efore sunrise, the only sounds inside the New England Aquarium are the rush of water through pipes and the occasional squawk of a sleepy penguin.
The lights are low, and the tanks seem frozen in time as nearly 10,000 animals stir. Bug-eyed fish drift through the blue. A 492-pound sea turtle named Myrtle glides past the glass. A giant Pacific octopus squirms as the lights above her tank brighten, mimicking the arrival of morning.
A landmark on Boston’s waterfront, the aquarium is one of Boston’s top tourist attractions, drawing more than 1.2 million visitors last year. With an annual budget of $58 million, it employs 263 people, from marine biologists to ticket sellers.
Long before visitors arrive, that dedicated team is already at work.
Long before visitors arrive, the New England Aquarium comes to lifeDefault Mono Sans Mono Serif Sans Serif Comic Fancy Small CapsDefault X-Small Small Medium Large X-Large XX-LargeDefault Outline Dark Outline Light Outline Dark Bold Outline Light Bold Shadow Dark Shadow Light Shadow Dark Bold Shadow Light BoldDefault Black Silver Gray White Maroon Red Purple Fuchsia Green Lime Olive Yellow Navy Blue Teal Aqua OrangeDefault 100% 75% 50% 25% 0%Default Black Silver Gray White Maroon Red Purple Fuchsia Green Lime Olive Yellow Navy Blue Teal Aqua OrangeDefault 100% 75% 50% 25% 0%Before the New England Aquarium opens each day workers prepare meals, tanks, and so much more.
7 a.m.
Jordan Baker wove her shoulder-length brown hair into a French braid. It rested just above the lettering emblazoned on the back of her navy blue shirt: “New England Aquarium Animal Care.”
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The senior aquarist spends her days tending to cold marine animals — invertebrates, hermit crabs, silversides, sea stars, a giant Pacific octopus — and their habitats.
She hoisted a beige plastic container filled with metal bowls onto her hip and strode up the stairs.
Baker, 28, grew up surrounded by animals in Middleborough. Her family cared for several, ranging from hamsters and chickens to fish, frogs, and salamanders. Baker always wanted to be a marine biologist, she said, and completed two summer internships at the New England Aquarium. It has been a constant throughout her life, and this year marks her seventh working there.
Entering the food prep room, Baker put the container on the counter, pulled on blue latex gloves up to her elbows, and began unloading crates from the freezer onto the silver sterile counter. The animals’ food is defrosted in stages, she explained. Each box held delectable appetizers like clams, silversides, and shrimp.
“I make a scatter of chops, a general feed that’s for everyone,” Baker said. “That’s like the bread and butter of the day.”
She sliced through the squid and silversides in smooth, methodical motions. “It’s almost a backyard barbecue style meal,” she added. As the pile grew, the room began to smell like sushi.
“The male wolffish, he loves clams, so it’s going to be a good day for him,” Baker laughed.
7:30 a.m.
Several floors below Baker, Jenn Chamberlain tilted their head up to the ceiling.
Above, 200,000 gallons of water press against the walls of the Giant Ocean Tank, where 750 animals reside.
“We are under the animals right now,” Chamberlain said. “It’s hard to conceptualize that much water above us.”
Chamberlain, 31, is the aquarium’s manager of environmental quality. Their main responsibility is to take care of the animals’ habitats through water quality testing.
The aquarium’s dimly lit basement resembles an industrial cavern, crowded with exposed pipes, metal machinery, and narrow walkways.
Originally from Smithfield, R.I., Chamberlain has spent almost three decades visiting the aquarium and grew up alongside some of the animals. “We’re old friends,” Chamberlain said of the seals. “One of them is two months younger than me, but that’s OK — I’ll forgive him.”
Before joining the aquarium, Chamberlain spent 10 years working in museum education and teaching in the chemistry and physics departments at Emmanuel College.
Chamberlain grabbed an empty bottle and filled it. They repeated this process at several locations throughout the basement, gathering samples from different tanks and from the Boston Harbor itself.
“Fortunately for us, Boston has one of the cleanest urban harbors in the United States,” Chamberlain said, “so we can pump water straight from Boston Harbor, do a little filtration so that it meets the specific needs of each tank, and then use it in our exhibits.”
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8 a.m.
In the Cold Marine gallery’s work area, Baker uncovered the tanks holding invertebrates and plunged a thermometer in the water.
“Fifty-three-point-nine, just like yesterday,” Baker said proudly. She shifted toward the hermit crabs’ tank. “I’ve got to make sure the hermit crabs are all getting along. Sometimes they fight, so it’s good to keep an eye on it.”
She walked toward a large tank covered with artificial turf, where the star of the cold marine section resides: a female giant Pacific octopus named Astoria.
She rested in the corner of her enclosure, but when Baker opened the “octopus-proof” turf-covered hatch, Astoria’s pink-tinged body shifted toward the aquarist, eyes fixed on her movements.
The turf is meant to prevent the octopus’ escape — it is irritating to their suckers, so they can’t easily stick onto it and pry the door open from the inside.
Astoria’s eight tentacles were folded beneath her. She snaked one suctioned tentacle out, then suddenly, in a shock of red, zoomed toward the open hatch of the tank toward Baker’s smiling face. Octopuses can change color in a fraction of a second, and Astoria’s skin shifted to a glowing red when she realized she had company.
“They’re a lot like dogs, where they need to be entertained, played with, enriched,” Baker said, as she arm-wrestled playfully with Astoria. The feeling of a tentacle on human skin is like a slimy, warm hug, accompanied by the sensation of suction cups on skin.
“A lot of the animals here aren’t very charismatic, with the exception of the octopus, but you know when animals are very ugly to the point that they’re cute?” Baker asked with a laugh.
8:20 a.m.
“Good morning, Mo,” Chamberlain said, lifting their arm to greet the stingray slowly gliding across the top of the Giant Ocean Tank. “This is our diva. Mo is always the center of attention.”
Mo coasted near the top of the tank, his wing-like fins waving. The water shimmered like an enormous mirror, colorful creatures circled beneath it.
Chamberlain’s favorite fish is a porcupinefish named Trixie, lazily drifting below Mo. Porcupinefish are known for their expressive faces and iconic ability to inflate their bodies to three times larger by rapidly gulping water or air when threatened.
“She’s been chunky her whole life,” Chamberlain said. “They can puff up if they’re threatened. They also can do it to make sure that that mechanism is still working. So every once in a while, she’ll puff up not because she’s in danger but because she’s like doing a safety drill. She’s just a girl.”
Over the loudspeaker, two bell tolls signaled that the aquarium would open soon.
8:30 a.m.
With feedings complete, Baker trekked to the far back of the Cold Marine Gallery work area, where a vast array of pipes and tubes transport water from different parts of the aquarium.
It’s time for the maintenance part of her job, which begins with the daily task of backwashing: removing trapped waste and debris from the water columns.
“I usually hit a stretch while I wait for the two minutes to be up,” Baker said.
Working in the aquarium resembles working in a restaurant, she said. “When we’re prepping food, it’s like we’re doing chef work, and when we’re back here, we’re kind of running dishes to our tables.”
She said it’s interesting to compare her job at the aquarium to her previous job as a waitress. “I’ve never worked somewhere where women are so powerful in this field,” she said. “When I was waitressing, I would take out the trash and a bunch of line cooks would stop me, like, ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa, women can’t do that!’”
She laughed. “And here, I see my co-workers, who are women, with power tools, sawing off pipes and throwing things in the dumpster.”
8:40 a.m.
Downstairs, Mike Penzo prepared to face a different type of mammal: humans.
He sat in the aquarium’s cafeteria with several other staffers, listening intently to Patrick Beckles as he relayed the plan for the morning.
Penzo works at the ticket booth, scanning in the hundreds, or even thousands, of people who pass through the aquarium. There are currently 14,000 members of the aquarium.
This December will mark Penzo’s eighth year at the aquarium. He previously was a bartender and applied for the job on a whim, seeking a “more enjoyable” role.
He walked down the aquarium’s front staircase and made his way outside to the ticket booth. Penzo turned on the computers and grabbed stickers and stamps to indicate admission. The aquarium’s attendance has quieted since school started the week before — but during summer, peak season, Penzo said more than 6,000 people can pass through in a given day.
Beckles has worked at the aquarium for 36 years. He started as a projectionist, making films and presentations of the animals, then transitioned to the education department, then to the visitor staff.
Beckles described the army behind the scenes that keeps the aquarium running and its inhabitants safe. There are several vet technicians on call around the clock to attend to the animals and routinely check up on them. Multiple trainers work closely with their specific animals, forming bonds that last years. And the visitor staff work to make it all enjoyable and interesting to the aquarium’s many guests.
8:45 a.m.
Holding a crate full of bottles filled with water samples from around the aquarium, Chamberlain entered the aquarium’s Environmental Quality Lab.
Before stepping into the room, Chamberlain wiped their shoes across a disinfectant mat. Then they pulled on a white lab coat and a pair of lab goggles, bedazzled with green beads.
Chamberlain tested the water samples, carefully measuring chlorine levels in the water from the tanks. Then they repeated the process for the water to be discharged back into the harbor, which must have low chlorine levels before being released.
Each test is a small window into the work that happens before the aquarium opens for the day. Chamberlain described a sprawling operation that extends beyond the exhibits: a research team whose work often goes unnoticed and staff members who head out on boats to study the harbor.
“I’m not just pumping numbers out into the air for nothing,” Chamberlain said. “This data is really, really useful in the care of our animals and the care of the environment behind us.”
8:59 a.m.
For Penzo, the most fulfilling part of his job is right outside the ticket booth window, watching families stare in awe at the outdoor seal exhibit. The large, blubbery creatures wriggled awkwardly on the rocks, preparing to plunge into the water.
Visitors of all ages pause to take in the scene.
A child in blue rain boots waves his arms wildly from his stroller, seeming intent on making his way inside the exhibit. A labradoodle prances around the tank, enthralled by the blubbery creatures in front of him. An elderly couple holds hands, pointing and laughing.
“It’s amazing to see the kind of impact the aquarium has on the community of the Greater Boston area and New England,” he said.
On the other side of the aquarium’s ticket booth, a line has started forming.
The day has begun.