For some, almost mystical reason, I am drawn to water. During my graduate school days in Woods Hole on Cape Cod, I used to walk down to the beach at night for some serenity and peace after hectic days in the lab. With a cold Rolling Rock beer in hand, I would walk out to the end of a rocky pier and just sit. Staring out into the vast ocean, I was alone with my thoughts and the sounds of the waves gently crashing against the pier. The silence of the calm nights was rhythmically interrupted by the waves, and a feeling of peace would settle upon on me. Now, in the latter half of my career, I work primarily in the freshwater systems of lakes and rivers. Despite the change from salt to freshwater, I am still clearly drawn to the water. My oceanic rocky piers have been replaced with hammocks hanging near the shore, but the sound of waves breaking upon the beach provides me with that same peaceful feeling. One of the benefits of moving from a marine to a freshwater habitat for my research is the ability to sit aside the small rapids or waterfalls on the different rivers I have explored. A different sound than waves on a beach or pier, the gurgling of streams, or the unique sounds of water rushing over rocks and falling down rapids provide me with the same level of satisfaction. Maybe it isn’t the water that draws me in but the natural music produced by the moving water that creates the magical environment full of musical spells which envelopes me. Nature, imagined as a sentient artist, knows the right sets of tones and rhythms to produce hypnotic sounds. The rustle of leaves due to a gentle breeze, the drumming pattern of rain drops on a roof, and even the mystical quiet of an evening’s snow fall display the full range of musical abilities of nature.