An Epistemology of a Deep-Sea Channel
Underwater canyons and their diverse channel systems constitute landscapes in the deep sea. Similar to the shape of rivers, valleys and mountains on land, these submarine channels are part of the earth's biogeochemical cycle by transporting and redistributing carbon and nutrients to the deep sea. This is done by so-called turbidity currents, gravity-driven avalanches, which deliver sediment and carbon through these submarine canyons from shallow to deep water. In their effective role as carbon sink, they sink in carbon into the ocean's seabed. Thus, the morphology and sedimentology of deep-sea channels can provide insights into their effectiveness as a carbon sink of the past and create a basis for the analysis of possible future scenarios on global warming (Krastel and Mosher 2022). Yet, little is known of the deep sea and its channels, due to difficulties in measuring these in-situ (Talling et al. 2015). Mapping narrow channels like the Northwest Atlantic Mid-Ocean Channel (NAMOC) especially constitutes a challenge (Krastel and Mosher 2022).
The NAMOC is one of the longest submarine channels in the world with a length of more than 3,800 kilometers, between four and five kilometers wide and one hundred meters deep, unfolding from Hudson Strait through the Labrador Sea to Newfoundland Ridge in the North Atlantic. Besides the gap of knowing the NAMOC's morphological details, a gap in understanding how scientists map, document and analyze the channel they cannot see with their own eyes exists. This includes the exact processing and practices of researching the channel itself. These observations led me to ask: How do scientists approach the deep sea and its channels, which are the strategies to produce knowledge during the expedition?
To answer these questions, I examine knowledge production processes along the NAMOC during a seven-week research expedition I participated in (Figure 1). The expedition mapped previously undiscovered large parts of the NAMOC by following the channel for approximately two thousand kilometers and taking sediment samples up to 4526 meters deep. The research is rooted in discussions within the sociology of knowledge as well as conceptually guided by approaches of science and technology studies (STS) and new materialism as lenses, as well as socio-material entanglements in knowledge production processes. Methodologically, the study employs ethnographic fieldwork including participant observation, field notes, photo and film documentation of work processes and practices, and semi-structured interviews with representatives of the research vessel's crew and scientists, as well as autoethnography.
Track of the research cruise I participated in including detailed track of the working area (NAMOC) between Newfoundland, Canada in the West and Greenland in the East (Krastel et al. 2021: 8).
Citation: Nature and Culture 19, 2; 10.3167/nc.2024.190205
Earlier studies by Karin Knorr-Cetina (1983), Susan Leigh Star (1985) and Bruno Latour (1987) already emphasized the importance of following scientific practices to grasp and understand the lived reality of science and its practitioners, such as negotiation processes or hierarchies in science-making. There is power involved as the way in which a problem is framed determines its solutions. Therefore, my examination of everyday practices of knowledge production on a research vessel aims to shed light on the behind-the-scenes practices of science-making. By following the NAMOC at multiple stations and water depths and across physical boundaries, the study moreover employs multi-sited ethnography (Marcus 1995) in an innovative fashion by conducting fieldwork at different places, for instance on land and at sea. It moreover aims to incorporate multiple sites of meaning-making and its dynamism in line with the mobility turn (Mielke and Hornidge 2017; Sheller 2017; Urry 2016). Instead of following solely human actors, following the NAMOC and the research vessel's technologies as non-human actors, the study aims to overcome anthropocentrism and takes greater account of the role of materialities in knowledge production processes (cf. Gesing 2019; Latour 1992).
The findings shed light on the strategies researchers are using to generate knowledge by closely observing how scientists define what a deep-sea channel actually constitutes. Moreover, the study aims to contribute to recent STS and new materialism literature by both integrating the material methodologically and considering the constant flux between nature, technology, and society rather than outsourcing them ontologically (Bogusz 2018; Spence 2014).
From Research Vessels and Following Things: Literature Review
Among scholars researching expeditions, Richard Sorrenson analyzed the ship as a scientific instrument by taking into account its physical form and its prime task: “probing the unknown” (Sorrenson 1996: 226). His work focused on the history of marine expeditions of the eighteenth century (ibid.). Antony Adler (2013) continued Sorrenson's work by looking at the development of a “ship as instrument” to a “ship as laboratory” to a “ship as invisible technician” in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. He noted that research vessels nowadays predominately deploy remote sensing techniques, which leads to data being analyzed on land and no longer on board of a vessel (Adler 2013). Similarly, Anne-Flore Laloë (2016) analyzed the ship from an historiographic point of view as an active space, ascribing agency to the vessel in knowledge production processes.
Ethnographic research on research vessels and marine sciences generally is still rather rare. An early example constitutes Russell Bernard and Peter Killworth's (1973) work, who conducted an ethnographic and mathematical analysis on a vessel by using social network analysis. They found the social network on a vessel guided by structured hierarchies on board, which influences the organization of work at sea (please see Hasty and Peters 2012; Sampson and Schroeder 2006 for further analyses of vessels through a geo-political lens). Stefan Helmreich (2008, 2009, 2021) conducted ethnographic research on submersible and research vessels showing how soundscapes (2008), spaces (2009), and perspectival shifts (2021) influence research on the deep sea, microbes and waves, thereby taking into account marine biodiversity. More recent studies by Anna-Katharina Hornidge (2020) deal with knowledge production processes on a German research vessel and the pluriverse of epistemes shaping the latter. Hornidge looks into bodily communication on the research vessel and describes the vessel as a socially constructed science island (ibid.). Tanja Bogusz (2018) accompanied a large-scale expedition in Papua New Guinea and followed researchers in a laboratory, along the coast and on a research vessel. She found that heterogeneous cooperation and transdisciplinary co-laboratories were only partly achieved, mainly caused by the missed opportunity of a mutual problem definition before the expedition (Bogusz 2018).
The aforementioned studies predominately focused on social and human-human interactions in meaning-making at sea, rarely considering non-humans, materiality or human and non-human interactions comprehensively. STS scholars such as Knorr-Cetina (1988) and Latour (1987, 1992, 1999) followed scientists in the laboratory and in the field, or in sampling soil in the Amazon forest, to demonstrate the social construction of scientific facts (cf. Berger and Luckmann 1966; Latour and Woolgar 1986). Rapti Siriwardane-de Zoysa and Anna-Katharina Hornidge (2016) go beyond human entanglements by un-humanizing the concept of lifeworlds in marine sciences. Moreover, further STS and new materialist literature that looks into human and non-human interactions in science-making do not focus on marine spaces, such as Janet Vertesi (2012) who researches embodiment on a Mars exploration rover mission or Mark Harris (2005) who considers embodied skills of fisher people in the Amazon forest.
Despite the findings of these few studies and their contribution to (marine) ethnographies and STS, there are still plenty unknowns regarding epistemic processes of researching the deep sea, which takes into account scientist's approaches and strategies to conduct their research, as well as their interactions with non-human actors. Moreover, an empirically based understanding of the micro levels in knowledge production processes, such as on board a research vessel while including multiple sites of meaning-making, within marine sciences has received very little attention.
Due to globalization and associated changes in social orders, ethnography moved from its traditional single-site observations to the tracing of people, things, metaphors, plots, lives, or conflicts (Marcus 1995). The mobility turn (Urry 2000) reinforced this trend by moving from researching geographically fixed spaces to more connectivity and fluidity in science-making (Mielke and Hornidge 2017; Urry 2016). This tracing of things gained high popularity in ethnography and was applied, adapted and interpreted differently in multiple studies. Multi-sited ethnography was taken up by STS (Haraway 2006; Latour 1987), media studies (Escobar et al. 1994), and more specifically environmentalism linked to commodities (Cook 2004), biotechnology, and modes of digital communication (Beaudry and Kananian 2013; Marcus 1996). Even though Marcus’ work on the emergence of multi-sited ethnography (Marcus 1995) was published nearly three decades ago, it is still considered as a relevant and necessary approach (Gagnon 2017). Following the research vessel exploring the NAMOC in different parts of the ocean, such as the surface and different water depths, as well as diverse research stations of the scientists and the fluidity between geographically fixed and virtual knowledge production sites, provides an opportunity to construe Marcus’ approach innovatively. This study rather employs multi-sited ethnography in a way that enables the consideration of multiple sites of meaning-making and its dynamism in line with the mobility turn by incorporating the agency of people, places and the more-than-human (Mielke and Hornidge 2017; Sheller 2017; Urry 2016).
The presented research initially focused on the scientists. However, once in the field, an inductive approach allowed me to follow “objects of interest,” other people and things, mainly the crewmembers, but especially non-human actors, such as the vessel, its (marine) infrastructure, and the NAMOC itself. Thus, the study contributes to Marcus’ “strategically situated (single-site) ethnography” (Marcus 1995) because the ethnography takes place on a single-site—the research vessel—yet it is guided by the external factors and knowledges from the outside world shedding light on the fluidity of knowledge production processes contributing to discussions on the mobility turn (Hornidge et al. 2020; Mielke and Hornidge 2017; Sheller 2017; Urry 2016). My understanding of a multi-sited ethnography was informed by Laura McAdam-Otto and Sarah Nimführ's (2021) conception of a multi-sited ethnography within one locality, which enables the inclusion of sites researchers are not able to physically visit. Though the research vessel itself, the data it receives and sends through internet and satellite, the crossing of international borders and even international waters and thus is prone to (inter-)national law, I argue that a multi-sited ethnography does not necessarily need to take place transnationally. It rather needs to map the complexities and potential contradictions of a single-site and its multi-sited entanglements.
In conclusion, there is manifold research on historic expeditions, but analyses on expeditions through an ethnographic sociological lens remain limited. The “follow the” debate is highly contested in social sciences. Although Marcus’ multi-sited approach is criticized for being inapplicable in today's globalized world (e.g., Hulme 2017), I claim that globalization and especially technologization enable the tracking of things at first without being physically present at all sites, while simultaneously being able to investigate how non-human actors help to shape human understandings of the world.
An Ethnography: Methodological and Conceptual Framework
My research is rooted in social constructivism, discussions in knowledge sociology, conceptually guided by approaches of STS and new materialism and inspired by laboratory studies (Barad 1996; Berger and Luckmann 1966; Fox and Alldred 2017; Latour and Woolgar 1986). Social constructivism understands knowledge as built upon sets of beliefs humans use to interpret certain phenomena. It thereby considers the diversity of worldviews and realities constructed within social groups over time (Berger and Luckmann 1966).
Clifford Geertz (1973: 5) argued that “if you want to understand what a science is, you should look in the first instance not at its theories or its findings, and certainly not at what its apologists say about it; you should look at what the practitioners of it do.” Therefore, the scientists on board the research vessel and their approaching of the NAMOC, as well as their interacting with non-human actors serve as both the main unit of analysis and the field. Diverse research settings, such as laboratories or research vessels, influence the generation and negotiation of knowledge in interactions within and between researchers. The production of knowledge is further shaped by interactions of researchers and non-scientists, for instance policy makers or lay people, as well as through technology dependence. My study therefore adds STS approaches that analyze how science, technology and society shape and influence each other (Harding 2008). New materialist approaches emphasize the materiality of the social and natural world, which are in constant flux. Moreover, these approaches take into account emotions, desires, affect and meanings as forces in producing the social world (Barad 1996; Fox and Alldred 2017), a lens this article is using as well. STS and new materialism approaches no longer look at explanations or mechanisms of social structures, but at “events” that explain “the continuities, fluxes and “becomings” that produce the world around us” (Fox and Alldred 2017: 7). As such, the knowledge production processes observed and the coding patterns that emerged while analyzing the data are events (cf. Hertz and Mancilla García 2019), both singularities and pluralities, which are continuously reoccurring and shape the knowing of the NAMOC.
Only everyday observation of research practices and knowledge production will show what constitutes the underlying factors that influence science-making. The aim of the study is not the “ultimate truth” (Keller 2011: 61), but rather an understanding of the “how” of knowledge production processes. Thus, I follow an explorative and descriptive approach while simultaneously aiming for a comprehensive reflexive and analytical interpretation of collected data (ibid.).
To follow the NAMOC and to observe the approaches and strategies of the scientists, I joined a seven-week geomorphological expedition on a German research vessel in the North Atlantic and Labrador Sea. Specifically, I (1) assisted in hydroacoustics and sedimentology aiming to map the NAMOC and gain insights into its morphology; (2) deployed nine so-called BGC-Argo floats, which are biogeochemical autonomous diving buoys measuring the ocean's salinity and temperature in the upper 2000m, thereby providing essential inputs for climate change scenarios; and (3) (auto-)ethnographically documented everyday life and (research) practices on the vessel from an epistemic perspective.
During the seven-week expedition, I conducted 37 audio-recorded semi-structured interviews with 20 out of 24 crewmembers and 15 out of 16 scientists (including myself) on board ranging from 20 minutes to two hours, providing almost 38 hours of audio material. I interviewed two senior scientists twice, at the beginning and during the final days of the research to reflect on the experienced cruise. Questions ranged from everyday life on a research vessel including the scientist's and crewmember's social interactions as well as the technology dependence that both influence data collection, processing, and analysis. Further questions referred to perceptions and emotions of crewmembers and scientists during the cruise. Findings from interviews are referenced throughout the text with “Int-number.” Besides, participant observation including field notes allowed documenting working routines, the processes of data and sample collection, in-team negotiations, and the interaction between scientists and crewmembers, as well as between humans and non-humans.
All interviews were transcribed. Field notes of 55 pages serve as an additional corpus of material. For interpreting collected data, I used the Atlas.ti software, an extensive tool facilitating the analysis of qualitative data by coding the data both deductively and inductively, starting with a set of created codes while simultaneously adding additional codes. I used an ethnographic coding scheme to search and discover patterns of themes in the data. Margot Ely et al. (1991: 150) define a theme as “a statement of meaning that (1) runs through all or most of the pertinent data, or (2) one in the minority that carries heavy emotional or factual impact”. The frequent reoccurrence of a theme makes it a pattern. Thereby, the co-occurrence of the same pattern in multiple interviews makes it a regularity in the data (Hatch 2002).
Besides, I want to note that in line with Donna Haraway (1988), I am aware of my own positionality and I cannot master “the god trick” (ibid.: 582) of being fully objective. I experienced the first two weeks on the vessel as very challenging, since I was neither part of the crewmember's in-group, nor a full member of the natural scientist's group. Some scientists, especially the younger students, perceived me as an alien element and as someone who supplants one of the very limited spots for scientists on a research vessel. One student referred to social sciences as “no real science” (field notes 04.08.2021). Moreover, my research endeavor received only second-rate importance, since it was not part of the main goal of the expedition: mapping the NAMOC's morphology. Thus, I felt very insecure, solitary and excluded. Yet, after I started conducting the interviews, I felt increasingly accepted by both social groups. Some crewmembers called me a “psychologist” or a “social worker” (field notes, 16./19.08.2021) and advertised my interviews among their colleagues. Consequently, interviewees trusted and confided in me. They shared their personal life stories, such as the difficulties of living between land and sea (Int-12; Int-20; Int-26), failed relationships (Int-15; Int-18; Int-21), and extreme loneliness (Int-7; Int-29; Int-36). The chief scientist conceded that he never thought I could conduct so many interviews, particularly with crewmembers since they usually stay in their comfort zone (field notes, 07.09.2021). As a result of this newly gained trust among crewmembers, the scientists were impressed and increasingly shared their emotions with me, such as anger and sadness, for example a scientist started to cry during the interview due to homesickness (Int-10). I also want to share that during the time on the vessel, I slowly had the feeling of “going native” by participating in everyday shifts and spending my limited leisure time with crewmembers and scientists. Yet, every evening I wrote field notes, trying to make note of the daily processes as seeing and experiencing them for the first time. In line with Dominic Boyer (2008) and by taking into account my own positionality, I treat the natural scientists observed as human subjects and not solely as rationalists.
Knowing the NAMOC through Sensory Landscape and Experiential Knowledge: Findings
The aim of the expedition was to map large parts of the so far undiscovered NAMOC to understand its turbidity currents and its effectiveness as a carbon sink. These findings create a basis for the analysis of possible future scenarios on global warming. The ethnography of science-making on the research vessel allowed disclosing usually unseen research practices, such as the use of researcher's senses and experiential knowledge, and enabled me to sketch out the sensory landscape of knowing the deep-sea channel. For example, one interviewee reflected: “You try to pick out based on all the data that's available […] the places that seem to you the most relevant, where you can learn the most, and that's just […], that's really experience and also feeling and sometimes a little bit of luck as well” (Int-35).
The following sections show examples of scientist's and crewmember's use of senses and experiences in knowing the deep-sea channel. Researchers frequently used their “gut feeling” (Int-14) in hydro acoustic data collection, their senses of sight, taste, smell, sound, and touch in determining sediment grains and deploying an autonomous diving buoy. Experiences, such as former maps of the channel helped scientists map the NAMOC, fix technologies, and decide on sediment coring stations, as the second section of the findings will demonstrate.
Sensory Landscape
At the beginning [of software based first-level data processing], because I never done it before, I was rather cautious and didn't delete so many points [laughs], and now I'm more careful about that [laughs]. Because you do it more often and then you have the feeling that, no, you can take away even more […]. And I proceed [hesitates] no idea, so by learning, no idea, so intuitively. (Int-10)
One of the identified unseen research practices scientists use in knowledge production processes constitute their sensory landscape. In the following, I will provide three examples of knowledge production processes, which were guided by scientist's and crewmember's sensory landscape.
Following “Your Gut Feeling” Means Knowing the NAMOC
The expedition followed the NAMOC for approximately 2000km. Mapping the NAMOC was a crucial part of the everyday knowledge production processes onboard. Mapping the NAMOC requires the hydroacoustic systems and high-resolution-reflection seismic, as well as sub-bottom profile data for crossing the NAMOC at several locations. Emotions of uncertainty emerged in team meetings and negotiations discussing on how and where to follow the NAMOC exactly. This corresponds with the uncertainty of the formation of the NAMOC itself, its shape and multiple side channels and the fact that researchers themselves cannot experience, see, and touch the physically inaccessible channel. So far, limited data exists on the NAMOC and its characteristics, so that natural scientists need to use imprecise language for describing the formation of the deep-sea channel, such as “it is believed that the most profound influences on the basin's modern geomorphology resulted from high sediment fluxes” (Krastel and Mosher 2022). Yet, “to believe is not to know” (Weingartner 2018: 113). As such, scientists and crewmembers have to deal with uncertainty in researching and following the NAMOC. They also have to rely on remote technologies to map the channel, since it is out of human reach and thus makes it another site of meaning-making (cf. Sheller and Urry 2006; Siriwardane-de Zoysa and Hornidge 2016).
The hydro acoustic data collection is digital and recorded with a software, but the scientists need to follow and observe the moving seabed on seven computer screens using their senses (Image 1). Every time the seabed moves, the scientists manually click up or down an arrow within a software to not lose track of the NAMOC. They need to rely on their sensory landscape, especially seeing and their “gut feeling” as one interlocutor puts it (Int-14). I worked in the hydro acoustic shift as well. In the beginning, I felt insecure and was afraid to lose the moving seabed on the computer screen, but with each shift my insecurity vanished. During 24/7 watches, the scientists were trying to follow the NAMOC by using previously mentioned hydro acoustic systems. Usually, one scientist sat in front of seven computer screens following a set of diverse software on the ground floor laboratory of the vessel, while another scientist sat on the bridge together with an officer trying to follow NAMOC physically. The scientist on the bridge had the tough job of indicating how many degrees starboard or larboard the officer should navigate the vessel. There was no concrete procedure, and scientists had to decide the degrees intuitively (field notes, 04./06./09./14./25./28.08.2021). For making decisions, “you need to work a lot with your gut feeling” (Int-14; cf. Int-35) during the process of following the seabed and navigating accordingly, since you do not know for a fact toward which direction the channel extends. In moments of insecurities, the scientist on the bridge and the scientist in the laboratory communicated via mobile transmitter to find an agreement in which direction the officer should direct the vessel. Sometimes, diverse types of knowledges are interacting (Hornidge et al. 2020; Mielke and Hornidge 2017) when the officer in charge shares his intuition of how many degrees to navigate the vessel to follow the channel (field notes 04./09./14.08.2021). Afterward, the scientists had to first-level process the data of the results to receive a readable map of the seabed (Figure 2). Again, deciding on which pixels of the map to keep and which ones to remove represents a process based on “intuition,” “feeling,” and sensory knowledge (Int-10; Int-13; Int-16; Int-24; Int-25).
Observing the moving seabed during a nightshift in the laboratory on the vessel, 17.08.2021 All images by the author.
Citation: Nature and Culture 19, 2; 10.3167/nc.2024.190205
Detailed track chart of the working area of the cruise (Krastel et al. 2021: 9).
Citation: Nature and Culture 19, 2; 10.3167/nc.2024.190205
Sensing Sediment: Tasting, Smelling, Seeing, and Touching Grains
After having collected the data for an underwater map of parts of the NAMOC, the scientists come together for a meeting and mutually decide where to take sediment samples (see section on experiential knowledge). Sediment cores at 24 stations were taken throughout the cruise. Once decided where exactly along the NAMOC sediment cores or samples should be extracted, constant remote communication between scientists, bridge and deck crewmembers via mobile transmitter enables the correct positioning of the station. Thus, multiple sites of meaning-making intersect during these procedures. Right before the extraction of the sediment cores with the instruments of a standard gravity corer and a giant box corer, the scientists always estimate how many meters will reach the deck based on their intuition (field notes 30.07./05./07.–13./24./28.08.2021). The post-doc responsible for the sedimentology always feels nervous and excited in those moments (Int-1). The uncertainty and nervousness increases until the gravity corer or giant box corer reaches the surface again, which can sometimes take up to two hours depending on the water's depth (field notes 07.08.2021).
Once on deck, the up to 10m long sample and the gravity corer are cleaned. The team then carries the heavy pipes filled with sediment to the respective station where they measure them and cut them into 1m long pieces. Afterward, the 1m pieces are marked with (1) the cruise number and position, (2) the date, (3) length in cm, (4) a line where the core will be cut and (5) “A” for archive and “W” for working. One part of the cut cores will be refrigerated and archived for analysis back in Germany, and the other part will be examined during the cruise (Image 2). During this procedure, scientists exchange on the smell, heaviness, and colors of the sediment by using their sensory landscape of touching, seeing and smelling (field notes 30.07.2021). I followed this process multiple times and experienced it as sculptural work in an almost artistic way.
First-level analysis of a sediment core, 02.08.2021.
Citation: Nature and Culture 19, 2; 10.3167/nc.2024.190205
After cleaning the cut cores, each section receives a handwritten description; the scientists photograph them and determine the grain sizes within each core: clay, silt, sand, gravel, and stones. Each scientist works on one sediment core, takes little samples out of the cleaned cores, and smears them between their fingers or on the backs of their hands to define the grain size based on feeling of softness, roughness, or creaminess. I observed two students who even tasted the sediment to feel if it crunched between the teeth to differentiate between silt and clay. This is why geoscientists are named Steinelecker, which literally translates into stone lickers, especially by geophysicists, as one student discloses (Int-3). Afterwards, the scientists use colored templates to define the sediment's colors. All information is documented manually and digitally. The scientists fill out a document (Image 3) indicating visual core description, color (using a handbook with color schemes), graphic representation (cm), structure (painted on document), and section description (how do transitions look, are there pebbles, different layers, etc.). When asking the scientists how they decide where exactly to take the grain samples with a plastic syringe, they answer they take the samples depending on the transition, on particularities, and on each new layer they find “interesting” (Int-3; Int-33). Yet, when asking the researchers how this intuitive decision is reflected in legitimizing their scientific findings they negate the use of sensory landscape (ibid.). Afterwards, they seal resulting holes with Styrofoam. Finally, the scientists wrap the cores in cling film, then in d-tubes and seal them with waterproof tape (field notes 10./12./13./24.08.2021).
Visual core description, 02.08.2021.
Citation: Nature and Culture 19, 2; 10.3167/nc.2024.190205
I experienced the geomorphological work similar to qualitative data analysis. The core cleaning has craft-like, almost artistic traits. The initial analysis consists of purely descriptive and visual data, such as the description of the layers and the reliance on sensory landscape, especially the touching, seeing, smelling and even tasting of the sediment (field notes 12.08.2021).
Preparing a BGC-Argo float for deployment (see next section), 29.07.2021.
Citation: Nature and Culture 19, 2; 10.3167/nc.2024.190205
Vibrating Senses: Deploying a Float
Throughout the expedition, we deployed nine BGC-Argo floats (Pic.4), which are biogeochemical autonomous diving buoys measuring the ocean's salinity and temperature, as well as other chemical elements depending on the sensors, such as nitrate or oxygen, thereby providing essential information for climate change scenarios. Their data contributes to the Global Carbon Project and the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change Report, crucial in providing assessments of climate change and its future impacts as well as policy advice. Moreover, the data could be compared with the findings of the NAMOC, which can provide insights into the effectiveness of deep-sea channels as a carbon sink of the past and future (Krastel and Mosher 2022).
As the sole person responsible for deploying floats during the cruise, I employed an autoethnographic approach, relying on my own senses and emotions. Despite being a social scientist with no prior experience in float deployment, I felt a constant sense of insecurity (field notes 29./30.07./15./19.08.2021). Access to the research cruise was granted through a colleague's personal connection with the chief scientist, highlighting power asymmetries in the German science system. I was not involved in the negotiation process, but gaining access to such a research expedition that has limited space and capacities requires personal connections, which was confirmed during my interviews (Int-3; Int-5; Int-10; Int-13; Int-16; Int-24; Int-25; Int-32; Int-33).
The deployment of the first floats did not work out as planned. Once on deck, the floats need to be activated. This is usually done by removing a heavy magnet and waiting for a continuous beeping sound. Yet, no sound appeared after thirty minutes. After continuous exchange via (satellite) telephone, voice messages, and pictures via text messengers with colleagues in Germany, we figured out that the float's manufacturer had changed the procedure of activation (field notes 29.07.2021). Instead of a beeping sound, the float starts to vibrate and to sprinkle water caused by the internal activated hydraulic pump thereby signaling it is ready for drifting. Without the vessel's internet connection and telephone, a deployment would not have been feasible. Including these multiple sites of meaning-making on land enabled the knowledge travel, which led to a successful float deployment at sea, and demonstrates the movement of objects, people, and ideas (Cresswell 2011; Hornidge et al. 2020; Marcus 1995).
Due to the foggy weather conditions, the noisy environments caused by the vessel itself, the waves and crew's rust removing in the hangar, it was extremely difficult to hear and feel the vibrating float. Hence, I had to trust my remaining senses, emotions and gut feelings hugging the float, feeling and hearing its vibrations and its spattering water (field notes 29.07.2021). With each new float deployment, my insecurity vanished. Interviewees confirmed the intersection of sound and feeling: “Yes, it [the vessel] is always loud (laughs). […] It has many different sounds. In the meantime, you can feel whether the ship feels comfortable or not. […] You have one foot on the ground and you know: there is something wrong” (Int-18). Another interviewee referred to sound and smell as an indication that something is wrong on the vessel (Int-22). These statements show that scientists and crewmembers do not only rely on their senses, but already internalized the sounds and movements of the technologies and the vessel, which touch their bodies and thus only enables knowledge production processes. The quotes moreover show that the combination of diverse types of knowledges, by crewmembers and researchers, facilitates science-making.
Experiential Knowledge
Well, I've been doing what I'm doing for quite a long time and I've seen a hell of a lot and had a hell of a lot of technology in my hands. And it's always the case that we don't have that many technicians, and as a doctoral student we also did a lot of the technology ourselves. So, I can operate everything we do here technically and also disassemble and reassemble it technically. So if something doesn't work, I think I have a relatively large wealth of experience and can say that it's because of that. (Int-2)
Besides sensory landscapes, experiential knowledge of scientists and crewmembers in science-making and experiences with non-human actors, such as technologies, represent another mode of knowing the NAMOC.
Follow Former NAMOC Maps and Previous Experiences
Due to the NAMOC's large-scale and uncertain pathway, including multiple side channels, researchers have to rely on previously collected data and experiences from other expeditions. This especially applies to the southern part of NAMOC, for which “transit data from other expeditions that crossed portions of it” (Krastel and Mosher 2022) were used.
Previous experience and data gained by other natural scientists with different research questions contribute indirectly to the research. This also applies to previous experiences of data collection, which was hindered by error-prone technology (Int-2), weather conditions (Int-31), or ineffective leadership (Int-9). Experiential knowledge and potential problem solutions are shared and sustained. Following experiential knowledge facilitates future research (Int-23) scientifically but also individually. The travel of knowledges between different hierarchical levels of scientists and between crewmembers and scientists enables following the NAMOC. One interviewee explains her gained experience by the chief scientist: “So if I'm kind of going off track or getting anxious or nervous about something, he [the chief scientist] can just really bring me back onto track […]. I think a lot of that is experience, but a lot of it is also who he is” (Int-9).
Flows of ideas and experiences with colleagues not being physically present on the vessel adding their experiential knowledge, but virtually, highlight the mobility turn in knowledge production processes away from geographically fixed spaces of science-making (Marcus 1995; Mielke and Hornidge 2017; Sheller and Urry 2006). The different experiential knowledges of physically present and absent scientists and crewmembers on board are taken into account in decision-making processes, for example in recovering sediment samples. Thereby, the bosun advises the scientists on safety measures, while recovering the giant box corer. Yet, the people in more powerful positions, such as the chief scientist, the master, bosun or chief officer always need to make the final decision after mutual negotiation processes, which points to power dynamics on board but also to the required hierarchy for the sake of security (field notes 07.–10./18./19./22./27./30.08.2021).
Knowing Technology, Knowing How to Fix it
The crew members and the scientists have delegated non-humans (cf. Latour 1992) some of their work. On the vessel are diverse winches that help deploy heavy instruments, mobile transmitters to communicate from bridge to deck, or the dynamic positioning program that helps the vessel to hold its position during sampling. Without these instruments data collection at sea would not be possible, which shows technology dependence. Yet, this reliance does not account to the streamer (field notes 18.08.2021).
Mapping the NAMOC involves deploying a seismic streamer, a process that demands precision. Despite routine deployment, the streamer often required recovery due to malfunctions in its sections, causing delays and significant effort. The intricate procedure involves careful handling of sensitive connectors, secured with tape, foam, and cable ties to prevent air bubbles (see Images 5 and 6). Experienced scientists and crewmembers are crucial for testing, replacing, modifying, and retesting. Work at sea follows a hierarchical organization, with senior researchers guiding students in correctly handling the streamer sections, and crewmembers instructing scientists on operating the winch (field notes 24./28./31.07./03./12.–14./25.08.2021). The organization of work at sea is thus characterized by clear instructions and a diversity of (routine) knowledges.
One interviewee also referred to the extreme environmental conditions that impede the data collection with the streamer: “So with all kinds of devices, when we take equipment with us, we try to prepare it as well as possible and keep it in good working order, but testing under real conditions is not possible. We can set it up at our home, then it all works, but it is not in moving salt water and not in wind […]. Anything that is highly engineered is also susceptible actually” (Int-2). Thus, although scientists test the streamer beforehand, their experiential and routine knowledges show that external influences, such as changing weather conditions, might interfere with data collection. Simultaneously, due to their experiential knowledge, they know how to solve such complications.
Repairing a defective part of the streamer, 31.07.2021.
Citation: Nature and Culture 19, 2; 10.3167/nc.2024.190205
Experiential Knowledge and “Gambling:” Where to Take Sediment Samples
When determining sediment-sampling locations, scientists engage in negotiation processes. Prior to sample collection, senior scientists meet to discuss the next research station, with students invited to join voluntarily. Using processed NAMOC data, they identify intriguing sediment extraction locations. The chief scientist, drawing on experience, suggests a location and seeks agreement through negotiation. When questioned about the basis for this decision, the chief scientist cites experience and “a little bit of gambling,” emphasizing the confidence gained through experience in making core extraction decisions (field notes 09.08.23).
Recover the defective streamer from the ocean, 28.07.2021.
Citation: Nature and Culture 19, 2; 10.3167/nc.2024.190205
Knowledge production on board involves various types of knowledge. When deciding on sediment-sampling locations, the chief scientist consults colleagues first and then collaborates with the master and officers to plan workforce and steps. The bosun allocates tasks among the crew, establishing a hierarchy. The crew, scientists, Officers, and crane operator engage in constant negotiation via wireless transmitter or body language to complete the sampling. This ongoing negotiation process among humans and non-humans, facilitated by the vessel as research infrastructure, is crucial for knowledge production and shared understanding (field notes 30.07./05./07.-13./24./28.08.2021).
Hierarchies and experiential knowledge from previous expeditions intersect. One interviewee notes: “In a certain way, there is a hierarchy, simply because this hierarchy […] is related to experience. There are people who have more experience, who […] from my experience, speak louder in meetings […] when things are decided […]. Of course, the structures on board, the fact that in principle the chief scientist is ultimately responsible for everything, means that there is at least one veto somewhere” (Int-4). The chief scientist, with significant experience, holds a pivotal role, but the ultimate decision-making authority lies with the captain, emphasizing the highest hierarchical level on board (Int-4, Int-14).
Sensory and Experiential Knowledge—A Mélange: Conclusion
I find it difficult to separate senses and experience, because they are fully conditional on each other. So I only get a sense for it when I have also gained the experience. (Int-25)
The ethnography aimed to uncover scientists’ approaches to the deep sea and their strategies for generating knowledge during expeditions. The analysis showed that bodily communication and the researchers’ senses, emotions, and experiences played a crucial role in understanding the NAMOC. Sensory landscapes and experiential knowledge emerged as primary modes of approaching and defining the morphology and sedimentology of the deep-sea channel, particularly its role as a potential carbon sink. Navigating the NAMOC requires a blend of data on sediment, coordinates, positions, and bearing, coupled with individual estimations based on intuition and senses like touch, smell, taste, sight, and hearing. These strategies form an integral part of a larger sensory landscape and knowledge system, highlighting the importance of both scientific study and experiential knowledge in comprehending the deep-sea channel.
Emotions and affection are a result of sensing and link human bodies to their environments, both socially and physically (cf. Fox and Alldred 2017) and as such contribute to the production of knowledge. Unexpected events, like surprising features in sediment cores or unprecedented strong currents, trigger emotions, particularly for first-time experiences. Malfunctions in technologies and hardware evoke frustration, creating a semipermeable membrane between emotions and experiences. The role of non-humans and materialities thereby reflect the constant flux between nature, technology and society. They cannot be analyzed independently. Multi-sited ethnography and the mobility turn shed light on multiple sites of meaning-making including virtual knowledge sharing beyond the vessel. These transcend boundaries between human and non-human, nature and society, land and sea illustrate the diverse more-than-sea relations (cf. Cresswell 2011; Spence 2014).
The STS perspective illustrates that social dynamics, from decision-making to daily routines, shape science-making on a research vessel. Sensory landscapes, emotions, and experiential knowledge form a mélange guiding understanding of the NAMOC, with (senior) experiential knowledge playing a decisive role.
Usually, we only see the final product of science-making and not the process that brought researchers to their findings. Yet, the ethnography demonstrates that scientists do not use their sensory landscape and experiential knowledge to legitimize their findings although they are part of the science-making processes.
In conclusion, our reliance on senses and prior experiences is inherent as humans. The interplay of sensory landscapes and experiential knowledge is integral to science-making, shaping our understanding of the world. The ethnography demonstrates that researchers, both social and natural scientists, utilize (socially) constructed experiences, senses, and embodied knowledge in their scientific endeavors. This does not mean that new knowledge guided by sensory landscapes, including emotions, and experiential knowledges is not scientific enough, but it should be normalized and considered. Emphasizing the importance of constant reflection on one's positionality during fieldwork, it highlights the need for transparency, trust, and (to some extent) objectivity in knowledge production processes across social and natural sciences. Recognizing and normalizing the influence of sensory landscapes and experiential knowledge in generating scientific insights is crucial.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank the scientists and crew members of the Maria S. Merian for their time and openness to contribute to my research. I would like to thank my colleagues at the German Institute of Development and Sustainability and the marine STSing group for providing an inspiring working environment. Moreover, I would like to thank the two anonymous reviewers for their helpful comments.
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