Oceanographic Magazine / Issue 25 by Oceanographic Magazine

ISSUE

Conservation • Exploration • Adventure

S U P E R M AYA N S AV I N G T H E M AYA N P E N I N S U L A ' S C E N O T E S FROM POTENTIAL DESTRUCTION

C OLLE C T I O N

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Editor’s Letter " The worstcase scenario is that this new t ra i n l i n e w i l l collapse on an u n d e r g ro u n d r i ve r a n d b l o c k the whole thing."

Humans have a big impact on the ocean. Sometimes that impact might be positive. More often than not, however, the impact has negative connotations. All five features in this issue have human impact - positive and negative - at the centre of their story. Our lead feature focusses on work being done by environmentalist, scientist and diver Camila Jaber. She is at the helm of an opposition movement fighting the proposed ‘Tren Maya’ railway construction project on Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula. The railway plan is being met by increasing criticism because it puts the region’s vast network of diverse cenotes at risk. As she puts it: “The worst-case scenario is that the new train line will collapse on an underground river and block the whole thing.” Off Borneo, the stateless seafaring Bajau teach us how humans can live in harmony with nature. As some of the last remaining nomads of the sea, the Bajau move from island to island, relying on their maritime hunting skills. On the remote island of Príncipe, we find another prime example of human impact. While turtles were poached here for years, an integrated conservation approach has changed the fate of the turtles. And as turtle protection became one of Príncipe’s flagship examples of integrated community work, the locals have come together to tackle plastic pollution too.

Nane Steinhoff Digital Editor @nane_steinhoff @oceano_mag Oceanographicmag

When we speak about human impact, we can’t do so without mentioning climate change. In the Labrador Sea, the impacts of global warming are starting to be felt in earnest, threatening the survival of the many species that call the region home. Finally, we hear from wildlife photographer Sébastien Barrio who travelled to the Trégor coast in Brittany to document the relatively high number of porbeagle sharks found here. He joins a group of researchers who, through their research, seek to protect the species from human impact.

Oceanographic Issue 25

Contents O N T H E C OV E R

FEATURE S

SUPERMAYAN

‘Tren Maya’, a new railway construction project on Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula, is putting the region’s cenotes at risk. But President Obrador's plan is met by increasing criticism – at the helm of the opposition is environmentalist, scientist and diver Camila Jaber.

Freediver and campaigner Camila Jaber diving in a cenote. Photograph by Daan Verhoeven.

Get in touch ED I TO R

Will Harrison

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

Amelia Costley

D I G I TA L E D I TO R

Nane Steinhoff

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. © 2022 CXD MEDIA Ltd. All rights reserved. Nothing in whole or in part may be reproduced without written permission from the publisher.

Celebrating the launch of Ocean Photographer of the Year 2022, we share a few of our favourite finalist photographs from last year's awards. You can enter this year´s awards at www.OPY2022.com

ISSN: 2516-5941

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CONTENTS

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S EA N OM A DS

T U RT LE H AVEN

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.

L A B R A DO R S E A

TRÉGOR’S SECRETS

Moving from island to island, and sometimes settling along the coastal areas of the Malay Archipelago, the stateless seafaring Bajau lead a simple life in one of the most enchanting places on earth. They are some of the last remaining nomads of the sea.

On the remote island of Príncipe, government officials, conservationists and communities have come together to fight plastic pollution and protect its dense sea turtle populations.

The Labrador Sea’s unique conditions make it the ideal home many species. Yet the longterm survival of the plants and animals that inhabit the Labrador Sea is far from certain. The impacts of climate change are starting to be felt in earnest.

Classified as critically endangered in the Northeast and Northwest Atlantic, the high number of porbeagle shark sightings in Breton waters poses several questions. A group of researchers tries to find answers.

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BEHIND TH E L E N S

C O LUMN S

DAAN VERHOEVEN

THE O CEA N ACT I VI ST

T HE B IO L O G IS T

T HE A DV E N T UR E R

Each issue, we chat with one of the world’s leading ocean photographers and showcase a selection of their work. In this special edition, we met up with underwater photographer Daan Verhoeven.

Environmentalist and Surfers Against Sewage CEO Hugo Tagholm travels to the Maldives to look at how to better support and invest in local leaders.

Wildlife biologist and presenter Lizzie Daly explores the Bay of Biscay where one third of the world’s cetacean species can be found.

Cal Major, ocean advocate and founder of the charity Seaful, is asking herself how we can inspire an appreciation of nature and the sea outside the ocean community.

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Oceanographic Issue 25

Ben Thouard French Polynesia "I call this image The Fight," says Thouard. "It encapsulates the feeling of getting wiped out and fighting to make it back to the surface as your board drags you backwards." C AT E G O RY F I N A L I S T

#MYOCEAN

Steve Woods Canada "Sea lions have been periodically culled for more than a century in British Columbia," says Woods. "Some are now pushing for a cull of 25,000 animals. No bait was used for this image, they simply wanted to play and interact." C AT E G O RY F I N A L I S T

#MYOCEAN

James Ferrara Dominica A 40-ton sperm whale swims through a patch of sargassum seaweed, the trail of bubbles in its wake testament to the speed and power with which it is moving.

C AT E G O RY F I N A L I S T

Maxwel Hohn United States "I was deep in a kelp forest in Monterey Bay when I came across this perfect Sea Nettle in the lush kelp, the sun beaming down from above," says Hohn. "It was one of my first shore dives in the area."

C AT E G O RY F I N A L I S T

#MYOCEAN

S U P E R M AYA N

Challenging power to save the cenotes

‘Tren Maya’, a new railway construction project on Mexico’s Yucatan Peninsula, could be putting the region’s cenotes at risk. It is being met by increasing criticism, including from environmentalist, scientist and freediver Camila Jaber.

Wo rd s a n d p h o t o g ra p h s b y D a a n Ve r h o eve n

Oceanographic Issue 25

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Oceanographic Issue 25

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PREVIOUS: Freediver Anna von Boetticher swims in Cenote Carwash. ABOVE: Camila Jaber talks to freedivers and scuba divers in Cenote Azul. LEFT: A freedive competition takes place in Cenote Ucil.

hen it comes to the greenest forms of mass travel, there is very little that competes with the modern train. The construction of a new trainline often also represents progression, a centuries-old physical representation of advancing opportunity, the connection of once cut-off communities to bustling heartlands – railroad arteries flowing with a nation’s lifeblood. When Mexican president Andres Manuel López Obrador announced that his government planned to build a new railway to traverse the Yucatan Peninsula, one of the poorest regions of the country, the project was, perhaps unsurprisingly, met with positivity – it would bring jobs and opportunities to an area that desperately needed stimulus and allow the tourism sector to grow out from Cancun, the peninsula’s most popular destination. All while using one of the greener forms of public transport available. Constructed in the Mayan region of the country, the project was dubbed 'Tren Maya'. When ground was officially broken for the first time, a Mayan ceremony took place to bless the project. Everything seemed in order. Then cracks began to show. These weren't the first cracks to appear in the region: the Yucatan peninsula is a unique part of the world, as it is mostly made of limestone. At one point it probably was a shallow coral reef system. Then a massive meteor hit the area, creating a crater 20 kilometres deep and 180 kilometres in diameter, sending cracks out in all directions. You might have read about it, it was the meteor that brought an end to the age of the dinosaurs, the dust from its impact creating a sun block and with it an ice age. The consequential ice ages and the porous nature of limestone meant that over millions of years interesting geological things occurred in the Yucatan. The ice ages caused sea levels to drop, giving rainwater the chance to filter through the limestone, mix with seawater, create hydrosulphide, and erode the cracks further. Then the sea would rise again, supporting the caves that had formed from the erosion. When the sea dropped again, these caves would lose some of their support and often the ceiling would collapse, creating the cenotes, or sinkholes, so typical for the Yucatan region. It is suspected that the area has more than 6,000 cenotes, with some estimates as high as 10,000, and that they are connected via cracks, creating a massive aquifer and multiple cave systems, including the largest underground cave system in the world, Saac Actun. This aquifer is what's irrigating the province today, giving the Quintana Roo state its fresh water, a source for both flora and fauna to prosper. Previously, the main danger threatening this system was pollutants like pesticides and fertilisers, as these would seep through the limestone and into the interconnected water system. With the new train line, however, came some new threats, new cracks. The line was originally planned to be 100% electric. Diesel powered locomotives are now due to run the new rail, bringing with them more pollutants and particulate matter. The route has also been changed. The track was originally due to run alongside the 307 highway, the main road along the Yucatan’s Riviera Maya Oceanographic Issue 25

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coastline. However, as construction began, it caused havoc for road users, the level of traffic quickly becoming unworkable (and, presumably, bad for the project’s political optics). The line was moved 4km inland, in the heart of Saac Actun. Prior to this move being green-lit, no research was undertaken into the potential damage the construction could have on the cenotes over which the trainline would now run. Additionally, no consideration was made for the fact the new route would run through Mayan villages and protected forests, critical habitat for rare creatures such as jaguars. Naturally, ecologists and other experts started protesting the track’s move. President Obrador countered, saying the protests were politically motivated and that the benefits of the train outweighed the natural sacrifices that would have to be made. He insisted the jaguars could be relocated and that for every tree cut down a new one would be planted elsewhere. His counter arguments had one vast, glaring omission: the cenotes. Over the last 50 years, the Mexican Yucatan has developed a reputation as the best cave diving destination in the world. After the beaches and bars, diving is the largest attractor for tourism in the Riviera Maya. In the last 10 years, Tulum has become a hotspot for yoga, and alongside it, freediving schools have popped up – the tranquil cenotes are ideal places to learn the sport and explore on a single breath. Simply put, diving in all its forms is a major tourist attraction here and the trainline’s new route has caused much concern within the industry. With scientists, environmentalists and an entire industry of dive tourism professionals protesting the train line, President Obrador is facing a growing challenge. Pivotal in this alliance of cenote defenders is Camila Jaber, a scientist, environmentalist, and diver. Born and raised in the Yucatan, she is an engineer with a focus on water resources, an outspoken defender of the cenotes, and a national record-holding freediver and freedive instructor. She is also only 26 years old, with all the social media savvy that comes with youth – she is the perfect storm gathering outside the presidential palace. In April 2022, Jaber was invited to meet with the President as part of a group of experts and celebrities who opposed the trainline. In a viral video, actors, singers, social media stars and environmentalists spoke out against the construction of the line. It gathered so much momentum that the President invited some of those featured – mainly the celebrities – for a talk at his office. For Jaber, it represented an opportunity to fill in what she perceives as gaps in Obrador's knowledge. “I don't think his advisors give him the full picture,” she says, “or maybe they don't know either. No comprehensive study has been done on the possible environmental and socio-economic effects of this project. It's a rush job.” At the very last minute, Obrador cancelled the meeting. Obrador wants the project finished by 2023 – before the end of his first term. It is this desire to shoehorn Camila Jaber sits on a fallen branch in Cenote Carwash.

F E AT U R E

Flower power in Cenote Xooch.

“The whole of the Yucatan depends on the cenotes and the aquifer for its water; the worst-case scenario is that this new train line will collapse on an underground river and block the whole thing.”

Trees have adapted to grow long roots into the cenotes.

TOP LEFT: Cenote Maravilla showcasing two major characteristics of cenotes: a caved-in roof and a misty hydrogen sulphide layer. MAIN: Stalactites in Cenote El Pit. BOTTOM LEFT: Freediver Georgina Miller navigating a cenote crack.

“Most of the Mayan people who live here do not want a train going through their villages, disturbing their way of life and their heritage sites. Cenotes are important to the Mayan people, they see them as the portals to Xibalba.”

Camila Jaber and Georgina Miller above a cloud-like layer of hydrogen sulphide, their shadows dancing below.

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Freedivers and scuba divers protest together in Cenote Azul Ha.

Oceanographic Issue 24

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completion into an unsuitably short period of time that Jaber finds so alarming: “A huge project like this takes eight to 10 years to plan and execute safely. To target completion in three years is insane – they'll have to cut so many corners to get there, they'll end up with a spiral. The decision to move the line away from the 307 highway is the perfect representation of this – a snap decision to avoid traffic issues and disputes with hotels about land. The decision works for the timeline, but it doesn’t work for the jungle or the aquifer.” The impact of the change in plans is hard to calculate. “We know that anything you do in that region spreads out to the rest of the state, as the water flows from the North-West to the South-East. Previously, the main problem for the cenotes has been pesticides and fertilisers – the fertilisers have caused an enormous increase in the quantity of sargassum, which is now covering large swathes of the Gulf of Mexico and pretty much choking it. Whatever happens to the aquifer and the cenotes won’t stay an isolated issue, it will spread. The whole of the Yucatan depends on the cenotes and the aquifer for its water; the worst-case scenario is that the new train line will collapse on an underground river and block the whole thing.” Oddly, President Obrador has declared his project a matter of national security. The military is involved in its construction. “This train is not a matter of national security,” Jaber says, “access to fresh water is. Obrador has only made it a national security matter in order to push legislation through faster. Up to 98% of the water used for industry and commerce in the region comes from the aquifer – what do you think is more important for us Yucatan residents, water or a trainline? This is not just an environmental issue, it is a human rights issue. People have the right to potable water. And it's not political – I'd be against this project even if my mum was presiding over it.” President Obrador is politicising it, according to Jaber, calling protesters pawns of the old conservative guard, suggesting their opposition to the trainline is opposition to progress, that they want the Yucatan to remain undeveloped and poor. “I have been called many things in my life,” Jaber laughs, “but never a conservative. But it's also patently nonsense: look at who benefits from this project. The local people? No, the hotels that pop up around the track will offer seasonal work, not steady year-round jobs for residents. And for an area still without a proper sewage system, a boom in population and tourists could have a catastrophic impact on an aquifer that already suffers from pollution. It is exactly this type of unsustainable, poorly planned development that has already seen us lose critical ecosystems – mangroves, jungle, and the species that live within. “In the meantime, it's the usual suspects who reap the rewards – the hotel chains that have been exploiting the area for years, for example. Plus, a portion of the track is being built by Grupo Mexico, a conglomerate responsible for polluting the Sonora River in 2014 (Mexico's worst ecological disaster) and spilling sulphuric acid into the Sea of Cortez in 2019, not to mention the Pasta de Concho mine disaster. Why should we anticipate a better outcome for our beautiful cenotes and life-giving aquifer?” Jaber also believes the project is guilty of greenwashing. "Obrador has promised to plant a tree for every one he cuts down during construction, but it's the wrong type of tree! It takes a very specific kind of tree to deal with growing roots through limestone to access water, and the trees he's proposing to plant can't do that. They won't be able to access the water, so they'll wither and die. He'll be replacing a luscious jungle with a dystopian landscape of dead trees. And this isn’t about aesthetics either - the jungle acts as a topside filter system for the aquifer, a first defence against worsening issues such as the sargassum problem found downstream. He has promised animal crossings so animals don’t get trapped, but where the crossings looked vast and lush in the plans, the reality is they are more like drain pipes. It's an ecological disaster for both water and land.” “Not to mention the cultural, archaeological and geological issues,” Jaber continues. “Most of the Mayan people who live here do not want a train going through their villages, disturbing their way of life and their heritage sites. Cenotes are important to the Mayan people, they see them as the portals to Xibalba, their underworld. These are holy sites. We're still finding ancient artefacts in newly discovered sites, clay pots and chalices and coins, and they're finding bones from prehistoric creatures, like the giant sloth. Some contain structures, like Hells Bells in Cenote El Zapote, that are unique – we still don't understand exactly how they are formed. We've been so careful around them – stalactites grow a maximum of 3mm a year, think about how long a ten-metre giant took to form! We're risking so much with this project, one collapse and we might lose a unique cave, a whole system, or block the entire aquifer.” It's not the first time Jaber is speaking up for the cenotes. In 2021, she was part of a short film called “I am cenote”, which won UNESCO’s #CreateCOP26 festival. She's passionate about them, not just because, as a freediver, she makes her living from them. “These are unique ecosystems, and each one has its own character – some are more like a mangrove, some like a river, some are really big and open, and some are tiny with little shafts of light. Maybe part of the problem is that there are so many of them – up to 10,000. Many people here in Mexico have one in their backyard. It makes them seem less special, somehow. If there was only one cenote in the world, we would do everything to protect it, but with thousands, they think we can risk a few. But they are all connected. If we lose one, we might lose them all.”

Oceanographic Issue 25

Column

By Hugo Tagholm

recently returned from an enlightening trip to the Indian Ocean, working with local environmental campaigners and activists in the beautiful island nation of the Republic of the Maldives. These incredible atolls perhaps most starkly represent the environmental challenge of our age - a nation at the front line of climate change, pollution and biodiversity stresses. Yet, their seas and islands still thrive with such a rich and diverse range of life, their land teems with creatures and the natural beauty of this archipelago of 1,200 islands is breathtaking. A wild abundance and rich complexity of life that unsurprisingly draws in visitors from around the world, divers, explorers, surfers and ocean lovers. The reef ecosystems are particularly rich and diverse, representing biodiversity hotspots that often intersect with surf spots. Rich in diverse life and rich in diverse waves. I was there in my capacity as vision council member for the international NGO, Save the Waves. This ‘enviro-surf ’ organisation unites a global coalition of voices to call for the biological, social and economic value of surf spots is considered and protected. This isn’t about simply protecting the privilege of being able to surf. This is about using the privilege of surfing to be able to protect the

ocean for all. Working with and learning from local leaders is essential in this, and using our platforms to tell local stories of activism is essential, alongside sharing tactics, campaign strategies and resources wherever we can to advance the shared mission to protect the ocean. During my visit, I was honoured to connect with local leader Saazu Saeed and Ahmed Aznil, cofounders of Save Our Waves Maldives, and local surfer Yaman Ibrahim, to learn more about the threats to local surf ecosystems. Brilliant local surf activists driving this campaign agenda forward, connecting surf habitats with environmental protection. Sadly, the threats are plentiful and growing. They estimate that there are over 20 surf ecosystems under extreme threat. This is really just a euphemism for reef ecosystem that are under threat. Development, sewage pollution and plastics stand out, but clearly the overarching threat of climate change looms large for the nation. As storm surges increase, driven by a changing climate, islands are often developing sea defences that can have an adverse impact on the reef and wave ecosystem, and the very natural defence that reefs and near shore habitats provide. Chickens, one of the highest quality waves in the Maldives, has

The ocean activist SURF ACTIVISM

Surfing as a force for good to protect ocean ecosystems

“ This is about using the privilege of surfing to be able to protect the ocean for all.”

Photograph by Mark Powell.

Oceanographic Issue 25

@hugotagholm

been significantly altered due to the construction of a seawall on the island, which has changed the shoreline structure. This wave also has untreated sewage effluent discharged directly through the lineup, sadly a common occurrence in a nation where freshwater and sewage treatment are scarce. Other surf ecosystems are faced with similar infrastructure projects; these will damage the wave, reef, and surf communities that depend on these special places. Plastic pollution is also endemic across the islands and, despite the pilot projects and ambitions of some NGO projects, large-scale waste management and recycling systems need dramatic investment. I was honoured to be invited to meet the President of the Maldives, His Excellency Mr Ibrahim Mohamed Solih, whilst I was there to discuss environmental threats, issues and opportunities for the islands. We had a wide-ranging discussion, covering plastics, development and water quality. The Government of Maldives and Blue Prosperity Coalition is already committed to adopting a legally binding Marine Spatial Plan including designating at least 20% of the Maldives’ waters as fully protected marine areas. Additionally, the Government of Maldives signed on to the Clean Oceans Alliance earlier this year to protect 30% of global oceans by 2030. Hopefully, international support will bolster

@hugoSAS

the calls of local leaders who want to ensure that ensure that surf ecosystems are also protected as part of the Marine Spatial Planning process and that waves around the country are recognized for the biological, cultural, economic, and recreational value they hold for the Maldivian people. Living in the UK, I’m familiar with environmental campaigners spending huge amounts of time and money to deliver incremental and sometimes even marginal gains to protect familiar backyard nature. This has its place and should not be stopped. However, looking at the need around the world, in places like the Maldives, I wonder how we can better support and invest in local leaders to deliver dramatic, equitable and sustainable change for ecosystems that still thrive with life and are a fundamental part of the global system that supports us all, wherever we live? The globalised economy is something that governments refuse to let fail, but its about time that the world acts to make sure that nature’s global economy isn’t allowed to fail. Helping support all nations to protect their natural resources and heritage without limiting progress has to play an increasingly important role as we recognise and restore our wild world, and deliver a bright future for all. HT Take action at www.savethewaves.org

About Hugo Hugo leads the national marine conservation and campaigning charity Surfers Against Sewage. He is part of the Edinburgh University Ocean Leaders programme and was awarded an Honorary Doctorate of Science by Exeter University for his services to the marine environment.

Oceanographic Issue 25

BEHIND THE LENS

Oceanographic Issue 25

BEHIND THE LENS

Nomads

OF THE SULU SEA

Moving from island to island, and sometimes settling along the coastal areas of the Malay Archipelago, the stateless seafaring Bajau lead a simple life in one of the most enchanting places on Earth. They are some of the last remaining nomads of the sea. Wo rd s a n d p h o t o g ra p h s b y C l a u d i o S i e b e r

Oceanographic Issue 25

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enturing along the east coast of Malaysia‘s Sabah state on Borneo will not only be rewarded with picturesque scenery and the excitement of the world’s finest dive spots, but also with a glimpse of the unique seafaring community of the Bajau Laut who roam the Sulu Sea, an area in the southwestern part of the Philippines, containing numerous different islands and a special natural beauty that can’t be found anywhere else on this planet. I made my way here because I‘m fascinated by people living extraordinary lifestyles, and living on the ocean is certainly remarkable. Many of us have forgotten how to celebrate locals while enjoying city breaks in distant places. Reason enough for me to hire a personal boat captain in the city of Semporna and to embark on a journey to better understand the seafaring Bajau nomads living here, a community that has inhabited the turquoise waters of this region for millennia. My cultural expedition led me to the islands near the city of Semporna, particularly Tibba Lanos, Maiga, Selakan, Tara Garos, Nusa Tengah, Mabul and Bodgaya, where I got to meet the nomads of the Sulu Sea. The Bajau are endemic to the Sulu Sea and, according to estimates, around one million live across Malaysia, Indonesia and the southern Philippines today. They have existed here since an era when no birth certificate was needed to define one’s identity. The term Bajau describes all closely related indigenous people who define themselves either as ‘Land Bajau’ (Bajau Kubang or Bajau Darat) or as ‘Sea Bajau’ (Bajau Laut). Land Bajau usually only engage with the Sea Bajau for bartering purposes. The Sea Bajau's Lepa Lepa boats have very little space – they offer shelter and space for necessities only, such as fishing and cooking gear and a few other belongings for the family members who live onboard. Sometimes the families disembark to trade their surplus seafood – which mainly consists of fish, lobster and sea cucumber – with nearby islanders. In return, they will stock up on essentials, collect water, or buy cassava to prepare a dish typical for the Bajau, Kasaba Panggykayu. At dusk, everyone returns to the houseboat to eat. Communal cooking is a pillar of Sea Bajau life. Due to the increasing frequency of typhoons battering the Philippines, and the ongoing unease in the Mindanao region, many Bajau have migrated to neighbouring Borneo. While some entered into Malaysia through the official immigration process and make a living from local tourism, the vast majority still rely solely on the ocean. Having no citizenship and therefore no formal rights to settle on the Malaysian mainland, they gather in off-shore communities (or occupy small, remote islands) to sustain their maritime hunting skills, which have been handed down through generations. It is a story set to continue

PREVIOUS: Every day, the Bajau venture out to catch fish. RIGHT: A self-taught carpenter building a fishing boat. It will take about a week to complete, without sketches.

BEHIND THE LENS

F E AT U R E

DNA mutation gives the Bajau larger spleens and therefore a genetic advantage for life in the sea.

” for many more generations to come – the Bajau's stateless status means that each new generation of children have no access to government schools. The Bajau are the ocean, their way of life deeply interwoven with the water that laps below their stilted hut or against the hull of their floating home. They are frank, welcoming and ready to show a curious guest their distinctive way of life. There are no cultural exchange programmes on offer, but those who are willing to investigate, will find themselves in a world of mystery. I have spent countless moments witnessing the handicraft and artisan skills of this unique community. A self-taught carpenter, for example, can design and build a fishing boat in a week or two without the need for working drawings, or even a sketch. “These methods have been delivered from generation to generation, it's in our genes,“ explains Nalu, a Bajau who migrated from the Philippines almost 30 years ago. The Bajau's charming wooden stilt huts typically host families, though some, incredibly, are home to up to 30 roommates. Beautiful and functional pieces of traditional engineering that can be built – through teamwork – in less than three weeks. To protect their skin from the sun, the Bajau produce their own sunscreen too. The product, called Borak Buas, is made using a base of rice powder. It is most commonly used by unmarried women. "A cheap but effective solution to maintain beauty," says Nora Sita, while preparing the paste. These seafaring communities depend heavily on fishing to feed and sustain themselves. This diet includes a number of species that diners elsewhere in the world, particularly from Western cultures, might have a difficult time stomaching. For the Bajau, the ocean is the ultimate provider, and its provisions are accepted on the basis of sustenance rather than appearance. The odd-looking sea cucumber, for example, represents a valuable source of protein. It is even considered a medical treatment for diabetes and cancer, and is said to be an aphrodisiac. The Bajau are well known for their exceptional freediving skills. While most people struggle to hold their breath underwater for a few minutes, the Bajau, it is said, can stay underwater at depths of up to 70m for in excess of ten minutes, where they hunt for fish and

search for elements that they can use in crafts. A study in the journal Cell suggests that a DNA mutation gives the Bajau larger spleens and therefore a genetic advantage for life in the sea, in combination with other adaptations and factors that might play a role. Previous research has proven that marine mammals that spend a lot of time underwater usually have disproportionally large spleens. When it comes to modern consumerism and the evergrowing global tourism trade, the region in which the Bajau live has become a popular area for scuba diving. However, due to the efforts of Sabah Park authorities, the reefs of Tun Sakaran Marine Park and Sipadan remain pristine and the marine life protected. This protection is ultimately good for visiting divers and the sea nomads, who tend to steer clear of the visiting dive boats. While there is a unity in appreciation for the pristine reefs above which they float, there is a stark contrast between the lives of those aboard a dive boat and those aboard a Lepa Lepa – one recreational dive on the reefs of Sipadan or Tun Sakaran Marine Park costs as much as a typical Bajau family would need to survive for several months. It was fascinating to observe how little Bajau culture has been affected by globalisation. Their isolation has allowed them to continue a way of life not markedly different from their distant ancestors. Not many of us can say that. But, while beautiful, there is no doubting it is a tough life, certainly by the standards to which many of us would compare it. There is little in the way of future thinking – daily survival remains the top priority. This all manifests in the educational priorities placed on Bajau children. While they do, of course, spend a good amount of time playing at the beach or on their small wooden dugout boats, they learn freediving, swimming and hunting skills from a very young age. They learn to connect, respect and live off the ocean.

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Fresh catch for sale: typical offerings include shellfish, lobster, snails, sea cucumbers and sea urchins.

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The seafaring communities depend heavily on fishing to feed and sustain themselves.

”

Fresh reef fish, set for market.

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ABOVE: Sea Bajau children help to look after their siblings from a very young age. RIGHT TOP: Homemade sunscreen, made from rice powder. RIGHT BOTTOM: A Land Bajau boy flies his homemade kite.

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”

Their stateless status means that Bajau children have no access to government schools.

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The Bajau's stilt homes.

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I admire the Bajau way of life. But the truth is, it is increasingly under threat. As stateless citizens, they don’t enjoy the same rights as their mainland counterparts. Furthermore, industrial fishing activities are plundering the ocean around them, making it harder for the Bajau communities to survive. Many Bajau are now leaving behind the traditional way of life, heading inland to make a more a comfortable living in towns and cities. While the exact number of Bajau living in Borneo is disputed, the number of Bajau who are born and live primarily at sea is certainly on the decline – a precious and ancient ocean community under threat.

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

DAAN VERHOEVEN 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.

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Q&A DAAN VERHOEVEN Daan Verhoeven is a freedive instructor, former Dutch freediving record holder, freediving cameraman and photographer, based in Cornwall in the UK. Best known for providing a stunning photographic narrative of freediving and the underwater world, Daan is a certified freedive instructor and has opened Aquacity Freediving in Cornwall with his partner, British national champion Georgina Miller.

OC EA NO G R A PH IC M AGAZ I N E (OM ): I N T H I S I SSUE, YOU WROTE TH E COVER STORY ABOUT TH E T R EN MAYA T RAI N L I N E I N M E XI C O T H AT MIGH T SERIOUSLY H ARM TH E FAMOUS CENOTES. WH AT IS YO UR P E RS ON AL C ON N E C T I ON W I T H TH AT P LACE? Daan Verhoeven (DV): Nothing can really prepare you for the cenotes. If you like water in any shape, they are magical. Some of them look like rivers, some like mangroves, some of them like gardens, and then some of them look like those classic dark cenotes with a bit of sunlight coming through. They’re so diverse that every time I went to a new cenote, I had butterflies in my stomach because I didn’t know what to expect. From a photography point of view, it’s so fascinating and so different from what I’m used to. You can play with the light and the surroundings, and it just gives you so much. It almost makes photography too easy. OM : W H AT IS AT S TAK E I F T H E T RE N M AYA T RAINLINE P LANS GO AH EAD? DV: What we know is that all cenotes are part of an enormous aquifer. We know that they’re all connected but we don’t know where they all are. So, the trainline might hit one cave system and just destroy that but we don’t know what happens down the line from that cave system or if it blocks the whole thing. That’s the problem. I already have a problem with potentially destroying one cenote. Yes, there might be 8,000, there might be 10,000 of them but that doesn’t make them less amazing. They still find things in them, such as geological structures, that you can’t find anywhere else, and they still don’t know how they’re formed. There’s a lot we don’t know. Like Camila points out in the article, that’s the freshwater system of that region. That’s how that region irrigates itself. If you mess with that, you might mess up the whole region. And for what? Why would you risk that? We don’t know what that risk is, but the worst-case scenario is a disaster. And, if you ask me, even a minor risk is too much. You’d destroy something that is unique. I would love to see a trainline there. Don’t get me wrong – if it’s a trainline right next to that highway. That makes complete sense. But right through the jungle on top of that water system, that seems like the worst plan imaginable. OM : W H AT ’ S T H E L AT E S T N E W S ON T H E P RO JECT? DV: The latest development is that the judge upheld a suspension of construction on Section 5 between Cancun and Tulum because they’ve cut too many corners which is good news. It’s only a suspension but hopefully this will give people time to create more awareness and keep the ball from rolling. OM : W H EN D ID YOU F I RS T C ON N E C T W I T H T HE OCEAN? DV: I remember being petrified of swimming pools as a kid. In the Netherlands, they teach children how to swim quite early so I must have been five or six. I was so petrified of it that, at a certain point, my stepfather gave me some inflatable swimming armbands and he put me on his back, so I didn’t have to swim. He gently started swimming for me to get used to the water and I trusted him. Then he did this thing where he pushed off underwater and you felt that water rushing over your face and all I had to do was to let go of him and pop up to the surface. I

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loved the sensation of the water rushing by and the sensation of flying. Fear instantly turned into passion. After that I was just always underwater. I think the first time I connected with the ocean was when we went on a vacation to Corfu in Greece at the age of 10 or 11. I remember diving for seashells because I thought they were gorgeous. That must have been my first connection where I really was playing in and with the ocean. Since then, I was one of those kids that was under the water, rather than at the surface. O M: H OW D I D T H E PAS S I ON F OR F RE E DIVING DEVELOP ? DV: I took a PADI course in the Netherlands and learned how to scuba dive too. During a scuba diving holiday in Egypt, we got the option to snorkel for a bit and my friend and I were diving down so deep that people started asking us if we were freedivers. We didn’t know what that was, so he looked it up. We found this documentary called Ocean Men which was about the best freedivers at the time: Pipin Ferreras and Umberto Pelizzari. They were taking this sled down to unbelievable depths and I thought that is madness. But there was one scene where Pipin was just snorkelling and he goes down to a wreck at around 10m. He was inside the wreck and my mouth just dropped. It seemed like something I could do too so I decided to take an introduction course in freediving back in 2004. I haven’t touched scuba diving equipment since. With scuba diving there was always this element of ‘I’m breathing underwater and that is weird’. Scuba diving didn’t quite click with me, it was too technical. As soon as I tried freediving, the freedom of moving underwater without gear and decompression stops instantly grabbed me. Since I discovered freediving, I have been wet ever since pretty much. O M: H OW IM P ORTAN T I S F RE E D I V I N G TO YOUR MENTAL H EALTH ? WH AT BENEFITS DOES IT H AVE? DV: Looking back at that time, I think I started freediving when I was depressed. I was not healthy, I was eating badly, I was smoking a lot, I was underweight and not going out. Because I loved doing freediving so much, it made me realise ‘oh, I need to get in better shape’. I quit smoking and started eating better. And because freediving is not something you do by yourself, you have to do it with a buddy, I went out of the house more and became more sociable. All of this led to a massive improvement of not only my physical health, but also my mental health. When you find something you truly love, it makes you blossom, doesn’t it? For me, freediving was the first step out of that depression. I mean, I wasn’t suicidal, but I was stuck in an apartment for a couple of years. It was not a healthy situation and freediving really helped. O M: H OW D I D YOU T U RN PAS S I ON I N TO P ROFESSION? DV: I started competing in freediving competitions in 2006 next to my nine-to-five office job. When the financial crisis hit in 2008, I just started a new job as a graphic designer. When the economy shrank too much, they had to let me go. I just invested in a new camera, so I was taking many pictures on land and sold some of them too. At the same time, I tried giving professional freediving a go by becoming a professional safety diver but that was seasonal work so I couldn’t really make a living with that. I then met a girl in 2010 in the UK and she had her own gardening business, so I started working for her. I slowly saved up enough money to buy a new camera and an underwater housing and I started taking photos underwater. By 2014, I had enough of a reputation and portfolio that I was able to make a living as an underwater photographer. O M: H OW D I D YOU L E ARN YOU R S K I L L S? ARE YOU ENTIRELY SELF-TAUGH T? DV: The funny story is that when I was 18 or 19, I applied to photography college. I showed them my portfolio and they wouldn’t let me in (laughs). So, everything I’ve done, I’ve taught myself or learned with the help of friends. O M: YO UR WI F E , N AT I ON AL F RE E D I V I N G CH AMP ION GEORGINA MILLER, AND YOU FOUNDED AQUACITY FREEDIVING IN CORNWALL. HAVE YOU NOTICED INCREASING INTEREST IN F R EEDIVIN G S I N C E T H E PAN D E M I C ? DV: We’ve been here since 2015 and every year, it is getting busier and busier. Georgina started instructing courses by herself and today, we have three to four instructors just to get the high number of people through. It’s very much a growing business.

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Q&A Continued...

OM: W H AT A DVIC E TO YOU H AV E F OR N E W F R EEDIVERS? DV: It’s very easy in freediving to get lost in the whole ‘how many seconds, how many metres, how deep am I going’ rut but ultimately, if you want to become good at it, it’s not about numbers. It’s about relaxation. What you should focus on are the sensations during your dive. Am I relaxed? Am I finding this pleasant? Am I tense anywhere? You focus on the here and now, rather than where you want to be. If you do a deep dive and you focus on the bottom, you might not get there. But if you do a deep dive and you focus on your relaxation, you might get all the way down to the bottom or at least you’ll have a more interesting time that way. If you focus on the sensations and relaxation, the results will eventually come. You’ll enjoy the journey much more. OM: YO U S TO PPE D C OM P E T I N G P ROF E S S I ON ALLY IN 2 0 1 1 . DO YOU MISS IT? DV: I progressed rather rapidly, and I think I progressed too fast because I injured my lungs with a lung squeeze. That’s a sign that you’re physically not ready for that depth. I went a bit too fast and bit too enthusiastic and I injured my lungs a couple of times. Freediving is too important to me to mess this up. My lungs are too important to me to mess them up, so I decided to take a step back. After that, I fell into being a professional safety diver and being a professional photographer, so I never took the step back into competing. I think I would need a year or so to adapt again and I simply don’t have that amount of time. I’d love to, part of me would like to try it but I would want to try it clean, without injuring myself and that would take serious dedication. It’s not something I can afford right now, I think. I miss it every time I see an open line, though. In freediving there is nothing nicer than freefalling in my opinion. At a certain depth, usually around 20 to 25m, you don’t have to move anymore to keep falling. Your buoyancy becomes negative, and your lungs have shrunk to a negligent volume so you can just fall. I love that feeling because it’s so close to flying. And as you’re falling, the sea compresses you harder and harder and it feels like a really good hug. That’s the best feeling. The deeper you fall, the longer you can hold on to that feeling. I miss that a lot. OM: W H AT A R E T H E T E C H N I C AL AS P E C T S OF YOUR P H OTOGRAP H Y? DV: I use ambient light for a couple of reasons. It’s easier, your set-up is smaller and flash photography can be very distracting for the athletes. On their way down, they really need to concentrate on what they’re doing, so you don’t want anything flashing in their faces. On the way up, one of the signs of being hypoxic, running low on oxygen, is that you’re having hallucinations. I reckon if they see a bright flashing light right on their way up, that’s not pleasant either. My style, on the other hand, is very much defined by something that my dad used to say: “Style is a voluntary restriction of available means.” If you think about it, if you throw everything you can at a photo, it can be lovely and fun, but I try to see how much I can take away and still have an interesting picture. For example, in the blue, if you just have a blue background, then your subject better be spectacular, right? I like playing with that restriction. Restrictions I play with are that I don’t use artificial light, I don’t use scuba gear and in my editing process, I try to keep it semi-natural. I tend to not go for very contrasty; I try to keep it as natural as I can. OM: W H AT ’ S YO U R BI GGE S T S OU RC E OF I N S PIRATION? DV: Collaborations really inspire me. I often go into shoots without any idea or maybe just a very vague idea. Then you talk to your friends or the person you are shooting, and you see what they are like and what they can do and then usually something happens naturally. The idea behind photography to me is that you take a photograph together, you don’t take a photo of something. You make it together. That’s usually my main inspiration. And, of course, the sea is always gorgeous. If you see a beautiful light spot in the water, you ask whoever you’re working with, ‘go play over there’. It's a combination of things: the subject, the light, the environment. That’s a nice way to waltz together.

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O M: W H E N S H OOT I N G F RE E D I V I N G C OMP ETITIONS, WH AT DO YOU, AS A P H OTOGRAP H ER, NEED TO L OOK OU T F OR? DV: I find safety always very important. For me, it is pretty easy to lose track of time with a camera in my hands. I completely forget everything else, and I just look at the subject and how to frame that so safety is definitely the biggest factor to look out for. You need to look out for rock formations that you could swim into, other cameramen, other freedivers… there are many things that can go wrong so you need to keep that in mind. It is probably an advantage that I was a safety diver for so many years. I’ve seen so many things go wrong, that I’m aware of these in the back of my mind. O M: W H AT D O YOU WAN T TO AC H I E V E WITH YOUR FREEDIVE P H OTOGRAP H Y? DV: I’m such a fan of freediving, I think it’s such a gorgeous sport so that you just want to say ‘look’. You take the photo and you want to show it to people. Especially when I started freediving, the sport was always portrayed as death-defying and so on. I understand why the media plays that card. They have to sell magazines and newspapers but I see it slowly changing. People are wrapping their heads around the idea more and more that it is a beautiful sport. More and more people start to notice that it’s a lovely way to discover their own coastlines as well as the inside of their minds. In water you are a different creature than on land. And you holding your breath underwater is a very fascinating, a very different state than when you aren’t aware of your breath in your car at all. Freediving is one of those things that are very different to what people think it is. Most people think it’s jumping off a cliff (laughs). They always think you have to be some kind of freak or superhuman to do it, but I always say that humans are super and that there’s nothing superhuman about it. Humans are pretty damn good at it. They can do this and as soon as you try it, there’s something awakening in you. Nothing changes after a two-day course physically but something awakens in you and you know that you can do this. O M: A R E T H E RE AN Y M OM E N T S T H R OUGH OUT YOUR CAREER TH AT FILL YOU WITH A PA RT I C U L A R S E N S E O F P R I D E ? DV: Winning the national record meant that I was the best in Holland. And Holland, at that time, really sucked at freediving (laughs). So, when I set my record, I was halfway to a world record. I think in a small sport like freediving, you have to measure on a global level. I always thought it wasn’t that big of a deal. What I liked about it, though, was a weird realisation. My dad was a philosopher and a professor and a pretty well-known writer. When he died, the news called him ‘the deepest man in Holland’. When I set up my first record, all of a sudden, I was the deepest man in Holland too. While he was the deepest man metaphysically, I was the deepest man physically. That got me thinking. I’m not a deep thinker or at least not close to as deep as he was and he couldn’t swim, so how does that work? I realised that he was working every day on his writings and his philosophy, while I am working and training every day on my freediving. And the reason for that is that we are both passionate and we love what we are doing. So, the biggest achievement is finding my passion. Because if you find your passion, you’ll get deeper into whatever it is you’re doing. Let’s call it deeper into life. Finding your passion and finding something that gives your life meaning and a goal, that’s the achievement. O M: W H AT H AS T H E OC E AN TAU GH T YOU ABOUT YOURSELF? DV: At the depth of my depression, I felt disconnected from everything and I felt alone. There have been moments in the sea where you hang at five or 10m and you’re floating with the motion of the ocean and you don’t have to do anything and the ocean holds you. You feel so connected to it. You realise that you’re connected to the ocean and the friends at the surface and the fishes swimming around you, not away from you. At that moment, you kind of realise that me feeling lonely and disconnected from it all was a lie. That was me deluding myself. This connection is real, it’s a physical sensation. This is what is true. You can even be connected to something as big and powerful as the ocean. It is part of you, and you are part of it. It makes you feel both small and really strong at the same time. Every time I enter the ocean, I surrender part of myself and gain an enormous thing. I love that.

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Mexico Six of us were playing in Cenote Acancun. I wanted a group photo. Knowing full well that chaos would ensue, all I asked was that they stayed relatively close together, within the light beam. The triangular result is pure coincidence, a happy accident.

Dominica There's something operatic about freediver Alessandro Masala - he even has a beautiful singing voice - so when I saw him coming up from this dive, I decided to hover close to the surface where the light was doing this amazing thing with the surface layer. I got lucky when he turned towards me at the last minute, creating this almost renaissance like scene.

Ibiza It's tricky to capture an under-boat shot, as you're shooting against the light and you have to line up your two subjects well. This boat and freediver matched each other so well in elegance and speed that I wanted to give it a try. We got it on the fourth take.

Bahamas The sand fall in Dean's Blue Hole is an unusual feature. Sand from the beach falls into the hole, 200m deep. I love it as a backdrop for freedivers to play with, as it gives them something to do rather than pose. World champion freediver Alexey Molchanov is quite playful by nature, so this made for a natural, if unusual, shoot.

Mexico Freedivers Kiki Hawaii and Matthieu Duvault have a light sabre battle in a private cenote. Matt is an enormous Star Wars fan - his son's name is Kylo - and his wife Kiki tolerates it! We did this light sabre shoot in a private cenote Matt often works in.

Dominica Canadian freediver and yogi Madeleine Aclough and Mexican freediver Pablo Marti doing a double lotus. I'd been wanting to work with stand-up paddle boards for a while, and doing a lotus underwater (a 'floatus') has been a long-time theme in my work, so when I had the opportunity to work with two yogis and a paddle board, the idea came instantly. This is one of those photos where the reality is better than what I had in mind.

Bahamas The hero shot. I've done a few variations of this shot over the years – it's a great combination of pose, location, framing and light – so when I was asked to create a shot of World champion freediver Alexey Molchanov for GQ, I instantly figured we'd have to create something like this in Dean's Blue Hole. I have to be around 15m deep and 10m under an overhang, waiting for the freediver to come down, so it's not the easiest of shoots on breath hold, but it's always worth it.

Bahamas Japanese freediver Hanako Hirose plays with sargassum, a type of algae. I asked her if she would cover herself with it. I left it to her to make this threat to the oceans, caused by the use of nitrogen in fertilisers, look appealing.

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Bahamas This is one of those shots I'm always hoping for, an entire competition set-up in one frame: the platform and square competition zone; the athlete, Korean freediver Sun Young Kim, in classic dive pose; the distinguishing feature of the location, the sand fall.

Cyprus As the only photographer at most competitions, I can't be too experimental with my shots – I'm there to document, not create for myself. But some days I mix it up with my 20mm f1.4 lens. My success rate with this lens is lower, but the outcomes tend to be more unusual - like just one of Swedish freediver Sofia Tapani's eyes being in focus in this image.

Dominica Judge Vedran Milat wearing the traditional yellow judge shirt of freediving competitions, surrounded by sergeant majors of the same yellow and black colours. Sometimes you see combinations of elements that in retrospect seem obvious!

Dominica Colombian freediver Sofía Gómez Uribe standing on a drop-off underneath a mud slide. Sofía and I were at this location to film something. When torrential rain caused a mud slide we thought the day was lost. We almost swam back to shore, but when I dove under the layer of mud and saw the light was doing incredible things, we stayed out. We made this image instead.

Egypt One of the beautiful features of Dahab's Blue Hole is the coral. When you look down in certain spots, you're surrounded by it. So when my friend, Canadian freediver Nathan Vinski, was doing his hang, I had time to float above him and frame it so he was surrounded by coral fading down to blue.

Mexico We were filming in Cenote Aqua Dulce when Colombian freediver Sofía Gómez Uribe struck this pose. Watching it unfold on my camera I realised I had the final shot of the film we were shooting, but also that it should probably be the film's thumbnail. And so, despite Sofía getting cold at the end of a long shoot in cool water, I asked her for one more dive. We captured this image.

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Cyprus Japanese freediver Hanako Hirose holds up the surface of the sea.

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

Behind the lens DAAN VERHOEVEN Born in Den Bosch, a city in the Netherlands, Daan now lives in Cornwall. After years in nine-to-five jobs as a graphic designer, Daan took the plunge and started two new careers, in freediving and photography. He has been freediving since 2004 and started competing in 2006. Since then, he has made a name for himself as a competition photographer, photographing almost all AIDA freediving world championships and documenting many world records. He is a freediving cameraman and photographer who has set several national records and been awarded Safety Freediver of the Year twice. A familiar face at nearly every freediving competition, his photography provides a stunning narrative of the sport and the underwater world. His work has been published in various outlets, including the BBC, ITV, The Guardian and New York Times. He was also the subject of one of the Gilette World Sport documentaries.

“As you’re falling, the sea compresses you harder and harder and it feels like a really good hug. That’s the best feeling.”

@daanverhoevenfreediver

@freediverdaan

www.daanverhoeven.com

Oceanographic Issue 25

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Daan Verhoeven, freediving cameraman

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Hotspot OF

biodiversity On the remote island of Príncipe, government officials, conservationists and communities have come together to fight plastic pollution and protect its dense sea turtle populations. Wo rd s b y N a n e S t e i n h o ff P h o t o g ra p h s b y Va s c o P i s s a r ra , c o u r t e s y o f F u n d a ç a o P r í n c i p e

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“Turtle protection became one of Príncipe’s flagship examples of integrated community work.”

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ABOVE: During the 2021/2022 season approximately 200,000 baby turtles were born on Príncipe. OPPOSITE: A team of 20 beach monitors and 10 marine monitors from Fundação Príncipe exhume every nest to collect data on the number of eggs that hatched, how many were preyed upon, how many had malformations and other information. PREVIOUS PAGE: Green turtle hatchlings on Praia Grande, the main nesting beach on the island.

small boat speeds over the turquoise water and races towards the landmass in the distance, covered by 31-million-year-old rainforest and steep, rugged hills. From the water, Príncipe looks like a relic from an era long gone. Pristine and undeveloped, some call it the greenest island on Earth. Once the patrol boat arrives on shore, the crew disembark and begin to set up camp. There is work to do. The team is here to protect the island’s large sea turtle populations. Situated in the Gulf of Guinea, Príncipe, the smaller of the two islands in the Central African island country of São Tomé and Príncipe, is a UNESCO World Biosphere Reserve and has the highest rate of endemic species by square km on the planet. The country is part of a volcano chain that is characterised by striking rock formations, beaches and rainforests that remained untouched until the late 15th century when the islands were colonised by the Portuguese. The Gulf of Guinea is a marine biodiversity hotspot, supporting vast numbers of unique coral reef fish and mollusc species, as well as large sea turtle numbers. Five of the seven existing sea turtle species are found around the island: the Olive Ridley, leatherback, loggerhead, green, and the hawksbill turtle. During the 2021/2022 nesting season alone, 2,642 turtle nests were counted – a record number for Príncipe. These impressive numbers haven’t always been the norm. In the past, turtles around the island were widely eaten by local communities, making them a target for poachers. As the small island 220km off the coast of Central Africa only has around 7,500 inhabitants and a

quarter of its space is inhabited, poachers had a relatively easy task of catching turtles along the remote coastlines. A shift in perception, however, has changed the fate of the turtles as turtle protection became one of Príncipe’s flagship examples of integrated community work. As an autonomous region, Príncipe led turtle conservation efforts with the launch of regional legislation in 2009 that prohibited the hunting and marketing of turtle shells and meat. This was followed by the National Decree-Law in 2014, a government effort to further protect the species. The government’s focus on building a sustainable conservation framework posed the perfect backdrop for the efforts of Fundaçāo Príncipe, a local NGO that promotes the sustainable economic and social development of the island's communities alongside conservation aims and the protection of natural resources. Through a multidimensional approach, Estrela Matilde, executive director at Fundaçāo Príncipe, and her team were able to turn turtle poachers into protectors, increasing the number of nests from 1,750 in the 2015/16 breeding season to 2,642 in 2021/22, and doubling the number of hatchlings released to 130,000 while nearing a zero-poaching rate. Matilde explains: “Poachers turned monitors are now the voices of conservation. They’re the ones in the field, they know the sea and the turtles. At the same time, we started educating the kids. I think we changed their minds; for them it is no longer acceptable to eat turtles. It’s not part of their culture and tradition anymore. We really changed a generation and I believe that habit will disappear.”

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Around 30 people work for the NGO during the turtle season every year. While a team of beach monitors controls the beaches with turtle nests, a boat-based marine monitoring team sets out to patrol the waters of Príncipe’s coastal area and the beaches on the south of the island. “The south of the island is covered by natural park and only a small community lives there so the beaches are impossible to reach on foot. We monitor all 37 beaches and have the entire island covered. During nesting season, we also monitor by night. Through this approach, we have managed to end a high percentage of captures on the beaches. However, we know there are still some poaching cases and poachers have changed the way they capture turtles. In the past, they focused on capturing turtles on the beach. Now they capture them at sea. It’s a tactic that's hard to find evidence against – they keep the meat and throw the carcass into the sea,” says Matilde. To tackle the new poaching method, Matilde and her team started collaborating with the coastguard. “We don’t have the authority to ask fishermen to open the closed buckets on their boats. But coastguards are allowed to do that so they join us on our patrol boats. As poachers learn that we are now also present at sea, we hope they will poach less,” adds Matilde. Alongside integrating former poachers into their conservation approach, Fundaçāo Príncipe also focusses on directly involving the community. “People live off the natural resources here so we need to work with them. Conservation only makes sense in balance with the local people when they have their needs satisfied. We integrate the communities in all our conservation efforts. We want to promote economic and social opportunities for their development and use these opportunities as tools to reach conservation goals. I’ve always said my dream is to become unemployed because I want someone local to be in my position,” says Matilde. “We are trying to show that turtles are worth more alive than dead. That’s the work we have been doing for many years,” Matilde points out. To this end, the NGO created a community competition. Working alongside the local government and tourism companies, a 15 euro fee from tourist visits to the main nesting beach of Praia Grande is collected in a community fund. “During the turtle season, we determine the three winning communities by judging their involvement in conservation efforts. For example, if a fisherman from a community calls us when they have a turtle in their net, this counts as a positive act. The money must be used to

Around 50kg of plastic waste is collected from Praia Grande every month. Fundação Príncipe created a museum on the beach to raise awareness about their turtle conservation work and the many issues plastic items create around the island.

“Conservation only makes sense in balance with the local people and when they have their needs satisfied.”

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“Africa is the only place in the world where more women than men choose to become entrepreneurs.”

benefit the community, such as fixing roads or painting the school. They understand that if they kill a turtle, they only make money once, but if it’s alive they can sell it to tourists up to five times during a season, and that turtle will bring more turtles. It has been successful. We have been able to give out more than 30,000 euros,” says Matilde. While the protection of marine turtles is one of Príncipe’s prime examples of how conservation can benefit local communities and national resources, a larger problem has emerged in recent years. “We managed to achieve amazing results with our turtle programme. However, in recent years, we have had a major problem: plastic pollution,” explains Matilde. “Our team cleans the main nesting beach every day. Every day, it is full of plastic. Seeing turtles being washed ashore with plastic in their system is heartbreaking.” Videos recorded by tagged turtles now contain more plastic debris than other turtles – with plastic appearing in nearly a third of all footage on which you’d expect pristine waters. Through ingestion, entanglement, and degradation of the marine environment, plastic waste is an urgent threat to more than 700 species as well as the fisheries that provide food for coastal communities. The NGO team has determined some origins of the plastic with items from as far as the USA, Senegal and Singapore prevalent around the island’s coastlines. “While the plastic on the beaches is usually washed up from somewhere else, we noticed that the main issue here is cooking oil bottle – 80% of the plastic bottles we collected were cooking oil bottles from local consumption,” explains Matilde. To tackle this local issue, the NGO wants to change the supply chain of cooking oil bottles by introducing a system that sells cooking oil by bulk. On a local level, a business initiative fosters waste-based businesses with female entrepreneurs. “If we stop plastic from coming and have businesses in place that use the plastic that comes from the sea, it kind of solves the problem,” says Matilde. Having recently received a Whitley Award worth £40,000 from UK wildlife conservation charity the Whitley Fund for Nature (WFN), Matilde and her team will create female-led enterprises to recycle more than 20% of washed-ashore plastics into jewellery, improving income and gender equality. This builds on the success of the Cooperativa de Valorização de Resíduos, a cooperative of local women producing beaded jewellery from washed-up bottles and from the Facilita Fora Umuén Association, which produces jewellery from flipflops. “Africa is the only place in the world where more women than men choose to become entrepreneurs and expanding opportunities will have a tremendous impact on growth. When investing in women, we invest in future generations who learn enterprise and independence from empowered mothers,” explains Matilde. Matilde will soon be working alongside Arribada Initiative to use innovative GPS tracking technology to determine the movement and aggregation of surface plastics around Príncipe. “We will tag plastic bottles around Africa, and we will see where the bottles go. It will be an amazing tool to understand the movement of plastic as awareness and leverage for political conversation,” Matilde says. Alongside the bottle tagging programme that is set to begin in June of this year, the team will work with international researchers and experts from Exeter University and local fishermen who will help collect data on plastic. “When we have collected information and data, we will better understand the areas where plastic accumulates, and we can determine the risks to turtles. We can then work with the government and develop a strategy,” adds Matilde. The strategy will focus on introducing a tax on plastic bottles and other plastic items, further community engagement, school competitions, as well as education programmes. Matilde hopes to prompt a political response, aiming to halve the amount of single use plastic imported to the island: “With the Whitley Award, we finally have the funds to tackle this plastic problem on the island. We’ll implement the first pilot that we hope can be replicated in São Tomé and other islands and countries. That’s the goal. It’s a great opportunity that has put Príncipe as a hotspot of biodiversity on the map.”

OPPOSITE: In 2018, Fundação Príncipe started a local Women's association, Facilita Foram Umuén, to give them the capacity and resources to start transforming old flip flops collected from the Praia Grande into jewellery to sell.

Oceanographic Issue 25

Column

By Lizzie Daly

The biologist TRAFFIC IN THE BAY OF BISCAY

“One third of the world’s cetacean species can be found in this bay. Deep diving sperm whales, ocean giants like fin whales and super pods of dolphins call this place home.”

The whale the boat on which Lizzie was travelling nearly hit.

Oceanographic Issue 25

@lizziedalywild

o one said a word as the ship swung hard to the right. The wind whistled loudly, only broken by the repetitive clink of metal tapping metal. I scanned the surface of the water for a few seconds which felt like minutes. Then, the unmistakable sound of a blow. I had to push up against the railing to see it. There was the fin whale, parallel to the boat, unharmed. The light glistened against its showering blow which dissipated to reveal its huge size. I too let out a huge sigh of relief and fell back off the railings. Looking around I could see relief in the eyes of the others on board. Our boat had nearly collided with a fin whale. Ironically this problem was exactly what brought me to these waters in the first place. Over the next 48 hours I was about to explore a stretch of water that meets the western coast of France and the North of Spain, waters known as the Bay of Biscay. If you chat to locals, they will tell you these waters have a violent reputation for swallowing boats. Captains will say it is one of the busiest bays for marine traffic. Conservationists will say it is the cetacean hotspot of the world. I was travelling this bay as part of a survey team identifying areas where dolphins and whales are vulnerable to help push for their protection. One third of the world’s cetacean species can be found in this bay. Deep diving sperm whales, ocean giants like fin whales and super pods of dolphins call this place home. Out of the 18 species that can be found here, surely we would see a few? As we pulled away from land I began recording. First up, porpoise. Porpoise everywhere. A taste of what’s to come. An hour in and the wind was now in full force. On the starboard side, a super pod of common dolphin greeted our bow. There must have been more than 100 of them effortlessly flying through the white capped waves. Then a towering blow on the horizon, then another. Fin whales. Before I knew it we had 20 fin whales and counting. A minke whale and her calf appeared closer to the boat. Followed by another pod of dolphins, this time striped. The bay was alive with whales and dolphins, and I was thrilled by what I was seeing. However, little did I know there was significantly more to come. The richness and diversity of whales found in this bay comes from the different environments it offers. These include shallow waters, deep sided submarine canyons and extensive abyssal plains. This is where dense cold water carries lots of nutrients some 4,000m below the surface. Here you can find deep diving species like beaked whales, sperm whales and squid. As we approached the coast of Spain we headed over two canyons, known as Torrelayega and Cap Breton Canyon. I had been on deck for six hours. I waited until my camera battery was flat before dashing downstairs to change batteries and grab a sandwich. As I ran below deck

@LizzieDalyWild

my gaze stayed fixed on the windows where, to my surprise, I spotted a slate grey to rusty brown cetacean resting on the water. I couldn’t believe my eyes. My first ever Cuvier’s beaked whale, a specialist deep diver renowned for being elusive. Relative densities of Cuvier’s beaked whale in the bay are some of the highest in the world but it was still a real moment of celebration for me. I ran back upstairs to eagerly add the species to my now extensive list of cetaceans spotted. Unfortunately, not long after this encounter, we had the close call with that fin whale. Large ships create something called a ‘bow null effect’, where the engine noise is blocked by the bow, creating a quiet zone in front of the vessel. This leaves whales unaware of the approaching threat. There are an estimated 9,000 fin whales in the northeast Atlantic and many of these are found in Biscay, particularly in August and September as they use the waters to feed, migrate and give birth. They are found predominantly along the shelf edge, in the deeper waters and over the abyssal plain. Concerningly, the species has been in decline in the Bay of Biscay since 2004 and it isn’t clear why. Just as we see on land, human and wildlife overlap is real. It is thought the high level of marine traffic in the bay may be playing a role in the decline. Collisions are not uncommon. Worse still, no one knows the true extent of which we strike whales. Biscay is a large expanse of deep water and very few carcasses wash up on the shore. Scientists are reliant on ships reporting a strike or near miss. The crews on many ships are unaware that they have hit a whale, only discovering the fact when they arrive in port with a carcass draped over their vessel’s bow. As we edged closer to land, I was left with mixed emotions. In the 48 hours it took to cross this beautifully wild bay, I had seen more than 400 cetaceans, including the elusive Cuvier's beaked whale, minke whale, striped dolphins and more than 50 pilot whales. But our close call was a sobering experience. I couldn’t help but wonder how often these incidents occurred and whether we truly have a grasp on how our increasingly busy marine highways around the world are putting cetacean survival at risk. LD

About Lizzie Lizzie is a wildlife presenter, filmmaker and Animal Movements PhD Scientist. She has worked on productions for COP26, the BBC, National Geographic, Animal Planet and more. She has always had a passion for the ocean and continues to celebrate Welsh wildlife.

Oceanographic Issue 25

BEHIND THE LENS

Oceanographic Issue 25

BEHIND THE LENS

T H E F R AG I L E M A J E S T Y O F T H E

Labrador Sea The Labrador Sea’s unique conditions make it the ideal home for many species. Yet the long-term survival of the flora and fauna that inhabit this stretch of water is far from certain. The impacts of climate change are starting to be felt in earnest.

Wo rd s b y J o s e p h P h e l a n P h o t o g ra p h s b y A n i n g a a q R C a r l s e n , A n n e M e t t e C h r i s t i a n s e n , M a g n u s E l a n d e r a n d Ju l i e S ko t t e , c o u r t e s y o f Vi s i t G re e n l a n d

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he Labrador Sea is characterised by hostile winds, bone-chilling waters and ethereal, almost otherworldly ice floes. Its summers are brief and its winters long. At its most frigid, around two-thirds of the sea is covered with ice, with the other third only just above freezing. Sitting as it does between eastern Canada’s Labrador Peninsula and southeast Greenland, it is, rather unsurprisingly, the coldest part of the subpolar North Atlantic. Through it, between the months of May and June, exists an artery known as ‘iceberg alley’ due to its plentiful supply of icebergs. Indeed, the iceberg that collided with the ill-fated passenger liner Titanic in 1912 travelled along this aquatic highway. It is a place that, at first glance, appears altogether inhospitable and bleak, but the Labrador Sea’s conditions make it the ideal home for scores of creatures. Various species of whale, for example, including humpback, minke, orca, sei, and the northern bottlenose - designated as endangered in 2006 - live in and around the sea, largely owing to the plentiful supply of herring and shrimp. Below its surface also reside squid, lobster, flatfish, capelin and haddock, making the sea the perfect natural pantry for a diverse range of predators, from seals to sea lions, polar bears to sea eagles. These hunters are a relatively common sight along Greenland’s southern shores, while on the sea’s Canadian boundary, caribou which are fond of devouring coastal sedge and moss - live in close proximity to the Arctic fox, snowshoe hare and black bear. The Labrador Sea, and the coastlines that border it, are part of a delicate and finely balanced ecosystem. The flora and fauna have evolved to survive, and in many instances thrive, in an environment that, for the majority of life forms on the planet, would present abundant difficulties. Yet the long-term survival of the plants and animals that inhabit the Labrador Sea and its surrounding regions is far from certain. The impacts of climate change are starting to be felt in earnest, and the consequences of a rapidly warming planet could be catastrophic. The Labrador Sea, an area easy to overlook or ignore entirely, is very much on the frontline of climate change. A SEA OF SUBSTANCE Dr Jon Robson, an expert in ocean dynamics, climate variability processes and climate predictions based at the University of Reading, is fully aware of the Labrador Sea’s global significance. “One of the reasons the Labrador Sea is important is because it has a key role in a globally important ocean current called the Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation (AMOC),” Robson says. “This plays a part in regulating climate through its movement of heat and carbon through the ocean. Essentially, the AMOC is a huge system of currents that move warm water from the subtropics into the polar

PREVIOUS: A raven sits atop a glacier in western Greenland. RIGHT: A humpback whale surfaces while passing an iceberg off the Greenland coast.

“Various species of whale, including humpback, minke, orca, sei, and the northern bottlenose live in and around the sea, largely owing to the plentiful supply of herring and shrimp.”

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“Over the last 20 years, Greenland has lost approximately 4,700 gigatons of ice – enough to coat the entire United States in a layer of water 1.5 feet high.”

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TOP: A huddle of walruses rest on an ice floe. BOTTOM: A humpback whale descends as the sun sets over the Labrador Sea.

region in the North Atlantic. It is part of the reason why Europe is relatively warm. Although the Labrador Sea may only contribute a small amount of the total strength of the AMOC, simulations with ocean and climate models suggest that changes there over the past few decades - in particular, the amount of dense sea water formed - may have played a vital, perhaps larger role than one might expect, in shaping how the AMOC and the North Atlantic has changed from decade to decade.” And, Robson notes, modifications to the AMOC aren’t something to be taken lightly. “Changes in the strength of the AMOC have been implicated in a range of climaterelated impacts, including Atlantic hurricanes, coastal sea level change along the US and in Europe, and even monsoon rainfall over India and North Africa. Models suggest this will happen gradually over the 21st Century, but the worry is that the AMOC could weaken suddenly over just a few decades." “Although this is probably an unlikely scenario,” Robson adds, “we are fairly certain that similar AMOC weakening events occurred in the past, especially during periods of large climate change.” And, given we are on the verge of a period of ‘large climate change’, these are history lessons that need to be carefully considered. CURRENT AFFAIRS The Labrador Current, which begins in the Davis Strait, north of the Labrador Sea, is another vital cog in the Labrador Sea’s wheel. The current works its way down the north-eastern coast of Canada and, as it moves south, brings with it icebergs previously part of the glaciers of western Greenland. As the planet becomes increasingly hot, however, these icebergs will become less common. “Climate models indicate that the atmosphere over regions such as the Labrador Sea and Arctic more broadly will get warmer over the upcoming century, which will of course lead to reduced sea ice, and warmer temperatures overall,” Robson says. “Melting of ice, in particular from the Greenland ice sheet, will lead to more freshwater in the Labrador Sea, making it less saline.” Over the last 20 years, Greenland has lost approximately 4,700 gigatons of ice – enough to coat the entire United States in a layer of water 1.5 feet high. This figure, so large that it is almost impossible to fully comprehend, goes a long way to showcasing just how much ice routinely enters the ocean. “Both of these aspects – warmer and fresher – will likely mean that the contribution of the Labrador Sea

to the AMOC will weaken over the coming century,” Robson says. “This will mean the Labrador Sea warms less than the rest of the globe and could actually cool temporarily as the ocean moves less heat into the region.” As the planet heats, the Labrador Current will, various experts have predicted, reduce in flow and force. This could have an immense impact on the AMOC, and could, in a worst-case scenario, completely change the nature of the Labrador Sea for an untold length of time. “Ocean mixing, or deep convection, tends to warm the Labrador Sea surface temperatures by combining warmer subsurface waters from a depth of around 1,000m to the surface,” Robson says. “But, as more freshwater is poured into the Labrador Sea due to melting ice, this mixing could be disrupted, and may lead to a sudden cooling of the Labrador Sea by 2-4 degrees Celsius in just a few years.” Such rapid cooling would, Robson says, “have implications for the wildlife of the Labrador Sea.” The migration behaviour of whales, seals and various species of fish will be hit; they will be forced to journey away from an environment they know and will have to adapt quickly if they are to pull through. It’s important to note that scientists do not simply pluck forecasts out of the air. In fact, major changes have already been observed. In 2021, a report published in Nature detailed that the Gulf Stream – a strong ocean current that brings warmth to much of northern Europe – has, in recent decades, started to creep north towards Newfoundland. The researchers behind the report anticipate that the combination of a weakened Labrador Current and a relocated Gulf Stream could see oceanic circulations, such as the AMOC, knocked off kilter. In an accompanying press release, Afonso Gonçalves Neto, one of the study’s lead researchers, says the report “explains why the most recent decade has been the hottest on record at the edge of the Northeast United States and Canada, as the delivery system of cold water to the region got choked off by the presence of the Gulf Stream”. Additionally, the researchers concluded that, if the planet continues to be warmed by abundant greenhouse gas emissions, oceanic currents could be altered again and again, which would impact not only the creatures that live in and around the affected areas but could also influence “a broad array of northern hemisphere weather phenomena”. The Labrador Sea will, without a doubt, feel the brunt of climate change, but it will not be alone.

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STARK REALITY According to Robson, the best solution is the most obvious one. And, though it’s a message we are all fully aware of, it is one that still, unfortunately, needs to be voiced loudly and frequently. ”In terms of physical climate change, the most important thing is to reduce the likelihood of severe climate change, and the best way to do that is to reduce emissions of carbon dioxide as soon as possible.” Yet nearly all research suggests this isn’t happening quickly enough. Though numerous carbon-related pledges have been declared, and governments and companies alike have committed to being greener, the pace needs to be picked up. The Labrador Sea, and countless other ecosystems around the world, are being compelled to live with the impacts of climate change already, and this is only the beginning. It is vital, Robson concludes, that research of the Labrador Sea and the long-term impacts of an altered AMOC continue, as this is the only way that it will be possible to accurately predict what could well be planetwide repercussions. “Ultimately, small errors can have bigger implications than we might expect,” Robson says. “Understanding the Labrador Sea’s role in climate can often feel like a grand puzzle that we're only really beginning to get to grips with.”

A polar bear statue surveys the sea.

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“The Labrador Sea, and countless other ecosystems around the world, are being compelled to live with the impacts of climate change already, and this is only the beginning.”

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Column

By Cal Major

The adventurer

“How can we inspire an appreciation of nature? I think media has a very important role to play - magazines like this, films, TV, storytelling. But I don’t think there’s a substitute for getting people into the water, seeing what’s there with their own eyes.”

THE MISSING LINK

n my first column in this esteemed magazine, I wanted to talk about something I feel incredibly passionate about. Connection. Over the last eight years, I’ve been using adventure to talk to people about protecting the ocean and its wildlife. In 2016, I stand-up paddleboarded around Cornwall, then a year later the Isle of Skye, to tell stories about plastic pollution. The following year, I stand-up paddleboarded 1,000 miles of coast and inland waters from one end of the UK to the other - Land’s End to John O’Groats. It was during this trip that I realised I could talk to people until I was blue in the face about how dangerous plastic is to our ocean and wildlife, how it’s found in every waterway heading out to sea, on every single remote beach I go to, and how we all have a role to play in the crisis. But without a personal connection to the importance of any of this, my words mostly fell on deaf ears. I came to realise that as conservationists we often sit in an environmental echo chamber. There’s certainly a place for rallying the passionate troops, but in the face of the climate and biodiversity crises, we need to engage as many individuals and communities as possible to tip the balance in favour of putting the health of our planet at the top of the to-do list. This means diverse voices spanning all walks of life - not just those in our immediate communities. I adore the ocean - it’s my source of fun, joy, peace, wonder and inspiration. I fell in love with it when I learnt to scuba dive on the Great Barrier Reef. I love the wildlife - I’m a vet and totally obsessed with animals, from the biggest apex predators to the tiniest multicoloured fish. Surfing was the main way I stayed mentally well working long hours and nights in the practice, getting up at unearthly hours to catch a few waves before work. It remains a huge part of my identity, an irreplaceable feeling of raw connection to myself and our blue planet. Stand-up paddleboarding became my escapism, exploring the ocean locally, and around the world. But we can’t expect everyone to care as much as we do. Somewhere along the way in our fast-paced civilisation, we’ve become disconnected from nature.

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We see this manifesting as societal mental health crises, overexploitation of resources, and the prioritisation of profit over planet. We have lost the appreciation of just how interconnected our health and planetary health are, and even more basically, to what the natural world means to us on an individual basis. Without this, I don’t think we can hope for folk to stand up for the protection of nature. This is the missing link for many environmental campaigns. So how can we inspire an appreciation of nature? I think media has a very important role to play magazines like this, films, TV, storytelling. But I don’t think there’s a substitute for getting people into the water, seeing what’s there with their own eyes. To that end, a couple of years ago, I set up a charity called Seaful. The aim is to help people find their own connection to the ocean, and to inspire and empower them to protect it. We provide mindful ocean experiences to those who maybe wouldn’t otherwise have the opportunity, or perhaps might not consider this a conversation for them to be a part of. Last year, one of our sessions was with a group of school children from Glasgow, just a short ferry trip away to the Isle of Arran. Their response to snorkelling in the South Arran Marine Protected Area was brilliant. The life there utterly fascinated them - they oohed and ahhed at hermit crabs, sea squirts and starfish. Their worry turned to joy as they played and splashed in the water, surprised that it wasn’t as cold as they’d expected. I asked one young girl how the experience had been for her, and she told me: “It was amazing! But it also made me mad because now I know what’s in the ocean, I feel angry that people treat it like a trash can!” If you’re reading this, I suspect you also have a deep connection to the ocean. So, my challenge for you over the next couple of months is to take somebody else, who maybe doesn’t have such a strong connection, to a blue space that you love. It’s ok to explain to them how you feel when you’re there, but please don’t tell them how they should feel. Instead, let them experience it, safely, in their own way. Let them be awed, or intrigued, calmed or excited, and see if that lights a spark within them too. CM

Oceanographic Issue 25

@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 Photograph by James Appleton.

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BEHIND THE LENS

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Oceanographic Issue 25

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TRÉGOR’S

secrets Classified as critically endangered in the Northeast and Northwest Atlantic, the relatively high number of porbeagle shark sightings in Breton waters poses several questions. A group of researchers tries to find answers. Wo rd s a n d p h o t o g ra p h s b y S é b a s t i e n B a r r i o

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G E AT U R E

he shrill noise of the alarm clock rings in my ears, urging me to quickly get ready. As promised to the research team, I am at the port for 7.30am, ready for an exciting mission in the Northeast Atlantic that is made up of shark researchers, PhD students, volunteers, fishermen with an exceptional knowledge of the local waters and me as the mission’s photographer. When I first arrived here at the Trégor coast in Brittany, France, I was surprised by the abundance of life I witnessed. The area is part of the Seven Islands nature reserve, which is home to several dolphin species, a diverse abundance of seabirds, including the largest colony of northern gannets in France, as well as the charismatic porbeagle shark. I board one of the three boats that are part of the research mission, and we make our way to the fishing area in only a few minutes. The fishermen prepare their lines and fix mackerels onto tiny circle hooks that are said to limit the risk of injury to sharks during capture. Now the waiting game begins and the fishermen’s boat drifts in the currents for a few hours. Suddenly, the fishing line moves. The fishermen jump up and try to reel in the heavy fish as quickly as possible, while we set up the scientific protocols and acoustic monitoring devices. Porbeagle sharks are powerful animals, but the fishermen act quickly and manage to control the shark by passing a lasso around its caudal fin. This is the signal for our boat to approach. Once the two boats are next to each other, the two shark scientists, Nastasia and Sandrine, hop on to the fishermen’s boat to take all necessary measurements and tag the shark to study the animal’s movements. An acoustic tag gives the researchers precise data on how long the sharks stay in a particular region, how they use the water column and when they leave the fishing area. However, tracking is only possible for as long as the shark and the acoustic boat are in the same area. That’s why some sharks are also equipped with satellite tags that can collect information for up to a year. The combination of both tags could help identify the shark’s diving behaviour and migratory routes. Besides tagging, the research team focusses on biological markers present in porbeagle sharks’ muscles and blood that can help identify their feeding areas and prey. To obtain these samples, scientists follow established protocols for taking a classic blood sample from the tail vein of the animal and realise biopsies through a biopsy gun that works like a large needle with a receptacle. The biological markers that interest the researchers are the isotopic ratios of carbon (C13/C12) and nitrogen (N15/N14). A prey living near the coast will have a higher quantity of C13 than prey living offshore. A shark with an isotopic ratio rich in C13 will be a shark that feeds

PREVIOUS: Porbeagle sharks are distinguishable by their large black eyes. THIS PAGE: Northern gannets fly over the rich waters off the Trégor coast.

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“Now the waiting game begins and the fishermen’s boat drifts in the currents for a few hours...”

closer to the coast. And when comparing the isotopic ratios of muscles and blood for the same individual, the researchers will be able to garner information on its movements. For example, a shark whose C13 muscle content is low and C13 blood content is high may have spent several months offshore before returning to the coast. The nitrogen isotope ratio, on the other hand, tells researchers about the trophic level of the prey consumed thanks to N15 enrichment along the food web. An anchovy will have a lower N15 rate than a bonito which itself will have a lower rate than a porbeagle shark. These two approaches are completed by scientists measuring the shark from the snout to the posterior notch of the caudal fin, allowing for an estimate as to where an individual is in its life cycle. They also note the presence of distinctive marks such as scars or spots that could help identify each shark at a later stage, much like a human fingerprint. The entire procedure takes less than 15 minutes and is done in a way that ensures the animal doesn’t get harmed. It is then released – my cue to get in the water. In a few moments, the shark swims away in swift, powerful motions and volunteers start to use their acoustic devices to follow the tagged animal. The fishermen return to their position and look for the next shark of the day. In only a few hours, the team catches five sharks, ranging between 1.67m and 2.29m. One of the captured individuals already had a tag on his back, indicating that the shark had been tagged by APECS (Association Pour l'Etude et la Conservation des Sélaciens) during a previous mission. APECS is an organisation trying to find out more about the porbeagle shark, an elusive species that has been observed off Brittany in large numbers. Encountering a porbeagle shark is, in truth, rather rare – the species is classified on the IUCN Red List of Threatened Species as Vulnerable globally and Critically Endangered in the Northeast and Northwest Atlantic. It is a pelagic shark that lives in waters below 23 degrees Celsius. From the Lamnidae family, this cousin of the great white shark has a slender, stout body that has dark bluish hues and is brownish-grey in colour. It can reach up to 3.5m in length and is easily recognisable by its very large first dorsal fin. Mainly hunting fishes and cephalopods, it is also known to occasionally feed on smaller sharks and seabirds. Like other sharks, the species reaches maturity late (6-10 years for males and 12-16 years for females), while their gestation time ranges between eight and nine months. Females can have up to five pups which are between 60

Oceanographic Issue 25

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Oceanographic Issue 25

F E AT U R E

“For years we have been receiving testimonials of porbeagle shark observations from sea users, mostly near the Trégor and Goëlo coasts. But it's complicated to know if that means the population is increasing.”

and 75cm long at birth. Between births, they rest around 12 months. A long gestation period, combined with a small number of offspring makes the species particularly vulnerable. Population numbers have been assessed to have declined by more than 80% and not much is known about the species. While it is forbidden to fish and sell porbeagle shark in European waters, more needs to be done to protect the species. This is where APECS’s LAMNA project comes in: it seeks to find out more about the movements and range of the species that seasonally frequents the Trégor coast in Brittany. “Porbeagle fishing is subject to a moratorium in Europe. It is strictly forbidden to fish for this endangered species. In order to carry out our project, the association has obtained special authorisation from the Regional Directorate of the sea,” says Nastasia Celle who is in charge of the LAMNA project. She adds: “We are currently unable to say how many sharks frequent the area. We are lucky to easily see them here, but this group does not allow us to say that the species is doing well.” The LAMNA project “was born in 2020 from an observation”, as Eric Stephan, Coordinator of the APECS association, points out. “For several years we have been receiving testimonials of porbeagle shark observations from sea users, mostly near the Trégor and Goëlo coasts in the Côtes d'Armor area. But it's complicated to know if that means the population is increasing. Are there just

OPPOSITE PAGE TOP: The team tries to place a rope around a porbeagle's caudal fin to hold the shark alongside the hull of the ship. BOTTOM LEFT: Two attachment points are used on the satellite tags to limit the risk of premature detachment of the beacon. BOTTOM RIGHT: Smaller species of shark caught during the research operations, such as this spotted dogfish, are quickly returned to the ocean.

more reports because everyone who goes to sea now has a smartphone? Or are the sharks more numerous because they like it here? For the moment, we have no idea. Sightings are recurrent and always happen near the coast. We would like to be able to answer why that is.” While the species has frequented Breton waters for a long time, its presence has never been properly documented. With the LAMNA project, APECS seeks to improve knowledge to assess the importance of this area for the species, while raising awareness around the porbeagle shark and the need for its conservation. A very important field that might hold vital answers is the species' reproduction cycle, as Sandrine Serre, PhD student at the University of Western Brittany who is currently doing her thesis on porbeagle sharks with the LAMNA project, hypothesises. She thinks births take place before the summer solstice and that reproduction happens after the autumnal equinox. While populations of porbeagle shark are known to cluster by age, size and sex, young individuals frequent warmer waters than adults. This information has so far been confirmed in the LAMNA project study area where all the porbeagle sharks captured are female. "The main question we want to answer through this study is: what is the role of this area in the life cycle of female porbeagle sharks? We have two main hypotheses. The first one is that the area serves as a post-breeding rest area during which females have reduced ovaries (these organs return to a stage of development like immature females). The second hypothesis, which is not in contradiction with the first, is that it is a feeding zone allowing them to rebuild their fat reserves and start a new reproductive cycle. The presence of recent bite marks observed on some females during the last tagging operation could also suggest that the area is occasionally used as a breeding area,” she explains. Establishing why porbeagle sharks come to the Trégor coastline could help the conservation of the species and foster the implementation of new management measures. It would certainly be a vital step towards protecting this charismatic shark.

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Join the moment and make yourself at home, wherever you go.

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