Discussing the amazing background behind his love of the ocean and its stewardship, Dr. Guggenheim will draw from his lifelong experiences as a friend to Mother Earth including his roles as current president of 1Planet1Ocean and past vice president at The Ocean Conservancy. Guggenheim is also current expedition leader of the Ocean Doctor’s 50 Years, 50 States, 50 Speeches Tour to educate American children about the ocean’s critical importance to our futures.

But, one of Guggenheim’s most important projects involves not only America, but Cuba and Mexico, too. He’ll discuss his very unusual work and very special good news in Cuba about the Cuba Marine Research & Conservation project – “Proyecto Costa Noroccidental.” In cooperation with the Ocean Foundation, the Cuban project is a collaborative effort with the University of Havana’s Centro de Investigaciones. Studying and preserving the irreplaceable, rich marine and coastal wildlife of Cuba and the Gulf of Mexico, Dr. Guggenheim has observed some fascinating findings with invaluable implications for our little Earth.

Guggenheim discovered that Cuba’s coastal areas are in ecologically-sound shape. How can this be so since Cuba is only 80 miles from Florida’s Keys, where most coastal areas and coral reefs are dying or dead? Can the United States do the same things Cuba did to preserve its vital coastal areas? Is there anything you can do to help? Tune in on 8-24-09 at 8 AM Pacific [11 AM Eastern] to HealthyLife.net radio to find out!

After the live air date, Blue Planet Almanac radio will also be available in archive at Blue Planet Almanac radio archives – listeners can hear David by clicking the link next to his name and the show date of 8-24-09. The show will later be archived at Blue Planet Almanacs news site.

Read more at: http://www.blueplanetalmanac.com/

To celebrate my 50th, I’d like you to send me on a journey this year, a journey to visit our next generation, in their schools, and share with them some of the awe and wonder of my experiences in the sea, including the important lessons that go along with them. So I’ll be donating one speech to one school in every state and U.S. territory (accredited schools, public or private, K through college level). I’m waving my speaking fee and travel expenses. I don’t require anything except an enthusiastic audience and maybe a glass of water. (I would encourage a class project to find creative ways to offset my travel’s carbon footprint to your school.) I’ll show my videos, share my adventures, and my enthusiasm for the wonder of the deep blue part of the planet.

I’ll honor the first request I receive from each state and U.S. territory (Puerto Rico, U.S. Virgin Islands, Guam, American Samoa) and, of course, the District of Columbia. If you or someone you know would like to take me up on this offer, just fill out the Book a Speaker Form on the 1planet1ocean web site and indicate that you’re submitting the request for the “Free Speech” project.

I look forward to this adventure and wish all of you a happy 50th, whenever it arrives, or whenever it was.

The research vessel will depart from Havana in early- to mid-August for a planned 20-day expedition. Look for an expedition tracking page that will allow you to keep tabs on the expedition’s progress.

Last week, results from the first two expeditions were presented at the 11th International Coral Reef Symposium in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. Unfortunately, out of five invited Cuban researchers, only one was granted a visa to attend the conference.

“This summer, I find myself traveling in the Gulf region of the Middle East. The people here are extraordinarily friendly, warm, and generous. However, I don’t notice this goodness being shown only towards visitors such as myself. As I drive on a bridge over the ocean, I see people fishing, enjoying a stroll by the water, or simply sitting down, marveling at the infinite stretch of blue and turquoise in front of them. In their faces I can see a sense of appreciation. It is in these moments that I find myself realizing that while I may look different from the locals or be accustomed to different traditions than them, we are no different from each other when it comes to loving and protecting that which we are so fortunate to have. The oceans are no exception. The Middle East may still be catching up to my home country, the US, when it comes to anti-pollution measures and other ways to protect our seas. However, it is clear to me that the Middle East is not indifferent. With this in mind, I begin to think that the miles and miles that I flew over here will not succeed at creating a barrier between the hearts of people where I am from and where I find myself now.” — Anna Pavlichenko

May World Oceans Day bring you happiness and fulfillment, wherever your ocean lies.

A few technical notes:

• The posts on my original blog (hosted on Vox) will remain intact, but all new posts will only appear here. Note that I’ve included the first paragraph or so of all previous OceanDoctor posts on this site. For the full post you’ll find links back to the old site.

• If you subscribed to the news feed of the old site, chances are your feed will automatically be transferred to the new feed. However, to be safe, I recommend that you re-subscribe. If you haven’t subscribed yet, just look for the orange “News Feed” button at the upper right of this page.

• On the Vox site it was necessary to register before posting a comment. Here you have the option of registering or not — I’ll leave it up to you, but I do hope you’ll feel free to share your feedback, thoughts and experiences.

I want to take this opportunity to thank so many of you for your ongoing encouragement, advice and participation, and I look forward to another year of adventure, discovery, and watery fun.

Crew, Volunteers, Science & Sub Team (Photo by Todd Warshaw) Aboard Esperanza

I have always found the end of an expedition a bittersweet experience, and this time was no exception. I knew how once we were docked it would be impossible to recapture the uniqueness of this expedition, this crew, this ship. And sure enough, the real world began to waft in, first the pilot who boarded to guide the ship in. Then the officials at the city dock. Then the onlookers, fascinated with the presence of a rainbow-adorned Greenpeace ship nestled among the commercial fishing vessels and freighters.

We had a pizza party on the helideck and were joined by one of the curious onlookers, a local fisherman wearing a shirt adorned with the phrase, “Young Urban Cod Killers (YUCK).” I was relieved to hear that YUCK existed in name only — no such organization really existed — just good shock value for a t-shirt. But it was a reminder of the way much of the world looks at fish and fishing…and perhaps conservationists. Later at Dutch Harbor Airport, the back of a fisherman’s t-shirt read, “First Come, First Served — Dutch Harbor, Alaska,” bearing a picture of crab with its carapace replaced by a menacing human skull. The slogans convey for the fishing industry the same gold rush mentality and machismo of the Old West. The reality of life on land was returning too quickly.

Sub Pilots, Nuytco Team, ROV Team (Photo by Todd Warshaw)

As our pizza party continued into the chilly evening, I looked around in admiration at the crew I had sailed with and my fellow scientists and sub pilots. I had worked a bit with Greenpeace in Washington, DC but really had no idea what to expect upon a Greenpeace ship. What I experienced was a summer among capable and dedicated professionals who worked hard and supported one another. From the Greenpeace staff, crew and volunteers, I heard incredible stories of dedication, passion, and remarkable tenacity. I heard about Greenpeace’s emblematic “actions,” the unfurling of banners, chaining of bodies to earth-moving equipment, and other daring, ingenious, and often provocative measures to draw attention to critical issues worldwide. Such actions seem extreme to some, but as Greenpeace ocean specialist and fellow sub pilot, John Hocevar pointed out, many of the issues that it might have once seemed extreme to protest, such as dumpling nuclear waste in the ocean, now appear plainly wrong to just about everyone. Greenpeace has helped lead the way toward change.

Bald Eagle Atop Dome of Church of the Holy Ascension, Unalaska (Esperanza in Background)

I chatted with Penny, the boatswain, as she smiled and reflected on the expedition while she rolled a cigarette. The expedition represented her second tour as boatswain — her first was in the roiling southern ocean. She’s strong and tough as nails, belying her lean frame and goldilocks, and I marveled at the endless range of tasks she mastered and responsibilities she oversaw. Her gentle hand was often at the controls of the winch during launch and recovery of our subs, and her gentle soul always warmed the room. And there was Kate, a volunteer for the entire summer aboard ship, who gave new meaning to “Dirty Jobs.” Each day she would disappear for some awful task in the bowels of the ship, evidenced to many of us only at meals by the telltale patches of paint and grease that usually adorned her. There was Clive, a physician based in British Columbia, who takes leave from his practice for months to be aboard Esperanza as ship’s doctor and as many other tasks he can tackle.

And there was fellow sub pilot and Greenpeace action unit coordinator in Toronto, Kenneth Lowyck, a man who has retained his toughness and leadership as a keen tactician from his days in the military service, but whose passion for the arts and conservation is truly disarming. Ken told me the incredible story of when he was stationed in the tiny country of Djibouti in East Africa as a diver in the Belgian Marines during the embargo of Iraq leading up to the first Gulf War. At the marketplace he came across an awful sight — a sea turtle for sale, still alive and helplessly writhing on its back atop the pavement. Ken dug into his wallet and purchased the sea turtle from the vendor, hailed a taxi and asked the driver to head to the beach. The driver excitedly shared his favorite sea turtle recipes with Ken during the journey, unaware that this was a mission of mercy. Ken released the sea turtle into gulf, giving it another chance.

A Sea Turtle is Born in Alaska: Freddie Does His Masterful Work

Perhaps it was Kenneth’s story that ultimately made me do it…I’m not really sure. But something about Esperanza and the very special people aboard her led me to want a very special remembrance, and thankfully second engineer “Freddie” Toia was willing to help. In addition to being a skilled engineer, Freddie is also a talented tattoo artist. And so, aboard Esperanza, a sea turtle was born in Alaska and now lives on my shoulder, my first and only tattoo. She will be with me for the rest of my life, along with my memories of a special ship and its special people.

We spent our remaining days working to engage the community and share what we had learned. The eyes of fishermen and processing plant workers followed our Greenpeace zodiac with scrutiny, anticipation, and perhaps resentment. But I also saw the unmistakable look of respect — respect for an organization with a rich tradition of fighting without apology for what it believes, standing tough, enduring for decades. An organization that held its first protest nearly 40 years ago in these very waters. Beneath the veneer of Dutch Harbor and Unalaska, beyond “Deadliest Catch,” beyond the legions of transient fishermen that pass through this distant outpost, and tucked away from the mountains of crab traps and fishing gear lies a small but cohesive community of houses, schools, and people.

Greenpeace Briefing to Community in Unalaska

We visited with a number of residents in an event led by John Hocevar and Greenpeace oceans campaigner, George Pletnikoff, and we presented the first public showing of the video and images we had collected. The reception was warm and appreciative, and it was moving indeed to watch the faces of these residents marvel at their first glimpse of this never-before-seen part of Alaska, truly part of their home, a part integral to the Bering Sea Ecosystem upon which generations have depended. It was also moving to hear the despair in the room. So many in the community felt helpless against the powerful forces of the large seafood corporations, fishery councils and Washington, DC lobbies. I have heard such despair before, but also know that bottom-up, community-led grassroots efforts represent the best hope for change, and perhaps on that night a seed was planted.

Esperanza at Anchor off of Unalaska Community

Nearly 24 hours late due to Dutch Harbor’s legendary fog, our small plane finally rolled down the runway for the 3-hour flight to Anchorage. As we lifted into the gray mist, I leaned forward and peered intently out the window, straining to catch a glimpse of her. And through the clouds, there she was, her painted rainbow the only dash of color in the bleak, gray rain below. I was elated to see Esperanza one last time, still peacefully at anchor in Unalaska Bay. I sat back in my seat and smiled as I felt the warm pain of my new tattoo on my shoulder. After traveling thousands of miles, sea turtles miraculously return to the same beach where they were born to nest. And I know that some day my sea turtle will find her way back home — to Esperanza — again.

A bald eagle sits atop Unalaska’s Russian Orthodox Church of the Holy Ascension with Esperanza at anchor in background.
(Photo by David E. Guggenheim)

With a Terabyte (1,000 Gigabytes) of high-definition video, photographs and other data, along with numerous biological samples, now making their way around the world to scientists, policymakers and public forums, new insights and perspectives are emerging as the hard work of reviewing this vast volume of new data moves forward. The science team and sub pilots have departed Esperanza, which is continuing west along the Aleutian Island chain, continuing important outreach to local communities. The ship will eventually continue west to Japan.

Before departing Dutch Harbor, the science team/sub pilots made the first public presentation of its findings, including imagery and videos, to the community of Unalaska. The following day, members of the community were invited aboard Esperanza during an Open House to meet with the crew and see the ship up close.

Though the at-sea portion of the expedition has concluded, much work lies ahead in the analysis and review of the information collected. In addition, planning is underway for events to bring the new imagery and insights to the public, so stay tuned. Also, the team continues to review chart data regarding the pinnacles reported to be in the Zhemchug Canyon area which purportedly rise within 20 feet of the surface. Such features would certainly be biologically important, so the search will continue.

Greenpeace Ocean Specialist, John Hocevar (left) and Greenpeace Oceans Campaigner, George Pletnikov (right) lead community outreach event in Unalaska, Alaska. (Photo by David E. Guggenheim)

Pribilof and Zhemchug Canyons revealed diverse and complex ecosystems, rich with corals, sponges, fish and other marine life. They also revealed striking human impacts from trawlers, damage that was documented during the expedition. For a reflection on the conclusion of the expedition, read David Guggenheim’s latest OceanDoctor blog post entitled, “A Sea Turtle is Born in Alaska.”

The Esperanza carried two manned submersibles, a remotely-operated vehicle (ROV) and an international research team to the Bering Sea for a three week survey of Zhemchug and Pribilof Canyons,to map and document deepwater corals living at depths of more than 1,000 feet. The expedition was conceived of and was led by Greenpeace.

Track the Bering Sea Expedition: Esperanza’s Current Location, Weather & Live Webcam

Squid Attack!

It’s the fantasy of many a marine biologist and explorer. To catch a glimpse of the giant squid, alive, and in its natural habitat: The deep ocean. Giant squid have been scientifically documented at a size of up to an incredible 43 feet long based on specimens that have washed ashore. I’ve seen one such specimen at the Los Angeles County Museum of Natural History. Laying there pickled and motionless in its sterile white display case, it was hard to imagine this animal rocketing about the dark depths, living up to its reputation as a formidable predator. During one of his talks when I first met oceanographer Bob Ballard, he compared trying to find the giant squid from a submersible to trying to find an F-15 jet racing by, on a mountain top, at night, in a driving rainstorm, with a flashlight. Yesterday I had second thoughts about looking for the giant squid when one of its cousins, less than 2% of its size, disabled my sub and aborted my dive as I was descending through 1,300 feet.

In all the years I’ve been scuba diving, I’ve never been attacked by a sea creature. This, of course, excludes two unnerving but harmless remoras that simultaneously hitched a ride on my legs, or countless tiny dusky damsel fish that bit at my chest to defend their territory they felt I was invading, or stinging hydroids I accidentally brushed against. Never have I (knowingly) been mistaken for food while exploring the depths — until now. On almost all of our sub dives here in the Bering Sea, starting at close to 1,000 feet, we’ve encountered the “squid layer,” concentrations of 6-12″ squid, Loligo opalescens, which go by the official common name of “Opalescent inshore squid” but are more commonly known on the west coast as “California market squid.” My encounters with these mollusks have given me new respect for what I have come to recognize as sleek and skilled predatory missiles whose prey don’t stand a chance.

Squid Attack! Note squid on light, ink

Squid are truly jet-propelled. They swim faster than any other invertebrate by rapidly shooting water out of their mantle cavity into a jet stream nozzle they can steer, like a jet boat. Some squid have been clocked up to nearly 15 miles per hour. Underwater, that’s practically light speed. Our subs clock in at about 3 miles per hour. Their blinding speed, coupled with their armament of two powerful tentacles (in addition to their 8 legs), barbed suckers and razor sharp beak, give them quite an edge over their prey, which include small fish, crustaceans, and mollusks, among others. Many of the squid’s prey, like lanternfish, are bioluminescent, creating their own flashes of light. Squid are highly tuned to these bright flashes and are powerfully drawn to any source of light…like the lights of a descending submarine.

Fur seals on St. Paul Island

A massive triangle of light in the middle of the Sea of Japan is so brilliant it’s visible from space. The source of light was a mystery until someone realized that the fleets of industrial fishing boats that pursue squid know well about the squid’s lust for light. This triangle marks the position of the Japanese squid fishing fleet. Each vessel may have up to 50 lamps of up to 3,500 watts. The entire fleet may be using 200 megawatts to power these lights. That’s nearly 20 percent of the generating capacity of Unit #3 of Southern California’s San Onofre Nuclear Generating Station, enough electricity for nearly 250,000 homes.

Squid are commercially fished around the world, including in the United States. And squid are also taken from the sea as bycatch, the unintentional catch of one species when fishing for another. This has been a serous problem here in the Bering Sea when fishing boats seeking Alaskan pollock were hauling up far more squid than pollock, necessitating fishing restrictions. The seemingly limitless bounty of squid, as with so many other animals in the sea, has turned out not to be so limitless after all. They are a critical part of the ecosystem, voracious predators themselves, and, in turn, serving as prey for all sorts of fish, porpoises, whales and seals. The fur seals we saw on St. Paul Island are just one of the species that depend on squid.

Squid Attack! Two squid rocket toward starboard light

As I descended into Zhemchug Canyon yesterday past 1,300 feet yesterday, I reported to Mike at the navigation station on Esperanza that I had entered the “squid layer.” My external lights were on, as were Michelle’s in the other sub about 100 feet below me, so that we could maintain visual contact during the dive, a safety precaution at these depths. But to a squid, my lights meant a meal, and they pursued me with intent to consume. Ink was everywhere, they clung to the lights with their tentacles and attacked with their beaks. They torpedoed in all directions around me, leaving black clouds of ink hanging in their paths. So much ink accumulated it appeared that my lights were smoking. On the front of the sub was tied a mesh bag of styrofoam cups. Under pressure, the air in the styrofoam cups compresses, and the cups shrink to a fraction of their original size. The crew had creatively decorated the cups with clever slogans and artwork…a great souvenir. I noticed the squid were especially attracted to the white, reflective cups and grabbed onto the mesh bag, trying to reach the goodies inside.

What is it? We believe it's a squid egg case

I noticed something else — squid parts. Some of the squid ended up as calamari, having taken the unfortunate route to my lights through the sub’s thrusters. Suddenly, the thrusters sounded different, more faint. The sub was no longer descending and it began to spin. One of my vertical thrusters was offline. I tried powering the thruster circuit off and on again, reversing direction like you would on an outboard motor to clear debris, but to no avail. The sub did what it was supposed to do…it sacrificed a two dollar fuse to save a $15,000 thruster. I would not make it to the bottom, just another 400 feet below me. The topside team wisely instructed me to terminate my dive and prepare for recovery.

As I slowly made the ascent back to Esperanza, I realized my image of squid had changed forever. How different was my image of these agile, powerful animals from the my first sight of squid, compressed into a frozen block inside a cardboard box my father had pulled from the general store’s freezer in Cape May Point, New Jersey as we were heading off to cast our rods into the Delaware Bay. That image of the giant squid laying at the Los Angeles County Museum suddenly had life and gave me pause about the wisdom of maintaining the fantasy of pursuing such a formidable creature in the dark depths. But a moment later, I came to my senses. I’ll still take my chances for a fleeting glimpse of that magnificent animal. Later that day, I smiled when I read what one of the crew had written on one of the styrofoam cups: “No pressure, no diamond.”