Oceanographic Magazine / Issue 29 by Oceanographic Magazine

ISSUE

Conservation • Exploration • Adventure

MOVING SAND A U S T R A L I A ' S M I R A C U L O U S T U R T L E H AT C H I N G S E A S O N

“Creation” Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2021 Grand Title winner © Laurent Ballesta

A Fifty Fathoms is for eternity. Launched in 1953, the Fifty Fathoms is the first modern diver’s watch. Created by a diver and chosen by pioneers, it played a vital role in the development of scuba diving. It is the catalyst of our commitment to ocean conservation. RAISE AWARENESS, TRANSMIT OUR PASSION, HELP PROTECT THE OCEAN www.blancpain-ocean-commitment.com

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Editor’s Letter " G l o b a l l y, s e a g ra s s e s occupy only 0.1% o f t h e s e a f l o o r, a n d y e t t h e y a re re s p o n s i b l e f o r u p t o o n e - t h i rd of all the carbon s e q u e s t e re d i n t h e s e a f l o o r a n n u a l l y. "

1 March marks World Seagrass Day. That’s why this issue honours this vital habitat and sheds a light on its important functions in the marine ecosystem. One of the features takes us to Orkney, an archipelago off the northeastern coast of Scotland. Here, a team of researchers seeks to evidence and restore the region’s healthy seagrass ecosystems, while showcasing the abundance of marine life that calls them home. Moving on to the Algarve coast in southern Portugal, the relationship between healthy seagrass habitats and seahorse populations becomes evident. The region was once home to some of the world’s densest seahorse populations, but today these populations are on the brink of extinction. Researchers view the destruction of seagrass habitats as one of the main reasons behind the decline. To combat this trend, they’re putting their faith in habitat restoration projects and complex seahorse breeding programmes. This issue’s cover story further introduces species that love to gorge on seagrass: sea turtles. On Western Australia’s Ningaloo Reef, we experience the annual turtle hatching season, one of nature’s great spectacles. Also in Western Australia, we head to the pristine Scott Reef. Here, a fossil fuel giant is currently seeking approval for seismic testing and extraction of natural oil and gas deposits from below the reef. What could be lost forever?

Nane Steinhoff Editor

We also visit Koh Lipe, a small island in the Andaman Sea popular with tourists. Here, the Urak Lawoi are trying to preserve their ocean culture from the influences of the modern world.

@nane_steinhoff @oceano_mag Oceanographicmag

Oceanographic Issue 29

Contents O N T H E C OV E R

FEATURE S

HATCHING TURTLES

Across the shores of the Ningaloo Reef, wildlife photographer Lewis Burnett joins one of nature’s great spectacles, the annual turtle hatching season.

A green sea turtle hatchling emerges from the sand near the Ningaloo Reef. Photograph by Lewis Burnett.

Get in touch ED I TO R I A L D I R E C TO R

Will Harrison

ED I TO R

Nane Steinhoff

CR EAT I V E D I R E C TO R

Amelia Costley

CO N T R I B U T I N G E D I TO R

Hugh Francis Anderson

D ES I G N A S S I S TA N T

Joanna Kilgour

PA RT N E R S H I P S D I R E C TO R

Chris Anson

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YO U R O C E A N IMAGES

@oceanographic_mag @oceano_mag Oceanographicmag

A S S TO C K E D I N

For all enquiries regarding stockists, submissions, or just to say hello, please email info@oceanographicmagazine.com or call (+44) 20 3637 8680. Published in the UK by CXD MEDIA Ltd. © 2023 CXD MEDIA Ltd. All rights reserved. Nothing in whole or in part may be reproduced without written permission from the publisher.

ISSN: 2516-5941

A collection of some of the most captivating ocean photography shared on social media, both beautiful and arresting. Tag #MYOCEAN for the opportunity to be featured within these pages.

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CONTENTS

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LAST SE A HOR SES

A NDA M A N SEA

PR O FIT-S HA R ING CO M MITM ENT TO O CEA N CO N SERVAT IO N . A PR O M IS E WE'R E PR O UD O F.

SEAGRASS SECRETS

S C OT T R E E F

A unique biotope on the Algarve coast in southern Portugal was once home to some of the world’s densest seahorse populations. Today, these populations are on the brink of extinction. Marine protectors want to turn the tide.

On Koh Lipe, a small island in the Andaman Sea popular with tourists, the Urak Lawoi are trying to preserve their ocean culture from the influences of the modern world.

Wild, windswept, rugged, beautiful. All words that spring to mind when one thinks of the Orkney Isles. Below the surface, a team of researchers seeks to evidence and restore the region’s healthy seagrass ecosystems.

250 nautical miles off the coast of Western Australia lies the pristine Scott Reef. Fossil fuel giant Woodside is currently seeking approval for extensive seismic testing and long term extraction of natural gas and oil deposits from directly below the reef.

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BEHIND TH E L E N S

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T H E O U T L AW O CEA N R EP O RT ER

T HE OC E A N AC T IV IS T

Each issue, we chat with one of the world’s leading ocean photographers and showcase a selection of their work. In this special edition, we speak with Ocean Photographer of the Year 2022 Female Fifty Fathoms winner, Brooke Pyke.

Investigative journalist and director of The Outlaw Ocean Project Ian Urbina addresses the complexity of offshore crimes in this new column.

Hugo Tagholm, executive director and vice president of Oceana in the UK, talks about how biodiversity and climate targets are threatened by new offshore oil and gas.

Cal Major, ocean advocate and founder of the charity Seaful, explains what feelings the word 'home' evoke for her.

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BROOKE PYKE

T HE A DV E N T UR E R

Oceanographic Issue 28

Guillaume Bily France "In December 2020, storm Bella hit the Brittany coast. I wanted to capture the huge waves coming in from the open sea. At the end of the storm, a few clearings gave way to some rays of sunshine, resulting in these silver reflections on the water mountains," explains Bily. SPONSORED BY

#MYOCEAN

Hannah Gabrielson United States The crimson anemone’s opaque tentacles are covered by red banding. "This photo was staged in a marine holding tank at Western Washington University marine labs," says Gabrielson.

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Oceanographic Issue 29

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Moving sand Across the shores of the Ningaloo Reef, wildlife photographer Lewis Burnett joins one of nature’s great spectacles, the annual turtle hatching season, to find out more about the species that call these shores their home. Wo rd s a n d p h o t o g ra p h s b y L e w i s B u rn e t t

Oceanographic Issue 29

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I am taken aback by the sheer scale of the rookery. There are nests stretching as far as the eye can see.

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LEFT: Marks left behind in the sand by a sea turtle. ABOVE: A beach near Cape Range in Australia's Northwest. PREVIOUS PAGE: An adult green turtle rests on the beach after laying its eggs.

lone on a deserted beach at the edge of the Indian Ocean, the embers of the evening's sunset still illuminate the skies above. My heart is full and my mind races to process the magic we were lucky enough to witness less than an hour earlier. I find myself thinking about how this world works, how we are all so caught up in the daily chores of life that moments like this seem fleeting and rare, something that we need to cling on to and savor. I remind myself that events like this were the reason I changed my path in life. Watching baby turtle hatchlings emerge from their nests had been something I’d wanted to witness for years. I’d been lucky enough to live and work in a couple places across Australia and South-East Asia that had turtle rookeries but had never managed to find myself there in the right season. So, this summer, when my partner and I moved back to the Ningaloo Reef, I was determined not to miss it. Rounding the tip of the Cape Range in Australia’s Northwest you are greeted with a vast, expansive horizon as the ancient range crumbles into the rocky plain below and across to the shores of the Ningaloo Reef. We arrive at a small dirt track that cuts between the sparse scrub and pull up just before the dunes start. Leaving the comfort of the air-conditioned car we are assaulted by the stifling heat and a small army of flies, a quintessential Australian greeting in most arid parts of the country. We pack the cameras, fill up our water bottles and head down the track that winds between the coastal dunes to the beach. Arriving at the beach, I am taken aback by the sheer scale of the rookery. There are nests stretching as far as the eye can see. The usually windswept and homogenous dunes are instead a series of undulating potholes created by mother turtles as they excavate nest sites in the night to lay their clutch of precious eggs. We carefully make our way to a vantage point on a tuft of Oceanographic Issue 29

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Green turtles make up the majority of the population of nesting sea turtles on the Ningaloo coast.

“ vegetation and begin the long waiting game that so often dominates wildlife photography. Green turtles make up the majority of the population of nesting sea turtles on the Ningaloo coast, but there are also a smaller percentage of loggerhead and hawksbill turtle nests that can be found here. Although considered to be either Endangered or Critically Endangered worldwide, this coastline supports a healthy population due to its lack of development, low human population density and less frequent commercial fishing activities in the region. Elsewhere across our planet, these turtles are not so lucky. Coastal development is the primary issue. Turtles struggle to nest on busy, bright and noisy beaches. In areas where no concessions have been made to provide suitable nesting habitats, populations are plummeting. Activity. A seagull has managed to pluck off one of the first hatchlings to emerge and is now trying to evade a squadron of aerial thieves looking to steal the baby turtle from its beak. Turtle hatchlings have a tough start in life. Having broken through the shell of their egg and heaved themselves up through the sand in which they are buried, they arrive to a surface fraught with danger. Flocks of airborne scavengers such as silver gulls and terns gather at these nesting sites during hatching season, ready for an easy meal. If the newly emerged hatchlings avoid predation from above, they still have to navigate dingos, goannas and ghost crabs before they make it to the ocean. It's easy to see why only one in a thousand turtles survive to adulthood. My partner calls out to me with excitement as she races across the shoreline and up into a dune where an avian bombardment gives away the fact turtles are emerging from a nest. I get there moments later, scaring away the remaining gulls before more of the hatchlings are taken. I run over this scenario a couple days later, curious about our lack of compassion for the gulls and their need to eat. Some comfort is provided by a local Exmouth resident who had mentioned that the local gull

The first sight of a hatching green turtle.

A green turtle hatchling emerges from the sand.

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population had exploded during the Covid pandemic due to a boom in tourist numbers visiting the cape. The local rubbish disposal site hadn't been able to keep up with the waste, providing a bounty for scavengers. These moments certainly get my internal dialogue going about our natural bias towards more ‘charismatic’ species on our planet and the difficulty we have in sitting back and watching as nature, in all its brutal and raw glory, takes the stage. Noses begin to poke up between parting grains of sand, hatchlings seemingly birthed by the beach itself. The turtles push their way up into a new world for the first time. At first the movements are slow and erratic. A wiggle. A wobble. But as the sun begins to lower on the horizon, casting its majestic glow across the late summer skies, we witness an eruption of life like nothing I have seen before. It is theorised that the hatchlings use temperature and the tide as primary indicators for timing their emergence from the nest. Consequently, most hatchlings emerge from the sand at night, or as close to night as possible and during high tide so they have shorter journeys across the sand to reach the ocean. Although the temperature falls, along with the sun, the sky is on fire. With the wind having dropped, and summer rains on the horizon, we witness the natural world at its most wild. The greatest spectacle of our lives. Within minutes, the entire nest site erupts in a writhing mass of soft fins and beaks, the hatchlings’ eyes crusted in grains of sand, each turtle squirming and scrambling to make headway, to begin a decades-long journey across the open ocean and a cyclical life that would see them return to this beach from which they themselves emerged.

The hatchlings use temperature and the tide as primary indicators for timing their emergence from the nest.

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Weaving their way through the dune grass they made their way down onto the beach, over flotsam and jetsam, occasionally getting entangled in seaweed.

Green turtle hatchlings begin their race towards the waterline.

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Aerial view of the Ningaloo Reef.

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The Exmouth Gulf lies in close proximity to the nesting sites.

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A green sea turtle swims across the Ningaloo Reef.

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LEFT: Marks in the sand left behind by an adult sea turtle.

This coastline supports a healthy population due to its lack of development, low human population density and less frequent commercial fishing activities in the region.

” It doesn't take long for the hatchlings’ natural instincts to kick in. The race for the waterline has begun. Weaving their way through the dune grass they make their way down onto the beach, over flotsam and jetsam, occasionally getting entangled in seaweed along the high tide line, until they make it to the water. By this point the spectacle has gathered half a dozen other beachgoers who are all here to witness the same electric energy and experience the same phenomenal act of nature. We stand guard over the hatchlings, swatting at the dive bombing gulls in an attempt to save some of the turtles from their aerial assault. Slowly but surely, they manage to make their way down to the waterline. I feel emotional watching them swim off into the ever deeper and darker water. Many challenges lie ahead still, including predators both on and beyond the reef. For the individuals that make it through that, a quarter century of isolation awaits, a decades-long drift in oceanic currents offshore that would see them grow large and strong enough to return to the nearshore reefs, to return home. Sitting down in the dunes, exhausted from watching such a phenomenal explosion of life just minutes earlier, we reflect on how special it is to be able to witness such an event. Having spent the previous decade diving and snorkelling with these prehistoric reptiles, it was wonderful to finally see them as hatchlings, at the beginning of their long journey to adulthood. I feel lucky to live in a country where rookeries such as this one are protected. I cast my mind to the countless other rookeries across the world that have found themselves subject to industrial development. Nesting turtles are sensitive to noise and light, often using the reflection of the moon on the ocean's surface to guide them back to the water after nesting. It has been well documented that even a simple street light can lead them astray, often resulting in strandings and unsuccessful egg laying attempts. This is why it is so important to protect these beaches from development and give the turtles the space and peace they need to fulfil their life cycle and replenish the next generation. As the remaining afterburn of sunset dims and the summer rains begin to fall we start the walk back to the car. Cresting the dune I turn around to steal one last look at this untouched landscape, its rolling dunes pockmarked with future generations of these endangered turtles. I silently wish to myself that by the time these hatchlings make it back to this very same beach, decades from now, that they will be greeted with the same view as I have at this very moment.

Oceanographic Issue 29

Column

By Ian Urbina

The outlaw ocean reporter OFFSHORE CRIMES

oo big to police, and under no clear international authority, the high seas constitute perhaps the wildest and least understood frontier on the planet. Impunity is the norm not just because of a lack of enforcement but also due to the cast of characters out there who, with questionable credentials and motives, are left to take up the slack when governments do little to protect. From my experience offshore, I have seen how thin the line is between civilisation and the lack of it – and why better and more governance is essential to the future of our species and the planet. But, sometimes, the institutions created to help govern the seas end up acting as instruments to facilitate crimes. For instance, see the International Maritime Organization (IMO), a specialised agency of the United Nations responsible for measures to improve the safety and security of international shipping. Maybe you never heard of them, but in 2018, the IMO formally acknowledged an at-sea search-and-rescue zone for Libya. In receiving UN recognition, Libyan authorities

stretched their jurisdiction nearly a hundred miles off of Libya’s coast, far into international waters, and halfway to Italian shores. In these waters, tens of thousands of refugees crossing the Mediterranean Sea each year are captured by the EU-funded Libyan Coast Guard and sent to brutal prisons in Libya where murder, extortion and rape are common. Before the IMO announced it, European countries and independent humanitarian groups predominantly handled the job of tracking migrant boats on the Mediterranean Sea. But after the announcement, the Libyan Coast Guard captains can claim – as they routinely do – that they have UNrecognised jurisdiction over the area even though the migrants are typically already in international waters. As a result, merchant ship captains think they are legally required to obey orders from the Libyan Coast Guard to hand over migrants. Lawmakers and humanitarian advocates say that the Libyan search-and-rescue zone violates the relevant UN

Bangladeshi migrants making their way from Libya to Europe are rescued by the crew of the Geo Barents in the Central Mediterranean. Photograph by Ed Ou/The Outlaw Ocean Project.

Oceanographic Issue 29

@ ian_urbina

@ianurbinareporter

www.theoutlawocean.com

“Sometimes, the institutions created to help govern the seas end up acting as instruments to facilitate crimes.”

convention and has been used to facilitate a worsening of human rights abuses and violation of the law of non-refoulement, which prohibits the return of people to war zones or other places where they are likely to be tortured or otherwise harmed. This situation puts private ship owners and operators in a legal bind. In 2021, an Italian ship captain was sentenced to a year in prison for doing exactly as he had been told by the Libyan Coast Guard, carrying migrants back to Tripoli in violation of humanitarian law forbidding nonrefoulement. The IMO has tried to offer useful guidance on these matters to such captains, but the organisation has failed to solve the legal contradiction that it helped create. The IMO advises ship captains of their legal requirement to rescue migrants at sea, instructing them to obey the orders given by the country, such as those from Libya, who claim jurisdiction over a search-andrescue zone. But the same IMO document also says that the migrants must be taken to an officially recognised “place of safety”, which the UN has said Libya is certainly not. But why would the IMO announce a zone that facilitates such legal violations and fails to meet the conditions of the convention that the IMO is meant to uphold? They were, by no means, the primary architect of the expanded Libyan search-and-rescue zone. That responsibility belongs to the EU and Italy, both of which pushed for its creation while also making clear that the core requirements of the convention were not being met. In 2016, the Italian Coast Guard was asked by the European Commission to support Libyan authorities in identifying and declaring this zone. In a submission in 2017 to the IMO, Italy made clear that Libya had no rescue coordination centre, instead promising that one would be created. The years passed, and no such centre was built. In 2021, responding to questions in the European Parliament, the European Commission continued to speak of its aspirations to build a “functional rescue coordination centre,” and an internal EU report from January 2022 makes clear the centre is still unable to meet its basic obligations. In addition to that, the EU, through its border agency Frontex, runs surveillance flights over the Central Mediterranean, giving the data to the Libyan Coast Guard to help them catch migrants. In essence, there is a hidden war unfolding at sea while the EU uses Libya as a proxy force to wage this war. A wide variety of scholars, lawyers, advocates and lawmakers say IMO has the authority and duty to help fix the problem by delisting the Libyan search-

and-rescue zone, which would at least prevent IMO complicity in the Libyan Coast Guard claiming extended jurisdiction in the illegal delivery of migrants to places of abuse. Such pressure on the IMO is not just coming from outside. In a 2019 report, the IMO’s sister organization, the United Nations Human Rights Office, also called on the maritime organisation to take responsibility for its role in facilitating violations by the Libyan Coast Guard. The IMO “should reconsider the classification of the Libyan search-and-rescue zone until such time as the Libya Coast Guard demonstrates it is capable of conducting search-and-rescue operations without putting migrants’ lives and safety at risk,” the UN human rights office wrote. IMO has said it was “not authorised to remove or deregister” the zone and that it has minimal power or responsibility to sanction at-sea search-and-rescue zones, but merely “disseminates the information,” which brings us back to the same problem of lack of governance. Countries that are party to the International Convention on maritime search and rescue can propose amendments for the IMO to play a clearer role in verifying information it publishes tied to search-and-rescue zones and avoid further abuse of the regulations. A two-thirds majority of voting countries is required for the amendment to be adopted. This snapshot reminds me that the ocean is outlaw not because it is inherently good or bad but because it is a void. Whether brutal or beautiful, it depends on how this space is filled and how we are working to regulate and guide all parties. We have tended to ignore what happens far from land, but if we don’t bring accountability and change to the instruments that allow crimes to happen offshore, we can forget about ever protecting or conciliating this frontier. IU About Ian Ian Urbina is the director of The Outlaw Ocean Project, a non-profit journalism organization based in Washington D.C. that produces investigative stories about human rights, environment and labour concerns on the two thirds of the planet covered by water. Before founding The Outlaw Ocean Project, Urbina spent roughly 17 years as a staff reporter for The New York Times. He has received various journalism awards, including a Pulitzer Prize, two George Polk Awards and an Emmy. Several of his investigations have also been converted into major motion pictures.

Oceanographic Issue 29

P O RT U G A L ´ S

last seahorses A unique biotope on the Algarve coast in southern Portugal was once home to some of the world’s densest seahorse populations. Today, these populations are on the brink of extinction. Marine protectors want to turn the tide.

Wo rd s b y F l o r i a n S t u r m P h o t o g ra p h s b y J o ã o R o d r i g u e s

“The densest seahorse population in the world – 1.5 to 2 million short-snouted and long-snouted seahorses were found to be living in the Ria Formosa, a wide lagoon system in the Algarve. Today, these two populations are both on the brink of extinction.”

Oceanographic Issue 29

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ist hangs over the lagoon like a heavy, damp cloth. It's early March, just before midnight. André Morais squints and leans forward a bit. "What is that?" the commander of the marine police, looking at something silhouetted in the moonlight barely 100 metres ahead. He doesn't wait for an answer from his law enforcement colleagues. "Turn off the lights." A quick hand signal from the 45-year-old commands the boat skipper to steer closer to the target. Only the sonorous rumble of the boat’s engines and the lapping of waves break the tense silence. In the black water directly in front of Morais’ bobbing boat is one of two marine protected areas (MPA) off the southern coast of Portugal. It was created in 2020, in the Ria Formosa lagoon, in a bid to save what was once the world's densest seahorse population from extinction. Only environmentalists, the police and researchers from the University of the Algarve are allowed in these restricted no-fishing-zones. Nevertheless, nets and traps are constantly being set here - illegal activity that can come with a heavy price. Those caught engaging in illegal fishing in the area by Morais and his colleagues can face fines of up to 37,500 euros, or five years in prison. With flashlights on as they approach the object, the officers identify what’s in front of them: no fishermen, just a buoy. The two police boats turn away, continuing their patrol in another part of the lagoon. Fruitless. Like all of his trips. Morais knows this. Spotters observe every movement around the police headquarters, using cell phones to alert their criminal colleagues as soon as they see officers move out. Deceptive manoeuvres, such as using civilian vehicles instead of police cars, rarely yield success. "Still, it's important that we go out. Our presence alone deters many," says Morais. For him, no time on the water is wasted time. At 2am, Morais and his colleagues arrive back at the port in Olhão. Except for a few minor infractions, today’s patrol was quiet. Morais, like everyone here in the region, knows that doesn’t mean the problems of poaching and illegal fishing aren’t still out there. Sole and squid are regularly targeted by fishermen in the lagoon, as are gobies, bream and eels. The illegal fishers plough the seabed with bottom trawlers, just like a farmer ploughs a field. This untargeted, indiscriminate form of ‘fishing’ destroys entire ecosystems critical for keeping the lagoon healthy. It is also a process that is particularly damaging for seahorses and their natural habitats. In 2001, Canadian researcher Janelle Curtis discovered the densest seahorse population in the world – 1.5 to 2 million short-snouted and long-snouted seahorses were found to be living in the Ria Formosa, a wide lagoon system in the Algarve. Today, these two populations are both on the brink of extinction. But plenty are

PREVIOUS: The short-snouted seahorse is one of the most endangered species of the Ria Formosa lagoon system. LEFT: The Ria Formosa Natural Park is a labyrinth of marshes, channels, mudflats and islets.

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putting up a fight to save them: researchers, the police, environmental organisations, politicians, school communities and fishermen are all part of the resistance. This collective effort is both for the sake of the seahorses and the lagoon at large – a thriving seahorse population means a thriving lagoon. It was just seven years after Curtis’ discovery that local marine scientists realised the two seahorse populations were in significant decline. The 2008 census showed a 73% drop in the number of short-snouted seahorses and a possible 94% decline in long-snouted numbers. Initially, experts like Jorge Palma, doctorate researcher at the Centre of Marine Sciences of Portugal’s Universidade do Algarve, suspected this to be a result of natural population fluctuation. It soon became clear, however, that other factors had to be impacting the collective decline. The room at the Centre of Marine Sciences in the Ramalhete Field Station where Palma and his team are trying to save what used to be the world's densest population of seahorses is small, chilly and dark. Cold neon tube lighting. Air that smells of salt water. Water pumps that hum constantly. There is a small number of aquariums, housing approximately two dozen seahorses. Like newborns curling their small hands around a parent’s finger, they wrap their delicate tails around tufts of green and blue seagrass that gently sway in the water. The room seems at odds with the task at hand, the mammoth task of unwinding years of decline and destruction. Wearing rubber boots and waders, Palma walks through one of the three ponds surrounding Ramalhete field station. Built in the 19th century as a port of call for tuna fisheries, this research facility sits in the middle of the lagoon between Faro Airport and the Atlantic coast. It is Portugal’s primary location for seahorse research. Palma has been coming to Ramalhete almost every day for more than 15 years. He started working on seahorse aquaculture to better understand the technical and nutritional requirements of the species, already with a conservation approach in mind. The sleeves of his dark sweater rolled up, Palma repeatedly reaches into the water and takes out a good dozen tufts of seaweed, always careful not to damage the delicate roots. After all, the grass will soon have a new home. Palma’s research team is experimenting with different habitats for the seahorses. They hope to better understand which conditions the animals have a preference for. Some of the tanks in the small room are filled with lots of seaweed, others with only a few tufts of seaweed. One of the tanks holds the fresh harvest from the pond. In another, a few seahorses have wound their tails around blue seaweed. “There are many reasons for the massive decline of the seahorse populations in the Ria Formosa,” Palma says. “Climate change, tourism, noise pollution

Seahorses rarely migrate, but use their tails to find a firm footing in the seagrass.

“They wrap their delicate tails around tufts of green and blue seagrass that gently sway in the water. The room seems at odds with the task at hand, the mammoth task of unwinding years of decline and destruction.”

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Oceanographic Issue 29

Jorge Palma testing nylon ‘seagrass’.

Seagrass prairies are essential habitats for seahorses in the Ria Formosa lagoon system.

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“The MPAs are important, not just because of the protection they provide the wildlife within, but because of the galvanising impact they have had – and continue to have – on members of the local community.”

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LEFT: Local fisherman Vítor Silvestre has supported the creation of Marine Protected Areas in the region.

and targeted hunting. The destruction of the habitat, however, has had by far the greatest impact. We want to find out how we can restore this habitat – especially the seagrass meadows – as quickly and as naturally as possible.” Palma’s research programme could prove critical not just for seahorses, but myriad other species too. “Unlike open coastal waters, lagoons provide sheltered areas for marine life. Almost always they are nursing areas for juvenile fish, where they can find food and protect themselves from predators,” Palma explains. Other than seahorses, the Ria Formosa National Park is home to soles, octopus, crabs, cuttlefish, different species of rays, clams, toad fish and sea bass. The seagrass meadows are particularly important – complex ecosystems vital for biodiversity. No stone is being left unturned in the pursuit for renewed lagoon health. Palma and his team are even experimenting with artificial seagrass made from thin nylon ropes. So far, the team has ‘planted’ 100 square metres of environmentally-friendly sisal seagrass in two MPAs inside the Ria Formosa. The researchers hope these meadows will be accepted as habitat by marine life quickly, creating new nurseries the ecosystem so desperately needs. Initial study results have been promising. In November 2021, 60 seahorses that had been bred in some of the Ramalhete aquariums were released into the lagoon. Never before had this been done in Portugal. Two monitoring campaigns in spring and summer 2022 showed an increasing number of seahorses living in the area. The team is able to track the captivelybred animals through photo-identification: long-snouted seahorses have a unique spot-pattern on their bodies, and short-snouted seahorses have a uniquely shaped coronet on the tip of their heads. “To see more seahorses in the MPA is fantastic and we hope this trend continues for the next few years,” says Palma. Even though the breeding programme has had some early success, its methodology is not universally popular. “Breeding seahorses is extremely time-consuming, expensive, and only successful under ideal conditions. It should be a last resort,” says marine biologist Miguel Correia. Correia worked with Palma on the same seahorse project for 15 years, and is now part of the scientific team at Project Seahorse in Vancouver. “What difference do 60 animals make in a population of almost 100,000?” Correia asks. He believes the programme’s research funds would have been better spent on combating bottom trawling in the lagoon. Trawling, he says, is the single most urgent problem facing Ria Formosa’s seahorses. Stopping it should be the funding priority. Palma understands Correia’s view, but is steadfast in his belief that the breeding programme is, for now, an

important element of a much larger picture. “Of course the priority needs to be on the protection of habitat, otherwise the animals will not have a place to live once released into the wild,” he says. “In the next few months, we are going to release 120 more seahorses to check if a higher number will change what we have seen before. This will conclude our release plans. I hope we don’t have to do much restocking in the future, and instead manage to more effectively protect the seahorses’ natural habitats.” Central to this long-term habitat protection will be the two 0.6km2 MPAs that have been created within the lagoon – the first of their kind in Portugal. The MPAs are important, not just because of the protection they provide the wildlife within, but because of the galvanising impact they have had – and continue to have – on members of the local community. Rui Conceição and Vítor Silvestre are fishermen. They were directly involved in the establishment of the MPAs, helping to convince industry colleagues of the benefits of creating no-take zones. “We are happy and proud that we were involved in the decision-making process,” says Conceição while repairing his nets in the afternoon sun. “After all, no one knows the Ria Formosa as well as we do.” The 62-year-old has been a fisherman for 47 years and is one of the most respected figures on Culatra, a barrier island that buffers the lagoon from the open sea. Together with his friend and colleague Silvestre, they represented the interests of the island community. While it wasn't easy convincing their fellow fishermen of the need for the MPAs – almost all 1,000 inhabitants of Culatra live directly or indirectly from fishing – the island community now stands united behind their creation. There is still a great deal of work to be done, however. Conceição and Silvestre are particularly frustrated by the sluggish bureaucracy in making clear the MPAs’ boundaries. "It's unacceptable that the protected areas haven’t been marked by signalling buoys after two years," says Silvestre. The look on his wrinkled, sunburned face hardens. His muscular hands gesture animatedly. The commercial community is adhering to the fishing ban, he explains, but time and again other people – usually amateur fishermen who want to earn some extra cash or source some food for their family – ignore the ban. “When we tell these people off, they just say: ‘Sorry, we didn’t know. There are no signs here.’” The backdrop to this imperfect progress is that the local seahorse population in Ria Formosa is, according to Palma, currently stable. Good news, even if the estimated population size currently sits between 100,000 and 150,000, a fraction of what it once was. However, notwithstanding the primary threat of illegal bottom trawlers, Ria Formosa’s seahorses now face another harbinger of habitat destruction: the green algae Caulerpa. The invasive species is thought to have been brought to the Algarve by boats from the Mediterranean. It is spreading rapidly in the lagoon and, where it has taken hold, seahorses have not settled.

Oceanographic Issue 29

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Behind the lens I N A S S O C I AT I O N W I T H

BROOKE PYKE Behind the Lens places a spotlight on the world’s foremost ocean conservation photographers. Each edition focusses on the work of an individual who continues to shape global public opinion through powerful imagery and compelling storytelling.

BEHIND THE LENS

Q&A BROOKE PYKE Brooke Pyke is a Melbourne-born photographer, designer, and artist, currently working in Exmouth, Western Australia. Her aim is to capture the ocean’s unique inhabitants with the level of perfection they deserve. She believes that photography and art can inspire the next generation of nature conservationists and hopes that in sharing her imagery, she can help protect the planet’s last remaining wild places.

OC EA NO G R A PH IC M AGAZ I N E (OM ): T H AN K S FOR TAKING TIME TO SP EAK TO US, BROOKE L ET ’ S DIVE R IG H T I N . W H E N D I D YOU F I RS T CONNECT WITH TH E OCEAN? BROOKE PYKE (BP): My connection with the ocean began quite early on in my childhood. Yet, as a very young child the sea scared me. I have vivid memories walking along the beach with my parents, looking at the waves breaking near us. I thought the ocean would suddenly leap up and swallow us whole. That’s why I would plead with them to walk further up the shore away from the water. The coastline and beaches near where I grew up are wild and intimidating. When I was a bit older, my father urged me to learn to snorkel. When I immersed myself in the water for the first time, I started to realise that while the ocean can be dangerous, it can also be gentle and calm. So, when I began to snorkel and see what was below the surface, I slowly felt more at home in the sea. OM : H OW D ID YOU C ON N E C T T H E D OT S BE T WEEN YOUR PASSION FOR P H OTOGRAP H Y AND YO U R PA S S I O N F O R T H E O C E A N ? BP: I have loved photography since high school. I used to take a small camera with a black and white film everywhere. After finishing school, I applied to study photography in Melbourne, but to my disappointment I wasn’t accepted onto the course. I ended up studying graphic design and didn’t dabble in photography again until years later. After training up as a dive professional, I worked various jobs around Thailand, Indonesia and Australia as an instructor. It wasn’t long until I asked to borrow a friend’s compact point and shoot underwater camera. I really enjoyed using it and soon bought my own. Naturally I was quite good at it given my previous experience and understanding of photography and the dive shops I worked for asked to start using my photos for social media and their websites. I quickly began to realise that I could now pair up my love for diving and the ocean with a creative element. This is about the time that Instagram started to get popular, and it was a great place to follow the work of photographers around the world. It was so inspiring to see many of them successfully working in dream locations and photographing marine life as a job. After teaching diving for four years, I felt I needed a new challenge and a more creative job. Underwater photography had quickly become a passion and full-time hobby, but I wanted to turn it into a full-time job. Being completely self-taught and without any official qualifications in photography I had to work hard and spent a lot of time developing my skills and portfolio. Eventually I moved back to Australia with the aim to apply for jobs on the Ningaloo Reef as a photographer. All my hard work paid off and I landed my first job as a photographer in 2021.

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O M: W H AT ROL E D O YOU T H I N K P H OTO GRAP H Y IS P LAYING IN TH E CONSERVATION MOVEMENT AGAINST GLOBAL WARMING AND BIODIVERSITY LOSS? BP: I think us photographers have a very important role in that regard; something I discovered very early on when I was living in Indonesia. As with many developing countries, marine pollution is a huge problem. It was an issue that I came across on a daily basis when I lived and worked out there. It amazed me how people from outside Asia were so unaware of it as well. It quickly became something I wanted to put into people’s minds and hoped that perhaps something could be done. When I took divers out around the Nusa Islands near Bali during the wet season, the waters were often choked with currents of plastic carried into the ocean after heavy rainfall. They were shocked to see the amount of plastic that ended up in the ocean. In Western countries these issues are too often out of sight and out of mind, so seeing it in person is very confronting. One day, I captured some shocking photos of manta rays feeding in a plastic soup mixed with plankton. The photos got picked up not long after by several newspapers and soon were exposed to the mainstream media around the world. The imagery was a shock for so many people and I quickly realised how important images are for raising awareness, spurring change and giving a voice to those things you can’t explain with words. Photography has a huge role to play in getting a message across to those who will never see the issues firsthand. Words simply cannot convey the severity of biodiversity loss and climate breakdown. O M: YO U TAU GH T YOU RS E L F P H OTOGRA P H Y. WH AT IS TH E MAIN TH ING TH AT, IN YOUR O PINIO N, E L E VAT E D YOU R P H OTOGRAP H Y TO A P ROFESSIONAL LEVEL? BP: I had some basic knowledge from taking photography classes in high school, but underwater photography is a different skillset. I put a lot of time, energy and focus into building my skills as an underwater photographer. It started as a hobby and became a career unexpectedly, but I couldn’t be happier working in this field. I owe a lot to the beautiful place I live in; photographing the inhabitants of the Ningaloo Reef has elevated my work. Having access to such an abundance of marine subjects daily gives me so many amazing opportunities. However, this was all part of my plan to get into the professional field of photography and make a career out of it. I had followed the work of several Ningaloo-based photographers years before moving there myself. I knew that if I wanted to make it as a photographer, I needed great subjects and opportunities. This place is the perfect location to build a portfolio, develop skills and capture various marine species in their natural environment. Not only that, but it is one of the few places in Australia where you can work full time as an underwater photographer on a tour boat while having access to swim with humpback whales, whale sharks and mantas while on the job. I consider myself very lucky to call Ningaloo my home. O M: H OW D OE S YOU R BAC K GROU N D AS A GRAP H IC DESIGNER INFLUENCE YOUR PH OTO G R A P H Y ? BP: Much of what you learn as a designer is transferable to most creative fields and mediums. When I studied graphic design, I learned a lot about composition, shape, texture and space which can all similarly be used in photography. My experience and knowledge from my studies influenced my understanding of how to create imagery and photographic compositions that are pleasing to look at as well as striking and grab the attention of the viewer. O M: H OW D O YOU F E E L W H E N YOU ’ RE SH OOTING UNDERWATER? BP: For me, it’s a kind of therapy, a place where I find stillness. Some people like to go to the gym, run or meditate but for me it’s being in the water with my camera. Whatever is going on in the world, I can easily put it on pause in the ocean. It really is like taking a break from all the worries and stresses of everyday life. Everything is quiet in the ocean except for the crackle of activity or sometimes the distant hum of a whale singing. While in the water I often lose track of time completely, focused entirely on the animal I’m photographing.

Continued on p. 80... Oceanographic Issue 29

This way up

BEHIND THE LENS

Q&A Continued...

OM : W H AT MA K ES T H E U N D E RWAT E R W ORL D AROUND TH E NINGALOO SO SP ECIAL? BP: So many things! The big one, of course, would be its abundance of large pelagic species such as whale sharks, humpback whales and manta rays. Secondly, the reef is so accessible and close to shore. Another thing that stands out here is that the region is so isolated and has relatively small tourism operations, especially when you compare it to the Great Barrier Reef. Finding your own section of the coast with no one else around is easy. We are very much in the middle of nowhere here on the Ningaloo Reef, surrounded by space and wilderness. There are so few places left on the planet that host so much wild nature and open space with such little development or human influence. I just hope it stays this way. There certainly are many issues in the area too. OM : W H AT A R E T H E BI GGE S T C ON S E RVAT I ON CONCERNS IN TH E REGION? BP: There are a few, but industrial development is a big one. The Exmouth Gulf which lies on the eastern side of the cape is very much connected to the Ningaloo Reef. The mangrove systems in the south of the gulf are a nursery for many endangered species such as the wedgefish, sawfish and shovel nose ray. Not only that but the gulf itself is a resting area for humpback whale mothers with calves during their migrations. The gulf also hosts a large population of dugongs that feed on the seagrass beds. Over the years, there have been several proposals to develop the area. The most recent one has been a proposed deep-water port for commercial vessels. Luckily, so far, this has not gone ahead due to the ever-growing efforts of the Protect Ningaloo campaign. OM : H OW D O YO U AI D C ON S E RVAT I ON I N W E STERN AUSTRALIA WITH YOUR IMAGERY? BP: One of my biggest goals is to bring conservation issues into a more public light. I feel particularly passionate about breaking stigmas around sharks. Sharks are some of my favourite animals to photograph and they feature heavily in my work. I hope that in showing their beauty, elegance and gentleness, I can help change the public’s perspective on sharks. In Western Australia there is quite a widespread fear of sharks. I have unfortunately been witness to some very disrespectful behaviours towards them. Lack of awareness of the role they play in ecosystems is a big factor in this as well as dramatisation from the media. I hope that someday not everyone will think they’re mindless killers that need to be eradicated, that they are in fact a key species that keep the health of our ocean in balance and should be respected, not feared. OM : W H ICH S PEC I E S I S YOU R FAVOU RI T E TO P H OTOGRAP H ? BP: There are so many but one of my favourites is the leopard shark, also known as a zebra shark. Their elegant tail, beautiful patterns and gentle demeanor make them one of the most photogenic animals on the reef. They can be quite hard to find during the day as they are nocturnal. If I stumble across one cruising around during daylight, I feel as if I could spend hours following them around the reef. OM : YO U R FAVO U RI T E W I L D L I F E E N C OU N T E R TO DATE? BP: It was July during my first season on the Ningaloo Reef and we were out swimming with whale sharks. Our spotter pilot called in over the radio saying he had found a krill ball forming which had several whale sharks feeding on it. Upon arrival to the area, we could see at least seven whale sharks charging around, heads and mouths breaking the surface, scooping up krill as fast as they could. I got in to photograph the activity and it was one of the most exhilarating experiences in my life. Not only were there numerous whale sharks but below me I could see

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schools of fish whizzing by, oceanic mantas barrel rolling and devil rays feeding amongst it all. Krill balls are famously hard to photograph in as you’re literally trying to see through a pink haze and all the animals are moving fast to get their feed. After we exited the water and continued watching the action from the boat, three humpback whales showed up and began to feed as well. At this point, I had tears in my eyes. It was a roller-coaster of an experience. Humpbacks are not known to feed during their migration, so this was a special encounter. O M: YO U W ON T H E 2 0 2 2 T H E OC E AN P H OTOGRAP H ER OF TH E YEAR FEMALE FIFTY FATHOMS AWARD. HOW DID IT FEEL TO WIN? BP: Winning this award was unexpected. It still amazes me that so early in my career I have been recognised against what I’m sure would have been some very tough competition. My portfolio contained imagery of some of my most unique encounters from the coast of Western Australia, from sea lions to dolphins and even seadragons. I was able to feature imagery of many of Australia’s most famous marine inhabitants. Getting such a high level of exposure and praise for my work has given me a lot of confidence to keep learning and moving forward. I’m excited to see what kinds of opportunities come up over the next years and where my journey will take me next. O M: W H Y D O YOU T H I N K T H E RE ARE N ' T MORE WOMEN OCEAN P H OTOGRAP H ERS? DOES T H E IND US T RY N E E D TO C H AN GE ? BP: In my experience, working in the dive industry for the past eight years, it remains a male dominated industry. Due to discrimination and a lack of opportunities for women in underwater photography there is still an imbalance. Things are changing though and it’s great to see that more creative women are gaining an interest in working in this field. O M: IS CR E AT I N G V I S I BI L I T Y F OR OT H E R WOMEN IN TH E INDUSTRY A KEY COMP ONENT OF YO U R W O R K ? BP: It certainly is. I am often contacted by aspiring young women who have an interest in working as an underwater photographer. They usually ask how I managed to get into the field and what I studied to get there. It’s always rewarding to offer them advice and share my story so they too can follow their passion, just as I have. O M: D O YO U T H I N K P E OP L E ARE BE C OM ING MORE DISCONNECTED FROM NATURE? H OW CA N W E CH AN GE T H AT ? BP: With much of the world’s population living in cities far from any kind of wilderness, it can be difficult for people to feel connected to nature. Photography plays a big role in connecting people with nature, a bridge that can link people and planet. I think I can speak for most people though when I say we need nature and wild places not just for food, air and water, but also for our sanity and well-being. I see photography as the perfect tool to inspire us to travel, to explore, to dive and to experience wildlife up close. If Covid lockdowns have taught us anything, it is that we need to be outside and feel the natural world around us. It is a part of who we are. If someone is viewing my photography and sees a photo of someone swimming alongside a whale shark, I hope they feel inspired to experience it for themselves. O M: W H AT ’ S N E XT ON YOU R AGE N DA? BP: I’m still so content and excited by my career on the Ningaloo Reef, but I am keeping my eyes and ears open to see where my photography will lead me next. My list of places and animals I want to photograph is always growing so I am hopeful my career can lead me somewhere new in the next couple of years. But for 2023, at least, I will be at home on the Ningaloo photographing whales and sharks. In 2024, I’m hoping a new adventure will come along. Antarctica keeps coming to mind. Maybe that will be my next ambition… let’s see where I end up! Opportunities do, after all, usually catch us by surprise and no amount of planning can prepare us for where life will lead us next. As long as I have my camera with me and some beautiful nature to capture, I will be happy.

Oceanographic Issue 29

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Ningaloo Reef, Western Australia A leopard shark cruises slowly over the shallow corals on Ningaloo Reef. "One of my favourite species to photograph. Their beautiful patterns and elegance make them very photogenic," says Pyke.

Jurien Bay, Western Australia A curious and playful Australian sea lion pup. This individual loved posing and looking at himself in Pyke's camera lens.

Esperance, Western Australia This male weedy seadragon carries a mature clutch of eggs on his tail. Upon closer inspection, the eyes of his offspring are even visible.

Ningaloo Reef, Western Australia A rarely documented event: two Stokes’s sea snakes during a mating ritual at the surface.

Shark Bay, Western Australia A unique landscape: The red dunes contrast against the turquoise water in Shark Bay.

Ningaloo Reef, Western Australia A whale shark swims below the still surface, its reflection mirrored back perfectly.

Ningaloo Reef, Western Australia A manta ray cruises over the white sand of the outer Ningaloo Reef.

Hutt Lagoon, Western Australia The colours you can find in nature never cease to amaze. Shown here is a pink salt lake.

Ningaloo Reef, Western Australia A whale shark, the ocean's largest fish, swims gently through the crystal clear waters off the Ningaloo Reef.

Ningaloo Reef, Western Australia The red Australian outback meets the shallow tropical Ningaloo Reef. "Nature is a true artist and viewing it from above gives us the best perspective of this magical landscape," says Pyke.

Nusa Penida, Indonesia A shocking image: A manta ray filter feeds in a dense soup of plastic in waters near Bali.

Ningaloo Reef, Western Australia The power and grace of a whale shark’s tail as it cruises the ocean,

Behind the lens BROOKE PYKE

Ningaloo Reef, Western Australia A giant lion’s mane jellyfish dwarfs a juvenile whale shark which swims below.

Ningaloo Reef, Western Australia Numerous red bell jellyfish float in the water column, almost blocking the whale shark from view.

PERSONAL

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A f t e r s t u d y i n g g ra p h i c d e s i g n , B ro o ke s o o n d i s c o vered a lo ve f o r d i vi n g . Wa n t i n g t o p u rs u e a ca re e r i n d i vi ng, s h e m o ve d t o Th a i la n d t o s t a rt a d i ve m a s t e r t ra i n e eshi p. S h e w o rke d a s a d i ve i n s t ru ct o r a ro u n d S o u t h -E a s t Asi a, b e f o re s e t t l i n g o n N u s a L e m b o n g a n n e a r B a l i f o r three ye a rs . It w a s h e re t h a t B ro o ke d i s co ve re d h e r lo ve for u n d e rw a t e r p h o t o g ra p h y. S h e b e g a n t o t e a ch h e rs el f the b a s i c s o f u n d e r w a t e r p h o t o g ra p h y a n d s p e n t eve r y free m i n u t e t a k i n g p h o t o s a n d i m p ro vi n g h e r s k i lls . After s p e n d i n g a f e w ye a rs a s a d i vi n g i n s t ru ct o r, s h e f e lt ready f o r a n e w c h a l l e n g e . S h e m o ve d b a c k t o Au s t ra l i a and e n d e d u p i n E x m o u t h , w h e re s h e s t a r t e d w o r k i n g as an u n d e r w a t e r p h o t o g ra p h e r o n a t o u r b o a t o n t h e N i ngaloo R e e f . B ro o ke w o n t h e O c e a n P h o t o g ra p h e r o f t h e Year’s Fe m a l e F i f t y Fa t h o m s Aw a rd i n 2 0 2 2 .

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Oceanographic Issue 29

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A LIFE

shaped by sea On Koh Lipe, a small island in the Andaman Sea popular with tourists, the Urak Lawoi are trying to preserve their ocean culture from the influences of the modern world. Wo rd s a n d p h o t o g ra p h s b y M i l o s P re l ev i c

F E AT U R E

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uring the early morning hours of a particularly clear and calm night, the starry sky above my head reveals a bright half-moon. I am surrounded by warm, humid air, while I witness several fishermen prepare their traditional fishing boats, quickly loading up their equipment. The diesel motor roars in my ears as the water transforms from a vivid green showcasing numerous shallow reefs to a foreboding blackness while the sun slowly rises on the horizon. After an hour's ride, our boat reaches the archipelago's end. The fishermen immediately get ready for their first dive. Taking hundreds of metres of coiled hoses in their hands, they start to connect them to an old compressor that doesn’t look reliable. They carefully attach the other side of the hoses to their snorkel masks. This simple machine will provide them with air underwater. The boat captain turns on the compressor engine and the air starts gushing through the hoses loudly. The fishermen put on their masks and jump in the water. Diving down to a depth of around 20 metres, they start searching for the fishing traps they placed in the area a couple of days previously. From the surface, I can see them work together, a well-coordinated team. While one of them removes the rocks that were placed on top of the traps to secure them to the ocean floor, the other diver connects a large plastic bucket to the trap and fills it with air out of his hose. The trap then floats up to the surface, bringing all trapped fish up to the boat. After unloading the catch, they return to the ocean floor and leave the trap for another week or two. While this fishing method is the least harmful to the environment, as it doesn’t tend to break corals, it comes with a price. Every time the fishermen dive down, they risk decompression sickness and life-changing injuries. Dangerous jobs like this should be paid well, but that is not the case. The fishermen get paid for the fish they catch and, as in most parts of the world, fish populations are decreasing. “Before, we used to catch more fish, but now there are less and less. We can’t compete with the modern boats, and there are more of them every year,” says Pachoi, a local fisherman who I met while visiting the Urak Lawoi close to the Malaysian border. We are on Koh Lipe, the southernmost island of Thailand, which impresses with stunning evergreen forests and an underwater world that attracts thousands of tourists annually. Whale sharks, manta rays and dolphins are common in the area, and every dive spot is teeming with vibrant soft corals. But here, away from the tourist spots, live the Urak Lawoi, a minority group

whose way of life and unique culture dramatically contrasts with the rest of the country. Their language is a dialect of Malay and Thai with no written form. I came to this beautiful part of Thailand to find out how this unique culture, also known as the People of the Sea, ended up on the remote Adang archipelago. I am told that their story began on the Malaysian island of Langkawi across the Strait of Malacca. Here, the so-called ‘Orang Laut Kappir’, forerunners of the Urak Lawoi, once resided. When Malays conquered the island, they forced out all those who refused to convert to Islam. The ‘non-believers’ sailed away in search of land rich in natural resources. An island around 150km away became their new home: Koh Lanta Yai. In the early 1900s, an adventurer from Aceh in Indonesia named To Kiri ventured in search of an area rich in natural resources. He reached Koh Lanta Yai on his quest and met the Urak Lawoi people. To Kiri arranged for the Urak Lawoi to move to the Adang archipelago. The chief of Thailand’s southern Satun district, within which the Adang archipelago sits, saw this move as an administrative and political opportunity. Thailand gave the Urak Lawoi Thai citizenship to prove to the British colonial administrators that the Adang archipelago, which sits near the modern Thailand/ Malaysia border, belonged to Thailand. When borders were set, the Adang archipelago was appointed to Thailand. Today the Urak Lawoi inhabit a number of coastlines in the Andaman Sea, including on islands such as Phuket, Phi Phi, Jum, Lanta, Bulon, and the Adang archipelago. The Urak Lawoi initially led a semi-nomadic way of life on the Adang archipelago. They foraged for food on ‘bagad’ trips that would last from a few days up to a few months. On those trips, they built camps near drinkable water sources, temporary accommodation fashioned from bamboo. Days and nights had a rhythm to them. The men would head out to sea to fish during the day, returning before nightfall. The day’s catch would be cleaned and cooked by the women, some used to make dinner, the rest left to dry in the sun the following day, or, for species such as sea cucumbers, placed on metal sheets by a fire. Children would search for marine life at low tide. The ocean provided. The ocean sustained. When Tarutao National Park was formed in 1974, encompassing many of the islands in the area, the Urak Lawoi’s way of life didn’t align with the park’s new conservation rules. After conflicts with rangers, the Urak Lawoi’s semi-nomadic way of life was replaced by a more

PREVIOUS: A fisherman and his catch. LEFT: The traps are left on the sea floor for a few weeks before being hauled out to check the catch.

Oceanographic Issue 29

“Their connection to their cultural heritage remains strong. Twice every year, they hold a ‘Plajak’ ceremony, or ‘floating boat’ ceremony.”

The ceremonial boat gets decorated with flowers and loaded onto a larger boat.

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TOP: Locals build fishing traps that easily decompose underwater when no longer needed. MIDDLE: “Not having a boat is not having arms and legs,” says Suoi, one of the Urak Lawoi. BOTTOM: Locals erect crosses at the beach to ward off bad luck.

“The Urak Lawoi’s way of life has changed considerably in the past century.”

settled one. Today, after continued disputes with park authorities, the Urak Lawoi have secured permission to use the archipelago's natural resources, provided their practices are non-destructive - such as the traps described at the beginning of this article. These traps are built using bendable wood from the forest, wire and rope. Some are the size of a small car. Attached to the frame is a funnel that allows fish to swim into the frame, while not letting them out. Despite these instances of local authority concession, the Urak Lawoi’s way of life has changed considerably in the past century. Their connection to their cultural heritage remains strong, however. Twice every year, they hold a ‘Plajak’ ceremony, or ‘floating boat’ ceremony. “Plajak is one of the most important ceremonies we celebrate,” says Chang, an Urak Lawoi resort owner. “We connect with our ancestors and holy spirits and wander away from any bad luck or misfortune.” On the first day of the Plajak ceremony, three days before the fifth lunar moon, the Urak Lawoi visit the shrine on Adang Island to pay respect to their ancestors. Shaman To Mor lights a candle to connect with the spirits, people gather at the shrine to bring offerings and light candles onto which popped rice is thrown to make wishes. The Urak Lawoi believe that if the rice hits the candle’s flame, the wish will come true. This special ritual is followed by music and dancing. On the second day of the ceremony, one group heads to a nearby village to gather wood for the construction of a ceremonial boat. The remaining groups head back to Koh Lipe, where the Shaman, To Mor, looks for a tree to be felled. The chosen tree will be used as a ceremonial pole to mark the spot where the ceremonial boat will enter the ocean. The Shaman seeks permission from the spirits prior to the felling. When the tree is down it is paraded through the streets of Koh Lipe to Sunrise beach. Dancing and singing fill the streets. Across the channel, back on Adang Island, people load the amassed wood into a boat before heading for Koh Lipe. Once on the water, a second boat begins to ‘chase’ the wood-laden vessel, all part of the elaborate ceremony. The two boats, crowded with people and cargo, zig-zag in front of one another’s bow three times. Mock chase complete, the wood is deposited on the beach, close to where the ceremonial pole has been erected. The ceremonial boat is then built. This moment is a core

part of the ceremony. Once they have decorated the boat with flowers, the Urak Lawoi trim their hair and nails and place the cuttings on the boat. This process, they hope, will keep bad luck at bay. Just before sunrise, the ceremonial boat is loaded onto a larger longtail boat and taken out to sea where currents sweep it away. Some Urak Lawoi believe the boat will return to Gunung Jerai, a mountain that many view as their ancestral home. The third and final day of the ceremony represents an opportunity for the Urak Lawoi to protect the island from bad luck and misfortune. Locals build crosses, attach shredded papyrus to them, then parade them on the streets of Koh Lipe before taking them to Sunrise beach. The crosses are carefully placed behind the ceremonial pole, warding away bad luck. Later that night,To Mor reads the island’s fortune by dripping candle wax into buckets of water that have been placed next to the crosses. Just before sunrise, ceremony attendees clean their faces with the waxy water, washing away misfortune and bad luck. As morning approaches, people spread the wooden crosses around the island, a tradition that is said to provide it protection. Following the ceremony, the Urak Lawoi return to their ever-changing way of life, one where traditions constantly clash with modern Thai life. Take land ownership as an example. Historically, the Urak Lawoi have led a seminomadic lifestyle. Nobody owned land. Everything was shared or exchanged for immediate return. As a tribe, they were in balance with one another, and with nature. As tourism boomed in Koh Lipe, however, so did land values. Private investment, coastal development and a diminishing amount of public land are pushing the Urak Lawoi further inland on Koh Lipe, pushing these seafarers away from that which lies at the heart of their culture: the ocean. And they are not alone in this regard. The Urak Lawoi are just one of the Chao Lay tribes in Thailand, which totals approximately 12,000 people in 44 communities across five provinces. The colliding forces of tourism, conservation and the cultural heritage of minority peoples represents a serious challenge for the Thai government. Visiting holidaymakers are vital for the economy; a healthy and vibrant environment, both above and below the waterline, keeps those holidaymakers coming; and how do you put a price on the cultural heritage and history – not to mention, wellbeing – of one of your country’s peoples?

Oceanographic Issue 29

Column

By Hugo Tagholm

The ocean activist DARK WATERS

“Continuing to licence new oil projects increases the risk of catastrophic oil spills, as exploration is driven into deeper water.”

il company executives will always cite environmental standards and the safety measures in place for offshore oil and gas drilling. They will claim the level of risk is negligible and that the ongoing expansion of new fossil fuels doesn’t pose a significant threat to marine life or other industries dependent on a clean and healthy ocean ecosystem. They cosy up to fishing industry representatives, they set up funds to tempt community support and use their colossal financial might to push environmentalists out of the way. This was the case just before the Deepwater Horizon blowout in the Gulf of Mexico in 2010. Tragically, 11 rig workers lost their lives in that disaster. A disaster that shocked the world. A disaster that spilled an estimated 750 million litres of oil into the Gulf causing a tidal wave of environmental and economic impacts. The blown out well spewed oil out into the ocean for 87 days, forcing the closure of almost 300,000KM2 of productive fishing grounds, and decimating some of the most commercially valuable fish species for months after the spill ended. The horrific sight of oiled birds, turtles and other animals filled TV screens, the famous images that stamp their mark after oil spills worldwide. Around 800,000 birds and 65,000 turtles are thought to have died because of the spill.

The UK is no stranger to oil spills. Recent decades have seen tanker spills devastating wildlife, coastlines and economies in Scotland and Wales. The 1993 Braer tanker spill in Shetland saw 85,000 tonnes of crude oil being lost, killing over 1,500 birds, and impacting over a quarter of the local seal population. The disaster seriously damaged the local fishing industry, with a 400-mile fisheries exclusion zone being established, long-term damage to shell fisheries and serious reputational impacts on the previously highly coveted Shetland seafood. The Sea Empress ran aground off Wales a few years later, spilling 72,000 tonnes of crude oil, coating the Pembrokeshire Coast National Park with pollution. As the world’s thirst for energy continues to grow, the current UK government is placing our unique marine ecosystems under further risk from the rampant fossil fuel industry. The government opened a licensing round for new offshore oil and gas in 2022 with 900 locations offered for exploration, with 100 new development and drilling licences set to be awarded. Proposed new offshore drilling sites, particularly in the North Sea are located near or even in some of our most important designated Marine Protected Areas. Areas of the ocean that you would rightfully think are fully protected from this type of industrialization and pollution risk. New

Oceanographic Issue 29

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About Hugo Hugo Tagholm has previously led the ocean campaigning charity Surfers Against Sewage and is the executive director and vice president of Oceana in the UK. He was recognised as Environmentalist of the Year 2021 by the Save the Waves coalition and is a regular media commentator on environmental issues.

The UK government opened a licensing round for new offshore oil and gas in 2022. Photograph courtesy of OCEANA, Juan Cuetos

offshore drilling is at odds with the UK’s ambition to protect 30% of our seas by 2030, as part of the widely heralded 30x30 movement, and sits in direct conflict with our international climate commitments and the Paris climate agreement. Continuing to licence new oil projects increases the risk of catastrophic oil spills, as exploration is driven into deeper water, which can have devastating and long-term impacts on marine ecosystems, from valuable blue carbon habitats including kelp, seagrass and mudflats, through to the slow-growing and sensitive deep sea ecosystems. As the risk of a catastrophic spill increases, the cumulative longterm impacts of chronic oil, chemical and plastic pollution from oil rigs also grows. Wastewater from oil rigs, laden with oil and chemicals represents large volumes of oil released inside and close to our Marine Protected Areas. Smaller spills are rarely recorded or documented. The industry also significantly contributes to the growing plastic pollution crisis. Toxic micro-plastic smog is released as part of the extraction process, polluting the marine environment. These impacts further weaken the ocean-climate solutions our seas hold, from storing carbon and building strong and resilient ecosystems to help us curb climate change and adapt to its impacts. We

all rely on a functioning and healthy sea. The UK has incredible and productive seas, teeming with life. Our coastal communities depend on healthy fisheries and protected coastlines for tourism, water sports and wildlife watching. It’s time that we stop the monolithic, polluting, and profiteering oil giants who are determined to put their profits ahead of protecting people or planet. The transition to green industries and energy is coming, just as oil once displaced the outdated whaling industry for our heating, fuel, and lighting needs. Perhaps most shockingly is that the UK taxpayer is currently subsidising the oil and gas giants that are compromising the health of our seas. There is no economic reason to support the further expansion of offshore oil and gas, nor will it lower household energy bills or provide any more energy security. The jobs created should be transitioned to offshore wind and renewable energy. Recent studies have shown that offshore wind is now nine times cheaper than fossil fuels. There is a cleaner, greener, and bluer future ahead, albeit with its own impacts, trade-offs and compromises. Luckily, there is an established climate movement fighting new oil and gas developments in the North Sea. They have successfully fought the Cambo oilfield and are presenting a robust opposition to the huge Rosebank proposal, the biggest undeveloped oilfield in the North Sea. Offshore drilling for oil and gas threatens marine life, low-impact fishing economies, recreation, tourism, and pollution from burning those fossil fuels is the leading cause of climate change and ocean acidification. International marine conservation NGO Oceana is working to prevent the expansion of offshore drilling in locations around the world, securing victories in the United States, Belize, and many other countries. In the UK, exploration and development of new offshore oil and gas in the North Sea threatens some of the most important and productive marine ecosystems in Europe. Working with the Uplift climate movement, Oceana is building a new marine front to oppose all new offshore oil and gas in the UK. There is no justification for the UK to pursue the folly of new fossil fuels in our seas. HT

Oceanographic Issue 29

Orcadian meadows Wild, windswept, rugged, beautiful. All words that spring to mind when one thinks of the Orkney Isles. Below the surface, a team of researchers seeks to evidence and restore the region’s healthy seagrass ecosystems. Wo rd s b y L e w i s J e ff e r i e s & D r R i c h a rd L i l l e y P h o t o g ra p h s b y L e w i s J e ff e r i e s

Oceanographic Issue 29

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“Globally, seagrasses occupy only 0.1% of the seafloor, and yet they are responsible for up to one-third of all the carbon sequestered in the seafloor annually.”

he Orkney archipelago off the northeast tip of Scotland bears the full force of the elements. It is where the North Sea meets the mighty Atlantic Ocean at the treacherous Pentland Firth - the body of water separating Scotland and Orkney - home to some of the strongest and fastest tides on Earth. Yet beyond these turbulent currents lie sparkling emerald waters bursting with biodiversity. Orkney’s wealth of wildlife is a result of nutrient-rich waters brought up by the gulf stream from the Caribbean - which ensures a year-round mild climate compared to places on similar latitudes - and a diverse range of habitats found across all Orkney’s 70 small islands. These mild climes and bountiful seas attract fish, support half a million seabirds that nest along the craggy sandstone cliffs, to pods of orca sometimes seen cruising the coasts and bays. Remarkably the isles are home to around 60,000 puffins in the summer months. It took a long time to get here from Cornwall. I travelled from one end of the country to the other and, nearing my destination, the real adventure began in these final few hours. I arrived in a beautiful new land on commission for Project Seagrass. Dr Richard Lilley (known as RJ), the Co-Founder and CEO of Project Seagrass, has asked me to join ‘Sjøgras’, a scientific diving expedition, a collaboration between Project Seagrass and Heriot-Watt University. Highland Park distillery, based in Orkney, is supporting this three-year programme of research that is seeking to evidence the “incredible biodiversity” found in Orkney’s seagrass meadows. I was sent here to photograph and film the collaborative, scientific fieldwork taking place throughout the week and the creatures we encountered. RJ refers to Orkney as the ‘jewel in Scotland’s crown’ when it comes to healthy seagrass ecosystems and I had no reason to doubt the man - he knows a thing or two about seagrass. I arrived in the evening in Stromness, a captivating old town on the shore of Hamnavoe, an inlet feeding the infamous Scapa Flow, famed for being a premiere wartime naval base and the scuttling of German vessels at the end of WW1, resulting in the many shipwrecks that litter the sea bed there. It was July and despite being 9pm it was still light. The sun doesn’t set here until just before 10:30pm at this time of year. As we made our way through the winding streets towards the pier my mind wandered to a bygone age. Stromness was a safe haven in Viking times, before evolving into an important whaling and herring fishing port. Today the town is the islands ‘gateway’ to mainland Scotland and is the beating heart of Orkney’s diving industry. As we pulled on to the pier, the MV Jean Eliane came into view - our research vessel and floating home for the week ahead. We loaded up our combined stacks of diving and scientific equipment and the crew cast off for Westray and Orkney’s northern isles.

PREVIOUS: Juvenile snakelocks anemones attach themselves to blades of seagrass. LEFT: Sea snails on a blade of seagrass.

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The next morning we awoke to a beautiful sight in the Bay of Tuquoy. A remote, sheltered bay with no boat, no house nor soul in sight, and glass calm surface conditions with hardly a breath of wind. There was an air of excitement amongst the team as we prepped our equipment and went through the pre-dive briefing and safety checks with diving supervisor and trip lead, Professor Joanne Porter, from Heriot Watt University. “All clear,” shouted our skipper and I took a giant stride off the boat to join the team in the water to capture their work. As we descended beneath the surface for our first dive of the day we were met with a sparkling emerald meadow as far as the eye could see - healthy fronds of eelgrass gently swaying in the current, glistening iridescently in the sunlight, like long thin jewels. As we drifted over the hypnotic waving fronds, and our eyes adjusted, we discovered a plethora of wonderful creatures, and in greater abundance than I’ve experienced elsewhere. Sea slugs, snails, crabs, shrimp and isopods - diverse in their colours and varieties, and in uncountable numbers. It reinforced what I already knew about seagrass meadows: when undisturbed they create a rich habitat and are a magnet for biodiversity. All the life here tells us this is a healthy meadow. The setting of the seagrass meadows within this archipelago, when combined with Orkney’s more progressive approach to marine and coastal management, revealed to us what seagrass meadows can look like when they encounter relatively low human impact. It makes Orkney’s waters a near perfect place to study seagrass ecosystems. The scientific team carried out a range of research, beginning with taking a mixture of sediment cores from the seabed: larger diameter cores to analyse the seagrass sediments for infauna (animals within the sediment), and smaller core samples to analyse the carbon that has been sequestered in the sediments - what is now being referred to as ‘blue carbon’. Globally, seagrasses occupy only 0.1% of the seafloor, and yet they are responsible for up to one-third of all the carbon sequestered in the seafloor annually. The dense canopies formed by seagrass meadows filter out particles from the flow which are then deposited in the seafloor. Here the absence of oxygen makes decomposition slower and so the carbon accumulates and is preserved in the sediments. This Sjøgras expedition is also supporting data collection in collaboration with a Sustainable Management of UK Marine Resources (SMMR) programme ‘ReSOW UK’ that is addressing critical seagrass science research gaps. Through taking sediment samples from different locations, scientists are beginning

MAIN IMAGE: Juvenile snakelocks anemones catch particles in the water column. RIGHT FROM TOP: A shore crab sheltering amongst the seagrass; sea hare and freshly laid eggs; a stalked jellyfish; and an isopod, a crustacean that helps clean seagrass ecosystems.

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“As we descended beneath the surface for our first dive of the day we were met with a sparkling emerald meadow as far as the eye could see.”

TOP: Two divers return to the surface after collecting sediment cores from the seabed. MIDDLE: Collecting sediment cores from the seabed. BOTTOM: A healthy seagrass patch off Orkney.

to better understand the effectiveness of seagrass meadows at storing carbon. As society looks to the future - and to mitigate the worst effects of climatic change - the fact that seagrass meadows are blessed by an absence of fires (which returns much of forest carbon back to the atmosphere) makes these ecosystems strategically important because they can support long-term storage. The team were also conducting epifauna (animals living on the seabed and submerged surfaces) and fish biodiversity surveys to record how much life is living amongst these seagrass meadows. When carrying out fish surveys the team used video footage and took notes of species they found. The footage then got analysed back on the boat. The team assessed fish species, age, abundance and density to give an assessment of populations present in a particular area. With this information they can then draw links between the benthic life and fish life present within a meadow and compare this to other areas. Conducting this research now is more important than ever. In a compounding manner, climate change is one of the key drivers of biodiversity loss, but our continued destruction of ecosystems is also now undermining nature’s ability to regulate greenhouse gas emissions and protect against extreme weather, accelerating climate change and increasing our vulnerability to it. The climate and biodiversity crises are two sides of the same coin, they must be tackled together. Each day brought new challenges, the unpredictable weather of the north and frequent high winds forced us to seek shelter and explore more sheltered meadows. We meandered around the east coast, moored at rarely explored meadows along the way, each having its own unique varieties, and an array of life forms across them all. Our last stop led us inside Scapa flow and to a site named the Mallow Bank. We dove in and the visibility was poor. The current was strong but this seemed to have attracted an abundance of fish life. We found commercially important species - large shoals of juvenile pollock and cod feeding in the currents, using the shelter

of the meadow for safety - in addition to plenty of adult sea slugs laying eggs and already hatched juveniles. I was pleased that despite the poor conditions we could capture evidence to prove the productivity of these meadows, showing that biodiversity can co-exist alongside a healthy fishery. This evidenced biodiversity will, we hope, help to ensure future protection for the meadows here and beyond. This is part of the purpose of the media we captured - images and videos that communicate the science to the public, bridging the gap between research papers and people who don’t read research papers. Despite some challenges with the weather, it was a successful expedition and we returned back to port in Stromness to disembark. As we prepared to depart Orkney I reflected on my time in these enchanting islands and took a final wander through Stromness which reinforced this town's maritime heritage. The museum here reveals the local community’s historical relationship with the sea - they have some herbarium seagrass specimens, Zostera marina, that are well over a century old. I also learned that enormous quantities of seagrass used to be blown ashore each winter and were dried for use as cattle bedding. In 1824, a local man, John Urquhart (encouraged into the business by a visitor from Edinburgh), washed, dried, and prepared nearly three tons of eelgrass for market. There is certainly no doubt that the connection to the sea runs deep here, and given the abundance of seagrass it’s no surprise to learn of a connection to this plant too. Orkney’s motto is “The North is our home, the sea is our friend” and it feels that the relative health of Orkney’s seascapes are testament to Orcadians' bond with the sea and their care for it. These islands are special, their people warm and welcoming, and their seagrass meadows are a beautiful and biodiverse sight to behold. These meadows should serve as both a reminder of what we’ve lost elsewhere and an ambitious lodestar of what seagrass meadows could look like elsewhere. Thank you Orkney, for your gift to the world. Skål.

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Column

By Cal Major

The adventurer HOME

hat feelings does this word evoke for you? For me, the first thing I think about is walking into my little house by the sea, shutting the front door and knowing I’m safe. It’s a feeling of comfort, knowing everything I need is right there. A feeling of welcome solitude, a place to rest and reset. I imagine taking a deep breath as I sit on the sofa and look out at the ocean, feeling held, like melting into a big hug. For the last two years I have been living fairly nomadically. It began with many months of living in a tent, a van or friends’ spare rooms as my partner, James, and I paddled around Scotland. This was followed by another few months of living in my van while we completed the filming for a documentary series about it. Having let my own house out for this period and beyond, once our project was over I found myself then living at James’ apartment, a long way from the sea. For the following 18 months I moved between there, my van, a friend’s caravan and my parents’ house. It’s been a whirlwind, and a logistical jigsaw puzzle, never knowing where ‘home’ was beyond the next few weeks. For one week, ‘home’ was a sailing boat! It’s been wonderful, but also exhausting. I’ve craved ‘home’, but with working in so many different places, all of which mean something different to me, I haven’t always been able to articulate where, or what, that was. But there have been a few times amongst all the moving around that, even without my little house to come home to, I have had the feeling of being at home. The most recent was about as far away from my house as I could have been - the Galapagos Islands. I had been travelling around Ecuador for a month, a different bed every few nights, and felt an enormous gratitude to have had the last minute chance to go to Galapagos. I could use all the cliches to describe the wildlife there - breathtaking, mind-blowing, out-of-this-world - and none of them would be an exaggeration! It truly is a phenomenal place that feels like stepping onto a different planet. The wildlife has no reason to fear humans and so you trip up over sea lions in the street and have to watch your step for marine iguanas on the volcanic rocks and beaches. The water and beaches are alive with sea lions - noisy, smelly and clumsy on land, but fast, agile and torpedo-like in the water. More than once we had the privilege of being joined by juveniles learning to play amongst the mangroves. It felt like, to them, we were just an extra bit

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of fun and intrigue, as they swirled around our bodies when we held our breath and dived underwater. We were snorkeling with the most enormous turtles I’ve ever seen, and scuba diving with hammerhead sharks and eagle rays. It really didn’t feel real, and was an extremely welcome return to flourishing nature that I had been craving after months of work on projects about biodiversity depletion. But one of the most profound moments I had was on a long beach on Isabela Island where the surf was being blown onto the shore. The waves weren’t surfable, but the water held a familiar kind of energy. I waded into the water and dived under the waves. Each wave that arrived brought with it a new opportunity to play. I felt joyful. But most of all, I felt a sudden, overwhelming feeling of being home. A sense of comfort and safety. Peaceful solitude. A feeling of being held in a big hug. I don’t get this feeling surfing or paddle-boarding, swimming in flat water or kite-surfing. It is only in the simplicity of just me and my body in the waves. A weightlessness and freedom, a sense that everything is ok, a place to rest and reset. It’s a feeling I’ve had in other places around the world too, playing in the waves; some closer to home, some far away. But it was that moment on Isabela Island when somehow the word to describe it perfectly just arrived, and I found myself able to articulate that this felt like home. It’s a huge comfort to know that geographical location doesn't have to stand in the way of experiencing a sense of being home. I’m really looking forward to moving back into my little house by the sea very soon, and all the comfort and safety that comes along with that. But I know it won’t be long before I’m away again on the next project. When I am, I’ll be sure to seek out somewhere with wave energy in the water and dunk myself in it, knowing that in the absence of my little house by the sea, I can still be home. CM About Cal Cal is a vet, ocean advocate and world-record stand up paddleboard adventurer who founded the UK charity Seaful to reconnect people to the ocean. For more information or to get involved visit: www.seaful.org.uk

Oceanographic Issue 29

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“The water and beaches are alive with sea lions - noisy, smelly and clumsy on land, but fast, agile and torpedo-like in the water. More than once we had the privilege of being joined by juveniles learning to play amongst the mangroves.”

Sea lion in the Galapagos Islands. Photograph by James Appleton.

KEEPING THE

drills at bay 250 nautical miles off the coast of Western Australia lies the pristine Scott Reef. Fossil fuel giant Woodside is currently seeking approval for extensive seismic testing and long term extraction of natural gas and oil deposits from directly below the reef, a practice that might throw this paradise off balance forever.

Wo rd s b y We n d y M i t c h e l l P h o t o g ra p h s b y We n d y M i t c h e l l a n d A l e x We s t o ve r, o n a s s i g n m e n t w i t h G re e n p e a c e

FB E AH TI UN RD E T H E L E N S

“Scott Reef is an exceptional and remote wilderness teeming with biodiversity.”

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ith supplies to last us a month offshore loaded, charts plotted, and sails hoisted, we were ready to lift anchor from Broome, Western Australia and begin our 500 nautical mile return journey to Australia's largest standalone offshore coral reef, Scott Reef. The reef lies in the Timor Sea, a remote part of Australian waters 425km northwest of Broome and 270km to the closest Western Australia land formation. To the west, is the seemingly endless Indian Ocean – thousands of miles of water stretching to the Africa coasts. To the north and northeast lie Indonesia and Australia’s rugged Kimberly Coast. We sailed without stopping for four days and nights watching the sun rise and set over the rolling seas as we edged ever closer to Scott Reef. Riding a steady easterly wind blowing from mainland Australia, our sails were full, and we relished the warm Kimberly air, the horizon stained with a red tinged dust that blows from the sunburnt land. Scott Reef is uniquely positioned on the edge of Australia’s continental shelf. The Reef is made up of three separate atolls covering about 650km2, a mere pinhead in the vast expanse of the surrounding seas. If we sailed only a few degrees off course we would miss it entirely, not even knowing it was there. Seemingly inconsequential above the water, below is a stunning, teeming world. Rising from depths of approximately 800m, the reef ’s sloping walls jut up to the surface and are almost fully exposed at low tide. Cold, nutrient-rich deep-water currents hit the reef walls and are pushed to the surface displacing the warm nutrient-poor surface water. The upwellings are primarily created by the reef 's topography which causes vertical mixing throughout the water column. This creates a food banquet to sustain a city of hungry mouths across the reef. The dramatic reefs and upwellings attract large aggregations of marine life. Huge pods of resident spinner dolphins, travelling in pods of up to 50, leap out of the water to greet us as we navigate the intricate reef system, often riding the bow of our boat, curious about the new visitors. Short-finned pilot whales pass around the reef ’s outside walls travelling to their feeding grounds, often diving to hundreds of metres to hunt for squid on the slopes of the continental shelf. These pods are frequently sighted around the atolls. The reefs lie in the migratory path of endangered pygmy blue whales which are sometimes seen passing between the channels of Seringapatam and Scott Reef ’s northern atoll. In winter months, mother humpback whales nurse newborn calves in the warm tropical water. Juveniles embrace their

playful nature, leaping up out of the water mimicking their mothers’ actions. Only one small sand spit sits above the high tide mark in the vast Scott Reef. This small spit is only metres above sea level and consists only of white sand. This small Sandy Islet is critical for endangered, nesting green and hawksbill turtles. Up to 1,000 green sea turtles nest on the shores of this tiny island each year, making it a significant location for the reproduction of the species. Charles Darwin University researchers track the turtles’ annual migration thousands of kilometres, as they choose to return to this same beach to lay their eggs and mate in the shallow lagoons surrounding the islet. The adult females haul themselves out of the water and navigate the matrix of nests laid by other turtles before them. For us, the best way to experience these reefs was to strap on a scuba tank and descend into the depths. The reef feels electric and alive. We lose ourselves, dropping down exceptional reef walls into the unknown. Barrel sponges, with life spans well over 100 years and the size of a front door, are scattered across the reef. Gorgonian sea fans extend as far as the eye can see, a rainbow of colours. Vibrant blue water is speckled with thousands of tiny brightly coloured anthias, damsel and surgeon fishes. Large predatory fish like dogtooth tuna, Spanish mackerel and wahoo pass by in the blue. Sailfish leap high up out of the water as we move around the reef ’s edge. Eagle rays and manta rays feed in the strong tidal flow exiting the lagoon, twisting and turning graciously to hold their position in the fast-flowing water. Scott Reef is an exceptional and remote wilderness teeming with biodiversity in a microcosm whose unique and delicate ecological balance has been finely tuned over millennia. But what does its future hold? The reef harbours the Torosa oil and gas deposits which are a part of the larger Browse Basin. The deposits lie directly between the northern atoll and the southern barrier reef at depths of four kilometres below the seabed. Fossil fuel company Woodside is in the process of seeking further approvals to extract these deposits. They currently propose to drill more than 50 wells around Scott Reef to extract gas from directly beneath the reef system. The collective Burrup projects, Scarborough and Browse are set to be the most climate-polluting projects in the history of Australia. Up to 6 billion tonnes of carbon dioxide, a leading greenhouse gas that causes climate change, will be emitted over the project's 50-year lifetime. This is about 12 times the country of Australia's annual greenhouse gas emissions. Here in Western

OPPOSITE: A pair of sea snakes caught up in a mating dance. PREVIOUS PAGE: Ariel view of Seringapatam Reef.

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TOP: Purple queenfish are found extensively around Scott Reef. BOTTOM: Blue whale on its annual migration.

F E AT U R E

“Much of the profits will flow to international companies while one of Australia’s last pristine coral reefs will be lost forever.”

Australia, we have legislated net zero emissions by 2050 and among the community there is considerable investment in renewables. Little of this gas from the Scott Reef drilling project is proposed for the Australian domestic market, instead this dirty energy will be sold to the highest bidder. Most of the gas extracted from Scott Reef will be loaded onto ships and exported as liquified natural gas for international buyers. What is the benefit to Western Australia and what is the cost to this wild and diverse ecosystem? Much of the profits will flow to international companies while one of Australia’s last pristine coral reefs will be lost forever. The Torosa deposit was first discovered in the 1960s and 70s when the area was awarded to Woodside by the Australian Government for exploration. The company conducted seismic testing to determine the location and size of the deposits. Environmental monitoring and research have been ongoing, conducted by the Australian Institute of Marine Science and funded by none other than Woodside and the Australian Government. What lies ahead for the reef and its inhabitants, the pods of pilot whales and their young, the pods of spinner dolphins? What about the delicate ecological balance and globally significant biodiversity? With gas wells planned to go in and across the extensive reef system (and known cetacean migration route) the consequences could be catastrophic. Woodside’s risk models predict that an accidental spill of mixed oil and gas could last as long as 77 days, spreading up to 800km from the spill site. The entire Scott and Seringapatam Reefs could be contaminated with devastating impacts on the reefs and marine life. The project’s projected 50-year lifespan means sustained noise pollution from seismic blasting, construction, heavy shipping, and day-to-day operations. These man-made, industrial impacts in the ocean have been proven to negatively impact marine life, particularly marine mammals. Woodside awaits approval to further seismic test for several weeks in the near future to determine ideal well locations. Towed underwater microphones from a vessel above receive the blasting sounds and are used to map the earth's layers below to identify the oil and gas deposits. Blasts from seismic testing activities can be compared to dynamite exploding underwater with sound waves travelling into the crust of the earth and returning to the surface. Underwater sound travels four times faster than in air so sound is carried hundreds to thousands of kilometres from its source through the ocean. Underwater seismic testing is harmful to marine life. It can cause hearing loss in marine species. Whales like pygmy blue whales and humpback whales suffer a loss in their ability to find mates and exchange information. Whales suffering from acute stress are often forced to leave the seismic testing area. Turtles show a strong stress response when exposed to airgun shots used in seismic testing and will quickly evacuate the area and possibly suffer hearing damage if in close proximity to the testing area. Marine species alter swim directions and speed in response to the seismic testing, and can move away from feeding grounds and nesting areas. When an airgun is fired, the change in pressure can harm fish populations. Barotrauma can result in serious injury and sometimes death. These are known impacts from oil and gas exploration and drilling, and this technology is not new. The difference with the exploration and drilling proposed for Scott Reef is that because the proposed seismic work is so close to the reef it will be almost impossible to avoid significantly impacting the reef ’s marine life. Scott Reef ’s geographical remoteness has helped to preserve it as a global biodiversity hotspot. I do not believe Scott Reef ’s wilderness can co-exist with oil and gas development. The good news is that Woodside’s project does not have full approval yet. This is not a story of a fight that was lost, rather a story of a fight that is happening now. I believe we must do all we can to protect this precious and globally significant ecosystem and its many inhabitants. Scott Reef must remain wild.

Oceanographic Issue 29

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