English version below
Die letzte Woche unserer Expedition ist angebrochen und wir haben die Labradorsee in Richtung Osten verlassen. Die verbleibenden Tage werden wir mit Messungen der CTD-Rosette verbringen. Sie besteht aus einem Kranz von Flaschen, mit denen wir Wasserproben nehmen können und zusätzlichen Messgeräten, die darunter angebracht sind. Die eigentliche CTD (die Abkürzung steht für: Conductivity = Leitfähigkeit, Temperature = Temperatur, Depth = Tiefe) ist ein Messgerät an der Unterseite der Rosette. Zusätzlich gibt es noch eine kleine Kamera, die Bilder aufnehmen kann und ein Messgerät, das Fluoreszenz misst. An bestimmten Positionen müssen wir dann das Schiff anhalten und lassen die Rosette an einem Kabel bis zum Boden hinab. Bei Wassertiefen, die teilweise über 3000m betragen, kann es bis zu 2 Stunden dauern, bis die CTD-Rosette nach unten und wieder nach oben gefahren ist.
Die geplanten CTD-Stationen sollten uns Stück für Stück Richtung Grönländischer Küste führen. Die küstennahen Messungen sind dabei besonders interessant, um ähnlich wie in der Labradorsee den tiefen Randstrom zu untersuchen. Doch bei diesem Plan machte uns das Eis einen Strich durch die Rechnung. Auf der einen Seite freuten wir uns über die Schönheit der zahlreichen Eisschollen um uns herum, auf der anderen Seite verhinderten sie leider auch unser Vorankommen zu den küstennahen CTD-Stationen.

Aus dem Film Titanic haben wir alle gelernt: So ein Eisberg kann zum fatalen Problem für ein Schiff werden. Aber ist das eigentlich noch aktuell? Laut Kapitän Björn Maaß, können Eisberge heutzutage durchaus noch Schiffe versenken. Wir haben allerdings einen Vorteil, gegenüber der Titanic: das Radar, auf dem man Eisberge sehr gut erkennen kann. Nicht so gut erkennbar sind allerdings die von Eisbergen abgebrochene kleinere Eisstücke, Growler genannt. Growler (wortwörtlich übersetzt Brummer) sind nach dem Geräusch benannt, das sie beim Aus- und Abtauchen in der See verursachen. Teilweise sind sie schon mehrere Jahre unterwegs, weshalb sie häufig aus härterem Eis bestehen und nicht so weit aus dem Wasser schauen, da sie schon rundgewaschen sind. Um auch die Growler im Blick zu behalten, ist es deshalb wichtig zusätzlich zur Radarbeobachtung auch aus dem Fenster zu schauen, um alles im Blick zu behalten.
Damit kommen wir zu dem Problem, das unsere CTD-Messungen verhinderte. Es ist nämlich nicht nur das Eis, sondern die Kombination aus Eis und schlechten Sichtverhältnissen, die zur Gefahr wird. Zu Beginn der Stationsarbeit hatten wir Nebel aber nur wenig Eis. Später klarte es auf und das Eis wurde mehr. Solange die Sicht gut ist, sind bis zu 70-80% Bedeckung der Wasseroberfläche mit Eis noch in Ordnung, so der Kapitän. Doch der erneut aufziehende Nebel verringerte die Sicht drastisch. Solange die CTD-Rosette im Wasser ist, ist das Schiff in der Manövrierfähigkeit eingeschränkt und könnte damit einem auf das Schiff zutreibenden Eisberg schlecht ausweichen. Selbst nah am Schiff vorbei treibende Eisberge können zur Gefahr werden. Wie allgemein bekannt, befindet sich der Großteil eines Eisberges unter Wasser. Durch Abtauen des Eises kann es zur Verlagerung der Gewichtsverteilung und damit zum Drehen oder Kippen des Eisberges führen. Sollte das in der Nähe des Schiffes passieren, kann es zu einer Kollision kommen.

Vielleicht fragt sich an diesem Punkt der ein oder andere: ist die Maria S. Merian nicht ein Eisbrecher? Wieso ist das Eis dann überhaupt ein Problem? In der Nord- und Ostsee, wo man es nur mit einjährigem Eis zu tun hat, kann sie tatsächlich bis zu 80cm Eis brechen. In dem Gebiet, in dem wir uns jetzt befinden, kann es aber durchaus sein, dass sich eingeschlossen im einjährigen Eis auch ältere Stücke befinden. Diese haben bereits einen oder mehrere Sommer überstanden und sind dadurch schon mehr verdichtet und damit härter. Versucht man dieses dann zu brechen, kann das Schiff beschädigt werden. Das führte mutmaßlich zum Untergang des Kreuzfahrtschiff Explorer 2007 in der Antarktis. Die Besatzung des Schiffes war auf der Nord- und Ostsee ausgebildet und damit nur im Umgang mit einjährigem Eis geschult.
Fassen wir also kurz zusammen: Eisberge sind auch heutzutage noch eine Gefahr für die Seefahrt. Dank Radar kann man das Eis zwar sehr gut beobachten, doch die Sichtverhältnisse sollten trotzdem möglichst gut sein, wenn man sich in einem Eisfeld befindet. Außerdem ist nicht jedes Eis gleich und muss auf Grund des Alters, der Form und der Größe differenziert betrachtet werden.

Bleibt nur noch die Frage, was passieren würde, sollte unser Schiff die Maria S. Merian doch einmal mit einem Eisberg zusammenstoßen. Das kann auch der Kapitän nicht so leicht beantworten. Zuerst einmal ist die Geschwindigkeit des Schiffes ein wichtiger Faktor. Bei einer Kollision mit 2 Knoten Fahrt, würden die Eisstücke höchstwahrscheinlich nur zur Seite geschoben werden, während ein Zusammenstoß bei 10 Knoten Geschwindigkeit gefährlicher wäre. Außerdem hängen die Auswirkungen eines Zusammenstoßes noch von einigen weiteren Kriterien ab, zum Beispiel wie groß der Schaden ist und wo sich das Loch befindet. Da das Schiff in mehrere Sektionen unterteilt ist, die sie sich wasserdicht voneinander abschotten lassen, kommt es darauf an wie viele und welche Abteilungen volllaufen. Solange nicht Maschinenraum und Windenraum oder nur zwei Sektionen geflutet werden, bleibt die Maria S. Merian schwimmfähig. Für uns bleibt das eine hypothetische Überlegung. Am Ende hatten wir einen atemberaubenden Ausblick, der uns über die verpassten CTD-Stationen hinweggetröstet hat und wurden von der Brücke sicher wieder aus dem Eis herausmanövriert.
The downside of icebergs
The last week of our expedition has dawned and we have left the Labrador Sea towards the east. The remaining days will be spent with measurements of the CTD rosette. It consists of a wreath of bottles with which we can take water samples and additional measuring instruments attached underneath. The actual CTD (abbreviation stands for Conductivity, Temperature, Depth) is a measuring device on the underside of the rosette. In addition, there is a small camera that can take pictures and a meter that measures fluorescence. At certain locations we then have to stop the ship and drop the rosette on a cable down to the ground. At water depths, some of which are over 3000m, it can take up to 2 hours for the CTD rosette to go down and back up.
The planned CTD stations should lead us step by step towards the Greenland coast. The measurements near the shore are particularly interesting to study the deep margin current, as in the Labrador Sea. But with this plan, the ice broke our hearts. On the one hand we enjoyed the beauty of the numerous ice floes around us, on the other hand they unfortunately prevented our progress to the coastal CTD stations.

We all learned from the movie Titanic: an iceberg like this can become a fatal problem for a ship. But is this really still relevant? According to Captain Bjorn Maas, icebergs can still sink ships today. However, we have one advantage over the Titanic: the radar, on which you can see icebergs very well. However, smaller pieces of ice broken off by icebergs, called growlers, are not so well visible. Growlers are named for the noise they make when they go out and dive in the sea. Some of them have been floating around for several years, which is why they often consist of harder ice and do not look as far out of the water as they have already washed around. In order to keep an eye on the growlers, it is therefore important to look out the window in addition to radar observation to keep an eye on everything.
This brings us to the problem that prevented our CTD measurements. It is not just the ice, but the combination of ice and poor visibility that becomes the danger. At the beginning of the station work we had fog but only a little ice. Later, it cleared up and the ice became bigger. As long as visibility is good, up to 70-80% coverage of the water surface with ice is still fine, according to the captain. But the re-emerging fog drastically reduced visibility. As long as the CTD rosette is in the water, the ship is limited in maneuverability and could thus badly dodge an iceberg drifting towards the ship. Even icebergs drifting close to the ship can become a hazard. As is common knowledge, most of an iceberg is underwater. By thawing the ice, it can shift the weight distribution and thus turn or tip the iceberg. If this happens close to the ship, there may be a collision.

At this point, some may wonder: isn’t the Maria S. Merian an icebreaker? Why is ice a problem? In the North and Baltic Seas, where you only have to deal with one year old ice, it can actually break up to 80cm of ice. In the area in which we are now, however, it may well be that there are older pieces trapped in the one-year ice. These have already survived one or more summers and are therefore already more compacted and thus harder. If you try to break it, the ship can be damaged. This led to the sinking of the cruise ship Explorer in Antarctica in 2007. The crew of the ship was trained in the North and Baltic Seas and thus trained only in handling one year’s worth of ice.
So let’s summarize briefly: icebergs are still a danger to shipping today. Thanks to radar you can observe the ice very well, but the visibility should still be as good as possible when you are in an ice field. In addition, not all ice cream is the same and needs to be considered differentiated based on age, shape and size.

The only question left is what would happen if our ship, the Maria S. Merian, collided with an iceberg. The captain can’t answer that easily. First of all, the speed of the ship is an important factor. In a collision at 2 knots, the pieces of ice would most likely only be pushed aside, while a collision at 10 knots speed would be more dangerous. In addition, the impact of a collision depends on a number of other criteria, such as the size of the damage and where the hole is located. Since the ship is divided into several sections, they are sealed off watertight from each other, it depends on how many and which sections are full. As long as engine room and windroom are not flooded or only two sections are flooded, the Maria S. Merian will remain floating. For us, this remains a hypothetical consideration. In the end, we had a breathtaking view that consoled us over the missed CTD stations and were safely maneuvered out of the ice again from the bridge.
Ocean Acidification
Between Cádiz and the Sea: Our GAME Adventure in Spain
Welcome to Cádiz
When we arrived in Cádiz in April, we knew that we would be spending the next months working on an experiment about underwater soundscapes. What we did not yet know was how much of our time would be spent carrying equipment through the city, rebuilding experimental frames, solving technical problems and trying to convince various pieces of equipment not to end up at the bottom of the Atlantic.
Cádiz itself was a pretty good and beautiful place to start.
The city is located at the very tip of a narrow peninsula and is surrounded by the Atlantic on almost all sides. There are beaches almost everywhere, small streets leading through the old town, the harbour with its many boats and plenty of places where you can simply sit down and watch the sea. It did not take us long to understand why Cádiz is sometimes called La Tacita de Plata, the Silver Cup.
Our first evening was still fairly relaxed. After arriving and settling in, we went out together for a drink and explored a little bit of the city. It was a good introduction to our new home. The next morning, however, the relaxed part was over and GAME 2026 officially began for us.

Our project focuses on how underwater soundscapes may influence the colonization of hard surfaces by marine sessile organisms. To investigate this, we used standardized PVC settlement panels mounted on experimental frames and exposed them to different underwater soundscapes.
Over the course of the experiment, we monitored which organisms settle on the panels and checked whether the developing communities differ between the different acoustic conditions. The panels themselves were only 15 x 15 cm in size, but the frames, which were holding them while they were underwater, were much larger and required quite a bit of construction and preparation.
So, before we could investigate anything, however, we had to build everything.
Building the experiment
The first weeks in Cádiz were all about getting the experiment ready. Before the panels could go into the water, we had to prepare the equipment, rebuild the experimental frames and organize everything needed for the different parts of the experiment. Our setup consisted of large rectangular frames made from PVC pipes that carried the 15 x 15 cm settlement panels while they were in the water. In addition to this, we had speakers for the sound playbacks and ropes, buoys and weights that kept everything in position.
Although, there were frames left from a previous GAME project that was done in Cádiz, we decided to build new ones, which meant sourcing new material, cutting and assembling PVC pipes, preparing the panels and putting the different parts of the setup together. Some materials were bought locally, while others had to be ordered. This also resulted in one of our first small fieldwork adventures: transporting several metres of PVC pipes in a public transport bus through Cádiz was not exactly an everyday activity. We did not have a car at the time, and the large hardware store, where we bought some of the material, was quite far away, so getting everything back to Cádiz meant taking several buses while carrying long PVC pipes through crowded streets and vehicles. We bumped into things more than once, attracted a fair amount of attention and quickly realized that carrying several metres of PVC through a busy city is not as easy as it sounds. At one point, the combination of researchers, long PVC pipes and a local hardware store became what we jokingly refer to as the “Bus Hardware Store” episode.
Building the frames also taught us quite quickly that fieldwork rarely goes exactly according to plan. Some parts required a bit of improvisation and technical problem-solving, and when we reached a particularly stubborn technical issue, we even called Liam’s father in Germany for some additional advice. Although he was not directly involved in the project, his background in mechanical engineering and his experience with practical technical problems made him a useful person to call when we needed another perspective. A video call across Europe was not exactly part of the original plan, but it turned out to be a useful addition to our fieldwork toolkit.

At the same time as we worked on the set up, we were preparing the recordings of natural underwater soundscapes that would later be used for the experiment. For this, we built a deployment system consisting of a concrete-filled bucket, a wooden pole and a HydroMoth attached to the pole. The idea was simple: the heavy bucket keeps the structure stable on the seafloor, while the hydrophone records the surrounding natural soundscape above it. The practical part was considerably less simple. Several heavy loads of concrete had to be transported through Cádiz, and once the equipment reached the beach, getting the concrete-filled bucket into position was another workout altogether. We used a two-wheeled hand truck to move the heavy bucket across the beach and then into the shallow water. From there, we worked our way out by snorkeling and swimming, carrying and guiding the setup into position. The water was no more than about two metres deep, so there was no need for a boat.

The setup may have looked a little unconventional, but it was based on the plans we deleoped for recording natural soundscapes during the preparative course in March. After plenty of cutting, drilling, tying, carrying and assembling, the first major pieces of the project were finally ready. The frames were taking shape, the equipment was coming together and our first soundscape recordings were underway.
With the construction phase coming to an end, there was only one major question left: where exactly will we put everything?
When the plan changed
Finding a suitable experimental site turned out to be one of the more complicated parts of the project.
Our original plans involved a site in a nearby marina, but the situation changed when we were informed that construction work was planned close to the site. The associated noise would have interfered with the acoustic conditions required for our experiment, making the location unsuitable for our setup. We therefore had to move the experiment to a different location at relatively short notice. This meant adapting the setup and transporting the frames again. In the end, we found our new home at Puerto América, at the north-eastern tip of the city.
The change was a good example of how fieldwork can sometimes require a little flexibility. You can spend weeks discussing the experimental design, the set up and the site selection, but once you actually arrive at the water, there are always things that you could not have predicted from a map.
The new location gave us enough space for the experimental setup and allowed us to continue with the project. Hence, the frames were finally transported to Puerto América, weighted and installed.
Getting the frames into the water was actually much easier than building them in the first place. Once we had transported the frames to the harbour, we were able to get them into position and secure them relatively smoothly. The real challenge had been the preparation on beforehand: assembling the large PVC structures, attaching all the necessary components and making sure that everything was ready for deployment.

After weeks of preparation, the frames were finally in the water. The structures that we had spent so much time building on land were now ready to become the basis of our experiment.
From this point on, the focus shifted from building the experiment to monitoring what was happening around it.
Hydrophones, boats and one very expensive swim
Once the experiment was running, the HydroMoths became an important part of our regular monitoring. These small underwater recorders allowed us to record the acoustic conditions around our experimental frames and to measure the sound levels reaching the area of the experiment. This helped us to keep track of the underwater soundscape throughout the experimental period and to verify in hindcast what acoustic conditions the organisms on the settlement panels were actually exposed to.
Of course, regular monitorings also meant regularly getting the equipment in and out of the water. And this was when one of our more memorable fieldwork incidents happened. One day, Liam was alone at the harbour and had a fairly straightforward task: retrieve a HydroMoth, download the data and put it back into the water. Everything went well until the moment when the HydroMoth decided to make the last part of the procedure considerably easier for itself.
It slipped out of his hands and disappeared into the water.
We tried to retrieve it by diving down, but the visibility was extremely poor. Finding a relatively small piece of equipment underwater turned out to be much harder than expected, and despite our efforts, we could not recover it. It was certainly not part of the original plan, but fortunately, the experiment could continue. The lost HydroMoth has since become one of those fieldwork stories that is much easier to laugh about afterwards.

The regular monitorings also revealed how quickly conditions around the experimental site can change. One day, for example, we arrived at the harbour and found a boat parked remarkably close to our experimental setup, almost directly next to our buoys. Luckily, nothing was damaged and the boat did not cause any problems for the frames, but it was certainly an unexpected sight when we arrived.

Working in a harbour means that we are sharing the space with many other users, and sometimes the surroundings have a few surprises in store for us. Fortunately, most of them have been harmless so far.
From PVC panels to marine communities
The most interesting changes, however, did not happen above the water.
They happened on the settlement panels.
At the beginning of the experiment, the panels were simply pieces of PVC. We sanded their surfaces and standardized them so that they would provide suitable settlement substrates for marine sessile organisms. After deployment, there was not much to see.
Then the first organisms started to arrive.
During the first sampling events, we began to see the panels changing. Small organisms had settled on the surfaces, and the communities became increasingly diverse. Ascidians and bryozoans were among those colonizers that became particularly noticeable, together with worms, crustaceans and algae.
Suddenly, the panels that we had spent weeks preparing were becoming real pieces of habitat.

That was probably one of the most rewarding moments of the project. You knew exactly what a panel looked like before it went into the water. Then you retrieve it a few weeks later and had to figure out what has colonized it.
Some organisms were relatively easy to recognize. Others required a microscope, identification guides and considerably more patience.
Our supervisor was a huge help with this part of the project, especially when it came to identifying organisms that were less obvious at first glance. What initially looked like a small patch of something growing on a panel, could turn out to be an entirely different taxonomic group once you took a closer look.
And sometimes the organisms were simply fascinating to look at.
Despite the fauna and flora on the panels, we encountered small crustaceans, fish and other animals using the experimental structures as a habitat. One particularly photogenic shrimp even ended up on Liam’s hand during sampling.

The panels were therefore becoming more than just experimental units. They were small snapshots of the underwater world and the marine biodiversity around Cádiz.
The scientific question remained whether the different acoustic conditions influence the development of the communities. But before we could answer that, we had to document what was actually there.
And that meant sampling.
Sampling in the field
Our first sampling event made another aspect of fieldwork very clear: sometimes there is no perfect laboratory waiting for you at the harbour.
Since our experimental site was relatively far from the university facilities, we transported the equipment we needed directly to the field site by car. This included the microscope and the other equipment needed to examine, photograph and document the settlement panels.
There was no perfect laboratory waiting for us at the harbour. So, we built one.
We set up a small temporary workspace close to the experimental site and arranged everything we needed for the sampling. With the microscope, cameras, laptops, sampling equipment and the panels themselves, we quickly had our own little field laboratory ready to go.
Once everything was set up, the panels came out of the water. One by one, they were photographed, examined and assessed for the organisms that had settled on their surfaces. Some could be identified relatively easily, while others required a closer look under the microscope and a little more time.
The same basic procedure was repeated during the following sampling event, allowing us to compare how the panels had changed over time and which organisms had newly appeared or become more abundant.
Working directly at the field site also had its advantages. Instead of transporting the panels back and forth, we could examine and document them close to where the experiment was running and get an immediate impression of how the communities were developing.
Of course, the conditions were not always perfectly calm. Strong winds can make working at the harbour considerably more challenging, and this is where we really began to appreciate the Levante, the strong easterly wind that regularly affects the Cádiz area. By “appreciate”, we mean learning very quickly how much more complicated even a routine sampling day can become when the wind picks up. Even simple tasks require more coordination, especially when working with equipment and panels close to the water.
Nevertheless, the sampling days became one of the most interesting parts of the experiment so far. Every time we brought a panel out of the water, there was something new to discover.
The youngest member of the GAME team
There was also one very important member of the team who deserves a special mention.
During one of our most recent monitoring days, we had some unexpected assistance from a four-year-old.
While we were reading out the equipment, working on the frames and dealing with the usual collection of sampling tasks, our youngest helper decided that watching from the side was not enough. He wanted to participate.
So he did.
For a short time, we had officially found the youngest member of the GAME team. He may not have been able to explain the experimental design or tell us anything about sound pressure levels, but he was very enthusiastic about helping with the work. It was a small moment, but it was also a nice reminder that fieldwork is rarely as isolated as it can sound when described in a scientific paper. People around us had become part of the experience, whether they were helping with equipment, giving advice, asking questions or simply were curious about what two researchers are doing at the harbour with a collection of PVC pipes.
And occasionally, they became part of the team.
Life outside the frames
Of course, our time in Cádiz did not consist entirely of PVC, HydroMoths and sampling.
Living in Cádiz for several months also meant getting to know the city and the surrounding region outside the harbour. We spent a lot of our free time near the sea, whether that means going to the beach, playing sport or simply enjoying the city after a long day of fieldwork. With beaches, the old town and the harbour all within easy reach, there was usually no shortage of places to spend a few hours away from the experiment.
We have also used our time here to explore more of Andalusia. We visited Sevilla, where we could experience one of the region’s larger and more historic cities, and travelled to Tarifa, where we joined a whale watching trip and got to see some of the marine wildlife of the area from a completely different perspective.

Other trips took us to places such as Zahara de la Sierra, a small mountain town overlooking the reservoir, and Ronda, famous for its spectacular location above the deep El Tajo gorge.

These trips were a welcome change from our usual routine and gave us the opportunity to see a little more of the region we called home for the duration of the project.
The weather had certainly helped. Temperatures were regularly around 30 degrees, although the strong winds could make the conditions feel very different. After spending a day working at the harbour, a few hours at the beach were therefore not the worst way to finish the day.
Andalusia has also experienced some major environmental events while we had been here. Large wildfires affected parts of the region during the summer, although Cádiz itself was not directly affected.
Then there was the solar eclipse.
Cádiz experienced a partial solar eclipse, which gave us the opportunity to witness something very different from our usual fieldwork. For a short time, the attention of the two marine biologists was directed away from the water and towards the sky.

It was a nice change from looking down at the panels.
Poco a poco
Looking back at the time in Cádiz, the project had not developed exactly as we imagined it would.
We changed the experimental site. We rebuilt parts of the setup. We carried heavy concrete across the city. We improvised a sampling station outside. We dealt with strong winds, boats appearing where they were not supposed to be and one HydroMoth disappearing into the sea.
But at the same time, the experiment was running.
The frames were in the water. The HydroMoths were recording. The speakers were playing their experimental soundscapes. And the settlement panels slowly became colonized by marine organisms.
That is probably the most satisfying thing about seeing the project now compared with the beginning. In April, most of what we had was equipment, plans and a long list of things that still needed to be done. At the end, there was an actual marine community growing on the structures we built.
And all the observations that we made are now data that can be analysed.
Perhaps the best way to describe fieldwork in Cádiz is with a phrase we have heard and used plenty of times:
Poco a poco.
Little by little, the experiment was coming together.
Hasta luego, Cádiz!
Carlos & Liam

