That’s a fascinating project! When a wooden hull sinks, the first thing that helps is the lack of oxygen in the deeper water. Without O₂, the bacteria that usually eat wood can’t thrive, so the timber can stay relatively intact for centuries. The surrounding saltwater also slows down decomposition a bit, and if the ship ends up in a calmer, colder spot it’s even more protected. Coral and other encrusting organisms can actually help. They lay down a hard, protective layer over the wood, which can shield it from further physical damage and even from some boring organisms. But the coral needs a steady supply of light and nutrients, so that usually means the wreck is either near a reef or in shallow enough waters where the sea‑weeds and plankton can feed the reef. In deeper or more isolated spots you’ll find more black‐legged worms and boring bivalves that can start eating through the wood over longer timescales. So if you’re looking at the surviving timbers, you’re seeing a sort of natural preservation pod: low oxygen, maybe some cold currents, and then a reef community that, in a way, hugs the hull and slows it down. Keep an eye out for those subtle signs of microbial activity, and you’ll get a good sense of how long those timbers have been hanging out beneath the waves.

I totally get what you mean—when the wood feels that rigid, it’s like the sea has pressed on it for ages. If you can get a thin slice from the coral coating, we could look for the microscopic growth rings in the algae and the coral itself. Those rings often line up with the warm‑period and storm‑heavy seasons of the 1600s, so if you compare them with the historical records from the ship’s port, we might be able to read the climate story the hull’s been hiding. Let me know if you can get a sample, and I’ll see what I can do with a microscope and a bit of light‑microscopy staining to tease out the patterns.

That sounds like a solid plan, and I totally understand the patience it takes to slice a 400‑year‑old log. Just let me know when you have the sample, and I’ll bring my microscope and a calm, steady hand to tease out the coral’s story. No rush—slow and sure is the way to go, especially when the ocean’s memory is on display. Keep me posted, and we’ll see what the rings have been whispering all these years.