A short history of nearly everything - Bill Bryson [137]
As for what else was down there, people really had very little idea. Well into the 1950s, the best maps available to oceanographers were overwhelmingly based on a little detail from scattered surveys going back to 1929 grafted onto, essentially an ocean of guesswork. The Navy had excellent charts with which to guide submarines through canyons and around guyots, but it didn't wish such information to fall into Soviet hands, so it kept its knowledge classified. Academics therefore had to make do with sketchy and antiquated surveys or rely on hopeful surmise. Even today our knowledge of the ocean floors remains remarkably low resolution. If you look at the Moon with a standard backyard telescope you will see substantial craters—Fracastorious, Blancanus, Zach, Planck, and many others familiar to any lunar scientist—that would be unknown if they were on our own ocean floors. We have better maps of Mars than we do of our own seabeds.
At the surface level, investigative techniques have also been a trifle ad hoc. In 1994, thirty-four thousand ice hockey gloves were swept overboard from a Korean cargo ship during a storm in the Pacific. The gloves washed up all over, from Vancouver to Vietnam, helping oceanographers to trace currents more accurately than they ever had before.
Today Alvin is nearly forty years old, but it still remains America's premier research vessel. There are still no submersibles that can go anywhere near the depth of the Mariana Trench and only five, including Alvin, that can reach the depths of the “abyssal plain”—the deep ocean floor—that covers more than half the planet's surface. A typical submersible costs about $25,000 a day to operate, so they are hardly dropped into the water on a whim, still less put to sea in the hope that they will randomly stumble on something of interest. It's rather as if our firsthand experience of the surface world were based on the work of five guys exploring on garden tractors after dark. According to Robert Kunzig, humans may have scrutinized “perhaps a millionth or a billionth of the sea's darkness. Maybe less. Maybe much less.”
But oceanographers are nothing if not industrious, and they have made several important discoveries with their limited resources—including, in 1977, one of the most important and startling biological discoveries of the twentieth century. In that year Alvin found teeming colonies of large organisms living on and around deep-sea vents off the Galápagos Islands—tube worms over ten feet long, clams a foot wide, shrimps and mussels in profusion, wriggling spaghetti worms. They all owed their existence to vast colonies of bacteria that were deriving their energy and sustenance from hydrogen sulfides—compounds profoundly toxic to surface creatures—that were pouring steadily from the vents. It was a world independent of sunlight, oxygen, or anything else normally associated with life. This was a living system based not on photosynthesis but on chemosynthesis, an arrangement that biologists would have dismissed as preposterous had anyone been imaginative enough to suggest it.
Huge amounts of heat and energy flow from these vents. Two dozen of them together will produce as much energy as a large power station, and the range of temperatures around them is enormous. The temperature at the point of outflow can be as much as 760 degrees Fahrenheit, while a few feet away the water may be only two or three degrees above freezing. A type of worm called an alvinellid was found living right on the margins, with the water temperature 140 degrees warmer at its head than at its tail. Before this it had been thought that no complex organisms could survive in water warmer than about 130 degrees, and here was one that was surviving warmer temperatures than that and extreme cold to boot. The discovery transformed our understanding of the requirements for life.
It also answered one of the great puzzles of oceanography—something that many of us didn't realize was a puzzle—namely, why the oceans don't grow saltier with time. At