We woke this morning to a strange sight at the "dining room window." There was a sea serpent staring into the habitat! Apparently, the poor creature had become tangled in some loose rope and was bobbing right outside the window as if requesting a rescue from the aquanauts inside Aquarius. In the time it took for us to get all our equipment on and effect a rescue, the poor animal had drowned…it's probably a good thing that he was made of plastic! In an attempt to provide humor and entertainment, a couple of the Aquarius technicians (who had come to work on the Life Support Buoy - fondly referred to as the LSB) attached an inflatable pool toy in front of our main window. It was great eating breakfast under the muted gaze of the sea monster…thanks guys!

After breakfast, we continued scouting for sites to monitor barrel sponges; we made a three-hour dive and found some sites that will suit our sponge-monitoring needs. We swim to and from the sites alongside an established excursion line and the quarter mile trip is an incredible visual journey. We leave Aquarius and swim out over a plain of white sand, whose starkness seems oddly out of place in comparison to the diversity of the surrounding reef. Yet, there are fish that make the most of these sand barrens. The "sand tilefish" hovers only inches above the sediment and watches intently for any attempt on our part to gobble them up; they dive into their burrows at the first sign of trouble. The "goat fish" on the other hand, could care less about our intrusion into his world as he continuously sweeps the sand with his whiskers in search of food. As we continue on, the sand plain gently rises into a shallow reef area dominated by bright colorful sponges, stony corals, and the soft corals or "sea fans" that serve as indicators to tell us which way the current is flowing.

There are of course many fishes that reside on the shallow reef. Their names hint at the rainbow of colors that greet our eyes; the redband parrotfish, the orange filefish, the yellowtail snapper, the green razorfish, the bluehead wrasse, and the indigo hamlet, to name a few. We continue along to the ridge that runs out to a site known as the "Pinnacles," where the depth drops off to about 100 feet. We can see lobster crawling around on the reef below as they progress towards a destination that they keep to themselves. Occasionally, a green moray eel looks up to see the other-worldly silhouettes of four strangers cast against the glimmering silver-blue ocean surface - strangers who must appear awkwardly inept in their attempt to survive in an environment for which the eel is supremely configured. I wonder, if it could laugh, would we bear the brunt of its hilarity? We ended our trek to the Pinnacles and began to work on establishing the first of our monitoring stations.

I find myself intrigued by the fauna surrounding Aquarius, as most of the "locals" here don't seem to mind our intrusion into their realm and several seem to be "down right curious." Case in point -- Tim and I were looking for seastars the other day, minding our own science, when out of the corner of my eye I saw a beautiful little hawksbill turtle approach us. It glided over to us in a most effortless fashion and hovered there, staring at us, as if trying to comprehend the reason for our intent focus on the sea floor. The expression in its eyes, when combined with the inquisitively tilted head, seemed to pose the playful question "Whacha doin?" It wasn't the least bit startled and appeared to be comfortable with our presence despite the fact that it was less than a foot away from my mask. It followed us around for the next minute and then scooted away as efficiently as it approached; the truth of the matter is that it probably got bored observing the monotony of our tasks. When encounters like this occur, my thoughts are immediately conflicted as I battle the irresistible urge to touch the animal, when I should be content to just admire its beauty from afar. As humans, I think the potential sensation of touching a non-domestic creature often overrides our innate ability to prevent doing so (or maybe it's just me!). I have to remind myself that these are wild creatures that are not present for my tactile experience, but then, why do they have to act so much like puppies?