Andros Island, Sept. 8 — When I told colleagues and friends that I was going to report on a diving expedition in the Bahamas, there was much eye-rolling: that's not working, they said, that's money for nothing and kicks for free.

I have to admit, I agreed with them. I thought this assignment was going to be a boondoggle. And yes, there is a tropical ocean out my front door. There are coconuts, avocados and mangoes dripping from the trees here on Andros. But now I know, as the Bahamians say, "This be woikin'."

Today is a good example. I wake to a rooster doing what roosters are meant to do: crowing at dawn. Breakfast is promptly at 7 a.m. Then, with a cooler full of peanut butter, jelly, bologna, cheese, freshly baked bread and brownies, two boatloads of divers head out to the reef despite threatening skies and distant thunder, a recurring weather pattern. We're in the water by 8:30.

The biologists are in the thick of the survey now, racing the clock to cover enough territory to assure that their survey results are statistically viable. They're laying 300 feet of tape measure across different reef zones, then counting species within a 3-foot-square quadrat at random points along the tape. We start today on the reef crest, with its mountains of towering elkhorn coral and valleys of coral rubble, left behind by storms long past.

Different reef zones bring different diving challenges. The scientists begin their work today at the peak of a coral mountain, just four feet beneath the surface. There, waves that churn incessantly over the crest create a surge that manhandles a diver, crashing her into the coral and carrying her away from where she wants to be.

Paula Mikkelsen and Gordon Hendler work with the quadrat as best they can in the current, grasping dead coral ledges for balance as they search for whatever species they can find.

I dive below them, to about 15 feet, where the surge is less intense. I can see they're having a tough time of it. They have to deal with the surge, and their focal point is too narrow for their satisfaction. Both want to roam the crest and collect critters. But they know they need keep on counting for the survey to succeed.

The two scientists spend 90 minutes underwater, focusing on just one 12-square-foot area. They are so intent on counting, they miss seeing a shimmering school of foot-long spadefish that glide by just over their heads.

Not all marine biologists are dive enthusiasts. Some, like Paula, can take it or leave it: "For me it's a tool, nothing more," she says.

Diving requires so much equipment. There are so many things to get tangled up in. A basic diving outfit consists of a buoyancy compensator, worn like a life jacket, plus mask, fins, snorkel and weights around the hips. From the tank on a diver's back, hoses sprout like a rubber spider with black legs. On the ends of the hoses are a regulator, an emergency regulator, a connection to the buoyancy compensator, and a dive computer.

"There's just too much stuff," says Dave Burdick, Forfar staff divemaster. "Those creatures down there must think we're freaks."

Dan Brumbaugh says, "I like the way you can hang upside down; defy gravity."

Photographer Tim Calver free-dives to take pictures. We envy his freedom as he dives deep with just a mask, fins and snorkel, then floats in the water like a human fish.

During the second and third dives of the day, we roam the reef crest and then a shallow back reef zone, looking for any kind of creatures we can find. The seemingly tame sandy bottom of the back reef brings its own frustrations; staying down on the 4-foot-deep bottom without popping to the surface is foremost. Most of us snorkel, but Paula and Gordon use scuba equipment because they need to stay in constant contact with the sand and dead coral to find snails, brittle stars and sea cucumbers.

Despite the exhausting dive regime, Paula, Gordon, Dan, and coral expert Sean Grace look as happy as kids. They compare finds, jokingly boasting about the size and rarity of the animals. They admire Dan's sea urchin and Paula's small, ambitious hermit crab in a huge conch shell.

They haul their loot back to the lab where they sort through it, put it in containers, photograph especially good samples, and examine them under microscopes to get a closer look. They do this until their eyes slam shut and they're forced to sleep.

"People think we're sitting around getting a suntan," Paula says. "But this is hard work."

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