I don't know about everyone else, but I'm approaching a state of total exhaustion. That always happens to me when working on a big project; I push hard and work hard until it's done, and then, when it's over, I feel wiped out.

However, anywhere you go on this ship, people are tired, so it appears that I'm not the only one who feels this way. People seem to be walking around like automatons today. Of course, it doesn't help that it's pouring outside on deck — too hard to hang out on the deck. That's a bummer because I really wanted to spend some time on the bow watching the waves go by. I've done this several times, and usually end up falling asleep. The up-and-down motion is soothing and relaxing, and I love the sound of the wind in the forward rigging and antenna.

The feeling of swooping up and down on the waves is something I don't want to forget; I love riding the bigger waves. When the ship rides up the crest, and if you catch it right, you get catapulted into the air. That's a really cool feeling — especially if you're coming up a ladder (stairway); the boat's action lets you leap up the stairs in no time. Then comes the moment of weightlessness when the boat reaches the crest of the wave and you feel suspended in mid-air. That feeling is really intense as the boat starts back down into the trough. There's one or two seconds of complete freedom from gravity that's really cool. But, it's not so cool that I'm going to sit out on the deck in the pouring rain. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Besides, I have bronchitis and need to take a little better care of myself.

A lot of people have asked what do you do if you get sick at sea. I can tell you, now, that it's an interesting process. What do YOU do when you get sick? You pick up the phone and call the doctor right? Nothing different here. The Chief Mate, Bill Doherty, is the medical officer aboard the Atlantis, so he and I call the MAS doctor. The Marine Advisory Service doctors are located in Maryland and answer medical questions from all ships needing medical service for their crew. They ask your current position (which on the first call was 10°N, 100°W, the nearest port (Manzanillo), how long until we pull into our scheduled port, and the medical history of the patient (in this case, me). I spoke to the doctor myself, described my symptoms, and she prescribed an antibiotic. The MAS doctors know exactly what medicines are carried on the Atlantis, so she was able to give me something specific to treat me. Bill went to the pharmacy, gave me my antibiotics and some cough medicine, told me to rest and drink fluids, and check with him again in the morning. That's it — a trip to the doctor at sea. It's a great system, and I'm REALLY glad to have been able to take advantage of it.

I spent much of the day working through all the pictures I've taken for the Web, helping people pack, and hanging around the Alvin hangar watching the group take the sub apart for its six-month overhaul. Alvin tech Mark Spear let me look under the sub and take some pictures of the penetrators and the sphere. That was awesome. I didn't know what to expect, but one of the penetrators was off and they had also removed the floor viewport. I didn't know it was there; it's usually covered over by a piece of titanium to protect it from hot vent water, but off it went during the servicing. By lying on my back under the sub, I could see all the way into the sphere, up the ladder and through the top of the sail. Awesome! The pictures don't do it justice, but there's always something cool to see on that sub.

I didn't realize how fragile the pins in the penetrators were and finally understood why electrical grounds in the sub are of such grave concern. A ground can cause metal from one pin to be transferred somewhere else. A pin that's been weakened can cause a failure of the penetrators, and seawater can get in. The Alvin group routinely inspects the penetrators to make sure they are in good working order. I could also see how the entire sphere pops out in case of emergency. That's the last-ditch effort to save the sub, but it's impressive to see the thoughtfulness that went into making sure observers and pilots are kept safe. It's an amazing piece of machinery. I can really understand why pilots and crew love it so much.

Bruce Strickrott said it best. Bruce had a great series of dives this cruise and brought back many excellent samples for the science party.

"I love that sub (and I get really frustrated with it when things don't work well)," he said. "But, I really like working on it, piloting it, and diving in it. And it's not just because it's Alvin, but it's what I can do with it. There's nothing like having a great dive, collecting everything a scientist needs and watching their faces as they examine the quality of a sample. It's a great feeling to know that I've been able to do that for them and that they can get the work that really interests them accomplished."

All the other pilots have said pretty much the same thing. They love the sub and will do anything it takes to keep it in excellent working order so that it can do its job.

So the Alvin group is hard at work, and so are many of the science party. The RNA group is doing some last-minute work on preserving and analyzing specimens of Alvinella. Barb Campbell, "molecular detective," keeps watching her cultures, and the ASU people are packing up all their chimneys and frying pans to get them back to the states. The labs are beginning to look a little emptier than yesterday. Many people can't wait to get off the boat, some are not looking forward to it, and others have mixed feelings. I myself will be sad to leave this group of people that I've come to know so well is such a short amount of time. They've all been so wonderful to me, helpful in getting lessons and information to you on the Web site, and have patiently answered my questions. They've joked that they're going to take my camera and glue it to my head since it always seems to be up and around, but they've been great.

We had a cook-out last night and were treated to shrimp and steak. The crew and science party gathered on the stern in front of Alvin, took pictures, and relaxed for the first time in weeks. The captain and some of the Alvin group treated us to a little serenade, and we watched the stars come out, finally.

Bekki and Kurt also gave a seminar on their work called, "What the heck is a viral ecologist?" I learned that viruses attack bacteria in a number of fascinating ways. Even at sea, there are classes to attend. We've had several seminars given by the science crew to teach us more about the research that's going on aboard the ship. It's a nice, informal time to learn about what's happening in different labs across the country. It's been a real collaborative environemnt aboard this ship. That's the way science is done; individuals work on pieces of the puzzle, and together, look at the big picture. This has been a very congenial environment in which to learn and share information. It's been refreshing to see because such is not always the case.

I can tell you right now that the scientists that came here to collect samples will be heading back to their labs and have about two years' worth of work to do. The real work here is collection, preservation, and a preliminary analysis of the data, but it's not until the samples get back to the lab that the real work starts. So, three and a half weeks at sea — two years of work. Think about that the next time you complain about doing a laboratory report in chemistry that takes a week to write up!

Ah, shore! — home! — I am looking forward to sleeping in a bed that's bigger than a cot, eating a pizza, playing with my dogs, and having a long, long night's sleep. But, I'm not looking forward to saying goodbye to my new friends. And, I'll miss corresponding with all the students who have made this program possible. All too soon it will be time for the Extreme 2002 aboard the Atlantis to sign over and out. Good thing there's still one more day.