![]() ![]() The moment my foot hit the planks, I could make out the sunshine orange of garibaldi flirting beneath the surface. ![]() I was for the first time seeing bright sea creatures outside the confines of an aquarium. I’ve always been tied up in a romance with the ocean (my last eight land-locked years notwithstanding), but getting off that boat and stepping onto the dock in Avalon a little more than three decades ago was deeply affecting. While a special joy for me surrounded the quality of the morning salt air that hangs so heavily in coastal regions, the creatures that inhabit the ocean-both at depth and in shallows-also struck a deep chord of interest. Having grown up pretty much on the beach (a one-and-a-half–minute walk from it at any rate), I’ve long held a certain affection for the sea and all it holds. I was blisteringly excited for the opportunity. Limpets, urchins, sea cucumbers, anemone, sea hares, sharks, eels, plankton. We were going out to it in a way that our own tide pools rendered impossible. We had spent the better part of our Spring trimester studying the marine life local to Southern California. I had always been familiar with the island as a distant portion of our smog-soaked skyline, but this would be different. ![]() It was Spring 1982 and we stayed at a marine institute. When I was in second grade, my class took a weekend trip to Catalina Island off the coast of Southern California. ![]()
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