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Trevor Norton's 2004 book Underwater to Get Out of the Rain; A Love Affair with the Sea |
I recently started reading Trevor Norton’s Underwater to Get Out of the Rain. The book is advertised as “An enticing celebration of the creatures, the science, and the wonders of the ocean, by the marine biologist known as ‘Bill Bryson Underwater'.” While I am still in the book’s infancy, I feel confident in recommending it as a worthwhile read if you, like me, are an aquarist with an eye toward science and the ecosystems which science strives to catalog and, at times, even demystify. The reason I am mentioning it here is because, first, I think you might like the book, and second, I seem to be bumping up against the 19th century naturalist Philip Gosse a lot lately (see Marine Algae and the Balanced Tropical Saltwater Aquarium, The Value We Place on Animals and Marine Aquarium Keeping with a Cold Chisel), and this book is no exception.
Imagine my glee when Gosse is introduced to Norton’s readers on page 23 with a wee tidbit of Gosse trivia of which I was unaware. Norton writes, “The most widely read Victorian naturalist, Philip Henry Gosse, wrote a detailed study of the sea serpent and was clearly a believer.” Gosse believed in Nessie, I think to myself. A quick trip to the bookshelf confirms that indeed Mr. Gosse wrote about the likely existence of sea serpents in chapter 12 of his book The Romance of Natural History (there is a 2007 edition out). The chapter is entitled “The Great Unknown,” and there, on page 300 (I’m reading the sixth edition), Gosse writes: “Perhaps the most renowned of all these doubtful questions is the existence of the ‘Sea-serpent.’"
Wow! But I digress.
Trevor Norton is really neither writing about sea serpents nor Gosse in Underwater to Get Out of the Rain, but the aquarist will be pleased to find that Trevor does make more than a tentative excursion into the world of marine aquaria. For example, Norton gives Gosse the credit for creating the word “aquarium,” and he also gives Gosse props for devising “a formula for artificial sea water to avoid the inconvenience, delay and expense attendant upon the procurement of sea water from the coast.” Of course Gosse’s contribution to “the world’s first public aquarium” (London) is mentioned, as is Gosse’s methodology for collecting marine aquarium specimens—a topic about which I have written here and to which I would like to briefly return.
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Philip Henry Gosse circa 1853 |
Norton writes that the aquarium fad of the early 1850s quickly evolved (or devolved, depending upon your point of view) from aesthetic appreciation to environmental degradation. “[T]he emphasis,” Norton explains, “was now on collecting, not looking, and collecting was not a gentle art.... The effect on shore communities,” Norton concludes, “was devastating.” Gosse’s son, the biased lens through which many Gosse biographers view the man, describes the devastation and his father’s complicity in it. Norton quotes the son:
If anyone goes down to those shores now…let him realise at once, before he takes the trouble to roll up his sleeves, that his zeal will end in labour lost. There is nothing now where in our day there was so much…
All this is long over, and done with. The ring of living beauty drawn about our shores was a very thin and fragile one. It had existed all those centuries solely in consequence of the indifference, the blissful ignorance of man. These rock basins, fringed with corallines, filled with still water almost as pellucid as the upper air itself, thronged with beautiful sensitive forms of life—they exist no longer, they are all profaned, and emptied, and vulgarized. An army of ‘collectors’ has passed over them, and ravaged every corner…That my Father, himself so reverent, so conservative, had by the popularity of his books acquired the direct responsibility for a calamity that he had never anticipated…cost him great chagrin.
I suppose it’s the age-old story of destroying that which we love, and yet it does not have to be this way, does it? As I walked along the coves to the north of my home in Laguna Beach, California this morning, I marveled at what remains of our tidepools, and, while I can only imagine what they once were, I am appreciative that we are learning, once again, to view them with a naturalist’s eye.
The protection afforded this little strip of coastline is not without its critics or flaws, but it may be just what is needed so that the next generation will not look back on us as Edmund Gosse looked back on his father...
...Or as Norton puts it in Underwater to Get Out of the Rain in mind,
…I envy those who explore this world for the very first time to discover the strung beads of magenta weed, hermit crabs with eyes on stalks and anemones with tentacles outstretched in anticipation of a lucky lunch. I wish tomorrow’s children all the surprise and wonder that have been mine.
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