Dr Jan-Olaf Meynecke
Now we are left looking for whales again.
‘Ahoy’ here and ‘thar she blows’ there - it’s
quite confronting just how short an amount
of time it takes staring at the blue horizon
before you start to see things. We spot white
caps, fish, more sea birds and flickers and
shimmers on the distant surface and finally,
after what seemed like hours, a distinct and
unmistakable flurry of white mist blasting up
from the sea on the distant line. We have our
whales.
The excitement crackles like sparks around
us, and I notice that even the seasoned
veterans on board still possess a sort of
schoolboy zest for encounters with these
leviathans. We’re making way quickly and
forecasting the next surfacing when we see
them again - we’re almost on top of them.
The frantic chase turns into a sliding kerfuffle
as bodies manoeuvre around the small boat,
organising positions in order to both set up
the drone and deploy it. Timing is critical it
seems, and so are the samples. A sparkling
petri dish is attached at a particular angle
below the drone’s mass, ready to scoop up
whatever snot it may or may not encounter.
Dr Meynecke completes the set up and hands
the drone off to his launch partner, whilst he
takes position atop the stern - ready to apply
his best remote piloting skills in the blustery
conditions. Today the wind is 10 to 12 knots the limit for safely and successfully operating
the quadcopter, and it certainly isn’t making
it easy.
Zip and the drone is off, whirling its way
through the air to where the whales were last