Veni, vidi. No vici. I came to Midway to see, to hear, to smell, to touch, and to taste nature. (If any one asks, the sand was gritty.) At Midway one could conceivably conquer an albatross or two, but there would be no glory in conquering a million of them. In leaving Midway, I was able to humbly say that I left Midway in a better state than I found it. I planted thousands of plants and banded for science and posterity numerous red-tailed tropic birds and albatross. In working on habitat restoration I worked to stem the tide of invasive species. Through a lot of sweat and dirt I manually pulled thousands of non-native cowpen daisy and worked to remove a couple of acres of Ironwood trees. Yet my time on Midway was not about the final results, it was about the process. It was in the process that I was able to appreciate the natural beauty of Midway.
As I write this final blog, I am sitting and listening to a quiet summer afternoon in Minnesota. Crickets are chirping and house finches flitter around in the trees. On Midway, it was never truly quiet. There was always a chorus of birds. However, the musicality of albatross or tropicbirds is not immediately apparent. The chicks of those two species tend to have raucous continuous cries as initially comforting as nails on a chalkboard. White tern adults seem to have continuous boisterous parties amidst the tress. Both the black and brown noddies have a tendency to indignantly scream over heads and malevolently dive bomb individuals. Last but not least, both sooty and grey-backed terns are extremely noisy and nest in large colonies with thousands of cries of righteous indignation over human disturbance. At night the music did not end and in addition to the nightly calls of terns and albatross, shearwaters and petrels added multi octave calls that were both incredibly eerie and insanely serene.
So, where was the music? Surely only the parents of those noisy chicks were the only ones appreciating the cries. (That statement may be debatable) The music was in the harmonious relationships between the various bird species’ calls. None was the same and yet the multi octave music seemed to ebb and flow as the day wore on. After the initial shock (or deafness) left, I could instantly appreciate the novelty and the beauty in the multi species chorus. Mix in the sound of crashing waves and it was the perfect background noise for a nap.
What else can I say about my time on Midway? I could dwell more on the natural resources. I could delve more into the cultural heritage of Midway and the military influence on Midway. I could dally about the people I worked with and the friendships that form on an island that is about two miles long and one mile wide. Or, I could detail the future of Midway amidst the near-certainty of sea-level rise, global warming, coral bleaching, and changing oceanic pH. (Not really rosy.) Unfortunately all those topics would involve much more writing and surely deserve more consideration than one last blog entry.
In the end, I ought to echo my beginning words of this blog. I went to a small island in the northwest Hawaiian island chain with limited baggage, a computer, and a camera. Although accommodations were not truly primitive, the island was and still is. I cannot say enough about the amazing beauty of the reef and the diversity of life that is under the waters of Midway. The land and water remain as natural and primitive as one can find anywhere in the world. The organisms here do not necessarily care about what happens on the mainland of the U.S. or the mainland of any continent. In the end, all that matters to them is space and time. Give nature enough space over enough time and Midway will always be an oasis of life in the middle of the Pacific. I was surely blessed to have lived amidst such beauty.
Last but not least, thank you all for reading my rambles and looking at the pictures I’ve posted. I’ve loved hearing from so many people and friends while I was gone. One hundred thank yous to everyone who has read this blog.
