> Dolphin, surfing the wake of the Laurence M. Gould in the Straits of > Magellan.

A Chilean pilot joins us to help navigate the ship through the Strait of Magellan. This is required by the authorities.

The Pilots' ship pulls up alongside the Gould, he steps onboard and is escorted by the First Mate to the Bridge where he will help steer the ship safely through the shifting Strait.

This is our final leg of a 23 day cruise.

"Land ahoy..." I welcome the sight!

The Strait of Magellan is known to be a good place for whale-watching.

Passengers line edges of the bough and stern, scanning the horizon for tell tale signs of life - a whale spout or dolphin tail. So far, we've spotted three dolphins.

I head outside to join them, basking in the morning sunshine, sub-zero Polar temperatures already a fading memory.

THE Gould spends a week at Palmer, opening up the Station for the austral summer season when most of the science teams conduct research here.

Day one: The Marine Technicians and Palmer Station staff unload cargo. The onboard crane offloads shipping containers packed with supplies of everything needed on Station - from fresh vegetables to medical equipment.

Fresh vegetables, known at Palmer as "freshies" are eagerly awaited by the winter-overs who have long since run out of produce.

Day two: refueling. A hose transports fuel from the ship to the to station via the gangway. Refueling takes an entire morning and, like most logistical challenges here at Palmer, involves a large team.

During this time, the gangway is closed. If we want to leave the ship, we must leave early and take everything we need for the day.

The following five days: The winter-overs train the summer crew to ensure a smooth transition. Training may involve learning new equipment and skills or checking inventory and paperwork. Everyone participates in drill training.

Palmer Stations' remoteness necessitates a well trained team of fire fighters, Emergency Medical Technicians and search and rescue volunteers. In the event of an emergency, there is no outside aid available, so the station must be self-sufficient.

For the first fire drill of the season, the winter overs shadow their summer selves and they break up into task forces.

Each group has a specific role and is expected to complete their task within a certain time period. They have undergone emergency training back in the United States. It's time to put their skills to the test.

The fire fighting team puts on full fire protective gear and breathing masks. They respond to a simulated emergency: a fire in the garage.

Meanwhile, a hose team mobilizes the necessary equipment to pump and spray sea water from the bay area.

Observers take notes on the response teams' performance. All other station staff muster at pre-arranged locations. Managers complete role calls.

It looks like fun, but is taken very seriously and followed by a de-briefing in the mess hall, locally known as "the galley," though it's on dry land.

"BEEP beep, Beep beep, Beep beep,"

I am woken from the brink of sleep by an alien noise. Confusion. Is it a fire drill?

The Captain is on the phone. He is calling because I requested a wake-up call for filmic opportunities.

"You might wanna get up here. There's something interesting. You have about one minute until we enter some ice."

Confusion melts into panic. I throw on layers over my pyjamas, grab my camera and tri-pod and hurry on up.

A small group of ice-spectators gathers on the Bridge. Our ship is entering an eerily calm, ice-blanketed ocean. As the waves swell, the thin filmy-looking ice curves around them, softening their outlines.

The ship glides slowly over the never-ending ocean towards a heavy grey horizon. Our maximum speed in sea ice is six knots. It is strangely quiet.

I set up my camera and tri-pod on deck. I am up high, looking down on the water. I zoom in on the surface with my camera.

The ice-softened waves are in fact crystalline and spiky. The frosty white surface shimmers turquoise as it catches the dim afternoon light.

The Captain tells us that in his five years sailing the Drake, he's never seen ice quite like this.

Scientists try to classify the different types of sea ice. This was a combination of slush, grease ice and pancake ice.

A spooky, magical late-winter afternoon in the Drake Passage.

WE have passed 60 degrees latitude South and have taken more than half of our 20 Drake Survey samples.

The sample stations are selected by Chief Scientist, Colm Sweeney. They are near to the locations he tested in his 2006 Drake Survey.

At each station, the Captain stops the ship so that the Electronic Technician (ET) can lower the Conductivity Temperature Depth (CTD) profiler to do a hydro-cast.

The ET lowers the CTD approximately 4,000 meters at 50 meters per minute. Sensors on the CTD provide a profile of various ocean parameters and a computer onboard the ship generates a graph showing the seawater temperature, salinity and oxygen level.

Using this data, Sweeney selects the sample depths. As the ET brings the CTD back up to the surface, he fires Niskin bottles at the selected depths. Each fired bottle collects 10 liters of seawater. A single cast takes about four hours.

Once the CTD is back onboard ship, there is lots of action. As a Lab Technician, my primary role is to take seawater samples from the Niskin bottles. It's cold and wet work. Over my thermal layers, I put on Wellington boots, fisherman's overalls and gloves.

Depending how many samples have been taken, what time of day it is and how many people are sampling, it can take up to two hours. I work the night shift, 12 am to 12 pm. The ET's usually bring the CTD in around midnight, 6 am and noon. This coincides with meal times - we eat fast.

A "bottle cop" keeps track of all the samples, bottles and scientists to make sure everything is labelled correctly. He assigns me a set of bottles. The size and shape of the bottle differs depending on what will be analyzed from the sample: Carbon Dioxide, Oxygen, salinity or nutrients.

If I am assigned a bottle which will be tested for CO2, I open the Niskin bottle and attach a tube to feed seawater into my glass bottle. This helps to prevent air bubbles. I rinse three times, then fill the bottle with seawater, letting it overflow for one final rinse. I was shocked to discover how much precious seawater drawn from the depths of the ocean gets thrown right back in!

I then fill the bottle with seawater and add a drop of Mercuric Chloride Solution (poison). We call this "pickle juice." It kills all living matter, so no gaseous exchange can occur once we have taken the samples.

After a flurry of activity, sampling is finished. We deliver some specimens to the wet lab to be analyzed onboard the ship and others to a freezer to be analyzed later in the United States.

At full speed, crossing the Drake Passage takes three or four days. Stopping 20 times as we sail South, we hope to make the crossing in less than ten days.

I wake to an increasingly violent rocking motion. There is a point at which sleep becomes impossible. My bunk is in room 101, the nearest room to the bough on the starboard side. Being this far forward, I feel each and every wave. In less than calm seas, my entire body roles from right to left.

 I join the realm of the sleep-walking wakeful. We zombies roam the boat, restlessly seeking the least uncomfortable location for our bodies and a diversion for our brains. This is my first storm in the Drake Passage.

 I am not scared, just faintly nauseous. At first, it's novel. Walking four steps is a challenge. Climbing stairs, an art. It's interesting to observe different peoples' reactions to the motion. The veteran seamen and women seem to be in their element, sharing stories and jokes. They are not in the least bit perturbed, which I find a great comfort.

 But after several hours of being tossed around, having eaten so many anti-sea sickness pills I can barely keep my eyes open, I am wondering when this will end.

 It is a waiting game. We need the storm to wain in order to winch the Conductivity Temperature and Depth Profiler (CTD) back onboard the ship. Submerged several hours ago, it has traveled to the bottom of the Southern Ocean, some 4000 meters below the surface to sample seawater from each of the ocean's layers.

 Niskin bottles attached to the CTD now hold some of the most expensive water on the planet. The ship burns tens of thousands dollars of fuel per day and the storm has delayed us several hours...

 At some point, the Marine Technicians are able to rescue the CTD, returning it to its home at the ships' stern. The Gould resumes forward motion and a small but earnest group of scientists and volunteers begin the task of sample-taking.

 The challenge of staying upright makes it a particularly exciting session. Containers of sample bottles and pickling juices are locked down, but some escape. Boxes of bottles and liquids and scientists fly from wall to wall. The storm is not over.

 Sample-takers tumble about the the back deck as the ship heaves and pitches, displaying various levels of control. Armed with tubes and bottles, they hunker down and set about milking the Niskin bottles. Seawater sampled will be analyzed for O2, CO2, C-13, nutrients and salinity.

 The boat gets underway and the waves calm. I collapse in bed, exhausted and grateful.