Back to my (kelpy) roots

Rays glide over smooth sand, zebra sharks with spots not stripes slowly shimmy past the thick glass, the smell of damp carpet and walls, the babbling of small children pointing tapping clawing at terrariums with poisonous dart frogs, a hammerhead shark finning through clear blue.

At the National Aquarium in Baltimore I had two successive thoughts. The first made me feel greedy, the second made me tear up:

1. Why did I pay $25 like the rest of these schmucks to see what I've seen in the wild?

then

2. OK, asshole, how lucky are you to have seen so many of these creatures in the wild while diving in Micronesia or the Caribbean, to have sailed alongside hammerheads and dolphins, to have walked through rainforests with brightly colored amphibians? Most of these adults haven't and many of these kids may never get the chance. Besides, what do you think got you excited about the ocean in the first place- hello Scripps Aquarium and San Diego tide pools! So stop complaining about the measly $25 and enjoy.
F-ing brat.

After this little conversation with my inner scrooge I let myself reminisce about that kid whose hands joyfully stunk of rotting fish long after feeding the dolphins at Sea World on hot summer days. I'd come home from our favorite amusement park and play in the pool with my sisters for hours maneuvering through weighted hula hoops and flipping my wrinkled toes out of the water just like Flipper. My mom would have a hard time getting us out even when the sun set over the palms and the pool light (warm under little feet, hands clinging to the stuccoed concrete lip of the crater) would have to be switched on.
A couple of months ago I worked on a sailboat in the Caribbean and the owner told me on a particularly glassy-watered evening , "You should go for a swim! It's the cleanest, nicest water yet! Unless of course the captain says no." She directed that last sentence towards the cappy. The reply from my colleague was something along the lines of, "You think I can stop her from swimming? Impossible!" I laughed, stripped off my uniform to reveal the bikini underneath, and jumped in as the sun turned the clouds on the horizon the color of ripe papaya. My daily swim made my 16 hour work days worth it.

As we (a couple of yacht crewmates and I) meandered past tanks of sand rays and colorful fairy basslets and huge hogfish we snapped pictures and ohhhed and awwwed like the rest of the crowd. We talked about our short lived marine biology studies, our love of diving, how to cook certain poisonous spine covered invasive species floating gracefully in the illuminated display in front of us.
On the windowed walkway from one aquarium building to another the boat that we work on came into view across the harbor.
A ferry blew its horn to signal leaving the dock sending vibrations through the glass and steel. Sailboats reached slowly through the gray wavelets.
Gulls swooped to pick out jumping fish in the water below.

Suddenly I had a craving for greasy fish and chips from Sea World in San Diego where my life in/on/with the sea began.
Instead, I walked back to the boat that in this moment I call home and had Queen Snapper fillet for dinner now that my adult stomach can't handle the food court grease.

But the wonder and excitement I take away from aquariums?
That is something that I hope I will never outgrow.