Woven deeply into every speech I have ever given about exploring the oceans is a reverant tribute to Lewis and Clark and their epic expedition to the new American west. Dispatched by President Thomas Jefferson to explore the vast new territory recently acquired in the Louisiana Purchase, Meriwether Lewis and William Clark also searched, in vain, for the fabled northwest passage, a water route connecting Atlantic and Pacific through North America, sought by explorers for centuries as a shorter trade route. I always carry the audiobook version of their original journals on my iPod, and their own words describing their fascinating encounters with wildlife, native Americans, and emotional reflections on the profound natural beauty that unfolded before them continue to ignite my imagination and desire to explore as if I were still 12 years old.

As our flight began its final approach into the Rapid City area, I peered out the window and gazed upon the fresh snow covering the beautiful Black Hills of South Dakota, which stretched in all directions, fading softly into a white horizon. And though I had never before set eyes upon these parts before — this was my first to any state in this section of the contienent — the scenery felt strangely familiar and welcoming, as if I were revisiting a favorite childhood home. Perhaps it was the many poetic words of Meriwether and William that had taken root in my consciousness, but as we touched down I felt I had landed in a familiar, warmly welcoming territory I had never set foot in.

As I signed the paperwork at the rental car counter, I asked the agent whether I’d likely see anything if I made the journey up the mountain to see Mt. Rushmore National Memorial. She didn’t offer much hope — it was still snowing and conditions looked grim. But this would be my only opportunity and I told her I’d be happy just to see a nostril through the clouds.

The four-wheel drive of my latest rented Subaru Forester was of little help on the ice- and snow-covered roads winding away from the airport. I nearly slid through the first stop sign I came to. The main highway up the mountain was not much better and conditions became increasingly treacherous as the road became steeper and its turns sharper. The last few miles were typical of many of our national treasures — dotted with tourist traps, gift stores, and hotels boasting that theirs was the largest water slide. All were closed and on a Monday morning I was practically the only car on the road. At last I arrived at the park entrance. It felt a bit silly to pay 10 bucks to park in the nearly empty, cavernous parking garage (but I told myself it was going to a good cause after all).

With the morning temperature hovering at about minus 5 F, I bundled up and made my way up the stairs and caught my first glimpse of eight magnificent nostrils. The storm had cleared for the moment, and the sight of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Theodore Roosevelt, and Abraham Lincoln was magnificent and inspiring, a powerful and unusual nexus of nature, art , history and the indomitable human spirit, standing tall under the morning’s blanket of snow.

The peaceful silence of the morning was broken by the sound of a snowblower and a snow shovel scraping across the cold granite. National Park Service worker Megan McFarland was at the other end of the shovel, greeting me with a smile, frozen, snow-covered strands of her bangs sprouting from beneath her hoodie. Megan kindly oriented me to the Memorial, including, thankfully, where I could find a warm meal. As we chatted, I explained why I was there, a marine biologist atop a snowy mountain, almost exactly 1,000 miles from the nearest salt water. Megan smiled and told me that though she’s only seen the ocean once, she has always loved the ocean, has a sand collection, and even has a beach house with a view of Mt. Rushmore.

In photos of her home she emailed to me later in the week, I saw that indeed Megan’s mountain top home resembled a beach home I might find in Long Beach Island, New Jersey. It was full of shells she had received as gifts or bought herself, paintings of ocean waves, light houses, and statuettes of mermaids. And among the photos Megan sent, one showed that her beach house did indeed have a view through the evergreens of the face of Mt. Rushmore. "I’ve had an affinity for nature since I was a child. In fact, if I’d been raised near the ocean I probably would’ve grown up in a tidal pool. But growing up in the midwest, on a prairie in South Dakota, I’ve developed a greater appreciation for things of the ocean. My first visit was the Pacific at sunset I felt I had reached the heart beat of the earth," she wrote.

The next morning I arrived at an enormous building complex bearing the name "Rapid City Central High School." The cavernous interior was teeming with students…2,300 of them. I thought to myself that this school is 23 times the size of the high school I had just visited the previous Friday in Macksville, Kansas.

I checked in at the security station, where video feeds from all corners of the massive complex flickered on a computer monitor. A gentleman with a walkie-talkie escorted me through the sea of students, each bearing an ID badge around their neck. He handed me off to another walkie-talkie-equipped official that delivered me, safe and sound, to my destination, the classroom of Michael J. Slaback, who greeted me with a warm smile and joked about the size of the school — that it would make a good shopping mall. It would!

As Michael escorted me through the building to the auditorium where I would be giving two back-to-back hour-long talks that morning, I saw from the way students greeted him that he was well liked and one of those special teachers who takes the initiative to seek out and find rewarding opportunities for his students, even if it means working well beyond his role as a social studies teacher. He’s led Central High School’s National Ocean Sciences Bowl team along with its National Science Bowl team, and proudly showed me the trophies the latter had won at the regional level. Though I don’t remember how this came up during our conversation about science education, I’ll never forget the fact that Michael is also a vampire movie buff extraordinaire, with a collection of over 800 films! Michael has lived all over the country, and first encountered the ocean in a big way at the age of 27 in Boston, Massachussets, where he lived for a while and became enchanted with the feeling of a coastal community and the taste of fresh seafood.

Along the way I was introduced to Assistant Principal Denelle Sprigler who also serves as the school’s science director. Her first encounter with the ocean came during her honeymoon to Hawaii when she was 32. They arrived at night, and her face lit up as she described seeing the beautiful turquoise waters in the light of the next day. Denelle graciously expressed her gratitude for my visit, and we talked about the importance of such exchanges and how much we still have to learn from each other around such a large and diverse country. And it’s not just the oceans that we need to learn about. She told me that a few years ago a fellow teacher from an eastern city had asked her if Indians still live in teepees in South Dakota. She informed the individual, "No….they live in houses." It’s apparent that Denelle still can’t believe that such a question could have been asked by a teacher.

The first group assembled, around 200 to 300 students, including students from the local middle schools that came over by bus — it was too cold to walk. I met science teacher Rachel Rasmussen, who teaches grades 9 to 12 and has a most impressive range of subjects, including ecology, meteorology and geology. We talked about kids and science and the need for more scientists in this country. During my presentation, I show images of the Gemini and Apollo space program era, recalling the time when it seemed everyone wanted to be an astronaut or scientist when they grew up. No more. Only three or four hands were raised when I asked how many wanted to be a scientist. Rachel suggested that students may not be interested in science because they perceive it as too much work. I asked the audience directly. She was right — lots of hands. "Being a scientist is a lot of work, but it’s never too much work if you enjoy what you’re doing." I said, trying to convince them that being a scientist is, actually, cool. I showed them the photo (above) I had taken of Mt. Rushmore and pointed out Teddy Roosevelt, a champion of conservation, cited as one of the reasons he was included in the monument. I asked the students, "Aren’t you glad that people like Teddy Roosevelt had the foresight to set aside some of our lands to protect them for you and your children?" I saw heads nod. And I spoke of how important it is for us to do the same thing for our ocean territory, which still remains largely unprotected. I also told them I was pretty sure Teddy winked at me.

When Michael saw I had brought a video camera with me, he sought out senior Joel White, who hopes to attend South Dakota State University next year and has a broad range of interests, including video. He was kind enough to video most of the second session, and I hope to post portions of it later. As a token of my appreciation I gave Joel a coveted Barack Obama Inauguration button that I brought with me from the recent events in Washington. I’ve been amazed and gratified at just how popular such items have been with young people during this expedition. I was also gratified at the number of students who approached me after each of the presentations to express their interest in the oceans — roughly half here had never seen the ocean.

As I dashed from Central High School to the airport I saw something I hadn’t yet seen on this trip: Asphalt. I heard the radio announcer say it was going up to 9 degrees that day "A scorcher!" he exclaimed, as the snow slowly began melting from the streets. I had left on the early flight the previous day to give myself a few hours to explore, but it wasn’t nearly enough. I wanted to see more of the Black Hills, of this strangely familiar place that speaks to me in its unique way. And as South Dakota faded from view beneath the clouds, my thoughts drifted to Lewis and Clark, and then to my chance meeting with Megan McFarland, her beach house in the sky, an individual more closely connected to the oceans than many I know who live within a stone’s throw. And I thought of my own deep connection to the scenery below, perhaps the unlikeliest of landlocked locales for an ocean doctor. It’s a place I waited 50 years to see, but a place to which I will surely return.

I hadn’t been to Kansas in 25 years, since my then-girlfriend’s ’72 Dodge Dart broke down at 2 AM square in the middle of our transcontinental journey to San Diego. The dash went dark, the engine quit, and the car silently rolled to a stop on the shoulder of the Interstate. I opened the hood and was greeted by flames, which I somehow managed to blow out, probably with the help of the ever-present midwest winds which were howling that night. They had to wake up a State Trooper to rescue us. Twenty five years later, the winds still howl as I remember them.

I’ve heard friends and colleagues who prefer the coasts and their cities refer to the midwest derogatorily as "flyover country," knowing it only as the patchwork of farmland seen from 37,000 feet, dotted with enormous, colorful circles created by center-pivot irrigation systems. But stopping here long enough to breathe the air, feel the wind, and meet the next-generation of Kansans gave me a far more meaningful and rich perspective about this special place.

Macksville, Kansas is not far from the geographic center of the lower 48, about a 2.5 hour drive from the nearest major airport in Witchita, an unlikely place for a marine biologist to be barreling down the highway, sipping coffee, and mentally preparing to talk about the oceans. I passed miles and miles of farmland and just a handful of gas stations and restaurants along the way. When my GPS announced my arrival, I was greeted by a windswept sign, a small, timeless community of modest homes and winter fields bearing the remnants of the past fall’s crops, swaying with the constant wind.

I received a warm greeting from High School principal, Rusty Wrinkle, and he took me to the classroom of science teacher, Carrie Newdigger, who had invited me to speak. Carrie is no ordinary science teacher. She has made it possible for her students to compete in the National Ocean Sciences Bowl and this year, the National Science Bowl. And last year Carrie came to Washington, DC to be honored. The White House awarded her as a recipient of the Presidential Award for Excellence in Mathematics and Science Teaching for 2007. Awardees are selected from mathematics and science teachers in all 50 states and the District of Columbia and were in the Nation’s capitol from April 28 – May 3, 2008, to receive the award and participate in a variety of educational and celebratory events. Like several others would that day, Carrie welcomed me to the "middle of nowhere." Another teacher asked me why I came to Macksville — after all, there are bigger schools in the cities. I replied, "That’s the point, bringing this kind of program to places where the students wouldn’t otherwise have the opportunity."

My first talk of the day would be to the grade school which occupied the northern half of the building complex. Grade School Principal Laura Davis warmly welcomed me and I began to set up in the library for a group of roughly 100 students. The childrens’ clothing spoke to the agricultural focus of the region, as I spotted "John Deer" and other such logos adorning their t-shirts. Though half of the students had never seen the ocean, I was impressed to see how many regularly watched National Geographic, Discovery, and other nature shows — especially Deadliest Catch (if you consider that a nature show) — and held intense interest in the oceans, and the questions came rapid-fire: "What’s your favorite shark?" "What’s the scariest thing that ever happened to you underwater?" "Have you ever been attacked by a shark?"

OK, so perhaps they’ve slightly overdosed on Shark Week, but it gave us a chance to talk about sharks, their bad rap, and how they really have more to fear from us than we do of them — we’ve eliminated nearly 90 percent of the large predatory fish from the oceans — including sharks — over the past 50 years. I told them the story about my days teaching a Girl Scout program at Seacamp in the Florida Keys, which I described in a recent post. 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. The Macksville students were fascinated that sharks weren’t necessarily something to fear, but to appreciate.

I was treated to my first real school lunch since high school. And it was my favorite — cheeseburgers — served on the same plastic green tray I remembered from so long ago, with little depressions to hold the baked beans, french fries, and dessert. As the cafeteria transformed into an auditorium, I set up once again and this time addressed the entire high school student body — all 100 of them. Like the morning group, half of these students had never seen an ocean before. I was pleased to see lots of the faculty and staff sit in, along with a reporter from the nearby St. John newspaper. Afterwards I told Rusty how impressed I was with the great behavior of the students in both sessions, a feat not easily achieved.

I wasn’t done yet. Carrie invited me back to her classroom to talk with her small group of students preparing for the upcoming Science Bowl, who stayed after school for our chat. What was supposed to be a coaching session for the students became an education for me. I’m grateful to students, Tyler, Justin, Luke and Hannah for sharing their thoughts, dreams and experiences with me. Hannah and Tyler are interested in pursuing science careers relating to animals. Hannah is interested in feedlot nutrition issues. Tyler lives on a farm where they raise cattle, and has enjoyed his travel to livestock shows in Colorado and elsewhere where he’s learned a lot about the field, including genetic selection. He also indicated that he just enjoys listening to all the accents at such events. Justin is seriously entertaining the thought of pursuing a law degree.

The students were shocked to hear me quote a statistic from the book, Last Child in the Woods by Richard Louv, which indicates that the average American child spends less than four minutes a day outside in unstructured activities. These students spend hours upon hours outside and love every minute of it. When not involved in farming activities, they’re fishing, hunting and trapping. Tyler talked about how hunting bobcat in Kansas can be lucrative. The furs are sold in Canada and Russia where they’re made into coats. Justin talked about his fishing experiences, though the nearest water bodies are quite some distance. We talked about the possibility of bringing next-generation aquaculture to Kansas and how it might fit well within a community that already knows how to farm.

Our chat ventured into some political areas, like global warming. They asked me pretty directly if I believed global warming was real. I explained that I had been working on the issue since the late 80s, and even back then the vast majority of scientists concurred that human activity was changing our climate. The real "debate" is centered on how much and how fast our climate is changing, which makes setting policies quite challenging. They seemed to accept my perspective, but did take the opportunity to express their concerns about carbon taxes being levied on cattle. To them it seemed absurd to tax cow "emissions." As ruminants, cattle do "emit" a significant amount of methane, which is a much more potent greenhouse gas than carbon dioxide. "What about deer? Are they going to tax deer?" asked Justin. Yes, I can definitely see Justin as an attorney. And yes, I can see the bumper stickers, "Vote NO on the Fart Tax"

We moved from global warming to weather, and I suddenly realized I was visiting one of the communities that had been devastated by one of the strongest and most dramatic tornado events ever recorded. An immense tornado nearly two miles wide and measuring EF5 on the Enhanced Fujita scale virtually wiped Greensburg, Kansas from the map shortly before 10 PM on May 4, 2007. Eleven people were killed and more than 50 others were injured. It was one of 22 tornadoes that touched down in southern and central Kansas from the same thunderstorm complex. Macksville, just 25 miles to the northeast of Greensburg, was pummelled by the storm, and the homes and farms of all of the students, and their teacher, had been damaged. Thankfully, Macksville was spared the death toll of Greensburg, but a Macksville police officer was killed responding to the emergency. The students directed me to a spot a few miles south of the center of town where I could still clearly see the unmistakable mark of this unforgiving storm. I saw a small home recently rebuilt among a chaotic tangle of dead trees and branches, their tranquility against the setting sun belying what was an unimaginable fury that evening in May. Tyler, an enthusiastic videographer, put together this thoughtful video (below) that commemorates the event while also expressing their small community’s resiliance.

Video by Tyler, a Macksville High School Student

On my way back to Washington, I peered out of the tiny window at the plains and fields of Kansas far below and I thought about one of my messages to the students: That 40 percent of the continental U.S. drains to the Gulf of Mexico, that even here in the middle of Kansas, smack in the middle of the country, they are connected to the oceans. But I also thought about the messages from the students to me: That though they jokingly refer to themselves as the "middle of nowhere," it is in fact not "nowhere" or "flyover country" at all — it’s a special somewhere that they call home and care deeply about. And they care very much about their future; many of the students I spoke to weren’t in any hurry to move away. They were, however, eager to explore beyond Kansas. When students were raising their hands indicating that they had never seen the oceans, I asked how many of them wanted to see the oceans. All of the hands remained outstretched, high in the air.