master's licence, recently skippered the Bermuda Biological Station's research vessel Weatherbird II during a regular research operation south of the Island.

This is his report.

It really wasn't a very nice night when I relieved Lee Black, Weatherbird II's captain, at midnight for my watch. The wind was gusting to 30 knots with sporadic bouts of heavy rain and the sea is running at six to eight feet. The story of the flea thinking the back of the elephant he rides on to be the entire universe came to mind when all I could see was ship's deck lit by floodlights.

On this trip, we are about 50 miles south of the Island taking water samples and data at depths up to 4,200 metres. The weather has been slowly getting worse over the last 12 hours, but we have decided to do one more "cast'' to a depth of 900 metres before calling it quits and heading for home.

Wearing lifejackets is not only mandatory when putting equipment over the side, but in these conditions it seems to be a pretty good idea as well. Tony Sherrif, the boat's chief engineer, is handling the winch controls while his wife Rachel, the chief scientist, and several others, physically hold the $30,000 CTD rosette (a $100,000 device to measure ocean salinity, depth and temperature) from swinging as it is lifted off the deck and quickly into the water. The rosette is almost nine feet tall with a cluster of 12 water collection tubes attached along with sensing instruments that send data through the hoisting-cable back up to the computer located on board.

This is a critical time and if the boat takes any sudden rolls the delicate equipment hanging on a quarter-inch galvanised wire may swing into the ship.

Also, the first 40 metres or so are the hardest on the thin wire as sudden shock loads may cause it to break. It is necessary to keep Weatherbird II downwind of the wire so no chafing will occur as it pays out over the side.

There is a sense of being disconnected from reality doing this at night. The floodlights bathe everything in harsh, white light that ruins any night vision. The clouds obscure the full moon so the sea, horizon and sky merge together in inky darkness. The spare lines hanging from the stern A frame are etched in white against the sky and give some sense of where the wind is blowing from. But when you look at the wind indicator mounted on the console everything gets twisted around because you are facing the aft end of the boat.

Until I get used to facing backwards it forces me to go through this little mental exercise every now and then to orient myself to the real world.

The challenge is to keep the boat in the proper orientation with the stern into the sea that has built up... You sense the big waves coming before you actually see them. The stern will lift over the moderate wave that usually precedes the larger ones and then at the last second the big one comes racing into view lit by the floodlights. When it breaks over the stern six to twelve inches of white water comes boiling over, around and through the winches, deck fittings and any gear lashed down back aft. If you have dry feet, the natural reaction is to hop on top of something to try and keep them that way, but after while it seems to consume all of your time so you give in to the idea of being wet and don't worry about it any more.

The angle of the wire leading to the rosette almost half a mile down gives me some idea if the Weatherbird is drifting too fast downwind or in the wrong direction. In conditions like these I will mostly use the main engines to drag the stern of the boat back into the wind so the waves aren't hitting us directly on the side or straight up the rear end. Of course waves don't always come from the same direction so that keeps things interesting in case you are tempted to send out for pizza or something.

There is only a slight hiss of compressed air as the controls are engaged and very little vibration or noise to indicate the propellers are working to keep us in position. But the sea comes aboard with a bit more enthusiasm as we pull the stern against the wind and waves. Nothing is constant at sea so for the next hour it is a game of letting the boat drift, then using the engines to muscle us back into position.

In the seat bolted to the deck a few inches behind me, Marijo is sitting monitoring the progress of the CTD rosette as it descends. Through a computer link, information such as depth, temperature, salinity, and oxygen content are constantly received, displayed and recorded for use. The information is used with actual water samples taken at various depths that will be retrieved when the rosette lands back on deck. It is all like watching some slow motion video game that you are not sure has any rules. It may take up to several hours to do one "cast'', from the time the instruments go over the side to when they land safely back on deck. In the meantime the continuous whine of the winch can be heard even by those resting in their bunks.

It is around 4 a.m. when the rosette is hoisted almost to the surface. Sea conditions continue to be marginal with occasional periods of nasty thrown in for good measure. Rachel and I go through a quick review on how she would like to proceed before giving the deck crew a similar briefing. Although some of the crew have been through this operation hundreds of times, safety is always foremost. A quick talk about what is going to happen is typical of the calm professionalism I've seen on board Weatherbird II .

When I think I have the boat positioned where the rolling will be minimised a short verbal okay on the loud hailer mobilises everyone for a quick final hoist to get the equipment out of the water and on deck. With practiced motion, the frame of the CTD rosette is bolted securely to the main deck for the ride home. There is not much question that conditions have deteriorated too much for any further work so all that remains is to get everything secured for the eight hour run back to Spit Buoy and the calm waters of Ferry Reach.

I don't think bad weather ever comes from astern. The trip back is a miserable slog into eight foot seas and more than 30 knots of breeze right on the nose.

A dirty grey morning greets our arrival off St. George's, but the relatively flat water is a welcome relief.

With an expected turnaround time at the dock of only eight hours most of the crew head for home and a few hours of solid sleep. As it turns out, the weather stays bad for the next two days so routine maintenance occupies the bonus time at the dock. With one of the busier schedules in National Science Foundation's research fleet, the Weatherbird II is seldom allowed the luxury of prolonged periods in port. Someone once said that "ships and crew rot in port''. That shouldn't be a problem around here.

BAD WEATHER BIRD -- Weatherbird II , shown alongside the Bermuda Biological Station, constantly rides out bad weather to allow scientists to conduct research for the National Science Foundation.