AMUNDSEN GULF, NWT -- The weirdest thing about the Canadian Coast Guard icebreaker Amundsen is how well it floats despite the massive hole in the hull.
OK, so it's not really a hole, per se, but a moon pool -- a nine-square-metre orifice in the bottom of the ship used to lower scientific probes, nets and even a remotely operated submarine into the ocean without exposing researchers to the Arctic cold or rough seas.
Steeve Gagné by the rosette that was lowered into the moon pool in the hull of the Amundsen.
Moon pools are typically the stuff of science fiction; Ed Harris descends into the depths of the Caribbean Sea through an underwater aperture in The Abyss, while any villain worth his millions in a James Bond flick must have one in his underwater lair.
In real life, moon pools are used for offshore oil-and-gas drilling as well as for scientific research. The Amundsen, however, is believed to be the only icebreaker in the world with one. The ship acquired it in 2003 as part of a $27-million scientific retrofit.
At the time, there were fears the moon pool would reduce the seaworthiness of the ship, especially because the opening is located so close to the bow, says Marie-Emmanuelle Rail, a University of Quebec oceanographer who sends probes down through the moon pool to learn about the composition of the Arctic depths.
But even when the Amundsen is plowing through metre-thick ice, the moon pool has not posed a problem, though it occasionally gets clogged with ice and slush and needs to be cleared out with warm water -- or more annoyingly, by lowering workers down in a metal cage to work by hand.
When the ship is stationary, however, the moon pool sees a lot of action. Earlier this week, when the temperature outside the Amundsen was a chilly -27 C, Laval University technician Steeve Gagné was working alongside the pool in jeans and a T-shirt.
He lowered plankton nets as well as an impressive device called a rosette, which is capable of collecting water samples from various depths as well as taking the ocean's temperature and measuring how much oxygen, light, salt, chlorophyll and nutrients exist anywhere from right below the ship to the ocean floor.
"It's nice to work in a T-shirt, but the room to move around in here can be a problem," Gagné smiles as he and fellow Laval technician Louis Letourneau wrestle the rosette -- which resembles an airplane turbine -- from an overhead cable to its circular resting spot.
A steel cable attached to an industrial-strength winch and a thick chain secured by a pair of metal beams ensure the rosette does not disappear for good after it descends into the depths.
"Sometimes, there are such strong currents, the rosette disappears right below the boat. It just goes 'Whoosh!'" Gagné says.
But the moon pool is more famous for what might appear inside of it: When the Amundsen remains stationary for longer than two weeks, ringed seals occasionally swim up into the aperture, presumably to enjoy a few warm breaths and take refuge from polar bears.
As many as seven seals have congregated in the small opening at any given time, which can create comical situations for researchers attempting to lower gear down through the pool.
"They just move over to the side, but don't leave," says Gagné. "They are very curious creatures."
Arctic cod occasionally swim up into the pool as well. But on this particular morning, there is no organism present larger than a loonie-sized, deep-purple jellyfish Gagné scoops up with a long-handled net.
Later this winter, scientists aboard the Amundsen will also use the moon pool to deploy a remotely operated submarine equipped with arms that can sample organisms from the ocean floor.
The total cost of installing the moon pool and purchasing all of the gear associated with the portal was about $3 million, "and it was worth every penny," says Amundsen Capt. Stéphane Julien.
No hole in the bottom of a hull has ever inspired so much pride.
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