Coral Collection

Ah the chill that descends as I approach an innocent, unsuspecting coral colony with my hammer and chisel. I am greeted by sweet, waving polyps as I tell myself, "I'm a conservationist. This is conservation." I place my chisel against the beautiful calcium carbonate structure these tiny creatures have so lovingly built, and raise my hammer. "I'm a conservationist. This is conservation." Clink! I scramble to collect the small fragments of coral, already pouring out mucus in confused distress. No part goes to waste, that is the beauty of molecular tools - every grain of coral dust can go into the test tube, be flash frozen in liquid nitrogen, and used to tell us something about that coral animal that we can one day use to protect it. This is conservation. 

 

The scene of the conservation.

In March this year (actually on my birthday!) I set out with some trusty field hands (my housemates) to collect coral nubbins for my experiment. Our task was simple, but not easy - collect 6 nubbins from 10 healthy colonies of Lace Coral (Pocillopora damicornis), 10 healthy colonies of Rice Coral (Montipora capitata), and 22 healthy colonies of Lobe Coral (Porites lobata). Each nubbin would serve an important, unique purpose. 

 

The Lace Coral - Pocillopora damicornis

 

The Rice Coral - Montipora capitata

 

The Lobe Coral - Porites lobata (in the middle, between colonies of Cauliflower Coral)

 

My fearless surface tender. What kind of person sends their sweet housemate out in a kayak with a "dry shipper" full of liquid nitrogen?

Nubbin #1 - Immediately sent up on a string to my fearless surface tending, kayak-wrangling housemate, Lindsay. She takes it, labels it, and plops it directly into a steaming vat of liquid nitrogen - stopping all biological processes in their tracks. 

 

Got the last coral in the bag before we ran out of air! Success!

Nubbins #2-6 (plus any extra bits) - gathered into labeled, spacious baggies by my neoprene-clad dive buddy / housemate, Tayler. These she gently carried in an unwieldy mesh bag as she followed me around the reef until we surfaced and I ran them straight to the flow through sea water tank. There they recovered just barely, until the next day when they were trimmed and glued on to labeled ceramic plugs, thereby signing their fate. Would they be able to hang out in a sea table for 90 days? Would they have to cozy up to rude, abrasive, chemically defended Gorilla Ogo neighbors? Once glued to their plugs, there was no going back. 

 

I break animals into pieces with a hammer and chisel, glue them to rocks, and call it conservation.