California Coast & Ocean

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.

Since our Minding the Oceans issue (Summer 2003), two national ocean commissions have published reports, more books and films with anguished messages and amazing images of undersea life have appeared, and more citizen activist groups have formed. As required by the California Ocean Protection Act of 2004, the California Ocean Protection Council has been established, funded with a fiscal year 2005–6 appropriation of $1.2 million, $10 million in tideland oil royalties, and a total of $15 million in Proposition 40 and 50 funds. (The Coastal Conservancy has agreed to commit $5 million to Ocean Protection Council priorities and the State Water Resources Board has committed $10 million.) The Council is coordinating the activities of ocean-related state agencies in an effort to improve the effectiveness of state efforts to protect ocean resources, and shaping new proposed ocean policies in keeping with Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Ocean Protection Plan, released in October 2004.

Among current Council projects are a pilot program to recover derelict fishing gear, kelp and eel grass restoration projects (Coast & Ocean, Spring/Summer 2005), and a proposed revolving loan fund to assist commercial fishermen trying to make a transition to sustainable fisheries in Morro Bay. Meanwhile, the Coastal Conservancy is implementing the Coastal Ocean Currents Monitoring Program (see Coast & Ocean, Winter 2004–5, and www.cocmp.org).

Recently, a videotape by the Algalita Foundation, “Our Synthetic Sea,” inspired a conference on efforts to reduce the flow of plastics into the ocean. In the North Pacific Subtropical Gyre, midway between California and Hawaii, the volume of plastic microdebris now exceeds the volume of zooplankton by six to one. In our next issue we will bring you more on what is being done—or can be done—about this trash, which is killing seabirds and is now found in marine life at the cellular level.

In the often-quoted words of Senegalese ecologist Baba Dioum: “In the end we will conserve only what we love. We will love only what we understand. We will understand only what we are taught.”

The morning after watching the sunset with the magic afterglow, I took a long solitary walk on the beach, crossing paths with only a few people, dogs, and an elegant raven. He was strolling along the surf line, inspecting the glistening sand with his beak as the tide receded. The sound of waves spending themselves gently on the sandy beach reminded me of the tamboura, the stringed instrument that, in classical Indian music, provides a background drone against which a sitar, tabla, or human voice can play, do acrobatics, sing passionately, and reach for the sky.

—Rasa Gustaitis