If you’re looking for a sun-soaked holiday to take this Pride Month, where you can snorkel or scuba dive and then have a refreshing beverage at a local queer bar and dance the night away—or turn in early and have a sunrise paddleboard with your partner—look no further than Miami Beach.

Miami hasn’t historically come to mind when planning a scuba vacation, but my husband and I have been exploring the nearshore reef off of South Beach since 2021 and we think our beach town has everything to offer for an LGBTQ+ eco adventure vacation. I have been diving for 20 years and found species here that I haven’t seen anywhere else like the lesser electric ray and the guitar fish!

Only a few hundred feet from “Gay Beach” (12th Street), lies a coral reef that has remained resilient throughout the recent global bleaching phenomenon. A significant portion of the divers and snorkelers exploring this underwater ecosystem are part of the LGBTQ+ community that is growing each summer month when the waters are calm and the winds are low—the ideal time to visit the reef. The existence of this shore-accessible reef has inspired many queer people to get certified and discover the vibrant “rainbow of life” just a short swim from our city because it’s so easy to get to.

This community, led by many queer and women-led organizations, has been working to protect the reef and turn the entire area into a marine park. The biodiversity is stunning, numerous endangered hard corals and all sorts of rarely spotted marine life swim in this easily accessed site.

Miami Beach is a perfect eco-adventure destination for the LGBTQ+ community. Nowhere else can you find such a vibrant queer-oriented city just hundreds of feet from a spectacular coral reef. Picture a typical Saturday afternoon, swimming out to the reef with your friends while listening to the drag queens perform at the world-famous Palace bar across Ocean Drive. You can dive with locals in the morning, dry off for a fan clacking drag brunch, and dance the night away at the gay clubs.

Some recommendations for an Ocean eco adventure vacation during Pride Month in Miami Beach:

Stay:

Check into the locally owned Gaythering Hotel at the bay-end of Lincoln Road. More than just a hotel, this local gem has become a staple in the queer community, hosting local sports leagues and raucous Sunday BBQs with entertaining bar games like hot potato (which may or may not use an actual potato), drag race competitions, and “pop the balloon.” They also host nightly events such as Karaoke Mondays, Trivia Wednesdays, and Bingo Thursdays. If you’re visiting on the last weekend of the month, I host a Queer Easels pop-up art show highlighting local South Florida artists.

Paddleboard in the Bay:

Take a short stroll from the Gaythering to Purdy Avenue, where 2–3 rental options offer paddleboards to explore the tranquil bay. This peaceful setting is ideal for spotting South Florida’s diverse birdlife, including pelicans, ospreys, cormorants, and if you’re lucky, the rare, pink-feathered spoonbill (I’ve only seen one in the wild while paddleboarding off Purdy Avenue!). You’ll almost certainly see ospreys soaring overhead and cormorants drying their wings on channel markers. For experienced paddleboarders, exploring the mangroves on the north side of the bay is a treat—just remember sunscreen and water, and keep your eyes peeled for manatee snouts and dolphin fins!

Hit the Beach:

Grab the free rental bikes from the Gaythering and make your way to the local gay beach at 12th Street! You’ll know you’re in the right spot when you spot the rainbow-colored lifeguard tower and the Progress flags just to its south. On your way, pick up a sandwich from La Sandwhicherie, but guard it closely from the seagulls—you won’t want to share anything covered in the “magic sauce” from one of Miami Beach’s oldest continually running businesses.

Explore the Reef:

When you’re ready to meet the fishes, the easiest place to start is the South Pointe Jetty. Located at the southern end of the island, the best time to go is early in the morning before fishermen cast their lines. While fishing is technically not legal from the jetty, enforcement can be lax, so remain vigilant for fishing lines. We highly recommend bringing a diver buoy with you when snorkeling or diving to improve your visibility and help avoid accidents. Avoid the area of the jetty that begins to be submerged due to strong currents.

Scuba diving is excellent between 5th and 10th Streets. We are actively working with a group of local environmentalists to preserve this nearshore reef and create a safe zone for visitors while also protecting the reef from ongoing anchor damage. Currently, the vessel exclusion zone ends right at the near-edge of the reef, posing a potential for boat strikes. That’s why the first priority for the reef protection project is to move the buoys to the west side of the reef. This way, boaters can still enjoy the area, and we won’t have to worry about people encountering propellers while trying to meet new, gilled friends. Always check conditions before entering the water and carry appropriate safety equipment. In Florida, you are required to carry a dive marker with you while shore diving.

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After your fill of ocean and bay adventures, head over to Palace for one of their famous drag brunches. Don’t forget to stop by their rooftop pool deck to catch the sunset and, on a clear day, get a bird’s-eye view of the reef. Then, dance the night away at Twist!

More Nature Excursions:

If you’re itching for another nature excursion, explore the Everglades on an airboat ride where you can spot some of our more ancient residents, the American alligator. If you’re heading that way, be sure to stop by Robert Is Here for one of their famous milkshakes and say hello to the animals in their petting zoo out back. Paddleboarding is also fantastic at Oleta State Park and along the scenic route to the Florida Keys!

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About the Authors:

Patrick Breshike and Dave Grieser are a married couple living in Miami Beach, FL, with a deep passion for the ocean. Patrick is an artist and underwater photographer who draws inspiration for his work from the magic of the underwater world. Both Patrick and Dave are certified Divemasters and dedicated advocates for ocean conservation and their local LGBTQ+ community. They have been instrumental in a grassroots project to create a marine park in the nearshore waters off Miami Beach, aiming to protect the endangered ecosystem and ensure it’s safe for the community to visit. You can connect with them through their website, MiamiBeachMarinePark.com, or Patrick’s art website, gayfishes.com. Dave and Patrick are working with the local non-profit Urban Paradise Guild to advocate for the Marine Park. Check out urbanparadiseguild.org/lbr for more information.

 

Seabirds have long been considered indicator species, useful for gauging the health of a marine ecosystem as a whole. They can be observed more easily than fish, whales, and other creatures living under the surface of the ocean. For most of our history, humans had very few ways to make observations beneath the waves. Seabirds, however, have always been visible to us. Though they live and breed above water, they feed almost exclusively on fish. They form an arm of the marine food web that sticks up above the water, where we can see it with the naked eye.

In recent centuries, technological advancements have made it just as easy to take measurements under the water, observing entire marine ecosystems in situ, but so too have they multiplied the number of ways in which we can study seabirds.

The Evolution of Tools and Methods

The 21st century saw a number of advancements that affected the field of seabird biology. There was a boom in the popularity of solar panels, improving remote camera setups. Drones, or remotely piloted aircraft systems (RPAS), were approved for commercial and private use. Machine learning, particularly neural networks, became mainstream tools. And of course, the quality of images taken on digital cameras continues to improve.

All of these tools came together on the project that became my master’s thesis (and that of three other students). Together we studied breeding success at three mixed Double-crested Cormorant and Pelagic Cormorant nesting colonies, but my project focused more particularly on comparing methods of surveying.

Remote Island Realities: Mitlenatch Island

The three colonies sit on a spectrum of remote to urban environments. Mitlenatch Island is a tiny island in the Salish Sea, only about one kilometer long by half a kilometer wide. It sits in the north of the Salish Sea between Vancouver Island and mainland British Columbia, Canada. Both Vancouver Island and the mainland are covered in rainforest, but Mitlenatch Island is in the rain shadow of Vancouver Island, making it a tiny semi-arid blip in the middle of the sea. It is accessible only by small boat and is a provincial park and nature reserve with only a couple public trails. I have been to Mitlenatch Island six times, but many volunteers in its stewardship trust have visited countless times over many decades.

Where they haven’t been, however, is the Double-crested Cormorant nesting colony atop the cliff at the southwest corner of the island. It is far from the public trails, and we needed a permit from BC Parks to access that part of the reserve. One week after moving to British Columbia, I was clambering up those rocks to install a camera to photograph the cormorants for my master’s degree research.

Many seabirds nest on cliffs because they afford protection from predators. But this cliff was accessible to numerous predators: crows, ravens, gulls, and even otters can get close enough to snatch eggs if the parent is away from the nest. And as we found in the photos on the camera that first year, the cormorant parents all left their nests nearly every day for the same reason: bald eagles. A bald eagle pair nests on Mitlenatch Island, less than 200 m away from the cormorant colony. Every time either of them overfly the colony, or any of their young that are still around (juvenile eagles may stay with their parents for a few years while they mature), every last cormorant flushes from the colony.

Years of Discovery and a Breakthrough

In 2021, the first year we set up the camera at the Double-crested Cormorant colony, we observed that not a single chick hatched. We didn’t get any photos of eggs either, but we assumed that some had been laid given the normal courtship and incubation posture we saw the cormorants in. When we returned that fall to collect the camera (not knowing what we would find on it, as it doesn’t transmit the photos), we spotted eggshells a stone’s throw away from the colony. Not somewhere they would have ended up after hatching. We assumed predation of those eggs. Some predation is expected, of course, in any population, but we were astonished to realize not a single egg had survived to hatch.

What happened to them? The camera showed evidence that pressure from the bald eagle family was causing the cormorants to flee from their nests daily, only returning once the threat had passed. It captured numerous photos of an empty colony with eagles seen in the background. In 2023, the camera finally captured proof: a photo of a crow, with an egg in its beak, flying past the camera while all the nests were empty.

Then, in 2024, for the first time since installing the camera, we saw chicks. Something had gone right for the colony this year, but what? The eagles were still around, with their family of four flying around the island. We don’t know what made the difference that year. Our options for observation were limited to our post-mounted camera and the kayak-based surveys done by the stewardship trust. Mitlenatch Island is too remote for frequent visits.

Middle Ground: Gabriola Island

Gabriola Island is much larger at 14 km long by 4 km wide and is less remote—being accessible from the city of Nanaimo by a 25-minute ferry ride. It is also between Vancouver Island and the mainland, but unlike Mitlenatch Island it has permanent human inhabitants, and is bypassed constantly by boat traffic both large and small. The Gabriola Island cormorant colony is on a sheer cliff face facing the city of Nanaimo and a busy shipping channel, but atop the cliff there are only a few quiet dwellings. Here, too, we installed a single static camera to photograph the colony from above. Unlike Mitlenatch Island, however, we had a vantage point 1 km away in Nanaimo from which we could take long-distance photos, too. We took these once or twice per breeding season. The Gabriola Island colony successfully reared chicks throughout my time working on the project, but wasn’t nearly as productive as the third colony site.

Urban Success Story: The IMSN Bridge

The largest colony not only in our study, but in the entire Salish Sea, is found on the mainland at the Ironworkers’ Memorial Second Narrows (IMSN) Bridge in Vancouver. The IMSN Bridge connects the city of Vancouver with the Lower Mainland’s north shore, and is one of only two road bridges that do so. The cormorants nest on the crisscrossing support beams below the road surface and have vehicle traffic passing overhead 24/7. A rail bridge passes parallel to the IMSN Bridge less than 100 meters away, and a shipping channel passes right below. It’s unlikely for the IMSN Bridge cormorant colony to ever have a quiet day. But there’s one thing that doesn’t seem to give them much trouble: eagles.

In all our observations of the bridge colony, 2–4 times per week for five breeding seasons, we have never observed the cormorants flush from their nests. There are certainly bald eagles in the area, with at least one nest within 1 km of the bridge. But they don’t seem to frighten the cormorants on the bridge like they do those on the cliffs.

Why not? The question of why animals do anything is always difficult. It’s possible the horizontal surface overhead makes the cormorants feel safer, or even that it hides the eagles from their view when they are close enough to normally be a concern. Whatever the mechanism might be, it appears the bridge offers some measure of predator protection to the cormorants.

The Power of Access and AI

Aside from apparently being less accessible to eagles, the IMSN Bridge colony was more accessible to us as researchers. We students took it in turn to visit the colony (averaging 2–4 visits per week between the four of us) and photograph it from a ground-level vantage point below the bridge. We used a robotic mount, tripod, and 200x zoom lens to take a mosaic of photos, to be stitched together into a panorama later. We also experimented with the use of a drone, or RPAS, to photograph the nests from above. Because the bridge colony was so accessible, we ended up with more panoramas than we could process. Finally, we developed a convolutional neural network (CNN) to count the cormorants and nests in the panoramas. The CNN can scan a panorama much faster than a human, and after months of tuning, is about as accurate as a human too. With our Nanaimo-based vantage point, it might be possible to someday make a similar model for Gabriola Island, but Mitlenatch Island is too far from any other landmass for it.

A Changing Field with Expanding Possibilities

The three colonies we studied have varying degrees of accessibility and different sets of survey methods. Ultimately, there is no single method that can be used at every colony. At the IMSN Bridge, which is owned by the provincial government, we were unable to get permission to install a stationary camera. We didn’t have the time or resources for frequent visits to Gabriola Island or Mitlenatch Island. Hiring a licensed RPAS pilot was prohibitively expensive to do for the duration of the project. Any seabird colony study will run into limitations on what methods are feasible for them. Even so, we are spoiled for choice in comparison to past decades. New methods can improve the quality of data, the amount and types of data it’s possible to collect, and the speed at which they can be analyzed. With an abundance of data and software tools to process it, we can investigate new and more complex questions with the time we would once have spent on manual entry and calculations. Where our options as seabird biologists were once limited to recording data with pencil and paper from a boat or bird blind, a whole world of new possibilities has opened up.

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About the Author

Rose Wilkin is a lesbian conservationist based in Vancouver, BC. She monitors the Great Blue Heron colony in Stanley Park and previously studied various cormorant colonies in the Salish Sea. Rose received her Master’s degree in Ecological Restoration from Simon Fraser University in collaboration with the British Columbia Institute of Technology. Her thesis focused on cormorant monitoring methods. Her forthcoming paper based on this work will appear in Ornithological Applications. Seabirds have been her lifelong passion, and she considers it a privilege to study them in her career.

 

I used to measure success in cost savings and efficiency gains. My days were spent analyzing data, reassuring stakeholders, and ensuring goods moved smoothly from point A to point B. It was a career that made sense on paper – stable, well-paying, and rewarding. But over time, I started to feel a disconnect. I couldn’t shake the question: what impact am I actually making?

That question nagged at me, growing louder with each passing month. Then, in 2023, I decided to take a break. I left my corporate job and spent time traveling abroad, hoping to learn about myself and the world around me. Along the way, I explored the oceans I had only seen in documentaries, earning scuba diving certifications and witnessing firsthand the beauty and fragility of marine ecosystems.

Underwater, I found the passion I had been searching for and the clarity I had been chasing. Everywhere I looked, there was vibrant life. Schools of fish wove effortlessly through the water. Occasionally, one would stop to acknowledge me before continuing on its way. Corals, anemones, starfish, crabs, and urchins adorned the ocean floor, creating a mesmerizing tapestry of color and movement.

I felt such a connection to everything around me, like I was a part of it. I wasn’t just observing nature – I was immersed in it, welcomed by it. It made me question the role we choose to play in the natural world. Do we have to remain outsiders and disruptors? Or could we begin to see ourselves as part of a larger environmental community, with the responsibility to protect it?

Unfortunately, our impact so far has been detrimental. Coral reefs, which support 25% of all marine life, are bleaching and dying due to human-caused issues like acidification and rising ocean temperatures. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) projects that up to 90% of our coral reefs could disappear by 2050 if current trends continue. Key species are losing their habitats, shellfish can no longer form their shells, and populations are at risk of extinction from overfishing.

Our oceans are suffering, and we can’t afford to let that happen. Aside from being beautiful and full of fascinating life, the ocean supports humanity. It regulates our climate, produces oxygen, and provides food security for billions of people. It’s not enough to admire the ocean, we must act to protect it.

I am now a graduate student studying Ocean and Coastal Resource Management. In other words, how we govern, protect, and sustainably manage the ecosystems that exist in our oceans and where land meets sea. I’m learning about how we can build policies and practices that work with nature rather than against it.

Unlike my corporate career, where efficiency was the goal, this new path is filled with ambiguity and open-ended questions. The transition hasn’t been easy. It’s daunting to step away from a familiar world into one where outcomes are harder to measure and career paths are less defined. But I’ve also realized something crucial: my experience in the corporate world wasn’t wasted time, it was preparation.

Strategic thinking, managing complexity, and building partnerships are skills just as essential in conservation as they are in business. Professionals across traditional industries are uniquely equipped to take on environmental work, and shifting careers can lead to deeper meaning. That feeling I had underwater, of being part of something larger and worth protecting, is what continues to guide me.

Ultimately, the crises we face – rising temperatures, pollution, biodiversity loss – affect every single one of us, whether we realize it or not. Addressing them, protecting the systems that sustain life, should be an urgent global priority.

Healing the environment isn’t the job of scientists alone; there are broad, collective efforts to conserve and restore natural ecosystems. These efforts need storytellers to shift public opinion, analysts to track progress, economists to shape financial strategies, and policymakers to drive systemic change. In other words, they need people from every profession. They need you.

Critics of leaving corporate life may argue that stepping away from stability is a reckless move, one that sacrifices financial security and career progression. There’s some truth in that concern. But what’s often overlooked is the cost of staying: stagnation, disillusionment, and the feeling of contributing to something that no longer aligns with who you are.

Maybe the ocean isn’t your thing, and that’s okay. Our parks, forests, rivers, and wetlands need just as much attention. The skills, passion, and urgency required to protect each of these places are the same. What matters is choosing to engage, wherever your connection to the natural world lies.

Of course, not everyone can pivot careers, but purpose can also be found in staying. It can be found in pushing for sustainable practices, launching green initiatives, and advocating for policy changes within your company. You can also volunteer with, or donate to, environmental groups. Every action matters. Whether it’s by changing careers or embedding sustainability into your current role, you can be part of the solution.

If you’re seeking inspiration, just look around. I’ve found mine in countless people who work tirelessly and selflessly to protect our planet. One of the most meaningful moments of my journey so far was meeting Dr. Sylvia Earle at the Goldman Environmental Prize Ceremony, and having the chance to personally thank her. Though our exchange was brief, it left a lasting impression.

Dr. Earle has been a trailblazer in ocean exploration and conservation for decades. Her advocacy, research, and storytelling helped shape how the world sees and values the ocean. She is a personal hero of mine, and a reminder that change can begin with a single person. People like Dr. Earle, and so many others, prove that one voice, one career, one commitment can ripple outward and make waves. I’ve already experienced so many moments that reaffirm my passion for this work, and I know more inspiration lies ahead to keep me moving forward.

To anyone feeling stuck or unfulfilled, do yourself a favor and ask: does your current path align with your values? Does it make you proud? The world needs people who understand both business and sustainability, who can bridge the gap between commerce and conservation.

When I think about my future now, I feel incredibly optimistic. The challenges in protecting our ocean are enormous, but so are the opportunities. My journey is still unfolding, but for the first time in my career I know I’m moving in the right direction.

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About the Author

McKenzie Ploen is a graduate student in Ocean and Coastal Resource Management and a
former corporate supply chain strategist. She writes about sustainability, purpose-driven work,
and marine conservation.