The Tide Is Out

A Short Essay on Mankind’s Dislike of Life

The small stretch of land that lies in between the tidal zones is an anomaly among ecosystems. It is both land and sea. Nutrient rich and barren. Baked by the sun and submerged with cold Pacific currents. What organisms could live in such an environment that is plagued by the constant ebb and flow of the tides?

And yet, it is difficult to find bare rock in the tide pools where no organism lives. The competition for space alone is fierce here, as many animals are sessile and cement themselves to rocks, never to move the rest of their lives. It is impossible not to step on life, even if it’s only the tiniest barnacle. Nearly every inch of substrate is inhabited, so much so that some animals settle themselves on other animals permanently. This volcano limpet seems to have carved out some personal space, but look closer. A small limpet and several barnacles have taken up residence on its very shell. A few other rough limpets and barnacles live very close by and even a chiton has snuggled up on the left to wait out low tide. Even territorial animals cannot depend on having their own space.

The tide pools is literally encrusted with life. I say encrusted, not covered or coated because these words conjure up an image of smoothness, like frosting being spread evenly on a cake. The intertidal is anything but smooth and even. More like a crown that is encrusted with jewels: solid, unevenly shaped, and in some cases sharp. Careful before you lean your hand on a few tiny barnacles or mussels; their shells will slice your skin.

The intertidal zone is never quite quiet either, even when the waves break on far off rocks. There is a constant snapping, popping, seeping, bubbling sound, as if the rocks themselves were living. To kneel in the tide pools is to be surrounded by so many other living things, in front, behind, to the side, and even underneath your feet that is it difficult to decide what to look at. 

Some are slightly disturbed by this level of living-ness. We have become accustomed to life as merely a “decoration” in our daily environments. We walk on concrete and drive things with motors and a tree is in the median. Not because it was growing there, but because someone planted it. And when the roots begin to break up the road, we pull it out. We live among the abiotic and control the biotic to our satisfaction. 

But on the rocky shore, man is brought into contact with endless living things. It is impossible to find your own personal space here; it has all already been occupied. In each crevice you are confronted with another life form you must consider, something else that fights for food and survival. Where nearly everything you see is alive, it is difficult not to reflect, even if it’s only on your face in the still waters.

But perhaps it is not without reason that some don’t care for a place where living things abound. Many of us would be petrified to be in the woods at night when crossing 5th avenue on the way to work every morning puts us in much greater bodily danger, but is done with comfortable ease. “Civilization is safe and nature is dangerous,” we say— or at least think— and if barnacles lived on land, we would scrape them up from the sidewalks, just as we do from the dock in the harbor.

We will not allow these invertebrates to live on our docks, spiders in our houses, or birds in our eaves. I have carved out this personal space and it is mine. No other animal shall encrust me or take benefit from what I have made.