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OCEAN Magazine Winter 2009, Issue 21
Atlantic Winter
by Tom Sheehan
For As Long As the Sun Shines
by Diane Buccheri
Worlds Apart
by Lance Willis
Atlantis Research Cruise
by Andrea Applebee
Taurus and Libra
by Richard Leonard
Mercurial Water
by Robin Lattanzio
Lucky Fools
by Ruth Hill
Woe Betide the Villainous Crown
by John Thomas Clark
Nimpkish
by Joy Ehle
Shark Concerns
by Felix Leander, Oceanic Dreams
and Patric Douglas, Shark Diver
West Coast Salmon Disappearing Act
by Cat Campbell
LAKE MATTAMUSKEET
CD Review
When I was a Kid
by Melba Milak
The Elusive Photo
by Nancy Dickeman
A glimpse into this issue . . .
 December talks its way up filaments of frangible shinbones old knees hang onto
and aches under the belly like bruised melons. The crusty edge of Rumney Marsh
remembers Baker Hill in pieces, flushed worms, in summer sometimes a shadow,
but now is awed in one circular gesture by the slick understanding of the cold and how
it means the hardened crawl of the calcified year. The sky tugs on clouds of dirty gray
bunting like an old man supine on a park bench operating an oft-patched coat up hard
beneath his chin. High up under the massing of the dark stitch work and thick repair,
birds, mostly gulls in the roughing, ride their interpretation of the day like radar blips
on a major screen. Deserted arms of maples, once tyrannical oaks, yield thin screams
traversing their limbs, eerie punctuation of frigid dance; ice ache transmitting its crisp
cracking long before masts rise again in spring, at sea painting the new landscape.
It is enough to know the reprieves after the stunning and the awe passing under the wind;
that the days grow longer counted by a handful of stars, that a dimly defied crocus bud
entombed in tiers of ice, waits to leap away with spring just now under the folded arms
of Earth; and craft under bubbles wait the performance of wind out of the northeast.
by Tom Sheehan
tomfsheehan@comcast.net
 It rocketed America’s 1969 astronauts to the moon.
Stars are primarily made of it.
The sun consumes 600 million tons of it every second.
It’s so light it floats out of our atmosphere yet it’s the most abundant element in the earth’s crust.
It’s the simplest element we know of with one proton orbiting around one electron in each atom.
The sun is a ball of hydrogen and helium gases. In its core, hydrogen atoms fuse, forming helium gas that radiates
energy into space, glowing out from its center. The sun’s radiant energy sustains life on earth, providing light and
warmth, causing plants to grow through photosynthesis, causing the wind to blow and rain to fall.
This lightest, most flammable, non-toxic gas on earth can be utilized to fulfill all of our energy needs, cleanly, with no
harmful waste, producing only water as its byproduct.
Fourteen times lighter than air, uncontained hydrogen gas rises and disperses, harmlessly. Uncombusted, in its pure
form (H) on earth, hydrogen is compounded with other chemical elements and makes up 90% of all earthly matter,
including all organic matter. Combined with oxygen, it creates water –– H2O, essential to all life as we know it.
Combined in various amounts with carbon, it forms different compounds such as methane (CH4), coal, and
petroleum. Since it is within all growing things –– biomass –– most of the energy sources we use today are produced
by hydrogen.
Existing as a contained gas at normal temperature and pressure here on earth, in weight it has the highest energy
potential of any fuel, and the lowest energy potential by volume. Obtained from a variety of sources –– water,
biomass, fossil fuels –– hydrogen can be compressed and safely stored and transported in large quantities, converted
to energy when needed, and a little goes a long way . . .
by Diane Buccheri
diane@OceanMag.org
Read more in this issue.
 At first glance the samples on Min-hiu Lin’s sample table appear ordinary enough. A dozen rough hewn fragments,
charcoal black and streaked with arteries of white marbling. A thermos-sized geode, split in half, burnt to ash and
lined with fool’s gold. The blackened stump of a metallic stalagmite. Identification tags lay alongside each sample.
Inscribed with blue ink, they read Finn, Hot Harold, and Hulk.
Reeking of brimstone and sulfur, the samples appear unlikely objects of scientific curiosity. In this case, however
appearances are deceiving. In oceanographic circles they are among the most sought after of prizes, trophies so
rare that scientists are willing to descend to the bottom of the sea to obtain them.
Lin, a diminutive Taiwanese scientist with short black hair, said that the Juan de Fuca Ridge is an area known for its
tectonic activity. “The Axial Seamount on the Juan de Fuca Ridge has been studied continuously since 1983,” she
said. “It has given scientists an opportunity to study long term the dynamics of volcanism and tectonism on Juan de
Fuca’s hydrothermal vents.”
On a recent dive, the research submersible Alvin explored Faulty Towers, a complex of what scientists call
polymetallic sulfide chimneys. Composed mostly of iron and sulfides, the chimneys form along undersea mountain
ranges called mid-ocean ridges. Ridges form when tectonic plates spread apart. As the plates separate, fissures or
cracks form, and magma rises to fill in the gap. The magma heats invading seawater to upwards of 400°C, but
hydrostatic pressure of 2 tons per square inch prevents the water from boiling.
The superheated water erodes surrounding minerals, forming a fluid rich in metals and sulfides. The hot slurry is forced
up through the seafloor, where it emerges in energetic geysers called hydrothermal vents. In the cold, deep seawater,
metal sulfides in the slurry condense and form plumes of black “smoke”. Over time, the particle-rich plumes
precipitate, forming stalagmite-like structures called black smoker chimneys. The samples on Min-Hiu Lin’s table are
pieces of three such chimneys . . .
by Lance Willis
Read more in this issue.
Solving the mystery of why salmon populations along the United States west coast have suffered a serious
decline has many people frustrated and scrambling to find answers. Fishing groups, environmentalists, scientists,
hatcheries, water experts, and state and federal agencies want to know what happened. The crisis has given
rise to speculation and accusation, but the only way to expedite a solution is for everyone to work together to
restore salmon to healthy, thriving, sustainable populations.
One step universally supported is the unprecedented shutdown of the west coast salmon commercial and
sport fishery for the 2008 season, and perhaps longer . . .
Michael Mohr, Salmon Assessment Team Leader with Southwest Fisheries Science Center (part of the National
Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s Fisheries Service), reminds us to look beyond comparisons between
years with the highest and lowest numbers on record.
“From 1970 through 1994, the number of spawners ranged from 81,145 to 238,704,” said Mohr. “It’s only relatively
recently, from 1995 forward, that the number has routinely exceeded 300,000. It’s interesting that all of the
articles I’ve seen on this topic only compare the 2008 forecast to the 2002 return, ignoring the broader context
provided by the longer time series.”
This broader context must be taken into account, as the fall run of Sacramento River Chinook has shown, since
1970, to cycle population upswings and declines . . .
After all the speculations, calculations, and accusations, time will tell what works and what doesn’t. In June of
last year, Monterey Bay fishermen reported a massive influx of sardines, and just as many Chinooks swarming
to feed on them. Salmon hooked by incidental catch were released. The
disappearing/reappearing act is just one more part of the puzzle and doesn’t mean the salmon collapse was a false alarm.
The salmon declines have spread awareness that ocean conservation and the health of freshwater rivers that run to it, are critical issues with widespread effects.
by Cat Campbell
Read more in this issue.
We were enjoying how wildly the ground was shaking. The deafening rumble increased with the incoming tide. Each wave passed
over the cabin roof and washed off the other side. We were snug, warm, and yes, dry, in our little cabin. It suddenly occurred to me
the sand under the cabin might be washing away. Oh, well, the windows were holding.
The ground rumbling reached a crescendo. Our eyes met. Instinctively the stronger adult reached for the older child, and I for the
baby. This had served us well in boating dangers, and tenting under a cougar. Now it served only to remind us how vulnerable we
were. This wave was different: a freak, increasing, increasing. The ground went out from under us like a long steady earthquake . . .
The early waves were fun, crashing over the house harmlessly. We were only three feet above high tide. This storm pushed much
water ahead of it, swirling around the house, washing onto the floor. If the house didn’t hold, we still had the crow’s nest. The
ground was still rumbling and the wave still coming. It seemed the whole ocean was going over our house.
Then we were inside the ocean, hearing it, seeing it, smelling it, tasting it, breathing it, feeling it, frightened of it, adoring it,
embracing it, thriving on it, dependent on its mercy, knowing it had no feelings. Then it was gone, with a huge breaking crash.
High branches broke off the older trees, and all the driftwood had disappeared. In its trough, the reef rocks resounded like kettle
drums . . .
by Ruth Hill
Read more in this issue.
And more!
Photograph by Derek Heasley, www.scubabreaks.com
Guest passenger Andrea Applebee goes where fewer people have gone before –– deep down to the bottom of the
ocean. From Atlantis, the submersible research vessel Alvin takes her down to one of the most secret places on earth,
where fewer people have been than outer space. "I sunk a long time and saw firefly-like bioluminescent creatures
float by, and we crawled along the mud and basalt floor to brightly painted benchmarks and took measurements,
seeing sea stars and cucumbers and tubeworms blue glowing and frail under all that water . . ."
" . . . with the moon blazing between us freezing us with its brightness eclipsing the past (and the future); and like the
lunar ocean we were lifted and dropped . . ." Poet Richard Leonard describes meeting a woman from his long ago
past in his living room.
Having met at age fourteen, and married at age eighteen, they raised five children and ran a successful business.
After thirty years, finally, Robin Lattanzio and her husband were free to travel. “I can’t do this anymore,” he said. “It’s
over. I want a divorce.” A wave washes over her, tumbles her on the ocean's floor. "Dazed, I lay on the beach crying.
The sun still shines in the cloudless blue sky. The waves lap at the shore. I rise cautiously, freeing myself from the ocean
detritus. I forgive the sea. I forgive him. I forgive myself."
"Then we were inside the ocean, hearing it, seeing it, sme lling it, tasting it, breathing it, feeling it, frightened of it,
adoring it, embracing it, thriving on it, dependent on its mercy, knowing it had no feelings." Ruth Hill, her husband,
and two children "found the beginning and the end of ourselves. We used all our wits and strengths, but in the end,
we were just lucky fools" on the journey of their lifetime. "Just a boy and a girl child, growing up wild, two adults who
know what freedom means . . . Downwind with dolphins we fly."
For the Adélie penguins, "trouble loomed" when B-15, a floe of ice, broke off the Ross Sea ice shelf. Blocked from their breeding grounds, poet John Thomas Clark tells us they paddled to safety and
survival by the South Pole.
Sailing off the coast of British Columbia, Joy Ehle realizes "There is probably a more scientific theory about the evolution of the orca, but I prefer Tlingit folklore." She swims with a killer whale who befriends
her and learns the truth of the legend.
Sharks have been swimming the earth’s ocean for about 450 million years, before vertebraes and before many plant populations colonized the continents. Now, many shark populations are in rapid
decline. "Time is a luxury that sharks are in short supply of," says Patric Douglas, CEO, www.sharkdiver.com. Felix Leander of Oceanic Dreams says of the people who care about sharks, "Too many
people have their own agendas and are just using sharks and their misfortune as an opportunity to springboard themselves to 'fame'. If everyone’s agenda was to save sharks, sharks would be safer
today." Freediver Derek Heasley's shark photograph lends grace to their accusations.
Where have the west coast salmon gone? California native Cat Campbell discusses the reasonings behind their disappearing act. Despite inconclusive research and answers, "The salmon declines
have spread awareness that ocean conservation and the health of freshwater rivers that run to it, are critical issues with widespread effects."
Long ago North Carolina's largest natural lake was drained, over and over again, from its original 120,000 acres, to 55,000, to emptiness when the lake bed, with some of the most nutrient rich soil in the
world, became desirable for farming, and desirable for the North Carolina economy. To combat the Great Depression, President Franklin D. Roosevelt employed his Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC)
with the development of Mattamuskeet National Wildlife Refuge and again it became home to 1,000s of migratory birds as it had been since before recorded history. And thanks to the
Mattamuskeet Foundation, now it is a place where people can visit to enjoy and learn from nature.
"When I was a kid I lived by a lake. It was Grand Lake in Celina, Ohio –– a small town of about five thousand people near the western edge of the state in the middle of the corn and wheat fields.
Grand Lake was constructed in 1837 as a feeder reservoir for the Miami-Erie Canal system by seventeen hundred men who worked from sunrise to sunset digging it –– for thirty cents and a jigger of
whiskey (thought to prevent malaria) each day." Later, it was from the ocean Melba Milak came to better understand and appreciate the lake.
Driving from "the eastern Washington desert to the Oregon coast summer after summer" Nancy Dickeman and her family, past and present, sought the Pacific's coast. Facing her mother's death and
her son's illness, "There is the ocean, turning us back to each other, and turning us around time and again: holding us in the tide’s keeping."
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