Oceanographic Magazine / Issue Nine

ISSUE

09

Conservation • Exploration • Adventure

DANCING WITH ORCAS S H A R I N G T H E W AT E R W I T H T H E O C E A N ' S M I G H T I E S T A P E X P R E D AT O R

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Editor’s Letter H e re ' s t o t h o s e beautiful ocean images that m a ke u s s t o p a n d s t a re . A n d , of course, to the talented and committed p h o t o g ra p h e r s w h o c re a t e t h e m .

Sometimes an image drops into the editorial inbox that makes me stop and stare. Naturally all photographs sent in for consideration are given full attention by the Oceanographic team, and we are extremely lucky to have world-class imagery submitted to us on a regular basis, but every once in a while there's an image that truly takes me aback. Even rarer, a series of images.

We were blessed to run Shawn Heinrichs' stunning mako shark images in the last issue. It was a story we were extremely proud to run - in part because of the story itself, a personal and impactful article written by shark conservationist Riley Elliott; in part due to the fact the magazine was distributed to delegates at CITES in the hope that the mako cover story - The billion $ shark - might shape opinions and influence votes; and finally, and most simply, because the images were just so exquisite. They are the finest mako images I have seen and, with Riley featuring in some of the shots alongside the makos, they told a story that went beyond the shark, perhaps even beyond the narrative of the story itself. They told - and will continue to tell - a story of co-existence.

This issue's cover had a similar impact on me. The compositional beauty of the photograph - the curve of the orca's tail fin and underbelly, the arch of the freediver's back, the vividness of the green water against a circle of seafloor - a spotlight on two beings as they danced together on a cold Norwegian afternoon. Breath-taking. The image, just like Riley and the makos, tells a story of co-existence.

Will Harrison Editor @oceanographic_editor @og_editor Oceanographicmag

I hope these images of co-existence connect with you as much as they do me - as well as all those people who chance upon your copy of Oceanographic sat proudly on top of your coffee table mag stack.

Here's to all those beautiful ocean images that make us stop and stare. And, of course, to the talented and committed photographers who create them.

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Contents O N T H E C OV E R

FEATURE S

F IL MIN G T H E H U N T

What is it like to freedive with orca whales while they hunt? A team of filmmakers, in association with Favre-Leuba and its #ConqueringFrontiers mission, visited the wild west coast of Norway to find out.

Freediver Dada Li interacts with an orca whale o the coast of Norway.

Photograph by Florian Fischer.

Get in touch PAG E 2 0 ED I TO R

Will Harrison

A S S I S TA N T E D I TO R

Beth Finney

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

Amelia Costley

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

YO U R O C E A N IMAGES

@oceanographic_mag @oceano_mag Oceanographicmag

I N S U P P O RT O F

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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 Atlas Publishing Ltd. Š 2018 Atlas Publishing Ltd. All rights reserved. Nothing in whole or in part may be reproduced without written permission from the publisher.

A collection of some of the most captivating ocean images shared on social media, both beautiful and arresting. Tag us or use #MYOCEAN for the opportunity to be featured.

Printed by the Manson Group ISSN: 2516-5941

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CONTENTS

20%

INTO THE VORTEX

A NA A ' S R A H U I

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.

MIN KE QUE S T IO N S

T IME TO C HA N G E

DO L P HIN M YS TE RY

Endurance swimmer Ben Lecomte swam more than 300 nautical miles through the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. He hopes his feat of endurance, and message of ocean connection, will convince others to join the fight to protect it.

Small islands around the world suffer from similar social, economic and environmental problems.

In French Polynesia, one tiny coral atoll is trialling a set of initiatives they believe might be able to pave a path to rejuvenation.

Little is known about dwarf minke whales, a subspecies of northern minkes. A team of researchers from the Minke Whale Project is harnessing citizen science in a bid to better understand the mysterious cetaceans.

A small collection of island communities in the Maldives is collaborating on a new programme that could revolutionise the sustainability not just of their own islands, but of the whole country.

In the summer of 2013, a resident pod of dolphins suddenly disappeared from a site in the Bahamas. Why? And if they were still alive, where had they gone?

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BEHIND TH E L E N S

C O LUMN S

THE SOCIAL ECOLOGIST

T HE O C E A N AC T IV IS T

Each issue, we chat with one of the world’s leading ocean photographers and showcase a selection of their work. In this edition, we meet photojournalist and wildlife trade consultant, Paul Hilton.

Big wave surf champion, environmentalist and social change advocate Dr Easkey Britton discusses our connection with the ocean, the damage we are doing to it and how the ocean may well save us, rather than us save it.

Freediver and founder of I AM WATER, Hanli Prinsloo, discusses the wonders of her local forest - a kelp forest off the shores of Cape Town where she swims with sharks, seals and penguins.

Shark biologist, conservationist and author Riley Elliott discusses how people power impacted the recent CITES decision to protect 18 species of sharks and rays.

The team at Project AWARE, Oceanographic’s primary charity partner, discuss how the implementation of the UN's Sustainable Development Goals is everyone's responsibility.

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PAUL HILTON

T HE G UE S T C O L UMN IS T

Oceanographic Issue 09

P R O J E C T AWARE

Simon Lorenz Egypt A Napoleon wrasse consumes an octopus in the Red Sea. "These fish typically eat slower-moving prey," says Lorenz, "such as urchins and crabs. I think the fish tolerated my presence as it was so focussed on handling its multi-armed meal."

SPONSORED BY

#MYOCEAN

Sujuaan Qasim Maldives Predator and prey. A shoal of fish moulds around a hunting shark, safety in numbers their best defence. Several sharks hunted this particular bait ball, says Qasim, picking off individual fish that became seperated from the shoal.

SPONSORED BY

#MYOCEAN

AndrĂŠ Musgrove Bahamas A freediver and spotted eagle ray glide across a sandy seabed.

"Pushing through strong currents, low visibility and rough waves, this day was definitely worth it," says Musgrove. Spotted eagle rays are listed as Near Threatened by IUCN. SPONSORED BY

Ollie Clarke Indonesia "Photographing sunfish is always a pleasure," says Clarke, "but also a challenge. They are inhabitants of deep water, strong currents and cold thermoclines." Sunfish, the largest bony fish in the ocean, are also known as mola mola.

SPONSORED BY

#MYOCEAN

Jono Allen Tonga "The depth of pure intimacy that’s shared between a mother humpback and its calf," says Allen, "is a bond I could, as a photographer, spend my entire lifetime aspiring to do justice to."

SPONSORED BY

#MYOCEAN

DANCING WITH

orcas

What is it like to freedive with orca whales while they hunt? A team of filmmakers, in association with FavreLeuba and its #ConqueringFrontiers mission, visited the wild west coast of Norway to find out.

Wo rd s b y H e n r i k O l e s o n P h o t o g ra p h s b y F l o r i a n F i s c h e r a n d D a d a L i

Oceanographic Issue 09

F E AT U R E

“T

he bait ball splits in two, pulled apart at its centre like a set of shimmering, silver curtains. From the green water beyond, a ghostly shape moves quickly into view. Shadow and light. Hulking and elegant.

A blur of wavy blacks and whites. Then it is gone, as fast as it appeared. The curtains draw back together again behind it, the bait ball a singular mass once more.

Another pass would come soon. Followed by another, and another, until nothing was left but fish heads, bones and clouds of unconsumed scales suspended in water, threadbare curtains pierced by the low afternoon light.

When filmmaker Florian Fischer arrived in Norway to film orcas he felt relaxed about the expedition that lay ahead, not because he knew a once-in-a-lifetime encounter lay ahead, but because he wasn’t expectant of it. Years of ocean filmmaking had taught him that nothing in the natural world was guaranteed, particularly when it came to wildlife encounters. The fact that he and his Behind the Mask team had arrived a full week ahead of the typical start of Norway’s orca season didn’t matter. And as for the orca expert who had, in a Munich beer garden some months before, told him that given the timing of the expedition it was likely he and his team would see nothing? A distant and unimportant memory. He breathed in the cool sea air, looked up at the snow-covered peaks around him and felt the pull of unpredictable ocean adventure, the thrill. It was good to be in Tromsø, he thought.

The team’s filmmaking success or failure in the coming days would rely on one thing: herring. The fish is pivotal to the broad North-East Atlantic ecosystem, feeding on the prolific quantities of Calanus finmarchicus copepods at the base of the food-web, while also providing various other species with a reliable source of food – Atlantic herring is one of the most abundant fish species in the ocean. Cod, saithe and various other demersal species all feed on herring, as do sea birds, seals and whales. As welcome as it would be to capture footage of diving birds, pirouetting seals and breaching humpbacks feeding on herring, that was not what Fischer and his team were in Norway for. It was the orcas that mattered – a species that followed and feasted on the herring as it migrated between the Barents Sea, a marginal sea of the Arctic Ocean located off the northern coasts of Norway and Russia, to the clutches of the coves, inlets and fjords of western Norway’s pockmarked coastline. If the herring arrived to the waters around Tromsø in large numbers, so too would the orcas.

The fact the orca population off the Norwegian coast largely feeds on a plentiful herring stock should not detract from this predator’s power and strength. Orca whales are widely regarded as the mightiest of all the ocean’s apex predators, known to have hunted a number PREVIOUS PAGE: Filmmaker Florian Fischer captures footage of an orca as it dives from the surface.

THIS PAGE: Freediver and photographer Dada Li returns to the surface to breathe.

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“The team's filmmaking success or failure in the coming days would rely on one thing: herring. The fish is pivotal to the North-East Atlantic ecosystem ... providing various species with a reliable source of food. If the herring arrived, so too would the orcas."

“Most significant amongst the Behind the Mask team aboard MS Sula - certainly as far as Favre-Leuba's #ConqueringFrontiers mission was concerned - was Chinese freediver and underwater photographer Dada Li. �

Freediver Dada Li entered the water with minimal equipment: wetsuit, mask, fins, camera and a Raider Harpoon dive watch, manufactured by Favre-Leuba, the Swiss watch brand that backed the expedition as part of its #ConqueringFrontiers mission.

F E AT U R E

A pod of orcas, and freediver Dada Li.

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F E AT U R E

“The location and conditions were perfect.

A bait ball of herring was trapped in shallow water. The fish had nowhere to go. A pod of orca whales, including one very large male, were feasting on the fish."

of other species at the top of their respective food-webs, including great white sharks and sperm whales. In these waters, however, herring was the top food source, the orca's primary prey.

The challenge, of course, would be finding the herring.

Shortly after arriving in Tromsø, Fischer read a social media post from a local marine biologist: a tagged humpback, one of the species that Fischer and his team might expect to encounter along with orcas if and when the herring arrived, was still a long way north. Were the vast schools of migrating herring still that far from Tromsø and the surrounding area? If they were, it was quite possible the orcas would be too. Unperturbed, the team boarded the MS Sula, their floating base camp for the next five days, and headed to sea.

Using a liveaboard would give the team flexibility. This was a distinct advantage compared to the boats that left and returned to Tromsø in a single day. With days at that time of year only consisting of a few short hours of light, on top of those reports that the action might still be north of their current location, Fischer was grateful for the mobility.

Most significant amongst the Behind the Mask team aboard MS Sula – certainly as far as Favre-Leuba’s #ConqueringFrontiers mission was concerned – was Chinese freediver and underwater photographer Dada Li. It was Li who had the task of descending into the cold depths of the Norwegian Sea, on a single breath, to interact with orcas in their natural environment, on their terms. Favre-Leuba, the primary supporter of the expedition, identified Fischer and Li’s mission as the modern embodiment of the brand’s 282-year pursuit of conquering frontiers and supporting people with "courage" and a "pioneering spirit". The mission would also provide a welcome test of the brand's equipment.

As primary cameraman, it was Fischer’s responsibility to keep up with Li and to capture the action – and interactions – when it happened. Unlike Li, he would not be freediving, instead rigging up a bespoke scuba system that would enable him to get in and out of the water as efficiently as Li. "I had to figure out a way to be as flexible and as quick as possible," says Fischer. "I had a six litre tank on a back plate, but no BCD, and a 7mm wetsuit.

I had to be slightly negatively-buoyant on the surface in order to be neutral in four or five feet of water when breathing from the bottle. It was a bit risky – when on the surface I had to be active to stay afloat. I couldn’t rest.”

The idea was that when underwater Fischer would be able to move almost as freely as Li – "freediving-plus" as Fischer puts it.

In the first few days, as the MS Sula navigated the cold channels of Norway’s dramatic west coast, the team saw little – a few orcas on two of the first three days, nothing on the other. It was promising to see orcas in the area (especially given the concerns that they might still be further north) but the interactions were fleeting. No bait balls, no pods of orcas hunting. Those few opportunities to enter the water did offer the team, especially Fischer and Li, the opportunity to get into the rhythm of quick water entries and exits. They promptly learned how important it was to get into the water swiftly, and how critical that haste would be if they were to capture the footage they desired.

"You’re in and out of the water all the time," says Fischer. "Most of the time you’re in for less than a minute, and the water is cold and dark and the visibility isn’t very good. And that is if you are in the right spot to begin with. Most of the time the orcas simply pass by. As a filmmaker it is a challenge."

Having journeyed some distance north of Tromsø, the MS Sula arrived at a small island named Skjervøy, where it anchored overnight. The following day: orcas. This time it was different. More dorsal fins breaching the surface.

More commotion. The herring had arrived. The orcas were hunting.

Incredibly, orcas feed on herring by stunning them with their tails, eating the fish individually – and not all of each fish either. In an area where a pod of orcas has fed on a bait ball, the seabed will be littered with discarded fish heads and bones. This selective eating technique is in stark contrast to humpbacks, which lunge-feed on bait balls of herring, a method capable of taking huge numbers of fish in a single mouthful.

Within minutes of the action unfolding, Fischer and Li were in the water. Fischer could see straight away that the location and conditions were perfect. A bait ball of

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“It is the most intense and emotional ocean moment I have ever had. It was overwhelming. People were crying.”

herring was trapped in shallow water. The fish had nowhere to go. A pod of orca whales, including one very large male, were feasting on the fish, stunning and eating at leisure, taking it in turns to feed. And there were no humpbacks in the area to gobble the bait ball up and cut the show short. The ocean’s unpredictability works both ways – no one expected this.

"It's the most intense and emotional ocean moment I have ever had," says Fischer. "It was overwhelming. People were crying. What happened that day was a once in a lifetime. The orcas feasted all afternoon. We spent four hours in the water. It was amazing. Everything just came together. It was perfect.

"Most of the time when I’m filming, I’m disconnected from the environment. That’s just the way it is – looking into my camera, focussing on getting into the right place, making the right decisions.

This was one of the rare occasions when I felt something. There was a presence in the water, heavy somehow. When the orcas pass you and they look at you – and they do look at you – you can see they are social and smart animals, and as big as a bus."

Dive after dive, Li descended to the seafloor to move amongst the orca pod as it worked collectively to keep the bait ball pinned in position. Fischer followed, his camera trained on his dive companion as she deftly navigated the environment, aware of the footage being shot and conscious of the animals there to feed rather than be filmed.

"The feeling is astonishing," says Li, when trying to relay what it is like to share the water with such huge apex predators. "When you are able to get close to them, when you are permitted to exist with them as an outsider, to make eye contact, you can't tell whether the goosebumps are from the cold sea. You feel so small, your sense of space redefined, as if suddenly existing on another planet."

Neither Fischer or Li ever felt in danger while in the water, nor did they expect to. Despite orca whales’ apex status and fearsome reputation within the animal kingdom there are no recorded incidents of orcas fatally attacking a person in the wild. "They’re kind of gentle," says Fischer. "They're very aware of their surroundings. They know exactly where the other members [of the pod] are. They also know exactly how to position themselves when divers are in the water. On one occasion the big male swam directly towards me, turning [at the last minute] to not touch me or my camera."

Asked if the interactions amounted to a connection, Fischer says: "[The big male] was reacting to me, but I don’t think there was anything going back and forth – you do this, they do that. As they swim by they look at you, the eyeball turning a little. You can see there is something going on, but connection? I don’t think so."

Interspecies connectedness or not, the footage and imagery that Fischer and Li captured that day is powerful. For many, especially those who don’t engage with the ocean or its inhabitants regularly, the images will shape and change opinions. "I'm sure some people think we are crazy, because they think these animals are dangerous," suggests Fischer. "Others might not have been able to imagine themselves in that situation but, when seeing us doing it, make the transition, have trust in the interaction, and no longer see it as a stupid or risky thing, but actually a beautiful thing."

By sharing images and film of a freediver elegantly interacting with (and surrounded by) orcas – or killer whales, as they are more dramatically known – there is little doubt that Fischer and Li achieved what they were tasked to do. Many people, on seeing the team's work since – on experiencing that "beautiful thing", as Fischer puts it – will have been taken to a place they never thought they could go. Mission complete. Frontiers conquered.

Dada Li controls her breathing prior to another dive.

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Oceanographic Issue 09

BEHIND THE LENS

I N TO T H E

vortex

Endurance swimmer Ben Lecomte swam more than 300 nautical miles through the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. He hopes his feat of endurance, and message of ocean connection, will convince others to join the fight to protect it.

Wo rd s b y B e n L e c o m t e P h o t o g ra p h s b y C o r b i n M a r s h a l l , J o s h M u n o z a n d D r A d a m H i l l

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F E AT U R E

“On June 14th, we set off for California from Hawaii to swim 300 nautical miles – representing the 300 million tonnes of plastic being produced every day – through the Pacific gyre.”

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F E AT U R E

ABOVE: Ben Lecomte enjoys a rest, hanging off the side of the team's support zodiac.

LEFT: A ghost net - a discarded fishing net - floats in the Pacific Ocean, a short distance from support vessel I Am Ocean.

PREVIOUS PAGE: Throughout Ben's 300 nautical mile swim he encountered lots of man-made debris - most of is microplastics, some of it much larger.

V

oices calling out from the dinghy pulled me back to the present from my daydream. To swim for eight hours a day it’s important that I disconnect my mind from my body, so I carefully plan memories to relive while I’m in the water. Suddenly, I became aware of the currents rushing over my skin, the tightness of my goggles and the salt water in my mouth. I stopped swimming to look in the direction my support team were pointing, just in time to see a spout in the distance. I jumped into the dinghy and we sped off to see if we could predict the whales’ path through the Pacific. Guessing correctly, I jumped into the water and a pod of sperm whales soared towards us. It was surreal. One flipped on his back as he passed, gliding along around 10 metres away, meeting my gaze before diving into the deep. It’s an incredible thing to make eye contact with a whale – you can sense that they have feelings, that there is a great brain behind that eye. At the end of that amazing day, I finished my swimming and clambered back onto the support yacht, I Am Ocean. The crew told me that in the same area as we’d swum with sperm whales, we had broken our record of the number of microplastics collected in half an hour. “We’ve found the highest concentration,” Drew Mcwhirter, our on-board lead scientist, told me. “There were over 3,000 pieces today.”

This experience took place well into our 79-day stint in the Pacific. I’d heard of the Great Pacific Garbage patch more than 10 years before heading out to see it for myself.

Far from the often-depicted floating island of trash, the reality is much more sinister. We called this expedition

The Vortex Swim, because that’s what this area is – a swirling vortex of microfibres, microplastics and marine debris. I wanted to highlight the issue at a scientific level, to create a discussion based on fact and figures rather than just being perceived as a ‘tree hugger’, so it was important that we had a scientist and photographers on board to help us collect data correctly, visualise what we found and to tell the story in the right way. So, on June 14th, we set off for California from Hawaii to swim 300 nautical miles – representing the 300 million tonnes of plastic being produced every day – through the Great Pacific gyre.

My father taught me how to swim in the ocean off the southwest of France. I remember how he held me at the surface of the water, his hands supporting my belly as he lifted me up and over each wave. Once, a huge wave came and pushed us both back onto the beach. Of course, I didn’t like being tumbled underwater or getting sand in my mouth, but my father just said: “It’s ok, no big deal.

Come back in the water.” That has always stuck with me. He died at 49 from cancer when I was in my early 20s, and so swimming became a way to express myself and to communicate a subject that’s important to me to the rest of the world. The inspiration came from Gérard d'Aboville, who rowed across the Atlantic and then the Pacific. I was a teenager when he did that, but I thought: "Well, if a person can row across an ocean in a small boat and carry everything that he needs, maybe somebody can swim across an ocean with the right logistics.”

It wasn’t until 15 years later that I did my first big swim.

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Man and boat: Ben and Discoverer making progress through the Pacific gyre.

“Going into the vortex, I knew exactly what I was going to encounter – there wasn’t a big ‘aha’ moment for me. Seeing plastic every day became a part of my routine. I became numb to it.”

It was to raise awareness and funds for a cancer research charity – I swam across the Atlantic.

Swimming is a way for me to source myself, to connect with the ocean. It gives me a strong connection with my father. That is the ocean I want my children to experience. I have been swimming for many years and I’ve seen the evolution of plastic in our seas and on our beaches. I saw nothing in the water when I was a child, but now when I go to the beach with my kids, we see so much debris. The ocean is an area that should be pristine and safe from the impact of human life. I think the ocean might have been the last place on Earth that looked the same 100 years ago as it did many thousands of years ago. A lot of changes are happening. I want my kids to have the chance to have that same connection with the ocean. What if their children can only know what a sperm whale is by looking at old books or videos?

Going into the vortex, I knew exactly what I was going to encounter – there wasn’t a big ‘aha’ moment for me. Seeing plastic every day became a part of my routine. I became numb to it. We soon discovered how important it was for me to actually be in the water, especially since sea state and weather condition came to have a huge impact on visibility of microplastics from the boat. Quickly we realised that just because we couldn’t see them in choppy waters or low winds, it doesn’t mean they wasn’t there, just below the surface – that was a big revelation. When I was swimming, I was able to tell more easily when we hit areas of high concentration and to let the crew know when it was a good time to take samples in the manta net and grab some photo data.

“The first day we broke 1,000 pieces of microplastic in a 30-minute manta net tow and we were all shocked,” said Drew, reflecting on our experiences. “The days leading up to the highest concentrations we were only collecting tows of 200-600 microplastic pieces. None of us knew what to expect as far as microplastic concentration was concerned. After breaking 1,000, we hit over 1,700 the next day, and over 3,000 the day after. The tows over 1,000 were demoralising in the sense that we were finding a man-made product over 1,000 miles from the nearest coast, as well as physically demoralising – we counted by hand, with tweezers, one piece at a time. It was painstaking work and demanded full crew participation all day long.”

Collecting a large bank of imagery was extremely important for the project, for both science and communication. I discussed these trials with Corbin Marshall, one of our lead photographers, after our return from sea. “I think the largest challenge of the media side of the project was debunking the myth of the Great Pacific Garbage Patch without downplaying it to the public.

Many people have the idea that the Great Pacific Garbage Patch is a massive floating island of

“So many mini ecosystems had flourished on vast ghost nets and other plastic items, some of which housed coral fish species that had followed the debris as it drifted out into the middle of the ocean.�

F E AT U R E

TOP: Some plastics found in the middle of the ocean harboured life, including this crab.

MIDDLE: Fish eggs attached to a bottle cap.

BOTTOM: Fish aggregate around a large piece of plastic - a floating mini-reef.

garbage that you can walk on,” he said. “At no point did we find a massive collection of debris all packed together. Instead what we found was scattered debris and thousands of microplastics littering the surface.

Many people would see that as ‘less harmful’ to the ocean because it is visually less immense.”

Photographs of the larger marine debris we found can be easier to make sense of when trying to wrap one’s head around the enormity of this issue. So many mini ecosystems had flourished on vast ghost nets and other plastic items, some of which housed coral fish species that had followed the debris as it drifted out into the middle of the ocean. While I was swimming, it was these brilliant colourful schools of fish that would guide me to the larger pieces of debris on which they had made their home. There was a lot of debate on board as to what to do with larger marine debris, as pulling it out would kill all of the life around it, but leaving it would mean further microplastic breakdown. There was one occasion, when I was trying to free a fish from a huge ghost net, and a dead one dropped below me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a shape zoom past and snatch it. I stayed in the water hoping to see it again. The shark did briefly reappear. I wondered how much plastic was in that dead fish and where those microscopic pieces might end up.

It was a huge challenge for the photography team to capture microplastics on camera. They jumped in the water and filmed from the surface a number of times trying to show what the Great Pacific Garbage Patch really looked like, but had little success early on. Then we hit an extremely dense area of plastic pollution.

It was a bit of a shock to the team. “Jumping into the water was such an eye-opening moment,” explained Corbin. “The surface looked like confetti in every direction – so much that we could actually capture it very effectively. As ‘exciting’ as it was to finally find an area we could utilise to help visually demonstrate what the real problem was, it was also a very impactful moment.”

Spending every day in the water, I had a different experience to the rest of the crew. My time on board was mostly spent eating, resting and working, so I didn’t feel the pressures of being in a small space with a lot of very busy people. We had scientists, sailors, content specialists, a communication manager and social media experts. We also had a doctor on board to make sure all my vitals were ok – a reading on my blood pressure every day before and after swimming, and a fat content check to make sure I wasn’t losing too much weight too fast. While swimming I used a waterproof EKG Recorder to record my heart rate. We also had photographers and videographers, some of whom were experienced freedivers. We have so much incredible footage and important work to share that we’re hoping to make a documentary. This way, we can open a discussion about our findings and the issue at hand while educating and entertaining an audience.

While it was a challenging expedition, we did have a lot of fun and there will be some moments that I’ll never forget. Projecting movies onto a sheet out on deck was always a highlight. After I completed my initial goal of swimming 300nm, I knew that on our way to San Francisco I would be swimming less, so I wanted to help out with the night watches. Being on deck in the middle of the night, enjoying some rare quiet time on board and looking at a sky undisturbed by light pollution and peppered with stars, was special. I am so grateful to have had that experience.

Swimming is addictive. Without it, I don’t feel like myself. But while I use swimming as a platform, it was just one part of this venture – never the end goal, simply a way to get the attention of the masses.

Unfortunately, there’s nothing sexy about plastic pollution. This expedition and its findings could have ended up in a science journal, accessed only by a few. By adding a long-distance swim to the mix, we have generated some excitement – a battle against the elements in the middle of the ocean. Once we had that attention, we were able divert the discussion to what mattered – high-level data about microplastics and ocean debris. I’m looking forward to reading the reports regarding our samples and data courtesy of our partners at Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution, Scripps Institution of Oceanography and NASA. We need to start working on kicking our addiction to plastic and reconnecting with the environment.

This is a global issue with many stakeholders, but it requires local and individual action to encourage governments, lobbyists and industries to change their position. There is a lack of connection and empathy with the underwater world, but my hope is that we can get people to understand that the ocean is important for our lives on land. In order for people to care about it they need to see it, to know there is a connection.

I want to use what we have accomplished as a platform to bring more attention to the problem, to educate people and to inspire people to make changes. The expedition may have ended, but our mission continues.

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Column

By Dr Easkey Britton

The social ecologist HOW THE OCEAN CAN SAVE US

F

or many, the sea remains an expanse of ‘blue space’. What lies below the surface most humans may never see first-hand. I had the good fortune of a childhood spent in close proximity to the coast, full of the wonder of tidal movements, the power of the sea, and fast moving weather fronts. At an early age I learned about the life of intertidal zones from time spent in rock pools, before following my parents into the surf. The power of the sea to instantly bring me back to myself, to calm and restore, never ceases to amaze me. But we have turned the ocean into a commodity and lost any sense of a culture of reciprocity.

The most vivid example of how tangled our societal actions and human behaviours are with the natural environment is the emergence of plastic pollution in our oceans. But this is just one type of pollutant. There is a vast array of industrial, agricultural and domestic chemicals passing through our rivers and estuaries and from the land directly into the sea every day. Since Rachel Carson published Silent Spring in the 1960s to the present day, overall chemical production rose 50-fold to keep pace with our demands. By 2050 chemical production will triple again. As Professor Mike Depledge outlined in Issue 07, this level of pollution and toxicity poses a huge threat to human health.

It is weakening the ocean's capacity to offer us its life-sustaining gifts and its ability to protect us from the worst effects of climate change. In response to an online survey with over 10,000 European citizens across 14 countries as part of the EU-funded SOPHIE project on ocean and human health, citizens identified issues related to pollution and the need to protect our marine environment among their top priorities for a healthy, sustainable future.

What actions can we take to mainstream our ocean connection and restore the ocean’s capacity to heal? In no particular order I share my top five: Reconnect with the natural world. My work reveals how shared experiences in nature lead to greater social connection and empathy. Organisations in Ireland are tapping into the restorative power of the ocean to tackle issues like mental health and

environmental degradation in novel ways and reverse the trend in declining nature experiences.

Become an ocean literate society. To be oceanliterate means to understand how and why we are connected to the ocean. To create a more diverse and inclusive global ocean community, we need to share and celebrate new stories and experiences for why the ocean matters and a remembering of stories past of how we have always been shaped by the sea.

Restore the ocean as a safe and healthy space for all. Our ability to access and experience the sea in a positive way is shaped and determined by our history, culture, class, race and gender. If we are to create greater understanding of how ocean and human health are intrinsically linked then we must create better access for those with diverse needs and abilities, and restore the ocean as a safe and healthy space for all to experience and appreciate the wonderful health benefits from the sea in a responsible and sustainable way.

Re-plant, re-green and restore our coastlines and marine ecosystems. Leading scientists, including Dr Ayana Johnson, are calling for natural solutions to the climate crisis. This should be a core part of government goals to reducing pollution, removing carbon emissions, protecting coastal communities, mitigating climate risks and reaching our sustainable development goals.

Invest in women in marine science and ocean leadership. If the ocean is core to climate solutions then women’s leadership is key to climate action and justice, as outlined in the new Women’s Connected Leadership Declaration on Climate Justice. The declaration states how women and girls are already boldly leading on climate justice, addressing the climate crisis in ways that heal rather than deepen systemic injustices. Yet, these voices are often underrepresented and efforts inadequately supported.

The declaration asks us, “to rise and lead on climate justice, and for those with relative power and privilege to make space for and support others.”

We depend utterly on the sea, our beating blue heart, for our survival. We do not need to save our seas, we need to recognise how our seas can save us.

Photograph courtesy of Finisterre.

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Oceanographic Issue 09

@easkeysurf

@easkeysurf

www.easkeybritton.com

“The power of the sea to instantly bring me back to myself, to calm and restore, never ceases to amaze me. But we have turned the ocean into a commodity and lost any sense of a culture of reciprocity.”

About Easkey Dr Easkey Britton, surfer and founder of Like Water, is a marine social scientist at the National University of Ireland Galway. Her work explores the relationship between people and the sea, using her passion for the ocean to create social change and connection across cultures. She currently resides in Donegal, Ireland.

Call to action www.sophie2020.eu

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

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R E I N S TAT I N G

rahui

Small islands around the world suer from similar social, economic and environmental problems. In French Polynesia, one tiny coral atoll is trialling a set of initiatives they believe might be able to pave a path to rejuvenation.

Wo rd s b y C h r i s t o p h e r F i t c h P h o t o g ra p h s b y P h i l l i p p e B a c c h e t

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PREVIOUS PAGE: Fly fishing is emerging as a complement to traditional subsistence fish traps.

ABOVE: The crumbling village of Tematahoa was once a thriving community, but is now almost abandoned.

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“K

uraora ia, aore nake kura mate koutou!" The shouts hit like a crashing wave. One minute, this was Jean-Pierre, mild-mannered school headmaster with wonky glasses. Now he's Jean-Pierre, feared warrior, defender of his homeland, against me, the threatening invader. I'm being welcomed, but do I come in peace? I take one look at his contorted face and decide, yes, I definitely do. Stepping forward gingerly, a mix of French and Polynesian words fall clumsily from my mouth, just enough to reveal my honourable intentions.

With a nod from Jean-Pierre, I step back, having completed my role in this dramatic ceremony.

We're on the small island of Anaa, part of French Polynesia, stood in a circle on a small patch of land that just about emerges above sea level (my shorts are still wet from wading through the rushing sea waters). In the middle of the circle is a rocky alter, a sacred space known as a marae. On one side, a small cavity in the ground has been left open. Inside are the skeletal remains of two fish, one pointed towards the lagoon at the centre of this atoll, the other pointed in the opposite direction, towards the restless and seemingly endless Pacific Ocean, to symbolise their annual migration between lagoon and ocean. The fish being visible is highly significant. It demonstrates the revival of a cultural tradition that just might be the island's salvation.

Recognising the challenges The challenges facing small island communities are well documented. From social decline to severe environmental degradation, small islands have been hit hard by a barrage of social, economic and environmental problems.

Depopulation is a common theme, as young people abandon their homes in search of education and/or employment opportunities, either on larger neighbouring islands, or further afield.

Dr Hinano Bagnis, a Tahitian lawyer and consultant, believes she has devised a plan to reinvigorate such dilapidated islands. She had a name for the project - the Island Initiative (www.theislandinitiative.com) - and, through her friendship with the late Sir Douglas Myers, a prominent New Zealand businessman, the financial support to make it happen. All she needed was a suitable testing ground.

"Anaa was a pilot site to demonstrate what we were trying to do, building a model that could be replicated," she tells me, as we recline on comfy sofas in a hotel foyer on a typically warm Tahitian evening. The small coral atoll of Anaa — 300 miles to the east of Tahiti, in the middle of the Tuamoto island archipelago in French Polynesia — perfectly encapsulates the multitude of problems facing small island communities. The recent history of this island is almost entirely a story of decline.

In 1960, there were at least 2,000 residents, but chronic economic problems saw villages gradually shrinking.

When a powerful cyclone smashed through the island in 1983, many chose not to rebuild a life that was failing them, instead opting to pack up and move to Tahiti, or

anywhere they felt would offer more opportunities. Anaa now has less than 500 residents — mainly employed in fishing or copra (extracting the dried innards of coconuts by hand), both hard labour vocations — and a handful of ghost villages dotted around the central lagoon.

"The idea was to help the community be more selfsufficient, so it was always in our mind to look at fisheries," explains Hinano. Unsurprisingly for a remote South Pacific island, fish are a huge part of Anaa's culture, ever present in local diets, and vital to the island's economy. "This is how they live, so you need to help them to get and maintain a sustainable fishery."

Perhaps the only person who can match the enthusiasm of Anaa residents for fish is Alex Filous, the fisheries biologist from California hired by the Island Initiative to conduct marine research on the ground in Anaa. Upon arrival on the island three years ago, his first step was to undertake various tagging schemes to measure the health of the island's fish stocks, specifically one very important species, the kiokio (also known as bonefish).

"The bottom line is that bonefish accounts for 25% of the fish that people eat on the island, at least in my survey," he reveals, as we have lunch by the calm, turquoise waters of Anaa's lagoon. In its shallow, clear waters, kiokio can get fat on the crabs, clams and worms that prosper in the warm, sun-rich conditions. "Almost a hundred fish species are consumed on the island, but this is the most important species for food security."

“The recent history of this island is almost entirely a story of decline.

In 1960, there were 2,000 residents, but chronic economic problems saw villages gradually shrinking. When a powerful cyclone smashed through the island in 1983, many chose not to rebuild a life that was failing them.”

But the data revealed some troubling statistics about kiokio. A healthy fish population, he explains, should still be able to produce at least 20% of the numbers of eggs you'd find in a completely non-fished population (and preferably something closer to 40%). Lower than that, you start to risk population collapse. Anaa's kiokio were at only 11%, and declining, signifying a highly unsustainable population.

"Obviously the people here love to eat this fish," he continues. "It's an important part of their diet and culture. The data was saying that this stock is in danger of collapse. And if you talk to the older people, they've seen a big decrease in the number of fish. Now, this is not a problem that is unique to Anaa. But this island is unique, because they decided to do something about it."

As it happens, Anaa's cultural heritage contains a solution for dealing with precisely this problem. The

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atoll was settled by Polynesian voyagers around the year 1400, and, prior to colonisation by Europeans around two hundred years ago, it was standard practice for village chiefs to issue a 'rahui', a decree to protect vital food resources. With fish, for example, it might be forbidden to trap in a certain area during a set period of time, to ensure the long term survival of that resource. While rahui remains an active tool across much of Polynesia, in Anaa it hadn't been practised for two centuries.

Having looked at Alex's data, the decision thus was made to reinstate a rahui — this time, with the agreement of the community, instead of simply being granted from above — to halt fishing for three months every year, during March, April and May. The rahui would be active in the shallow channel (containing the aforementioned marae, where we conducted our ceremony) that connects the open ocean with the otherwise enclosed lagoon.

Alex's tagging data shows that it is through here that kiokio migrate every year in order to spawn on the outer edge of the reef, and installing a seasonal rahui will test his theory that these three months are when most of the sexually active female kiokio are undertaking their spawning. From June onwards, when the less valuable male fish are the ones migrating, it's open season (with, in theory, many, much larger fish now up for grabs).

"We wanted to make rahui, not law, but traditional community practise," insists Jean-Pierre Beaury, headmaster of Anaa's sole primary school. "So it was not a rahui made by the government, but a rahui made by the mayor, the population, the kids, the fishermen, the elders.

We found a way to [have it] accepted by all."

Alex's work has involved him getting heavily involved with the fishermen whose livelihoods are potentially on the line (and whose catches often include some of Alex's tagged fish) ensuring that everyone felt involved, that it wasn't simply foreigners turning up and demanding they change their lives. But central to the project has also been his engagement with the island's schoolchildren.

By learning directly about the threats facing Anaa's precarious fish stocks — even getting their assistance with surveys and dissections — the children have taken on a leading role. They were the ones who successfully campaigned to bring back the rahui (including organising a community petition that gained 97% support) and they were the instigators of the creation of a specific 'marine educational area' in the migration channel last year, creating a space specifically for gaining a hands-on experience of the marine environment. In the words of Calixte Yip, island mayor, the children have 'completely changed everything on the island'.

Finding solutions With the very first rahui in this project taking place just this year, there is now a wait of up to five years for any RIGHT: Boats are the primary means of transport between island, with residents reliant on expensive fuel shipped from Tahiti.

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potential impact on the kiokio population to show up in the migration data, when the extra fish spawned this year reach sexual maturity. "We're working with nature, it's not like you don't fish for three months and then there are fish falling from the sky," says Alex. But anecdotally, this first trial has been a huge success for the fishermen.

"Apparently, when they reopened the season, they caught a sh*tload of fish!" he laughs.

The anticipated revival of kiokio has consequences beyond simply subsistence fishing. Central to Hinano's decision to focus her project on Anaa was to target fly fishing as a way to encourage tourists to travel to the island, managed by the travel company Indifly. According to Alex, Anaa's lagoon cultivates the best flavoured kiokio around, hence the hope that a newly thriving population will attract tourists in ever greater numbers (40 fly fishing tourists made the journey to the island last year). Each visitor pays into a community fund in order to access the lagoon, money that both pays compensation for the fishermen unable to practice their trade for the three month rahui, and also funds projects to improve the collective prosperity of the island community.

People on Anaa are determined not to become like their Polynesian neighbour Bora Bora, an island dominated by foreign hotels and resorts employing staff indiscriminately from all over the archipelago. Island Initiative is working with residents on Anaa to find ways for them to all benefit economically from an increase in tourist numbers, instead of being mere bystanders. Some people have been trained to manufacture bespoke fly fishing hooks, specifically designed for native kiokio, for which the artisan is paid 250 francs (roughly €2) each.

Others have been given grants to start commercial scale craft making, such as basket weaving, shell jewellery making, or stone carving. All these items are then packaged together and presented to the arriving tourists as a complete set of everything they need to enjoy and remember their experience in this remote part of the world. By both paying for risky upfront business costs, and supplying a reliable customer base, Island Initiative is giving a new lease of life to Anaa's artisan community.

"We're trying to work mainly with people under 30," says Moana Kautai, the Island Initiative’s Operations Manager on Anaa, as we bounce around in the back of a truck driving down the dusty main road. "Older people, they're already set in their ways. But young people can bring new ideas. Then they become good role models for their kids. So it makes them all not want to leave."

There's a long way to go, but Alex heralds the progress made on the island so far. "If you'd come to this island three years ago, there's no way any of this could have been imagined," he insists, waving his arm around to indicate the many changes that have taken place. "But now we want to move away from fly fishing. We want to show how much more there is to do here."

As Hinano explains, fly fishing is just the start of their much bigger plans for Anaa. She believes that the island could have the allure to attract tourists for a host of

Oceanographic Issue 09

BEHIND THE LENS

“People on Anaa are determined not to become like their Polynesian neighbour Bora Bora, an island dominated by foreign hotels and resorts employing people indiscriminately from all over the archipelago.�

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different activities. "We can do whale watching, cultural tours, [tourists] can learn the history [of the island]," she says, reeling off a potential itinerary that includes bike tours, boat trips, church visits, and more. Such change is always easier to say than to enact, and the shadows of those massive hotels on Bora Bora will continue to act as a reminder about the delicate balance that needs to be struck when opening the island for tourism.

Back at the marae, Moana explained to me that, in Polynesian culture, the ocean is viewed as the ultimate marae, the most sacred place of all. So it is perhaps no surprise that the rejuvenation of Anaa has come through protecting life in the ocean. Saving kiokio might indeed be just the start.

The bigger picture There are of course many global crises that even the most successful local business plan will struggle to combat, specifically environmental problems such as sea level rise or plastic pollution. Raphael, one of Anaa's senior fishermen, reports that the island has so far been relatively unaffected by these issues. But a history of destructive cyclones underlines how vulnerable the island already is to a volatile climate.

The key question now is whether or not the experiment on Anaa makes it a desirable model to follow for other small islands experiencing similar decline. Hinano insists that Anaa is not, by itself, irrefutable evidence. "I need another island where we're starting from scratch to test the model," she says. "I don't want Anaa to be a lucky project, I need to be sure that what I'm doing works. It has worked for Anaa and if tomorrow I have to stop, I am grateful. I know that we, with this project, have changed the life of people on this island forever. We have done more than what Sir Douglas wanted us to do."

But how sustainable is tourism as a linchpin behind her main social and economic plan? Anaa has the benefit of a kiokio population that seemingly attracts fly fishing tourists (and their money) from around the world. Will other islands be able to stand out in the same way? Can every island be unique enough to successfully compete for a limited pool of tourists? "Right now we're focusing on tourism because of the larger ripple effect of it," explains Hinano. "Tourism can develop agriculture, arts and crafts, ukulele crafting, it just creates a larger scale of activities related to the need of tourism."

However many islands the Initiative ends up working with — she estimates between five and ten — the plan is to keep using tourism centrally, with some attached environmental cause, and strong engagement with island residents to ensure the proceeds are shared throughout the community. If it is deemed a major success, then perhaps it can become a working exportable template for other islands to follow, should they so wish. Until then, kiokio will continue their migrations, likely oblivious of the starring role they are playing in this inspiring comeback story.

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“Back at the marae, Moana explained to me that, in Polynesian culture, the ocean is viewed as the ultimate marae, the most sacred place of all.�

Three fly fishermen try their luck on the edge of the reef.

(Photograph by Josh Hutchins)

Column

By Hanli Prinsloo

The ocean activist NO PLACE LIKE HOME

“T

he past months I have spent time freediving in three different remote tropical destinations. Yes to bright corals, blindingly blue water, singing humpback whales, spotted whale sharks, playful dolphins, sleepy turtles and all the other friends you would expect to hobnob with off palm tree-lined islands. Now back on home soil in Cape Town I pull out my 5mm open-cell neoprene wetsuit (slightly mouldy from lack of use), my warm gloves and socks and step back into my garden.

There are many reasons to visit Cape Town. From the world class culinary experiences to the mountains, the beaches and the wine. Tourists flock from all over the world and only a fraction pack their masks and snorkels… From where I live in a small artisanal fishing village just outside the city it’s a five minute walk to the most spectacular forest most people have never heard of. Miles of majestic trunks, swaying canopies and a busy bustle of inhabitants makes the kelp forests lining our rugged coastline my favourite aquatic destination. Let the humpbacks sing! Let the whale sharks enthral and the dolphins play… my cold water garden is my home.

Unlike most spectacular marine experiences, you don’t even need to board a boat to access this wilderness. Sitting on a granite boulder on the southern edge of the False Bay coast I pull on my fins and mask. Quiet as an otter I slip into the chilly Atlantic, the cold water on my face makes me gasp then smile. This is home. I slowly make my way out of the shallow. Brushing the tops of golden fronds I peer down into a fairy tale world. Flickering sunlight filters down to the world below. One, two, three deep breaths. I fill my lungs one final time and kick down.

Gliding along a silky kelp trunk I drop five, six, eight, ten metres down and hover. A silvery shimmer of breams settle and approach, large eyes fixed on me curiously. Slowly I kick my way through the dense forest, gliding over pink, red and purple urchins interspersed with garish orange sea stars and bright blue anemones. It’s as if a classroom of uninhibited kindergarteners were invited to decorate a room and all the paints got thrown around in wild abandon.

A shadow falls on the bright spectacle and I look up to see a swimming fossil approach. A seven gill shark. A giant of the forest, a relic of a lost time. With puckered granny lips, limpid almond-shaped eyes and elegant slate grey skin the slow motion fans of her tall tail fin glides her by, three metres of pure mystery. Like a ghost or a dream she is gone. I swim back up to breathe, back in sparkling sunlight gazing down into the beckoning forest. Suddenly the water beside me erupts with a splash and a swoosh and I catch a glimpse of sleek fur and whiskers.

A cape fur seal comes in for a look. I take a quick gulp of air and dash down for a game of seal tag. He darts in close turning just before our faces collide and I do a quick back roll that makes him snort air through his nostrils and mimic my movement. He perfects my clumsy aquatic gymnastics into a display of such comic flexibility and agility I laugh out the last of my air and come back up to the surface gasping as the seal continues to dart and play beneath me, watching me with a beseeching look of ‘play, play, play!’ Recovering my breath I dive back down and we swoop through the undergrowth together, like a pair of parrots in a rainforest – for just a moment I know flight. Gravity forgotten I am part seal and this is our shared home.

Minutes become hours in the forest and I watch a resident octopus stalk a crab, a variety of small cat sharks patrol the bottom and every now and again a shy penguin shoots by in search of deeper water and fish to feed its fluffy chick on land.

This diverse community of creatures are my neighbours, just as much as the humans I share my street with. We have a lot of work to do for our communities on land, where poverty and inequality have caused such great despair that violence haunts the city's streets and homes. But when I slip into the kelp forest, the largest community in Cape Town, I am safe and at peace, a world away from the realities we have created on land. HP

Hanli exploring the kelp forests of Cape Town - her cold water garden.

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@hanliprinsloo

@hanliprinsloo

@hanliprinsloofreediver

“Like a ghost or a dream she is gone. I swim back up to breathe, back in sparkling sunlight gazing down into the beckoning forest.�

About Hanli Hanli Prinsloo is a South African freediver and ocean advocate. She is the founder of I AM WATER, a Durban-based charity that seeks to reconnect South Africa's underserved urban youth with the ocean. www.iamwaterfoundation.org

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

PAUL HILTON Behind the Lens places a spotlight on the world’s foremost ocean conservation photographers.

Each edition focusses on the work of an individual who continues to shape global public opinion through powerful imagery and compelling storytelling.

BEHIND THE LENS

Q&A PAU L H I LTO N Award-winning photojournalist and wildlife trade consultant, member of the International League of Conservation Photographers and SeaLegacy Collective member.

Paul Hilton is an Australian photojournalist and conservationist. He has received international acclaim for his work on the shark finning trade and was an important contributor to the global community's decision to give manta rays greater protections in 2013. Accolades include a World Press Photo award and several Wildlife Photographer of the Year awards.

OC EA NO G R A PH IC M AGAZ I N E (OM ): W H E N D I D YOU FIRST CONNECT WITH TH E OCEAN? PAUL HILTON (PH): I was born in England, but my family emigrated to Australia when I was two or three years old. We emigrated by ship, the SS Australis, journeying around the Cape of Good Hope. I remember looking out to sea on one occasion and in every direction, as far as I could see, were dolphins. The ship was surrounded by them. It was mesmerising. I was in awe.

I have two memories from that voyage. The second one is of being lost, unable to find my cabin and crying. Interpreting the second memory as something of a metaphor, both memories seem rather prophetic now, given where my life has taken me. Then, as a child growing up in Australia, I spent all my time on the beach, fishing with friends, swimming, windsurfing, surf-lifesaving. I was always around the ocean, much like a lot of Aussie kids were – and still are.

OM : W H EN D ID YOU F I RS T P I C K U P A C AM E R A? PH: I was about 14. We took a family holiday to the Snowy Mountains. Someone had given my mum a camera – an old film camera. I remember walking every day with that, trying to photograph birds in their natural habitat. Australia has so many beautiful parrots. I followed crimson rosellas through the bushland and river systems of the mountains. It was beautiful, the birds’ bright red and blue plumage so vibrant as they flew across white fields of snow.

I just loved being in the great outdoors with a camera – and a purpose. Growing up in Australia, I was always out on the land – camping, fishing, always outdoors. We had a lot of freedom back then. I think through all those years of doing that I gained a real appreciation for the land. Based in North Queensland we were surrounded by ocean and, at the back, bushland and National Park – literally five minutes from home. You don't realise until you look back but it taught me a lot, served up a lot of lessons in my younger years. I grew up taking it for granted, but the wilderness is infectious, it gets into you. Without knowing, I was developing an appreciation for how everything should to be in its natural place. Spending time on the land and in the ocean allowed me to connect with it all.

OM : A S T H AT CO N N E C T I ON D E V E L OP E D , WAS TH ERE A MOMENT YOU REALISED P H OTO G R A PH Y C OU L D BE M ORE T H AN S I M P LY SOMETH ING TH AT OFFERED P URP OSE TO YOUR TIM E O U T DO O R S? PH: I’m not sure there was a singular moment, but I went professional around the age of 26.

When I finished high school I planned to go into the Parks and Wildlife Service, a rangers service for Australia’s National Parks. But my natural curiosity prevented me from doing that – I realised I didn't want to be 21 years old, sitting out in the outback, detached from the world. I ended up spending a year in a combi van driving around Australia. The van ended up being something of a wildlife hospital. At one stage we had a blue-tongued lizard, an olive python, a galah and a magpie. They were great times, full of natural encounters.

From there I ended up in London and decided to enrol myself onto a photography course. It was a six-week course at London's Kennington School of Photography, which gave me the basic foundations of photography. A couple of years later, having bought myself a basic SLR, I met a Dutch corporate photographer in Hong Kong who took me under his wing, eventually offering me an assisting job. I remember at the time he wanted to see my portfolio. I was really proud of it, but he pulled it apart – “that's out of focus”, “that composition sucks”. It was pretty hard to hear,

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but he offered me a job. I joined him on different commercial jobs where I learned about lighting, filters and film. Because we photographed everything from weddings and corporate events to helicopter shoots and sporting events, the role gave me a good foundation for what needs to be done in any given photographic situation.

O M: W ER E YOU S T I L L TAK I N G W I L D L IFE P H OTOGRAP H S ALONGSIDE TH E COMMERCIAL? PH: Yes. I was doing a little bit of pro bono work for the WWF and I spent time working on some tiger images, but it was all in safari parks, nothing serious – it was more of a hobby. I never realised I could turn it into a living. Then, in 2001, I met Jill Robinson at the Animals Asia Foundation, an organisation that has been working for many years to shut down bear bile farming in China. It's a barbaric trade. They asked me to document one of their bear rescues, which I did.

O M: WA S T H AT T H E M OM E N T YOU BECAME A WILDLIFE CONSERVATION P H OTOGRAP H ER? PH: It was the moment I realised it was something I wanted to pursue, and that maybe I could make it work as a way of life. One of the first bears ever rescued was of a bear named Andrew, who had lost a leg in the snare in which he was caught. I captured an image of him in a cage after his operation, stitches down his stomach, just three legs. The image ran in National Geographic.

To get an image in that magazine, but perhaps more importantly as a young photographer, to get a cheque from National Geographic, that was special. The images went on to feature in other magazines and won awards. I ended up in Hollywood, for an award, where I made a lot of good contacts. It was at that point I realised this was something I could pursue as a career.

O M: YO U ' RE C U RRE N T LY W ORK I N G ON TH E PALM OIL TRADE IN SUMATRA. TH E LOSS OF SOIL INT EG R IT Y AN D I N C RE AS E D RU N OF F MAKE DEFORESTATION A MARINE ISSUE AS MUCH AS A LA ND ISS U E . I S T H AT S OM E T H I N G YO U SEE IN SUMATRA? PH: The topsoil run off is a huge factor for the coastal reefs for sure. It’s not something my work has focussed on, but yes, deforestation is certainly impacting the ocean.

I've been working up in the Leuser Ecosystem, the last place on Earth that tigers, rhinos, elephants and orangutans live under the same canopy. It’s a biodiversity hotspot, and it is vast, covering a huge area of more than 2.6 million hectares. It's one of the last places with enough habitat to maintain these vital and viable populations of endangered species. It’s so crucial the area is protected, especially in Southeast Asia, where so many other forests are segmented.

I was actually invited up there around 2011/12, having just won a World Press award for my body of shark finning work. I'd always wanted to put the spotlight on the palm oil trade – it was something I really felt strongly about. I ended up covering an orangutan rescue and relocation.

We went to this small area of forest surrounded by cleared land and smouldering earth as far as you could see. In that small patch of forest, maybe the size of a football field, was a huge male orangutan. You could see he was stuck. A lot of the Sumatran orangutans won’t travel over land because of tigers and other natural predators.

My job was to document the team going through the process of tranquilising this big male. After several darts they managed to hit it and the orangutan slowly fell out of the tree it was sheltering in. But he was still conscious. When he hit the net he looked at me. Directly. I looked back at him. At that moment I realised how wrong everything was, how far we as a species had veered off course. It was almost like looking into another human’s eyes, and I wasn't prepared for that. It was so intense, and unjust. After that image and that experience I had to keep going back. I felt the world needed to know about what was happening to this pristine corner of the planet.

O M: A S W E L L AS BE I N G A P H OTOGRAP H ER YOU'RE ALSO A WILDLIFE TRADE CONSULTANT H OW DO T H E T W O ROL E S I N T E RT W I NE? PH: As a photojournalist I get to meet and interact with wildlife poachers and traders – access most people don’t have. I also get access to areas where people don’t normally go, and through that access I can get a lot of information. That enables me to produce on-the-ground reports on certain species-related issues. The method I use varies – I have often posed as a buyer, though I’m less able to do that as my profile grows. Ultimately I see the two roles as part of the same thing – highlighting the plight and trade of endangered species. Information and photography both play critical roles in helping to better conserve or protect a species. Fundamentally, I'm more of a conservationist with a camera.

Continued on p.80...

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Q&A Continued...

OM: YO UR ' MA NTA RAY OF H OP E ' P ROJE C T D OCUMENTS TH E USE OF GILL RAKERS IN CH INES E MEDICI N E . H OW P ROL I F I C I S T H E PROBLEM AND H AVE YOU SEEN DEMAND FOR GIL LS CH A NG E SI N C E T H E P ROJE C T S TART E D? PH: I spent the best part of 10 years, from 2006, documenting the shark fin trade because Hong Kong, where I was based at the time, was ground zero for shark fins. I was walking the streets looking for photo features for the European photo agency I was contracted to at the time and I just realised on those wanderings how colossal the scale of the shark fin market was there. Fins were piled up in these dry seafood areas of Hong Kong and no one seemed to care. It was insane.

I couldn’t see how the ocean could provide that many shark fins, so I started documenting it.

Then, in 2007, I was in Indonesia with friends on a surf trip. I always took my camera with me and would check out the fish markets to see what was being landed. I was expecting to photograph more shark fins – which I did – but I also came across oceanic manta rays and mobula rays lined up. I couldn’t believe it.

I saw the same thing in Sri Lanka two years later. Again, I was capturing images of the shark fin trade, following a group of traders. They started cutting the heads off manta rays and mobula rays. The same guys who were taking the fins off sharks were taking the gills from manta rays. I followed them to a drying facility, where we saw piles of shark fins before entering another room where we saw gills laid out on the floor and on part of the roof. I asked the fishermen what was going on. They said they would be sending the shipment to China.

Once back in Hong Kong, I went into a traditional Chinese medicine shop and looked for manta gills. Those shops are basically rooms of ocean genocide – different species of starfish, pipefish, seahorses, sea snakes, sea cucumbers, floor to ceiling. It’s horrible. The scale and variety is colossal. In amongst all of that I managed to locate what looked like a manta gill. I asked one of the practitioners about it. They told me it was a cure for chicken pox and asthma. I couldn’t believe it.

I decided to head across the border into Guangdong province to visit the dry seafood areas of southern China. I saw shopfront after shopfront selling huge amounts of manta ray and mobula ray gills. I couldn’t believe how big this was. I went back several times, each time photographing different sized gills, different shapes, and trying to get an understanding of what species were being traded. I also took a small snip off a gill when the shopkeepers weren’t looking – a small thumbnail-sized piece to get the DNA. I got about 120 different samples and photo IDs. The results indicated that four species of mobula ray and one manta ray were predominantly sold within the market. At the same time we also found whale shark gills being sold. Through that work we ended up putting together a couple of papers, one with WildAid and the other through the Guy Harvey Institute, which represented the first DNA analysis of the Chinese seafood market trade in manta and mobula rays. That data and evidence helped bolster the case for the rays gaining great protection at CITES in 2013.

OM: S INCE T H AT 2 0 1 3 V I C TORY, W H AT I M PAC T DO YOU TH INK H AS BEEN SEEN ON TH E GROU N D AN D I N T H E OC E A N? PH: Well, I've been living predominately in Indonesia where there has been great protection throughout the archipelago. Along with CITES protection, that change is also down to a 2013 report that put the tourism value of a manta ray at nearly USD $1million over the course of its lifetime, compared to a few hundred dollars to a fisherman. That really helped. Indonesia put a nationwide ban on manta ray fisheries. Sadly mobula rays are still being fished.

The fisheries declined dramatically but some are still operating and you still see gills in the markets in southern China. While significantly less is coming in from Indonesia, a new industry seems to have emerged in India.

OM: H OW MU CH H AS T H E S H ARK F I N N I N G T RADE CH ANGED IN TH E LAST TEN YEARS? PH: The industry has shifted in as much as the fins were the major driving factor for fisheries back then but now there is huge consumption of shark meat, though a lot of people are oblivious to it. Shark oil (squalene) is used in Omega-3 supplements for example. Regarding Hong Kong, the demand has dropped somewhat, but in mainland China it's still full steam ahead.

A couple years back I was on a Greenpeace boat in the Pacific and I could see things hadn't changed – the Taiwanese long-liners were still full of shark fins. Those sharks were supposed to be

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landed with bodies and fins, but we saw 30 bodies and sack after sack of fins, so it’s still going on.

The additional challenge now, as I said, is that the market is a lot broader than it was, with more shark meat being consumed and used - a lot of chemists will stock shark-based products.

During the release of Racing Extinction, back in 2015, I was investigating whale shark fisheries and their connection with Omega-3 pills. These pills were being packaged in China, sent to the US, where they were repackaged or bottled, and then sent to different places in Asia. There's no way consumers can track that. Knowing where your product has come from is almost impossible.

O M: EIG H T E E N S P E C I E S OF S H ARK S AND RAYS RECENTLY RECEIVED GREATER P ROTECTION AT CITES, THANKS IN PART TO A HUGE GLOBAL PUBLIC AWARENESS CAMPAIGN. DO YOU T H INK T H E P U BL I C I S W I S E R TO W HAT'S GOING ON IN OUR NATURAL WORLD NOW? PH: I think the awareness of issues like shark finning is there now, yes, but it's still happening – out on the high seas and out of sight. That's the trouble with these long range fisheries, they’re out there plundering the world’s oceans where no one can see them. I feel like I've been banging my head against a brick wall sometimes, talking about this issue for so long with so little change, you know? How are we still talking about shark finning as an issue?

But I think we're starting to see things change, especially with the power of social media. To be able to call for hundreds of thousands of signatures on petitions, as SeaLegacy do for their campaigns, or get involved in things like Extinction Rebellion, it’s giving power back to the people and bringing like-minded people together – people who really care. I think we're just at the beginning of it. We're at the tipping point of so many issues and people are becoming more vocal – they realise we're up against some major issues and they’re starting to get off the fence.

O M: R EG ARD I N G P U BL I C I N VOLV E M E NT IN CONSERVATION, YOU’RE INVOLVED IN AN INNOVAT I V E M ARI N E P ROJ E C T C AL L ED OCEAN EYE. TELL US MORE ABOUT TH AT. PH: Ocean Eye is an innovative application that facilitates small tourism payments for each animal sighted during a trip, the money is transferred securely to the local community, creating a financial incentive for keeping the animals alive, rather than killing them for short term profit.

(More info at: www.oceaneye.io) O M: H OW D O YOU M AN AGE T H E E M OTIONAL SIDE OF P H OTOGRAP H ING TH E WILDLIFE TRADE? PH: Throughout my career I've photographed some pretty distressing and depressing issues. The majority of the time I've been okay, I've managed to keep some distance. But there have been times where I've come home and I've felt pretty broken down. On those occasions I give myself space, step back and remind myself there is so much to be grateful for. I'm in a good place now. I still really care, I just don't hold it as close.

About 18 months ago I created Out There with Paul Hilton (www.outtherewithpaulhilton.com), a venture where I connect people with the planet, and connect with like-minded people myself.

It’s an opportunity to experience all that is good in the world. Unique expeditions to the most biodiverse places on Earth offer participants the opportunity to learn, experience and interact with the world's biggest, most beautiful and most fascinating lifeforms. It offers me balance too.

O M: YO U ’ V E W ON A N U M BE R OF AWA RDS FOR YOUR WORK. H OW MUCH DO TH OSE AWARDS MEA N TO YOU AN D D O YOU D RAW I NSP IRATION AND ENERGY FROM TH AT RECOGNITION? PH: Awards are an acknowledgement that you’re doing something right. They’re a chance to take stock, to pat yourself on the back a little and to know that, hopefully, you’ve had an impact in terms of creating change. But more importantly, they help highlight the issues we as photographers are trying to put a spotlight on. Images can have profound effects on people, which can influence opinion, start conversations or instigate change.

O M: H OW H OP E F U L ARE YOU T H AT W E CAN RETURN TH IS P LANET TO A P LACE OF NAT UR A L BAL AN C E ?

PH: I think it's going to get a lot worse before it gets better. The problem at the moment is there isn’t enough governance on these big issues – a total lack of compassion in fact. Most people in power don’t seem to have an understanding of what the planet is about, that it's our life source and we’re killing it.

O M: F INAL LY, W H AT ' S N E XT F OR YOU? PH: I'm heading to Myanmar. The Northern Alliance there is run by the Wa ethnic group. We’re in negotiations regarding them helping to manage or shut down some of the border towns up and down the Chinese border that trade in wildlife. A huge amount of wildlife moves through these towns and into China. Let’s hope we can shut some of them down.

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Kaohsiung, Taiwan Thousands of shark fins are offloaded and sorted in a wet market. Thresher and silky sharks form a large part of the world’s shark fin trade because of the demand for shark products and the high value of large shark fins.

Solomon Islands Marovo Lagoon is one of the largest saltwater lagoons in the world. Palm oil trade expansion and logging have put the ecosystem at risk.

Mozambique A fisherman cuts the fin off a sand shark. Twice a month Taiwanese businessmen drive up and down the east seaboard of Africa, picking up fins to sell in the markets of East Asia.

Indonesia A spinner dolphin breaks the water's surface, in the warm waters off Bali.

Central Pacific Ocean A blue shark on the deck of a Taiwanese longliner. Long lines can be up to 100 miles long with more than 3,000 hooks.

Greenpeace found this boat to be full of shark fins. The captain said he was fishing for tuna.

Azores A blue shark swims in the cold waters of the Atlantic Ocean. This image was captured during a blue shark fishery investigation.

Solor Island, Indonesia A huge oceanic manta ray is hauled out of the water after being harpooned during a manta hunt. Manta rays are targeted for their gills, which are used as a health tonic remedy in Traditional Chinese Medicine.

East New Britain, Papua New Guinea When huge amounts of forest is cleared for palm oil trade expansion, marine systems suffer from increased top soil run-off as seen here from the air.

Kaohsiung, Taiwan A Taiwanese shark fin drying facility. The scale of some of these facilities is staggering.

Bali, Indonesia Dolphins enjoying a spot of human watching, during an investigation into the dolphin meat trade.

Kupang, Indonesia A pole and line tuna boat, pulling in yellow fin tuna. Pole and line is rated by many conservation groups as the most eco-friendly method of fishing tuna, as it eliminates by-catch of other marine life, such as sea turtles.

East New Britain, Papua New Guinea An aerial view of a river in Pomio.

This image was taken during an illegal logging campaign for Greenpeace.

Behind the lens PAUL HILTON Paul is a photojournalist and wildlife trade consultant who seeks to bring about urgent change in the way we treat our surroundings. Renowned for his work exposing the truths behind the shark-finning and gill raker industries, he is currently working on the palm oil issue: documenting deforestation, land clearing, and the wildlife trade in Sumatra’s Leuser ecosystem.

He is a member of the prestigious International League of Conservation Photographers, and a SeaLegacy Collective member. He has received numerous awards for his conservation photography, including a World Press Photo award and three Wildlife Photographer of the Year awards.

Nadi, Fiji Frozen tuna packed into a transport container, ready for export to foreign markets.

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PERSONAL

@paulhiltonphoto

SEALEGACY

@sealegacy

www.paulhiltonphotography.com @SeaLegacy

@sealegacy

www.sealegacy.org

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D WA R F M I N K E S ,

big questions Little is known about the dwarf minke whale, a subspecies of the northern hemisphere minke, which is yet to be given a formal taxonomic description. A team of researchers from the Minke Whale Project is harnessing citizen science in a bid to better understand the mysterious cetaceans.

Wo rd s a n d p h o t o g ra p h s b y C ra i g Pa r r y

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section of the Great Barrier Reef known as Ribbon Reef 10 is one of the most northerly migration destinations of dwarf minke whales, a subspecies of the northern minke whale, which typically visit on their seasonal journeys north from the Southern Ocean. It is presumed the whales complete this migration to warmer waters to breed, just as other whales do. Unlike other baleen whales, however, nobody has encountered dwarf minkes mating in the area, so the motivation for migration currently remains a theory. It is one of many mysteries regarding these little-understood cetaceans.

Earlier this year I joined an expedition to Ribbon Reef 10 in search of dwarf minkes, joining researchers from the Minke Whale Project (MWP), an organisation based out of North Queensland’s James Cook University in Australia. The MWP is working to better understand the biology and behaviour of a whale group only recognised as a subspecies as recently as the 1980s. While occurring throughout the southern hemisphere, the northern Great Barrier Reef aggregation area is the endpoint of the subspecies' recently discovered north-south migration route to and from the Southern Ocean. Relatively new to marine science means one thing: lots of questions.

In order to start answering these questions and building a broader understanding of dwarf minke whales, the MWP relies – perhaps unusually – on the whale-watching tourism trade. Accessing remote parts of the Great Barrier Reef aboard research vessels would be expensive. Far more affordable is joining swim-withwhales operators who head to sea every year for the only known predictable aggregation of dwarf minkes in the world. There is a hidden benefit too: tourists, rather than being bystanders, play an important role in the collection of scientific and photographic data – via whale behaviour observation and image sharing – that is subsequently used by the MWP team. They become citizen scientists.

This collaboration and cooperation between the MWP research team and the swim-with-minke tourism industry not only aids scientists in better understanding the subspecies, but also allows the industry to grow sustainably and for effective management strategies to develop and evolve. This helps maintain the health and safety of the whales, the quality of interactions and, ultimately, safeguarding the long-term viability of the industry – a symbiotic relationship of sorts.

I have long been fascinated by whales. It is an obsession that took hold while on assignment in Tonga, swimming with and photographing humpback whales.

That first moment I came face-to-face with a curious and unthreatening 40-tonne mammal is something I will never forget, a bucket list experience that I continue to recall on a regular basis, and one that I want to experience again and again. The second time I shared the

PREVIOUS: A curious dwarf minke approaches for a closer look.

RIGHT: Dwarf minke whales can be identified by the paintbrush stroke-like markings on their pectoral fins.

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“While occurring throughout the southern hemisphere, the northern Great Barrier Reef aggregation area is the endpoint of the subspecies' recently discovered north-south migration route to and from the Southern Ocean.�

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underwater world with humpback whales I noticed them mimicking my movements, even following me back to the boat. On one occasion, while I was checking images on my camera screen, a whale snuck up behind me and gave me a gentle push, as if asking for attention. That experience was a defining moment for me personally, not just as a photographer but as a human. The connection I felt was overwhelming.

My fascination with whales grew further still when meeting Australia’s highly regarded dwarf minke whale scientist, Dr Alastair Birtles, in 2018. He inspired me.

I wanted to learn more about this purportedly social subspecies of the northern – or common – minke. I wanted to interact with dwarf minkes underwater. Would the connection be as impactful as those initial encounters with humpbacks?

It was because of Dr Birtles that I found myself on an expedition from Cairns to the Ribbon Reefs area of the Great Barrier Reef. Our objective was to photograph, ID and observe dwarf minke whales along their migration route. Images and data from the trip would, it was hoped, bolster the important work being done by Dr Birtles and the MWP team, some of whom were onboard alongside a number of photography students under my tuition.

Three days in, we hadn’t encountered any dwarf minkes. Approximately 50km south of Ribbon Reef 10 we stopped for a dive at a site called Steve’s Bommie, a 30m coral head famous for its abundance of healthy fish and spectacular corals. We glided through schools of curious yellowtail snapper and explored the reef ’s array of colourful corals and anemones, meeting the gaze of various clownfish, angelfish and anthias. As we surfaced and started returning to the boat, I spotted a small blow on the horizon. We waited a few minutes and, just as I started to think my eyes had been playing tricks on me, a lone minke whale appeared before us. It was a hugely welcome appearance – the boat’s skipper had only seen six minkes the week before so the possibility of failing to encounter them during our 200km voyage had been a very real one.

When in groups dwarf minke whales are sociable creatures. This individual, alone, was less so, moving in large circles, at a distance, around the boat. A juvenile humpback whale subsequently approached, moving in toward the back of the boat, where it paused and assessed, before disappearing into the blue, skimming the surface of the water as it went. The minke whale disappeared too, close by the humpback’s side. The first whale interaction of the expedition was a fascinating and a rare one – none of the MWP scientists on-board had encountered humpback and minke whales interacting – socialising even – together before. Indeed, Dr Birtles had only seen this three times in his 24 years in the field. The science had started.

As the sun rose on another day, this time at a site called Lighthouse Bommie, we were greeted by perfect ocean conditions – atypical at a time of year dominated by whipping southerly winds and strong currents. Our

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boat was surrounded by whales. At least 20 of them. We hurriedly entered the water.

The first thing I noticed about minke whales underwater is that they are, as Dr Birtles had insisted, extremely curious and sociable when in groups. The longer I was in the water with them, the closer they approached. On some occasions the whales – which can grow up to approximately 8m in length – came within an arm’s length. It certainly felt as if the whales felt empowered being part of a group, safer perhaps. They seemed to crave attention and exuded curiosity. At one stage in the day, thinking the whales had disappeared, I casually looked below me expecting to see nothing but blue water. A metre below? A minke whale, stationary, staring back at me. The encounters are special, the sense of connection incommunicable on these pages – connection not just with the animal, but with nature and the balance of things as a whole.

I spent six hours in the water observing and photographing dwarf minke whales that day. Of course, my time in-water went beyond feelings of connection – I was there to observe and, most importantly, to photograph for MWP. Information needed to be gathered. So what is it that makes photographs of minke whales so useful? Suzanne Hillcoat, a PhD candidate working on behaviour and growth of dwarf minke whales with the MWP, explains: “A lot of dwarf minke whale research is based on the photo-identification of individual whales – individual markings on their bodies and fins. So a photograph is an extremely valuable piece of data. We have been able to estimate how many dwarf minke whales interact with tourism vessels each year (several hundred), how long individual whales spend in a particular area (10 days on average in the Ribbon Reefs area), and if the same whales come back year after year – which it seems they do.

“Furthermore, the infamous saying ‘a picture is worth a thousand words’ rings true regarding the wider conservation message, especially in the age of social media. A beautiful image of a whale will captivate the public far better than a scientific paper ever could.

Underwater photographers not only contribute to our vital research, but also help to spread a positive message.”

The unique markings on minke pectoral fins truly are beautiful – a paintbrush stroke – and an extremely delicate and exciting feature to photograph. There can of course be other defining markings, such as scarring.

One individual we encountered had a shark bite scar that made her instantly distinguishable from the others – along with the fact she typically approached extremely slowly and came closer than the rest of her pod.

Behavioural traits like this are recorded by the MWP team. As more encounters are had, patterns emerge. One particular move has been dubbed the ‘minke decoy’, a manoeuvre that sees one whale distract while another, out of sight (usually below or behind you), moves in extremely close for a better look. On other occasions the whales presented their bellies to us, a move Suzanne

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“They seemed to crave attention and exuded curiosity. At one stage in the day, thinking the whales had disappeared, I casually looked below me expecting to see nothing but blue water. A metre below? A minke whale, stationary, staring back at me.�

TOP: Dwarf minkes are baleen whales, using baleen plates to filter out food from water.

BOTTOM: Unlike other baleen whales, such as humpbacks, minkes do not raise their flukes out of the water when diving.

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“The unique markings on minke pectoral fins truly are beautiful – a paintbrush stroke – and an extremely delicate and exciting feature to photograph.”

Beautiful science: photographs of dwarf minkes can connect people with conservation as well as contribute to science.

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tells me is socialising or courtship behaviour. Witnessing behaviours like these, it often felt as if the whales were as interested in us as we were in them – particularly when you consider we did nothing to entice them in the first place, as some operators do when chumming the water for shark encounters, for example. We simply showed up.

I like to think they were socialising with us, perhaps even trying to communicate.

Behavioural traits could offer a clue regarding the answer to the biggest question of them all – why minkes are in the area to begin with. “We suspect that dwarf minke whales aggregate in the Ribbon Reefs for mating purposes,” says Suzanne. “We don’t know for sure because mating has never actually been observed. However, we do see a lot of socialising and courtship behaviours here, which provide support for this theory. We believe dwarf minke whales are making a similar migration to humpback whales, wherein they travel down to Antarctica to feed in the summer months and travel up to the tropics to socialise and mate in the winter. A few years ago the MWP tagged some dwarf minke whales to try to answer this question, and found that they generally travel south from the Great Barrier Reef, down along the east coast of Australia, and into the Southern Ocean.”

The motivation behind migration is, of course, not the only question that remains unanswered. “There are still lots of minke mysteries waiting to be uncovered,” continues Suzanne. “We see a wide range of behaviours in these whales, and we are trying to understand what drives some of these differences. Do the males behave differently to the females? What about the adults and the juveniles? We are also measuring their growth and trying to assess their body condition, which is of increasing concern as the oceans warm and acidify due to climate change. We are also doing some genetic work to move towards a formal taxonomic description of the dwarf minke whale. To date, we have no population estimate for dwarf minke whales. At all. We have absolutely no idea how many of these whales exist in the world. Information about their distribution and migration is vital to make a useful population assessment, and baseline assessments would allow us to monitor the health of the population over time.”

With so many questions still unanswered, the continuation of MWP’s field research via commercial dive tourism vessels remains of critical importance – as does the migration information gathered from an extended sightings network of researchers, operators and interested members of the public along the east coast of Australia who report sightings of the subspecies directly to the MWP. There is little doubt citizen science has a significant role to play in the evolving dwarf minke whale story. I am pleased to have played a contributing role and certainly I hope to return to the water with minkes again in the future, to further add to the work being done by the MWP. In the meantime, I shall pay close attention to the developing understanding of what is a truly beautiful, curious and enigmatic subspecies.

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Column

By Dr Riley Elliot

The shark biologist A VICTORY FOR SHARKS

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f you missed the last edition of Oceanographic Magazine, you missed the context to what was one of the greatest victories for sharks in recent times.

‘The billion dollar shark’ feature in the last issue told the story of the mako shark, the global issues the species faces and the scientific reasons it deserved greater protection at 2019’s Conference on International Trade in Endangered Species (CITES) – protection, I am pleased to say, the species received.

The victory was far from easy, however. The vote passed with 72% of members voting in favour of the motion, but faced significant opposition from of some of the world’s larger, more powerful nations – opposition that many feared might prevent smaller nations from backing greater protection through the Appendix II listing.

In each of the ‘vote no’ cases, nation states were simply putting capitalism before conservation. Even in the face of irrefutable scientific evidence that showed the extreme and unsustainable decline of mako shark populations, the value of those sharks left remained all the mattered to some. Shame on them.

It is my opinion that what likely galvanised many of those smaller nations to stand up and be counted was the wave of public energy and support for the species prior to CITES sitting and debating the matter. The recipe for that wave of support is one I often utilise when hoping to generate public interest in the defence of sharks: stimulating imagery backed up with science. It is a potent combination, particularly with the modern media we now have at our disposal to disseminate information.

Serious biological and environmental issues can been communicated in an impactful and meaningful way like never before.

In this instance organisations such as Blue Sphere Foundation, SeaLegacy, Lonely Whale, Nakawe, Project AWARE and countless other conservation entities around the world rallied global support for the mako with petitions, stories and social media posts all supported by striking imagery and important, hard-hitting facts. A huge part of that was Blue Sphere Foundation founder Shawn Heinrichs’ beautiful mako images – images shot with me, a shark biologist, in my native New Zealand, that showed the magnificence of makos. Photography and science in action.

Richard Branson personally engaged the Canadian ministers at CITES, imploring them to support the Appendix II listing. Leonardo DiCaprio preached for protection. Millions of people around the world, inspired by the people or organisations they respect, made their

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voices heard. A steady and constant stream of support for mako sharks unfolded online, around the world.

Branson was heard. DiCaprio was heard. We were heard. YOU were heard. The 72% vote in favour of the listing (102 to 40) was the largest margin of victory at a CITES meeting since 1973. This was a comprehensive motion of support and proof, I believe, of the power of the public – a public who, particularly in the face of the big business stranglehold over the climate, too often feel as if what they feel and think doesn’t matter and won’t – can’t – make a difference. Evidence of the effect of the masses was the decision by Canadian ministers to change

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their vote. Initially set to vote the motion down, they performed a public – and highly commendable – U-turn to support the listing. Bravo. Sadly, other global leaders such as Japan, the US and my own country New Zealand stood in opposition.

To those 102 representatives who voted to protect the mako – or, indeed, the total of 18 sharks and ray species that were afforded greater protection – thank you. To the global community of ocean defenders who made sure your voices were heard in the run up to the vote, thank you too.

We did it. RE

www.rileyelliott.com

About Riley Riley Elliott is a shark biologist, ocean activist and author (Shark Man, 2014) from New Zealand. His work has contributed to increased protections for blue sharks and, most recently, mako sharks. He passionately believes in the power of using stimulating visuals – broadcast or print – to better communicate science.

Riley Elliott freedives with a mako shark. Photograph

by Shawn Heinrichs.

“Millions of people around the world, inspired by the people or organisations they respect, made their voices heard. A steady and constant stream of support for mako sharks unfolded online, around the world.”

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C O M M U N I T Y- D R I V E N

ocean change A small collection of island communities in the Maldives is collaborating on a new programme that could revolutionise the sustainability not just of their own islands, but of the whole country.

Wo rd s b y M a r i a Pa d g e t P h o t o g ra p h s b y M a t t Po r t e o u s

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he small coral islands of the Maldives are surely among the most beautiful locations on our planet.

White sand beaches, fringed with coconut palms, give way to crystal clear blue waters lapping over colourful coral reefs teeming with fish.

Yet the vibrant colours on the reefs do not only come from the bright green parrotfish, the darting yellow damselfish and the reds and greens of the corals themselves. Some of the most bright colours come from a new threat – marine plastic, which now litters reefs and beaches as never before. This new problem, of marine plastic litter, has joined the existing scourges of climate warming and sea-level rise as a long-term threat to the ecological health and viability of this highly vulnerable nation.

A staggering 280,000 single-use water bottles are consumed every day in Malé, the capital city of the Maldives, contributing to a total of 100 million across the Maldives per year. In 2018, 104 million nonbiodegradable plastic bags were imported into the Maldives. With the scale of these figures for a tiny country, it is easy to see how current estimates predict that emissions from the manufacturing of plastic will rise to 17% of the global carbon budget by 2050.

Fortunately the islanders are beginning to rise to the challenge, paving the way for other island and coastal communities to tackle plastic waste. Famously, the Maldives first democratically elected leader, President Mohamed Nasheed, held an underwater cabinet meeting in 2009 to highlight the desperate threat the Maldives is facing from rising sea levels. His passionate advocacy took the Maldives onto the international climate stage when he declared his country would be the first in the world to become climate neutral.

Unfortunately, on the very day that ambitious funding plans were submitted to the World Bank to radically change the energy infrastructure of the Maldives, Nasheed’s Maldivian Democratic Party (MDP) was ousted in a coup. Six years of thuggish authoritarianism followed. The Maldives lost its place at the top table of climate talks, crashed out of the Commonwealth and all talk of carbon neutrality was forgotten.

Fast-forward to now and the MDP has returned to the Maldives with an increased majority and with Nasheed as Speaker of Parliament. Bogus criminal charges against him – since dropped – prevented him standing as President but could not stop the MDP sweeping to power with new president Ibrahim Solih.

Ask Nasheed today, as I did, how large-scale use of plastic fits with a low carbon target and you’ll get an incredulous response: “It doesn’t! It really doesn’t at all. If we have a low carbon target, you can’t have plastics because plastic is a by-product of fossil fuel. The plastics problem and climate change are the same thing.”

While the Maldives has given democracy a second shot and elected a government on a promise of accountability, the national mood on the environment has shifted. Islanders who witnessed the broken promises of a renewable revolution are equally fed up with an ineffective waste management system.

With waste collection and treatment barely functioning across the complex geography of 187 local islands and 150 resort islands spread out across 820 kilometres, everyone can see where the plastics problem is heading. Tourists produce three times more waste daily as locals, much of it single-use plastic. The Maldives welcomes 1.4m visitors a year and the government has a target to double this number within five years.

Maalhos, a sleepy island of 735 inhabitants located in the heart of the Baa Atoll Biosphere Reserve, is typical of many Maldivian islands. Walking along its sandy streets, women in traditional long dress and hijab can be found sweeping the paths clean of fallen leaves and branches from the overhanging vegetation or picking through a harvest of sea almond nuts.

It is a proud island that has retained much of its jungle cover where other islands have covered themselves in concrete. Maalhos benefits from recent changes in the law allowing local islands to host tourists in guesthouses, though to maintain the official Islamic integrity of Maldivian communities a visitor wanting to indulge in alcohol or pork will still need to check in at a resort island.

So far, so idyllic. But stroll a bit further along the beach from the four guesthouses and you will stumble across an area of open burning, a scar on the picture-postcard beach. This is the dirty secret of Maldivian islands, almost without exception. Waste that cannot be taken off the island for logistical or financial reasons accumulates and is burnt in open fires as a last resort to prevent it piling up and spilling into the ocean.

Maalhos is often held up as an example of a traditional and beautiful island.

Abdulla Shujau, the island’s youthful council president, takes issue with this status.

“Maalhos is not an example right now,” he says. “We practise methods that are not friendly to the environment. We are still burning some things. Plastics are a major problem in the Maldives. We don’t have any recycling technology here in the Maldives but we still need to find a way to get rid of these plastics. The first thing we should do is try and eliminate plastic from our daily lives.”

A quick survey of a burning area soon reveals all sorts of household waste items, just as we would all

PREVIOUS: Azhoora Ahmed, a local surf manager, during a surf lesson, part of a wider programme that aims to foster ocean stewardship amongst local children.

THIS PAGE: Abdulla Shujau tests compost on the island of Maalhos.

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“While the Maldives has given democracy a second shot and elected a government on a promise of transparency and accountability, the national mood on the environment has shifted.�

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“Frustrated by the lack of progress and determined to send a clear message to central government, Maalhos council co-created Namoona Bay. Namoona means exemplary in the local Dhivehi language - Exemplary Baa Atoll."

Local women opening sea almonds.

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be confronted with piling up outside our homes if we had no municipal waste facilities. Right at the edge of clear ocean in a smouldering mass is everything from food packaging, tin cans, discarded bikes and fridges to nappies and sanitary products. And mountains of plastic.

Eline Postma, marine biologist at neighbouring eco resort Soneva Fushi, has been studying the effect of plastic on the marine ecosystem of the Maldives. She says: “Surveys show that nine out of ten seabirds have plastics in their stomachs and with sea turtles there was a study that came out only last year that said 100% of sea turtles have plastic in their stomachs. With these types of marine creatures being so abundant in the Maldives, it’s really a cause for worry.

“There is an iconic picture of a plastic bag next to a jellyfish (on which turtles prey) and you could barely tell the difference. That’s when you really understand how big the problem is.”

Back in January 2019, Shujau was sceptical that any meaningful changes in legislation would be implemented by the new government to tackle the rising plastic problem. “Right now, I don’t see any evidence of that taking effect. In every forum I attend, I always tell them that the majority shareholder in producing plastic bottled water is still the government. We even have technology in Maalhos to produce water in glass bottles. I have written to the Environment Minister saying don’t open bottling plants using plastic bottles. It is a lot of plastic and it locks us into a system.”

Frustrated by the lack of progress and determined to send a clear message to central government, in January Maalhos council co-created Namoona Baa. Namoona means exemplary in the local Dhivehi language – Exemplary Baa Atoll.

Ratified by a signed charter, the partnership with neighbouring islands Kihaadhoo and Dharavandhoo, the resort Soneva Fushi, and international marine plastics NGO Common Seas aims to model a new way of managing waste that will clean up islands and remove single use plastics. Their ambition extends way beyond the shores of their own islands – their aim is to revolutionise the concept of waste within the Maldives.

Initially starting with plastic bottles, step one is to replace plastic bottles with desalinated water bottled in glass. Rather than import water, a water bottling plant has been established on Maalhos, creating local employment and offering a service that can be extended to Dharavandhoo and Kihaadhoo.

“We started selling water in November last year and we’ve already reduced plastic bottles by about 60%,” says Shujau. “It is mineralised and the quality is up to government standard. Now most of the guesthouses and 80% of households use our water. We can already see the difference on our beaches.”

However, the problem with waste in the Maldives is so acute that dealing with plastic waste is impossible without reinventing the whole waste system. The starting point of understanding this approach is a tour of Soneva Fushi,

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“For anyone who has witnessed the environmental horror of hundreds of plastic bottles littering Maldivian beaches, plastic bags tangled up in coral reefs, this resolution is wonderful news.�

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TOP: The island of Maalhos, as seen from the air, rubbish burning in the foreground.

BOTTOM: Jo Royale at Thilafushi, the Maldives' largest rubbish dump.

a luxury resort which prides itself on its sustainability credentials. While the capacious wooden villas and Michelin star quality dining may be its main selling points, the Eco Centro, a waste management centre premised on a philosophy of ‘waste-to-wealth’, is the company’s badge of honour.

Neat bays of compost that will be used in the kitchen gardens sit alongside jumbo bags of crushed waste glass, waiting to be recycled into construction bricks.

Metal is compacted and shipped to the Maldives’ only recycling company, privately operated Secure Bag. Plastic is compacted and bagged, ready to be sent to Parley for the Oceans, which in turn will use it to make high-end sportswear for companies like Adidas.

It’s an impressive system that with some imagination could be exported to local islands. Funded by Soneva as a proof of concept, Eco Centros will replace existing under-performing waste management centres and be operational on all three local islands by the end of the year with the aim that this will provide a successful model for the government to adopt as future waste policy.

For Shujau, success will come when the pile of burning rubbish on Maalhos is extinguished for the last time.

“Firstly we want to stop open burning here so we can say that Maalhos is not burning any sort of waste,” he says.

“We can make something of value from everything. We can turn waste into wealth. We can make charcoal from wood waste, we can use crushed glass in construction.

If we have the right machinery, we can shred plastic into small pieces and use it in manufacturing.

“The beauty of these islands is a gift from nature and we have to maintain this. This land on this tiny island is not just for us. There will be many generations after us so we have to be responsible to deliver this.”

Change doesn’t come from machinery and systems alone. Countless studies stress the importance of behaviour change in any recycling programme and central to the Namoona Baa approach is nurturing a love of the oceans among local residents. Despite living on islands less than a mile long and only one metre above sea level, many children cannot swim. So rather than giving school lessons and classroom presentations, Namoona Baa aims to foster a connection with the ocean through an immersive programme of watersports.

Azhoora Ahmed, a Maldivian from the capital Malé, grew up fixated by the water: “I was always a water baby.

My mum says there was not a single minute I wouldn’t go swimming if she didn’t hold me back. I’d be in the shallows the whole time playing with the water. By 5pm she’d give me a shower and get me ready for the evening, then as soon as she looked away I’d be back in the water.

By the age of 16 she was a national swimming champion and today, as Soneva’s Surf Manager, she is

determined to pass her love of the ocean on to the next generation. “It’s impossible to care about the natural environment without loving our home, loving our reefs,” she says. “This programme is not just about surfing, it’s about ocean stewardship. The vision of Namoona Baa is massive. I'm proud to be a part of it.”

Visiting Maalhos with Azhoora, it is clear that she is embraced by the community as one of their own, a reflection of the energy and passion she has brought to working with the school children on the island. “I’ve always been goal-oriented. When you are a very goaloriented person, you just keep resetting your goals and it is never enough for you. When people used to tell me that what I achieved in my swimming my amazing, I would feel like I could have done better, I should have been just one second faster. Today, my goal is to help these kids learn to swim, to go snorkelling, to surf, to love the reefs.”

It is now September 2019 and the roof is going on Maalhos Eco Centro. Dharavandhoo and Kihaadhoo will follow in December. Shujau is preparing to welcome presidents past and present, President Nasheed and President Solih, and a party of ministers to witness the waste management model that he hopes will be adopted across the country. Already the government has passed a resolution urging a nationwide ban on plastics by 2025.

As a partner to Namoona Baa, Jo Royle, a former yachtswoman and founder of Common Seas, enthusiastically welcomes the resolution. She aims to provide expert input, utilising Common Seas’ modelling framework Plastic Drawdown to identify leakage points of plastic into the ocean and assess how legislation can reduce this amount.

“For anyone who has witnessed the environmental horror of hundreds of plastic bottles littering Maldivian beaches, plastic bags tangled up in coral reefs, or the open bonfires of plastic garbage on local islands, this resolution is wonderful news,” Royle says.

However, she cautions against complacency.

“Sometimes, it is tempting to just ban one or two high profile plastic items, generate some positive media headlines, and assume the problem has been solved. This doesn’t usually lead to effective policy.

“Secondly, local context matters. Take the example of the UK. We found that of all the plastic waste that ends up in the UK’s rivers and seas, over half is from one single source: microplastics released from vehicle tyres. Yet the UK government’s strategy does not focus on tyre wear.

“The items most commonly found on Maldivian beaches are plastic bottles, nappies, cigarette butts, straws and plastic bags, so we already know where to start.

“The Maldives should be commended for planning bold and radical action to rid the country of plastic garbage, which is spoiling the nation’s world-famous pristine environment. If the country approaches the issue wisely, it will be able to significantly reduce the amount of plastic waste entering the natural environment. Then the Maldives will rightly be heralded as a world leader in environmental sustainability.”

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BEHIND THE LENS

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The dolphin diaspora OF LITTLE BAHAMA BANK

In the summer of 2013, a resident pod of dolphins suddenly disappeared from a site in the Bahamas. Why? And if they were still alive, where had they gone?

Wo rd s a n d p h o t o g ra p h s b y B e t h a n y Au g l i e re

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M

arine biologist Denise Herzing has been studying Atlantic spotted dolphins for decades.

So long, in fact, that she currently leads the longest-running underwater study of dolphins in the world – the Wild Dolphin Project (WDP), which was established in 1985. During that time, Herzing and her team have made discoveries regarding dolphin behaviour, social relationships, feeding, movement patterns and genetics. She remains fascinated by dolphin communication (one of the primary reasons for the project’s launch), particularly whether the animals have an established language.

Beyond the science and discoveries comes the personal element. Herzing and her researchers travel from Florida each year to the same 180-square-mile research area in the Bahamas, and have gotten to know the resident dolphins of Little Bahama Bank (LBB) well, the regularity of interaction fostering fondness. The dolphins even have names. I have been fortunate, over the past ten years, to be one of Herzing’s WDP researchers. I know how characterful Atlantic spotted dolphins are, and how easy it is to bond with them. I also know how important WDP’s ongoing research is – particularly in an increasingly changing ocean. It is that mixture of science and sentiment that makes the work so special.

You can imagine our surprise and concern then, both as scientists and as people, when, several weeks into the research season of 2013, the dolphins were nowhere to be seen. In all the years that Herzing’s 65-foot research vessel Stenella had made the six-hour journey over from Florida, the dolphins had always turned up too – scientists and subjects as reliable as each other. Because the dolphins have never been tagged, the time it takes to locate them has always varied, from hours to days, but they had, up until 2013, always been found.

We searched everywhere, including the most extreme areas of our regular field site. The dolphins were gone.

They were not in deep water, where they can often be found at night feeding on squid and flying fish, and they were not in shallow sandy-bottomed water where they often hunt for razor and lizard fish in the day. Where were they? Had they died?

“My first thought was to check on things like orcas in the area (known predators of dolphins), Navy sonar exercises and impacts from Hurricane Sandy,” says Herzing. “What could make a resident group of dolphins leave their home of at least 28 years?"

Our worst fear was that the dolphins had died during Hurricane Sandy. It wouldn’t have been the first time their population had been impacted by hurricanes. After three hurricanes passed over the site in 2004, approximately 30% of both the local spotted and bottlenose dolphins were never seen again, presumed to have died.

PREVIOUS: An adult female dolphin named Mila (heavily spotted) is courted by a group of juvenile males off GBB. THIS PAGE: Juvenile males Venti (front) and Flotsam (large vertical scar) swim with, among others, Flotsam's mother FlyingA, first IDed by Herzing in 1985.

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"Beyond the science and discoveries comes the personal element. Herzing and her researchers have gotten to know the dolphins of Little Bahama Bank well, the regularity of interaction fostering fondness."

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TOP: Research assistant Cassie Volker freedives to collect video and acoustic data on dolphins feeding in the sand.

BOTTOM: Tristan, a playful and curious spotted dolphin, rests on the sandy seafloor in one of the more remote regions of the LBB study site.

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“We canvassed the central area of the bank which was vast, quiet and empty,” recalls Adam Pack, a marine mammologist at the University of Hawaii at Hilo, who has been collaborating with Herzing since 1997. “We travelled north penetrating further than I ever recall, hoping that maybe we would locate the dolphins we had grown to know so well in a new location. We did not find them. The bottom line was that we simply did not know; they appeared to be gone.”

After three 10-day research expeditions with no luck, we were getting desperate. We decided that on the next trip we would head south to Great Bahama Bank (GBB), the “closest ecological parallel sandbank habitat” to the research site, according Herzing. GBB lies 161km south of LBB and reaching it requires crossing a deep-water channel. It is also home to another community of spotted dolphins, studied by another group of scientists – and by the WDP in the 1990s.

We left Florida early on a Tuesday and after three long days on top of what was beginning to feel like an endless summer, we finally found dolphins as the sun was setting on Friday. The pod came leaping toward our boat, seemingly excited to ride our bow wave. Despite the setting sun and choppy conditions, we cut the engine and anxiously slipped into the water with our cameras – we needed to identify the pod. Could it be the missing dolphins of Little Bahama Bank?

As the torpedo-shaped mammals approached, I glimpsed familiar spots and scars. It was Baby with a new calf, Piglet; Noldus with her younger sister Nereide; Pointless and Bamboo. The dolphins were eating snakefish on the seafloor in about 10m of water. A sense of relief washed over me, over everybody; they were alive.

Having found a few of LBB’s resident pod, we were hopeful we would find others throughout the remainder of that year’s season – and we did. During the remaining summer months, we located Amanda, Bonito, Caroh, Geo, Kai, Linus, Mugsy, Meridian, and Sunami, among others, all of them having taken up residence at GBB. “I felt relieved, of course, to find the group alive and well,” says Herzing. “But at the same time, the dolphins didn’t seem to react upon seeing us. That surprised me.

They just carried on feeding.” The dolphins spent a lot of time traveling too, rather than playing or socialising. “I suspect the dolphins were traveling a lot that first summer to do reconnaissance of the new location for food, safety, and the like,” says Herzing.

“Reassured the dolphins had not perished, we went into science mode to figure out what factors might have led to this change,” says Pack. Our first thoughts were that they had likely moved for two reasons that drive most animal behaviour: food and sex. Could the dolphins have left LBB due to a lack of food or to search for new mates?

Regarding sex, encounters with the dolphins suggest that GBB’s two pods – the long-time residents and the LBB immigrants – have not mixed as often as one might

expect if new reproductive partners was the primary reason for relocation. Cindy Elliser, a research associate with the WDP, reveals that in the two pods’ first shared summer on GBB, just two of 24 encounters included both groups. That pod separation, suggests Elliser, indicated the move likely wasn’t for social reasons. The LBB pod weren’t looking for new mating partners.

And so the focus turned to food. At the base of the food-web, single-celled algae, phytoplankton, use chlorophyll, a pigment essential in photosynthesis.

Chlorophyll in the water changes the way it reflects and absorbs sunlight, and this gives scientists an indication of the amount and location of the phytoplankton. Pack examined historical records of chlorophyll at islands in the Bahamas, including both GBB and LBB, to build a picture of food-web strength in both locations. “What we found was startling,” he says.

Annual chlorophyll trends were mapped from 1998 to 2012, the year before the dolphin exodus. The data indicates a slow and steady negative trend in chlorophyll levels during that period at LBB, as well as a cooling trend in sea surface temperatures – neither of which were experienced at GBB. The WDP theorises, in a study published in PLOS One, that a “tipping point” was reached in prey availability and the dolphins left for more productive waters. Ultimately, the dolphins left for food.

The WDP continues to monitor both sites – to understand more about the dolphins’ lives and the impacts of climate change. “Although these dolphins seemed to be adaptable,” says Herzing, “looking for food as the ocean's ecosystems change will be a major challenge.” Stronger and more frequent storms are also a concern. In August, Hurricane Dorian sat over the study site for two days. Nobody knows how the dolphins fared.

The disappearance of the dolphins of LBB was personally distressing for those of us who had interacted with them on a regular basis – the idea that I might never again hear the raspy whistle of Vega or experience the rambunctious playfulness of Achilles was hard to think about. Our theory regarding the motives behind the dolphins’ move to GBB – the transformation of LBB waters into sub-optimal hunting grounds – turns those personally stressful days patrolling an empty research site into something potentially much bigger. The dolphin diaspora of Little Bahama Bank becomes a story not of individual anguish, but of global climactic concern. If the LBB dolphins, established on their bank for decades, have been forced to move on, what other species have had to do the same? The LBB pod was lucky enough to find a habitable – and shareable – alternative site close to the one they left behind. Other individuals, pods and species won’t be so lucky. In the context of a rapidly changing ocean, it is cause for huge concern.

Here, on land, the displacement of entire communities foreshadows greater ills. Why should community displacements in the ocean be any different?

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CHARITY PARTNERSHIP

Project AWARE ® is a global movement for ocean protection powered by a community of adventurers.

Project AWARE is an international non-profit organization working to create positive change for the ocean.

www.project aware.org

Feature

ACHIEVING A S U S TA I N A B L E F U T U R E Supporting the Implementation of the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals is Everyone’s Responsibility DOMINO ALBERT, PROJECT AWARE ASSOCIATE DIRECTOR GLOBAL COMMUNICATIONS

The United Nations Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) build on the success of the eight Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) established following the Millennium Summit of the United Nations in 2000. The SDGs came into force in 2016 and call for urgent action across all countries, both developing and developed, for a sustainable future for people and the planet.

The SDGs outline priority areas to achieve sustainability under an universal agenda - the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development. With 169 targets devised within the 17 SDGs, these Global Goals define exactly what United Nations member countries are expected to achieve and by when. They serve as a compass for aligning countries’ plans with their global commitments and call for action by all countries to promote prosperity while protecting the planet.

With these interconnected Goals, the 193 Member States of the UN are mobilizing efforts to end all forms of poverty, fight inequalities, tackle environmental issues and address many other key sustainability objectives including protecting Life Below Water (SDG14). But for the Sustainable Development Goals to be achieved, we all need to take action. Achieving a sustainable future is everyone’s responsibility.

The sheer volume of bad news about the environment and scary headlines can be overwhelming and too often lead to inaction: “We only have 20 years to save the ocean”, “By 2050, there will be more plastic than fish in our ocean”, “World’s oceans at a tipping point warns landmark UN climate change report”. Are we able to reverse the untenable declines in the health of the ocean, for us and our blue planet?

At Project AWARE, we believe in the power of people and partnerships to affect positive change. Each of us, every day, has the ability to make the world a better place.

Project AWARE contributes urgent and tangible actions to improve ocean health and accelerate efforts to support the implementation of the SDGs. Our new interactive infographic – Achieving a Sustainable Future – illustrates and maps how conservation goals for a clean and healthy

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ocean, including underwater citizen science action, support the implementation of the Global Goals.

As marine debris not only impacts the underwater world but also our health, the economy, natural resources and food security, the data collected through Dive Against Debris®, Project AWARE’s flagship citizen science program, provides essential quantitative and qualitative information that countries can use to show progress towards achieving the SDGs. Project AWARE’s new infographic clearly maps the 17 SDGs and identifies which targets are relevant to Project AWARE’s Clean and Healthy Ocean Strategy to increase collaboration with country leaders and support their nations’ tracking and implementation of the 17 SDGs. Project AWARE is prioritising engagement with governments from some of the top 5 plastic leakage countries as defined in the research completed by Jambeck et al., 2015 as well as Thailand where sound data has already been reported through Dive Against Debris®.

The New Infographic also illustrates and highlights how we can all be part of the solution and together achieve a sustainable future for people and our blue planet.

Dive into Project AWARE’s new Achieving a Sustainable Future Infographic and if you’re a scuba diver, Key Facts: Global Goals 1. The 17 SDGs are the result of a three-year process involving 83 national surveys engaging over 7 million people, making it the biggest consultation in UN history.

2. By removing debris that has entered the marine environment, Project AWARE is contributing to the overall improved health and resilience of ecosystems.

3. An average of eight million tonnes of plastic flow into the ocean every year undermining ocean resilience to climate breakdown.

Oceanographic Issue 09

CHARITY PARTNERSHIP

S H A R E Y O U R S TO RY O F C H A N G E JOIN MY OCEAN

CHALLENGE YOURSELF FUNDRAISE FOR THE OCEAN

P R OT E C T W H AT Y O U L OV E W I T H P R O J E C T AWA R E ’ S C L OT H I N G

#ACT4SDGS “ P ro j e c t AWA R E ® ’s c o n s e r v a t i o n s t ra t e g y f o r a re t u rn t o a C l e a n and Healthy Ocean, including underwater citizen science p ro g ra m s l i ke D i ve A g a i n s t D e b r i s ®, i s i n a l i g n m e n t w i t h t h e S D G s i n a n u m b e r o f t a r g e t a re a s .

This new interactive infographic h i g h l i g h t s t h o s e a re a s a n d P ro j e c t AWA R E ’s c o m m i t m e n t t o supporting the 2030 Agenda for S u s t a i n a b l e D eve l o p m e n t a s w e l l a s h i g h l i g h t i n g h o w a n i n d i v i d u a l ’s participation in our citizen science p ro g ra m m e c o n t r i b u t e s t o g l o b a l conservation targets.”

IAN CAMPBELL, PROJECT AWARE ASSOCIATE DIRECTOR POLICY AND CAMPAIGNS

" D i ve A g a i n s t D e b r i s ® p ro v i d e s a s o u n d m e t r i c t h ro u g h w h i c h n a t i o n s c a n t ra c k t h e i r p ro g re s s t o w a rd s a c h i ev i n g a n u m b e r o f d i ff e re n t t a r g e t s a c ro s s t h e S D G s .

A d d i t i o n a l l y, h a v i n g a s t a n d a rd i s e d s u r ve y p ro t o c o l a n d s t re a m l i n e d d a t a re p o r t i n g t h ro u g h t h e a p p , n a t i o n s c a n i m p l e m e n t re g u l a r m a r i n e d e b r i s s u r ve y s t o m o n i t o r t h e i r m a r i n e e n v i ro n m e n t . ” HANNAH PRAGNELL-RAASCH, PROJECT AWARE POLICY SPECIALIST

www.projectaware.org/unsdgs

Project AWARE connects the passion for ocean adventure with the purpose of marine conservation to create lasting change for our ocean planet.

WHAT YOUR SUPPORT HELPS ACHIEVE

9,431

207k

ENTANGLED ANIMALS REPORTED

CONSERVATION ACTIONS

521 1.5 million

make #EveryDiveASurveyDive to positively support your country or countries you’re visiting in achieving the 169 targets set by the United Nations for a more sustainable future www.projectaware.org/unsdgs.

For the SDGs to be achieved, everyone needs to take action, fins on and fins off. Join the global movement.

Every dive, every adventure, every action count. instagram.com/projectaware twitter.com/projectaware facebook.com/ProjectAWAREFoundation

E V E RY D I V E , E V E RY A DV E N T U R E , E V E RY A C T I O N C O U N T.

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Skinny dipper*

dives to 300 metres with parts exposed

*

Five years since the launch of our in-house chronometer, Calibre SH21, the 100-piece C60 Apex Limited Edition celebrates in style. A rarity for a dive watch, its front and back have been stripped away to reveal the more intricate parts in all their glory. It’s easy to see why this represents the pinnacle of the brand’s horological prowess today – all whilst in its birthday suit.

Do your research.

christopherward.co.uk

Clear as crystal If you’re a keen diver or just want to try diving for the first time, then Barbados is the perfect Caribbean island to head for. It’s the ideal base for underwater exploration because the crystal-clear waters which surround it are packed with fascinating features. Coral reefs and shipwrecks provide the ideal environment for marine life.

Throw perfect weather conditions and miles of coast into the mix, and you have what is doubtless the best Caribbean island for scuba diving and snorkelling.

Visit Barbados

@Barbados

@visitbarbados

Companies all over the island offer facilities such as guided trips, scuba diving lessons and equipment hire for all abilities. Once you’ve experienced Barbados underwater you’ll be keen to continue exploring popular sites like Maycocks Bay, Dottins, Shark Bank and Bell Buoy. You won’t be alone in the water, as Barbados is teeming with aquatic life, and you’ll be diving amongst Stingray, Manta rays, Barracuda, Angelfish, Grouper, Parrotfish, Triggerfish and Seahorses. Barbados is a magical way to explore the seas!

visitbarbados.org

RAIDER HARPOON BLACK EDITION

“6 weeks of rugged use and abuse without maintenance in the Antarctic and the Harpoon still looks like new. The only piece of equipment to join me on every aspect of our mission.�

- Florian Fischer (Behind the Mask)

500m water resistance and equipped with a helium escape valve // 46mm stainless steel case housing a Swiss Automatic Movement // Pioneering design involving one central hand to indicate both minutes and hours // Hours are indicated via a rotating outer disc with hour markers filled with SuperLuminova inserts

Š Photograph: Behind the Mask

282 YEARS OF CONQUERING FRONTIERS Switzerland’s second oldest watch brand. Defined by a constant pioneering spirit and an endeavour to achieve technical excellence. Crafting exceptional timepieces, built to explore the depths of the open ocean and engineered to deliver precision timekeeping down to 500 metres. The ultimate diving companion, constructed for those who conquer ocean frontiers.

Discover more from our collection at favre-leuba.com

CO L L E CT I O N

©Photograph: Laurent Ballesta/Gombessa Project

Fifty Fathoms

RAISE AWARENESS, TRANSMIT OUR PASSION, HELP PROTECT THE OCEAN www.blancpain-ocean-commitment.com

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