Date
of Entry: 3/28/2001
Name: Reefer Man
 THE
REEF ENVIRONMENT
The
Barrier Reef is the prime determinant of reality in this earthsea
world, just as the Rocky Mountains create their own environment.
The second largest coral reef in the world, one of the largest
objects on the planet, the Reef extends from Mexico down into
Honduras, a huge ridge of stone that, unlike a mountain, is
amassed by living creatures--tiny, shimmering coral polyps.
It's a startling contradiction: the huge, stony structures
of the reef, studded with big trees built of stone, were compiled
by tiny polyps as delicate as lace. Each hole in a piece of
coral was a bay window for a polyp, from which a feathery,
shimmering net was cast each night to strain microscopic nutrients
from the currents. These tiny polyps secrete calcium walls
around themselves--gradually laying down molecules in a geometric
pattern, growing, dying, reproducing other generations of
polyps to build onto the rearing fortress that is a coral
colony. The Barrier Reef has been built up for centuries at
the edge of a thousand-foot drop-off, where depth, temperature,
and an upwelling of nutrients produce a fertile area for coral
to feed and secrete the complex calcium cavities they live
in.
In
some ways, a reef could be looked upon not so much as a colony
of polyps, or an ecosystem, but as a huge single organism
stretching from horizon to horizon and forty fathoms deep.
The coral stone is its skeleton, its skin is a thin layer
of secreted enzyme, and its flesh is not just the polyps,
but many other organisms that live in symbiosis with the polyps
themselves. These various algae and one-celled structures
are as much a part of the reef as the bacteria in your stomach,
and as essential--though it's not clearly understood how the
whole thing works together. Though composed of various different
fauna and flora, the reef is much a discrete organism as the
collection of cellular entities we call a jellyfish, or the
cohabiting, but philologically diverse, specimens that we
know as lichen. Over it all is a thin layer of slime and various
enzymes that protect the coral, and bind it together as a
holistic entity. Under it all are the bones of the sea, a
mountain of seamless stone built by tiny, insubstantial membranes,
without benefit of any other architect than their own inborn
design.
CREATION OF THE ISLANDS
Inevitably,
you compare the Coral Islands to clouds, green puffs drifting
along the horizon. The more you learn about the Reef, and
the formation of the coral cayes, the more you realize that
the comparison is not just a simile. They form along traces
of sediment in shallows drifted into shape by currents as
subtle, if less ephemeral, than the skyward wind. By blocking
incoming waves and winds, the reef creates a serene, sheltered
world miles, and therefore an environment of shoals and shallows
carved by sea, wind and gravity--a place where depth becomes
very important. Mangrove seeds are about six inches long and
float vertically in the water, bobbing along until they hit
the right depth to lodge and start sprouting roots. And once
rooted, mangrove trees immediately begin to build islands
around themselves--it's their nature. They spread avidly,
a busy bristle of root and/or limb: it's hard to tell the
difference with mangroves, and to the tree the distinction
is irrelevant; every cell is scrambling for sustenance from
water, soil, or sun. The root/limbs become a claw of grasping
fingers that feed and anchor the mangroves--and trap the chunks
of coral limbs that the storms break loose. The tangles of
the mangroves fill with coral, then with sand and mud, then
with rotting leaves and bird droppings. Gradually there is
enough soil to support bigger mangroves. Perhaps even a pine
or two, sprouted from bird guano. Inevitably coconuts will
wash up on this newly forming soil, where some of the coral
chunks have already been ground into soft white calcium sand.
Coconuts are another incredibly designed space capsule for
long sea voyages. They roll to the right orientation because
of their shape and their internal workings start to convert
the white meat to jelly, then to the matrix for a sprouting
tree. Once the shore is lined with palms, the coral fragments
tossed by storms and high water start to pile up higher above
the water line. And an island is born: the end results are
green hummocks strewn along the edge of the world.
THE REEF IN JEOPARDY
This huge, unique ecosystem is like a rain forest, not only
a fount of life, but a spine and anchor for other life around
it, every bit as vast, diverse, and vital: and even more endangered.
For all its size and complexity, a coral reef is an extremely
fragile organism. A branch of coral broken off its "tree"
represents a lifetime of growth. Groupers chew up chunks of
coral just to digest the little bugs and worms that tunnel
inside it, defecating pure white calcium sand. Starfish can
devastate acres of reef. Just touching coral can kill it:
the thin layer of cells that cover it are a necessary protection
and tissue. Island Expeditions guides (and all responsible
dive guides worldwide) caution against so much as touching
the reef, but in many areas the fins and fingers of divers
(not to mention souvenir and jewelry hunters) have completely
killed off scenic reefs. A dead reef is just scabbed rock
without color, without the flora that feeds the fish. Reefs
are being killed daily, everywhere. But there are hundreds
of miles of reef that never get touched, and coral continues
to grow, replacing pieces chipped of by divers, anchors, or
hurricanes.
Except
that recently, all the reefs in the world seem to be getting
sick. Reefs everywhere are bleaching, expelling symbiants,
possibly a prelude to a catastrophe of planetary ramifications.
Nobody knows exactly what is causing it (usual suspects include
both you and I). Nobody knows what to do about it. Nobody
can predict the overall effect.
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