The modern history of exploring beneath the sea
began in 1691 with British astronomer and polymath
Edmond Halley inventing the first diving helmet. For
the next 250 years his idea of the free-flow helmet
dominated undersea technology. This part of the diving
story is told by the magnificent helmet collection of the
museum’s founders, Joe and Sally Bauer. The helmets
displayed on the international wall are objects of art as
much as technology. But helmets are only the beginning.
Every turn takes us on another adventure, from treasure
hunting to commercial diving and on to the rise of scuba
and underwater photography. As one might expect from
such a charming place, even Captain Nemo and his
fantasy of living beneath the sea have a place of honor.
Our planned two-hour stay slips into four hours, and
we’re still not ready to leave.
A GIFT TO THE SEA
Ever since Quinn heard about planting coral he was
smitten by the idea. A gardener in his own right and a
mission man at heart, the possibility of transplanting
coral was right up his alley, so Anna and I set up a day
on the water with friends Ken and Denise Nedimyer,
founders of the
Coral Restoration Foundation
(CRF).
Ten years ago the thought of hand-building coral reefs
sounded as preposterous as Captain Nemo’s voyages
beneath the sea. That was before Ken, a live rock farmer
for the aquarium trade, began cultivating staghorn, a fast-
growing coral that once covered reef crests throughout
the Caribbean. For several reasons the once prolific
species died off across the western Atlantic over the last
decades; Ken and others watched in dismay as staghorn
gardens up and down the Keys crumbled into rubble.
A few years ago, the larvae of staghorn coral settled
en masse on Ken’s live rock nursery. By law no one can
legally sell coral, so at first Ken simply kept an eye on
the orphans and watched them grow and grow. Out of
curiosity he began clipping segments and attaching them
to cinder blocks. Lo and behold, the cuttings grew like
weeds. He continued to innovate until coral dominated
his nursery. What to do?
The FKNMS was aware of Ken’s initial success and
felt they had nothing to lose, so they issued a permit
allowing him to transplant his homegrown corals on
the outer reef. His reefs flourished and the permit was
extended and expanded. Then Ken and Denise began
to think big. But like most big ideas, this one required
time, money and manpower. Manpower is where Quinn
comes in. Volunteer divers have helped maintain the
nursery, transplanted patches of corals up and down
the Keys and recently built new nurseries in Colombia
and Bonaire. Today, Ken, Denise and the CRF dream of
nothing less than reseeding the entire Caribbean Basin
(see Page 17).
“Will it work?” I ask Ken as his open-hull workboat
skims toward the nursery grounds. “We’re like Lad
Akins and REEF, who are combating the lionfish
invasion,” he replies. “Skeptics love to remind us that
we’re wasting our time. They say, ‘You’ll never get rid of
lionfish; you’ll never rebuild reefs, the job is just too big.’”
He cranks up his voice a notch to be heard over the
engine. “I’m certain of one thing: Whatever the outcome,
our efforts beat the heck out of doing nothing.”
Navigating the nursery is like swimming through a
china shop. As far as one can see, thousands of coral
fragments dangle like wind chimes from PVC trees held
aloft by floats. Quinn moves through the maze like a
fish and hovers like a cloud while scraping algae off the
plastic scaffoldings. When he is finished, he kneels next
to Denise, watching her demonstrate how to break and
string pieces so they will hang free in the currents.
After attaching the fragments, Ken and Quinn detach
four mature 12-inch clusters from a branch, put them in
plastic breadbaskets and head up to the boat for a run to
Snapper Ledge
, where the work and fun continues. It
takes the entire second dive for the pair to putty pieces
onto two square meters of reef rock. Near where they
work a healthy 2-foot-high ridge of previously planted
staghorn snakes its way along the ledge. To my eyes,
Ken’s corals are the best thing this section of the reef
has going for itself. However, just to the north and
across a long rubble patch is the dive site most know as
Snapper Ledge, impossibly jammed with clouds of blue-
striped grunt, French grunt and goatfish. For whatever
reason, this low-profile ledge holds far more fish than
similar reef structures in the nearby region and is in
consideration for the greater protection afforded by the
designation as a marine protected area. That’s part of
the genius of the FKNMS; there are designated zones
with very specific tiers of protection that hope to satisfy
the various stakeholders, whether they be hook-and-line
anglers, spearfishermen or just observers and underwater
photographers like us.
Out of his gear and brimming with confidence, Quinn
takes the helm and steers us back to shore. Between
all the day’s work he added two final fish to his list —
numbers 125 and 126.
Before our eyes Quinn has become a diver, but
the second part of equation is equally gratifying: He
recognizes that the strange new world he just fell in love
with needs his help. The sea is our gift to Quinn, and
Quinn is our gift to the sea.
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