Watching the birth of a day at 80 feet is simply magical. Whereas dawn at the surface fills the sky with vivid oranges and reds and yellows, dawn at depth uses a broad palette of ever-brightening hues of blue. At first, we notice a slight bluish glow as we look upwards. The sea fans and large corals are in dark silhouette, and a silhouetted diver with a trailing stream of bubbles is a real regulator-dropper. Gradually, the underwater dawn goes through the blues; the silhouettes become sharper and gradually assume detail. Finally, the first non-blue colors become discernable, the water surface looks like the sky, and the sun is visible as a fuzzy and undulating spot of white light.

The awakening reef is a remarkable transformation and one that I'll never tire of viewing. Despite the increasing levels of activity, everything occurs in a silence rhythmically interrupted by exhaled bubbles. The first reef creatures to emerge from nocturnal shelters are the butterfly fishes, always in pairs and effortlessly threading their way amongst the fan corals and rocky outcrops in the still-dim light. Next are the innumerable little damselfishes, who immediately begin patrolling their territories and chasing away intruders of all sizes. These little guys are perpetually grumpy! Two of them have taken possession of the gazebo; one on the SE corner and the other on the NW corner. The SE guy has bitten all of us repeatedly whenever we reach or step in or near its territory. I'm convinced that if three-spot damselfish were as big as German Shepard's (instead of as small as goldfish), all coral reef divers would require armed escorts for every dive. It wouldn't go over very well, but any sports team named the "Damselfishes" definitely would get my respect! Last ones out of the coral bed are the parrotfishes, and they get my respect because their view of mornings mirrors my own. The nocturnal fishes, on the other hand, quietly settle under overhangs or in small holes, or just hang out in a lethargic school. Their night is just beginning.

The dawn after a full moon (or new moon) is really special, because this is when many invertebrates (and the alga we are studying) release vast clouds of gametes into the water column. Barrel sponges really put on a show. They are the size of small chimneys and when the gametes are released, the reef looks like an industrial park with many "smokestacks" belching forth clouds of smoke. Male barrel sponges go first and release fine clouds of sperm that slowly drift over the reef like encroaching fog. About 30 minutes later, the females spew thousands of large white egg masses that are dead ringers for heavy snowflakes. The heavy egg masses only rise about a foot before falling onto the sponge and adjacent bottom. After about 20 minutes, female sponges look like small mountains covered with newly fallen snow, a coating that persists for at least two days. I half expect to see hermit crabs bobsledding down the sponge slopes with their shells.

The other aspect of living in Aquarius that is memorable for me is our daily commute to and from the office. The commute was a source of inner peace for me on previous saturation missions and remains so during our current mission.

As a 6-year veteran of a one-hour each-way commute on LA's dreaded 405, I never thought I would consider a commute to be a source of inner peace. But swimming between Aquarius and Conch Reef is much like using a bicycle to go from a small country cottage to job in a nearby village. We become much more aware of the local "characters" and the daily events that have occurred as long as the reef has been around. For example, the damselfishes are like nervous shopkeepers constantly sweeping their front sidewalks. Cleaning stations, where many fishes line up in order to have ectoparasites picked off by the small cleaner fish, remind me of folks lining up at a coffee shop for gratification of a different sort. Fishes of all sizes and speeds overtake us or cross our path, mimicking the variety of automobiles (and drivers) commuters encounter on freeways everywhere. And when the barracuda suddenly appears at my side out of nowhere, I feel as if I'm being monitored by the highway patrol and subconsciously slow down. NPR or CDs cannot make this commute any better.

It will be hard to leave the world of Aquarius.