Sam Bowser is a biologist at the Wadsworth Center in Albany, New York. He studies Foraminifera, a fascinating group of protists or single-celled organisms. His first Antarctic field season was in 1984, 24 years ago. Sam is currently deployed with the US Antarctic Program, his temporary ‘home’ is a field camp on the sea ice in Explorers Cove, McMurdo Sound.

Sam – why did you start going to the Antarctic? Who took you that first time, and what were you studying then?

I joined Ted DeLaca’s research program as a cell biologist working on unicellular organisms. Ted’s research focus was on the physiological ecology of ‘Rhizopods’ – unicellular organisms with branching pseudopodia. I was drawn to the work because the Antarctic versions of these ubiquitous aquatic critters are cellular giants. Frankly, I was tired of working on unculturable microscopic protozoans and had hopes of collecting enough material from the Antarctic giants for biochemical characterization of their cytoskeletal proteins. I was also a bit fried after 4 years of isolation in the lab… field work in Antarctica seemed to be an instant, albeit exotic, cure for that condition. For some unexpected reason, I seem to be at home alone in the middle of nowhere, so I keep coming back…

How have your ideas developed since then?

My work began with the realization that it may be possible to mine biomedically useful products from these early-evolving organisms. They have been exploring evolutionary space for over 540 million years, and understanding the material and chemical properties of their bioadhesives seemed like low-hanging fruit. Boy, was I wrong! We had such a poor understanding of the phylogeny of these early-evolving forms that our experimental designs suffered and the work hit an impasse. So we collaborated with colleagues well-versed in molecular phylogenetics and began filling those fundamental gaps. There’s still half a lifetime’s work to be done, but now I think we can make progress on our initial aims. We’ll see if we can get that research project up and running again.

What does your field camp in Explorers Cove consist of?

The shore camp consists of 2 Jamesway tents – Korean-war vintage structures that survive the cold, harsh conditions quite well – plus an insulated ‘laboratory-in-a-box’ and a generator shed. The US National Science Foundation Office of Polar Programs has invested heavily in alternative energy solutions, so our camp is powered chiefly by solar and wind generators. The camp is also connected to the internet, so we can communicate with home (for personal morale), colleagues (for scientific morale), and our home institutions (yes, there is no escape from paperwork). On the ice, we also erect a Jamesway tent over 2 of our dive holes. It’s nice to emerge from the freezing water into a nice, warm, cozy Jamesway!

In the field, what do you spend most of your time on?

I spend about 30% of my time on ‘science’ (writing/editing papers, collecting specimens, and conducting field studies), 20% of my time ‘resting’ (sleep does not come easy for me here), 30% communicating with K-12 teachers, family, friends, and colleagues, and blogging, and 50% of my time SCUBA diving, tending dives, lugging equipment, and other physical labor. Yes, that’s over 100%… there’s more work to do than there are hours in a day, and you have to be full-on all the time.

What comforts or other things do you miss most in the field?

I only miss loved ones. What more do you need?

What is the piece of equipment you most depend on in the field?

The internet first (for the aforementioned morale), then SCUBA gear. Specifically, the one brand of dive regulator that doesn’t fail in the world’s coldest water. And some very special dry suit booties that never fail to keep my feet warm.

What is your current project, and what are you hoping to achieve this field season?

I’m one of 3 investigators collaborating to better understand how marine organisms enter the fossil record in polar climates. I’m the biologist of the group and have the required field experience to help the geologists on the team collect their data. This is a fantastic opportunity for me to learn an entirely different branch of science… something I hope to do until the end of my life. I am also collaborating with New Zealand artist Claire Beynon to explore ways of communicating our research findings to lay audiences. Scientists, being rationalists, seem to shy away from such encounters. I’m not trying to ‘convert’ the often spiritual/mystical/emotional art community to our rational worldview; rather, I think that by engaging artists, humanity can better use both sides of its collective brain to seek truth and solve problems.

The outcome of the gamble I took bringing Claire to the ice as a member of our field team is probably the most exciting thing to happen since I began working in the Antarctic. She has promoted our research program through her art exhibitions and has been an advocate for environmental conservation in Antarctica. We have several art/science projects underway, and I find these extremely rewarding. Claire is currently here in the camp with us again and also also blogging about what we’re doing this season.

What scientific achievement are you most proud of?

Three things: (1) working with a team of biomedical engineers to determine the flexural rigidity of primary cilia in kidney epithelial cells. This work firmed up the idea that these cellular appendages were sensory organelles, and prompted colleagues elsewhere to get the experimental proof. (2) Obtaining evidence that plasma membrane ‘rafts’ are propelled along microtubule tracks in foraminiferan pseudopods (that was one part of my dissertation project). I think it helps explain the extraordinary evolutionary success of these organisms. (3) Showing that you could detect a single microtubule using correlative fluorescence and electron microscopy. Conly Rieder and I had a blast doing that project; the spirit of teamwork with Conly became a guiding principle for the many subsequent years of field research I cherish.

You have to dive under the sea ice to collect your samples from the seafloor. Don’t you mind getting into the ice cold water every day?

I do. For me, diving is a way to collect specimens, not something ‘fun’ to do. I do appreciate the stunning aesthetic of diving in waters with 800 ft visibility and quite literally being ‘where no man has gone before.’ But putting on all that gear is a drag, and the ice cream cone headaches I get after plunging in really suck.

Is your job still exciting after so many years?

I am extremely excited to do science. Unfortunately, senior scientists are expected to be lab managers and push paper – students, technicians, and postdocs have all the fun. That’s another reason why I love field work. It’s ‘real’ work – my body appreciates the aches and pains of physical labor, and my eyes are wide open doing science and soaking in the mysteries of life. That sounds really corny, but it’s the truth.

You’ve spent your entire life living and working in Albany. Do you ever regret not having lived somewhere else for a longer time?

Absolutely not. I’ve traveled all over the world, and work with an international circle of very dear colleagues. I’ve seen it all from the windowsill of my home in Albany. The old-fashioned notion that you need to live and study in several places before you’re ‘ready’ to settle down is rubbish. It’s the communication age, hey?

Have you always been able to do the research you wanted to do?

No. I would have loved to continue working with primary cilia – I think there’s plenty more to learn about their role in human health and disease – but such projects were beyond my means. They would have burned me up, and put me in a competitive climate that I personally find quite repulsive.

If there were no funding limitations and you could do whatever you want… what kind of project would you do?

I would characterize all the Foraminifera on earth. And I would explore the role of primary cilia in kidney disease (yes, there is an intellectual connection!). And I would paint my findings rather than write about them.

If you hadn’t become a scientist, what (and where) would you be?

(I’ve asked myself this question more and more as I approach retirement age, because that question can be turned around to ask ‘What will you do now that you’re done being a scientist?’). I was born a scientist, I think, but also always loved art. I’m a sarcastic sort of guy, too, so who knows, I might have become a cartoonist. Or maybe starved as a painter.