February 12, 1809

When asked to name a hero or individual who inspired our career paths, many of us ocean science-types might rattle off the usual suspects like Jacques Cousteau (I watched all of his TV programs as a child) or Ed "Doc" Rickets (who I first discovered through Steinbeck’s Cannery Row). But first on my inspirational list of ocean scientists will always be Charles Darwin, whose 198th birthday I’m remembering on Monday, February 12, 2007.

Darwin may never have self-identified as an ocean scientist, but I’m pretty sure his nearly five years at sea aboard the Beagle (apparently sea sick most of the way) makes him more than just an honorary member of the club. In addition to his facination with finches, tortoises, iguanas and all the other amazing endemics of the Galapagos, one of his greatest passions was barnacles. In fact he spent eight-years studying them, even setting aside his writings on natural selection, until he satisfied his curiosity.

Darwin also turned his rapacious mind to figuring out how coral atolls formed. He surmised, correctly, that tropical coral atoll rings are the remains of what was once coral-fringed land. The now empty center was an island of rock that subsided below the ocean surface, all this a good century ahead of plate tectonics being embraced as scientific fact. Not too shabby for a sea sick victorian.
I've had a lifetime admiration and facination with Charles Darwin. He was a master of observation, quiet, reserved (some would argue a recluse) yet his life has fundamentally redefined how we view ourselves. My life and interests have been largely shaped by wanting to know the man while exploring the depth and subtleties of his ideas. On a trip to London in the late 80's, I visited Westminster Abbey, Darwin's final resting place, and laid flowers atop his grave. It's right in the middle of the north choir aisle and receives heavy foot traffic daily. His gravestone is part of the floor, so it's easy to miss since most visitors to the Abbey are looking up at its grand windows and arches. I stepped back and watched as people paused, noticing the flowers, and realizing Darwin was under foot.

On another UK visit in 1990, I spent Thanksgiving Day on an adventure by train from London to County Kent, Darwin's home in life. After two trains, a bus, then a cab, I arrived in Downe. I still have my journal from that trip and thought I'd share a bit:

County Kent, Borough Bromley, Village Downe–It's easy to see why Darwin chose to live here rather than London. This village moves to the tickings of a much slower clock. It's amazingly quaint here... small gnarled tree and circular bench in village center, St. Mary's Church and graveyard, George & the Dragon pub, combination post office/general store, the Darwin Pub, and a smattering of terribly English cottage homes. This is a rolling and lush stretch of country. Lots of birds, horses, and the smell of horse shit. Took a footpath off the road to Downe House (Darwin's home) that led me to two horses wearing flannel coats. I called one over, but after a pat on the nose he realized "No food here," and wandered off. Lots of plants I don't know and birds I dont know. But did recognize a fig tree full of fruit.


Arrived at Downe House before hours, but the curator let me in early. After paying my admission, I found myself standing in Darwin's study. The room was staged to replicate how Darwin had left it... an organized clutter of glass jars, books, bones, his walking stick, stones and shells, and odd victorian brick-a-brack. My favorite being the copper bedpan on the floor behind a wicker partition (this was afterall a pre-plumbing home). The curator, Solene Morris, joined me and was eager to tell me all I wanted to know. I spent two hours hearing about everything from her research thesis (Cretaceous mollusks) to the financial state and disrepair of Downe House. Apparently Downe House was not always the quiet sanctuary I thought it was for Darwin. At one time there were seven children banging about. Also, workers were almost always making modifications and additions to the house while the Big "D" was in residence.

Neat little details of the study were interesting to note. The pads on the arms of Darwin's chair were worn through. Another chair in his study, near a window, was turned in a rather odd angle to the room. It faced away from all the other chairs. I was told that Darwin preferred to write sitting in this chair with his back to the window. If the chair was turned towards the other seats, a shadow from the wing of his chair shaded his right side, and being right-handed, his writing paper too. After chatting forever, I wandered outside to the back yard and strolled the sandwalk, Darwin's favorite daily footpath. This man had some money, to be sure, as this "cottage" home was more manor to my eyes. There's something hard to define but very tangible about being in touch with history. And I mean physical touch. To touch Darwin's chair, his walking cane, or walk his favorite footpath and know it's only time that separates you from the person. It will be hard to top this British thanks giving.

But I did get to top it. In 1992 on my last UK trip (this time with my friend Dennis–also a Darwin fan) I payed another visit to Downe House. I had gotten along so well with the curator on the previous visit that she made a standing offer should I ever be in Kent and need a place to stay, then ring her up. Well I was, and I did. But instead of staying with her family in the carriage house, Solene set us up with rooms in Downe House.

That night, Solene served up a very good and very English dinner of roast beef with root vegetables, and mustard served in an heirloom mustard pot. Before turning in, she gave us a behind the scenes tour of the upstairs rooms in Downe House. Some were off limits and in severe disprepair with leaking roofs and sagging floors. But in an open room, she pointed out a closet where the initials HED were carved into a shelf. This would be Henrietta Emma Darwin, one of his daughters. I traced over the initials, a charming moment of Darwin's family life frozen in time beneath my finger tip and lost but for an observant and dedicated curator.

While none of this Darwinalia likely resonates with anyone other than myself, I throw it out there nonetheless. It's a bit of personal backstory to what got me inspired to do what I do. And it's not a bad thing to take one day a year to acknowledge your inspiration. Happy Darwin Day!