Features

ABOARD THE RESEARCH PLATFORM FLIP — Nine miles off San Diego, in water 500 feet deep, it’s hard to avoid that sinking feeling as you watch the stern dip down, down, down into the deep blue ocean. 

You’re going down, but that’s OK: You’re aboard Flip, a unique vessel that’s been sinking, safely, for science for 40 years. 

On a recent cruise, Flip took 20 minutes for its bow to slowly rise out of the water as 700 tons of ocean water swamped tanks in the stern. As it lay cocked at a 45-degree angle, air, pushed from the sinking tanks, rushed out with a deafening screech. 

It paused and then, in just seconds, Flip lurched forward, flipping completely vertical. 

The screech stopped and Flip performed a delicate pirouette. The dozen aboard stood on decks that had been bulkheads, like extras in a nautical remake of the 1951 musical “Royal Wedding,” in which Fred Astaire danced his way onto the ceiling. 

Just 55 feet of the baseball bat-of-a-vessel remained poking above the waves. Below, 300 feet more pointed straight down to Davy Jones’ locker. 

It’s a process the vessel has done — and undone — 355 times since it was launched 40 years ago Saturday. 

“All right! That’s cool,” said Scripps Institution of Oceanography professor William Hodgkiss, a veteran of 20 previous cruises, as Flip completed a pirouette after flipping. 

“What’s that?” said fellow professor Ken Melville, a first-timer. 

“It’s just cool,” replied Hodgkiss with a grin. 

Once vertical, Flip — short for FLoating Instrument Platform — becomes a base for science experiments, primarily on the propagation of sound in water. 

While ships bob on the waves, Flip remains stable, the bulk of its mass hidden beneath the waves, iceberglike. The enormous spar buoy can survive 80-foot waves. 

“It’s like a landmass sitting in the ocean, which means it doesn’t ride up and down in the waves; they wash over it,” said Capt. Bill Gaines, assistant director of the Scripps Marine Physical Laboratory in San Diego. Scripps operates Flip on behalf of the Navy. 

That stability is key for experiments on sound’s behavior in water, something influenced by temperature, salinity and the shape of the ocean floor. 

Navies have been keenly interested in tracing sounds back to their source since the British first used sonar in the 1920s to track noisy enemy submarines. 

Scientists now routinely deploy arrays of hydrophones from Flip, allowing them to study the sounds produced not only by submarines, but whales and dolphins as well. Flip scientists also study waves and the exchange of heat between the water and atmosphere. 

The idea for Flip came from Allyn Vine, a Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution scientist who observed the stability of an upright mop floating in choppy water. 

The first proposal was to sink a submarine on end. When that proved undoable, work on Flip began. 

Since its maiden voyage from the Portland, Ore., shipyard where it was built for $440,000, the unpowered Flip has been towed throughout the Pacific and Atlantic oceans.  

It was overhauled for the first and only time in 1995 for $2 million. There are no plans to retire Flip; replacing it would cost $30 million, Gaines said. 

Flipping and unflipping involves nothing more than swapping air for water and vice versa. 

“It’s a breeze. Gravity tells you what to do,” said Fred Fisher, an emeritus research oceanographer who helped develop Flip with fellow Scripps scientist Fred Spiess. 

On average, Flip spends 60 to 90 days at sea each year, where it often draws gawkers, as well as the odd distress call from sailors who think they’ve spied a ship sinking for good. 

Its interior is simply odd, with doors on the deck and portholes on the ceiling. Twin sinks, one horizontal, one vertical, crowd the head. The toilet bowl rotates, as do bunks, the washer and dryer and the entire galley. Narrow rooms with strangely high ceilings become spacious labs once flipped on side. 

“It’s a sort of different shape than most ships,” Spiess said. 

Once flipped, Flip rises like a building sprouted from the ocean, even as waves vigorously lap below. 

“It’s off-putting to be on something so stable in high seas,” said Pamela Scott, a technician who is frequently the only woman aboard. “The whole sea is moving but you’re stable. My mind says it should be moving. It’s disconcerting.” 

By Andrew Bridges 

The Associated Press 

ABOARD THE RESEARCH PLATFORM FLIP — Nine miles off San Diego, in water 500 feet deep, it’s hard to avoid that sinking feeling as you watch the stern dip down, down, down into the deep blue ocean. 

You’re going down, but that’s OK: You’re aboard Flip, a unique vessel that’s been sinking, safely, for science for 40 years. 

On a recent cruise, Flip took 20 minutes for its bow to slowly rise out of the water as 700 tons of ocean water swamped tanks in the stern. As it lay cocked at a 45-degree angle, air, pushed from the sinking tanks, rushed out with a deafening screech. 

It paused and then, in just seconds, Flip lurched forward, flipping completely vertical. 

The screech stopped and Flip performed a delicate pirouette. The dozen aboard stood on decks that had been bulkheads, like extras in a nautical remake of the 1951 musical “Royal Wedding,” in which Fred Astaire danced his way onto the ceiling. 

Just 55 feet of the baseball bat-of-a-vessel remained poking above the waves. Below, 300 feet more pointed straight down to Davy Jones’ locker. 

It’s a process the vessel has done — and undone — 355 times since it was launched 40 years ago Saturday. 

“All right! That’s cool,” said Scripps Institution of Oceanography professor William Hodgkiss, a veteran of 20 previous cruises, as Flip completed a pirouette after flipping. 

“What’s that?” said fellow professor Ken Melville, a first-timer. 

“It’s just cool,” replied Hodgkiss with a grin. 

Once vertical, Flip — short for FLoating Instrument Platform — becomes a base for science experiments, primarily on the propagation of sound in water. 

While ships bob on the waves, Flip remains stable, the bulk of its mass hidden beneath the waves, iceberglike. The enormous spar buoy can survive 80-foot waves. 

“It’s like a landmass sitting in the ocean, which means it doesn’t ride up and down in the waves; they wash over it,” said Capt. Bill Gaines, assistant director of the Scripps Marine Physical Laboratory in San Diego. Scripps operates Flip on behalf of the Navy. 

That stability is key for experiments on sound’s behavior in water, something influenced by temperature, salinity and the shape of the ocean floor. 

Navies have been keenly interested in tracing sounds back to their source since the British first used sonar in the 1920s to track noisy enemy submarines. 

Scientists now routinely deploy arrays of hydrophones from Flip, allowing them to study the sounds produced not only by submarines, but whales and dolphins as well. Flip scientists also study waves and the exchange of heat between the water and atmosphere. 

The idea for Flip came from Allyn Vine, a Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution scientist who observed the stability of an upright mop floating in choppy water. 

The first proposal was to sink a submarine on end. When that proved undoable, work on Flip began. 

Since its maiden voyage from the Portland, Ore., shipyard where it was built for $440,000, the unpowered Flip has been towed throughout the Pacific and Atlantic oceans.  

It was overhauled for the first and only time in 1995 for $2 million. There are no plans to retire Flip; replacing it would cost $30 million, Gaines said. 

Flipping and unflipping involves nothing more than swapping air for water and vice versa. 

“It’s a breeze. Gravity tells you what to do,” said Fred Fisher, an emeritus research oceanographer who helped develop Flip with fellow Scripps scientist Fred Spiess. 

On average, Flip spends 60 to 90 days at sea each year, where it often draws gawkers, as well as the odd distress call from sailors who think they’ve spied a ship sinking for good. 

Its interior is simply odd, with doors on the deck and portholes on the ceiling. Twin sinks, one horizontal, one vertical, crowd the head. The toilet bowl rotates, as do bunks, the washer and dryer and the entire galley. Narrow rooms with strangely high ceilings become spacious labs once flipped on side. 

“It’s a sort of different shape than most ships,” Spiess said. 

Once flipped, Flip rises like a building sprouted from the ocean, even as waves vigorously lap below. 

“It’s off-putting to be on something so stable in high seas,” said Pamela Scott, a technician who is frequently the only woman aboard. “The whole sea is moving but you’re stable. My mind says it should be moving. It’s disconcerting.”