Aquaria as an Introduction to Nature

Absolute silence governed. Frozen, my body tilted forwards, legs folded beneath me, each breath conscious, restrained; I resembled more a Buddhist monk in prayer than a, normally hyper, fourteen year old. I was concentrated.

My attention was focused, pared down to a single sense, sight. Glass walls and water acted as barriers filtered all sound, smells.

Rich vibrant colours, twisting shapes, and staged melodrama; A male Siamese fighter, shimmering metallic blue glided around his targeted audience, a gravid female. He blossomed, iridescent fins unfurling and stretching, doubling his size he must have engulfed her vision. Distracting and intimidating- dazzling and coercing. His slow concentric circles tightened, encircled her, not quite touching yet but almost, ready to tighten and squeeze- hurt even- he is so close but he is too slow, or too quick. She darts away. He is serene, completely unperturbed, as he spreads his fins and floats slowly after her, his fin filaments waving delicately behind him. He is a master at feigning indifference, an indomitable poseur .

It is perhaps too easy still, even years later, an ichthyology degree behind me, to ascribe anthropomorphic emotions to these simple, fish. Yet nature lovers everywhere find themselves caught in the same position, an effort to understand and relate . Like most nature lovers I was snared by the variety of amazing creatures and my fascination developed as a child, but that first Siamese mating experience was a defining moment of my life. It holds its place as one of the strongest memory\ies I have and was the culmination of, for a child- some great effort: Pouring over magazine articles and books, immersed in pH figures, optimal temperatures, ammonia and nitrates, aeration and oxygen. I chopped and washed earthworms, and carried jam jars of mosquito larvae scooped from ponds; watched eagerly as my fish grew and their colours changed. I cleaned I made mistakes and watched, expensive, cherished, pets die. But I persevered, my fascination and awe revealed an innate drive to breed these amazing creatures.

All their requirements were met, eventually. I watched, frustrated by impatience, excited by new discoveries, as the female grew, her pale grey belly pressed out, like a swallowed marble, and dark vertical bars across her flanks. The male was aggressive at first, chasing all denizens of the tank that approached too close, but he slowly transformed into an obsessed architect.

Cloud-soft, his nest condensed to became thick white foam structure, three times his size, among the protective stems of floating oxygen weed. The male had laboured, blowing hundreds of bubbles, pausing only occasionally to flourish his brightening fins, gulping at the surface and dripping mucus strengthened bubbles upwards.

When finally it was complete it shaded them as they danced; the female a fulcrum to the male's shimmied circles, she was cowed by the expanse of his ornate sail-like fins. And I sat watching them as she escaped again, not yet ready, leaving the male to search for her and lure her back out all over again. Repetition, patience, unforgiving tenacity, a final perfection of style and at last, cozened, she allowed him to wrap around her, squeezing and then they began to drift slowly towards the bottom.

The male flattened his fins, tighter, scales clinging he squeezed and turned around her body. She tilted to her side exposing her belly and her ovipositor. The eggs were released in a gentle, pulsing, stream of tiny, just visible opaque orbs. Before she is even been properly released she is forgotten; the male dashes to the bottom, meticulous and tender he sucks up the eggs, and tucks them into their foam housing. Streamlined and brisk he gathered his eggs from the gravel a few at a time, and cushions them in their nest. Up and down he swims, tireless.

Later he becomes a diligent guard, displaying again occasionally, billowing his fins, spreading his gill covers wide, not to attract now; but to deter, warn, intimidate. Darting and lunging sometimes, fins compressed and knife-shaped, at any strangers that stray too close, large or small . Even the female is chased away. He never eats; he is devoted; he is a father.

Nature! People might scoff. In an environment so artificial, it almost defines the word. The tank was large- built to more than accommodate the estimated territory of a Siamese Fighter Betta splendens , and filled with plants, floating and rooted- I wanted it to be as natural- as comfortable - as possible. Yet, varying so greatly from what is often perceived as 'natural' it is more equivalent to an abstract ersatz.

The obsession of natural over synthetic, wild versus managed, in this increasingly interconnected and fragile global ecosystem loses significance as we make ever greater modifications to our environments. My desire to conserve, passion for these, and all species of fish, pets, and wild stem, in part, from this interactive observation: and helped me realise that as humans the interconnectedness of everything from the overarching climatic system to the smallest ant is incredibly important.

I orchestrated this; the whole environment, artificial and perhaps therefore not 'natural' but a working, living micro-ecosystem. I controlled food, temperature, cover, water chemistry and habitat. I have selected mates, I have cared, I have killed, I have played god. I am human.