In The Underworld: Journeys to the Depths of the Ocean, science journalist Susan Cacey writes about deep ocean exploration. It’s roughly organized in chronicle order, from the imaginary deep sea creatures dreamed up by Olaus Magnus, a 16th century Swedish monk, to the first deep-sea dive by William Beebe and Otis Barton in the first ever bathyscaphe in 1930s using, to Don Walsh and Jacques Piccard’s dive to Marianas Trench in 1960s, and to modern day deep sea divings.
Susan Casey is passionate about the ocean. She points out the US government spends much less in ocean research than in space exploration. It is often said we know more about outer space than the ocean in our backyard. She considers the reason: “Why have we ignored so much of the deep for so long? It’s as if we live in a mansion filled with treasures and artworks and fabulous animals, but haven’t bothered to look in most of the rooms. It’s a failure of curiosity, to say the least, a hobbling myopia that leaves us oddly unacquainted with our own home. For a species long on creativity and imagination, we’ve uncharacteristically limited ourselves in range, our attentions fixed outward and upward as if those were the only dimensions that counted. Maybe that’s because seven miles down, we aren't in a position to call the shots. In the deep, humanity can’t even pretend to be in charge. Of course we are not in charge of space, either, but exploring upward gives us the illusion of expansion, as though we’re conquering territory, extending our ever-acquisitive reche. In this mindset, to go inward, into the abyss, is to be stuck with what we already have.”
Can I have both space and ocean exploration?
It is fascinating to read the various submersibles and diving adventures. Two vehicles, Alvin, the US Navy’s deep-sea research submersible, and Limiting Factor, the submersible made by Triton Submarines to Victor Vescovo, stood out. The author praises Victor Vescovo and Ray Dalio, two investors, especially the former, for providing scientists the much needed rides to the deep.
It’s very hard to read the chapter about deep-sea net fishing (hey, Norway!) and deep-sea mining. What I like most is the description of deep sea creatures. Overall, the deep sea is the opposite of a desert. It is a rich ecosystem or ecosystems with many creatures unknown to us.
Quotes:
P137:
Hadal snailfish have no swim bladders or air cavities in their bodies; their innards are encased in a buoyang, transparent gel. Their bones are demineralized, giving them a floppy skeleton, and they lack a fully closed skull. “They need the pressure to maintain their body form,” Jamieson said. “When you pick them up they’re very, very delicate. It’s like handling a water-filled condom. They slip around in your hand.”
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The more I learned about snailfish, the more they charmed me. Of all the contenders for top predator in the harshest environment on earth–and the winner was a pink gummy bear? “They’re great because they’re the deepest fish in the world and they’re not even a deep-sea fish,” Jamieson explained. “They’re a shallow-water fish that’s so audacious it’s overtaken all the deep-sea fish.” Even now, hundreds of snailfish species live closer to the surface. But twenty million years ago, some of them began to venture downward. They moved from sunning themselves in tide pools and estuaries to hunting amphipods in hadal trenches at evolutionary warp speed.
P210-211:
To my left, a siphonophore glowed like a nebula; a jellyfish stoned and revealed itself to be shaped like a dahlia.
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In the deep, light is a strategy, a tool, a weapon. It’s a language–the most common form of communication on earth. Even the bacteria are fluent.
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Bioluminescence is handy for both offense and defense. The Colobonema jellyfish, for instance, has thirty-two tentacles attached to a transparent bell. When threatened, it ignites the lights on its tentacles, waves them like sparklers, and then ejects them, distracting the attacker with a mass of shimmering spaghetti while the bell makes a surreptitious getaway. (Later, the tentacles grow back.) The stoplight loosejaw dragonfish flicks on crafty red photophores beneath its eyes. Most deep-sea creatures are highly attuned to blue light and can’t see red light at all, so the stoplight loosejaw is effectively staking them with night-vision goggles. Squid have been known to hunt with their lights off, and then strike in a blaze of brightness that stuns their prey. Some creatures squirt gobs of light, tagging their enemies. Many creatures camouflage themselves by dialing their photophores up and down like a dimmer switch to erase their silhouettes. Those are merely a few examples. Twilight zone creatures have as many different ways to wield light as there are facets on a disco ball.
P212:
We continued our free fall, like swirling around us. Two thousand feet was a catwalk of jellyfish, each one showier than the next. They sashayed by under frilly umbrellas, trailing diaphanous wisps amd ,pde;;omg the latest in fashionable lights. Jellies are often referred to as ‘simple’ creatures because they lack brains, blood, bones, and a heart. Watching them, I found that description laughable. They’re the most efficient swimmers in the animal kingdom. They’re also willy hunters that can eat just about anything, including fish, crustaceans, and each other. The box jellyfish has twenty-four eyes–including some with lenses, corneas, and retinas–and packs the planet’s most venomous stings. Another jellyfish species is biologically immortal: it can reverse its life cycle and rebirth itself. To me, those seem like pretty advanced tricks.
P218:
Earth’s biosphere is 95 percent deep ocean, and that ocean is four billion years old. If you think too hard about numbers like that, terror can trickle in. But there’s grace in blowing down to the deep’s sublime dimensions: a peacefulness that comes from knowing your place in the true order of things.
59% (I switched to kindle version):
An estimated 90 percent of the animals collected have been new species: corals like pearl necklaces and anemones like dripping flowers and pearl-white brittle stars and acid-yellow sea cucumbers with huge swishy tails; urchins that gallop across the bottom and glass sponges that house so many residents they’re like apartment buildings designed by Dr. Seuss.