by Karen Kemp
The
scene: A Fort Pierce, FL, restaurant. The waitress offers
salmon, dolphin, or flounder --blackened, sautéed
or grilled. She did not offer grouper, with good reason.
When I was growing up in Miami in the 1970s, the Atlantic
waters teemed with scamp and gag grouper. Now several
species of this popular, mild-tasting fish are nominees
for the Endangered Species List.
I had flown to Florida to get a taste of the life I’d once dreamed of --- the salt-spray, swim-fin, sunshine and scuba-gear days of a marine biologist. Years ago, my hero was Jacques Cousteau, whose explorations in the world’s oceans I devotedly watched on color TV. His heartfelt, French-accented adoration of nature’s unending variety and beauty sparked my enduring love for the wild.
So for five days last week, I observed marine scientists on a NOAA-sponsored expedition to the Oculina Banks, about 25 miles off Florida’s central East Coast. The region is named for the unique, ivory coral that grows in delicate branching structures at the edge of the Continental Shelf, 300 feet down in the dark, chilly water. "The Oculina Banks are the kind of special place that, if on land, would be a national park," chief scientist Andy Shepard told me.
Like
Cousteau, the scientists are passionate. They love the
coral for its singular beauty. They thrill at the challenge
of unraveling the complex mysteries of 2,000 tiny animals
clustered in one basketball-sized Oculina colony -- animals
such as the wispy, 2-inch arrow crab, waving its miniscule
bright blue pinchers, and the brittle sea star, wrapping
its spindly red arms lovingly around a coral branch. The
scientists want to map remaining Oculina habitat and find
hope that it may be saved.
Photo:
NASA
Back on land, mission sponsors, commercial fishing fleets, and we landlubbers in our kitchens think of Oculina primarily as habitat for spawning reef fish, if we think of it at all. We should. This area may supply fisheries as far away as North Carolina.
Scientists who first studied the Oculina Banks in the 1970s were aboard, getting their first comprehensive look in 25 years at the area they had worked to protect. Three hundred square miles of ocean are off-limits to trawling, dredging, trapping, and longline fishing to try to save Oculina – and the fish, of course.
Many
things amazed me: The beauty and abundance of creatures
that most of us see only on TV; the profusion of digital
video, 3-D mapping software, global positioning, and other
modern high-tech gadgetry; the wonder of the 3-man, yellow
submarine. Twice daily I saw it safely piloted from our
one-atmosphere world to the high pressure, seven-atmosphere
depths, then plucked from the water after three hours
below. In the few minutes it takes for the sub to surface,
one biologist told me, bubbles rise pleasingly through
the cobalt water and, "It’s like being inside a giant
blue soda bottle." Twenty-five years ago, scientists
studied deep reefs in scuba gear. After one hour below,
they spent 5½ hours decompressing.
I learned that grouper change color faster than we change clothes. They change sex, too, through some still-unexplained process. They and other fish species "sing" to each other as birds do. During spawning season, you can actually hear the racket as you stand near certain inshore lagoons. This was the complex animal I had happily, ignorantly met on my plate.
I
was most amazed at the sheer endurance of the 15 scientists.
At their devotion to numbers, pictures, transects, samples
--- data, data, and more data. At their 6 a.m.-to-midnight
work days. As I tried to take it all in, several days
passed when I barely stepped onto the sunny deck. Each
night, the constant white noise of engines and compressors,
and the back and forth roll of the ship buoyed on the
waves lulled me to sleep, exhausted. It was not Cousteau-glamorous.
Hours in the sub revealed more damaged coral beds than before. The scientists were disheartened. They suspect, but can’t prove, illegal fishing in the preserve. They wish almost forlornly for better enforcement of the fishing ban.
We no longer hunt meat in forests and on the plains; it’s raised, slaughtered and packaged for us. Similarly, some day soon, aquaculture may provide all our seafood. The ocean as wide-open wilderness – those days are over, says grouper expert Grant Gilmore. There are just too many people on the planet. Meanwhile, the marine biologists tirelessly collect samples and data, tirelessly keep trying to get the rest of us to listen.
I was surprised to find the food spectacular. Harbor Branch Oceanographic Institution places high value on a good seagoing cook, an experienced sailor told me. Creative fare keeps morale up during monotonous weeks at sea. Varied, freshly prepared meals were supplied in ample portions – but grouper was not on the menu.
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