As night falls, the ocean’s beauty captivates me. Without any light, I plunge into the water, avoiding disruption to the underwater ecosystem. I immerse myself in the nocturnal symphony of the sea, secretly listening in on the underwater world like a spy.
CANCÚN, Mexico — As a child, I struggled with misophonia, a condition where certain sounds triggered intense emotional and physical reactions. This disorder disrupted my life. As I tried to manage my distress at an early age, school became increasingly challenging.
One day at a school camp, I noticed my roommate using an electric toothbrush. The sound felt unbearable. Instead of letting it overwhelm me, I started singing along. Although my friend found this behavior strange, I realized that harmonizing with uncomfortable sounds helped me cope. Immediately, I thought, “If you can’t beat it, join in.” From then on, I used music to harmonize with sounds, which became my refuge.
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During my childhood, I grew increasingly curious about how sound works. I felt fascinated by how sound travels and the emotions it evokes in people. Gradually, I discovered that sound travels much faster in water than in air, which further deepened my interest.
Alongside my passion for exploring sound, I nurtured a profound love for animals. I spent hours observing insects in the garden, which felt engaging. Passionate about animals, I became captivated by a crab at the aquarium. I watched it walk in circles for nearly two hours, feeling entranced by its movements.
In college, I embarked on an intriguing journey that combined my interests. I started my studies on a music scholarship and immersed myself in numerous classes while pursuing my passion for science. I aspired to create a unique major in acoustic biophysics, aiming to integrate physics, biology, biophysics, music, speech, hearing, and linguistics—fields that all fascinated me.
However, I stepped back when I realized that fulfilling all the requirements would take about seven years. I doubted that any graduate school would accept such a broad focus. As a result, I decided to balance my diverse interests by majoring in biology and minoring in physics.
As I investigated sound, I uncovered an amazing fact when a teacher brought the snapping shrimp [small marine crustaceans known for their powerful claw] to my attention. This tiny creature, no bigger than a little finger, snaps its claw to create a vacuum bubble. When the bubble bursts, it produces the loudest sounds in the ocean and acts like an underwater percussionist. Captivated by this discovery, I recognized that sound plays a critical role in the underwater ecosystem, where poor visibility contrasts with how sound travels well. Following my studies, I finally became a marine biologist, specializing in underwater acoustics.
In 2004, I began recording underwater sounds and encountered significant hurdles due to the limited technology and the scientific community’s lack of understanding. Despite these challenges, I found a few like-minded individuals who shared my vision and enthusiasm. Together, we recognized the interconnectedness of everything, a realization that still shapes my approach to both life and science.
During my visit to Cancun, Mexico, I developed an interest in how environmental issues were being tackled there. I visited the office responsible for protected areas and spoke with the director. He highlighted that they faced challenges due to the absence of marine biology programs at local universities. This lack of programs led to a shortage of students to help with marine protected areas and conservation efforts. Instead, most academic attention focused on tourism. Recognizing my enthusiasm for marine life, he extended an offer and said, “We don’t have any money, but we want you to join us.”
Eager to contribute, I pursued funding and successfully applied for a grant after some long-distance collaboration. This grant allowed me to return to Cancun and work directly with the Mexican federal government on coral reef [the most biodiverse marine ecosystem on the planet] conservation. Wholeheartedly, I engaged with the vibrant Caribbean reefs, which stretch over a thousand kilometers from Mexico to Honduras and shelter three out of ten marine species. Exploring the management of these beaches and reefs reshaped my life.
In my groundbreaking project, I installed underwater microphones in the world’s second-largest barrier reef. I recorded the ocean’s acoustic landscape to unveil the stories these ecosystems tell. While corals remain silent, their environment bursts with activity. A thriving reef features the unique sounds of fish and crustaceans [a type of animal that lives in water and has a hard outer shell], the absence of boat noise, and the consistency of water currents. Sadly, temperature shifts alter the sound of water and highlight the effects of global warming.
The data my project gathered further supported scientific studies that highlight the impact of mass tourism on marine ecosystems in the Mexican Caribbean. It also reveals how white syndrome, a rare and lethal disease, silently devastates coral populations. Human activities rapidly and harmfully alter ecosystems, urging us to reconsider our behaviors.
Human-produced sounds impact the marine environment in various ways. For example, a group of whales relies on sound for communication. A loud noise, like a boat engine, disrupts their communication, preventing them from finding each other for mating or issuing crucial alerts. This disruption cascades through the entire population and ecosystem. It mirrors a situation where two friends struggle to communicate in a noisy environment, potentially missing critical warnings. Underwater, this scenario unfolds with significant consequences for marine life.
The modern era brings endless auditory stimulation to our cities and towns. It affects people’s mental and physical health, and it impacts creatures living in water. As a diver, I frequently hear people describe the underwater experience as calm. However, I wonder, “What do you hear down there?” For me, I first noticed the sound of bubbles. This observation prompted me to listen more closely while diving. By breathing slowly and attuning myself to the surroundings, I uncovered something truly special: the sounds of the ocean.
The ocean is far from silent; it is filled with countless sounds we are not naturally equipped to hear. In my other research project, I set up an underwater recording system on the seafloor. This approach enables me to capture the soundscape without my presence affecting it. Enthusiastically, I tell people that I eavesdrop on conversations among fish.
On land, day and night sound very different. Sunrise, sunset, noon, and midnight each present a unique soundscape. For example, just before a storm, the sounds change dramatically. Birds chatter, storm clouds gather, and it feels like an orchestra preparing for a performance. Similar phenomena occur underwater, which amazes me as these sounds remain unknown to almost everyone.
Recording during the day and at night reveals these magical soundscapes. As night falls, the ocean’s beauty captivates me. Without any light, I plunge into the water, avoiding disruption to the underwater ecosystem. Like a spy, I immerse myself in the nocturnal symphony of the sea, secretly listening in on the underwater world.
When I first put my new recorder underwater, I felt nervous. Suddenly, a hurricane struck near an uninhabited island. In a panic, I called a collaborator and asked whether I should retrieve the recorder. He felt just as unsure, having never faced a hurricane before. The moment became tense, but after the storm passed, my equipment survived. Successfully, I captured incredible data—a treasure trove of sounds that vision alone cannot reveal.
This experience reinforced how crucial it is for me to record underwater sounds. By bringing these sounds to the surface, I let people listen, experience, and reflect on them from their homes. Hearing these underwater sounds helps us better imagine the vibrant life that thrives beneath the waves.
When I encounter intriguing natural sounds, I create a duet with them. It offers a refreshing contrast to the structured and planned nature of scientific work. Although I can compose in a structured manner, I prefer to let emotions guide my process. I explore improvisational techniques, especially in group settings, where listening becomes more crucial than playing.
Skilled improvisers listen intently, often playing less and immersing themselves in the soundscape, adding elements only when necessary. Accordingly, I apply this approach to the sounds of nature, traveling, and sharing my interactions with the natural world.
While working on the Mesoamerican reef ,I met underwater sculpture artist Jason Decaires Taylor. He was exploring new projects for national parks. We bonded over our shared scientific and artistic goals. Jason documented how his sculptures transformed into artificial reefs, while I monitored the long-term health of the coral reefs.
Our shared goal to engage the local community in ocean conservation inspired us to create The Listener. In 2012, we installed this unique underwater sculpture off the coast of Cancun. It doubles as a scientific lab, equipped with a microphone that records the changing soundscape of the reef. The Listener captures the sounds of shrimp, fish, and other marine life.
Jason and I worked together to choose backgrounds, select materials, and design the sculpture to fulfill both the audio recording requirements and blend aesthetically with the reef. We faced significant challenges while working underwater, especially during maintenance.
One day, I serviced the hydrophone amid strong currents. I held onto the sculpture with one hand while working with the other, feeling the force of the water against me. Despite the difficult conditions, I completed the task successfully.
The ocean’s soundscape is rich, with a healthy ecosystem resonating differently from a sick one. Recording these sounds is like placing a stethoscope on a heart. It let me detect balance and understand the reef’s condition through its sounds.
In their three-dimensional world of sound, underwater creatures challenge us to comprehend their environment. I took on the task of translating this experience. Currently, I explore how the ocean retains its memories, history, and emotions through my ongoing project. Since starting this work, I witnessed significant changes and growing interest, which means a lot to me.
Regions worldwide have even reached out, wanting to replicate the project in their countries. The work I do has transformed my life. I no longer separate my roles as a scientist, musician, and composer. Instead, I blend these aspects seamlessly in my mind.
When I describe myself, I identify as a marine biologist, musician, and composer, but ultimately, I harmonize these roles. I find it crucial to share my work with others because collaboration proves essential for better understanding and protecting the resources we depend on. I believe, that by protecting marine life, we safeguard all life.