The Time We Were Alien Invaders

The spaceship roared to a halt above us. We watched it tilt and rock in the wind before it ejected a metallic hook from the bowels of its hull. The hook plummeted to earth, shredding through homes and throwing up clouds of dirt before snagging on a sturdy tree. The aliens came next, with pale, flailing limbs and giant eyes behind snorkels. They plunged into the water above us, sending us scurrying into crevices and crannies. The aliens clumsily paddled through our neighborhood with long, floppy feet. They tried to touch us with grabby hands. We whisked through their slow fingers, just trying to get through our Friday. It’s a rough life being a fish in a snorkeler’s paradise!

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Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/bKjQi5Fqi1xja4HT7

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November 8th, 2024 - Florida Day 3

His name was Marty. His skin was permanently suntanned from countless days in the Florida sun. As our boat roared over the Atlantic waves, Marty’s blond hair rippled like marsh grass. His golden retriever smile was a permanent fixture on his face, partnering with his friendliness to create a demeanor of instant likeability. 

We’ve met a lot of Martys on our trips. Have you ever met someone who drifts through life? They cheerfully bob through circumstances like a ocean buoy riding the waves. Their jobs are varied and colorful. They often gravitate to careers that allow them to be flexible, so they become tour guides, bus drivers, ski instructors, and bartenders. They make a living while living life, instead of living life to make a living. 

That last sentence is how I would describe Marty. A boat captain at the Biscayne National Park Institute, Marty was carefree, cheerful, and just plain chill. We first met him as he herded together a cluster of tourists (us included) to prep us for a day at Biscayne National Park. Like a mother duck, he spent time ensuring we had all the gear necessary for our boat ride out to Biscayne. He checked that we had sunblock, water, and properly-fitting snorkel flippers. When Tyler and I realized we had forgotten to bring Dramamine for our inevitable seasickness, he gave us directions to the nearest CVS and waited patiently while Tyler ran to retrieve our life-giving medication. 

When his ducklings were properly in order, he herded us into his boat. Before we knew it, we were bouncing across the glittering waves and heading straight into the bright blue sky. As we rode out to Biscayne National Park, Marty filled our minds with facts and stories about the park. For example, did you know that the Florida Keys, including Biscayne, was once an ancient coral reef? When the water receded, the exposed reef calcified into islands of limestone. The porous islands make an excellent habitat for the probing roots of mangrove trees. When a mangrove forest is well-established, their roots create an underwater jungle rich with coral, sponges, and fish. Thus, an ancient coral reef spawns a new coral reef at its feet. The cycle continues. 

Marty knew his stuff. He navigated our group’s questions with ease and an ever-present smile. When he started throwing out scientific terms, my ears pricked up. It was some obscure word like “thermodynamic” that got me curious. Only we who suffered through chemistry know words like that. Only people who enjoyed chemistry still use them. 

“Oh yeah, I have a degree in marine biology!” Marty offered. “I didn’t use it for very long after school, though. I like this stuff better!” he grinned, patting the boat’s controls. 

To his credit, I think Marty uses his degree more than he thinks. As a tour guide, he is in the marine ecosystem every day. He acts as the champion for the reef, ensuring that his groups explore ethically and responsibly. Before he let us snorkel around the island coves, he impressed on us the fragility of the reef. Even the slightest touch could damage a plant, a coral structure, a cluster of organisms. Just like hiking on land, our responsibility in the water was to leave no trace.

As soon as I plunged into the water, I realized it was easier said than done. The best snorkeling is in the shallows, where you float a few feet above the reef. A snorkeler must kick their fins gently so as to not disturb the landscape. A snorkeler must pay attention to the rocking waves to ensure they aren’t pushed into the tangled mangrove roots. And, above all, a snorkeler must not touch anything. Anything. This proved to be a challenge. As I soaked in the vibrant colors, the darting fish, and the waving sea plants, I was awestruck. I was amazed. And I really, really, wanted to touch everything. 

I occupied my hands with a GoPro instead. I imagined I was a National Geographic videographer capturing jaw-dropping footage of the Florida coral reef. I zoomed in on delicate plants dancing in the currents. I tailed fish in between mangrove roots and over meadows of seagrass. I floated with minnows just beneath the water’s surface. I bobbed over cylindrical orange sponges and something round that looked like a brain. I curiously followed a baby squid until it shot a jet of water to escape me. I videoed a few barracuda too. The young predators lurked amongst the mangrove roots, seeking out the clouds of minnows that hovered at the water’s surface. Their big, round eyes gave them a permanent expression of disbelief, as if they couldn’t fathom why the smaller fish fled their elongated snout of sharp teeth. To my amusement, the barracuda fled from me just as quickly as the minnows fled from them. In the mangroves, I was the top predator. As I relentlessly pursued fish with my camera arm outstretched, I recalled a story a coworker had told me before my trip.

“My husband and I went to Florida on our honeymoon!” she informed me, slightly breathless. 

“Oh yeah?” I responded. She had told me this story before, so I was pretty sure I knew what was coming.

“Yes! It was a wonderful time! We went all the way down to Key West,” she traced the shape of the Florida Keys in the air, “and spent most of our time there. The big bridge to get to the Keys is terrifying.” Her blue eyes grew two sizes bigger. “I just wanted to get off it as quick as possible!”

“I’m sure!” I smiled sympathetically. 

“We went snorkeling too! My husband wanted to do it, but I didn’t. The water is icky. Just icky. But he talked me into it, so I did it. I had been out in the water for a while and was just getting used to it. Then I saw a barracuda swimming up to me! It was coming straight to me. I could see its eyes and everything. It was making a beeline for me! I thought to myself, ‘Oh hell no!’ I started paddling like crazy!” She made a frantic swimming motion with her arms. “I got out of there as quick as I could! I got back on the boat and refused to get in the water anymore. That was it for me!” 

Her giggle accompanied her harrowing story every time she told it. As I paddled through the same water, her giggle echoed in my mind. For the first time, I eyed the predatory fish with suspicion. Should I be acting the same way? Should I be avoiding the toothy little fish with the same fervor that my coworker did? 

A ray of sunshine cut through the water, warming my back. Beneath me, vibrant colors danced. Gripping my GoPro, I shrugged. Eh, why bother? If the barracudas were a big issue, wouldn’t Marty have told us? Besides, all of the fish were too preoccupied with fleeing my camera. Was I really in any danger? Gleefully, I decided to ignore whatever danger might be lurking in the ocean. Just keep swimming. Ignorance is bliss, right?

Our entire Biscayne experience was bliss. After snorkeling, Marty piloted our boat to several popular tourist spots in the national park. A lighthouse-topped island provided us a chance to stretch our legs on the same picnic grounds that once hosted wealthy parties in the early 1900s. A cluster of houses on stilts provided an interesting scene against the backdrop of the Miami skyline. Affectionately called Stiltsville, the collection of elevated houses once served as a hotspot for parties, scandal, and several instances of police interference. As one might guess, hurricanes ravaged the ocean-bound homes, so now only seven buildings remain. They stand as a testament to the passage of time, much as the Florida Keys do. Nothing in life is permanent. A coral reef might eventually become an island where wealthy Floridians gather to have parties and picnics. One shack on stilts might eventually become an oceanic neighborhood. And, inevitably, those things too will pass. 

It really makes you want to treasure every moment, doesn’t it?