Loading ...I drink European coffee. Fancy-pants stuff I can only really acquire in pods to use with my Tassimo One-Cup coffee maker. I can slum it with Starbucks from the Barnes and Noble Cafe, but at it’s heart European coffee is just a smoother drink. I don’t need to add half-and-half and a bunch of non-sugar sweetener to appreciate the delicate flavor notes and heady, earthy aromas..
This time of year, my sweaters are more cashmere than common wool. I cannot abide an itchy sleeve any more than the next guy and I have a feeling were scientific case studies to be done (perhaps with retired crash test dummies with thermometers embedded in their fractured arms) cashmere wool is just a little warmer in spite of being molecularly identical to that of wool from peasant sheep.
Likewise, I drink craft beers. No mass-produced, watery lager is taking up refrigerator real estate in this household. I appreciate a thick imported-style stout, or something brewed with ginseng and honey from an organic farm in Vermont or even barrel-aged with careful consideration to the type and age of the wood. The resulting hangover is just a touch sweeter, friends, have no doubt
But in my reef tank, I have a preference for local, home-grown stuff.
I grew up spending my summers on the gulf coast of Louisiana, Grand Isle, to be specific. My grandfather owned a fishing camp there. I’d spend the week enjoying fresh seafood cooked by my grandmother (“Granny”, to this day, a fiery red-headed cajun woman who drinks scotch from about 10am until whenever and could convince the Iron Chef to re-examine his life choices) and scrambling around the docks with a cast net and a bucket and an insatiable love of crawling, icky things.
On the weekends, my grandfather would abandon his law practice and drive a few hours south to be with us, then load up his boat at 5am the following morning to drag us 40 miles south, where we would tie onto an oil rig (much like the Deepwater Horizon, just with better cement work) and we’d fish for red snapper and whatever else would bite.
I remember leaning over the side of the boat as a child, over water a mile deep, to watch crabs chase smaller crabs across clumps of sargassum which would float past.
I remember my uncle Larry pulling up a fair-sized fish and seeing it get taken by a shark as bait itself off the back of the boat.
I remember watching a water spout get so close I could see it pick up a discarded hunk of frozen squid from another boat before my grandfather would untie our own. To be fair, the fishing was exceedingly good that day.
I love the gulf coast. It is (in all it’s filth and dirt) the reason I love the ocean itself.
In the image above you can see a couple of things I love. The background shows a “corky sea finger”, briareum abestinum. Native to the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico and also known as “Dead Man’s Fingers”, this particular coral gains bonus points for having a pirate-sounding nickname. It’s an especially fleshy gorgonian (or ExFleGorg, as the kids are calling it these days) and that color is not photoshopped, friends. It’s tan. Ish.
The happy polyps, though! The polyps! They flow in the current like they are freaking addicted to the Vortech!
My other Atlantic favorite is the Yellow/Blue Atlantic tang. You’ve got to call it the Yellow/Blue tang, because the little guy morphs from yellow to blue as it matures.
This particular tang is mostly yellow with electric blue trim at the moment, though it will gradually change to a solid slate blue over time as the fish matures.
I’ve got him in a smaller tank than tangs generally appreciate, but I’ve got plans to transplant him to larger digs when he goes full-on blue.
As it is, you can see the veritable salad bar I have provided for him. He appreciates it greatly and spends a good deal of time hiding in the rock work anyway.
The point is, both these creatures are native to my timezone. Atlantic and Caribbean species spend less time in shipping overall and seem to adapt almost frighteningly quickly to life in a reef tank.
I love the currently trendy Australian LPS and SPS as much as the next guy and Pacific corals in general have the market cornered on fantastic color, but I wouldn’t trade my Corky Sea Finger and Yellow/Blue Atlantic tang.
This time of year, my sweaters are more cashmere than common wool. I cannot abide an itchy sleeve any more than the next guy and I have a feeling were scientific case studies to be done (perhaps with retired crash test dummies with thermometers embedded in their fractured arms) cashmere wool is just a little warmer in spite of being molecularly identical to that of wool from peasant sheep.
Likewise, I drink craft beers. No mass-produced, watery lager is taking up refrigerator real estate in this household. I appreciate a thick imported-style stout, or something brewed with ginseng and honey from an organic farm in Vermont or even barrel-aged with careful consideration to the type and age of the wood. The resulting hangover is just a touch sweeter, friends, have no doubt
But in my reef tank, I have a preference for local, home-grown stuff.
I grew up spending my summers on the gulf coast of Louisiana, Grand Isle, to be specific. My grandfather owned a fishing camp there. I’d spend the week enjoying fresh seafood cooked by my grandmother (“Granny”, to this day, a fiery red-headed cajun woman who drinks scotch from about 10am until whenever and could convince the Iron Chef to re-examine his life choices) and scrambling around the docks with a cast net and a bucket and an insatiable love of crawling, icky things.
On the weekends, my grandfather would abandon his law practice and drive a few hours south to be with us, then load up his boat at 5am the following morning to drag us 40 miles south, where we would tie onto an oil rig (much like the Deepwater Horizon, just with better cement work) and we’d fish for red snapper and whatever else would bite.
I remember leaning over the side of the boat as a child, over water a mile deep, to watch crabs chase smaller crabs across clumps of sargassum which would float past.
I remember my uncle Larry pulling up a fair-sized fish and seeing it get taken by a shark as bait itself off the back of the boat.
I remember watching a water spout get so close I could see it pick up a discarded hunk of frozen squid from another boat before my grandfather would untie our own. To be fair, the fishing was exceedingly good that day.
I love the gulf coast. It is (in all it’s filth and dirt) the reason I love the ocean itself.
In the image above you can see a couple of things I love. The background shows a “corky sea finger”, briareum abestinum. Native to the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico and also known as “Dead Man’s Fingers”, this particular coral gains bonus points for having a pirate-sounding nickname. It’s an especially fleshy gorgonian (or ExFleGorg, as the kids are calling it these days) and that color is not photoshopped, friends. It’s tan. Ish.
The happy polyps, though! The polyps! They flow in the current like they are freaking addicted to the Vortech!
My other Atlantic favorite is the Yellow/Blue Atlantic tang. You’ve got to call it the Yellow/Blue tang, because the little guy morphs from yellow to blue as it matures.
This particular tang is mostly yellow with electric blue trim at the moment, though it will gradually change to a solid slate blue over time as the fish matures.
I’ve got him in a smaller tank than tangs generally appreciate, but I’ve got plans to transplant him to larger digs when he goes full-on blue.
As it is, you can see the veritable salad bar I have provided for him. He appreciates it greatly and spends a good deal of time hiding in the rock work anyway.
The point is, both these creatures are native to my timezone. Atlantic and Caribbean species spend less time in shipping overall and seem to adapt almost frighteningly quickly to life in a reef tank.
I love the currently trendy Australian LPS and SPS as much as the next guy and Pacific corals in general have the market cornered on fantastic color, but I wouldn’t trade my Corky Sea Finger and Yellow/Blue Atlantic tang.
Garrick has no memory of his birth parents, having been abandoned at the South Plains Mall in Lubbock, Texas as an infant and raised in shifts by the kindly part-time staff at World of Pets and Orange Julius.
He currently lives in South Carolina with his wife and daughter and four cats and has had at least one saltwater aquarium constantly since 1991.
Nice post!