We missed the exact moment of sunrise because old, as in “the old people” we’ve become. That’s not altogether true, and if anyone is familiar with every word I’ve written here (which even I am not), you’d know that we do not sleep well on our first night out so we had some catching up to do. We still woke at 6:00, but silly me rolled out of bed and started prepping yesterday’s photos instead of taking myself to the shower right away. So Caroline ventured out our front door here at Borg’s Motel, hunting for an image that would open today’s post; this is that photo.
Why we haven’t stayed at the Borg before is a mystery. Maybe we just assumed it would be too pricey due to its oceanfront location? It looks like we’ll be here again before the year’s out, as I have my sights set on Monterey for a return visit, possibly around Christmas time, in order to maximize our aquarium membership.
Now, on to the exciting stuff, such as our walk to the Red House Cafe, as previous experience had us wanting to return. It doesn’t open till 8:00, but we remembered the long wait times of those who don’t arrive early. Twenty minutes before the hour, we are the first in line, but within a few minutes, there are more than a dozen of us waiting at the corner.
I’m carrying a new paper notebook this morning, and after nabbing a pen from a server before the cafe opened, I was able to start taking notes, a luxury I shouldn’t forget. Regarding the origins of my newest writing tool, we picked it up yesterday after Caroline was drawn to it, likely because of that big old snail on it. We were at the Phoenix Gift Shop below Nepenthe Restaurant in Big Sur, looking for eucalyptus soap and whatever else might catch our eye. A pen is what should have caught mine, but I honestly thought this notebook would go home with us without me ever placing a single mark in it. I was wrong.
Our orders were put in, with both of us opting for the Red House frittata. While we wait, we sip our coffees and enjoy the lemon water while Caroline is working on my next pair of socks with yarn from our trip to Rügen, Germany, and, obviously, I’m writing. All this while listening to nearby shorebirds and the clank of pots, pans, and dishes in the busy kitchen. The sun streams in on us here on the patio as Sinatra’s crooning voice wafts in over the speakers.
This was our after-breakfast morning dessert for the eyes, found while walking next to the Monterey Bay to the aquarium. While the views found here are familiar to us, they are not so familiar that we’ve grown weary of them and can easily pass without being distracted. For that reason, Caroline had suggested we walk through the neighborhood up from the shore so we’re not inclined to ogle things and arrive late for our early entry, a benefit for members.
We were about 15 minutes early for the 9:30 early opening and were not the first in line. I should have heeded that note on the aquarium’s website that said that this holiday weekend is one of the busiest for this seaside treasure. The line across from us over in the sun is general admission that doesn’t get started for another 45 minutes. When the doors open, we move quickly with proof of membership and identification through the entry, and before even reaching the Kelp Forest, always our first stop, the massive volume of water all around us is already tugging at Caroline’s tear ducts, pulling at the tenderest of her romantic emotions.
The big draw of this particular pilgrimage to the Holy Aquarium of St. Monterey is their new exhibit titled Into The Deep which just opened earlier this year. I want to admit some disappointment as the newest exhibit relies heavily on displays that depict the environment instead of offering the actual sea life, or so I thought. I understand the inherent expense associated with getting and maintaining living specimens out of the deep, but it was what I was expecting. The reliance on video makes sense when you consider that most people acquire the majority of their information from such sources and so I have to understand that this is what must resonate with them.
Once past that mixed media onslaught, we move into the living displays that have me thinking that I might have been too quick to judge.
There is little in the way of knowledge that might help me appreciate what is nearly incomprehensible for my senses to come to terms with when witnessing psychedelic lifeforms. After the fact, I might enjoy learning about their biology, habitat, and history as we know it, but initially, I just want to take them in, seeing them for the first time in much the same way as the person exploring the ocean’s depths encountered them.
Wonder easily springs from being on hand to see the unknown becoming seen and imagining what its form or purpose might mean. Then again, how could we ever really understand any of that when we cannot fathom what our own place here on a planet means? I’m not talking of those afraid of the unknown, uncertainty, and being alone; they must gravitate towards hard answers typically found in religion. I’m speaking of those who are interested in reality and their place in it, where their own freakish appearance is as peculiar as this comb jelly and possibly just as meaningful or meaningless.
On its way to hunting for food, the salmon snailfish looks like a candle flame as it presses its face into the sea floor, feeling for crustaceans using its fins on its chin. At times, I feel the arrogance of our human species as we see these creatures as lesser things, but what if we were to learn that in each of the lesser creatures, we find the embodiment of our gods? Would we be so cavalier about polluting their environment, allowing them to spoil once we’ve sacrificed their lives because we didn’t consume them in time, or treating them in some undignified way? By placing our idea of god in a distant invisible being, we are free to act irresponsibly as long as we walk a fine line determined by some doctrine or other, ask for forgiveness, or pray. In this way, everything, including people, are not much more than things that can be used as a means to an end as long as we accept that salvation is a part of this existence. In a sense, we have a license to be despicable while through our supposed intelligence, we do not have the means to reconcile this ugly contradiction of our somewhat grotesque existence.
Sealife does not practice religion, philosophy, law, or financial segregation, but what does that have to do with visiting an aquarium? While you might think I come to the aquarium with a mind primed to celebrate the experience, I cannot help but imagine that in their natural habitats, without the influence of man, most other life moves towards a kind of equilibrium regarding resources. Darwinism is certainly at work among all species, but it is the false constructs of a controlling and manipulating culture failing to use its supposed vast knowledge to build a more balanced use and distribution of resources not based on total annihilation that floats into my mind. This spiny crab, on the other hand, portends no hint that it is coming to take something from us; it does not flaunt violence, stupidity, or superiority. We, though, are able to bring an abundance of just that to almost every corner of our planet and each other.
The number of people here loudly exhibiting their television knowledge is a horror show in its own right. So many things are being compared to what they’ve seen on TV at some point or other. It is astonishing that so little is appreciated for its beauty, complexity, or how it inspires their curiosity, but how much it all relates to memories taken from what we used to call the Idiot Box. I’ve never watched Stranger Things, but I now know that some plurality of those here today is very familiar with something they are referring to called a Demogorgon, fuck my life.
Passing around a corner from the Into The Deep exhibit to the Tentacles exhibit (that is going away, according to some chatter I pick up here), we become better aware of just how uncomfortably packed the aquarium is. The first half hour of members, followed by the relatively slow trickling in of the unwashed horde, has to be cherished as in just a few more minutes of this, I’ll be looking to lunchtime when we take some time away.
Now, onto my bigger grump, the “urban trash” look paired with the abysmal ability to communicate with a vocabulary beyond that of a fifth grader. This is a cheese grater to my eyes and ears. What shithole of a pseudo-pretentious style emerging from a landfill did this zombie culture crawl out of, and how have they found the economic ability to be here putting their abhorrent natures on display? Did I get something wrong, and this aquarium is a cruel joke of nature that draws in the worst examples of humanity for the amusement of sealife allowing them to witness with their own eyes the dangers of evolution?
This hostility to my senses is likely unintentional on the part of those walking through here compared to my adolescent years when I put my belligerence on center stage because I hated others’ conformity. But this audible/visual hostility is an affront for no reason other than stupidity and its appearance as the fashion of the masses intended to squash my happiness. Fortunately, there are squid, octopus, jellyfish, my wife, and other life here at the aquarium that earn my appreciation for their ability to appear respectful and content to take in the better side of the spectacle all around them.
We’re about to get out of here but will need to return by 2:30 for our 3:00 date with a Behind The Scenes tour where, once again, the aquarium will be experienced at our speed. Not only will we have that, but tomorrow will also see our return early for the member entry and the calm of the first half hour as everyone else begins filtering in.
Tranquility returns as we bail out of the fish penitentiary and take a stroll over Lighthouse Avenue to Monarch Knits. While not one to mention every street nor really enjoy shopping, Lighthouse as a street name just sounds nice, and the yarn store we are going to means another new pair of socks for me.
Today’s choice of fingering weight yarn is from Hedgehog Fibres out of Iceland. It’s 90% Merino wool and 10% nylon, important for durability. The colorway is called Dragonfly, and as I’m noting these details, I’m left thinking I should have always been writing about these yarn details. We had to tend to this chore today as the yarn store is closed on Sunday.
Following a quick lunch at Peppers Mexicali Cafe, we were in need of a coffee, and PG Juice & Java, just around the corner, fit the bill and the caffeine fix. With coffee and a bag of yarn in hand, we aimed to reconnect with the Borg to leave an offering of yarn in the chamber we’d been assigned. Hopefully, someone calls me out for the hypocrisy of my lamenting of media references earlier while I’m doing exactly that with my nod to Star Trek.
With those necessities out of the way, we are afforded another walk along the ocean for our return to the aquarium. Still not tired of these spectacular views, but then how could one ever grow weary of gazing upon something or someone loved?
We arrived with plenty of time to spare before we headed to…Behind The Scenes. Yes, masks were mandatory as it appears that COVID-19 is transmissible to otters, so they are trying to keep any risk of infection from contaminating the areas where the general public is not allowed unaccompanied.
Unfortunately, our volunteer guide took ill, feeling faint early in our tour, and while staff tended to her needs, someone else picked up tour duties, and once again, we were off and exploring.
Sadly, this tour is turning out to be less than what we’d expected. Some 18 years ago in 2004, Caroline and I first experienced the tour we thought we were joining today; well, that one is long gone. Back then, we donned aprons and enjoyed a hands-on interaction where we participated and performed tasks that had us feeling like more than simple observers. Come on, guys, we can look at fish in tanks from the other side, too.
We explained to our guide how a volunteer from our group in 2004 was able to feed one of the sharks in this tank and that the group prepared food for the penguins. She had no interest in acknowledging that experience; she instead voiced her disbelief that such a thing was ever allowed here, implying our memories were unbelievable.
The guide did allow everyone to line up to feel the top of a jellyfish but, at the same time, was suggesting she was taking some small amount of risk on our behalf due to the slight bit of toxicity she might have to endure while holding the specimen. I’m feeling a bit defrauded.
True, the group walked through employee-only areas; we passed into a hallway of offices that were explained as being the fish and otter clinic, and the flow of seawater in and out of the tanks was explained to us. The tour ended here, and so did some small part of my respect for those who administer the operation; just kill this part of your offering that is half-hearted at best. Please remember, this is my perspective and not my wife’s; she’s pretty forgiving and likely fully enjoyed our time here. [Yes, I’m more forgiving, but I also couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed. For example, I’m not sure if looking at the place where shipments are received was a worthwhile part of the tour. But there were interesting spots as well. All I can say is that we were incredibly fortunate to have been able to take the tour eons ago. – Caroline]
Shortly after 4:00, we were back on the main floor and lucky us, people had already started funneling out of the aquarium for their dinner plans.
Standing here next to my best friend, I’m the one who sees Caroline looking on with a magical delight in her gaze at every fish and animal. Often, she’s wearing a smile that expresses the same enthusiasm that exists in the innocence of a child. At other times, it’s a studied seriousness that has her following a detail that obviously captured her imagination. Still, it remains in the private domain of her experience unless she calls me to her side to share in viewing the pageantry.
Flashy, dull, colorful, active, or at the edge of perception regarding any movement at all, Caroline will take the time to allow her eyes to dance over the scene, waiting patiently to maybe understand a thing, or is she somehow recording the patterns for future reference? Oh, lucky day that we were here and found this scale-sided boring piddock clam out and awake. So what did it do to elicit this exclamation of good fortune? It was in full presentation, and while not visible to our eyes, it was likely filtering water and enjoying its dinner before the lights went out for the night. This clam has something in common with the plain old sand dollar as far as Caroline is concerned, as there is nothing too languid to not interest her. I’ve watched this 54-year-old woman sit down on the floor before a tank of sand dollars and nearly worship their majesty as they do their sand dollary thing while failing to attract a following like the mighty octopus that always draws a crowd.
I’d like to share with you that there’s one thing here above all others that enchants my sweet wife, who spends the entire day here in absolute glee, but I don’t believe that’s possible as after visiting the squid and marveling at their entrancing pigment parade of shifting colors and patterns, she’s just as joyous when watching the shimmering light reflecting off of sardines.
And if someone thought that something like a blobby sea cucumber that barely moves might be the thing she could just pass by taking on a kind of blasé attitude about it, they’d be wrong. Maybe they failed to consider its color, its surface texture, its shape, or the way shifting light glides over this creature.
When I first laid eyes on Caroline, I didn’t find her attractive or interesting, not to say she was like a cross between a sand dollar and a sea cucumber, but clearly, my opinion changed. Six months later, I fell in love with her following the most delicate of kisses she immediately transformed into an ultra-beauty that captured my heart and soul. Over the course of more than 30 years that we’ve been a pair, her romantic quotient (RQ) has only grown with her keen appreciation for aesthetic sensuality to become one of the greatest attractions she employs to increase the bond that pulls me closer to her. I think that this black oystercatcher is looking at me with that knowing smile of, “You got that right.”
As from the emerald waters, so from the Emerald Tablet, we learn the quote, “As above, so below.” Maybe the lowly fish understood its mirror image or, as Jacques Lacan wrote, its Mirror Stage and recognized it was also from a world above, propelling it to walk out upon the land. That fish is surmised to be the Tiktaalik. I try to imagine this fish, some 375 million years pulling itself out of its universe using its fins in order to meet its god in a world beyond its normal existence. It was then this kernel of primitive thought encoded in the DNA of creatures that told them to look up into the heavens in order to find their maker in the ethereal light that falls down upon this great mystery.
While this sheepshead fish is far from ugly, my last paragraph has me thinking about the differences between those creatures that try to ascend and those that take refuge in the deep below. Consider that many would consider deep sea fish ugly, even going so far as calling some the ugliest monsters imaginable. Our ideas of Satan and hell are from a nether world, and the zombies that terrorize popular dystopian nightmares crawl from out of the earth below. There’s an important bit of insight we can take from this analogy: life does not improve or find beauty when it is busy descending; it must leave the darkness, the depths, and its terrestrial existence to seek higher planes of self-realization or risk becoming a monster.
Next to the otter tank here at the aquarium, I’d say watching the octopuses [yes, that is the correct plural of octopus – Caroline] when they are active might be the next most popular activity, but why? While they are from the world below, they exhibit curiosity, they are mischievous and even exhibit a kind of craftiness. They are better examples of human qualities than many of the wanna-be monsters walking these corridors. Yes, my rhetoric verges on the harsh as I seemingly want to dismiss the masses as closer to troglodytes than real humans, but this is what haunts my nightmares and version of hell. It appears to me that humanity is accepting the descent into mediocrity, ignoring that only when reaching out do we discover exquisite new heights we once thought were beyond our grasp.
Jellyfish existed in our oceans more than 500 million years ago, sharks were swimming among them 450 million years ago, trees appeared about 370 million years ago, and then frogs started croaking 263 million years before the first humans stepped upon the land. Is our supposed free will to do as we please really the pinnacle of life? Somewhere else on this blog I’ve written that I want to believe that birds have a more significant existence than most any human aside from the wealthiest of us. Birds fly, walk, swim, sing, eat for free, sing some more, procreate, parent, and soar in the clouds and just above the waves before taking refuge in their simple but free homes they typically build themselves. We, on the other hand, have all the freedom we can afford, have no idea how to build a home, hope to practice procreation, eat according to how much we earn, and are allowed to walk, swim, or fly where others permit us to.
Maybe birds are not the only masters of a domain. Jellies float effortlessly in a perfect environment well suited to the area of the sea where their individual species thrive. Obviously, they are adept at accommodating change as they have been doing their thing free of bondage and ego for 500 million years. The dinosaurs weren’t so skilled in their flexibility to survive extinction, and I’m increasingly inclined to think we are collectively too stupid to survive our own successes. Yet, I’d bet a crypto coin that many people would think of the jellyfish as one of the lowliest of creatures on our planet.
Majestic with frills and lace fringe, the jelly tumbles through their universe with nary a care as it knows better than to concern itself with the problems of man. In a sense, the jelly is a god having lent us humans part of its extraordinary DNA so that we might take form some 498 million years after having learned what it would take for its species to survive almost everything else that at one time was alive and possibly thriving on our earth. And most would react with fear at the jelly approaching them in the ocean, afraid they’ll be stung and die, and so, in turn, would rather kill this elegant lifeform just as we try doing with sharks and wolves.
It seems that we are the most barbaric of species; we are the dangerous pandemic of death, we bring the pestilence of our very being to the world around us, and then we celebrate the idea that our mythical gods will save our souls. Our souls are monsters from the depths of an evolutionary experiment that might have only been allowed in order to witness the dumbest creatures ever rise out of the primordial ooze.
Don’t get me wrong, while I may decry the handling of our current place in the order of life at this time; I’m grateful for this opportunity to have been here and been able to consider the bizarre rarity that we even came into existence. Maybe the greatest gift of aquariums, coastal roads, forest trails, riverways, and flower gardens is that we might pause and consider the hows and whys we have been offered such experiences and then act as the rational, sentient beings we claim to be. So, big thanks to the life on display here this day that played a part in making me think about how I relate to them.
There’s this moment when we’re somewhere like Disneyland, and the park is going to close in an hour, where we want to rush over to our favorite rides for one more perfect moment. Should we ride Pirates of the Caribbean, It’s a Small World, or, had it not already closed, we’d sit in for yet one more rendition put on by the birds of the Tiki Room. Well, here at Monterey Bay Aquarium, it is the exact same thing when we want to go watch the octopus or jellyfish just one more time. We want to linger at the Kelp Forest watching the sway of sealife to an old familiar piece of music that’s been playing there for decades or come stand in front of the aquarium’s biggest window and wish all the inhabitants a good night.
The sardine. They made Cannery Row here in Monterey famous, in part due to John Steinbeck’s writing of this old town on the bay that was a key supplier of the canned fish. By the 1950s, the canneries had to shut down as the fishermen were no longer able to catch enough fish for processing. Then, in 2010 the largest cannery still in operation over in Prospect Harbor, Maine, had to shut down after 135 years of operation for the same reason. From the 1950s through the early 2000s, sardines started to recover, but then overfishing reared its ugly head again, and since 2006, the Pacific population of sardines has declined by an estimated 95%. While humans might complain about lost fishing jobs and consumers might be willing to pay higher prices for sardines, the sea lions, salmon, pelicans, dolphins, and whales that depend on healthy stocks don’t care about jobs or what wealthy people might pay for a food item they depend on. If we humans don’t wake up and start acting together, first admitting to our own shortsightedness and then our petulant greed, we might ultimately be responsible for destroying what was once abundant and incredibly beautiful.
If you are wondering what single-word superlatives might describe this day, there are none that could adequately convey the breadth of our experience. The photos and my musings will have to do the majority of the heavy lifting.
