Today was quite a day. Running out of air is not a good thing when you are 30 feet underwater and, as one can imagine, can lead to a major disaster and even death. Not just because of the obvious possibility of suffocating but because of the urge to ascend to the surface too quickly and the deadly air embolism that such a rapid ascent can cause. As my lungs burned I had to keep control and methodically swim to the surface. Once there, I tore my mask off and gasped in the fresh air. Of course, when I got out of bed this morning such an emergency was far from my mind.

We always knew it was shaping up to be a long one, but I must say, it turned out to be a real slog. Don’t get me wrong, Tasmania is an incredible place and we are all thrilled to be here but we are all very very tired. The plan was to get to Port Arthur, the site of a convict penitentiary, and do several dives during the day and then head back to the Maori octopus site and do one last dive with them. So we started early and headed off to the Port. A pretty incredible place it is a powerful reminder that the oceans play a critical role in the development of our society, our culture, our past, our present and even our future. When Great Britain started sending convicts to Tasmania in the 19th century, it was only partly because of the distance from home. It also had a large part to do with the fact that southern Tasmania is bordered by some of the roughest seas in the world. A great deterrent to any convicts attempting to escape. Over a short period of time Tasmania received about 75,000 convicts who were forced into labor camps to build ships, mine coal, or harvest timber as part of their sentence. Port Arthur was one of the largest such convict camps and dozens of ships and tons of various goods were built there over the decades between the 1830’s and 1850’s.

Our goal was to explore some of the wrecks off the coast of the port and try to catch a glimpse of what life must have been like. Lucy chose a site right off the coast, where a small barge had sunk and where there was still a large amount of material still on the bottom. I was really looking forward to another archeological dive with Lucy, they are always so incredibly interesting, her knowledge and enthusiasm brings the entire experience alive. Unfortunately, our communications equipment went down and all we could hear was a constant buzzing in our ears that drove us crazy the entire dive. On top of that, one of my hoses malfunctioned towards the end of the dive and started spewing air violently, whipping around and rapidly depleting my oxygen supply. There I was minding my own business and all of a sudden it was as if an air bomb had gone off. I quickly assessed the situation as my air supply rapidly dwindled; I had no choice but to swim to the surface while I managed to keep my wits about me and not panic. It was a pretty scary experience, which served to reinforce the serious nature of what we are doing. Onboard the boat, everyone was pretty worried but I assured them that everything was alright. Once I had caught my breath I was a little shaken but more concerned about testing my gear and making sure I could do the next dive.

Apparently one of the valves hadn’t been seated in the regulator properly, which was promptly fixed and after a long surface interval to rest we were given the okay to get back on the wreck. The second time around the communications equipment still didn’t work (it had been down the first dive too) and I was very disappointed. While I could make out some of the material, not being able to hear Lucy crippled my appreciation for what I was seeing. Her knowledge and enthusiasm is infectious and can bring what would seemingly be a pile of rubble to life. Thoroughly cold, wet, and disheartened by the malfunctioning equipment we all made our way back to base. While the dive was an overall success it just seemed like everything was ganging up on us to make life difficult at best.

I kept my drysuit on for the journey to the octopus dive site so that as soon as we arrived we could pile the gear into the boat and head out on the water. We had seen an animal the night before so we were hoping to get a betting glimpse and more footage tonight. Well, that was not to be. By the time we made it out there, with the help of local fishermen who found some octopi, the visibility was so bad that even the camera couldn’t see more than a foot away. The communications were still going haywire and screaming static in our ears, the visibility was worse than I had ever seen it and the cold was creeping into our bones and successfully penetrated every nook and cranny of our beings. By 9PM we had struggled enough and called it quits. Thoroughly disheartened, we made our way to a late dinner and a welcome glass of wine before retiring to bed. Tomorrow we return to Port Arthur and then, weather permitting, to the kelp forests off shore but right now all I can think of is my head on my pillow.

After such a crazy experience last night, we were all exhausted by the time we got back to our rooms. I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow and slept on and off (still jetlagged) until I awoke this morning and had to quickly gather my gear together. After the difficulties we all encountered last night, we decided to spend the day fine-tuning our gear, in order to streamline the dive tonight. The challenge is that there is nowhere in the area that is deep enough from shore for us to dive. It requires a long laborious hike of several hundred yards, wading through knee deep and then waist deep water, before one encounters enough depth to be able to dive. With drysuits, one has to wear a lot of weight and walking all suited up is very difficult, especially when you have an entire dive ahead of you and then the walk back.

But aside from the cold, the heavy gear and the long slogs, it is a resoundingly beautiful place, and while not a coral reef, there is an abundance of life to be seen. All sorts of different starfish, colorful crabs, myriad fish and beautiful large leafy algae, otherwise known as kelp, which come in beautiful hues of red and green. We geared up, tested the communications equipment and spent a good hour and a half in shallow water, then took a brief pause to sit in the sun on the beach and returned to base to meet the rest of the crew and plan our night dive.

We realized we would have to temper our expectations about what we were going to get out of the dive. This is the first cold water film shoot and we are learning a lot very quickly. When it is warm and bright and one is wearing a thin wetsuit, the dives go a lot smoother and it is much easier to get good footage and content. In the cold, low visibility water, everything is much harder and goes much slower. Therefore, we are all realizing that each dive has to be very focused and we must be realistic about what we can accomplish.

As these things usually go, the octopi were easy to find on the reconnaissance dive and so no one expected it to be this hard. Thus, we decided to get in the water as quickly as possible and not waste any time. By sunset we were poised at the shoreline to jump in. The locals had advised us to be in the water just after sundown and swim across the bay slowly sweeping our lights. After wading with all our gear on for about 100 yards we were deep enough to start swimming. Exhausted, we slowly made our way along the muddy bottom, trying desperately not to stir up the mud. Ten minutes went by, 20…30…40 and still no octopus. We were getting really frustrated, you could see it in the body movement of the cameraman and Lucy, short bursts of movement and the odd curse that carried faintly through the water. After all this work to not see one again, after being assured of their abundance, was almost more than we could bear. Then, with the help of the topside crew in a boat, we got word that there was an octopus just ahead. Finally, we thought, now the challenge would be to find it in just a few feet of visibility. It took a few minutes but we did and none too soon. Just more than an hour into the dive we had little air left and we were all beyond tired, but it was worth it.

It was a magnificent creature, full size and a gorgeous deep red color. From tip to tip stretched out she was 8 or 9 feet and her mantle (the head area) had to be about 2 feet long. A massive octopus and certainly the largest one I have ever seen underwater. She barely seemed to notice us and only moved when I gently prodded her along. She was so patient with us that we were all sorry to leave her. The whole story is so sad, these myriad octopi that find their way to the end of the bay are stopped dead in their tracks by a small spit of land separating them from the ocean. These females have most certainly mated and are only looking for the right place to lay their eggs. The muddy bottom of Eaglehawk neck isn’t suitable and so they spend the last few weeks of their life stuck in a kind of tragic limbo until they die. Maori octopi only live for about a year and all of the specimens that end up here are about that old. They are terminal spawners which means that they die after they spawn and their eggs hatch. Somehow, geography has played a cruel trick on these creatures. Drawn by the moon, they are unable to finish their voyage back to sea and spend their remaining days aimlessly searching for a way out, unable to swim the many miles backwards in their weakened state. The dive was arduous and cold, but well worth it in the end.

As I lie here in bed, totally exhausted, I am looking forward to tomorrow when we get another chance to see these incredible creatures.

It was an early start this morning but with the jetlag waking me up every hour throughout the night, it wasn’t too hard to get out of bed. We met at the entrance to the hotel and everyone was in the state of limbo between being awake and asleep. Most of the crew had been awake tossing and turning since about 3 or 4 in the morning. It was only my superb ability to sleep under almost any circumstances that meant I could make it to 5 and then on and off until 7. We all perked up relatively quickly, as the clean crisp air settled in and the sun slowly climbed into the sky. It is very low latitude here and as we approach winter in the Southern Hemisphere the days become shorter and the sun dimmer. However, we have lucked out with relatively good weather and so I can’t complain. In fact, I am really enjoying the change of pace. Every other shoot has been an inferno. Hot locations have dominated the series so far and I am sick of it. It is really refreshing to be in a place like this. The air is clean and crisp, almost like biting into a perfect apple, with that perfect tart, refreshing jolt of energy that comes with it. Aside from the Arctic, this expedition is totally unlike the others and is a welcome change of pace if you ask me.

This morning we visited the Odalisque, our dive boat. It is a converted abalone fishing boat and perfect for navigating these waters. Once we boarded, we did the usual filming of the team loading the gear and getting settled. However, we were quickly notified by the captain that the weather was clear and perfect for the passage to Port Davey.

The Southern Ocean is a vast place which circumvents the southern part of the earth. It is a totally unique ocean in that it circles the globe without being interrupted by land. The continuous channel formed by the Southern Ocean is home to the world’s longest ocean current, the Antarctic Circumpolar Current. It is 13,000 miles in length and moves perpetually eastward. It has a powerful influence on the earth’s climate and is considered the biggest marine carbon sink absorbing a third of all the carbon dioxide taken in by the world’s oceans. The current is driven by powerful westerly winds that sweep around the Antarctic continent between the latitudes of 40 and 50 degrees south. Known as the roaring forties, they are some of the most powerful constant winds to be found anywhere on the planet. Several of the phenomena that we are exploring will require us to sail against these winds from Hobart on the eastern side of Tasmania to Port Davey on the western side. So we would have to take advantage of the good weather for the crossing.

The decision was quickly made for Lucy and I to disembark and stay on land for a few days to film the Maori octopus and the ruins of the old convict outpost at Port Arthur, while Tooni and Paul took advantage of the good weather to head to Port Davey. We were all sorry to be split up so early in the shoot but it happened for the best. We re-packed all our gear and headed for shore to get ready for the Maori octopus dive.

The Maori octopus is the largest octopus in the Southern hemisphere and can grow to over 8 feet from tip of tentacle to tip of opposite tentacle. I love octopus and was looking forward to this particular part of the expedition. The best time to see them is at night which was quite a difficult proposition. The weather is cold, the visibility is bad and being nighttime, the various factors that could go wrong were mounting. Both Lucy and I were looking forward to the Maori octopus but not to the dive itself. They are said to congregate in a small bay but no one is quite sure why. This is the only reported aggregation of octopi in the world, as they are normally quite solitary animals only meeting when it is time to mate. Why are they here? To mate? To feed? To spawn? Our goal was to shed some light on the mystery.

We got in the water around 8:30 and it was cold…really cold. While drysuits are a real pain to wear, adding to the amount of cumbersome gear that we already have to contend with, they do keep you nice and warm. Drysuits are totally waterproof full body suits with tight seals at the wrists and neck. They are called drysuits because they are dry inside unlike wetsuits that allow water to flow underneath. This allows you to wear clothes and thermal underwear and keeps you much warmer. However they are much more difficult to dive in and add to that darkness, very low visibility in what was a very muddy place, and a hood that isn’t designed to wear a full face mask with (in fact no hood is designed for our masks) and you have one hell of a difficult dive.

It took us almost an hour to get geared up and once we finally got in the water it hit any exposed piece of flesh like a thousand needles being pressed upon you all at once. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, our communications equipment went down. Everything was going wrong but we forged ahead regardless. Of course, after an hour of feeling our way through muck, desperately searching for what are supposed to be rather abundant octopi, we came back to shore empty handed. It was a terrible blow and both Lucy and I were very frustrated. That was one of the most difficult dives of my life and we have nothing to show for it.

We will dive it again tomorrow night and the next if we have to. I am confident we will see some, we have to, we have gone through too much work not to.

Tomorrow is another day, keep your fingers crossed for me…and my sanity.

Well, last nights festivities did nothing for my jetlag. I didn’t overdo it but with the time change and lack of decent sleep these past few nights it definitely hit me. It was worth it though, wandering around the harbor front in the evening, having a nice meal and getting to meet a bunch of locals was just the kind of immersive social experience that we rarely get to do. It really gave me a feel for the place and I must say Hobart is a charming and very friendly place, it kind of reminds me of some of the Scottish cities I have visited and I really liked it.

The dive physical came and went without a hitch and the doctor diagnosed me in perfect health and great shape. While we already knew this, thanks to other routine checkups I have had recently, jumping through hoops is just another part of travel. The team at the hospital was first rate and very helpful, so we had little cause to complain. After the physical, it was off to Eaglehawk Neck to meet up with the rest of the crew and do our shakedown dives to test out our drysuits and other new equipment. It was also a chance to work with some of the new crew that we have on this trip.

Australia requires film crews like ours to have at least one-third of the team be from Oz. That really threw a monkey wrench in our program, as we have all become quite close over the last few months and we have it down to a smooth routine now. That kind of psychic connection kicks in after you work with a group of people like this for so long. You just know what everyone is thinking and work gets done a lot quicker and a lot smoother. So the idea of having new people on the crew was really annoying to say the least. In this case however, we lucked out.

The production team managed to get Peter West and his crew as our dive safety/assistant camera crew. When I heard that they would be joining us I was really excited. Peter, Ben and Teresa are the same group of people that were handling the diving for us last time I was in Australia, a year and half ago. That was when I was filming Ocean’s Deadliest with Steve Irwin. Of course, it was one morning when the rest of us were prepping for a Tiger Shark dive (Peter’s specialty) that Steve went for that fateful snorkel and was killed when a stingray barb pierced his heart. Peter and his team were great through the aftermath of the accident and handled it professionally and gracefully. They were there and gave us all the support we needed.

I have to admit that I was a little apprehensive about returning to Australia. This country carries some difficult memories and I didn’t know what to expect when I flew here. Having Peter, Ben and Teresa here with me is really comforting. I think that there is a special bond that develops between people when you go through an experience like that; watching a friend die. A kind of bond that no one else can understand, who didn’t share it. They are great people and I am really glad that they are here with us. Tomorrow we prepare for our first dive, the Maori octopus and I am really excited.

Till then…

After 21 hours I finally made it to Hobart. Good Lord, no one should ever have to spend 15 hours in an airplane, and that was only the LA to Sydney leg! I admit though, the long flight was worth it. Tasmania is a beautiful country and one of those places that I don’t think I would have ever otherwise visited. Not because it isn’t an amazing place but because it is just so far away and not one of your typical tourist destinations. I must say though, when Tasmania came up on the list of possible destinations for the series, I was really excited. Much more than just the home of the Tasmanian Devil, though I am a huge Looney Toons fan, Tasmania is a wild and relatively unpopulated place still abundant in wildlife both above and below the water. From Leafy Sea Dragons to Australian Fur Seals this expedition is going to be one of the most exciting and unique of the entire series. We arrived mid-day and, Peter West (dive safety), Ian (camera assistant/photographer), Ruth (researcher) and I headed off to a hotel in Hobart. The rest of the crew made their way to Eaglehawk where we will be staging much of the trip. Ian and I have to stay in Hobart until tomorrow where we have to take a dive physical, ours are out of date, and then we will meet up with the rest of the team tomorrow afternoon.

I can’t say either of us was sorry to spend the day and night in Hobart. It is so rare that we get to spend time in a city, getting a feel for the urban side of the place we are in. So we wandered around the harbor district, a part of town called Salamanca, and strolled through the Sat market before heading back to the hotel for a nap in preparation for a night out on the town. Ian has an old friend that lives here and so we met up with him to grab a bite to eat and go to a birthday party for one of his friends. Without going into details we had a great time, the Tasmanians are incredibly friendly and as we hopped from bar to bar it was all handshakes and smiles. It was rather late when we finally called it a night and returned to the hotel and that is where I am now, staring longingly at the bed and looking forward to catching a few hours sleep before we make our way to the hospital for the physical tomorrow morning.

This is going to be quite an adventure, I can sense it already. Everyone is in high spirits and we are reunited with Penny who was with us on many of the early trips but left after Africa to prepare for Tasmania. She is the producer on this one, so she has been working hard to get everything lined up. It is great to see her again as she has been sorely missed by the entire team.

Until tomorrow…

Clean underwear is a beautiful thing, the kind of beautiful thing you take for granted until you don’t have it any more. I’ll explain later, but we must start at the beginning to find understanding. My trip started out at 2PM on Shab Rumi reef. Everyone was in high spirits because Paul had finally seen hammerhead sharks on the last dive of the trip …30 of them!! Tooni and I didn’t feel so bad that we had seen them the day before. It was a total success and so we wrapped the film on a very high note.

After our 2-hour transit back to Port Sudan I spent the next hour or so packing up my gear and getting ready for a long journey home, but little did I know just how long it would be. After a quick dinner and the usual goodbyes, I was off to the airport. I was leaving a day earlier than everyone else because I had to be in Chicago to give a keynote speech at an annual meeting of environmental health and safety executives from Eaton Corporation. They were making a donation to EarthEcho for my time and it was imperative that I get to Chicago by Monday, but no worries, I had plenty of time, enough for a layover at home in DC Sunday night, before flying up to Chicago for an early morning trip.

So, my flight from Port Sudan airport was scheduled to leave at 11PM…the operative word being scheduled, with my connection out of Khartoum to depart at 3:45AM. So we boarded the plane about an hour late but I was still confident I could make it, it was tight but how much worse could it get, the plane was here and we were boarding. Well, it got worse. The baggage machine broke loading the plane so for about 3 hours we sat there and I watched the clock as it ticked to 1:45, 2:45, 3:45, 4AM when with a lurch, we started our taxi and headed up to Khartoum. At this point I knew I was in trouble, all the western bound flights leave Khartoum early in the morning the last one at 5:45 and there was no way I was going to make that flight. We landed at 5:30AM and with no sleep I was blurry eyed and nervous…to say the least. So I called the travel agent at Discovery who is one of the most amazing, kind, helpful people I know and after working for well over an hour, managed to get me onto a flight to Istanbul where I would have a 5 hour layover and then fly to London where I would spend the night and fly direct to Chicago.

While it meant that I wouldn’t be able to go home and get clean clothes I was grateful that I would make the speech. So I flew to Istanbul and was greeted with the wonderful news that my flight to London had been delayed. I was scheduled to leave around 5, arrive at 7 and get a good nights rest in the airport hotel. That was not to be, as it turned out we didn’t leave Istanbul until 8 PM, bound for terminal 5 at Heathrow things were about to get worse…and what about the underwear you must be wondering, well hold on I will get to that.

On a three-hour flight I was able to get an hour or so of sleep and when we landed at 10:30 there was still a glimmer of hope that I might make it to the hotel in time to catch a few hours before my early flight to Chicago. However, that was not to be, if any of you have heard about the disaster that is Heathrow’s new Terminal 5, it is all true. First we sat on the ground for another hour because there was no one to meet the plane and extend the jet bridge. Then customs was a total nightmare and took over an hour to pass through as there was no one there and no one to direct the line which ended becoming a mass of people all tired and jockeying for pole positions. Then, the fun started.

Our bags were scheduled to come out of carousel 9 so all the passengers dutifully lined up and waited…and waited…and waited some more. An hour went by and we all started to worry. Only a handful of bags had come out and by this time I was running on 3 hours sleep in a day and a half. At this point my brain wasn’t working very well, coincidentally neither were the airport loudspeakers so the news about our bags had to travel from passenger to passenger. Somehow, between the airplane and the terminal, a few hundred yards at most, the baggage handlers managed to lose two out of three luggage containers and they didn’t know where they were!! I couldn’t believe it, how the hell do you lose entire containers full of bags?! And we weren’t the only ones either. Several flights had suffered the same fate and the staff had no idea what to do. As they ran around trying to explain to hundreds of angry passengers at 1AM in the morning that they had lost their bags I wondered if a full scale riot wouldn’t break out. At this point, all there was to do was wait and hope for the best.

Unfortunately, the best had not been forthcoming the last two days and my luck wasn’t about to change. It was 3AM and I was told to leave, there was no way they would find my bags tonight and that they would send them along to DC when they did. After explaining to them that at this point I had more faith in pigs sprouting wings and soaring over London than I did in British Airways I made my way to the airport Hilton, checked in and got about an hours nap. From there it was on to United and off to Chicago where I arrived with two hours to spare before my speech, which I had to give in yup…you guessed it, the same clothes I had been wearing for almost three days and yes, that included my underwear.

So, there ya have it, an ignominious end to an amazing adventure but at least it makes for a good story. The Red Sea and especially Shab Rumi reef and Conshelf were an experience of a lifetime that will remain with me for the rest of my days. I am so grateful for that and for all of you who read this blog. Thank you for sharing these adventures with me and may we all pursue the rainbows of a better world together…dirty underwear or not.

Lately I’ve been writing blogs from all over the world, but one of the things I’m most excited about happened pretty close to home. Last summer, my sister Alexandra and I filmed an interstitial for Curious George’s Sea Monkey episode at the Eco-Discovery Center at Florida Keys National Marine Sanctuary. It’s finally airing on PBS beginning this Monday, April 21st. Be sure to tune in to Curious George’s first underwater episode. More information from PBS below.

I swore I had just seen a ghost…or at least that is what it looked like for a brief moment. A hundred feet beneath the surface of the ocean and I couldn’t believe my eyes. At first I though it was another grey reef shark; several of them had followed us away from the reef out into the blue abyss. But no, something wasn’t right about it, the dorsal fin was too long and the body was moving differently. As it emerged out of the distance slowly, deliberately, it seemed almost like a dream. I couldn’t believe it at first, Tooni and I had decided to go for one last dive in the Red Sea before we leave tomorrow. This was a fun dive so no heavy mask units or bulky communications equipment to worry about, we had our regular masks and nothing but a tank and a regulator on our backs. It was the first non-work dive either of us had done in months and it felt wonderful. I was finally free to explore and just enjoy being in the water.

It was day two of the search for hammerheads and so far they had not seen any and yet, here they were in front of us and not a camera in site. They are not going to like this back onboard when they hear about it, I thought to myself. Nonetheless, they were there, 5 of them, slowly gliding through the water in front of me, waving their great rectangular heads back and forth. I wonder if they had any idea how much trouble we had gone through to see them and from their languid movement I felt as if they wouldn’t care even if they did. Masters of the reef, they treated us with total disdain and only stayed in our presence for a few moments. But it was enough, finally I had seen hammerheads and I was overjoyed. They are one of the only sharks to gather in schools and though this was only a handful, they often times gather in groups of over a hundred, it was still a rare thing to see. So many of them are being fished out of the oceans, seeing a few is still a privilege. Then, just as quickly as they had appeared, they vanished, one lone individual appearing behind me for another flash before he too melted back into the water.

When we surfaced, Tooni and I were buzzing and couldn’t wipe the grins off of our faces. Not only had we seen hammerheads, but schools of barracuda, grouper, reef sharks, and more had surrounded us. The coral was as vibrant and healthy as ever, exploding in a swirl of color and life. It was one of the best dives I had ever experienced (a frequent occurrence here it seems) and I will always remember it.

I leave tomorrow evening, so tonight we threw a little wrap party. The Egyptian crew joined in and handed out some of their traditional garb to us all as they played drums and sang into the early hours of the morning. Tomorrow, or should I say today since it is early in the morning, is for filming pickups and random scenes as we make way for Port Sudan and the final leg home.

My mind started racing and internal warnings started to go off. My head had started to pound with an awful headache and at 120 feet underwater that was a very bad sign. I radioed to the safety diver and he quickly made his way over to me. Headaches usually mean a buildup of CO2 in your body which can quickly lead to unconsciousness and death. We dive with full facemasks that complicate the interplay of gases, so when we exhale CO2 can buildup in the faceplate. We have never taken the masks that deep before and clearly the CO2 was building up in the mask faster than anticipated and I was in trouble. I had found the thermocline at about 120 feet and it was time to head up to a shallower depth. By the time I got up to about 50 feet I was starting to feel better but my head was still pounding. I radioed to the surface and they were ready with the pure oxygen but I had to make sure I took my time. Panic is the number one killer and a slow ascent was crucial to avoid decompression sickness and I still had quite a ways to go…

Why were we down there in the first place? Well, the goal of the day was to find schooling hammerheads but they never have the courtesy to show up when you want them to. I love sharks, that is no secret and I was really hoping we would be lucky today. While I did manage to spot a few sharks, they were reef sharks not the hammerheads we were searching for and the frustration all around was palpable.

Hammerhead sharks are one of the only species to gather in large aggregations, often times dozens or even hundreds of them have been known to slowly glide through the water like a massive, graceful armada of grey shimmering creatures. This is the second time that we have tried to find hammerheads as part of this series of adventures, our last attempt was in Mexico and there too we were thwarted. Paul was the main shark hunter today and my job was to get in the water first to find out the depth of the thermocline. A thermocline is the layer between the warm upper water and cooler deep water currents. Often it is only a few feet thick and it shimmers like air above asphalt at an airport. Hammerheads prefer the cooler water below but we think that they stay near the thermocline because many of the fish that they feed upon can be found at that depth. Scientists also think that they use the thermocline to navigate ocean currents much like some animals use the stars to find their way around.

While this is one of the only places in the world to find them, we had no luck today and as I broke the surface and started breathing the pure oxygen, I was glad to have made it up no worse for wear except for a bad headache; and as I gazed out over the water I couldn’t help thinking that they were out there somewhere, watching us just out of sight. A few hours later, Paul got his rebreather on and headed back out. A complicated piece of equipment, a rebreather allows the diver to stay underwater much longer than with plain scuba. They also don’t make bubbles and thus are silent, allowing the diver to limit how much they disturb the animals in the environment. Paul had no luck either, so now it is up to tomorrow. After the dives, we spent the afternoon filming pickups and web interviews for the Oceans website.

Tomorrow is an early start for the dive team, though I think it will only be the rebreather team, so I will be left back on the boat waiting for, fingers crossed, good news.

Conshelf II was one of the most remarkable human achievements of modern history. Technically it was an absolute marvel, pushing our boundaries as a species further than ever before. Back in 1963 when it was built, no one had ever lived underwater for any extended period of time, no one even knew if it was possible. However, the experiment was by far the most radical exploration of the limits of human life ever. During the early ‘60’s the allure of space travel had not fully gripped the public yet. The oceans were still as popular a mystery as outer space. Nobody had lived underwater for any period of time, so no one knew what medical, physical or psychological problems there might be associated with living in such an environment. The premise was simple, Conshelf II placed five divers at a depth of 33 feet for a month with two divers in a separate dwelling at 90 feet for a week. The underwater village itself was comprised of four main buildings and eight additional structures. Starfish House, so named because of its radiating legs, was an air-conditioned central base. This contained sleeping quarters for 8 people, kitchen, dining room, laboratory and dark room. Then there was a tool shed, a deep habitat for 2 people, the diving submersible garage, shark cages, and various fish enclosures. The whole village was an incredible structure and had all the creature comforts. Being a French crew, wine and bread and cheese were always plentiful and even champagne was brought down.

Nothing like it has ever existed since and even 45 years later, our best attempts to live underwater, the Aquarius structure in Key Largo Florida, pales in comparison to Conshelf. The problem is that by the late ‘60’s the popular conscience had been hijacked and people distracted by space. Now, trillions of dollars have been spent on space exploration. Sure we have learned much, and some of it useful, but much of it not. Knowing whether or not there was ever water on Mars is not crucial to our existence, healthy oceans are. It is a terrible injustice that we devote so many resources to frivolous pursuits when in a world of limited resources there is so much urgent need to understand and protect the very things that make our life possible.

But I must admit, the mechanics of Conshelf II are not what dominate my thoughts tonight. While the dive itself was amazing, my thoughts are on the past rather than the present. Tooni had a good word for this voyage to Conshelf…a pilgrimage…and, whether I realized it or not, I think that is what it was. As I sit here under the same stars that my father gazed upon all those decades ago, I catch myself wondering what he must have been thinking; what were his hopes and dreams…his fears. I can never know exactly what occupied his mind, but I like to think that it was full of wonder and excitement.

His first on Shab Rumi must have been quite an adventure. Conshelf was in full swing and he was visiting the team during their adventure. On his way to the site he must have eagerly awaited his chance to share this experience with his father who had spent so much time here. As a young man of 23, 5 years younger than me, he would have had his entire life ahead of him, much like mine still lays before me and his imagination must have been brimming with ideas and ambition. I am sure that things like career, family and legacy were all far from his mind; instead passion, adventure and the promise and potential of the future were his to embrace. There was no way he could have known that, while he would have time to begin to build a career and a family and a legacy, it would all be cut short far too soon. I don’t know why I never came here before. I guess in a way it always felt mythical to me, like a Mt. Olympus, a place I would have loved to see but never thought possible.

I remember a letter my grandfather wrote to my father in eulogy shortly after he died. It was titled Pursuing Rainbows and he wrote of the first time he had taken my father’s hand in his to explore these emerald waters, (see below). He wrote of the excitement he felt in exploring the beauty of this new world with his young son and sharing his desire to protect it.

Pursuing Rainbows
I will always remember that day of July 1963 when you joined the “Conshelf II” expedition along the Shab Rumi reef, in the Red Sea. The sun was setting when you climbed onboard the Calypso from the launch that had driven you from Port Sudan airport. But I would not give you time to relax I was too impatient to show you our “village under the sea” before it became too dark. Hastily, we both donned our aqualungs, and slowly, sensually, we submerged into the welcoming water, as warm as our blood. When we started for an unforgettable stroll with slow strokes of our long stretched legs and breathing deep lungfuls of air I kept your hand in mine to guide you from “Starfish house” where six oceanauts were having dinner, to the onion shaped “diving saucer garage”, to the “tool house”, the “fish farm”, to the “deep cabin” where we observed the two “black masked” oceanauts go to bed…and to the anti shark cages strewn here and there as emergency shelters. I introduced you to Jules, the great barracuda who had adopted us. I showed you the cave in which the large “bump-fish” went to sleep at night, and of course, we met the inevitable sharks who kept cruising around the village. Twilight was turning to sheer darkness, our structures became eerie shadows, the fish were just moving pieces of the sea. I was still holding your hand when we returned to the ladder; I felt strangely proud not of what we had achieved, but because our dreams were always shared so intimately.

Three years ago, I found myself sitting near you in the cockpit of our Catalina, the seaplane you had equipped especially for oceanography and for diving. From years of gliding, handgliding, piloting planes and helicopters, ballooning, you had acquired an unusual expertise. Now you were giving me a ride to the Mexican island of Isabella, in the Pacific. Taking off in sheaves of water, the whole of the plane was an extension of your body, the roar of the motors was the expression of your joy, the clouds that dotted your sky were just other forms of water like our own flesh. I look at you, my guide in the sky as I have been your guide in the sea. I saw your shining face, proud to have something to give back to me, and I smiled, because I knew that pursuing rainbows in your plane, you would always seek after the vanishing shapes of a better world.
I love you JYC

That is indeed, how my father lived and died, pursing the rainbows of a better world. And though I will never be able to hold his hand and share that dream, I turn my back on the anger that I feel; anger at being robbed of sharing this with him in person, anger that the world was robbed of a man poised to do so much good, who had so much magic in him, so much potential to help so many. Instead, I like to think that at times like these; in this moment…here…he is with me and we are pursuing rainbows together; connected by a common dream, a common hope, a new generation of father and son united in our search for a better tomorrow.