racrumrine
09/19/2006, 10:10 AM
Marin Profile: Terra Linda man at helm of aquarium makeover
Rick Polito
Chris Andrews of Terra Linda is the new director of the Steinhart Aquarium. He gives a tour as he checks the progress on the new aquarium being built in Golden Gate Park. ( IJ photo/Frankie Frost)
Chris Andrews peers out from under the yellow plastic hard hat into a maze of concrete, metal struts and rebar and looks beyond the blueprints.
"This is the back of the gar tank and this is the swamp," says the director of San Francisco's Steinhart Aquarium, grinning with sudden excitement. The boy who "swapped a bird's nest and two tennis balls" for a legless lizard at the age of 10 is still building terrariums.
The terrariums just keep getting bigger.
This particular terrarium is taking shape in Golden Gate Park where a new California Academy of Sciences will open two years from now. Andrews, who moved to San Rafael when he took over the aquarium's director post in 2005, is taking another tour of the construction site, seeking a sense of place he can't find in the drawings and blueprints. It's an important part of a complicated process that will move 1,000 species and 10,000 live animals into a series of elaborate habitats.
Andrews dons the hard hat whenever he can.
"When you come here you see the real thing," he says. "You say 'Oh, now I'll know how to make things work.'"
It's exciting. It's a really big terrarium.
Andrews walks by a warped monolith of foot-thick glass that will front the California coast exhibit. "That whole tank will be surging," he gushes. He sweeps his arms broadly over an expanse of girders and concrete that will house a rain forest habitat. "You'll be able to pop up right in the middle," he says, rhapsodizing about kids going "nose to nose" with amphibians, reptiles and fish.
He can see it all, right now.
Kip Trexel, project manager for Webcor Builders, has to squint a little harder. "I see metal studs and pipes and iron," he says.
But Trexel probably never had his own monitor lizard. It's doubtful he has a red tail boa in his office either, or a tarantula named Boris.
Andrews has made such creatures a part of his life since he was a boy growing up in England, hooked on the scaly and slimy since that first legless lizard. Andrews says he had "understanding parents" and recalls being "lucky enough to get jobs in pet shops where they said 'You seem to know what you're doing, carry on.'"
An influential but "goofy" high school biology teacher encouraged that shared eccentricity and suggested it as a career, but Andrews had a very clear career in mind. He wanted to be a the curator of reptiles at the London Zoo and was only slightly discouraged when a college advisor asked him "How many reptile curators are there at the London Zoo?" following up with "How many jobs are there for out-of-work reptile curators?"
Andrews heeded slices of that caution and earned a Ph.D in fish parasitology, ending up a fisheries scientist in a government post. He spent seven years in that job, but he never lost his interest in reptiles or the London Zoo. Through a chance encounter with a friend, Andrews learned of an opening there.
He laughs about it now.
"I got to be the curator of reptiles at the London Zoo for about six years," he says.
It was his dream job, the job his college advisor had warned he'd never get, but there were bigger terrariums out there. Yet another chance encounter in 1990 - his wife just happened to sit next to an American aquarium designer at a dinner party - got him out of his dream job and into a bigger tank, this time at the National Aquarium in Maryland.
"That was November," Andrews recalls. "By March, my wife, two kids, two dogs and a cat were living in Baltimore."
Six years later, Andrews went on to help plan and open the South Carolina Aquarium.
But the Steinhart Aquarium growing out of the concrete and construction equipment in Golden Gate Park might be his biggest terrarium yet. It will be part of a cutting-edge design by renowned architect Renzo Piano. It will be in a green building with a living roof. The aquarium will be state-of-the-art and it woven into a multidisciplinary natural history museum with a respected research facility attached.
It's not just an aquarium.
"We'll be able to tell a complete story," Andrews says.
But now he has to get it open. Even with two years to get ready, there's no time to waste.
"It's obviously not like going to the pet shop and coming home with a bag full of guppies," he says.
Just how complicated that will be is as clear as aquarium glass back at the Academy's temporary facility. In a small conference room, a few steps away from the office where Andrews shows off the giant anaconda head from the Jennifer Lopez screamfest "Anaconda," the aquarium director is meeting with his staff to decide what animals
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will go into what tanks when the new facility opens.
Like the seating chart at a wedding where the groom's family is likely to eat the bride's favorite aunt, deciding which species will go where and how many tree frogs to invite is no simple matter. The different species, the number of specimens, codes and tank destinations are laid out in a stack of Excel spreadsheet printouts.
Bart Shepherd, aquarium curator, is questioning a staffer's plan for the California coast tank. "There are still 200 rockfish on here," Shepherd says. "He still has 20 leopard sharks."
Andrews draws a pen over the spreadsheet and looks equally puzzled. "I guess we need to get some help in the get-real category É we're never going to have all these birds," he observes. "If we have 10 to 15 birds, we'll be fine."
Some of the guppies will have to stay in the bag.
"Where are we going to put the leopard sharks anyway?" Andrews asks.
The details are daunting. Not only do they have to decide which species and how many specimens, they have to determine sources for each specimen. There are permits from the U.S Fish and Wildlife Service. And the fish have to live somewhere while the aquarium is being built. They're already growing the coral for a tank that won't go on view for two years and they're having trouble with the systems. It's too hot for the coral and the equipment is being tweaked. "Rube Goldberg is alive and well," Andrews sighs.
It's the kind of detail and bureaucratic dance that might seem stifling to a boy who just wanted to have lizards in a tank, but Jason Crichton, who worked with Andrews at the National and South Carolina aquariums, says Andrews never let the business side take him too far from the hands-on experience. Andrews did that by using the animals in outreach, speaking to groups and showing off specimens whenever he could.
"He used to travel around the state with snakes in canvas bags in his back seat," recalls Crichton, now director of animal care at the Charleston aquarium. Being an administrator just allows him to reach more people, Crichton explains. "The animals are the vectors with which he gets the big picture across."
Tom Tucker, the academy's general curator, has seen the same thing, watching Andrews put down the paperwork whenever he can. "When we moved the beluga sturgeon, he was right there with the stretcher from the tank and into the back of the truck," Tucker says. "He got all wet and everything."
To keep that excitement going, Andrews make sure he steps out of the office fishbowl a few time a year to revive his sense of wonder. He's not involved in direct research but he assists other scientists. "I get to do some field work," he says, enthusiastically. He'll be leading an academy natural history tour to Costa Rica next year.
Like the tours at the construction site, Andrews finds it important to step away from the spreadsheets and contracts to remind himself why he became a scientist. "You make sure that at least three or four times a year you get out there and get dirty and slimy," he says.
In the conference room, there is no dirt, no slime. The spreadsheets are fanned out across the table, labeled "swamp," "Borneo," "rain forest."
The seating chart is intricate, a balance of biomass and crowd appeal.
"You've got 10 species of flying frog here. How are you going to choose what to keep?" Andrews asks. There is no room for the turtles. The kinkajus are out. The anteater is in. Can the penguins make do on an "analogous species" diet or do they need to fly in specific anchovies from South Africa?
And do they really need a sloth?
The are more spreadsheets, more species, more details, more meetings. The curator who wanted the kinkajus is going to get some bad news. There are papers on his desk to sign.
It's not simple. Andrews has to worry about the creatures on both sides of the glass now.
The terrariums keep getting bigger.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Read more San Rafael stories at the IJ's San Rafael page.
Rick Polito can be reached at polito@marinij.com.
Rick Polito
Chris Andrews of Terra Linda is the new director of the Steinhart Aquarium. He gives a tour as he checks the progress on the new aquarium being built in Golden Gate Park. ( IJ photo/Frankie Frost)
Chris Andrews peers out from under the yellow plastic hard hat into a maze of concrete, metal struts and rebar and looks beyond the blueprints.
"This is the back of the gar tank and this is the swamp," says the director of San Francisco's Steinhart Aquarium, grinning with sudden excitement. The boy who "swapped a bird's nest and two tennis balls" for a legless lizard at the age of 10 is still building terrariums.
The terrariums just keep getting bigger.
This particular terrarium is taking shape in Golden Gate Park where a new California Academy of Sciences will open two years from now. Andrews, who moved to San Rafael when he took over the aquarium's director post in 2005, is taking another tour of the construction site, seeking a sense of place he can't find in the drawings and blueprints. It's an important part of a complicated process that will move 1,000 species and 10,000 live animals into a series of elaborate habitats.
Andrews dons the hard hat whenever he can.
"When you come here you see the real thing," he says. "You say 'Oh, now I'll know how to make things work.'"
It's exciting. It's a really big terrarium.
Andrews walks by a warped monolith of foot-thick glass that will front the California coast exhibit. "That whole tank will be surging," he gushes. He sweeps his arms broadly over an expanse of girders and concrete that will house a rain forest habitat. "You'll be able to pop up right in the middle," he says, rhapsodizing about kids going "nose to nose" with amphibians, reptiles and fish.
He can see it all, right now.
Kip Trexel, project manager for Webcor Builders, has to squint a little harder. "I see metal studs and pipes and iron," he says.
But Trexel probably never had his own monitor lizard. It's doubtful he has a red tail boa in his office either, or a tarantula named Boris.
Andrews has made such creatures a part of his life since he was a boy growing up in England, hooked on the scaly and slimy since that first legless lizard. Andrews says he had "understanding parents" and recalls being "lucky enough to get jobs in pet shops where they said 'You seem to know what you're doing, carry on.'"
An influential but "goofy" high school biology teacher encouraged that shared eccentricity and suggested it as a career, but Andrews had a very clear career in mind. He wanted to be a the curator of reptiles at the London Zoo and was only slightly discouraged when a college advisor asked him "How many reptile curators are there at the London Zoo?" following up with "How many jobs are there for out-of-work reptile curators?"
Andrews heeded slices of that caution and earned a Ph.D in fish parasitology, ending up a fisheries scientist in a government post. He spent seven years in that job, but he never lost his interest in reptiles or the London Zoo. Through a chance encounter with a friend, Andrews learned of an opening there.
He laughs about it now.
"I got to be the curator of reptiles at the London Zoo for about six years," he says.
It was his dream job, the job his college advisor had warned he'd never get, but there were bigger terrariums out there. Yet another chance encounter in 1990 - his wife just happened to sit next to an American aquarium designer at a dinner party - got him out of his dream job and into a bigger tank, this time at the National Aquarium in Maryland.
"That was November," Andrews recalls. "By March, my wife, two kids, two dogs and a cat were living in Baltimore."
Six years later, Andrews went on to help plan and open the South Carolina Aquarium.
But the Steinhart Aquarium growing out of the concrete and construction equipment in Golden Gate Park might be his biggest terrarium yet. It will be part of a cutting-edge design by renowned architect Renzo Piano. It will be in a green building with a living roof. The aquarium will be state-of-the-art and it woven into a multidisciplinary natural history museum with a respected research facility attached.
It's not just an aquarium.
"We'll be able to tell a complete story," Andrews says.
But now he has to get it open. Even with two years to get ready, there's no time to waste.
"It's obviously not like going to the pet shop and coming home with a bag full of guppies," he says.
Just how complicated that will be is as clear as aquarium glass back at the Academy's temporary facility. In a small conference room, a few steps away from the office where Andrews shows off the giant anaconda head from the Jennifer Lopez screamfest "Anaconda," the aquarium director is meeting with his staff to decide what animals
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Advertisement
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
will go into what tanks when the new facility opens.
Like the seating chart at a wedding where the groom's family is likely to eat the bride's favorite aunt, deciding which species will go where and how many tree frogs to invite is no simple matter. The different species, the number of specimens, codes and tank destinations are laid out in a stack of Excel spreadsheet printouts.
Bart Shepherd, aquarium curator, is questioning a staffer's plan for the California coast tank. "There are still 200 rockfish on here," Shepherd says. "He still has 20 leopard sharks."
Andrews draws a pen over the spreadsheet and looks equally puzzled. "I guess we need to get some help in the get-real category É we're never going to have all these birds," he observes. "If we have 10 to 15 birds, we'll be fine."
Some of the guppies will have to stay in the bag.
"Where are we going to put the leopard sharks anyway?" Andrews asks.
The details are daunting. Not only do they have to decide which species and how many specimens, they have to determine sources for each specimen. There are permits from the U.S Fish and Wildlife Service. And the fish have to live somewhere while the aquarium is being built. They're already growing the coral for a tank that won't go on view for two years and they're having trouble with the systems. It's too hot for the coral and the equipment is being tweaked. "Rube Goldberg is alive and well," Andrews sighs.
It's the kind of detail and bureaucratic dance that might seem stifling to a boy who just wanted to have lizards in a tank, but Jason Crichton, who worked with Andrews at the National and South Carolina aquariums, says Andrews never let the business side take him too far from the hands-on experience. Andrews did that by using the animals in outreach, speaking to groups and showing off specimens whenever he could.
"He used to travel around the state with snakes in canvas bags in his back seat," recalls Crichton, now director of animal care at the Charleston aquarium. Being an administrator just allows him to reach more people, Crichton explains. "The animals are the vectors with which he gets the big picture across."
Tom Tucker, the academy's general curator, has seen the same thing, watching Andrews put down the paperwork whenever he can. "When we moved the beluga sturgeon, he was right there with the stretcher from the tank and into the back of the truck," Tucker says. "He got all wet and everything."
To keep that excitement going, Andrews make sure he steps out of the office fishbowl a few time a year to revive his sense of wonder. He's not involved in direct research but he assists other scientists. "I get to do some field work," he says, enthusiastically. He'll be leading an academy natural history tour to Costa Rica next year.
Like the tours at the construction site, Andrews finds it important to step away from the spreadsheets and contracts to remind himself why he became a scientist. "You make sure that at least three or four times a year you get out there and get dirty and slimy," he says.
In the conference room, there is no dirt, no slime. The spreadsheets are fanned out across the table, labeled "swamp," "Borneo," "rain forest."
The seating chart is intricate, a balance of biomass and crowd appeal.
"You've got 10 species of flying frog here. How are you going to choose what to keep?" Andrews asks. There is no room for the turtles. The kinkajus are out. The anteater is in. Can the penguins make do on an "analogous species" diet or do they need to fly in specific anchovies from South Africa?
And do they really need a sloth?
The are more spreadsheets, more species, more details, more meetings. The curator who wanted the kinkajus is going to get some bad news. There are papers on his desk to sign.
It's not simple. Andrews has to worry about the creatures on both sides of the glass now.
The terrariums keep getting bigger.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Read more San Rafael stories at the IJ's San Rafael page.
Rick Polito can be reached at polito@marinij.com.