Tales from the Logbook--One Mile South of Refugio

Santa Barbara County’s South Coast offered some wonderful and interesting shore dives.  A thick kelp forest ran discontinuously along the coastline.  A promising stretch of kelp seen from the road warranted further investigation.  Parking along 101 was easy; just pull off to the side.  Getting down to water’s edge was a bit more challenging.  Was there a shore entry point?  How did one get to the point? 

One spot that I dived occasionally from the mid-1980s to the early 1990’s was known as “One Mile South” a nondescript pulloff alongside the southbound US 101.  The spot got its name from the highway exit sign in the northbound lane that proclaimed REFUGIO STATE BEACH—1 MILE.  

To get One Mile South, one had to exit at Refugio State Beach going northbound, get back on the highway heading southbound and look for the sign.  From the pullout, it was a matter of finding the hole in the fence, walking an unmarked path down a short embankment, crossing the Southern Pacific railroad tracks and the Aniso trail (the bikepath between El Capitan and Refugio State Beaches) and continuing on to the beach below.  Other folks knew the location as “Las Flores Beach,” or “Canada del Corral” or “Coral Beach.”

The beach and intertidal zone was a mixture of sand and rocks backed by coastal bluffs.  The water entrance was rocky substrate, rocks, and sections of eel grass and kelp.  What waited offshore was a boulder field that had no geological reason to be there.  The rocks had been placed to protect the shallow sections of the seafloor power cable production line corridor that supported the operation and oil and gas production from the offshore Santa Ynez Unit platforms and the onshore facilities in Las Flores Canyon.  

Placing the quarry rock along with the natural hard bottom habitat created a kelp forest habitat which included various species of abalone.  So plentiful were the critters that I and others referred to the rock reef as “abalone acre.”  I recall the tock held mostly pink and red abalone.

I made many dives at One Mile South with a number of divers, as the extract from my surviving dive log indicates.  (My record of dives from 1986 to 1989, when I was diving several times a month are spotty at best.)  Some of these dives, like those with Brandon, were adventures in exploration and species identification.  I did like to introduce new divers to various locations in the area, which accounts for the variety of buddies at this site.  The boulder pile was an uniquel feature in the area, similar to diving a breakwater but without the swell and backwash.  After 1994, I only made one other dive at this location.  That tale will be told in the next installment of the blog.

Date	Buddy	Depth	Time
September 30, 1990	Brandon Cole	25	30
October 7, 1990	Matt Russel	30	35
January 9, 1991	Brandon Cole	35	40
May 28, 1992	Steve Sprague	40	45
August 18, 1992	David Salazar	30	50
September 19, 1992	Arnold Ammann	35	55
June 14, 1994	Joey Low	25	45

I recall being separated from Mike Edwards during one dive at One Mile South when he went off in one direction spearfishing while I looked for abalone.   Abalone hunting involves patiently checking nooks and crannies in a limited area, like the boulder field.  Spearfishing, which I did not do, involves ranging over the entire kelp bed in search of fish or moving along the sand bottom in search of halibut. 

Mike had been in the area around the rock pile, but I realized we were no longer together.  I looked circled around for a minute or so trying to find him to no avail.  I slowly ascended to the surface scanning for him.  On top, I looked to see if he had surfaced.  He had not.  I looked for the bubble stream from his regulator exhaust but couldn’t see it.  After a while on the surface, I was starting to get worried.  Just as I was figuring how to exit the water to activate emergency services from this fairly remote location, Mike popped up to the surface. 

I mentioned that after a quarter hour of hanging on the surface I was starting to get worried. Mike mentioned that he had come to the surface when he realized we were separated but that he could see me.  He figured he would finish the dive and that I would be on the surface waiting when he finished.  He knew I used my air supply more quickly than he did.  

I resolved that during future pre-dive buddy checks with Mike to make sure we had an agreement on what to do if we became separated.  

I do note that all these years later, I can report that many of the people that I dived with are still involved in ocean-related activities.  Brndon Cole is a world renowned wildlife photographer (mostly ocean themes) and author.  Matt Russel is a noted marine archaeologist.  David Salazar works for the UCSB Marine Science Institute on the Santa Barbara Long Term Ecological Research project.  Arnold Amman works for the NOAA Southwest Fisheries Science Center.  Joey Low is a criminal defense attorney in Long Beach.  Joey had been in a US Marine Corps Force Recon unit.  We used to tease him that old habits dies hard and if he still had the urge to hide his dive gear on the beach when he came ashore from a sport dive.

 

 

Tales from the Log--Kelp Forest Monitoring in 2000--Part 2

 

Wednesday, July 19, 2000

All the gear on the deck is caked with salt this morning—the residue of last night’s wind-whipped seas. All the equipment is cleaned off and checked as we prepare for the first dive of the day.

The first dive of the day is at the Johnson's Lee-North site. I descend very slowly in and constantly equalize the pressure using the "Valsalva maneuver" which sounds like a military tactic, but simply means, "pinch the nose and blow." I have had a little difficulty equalizing, not enough to keep from diving but enough to keep me from descending head-straight-down. 

My buddy and I spend part of the dive looking for a wayward ARM that has yet to be located. The search proves fruitless; the module cannot be located, part of the rare but not unknown attrition of these structures over time.  I think that anchoring vessels will sometimes snag and drag the ARM, perhaps pummeling it into unrecognizable debris strewn across the seafloor,

We spend the remainder of the dive collecting red and purple urchins at various places along the transect. My partner is a bit more experienced and adept at collecting the critters. His bag is full before mine, but I finish the task before a diminishing air supply causes me to surface. We secure the mesh bags containing the urchins to lines hanging from the boat. This keeps the urchins submerged until we bring them aboard to measure them.

We bring each bag aboard, segregate the urchins by species, and measure them with calipers. We callout the measurements which are recorded on a tally sheet for later entry into the database. The recorder calls back our measurement to make sure it is correct. "43…43, 56…56, 23…23" for a couple hundred measurements. I expect someone to say "hike" at the end of the string or stand up and yell "bingo." As we finish with each creature, we toss it over the side of the boat, returning it to its environment. A diver on the bottom under the boat might experience this "urchin hail" until all the critters are measured. After we finish, I use a pair of sharp tweezers to remove a few urchin spines from my paws. Urchins are the porcupines of the sea. Pick them up and play with them, but, if they don’t like being disturbed, you will be skewered.

On the second dive, each diver in my team measures 60 puffball sponges at various locations along the baseline. This measuring is done in situ (a term, which in this case means, "as they sit on the bottom") using calipers and recording the measurement on a slate. We are warned not to come back without our calipers. It seems that in the past these devices have been lost. I put both calipers and slate in a mesh bag, which will clip to my harness at the beginning and end of the dive. The surge on the bottom makes lining up to measure the orange colonial a real test of buoyancy control. Even though items under water appear 25 percent larger because of the magnification effect of water, I wish I had bifocals installed in my mask to read the increments on the scale a bit faster.

Between dives, we are invited to snack on various victuals place in the galley—chocolate, trail mix, dried fruit, fresh fruit, potato chips which are the hors d’ oeuvre before a fully lunch and dinner. Come to think of it, we are not invited to "snack" as much as we are invited to "graze" or "mow." Scientific diving is much more strenuous than sport diving under the same conditions. It is both physical and mental. It is also more arduous, even if one has the sedentary, or rather sessile, task of emptying, inventorying, and reassembling recruitment modules. Immobility is achieved by station keeping which requires a large expenditure of energy. Paradoxically, because the diver is motionless, he or she seems more susceptible to getting cold. These between-dive snacks provide energy that compensates for the expenditure of energy. We are diving machines, but not perpetual motion machines. At least it provides a great rationalization for scarfing down trail mix laced with plain M&Ms. Yum.

On the third dive, we move to Johnson's-Lee South to do a thirty-minute fish count. We take a long surface interval and check our dive profile as insurance that this slightly deeper dive will be well within the safe diving envelope. I am getting pretty good at these fish counts. Repetition makes for reliability. After dive operations are done for the day, the data is methodically recorded and checked before the slates are cleaned in preparation for the next day’s activity.

This isn’t a cruiseship; we just eat like it is. We might even be able to play shuffleboard if it weren’t for all the dive gear on the fantail. But, after all is done for the day, after the gear is stowed, the meal prepared, and the dishes done, the "card room" opens as some of the crew plays a game of hearts on one of the galley tables while the other table becomes the library or salon where we can enjoy our novels or engage in conversation. It doesn’t last long. Soon the library empties as people say their "g’nights" and retire to their berths below decks. Brushing of teeth on the stern becomes a group activity. There is no formal "lights out" but somewhere between 9 and 10 p.m. the cabins go dark and sleep comes quickly. As the cruise progresses, the "lights off" time seems to come earlier and earlier.

Thursday, July 20, 2000

The morning, still at Johnson's Lee South, we hit the water before 8:00 a.m. in order to beat the current that will surely quickly build. My partner and I descend the stern anchor line to one end of the transect. We are counting the number of stipes or strands on the kelp plants and measuring the diameter of the holdfasts that anchor the kelp plant to the seafloor. My partner finds a juvenile wolf eel at the beginning of the dive, a critter that I have never seen before. True to prediction, the current begins to pick up just as we finish our data collection at the site.

We pull anchor and head for Fry’s Harbor on the front, or north or "front" side of Santa Cruz Island, which means another trip across the Potato Patch. As soon as we get underway, the skipper heaves to and shuts the engine down. The impeller on the engine exhaust cooing system needs to be replaced. We are well off the island. I am asked to keep watch and notify the skipper if we get close to the island. Visibility is unlimited. Still, I recall all the vessels that stranded or grounded on the islands when the Captain left the bridge with explicit instructions to be notified if land was sighted.

One such vessel is Goldenhorne that has lain for more than a century on the bottom just upcoast of South Point. She was engaged in the transpacific trade, coal from Australia to Los Angeles for the railroad line that would eventually end coastwise shipping. She and her two sister ships the Matterhorne and the Silverhorne all came to grief, one at Santa Rosa Island, another off northern California, and the third just disappeared off the surface of the sea, never to be heard from again. Luckily, history is not to be repeated. Repairs are quickly made to the Pacific Ranger and we are soon underway for our appointment with the Patch. Today, the area really lives up to its reputation, making the passage a few days ago seem tranquil by comparison.

We arrive at Fry’s Harbor. Although we are relatively close to the island, the dives will be relatively deep. The profile of the sea floor here is nearly vertical--it gets very deep, very quick, very close to shore. We do the Fish Count. We come to the surface, deposit our slates for later tallying, switch out our tanks and hit the water for our third dive of the day. Recruitment modules need to be taken apart, he critters bagged for tallying, and the bricks reassembled. Marine growth on the bricks acts as cement between the blocks. We need to apply enough force to overcome the adhesion, but not so much as to disturb the smallest of the critters attached to the blocks. Fitting the bricks back together is a challenge, but one that does not require the finesse of the disassembly. I seem to recall a line from the original Star Trek series where ship’s surgeon McCoy states "I’m a doctor, not a bricklayer" when ordered to mend a creature who is essentially a living rock. Well, today I am a bricklayer, not a doctor.

Friday, July 21, 2000

We will finish up this spot and head back to port. On the first dive, my partner and I swim parallel to the baseline and take a census of two species of sea stars. The water is murky and we have to work a bit harder to maintain buddy contact. The water seems a bit colder. The sky this morning was overcast, and while the wind was light, I missed the warmth of the sun.

On the second dive, we swim along the baseline, doing a census of a species of sea star and keyhole limpet. The limpet has an internal shell covered by the mantle so we have to be very careful to feel for the limits of the shell to ensure an accurate measurement.

The trip back is uneventful. We busy ourselves cleaning the ship and preparing for disembarking at Park headquarters at Ventura. Remarkably, not all of the consumables have been consumed. These will be removed and used for the next trip in another week. All other gear that was brought down to the boat from the loading area by small handcarts must now be taken from the boat up to the loading area. But, the tide is in and the ramp from the floating dock to the loading area is not a steep as it might be at low tide. Normally one would not notice the differential, but at the end of a five-day working cruise, we are pleased by the condition that is a bit easier.

Tales from the Log--Kelp Forest Monitoring in 2000--Part 1

I participated in three Channel Islands National Park (CINP) Kelp Forest Monitoring cruises aboard the vessel Pacific Ranger for one week during 1998, 2000, and 2001.  Below, I describe the cruise from the week of July 17 to 21, 2000.  At the time of the survey, I was temporarily assigned as a staff assistant in the Minerals Management Service Director's Office in Washington, D.C.  I had to fly back to California in order to join the monitoring voyage.  

My supervisor in the Washington office, Deputy Director Dr. Thomas Kitsos, seemed a bit perplexed a few weeks earlier when I presented a dive plan for his endorsement before sending it on to the MMS Diving Officer for approval.  I explained that his signature was pro-forma, but that the bureau's diving handbook required the approval.  I had extended my stay in Washington for the summer months at the request of Dr. Kitsos.  I was glad to do it as I loved the work and the opportunity to see how a busy Director's Office functioned. I explained that I was obligated to participate in the Kelp Forest Monitoring voyage and Dr. Kitsos agreed.  

The cruise participants, some of the finest people I have had the pleasure to dive with, collected data using a variety of established protocols. Researchers use this data to monitor the "health" of the kelp forest ecosystem at established points in the ocean waters of the Park. This effort is now in its 19th season. Eight divers joined the cruise. I made 14 dives during the five-day period. All operations were safety conducted.

Monday, July 17, 2000

We loaded Park Service vessel Pacific Ranger, cast off our mooring lines and departed Ventura harbor at 0930 bound for the "Yellowbanks" area on the south side of Santa Cruz Island. The trip to the area was uneventful. During transit, the more experienced members of the survey party (them) gave the less experienced members (me) a briefing on the research protocols that the monitoring project uses. 

Only a few Park Service employees make this survey. These cruises rely on well-qualified volunteer divers. I dive for my agency, Minerals Management Service, a sister agency of the National Park Service at the Department of the Interior. I am the only non-NPS "fed" on board. The rest of the divers are affiliated with university diving programs or work for the state of California. Most have some formal marine biology background. I am the exception; I am a diving "social scientist" who got my start as a volunteer doing shipwreck surveys for the National Park Service. I realize that I am going to dive with a lot of different people and learn a lot on this trip. I have done one of these trips before, two years ago.

We anchored at Yellowbanks at 1230. I have done a lot of diving over the last two decades at this spot. When we get to a site, two divers go over the side to locate the baseline, essentially a 100 meter steel cable permanently installed on the sea floor (or about as permanent as one can get in the ocean.) Pelican buoys are deployed to mark both ends of the line. Once the small yellow-green float pops to the surface, an empty, economy size, red laundry detergent bottle is attached to the line. This "buoy" is a little easier to see on the sea surface--an important feature when precisely anchoring over the line or for station keeping during live boating. The crew then places a tape measure along the baseline to provide numeric references for data collection.

As the first task, my buddy team conducted a fish survey. The survey uses a straightforward protocol. Basically, the diver swims along a transect line for thirty minutes noting the species and abundance of fish (that is, single, few, common, many). The survey begins on descent in order to cover the entire water column. While we record all species we can positively identify, the protocol calls for paying special attention to seventeen different species. Furthermore for some species we are asked to note the stage of their development--juvenile/adult, and their gender--male/female.

On the second dive, my buddy team task is to remove critters from two artificial recruitment modules or ARMs, essentially wire cages filled with seven layers of  1/2 cinder blocks. The block provides the hard substrate for various organisms to take up residence. Recovering the critter consists of removing the top from the ARM, taking out each of 28, 1/2 cinder blocks, collecting the smallest to largest organism and placing them into a mesh bag, and restacking the bricks into the wire cage. We take care to detect the smallest of specimens and place them in a finer-mesh bag. Back on the boat, we identify and measure the critters by species. On the third dive, the critters are placed back into the ARM and the lid sealed. We reel in the tape measure and recover the Pelican buoys before returning to the vessel.

My log book entries sparsely recorded over the years note that this once was a great spot for pink abalone. Not any more. There is nary an abalone of any color to be found. The reasons are several and complex, disease, overfishing, El Nino. Take your choice. While each is a necessary condition, no one is probably sufficient to explain the demise. It may be that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts or more accurately, the remainder is less than the result of the subtraction.

Tuesday, July 18, 2000

Shortly after first light, we motor west along the "backside" of Santa Cruz Island. The calm seas make the voyage very easy while in the "lee" side of the island. Soon we emerge into the "Potato Patch"-- an area of confused seas between Santa Cruz Island and Santa Rosa Island. This promises to be the roughest part of the passage. 

For an hour we make headway, but our progress in measured not in nautical miles per hour but in the pitching fore-and-aft and the rolling side-to-side of the vessel. No one has yet devised an amusement park ride that will replicate this sensation, probably because no one would go on a ride whose main purpose is not to terrify, but to produce mal-de-mare or seasickness. Sleeping through it is the best way to take the Patch, but this is an elusive a state of semi-consciousness few can achieve when anything that isn't nailed down (and a few things that are) are shifting, banging, clinking, and clanging from the movement. Enough time at sea, gaining your "sea legs," helps render the contrary motion tolerable. I have almost reached that state, but the Patch can put this immunity to the test. Doping oneself up on motion sickness medicine is not an option. 

The seas soon overwhelm any pill's ability to deaden the impulses from the middle ear that tell your brain one thing while vision tells it another. Experienced sea voyagers suggest that you watch a distant point of land as a way of helping resolve the dispute between sight and balance. In the Patch, all that advice does is let you know what an island jumping up and down looks like. Eventually, we cross the Patch and are in the lee of Santa Rosa Island. I recall one more adage that describes seasickness, "first you are afraid you are going to die, then you are afraid you ain't."

We approach Santa Rosa Island's South Point. We plan to work two sites at Johnson's Lee just east of the point. The first site, Johnson's Lee South, is a deep site in about 50 feet of water. The second, more shallow site, Johnson's Lee North, is closer to the island in about 30 feet of water. For diving safety, the general practice is to make the deepest dive first and then make subsequent dives progressively shallower. 

We suspect that a strong current at the South site will prevent diving at that location. The strong current is evident by the kelp, which should be thick on the surface, is nowhere to be seen. Our suspicion is further confirmed when we anchor. The boat should swing into the wind. Rather, she swings into the current and a wake appears aft of her stern caused by water movement against the hull, as if the boat is underway. It is essential that the vessel be anchored close to the transect since surface-supplied air diving is done under one of the protocols. We can't work under these conditions so we move in toward the island to do our work at Johnson's Lee-north.

The first dive at this site replicates the initial dive at every site, we do a fish count. Each site has a slightly different distribution of fish. Each night, members of the survey crew examine the various species identification books brought aboard in the "KFM library" a blue ice chest filled with a variety of references on marine life in the area. The boat becomes a floating classroom with divers talking about various critters, their characteristics, and behaviors. I find myself referring to these documents from time-to-time. 

After diving in these waters for nearly more than 15 years, I am familiar with all common species of marine life, but a refresher is in order every year I do a survey, so I bury my nose in the books between dives. Most divers recognize the charismatic macrofauna. You know, those big fish that we attribute mystical powers to or are especially enamored by; the rest of the ecosystem be damned. These include whales, dolphins (of whom many impart a great spiritual significance), sharks, lobsters, halibut, sheepshead, and so on. But, if these are all you know, lumping all other species together as "fish" during the fish count doesn’t quite yield the precision in the data that we require to do monitoring.

Getting back onto the boat is a matter of timing and represents a combination of a "spy hop" done by whales and a "haul out" done by sea lions. First, we remove our weight belts or weight packs to lighten the effort and take off any gear bags or equipment clipped to our gear to prevent snags. Both hands are placed on the teak swim platform and the diver raises him or herself onto the platform. Imagine a gymnast in a wetsuit and full dive gear (sans weight belt) mounting a pommel horse and you kind of got the picture. This is the "spy hop" portion of the maneuver. The diver is half out of the water with arms fully extended. He or she then kicks and rolls their legs onto the platform to do the "haul out" and complete the move. Imagine aforementioned gymnast starting the routine on the horse and you kind of got the picture. Now, to make things really interesting for the gymnast, start rocking the horse fore and aft. In a swell, the stern dips slightly. 

The dropping stern also provides a bit of leverage as it rises. While dropping only a few inches at most, those inches can seem like miles at the end of the dive, especially if the maneuver is mistimed and started as the stern is rising. We then kneel as if in prayer, thanking the deity for our safe return from the dive. We then grab the top of the rail and pull ourselves upright, remove our fins, and waddle onto the deck, completing in a few seconds that which took our forebearers millions of years to achieve through evolution.

Getting back on the boat sometimes takes a try or two, or three. No one thinks to shout an encouraging "alley oops." The older and fatter I get (also part of evolutionary progression), the more tries it might take or the more groaning there may be if the try is successful on the first attempt. All those push-ups during the year mitigate, but do not eliminate, the effect of progressing years.

 As the sun heads behind the hills of the island, diving operations end for the day. Its time to get warm. The water seems cold, but a hot water hose is always available. Appendages, such as feet, are warmed by direct application of hot water. Gee, thawing feels great.

Tales from the Logbook--Kelp Forest Monitoring at Channel Islands National Park

I descend with my buddy and two other divers from the stern of the Channel Islands National Park vessel, Pacific Ranger, to conduct a roving diver fish count. Immediately, I begin to collect species and abundance data on the fish species I encounter.  I note the common name for the species and their relative abundance as S (single -1) F (few-2-10) C (common-11-100) or M (many over 100) on an underwater slate—essentially a mylar sheet duct taped to a plastic board with a pencil attached with surgical tubing to the board.  Over the next 30 minutes, I swim along a 100 meter transect line permanently affixed to the seafloor.  I collect data in five minute segments, which I track using the bezel of my Seiko dive watch.  I note each species I encounter, while actively searching for 17 species of particular interest throughout the water column including under ledges.  I am familiar with all these species; they are fairly common and frequently encountered during my dives over the years.

Following the protocol, once each species is seen and its abundance estimated in a five minute segment, it is ignored in subsequent segments.  Twenty minutes into the dive, the species I have not yet encountered are fewer and fewer.  Time seems to pass quickly and soon we are headed back to the boat.  Once on board, we compile our individual observations on a master data sheet.

The procedure that I followed, along with the procedures listed below are described in the Park’s KELP FOREST MONITORING HANDBOOK, VOLUME 1: SAMPLING PROTOCOL. The handbook describes  several different sampling techniques.  This standardized approach ensures that data collected has a high degree of reliability and validity. 

The following paragraphs, extracted from various National Park Service related publications, provide an overview of the Southern California kelp forest habitats, the Channel Islands National Park Kelp Forest Monitoring Program, and why rigorous protocols are used

Southern California Kelp Forests

“The nearshore waters along the coastline southern California host one of the most productive marine ecosystems on earth, giant kelp forests (Macrocystis pyrifera). Like tropical rainforests, these towering seaweeds provide structure, food, and hiding places for more than 1,000 species of plants and animals, providing necessary habitat for species as diverse as giant black sea bass and tiny bluebanded gobies.

Kelp forests are influenced by both natural events and human activities. Strong storms associated with El Niño years and fluctuating water temperatures can cause dramatic changes in kelp forest communities. Human activities also affect the health and survival of kelp forests through coastal development, sedimentation, pollution, and, in particular, fishing. Removal of predators can alter predator-prey interactions. For example,with the elimination of sea otters and the overharvesting of spiny lobster and California sheephead, herbivore populations like purple sea urchins can decimate kelp beds through overgrazing. These areas quickly transition into "barren" landscapes supporting relatively few species and lower biomass. Loss of kelp beds also eliminates nursery grounds for many species whose young live in the kelp until they are large enough to venture into open waters. Without shelter and food from the kelp forest, these populations may be dramatically reduced.”[i]

Kelp Forest Monitoring Program

“To help better understand and protect the kelp forest community, Channel Islands National Park established a kelp forest monitoring program in 1982 to collect baseline information about kelp forest ecosystems around the five park islands…. Since the program began, widespread and dramatic changes have occurred. The program has documented the loss of kelp beds around several of the islands; confirmed the decline of several marine species; supported management actions, like the closure of abalone fisheries in southern California; and documented declines in the health of kelp forests where predators are absent or drastically reduced. The program has also helped scientists and managers implement new management strategies to protect the marine ecosystem, including establishing marine reserves at the Channel Islands.” [ii]

Kelp Forest Monitoring Protocols

“The aim of KFMP is to provide information that is relatively free of variation among observers and does not significantly affect the species monitored or the habitat that supports them. The sampling methods are designed to deal realistically with the inherent variability characteristic of kelp forest ecosystems while producing the highest quality data for future analysis. Approximately 10 different sampling techniques are conducted at each site. These techniques collect data on population abundance, distribution, age structure, reproduction, recruitment, growth rate, mortality and sex composition of kelp forest species….Collecting quality information underwater presents many unique challenges to a monitoring program. Diver safety is always of utmost importance. Diving operations at Channel Islands are often conducted in limited visibility, fluctuating ocean currents, cold water and rough seas…In addition to being highly experienced divers, most KFMP staff and volunteers have substantial expertise in conducting surveys in kelp forests or similar habitats, helping to ensure both dive safety and data quality. All information is entered into a database based on a ranking system of expertise; this serves as a filter, making certain only the highest quality of information is used. Such strict information management criterion has made KFMP data well respected by managers and scientists worldwide.” [iii]

My KFM Data Collection Cruises

I participated in one of several five-day KFM data collection cruises held each summer in 1998, 2000, and 2001.  Typically, the cruise season starts in May and continues through late September/early October. 

Date	Cruise	Sites Visited
August 24-28, 1998	5 of 7	Santa Rosa Island—Johnson’s Lee North, Johnson’s Lee South Santa Cruz Island—Gull Island, Yellow Banks (alt Yellowbanks) Anacapa Island—Landing Cove
July 17-21, 2000	3 of 7	Santa Rosa Island—Johnson’s Lee North, Johnson’s Lee South Santa Cruz Island—Yellow Banks, Fry Harbor
June 25-29, 2001	2 of 7	Anacapa Island—Cathedral Cove Santa Cruz Island—Fry’s Harbor, Pelican Bay, Yellow Banks

 The locations of the monitoring sites are indicated on the map.

Typically, eight people, including the Pacific Ranger’s skipper, crewed each cruise.  Five of these crewmembers were permanent or seasonal park staff.  The balance of the crew hailed from academic institutions, other state and federal bureaus, or volunteers.  My participation resulted from my status as a scientific diver and regional divemaster with the Camarillo office of the Minerals Management Service—a bureau within the Department of the Interior which meant I got paid for diving.  (Also, I held concurrent certification as a volunteer diver at Channel Islands National Park.) 

While the protocols that I completed varied from year-to-year, and site-to-site, depending on the data that needed to be collected, my log from the 2001 cruise shows that I did 10 dives

Date	Location	Protocol
6-25-2001	Santa Cruz Island-Yellow Banks	Roving Diver Fish Count 5-Meter Quadrats
6-26-2001	Santa Cruz Island-Yellow Banks Pelican Bay	Sea Urchin Size and Frequency Sea Urchin Size and frequency Roving Diver Fish Counts
6-27-2001	Santa Cruz Island-Pelican Bay Fry’s Harbor	Sea Urchin Size and Frequency 5-Meter Quadrat
6-28-2001	Santa Cruz Island-Fry’s Harbor	Artificial Recruitment Modules (2 dives)
6-29-2001	Anacapa Island—Cathedral Cove	Artificial Recruitment Module
6-29-2001	Anacapa Island Landing Cove	Mooring buoy repair, reattaching the shackle and chain.  (This was not part of the Kelp Forest Monitoring, but a dive that I did with another NPS diver to secure the Park’s mooring buoy.

I came to appreciate the rigor with which the divers collected the data for each protocol assigned to them.  Cruise participants quickly formed a cohesive team.  Everyone willingly helped out with all the tasks, including meal preparation and clean up.  I came to respect the professionalism with which the people approached the work.  They accepted me as an equal, curious about me job as social scientist/research diver, while finding the combination a bit quirky.  I was also fortunate in that my MMS supervisor, Dr. Fred Piltz, allowed me to pursue scientific diving opportunities, which some felt were beyond my job description as a social scientist.

My recollection of my time on the KFM cruises will be shared in upcoming posts!

Calendar Year 2001 is probably the most varied and busiest year in my 40 years of diving.  I completed 62 dives that year.  All but four of the dives were done as a National Park Service diver/Minerals Management Service diver.  That year I did dives to train scientific divers, participate in the NPS Landing Cove underwater video program, work on the Kelp Forest Monitoring Program, and do a reconnaissance dive with the California Department of Fish and Game to see if the endangered white abalone was present on offshore energy related infrastructure.  I might have done as many as eight to ten more dives as part of the annual CINP shipwreck survey cruise, but I had to sit out that cruise because I was recovering from knee surgery.  All these activities will be described in future blog essays.  I do recall receiving a phone call from the Minerals Management Service’s Chief Divemaster, Les Dauterive.  He indicated that year I did more science diving than all of the MMS divers combined!

That year also marked my zenith as a scientific diver.  In early 2002, I transferred to the MMS Alaska Region office in Anchorage.  I was the only MMS scientific diver in the Alaska Region. My supervisor, Fred King, encouraged me to pursue my scientific diving authorization,  With his encouragement, there as an attempt to train additional divers and institute an Alaska Department of the Interior diver pool between MMS, the Fish and Wildlife Service, and the National Park Service. A jurisdictional dispute over operation of the dive team between the MMS Diving Safety Officer, Regional Director and the Regional Supervisor for Leasing and the Environment and Regional Supervisor for Resource Evaluation doomed the effort to bring additional qualified divers into the MMS program.  The Alaska Region dive program died in infancy in 2005 where it continues to rest-in-peace. 

 

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[i] National Park Service.  Kelp Forest Community Monitoring. https://www.nps.gov/im/medn/kelp-forest-communities.htm accessed July 14, 2024

[ii] Monitoring Kelp Forests in the Park.  Island Views.  The Official Newspaper of Channel Islands National Park.

Volume 5, 2009 — 2010

[iii] Underwater Inventorying at Channel Islands by Kelly Moore.  Ranger—Journal of the National Park Association of Rangers. Vol. 27, No. 2  (Spring 2011).  p. 12