The 53,000-ton the Italian-owned, Chinese-built Scarabeo 9 is a state-of-the-art, semi-submersible ultra-deepwater drilling platform capable of working in up to 12,000 feet of water depth with a 50,000 foot (9.5 miles) drilling depth capacity. The platform has accommodations for full-time support of up to 200 workers. (Source: “Background on Scarabeo 9” in CubaStandard.com by Jorge Piñon,)

As I write this, a massive offshore oil platform makes its way around the southern tip of the African continent on its journey from Singapore to its final destination within 50 miles of some of our nation’s most environmentally sensitive waters. By year’s end, it will be in operation to drill the first exploratory well more than a mile deep in Cuban waters.

Shortly after Cuba’s discovery of offshore oil more than six years ago, I met with my colleagues at the University of Havana who had just been briefed by the state-run oil company, Cupet (Cubapetroleo). Models predicted that 90 percent of oil from a blowout would be transported northward to the Keys and up along Florida’s East Coast, impacting Miami, Ft. Lauderdale and beyond. The question is, of course, are we ready to deal with such a catastrophe?

Few people realize there was a full-scale “drill” conducted in the Gulf of Mexico testing the preparedness of Cuba and the United States to respond to an oil spill of international dimensions. It was called Deepwater Horizon. In mid-May 2010, models predicted oil from the spill would be transported through the Florida Keys and up the Eastern seaboard of the United States. The same models also forecast that before reaching the Keys, the oil would be transported due south, directly impacting Cuba’s northwestern coast, an area rich with coral reefs and Cuba’s prime fishing grounds. Cuban colleagues in Havana contacted me, desperate for information.

I called a meeting at The Ocean Foundation offices in Washington, DC and we were joined by the State Department, along with others by telephone, including the U.S. Interests Section in Havana, including a U.S. Coast Guard official stationed there. I was impressed by how concerned all involved were and how committed to helping Cuba they were should oil impact its waters. But once the conversation moved to specifics and the logistics of actually providing equipment and personnel, it became profoundly clear that there was no plan and no clear way for these agencies to navigate the labyrinth of regulations and mountains of paperwork necessitated by the U.S economic embargo against Cuba, in place for more than 50 years.

A few weeks later, the currents in the Gulf altered course, and the grim scenario predicted by the models did not play out. Cuba was spared, but it became abundantly clear that the lack of formal diplomatic relations has left us unprepared to deal with a large-scale international oil spill involving Cuba, regardless of whether the U.S. is a donor or receiver of spilled oil.

It’s been no secret that Cuba has been planning to conduct offshore oil drilling. On Christmas day 2004, Fidel Castro announced that two Canadian companies had discovered reserves of 100 million barrels in Cuban waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Shortly after I learned the details in Havana a few months later, I briefed then-Governor Jeb Bush’s senior staff in Tallahassee and urged a face-to-face dialogue with Cuba, to at least coordinate on an emergency plan and response should the worst happen. My colleagues and I have been briefing Members of Congress and the Administration ever since, but it has taken all these years – until the drilling rig is actually on its way and Cuba is weeks away from drilling – for the Senate to hold a hearing about the issue. The hearing – which was also focused on offshore drilling in Canada, Russia and the Bahamas – took place last week.

Yet at the Senate hearing last week, testimony by Michael R. Bromwich, (Director of the Bureau of Ocean Energy Management, Regulation and Enforcement) and Vice Admiral Brian M. Salerno (United States Coast Guard, Deputy Commandant for Operations), made it crystal clear that their respective legal authority to work with Cuba in the event of a spill was anything but clear. Given the proximity of the drilling site to the Keys, and given the swiftness of the currents of the Straits of Florida, we would need to mobilize a response to an oil spill within hours, not days. Both Mr. Bromwich and Vice Admiral Salerno indicated that authorities would need to be granted by an alphabet of agencies, including the State Department, Department of Commerce, Department of Justice, Department of the Treasury, and more. Surely if the legal issues are not dealt with in advance, our best-planned emergency response efforts would be hamstrung by ongoing delays by legal debate and political wrangling.

Unfortunately, not a single Senator was willing to explore the possibility of actually establishing a dialogue with Cuba, despite testimony from oil industry representatives recommending it. Earlier this year, President Obama’s National Commission on the BP Deepwater Horizon Oil Spill and Offshore Drilling, co-chaired by former Senator Bob Graham and former EPA Administer Bill Riley, recognized that we must work with our neighbors in the Gulf, Cuba and Mexico, stating, “It is in our country’s national interest to negotiate now with these near neighbors to agree on a common, rigorous set of standards, a system for regulatory oversight, and the same operator adherence to the effective safety culture called for in this report, along with protocols to cooperate on containment and response strategies and preparedness in case of a spill.” The Commission got it right. There can be no substitute for face-to-face dialogue to set high standards, create an emergency plan and open lines of communication should the unimaginable occur.

To make matters worse, Republican Senators Lisa Murkowski (R-Alaska) and Bob Corker (R-Tennessee) exploited the opportunity to call for opening up more areas in domestic waters to offshore drilling. Senator Murkowski (R-AK) stated, “…it makes no sense for this country to sit stubbornly in between active drilling operations in neighboring waters with our arms folded. It does us no good to complain that offshore drilling is too risky for us to pursue as other nations are clearly very busy reaping its benefits right outside our front door. And yet that position is precisely is what some senators and some groups would advocate, that the us stay out of this business entirely.”

Further, Senator Murkowski claimed that one of the best ways to help the U.S. respond to an international oil spill disaster is to expand offshore drilling in our own waters. Senator Corker picked up on this and put the question to Mr. Bromowich, “The ranking member [Senator Murkowski] mentioned something about the fact that the more we have in the way of resources ourselves involved in exploration, the better we could respond to something that might happen in waters that are nearby. Is that a sensible notion that she laid out, that in fact the more we’re producing and exploring off our own continental shelf, the better we can actually respond to something that’s happening in other countries’ waters?” Mr. Bromwich’s responded, “I think Senator Murkowski is absolutely right in stating that.”

Our leaders must do better – the stakes are too high. The decision to engage with Cuba on this is ours to make. Cuban officials have told my colleagues and me many times that they are willing to meet with our government on this issue. Recently, Oil Spill Commission Co-Chair Bill Riley traveled to Havana to meet with Cuban officials, a meeting that was, by all accounts, thoughtful and productive according to my colleague, Dan Whittle at Environmental Defense Fund who made the meeting possible. There is precedent for Cuba – U.S. governmental cooperation. Our National Weather Service and Cuba’s equivalent agency have collaborated for decades, and there are other such examples. The participation of a NOAA representative at our meeting last fall of the Trinational Initiative for Marine Research and Conservation in the Gulf of Mexico and Western Caribbean (a collaboration between Cuba, Mexico and the U.S.) was a welcome step forward, as was the participation of a NOAA representative at a workshop in Cuba earlier this year.

The lessons of the BP Deepwater Horizon still sting smartly with the consequences of failing to adequately plan for the worst-case scenario. We now have an opportunity to do better. Sometimes neighbors don’t get along with one another. But when something happens that affects the neighborhood, they must rise above their differences and find a way to work together. The waters that unite Cuba and the U.S. are unique in the world and sustain marine ecosystems and wildlife that both nations depend upon. It’s our neighborhood, and it’s still beautiful. We must work with our neighbors to protect it.

December 27, 2010:

It’s our end-of-the-year party and retrospective where we count down your top 10 favorite episodes of the year and enjoy highlights from each of them. If you’ve missed any past episodes of “The Ocean Doctor,” here’s your chance to catch up and discover shows you’d like to hear in full. Find them all at oceandoctor.org/radio

The Ocean Doctor airs weekly on WebTalkRadio.net. Want to listen on your iPod, iPhone or mp3 player? Download the mp3 file or subscribe on iTunes and don’t miss a single episode. See the complete list of episodes.

Follow The Ocean Doctor on Twitter — Become a Fan on Facebook!

Submit a question and I’ll try to answer it on the air. Even better, record your question or comment on our special message line and I might play it on the air. Call: (805) 619-9194. You can also leave questions and comments for this episode below.

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This Week: The Top 10 Countdown: Your Favorite Episodes of 2010

It’s our end-of-the-year party and retrospective where we count down your top 10 favorite episodes of the year and enjoy highlights from each of them. If you’ve missed any past episodes of “The Ocean Doctor,” here’s your chance to catch up and discover shows you’d like to hear in full. Find them all at  oceandoctor.org/radio

December 20, 2010: It’s the premiere of “The Ocean Doctor LIVE!” where YOU are the guest! We get a surprise visit from one of our past guests and talk oceans, coast-to-coast. Also: If I were a Great White, I wouldn’t eat you.

The Ocean Doctor airs weekly on WebTalkRadio.net. Want to listen on your iPod, iPhone or mp3 player? Download the mp3 file or subscribe on iTunes and don’t miss a single episode. See the complete list of episodes.

Follow The Ocean Doctor on Twitter — Become a Fan on Facebook!

Submit a question and I’ll try to answer it on the air. Even better, record your question or comment on our special message line and I might play it on the air. Call: (805) 619-9194. You can also leave questions and comments for this episode below.

Like the show? Learn how to become a sponsor.

This Week: The Ocean Doctor LIVE! Broadcast

This Week's Guest is YOU!

The beauty of the fact that “The Ocean Doctor” is a podcast and not a live show is that, if you’ve missed past shows, you can easily catch up. But a pre-recorded show doesn’t lend itself well to being interactive, and that was the inspiration for “The Ocean Doctor LIVE!” Last week we had our first LIVE broadcast, but don’t worry if you missed it – you’ll be able to hear much of it in the show – it’s like a show within a show. We get a surprise visit from one of our past guests and talk oceans, coast-to-coast. Also: If I were a Great White, I wouldn’t eat you.

Links & Resources:

Blue Frontier Campaign

Read David Helvarg’s books! His latest is: Saved by the Sea: A Love Story with Fish:

Featured Video

The “Hope Turtle” T-Shirt

October 4, 2010: The Ocean Doctor attends the 45th anniversary celebration of Seacamp, a unique marine science summer camp in the Florida Keys that has reached more than 200,000 young hearts and minds through its summer program and its Newfound Harbor Marine Institute program during the rest of the year. We visit old friends, and chat with Irene Hooper, the original director who remains very involved, continuing to impart her leadership and vision to ensure the next generation grows up with a special place in its heart for the oceans. David tells his most famous Seacamp story about a canoe and two mischievous dolphins. And we hear the latest from the National Commission on the BP Deepwater Horizon oil spill.

The Ocean Doctor airs weekly on WebTalkRadio.net. Want to listen on your iPod, iPhone or mp3 player? Download the mp3 file or subscribe on iTunes and don’t miss a single episode. See the complete list of episodes.

Submit a question and I’ll try to answer it on the air. Even better, record your question or comment on our special message line and I might play it on the air. Call: (805) 619-9194. You can also leave questions and comments for this episode below.

Like the show? Learn how to become a sponsor.

This Week’s Guest: Irene Hooper

This Week's Guest: Irene Hooper, Executive Director, Seacamp

Irene Hooper is the founder and executive director of Seacamp Association. Founded in 1966, Seacamp is the first program dedicated to the education of youth in marine science.

Seacamp shows the way to the sense of wonder within you that will last a lifetime, where underwater exploration and study beckon you to a world apart. Seacamp is minutes from the only living coral reef in all America at Looe Key National Marine Sanctuary.

Seacamp’s tropical marine location in the lower Florida Keys enables it to offer a truly unique marine science program. This program is the heart of Seacamp and makes available to campers a variety of activities under the guidance of academically-trained marine science instructors.

Campers discover hands-on the fascinating world beneath the ocean surface. Students work at their own level of interest and learn ecological principles that are pertinent to the future of our natural resources and to the study of marine science. Seacamp offers scuba diving and certifications, snorkeling, kayaking, sailing, windsurfing & more!

Seacamp's fleet of flattop boats in the harbor

During the school year, Seacamp operates as the Newfound Harbor Marine Institute (NHMI) which delivers environmental and marine science education programs to middle and high school students, as well as to university students and teachers. Seacamp is located on Big Pine Key in the Florida Keys, with 450 campers from the United States and around the world participating in three 18-day summer sessions. Campers study the ocean, learn about coral reefs, and share traditional camp activities. More than 10,000 local, state, national, and international students and teachers participate in the NHMI programs each year.

Seacamp  is the result of a cooperative effort of parents, scientists, businessmen and camp leaders. Conservation practices and a respect for the marine environment are at the core of the Seacamp philosophy: “For all the sea has to teach us and all the fun in learning it.” Seacamp is proudly accredited by the American Camp Association

Links

For more information about Seacamp/Newfound Harbor Marine Institute, visit: Seacamp.org

Tip of the Week

Send your kids (or yourself) to Seacamp, of course! Three 18-day sessions are available each summer. For details, visit: Seacamp.org

Seven Mile Bridge in the Florida Keys

On July 18, 1975, the tanker Garbis spilled 1,500 to 3,000 barrels of crude oil into the warm, turquoise, coral-rich waters roughly 26 miles south-southwest of the Marquesas Keys, Florida. The oil was blown ashore along a 30-mile stretch of the Florida Keys, east of Key West. I was 16 and enjoying my second summer at Seacamp, a marine science camp on Big Pine Key. Rumors of the spill raced throughout the campus until finally, instructor James Smithson decided to find out for himself what menace might be approaching. He took a small away team aboard his 21-foot Mako, “Isurus,” and made haste south toward the reef tract. We waited impatiently for word back as the sun fell to the horizon and scattered its tranquil orange glow across the water. What I saw next filled me with dread. The Isurus entered the harbor, its white hull stained with enormous swaths of dark brown oil. In that moment the menace was no longer abstract, and to my young mind, everything we treasured — the corals, the mangroves, the fish, the turtles –was on the brink of extermination.

More bad news: The tides were predicted to bring the oil in toward shore overnight. But what could we do — a bunch of unruly long-haired kids? Simple. Seacamp is a science camp, so we would do science. I was among the older students and felt lucky to be included in a group of students and instructors shuttled to the south side of the island to do transect studies along the south-facing shores and tidepools. With measuring tapes, pencils, clipboard, flashlights and bug spray — lots of bug spray — we’d carefully measure each and every critter in each and every crevice so that if the oil hit, we’d have both a before and after picture. We couldn’t protect our shores, but we could hopefully learn from them. We stayed out the entire evening — it was exhausting and exhilarating.

At morning’s light there was no sign of the oil. It never arrived. I never really learned where it ultimately went. In retrospect, it was the most glorious waste of time I ever spent. I had never felt so strongly focused and such a sense of camaraderie with any group before. We were off our collective asses doing something constructive in the face of a terrible situation, in hindsight a powerful lesson for a teenager. Years later I found a study that indicated that the oil had come ashore in some areas, and several habitats were affected, killing echinoderms, oysters and mangroves.

Blue Hill Consolidated School, Maine

During my “50-States” tour and my meetings with students around the country, I am gratified to see their love and concern for the oceans, even among students who have never seen an ocean before. But I’m also pained that after decades of arrogance, carelessness and treating the oceans more like it belongs to large corporations than as the public trust that it is, it seems that we’ve failed to learn our lessons and have burdened our children with an environmental disaster of historic proportions, the effects of which will no doubt still be felt when they’re raising kids of their own. But if my generation didn’t get it right, I’m still hopeful that the next one will. This is a whopper of a lesson to learn from and change will come from it. But most of all, I’m buoyed by the kids themselves, like the young student at Maine’s Blue Hill Consolidated School who raised her hand during our discussion of the oil spill and, pointing to her classmates, asked simply, “What can we do?

You’ve seen it in the faces of infants when they recognize their mother’s smiling face above. You’ve seen it on the face of an old friend across the room when she suddenly recognizes you…after all those years. And Doug Shulz, producer at Partisan Pictures, saw it clearly on my face, when he tapped me on the shoulder and pointed toward an old friend I hadn’t seen in nearly 35 years.

When we humans recognize a friend, our faces convey it with a distinctive widening of the eyes. Combine that with the surprise of seeing someone we aren’t expecting to see, our eyes grow even wider, often accompanied by a cartoon-like jaw drop. Judging from Doug’s expression while observing my face, I can only imagine how wide my eyes were. Since we were 20 feet beneath Cuba’s Gulf of Mexico waters, it must have been difficult for him to discern between an expression of surprise and delight versus a textbook example of wide-eyed diver panic. My eyes were transfixed on my old friend with a funny name whom I hadn’t laid eyes on since I was a teenager. Larger than life, vibrant, and embracing the sun, my friend was very much alive and healthy, clearly enjoying the good life in Cuba.

Underwater cinematographer, Shane Moore films an enormous stand of healthy Elkhorn coral (Acropora palmata) near Cayo Levisa, Cuba

At times I had doubted I would ever see Acropora palmata again — known to most as Elkhorn coral — but here it stood as dramatically and triumphantly as it had a generation ago, before most of its kind vanished from the Caribbean. Acropora has been described as the “poster child” for decline in the Caribbean, decimated by bleaching, white band disease, hurricanes, and other factors. Recent scientific papers, pointing to the nearly 95 percent loss of this genus in areas like the Florida Keys, have pointed out that such a grave loss has seriously altered “the fundamental dynamics of shallow-water community structure.” So emblematic is Elkhorn coral to the healthy coral reef, and so heart-wrenching has been its loss, that, while Vice President of Ocean Conservancy, I lobbied hard — and won — to have its image included in the organization’s redesigned logo. You can’t miss it, at the bottom, to the left of the humpback whale.

Healthy brain corals were abundant near Cayo Levisa, Cuba

I knew from data and photos taken by colleagues that such corals flourished in Cuba. And on previous expeditions, I had even glimpsed small patches of Acropora, clinging to reef crests, standing tall before the breaking turquoise waves. But in my wide-eyed encounter, I was breathless. I beheld not just a small patch of healthy coral. I saw stand after stand — a forest of glorious, healthy mustard-brown Acropora, as far as my eyes could see in the fading afternoon sun in the blue-green beneath the waves. Doug, along with renowned cinematographer Shane Moore, had found it before me and were already capturing frame after frame of video for the PBS series, “Nature,” an episode on Cuba scheduled to air sometime in 2010. But all I could do was sit and stare…and occasionally breathe.

Denuded mangroves evidence the power of 2008's Hurricanes Gustav and Ike, which passed through here within a week of one another

Producer Doug Shulz of Partisan Pictures (L) and Underwater Cinematographer Shane Moore (R) on location filming for the PBS series, "Nature"

What made this sight even more incredible is what we had just seen above the surface. Nearly a year ago to the day, not one but two major hurricanes — Gustav and Ike — converged on this area within a week of one another, causing tremendous damage. The storms tore millions of leaves from the islands’ protective mangroves, leaving a tangled fringe of rotting, brown branches along the coastline. What were formerly aids to navigation are now, as Shane pointed out, hazards to navigation, bare wooden posts protruding from the channel, stripped by the winds of their painted markers and lighted beacons. And there was damage underwater, too. The storms toppled dozens of corals, especially Acropora, which lay on their sides or broken into small piles of coral rubble. Some of them were massive, surely many decades old. But even among such wreckage there was cause for joy. Already the Acropora were growing back, and rapidly so. Many of the dark-brown, algae-covered dead branches were tipped with bright, mustard and white extensions several inches long, healthy, young coral exhibiting a quality that conservation biologists long to see in organisms like corals: Resilience. The ability of species to rebound from untold stress, to endure while others perish, we look for areas in the world where corals are resilient. Sadly, despite our efforts, the situation for corals will likely get worse before it gets better. Finding and protecting resilient areas is akin to emergency room triage — protecting those areas with the best chance of survival that may, in turn, help neighboring and downstream areas to recover when conditions eventually improve.

So why Cuba? Why do corals here flourish while just 90 miles to the north in the Florida Keys, and points east throughout the Caribbean, corals lie dead and dying? There are theories, which I’ve covered in an earlier post, “Can Cuba’s Mysteries Help Save the World’s Coral Reefs?” Decyphering this mystery is central among the goals of our ongoing collaborative research efforts with the University of Havana’s Center for Marine Research (Centro de Investigaciones Marinas), where nearly 20 graduate students are using this research as the basis of their Master’s theses and doctoral dissertations.

A lobster fisherman near Cayo Paraíso (Paradise Key), so-named by Ernest Hemingway

It’s also a top priority identified by a unique tri-national (Cuba, Mexico, USA) effort I’m helping to lead to elevate international collaboration in marine science and conservation to a new level. (See related articles at 1planet1ocean and the New York Times.)

As we rested aboard our boat between dives, a lobster fisherman paddled into view in a tiny pneumatico rowboat buoyed by rubber inner tubes. Gliding upon the warm emerald waters against the backdrop of a small, tranquil key, beneath the dramatic mogotes of Pinar del Río province along the mainland, it seemed a scene conjured up by the pen of Ernest Hemingway. As if reading my mind, our captain and guide, Rolando, pointed toward the key and identified it as Cayo Paraíso, Paradise Key, so-named by Ernest Hemingway himself. It’s not the official name of the tiny island, but the locals and the nautical charts all refer to it as Cayo Paraíso. Rolando reminisces about camping on the island with his father. The hurricanes of the past year have washed away nearly half of the island, and I detect a bit of sadness on Rolando’s face. But at the same time I can’t help but think about the paraíso I had just seen beneath our feet. It might be one of a handful of places in the Caribbean that still looks as it did when Hemingway plied these waters. I imagine him returning, wide-eyed, to greet his old friends.

The destination was Seacamp, a marine science camp on Big Pine Key, the largest of the Lower Keys, roughly 35 miles east of Key West. As the chartered bus headed south over the old, narrow Overseas Highway, I marveled at the turquoise waters below me. I also marveled at the bus driver’s ability to keep us alive along the narrow pavement laid down upon the trestles where the Flagler Railroad once ran, long destroyed by a terrible hurricane. The railroad track now made up the guard rails.

Founded in 1966, Seacamp was among the first marine science camps and my 15-year-old, Philadelphia-raised perspective was about to change permanently. For my 15th birthday, my parents obliged my obsession with the TV series, “Sea Hunt” (starring Lloyd Bridges) and granted me my wish: SCUBA lessons. Thanks to an ad in “Boy’s Life” magazine, I found Seacamp, and in a day or so would find myself entering that world I’ve never really left since. Nearly 40 feet below the surface, I was sitting in white sands in those warm, turquoise waters, six miles due south of Big Pine Key at Looe Key, now a National Marine Sanctuary, curious angelfish eyeing me and drifting across the reef.

So powerful were the experiences I would have in those few weeks that I returned for three summers as a camper, followed by eight summers as an instructor, and I’ve never lost touch for long with the camp’s leaders, Irene Hooper and Grace Upshaw, who are still changing lives there today. I knew before the end of that incredible summer in 1974 that I had found a cause worth dedicating myself to. The oceans were incredibly beautiful, tantalizingly mysterious, but to my amazement — even back then — in grave peril. Like so many others, I thought the oceans to be too vast and limitless, and to my eye, appeared so pristine that it was hard to imagine that we were already taking too many creatures from the sea and dumping too much of our waste into it.

A Seacamp flattop teaching vessel at Looe Key (Photo courtesy of Seacamp Association)

My treasured memories of Seacamp would fill a volume, but a few came to mind this morning as I realized that it was June 24, the first day of camp for more than a hundred new campers, settling into their new bunks for the next two and half weeks. I remember being first to the bottom on a deep dive to 125 feet and finding a collosal sea turtle asleep just inches from where I stood. I remember surfacing from a dive to find it hailing sideways, our boat surrounded by three menacing waterspouts. I remember peering down into the water from atop the old Bahia Honda bridge at night to see the slow-moving, eerie sillhouette of an enormous shark, illuminated by the bioluminescent plankton in the water. I remember seeing my first tarpon underwater — massive, prehistoric-looking fish, a group of six swimming past me, their huge scales gleaming in the morning sunlight like polished silver. I remember Mel Fisher, discoverer of the Spanish Galleon, Atocha, proudly slapping a silver ingot he recovered from the wreck onto a table top, its great report stunning the audience into silence, then boastfully telling us it was worth 50 thousand dollars! I remember my surprise at seeing tiny Key Deer quietly yet swiftly swimming from island to island in the backcountry. And I remember laughing harder than I’ve ever laughed as two dolphins hijacked the canoe of two of my students and gave them the ride of their young lives. (I almost lost my job over that one — a tall tale for another time.)

Today, many Seacamp alumni are my close friends and colleagues. If you saw the wonderful film, Arctic Tale, it was made by Seacamp alumnus Adam Ravetch, who’s gone on to become a major underwater filmmaker. Dr. James A. Bohnsack, who was my favorite instructor at Seacamp and someone I consider one of the biggest influences in my life, is the Team Leader for Ecosystems and Biodiversity Investigations in the Protected Resources Branch at NOAA’s Southeast Fisheries Science Center in Miami. His voice and leadership have been critical for protecting fish resources. Dr. James D. Thomas, a good friend and colleague, is a professor at NOVA Southeastern University and has traveled the world in search of tiny crustaceans called amphipods and helping to unlock environmental trends through patterns in their distribution. Jim is helping us now identify the myriad of amphipods we collected in the Bering Sea during the Greenpeace-led expedition in 2007. I recently met fellow Seacamper, Gaelin Rosenwaks, at the Explorer’s Club in New York and learned of Global Ocean Exploration, a company she founded to “devoted to bringing cutting-edge expedition research science to the public through photography, writing, film, and web-based products.”  As I write this, Gaelin is blogging from aboard a research ship near the Hebrides studying salmon. Not all Seacampers go on to work in marine science…in fact, most don’t. Some are accountants, attorneys, software engineers, interpreters, teachers, etc. But I doubt any can forget their Seacamp experiences, and most I’ve met since continue to hold a special place in their heart for the oceans and a greater, enduring awareness of their fragility.

When I began the Ocean Doctor’s “50 Years – 50 States -50 Speeches Expedition” earlier this year, my Seacamp experiences were, predictably, front and center in my mind. Young people have a natural fascination about the ocean, if only given the chance to experience it. I wish I could toss all of the nearly 10,000 students in the 12 states I’ve visited so far into those turquoise waters of Looe Key. Short of that, I hope that my words, images and videos can convey a small fraction of the wonder of those waters. From the heartwarming responses I’m receiving from students all over the country — even students who’ve never seen the ocean — I’m optimistic.

Big Pine Key coming into view as my flight returns to Miami from Havana

Never could I imagine in 1974 that I would spend a decade of my career working less than 100 miles south of the Keys on a large island, sitting at night with a mojito in my hand gazing northward toward the Keys. As I returned from Havana a couple of weeks ago and peered out the window (yes, I still prefer the window), the first land I saw was Big Pine Key, and there was Seacamp, still occupying that special corner of the island, and that special place in my heart.

Today I reflect on the experiences many of us Seacampers shared, like the pungent, organic scent of mangroves standing in bathtub-warm waters. Like the impossibly beautiful sunsets of painted oranges and purples, and knowing the next night’s would probably be even better. Like the earth-shaking roar from above that triggered our sprint outside to worship the DC3 kissing the treetops as a gray cloud of mosquitocide billowed from its hold on top of us. Like the mild sting of a Casseopea jellyfish in your armpits. Like the sound of the incessant crunching of colorful parrot fish’s beaks against the coral. Like the constant, steely yet curious stare of the barracuda. Like the sandpaper feel of a shark’s skin or the glassy smooth feel of the dome of a Moon Jelly on your fingertips. Like the sickenly sweet taste of bug juice. Like the light of the moon dancing on Coupon Bight as the splashes of distant fish echo in the night. To my fellow Seacampers, I think of you today — and most days. And to Eastern Airlines: A late but sincere thanks for the ride…I’ll never forget it.

Leg 2 was going far too smoothly. My flight to Tampa was early. The rental car bus arrived immediately. I didn’t get lost. The sun was shining. Maybe you’re like me, but when things start going this well, I get nervous. Turns out my gut feelings were right. Things were about to get…silly.

Like the expedition’s first leg to California, Leg 2 was also to familiar territory, to a state I had once called home: Florida. My many years in Florida, teaching at Seacamp in the Florida Keys, as president of The Conservancy of Southwest Florida in Naples, and co-chair of the Everglades Coalition, means that I’ll be returning here twice more to honor the flood of speaking requests I was honored to receive.

I hadn’t seen Kelly Samek in several years, since she had been the organizer of the Public Interest Environmental Conference (PIEC) at the University of Florida’s Levin College of Law. PIEC is a remarkable event, now in its 15th year, where attorneys and other professionals from around the state and beyond gather to shed their pinstripes, roll up their sleeves, and speak with brutal honesty and fervent passion about protecting what’s most special about Florida — its incredible natural heritage. PIEC is also admired for its notable parties, some of which are reminiscent of hippie days gone by. I was honored to be keynote speaker at PIEC several years ago, but the highlight for me was meeting author, Carl Hiaason, whose acid humor has done as much to raise awareness about Florida’s treasured environment and outrageous politics as any advocacy group.

Kelly had since gone to Tallahassee and was working for the Florida Department of Environmental Protection (DEP) in the Office of General Counsel, working on the front lines of land use law and endless controversial issues spawned as greed and backhoes continued to collide with cypress and woodstorks against the backdrop of the largest environmental restoration ever attempted in human history: The $10 billion restoration of the Everglades. Overworked and underpaid, Kelly was as energetic and optimistic as I remembered her, still sporting her good natured sense of humor, including the delightful shark badge riding on the back of her Toyota.

We spoke by cell phone as I made my way to the teaching auditorium, which I found was still occupied 20 minutes before show time. The news from Kelly wasn’t good: "The auditorium is double-booked." Turns out she was only half correct. It was actually quadruple-booked! It had been many years, but based on the shouting, jumping and hand waving I was seeing through the crack in the doors, I was pretty sure I was witnessing a Friday evening screening of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. A young student approached and told me she was supposed to be screening the Hitchcock classic, Dial M for Murder in the same room. And I learned later that some sort of circus program also laid claim to the room. My watch indicated 15 mintues before 7pm, our scheduled show time. In 2007 I had given an impromptu PowerPoint presentation to fishermen at the Dutch Harbor (Alaska) Airport, holding my laptop above my head — hopefully this wouldn’t be the case again here.

My new Hitchcock friend disappeared into the darkened room to see if she could plead my case. Miraculously, I saw the fluorescent lights illuminate a few moments later, and she emerged, telling me that the Rocky Horror folks would take their performance elsewhere. And so would she. In moments, the hall was empty, with 10 minutes to spare! The circus group never arrived, but fortunately Kelly and our attendees did, a wonderful mix of Kelly’s Coastal Law and Policy and other students from New College, along with senior volunteers from nearby Mote Marine Laboratory, an organization I have worked closely with for decades, including our current work in Cuba.

I wrestled with a rat’s nest of unfamiliar wires and managed to get an image on the screen. The projector was so weak that it was necessary to kill every light to make it visible to the audience. "Actually, this is appropriate." I said, thanking the audience for their patience as the program finally started, "Most of the planet’s life lives in the oceans, and most of it lives in complete darkness." As latecomers stumbled through the aisles, feeling their way to find their seats, I launched into an hour-long presentation.

When the lights painfully came back on, I was happy to see the size of the audience had grown and no one was asleep. This was a group that knew its stuff about the oceans — the Gulf was practically within spitting distance. Students asked me questions about coastal issues, and we talked about how in Florida, land and water are inextricably linked…what happens on land ultimately expresses itself in Florida’s coastal waters. And I was delighted to speak with a student named Catie, who is deeply inspired about the oceans. I told her about the newest partner to "join" the expedition, Our World – Underwater Scholarship Society, which awards incredible scholarships to college-aged students (freshman to recent graduates) to travel the world for a year studying with the A-list of ocean experts.

Kelly and I had a chance to catch up afterwards, and here again, another of my colleagues in the environmental world, overflowing with tireless commitment and dedication, was using her vacation time to advance the cause, in this case teaching Coastal Law and Policy at New College. How lucky her students are, and how lucky all of us are that even in tough times, such a spirit endures. During my introduction, I told the Mote volunteers how much I missed the hundreds of volunteers I worked along side of at The Conservancy of Southwest Florida. As with many nonprofits, it truly would have been impossible to do anything without them. One of the attributes of the U.S. that the world marvels at is the strength of our volunteerism, and I expect that as we forge through difficult months ahead, we’ll see even more clearly just how important the strong hand and caring heart of the volunteer is to all of us.

As I learn more and more about the diverse group of schools I’ll be visiting, I realize that I’ll be learning as much from them as they will from me. At first I had playfully called this an “expedition,” but in many ways, it really will be a voyage of discovery, in this case, to better understand what students around the country think and understand about our oceans. How many have never seen the oceans? How many are aware of the oceans’ problems? What are their career aspirations? The answers are bound to be different from Honolulu to Bellevue, Nebraska — or are they?

Years ago I taught marine biology at Seacamp/Newfound Harbor Marine Institute in the Florida Keys, and I suppose those roots are resurfacing now. I saw incredible transformations in the students we taught there. I remember teaching a Girl Scout program for five summers. On the first day of class I told the terrified girls that we’d be swimming with the (small) sharks in our holding pond on the last day of class a week later. And I remember well that last day of class when the girls were having so much fun swimming with the sharks that I couldn’t get them out!

I still believe in nature’s magic. Its beauty, wonders and mystery are potent and transformative, especially for a young student. I look forward to sharing my stories and adventures of the ocean with the thousands of students I visit during this project, to bring them a bit closer to that magic. And I eagerly anticipate the inspiration and enlightenment this incredibly diverse group of students — and their teachers — will bring to us.

Please accept my warmest wishes for an unscripted and very happy New Year!

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