On Åland, the seasons change quickly and vividly. In summer, the nights never really grow dark as the sun hovers just below the horizon. Only a few months later, autumn creeps in and softly cloaks the island in darkness again. The rhythm of the seasons is mirrored by the biological station itself; researchers, professors, and students arrive and depart, bringing with them microscopes, incubators, mesocosms, and field gear to study the local flora and fauna peaking in the mid of summer.
This year’s GAME project is the final chapter of a series of studies on light pollution. Together, we, Pauline & Linus, are studying the effects of artificial light at night (ALAN) on epiphytic filamentous algae. Like the GAME site in Japan, Akkeshi, the biological station Husö here on Åland experiences very little light pollution, making it an ideal place to investigate this subject.
We started our journey at the end of April 2025, just as the islands were waking up from winter. The trees were still bare, the mornings frosty, and the streets quiet. Pauline, a Marine Biology Master’s student from the University of Algarve in Portugal, arrived first and was welcomed by Tony Cederberg, the station manager. Spending the first night alone on the station was unique before the bustle of the project began.
Linus, a Marine Biology Master’s student at Åbo Akademi University in Finland, joined the next day. Husö is the university’s field station and therefore Linus has been here for courses already. However, he was excited to spend a longer stretch at the station and to make the place feel like a second home.
Our first days were spent digging through cupboards and sheds, reusing old materials and tools from previous years, and preparing the frames used by GAME 2023. We chose Hamnsundet as our experimental site, (i.e. the same site that was used for GAME 2023), which is located at the northeast of Åland on the outer archipelago roughly 40 km from Husö. We got permission to deploy the experiments by the local coast guard station, which was perfect. The location is sheltered from strong winds, has electricity access, can be reached by car, and provides the salinity conditions needed for our macroalga, Fucus vesiculosus, to survive.
To assess the conditions at the experimental site, we deployed a first set of settlement panels in late April. At first, colonization was slow; only a faint biofilm appeared within two weeks. With the water temperature being still around 7 °C, we decided to give nature more time. Meanwhile, we collected Fucus individuals and practiced the cleaning and the standardizing of the algal thalli for the experiment. Scraping epiphytes off each thallus piece was fiddly, and agreeing on one method was crucial to make sure our results would be comparable to those of other GAME teams.
By early May, building the light setup was a project in itself. Sawing, drilling, testing LEDs, and learning how to secure a 5-meter wooden beam over the water. Our first version bent and twisted until the light pointed sideways instead of straight down onto the algae. Only after buying thicker beams and rebuilding the structure, we finally got a stable and functional setup that could withstand heavy rain and wind. The day we deployed our first experiment at Hamnsundet was cold and rainy but also very rewarding!
Outside of work, we made the most of the island life. We explored Åland by bike, kayak, rowboat, and hiking, visited Ramsholmen National Park during the ramson/ wild garlic bloom, and hiked in Geta with its impressive rock formations and went out boating and fishing in the archipelago. At the station on Husö, cooking became a social event: baking sourdough bread, turning rhubarb from the garden into pies, grilling and making all kind of mushroom dishes. These breaks, in the kitchen and in nature, helped us recharge for the long lab sessions to come.
Every two weeks, it was time to collect and process samples. Snorkeling to the frames, cutting the Fucus and the PVC plates from the lines, and transferring each piece into a freezer bag became our routine. Sampling one experiment took us 4 days and processing all the replicates in the lab easily filled an entire week. The filtering and scraping process was even more time-consuming than we had imagined. It turned out that epiphyte soup is quite thick and clogs filters fastly. This was frustrating at times, since it slowed us down massively.
Over the months, the general community in the water changed drastically. In June, water was still at 10 °C, Fucus carried only a thin layer of diatoms and some very persistent and hard too scrape brown algae (Elachista). In July, everything suddenly exploded: green algae, brown algae, diatoms, cyanobacteria, and tiny zooplankton clogged our filters. With a doubled filtering setup and 6 filtering units, we hoped to compensate for the additional growth.
However, what we had planned as “moderate lab days” turned into marathon sessions. In August, at nearly 20 °C, the Fucus was looking surprisingly clean, but on the PVC a clear winner had emerged. The panels were overrun with the green alga Ulva and looked like the lawn at an abandoned house. Here it was not enough to simply filter the solution, but bigger pieces had to be dried separately. In September, we concluded the last experiment with the help of Sarah from the Cape Verde team, as it was not possible for her to continue on São Vicente, the Cape Verdean island that was most affected by a tropical storm. Our final experiment brought yet another change into community now dominated by brown algae and diatoms. Thankfully our new recruit, sunny autumn weather, and mushroom picking on the side made the last push enjoyable.
By the end of summer, we had accomplished four full experiments. The days were sometimes exhausting but also incredibly rewarding. We learned not only about the ecological effects of artificial light at night, but also about the very practical side of marine research; planning, troubleshooting, and the patience it takes when filtering a few samples can occupy half a day.
By Qi-Fan Wu (Niels Bohr Institutet, University of Copenhagen)
During our journey, we saw many beautiful cloud patterns while looking outside the METEOR! Even though people do not always pay attention to them, clouds are among the most visible elements of the sky and naturally form part of our everyday background. And when we sailed away from the coastal region of Recife to the open ocean, the sky seemed to open up, allowing clouds to reveal their full variety and structure.
In climate modelling, clouds are one of the biggest sources of uncertainty. There is a famous saying in mathematics: “Mathematics is the queen of the sciences, number theory is the crown of mathematics, and the Goldbach Conjecture is the pearl on the crown.” The same idea can be applied to the study of clouds in Earth science. There is still no general macroscopic theory of clouds. Cloud physics is an absolutely fascinating topic, as it combines turbulence, stochastic processes, chemicals in the air, multiscale interactions within the Earth–atmosphere system, and a close connection to our daily weather.
In this blog entry, we would like to share some lovely photos of cloud patterns that we took on METEOR. Instead of serious systematic investigations, we focus on the basic cloud physics behind some typical cloud phenomena shown in these photos. These examples might provide something interesting to think about during our leisure time, even after returning to land. If nature is an artist, clouds are among its finest masterpieces, shaped by physical laws and stochastic processes.
What are clouds, and what is inside them? Clouds are made of many liquid water droplets and ice crystals inside the boundaries of the cloud. They are mostly air, with the many particles dispersed widely and more or less randomly throughout the cloud interiors [a]. The individual particles that make up a cloud are very, very small and not generally visible to the human eye.
When we look up from our research vessel METEOR and observe clouds, we first see their macroscopic structure: their overall shape, height, thickness, and organization across the sky. Broad, layered clouds often form through slow, large-scale ascent, while towering clouds with visible turrets reflect rapid rising motion in smaller air parcels. These visible forms are continuously shaped by moisture supply, cooling, turbulence, mixing with drier air, and precipitation, linking the large-scale atmospheric flow to the clouds we observe [a,b].
After leaving Recife, we entered a region typically influenced by the southeast trade winds of the tropical South Atlantic, where a vertically layered atmosphere, warm ocean conditions, and wind-driven mixing often promote a turbulent marine boundary layer. In Figure 1, the sky shows a layered cloudscape ranging from thin, high cirrostratus and altocumulus clouds to low cumulus and towering cumulonimbus clouds. These different forms reflect how the atmosphere organizes moisture, cooling, and vertical motion: broad layers are associated with gradual ascent, while the rising turrets of cumulus and cumulonimbus reveal stronger localized updrafts. Together, they illustrate the visible macroscopic structure of clouds, shaped by atmospheric motion and the microphysical processes occurring within them.
It should be noted that, in general, atmospheric temperature in the troposphere decreases with increasing altitude. Over the subtropical oceans, however, this is not the case. A relatively thin temperature-inversion layer lies above the subtropical marine boundary layer, within which temperature increases with height and the atmosphere is highly stable (Figure 2). Cloud occurrence above the marine boundary layer is relatively low in this region. The base of the trade-wind inversion is typically located at an altitude of approximately 1–2 km, separating the moist lower layer from the dry free troposphere [c].
This large-scale thermodynamic structure provides the environmental conditions under which clouds form and evolve. At the microscopic scale, however, clouds consist of particles: liquid water droplets, ice crystals, or a mixture of both. Clouds composed entirely of liquid droplets are commonly referred to as “warm clouds”, whereas clouds containing ice particles are classified as “cold clouds”. When liquid droplets and ice crystals coexist, the cloud is described as a mixed-phase cloud. However, the distinction between “warm” and “cold” clouds hinge on the phase of the particles, not on the temperature. The warm/cold distinction depends on the microphysical phase of the particles inside the cloud, which a normal naked eye observation cannot resolve.
Warm clouds consist of liquid water droplets spanning a range of sizes, from small haze droplets and cloud condensation nuclei to cloud droplets, drizzle drops, and raindrops (Figure 3). Cloud droplets typically form when water vapour condenses onto cloud condensation nuclei. Rainfall develops when some droplets grow much larger: larger droplets fall faster, collide with smaller droplets, and collect them. As a result, many small cloud droplets can combine to form fewer, larger drizzle drops and eventually raindrops [a]. This process approximately conserves the total liquid-water mass within the cloud, while transferring water from numerous small droplets to a much smaller number of large drops that are heavy enough to fall as rain.
Cold clouds contain ice particles, either alone or together with supercooled liquid water droplets [a]. Unlike liquid droplets, which are nearly spherical because of surface tension, ice particles can develop a wide range of crystalline shapes, including plates, columns, needles, dendrites, and aggregates (Figure 4). Their shape depends mainly on temperature and ice supersaturation during growth by water-vapour deposition. As ice crystals become large enough to fall, they may collide and stick together to form snow aggregates, or collect supercooled droplets that freeze on contact, a process known as riming. The regular hexagonal structure of ice crystals can also produce optical phenomena such as halos, which form when sunlight is refracted or reflected by suitably oriented ice crystals in high-level clouds as shown in Figure 3. In mixed-phase clouds, uplift supports the growth of ice crystals at the expense of supercooled droplets. Once sufficiently large, the ice precipitates and may melt into rain or drizzle while falling through the melting layer (Figure 3).
When we approached the equator, we saw many cumulus clouds with remarkably flat bases, marking the lifting condensation level where warm, moist air rising from the ocean cooled to its dew point and condensed into droplets. Similar temperature/humidity across an area leads to clouds sharing flat bases. Their uneven, towering tops reflected continued turbulence and convection above this level, revealing the active vertical mixing of the tropical atmosphere (Figure 5). As moist tropical air rises toward the cold-point tropopause, it encounters extremely low temperatures. When an air mass reaches a local temperature minimum, water vapour can freeze into very thin cirrus clouds (Figure 6).
After crossing the equator, we entered the Intertropical Convergence Zone (ITCZ), a band of heavy rainfall extending across the tropical Atlantic. Cloud organization within and around the ITCZ varies markedly from day to day. Extensive low-level stratocumulus clouds can also occur in the surrounding region, acting like a blanket that reduces the amount of incoming solar radiation reaching the ocean surface (Figure 7).
As we continued northward on our way home, we moved closer to the continent and witnessed some spectacular roll clouds, a very rare meteorological phenomenon. This type of cloud is known as “Morning Glory,” although evening land breezes can also produce roll clouds. The roll cloud is not attached to other clouds. associated with a solitary wave, a wave that has a single crest and moves without changing speed or shape.
As we were relatively close to the shoreline of West Africa, these roll clouds may have been produced by internal gravity waves propagating along a stable marine boundary layer [d]. The collision or sudden advance of a sea breeze or cold front can disturb the stable air layer near the surface, generating an atmospheric bore (a train of internal gravity waves). Such waves consist of alternating regions of upward and downward motion. Along the crest of the wave, moist air is lifted and cools to saturation, forming clouds, while behind the crest the air descends and warms, causing the cloud to evaporate. Because this cycle of ascent and descent extends along a long line of low-level convergence, cloud is continuously generated at the leading edge and dissipated at the trailing edge, maintaining a long, coherent band (Figure 8).
I think observing and thinking about clouds can be a nice hobby for enjoying the beauty of nature. Cloud processes are stochastic because nucleation and droplet collection do not occur at exactly the same time for every particle, even under the same environmental conditions [a]. Instead, freezing, condensation, and coalescence depend on chance microscopic events, so only some droplets become “lucky” and grow or freeze earlier than others. Perhaps cloud viewing could also give us good food for thought. After all, many cloud-related problems in climate modeling remain among the most beautiful mysteries in climate science.
Enjoy ~
References:
[a] Lamb D, Verlinde J. Physics and Chemistry of Clouds. Cambridge University Press; 2011.
[b] Levizzani, V., Kidd, C. (2025). Cloud Physics. In: Precipitation. Geophysics and Environmental Physics. Springer, Cham. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-97096-2_3
[c] Shang-Ping Xie. Subtropical climate: Trade winds and low clouds. In: Coupled Atmosphere-Ocean Dynamics. Elsevier; 2024. p. 139–163. doi:10.1016/B978-0-323-95490-7.00006-0.
[d] The Morning Glory and related phenomena. https://www.meteo.physik.uni-muenchen.de/~roger/AustralianProjects/TheMorningGlory/TheMorningGlory.html
By Naomi Krauzig (GEOMAR)
One of the most rewarding aspects of M219 has been contributing to the maintenance of the long-term GEOMAR mooring arrays that quietly monitor the tropical Atlantic year after year.
While CTD/LADCP casts and other shipboard measurements provide invaluable snapshots of the ocean, these anchored instruments provide something that cannot be obtained otherwise: continuous observations spanning minutes, days, seasons, years, and even decades. As an observational oceanographer, it is difficult not to appreciate the value of these datasets. They form the foundation for understanding ocean variability in regions that are critical for Atlantic climate variability and allow us to detect and quantify long-term changes that would otherwise remain hidden within the ocean’s natural variability.
Our first major operations took place off the Brazilian coast at 11°S, where the K1 to K4 moorings form part of a long-term observing system monitoring the western boundary current system and the Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation (AMOC). Within just a few days, the four deep-sea moorings were successfully recovered, assessed, serviced, and redeployed.
Every recovery felt a bit like opening a treasure chest. After spending a year or more beneath the ocean surface, these instruments returned carrying an invaluable record of currents, temperature, salinity, oxygen, and other key ocean properties. It was incredibly rewarding to see how well they had performed. Nearly all instruments operated successfully throughout the entire deployment period, delivering high-quality datasets with remarkably few gaps.
From Brazil, we continued north to the equator at 23°W, home to another key long-term mooring at exactly 0°N. Since 2006, this mooring has been monitoring the Equatorial Undercurrent and the deep equatorial circulation from the surface to nearly 4,000 m depth. Its successful recovery and redeployment mean that this unique 20-year time series will continue, helping us better understand how the tropical Atlantic influences climate, oxygen and nutrient transport, and marine ecosystems across the basin.
Our final mooring destination brought us to the Cape Verde Ocean Observatory (CVOO), one of the flagship long-term ocean observatories in the eastern tropical Atlantic. Here, physical, biogeochemical, and ecological observations come together to track how the ocean stores heat and carbon and how marine ecosystems respond to environmental change. Like the moorings at 11°S and the equator, the value of CVOO lies not in a single measurement, but in the continuity of the multi-decadal record.
For me, one of the most memorable aspects was seeing how many people contributed to the success of the mooring operations. Careful planning laid the foundation, while having a dedicated person keeping track of every step ensured that everything ran smoothly (kudos to Anna Christina Hans, aka Tina!). On deck, crew, technicians, and scientists worked together like a well-oiled machine, stepping in where needed and solving problems on the fly.
The teamwork extended all the way back home to GEOMAR. Thanks to Rebecca Hummels’ mooring toolbox, data from several instruments could already be processed and checked while parts of the moorings were still in the water, providing an early look at the quality of the observations. On top of that, mooring experts were available around the clock to provide information, advice, and troubleshooting whenever needed. I believe the high success rate of the recoveries and redeployments is a testament to the experience, teamwork, and dedication of everyone involved.
With the major milestone of the successful mooring work behind us, another exciting operation was still ahead. Waiting in Mindelo was a brand-new surface buoy, ready to begin its own contribution to these invaluable long-term observations. Stay tuned to learn more about that deployment in a future blog post.
Keeping the Record Alive: Long-Term Ocean Observations in the Tropical Atlantic
By Joelle Habib (Laboratoire d’Océanographie Villefranche)
When you go on a scientific cruise, you always think about the instruments you’re going to deploy, the great data you’re going to acquire, or the experiments you’ll conduct. What you almost always forget is the small thing that isn’t actually small at all: food. And how are you going to eat it!
For those not familiar with scientific cruises: once you’re on board, most of your time goes to the science. You don’t really have time for food or food preparation. But there are always hidden heroes preparing your breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and, most importantly, the dessert for the dessert break. Today, instead of shedding light on the science, we’re going to talk about people, starting with the two chefs our lives basically depend on.
Rainer Götze and Peter Wernitz are the chefs of the last METEOR cruise. Rainer has been cooking on this ship for over 23 years, while Peter has been doing it for 13. Together they cook for 60 people on board, seamen and scientists alike. You’re probably wondering, like I was, how they pull it off. I had the chance to talk to them, and here are some of the ship’s secrets.
Let’s start with the planning. They don’t prepare the whole month’s menu before going on board, they plan it day by day. That said, a few dishes are practically law: fish on Tuesday and Friday, stew on Saturday (the stews are good, but it’s still my least favorite food day), and roasted meat on Sunday. Ice cream shows up for dessert on Sunday and Thursday lunches. And no matter the day, there’s always a vegetarian option on the table, nobody on board goes without something to eat.
So, all this cooking, but how many ingredients does it actually take? Let’s start with numbers. Every morning for breakfast there’s a choice of eggs (scrambled, boiled, fried…), pancakes, and more. So how many eggs are on this ship? For a one-month cruise, there are 3,000 eggs in storage, and the cooks go through around 90 of them a day. They also bake fresh bread every single day, about 3kg of flour goes into roughly 60 loaves. Coffee breaks happen all day, every day, there’s about 60kg of coffee on board. And since we’re on a German ship, and Germans do love their potatoes, there are 300kg of potatoes stored in a refrigerated, dark room so they don’t go bad.
You might be wondering why I’m talking so much about potatoes. Well, my dear reader, lunch has plenty of variety, but the one constant is potatoes. We’re on day 20 of the cruise, and I think we’ve worked through most of the varieties by now: fried, baked, soufflé, mashed, boiled and more still to come.
Another question I had was what happens if one of them gets sick. Rainer is a tough seaman who doesn’t get seasick anymore; Peter still does, occasionally. But either way, they’re always there, cooking through good conditions and bad. People generally love the food, though the chefs did tell me the one thing that never goes down well is old-school dishes like veal liver. (I can confirm.)
I think the message I’m trying to convey here is: a scientific cruise wouldn’t really be possible without Peter and Rainer. Science at sea is not only the science, but it’s also the work and effort of everyone on board. Especially the chefs!
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