment particles fall apart, and when it’s weaker they stick together again. Within each tidal cycle of 12.5 hours, you have two periods of strong current – high and low tide – and two periods of minimal current – slack water. This means a strong fluctuation in sediment concentration.’
A lot of other countries would love to have their own Belgica, that’s for sure.
At our evening meal we hear that our departure is delayed once more, as the gales are still increasing in force. ‘We’ll try again tomorrow morning at nine,’ we’re told. The scientists reluctantly decide to sample at the first measuring point for only half a tidal cycle.
In the lounge that evening, we hear the odd bit of nostalgia for the old Belgica. ‘The fishery biologists preferred working on deck than in an enclosed lab with no windows, despite the cold and damp,’ someone says. Michael Fettweis also sees both the advantages and disadvantages of this ship. ‘It’s so well-equipped that I’m afraid that the big campaigns will always take priority. Perhaps I should find a different research vessel for my shorter monthly trips.’
The sea is always there
While the sea seems to have calmed during the night, the message at breakfast is unequivocal: ‘We won’t be sailing today.’ The wind will not subside until the late afternoon, so departure is scheduled for the next morning at eight. Messages reach us from inland with photos of snowy gardens and streets.
Kallend is worried. ‘I have only just over a year to take samples for my PhD. Will I be able to fill in this year’s gaps next year?’ Cours is more philosophical, but then she hasn’t got a PhD to finish. ‘Previously, I worked on freshwater organisms in temporary pools. That was very uncertain, as they are weather-dependent. I thought that marine research would offer more certainty, as the sea is always there. As you can see.’
The chief engineer offers us a tour of the ship’s belly in consolation. We first head to the control room. ‘The Belgica still has to keep a logbook, even though she has a black box.’ And: ‘You can steer the ship just as easily from here as from the bridge. There are no windows here but that’s no problem with all these cameras!’ The ships’ engines were built by the Ghent-based engine firm Anglo Belgian Corporation. The main switchboard bears the designation ‘Rolls Royce’. A ballroom full of transformers. ‘This is where the electricity comes from the alternators and is distributed to all the applications. It is converted to the correct voltage for each application.’
The Belgica’s range of thirty days is due in part to her 273.3 m³ fuel tank, but mainly to the desalination system for potable water. ‘We have two systems: reverse osmosis and distillation. Both produce distilled water that we then remineralise.’ The ship also has a complete water purification system on board. ‘We do the same thing as the big systems on land but much more quickly.’
When we reach daylight once more, the worst of the shock has passed for the scientists. Lab technician Tjorven Ditillieu demonstrates the method for taking samples. Everyone has to help out over the next two days, as no one, not even the most experienced lab technicians, can work at such a high tempo for twelve hours.
Every hour, the rosette with seawater samples comes aboard. Each time, the researchers must measure the turbidity and take samples for the various research purposes. They go through a variety of filters in specific flasks and tubes, or are coloured with alcian blue, which sounds, appropriately enough, a bit like ocean blue. The salinity samples go into beer bottles. ‘Please don’t think we have a secret stash of alcohol because of the alcohol ban on board.’
Before we know it, the afternoon is upon us. The sun breaks through. The researchers dress warmly and head off for a robust beach walk. For me, it’s time to clear out my cabin and head for the station. But then, the crow’s nest is calling me now that the wind has dropped. Maybe I’ve still got time…
This article appeared in the Eos special issue about the North Sea.