My
sister and I sat on the deck of our rented cabin above a wide sandy
beach, ready for the sunset. Our eyes were on the glittering ocean,
glasses of wine were in our hands, smoked peppered local salmon
and smoked Pacific oysters from upcoast waited on the cedar table.
(Yes, sorry, it’s a classic fantasy. Bliss. It’s almost
embarrassing to mention. But in Oregon this experience is still
available, at a reasonable price.)
The sun dropped into a low layer of fog without
drama, but then a glorious afterglow spread across the sky.
I asked my sister what she felt when she looked
at the ocean. She said it was the constant motion, constant change;
rhythmic but not ever the same. A randomness, yet also a pattern.
Peace, she said. Later I asked our landlady the same question. “Amazement,
always,”
was her answer. “And the ocean is never the same, no matter
how long you live beside it.”
Yes, I thought, that kind of sums it up for me too,
and probably for most of us. We are drawn to the ocean, it fills
us with wonder and restores our spirits, as do forests and mountains
and undisturbed meadows, as does wild nature in all its forms. Being
land animals, though, most of us experience only the surface and
edge of the ocean. And our inability to see what’s going on
in deep water is dangerous because by the time we become aware of
extreme damage to ocean life, it may be too late to restore what’s
lost.
Fortunately, new tools are now available to expand
our vision. In this issue, we report how advanced mapping technology
is revealing the continuity of geological forms from the tops of
watersheds to ocean depths. With this technology, the seafloor can
be seen in detail and at landscape-sized scale. Bottom habitat can
be mapped with new precision. (See “Ocean
Floor Mapping.") With such techniques, complemented by surveys
using remotely operated vehicles and small manned submersibles (see “The
Flight of the ROV,” Coast & Ocean, Summer 2004),
more and more of the California ocean is coming to public attention
and eliciting concern.
|