A short, slow drive down a single-lane road takes us into the Settlement as Park Dive Officer Kelly Moore, and Aquatic Biological Science Technician Glauco Puig-Santana pick me up at the Kalaupapa airport, on the northern shore of Molokai, Hawaii. They take the opportunity to provide a brief introduction to my home for the next two weeks. Curiously, Kelly begins by detailing and demonstrating good driving practices on the peninsula. The recommendation? 1) Drive no more than 10-15 mph; 2) at each intersection, slow down, look left-right-left, and right again; 3) don’t assume vehicles will stop at stop signs; and 4) vehicles have the right-of-way over pedestrians. Last but not least? If you encounter a vehicle coming towards you, drop your speed, turn towards the shoulder of grass, pulling all four wheels off the road to create ample space for passing – and the other car will likely do the same. What initially strikes me as a highly unusual style of driving begins to make sense as I come to learn about the history of this captivating landscape and isolated community.

A single road leads into the Settlement from the Kalaupapa airport. The park is only accessible by small plane or by descending the switchbacks of a steep sea cliff on foot

A prison fortified by nature. Medical segregation. Hardship in separation.

The 2,000 ft. pali (sea cliffs) and deep, rough sea surrounding this charming leaf-shaped peninsula frame a dark history. From 1866–1969, this very location served as an isolation settlement for over 8,500 individuals forcefully removed from their homes – individuals who were diagnosed with a widely feared and misunderstood illness, known at the time as leprosy (now, Hansen’s disease – named after the scientist who discovered the bacterium that causes this disease). Easily treatable since the 1940s (and the advent of antibiotics), the settlement is now a refuge for a handful of patients who have chosen to remain here after the mandatory quarantine was lifted over 50 years ago. For many, long-term effects of this disease still impact daily life, such as numbness, paralysis, scarring, and impaired vision. Nowadays, extra precaution is taken at every corner (including the aforementioned driving norms to protect the safety of some patients who still get around on four wheels) with the support of the Hawai’i Department of Health and the National Park Service.

The National Park Service works not only to preserve the natural features of the environment but maintains museum collections, cemeteries, cultural landscapes, and historic buildings around the peninsula. Photo: Shaun Wolfe

Invisible to the untrained eye, this seemingly untouched, impeccably preserved, and dramatic natural coastline is physically scarred by its history. Archeological remains of native Hawaiian ahupua’a (land divides) run through the cliffs and valleys, designating historical land use areas, and contain well-preserved examples of irrigation systems, ancient birthing stones, heiaus (temples), and cultivated taro fields. Now, these remains are reminders of the lost connection with the ‘aina (land) that occurred here once the native Hawaiian population was decimated by a series of epidemics in the mid-to-late- 1800s and displaced following the sale of land to the Board of Health in preparation for incoming patients. During times of quarantine, physical barriers were erected throughout the Settlement to segregate patients from caretakers, visitors, and servicepersons (e.g., patient and non-patient washrooms, chest-high walls dividing two sides of a long, narrow visitors center, and short gates placed on waiting benches outside care homes). Although these barriers have since lost their function, those that remain serve as a daily reminder of the alienation and physical distance maintained for over a century within the buildings we are now working and living in.

Underwater, our goal for the next two weeks is to complete the annual Pacific Island Inventory & Monitoring Network subtidal surveys with Kelly, Glauco, and visiting NPS Marine Ecologist Sheila McKenna. Together, we will collect water quality samples, take benthic photos, and survey fish along fixed, permanent transects. My first time in the tropical Pacific can only be described as “fish Christmas” – as I take in the tens of new-to-me species (from endemic triggerfish humuhumunukunukuāpua’a – say that five times fast! to fancy butterflyfish, Hawaiian hogfish, and psychedelic wrasse).

NPS Marine Ecologist Sheila McKenna conducts fish surveys on a permanent transect, as part of the annual Pacific Island Inventory & Monitoring Network subtidal surveys

The view above and below the surface are equally as mesmerizing. Bus-sized boulders litter the seafloor for miles – dropped from the island over 1.5 million years ago when a third of Molokai collapsed into the ocean. On the east side of the peninsula, we are greeted by lush valleys, deep Pacific blues, spinner dolphins, sea turtles, and long-tailed tropical birds. Being my first time in Hawaii, it seems like someone has turned the saturation up on life. As the weeks progress, just when I think the peninsula can’t get any more beautiful – it always does.

A glimpse into our view during dive surveys

Taking shelter from the waves between dives, in Waikolu valley

Only in the best weather conditions can we reach the survey sites on the east side of the peninsula, pictured here

Persistent trade winds keep us cool and refreshed out on the water but also interrupt boat-based dive operations on several occasions, shifting our focus to terrestrial or shore-based fieldwork. Lucky for me, this means new training opportunities and time with a special marine resident of the peninsula – the endangered Hawaiian monk seal. In partnership with NOAA, the Kalaupapa Natural Resource Management team opportunistically surveys the resident population along approximately 3 km of coastline (which is home to more than 80% of the total monk seal population within the main Hawaiian Islands). This year, Kalaupapa saw the birth of 12 pups, which are continually monitored for general health and growth, tagged for identification, and vaccinated against morbillivirus. Genetic samples are also taken to inform a parental tree of the local population to understand and better protect this endangered species.

Aquatic Biological Science Technician Glauco Puig-Santana carefully places temporary dye on a sleeping monk seal pup, to assist in identification and monitoring. Monitoring and photos conducted under NOAA NMFS permit #22677.

Two monk seal pups play in the shallows, gaining confidence before venturing into deeper waters. Monitoring and photos conducted under NOAA NMFS permit #22677 (and the helpful guidance of Glauco as I try to navigate entry level photography, Mahalo!)

A curious monk seal pup wakes briefly from a mid-day nap. Each seal we encountered on surveys is photographed for reference. Monitoring and photos conducted under NOAA NMFS permit #22677.

Earlier this year, during a routine survey, the NRM team found a young pup with a fishing hook lodged in his throat. After an initial assessment, the pup was taken to Ke Kai Ola Marine Mammal Center for surgery to remove the hook and regain health before his return home. The pup was welcomed back to Kalaupapa in style via US Coast Guard helicopter (with a satellite tag souvenir from his time at the hospital) and surrounded by adoring fans. With the hard work and diligence of the NRM team, US Coast Guard, NOAA, and marine veterinary collaborators, this pup was saved from an uncertain fate – a local success story in protecting this endangered species.

Monk seal pup RP92 found in June with a fishing hook lodged in his throat. The pup received care at the Ke Kai Ola Marine Mammal Center and was returned home healthy and hook-free. Monitoring and photos conducted under NOAA NMFS permit #22677. Photo: National Park Service/Kalaupapa NHP

While conducting fieldwork at the park, I quickly became familiar with an omnipresent force to be reckoned with – the constant pivoting required to keep field operations moving forwards, termed the “Kalaupapa shuffle.” A phrase coined to encompass the challenges of conducting research where weather windows are short, staffing is limited, and access to basic services such as the post office and groceries are restricted to a few hours each day. This delicate dance is necessary in the face of challenges and delays beyond one’s control. We celebrate the days when pivots go smoothly (and we can effectively shift from one project to another within the scope of a day) and learn from and embrace the days when seemingly everything is working against us. In a place where problem-solving requires equal parts creativity and resourcefulness, success teeters on a balance of resilience, flexibility, excellent communication, good spirits, and calm focus – traits all clearly exhibited by the dynamic marine duo of Kelly and Glauco.

Utilizing the sheltered harbour during rough weather to do full face mask training in preparation for cold water adventures later in the internship…

From a day-to-day perspective, Kalaupapa can be described as quite busy, as far as small, unincorporated communities go. Even though the settlement is made up of no more than 70 persons on a given day, there is no shortage of ways to spend evenings and weekends (from volleyball games to music nights, church services, and social gatherings – there is always something going on). In addition to community events, I find comfort in the simple, grounding daily routine I have come to know here. Items such as; checking the ground around a mango tree for freshly fallen fruits, sifting through drying sea salt harvested from nearby tide pools; finding a mortar and pestle to make Hawaiian chili pepper water, and a cliché but soulful sunset walk on the beach occupy my daily to-do list. During moments like these, I don’t dare think about tomorrow. As the days go by, I have a feeling it is going to be very hard to leave.

Harvesting sea salt from dried tide pools, a favorite pastime of many and a typical Saturday morning

Where you’ll find me after a day in the field – a ten minute walk from the office

Although it is the underwater Natural Resource Management program that brought me here, it is the memories of shared meals, conversations with long-term residents and patients, and adventures in nature with new friends that shine brightest in my memory. Kelly and Glauco, I am so happy to have been a part of your team. Two weeks flew by, but each day felt full. Thank you for showing me the best of Kalaupapa. Shared memories of foraging from the land (collecting papaya, avocado, mango, plantain, banana, chilies, lemons, and breadfruit – meaning often more than 50% of our meals were harvested no more than a few miles from the dinner table), learning to make fresh coconut milk (thank you Losa for sharing your knowledge of traditional Samoan techniques), soaking in freshwater streams of the Waikolu Valley, biking touring around the peninsula, and snorkeling in the shadows of offshore islands Okala and Mokapu are just some of the experiences that capture the spirit of Kalaupapa.

2017 OWUSS NPS intern Shaun Wolfe (intern reunion!!) and Prof. Kevin Weng rounded out the Kalaupapa crew for my last weekend at the park. Thanks for the laughs, the meals, and action-packed send off!

To feel connected to not only the land but the community are aspects of this visit that go above and beyond what I could expect from two weeks at a National Park, leaving a lasting impression. Here, community takes on the true essence of its meaning. Where everyone knows your name, and residents, patients, employees, and visitors alike take on a shared responsibility to maintain a harmonious, comfortable, and well-functioning living space while safeguarding and celebrating longstanding natural and cultural resources.

Today, a hard-to-come-by visitor’s pass to Kalaupapa National Historical Park is not only an access card to some of the most striking natural beauty I’ve laid eyes on, but an invitation into a community– an invitation to learn and pay respects and to live alongside a resilient and uplifted patient community who have known this peninsula during times of suffering and neglect. As time progresses and the patient population decreases, questions are raised as to the legacy of the settlement. Although the future of Kalaupapa is uncertain, we must find a way to continue to share the story of Kalaupapa –and the patients who are still writing the final chapter of its history in the present day.

As we lift off the airstrip at Key West International Airport, the pilot chuckles to himself. He asks me, “Is this your first time?”. I respond with bulging, excited eyes, “How could you tell?”, my nose barely lifting from its position pressed against the passenger side window of the empty 10-seater plane. A low-altitude 45-minute flight takes us 70 miles west of the southernmost point of the continental US, displaying aerial views of sea turtles, dolphins, shipwrecks, glistening “quicksand” (rolling, underwater dunes, continually shifting under the strong tidal current), and the Marquesas Islands. Although the seaplane is not the only way to get to this park, it undoubtedly provides the greatest “wow” factor for first-time visitors. Upon arrival, we circle the park’s perimeter, my eyes locked on Fort Jefferson – the cultural focal piece of this park and the largest brick building in the western hemisphere. 

Aerial view of Fort Jefferson, located on Garden Key, as seen from the seaplane flying into Dry Tortugas National Park

I’ve arrived at the second park of my internship, Dry Tortugas National Park (est. 1935). Made up of seven small islands, it is one of the most inaccessible National Parks in the US. Due to its remote location, it can only be accessed by seaplane or ferry (both modes of transport are used by the park’s 120 daily visitors who enjoy a few short hours of swimming, sunbathing, birding, and picnicking before returning to Key West).

Fort Jefferson greets me as I step off the beached seaplane. With no land in sight for tens of miles, I ask myself, “why here?”. The fort was built to protect one of the most strategic deep water anchorages in North America, control navigation to the Gulf of Mexico, and protect the Atlantic-bound Mississippi River trade. I am eager to learn more about this massive masonry fort I will call home for the next two weeks, in addition to diving in the crystal clear blue-green water surrounding us.  

Beyond the fort’s walls stretches miles of uninterrupted water. The moat wall or counterscarp was damaged during Hurricane Irma in 2017 – the park is working to implement repairs soon

Construction of the fort began in 1846 and continued for 30 years. Each of the over 16 million bricks used to build this fort was brought over by small wooden ships from the far reaches of the Eastern US. Given its remote nature, the construction of this fort was no small feat – in all of its striking architectural precision and grandeur. At its peak, over 1,700 men were stationed here, placing a significant demand for basic resources that cannot be found here naturally. Over time, the name of the island evolved (initially Las Tortugas – which translates to “the turtles’ and eventually changed to Dry Tortugas), calling into focus the importance of sea turtles in the diet of its inhabitants. It also warns passing sailors of the lack of freshwater and alternative food sources.

During a walking tour led by the tourist ferry company, I learned that the fort was used as a military prison during the Civil War. It also held four men convicted of co-conspiring in President Abraham Lincoln’s assassination, including Dr. Samuel Mudd (who was instrumental in the fight against Yellow Fever that plagued the fort and was eventually pardoned from his sentence for his efforts in assisting sick patients).

Over time, I come to know new corners of the fort as they revealed their hidden secrets to me, often with the help of informal tours given to me by new friends and colleagues. From the bakery (which fed more than 400 people three times a day, known for its bread made of sticks, stones, flour, and sand) to Dr. Mudd’s cell (containing hand-carved water collection depressions in the ground), a cannon ball “cooker” (used to prepare hot cannon balls to fire at wooden ships), gun powder storage (signed with the names of ship captains who have visited the fort over the last hundred years), and remnants of Cuban chugs (makeshift boats used by immigrants who landed at the park over recent years), there is always more to uncover. With this growing cultural knowledge comes an increased awareness and appreciation for the historical significance of this fort from which we are conducting fieldwork. Each time I re-enter through the sally port (the one and only entrance to the fort’s interior) after a long, hot, salty, beautiful day underwater, I feel inspired and grateful for the opportunities I have been given to explore new places, perspectives, knowledge, and skills during this internship.

Overlooking Bush Key, which serves as nesting habitat for threatened bird species such as the Roseate Tern. Long Key (background) is the only documented nesting site for Magnificent Frigate birds in the continental US

Me with the obligatory picture at the park’s welcome sign.

As an avid backcountry camper, hiker, and aspiring explorer of all things tropical and dream-like, you can imagine my excitement upon learning that park Fisheries Biologist Clayton Pollock has organized for me to be whisked away to neighboring Loggerhead Key for my first two nights. An even more remote key within the park, it is covered in stunning vegetation and sublime white sand beaches, which frame a 150-ft brick lighthouse constructed in 1856. Brett Koch (Law Enforcement Park Ranger) drops me off at the dock with a bag of food and a jug of water, where I am met by University of Miami MPS intern Maddie Johnson. We have now effectively doubled the population of this island (n=2!) since interns typically conduct fieldwork independently on this key (although radio communication and emergency procedures ensure assistance is always a call away). An afternoon snorkel, sunset beach nap, a good book, and a frozen pizza are all I need to acclimatize to my new surroundings (a routine that would quickly become my go-to each evening) and prepare for the busy days of fieldwork ahead.

View of Loggerhead Key upon returning from an afternoon snorkel at one of the park’s finest shallow reefs

Named aptly for the abundance of sea turtles on the island, we quickly get to work the following day conducting sea turtle monitoring surveys. This work contributes to a long-term database on turtle nesting activities and hatch success that Park Service biologists have maintained since 1980. At 7 am daily, interns patrol the 2-mile long beach, skillfully interpreting turtle tracks to identify species, the direction of travel, and nesting activity. Nests are marked with carefully positioned stakes and GPS points and then monitored for the next 50+ days (watching for signs of hatchling emergence – indicated by a soft depression in the sand above the nest) to inform excavation timing. Nests are excavated after the incubation period to determine clutch size, hatching success, and any inundation, predation, or damage to eggs. In addition to contributing to the long-term monitoring program, Maddie will use this data, in combination with shoreline profiling, as part of her Master’s project, which aims to model and predict the effects of sea level rise on turtle nesting habitats under climate change scenarios. 

University of Miami MPS intern Maddie Johnson excavates a loggerhead turtle nest. Egg cases and nest contents are removed, counted, and inspected for indications of hatch success and clutch size. Work conducted under FCW Marine Turtle Permit MTP#22-187.

Notice on Loggerhead Key marking nesting sites, reminding visitors to be mindful of disturbing nesting grounds and regulations enforced by the Florida fish and wildlife conservation commission

Patrolling the beach may sound like a relatively straightforward task, but in addition to the grueling conditions of a hot southern Florida summer day on a remote island with no running water, this island sees a tremendous amount of sea turtle activity (meaning it can take up to 7 hours to survey 2 miles of shoreline). To ensure accurate and meaningful data, interns must carefully document and decipher old tracks amidst the tens of new tracks created each night. Together, Maddie and I set a new record for the number of turtle activities recorded in one survey. We counted over 50 instances of false crawls (crawls where the turtle comes ashore but does not lay eggs in a nest), nesting, and abandoned egg chambers. I learned that although we counted 50 individual tracks, it doesn’t necessarily correlate to 50 individual turtles (considering that green sea turtles are very particular with nesting conditions and may come ashore several times in one night, over several days, before nesting). Nevertheless, these surveys indicate that Loggerhead Key is a crucial sea turtle nesting habitat that sustains a large population. 

A “turtle highway” on Loggerhead Key. Following and interpreting these tracks becomes complicated as individuals overlap and tracks build up on the beach over time

An incoming and outgoing track made by an adult female green sea turtle on Loggerhead Key

Tracks made by sea turtle hatchlings upon emergence from the nest, in the direction of the ocean on Loggerhead Key

By the end of the day, it wasn’t only the sun’s heat that had us wishing for a short, heavy rainfall, but the desire for nature to effectively provide us a “clean slate” for interpreting tracks by washing away previously surveyed tracks amidst the overlapping maze. I am not surprised to learn that many of the current NPS staff began as sea turtle interns. Given the challenging nature of the work, it surely speaks to the work ethic, organization, and diligence of researchers in this role, making them an excellent addition to many NPS field teams going forwards.  

Next up, the Natural Resources team arrives, and I meet Coral Biologist Rachel Johns and Coral biological science Technicians Karli Hollister and Evan Hovey. Together with Fisheries Biologist Clayton Pollock, we will spend a week sampling corals for a collaborator, Prof. Erik Sotka, from the College of Charleston. This large-scale project aims to assess coral genotypes for multiple species in the Southeast Region (including Dry Tortugas National Park, Buck Island Reef National Monument, Virgin Islands National Park, Salt River Historical Bay and Ecological Preserve, and Virgin Islands Coral Reef National Monument) and develop SNP chips/protocols for rapidly assessing and comparing genotypes for existing and novel corals, with applications for coral restoration. Lucky for me, this project will take us to some of the most stunning dive sites in the park, as we aim to sample several reefs per day. 

A thicket of Acropora cervicornis (staghorn) corals and study site for the ongoing coral genotyping project. Photo: Karli Hollister

Photo: Karli Hollister

At first, collecting coral samples is a bit nerve-wracking (aiming to do as little harm as possible to the colony by carefully chipping off a 1cm piece). The work also involves juggling bags of tools, samples, a dive slate, scale bar, GPS tethered to a surface buoy, and camera underwater, often in shallow water with swell. However, by continually optimizing my gear setup, streamlining the sampling process, and becoming more comfortable with coral ID, I could effectively contribute to the team and start chipping away at the weeks’ worth of sampling they have ahead them.

Each coral sampled is tagged and photographed for future research

Not without its hiccups, working in such a remote location presents challenges regarding safety considerations, everyday operations, and equipment supply. Something as simple as a lack of plastic bags or generic sampling tags can limit the speed at which a project progresses until the next team arrives to supplement needed equipment. Nevertheless, the long days in the field, hours spent preparing and troubleshooting protocols, and post-sample processing flew by with such a lively team – cracking jokes and blasting tunes during surface intervals and at the tail end of long days. 

As Clay, Rachel, Evan, and Karli depart the park and I await the arrival of a new field team, I use the transition as an opportunity to join visiting research ecologist and long-time US Geological Survey collaborator Dr. Kristen Hart on her team’s extensive turtle monitoring program. She is joined by several coworkers and collaborators, including Andrew, Haley, John, Bree, Amanda, and Brian from Cape Lookout National Seashore, USGS, Nova Southeastern University, and the University of Georgia. Together, we spend a night tracking nesting sea turtles on the nearby East Key by patrolling the beach every 30 minutes between naps under the stars. Nesting sea turtles are outfitted with a satellite tag to track their movements, flipper tags and Passive Integrated Transponders (PIT) for identification, and scute and blood samples for genetic and isotopic analysis. Dr. Hart holds the only permit to study sea turtles on this key (and she has been coming here for 15 years!). This information is used to gather baseline population data, delineate areas that may serve as inter-nesting, migratory, and foraging hotspots, and infer the trophic position of sea turtles within peninsular Southeastern Florida. 

The following day is spent boating in slow circles around the shallow Garden Key Harbor while Dr. Hart and USGS Research Assistant Haley Turner stand at the bow with large dip nets at the ready. The goal for the day? To observe and catch juvenile green sea turtles for basic sampling and to understand the space use, relative habitat selection, and ecology of immature individuals. Many turtles we encountered were recaptures or resightings of individuals tagged in the previous years, speaking to the comprehensiveness of Dr. Hart’s work in the region. I settled into data collection while Kristen, Haley, and John did the challenging job of carefully catching these speedy youngsters. Having the opportunity to get up close with these resilient juveniles, I not only got to admire their brilliant shells and charismatic features, but also filled in many of my knowledge gaps regarding the life history, habitat usage, and behavior of this endangered species. 

USGS researchers Dr. Kristen Hart and Haley Turner watching for juvenile green sea turtles in the shallows of Garden Key Harbor

Releasing juvenile green sea turtles after sampling. Individuals are marked with temporary paint for identification within a given field season. Work conducted under NOAA permits

Once the next rotation of NRM coral team members arrives at the park, including Coral biological science Technicians Amelia Lynch and Melissa Heres, Park Dive Safety Officer Jordan Holder, and National Dive Safety Officer Steve Sellers, we prep to embark on a critical mission for the week ahead. Underwater, Dry Tortugas is facing its own epidemic – a lethal disease that turns fields of previously vibrant, healthy corals upside down, transforming them into dwindling skeletons of their former selves stripped of live tissue – a sea of bones. The culprit? Stony coral tissue loss disease (SCTLD). As the disease’s epicenter, SCTLD first appeared in Florida in 2014, spreading quickly and causing high mortality. However, it wasn’t until recently, in May of 2021, that SCTLD was reported in Dry Tortugas National Park. 

Armed with the best currently available science and practical knowledge on disease treatment and intervention, we spend the week delivering doses of antibiotics, in the form of a thick topical paste, to affected colonies. This is my first time coming face to face with a large-scale outbreak of SCTLD. I take a few moments underwater to acknowledge the mass mortality surrounding me. Applying the treatment is an intimate and quiet process. I gently press the paste into each nook and cranny of active lesions – outlining and essentially quarantining the region between bare bones (coral skeleton), sick tissue, and healthy. Treating an entire site within a day is challenging, even with a dive team of four. We must often opt to prioritize larger, more productive colonies for treatment, given our limited bottom time on open circuit diving equipment, leaving some colonies untreated. As a glimmer of hope, while scanning treatment sites, it is possible to see positive instances where the treatment has effectively controlled the spread of the disease within a colony. I send my well-wishes to the coral I have treated, which will likely need follow-up appointments, conducted by the hard-working team of NRM divers at the park for the foreseeable future.

Scientists are only beginning to uncover the detailed pathology of the disease and other phenomena impacting coral reefs today, including coral bleaching and restoration/heat-stress mitigation techniques. A standout in these efforts within Dry Tortugas National Park is research led by Dr. Ilsa Kuffner, USGS Research Marine Biologist, regarding the re-establishment of stepping-stone (i.e., crucial, reproductive, connected, restorative) populations to aid in the recovery of threatened, Acropora palmata (elkhorn) coral. This research, partially inspired by the recent discovery of new elkhorn patches within the park (beyond the previously documented single remaining site), uses an assisted migration experiment to assess coral survival, calcification, growth, and condition. Five different genetic strains of this species were planted across five sites (spanning 350 km) in Florida. Curiously, only in Dry Tortugas did all of the relocated corals survive, and not only that – but these individuals calcified approximately 85% faster than the few surviving corals transplanted to the upper Keys sites. With this information, Dry Tortugas may be a hope spot for re-establishing endangered elkhorn coral. Efforts are ongoing to restore a sexually reproductive, connected population, hoping to bring this species back from functional extinction, thereby promoting its regional recovery in the face of global climate change. 

Newly discovered Acropora palmata within Dry Tortugas National Park, a threatened species throughout its range. Photo: Karli Hollister

As the long days turned into short weeks, my time at Dry Tortugas has come to a close all too quickly. Each day, I smile as a rush of excited visitors pours off the ferry, often having booked a ticket to the park weeks or months in advance. Each night, quiet falls on the fort, as visitors depart and I find a new corner of the fort to tuck into as dusk turns into starry night. Life on Dry Tortugas in the present day is serene, comfortable, and full of beauty – undoubtedly a stark contrast to the challenging conditions of the previous century. 

I want to thank the DRTO NRM team and Dr. Kristen Hart for welcoming me into your field teams, providing new learning opportunities, helpful advice, and plenty of time underwater (and thanks to Karli Hollister for sharing photos and Amelia Lynch for the fantastic tour of the fort!). Thank you to Clayton Polluck for sharing your knowledge and experience with me (and providing an extended home away from home in Key West when life throws some curve balls…I am deeply grateful for your hospitality and support). Thank you to Curtis Hall for inviting me to speak at the Reef Relief summer camp (it was a pleasure to teach and learn from the excellent group of students this program hosts at the park each summer). Thank you to Cindy Hull for your help in Key West preparing for my visit to the park. Each of your time and generosity contributed significantly to my smooth integration and outstanding experience at Dry Tortugas. Finally, thank you to the National Park Service Submerged Resources Center and Dave Conlin for your hard work behind the scenes, and generous above-and-beyond support, making sure interns each year have nothing short of exceptional, unique, and highly valuable opportunities to experience and work in some of the finest parks the US has to offer.

As the summer progresses, I often reminisce on daydreams I had earlier this year, as my Master’s program was coming to an end – of either doing research, traveling, or diving upon graduation. Now, this internship has provided an unmatched opportunity to combine all three of these dreams, all wrapped into one, made possible by the support of NPS, OWUSS, and their collaborators. Standing in front of Fort Jefferson, a structure made not only of bricks but of bones of ancient corals; I feel proud to be a part of the NPS dive team and Park Service community, working to preserve fascinating and unique cultural resources while protecting and restoring the natural wonders it surrounds.

National Parks serve not only to protect and sustain the health of the environment but educate and engage people in the enjoyment and benefits of nature. In short, one might say from an anthropocentric point of view; that the overarching mission could be the conservation of nature for the perpetual education of and enjoyment by humans. As the birthplace of National Parks, the U.S stands out for its efforts and resources dedicated to the protection and preservation of the extraordinarily diverse ecosystems contained within its borders. From the deserts of Joshua Tree to the Arctic tundra of Denali, I am awestruck by the seemingly limitless opportunities to explore new and unfamiliar environments. With over 297 million visitors per year (to 423 individual parks), it is undeniable the importance of these protected natural spaces. However, the way that people use National Parks and learn about natural resources must be thoughtfully regulated and presented to ensure that future generations will be able to enjoy them for years to come. 

Just south of Miami, an unassuming park lies tucked away in the mangroves, with only 5% of its area appearing above water as land. Upon arrival, Biscayne National Park is made up of a visitors center with a parking lot about equal size. However, it only takes a few short minutes to realize, as you hear speedboat after speedboat passing by, that there is a tremendous number of activities to offer here; you just have to look beneath the surface.

Overlooking Biscayne National Park from the visitors center

Biscayne National Park was established in 1980 and is a hub for marine recreation. On a given day, the park’s waters (which make up 95% of the park) are a destination for boating, fishing, diving, birdwatching, snorkeling, kayaking, canoeing, and guided eco-adventures. On a clear day, you can see the Miami city skyline and surrounding industry – which seem only to stop right at the gates of the park’s entrance and contrast the mangrove-covered keys in the foreground. As I settle in, I can see that this park provides important access to south Florida’s stunning coastline for local visitors. It is home to some remarkable natural and cultural resources, for which the park is an educational platform. However, I was immediately curious about how human interaction and use of natural resources within the park are monitored and controlled to reduce human impact while promoting and sustaining the park’s use. Over the next two weeks, I will join Biscayne’s extensive marine monitoring and inventory program to understand how this is done.

Wasting no time, I joined Mosaics in Science Diversity intern James Puentes and Latino Heritage Internship Program intern Nate Lima for recreational creel fishing surveys at the neighboring public marina as part of the Fishery and Wildlife Inventory and Monitoring Program. The overarching goal of this project is to engage anglers in collecting catch data through informal interviews, which will assist the development of sustainable fisheries regulations. Over several hours, we interviewed more than 40 anglers and collected catch data (e.g., species, size, location of catch, hours fished) as boats returned after a day on the water. In addition to meeting fishing enthusiasts and sharing awareness of the newest fishery regulations established within the park in 2020, it is here that I saw my first ever manatee! Taken aback by their size and constant presence in the marina, I can see just how vulnerable they are to propeller strikes (as several boats return from sea every 5-10 minutes and a cue of new arrivals are immediately launched just moments later). Seeing scars on their backs is a stark reminder of the delicate respect that nature commands in this shared space. A reminder that we are guests in their marine home. As part of the park’s biological monitoring team, our presence in the marina that day served not only to collect valuable data but to remind boaters to take care and do their part to preserve and protect the sensitive habitat and wildlife within the park.

Recreational creel fishing surveys with Biscayne National Park summer interns James Puentes and Nate Lima

Manatees graze at Homestead marina while weekend boat traffic passes ahead – calling into focus the human-wildlife interactions within the area and importance of education to prevent detrimental impacts. Photo: Nate Lima

Next up, I had the unique opportunity to join an all-female team of divers from the Wounded American Veterans Experience SCUBA (WAVES) Project in collaboration with NPS, the National Park Foundation, and SoundOff films for marine debris removal. We were joined by an all-female crew from Horizons Divers, NPS SRC archeologist Annie Wright, University of Miami Dive Safety Officer Jessica Keller, and Women Divers Hall of Fame veteran mentor Caron Shake. After speaking with last year’s NPS SRC intern, Sarah Von Hoene, I was eagerly anticipating this project and excited for the rare opportunity to join an all-female team on the water. After introductions over a group dinner, I was once again struck by the fact that although we each have divergent backgrounds, this project has brought us together based on a set of convergent goals and commonalities with regard to love for the underwater world, desire to enact positive change and eagerness to participate in conservation missions by diving with a purpose.  

I set out on our first day, joining Biscayne National Park Biologists Vanessa McDonough and Shelby Moneysmith to meet the WAVES team at the dive site. As we exited the channel, into the bay, and beyond the keys, I’m caught off guard by the cheesy grin plastered across my face. My eyes fixate on my favorite color of blue amidst the vivid gradient in the water, a color I haven’t seen since my time as a Fisheries Resource Management intern with the University of Belize in 2019. Reflecting on my journey thus far, I remember not too long ago, as a recent HBSc graduate, when my ultimate goal was to somehow end up on a boat during working hours. I had no research experience, had barely seen the ocean for more than two weeks during my entire lifetime, and felt intimidated to break into such a seemingly oversaturated and competitive field. Now, I sit here dumbfounded, thinking: “Wow, I get to do this every day for the rest of the summer?” Let the fieldwork begin!

Over a week, the team collected 3,700 pounds of debris, including derelict lobster traps, fishing lines, hooks, and plastic waste. The mood on the boat was cheerful, full of inspired conversations about continued and future work to reduce marine debris and promote conservation. However, underwater, I felt heavy and somber. Particularly on the last day, when we moored up to an area frequently used by recreational anglers, I was overwhelmed and frustrated. Picking up fistfuls of monofilament while hoards of fishing boats float overhead, I could see the damage that years of debris build-up have caused as lines run through large barrel sponges and wrap tightly around branching corals. Lines left from recreational and commercial fishing (particularly the long, strong lines used to thread commercial lobster traps together), represent one of the biggest human impacts detrimental to marine conservation in the area. On a 45-minute dive, I covered no more than 20 square meters. The debris was that extensive. 

Piles of abandon trap ballast recovered from the depths of Biscayne National Park

Marine debris was sorted, weighed, and properly disposed of at the end of each field day

While I am proud of our efforts this week, I acknowledge that to find a long-term solution, the issue must be stopped at the source. Awareness is an essential first step in ridding the “out of sight, out of mind” principle that often applies to the marine environment, and each person that joins in the efforts has a positive snowball effect. With the privilege of working in and accessing the beauty of the underwater world comes the responsibility to start and continue the conversation on how we can protect this vital ecosystem.

Next, I had the opportunity to join the Habitat Restoration Program team, working with biological science technicians Gabrielle Cabral, Cate Gelston, and Laura Palma, and MariCorps NPS intern Sophia Troeh, for my first experience with coral outplanting, in support of the University of Miami’s Rescue a Reef restoration project. Together, we embarked on the ambitious goal to outplant > 1,500 Acropora cervicornis (staghorn) coral fragments. At the conclusion of the first day, I snorkeled over the site for an aerial view of our garden, struck by the somewhat unnatural appearance of the monoculture of coral fragments pinned to the reef by globules of cement. However, on the second day, we planted fragments amongst corals that had been outplanted the previous year. They were thriving and had quickly covered up the cement “scabs” on the reef, turning into beautiful, healthy corals. Although my role in this project was small (considering the tremendous efforts that go into collecting and raising these corals to be ready for outplanting), I got to reap the benefits of one of the most rewarding stages in the process – just as the many volunteers do through Rescue a Reefs extensive citizen science program. A rapidly expanding field, coral restoration may not be the solution to the climate crisis; however, it is a targeted mitigation tool we can use to preserve ecosystem function when the cost of doing nothing is increasingly severe.

Outplanting coral fragments at Biscayne National Park in collaboration with the University of Miami’s Rescue a Reef program. Photo: Gabrielle Cabral

Week two at Biscayne was dedicated to training above water – I would be completing the Marine Operator Certification Course under the supervision of Maritime archeologist Joshua Marano. Together, we went through boat orientation, operating systems/maintenance, navigation, communication, risk management, survival and rescue, fire suppression, marlinespike, trailering, boat handling, and anchoring. A jammed-packed and, at times, challenging course, these skills will be crucial for the internship going forward. I look forward to continually improving my boat handling skills with this “license to learn,” bringing forward necessary tools that will help me integrate into new field teams as I travel through parks this summer. 

Josh also took the time to introduce me to many of the park’s cultural resources, including artifacts from archaeological excavations that can be seen in the visitors center and stories from his experience at Biscayne over the years. Two wrecks, in particular, stand out for their significance within the park’s boundaries for reasons above and beyond pure historical value. First, the search for the Guerrero has drawn much attention to the park. It has also become a valuable educational, interpretive, and outreach tool, bringing volunteers and students from underrepresented communities to contribute to the uncovering and dissemination of the history of slave ships that have gone largely unwritten. Second, the HMS Fowey (wrecked in 1748 off the coast of Florida) represents an important landmark in the U.S shipwreck preservation case law. It was one of the first wrecks to gain attention federally and used as a case study in the establishment of protected archaeological sites, which were to be managed in the best interest of the public rather than privately salvaged and sold for profit.

Last up on the seemingly endless list of potential projects to join at Biscayne, I reunited with Biologists Vanessa and Shelby, and biological science technician Morgan Wagner, for a day of roving visual surveys (used to characterize and inventory fish biodiversity, abundance, and habitat type). As a fish identification enthusiast, I relished the opportunity to familiarize myself with the Florida Caribbean fish residents (and snap some photos) while getting a great overview of the diversity of habitats within the park during our six dives that day. 

Biscayne National Park biologist Vanessa McDonough surveying one of hundreds of sites they will do this year

After two short weeks, I can see that this park is managed by a hard-working and passionate team of employees, interns, and volunteers, who I had the great pleasure of working with. Thank you to Vanessa McDonough for facilitating, scheduling, and giving me the opportunity to learn from so many different people and projects during my stay. Thank you to my park roommates, James, Sophia, and Nate, for the friendly company, answering all of my questions, taking me for “emergency” food runs, and for welcoming me to the park on my first day with lionfish tacos and guac (!!) Thank you to Jessica Keller and Annie Wright for going the extra mile to include me in the WAVES project and socials (and showing me where to get the best key lime pie – which I proceeded to chip away at by the forkful after each field day). Thank you to WAVES and WDHOF team members Caron, Karen, Linsay, Char, Pat, and Maggie for the laughs, support, and conversations about our accomplishments and dreams – I hope to see you all again soon (fingers crossed for a DEMA reunion)! 

As humanity’s presence and impact continues to expand and reach new corners of the globe, the opportunity to work alongside like minded individuals in the exploration, preservation, and conservation of our blue planet is one that I cherish dearly. Thank you to everyone who made my first park an overwhelming success, and to SRC and OWUSS for supporting me in this journey.

WAVES team members celebrating their honorary induction into the WDHOF Associates membership, during a night full of laughter, tears, and celebration.