Oceanographic Magazine / Issue 31 by Oceanographic Magazine

ISSUE

Conservation • Exploration • Adventure

NET LOSSES FOLLOWING DECADES OF DECLINE C A N Q U O TA S S AV E T H E S A R D I N E ?

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

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Editor’s Letter “Human ocean connection comes in many forms.”

While the ocean provides us with water, oxygen, jobs and food, it also brings out a deeper belonging and urge within us to be close to, in, or on it. But what kind of impact are we having on the ocean? How are we changing ecosystems? In what ways can we turn the tide? And how are we, as humans, experiencing the ocean for adventure and well-being? We explore some of these questions in this edition. Adventurer and ocean advocate Cal Major writes about her experience stand-up paddleboarding 800 miles around Scotland to find out more about her own ocean connection, while João Rodrigues, for our cover story, explores Portugal’s special relationship with the sardine. During his journey along the Portuguese coast, he explores whether dwindling sardine populations have recovered after a decade of fishing restrictions that were strongly contested by fishing communities around the country. In the remote Indonesian region of Alor, human ocean connection comes in the form of age-old traditions. Here, locals have used handwoven fish traps for centuries. But as the modern age reaches this remote archipelago, can a new Marine Protected Area protect their way of life?

Nane Steinhoff Editor @nane_steinhoff @oceano_mag

Travelling back to Scotland, we take a look at human connection in the form of negative human impact. Here, Atlantic puffins are threatened by climate change, habitat loss and, for one colony, an invasive plant that was introduced by humans. Finally, we explore the special behaviour of an orca pod that has started to target sailing boats around the Iberian Peninsula. Is our impact on the ocean getting too much for some species to bear? Scientists are trying to decipher the motives behind these incidents.

Oceanographicmag

Oceanographic Issue 31

Contents O N T H E C OV E R

FEATURE S

QUEEN OF THE SEA

After a decade of sardine fishing restrictions in Portugal, João Rodrigues embarks on a journey along the Portuguese coast to see whether sardine populations have recovered.

A Portuguese seiner, from above. Photograph by João Rodrigues.

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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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.

PROTE CTI N G A LOR

WI LD I SLA ND S

MY R IA D T HR E AT S

BANDITOS

A new Marine Protected Area might be the key to protecting age-old traditions in the remote Indonesian region of Alor.

Adventurer Cal Major stand-up paddleboarded 800 miles around Scotland’s wild coast. Along the way, she made numerous discoveries.

Atlantic puffins are one of the world’s most charismatic seabird species. But their survival is threatened by climate change, habitat loss and, for one colony, an invasive plant.

Three years ago, orcas around the Iberian Peninsula started to ram sailing boats. Has this pod of orcas gone rogue? Scientists are trying to decipher the motives behind these incidents.

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BEHIND TH E L E N S

C O LUMN S

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 edition, we speak with underwater photographer and expedition leader Jake Wilton.

In his latest column, investigative journalist and director of The Outlaw Ocean Project, Ian Urbina, travels to Sealand, the only ‘micronation’ standing in open waters to this day.

Hugo Tagholm, executive director and vice president of Oceana in the UK, outlines why we must continue to bring the ocean rebellion to beaches, streets, and capital cities worldwide.

Cal Major, ocean advocate and founder of the charity Seaful, sheds light on the significance of Blue Health programmes.

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JAKE WILTON

T HE A DV E N T UR E R

Jade Hoksbergen Saint Lucia “Whilst blennies are relatively common in Saint Lucia, the Medusa blenny has rarely been seen and photographed. This was my first and only encounter with the species and this photograph reminds me of just how captivated I was by the sight of its glittering headdress.” SPONSORED BY

#MYOCEAN

Théo Maynier Réunion “While the crown-of-thorns starfish is an invasive species, it is also the habitat of wonderful little shrimps which are a joy to photograph.”

SPONSORED BY

#MYOCEAN

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Oceanographic Issue 31

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Queen OF THE SEA

After a decade of sardine fishing restrictions in Portugal, João Rodrigues embarks on a journey along the Portuguese coast to see whether sardine populations have recovered. Along the way, he finds out more about Portugal’s long-standing relationship with this special fish. Wo rd s a n d 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

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PREVIOUS PAGE: Female sardines generate around 20,000 eggs per laying. ABOVE: The Portuguese seine fishing fleet comprises around 130 vessels. LEFT: Translucent in appearance, a sardine larva, a few days old, swims near the surface in search of food.

ive nautical miles off the Cape of São Vicente, the warm night is not enough to lighten the focused expression of Fábio Mateus, a young fisherman and master of the trawler Flor de Burgau. Mateus and most of his fishing colleagues strongly believe that a turning point in the sardine fishing industry has already been reached. “It is true that we went through times of crisis, but now the sea is full of sardines,” he says while manoeuvring the boat. The absence of fish on board, however, seems to contradict his words. A few minutes before the sun rises, the journey that began at 2am seems destined to fail. Suddenly, a red spot on the sonar monitor creates agitation on board. The blast of a loud horn awakens the crew of six sleeping under deck who quickly grab their nets. A cloud of loud seagulls and the water splashes of a group of bottlenose dolphins are my signals to enter the water. Holding my breath, with camera in hand, I dive into a duel between man and nature. Below the surface, the scenario is one of war. The sound of the boat engines assaults my ears and makes my heart race. Meanwhile, great black-backed gulls rip through the water column like torpedoes. Terrified, thousands of sardines swim fast as bullets, in all directions during an increasingly tight and deadly encounter. Mateus and his team use purse seine nets to catch the sardines, the dominant fishing method off the Portuguese coast. The method utilises a long, high net wall that surrounds the targeted fish and reduces their escape routes. While the bottom edge is held down by weights, the top edge is usually buoyed by floats. When a large school of fish is surrounded, the bottom can be drawn together to enclose it. After quickly drawing a circumference, leaving behind a gigantic 300-metre-long and 90-metre-high net, the trawler returns to its starting point where the chata, the support boat, waits to close the trap. It is a dance of precision and gestures that has been repeated a thousand times by generations of fishermen. At the water’s surface, bright yellow buoys mark its location. “Arreia,” shouts a man with rubber boots, as they throw cables from one vessel to the other. When pulling the retenida, a guide cable sewn to the bottom of the net, it closes the fishing device, sealing the fate of the fish inside. In less than an hour, the wild capture ends and we make our way back to Sagres fish market. On board are smiles, good spirits and 3,000kg of fish. “So, was I right or was I wrong?” asks Mateus in a teasing, friendly tone. Despite the lucky catch for the crew, the team are concerned for the future. “With the low price of sardines nowadays, if the government does not considerably increase the quota [for allowed captures], I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to hold on,” says Mateus.

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“In 2010, it became clear to experts that sardines fisheries would have to be regulated.”

Portugal’s close relationship with sardines has been formed over hundreds of years. Thanks to a special set of oceanographic elements in the region, including low water temperature, high salinity and an abundance of nutrients, large quantities of phytoplankton and zooplankton, the favourite prey of myriad pelagic fish, are carried to Portuguese waters. From the surface to a depth of around 100 metres, large, abundant schools of sardines dominate the continental shelf – and they have done since ancient times. According to Álvaro Garrido, a specialist in the History of Fisheries and Sea Economics at the University of Coimbra, archaeological records show that ancient methods of capturing and preserving sardines existed as early as the Roman period. At the Roman ruins of Tróia, for example, archaeologists found more than 200 sardine tanks and 16 salting factories to conserve the meat of sardines, mackerels and tunas. Closely linked to the existence of salt in the region, it allowed for an increase in the availability of a valuable natural resource that, even today, is still present in the gastronomic and popular culture of Portugal. “The abundance of this fish, the extensive coastline and the traditional affinity for fishing created favourable conditions in Portugal for the widespread consumption of this food,” says Garrido in front of his computer during our digital conversation. And sardines aren’t just eaten, Garrido notes. They appear in literature, music, paintings, and other decorative arts, making sardines a valuable piece of Portuguese cultural heritage. But its popularity has generated alarm in the scientific community. According to Miguel Miranda, president of the Portuguese Institute of the Sea and the Atmosphere (IPMA), the capture and excessive consumption of sardines, coupled with its irregular abundance cycles, threatens the image of sardine abundance that we became so used to in Portugal. In 2010, it became clear to experts that sardine fisheries would have to be regulated.

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Sardines can live up to 14 years and reach 27cm in length.

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A seine fishing boat.

This boat caught sardines instead of the intended horse mackerels. They were discarded and spared for being in the closed season.

Thousands of sardines try to escape an ever-tightening deadly embrace.

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MAIN IMAGE: The former Minister of the Sea observes tons of jumping sardines. TOP: Sardines in a fish market. MIDDLE: Sardines are prepared for canning. BOTTOM: The Conserveira do Sul cannery.

“The Ibero-Atlantic sardine stock saw a colossal loss of biomass in just 31 years.”

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Portuguese fish canners are forced to import sardines due to the sharp drop in catches.

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Sardines have a challenging life cycle, marked by a constant struggle for survival. Their reproduction takes place on a large scale: females generate about 20,000 eggs per batch. The strategy has been effective over thousands of years of evolution. For the European sardine (Sardina pilchardus), everything starts inside an egg, measuring around 1.5mm in diameter. Together with millions of other small sardine eggs, they float in the autumn and winter currents. After five days fortuitously avoiding predation, the remaining eggs hatch and release translucent, five-millimetre-large larvae. Amidst the continued omnipresent danger of becoming prey to fish and seabirds, the larvae go through a 40day metamorphosis to transform into juveniles that already sport the typical characteristics of a sardine. With an elongated and sub-cylindrical body much like a submarine and chainmail-like back and belly scales, this fish forms dense clouds of silver that occupy an important role in the ocean’s food chain. Sardines reach their adult phase between their first and second year of life when they reproduce for the first time. Although they can live up to 14 years and reach 27cm in length, the prevalent fish on the Portuguese coast are young sardines of seven years, averaging 22cm in length. Sardines have become a staple of the Mediterranean diet. Rich in long-chain Omega-3 polyunsaturated fatty acids, namely EPA and DHA, eating sardines is said to have a multitude of benefits. Although recent studies by the American Association of Cardiology have demystified their supposed effectiveness against cardiovascular diseases, the list of therapeutic attributes of these healthpromoting agents remains strong. From the decrease of cholesterol and blood pressure to the reinforcement of the immune system, including the prevention of chronic diseases such as inflammatory bowel disease and rheumatoid arthritis, these acids are said to also play a fundamental role in keeping our brains healthy and reducing the risk of psychiatric and neurodegenerative illnesses like Alzheimer's. Even though sardines are classified as ‘of least concern’ by the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), the species needs to keep swimming for its life to maintain this status. The historical and important economic link between Portugal and the sea and the growing concern for the health of its fishing resources led the country to join the International Council for the Exploration of the Sea (ICES), an intergovernmental marine science organisation that aims to promote the sustainable use of the ocean, in 1902. Scientific data gathered in the last decades shows that Portugal has been living far from this goal. According to data from ICES, the Ibero-Atlantic sardine stock that Portugal shares with Spain, saw a colossal loss of biomass in just 31 years. In 1984, Ibero-Atlantic sardine populations reached about 1,200,000 tonnes. In 2015, only 113,000 tonnes remained. Despite efforts by the Portuguese government to protect this natural capital through the implementation of quotas and closed fishing periods during the breeding season,

the decline showed no signs of slowing down. In 2019, the Portuguese government took unprecedented measures, limiting the quota for catching sardines to 9,000 tonnes annually. The decision was strongly contested by fishing communities and the canning industry. Ricardo Serrão Santos, former Minister of Maritime Affairs of Portugal, commented: “Nowadays, fishermen are well informed and sensitive to the issue and are most interested in having healthy and productive sardine springs. We have to be cautious in the management, but it is necessary to involve the whole sector in the assessment and advice process to ensure fishing has a stable future.” According to the politician, who spent more than two decades working as an oceanography researcher at the Azores University, it is still necessary to wait for further indicators of widespread sardine recovery that gets collected from the fisheries throughout the year, as well as scientific monitoring campaigns. However, the first signs of healthier, recovering stocks are here. At the end of 2019, the stock had already started to show the first signs of recovery: “As soon as it is proven that the stock is at least at a level of medium productivity, it will be possible to relieve the restrictive measures,” Serrão Santos said. Only a couple months after this interview, the IBERAS monitoring campaign, conducted by IPMA and the

“Sardines have a challenging life cycle, marked by a constant struggle for survival.” Spanish Oceanography Institute in 2020, announced further good news: a biomass increase of around 100,000 tonnes. While this news is a reason for joy, it is not a reason to let the guard down, according to marine biologist and director of the environmental non-governmental organisation Sciaena, Gonçalo Carvalho. He insists the past has repeatedly shown that poorly designed conservation measures can have dramatic consequences. It is therefore necessary that Portugal focuses on the protection of sardines by implementing fishing limits. These could ensure that the numbers bounce back, benefiting the economy and society. Experts also suggest that fishing for other abundant species such as mackerel could help alleviate the pressure on sardines. Many are also looking to aquaculture as an important asset in helping natural sardine stocks recover. In times of adversity, the Portuguese have always shown their ability to adapt. In most cases, cooperation was the key to success. If the fishing community works hand in hand with politicians, industry leaders and science-backed conservation organisations, the sardine might yet be able to remain Portugal’s most important cultural asset, livelihood provider, and abundant fish species.

Oceanographic Issue 31

Column

By Ian Urbina

The outlaw ocean reporter A RENEGADE’S REFUGE

he sea has always been a metaphor for freedom – an escape from governments, laws and much else. My reporting had long focused on those who take advantage of that to murder, enslave, dump and steal. But the romance, wilderness and lawlessness of that frontier has also inspired mavericks, renegades and visionaries, an array of swashbuckling characters who used the murky laws of the high seas to dream up alternative world orders, utopian safe havens. Sealand is a perfect example: a ‘micronation’ consisting of an eerie metal platform atop a concrete base that is located a few miles off the coast of England in the North Sea. In 1965, the BBC and other broadcasters were only playing popular music late at night, leaving young audiences starved for more. Rogue DJs turned to the outlaw ocean. Aboard ships in the rough North Sea just beyond the reach of British laws, pirate radio stations were born and quickly attracted millions of listeners. One such pirate broadcaster was Patty Roy Bates, who took this legal quirk a step further. On Christmas Eve of 1966, he motored a small boat seven miles off the coast of England to a rusty, abandoned anti-aircraft tower. Built in the early 1940s as one of five forts that defended the Thames, the place was little more than a wide deck about the size of two tennis courts set atop two hollow, concrete towers, 60 feet above the ocean. At the time, Roughs Tower lay just outside British waters. Inspired with a nutty idea for a perfect gift for his wife Joan, Roy took hold of a grappling hook and rope, clambered aboard, and declared it conquered, even making it into the local news at the time. He named the disused platform just outside Britain's territorial waters Sealand. It didn't look like much, but now it was his and his alone, and what a perfect gift for his wife. It wasn't long before Bates' new nation was challenged in British courts, a colourful story that was reported by the media at the time. The British Navy sent a boat close by and Roy Bates' son, Michael, fired warning shots. Father and son were brought to court, but a judge ruled that since Sealand lay seven nautical miles outside British waters, British courts had no jurisdiction. Bates took that as recognition. The motto of the country over which he now reigned was ‘E Mare, Libertas’, or ‘From the sea, freedom’. Constituted as a principality, Sealand had its own passport, coat of arms,

and flag - red and black, with a white diagonal stripe. Its currency was the Sealand dollar, bearing Joan’s image. Since Jules Verne's Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea was published in 1870, people have dreamed of creating permanent colonies on or under the ocean and reinventing to their advantage the laws that govern. Today, the movement to reconquer the ocean has received a new boost from Silicon Valley and Bitcoin investors. An organisation called The Seasteading Institute envisions water worlds where governments are selected in an open market, taxes can be waived, and climate change can be hacked. Named after the homesteads of the American West, seasteads are conceived as self-sufficient, self-governing, part-libertarian utopia, part-billionaire's playground. In the meanwhile, climate change and rising seas suggest their pioneering and sustainable housing and food production may just offer some solutions. For all these lofty dreams of building brave new worlds in the outlaw ocean, the principality of Sealand, half a century old, remains the only ‘micronation’ standing in open waters to this day. Taking advantage of a gap in international law, Sealand has grown old while other attempts at seasteads never made it far beyond what-if imaginings. But the question for me is whether these creations will become island nations or remain island notions? Perhaps the true secret to Sealand's survival has been its limited aspirations. It had no territorial ambitions. It wasn't seeking to create a grand caliphate. In the view of its powerful neighbours, Sealand was merely a rusty kingdom, easier to ignore than to eradicate. 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 31

@ ian_urbina

@ianurbinareporter

www.theoutlawocean.com

“Perhaps the true secret to Sealand's survival has been its limited aspirations.”

A view of Sealand from the water. Photograph by Sealand.

Oceanographic Issue 31

BETWEEN

tradition

& CHANGE

A new Marine Protected Area might be the key to protecting age-old traditions in the remote Indonesian region of Alor. Wo rd s a n d p h o t o g ra p h s b y M a x H o l b a

“The locals live in harmony with land and sea, only taking what they need.”

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t’s finally hot and dry here in the Alor Archipelago in the Pantar Strait between the Flores and Savu seas. The rainy season was unusually long and wet this year. Even without the permanent media coverage regarding the global climate crisis and increased weather extremes, the locals know that something is changing, they experience it first-hand. For many elders, the past year was the wettest and least predictable during their lifetime. Heavy storms and rough waters make it increasingly hard to do what they have always done - to count on the ocean as their provider. Today, luckily, it is flat and calm, the perfect conditions to go out. Bapak (an Indonesian expression for gentlemen of seniority) Oktovianus is loading his small wooden canoe with his Bubu, a handwoven fish trap commonly used in the Alor Archipelago in Indonesia. He finished making it yesterday and is noticeably pleased. Making one requires knowledge, craftsmanship and time. To make a Bubu, locals head to the island’s mountains and hillsides covered in thick rainforest to gather various natural resources, such as woods and vines. Here, the rattan plant, a climbing palm that grows all over Indonesia, can be found in abundance. It is a lightweight, flexible and durable material, making it an excellent option to use outside – or underwater in the salty ocean. Once the material is gathered, the intricate weaving process can start. I have asked different Alorese about the production time of a Bubu and I always get a similar, somewhat puzzling response: anywhere between two days to two weeks. Bapak Oktovianus took five days for this particular basket, but he had already stocked up on Tali Rotan, rope made from the rattan plant. The most common baskets have funnelled openings on either side and they can vary in size and shape. They usually come with a wooden base structure, on which rocks can be placed to weigh it down, keeping it in place on the ocean floor. Now that the Bubu is loaded and secured, we can get started. “The right to put a Bubu in a certain place of the reef is passed down from generation to generation,” explains Bapak Oktovianus, as we slowly approach his spot, on his boat. The reefs below us offer a cornucopia of coral in stunning shapes. The ocean temperature in the Pantar Strait varies highly as strong currents and upwellings can push cold water towards the surface. Sometimes the temperature can drop from 29°C to 18°C in a matter of hours. Additionally, the cold deepwater circulation brings nutrients from the depths, boosting the diversity of the reef. As we expect the water to be on the cooler side today, I am wearing a wetsuit. The only piece dressing Bapak Oktovianus is a simple loincloth and his handmade wooden goggles. Carved from wood, shards of glass glued in place with the help of tree resin, they look just like the goggles of an Olympian swimmer. And looking at his impressive physique, one could think he is just that. His torso is large, and his arms are muscular and lean. Due to life-long

PREVIOUS: Samsudin, now a dive and snorkel guide, is an excellent freediver and uses a Bubu from time to time. THIS PAGE: Bapak Oktovianus places a Bubu basket in the reef.

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TOP LEFT: Alor's picturesque coastline from above. TOP RIGHT: Fisherman Bapak Oktovianus makes a Bubu basket. BOTTOM LEFT: The intricate weaving process for a Bubu basket. BOTTOM RIGHT: A local village in Alor from above.

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training, his lung capacity is significantly above average. He has been shaped by life at sea. Hanging over the side of his dugout boat, the bamboo outriggers assist with stability. He peers down into the abyss, until he finds his spot on the reef. I take some photographs before he nimbly glides into the water together with his Bubu. He takes a deep breath and freedives without the use of fins to the bottom to carefully place the trap onto the reef. He puts it in between coral formations and volcanic boulders, some of which are used to weigh the basket down. With its intricate weaving the Bubu forms a perfect harmony with the beauty of the reef ’s architecture. It will stay down there for “maybe one day, maybe one week. We will check when we need fish!” Bapak Oktovianus laughs. Until then, different species of reef fish will find their way into the trap, but not out. No bait is used for this traditional fishing method. The locals rely on the fishes’ natural desire to seek shelter. The funnelled opening seems to appear like the perfect place to hide, but when inside, the small hole at the opening’s centre is hard to relocate. The fishing method itself is minimally invasive to the ecosystem as the baskets will be used multiple times and are repeatedly placed in the same spot, causing little to no damage to the surrounding corals. Spending time with Bapak Oktovianus feels akin to time travel. Here, the world seems to still be how it once was. The locals live in harmony with land and sea, only taking what they need. They have done so for generations, treating the ocean with respect. The reefs are still teeming with life and appear to be untouched and pristine. Topside, tiny villages decorate the rocky, volcanic coastline. Only the occasional satellite dish reminds me that change and modernisation have arrived with a rapidly growing tourism sector. A few days later I am contacted by Bapak Oktovianus’ grandson who owns a smartphone. He tells me that his grandfather already made use of the good conditions and retrieved his Bubu yesterday. The ocean was dictating the local’s rhythm and I missed out on seeing what was inside the basket. He tells me over the phone that he also freedives and uses the Bubu to fish. He has done so from a young age but ultimately, he dreams of diving “carrying the big bottle on his back”. He sees it as a new experience and opportunity. Somebody that has already taken advantage of the new opportunity in the region is Samsudin who I meet a few days later. Just like Bapak Oktovianus and his grandson, he freedives and fishes with a Bubu. He was taught by his dad, just like Bapak Oktovianus was taught by his. These days, however, he has a different calling: he is one of the first dive and snorkel guides in the archipelago, and he knows the sites and the Pantar Strait’s merciless currents better than anyone else. “I want my kids to become divers

as well, to share the beauty of my home with tourists,” he says, noting that the steady income he receives via tourism pays for his kids’ education. Although tourism is still relatively underdeveloped in the Alor Archipelago, more and more resorts are beginning to pop up, while dive and snorkel liveaboards offer trips to the area. While this enables locals like Samsudin and his children to find work and make a living, the rising number of people diving and snorkelling the Pantar Strait also increases the risk of tipping the balance of this fragile ecosystem. In other parts of Indonesia, mass tourism has already had a devastating impact on the underwater world. Luckily, new regulations to ensure the sustainability of the growing tourism sector are currently being established. At regency level, the Alor Archipelago has been a marine protected area (MPA) since 2006, but only with a recent shift in jurisdiction, from regency to provincial level, have rules been executed effectively. Additionally, in 2018 the World Bank offered substantial financial support for the cause. In collaboration with the Provincial Ministry of Marine Affairs and Fishery, based in the region’s capital of Kupang, the objective for Alor is to further develop its MPA, boost and regulate tourism, and sustainably safeguard its future. The project is receiving further backing by Aliansi Bahari Alor, or ABA, which in Indonesian translates to Alor Maritime Alliance, an organisation created by local dive and snorkel operators. Working hand in hand with local authorities, the united agenda is to “promote a sustainable marine tourism model for the Alor Archipelago,” says Fred Brysse, one of ABA’s founding members. A Carrying Capacity Study conducted by the World Wildlife Fund is considered a crucially important project to better understand the impact of the predicted increase in divers and snorkellers on the fragile ecosystem: “ABA is collecting data to share with the MPA management, and we have revised the WWF’s Carrying Capacity Study to better fit to Alor’s specificity,” says Brysse. As the number of dive and snorkel operators and the number of liveaboards coming to the Pantar Strait is expected to skyrocket in the coming years, necessary regulations have to be established fast. “We want to avoid a scenario like in Raja Ampat. There, for example, regulations were put in place at an early stage with a limitation of licences for 40 ships. But due to a loophole in the regulatory framework, the numbers catapulted to a maximum of 108,” explains Brysse. With Alor’s MPA being only a quarter of the size of the one in Raja Ampat, one can only imagine the potentially disastrous effect on the environment should these predictions come true. Brysse urges: “Whilst liveaboards can be a contributing factor to the region’s development, we highly recommend limiting the number of boats

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“The reefs are still teeming with life and appear to be untouched and pristine.”

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The coral reefs around Alor are still pristine and untouched.

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CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: A juvenile triggerfish. I A juvenile barramundi. I A zebra crab on a sea urchin. I A juvenile mimic filefish. I A Hypselodoris tryoni nudibranch. I A crested nembrotha nudibranch.

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allowed to operate simultaneously. This will help to keep the MPA a pristine and sustainable tourism destination and minimise the impact on the coral reefs.” Alor is at a turning point. Just like the locals are in the hands of the ocean’s tides and mercy, the region’s future is in the hands of the authorities and their efforts to protect Alor. Brysse is convinced that these efforts are moving in the right direction and that the people in charge of the MPA have good intentions. He also warns: “Everything takes a long time in remote Indonesia.” To find out more about this ‘MPA in the making’, I meet with Bapak Muhammad Saleh, the head of the KCDKP, which is a detached local office of the Provincial Ministry of Marine Affairs and Fishery. In Alor's case, he is in charge of the future management of the MPA and its development. I can see in his eyes, he is a determined man: “The main goal is to ensure the area’s natural resources are used in a sustainable way when it comes to fishing, tourism, transportation, research and other activities.” The focus will be on educating the local communities first, rather than immediate penalising. Fishing in the new MPA will further be allowed. After all, locals need to provide for themselves and their families. He explains: “Fishing will be permitted in Limited Use Zones only and a permit will have to be granted first, especially to bigger, commercial operations and when fishing with nets.” To enable the KCDKP to act on legal grounds, the province’s governor has named 74 different snorkel and dive sites as ‘locations of natural heritage’, Bapak Saleh explains. A boom in tourism brings plenty of opportunities in the form of jobs and education, but it also poses a significant threat to the ecosystem. Considering the type of tourism snorkelling and diving embodies, “protecting the reef is our top priority”, he adds. He is not worried about what comes next but is excited: “In the future we hope that all stakeholders in the area can collaborate in carrying out programmes, building and introducing the Alor MPA to the international world, with the final result being an increase in the welfare of the people living in the Pantar Strait, especially the villages that are situated directly in, or intersect with, the conservation area.” In terms of fishing restrictions, will Bubu baskets still be allowed? Bapak Saleh says: “Of course. It is one of the traditional fishing methods and has only a very small impact on the coral reef.” At the time of writing, several new regulations for the Alor MPA have entered pilot phase. Local operators are now required to register all their diving and snorkelling guests as collecting data is a key element of this early stage. An entry fee that will be used to finance patrolling of the area is also being developed. A new patrol boat has had its maiden voyage. Even in a region where time seems to stand still, only time will tell whether a balance can be found between tourism, ecosystem health and local traditions.

A Bubu basket sits in a reef.

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“Just like the locals are in the hands of the ocean’s tides and mercy, the region’s future is in the hands of the authorities and their efforts to protect Alor.”

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

J AK E W I LTON 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 JAKE WILTON Jake Wilton is an award-winning nature and travel photographer from New South Wales, Australia. With more than a decade of experience, Jake has a deep understanding of how to capture the beauty and uniqueness of different destinations and species to inspire his audience.

OC EA NO G R A PH IC M AGAZ I N E (OM ): J AK E , W HEN DID YOU FIRST CONNECT WITH TH E OCEAN? Jake Wilton (JW): I grew up on the coast of New South Wales in a small town called South West Rocks. Our house was right in town only a few hundred metres away from two estuaries and three beaches, so from the age of about two, I was always in, on, or around the water. The biggest connection I felt to the ocean was when I completed my Open Water course in 2007 a few months before my 16th birthday. Our family friends at the time owned Fish Rock Dive Centre and so I spent my weekends sweeping, cleaning, and helping in any way I could to get out on the boat and go scuba diving. In 2010 I completed my Divemaster training and in 2011, I became an Open Water scuba diving instructor. I worked as a guide at my local dive site of Fish Rock Cave until I moved to Ningaloo in 2016. 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 PA S S I O N F O R T H E O C E A N ? JW: For me, the ocean is the one place the rest of the world disappears. Funnily enough, I actually spent the first 12 years of my diving life doing everything I could to avoid taking a camera underwater. I always preferred to live in the moment and take in every detail of the animal or of the encounter I was having. Over time I began to yearn to be able to communicate to my family and friends the beauty of the ocean and my experiences in it so eventually I purchased my first camera, in late 2018. In early 2019, I had the opportunity to take on a photography role aboard the tour I worked on in Coral Bay in Western Australia. Since then I haven’t looked back. OM : H OW W O ULD YOU D E S C RI BE YOU R P H OTOGRAP H Y STYLE? WH AT MAKES IT STAND OUT? JW: Style is something I dwelled on for quite some time when I was starting out. I came to the conclusion that I didn’t want to adopt a specific ‘style’ per se and pigeonhole myself into a certain way of creating images. I decided to take every shooting opportunity as it comes. So, I aim to produce images that best represent the scene I am witnessing or convey the message I am trying to convey. Ultimately, I believe it is better to capture what interests you and leave it up to the viewer to decide on how they see your work. OM : H OW D O YO U P L AN YOU R I M AGE S ? W H AT’S TH E P ROCESS BEH IND EACH SH OT? JW: It honestly depends on the location and species I want to photograph. I have images that I plan for a long time, but I equally love heading out into the water spontaneously to capture whatever spectacle Mother Nature provides on the day. I personally enjoy both approaches but I do love when a planned image that you have been envisioning for a long time comes together and you end up capturing it just how you imagined. With my underwater shots I always aim to wait for the opportune moment rather than the spray and pray approach. Marine life can be tricky to shoot as everyone will be aware. They very rarely give you a second chance. I like to stay with the animal for as long as possible and let them get comfortable with my presence. This is also a great time to assess the lighting and the ideal composition, while the individual can get back to its natural behaviour. I can then pick the right moment to capture something a little bit more special than just a quick snapshot of an animal before it swims away.

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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 CONSERVATION? JW: I believe photography can play a big role in conservation. So many of the issues facing our planet are out of sight and out of mind for the majority of the population. Through images we can tell the stories on behalf of the wildlife and ecosystems while also bringing awareness to various conservation initiatives at the same time. Conservation-based images are still the best way to start the conversation and get the ball rolling on discussing how to best protect and preserve our wildlife and environments. O M: YO U’ R E AL S O A C OM M E RC I AL P H OTOGRAP H ER FOR TOURISM COMPANIES. H OW DOES T H IS W O R K I N F L U E N C E YOU R W I L D L I FE P H OTOGRAP H Y? JW: To be honest, wildlife photography isn’t generally something that can generate a large enough income for most photographers. Working as a commercial photographer over the past few years with a range of companies and brands including tourism operators and resorts has allowed me to continue my passion of nature photography and take me to locations I wouldn’t have otherwise been able to visit. O M: YO U’ R E E N T I RE LY S E L F -TAU GH T. WH AT IS TH E MAIN TH ING TH AT, IN YOUR OP INION, ELEVAT ED YOU R P H OTOGRAP H Y TO A PROFESSIONAL LEVEL? JW: I'm self-taught, although I still have a long way to go in terms of learning photography. The internet, Youtube and other photographers have helped me in different aspects along the way. I benefited mostly from being in the field. I think to develop and elevate your work to a higher standard, you need to be dedicated to hone your skills and learn your craft. I do become a bit obsessive with things once I start so I am very rarely satisfied with my images which I think pushes me to become a better photographer and ultimately keep aiming to create better images. O M: H OW D O YOU F E E L W H E N YOU ’ RE SH OOTING UNDERWATER? JW: Being underwater has always been an escape for me. Here, I feel the most as ease and free. No matter what sort of troubles in life I have, I always seem to completely forget them and can be present in the ocean. It’s almost a form of meditation for me. There is just no better feeling than being in nature with wildlife - whether that’s underwater or on land. The feeling you get when you witness rare behaviour, finally encountering an animal you have been dreaming of seeing for years, and having an animal choose to interact with you is the ultimate feeling. O M : W H AT M A K E S T H E U N D E RWAT E R WORLD AROUND THE NINGALOO REEF IN WESTERN AUSTRALIA SO SPECIAL? JW: The thing that makes Ningaloo so special is its closeness to shore, its shallow depth and the abundance of large marine life found here. The incredible accessibility allows people of all ages and abilities to experience the same wonder and underwater marvels that only divers usually have access too. The larger species such as whale sharks, manta rays and humpback whales can be experienced regularly by anyone who visits which makes it such a special and unique place. It’s a great place to share experiences with people and educate them about the ocean. O M: W H AT ARE S OM E OF T H E BI GGE S T CONSERVATION CONCERNS IN TH E REGION? JW: The biggest concern for the Ningaloo Reef currently is the industrialisation of the Exmouth Gulf region which acts as the nursery for the Ningaloo and its marine life. Fishing pressures from recreational fishermen and increasing tourism pressures are also beginning to have an effect. And there are long-term threats to the coral coverage along the reef. Research show that even the remote and secluded parts of the Ningaloo are in danger and that impact events such as cyclones, coral bleaching and fishing pressures could exceed the reef recruitment levels by the 2050s. O M: H OW D O YOU T RY TO ADVAN C E C ONSERVATION IN WESTERN AUSTRALIA WITH YOUR IMAG ERY ? JW: Western Australia is remote and not many people visit the region. With imagery we can showcase the beauty of the region, encourage people to visit and form a connection with natural areas. Western Australia has a large mining industry and is known for destroying its natural areas hidden away from the public eye. By making people aware of the natural wonders and wildlife that exist here, it ultimately becomes harder for them to destroy and easier for us to protect.

Continued on p. 80... Oceanographic Issue 31

This way up

BEHIND THE LENS

Q&A Continued...

OM : YO U ’ VE B EEN S H OOT I N G T H E U N D E RWATER WORLD IN WESTERN AUSTRALIA FOR A W H ILE. H OW H AS T H E OC E AN E N V I RON M E NT CH ANGED FOR YOU P ERSONALLY OVER TH E YEA R S ? JW: The biggest change I witnessed would have to be the natural hypoxic event in 2022 that resulted from a combination of large coral spawning events, lack of swell and unfavourable northerly onshore winds. It caused significant damage to both the reef close to shore and the fish populations. Probably the fastest growing issues around the Ningaloo are boat strikes with megafauna such as manta rays, whale sharks and dugongs due to the lack of speed control in key habitat areas and pollution due to rubbish left behind by visitors. 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? JW: One that comes to mind would be the day that I watched a whale shark hunt a bait ball in Coral Bay. The shark stalked a shoal of fish for hours before giving up and trying on a second ball. Out of nowhere a school of tuna turned up and began to vortex around the bait ball. As the frenzy kicked off, the whale shark began to lunge through the bait ball and gulped down mouthfuls of the fish. A few wild minutes that I will never forget. Freediving with around 30 tiger sharks as they devoured a whale carcass would have to be right up there as well but that was before I became a photographer. OM : YO U R ECENT LY T RAV E L L E D TO PAP UA NEW GUINEA. WH AT DID YOU LEARN TH ERE? JW: I recently visited Kimbe Bay in Papua New Guinea. I arrived with high hopes due to the reputation it has as one of the world’s best diving locations for its marine diversity. Unfortunately, a large-scale coral bleaching event was taking place during the time we were visiting. Documenting the bleaching event was one of the hardest things I have ever experienced in my life. I learned that nowhere is safe from the impacts of climate change and humanity’s destruction of the natural world. It is destroying not only the livelihoods of the local people but of ourselves also. I wanted to capture images that showcase the scale of what was happening and tell a story to help bring awareness to the issues our reefs are facing. As hard as it was to witness this first-hand, it has really driven my desire to do more with my photography to tell conservation stories. OM : T H ER E WA S A V I RAL V I D E O OF YOU RE MOVING FISH ING H OOKS FROM MANTA RAYS. TELL U S A B O U T T H I S M OM E N T – W H AT H AP P ENED? JW: I was working for a local tour company in Coral Bay and we had a private film crew for Tourism WA onboard. Captain Frazer decided to head straight out to the area where we had been seeing manta rays over the previous few days so the film crew could film them before the other tour boats arrived. Upon entering the water, I noticed that a local manta ray called ‘Freckles’ had fishing hooks lodged just below her eye in her cephalic lobe. After swimming alongside her for about 20 minutes, I began to dive down for a closer look. I wanted to let her know that I wasn’t a threat, so I held the pliers I was holding close to the hooks to get her used to them. After the first attempt to see if I could get close to the hook, she was a little startled and pulled away before darting off. But then, incredibly, she circled back and allowed us to continue to follow her. I did a second attempt just moments later and this time, she worked out exactly what was happening and began to roll over upside down. She unrolled her lobes to reveal the embedded hook and hovered below us. I knew I would only have one chance to grab the hook as the pain would cause her to pull away, so I did not want to attempt to grab them until I was certain I could remove them cleanly. After about 15 minutes and multiple unsuccessful dives, I decided to give it another try. I dove down and knelt on the bottom, letting her approach me face-on rather than from the side. She hovered slowly and I managed to close the gap quickly and grabbed hold of the hooks. As she pulled away, I pushed and pulled the hook as you would remove it from a fish and successfully dislodged them from her lobe. She then surprisingly circled back and hovered next to me as if to say thank you before we let her cruise out into the bay. We found her two weeks later feeding healthily along the coastline and she is still visiting the bay as much as ever.

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O M: S PEA K I N G OF ‘ V I RAL ‘ – W H AT ’ S YOUR RELATIONSH IP WITH SOCIAL MEDIA? DOES IT H ELP CO NSE RVAT I ON E F F ORT S ? JW: Social media for me is a double-edged sword. It is incredibly powerful for conservation but it can also impact efforts if not managed correctly. I try to distance my personal views from anything on social media and create a more positive space for anyone who chooses to follow my work. I do gain a lot of my commercial clients through social media, and it is an amazing platform for showcasing your work. I’ve recently begun moving more towards conservation-based photography so I hope I can use my social media platform to educate my followers and foster conservation efforts in their local areas. I think people are really starting to see through the social media ‘influencer’ lifestyle. They begin to relate more to authentic content creators like conservationists and photographers and there is great opportunity to use social media platforms to share information on conservation issues that don’t usually get coverage on mainstream media platforms. On the other side of the coin, social media can have a negative impact on areas when they direct too many visitors to a certain location. Loving them to death is an issue. I therefore usually don’t give out specific locations. After all, the journey itself and the adventure of finding the hidden gems for yourself is all part of the excitement. O M: W H AT ’ S YOU R S TAN C E ON P OS T-P ROCESSING OF IMAGES? H OW MUCH DO YOU USE IT ? JW: For me personally, I try do as little post-processing as possible to ensure that I am representing the scene that I witnessed. It is such a subjective topic and I believe in the freedom to express your creativity. White balance is so critical to underwater photography, so I primarily focus on correcting colours. For printing purposes you do have to do a fair bit to edit the finer details to ensure the highest quality print for your clients but I believe you need to be honest to the moment and scene you are witnessing. O M: YO U W ON T H I RD P L AC E I N T H E 2 0 22 OCEAN P H OTOGRAP H ER OF TH E YEAR PO RT F O LIO AWARD . W H AT D I D T H AT MEAN TO YOU? JW: My winning portfolio showcases a collection of images I had captured during my first four years as a photographer living on the Ningaloo Reef in Western Australia. The portfolio includes a range of images showing rare behaviours, specific species, as well as scenes that convey the beauty of the incredible wildlife interactions I had been so blessed to have during that time. A few of the images had been well received in other competitions and I was eager to see how my work would stand up together alongside a lot of the photographers that I admire from around the world. The award has given me the opportunity to share my story further and has inspired me to pursue my dream of working in photojournalism. O M: D O YO U T H I N K P E OP L E ARE D I S C O NNECTED FROM NATURE? H OW DO WE CH A NG E T H I S ? JW: Yes and no. More people than ever are being educated about nature and the impact humans are having on the planet. However, there are only a few people who are out there experiencing it for themselves. The majority of people on the planet still live in urban areas and are certainly disconnected from nature to a certain degree. Inspiring people through photography to visit certain areas such as national parks, to learn to scuba dive, and to experience nature for themselves is an essential step to reconnect and protect the planet and its diverse wildlife. O M: W H AT ' S N E XT ON YOU R AGE N DA? JW: I’m doing a lot more scuba diving now after predominately freediving so I will be doing as many dive trips as possible throughout the rest of the year. I currently really enjoy writing articles so I have started to pursue more photojournalism opportunities that focus on sharing conservation issues.

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Ningaloo Reef, Australia Yellowtail scad fish surround a manta ray. “I wanted to capture the uniqueness and density of the mass of fish surrounding the manta ray to show just how many fish there were,” says Wilton.

Maldives A cheek-lined wrasse hides amongst a coral that mimics the lines on its body.

Western Australia A zebra shark swims across the shallow sand flats of the Ningaloo Reef.

South Australia A giant cuttlefish nearing the end of it reign after spending the past two months mating in the giant cuttlefish aggregation of Whyalla.

Western Australia A mother and calf dugong pair swim towards the sea grass meadows of the Ningaloo Reef.

Ningaloo Reef, Australia Local manta ray Freckles with an entourage of juvenile golden trevally. "As she passed overhead, I captured a belly identification image for the Project Manta research database," says Wilton.

Western Australia A humpback whale rises out of ocean and into the golden light of the sunrise off Carnarvon.

Ningaloo Reef, Australia A whale shark stalks a bait ball. The shark swam with the fish for three hours before a school of tuna arrived and the feeding frenzy began.

Western Australia Australian sea lions play in the sheltered waters of the Jurien Bay Marine Park.

Western Australia The intricate patterns and colours of the weedy sea dragon.

Ningaloo Reef, Australia A green sea turtle rests on its soft coral throne inside the sanctuary of the Ningaloo Reef Lagoon. Predominately a hard coral reef, soft beds like this are prime real estate here.

Western Australia A freediver explores the freshly fallen carcass of a humpback whale. It usually takes between 48 and 72 hours from time of death to bare skeleton.

Behind the lens JAKE WILTON Western Australia An artistic approach highlighting the dazzling and intricate patterns of the whale shark.

Ja ke W i l t o n i s a n a w a rd - w i n n i n g p h o t o g ra p h e r f ro m N e w S o u t h Wa l e s , Australia. In 2019, he began taking photos of the marine life on Western Au s t ra l i a ’s N i n g a l o o R e e f . S i n c e t h e n , Ja ke h a s b e c o m e a N i ko n Au s t ra l i a p a r t n e r a n d i s c u rre n t ly s p o n s o re d b y A q u a t i ca Di g i t a l a n d E p s o n Au s t ra li a . H i s p a s s i o n f o r t h e n a t u ra l w o r l d e x t e n d s b e yo n d p h o t o g ra p h y, a n d h e i s a c o m m i t t e d c o n s e rv a t i o n i s t a n d e n v i ro n m e n t a l a d v o c a t e . H e b e l i eve s t h a t h i s p h o t o g ra p h y c a n b e a p o w e rf u l t o o l t o ra i s e a w a re n e s s a b o u t co n s e rva t i o n i ssu e s a n d t h e i m p o rt a n ce o f p ro t e ct i n g t h e o ce a n f o r f u t u re g e n e ra t i o n s . Ja ke ' s w o r k h a s b e e n p u b l i s h e d i n v a r i o u s p u b l i c a t i o n s a n d h e h a s w o n m u l t i p l e a wa rd s f or h i s p h o t o g ra p h y, i n clu d i n g t h i rd p la ce i n t h e 2 0 2 2 O ce a n P h o t o g ra p h e r o f t h e Ye a r Po rt f o li o Aw a rd ca t e g o ry.

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Oceanographic Issue 31

Ocean nation Adventurer, veterinary surgeon and ocean advocate Cal Major stand-up paddleboarded 800 miles around Scotland’s wild coast. Along the way, she made shocking discoveries, met people and communities, and explored the wildlife and ecosystems both above and below the water. Wo rd s b y C a l M a j o r P h o t o g ra p h s b y Ja m e s A p p l e t o n

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hen I first took on the challenge of stand-up paddleboarding around Scotland, I never could have imagined all the things I would see, learn and experience; the immensity of the coastline and its towering cliffs, the unforgiving currents, winds and waves, the joyfulness of daily wildlife encounters, some so profound they would change my life’s trajectory, the level of suffering and unfairness at the hands of man, the devastating, untold destruction of our seas, the passion in the people standing against it and the depth of our human connection to the ocean. I hadn’t expected how utterly sublime and restorative a sunrise over the ocean in Northern Scotland could be after a sleepless night on the water, with aching body and exhausted mind. And how immersing myself into all of this for 20 to 30 miles a day over ten weeks could completely change my own sense of connection to the ocean, the depth of my love for our seas, and my determination to do everything in my power to share its important stories, and protect it from harm. A stand-up paddleboard (SUP) is an unlikely vehicle to take to Scotland’s wildest stretches of coastline. Nobody had attempted it before. Unlike a kayak, it has very little anchoring it beneath the water, making it vulnerable to even the lightest winds. It doesn’t glide through the water quite the same either, and paddling isn’t as efficient with just one blade, plus all kit needs to be strapped to the deck. For this expedition, my partner joined me on the water in his kayak, which only served to highlight how vastly different the two vehicles are. However, over the years, my SUP has become my vehicle for adventure, exploration and storytelling. I feel immensely at home standing atop my glorified surfboard. I love the feeling of standing tall, able to watch the underwater world below my board, free from a cramped cockpit, unconfined by a spray deck. I might not be able to paddle as fast or efficiently as in a kayak, but I feel like the rewards from the experience outweigh the additional effort. The purpose of the expedition was to highlight what is out of sight and out of mind in our seas, right here on our doorstep; to explore the incredibly important role our seas play in all of our lives and in the climate and biodiversity crises made all the more relevant by the impending international climate conference, which was being hosted in Glasgow later that year. So alongside my boyfriend and film-making partner, James Appleton, we set out to document what we found along what was to become a truly epic journey of discovery. I set off on the River Clyde from outside the building where COP26 would be held, and paddled clockwise around the coast to the last harbour in Scotland on the East coast, Burnmouth: 800 miles of wildly varying coastline, wildlife and people in one small country. The first couple of days’ paddling was down the River Clyde,

PREVIOUS: Mountains, rock stacks and the forever-changing weather of Scotland's unforgiving North Coast. RIGHT: Paddling towards Burnmouth Harbour on the East Coast.

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“I hadn't expected how immersing myself into all of this could completely change my own sense of connection to the ocean.” Oceanographic Issue 31

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FROM LEFT TO RIGHT: Sunrise stretches before day two of paddling down the Clyde. I An inflatable shark retrieved from the water. I Stunning early morning light at Port Glasgow. I The UK's smallest harbour, Seacliff. I Finding plastic waste even on remote uninhabited islands, like Tanera Beag in the Summer Isles. I Evening light on the West Coast.

an estuary that connects Scotland’s most populated city, Glasgow, directly to the ocean. I watched the industrial cityscape morph into countryside, revelled in pink sunrises and began reacquainting myself with the familiar sounds of oystercatchers, the pull of the tides and the battle against crosswinds. I soon faced my first big crossing of the expedition - a ten-mile paddle from Portencross to the Isle of Arran. Arran is home to a crucially important marine protected area, Scotland’s first No Take Zone, where no living thing is allowed to be removed from the ocean. Crucial because most of the rest of the Clyde estuary is open to bottom trawling and scallop dredging, damaging fishing practices which have led to dangerous declines in fish stocks in the Clyde, and around the West coast of Scotland. Bottom trawling is normally used to catch langoustine or demersal fish and involves dragging a weighted net along the seabed. Scallop dredging uses a series of heavy metal rakes, which dig into the seabed to remove scallops, but is indiscriminate in what else it removes or destroys along with them. The damage they can do underwater is terrifying, leaving barren wastelands of broken shells and turned over seabed. And yet, in Lamlash Bay off the East coast of Arran, where the No Take Zone prohibits dredging or trawling, life is flourishing. An enormous flame shell reef has been discovered. These are ecologically important bivalve molluscs with bright orange tentacles which form biogenic, living reefs on the seabed, in turn providing nursery grounds for scallops, fish and other shellfish. Until the 1980s, bottom trawling wasn’t allowed within three miles of Scotland’s coastline, specifically to protect fragile inshore habitats like the flame shell reef, or maerl, which is an incredibly slow-growing coralline algae, also forming intricate habitats for other species. But in 1984 this limit was removed. This has led to the situation we’re in today whereby only tiny patches of Scotland’s seabed are off-limits to bottom-towed gear. The seabed has been seriously harmed, and the inshore fishing fleet now relies almost solely on shellfish because fin fish stocks have faced such dramatic declines. Reassuringly, there is a campaign and growing movement to reintroduce this three mile limit, and I met several members of the Our Seas campaign during my trip around Scotland’s coast - people with a varied interest in, and passion for the ocean, from fishers to conservationists, youth groups to recreational ocean users, all asking for better protection of Scotland’s seabed. The campaign needs public support, but when the ecosystem being fought for is out of sight and out of mind, it’s incredibly difficult to relate to. From a scientific and carbon capture viewpoint I could understand the vital importance of seabed protection, but it wasn’t until I saw for myself what was at stake that I really connected emotionally to this campaign too. A few days after leaving the Isle of Arran at 3am in a brewing storm, I made it to a very special place - the Argyll Hope Spot. It’s an area of ocean that has been designated by the charity Mission Blue as a globally important area of biodiversity. I was about to see for myself why. 88

Oceanographic Issue 31

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Looking out at dark water, feeling cold just at the sight of the Scottish sea, I pulled on my wetsuit to explore what I had been promised was a hotspot for maerl, out of reach of trawling or dredging. I couldn’t really imagine what I’d see underwater, but submerging my face in the chilly ocean, I was hit by the sheer amount of life there. Fragile, beautiful, and alive - and so vulnerable to something heavy being dragged across it. As my journey continued past the Corryvreckan whirlpool and up the West Coast of Scotland, the familiar rhythms of expedition life began to kick in. I was paddling in tune with the tides, meaning that some days I was paddling at reasonable hours, and some I was paddling through the night. Roughly six hours on, six hours off. I became accustomed to grabbing moments of sleep wherever and whenever I could when on land. Each stint on the water fluxed between being meditative and a mental challenge. I experienced highs and lows every day. Seeing wildlife was always the best bit. Puffins would appear just when I needed a pick-me-up, or a fulmar would soar past close enough to touch, dipping a wingtip into the water, or a porpoise would pass by silently reminding me of all the life in the sea I couldn’t see. Some days the balance tipped in the favour of the lows. The wind howling between Skye and the mainland fiercely blew perpendicular to my board for hours and brought me to my knees, and later to tears. It was a relentless battle to stay on course. Exhaustion started to really kick in a little further North, coinciding perfectly with the most extreme encounter of the whole trip. One morning amidst midges and sea fret, I heard a loud blow behind me, and turned to sea three enormous black fins darting towards me at pace – orca! Two fins were taller than me, two males, and a smaller finned female swam underneath my paddleboard to investigate, turning on her side as she did, to look up at me. A deeply visceral reaction ensued. I wish I had acted more coolly, but unexpectedly seeing an orca at such close quarters, an animal so impossibly huge, so in control and so powerful, when you’re just about managing to stay atop your floating ironing board is pretty intimidating. Once I had composed myself, I couldn’t help thinking how incredibly special that encounter had been, and it certainly cemented my adoration and respect for cetaceans. So far, aside from a few hairy but manageable moments, the ocean had been kind to our crafts. This was to change as we approached Cape Wrath, the most North-Westerly point of mainland UK, a place where many tides converge and waves smash relentlessly against the insurmountable cliffs. I have never been so afraid whilst on the water, and felt deeply vulnerable and humbled by the volume of water moving around me, and my inability to fight against it. The rest of the North Coast followed suit, with big swell, committing, long paddles and fierce tides. And to make matters even more interesting, the tides were in our favour during the Oceanographic Issue 31

very early hours of the morning, so for a week I was entering the water anywhere between 1 and 3am. The occasional glimpse of Risso’s dolphins, skuas, an otter silhouetted at sunrise and an inquisitive pod of white-beaked dolphins kept my spirits up. Rounding Duncansby Head, the UK’s most North-Easterly point, signalled the end of our stretch on the North Coast and the start of our journey South. We were rewarded with enormous seabird colonies nesting on giant cliffs, rock stacks and caves. Sunshine, tens of thousands of birds and settled seas… what could be more perfect? But after just two days of this perfection our bubble was burst. James spotted something floating on the surface of the water. As we paddled closer to take a look, the smell and the film of oil on the water told me what it was. A dead whale. A dead juvenile humpback whale we estimated to be just a year old, with creel pots and rope wrapped around its tail. An unfortunate accident, but a terrible reminder that even ‘low impact’ methods of fishing require a re-think if they’re to be truly compatible with life in our ocean. Devastated, this started me on a deep dive into the issue of marine mammal entanglement in Scottish waters, and I was shocked to discover that an estimated five humpbacks and 30 minke whales become entangled in Scotland each year. I also learned about the advancements in gear that hope to tackle this issue, and the importance of supporting fishers in making the changes necessary to reduce the sector’s impact on non-target species, a goal many fishers themselves are deeply in favour of, whilst also continuing to apply pressure to regulatory bodies such as Marine Scotland. The journey continued with myriad highs and lows. A freaky, black overnight 15-mile crossing when I was convinced that every shadow was an orca was followed by an evening in the sunshine with a skiff rowing team. Drenching rain and strong winds were topped off with a huge colony of seals and ancient castles. Stunning sunrises mixed into deep conversations with conservationists about seabirds in trouble. I found joy in the water with a surf therapy group, and saw gannets entangled in fishing gear. Paddling into the last harbour in Scotland, I felt immense gratitude for such a wonderful adventure, relief to have finished and a strange sense of longing for it not to be over. I mostly felt overwhelmed with the urgency to tell the stories we’d discovered, and share the wisdom of those we had interviewed. All along the way we had been meeting Scotland’s ocean people to ask them about their connection to the sea. I reflected on how I had evolved over the ten weeks. I felt completely different. I felt an increased feeling of being a part of the ocean, and the ocean a part of me. I also felt a renewed determination to share what’s out of sight and out of mind – the ocean’s glory and beauty, its fascinating secrets, the invaluable role it plays in all our lives, and how we must better respect our planet’s greatest life force.

“We were rewarded with enormous seabird colonies nesting on giant cliffs, rock stacks and caves.”

Gannets at Troup Head - the biggest colony on mainland Britain.

Column

By Hugo Tagholm

The ocean activist OCEAN REBELLION – ALL HANDS ON DECK

ur seas are boiling and our forests are burning yet our governments so often still drag their heels on the urgency of real action when it comes to the growing climate and biodiversity crisis. The seas around the UK are currently four degrees warmer than they should be – a marine heatwave that scientists warn can kill fish and other sea life on a colossal scale. The Met Office puts this down, in large part, to humancaused climate change and, potentially, other natural and anthropogenic factors driving temperatures up further. These record temperatures are catapulting us into ‘uncharted territory’ they say. We are effectively already living in the climate emergency. THE URGENCY TO ACT GROWS BY THE DAY. Pioneering community projects planting saplings, reforesting our seas, and restoring seagrass meadows

are yet to truly keep pace with even a fraction of the scale of the despoiling of our ocean. Despite the power of documentaries including the End of the Line and, more recently, Seaspiracy, industrial fishing fleets with huge trawl nets scour Marine Protected Areas to process biodiversity and biomass for supermarket shelves and pet food stores. Protected Areas, sometimes referred to as Paper Parks, are often a way for governments to feign environmental progress and protection to the general public – and provide cover for industry to get away with blue murder, quite literally. Commercial interests are pushing hard to mine minerals from the deep sea – yet more pristine areas put up for sale to the highest bidder. It's a race to the bottom in every sense. Once deep-sea minerals are exhausted, where will we go next? Despite the rhetoric of investments in green

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@hugotagholm

@hugoSAS

“We must turn the ‘environmental doom’ into ‘environmental doing’ as fast as possible.”

Hugo Tagholm at Stop Rosebank protests in London. Photograph by Mat Arney.

energy, the insatiable appetite of Big Oil to tap into new, ever deeper and environmentally catastrophic fossil fuel reserves, grows by the day. Governments commit to environmental targets and deadlines at shiny conferences, only to renege on their commitments under the intense pressure of corporate lobbyists and money washing around Westminster, Washington, and global corridors of power. Our leaders are blowing holes in carbon and biodiversity budgets and commitments by the day. We live in dangerous and deeply divided times. The ocean emergency is as stark and clear as it could ever be, and accelerating by the day. We are all watching it play out in real time as the fallacy of infinite growth and endless consumption remain the shared doctrine of the wealthiest countries of the world. A doctrine which can only ever end in disaster and mutually assured destruction.

Carving up the sea into blue fields, monocultures and industrial sites is not our way out of this existential crisis for our society. Using up ocean resources to reinforce an economic structure that isn’t working is a crazy proposition. This is just digging a deeper hole for us and delaying the inevitable. We absolutely need to reinvent our relationship with Planet Ocean if we want to remain as permanent residents of this incredible blue spaceship we call home. We can’t just tech our way out of the nature crisis, we have to nature our way out of the crisis. And we need real hope to return in these sometimes desperate times of the daily news cycle. This is why the ambition of the historic High Seas Treaty is so important providing the world’s first legal framework to protect the High Seas. These dominate over half the planet, yet shockingly only 1% are currently protected. This treaty is a dramatic win for all life on Planet Ocean, and will be central to governments delivering their commitments to protect 30% of seas and land by 2030. It offers us all hope – to reboot ocean life and protect the natural systems that protect us all, and allow humans to flourish. We must turn the ‘environmental doom’ into ‘environmental doing’ as fast as possible. The political will is growing by the day and together, as a global community of ocean activists, we can demand the change we want to see. From ending new offshore oil and gas, to stopping overfishing, from making singleuse plastics a thing of the past, to making thriving, fully protected marine areas a thing of the future. We must continue to bring the ocean rebellion to beaches, streets, and capital cities worldwide. Your voice, your action and your passion will be crucial in the rebellion. Planet Ocean needs all hands on deck. HT 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.

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deep water Atlantic puffins are one of the world’s most charismatic seabird species. But their survival is threatened by climate change, habitat loss and, for one colony, an invasive plant. The SOS Puffin Project in Scotland is working hard to turn the tide. Wo rd s a n d p h o t o g ra p h s b y Fre d e r i c Fe r ra n d o A d d i t i o n a l p h o t o g ra p h s b y Fra n c e s c a Pa g e a n d E m i l y B u r t o n

“Populations in Europe have decreased by 68% in the last 50 years.”

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PREVIOUS: The species' main food source, sandeels, is under immense pressure. LEFT: A puffin resting. ABOVE: Two puffins looking out at Bass Rock.

ass Rock lies a few kilometres offshore from the idyllic Scottish town of North Berwick. Home to the largest colony of Northern gannets on the planet, it is one of the world’s wildlife wonders. A small cluster of nearby inhabited islands in the Firth of Forth – Craighleith, Fidra and Lamb – attract various other breeding seabird colonies from March to October each year. I travelled to the area to meet the team at the Scottish Seabird Centre, which has been protecting seabirds for more than 20 years, to learn more about one of the most charismatic seabirds in the region. Atlantic puffins, the instantly-identifiable ‘clowns of the sea’, rely on the ocean for food. Pollution, climate change, disease and overfishing are just a few of the many challenges facing the species today. Listed on the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) Red List as Endangered in Europe and Vulnerable worldwide, it is estimated that there are between 7.4 and 8.2 million mature individuals globally. Populations in Europe have decreased by 68% in the last 50 years, according to Birdlife data. There are a number of reasons for this decline. Atlantic puffins live out in the open ocean for most of the year, returning to selected North Atlantic coastlines and islands to breed. In Scotland, puffins come ashore on the isles of May, Fidra, Craigleith, Handa, St Kilda, Orkney and Shetland, amongst other locations, from March to August, to gather at so-called puffinries, or

nesting sites, which tend to be burrows on grass-covered clifftops. Around North Berwick they can be seen from April to July. Their range spans from the eastern coast of Canada and northern United States to the western coast of Europe and northern Russia. Iceland is home to an estimated 60% of the world’s puffin population. The species’ main food source, sandeels, is under immense pressure. The small fish species is highly susceptible to changes in water temperature. With global warming causing sea temperatures to rise around the UK, as in other parts of the world, sandeel numbers are also declining. As a result, puffins are struggling to find enough food to feed their chicks. Overfishing is exacerbating the problem. According to a recent study led by The Zoological Society of London (ZSL), reduced food accessibility and prolonged periods of stormy weather caused by climate change could see 68% reduction in puffin nesting sites in Western Europe by the end of the century unless urgent measures are taken. “These birds face double the challenges as they breed on land but rely on the sea for survival; by living across these two worlds, they are essential to both ecosystems and give us a glimpse into the health of wildlife in otherwise hard-to-monitor areas of the ocean – meaning their loss would impact countless other species and their conservation,” says Henry Häkkinen, ZSL Institute of Zoology post-doctoral fellow, who was involved in the study.

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“Alongside diminishing sandeel numbers and avian flu, puffins face another threat: invasive tree mallow.”

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MAIN: Puffins only come to shore to mate and nest. TOP: They spend 8 months out on the open ocean. MIDDLE: Puffins are burrow-nesters. BOTTOM: Due to their features, puffins are often called 'clowns of the sea'.

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A puffin stands amidst some flowers.

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During 2021 and 2022, Highly Pathogenic Avian Influenza (HPAI) hit seabird colonies around the UK. Although Low Pathogenic Avian Influenza (LPAI), also known as avian flu, has been circulating for many years, this highly contagious and deadly new form has only recently reached the UK’s shores. In the summer of 2022, Bass Rock, which is ordinarily packed tightly with 150,000 noisy and rambunctious gannets fighting for space, was sparsely occupied. An aerial count at the peak of the season, carried out by the Scottish Seabird Centre in partnership with the University of Edinburgh in June 2022, showed more than 5,000 dead birds, and the scientists believe that many more may have perished. Although the other islands in the Firth of Forth, including the national nature reserve of the Isle of May, were closed to visitors for some of the 2022 seabird breeding season to minimise disturbance and avoid biosecurity risks, these seabird populations, including razorbills, guillemots, cormorants, shags, and gulls, were also affected. Puffin numbers, however, have seen the most dramatic drop in recent years. In response to this, the Scottish Seabird Centre started the ‘SOS Puffin’ project alongside the RSPB, NatureScot, landowners, and volunteers to protect and restore the puffin populations on the islands. “In the early 2000s, on Craigleith Island alone, puffin numbers had been reduced from about 10,000 individuals to the chilling figure of less than 1,000,” says Emily Burton, conservation officer at the Scottish Seabird Centre. Alongside diminishing sandeel numbers and avian flu, puffins face another threat. Approximately 300 years ago, tree mallow was imported to Bass Rock. The plant has medicinal properties and the military occupying Bass Rock at the time used it as an expectorant and anti-inflammatory remedy for the troops. Back then, the vegetation was dominated by grasses, but over the last 30 years due to milder winters and warmer summers, the tree mallow has spread significantly, including to other islands. Growing up to 3 metres high, with a large root system and a dense mass of stems and leaves, the plants pose a serious threat to puffins, which dig tunnels of 1 to 2 metres to lay their eggs. Puffins need open grassy slopes with soft soil for nesting, not densely vegetated areas with root-filled earth. Less nesting space means fewer puffin pairs arriving and settling on the island, while existing pairs cannot reach their burrows. The SOS Puffin Project’s current focus is the removal of tree mallow. When the project started in 2007, 80% of Craigleith Island was covered by the plant. Project volunteers have reduced coverage to 6%. However, plenty of work remains. “One of the most difficult challenges is preventing new plants from growing. Research has shown that seeds can lie dormant for years until conditions are favourable for them to flourish. So, one of the big concerns is getting rid of the plants before they have created seeds,” says Burton.

The resilient seeds that remain dormant in and on the soil could create an outburst of tree mallow in future years. To learn more about this particular threat, a study was carried out in 2021 with the University of Aberdeen to assess the number of seeds left in the soil. The results were compared to another study from 2011. A total of 28 soil samples were taken from the same locations used in the 2011 study. Data on humidity, dominant plants in the locations, soil depth, and the presence or absence of rabbits was also taken. Positively, the number of seeds found in 2021 was half the number found in 2011, down from 0.74 seeds per gram of soil to 0.38. The study further found a link between rabbit populations and plant survival. Most seeds were found in the steeper west and south parts of the island. Here, the researchers suspect, rabbits help dig out some of the seeds, which helps them germinate. The rabbits will also eat newly-sprouted tree mallow, potentially offering some level of natural control. Nearly 90% of all seeds found in the 2021 survey germinated after 24 hours. Interestingly, none of these seeds came from the remaining population of tree mallow on the island. The seeds found had been lying dormant for years, waiting for the right conditions to germinate – a clear sign of the importance of the SOS Puffin Project, and the fact there is still work to be done. Monitoring of the island is critical, though there is a limited time window that the team can carry out their manual conservation work. Adverse winter weather conditions means accessing the islands can often be difficult. During spring and summer, landing is prohibited to avoid disturbance to the breeding seabirds. The project team therefore only has a few weeks in spring before the arrival of the birds and a few weeks in autumn before the heavy winds arrive. While the team might be short on time, they don’t have any such problems when it comes to personnel – more than 1,300 volunteers have gone to the island to help cut down tree mallows since the project began. Over the last few years, the work on the islands has resulted in a marked improvement in the puffin population, according to Burton. Eider ducks and fulmars have also seen an increase in populations. The tree mallow seems to be under control which has helped native vegetation such as red fescue, Yorkshire fog or common nettle. There is still a long way to go to reach the puffin numbers of the early 2000s, and the overarching issue of climate change needs to be tackled to give puffins the best chance of survival, but there is reason for hope. On a national scale, the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs is currently consulting on banning sandeel fisheries in English waters. While none of the UK governments currently support sandeel fishing, a ban is needed to actually stop it. A ban would represent a lifeline for puffins and other seabirds across the UK.

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Column

By Cal Major

The adventurer BEING SEAFUL

ummer is upon us here in the UK. I don’t know about you, but I am relishing the longer days, warmer water and endless possibilities for oceanbased fun. And this summer is even more exciting because of our plans with Seaful, the charity I set up a few years ago to help others to discover their own connection to the sea. Being Seaful is being mindful of the sea - mindful of how it feels to be there, how the ocean plays a role in all of our lives, and how in turn we can all influence the health of our seas. People will protect what they love, but they can only love what they know, and with one in five children in the UK, an island nation, having never been to the sea, it’s no wonder there’s a disconnect from our ocean. With Seaful, we offer mindful experiences of the ocean and waterways to those who might not otherwise have the chance to experience them. We focus on the mental health benefits of being there and help participants to discover how it feels for themselves, what it means to them personally. We equip them to spend time in blue spaces after our sessions too, and empower them to become Ocean Citizens. The anecdotal and qualitative impacts we have seen from sessions over the last couple of years has been profound, and we’ve been able to get an idea of how the differing activities we run impact different people. We’ve learnt that some people will experience excitement for what’s to come, while others will harbour fear and uncertainty. This leads to a completely different journey for each person. This year we’re expanding our Blue Health programme for Ukrainian refugees within the North Devon community, featuring stand-up paddleboarding (SUP), swimming and beach workshops where our participants can learn skills which they can continue to use outside our sessions. The feedback from last year’s SUP sessions was humbling, with several of the women telling us how vital it had been for their mental health to be able to come together as a community on the water, and for a short amount of time experience the restorative power of nature, and to not have to think about the war back home in Ukraine. We’ve discovered that snorkelling is an invaluable way to engage children. I will never forget the reactions from a small group of children from Glasgow who we took snorkelling in the marine protected area (MPA) off the

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Isle of Arran in Scotland. I was so nervous - the water was cold and there wasn’t much to see that day. But within seconds of them getting in the water, they were overcome by excitement at what they saw, fascinated by each and every creature they came across - crabs, fish, sea squirts. It was heart-warming and deeply reassuring that it was worthwhile. One young girl summed it up perfectly: “I feel happy, but also sad because now I know what’s there, I feel mad that we’re treating the ocean like a trash can.” Another snorkelling trip we regularly run is to Lundy Island, the UK’s first MPA. On our first trip to Lundy, I spent over an hour coaxing one very nervous young boy into the water. He was terrified. For me, the ocean is the place I feel most at home. This was an important reminder that this isn’t the case for everybody. However, once we finally got him into the water, witnessing the incredible kelp forests and all the associated life beneath him, he exclaimed: “This is epic! I wish I’d got in sooner!” On our second snorkel of the day, he was first in and last out, delighted by the Atlantic seals who had come over to say hello. His face watching the dolphins bow ride on our boat trip home is a sight I hope I’ll never forget. Our work over the last few years has been eyeopening. Things which I take for granted are so profound for those who don’t readily have the chance to experience them. It has made me realise how privileged I am to feel so comfortable in the sea and have the means to explore and experience it whenever I wish. The way that different people engage with different activities, and the long-lasting impact it can have on their feeling of stewardship for the ocean, has been an important learning curve too. Some people will connect with rockpooling, or photography, whilst others will fall in love with stand-up paddleboarding or snorkelling. For some it’s the feeling of being in the water or standing tall above it that makes the biggest difference; for others it’s seeing the surprising wildlife and biodiversity that holds the most power. I feel fortunate to be able to witness some of these first-time experiences through my work with Seaful, and am grateful to all our volunteers who help bring our programmes to life. After months of planning, I’m excited that our big summer of Seaful activities is finally upon us. CM

Oceanographic Issue 31

@cal_major

@CalMajor_

www.calmajor.com

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

TOP: School children from Glasgow see Scotland's underwater ecosystem for the first time. Photograph by James Appleton. BOTTOM: An inquisitive Atlantic grey seal. Photograph by Aym Dupuy.

“People will protect what they love, but they can only love what they know.”

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B A N D I TO S Three years ago, a small and critically endangered population of orcas around the Iberian Peninsula started to ram sailing boats. More than 200 boats have been targeted since, some of them wrecked. Has this pod of orcas gone rogue? Scientists are trying to decipher the motives behind these incidents. Wo rd s a n d p h o t o g ra p h s b y H a n n e S t ra g e r A d d i t i o n a l p h o t o g ra p h b y A n d re a s S c h m i d

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“A

ugust 11, 2022 was an unusually calm day in the Bay of the Biscay. Onboard the sailing vessel Triola the Erichsen family didn’t fear the weather the bay had gained its ill reputation from. In the early morning the wind had died and Triola motored slowly, heading to A Coruña in northern Spain. There was barely a ripple on the water. But below the surface, orcas were advancing. One animal was moving towards the boat from the stern. Mikkel Erichsen, the skipper of Triola, didn’t see it. Another approached from the bow and when it surfaced, Erichsen glimpsed a dark triangular fin. The orcas moved in. Since 2020, orcas around Portugal and Spain have wrecked more than 100 boats, sometimes ramming them full force with all the weight of their 6-to-8-ton bodies, other times hitting the rudder or biting it to pieces with their 3-inch-long teeth. In 2020, scientists counted 52 socalled ‘interactions’ between boats and orcas. In 2021 this number climbed to 197 and in 2022 to 207. Many boats were so badly damaged they needed to be towed to land for repairs. Scientists use the word interaction to signify that they don’t know the motives behind the unusual behaviour. Sailors, on the other hand, call the interactions ‘attacks’. In marinas in Gibraltar and Portugal and along the Galician coast in northwestern Spain all that is talked about is orcas. My own experiences with orcas do not include the kind of interactions that boaters have endured in Spain and Portugal. As a marine biologist I have studied orcas in Norway for almost a decade, and I have spent countless hours observing them from boats. My fascination was spurred by the many examples of their playful and curious nature. When I read about the interactions in Spain and Portugal, I was instantly intrigued. Over a video call, Erichsen tells me the story of the day it became his family’s turn to grapple with the feared whales. As a seasoned sailor he had set out with his wife and three children from Norway three months earlier on a year-long journey. He told me that to lessen the risk of an interaction, they had decided on a westerly course across the Bay of Biscay from Brest in France to A Coruña in Spain keeping the boat in waters over 4,000 metres deep. Most interactions with the orcas have taken place in shallower water, so staying in deep water for as long as possible seemed like a good strategy. The strategy had worked well until August 11, when he saw the fin of an orca cutting through the water. “Seconds after I saw the fin there was a loud crash,” Erichsen explains, “the boat shuddered as if we had hit a rock.” He realised that another orca was under the boat whacking the rudder or the hull full force. Then he spotted a third whale. Underwater the three orcas took turns mauling the rudder. Each time the whales hit it, the steering wheel spun abruptly from side to side. The whales surfaced close to the boat, their exhalations sharp and powerful, sounding like explosions, before they submerged again. When Erichsen tried to manoeuvre the boat, he could

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tell that the steering was broken. “I had to call the coast guard and ask to be towed,” he says. The Triola’s rudder is equipped with two ‘stoppers’ on each side to prevent it from turning all the way around and hitting the hull. “I was concerned about the bashing and went below deck to check the hull from the inside,” Eriksen remembers. He could immediately tell that both stoppers were either broken or ripped off. The orcas were turning the rudder all the way around and each time they pressed with all their weight on what remained of the rudder he could see the hull of the boat bulging inwards, swelling like a bad bruise. “That’s when I got really nervous”, he recalls. “It was below the waterline. If they managed to press so hard that they broke a hole, water would be pouring in. And it would come fast.” Shaken, Erichsen untied the life raft, so he could launch it quickly into the water if needed. The Spanish coast guard arrived before it became necessary to get into the raft and towed Triola and the Erichsens to A Coruña. Even during the procedure to fasten the tow and after the Triola was being pulled behind the coast guard the orcas kept up their assault. In the marina Erichsen inspected the damage. The orcas had bitten large pieces off the rudder. Understanding the orcas’ biology and behaviour are a priority for whale researchers in Spain and Portugal, and few know more about them than Dr Ruth Estaban, who has studied them for more than a decade. She is a researcher at the Whale Museum in Madeira, and I catch her on a video call late one evening. She looks weary, and I imagine that these days questions from national authorities, journalists, and frustrated sailors swamp her inbox and voicemail. But behind her black rimmed glasses her eyes smile when she admits that “yes”, she knows these whales quite well and “no”, she really hasn’t a clue why they have started wrecking boats. What she does know is that the orcas in Spain and Portugal belong to a small and critically endangered population of only 35 individuals. Their main prey is Atlantic bluefin tuna, a popular catch also for the Spanish, Moroccan and Portuguese tuna fleet. The orcas are not above taking the tuna straight from the lines, biting chunks off the fish or ripping them off the hooks. Stealing from the longlines sometimes brings the orcas at odds with the fishermen. Although the information is unconfirmed there are reports from 2004 and 2005 of orcas being shot and killed, presumably by angry fishermen. However, there is little evidence that points to this as a motive for the orcas’ interactions with boats. Esteban tells me that now, for some reason, the orcas seem to have set their eyes on single hull sailing vessels. Except for two isolated accounts of boats reportedly sunk by orcas in the Galapagos in 1971 and off eastern Brazil in 1976 researchers have never seen this kind of behaviour before. In newspapers, online news, and social media there is no lack of suggestions to explain the behaviour, but Esteban stresses that scientists don’t guess, they collect data, analyse them, and interpret them. In a

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“The orcas in Spain and Portugal belong to a small and critically endangered population.”

PREVIOUS: A group of orcas swims next to a sailboat off the Iberian Peninsula. TOP: Orcas around Portugal and Spain have wrecked more than 100 boats. BOTTOM: Two orcas swim at the surface.

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“‘Mayday! Mayday! We are sinking.’ A fishing vessel moved quickly to the rescue of the panicked sailors. The boat had been sunk by orcas.”

TOP: An orca breaks the surface. BOTTOM: Two orcas swim alongside each other.

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recent study she and 14 of her colleagues in Portugal and Spain have summarised the different hypotheses. One hypothesis for the behaviour leans on the fact that at least one of the interacting orcas has been observed with injuries. In July 2020, a juvenile orca was photographed with a semicircular wound in front of the white eyepatch. The wound healed well and later when the animal was re-sighted it was no longer visible. However, the same individual appeared in February of 2021 with a large row of scars on its back behind the dorsal fin. Both injuries could have been caused by interactions with boats. Esteban and the other scientists are not ruling out that one or several individuals have had what they call “an aversive incident” that triggered the whales’ interaction with boats. Such an incident could have been a dramatic or fatal collision with a boat for one or more of the orcas. Another hypothesis condenses all the things that are wrong with the environment in which these orcas live and argues that the whales are responding to the combined stresses of these factors. The Strait of Gibraltar and the coasts along Portugal and Spain have significant levels of marine vessel traffic making the acoustic environment noisy and possibly stressful. Although their main prey,

Oceanographic Issue 31

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the bluefin tuna, was removed from the endangered species list in 2021, food may have been scarce for the orcas in previous decades and the orcas’ depredation of the tuna fishermen’s longlines sometimes leads to conflicts and dangerous interactions. Additionally, this population of orcas has markedly elevated concentrations of PCB and other pollutants contributing to deteriorating health and low breeding success. The last hypothesis reasons that orcas are naturally curious and often develop new fads. For a while the orcas I studied in Norway enjoyed swimming around with jellyfish on their noses. In other places orcas are known to play with kelp or fish. The orcas around the Iberian Peninsula may simply find it entertaining to toil with rudders. If people in their excitement and frustration have been leaning over the railing, yelling, or screaming at the whales, they may inadvertently have reinforced the behaviour the same way bad behaviour in a dog can be reinforced if we yell at it for jumping at us. Esteban has no favourite among these hypotheses. “I could guess,” she tells me, “but I am a scientist and the fact is I don’t know.” Even with more research there is no guarantee that she and we will ever get to know what the whales’ motives are. She does note however, that orcas are fast learners, and that new behaviour in orcas is often transmitted socially to other animals in the group. And indeed, it seems that more orcas in the area have picked up this behaviour since it started. Initially only three individuals were engaged in the interactions; by the end of 2021 at least 14 individuals have been seen interacting with boats. Since the summer of 2022 events have taken a grave turn. “Most sailors never hear a mayday, but those that do never forget it,” says Nuno Leónidas, a Portuguese architect who was sailing south from Lisbon on the last day of July 2022. He was alone on deck; his two companions had gone to sleep, and the duty of the late watch was his. In the stillness Leónidas heard the man’s voice on the VHF loud and clear: “Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! We are sinking.” The words came fast, the voice shrill and breathless. The coastguard received the call at the same time as Leónidas and it turned out that a fishing vessel was closer than Leónidas’ boat. It moved quickly to the rescue of the panicked sailors and picked up all five, including a six-year-old child, from a life raft. The boat had been sunk by orcas. Then on November 1, 2022, the French sailing vessel Smousse was sunk by orcas 14 miles west of the port of Viana do Castelo in northern Portugal. Auguste Drion was one of four French sailors onboard. Drion doesn’t think the orcas were aggressive. “My impression was that they were playing,” he says. “It was not us they were interested in, only our boat.” The crew on the Smousse followed the official recommendation to sailors if they see orcas: drop the sails or stop the engine and do not engage with the animals. Similarly, the crew aboard the 46ft-long vessel Champagne also adhered to these

recommendations. Unfortunately the precautions couldn’t save their vessel. On the night between May 4 and 5, 2023, Champagne went down after several hours of orcas biting the rudder and ramming the side of the boat. This incident marked the third vessel to be sunk by orcas. Thankfully, all crew members were rescued. The instruction to lower the sails or stop the engine is included in a protocol which has been put together by Esteban and her scientific colleagues in Portugal and Spain. Boaters are also advised to switch off the autopilot and stay away from the steering wheel. Sometimes, these procedures discourage the whales, sometimes they don’t. Esteban admits that it is not very effective, “but so far it is the best advice we have”, she says apologetically. To many boaters the recommendations in the protocol seem as useless as a knife in a gunfight and some skippers are taking illegal and potentially dangerous steps to scare the orcas away. These include pouring diesel or chlorine in the water, blowing firecrackers or even dynamite in the water or throwing seal bombs near the orcas. Seal bombs are a common deterrent used for scaring seals, and sea lions away from fishing gear. They produce loud bangs and are potentially damaging for the orcas’ hearing if thrown at close range. Esteban is worried. If the orcas continue their interactions, there is not only a real concern for the sailors’ safety, but also for this highly endangered population of orcas. Our attitude to a species has enormous consequences for their conservation. This is especially true for large predators - think wolves or sharks or crocodiles. Or orcas. Once they were feared and persecuted but our attitude shifted when we learned that they are highly intelligent and live in stable family groups. That they care for each other, hunt together, share food, play, and even mourn the loss of a family member. Perhaps it is the remarkable similarities to our own families and our own way of living that makes it so easy for so many to relate to orcas and care about them. With the ‘attacks’ fear has re-entered our relationship to orcas. Among the boaters in Spain and Portugal the needle in the love-fear barometer registering our attitude to orcas is quivering and it may alter our attitude to their protection. Already some boat owners openly declare that they are ready to take the law in one hand and a shotgun in the other to protect their boats and families. To prevent this from happening, further research is desperately needed. Scientists from the Whale Museum of Madeira, La Rochelle University and the Portuguese Sociedade de Vida Selvagem are currently monitoring the situation closely to learn more about these unusual interactions. They hope that by collecting data, they can start answering pressing questions and learn more about which animals are involved, what their motives are, and what kind of boats are targeted. More data, they believe, will ultimately lead to more understanding and more protection in the long run – for orcas and humans.

Oceanographic Issue 31

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