Programs Blog

Saturday March 21, 2026

Noon Position: 18° 13. 211’N 63° 04.401’W

Ship Heading: 260°

Ship Speed: 0 (Anchored)

Log: 997.0 nm

Weather: Wind SE Beaufort force 3. Sea is calm with few clouds in the sky and plenty of sun. 

Description of location: Crocus Bay, Anguilla

Wow. What a day it has been. I suppose I will start with some of the more concrete things before I get a bit more abstract, if that’s alright. I began my day bright and early at 3:20 AM when I, along with my watch partner, were awoken for our anchor watch shift. Just a few minutes into our shift, a ship somewhere in our general vicinity sent out a distress beacon which prompted our radio to immediately start blaring an increasingly loud alarm that woke much of the aft portion of the ship, which was neat. The captain and one of our engineers came and turned it off, but unfortunately I failed to see what they did, so I am afraid that, if that happens again, I will be just as useless as I was this time. Luckily, I believe the ship in distress was able to get help, though it was difficult to tell as all parties involved had quite strong French accents and/or were actually speaking French. Also, just about half an hour later, we had to wake someone again to let them know about a broken water temperature gauge in the engine room. Obie, if you read this, know that I am sorry about that as well. 

After the little bit of sleep I was able to grab after my shift ended at 5:00 AM, we were greeted by yet another delicious breakfast prepared by our wonderful and talented stewards. I was overjoyed to discover that bacon was involved. Once we were fed, we began to prepare for our reef recon at Shoal Bay, our final snorkel site. It has really amazed me how different each of our reef sites have looked from each other, and Shoal Bay was no exception. Much like the other reef sites we have visited, this site was not the healthiest (and certainly not as healthy as it must once have been). The calcium carbonate structure of the reef remains, and it is clear that it was once dominated by large and complex reef-building corals like Acropora palmata (Elkhorn Coral). Nearly all of the coral that we saw, however, was dead, and covered in a thick layer of a fleshy macroalgae called Dictyota. We also saw some living coral that was showing signs of distress, including a finger coral that was beginning to produce fluorescent proteins as a sort of sunscreen (thank you to Heather for teaching me this cool fact). However, not all hope is lost. There were some living corals (mostly star corals and finger corals from what I saw), and the fish diversity was quite impressive as well. Plus, even if they are a sign of a less-than-ideal ecological phase shift, it’s still pretty neat to see the diverse types of algae that can grow on dead corals (Note: if you haven’t seen Halimeda before, check it out). And, of course, I enjoyed getting to snorkel with my friends in my watch for one of the last times.

When we returned from the reef recon, we had a delicious lunch (thank you again, stews!) and prepared to give some tours to a couple of groups that wanted to visit Cramer. The first group came from a sailing school and arrived in tiny sailboats. After we brought them through the ship, a bunch of our crew got to go out and sail around on the little sailboats, which was super cool. We also gave a tour to some local students, and it was wonderful to see how curious they were about both our ship and the research we are doing on board. I hope that some of them get to experience this program (or something like it) in the future. I must admit, I wasn’t the most confident tour guide they could have had, but I hope they were able to get something out of the experience anyway. Thank you to all of our small boat drivers who spent the day ferrying people to and from the pier, and to the people who stayed behind for most of the time to make sure that boat operations kept happening.

After all that was done, we did our final snorkel planning session. And I apologize, but this is where I am going to start getting into some sappy stuff, so if you are not interested in reading that you may want to avert your gaze. It is really starting to hit me that this program is almost over. And I know that it is not quite done yet, but, since I likely will not have another opportunity to get my thoughts out there before it does, I am going to put them here.

Over the course of this trip, I have certainly made my fair share of complaints (some more valid than others, of course). But I want to make it clear that, even if I sometimes complain, I really have enjoyed this program, and I know that, when it is over, I will be absolutely heartbroken. This really has been the adventure of a lifetime, and, to those who have made it possible for me to be here, I can never thank you enough for this wonderful opportunity. I hope that I will have more like it in the future, but I’m not sure that any will ever quite compare to this. 

As I reach the end of my time at SEA, I have been thinking about how much I hate goodbyes. People often say that goodbyes are not forever, but they certainly have a sense of finality about them which I have never been very fond of. It also doesn’t help that I am a giant crybaby about them. So the things I am about to say below are not goodbyes, but see-you-laters. Because I cannot bear the thought of never seeing these things again.

See you later, Caribbean. Coming here has been the biggest adventure of my life so far, and I hope that, someday, I will be able to return to these beautiful islands and explore them more thoroughly. I have seen more cool reptiles and amphibians here than I have seen ever before in my life (my little herpetologist heart can hardly bear it), and I know that there are so many more things here that I have yet to see and experience that I hope to one day get to.

See you later, ocean. We have certainly had our ups and downs (quite literally, in many cases), but, through it all, you have never ceased to amaze me. Even when I’ve spent all night sitting on the floor of the lab feeling distinctly queasy as I pull a seemingly endless supply of Sargassum from our Neuston tow bucket, looking out over the sea as the sun rises in the morning makes it all worth it.

See you later, coral reefs. Sometimes, it is hard to believe in this one. After all, from what we’ve seen here, coral reef decline and the shift to an algae-dominated alternative stable state is no joke, and it can be tricky to imagine a future where myself (and those born after me) are still able to witness and enjoy these amazing communities. But, at the same time, so much of what we have seen and learned here does give me hope. If we all support and participate in the projects that the amazing teams we have met with on each of these islands have been working on, we can still build a future where our children, and our children’s children, might have the same opportunity that I have had.

See you later, Corwith Cramer. Over the course of this program, I have learned that sailing is not necessarily the path for me. Like many other things in my life, it makes me very nervous, and I am not sure that I am completely cut out for life at sea in the long-term. But who knows. Perhaps one day I will change my mind. And if that day comes, I wouldn’t mind if Cramer was the boat I came back to. 

Finally, see you later to all the wonderful friends and mentors that I have met on this trip. You all are some of the most brilliant and interesting people that I have ever met, and, if any of these see-you-laters are going to come true, I certainly hope that it will be this one.

I am excited for my final few days in this program and, of course, I am missing everyone at home too. There are definitely some things that I will be very glad to have again once I am back on land. Still, I will leave you all with a poem that I wrote when I was feeling particularly sentimental about the program ending.

When the moon departs the sky, she does not say goodbye

And when the tide ebbs from the shore, its not forevermore

As the sparrow flies back to the tree,

So too will you return to me,

The sun will never set to never rise again.

And so we sway to nature’s tune,

And say not goodbye, but see you soon.

Eleanor Mason, C-Watch, Denison University