Brandon Sosa

Lizard Island is truly a marine researcher’s dream. Your commute to the reef is a barefoot five-minute walk through warm sand. The boats are already in the water, and your gear is just about 100 feet from shore. For those studying beyond the reefs, mangroves were a short boat ride away, and seagrass beds stretched out in every direction, well-trimmed by a healthy sea turtle population. The field station lived up to its legendary reputation. Everything was optimized for efficiency, safety, and scientific rigor. You could feel the legacy of over 50 years of groundbreaking reef research in every corner. I used that feeling as motivation to hunker down in the library some nights to work on my dissertation writing, hoping to channel some of that legacy marine scientist energy into my fingers.

Sponges: Friend or Foe?
Being told, “Take a boat and any equipment—you have six days to do any reef project you want,” is the kind of thing that makes any coral nerd’s mouth water. I originally planned to work on a long-term coral demographic dataset from Mermaid’s Purse, excited to connect past monitoring efforts with what I was seeing firsthand on the reef.

After our first survey, though, something else caught my eye. Many of the Porites colonies were being overgrown by encrusting sponges, sometimes quite aggressively (even taking up to half of the colony mound). I then remember being told that Porites are considered one of the most important coral genera on the Great Barrier Reef. According to Morgan Pratchett himself, they’re more ecologically significant than even Acropora on the GBR, which are often thought of as the dominant reef-builders to use in the Caribbean.

That realization made me pause. I began wondering how these sponges might be impacting such a foundational coral species. I decided to shift my project and focus on the interaction between this encrusting sponge (Cliona cf. orientalis) and the coral Porites lobata.

This topic felt like a natural fit. Most of my research focuses on benthic dynamics, especially how herbivore pressure can manage algae and aid coral restoration. While I’m familiar with benthic competition, this was my first time seeing sponges directly encroaching on live coral and occupying valuable reef space. It was a familiar concept, but one I hadn’t studied up close.

Over the next few days, I surveyed reefs around Lizard Island, documenting the size of Porites colonies, the presence and size of sponges, and the condition of corals with and without sponge overgrowth. I found that sponge occurrence increased with coral size, which makes sense—older, larger colonies are more likely to experience partial mortality or bleaching, creating space for sponges to settle. About 25% of Porites colonies larger than 0.5 meters in diameter had sponge overgrowth, and the sponges themselves were generally larger on bigger colonies.

It was a rewarding project that deepened my understanding of benthic competition and gave me a new lens on coral reef ecology—one that I’m excited to keep exploring.

Reef Life, Community, and the Power of Disconnecting
The reefs around Lizard Island did not disappoint. After years of diving in Florida, where coral loss has been painful to witness, I was amazed to see such vibrant, living reefs. Coral recruitment was so strong that Acropora species were considered “weedy,” a wild concept for someone used to Caribbean systems. It gave me hope for what restoration and science-backed management could achieve.
One of my favorite parts of the experience was something unexpected: the near-total lack of cell or Wi-Fi service. For once, we had no choice but to unplug, and it was amazing. Without digital distractions, we connected in real time. We laughed, played cards, and bonded as a cohort. Coming from a busy city like Miami, that kind of connection felt rare and special.

Each evening, like clockwork, someone would grab a beer and head to the beach for sunset. It became a ritual, a moment to pause, reset, and enjoy the beauty around us. The sunset beer culture helped create a real sense of community. It reminded me how isolating science can sometimes feel, and how powerful shared space and time can be for building collaboration and friendships.

Gratitude and Looking Ahead
What stood out most, though, was getting to engage with the postdocs and early career researchers. Being near the end of my PhD, it was incredibly motivating to hear about their work, challenges, and next steps. It made the “what’s next” feel less daunting and more exciting.

This course had a unique and refreshing structure: rather than one professor covering a range of topics, we had several expert scientists rotate in, each sharing their passion, from GBR ecology to reef metabolism. This experience left me energized to finish my PhD and excited to enter the field alongside such inspiring people.

Huge thanks to Tyler and Jenny for creating and guiding us through such an impactful course. Even in my final year of graduate school, I felt like a student again, curious, engaged, and excited to learn. And to my cohort: thank you for making this trip unforgettable. Thanks for the laughs, beers, and memories. The future feels brighter knowing I’ll be working alongside peers like you.