This report is an introduction to what I've slowly pieced together about the ecosystem found at Avon Point. I have no formal training in biological research and for the most part have had to stumble through the learning process on my own. The only two researchers to have reached out to be of assistance (and that assistance has now faded into many years ago) are Dr. Stansberry and Dr. Beeton, both who I am indebted to for their kindness.
The reef was formed by the collapse of the shore's
shale cliffs into the Lake. Over these fallen cliffs have washed rocks
left by the glacier that gave the Lake its birth. Winding through the heart
of the reef is an old stream bed that has cut into the Lake's floor. Surrounding
the reef area is almost perfectly flat plains of blue clay. The reef lies
on a flat ridge that surrounds the lip of the Central Basin of the Lake.
The Lake's bottom drops off quickly to a depth of 10 to 15 feet and holds
this depth for more than a mile out. The reef has an eerie beauty. When
diving I am able to view the reef as a bird in flight would view the land
below it. Hovering over the tilted shale walls and cleaved blocks I see
them not as small ridges and valleys, but rather they appear as vast western
landscape seen from the view of a buzzard soaring over a land draped in
a perpetual twilight of blue and green. Scattered amid these ridges and
valley are shale blocks cleaved along straight lines that give the appearance
of having been the works of masons. They are like ancient fallen temples
surrounded by a sacred sleeping blue.

Below is a photo of the
laison completely covering a rock and all the life on it. Below the laison
are zebra mussels that do not seem to be affected by being grown over.
The cladophora algae are also grown over which is why it appears to look
stick like. I can't tell whether the algae are able to live under this
laison growth or not. The laison dies out over the winter. In the spring
when I first begin diving the rocks are completely bare of all larger life
forms except Zebra mussels. I have gotten so use to viewing the world under
a microscope that I had better make clear that when I talk of a large life
form I thinking of living things larger than 1 mm. Usually the cladophora
is the first to dominate the rocks but as the spring comes to a close and
summer begins the laison begins a relentless march covering everything
on rocks that lie in suitable areas.

Below, a view of Avon Point
The picture below is of the
boundary area between the reef and the clay flats. The rocks of the reef
on the right side of the photo are here completely covered by Zebra mussels.
This density thickness of mussels is highly variable but easily 50 to 75
percent of the reef area is free of mussels. Moving from the clay flats
to the reef is analogous to moving from a desert ecosystem to a forest.
What makes the reef so much richer in the number of animals and the number
of species is both the numerous different types of habitats it provide
and the stability of the reef itself. Avon Point is an unprotected shore
that faces one of the longest fetches of the Lake. A fetch is the distance
the wind blows over open water without meeting an obstruction and the Northeast
fetch is about 80 miles long. The longer the fetch is the longer a waves
length can be. And the longer the wave the greater the effect it has on
the ecosystem. If a wavelength, that is the distance from the crest of
one wave to the crest of the next one is 20 feet than the wave will start
pulling on the bottom when the water's depth is ten feet. I have been on
the reefs bottom several times when large waves were running overhead.
The current was so strong that I had to grab on to large rocks to be kept
from being swept away and all around me I could here the rocks banging
against each other. Any animals on these smaller rocks would be extremely
lucky not to be crushed by the rocks banging against each other.

THE CLAY FLATS
The clay flats break up in
many areas into what almost appears to be cut tiles with all of the life
clinging to the areas formed by the gaps between these tiles.


After all these years I still look with
anticipation to the Spring. I am writing this at the end of February, a
month when I begin looking for the slow rise in the water temperature
of the Lake. Today it stands at 33 degrees, a temperature it has been at
since late December, but any day I expect it to start the slow climb upward.
The true mark of the end of winter for me is the day the temperature climbs
one degree to 34. And I will watch it with both excitement and dread as
it slowly makes it way up to 50 degrees, the temperature I feel it is safe
to enter the water. The excitement is easy to explain, only a cursory glance
at all I written on the Lake in these web pages can tell the joys I get
from the simply acts of personal discovery. Explaining the dread is harder.
Someday I fear that I won't be able to face the shock of the cold. Even
in a wet suit the initial plunge into 50 degree water can literal take
your breath away. A wet suit works on the principle that once the water
enters the suit a persons body heat will warm the water and that heated
water will mostly stay trapped in the suit. But until that water heats
up the cold is numbing. I also have a problem on entering the cold water
that is perhaps idiosyncrasy. When my face first hits the water I get a
tremendous pain in my sinuses located above my eyes, I suppose the pain
is brought about by the temperature difference between the warm air temperature
in my sinuses and my cold skin temperature in contact with the water. In
the fall or early winter, on the day I first feel this pain I know diving
for the year is finished. In the spring that pain is something that has
to be faced and every year both the cold and the pain get a little harder
to take. Perhaps that will be the day I know that I've grown old, when
I no longer can take the plunge. Not that I will regret it so much, most
of growing older is coming to terms with letting things go and this will
be just one more thing to let go of.
Over the last two years I have taken up photography,
both on land and underwater. I find the joy in peering through a camera
lens comes from taking notice of the world in a frame. Glancing around
the world with these eyes I am overwhelmed by the magnitude of the world
surrounding me. It is not seeing the trees for the forest, which seems
to be a problem we all face more than the commonly used reversed way of
saying the phrase. In photographing a scene I get to know it usually from
a different angle than standing upright. Lying on the Lake's bottom peering
through a lens between two rocks usually makes the scene so much grander,
beyond the rocks a vista of magnificent proportion seems to open up. I
wanted to say that the vista looks grander than it actually is but there
is no "actually is". The vista is grand because of the way I'm looking
at it. Looking at tree from a standing position is very different from
lying on your back at its trunk and looking up at it. Standing the trees
looks like a part of the landscape but viewed from below the trees seems
to fill the world and become the center of it. The Earth seems to revolve
around this point, and it can be frightening experience. My problem in
doing photography is that I can get so caught up in it that I don't make
the time to seek out the animals that make up the bulk of this study. Time
is really limited when your in a place you can't breathe in on your own
and where fatigue sets in rapidly from the body just trying to generate
enough heat to keep functioning. Fresh from the water I feel exhilarated,
I'm sure there is probably some hormonal push taking place, plus the relief
that I didn't wind up killing myself. After an hour or so thus exhilaration
comes crashing down and I'm left with a great sense of fatigue. I've read
that this fatigue has a name, "unexplained fatigue syndrome" which is a
misnomer because reading on the explanation for the fatigue is that it
caused by the body's fuel being used up in trying to maintain a 98.6 degree
temperature as the warmth was being sucked out by the cold water.
I suppose this cause would be a good excuse to lay in a supply of donuts
and brownies to boost the carbohydrates used up and even though I really
have no desire to eat after leaving the water I could force myself in the
name of research to consume these sinful treats. But than perhaps I've
lashed onto this unexplained fatigue syndrome to escape from the fact that
middle aged men just get tired quicker than when they were young.
So a new year is soon to begin, and like new
years resolutions, made and broken with the best of intentions, I will
strive to find a balance between photography and research data, hoping
this year to have the balance tip towards the research. But of will I am
weak. Lets see how it goes.
John Lavelle