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We inflict so much damage upon our oceans – from pollution and overfishing to alarmingly rapid warming – yet perhaps the greatest insult is our collective indifference. The ocean, despite its immense mystery and critical role in sustaining life on Earth, often appears inert and boundless, easily overlooked in our daily lives.
As a climate and environment reporter for The New York Times, I strive to encourage a fresh perspective on the natural world. So, when the chance arose to cover scientists studying tiny, unseen organisms on the Mediterranean seabed, I knew this was an opportunity to reveal a truly surprising aspect of our oceans.
These fascinating creatures weren’t merely microscopic; they inhabited the ocean floor, residing 40 to 50 feet below the surface. To truly capture the essence of the researchers’ work, I realized observing from a boat simply wouldn’t suffice. I had to learn how to scuba dive.
Embarking on this was entirely out of character for me. I’m not naturally adventurous, have never broken a bone, and strictly adhere to the speed limit.
During my initial scuba lesson, my instructor inquired about my connection to water. I paused, genuinely pondering if I even had one, eventually admitting my enjoyment of swimming in pools. His upbringing, by contrast, involved growing up on an oyster farm where his father taught him to swim by simply tossing him overboard and pointing to shore. Essentially, he was a natural born ‘fish,’ and I was expected to emulate him.
Over the three-day course, it became clear that diving doesn’t demand exceptional athleticism or a penchant for thrills. Instead, it requires a profound tolerance for vulnerability. The cumbersome equipment, stringent safety protocols, and emergency training all reinforce a fundamental truth: the undersea realm is not ours. In Poseidon’s domain, we are, at best, temporary, uninvited visitors.
Reporting within this underwater kingdom intensified my sense of helplessness, a reality I confronted firsthand while joining scientists off the coast of Tuscany this summer. Note-taking is impossible, and audio recording is impractical—not that there’s much conversation to capture beneath the waves, anyway.
No other form of reporting offers such a profoundly three-dimensional experience, with captivating activity unfolding all around you. Yet, this immersive wonder is constantly punctuated by mundane distractions: a mask filling with water, an unexpected leg cramp, or the unsettling sensation of inexplicably descending towards the seabed.
Remarkably, the scientists managed these everyday annoyances while meticulously collecting samples, logging data, and interpreting the intricate details of rocks, plants, and microbes. When I asked Krista Ryon, one of the researchers, if she ever felt anxious, she calmly replied, “There’s a sense of calm that happens once you’re in the water. You’re, like, cool. Just business.”
The article detailing that expedition, exploring the incredible world of microbes that consume greenhouse gases, was published this month. Following that, I undertook another dive in the Pacific to report on initiatives aimed at restoring kelp forests along California’s North Coast.
During that subsequent dive, the organisms I was documenting were barely visible; Northern California’s waters are notoriously turbulent and dim. Yet, low-visibility diving holds a unique magic. When your sight is limited to just a few feet, you become more receptive to the profound awe inspired by what suddenly appears – be it a majestic kelp grove, an elusive sea star, or even a playful seal investigating your fin. This time, I found it much easier to tap into the calm Ms. Ryon had spoken of.
I am committed to continuing my dives and expanding my coverage of the undersea world (and yes, I’m always open to article ideas!). While each dive offers an intimate connection, it’s still just a fleeting glimpse. The ocean is simply too immense, its life too abundant and diverse, for anyone to truly grasp its entirety beyond the edges. Our ongoing task is to expand those margins, one small discovery at a time.
One might mistakenly conclude that humanity’s relationship with the ocean is as insignificant as a termite’s with a volcano. However, this is far from the truth: though the undersea world is not inherently ours, our impact upon it is undeniably vast. It is our responsibility to consciously determine the nature of that influence.