Spring weather implies great variation in a short while as the earth wakes up from winter slumber to the warmth of summer sunshine. But in sunny California, popularized by TV shows, you expect bright skies and eternal warm weather at all times. Alas, northern California is not Bay Watch country. As Mark Twain put it aptly “The coldest winter I ever saw was the summer I spent in San Francisco”. So we carried ahead with our plans for a visit to Monterey Bay although the skies got duller as we approached the scenic highway 1, passing fields of artichokes and stalls selling early cherries, plump and juicy.
The normally blue ocean reflected the dull, dirty grey of the sky and a nasty wind blew across harshly. We entered the Monterey Bay Aquarium located on Cannery Row, a street made famous in this sleepy seaside town, by its Nobel laureate son, John Steinbeck when his novel by the same name was published. The aquarium itself is located in the Hovner Cannery, a flourishing business during the second world war when sardines were harvested in large numbers from the ocean, canned and shipped out to troops. However, as the war ended, so did the number of sardines, perhaps due to natural causes, or excessive fishing, and the twenty odd canneries on the street were forced to shut down. The building remained vacant for a long time before it was bought by the Packards (of the Hewlett-Packard group) through their foundation and ultimately used to build a center to study local marine life.
The aquarium is celebrating 25 years of education and conservation this year. While many exhibits have remained the same since I visited it last, there were “Hot, pink flamingoes” this time, along with “Seahorses”. We had the benefit of signing up for a behind the scenes tour where we literally were shown places that are normally barred to visitors, like the top of the Kelp forest and behind the shark tank. We looked at coral reefs that are not displayed, food that the fish ate and how the pipes are kept clean with “pigs”. Lookup www.montereybayaquarium.org for more information.
Watching the smooth, easy progression of the jellyfish as they effortlessly made their way across the glass chambers that displayed them authentically, I wished I could glide through life without hindrance from self-generated baggage. Each jelly was unique; egg-yolk jelly, lion’s mane jelly, moon jelly and the deadly black sea nettle with tentacles that can reach a length of 20 feet. The kelp forest reflected the microcosm of the universe with its varied inhabitants on their journeys; some swam in schools, like the silverfish, while others stubbornly kept to themselves, inherent loners. The penguins had it easy. Dressed formally in their black and white uniforms, some shedding their fur, they were tagged individually and hand-fed, too lazy sometimes to dive into the water and get their own food.
The best of the lot was one industrious little otter. He played a one-otter game of water polo, tossing and catching a green plastic ball until hunger pangs called. With a careless shrug, he let the ball drop and dived deep into the water, coming up to get some air and enjoy the tasty bite that had been planted in the water for him. Like a polite schoolboy, he would finish the morsel, pat his tummy and clean his whiskers. He repeated this act several times, enabling all the amused onlookers to get him on camera.
The tide-pool allowed access to docile starfish and sea cucumbers, who allowed themselves to be stroked and picked up by little hands. The water was freezing cold, same temperature as the ocean outside, we were assured. The aquarium has many employees but counts on the 1000 or so volunteers who spend their time here. The volunteers feed the fish, clean the tanks, rescue creatures, treat sick animals, interact with visitors and do all those unaccounted chores that go unnoticed.
There was one place in the aquarium where you step into a circular anteroom and as you look up, you feel enclosed in the glass cylinder above your head. Thousands of silverfish swim in unending circles, round and round, again and again, moving as one, but not really, since they are so many; unique but undistinguishable from one another as they swim, swim, swim. You feel dizzy as the scene flashes in a continuous roll of film and you blink to break the monotony of the view, trying to gauge your own position, although you have not moved, dazed and disoriented. Then you notice one fish moving against the tide, bullishly forcing its way amid the masses who move clockwise. But this one is focused, slowly but steadily, unaided by the momentum of his brethren, he swims alone, defiantly pushing forward, towards an unknown goal. Not knowing that the tank is cylindrical after all and he will reach the same destination as the rest. This does not seem to deter him, while he may reach the same place, his journey would be uniquely his. Brave little fish. I wish you all the best.
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