December 27, 2010:

It’s our end-of-the-year party and retrospective where we count down your top 10 favorite episodes of the year and enjoy highlights from each of them. If you’ve missed any past episodes of “The Ocean Doctor,” here’s your chance to catch up and discover shows you’d like to hear in full. Find them all at oceandoctor.org/radio

The Ocean Doctor airs weekly on WebTalkRadio.net. Want to listen on your iPod, iPhone or mp3 player? Download the mp3 file or subscribe on iTunes and don’t miss a single episode. See the complete list of episodes.

Follow The Ocean Doctor on Twitter — Become a Fan on Facebook!

Submit a question and I’ll try to answer it on the air. Even better, record your question or comment on our special message line and I might play it on the air. Call: (805) 619-9194. You can also leave questions and comments for this episode below.

Like the show? Learn how to become a sponsor.

This Week: The Top 10 Countdown: Your Favorite Episodes of 2010

It’s our end-of-the-year party and retrospective where we count down your top 10 favorite episodes of the year and enjoy highlights from each of them. If you’ve missed any past episodes of “The Ocean Doctor,” here’s your chance to catch up and discover shows you’d like to hear in full. Find them all at  oceandoctor.org/radio

I am inside a tiny, 1-person submarine beneath the Bering Sea, hundreds of miles offshore from the Alaskan coast. There are 1,300 feet of water between me and the surface. I’m here as part of a Greenpeace-led expedition to shed new light on the unexplored depths here.

It’s freezing cold, completely dark, and forbidding — and it’s utterly beautiful.

• I’ve seen deep sea corals at nearly 2,000 feet, defiantly wearing their brilliant pink colors across a dark, brown and gray seascape; some of the corals here may be over 2,000 years old.
• I’ve seen prehistoric-looking fish patrolling the dark waters of these depths.
• I’ve seen hungry, voracious squid, rocketing toward my sub’s lights, probing my sub’s surface for something to swallow.
• I’ve seen the fine threads that hold an ecosystem together, like how tiny shrimp and other creatures, seeking sanctuary from the powerful undersea currents, eagerly gather in the depressions in the bottom left by flatfish like halibut and skates, each bearing a perfect outline of the fish that previously lay there.
• I’ve seen the current carrying countless tiny and microscopic plankton, and with my lights out, witnessed these creatures light up the darkness with hypnotic constellations yellow-green light.
• And I’ve seen the unmistakable mark of humanity’s hand, in the form of huge plowed swaths of bottom where little grows, the telltale scars of trawling for fish, here in the place where half of the U.S. fish catch comes from.

I believe there are important lessons for us down here. Lessons on how we live our lives high above and far away from this place. But they’re not just lessons about science. They’re lessons of our own humanity.

Here in this tiny sub, I’m trying to comprehend an enormous, complex tapestry in the darkness. And in the vastness, I feel small, awed by each sight around me, overwhelmed by how much we still don’t know. More than anything, I feel a strong sense of humility, my own self-importance paled against the grandeur of this place, our planet, and the knowledge to come in the centuries ahead.

Humility is perhaps one of the most important lessons from this place. It allows us to see beyond ourselves, to truly perceive the world around us with wonder. Yet it’s a quality strangely lacking from too many of our leaders today, whose arrogance short-circuits our human quest for truth, supplanting reason with rhetoric. True leadership demands the bravery to seek the truth, a curious mind to fashion a better way forward, and objectivity, to admit regrets.

I truly hope we can reawaken our unique and precious human qualities of wonder, curiosity and humility, helping our children spend less of their summers learning how to take a standardized test, and more learning how to explore the real world around them.

By the end of my dive a few hours from now, my tiny sub will have illuminated but a few new corners of this vast place. With each tantalizing glimpse come new insights and a little more of the story this ornate tapestry tells. I believe there are life lessons in countless corners of the world around us. We just need to do what humans do best: Look around and be curious.

I wrote most of this short essay while piloting the DeepWorker submersible below the Bering Sea in 2007. It was originally submitted for NPR’s “This I Believe” series and 3 years later, reprinted here.

[geo_mashup_map]

1planet1ocean president David Guggenheim participated as a science advisor and submarine pilot. Analysis continues, but already it has been noted that half of the 14 deep sea corals documented during the expedition were never before seen in the Bering Sea. Nor were two thirds of the 20 or so sponge species documented. And the expedition provided the first record of black coral of any kind and the first record of stony coral in the Bering Sea. NOAA biologist Robert Stone participated in the expedition and co-authored a recent paper with Greenpeace scientist John Hocevar presented the new findings at the Alaska Marine Science Symposium. You can see a copy of the report online. The expedition was undertaken to collect information needed to inform conservation policies by the North Pacific Fisheries Council. The expedition team documented numerous examples of extensive damage to corals by fishing trawlers, which essentially clearcut the bottom with their nets.

Kenneth Lowyck in DeepWorker

It’s hard to get a big smile out of Ken Lowyck, Greenpeace’s capable Action Unit Coordinator (and sub pilot) based in Toronto. I snapped the photo to the right and captured Ken’s pre-dive excitement last summer on August 1, just minutes before he was launched on the dive to 700 feet in Pribilof Canyon in the Bering Sea that resulted in one of the expedition’s most important discoveries. I imagine the modest smile that appeared on his face has returned today as Greenpeace has announced that the tiny, unassuming white sponge he retrieved on that dive was never before documented by Homo sapiens, and may well herald future announcements of other new species from the expedition. The sponge was named Aaptos kanuux, the word “kanuux” being the Aleut word for “heart,” in honor of the Bering Sea’s canyons, considered to be the heart of the Bering Sea by the region’s natives who depend on their font of life to sustain their way of life. It was also the first time the genus Aaptos has ever been documented in the Bering Sea. The painstaking work of analyzing hours and hours of video and hundreds of retrieved samples continues and will likely continue for years, as science soldiers on. I’m certain we can expect more dramatic news as the effort continues.

Aaptos kanuux: A New Species of Sponge!

I was reunited with one of my fellow sub pilots last week when I shared breakfast with John Hocevar, Greenpeace Senior Ocean Specialist. Though the restaurant wasn’t pitching and rolling like Esperanza, it felt as though the expedition was very much still underway as we talked, that our collective voyage of discovery was far from its conclusion, and the latest news from John confirmed it. He told me that half of the 14 deep sea corals documented during the expedition were never before seen in the Bering Sea. Nor were two thirds of the 20 or so sponge species documented. And the expedition provided the first record of black coral of any kind and the first record of stony coral (also known as Scleractinians — see the photo below right) in the Bering Sea. NOAA biologist Robert Stone participated in the expedition and co-authored a recent paper with Greenpeace scientist John Hocevar presented the new findings at the Alaska Marine Science Symposium. You can see a copy of the report online.

The expedition was undertaken to collect information needed to inform conservation policies by the North Pacific Fisheries Council. The expedition team documented numerous examples of extensive damage to corals by fishing trawlers, which essentially clearcut the bottom with their nets. It’s hard to express the scale of what we observed,nwhich, even in Hi-Def video, can’t begin to convey the scale of destruction. It’s almost comical to listen to the audio of the tape of one of my dives, where I excitedly radioed to the surface that I’ve landed at 1,000 feet in some sort of geological relief, a conclusion I drew when I saw what appeared to be a long ridge in front of me. After ascending a few feet to get a better perspective, the horror of what I was looking at set in — I had landed squarely in the middle of a miles-long trawling scar, a scar that left virtually nothing living on the bottom and that left a swath nearly half the size of a New York city block of uplifted sediment…my so-called “ridge.”

Stony Coral (Scleractinian) in the Bering Sea (c) 2007 Todd Warshaw

John also shared with me the challenge he’s had in presenting these data at North Pacific Fishery Management Council. In late 2006, they claimed that they didn’t have enough data to justify any special designation for the Bering Sea Canyons, areas they prioritized for research at the same meeting. This inspired the 2007 expedition undertaken by Greenpeace, but returning with compelling data, photos and video in hand has done little so far to advance any change in mindset by the Council. Failure to take action to protect natural resource on the basis of too little information is so 20th Century. Surely the best policies err on the side of conserving valuable resources when information about their status is scarce. I’m confident that the compelling results of this expedition will speak loudly on their own and science will guide humanity’s hand accordingly.

So for now, I revel in the joy of discovery, and like Ken, I smile with the satisfaction of helping to advance humanity’s knowledge about a mysterious and fantastic world below, and with the anticipation of the voyages ahead…

The brilliant pink coral, Swiftia pacifica, found at 1,300 feet in Pribilof Canyon, Bering Sea, Alaska (Photo by David E. Guggenheim)

BERING SEA, Alaska — This past summer, the Greenpeace ship M/V Esperanza carried two manned submersibles, a remotely-operated vehicle (ROV) and an international research team to the Bering Sea for a three week survey of Zhemchug and Pribilof Canyons,to map and document deepwater corals living at depths of more than 1,000 feet. The expedition was conceived of and was led by Greenpeace. 1planet1ocean president David E. Guggenheim participated as a sub pilot and scientific consultant. Pribilof and Zhemchug Canyons revealed diverse and complex ecosystems, rich with corals, sponges, fish and other marine life. They also revealed striking human impacts from trawlers, damage that was documented during the expedition. More than a terabyte of video data and numerous biological specimens are now being analyzed and results are being shared with a range of decisionmakers and decisionmaking bodies, including the North Pacific Fisheries Management Council.

Crew, Volunteers, Science & Sub Team (Photo by Todd Warshaw) Aboard Esperanza

I have always found the end of an expedition a bittersweet experience, and this time was no exception. I knew how once we were docked it would be impossible to recapture the uniqueness of this expedition, this crew, this ship. And sure enough, the real world began to waft in, first the pilot who boarded to guide the ship in. Then the officials at the city dock. Then the onlookers, fascinated with the presence of a rainbow-adorned Greenpeace ship nestled among the commercial fishing vessels and freighters.

We had a pizza party on the helideck and were joined by one of the curious onlookers, a local fisherman wearing a shirt adorned with the phrase, “Young Urban Cod Killers (YUCK).” I was relieved to hear that YUCK existed in name only — no such organization really existed — just good shock value for a t-shirt. But it was a reminder of the way much of the world looks at fish and fishing…and perhaps conservationists. Later at Dutch Harbor Airport, the back of a fisherman’s t-shirt read, “First Come, First Served — Dutch Harbor, Alaska,” bearing a picture of crab with its carapace replaced by a menacing human skull. The slogans convey for the fishing industry the same gold rush mentality and machismo of the Old West. The reality of life on land was returning too quickly.

Sub Pilots, Nuytco Team, ROV Team (Photo by Todd Warshaw)

As our pizza party continued into the chilly evening, I looked around in admiration at the crew I had sailed with and my fellow scientists and sub pilots. I had worked a bit with Greenpeace in Washington, DC but really had no idea what to expect upon a Greenpeace ship. What I experienced was a summer among capable and dedicated professionals who worked hard and supported one another. From the Greenpeace staff, crew and volunteers, I heard incredible stories of dedication, passion, and remarkable tenacity. I heard about Greenpeace’s emblematic “actions,” the unfurling of banners, chaining of bodies to earth-moving equipment, and other daring, ingenious, and often provocative measures to draw attention to critical issues worldwide. Such actions seem extreme to some, but as Greenpeace ocean specialist and fellow sub pilot, John Hocevar pointed out, many of the issues that it might have once seemed extreme to protest, such as dumpling nuclear waste in the ocean, now appear plainly wrong to just about everyone. Greenpeace has helped lead the way toward change.

Bald Eagle Atop Dome of Church of the Holy Ascension, Unalaska (Esperanza in Background)

I chatted with Penny, the boatswain, as she smiled and reflected on the expedition while she rolled a cigarette. The expedition represented her second tour as boatswain — her first was in the roiling southern ocean. She’s strong and tough as nails, belying her lean frame and goldilocks, and I marveled at the endless range of tasks she mastered and responsibilities she oversaw. Her gentle hand was often at the controls of the winch during launch and recovery of our subs, and her gentle soul always warmed the room. And there was Kate, a volunteer for the entire summer aboard ship, who gave new meaning to “Dirty Jobs.” Each day she would disappear for some awful task in the bowels of the ship, evidenced to many of us only at meals by the telltale patches of paint and grease that usually adorned her. There was Clive, a physician based in British Columbia, who takes leave from his practice for months to be aboard Esperanza as ship’s doctor and as many other tasks he can tackle.

And there was fellow sub pilot and Greenpeace action unit coordinator in Toronto, Kenneth Lowyck, a man who has retained his toughness and leadership as a keen tactician from his days in the military service, but whose passion for the arts and conservation is truly disarming. Ken told me the incredible story of when he was stationed in the tiny country of Djibouti in East Africa as a diver in the Belgian Marines during the embargo of Iraq leading up to the first Gulf War. At the marketplace he came across an awful sight — a sea turtle for sale, still alive and helplessly writhing on its back atop the pavement. Ken dug into his wallet and purchased the sea turtle from the vendor, hailed a taxi and asked the driver to head to the beach. The driver excitedly shared his favorite sea turtle recipes with Ken during the journey, unaware that this was a mission of mercy. Ken released the sea turtle into gulf, giving it another chance.

A Sea Turtle is Born in Alaska: Freddie Does His Masterful Work

Perhaps it was Kenneth’s story that ultimately made me do it…I’m not really sure. But something about Esperanza and the very special people aboard her led me to want a very special remembrance, and thankfully second engineer “Freddie” Toia was willing to help. In addition to being a skilled engineer, Freddie is also a talented tattoo artist. And so, aboard Esperanza, a sea turtle was born in Alaska and now lives on my shoulder, my first and only tattoo. She will be with me for the rest of my life, along with my memories of a special ship and its special people.

We spent our remaining days working to engage the community and share what we had learned. The eyes of fishermen and processing plant workers followed our Greenpeace zodiac with scrutiny, anticipation, and perhaps resentment. But I also saw the unmistakable look of respect — respect for an organization with a rich tradition of fighting without apology for what it believes, standing tough, enduring for decades. An organization that held its first protest nearly 40 years ago in these very waters. Beneath the veneer of Dutch Harbor and Unalaska, beyond “Deadliest Catch,” beyond the legions of transient fishermen that pass through this distant outpost, and tucked away from the mountains of crab traps and fishing gear lies a small but cohesive community of houses, schools, and people.

Greenpeace Briefing to Community in Unalaska

We visited with a number of residents in an event led by John Hocevar and Greenpeace oceans campaigner, George Pletnikoff, and we presented the first public showing of the video and images we had collected. The reception was warm and appreciative, and it was moving indeed to watch the faces of these residents marvel at their first glimpse of this never-before-seen part of Alaska, truly part of their home, a part integral to the Bering Sea Ecosystem upon which generations have depended. It was also moving to hear the despair in the room. So many in the community felt helpless against the powerful forces of the large seafood corporations, fishery councils and Washington, DC lobbies. I have heard such despair before, but also know that bottom-up, community-led grassroots efforts represent the best hope for change, and perhaps on that night a seed was planted.

Esperanza at Anchor off of Unalaska Community

Nearly 24 hours late due to Dutch Harbor’s legendary fog, our small plane finally rolled down the runway for the 3-hour flight to Anchorage. As we lifted into the gray mist, I leaned forward and peered intently out the window, straining to catch a glimpse of her. And through the clouds, there she was, her painted rainbow the only dash of color in the bleak, gray rain below. I was elated to see Esperanza one last time, still peacefully at anchor in Unalaska Bay. I sat back in my seat and smiled as I felt the warm pain of my new tattoo on my shoulder. After traveling thousands of miles, sea turtles miraculously return to the same beach where they were born to nest. And I know that some day my sea turtle will find her way back home — to Esperanza — again.

A bald eagle sits atop Unalaska’s Russian Orthodox Church of the Holy Ascension with Esperanza at anchor in background.
(Photo by David E. Guggenheim)

With a Terabyte (1,000 Gigabytes) of high-definition video, photographs and other data, along with numerous biological samples, now making their way around the world to scientists, policymakers and public forums, new insights and perspectives are emerging as the hard work of reviewing this vast volume of new data moves forward. The science team and sub pilots have departed Esperanza, which is continuing west along the Aleutian Island chain, continuing important outreach to local communities. The ship will eventually continue west to Japan.

Before departing Dutch Harbor, the science team/sub pilots made the first public presentation of its findings, including imagery and videos, to the community of Unalaska. The following day, members of the community were invited aboard Esperanza during an Open House to meet with the crew and see the ship up close.

Though the at-sea portion of the expedition has concluded, much work lies ahead in the analysis and review of the information collected. In addition, planning is underway for events to bring the new imagery and insights to the public, so stay tuned. Also, the team continues to review chart data regarding the pinnacles reported to be in the Zhemchug Canyon area which purportedly rise within 20 feet of the surface. Such features would certainly be biologically important, so the search will continue.

Greenpeace Ocean Specialist, John Hocevar (left) and Greenpeace Oceans Campaigner, George Pletnikov (right) lead community outreach event in Unalaska, Alaska. (Photo by David E. Guggenheim)

Pribilof and Zhemchug Canyons revealed diverse and complex ecosystems, rich with corals, sponges, fish and other marine life. They also revealed striking human impacts from trawlers, damage that was documented during the expedition. For a reflection on the conclusion of the expedition, read David Guggenheim’s latest OceanDoctor blog post entitled, “A Sea Turtle is Born in Alaska.”

The Esperanza carried two manned submersibles, a remotely-operated vehicle (ROV) and an international research team to the Bering Sea for a three week survey of Zhemchug and Pribilof Canyons,to map and document deepwater corals living at depths of more than 1,000 feet. The expedition was conceived of and was led by Greenpeace.

Track the Bering Sea Expedition: Esperanza’s Current Location, Weather & Live Webcam

Squid Attack!

It’s the fantasy of many a marine biologist and explorer. To catch a glimpse of the giant squid, alive, and in its natural habitat: The deep ocean. Giant squid have been scientifically documented at a size of up to an incredible 43 feet long based on specimens that have washed ashore. I’ve seen one such specimen at the Los Angeles County Museum of Natural History. Laying there pickled and motionless in its sterile white display case, it was hard to imagine this animal rocketing about the dark depths, living up to its reputation as a formidable predator. During one of his talks when I first met oceanographer Bob Ballard, he compared trying to find the giant squid from a submersible to trying to find an F-15 jet racing by, on a mountain top, at night, in a driving rainstorm, with a flashlight. Yesterday I had second thoughts about looking for the giant squid when one of its cousins, less than 2% of its size, disabled my sub and aborted my dive as I was descending through 1,300 feet.

In all the years I’ve been scuba diving, I’ve never been attacked by a sea creature. This, of course, excludes two unnerving but harmless remoras that simultaneously hitched a ride on my legs, or countless tiny dusky damsel fish that bit at my chest to defend their territory they felt I was invading, or stinging hydroids I accidentally brushed against. Never have I (knowingly) been mistaken for food while exploring the depths — until now. On almost all of our sub dives here in the Bering Sea, starting at close to 1,000 feet, we’ve encountered the “squid layer,” concentrations of 6-12″ squid, Loligo opalescens, which go by the official common name of “Opalescent inshore squid” but are more commonly known on the west coast as “California market squid.” My encounters with these mollusks have given me new respect for what I have come to recognize as sleek and skilled predatory missiles whose prey don’t stand a chance.

Squid Attack! Note squid on light, ink

Squid are truly jet-propelled. They swim faster than any other invertebrate by rapidly shooting water out of their mantle cavity into a jet stream nozzle they can steer, like a jet boat. Some squid have been clocked up to nearly 15 miles per hour. Underwater, that’s practically light speed. Our subs clock in at about 3 miles per hour. Their blinding speed, coupled with their armament of two powerful tentacles (in addition to their 8 legs), barbed suckers and razor sharp beak, give them quite an edge over their prey, which include small fish, crustaceans, and mollusks, among others. Many of the squid’s prey, like lanternfish, are bioluminescent, creating their own flashes of light. Squid are highly tuned to these bright flashes and are powerfully drawn to any source of light…like the lights of a descending submarine.

Fur seals on St. Paul Island

A massive triangle of light in the middle of the Sea of Japan is so brilliant it’s visible from space. The source of light was a mystery until someone realized that the fleets of industrial fishing boats that pursue squid know well about the squid’s lust for light. This triangle marks the position of the Japanese squid fishing fleet. Each vessel may have up to 50 lamps of up to 3,500 watts. The entire fleet may be using 200 megawatts to power these lights. That’s nearly 20 percent of the generating capacity of Unit #3 of Southern California’s San Onofre Nuclear Generating Station, enough electricity for nearly 250,000 homes.

Squid are commercially fished around the world, including in the United States. And squid are also taken from the sea as bycatch, the unintentional catch of one species when fishing for another. This has been a serous problem here in the Bering Sea when fishing boats seeking Alaskan pollock were hauling up far more squid than pollock, necessitating fishing restrictions. The seemingly limitless bounty of squid, as with so many other animals in the sea, has turned out not to be so limitless after all. They are a critical part of the ecosystem, voracious predators themselves, and, in turn, serving as prey for all sorts of fish, porpoises, whales and seals. The fur seals we saw on St. Paul Island are just one of the species that depend on squid.

Squid Attack! Two squid rocket toward starboard light

As I descended into Zhemchug Canyon yesterday past 1,300 feet yesterday, I reported to Mike at the navigation station on Esperanza that I had entered the “squid layer.” My external lights were on, as were Michelle’s in the other sub about 100 feet below me, so that we could maintain visual contact during the dive, a safety precaution at these depths. But to a squid, my lights meant a meal, and they pursued me with intent to consume. Ink was everywhere, they clung to the lights with their tentacles and attacked with their beaks. They torpedoed in all directions around me, leaving black clouds of ink hanging in their paths. So much ink accumulated it appeared that my lights were smoking. On the front of the sub was tied a mesh bag of styrofoam cups. Under pressure, the air in the styrofoam cups compresses, and the cups shrink to a fraction of their original size. The crew had creatively decorated the cups with clever slogans and artwork…a great souvenir. I noticed the squid were especially attracted to the white, reflective cups and grabbed onto the mesh bag, trying to reach the goodies inside.

What is it? We believe it's a squid egg case

I noticed something else — squid parts. Some of the squid ended up as calamari, having taken the unfortunate route to my lights through the sub’s thrusters. Suddenly, the thrusters sounded different, more faint. The sub was no longer descending and it began to spin. One of my vertical thrusters was offline. I tried powering the thruster circuit off and on again, reversing direction like you would on an outboard motor to clear debris, but to no avail. The sub did what it was supposed to do…it sacrificed a two dollar fuse to save a $15,000 thruster. I would not make it to the bottom, just another 400 feet below me. The topside team wisely instructed me to terminate my dive and prepare for recovery.

As I slowly made the ascent back to Esperanza, I realized my image of squid had changed forever. How different was my image of these agile, powerful animals from the my first sight of squid, compressed into a frozen block inside a cardboard box my father had pulled from the general store’s freezer in Cape May Point, New Jersey as we were heading off to cast our rods into the Delaware Bay. That image of the giant squid laying at the Los Angeles County Museum suddenly had life and gave me pause about the wisdom of maintaining the fantasy of pursuing such a formidable creature in the dark depths. But a moment later, I came to my senses. I’ll still take my chances for a fleeting glimpse of that magnificent animal. Later that day, I smiled when I read what one of the crew had written on one of the styrofoam cups: “No pressure, no diamond.”

A Dall's porpoise (top) gives Michelle Ridgway in DeepWorker a sendoff before her dive to 1,700 feet at Zhemchug Canyon in this surreal looking image. Hundreds of Dall's porpoises were present around the ship during the expedition. (Video still by David E. Guggenheim)

The Esperanza began its 2-day steam south and endured gale-force winds and 15-foot seas along the way, but all are well and grateful for the successes along the way. The team achieved a total of 25 sub dives during the expedition, well-exceeding expectations for this part of the world where weather is typically unforgiving.

The team collected nearly a Terabyte (1,000 Gigabytes) of high-definition video, photographs and other data, now being archived, cataloged and distributed. Also collected were numerous coral, sponge, and other invertebrate samples which are being prepared for distribution to scientists around the world for further analysis.

Despite intense effort and late-night searching, the Esperanza was never able to locate the pinnacles reported to be in the Zhemchug Canyon area, pinnacles which are reported to rise within 20 feet of the surface. The team was prepared to scuba dive and video/photo-document these features, however this mystery will have to wait for a future expedition.

Zhemchug Canyon has revealed a diverse ecosystem with interesting and complex interrelationships. It’s also a location where large numbers of squid can be found at depth. Read more on David Guggenheim’s OceanDoctor blog.

The Esperanza is carrying two manned submersibles, a remotely-operated vehicle (ROV) and an international research team to the Bering Sea for a three week survey of Zhemchug and Pribilof Canyons,to map and document deepwater corals living at depths of more than 1,000 feet. The expedition was conceived of and is being led by Greenpeace.

Track the Bering Sea Expedition: Esperanza’s Current Location, Weather & Live Webcam