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.
English version below
Wenn man an Chemie denkt, denkt man wahrscheinlich schnell an explodierende Gläser, ätzende Säuren und verrückte Professoren, aber nicht an den Ozean. Hier an Bord wird unsere Wissenschaftsteam auch von zwei chemischen Ozeanographen begleitet, Tobias Steinhoff und Kristin Kampen.
Den beiden habe ich die Frage gestellt, „Was findet ihr an der chemischen Ozeanografie spannend?“: Es ist unglaublich interessant, was es alles an unsichtbaren Prozessen im Meer gibt, die unser aller Leben beeinflussen: In der chemischen Ozeanographie untersuchen wir, wie sich chemische Bestandteile im Meer verhalten, z.B. wie sich gelöste Gase (wie CO₂ und Sauerstoff), Nährsalze (wie Nitrat und Phosphat), Spurenmetalle und organische Verbindungen im Meerwasser verhalten und verteilen. Der Ozean nimmt CO₂ auf, produziert Sauerstoff und transportiert Nährstoffe durch den Ozean und überall wirken chemische Prozesse mit. Diese Zusammenhänge zu verstehen ist Grundlage unserer Arbeit.
Auf unserer Ausfahrt in der Labradorsee nehmen sie Seewasserproben und extrahieren gelöstes organisches Material (DOM). Dies umfasst alle organischen Verbindungen, die im Meerwasser gelöst sind, also nicht als Partikel vorliegen. Das sind zum Beispiel Zucker, Aminosäuren, Fette und komplexere Moleküle, die aus abgestorbenen Organismen, Ausscheidungen von Meereslebewesen oder dem Abbau von Algen stammen. Als einer der größten Kohlenstoffspeicher spielt DOM eine zentrale Rolle im marinen Kohlenstoffkreislauf. Die Labradorsee ist eine der wichtigsten Regionen für die Bildung des North Atlantic Deep Water (NADW). Oberflächenwasser sinkt in die Tiefe und nimmt dabei DOM mit. Das NADW verteilt dieses Material dann über Jahrhunderte durch die Weltmeere und entzieht so der Atmosphäre langfristig Kohlenstoff. Zusätzlich werden kontinuierliche Messungen von pCO₂/O₂ im Oberflächenwasser während der Fahrt durchgeführt, um sich den Austausch von CO₂ zwischen Ozean und Atmosphäre anzuschauen. Viele Prozesse sind hierbei immer noch nicht vollständig verstanden, wie z.B. der Gasaustausch bei hohen Windgeschwindigkeiten.
Da es hier auf See, besonders in dieser Region, oft sehr stürmisch zugeht, ist kein Geheimnis und es geht natürlich besonders in einem Chemie Labor dann doch mal etwas zu Bruch. Wie läuft diese Arbeit also bei 11bft und 6 Meter Wellen ab. Wasserproben müssen meist innerhalb von 24 Stunden verarbeitet werden. Da kann man nicht immer Rücksicht auf die Wetterbedingungen nehmen. Einige Arbeiten werden immer noch nasschemisch gemacht und unter Einsatz von Glasmaterial. Sowohl das genaue Abmessen von Reagenzien als auch das Zusammenhalten der Glasware ist nicht immer einfach bei einem rollenden Schiff (und auch nicht immer erfolgreich). Man versucht zwar den doch dann plötzlichen Bewegungen des Schiffes entgegenzuwirken und alle Proben Behälter, Kisten und Flaschen zu sichern. Man wird aber dann doch mal von einem umkippenden Mülleimer überrascht und die noch neu verpackten Plastikröhrchen oder andere Fliegengewichte im Regal finden bei der einen oder anderen Welle ihren Weg auf die gegenüberliegende Seite im Labor. Dazu kommt, dass beim Arbeiten mit chemischen Stoffen und Proben doch des Öfteren beide Hände für die Arbeit gebraucht werden. Wird man dann allerdings von einer Welle überrascht, erfordert das Festhalten mit der dritten Hand (Fuß falls man schnell genug ist), einiges an Bauchmuskeln.
Foto: Julia Pelle
Das Besondere an der Arbeit auf See ist, dass man neben der alltäglichen Schreibtischarbeit auch praktisch arbeiten kann. Dabei ist man auf die enge Zusammenarbeit mit seinen Kollegen angewiesen und lernt sie dabei viel besser kennen. Zusätzlich sind auch viele andere Forschungsbereiche mit an Bord, wodurch es einen spannenden Austausch zwischen den einzelnen Gruppen gibt.
Zum Schluss hier noch ein kleiner Tipp am Rande von unseren Chemikern und für deine erste Forschungsseereise: Laschen, laschen, laschen und immer ein Ohr am Bordfunk: Der Arbeitsplan ist bei den Wetterbedingungen eher ein Vorschlag und kann sich stündlich ändern (die nächste CTD Station ist immer um die Ecke).
Chemistry: Making the Invisible Visible
When you think of chemistry, you probably quickly imagine exploding glassware, corrosive acids, and crazy professors, but not the ocean. Here on board, our scientific team is also accompanied by two chemical oceanographers, Tobias Steinhoff und Kristin Kampen.
I asked them the question: “What do you find exciting about chemical oceanography?”
“It is incredibly fascinating how many invisible processes exist in the ocean that influence all of our lives. In chemical oceanography, we study the fate of various chemical components in the ocean: for example, how dissolved gases (such as CO₂ and oxygen), nutrients (such as nitrate and phosphate), trace metals, and organic compounds behave and are distributed in seawater. The ocean absorbs CO₂, produces oxygen, and transports nutrients through complex cycles, including chemical processes. Understanding these relationships forms the basis of our work.”
During our expedition in the Labrador Sea, they collect seawater samples and extract dissolved organic material (DOM). This includes all compounds dissolved in seawater, meaning they are not present as particles. Examples include sugars, amino acids, fats, and more complex molecules that originate from dead organisms, excretions from marine life, or the breakdown of algae. As one of the largest carbon reservoirs, DOM plays a central role in the marine carbon cycle.
The Labrador Sea is one of the most important regions for the formation of North Atlantic Deep Water (NADW). Surface water sinks into the depths, carrying DOM with it. NADW then distributes this material throughout the world’s oceans over centuries, thereby removing carbon from the atmosphere over the long term. In addition, continuous measurements of pCO₂ and O₂ in surface water are taken during the voyage to study the exchange of CO₂ between the ocean and the atmosphere. Many processes involved are still not fully understood, such as gas exchange under high wind speeds.
It is no secret that conditions at sea especially in this region are often very stormy, and in a chemistry lab, things can occasionally break. So how does this work at 11 Beaufort and 6-meter waves? Water samples usually need to be processed within 24 hours, so you cannot always take weather conditions into account. Some work is still done using wet chemistry and glass equipment. Accurately measuring reagents and holding glassware steady is not always easy on a rolling ship (and not always successful). Although efforts are made to counteract sudden ship movements and to secure all sample containers, boxes, and bottles, you may still be caught off guard by a tipping trash bin, and newly packaged plastic tubes or other lightweight items can suddenly fly across the lab with the next wave.
On top of that, when working with chemicals and samples, both hands are often needed. If a wave hits unexpectedly, holding on with a “third hand” (your foot, if you are quick enough) requires quite a bit of core strength. What makes working at sea special is that, alongside everyday desk work, you can also do hands-on work. This requires close cooperation with colleagues, allowing you to get to know them much better. In addition, many other research disciplines are on board, which creates exciting exchanges between different groups.
Finally, here is a small tip from our chemists for your first research expedition: strap everything down, strap everything down, strap everything down and always keep one ear on the ship’s radio. The work schedule is more of a suggestion under these weather conditions and can change hourly (the next CTD station is always just around the corner).
Between all the scientific work, we celebrated Easter on board, although the weather had other plans for us. Due to rough conditions, we weren’t able to carry out any CTD casts.
Easter itself was spent in a mix of rest and small celebrations. Some of us enjoyed a long Easter breakfast with traditional Easter bread, while others took the opportunity to sleep in. In the evening, we gathered with both crew and scientists for a small celebration. The ship’s cook even organized a quiz, and those who answered correctly were rewarded with Easter chocolate.
The next day, the weather improved, and we began early with the recovery of K1, a 3,495-meter-long mooring in the middle of the Labrador Sea.
We joined the nautical officers on the bridge before sunrise to search for it. Fortunately, K1 has a floating buoy with a light, so we were able to spot it even in the dark. The actual recovery started at first light, and it began to snow while we were working.
Amid all the CTDs and mooring operations, there was also a personal highlight: my (Sarah’s) birthday. Although I’ve spent birthdays away from home before, this one felt especially unique, being so far out at sea, with only limited internet contact.
Normally, I work the 4-8 shift, but my incredibly kind shift team gave me the morning off. That meant I could sleep in and even find time to call family and friends back home. In the afternoon, I was surprised with my favourite cake, baked by Julia.
Our work continued with the mooring array at 53°N, which consists of seven moorings. So far, we have recovered five (K7, K8, K9, DSOW1 and DSOW2), and three of them have already been redeployed (K7, K8 and DSOW1,).
Deploying K7 turned out to be particularly tricky. On our first attempt, sea ice drifted toward us faster than expected, forcing us to recover nearly half of the mooring again. While the ship itself can handle drifting ice, deploying a mooring is much more delicate: a long cable with instruments and floats is released behind the ship before the anchor is dropped, allowing the system to sink into place.
Two days later, we tried again and this time, the deployment was successful.
Afterwards, we moved closer to the sea ice, which was a highlight for many of us. Seeing the ice up close and even spotting a seal swimming nearby, made the experience unforgettable.
Due to the continuing harsh weather, the decision was made to return to K1 and make use of an upcoming weather window for deployment the following day.
German:
Zwischen Stürmen und Wissenschaft: Ostern in der Labradorsee (04.04.26 – 13.04.26)
Zwischen all der wissenschaftlichen Arbeit haben wir Ostern an Bord gefeiert, auch wenn das Wetter andere Pläne für uns hatte. Aufgrund der rauen Bedingungen konnten wir keine CTD-Messungen durchführen (Messungen von Leitfähigkeit, Temperatur und Tiefe im Ozean).
Ostern selbst war eine Mischung aus Erholung und kleinen Feierlichkeiten. Einige von uns genossen ein ausgedehntes Osterfrühstück mit traditionellem Osterbrot, während andere die Gelegenheit nutzten, etwas länger zu schlafen. Am Abend kamen Crew und Wissenschaftler*innen zu einer kleinen Feier zusammen. Der Koch organisierte sogar ein Quiz, und wer die Fragen richtig beantwortete, wurde mit Oster-Schokolade belohnt.
Am nächsten Tag besserte sich das Wetter, und wir begannen früh mit der Bergung von K1, einer 3.495 Meter langen Verankerung mitten in der Labradorsee. (Eine Verankerung ist eine lange, am Meeresboden befestigter Draht, der mit Instrumenten ausgestattet ist, um über längere Zeit Ozeandaten zu messen.)
Noch vor Sonnenaufgang gingen wir mit den nautischen Offizieren auf die Brücke, um nach ihr Ausschau zu halten. Glücklicherweise verfügt K1 über eine schwimmende Boje mit Licht, sodass wir sie bereits im Dunkeln entdecken konnten. Die eigentliche Bergung begann bei Tagesanbruch und es begann sogar zu schneien.
Zwischen all den CTD-Einsätzen und Verankerungsarbeiten gab es auch ein persönliches Highlight: meinen (Sarahs) Geburtstag. Obwohl ich schon öfter Geburtstage fernab von zu Hause verbracht habe, war dieser besonders, so weit draußen auf dem Meer und mit nur eingeschränktem Internetkontakt.
Normalerweise arbeite ich in der 4-8 Uhr Schicht, aber mein unglaublich nettes Schichtteam hat mir den Morgendienst freigegeben. So konnte ich etwas länger schlafen und hatte sogar Zeit, mit Familie und Freunden zu Hause zu telefonieren. Am Nachmittag wurde ich dann noch mit meinem Lieblingskuchen überrascht, den Julia für mich gebacken hat.
Unsere Arbeit ging weiter mit dem Verankerungs-Array bei 53°, das aus sieben Verankerungen besteht. Bisher haben wir fünf geborgen (DSOW1, DSOW2, K7, K8 und K9), von denen drei bereits wieder ausgebracht wurden (DSOW1, K7 und K8).
Das Ausbringen von K7 erwies sich als besonders schwierig. Beim ersten Versuch trieb das Meereis schneller auf uns zu als erwartet, sodass wir fast die Hälfte der Verankerung wieder einholen mussten. Obwohl das Schiff selbst gut durch treibendes Eis navigieren kann, ist das Ausbringen einer Verankerung deutlich anspruchsvoller: Dabei wird ein langer Draht mit Messinstrumenten und Auftriebskörpern hinter dem Schiff ausgesetzt, bevor am Ende der Anker gelöst wird und das gesamte System absinkt.
Zwei Tage später versuchten wir es erneut, diesmal mit Erfolg.
Anschließend fuhren wir näher an das Meereis heran, was für viele von uns ein besonderes Highlight war. Das Eis aus nächster Nähe zu sehen und sogar eine Robbe in der Nähe schwimmen zu beobachten, machte das Erlebnis unvergesslich.
Aufgrund der weiterhin rauen Wetterbedingungen wurde schließlich entschieden, zu K1 zurückzukehren, um ein bevorstehendes Wetterfenster für die Ausbringung am nächsten Tag zu nutzen.
Between Storms and Science: Easter in the Labrador Sea (04.04.26–13.04.26)
Ocean Acidification
Humans Just Flew Around the Moon This Week. But Would Babies Born There Ever Truly Feel Gravity? Ask Jellyfish Babies.
This week, NASA’s Artemis II crew made history by flying around the Moon and returning safely to Earth, the first human journey to the Moon’s vicinity in more than 50 years. It was a stunning reminder that humanity is no longer just dreaming about living beyond Earth. We are actively rehearsing for it.
And that leads to a much stranger, deeper question: even if one day we build skyscrapers on the Moon, raise families there, and turn space into a place to live, will babies born away from Earth develop a normal sense of gravity? Or will their bodies learn the universe differently?
To explore that question, NASA once turned to an unexpected stand-in for human babies: jellyfish babies. On the STS-40 mission, scientists sent thousands of tiny jellyfish polyps into space because jellyfish, like humans, rely on gravity-sensing structures to orient themselves. The experiment asked a simple but profound question: if a living body develops in microgravity, will it still know how to handle gravity later?
The answer was both fascinating and unsettling. The jellyfish developed in space in large numbers, but once back under Earth’s gravity, the ones that had developed in microgravity showed far more pulsing abnormalities than the Earth-grown controls. In other words, their bodies formed, but their sense of balance did not seem to work quite the same way.
That is why this old jellyfish experiment still matters today. Before we imagine lunar cities, schools, nurseries, and generations born off-world, we need to ask not only whether humans can survive in space, but whether developing there changes how the body understands something as basic as up, down, and movement. Jellyfish babies cannot tell us everything about human children, but they may have given us one of the first clues that life born beyond Earth might not come home unchanged.
Reference: https://nlsp.nasa.gov/view/lsdapub/lsda_experiment/0c10d660-6b12-573d-8c3b-e20e071aed3b
Image: GEOMAR, Sarah Uphoff
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