May 9th
Out at sea!
It’s five in the morning, dawn is breaking, and I’m taking over the three-hour watch from the Captain. I’m in luck: the wind, which had been nonexistent until now, is finally picking up in the right direction—that is, coming from the port side, at about ten knots. Engines off, the sea calm, our two sails, properly set by the Madintec computer, propel us at roughly the same speed toward Sardinia. On the not-so-distant horizon, we can make out the rugged contours of Corsica, soon to be bathed in the first rays of sunlight that chase away the moon’s silver glow. It’s as beautiful as a painting by Monet or perhaps Pissarro! In the distance, I make out the misty outlines of the Asinara Point, blending into the gray of the sky. At dawn, cirrus clouds were streaking across the sky. “Morning cirrus, sorrow!”—we shouldn’t expect good weather today!
Bad news this morning! Our sweet little finch is no longer with us. Arnaud found him lifeless on his bunk. He didn’t survive his sea voyage and must now be wandering like a ghost between the waters!
Little by little, the wind is picking up a few notches! That’s a good thing, because our speed is increasing! We’re finally leaving our navigation charts behind, and soon the outlines of the coast and the jetties marking the entrance to the harbour of Porto Torres—our first stop in Italy—come into view. It’s raining! The marina’s pontoons are empty, and life seems to have come to a standstill in this dreary port on this gloomy spring Saturday—you wouldn’t think so! Alone on his RIB, a harbour guard directs us to our spot: an uninviting gray concrete pier where we finally dock after a maneuver that was far from easy but expertly executed by our Captain.
We arrive just in time for a leisurely, unhurried lunch, followed by a nap, before welcoming Ariana, our first Italian diver—a petite, friendly, smiling brunette who’s not averse to a glass of wine for an aperitif. That’s a good sign!
MAY 10TH
"We could be in Concarneau," remarks Ploc (aka Bruno) as he scans from the bridge the dark clouds hovering in tight ranks above the harbor, with rain falling unexpectedly in this location."More like St Nazaire!" retorts Jean-Marc, a pure Breton from Île de Sein who insists we respect the beauty of our Brittany. It's not encouraging for the course of this first day of diving, but chin up! After our charming Italian diver rejoined us with her tanks, we bravely set sail toward Isola Asinara (I'm putting myself in Italian!) where the first swim is supposed to take place, provided the still quite rough sea consents to calm down.
I take the opportunity to have Plic (aka Patrick) explain the ins and outs of their mission. Unlike last year, when it was exclusively about determining the position of Posidonia fields to know whether they had regressed or progressed, by searching for buoys deposited more than forty years ago by the GIS of the same name. This time, our diver-researchers' mission is to determine the quality of ecosystems present within the seagrass meadows: fish, sponges, sea urchins, crustaceans... The goal is to verify the relevance of the new EBQI (Ecosystem-Based Quality Index) protocol supported by the European LIFE program within the MARHA (Marine Habitat) project. Bruno specifies that they tested this brand-new protocol in France and would like it to be expanded to the rest of the Mediterranean basin. Hence the interest of this new mission alongside Italian researchers on their territory of predilection. 
To do this, our adventurers of the depths will wander along virtual underwater "paths" fifty meters long by two meters wide, which they will explore meticulously, noting their discoveries with pencil (!) on special water-resistant paper sheets! Thus, in the age of generalized computing and the abominable AI, we're returning to methods that may seem archaic but prove resolutely effective! As predicted with the weather, which for once proves accurate, the sky clears as we approach the island, which reveals itself with an arachnean beauty, its green summits rimmed with morning mist. We stop our ship in a sheltered bay with a few houses with red tile roofs at the far end. Once anchored, the Gavitello (it's not an Italian cake but the name of the marker buoy), we send our divers down, equipped like cosmonauts departing for the moon... I'm always astounded by the weight of their equipment, the various tanks, compressed air, oxygen connected by countless rubber hoses. Fortunately, once submerged, Archimedes, appropriately named, solves the problem with his famous buoyancy. This first dive lasts seventy minutes at seventeen-eighteen meters depth. On the boat, it's rather cool! While monitoring the surroundings of the Gavitello, we can enjoy Aunt Marion's lunch, comfortably settled in the MODX's superb mess. The wind established from the west, accelerated by a Venturi effect at the bay's opening, simply forces the Captain to occasionally correct our drift with a few delicate engine bursts. The maneuver to recover the divers is delicate. One must come up gently in reverse toward them, calculate the drift due to wind, and especially stop the engines when arriving nearby. They are then relieved of their diving equipment so they can regain the board via the companionway ladder placed at the rear of the float. We give them a few moments of respite, the time to move the boat to the second dive site located a bit deeper in the bay. They courageously depart again for a second counting session. Surely they'll be very tired tonight!
Upon returning to the dock in late afternoon, after methodically packing up all their gear, they compile the summary of their counts, which will later be compared with future observations planned every three years in the same MPAs (Marine Protected Areas). Provided research budgets keep up. It's always the same story!