Oceanographic Magazine / Issue Eleven by Oceanographic Magazine

ISSUE

Conservation • Exploration • Adventure

THE HUNT

T H E G R E Y R E E F S H A R K S O F FA K A R AVA AT O L L A N D THEIR REMARKABLE HUNTING TECHNIQUE

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WELCOME

Editor’s Letter A selection o f i n c re d i b l e prizes will be u p f o r g ra b s , including some t ru l y p r i c e l e s s opportunities f ro m S e a L e g a c y.

In March this year, Oceanographic Magazine will officially launch the Ocean Photography Awards, in partnership with SeaLegacy and with the support of Princess Yachts. Much like this magazine, we hope the Awards will become a medium for ocean connection, a way of visually communicating our blue planet's beauty and the many crises it currently faces. Along with an objective to connect, the Awards will also follow the magazine's lead in two other areas: our core themes of conservation, exploration and adventure will play a central role in the Awards' categories, and we want the magazine's sense of ocean inclusivity to carry through too - these Awards are for all ocean folk. Whether you are a diver, a surfer, a sailor or a coastal rambler – and, indeed, whether you are an amateur or a professional photographer – these Awards are for you. The judging panel for the Awards features seven members of the SeaLegacy Collective and some of the finest ocean photographers working today, including International Photography Hall of Fame inductee Paul Nicklen, founder of the International League of Conservation Photographers, Cristina Mittermeier, and Emmy Award-winning cinematographer Shawn Heinrichs. The entry period will run from March to June. Winners will be announced in August, when a free public exhibition will also be put on display in London, UK, inspiring the many thousands who will see it - ocean-goers and non-ocean-goers alike. A selection of incredible prizes will be up for grabs too, including some truly priceless opportunities from SeaLegacy.

Will Harrison Editor @waj.harrison

If you would like to learn more about the Awards, please visit www.oceanographicmagazine.com/opa. To keep up with all the latest launch information, follow the Ocean Photography Awards on Instagram (handle to the left). For those who enter, best of luck!

@oceanographic_mag @ocean_photography_awards

Oceanographic Issue 11

Contents O N T H E C OV E R

FEATURE S

T HE HUN T

The grey reef sharks of Fakarava Atoll in French Polynesia are remarkable and numerous. Explorer Laurent Ballesta first encountered them in 2014 during his Gombessa II mission. Intrigued by their behaviour he has returned every year since. What has he learned?

Grey reef sharks hunting in the waters of Fakarava Atoll. Photograph by Laurent Ballesta.

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 EATI 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 TOR

Chris Anson

YOUR OCEAN IMAGES

@oceanographic_mag @oceano_mag Oceanographicmag

I N S U P P O RT O F

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. ÂŠ 2020 Atlas Publishing Ltd. All rights reserved. Nothing in whole or in part may be reproduced without written permission from the publisher.

ISSN: 2516-5941

A collection of some of the most captivating ocean photography shared on social media, both beautiful and arresting. Tag us or use #MYOCEAN for the opportunity to be featured within these pages. PAG E 1 2

CONTENTS

20%

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

CO NNECT I NG D OT S

A L OV E O F R E E F S

Baja California boasts some of the most biodiverse waters in the world, hosting a variety of migratory species throughout the year. As a result, it has become a hotspot for sportfishing, but at what cost?

An 11-metre sailboat, Maewan IV, is making a 66,000km journey to reconnect the dots between wilderness and civilisation. What can Maewan's crew learn from the remote communities they visit? And, in turn, what wisdom can they leave behind?

A team of biologists from the California Academy of Sciences is working to better protect deep mesophotic reefs around the world. Their most recent Hope for Reefs mission took them to the Fernando de Noronha National Marine Park in Brazil.

Drone photographer Florian Ledoux visits Antarctica to capture life from above. But what of life below the waterline, the basis of life on the continent? What does the future hold for the white continent, and what impact might that have on the rest of the planet?

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BEHIND TH E L E N S

C O LUMN S

CHASING LIGHTNING

TAVISH CAMPBELL

THE SOCIAL ECOLOGIST

DA R K F UT UR E

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

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

P R O J E C T AWARE

Each issue, we chat with one of the worldâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s leading ocean photographers and showcase a selection of their work. In this edition, we meet with Canadian photographer and SeaLegacy Collective member, Tavish Campbell.

Big wave surf champion, environmentalist and social change advocate Dr Easkey Britton writes about our relationship with the ocean and the species that live within it.

Freediver and founder of I AM WATER, Hanli Prinsloo, discusses the power water can have on our sense of self, and how important it is to reconnect in such a way - particularly in the busy, modern world.

Marine photographer Toby Dickson shares an image of a pod of rarely-seen southern right whale dolphins, as well as the story behind how the image was captured. Could it be the first photograph of its kind?

The team at Project AWARE, Oceanographic's primary charity partner, discuss the importance of working together in the fight for a healthier ocean, showcasing a number of ocean stewards who have done just that.

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Oceanographic Issue 11

Geoff Coombs Canada Freediver, Andrew Ryzebol, swims beneath the vast expanse of ice in the clear waters of Little Cove, Ontario, Canada. Shot on a single breath while freediving.

I N PA RT N E R S H I P W I T H

#MYOCEAN

Josh Munoz French Polynesia "This baby whale was practicing breaching as its mother slept peacefully below," says Munoz, who photographed the whale during calving season. "The little whales do a lot of growing in just a few months." I N PA RT N E R S H I P W I T H

#MYOCEAN

Jason Washington Florida Bull sharks have been found more than 2,200 miles up freshwater rivers in their search for prey. "Without a doubt, the bull shark is one of my favourite underwater photography subjects," says Washington. I N PA RT N E R S H I P W I T H

Hannes Klostermann Mexico Some cenotes on the Yucatan peninsula in Mexico feature dramatic-looking clouds of hydrogen sulphide, created by the decomposition of organic matter in the absence of oxygen. I N PA RT N E R S H I P W I T H

#MYOCEAN

Jasmine Carey Tonga "In Vavaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;u the rainbows are so intense in saturation, each coloured arc melts into the ocean like dripping crayons," says Carey. "This is what fairytales are made of and where you catch your dreams."

I N PA RT N E R S H I P W I T H

#MYOCEAN

BEHIND THE LENS

The hunt The grey reef sharks of Fakarava Atoll in French Polynesia are remarkable and numerous. Explorer Laurent Ballesta first encountered them in 2014 during his Gombessa II mission. Intrigued by their behaviour he has returned every year since, including for Gombessa IV in 2017. What has he learned? Wo rd s b y E l o i s e B ro w n P h o t o g ra p h s b y L a u re n t B a l l e s t a

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As the sun disappeared over the horizon, Fakarava morphed into an altogether different place from that which Ballesta had encountered during the day. The sharks that had been asleep in the pass during the hours of daylight, had awoken to hunt.

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PREVIOUS: The grey reef sharks of Fakarava, hunting in a pack. LEFT: Many different species of reef fish are prey for the sharks.

s night fell, Laurent Ballesta headed for the abyssal drop-off at the edge of the reef. He preferred the thought of spending the hours of darkness in the black waters of the deep ocean than in Fakarava Atoll’s shallow southern channel, where hundreds of frenzied grey reef sharks gorged on camouflage groupers. When Ballesta had started his 24-hour solo dive earlier that day, forward-rolling into French Polynesia’s warm waters beneath a blazing sun, he hadn’t anticipated leaving the 30-metre-deep coral-clad channel. He was there to observe the aggregation of some 18,000 camouflage groupers for a full 24 hours, which meant staying with them in the pass throughout the night. Such a lengthy period of time with the fish represented a significant opportunity for behavioural observation. The groupers had gathered in the pass to mate, as they do every year, but beyond the keys facts regarding their twoweek aggregation period and the brevity of the spawning itself – just 30 minutes – very little was known about the event. Marine biologists on standard open-circuit dives typically have about an hour in the water at a time. That’s not much time for observation and offers very little chance of witnessing the spawning event directly. Ballesta had joined the groupers for a full day and night to watch for spawning cues and clues, to learn as much as he could about their behaviour and, just maybe, see something rare and remarkable. As the sun disappeared over the horizon, Fakarava morphed into an altogether different place from that which Ballesta had encountered during the day. The sharks that had been asleep in the pass during the hours of daylight, gently swimming against the mellow current between lagoon and open ocean, had awoken to hunt. The frenetic activity of predators and prey quickly became unnerving. Ballesta needed space. Moving on the same current that would sweep grouper eggs and semen out to the open ocean in the coming days, he moved away from the chaos – bumped by sharks as he went – and out of the pass. Ballesta and his team knew, of course, that the sharks would be more active at night; it was the scale

and manner of hunting activity that came as a surprise. As unsettling as the shark activity was, Ballesta, as a filmmaker and biologist, found it fascinating – he hadn’t seen sharks behave in such a way before. It seemed to him as if they were hunting in packs. However, 2014's Gombessa II mission – backed by long-term supporter Blancpain through its Ocean Commitment programme, an initiative that has so far funded five Gombessa missions and helped protect a staggering 1.2% of the planet’s ocean – wasn’t focussed on Fakarava's sharks. “We were not there for the sharks,” says Ballesta. “For my entire career to that point, I had always avoided shark stories. There are hundreds of shark films and, most of the time, they are the same. Sharks are fascinating, of course, but my focus is – and always has been – on what’s new. What can I bring in terms of science, diving challenges or wildlife images and filmmaking that hasn’t been done before? When I heard about this huge aggregation of camouflage groupers – everybody was saying thousands of them gathered at Fakarava for one or two weeks every year to mate, but nobody had really seen the spawning – it seemed a real wildlife challenge.” Fakarava's grouper aggregation also represented a compelling enough reason to take on another challenge he had dreamt about for a long time: the 24-hour dive. Fakarava’s southern channel – calm, shallow and full of biological mystery – was the perfect place for him to test himself and spend a day underwater, a feat of human endurance in the name of behavioural science and wildlife photography. “Time at depth with the groupers was a precious thing, and would offer me an opportunity to watch the aggregation like no one had before,” says Ballesta. “By doing a 24-hour dive, I would have the time to observe the fish more deeply. Our hope was that by studying grouper behaviour over a longer period of time we might be able to better understand when they would spawn.” The completion of 24 hours underwater made Gombessa II a huge success regarding the dive objective, though Ballesta didn’t spend as much time observing the grouper as he had anticipated because of the shark activity and his subsequent escape to the sanctuary of the open ocean. “According to our GPS data,” says Ballesta, “I swam 21 kilometres that first night, simply because I didn't want to stay in the middle of the channel. When I stayed still for just a few minutes suddenly 10, 20, 50, 100 sharks or more surrounded me. So I spent my time on the move. By swimming I kept the number of sharks around me to about 20. I just was not confident enough to spend twelve hours alone with those sharks.” There are a lot of sharks in Fakarava. As the grey reef sharks rested in the southern channel during one of the mission days, Ballesta and his team counted 705 individuals. While that figure is known to drop to around 300 at other times of the year, the top end number makes the channel, which is about the size of two or three football fields, home to the highest density of grey reef sharks in the world. But what makes Fakarava’s channel

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particularly unusual, beyond the sheer number of sharks present, is that the sharks do not move on at night to hunt, as is the case in most channels. The reason for this is the current. In most channels strong currents make it difficult for coral to grow, with water rushing from lagoon to open ocean at too fast a speed. No coral means no fish, which in turn means no sharks. In Fakarava’s southern pass the currents are relatively slow due to the fact that the north channel is much larger and takes much of the tidal pressure. This has allowed coral to grow, which has created a vibrant and healthy ecosystem. With plenty to hunt in the southern channel, there is no need for the sharks to leave in search of food. During grouper spawning season, when the prey biomass swells, things get particularly busy, as Ballesta experienced first-hand. Following the completion of the 24-hour dive, Ballesta returned to the water every night during the rest of the Gombessa II team’s time in French Polynesia, though gladly joined by other divers on those occasions. The team were fascinated by the ‘pack’ behaviour Ballesta had experienced on that first dive. Although the team were only in the water for an hour or so at a time, they became increasingly accustomed to the sharks’ behaviour. Eventually, after creating and then disregarding a number of ‘shark interaction rules’ after each dive – ideas around diver safety, such as optimum distance from the seafloor – the team realised that being in the water with the sharks at night was a lot safer than Ballesta had initially thought. “We realised it wasn’t risky,” he says. From a scientific perspective, the ability to get close to such a sizeable population of sharks was exciting. But while the team felt increasingly comfortable in the water with the sharks, additional visits to the site were required to fully ascertain the scope of the science on offer. Gombessa II had been productive – alongside the 24hour dive and the discovery of the extraordinary density statistic the team also attached acoustic transmitters to two grey reef sharks and seven groupers, collected genetic samples and deployed three acoustic receivers in the area, including one in the southern pass and one in the lagoon – but there were a number unanswered questions and, importantly for Ballesta, incomplete challenges. “We were getting more confident with the sharks and more full of belief in the power of the science that could be collected,” says Ballesta. “We had a lot of ideas, things to investigate. It looked like the sharks were coordinating, working together in pairs if not in larger groups. It looked to us that they were using other species of shark to flush out prey from the reef. Grey reef sharks can’t swim backwards and cannot therefore access areas of the reef where fish typically hide, but the smaller white tip coral reef shark can access those areas, and it appeared that groups of grey reef sharks were staying just above the coral reef sharks in order catch prey that darted from those sharks' attacks.” Thousands of camouflaged grouper gather in Fakarava Atoll's southern pass for two weeks every year to spawn.

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

The annual spawning event has placed the spotlight on Fakarava, raising questions around access to divers and protection.

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BEHIND THE LENS

The team realised that being in the water with the sharks at night was a lot safer than Ballesta had initially thought.

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A grey reef shark moves through a shoal of fusiliers.

xxx

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Once the prey was caught, it was sometimes shared, though never willingly â&#x20AC;&#x201C; camouflage groupers are large enough to be ripped apart by two sharks rather than swallowed whole.

Sharks compete for a grouper that has strayed too far from the protection of the reef.

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LEFT: The annual spawning event lasts for just 30 minutes. RIGHT: With up to 700 sharks hunting in the southern pass, the scene can often seem frenzied.

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Ballesta had joined the groupers for a full day and night to watch for spawning cues and clues, to learn as much as he could about their behaviour and one of the ocean's most mysterious events.

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Ballesta and his team dived with a semicircular rig of 32 synchronised cameras that captured 1,000 frames per second, revealing the reality behind the sharks' movements.

TOP: Ballesta and his team head for the water. BOTTOM: A special camera rig was created to capture slow-motion footage of the sharks' hunting behaviour.

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In the years between Gombessa II and IV (Gombessa III saw Ballesta and his team visit Antarctica) the team began experimenting regularly with tonic immobility, whereby sharks are turned upside down to induce a natural state of paralysis. While tonic immobility itself was nothing new – discovered decades ago and used regularly in places like the Caribbean – Ballesta didn’t initially feel it would be possible to use on the sharks of Fakarava due to their “energy and violence”, but that if it was possible it could be used effectively for scientific purposes, particularly the attaching of transmitters. “Surprisingly, the more excited the sharks were, the easier they were to immobilise,” says Ballesta. “When they were calm, they were too skittish, I could never reach them. It was a hugely useful tool, especially in Fakarava where we had our pick of sharks. We were able to choose a male, a female, an adult, a juvenile, whatever we wanted. Most transmitters are applied at random, but here we could identify particular individuals, which was very exciting.” For Gombessa IV, the team wanted to better understand the ecology and hunting behaviour of the grey reef sharks, with one key question: Was this a chaotic feeding frenzy or an organised hunting pack? The application of transmitters would once again form a key part of the mission, as it did Gombessa II, though this time more targeted. The second key element of the mission was a focus on imagery, both photography and super-slow motion captures. It was hoped that by slowing down the sharks’ movements as they hunted their prey, a better understanding of how the sharks behaved with each other could be acquired. Ballesta also hoped to create some striking imagery of the spawning event – something that had eluded him to that point. “Gombessa IV was all about the social activity of the grey reef shark,” says Ballesta. “They're known to have no social activity. They aggregate to rest, that's it. They’re selfish. There is no chief. There are no established rules. Grey reef sharks aren’t like wolves, for example, there is no hierarchy. But in Fakarava they all seemed to move together, collectively surrounding prey. We also wanted to observe how an individual shark escaped the pack once it had made a catch. One moment the pack is helpful, the next it really is not – that was fascinating to me.” Ballesta and his team dived with a semi-circular rig of 32 synchronised cameras that captured 1,000 frames per second, revealing the reality behind the sharks’ movement in stunning super-slow motion. The footage revealed that while the hunt invariably seemed chaotic to the naked eye, it was anything but. The precision with which the sharks manoeuvred was striking. The extent of control was most dramatically revealed in footage of a shark heading directly for Ballesta, mouth agape as it chased prey. In real time it would have looked like a lucky escape for the biologist, but in reality he was never in danger. The shark, on realising the prey had escaped and a rather less appealing neoprene-covered human head lay in front of it, calmly closed its mouth and turned away, all in a split-second – compelling evidence that the apparent chaos of the hunt was not chaotic at all, but controlled, just at a speed too fast for us. Regarding the sharks’ ‘hunting pack’ technique, Ballesta and his team were right – there was certainly collaboration. Footage revealed that the sharks were much more successful when hunting in numbers, the faster and more agile groupers often able to evade a shark or two, but not a group. Once the prey was caught, it was sometimes shared, though never willingly – camouflage groupers are large enough to be ripped apart by two sharks rather than swallowed whole. The cameras revealed the effectiveness of the pack, but clearly showed it was ultimately each shark for itself once the prey was caught. Beyond the hunt, Gombessa IV’s acoustic data has revealed additional interesting factors regarding the behaviour of the grey reefs sharks of Fakarava. “We placed 25 acoustic antenna in the pass and tracked tagged sharks for a year,” says Ballesta, “enabling us to model the way they use the space. We discovered they are more active on some nights compared to others and that they often leave the pass together at the same hour. We also realised that some sharks, at the beginning of a night, form a couple and hunt together throughout. The team are still processing the extensive data, but we hope to publish our findings soon.” The story of Fakarava is a fascinating one, an ecosystem home to a rare spawning event and a collaborative population of sharks. The Gombessa team has unquestionably advanced our understanding of life in the unique southern pass, but even after more than 3,000 dive hours on the reef, Ballesta acknowledges unanswered questions remain – conceptions that hang in the biologist’s mind at surely as suspended particles of new life drift on the tidal flows of the pass. For now at least, Fakarava's enigma holds firm. Bountiful, beautiful and brutal, an ecosystem in perfect mysterious balance.

Oceanographic Issue 11

Column

By Dr Easkey Britton

The social ecologist WATER IS LIFE

â&#x20AC;&#x153; In Irish the salmon is known as bradĂĄn feasa, the salmon of knowledge or wisdom. So there was a time when we understood the wisdom of other species, a time with we listened to the more-then-human world..."

Salmon smolt, British Columbia, Canada. Photograph by Tavish Campbell.

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@easkeysurf

“T

his water ceremony is for everyone who wants to connect with the spirit of water,” began Mi’kmaq Grandmother, Elder, water walker, water protector and residential school survivor, Dorene Bernard. She was giving the opening address at the regional North Atlantic workshop for the UN Decade of Ocean Science for Sustainable Development in Halifax, Nova Scotia at the beginning of the year. “Water is alive, it has spirit, it hears you, sees you, feels you and it is you,” she continued. You could hear a pin drop in the conference room filled with over 150 delegates from various countries around the North Atlantic basin, from a mix of ocean science disciplines, ocean research institutes and high level policy. She spoke of our human relationship with water and how most of us take it for granted, thinking it will always be there. Her people, the Mi’kmaq from Canada’s eastern maritime provinces and other indigenous First Nations know first hand what it is to appreciate the sacredness of water when they have to fight so hard for access to clean water, clean coasts and healthy seas. Water needs our prayers, and our forgiveness. Elder Bernard led us through a water ceremony asking us to connect with the water, the water in our glass, all the water above us, below us and inside us, in the rivers, lakes and oceans, and to pray for the protection of clean water and the healing of polluted water. Dorene taught us a water prayer, passed to her from Anishinabe Grandmother, Doreen Day, that can be translated into your own language and sung for the water every day. The words translated from Mi’kmaq are: Samqwan, Kesalul - Water, we love you. Samqwan, Wela’lin - Water, we thank you. Samqwan, Kepmitel’mul - Water, we respect you. Dorene brought the sacred feminine into the room, speaking of women’s particular connection to water, as water keepers, with the ability to bring forth new life from the water inside us. Throughout the following days of intense workshopping on the key goals identified by the United Nation’s for the Ocean Decade, the energy of her words stayed with me. How the wellbeing of water is deeply interconnected with the wellbeing of humans, and all life. Water is life. This is what indigenous peoples have always known. On the last day, a hereditary Chief from Inuit Nunangat spoke of how his people had been forcibly removed from their families, homes and ancestral lands, and he reminded all of us that, “the ocean is a

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home too, for the animals and the plants of the sea,” – our ocean relatives. He spoke about the lack of meaningful knowledge exchange and collaboration in much of the scientific research and policy-making undertaken, and although scientists and policy makers “don’t consult with a salmon, you should have consulted with those who live with the salmon”, he said. He reminded us that the environment is not provincial, something ‘out there’. It touches us all. Before reporting back on the key messages I’d learned about, the cross-cutting theme I was there to track throughout all the working group discussions, that of how to build capacity during the decade of the ocean, I wanted to honour the power of these messages, to speak to the heart of our relationship with the ocean. My name, Easkey, has its origins in ancient Gaelic for fish. I’m named after an important salmon river in Ireland that creates a beautiful wave where it flows into the sea. It is my father’s favourite surf spot. In Irish, the salmon is known as, bradán feasa, the salmon of knowledge or wisdom. So there was a time when we understood the wisdom of other species, a time when we listened to the more-thanhuman world… and somehow we have forgotten. My name reminds me that my identity is tied to the identity of the salmon. All of our identities are inextricably linked to the sea. We have all been shaped and formed by the ocean. Angeline Gillis, an indigenous researcher who works tirelessly with her people, the Mi’kmaq, to build ocean science capacity, stressed the need to define ‘capacity building’ in a holistic way from an indigenous perspective. She called this the, ’two-eyed-seeing’ approach, where one eye was science and the other eye the local, traditional or indigenous, and both eyes were needed in order to see the whole picture. And perhaps we need to open the third eye too, the eye of the ocean itself and all the life it is home to. EB

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. Currently resides in Donegal, Ireland. To learn more about the UN Decade of the Ocean visit: www.oceandecade.com

Oceanographic Issue 11

BEHIND THE LENS

Oceanographic Issue 11

BEHIND THE LENS

CHASING

lightning

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t’s a cool autumn morning and the warm rays of Baja sunshine are just beginning to dance over the horizon, illuminating the grey sky with splashes of orange and pink. Our guests are huddled up scanning the water as we speed across the glassy bay heading for open ocean. This group has travelled from all over the world to be here. To wake up in a Mexican fishing village and be led 20 miles offshore in a small panga by a marine conservationist, an ex-fisherman turned eco-tourism captain, and a tattoocovered adventurer and photographer. Signs of the battle we are in search of are on the horizon – flocks of frigate birds are hovering above the action, ready. I can already see fins cutting through the water. Our captain Melecio yells ‘vamonos!’ and we slip into the water. As the bubbles clear, the frenzied scene is unravelling rapidly before us. Shards of silver explode just in front of us, then reform into gigantic metallic bait balls. The fish look like liquid metal twisting and bending through the Pacific Ocean. They are being hunted by one of the oceans fiercest predators and we are currently surrounded by more than 30 of them. Two-metre-long, sword wielding warriors are ripping through the waters around us at lightning speed. Their stripes ignite flashes of neon blue before they dart back into the shimmering bait ball, smashing it into pieces. Streams of bubbles burn off their long bodies giving the impression of underwater rockets. They have a form evolved for speed. Pure muscle capped off with a swordlike bill and a large crescent shaped fin on the other, delivering enough torque to propel them to 50 miles per hour. These are the annual hunting grounds of Kajikia audax, the striped marlin. Packs of sea lions rest on the outer edges waiting for their turn to join in. They speed into the hunt the moment the marlin stand down. It is an incredible behaviour to witness, mammal and fish cooperatively hunting together. A fin whale slowly cruises below, turning to its side to look up at the commotion. We spend our entire day trying to keep up with the frantic sardines and mackerel. Bahia Magdalena, or Mag Bay as it’s affectionately called, is one of Baja’s unique natural gems. A gigantic shallow bay edged with rocky and mountainous barrier islands. Flowing white sand dunes meet the lush green mangroves that play a vital role in this local ecosystem. Pods of dolphins can regularly be seen searching the mangroves for snacks. Groups of sea lions can be found lounging on buoys and beaches. In winter, grey whales journey here to give birth and raise their young in the protected waters of the bay. I’ve been visiting the area since I first came to Baja and began exploring its natural wonders for what would become the foundation of Dive Ninja Expeditions, an ecotourism platform that bridges the gaps between tourism, marine research and

PREVIOUS: A striped marlin moves in on a bait ball. RIGHT: Sealions join in the hunt.

“Two-metre-long, sword wielding warriors are ripping through the waters around us at lightning speed. Their tell-tale stripes ignite flashes of neon blue before they dart back into the shimmering bait ball, smashing it to pieces."

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“At first, I was a little confused as to why someone had sent me a photo of a luxury fishing yacht. But as I read the caption, my stomach began to knot. It was announcing a new sportfishing world record – 330 striped marlin caught in a single day by one vessel at Bahia Magdalena. My heart sank.”

conservation. I visit the area throughout the year to see its seasonal visitors, whether it be whales, mako sharks or marlin. I impatiently wait for the marlin's return every year and once they arrive, I spend as many days as possible in the area. This past season on a quick stop home between trips to Mag Bay, I received a message from a concerned friend. At first, I was a little confused as to why they had sent me a photo of a luxury fishing yacht. But then as I read the caption, my stomach began to knot. It was announcing a new sportfishing world record – 330 striped marlin caught in a single day by one vessel at Bahia Magdalena. My heart sank, but my brain tried to rationalise that there was no way that it was physically possible. It must be a marketing stunt. I would be returning to Mag Bay the following morning so I would investigate once there. The next morning, I headed back out on the water with Melecio, shark conservationist Regina Domingo, and a new group of guests. The waters seemed different. As we reached the marlin area it all began to sink in. There were no frigates. No gulls. No pelicans. Our sea lion friends were nowhere to be found. The ocean that had been teeming with life only 72 hours earlier had become desolate. After searching for six hours we decided to call it a day. I'll never forget the dramatic change we witnessed during those days after the world record was broken. Sportfishing and Baja go hand in hand. It makes up a gigantic portion of the tourism dollars that come through the area. This is easily seen by any short walk around Cabo San Lucas Marina, where there are hundreds of sportfishing vessels ready to take tourists out. The area is home to many of the largest tournaments in the world with some offering multimillion-dollar prizes. It’s these tournaments that were the reason I was 20 miles offshore in the middle of the ocean. Witnessing them firsthand became the inspiration for our striped marlin citizen science expeditions. A year prior, during the Bisbee's Tournament, I received a stream of messages from Regina. She was heartbroken and outraged by the display of the competition. Hundreds of humans lined up to see the ‘trophies’ hauled from the sea. That transition from some of the most majestic ocean predators to being bled out and posed with for selfies? It’s a bizarre human practice I will never understand. I can’t say I truly felt Regina’s 42

heartache that day. But on those tragic days a year later in Bahia Magdalena I could feel my heart fracture. I had failed the marlin. I was unable to protect them. I had not only failed them, but our captains, the communities we support, the guests who believed so much in our project, and the ecosystems we were working hard to protect. The IUCN classifies striped marlin as near threatened with their population trends continuing to decrease, with stocks in some areas showing declines of more than 40% in recent years. Regina explains: “Marlin populations have plunged over the past several decades as a direct result of commercial tuna and swordfish fleets, which catch marlin and other billfish through longline fishing or through netting.” Yet, a paper published in 2010, showed that a four-year closure of long line fishing in Baja California Mexico ‘had a rapid effect on local abundance of striped marlin’, with ‘regional striped marlin abundance likely increased by 12–22% following the four-year closure’. It begs one to question: why they are still being fished? Additionally, research carried out by Dr Rogelio Gonzalez Armas of Mexico’s CICIMAR (Centro Interdisciplinario de Ciencias Marinas) has confirmed the existence of a spawning area for striped marlin in the Eastern Pacific around the southern Baja California Peninsula, making it the only known spawning area in the entire Eastern Pacific for the species. It is the same area that is targeted by commercial and artisanal fishing as well as sportfishing tournaments. While a high proportion of striped marlin caught in recreational fisheries in the area are released, studies have shown that up to 50% of marlin suffer post-release mortality due to hook damage, stress or increased susceptibility to predation. If we take this into consideration, then of the 330 caught for the world record attempt, 165 could have perished after being released. “Tournaments harvest the largest marlin, which harms the breeding population. We are concerned about the impact upon a rank of marlin species,” explains Regina. “It is also sending the very worst message to our children, to the world, when we are hunting near threatened species when a larger majority of all the big fish are already gone because of overfishing. For us the best hope for marlin species and the ocean, is to show that they are worth more alive than dead.” The Bisbee Tournament marked the beginning of a Nakawe Ninjas collaboration.

Oceanographic Issue 11

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Striped marlin can reach speeds in excess of 50 miles an hour.

Oceanographic Issue 11

MAIN IMAGE: Striped marlin can change the colouration of their stripes. TOP: A photographer moves in to capture a shot of the busy hunting scene. MIDDLE & BOTTOM: Baja's waters are not just home to the fast.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Marlin populations have plunged over the past several decades as a direct result of commercial tuna and swordfish fleets, which catch marlin and other billfish through longline fishing or through netting."

Oceanographic Issue 11

F E AT U R E

Baja's sand dunes and coastal mangroves play a vital and connected role in the vibrancy of the marine ecosystem.

Oceanographic Issue 11

F E AT U R E

“While a high proportion of striped marlin caught in recreational fisheries in the area are released, studies have shown that up to 50% of marlin suffer post-release mortality due to hook damage, stress or increased susceptibility to predation.”

Nakawe Project, a shark conservation NGO, was founded by Regina after she experienced the devastation of illegal shark fishing firsthand in areas like Cocos Island. A few years ago, they began developing projects in Baja California Sur, Mexico with shark fishermen and have since begun branching out to work with other species. She explains: “Humans need healthy oceans to survive and thrive, so why not utilise ecotourism to inspire more humans to join this journey? Ecotourism in Baja can help promote marlin conservation around the world while also boosting local economies.” I’ve learned over the years that it is difficult to get humans to care for something they have not experienced themselves. If everyone could physically see and feel the beauty of our oceans firsthand, I believe they would fall in love. This is why divers make such great ambassadors for the ocean. They have witnessed the beauty that lies beneath the surface. This idea pushed me to create a vessel that could take people to experience some of the wildest ocean encounters. Ones that are usually reserved for wildlife documentaries makers and marine scientists. Shortly after the tournament, I began working on a series of citizen science style striped marlin expeditions to take place the following season in collaboration with Nakawe Project. The aim was to conduct a census of the marine life around Bahia Magdalena that could potentially help to protect the species, as well as lay the groundwork for understanding the socioeconomic value of striped marlin alive versus dead. Our first season of the Dive Ninjas Striped Marlin Expeditions concluded in December 2019. We have already started to see some positive impacts of the project from our collected data. We have formed a group to try and create a marlin sanctuary in the area and we will team up with Dr Rogelio Gonzalez Armas for next season to help further the research of these creatures. For me, this brings new hope. It is possible that by collaborating on ecotourism projects like this, with the hard work of conservation organisations and marine researchers, future generations may never have to experience a silenced ocean like we did on that heartbreaking day. If we can work to inspire others to get involved, no matter how small the action, then together we build a legacy that will go on to positively impact the marine environment we all love.

Oceanographic Issue 11

Column

By Hanli Prinsloo

The ocean activist STRENGTH IN WATER

ome days just start grey. In fact, some years do too… I woke up one early 2020 morning tired from another night of monkey mind insomnia, a misty Cape sunrise matching my mood. It had been a tough few months. The loss of a much beloved dog, incredible fatigue as 2019 crashed to a close and the sobering realities of a world in the throes of conflict, disease and fire. Every day I found myself sitting behind my computer hoping for motivation and inspiration. This day would be no different. “It’s dead calm!” Peter calls from our living room window, peering out through the mist at the glassy ocean down below. “No thanks, not today. I’ve got too much to do,” I mutter, making coffee. Peter stubbornly hands me my wetsuit and starts dragging our stand up paddle boards out of the garage. Okay, sure, it won’t be more than an hour anyway then I can be back at emails and meetings and calls and all the important things. We launch our boards into the eerie quiet of an ocean muffled by mist and move away from shore. The quiet splash and swish of our paddles is the only sound. Beneath the slate grey of the surface I can see tall kelp fronds reaching for the sun and bright urchins and anemones blink up at me from the reef below. Our beautiful False Bay is a biodiversity hotspot with white sharks, whales, dolphins, seals, penguins and a myriad of smaller creatures calling this home. But the last years a conflict between the visiting orca and resident white shark population (among other factors) has led to a drastic decline in white shark sightings… so we paddle out even further. As the mist gets thicker my spirits start to lift. Blanketed in the calm of ocean below me my breathing deepens and I feel more like myself. A splash just ten metres ahead startles me out of my thoughts and back onto my board. I spot some silver flashes as a huge school of fish starts leaping out of the water. We drift closer to see more and a large yellowtail almost lands on my board in its desperate flight. Before we even get a chance to consider who is chasing who, a large fin pops out of the water in the middle of the boiling mass of fish and my thoughts go from ‘yikes definitely a white shark’ to ‘yay the white sharks are back’ to ‘don’t fall in now’ as the shark notices us and changes direction to come have a closer look. The fin breaks a clean line through the water and as she gets within a metre of us I see the beautiful burnished flank, elegant lines and confident movement of a bronze whaler. The biggest bronze whaler I have ever seen. More than two metres from head to tail fin, she glides past us, circles round and ducks under Peter’s board and is gone, an elegant visitor, a much-needed reminder. We paddle further into the bay finding playful seals, large flocks of low flying cormorants and more bait balls breaking the surface. Below the calm and muffled mist the ocean is crackling with life. By the time we get back to land the sun is slowly finding its way through the grey and I stumble onto the sand as my balance recalibrates for land not sea. I don’t want the same to happen to my mind. The recalibration these short couple of hours has done for my state of being could never have been achieved behind my computer. This renewed sense of purpose and inspiration is not found in wonderful TED talks, meetings with inspiring partners, emails of validation or even the ever rewarding work we do with youth every day. No. This deep personal sense of quiet strength and purpose comes from loosening the strangle-hold our clever minds have over us and connecting with a much deeper part of the self that is more water than thought. That is older and quieter. HP

Hanli aboard her SUP in False Bay. Photograph by Peter Marshall.

Oceanographic Issue 11

@hanliprinsloo

@hanliprinsloofreediver

â&#x20AC;&#x153;This deep personal sense of quiet strength and purpose comes from loosening the strangle-hold our clever minds have over us and connecting with a much deeper part of self that is more water than thought.â&#x20AC;?

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

Oceanographic Issue 11

TR AVEL TO SEE THE WORLD, BUT EXPLORE TO DISCOVER IT.

ENGINEER HYDROCARBON AEROGMT II COSC-certified caliber Curved rotating bezel Revolutionary micro gas lights Crown protection system

Worn by Erwan Le Lann on Maewan Visit shop.ballwatch.ch

Oceanographic Issue 10

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

TAVISH CAMPBELL Behind the Lens places a spotlight on the worldâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;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.

Q&A TAVISH CAMPBELL Activist, conservationist, videographer and photographer, SeaLegacy Collective member and a key member of the Wild First network. Tavish Campbell is a Canadian photographer and activist. Having grown up in the remote reaches of the Discovery Islands, he has long positioned himself on the conservation frontline of British Columbia. His footage and photographs of British Columbia’s salmon farming industry dumping virus-infected blood into Canada’s largest wild salmon migration route broke headlines the world over.

OC EA NO G R A PH IC M AGAZ I N E (OM ): H OW D I D YOU FIRST CONNECT WITH TH E UNDERWATER E NVIR O NMENT A N D I T S I N H ABI TAN T S ?

TAVISH CAMPBELL (TC): I grew up on Sonora Island, which is situated just between Vancouver Island and the mainland on the northern end of the Salish Sea. I’ve always been pretty connected to the ocean. There’s no ferry to our island so the local community all move about in small boats. It wasn’t until I was around 15 when I got my diving certifications. I’d say it was really at that point that I was able to immerse myself in the underwater environment. That’s when things really changed, when I was no longer just looking down at the fish from the surface but actually swimming with them. From then, I was really hooked.

OM : W H ICH CA ME F I RS T, C ON S E RVAT I ON OR P H OTOGRAP H Y?

TC: Certainly conservation for me. Photography always has been, and will continue to be, a tool that we can use to try and assist in the conservation goals that we’re working on. So, photography definitely came afterwards. Creativity and storytelling is a huge part of my photography, but it’s all secondary to the singular goal of feeling like I need to communicate these things I’m witnessing out on the landscape to people.

OM : IT ’ S DIF F ICU LT TO GE T H U M AN S TO L OV E FISH IN TH E SAME WAY TH AT TH EY DO M A MMA LS , S O TH AT C RE AT I V I T Y M U S T BE P RETTY KEY.

TC: Yes, exactly. That’s the story of my life. It’s something that I joke about a lot with other photographers – as you say, everybody loves a warm-blooded animal with little furry ears, but getting people to love something that’s cold and scaly is a different challenge. Fortunately, a lot of my work is pretty localised. It’s often directed at people who are already somewhat aware of the issues and have at least a base level of understanding of the importance of these species. A lot of my work is dedicated to communicating the nuances of these stories, so I’m fortunate in that sense. Many of the people who follow my work already have an interest in salmon and know how important they are to the whole coastal ecosystem.

OM : W H AT WA S YOU R F I RS T E XP E RI E N C E ON TH E FRONT LINE OF TH E ENVIRONMENTAL M OVEMENT IN B C ? TC: This is something that I’ve grown up with because both of my parents have been heavily involved in the environmental movement for as long as I can remember. I think that was a product of them living and spending more time in these remote areas of British Columbia. We had no option but to bear witness to what was happening in places where a lot of people don’t have to opportunity to travel. That’s often where the most destructive industries find a home.

O M: D O YOU RE M E M BE R AN I N F L U X IN FISH FARMS IN TH E AREA?

TC: They have always been present during my lifetime – there was certainly a period of expansion when I was younger. There was also generally a rising level of awareness across the providence of just how damaging these farms were, when residents began realising the impacts they were having on the salmon. The first key moment for me was when a dear friend Alexandra Morton started doing work on the impacts of sea lice on our wild salmon. I would’ve been maybe 13 years old when I had an opportunity to go out in a boat to sample these small juvenile wild salmon on their outward migration to sea and contribute to her research. I was able to witness first-hand the destructive effects of sea lice on these baby salmon. We were catching small little smolts the size of your finger that were absolutely covered in lice. They were unable to swim and were just dying on the surface. It was a pretty devastating thing to see, but it was also highly motivating. It made me want to stand up and actually do something to protect my home.

O M: D O E S U S I N G T H AT D E VAS TAT I ON TO RAISE AWARENESS H ELP YOU TO COP E? TC: Yeah – a lot of the work I do does focus on some pretty grim situations and suffering species on our coast, but at the same time I try to mix it up with a lot of beauty because I think that’s important as well. It’s hugely important that we also share stories of beauty and that’s a motivating factor for me personally – the love for the coast and for my home, which is ultimately why I do this work. I feel like I don’t have any other option. I can’t just stand by and watch this stuff happen. I’m in a place of incredible privilege to have the resources and access to witness and also document these tragedies along our coast. So, I really have a responsibility to do something about it and ultimately try to give back. O M: W H Y H AS T H E RE BE E N A BAC K LASH AGAINST TH E SALMON CONSERVATION MOVEMENT IN B R IT I S H C OL U M BI A? TC: Well, there’s rage because those who make money off these destructive industries feel threatened. This whole providence, since colonialization, is built on resource extraction. That’s largely the colonial culture – we showed up and started killing things, cutting down trees and extracting things in an attempt to amass wealth for ourselves. So anytime you stand up and call into question these practices there are going to be people who feel threatened by that because their livelihoods depend on it. Whether it’s the logging of old-growth forests, destructive fishing practices or fish farming, there’s always going to be backlash because we live in a system where the economy is held up as this sacred thing. O M: T H E RE ARE A L OT OF QUAL I F I E D EXP ERTS IN TH E FIELD OF FISH ERIES AND SALMON W H O A R E ADAM AN T T H AT T H E F I S H FARMS ARE H AVING NO IMPACT. TC: There’s always a backstory. Those particular scientists who are willing to say these things have ulterior motives. They’re either being paid, or they’re being funded by industry, or they’re having their research supported in ways that prevent them from saying what they really should be saying. Within any controversial issue, industry is always going to be able to find scientists who are willing to inject doubt into the conversation. It’s exactly what happened with tobacco, it’s exactly what’s happening with climate change. We see it happening on the coast with our fisheries science as well, where the weight of evidence clearly shows that fish farms have a negative impact on our wild salmon stocks. Yet the science can be perpetually argued because it’s so easy for industry to find and prop up a scientist who is willing to cast some doubt. O M: W H AT OT H E R T H RE AT S D OE S T H E WILDLIFE IN BRITISH COLUMBIA FACE?

TC: There’s a whole range of different campaigns that people are working on in British Columbia – my two main focuses are wild salmon and forestry, old-growth logging. These two things are connected and intertwined – everything is in our coastal ecosystem. I think that’s a mistake we often make, regarding these things as separate issues that we can attack and communicate separately. Old-growth logging is something that’s really close to my heart because again, growing up in these small remote areas, that’s another thing that I didn’t have an option to not witness.

Continued on p.80...

BEHIND THE LENS

Q&A Continued... OM: H OW H AVE T H E F I RS T N AT I ON S C OM M U NITIES BEEN FORCED TO ADAP T? TC: The colonial history of British Columbia is incredibly brutal and continues to be so to this day. We see that playing out again and again where First Nations communities are backed into an economic corner and are faced with these devastating tactics that industry use to divide, conquer and gain support for their industrial projects. For example, with salmon farming the provincial government has stated that in a few years, if the farms want to operate, they need to gain consent from the First Nations’ territory in which they want to operate. This sounds good and is good in theory, but the devastating part is that industry sees that as a challenge to go into these communities and see who they can influence with money and gain support from. So it’s something that plays out again and again in all different industries, whether it’s oil and gas, logging, mining, fish farming – industry really has one motive and that is to gain access to the resources that will make them incredible amounts of money, and the effects of that can be pretty devastating for these communities. OM: T H E CA NA DI AN GOV E RN M E N T H AS P L E DGED TO CONSERVE 3 0 % OF CANADA’S OCEANS BY 203 0 A ND TO T R A N S I T I ON F ROM OP E N N E T-PEN FARMING BY 2 0 2 5 . WH AT STEP S ARE TH EY TAK ING TO MA K E T H I S H AP P E N ?

TC: There certainly has been some movement in that direction – there’s a whole process afoot in British Columbia to designate these Marine Protected Areas. The other view is that a lot of these announcements were made in connection with an announcement by the Federal Government, which was the fact that they were going to support and push through a large pipeline from the upper tar sands through to Vancouver. This would see a huge increase in traffic on our coast, which will take place in the critical habitat of the southern resident killer whales. They are a species facing extinction right before our eyes, so there was a lot of cynicism around these announcements, that they were made to mitigate and take focus off the impacts that would be seen in the Salish Sea. None of these issues are simple, there are always going to be complexities.

OM: W H AT A R E YOU R P RE D I C T I ON S F OR W I L D SALMON STOCKS OVER TH E NEXT FEW YEARS? TC: That’s a tough and an incredibly scary question because the trend is not good. Stocks continue to collapse. It’s scary because in British Columbia it’s no longer a new story that year after year the salmon returns continue to get smaller and smaller. To me that’s one of the scariest things, the fact that this downward trend has become so normal that people don’t even notice it. It’s very frightening but I think, ultimately, whether I have hope for these salmon or not doesn’t change how I’m going to fight for them. I don’t have an option, I have to use the tools that I have to fight for these fish, regardless of how I think it’s all going to play out. OM: W H AT IS YO U R P E RS ON AL E XP E RI E N C E OF TH E COLLAP SING SALMON STOCKS? TC: I have an interesting relationship with salmon because I grew up in a family that fished commercially, so I’ve grown up fishing for them. My connection to salmon is so much more than just going out and taking photos or being concerned for their wellbeing on an intellectual level. These fish really are the lifeblood of our entire coast and have been the lifeblood largely for my whole life as well. It’s tough to see that decline first-hand, to walk up rivers that are now silent, still and devoid of fish and birds and all those sounds that should accompany the seasons. There’s a lot of people along this coast who are all saying, yelling, screaming the same thing, that something isn’t right. As the trend continues downwards, certain runs are going to go extinct. OM: W H AT R ES EARC H I S U N D E RWAY T H AT WILL FURTH ER TH E CAUSE FOR WILD SALMON? TC: There’s a lot of research being done right now on new and emerging viruses in the British Columbia salmon farming industry. So that is certainly a positive thing. At the same time, the weight of evidence already indicates that these farms are having an impact, so while more science is a good thing, we also now just need the political will to act on this science. At this point it seems like that’s what we have with this Federal Government, because they have said that by 2025 they’ll have come up with a transition plan to get the farms out of the water, so that really is this bright spot of light in this whole issue. Sometimes I’m slightly cynical about our need for absolute certainty to exist before we act upon an issue, because it’s so easy for industry to inject their own scientific doubt, create confusion and kick the puck along in order to prolong any kind of meaningful action as long as they can while they continue to make huge profits.

Oceanographic Issue 11

BEHIND THE LENS

O M: H OW ARE YOU GOI N G TO GO ABO UT P USH ING TH E LIBERAL PARTY TO FULFIL TH EIR PR O MIS E S AROU N D AQUAC U LT U RE ? TC: There are a lot of campaigns along the coast that are doing just that, trying to keep the pressure up on the Federal Government, and the way that I can contribute is to continue to remind the public just how devastating this industry is on our coastal ecosystem. It seems like they give me endless opportunities to document the damage that they’re doing, so that’s half my job, is to keep that in the spotlight and to keep reminding people of the impacts of this industry. I think the other half of my job is to focus on the beauty and to not let people forget why we care so much about the salmon. There’s love for these beautiful, generous fish that feed this whole coast. If I can also communicate that message as well and get people even a little bit interested in these scaly creatures that most people never see, that’ll feel good. O M: H AV E YOU S E E N AN Y P OS I T I V E CH ANGES TH AT H ELP TO DRIVE YOU? TC: The biggest positive is this announcement from the Federal Government that they’re planning on removing fish farms. There’s always a number of small, localised success stories, whether it’s slightly larger returns in a particular creek or a community restoration initiative that has led to a slightly better return. But the thing is with these salmon is that, overall, it’s not a success story. It seems that often we shy away from being honest with ourselves about what’s happening to our environment for fear of losing hope. Which I think is valid to a point, but we can’t kid ourselves. There’s a great quote by Chris Hedges that says: ‘Hope based in fantasy is delusion.’ I feel that way with salmon sometimes. Sometimes the need for a hopeful element masks the truth of the situation. If we continue on this trajectory it doesn’t look hopeful for salmon. If we’re not willing to make changes a similar thing can be said about our climate – the trajectory doesn’t look good. If we continue to require there to be hope in every story, I think that can be more damaging than fully communicating the truth of the situation we’re in and the truth of the consequences of our actions. Broadly speaking we as humans live in a way that is so disconnected from natural processes that we forget that we actually rely on them to exist. We have the luxury of saying: “That is scary and depressing, but it doesn’t really affect me in my day-to-day life right now so I’m going to ignore it and just not think about it.” Some of my most inspiring mentors and teachers have been people who are deeply involved in the conversation, who live in a way that they’re so connected to their home that it’s not an option to ignore these issues. These are people who are literally fighting for their homes and the creatures that surround them, regardless of whether they have hope or not. The hammer will drop and soon everyone will realise that in order to breathe we need healthy and functioning oceans, and if we pump so much carbon into the atmosphere that the oceans acidify and don’t produce oxygen, we die. End of story. We can put those simple truths off for a period of time, but we certainly can’t put them off forever. O M: H OW D O YOU BAL AN C E YOU R W ORK IN BRITISH COLUMBIA WITH YOUR OTH ER P ROJECTS? TC: It’s something I think about a lot, this balance between working on projects closer to home and projects further afield. I’ve been incredibly privileged to travel all over the world and take photos, but I find that the work that I really want to focus on and that resonates with me is the work that is close to home. That’s the work that I feel is required of me in order to live in a place and have connection with that place. That’s maybe not the typical route for someone who wants to be a conservation photographer because a lot of the time people think that means travelling a lot and building up a varied portfolio. But for me, that seems secondary. I often think about the image of the conservation photographer and what that means, and being honest about what motivates us as photographers. We all need to examine and be truthful about the role we’re playing, what our motivations are and how our ego is involved. The people who I respect the most in the conservation world are the people who you might not necessarily label as conservationists. They are often these matriarchal figures who are really fighting for our home and fighting for there to be a home for their grandchildren someday. Those are the figures who I draw the most inspiration from. At times it seems so far from the other end of the spectrum, which is the wealthy, fairly privileged conservation photographer who is working on building up a social media following, jetting around the world, building a portfolio in an endeavour that really seems so capitalistic and ego driven. It’s something I reflect on a lot and try to take into account in my own work. I think the central theme to all of this is sense of place, which seems like such a radical concept nowadays. This concept of picking a place, calling it home and fighting for it. Whether it’s glamorous or not, depressing or not, or hopeful or not, we all rely on these functioning ecosystems to survive. I think one of the most powerful things you can do is not run away from that – to pick a place and give back.

Oceanographic Issue 11

BEHIND THE LENS

British Columbia Two inches long and a master of camouflage, this Scaly-head Sculpin illustrates the colourful vibrance of British Columbia’s cold seas. I will never grow tired of the miniature and often overlooked beauty of this coast.

British Columbia Humpback whales have made an incredible return to the B.C. coast since we stopped killing them in 1967. These whales are navigating a strong 10 knot flood tide - upwellings that support the life they rely on to feed.

British Columbia There is very little government or independent monitoring of British Columbia’s logging industry. Taking to the forest with a camera can be a very powerful tool in conservation.

Discovery Islands An open net-pen facility containing over half a million Atlantic salmon is illuminated by massive underwater lights.

Queen Charlotte Sound, B.C. A Biggs killer whale, known to researchers as T146B, circles a Steller sea lion rookery. These iconic whales tell a dark story about ocean health. They are the most heavily contaminated animal in the world due to toxins in the marine environment.

Great Bear Rainforest, B.C. Evening on the outer coast of the Great Bear Rainforest, shared with Steller sea lions and herring gulls.

British Columbia Pacific herring are the fish that feed the coast. This image was taken during the spring on the north coast, moments before spawning began and the water turned milky white with milt reducing visibility to zero.

Fraser River, B.C. After a journey to the north Pacific and back, sockeye salmon return to the Fraser River in late fall. Battling strong river currents after leaving the ocean, these fish must be in top physical condition to survive this gruelling uphill swim back to their spawning grounds.

Queen Charlotte Strait, B.C. Pacific white-sided Dolphins patrol Queen Charlotte Strait. With an underwater microphone or hydrophone, we are able to listen in on their raucous conversations and clicking echolocation.

Salish Sea Over a thousand suckers enable the worlds largest octopus species to ‘taste’ their surroundings as they move. The Giant Pacific Octopus can grow to have an arm span of 9.8m. This one, found at night, was a tenth of that size.

Salish Sea The waters of the Salish Sea become white with herring milt during the annual spawn of early spring. This incredible event draws in predators such as sea lions, humpback whales, and migrating seabird species.

Great Bear Rainforest, B.C. Life in the Great Bear Rainforest depends on the health of all members of the community. Even though we are not killing grizzly bears anymore, we are starving them out through practices which impact the health of wild salmon.

Behind the lens TAVISH CAMPBELL Salish Sea Juvenile wild salmon smolts navigate the channels of the Salish Sea during the start of their long migration to the open Pacific. Of the thousands of eggs that are laid by each female, only two or three salmon will make it home to spawn.

Engaged in coastal conservation and environmental justice work since he was 15 years old, Tavish brings conservation stories to light through underwater cinematography and photography. Having grown up on an island off the west coast of Canada, he developed a layered relationship with the marine environment, working as a commercial fisherman, occupational diver and expedition guide, before focusing fully on conservation. His primary focus is revealing the complex stories of wild salmon, herring, and old-growth forests in hopes of connecting people to these critical communities. Tavish has collaborated with numerous local and international conservation organisations and his work has been featured in various documentaries and programs around the world.

PERSONAL

@tavishcampbell

SEALEGACY

@sealegacy

@tavishcampbellphotography @SeaLegacy

@sealegacy

www.tavishcampbell.ca sealegacy.org

Oceanographic Issue 11

LUMINOSIT Y THAT GUIDES THE JOURNEY AND CONQUERS THE DESTINATION.

ENGINEER HYDROCARBON AEROGMT II COSC-certified caliber Curved rotating bezel Revolutionary micro gas lights Crown protection system

Worn by Erwan Le Lann on Maewan Visit shop.ballwatch.ch

BEHIND THE LENS

Oceanographic Issue 11

BEHIND THE LENS

CONNECTING THE

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â&#x20AC;&#x153;Everywhere we go they are concerned about what is happening elsewhere and how that might impact them.â&#x20AC;?

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ABOVE: Fabienne D'Orteoli paddleboarding around the atolls of Ducie Island, in the Pitcairn Islands. OPPOSITE: Erwann Le Lann at the helm of Maewan IV in the middle of the South Pacific. PREVIOUS PAGE: D'Orteoli swims in St Paul's Pool, a natural swimming pool on Pitcairn Island.

e have been sailing for five years now, and we spend about eight months of the year on the boat. We have to go back to France, because it’s too easy to stay away with Maewan forever,” says Erwan Le Lann, professional sailor, skier and marine guide, and captain of 11-metre sailboat, Maewan IV. “We need to bridge the gap between our two lives. This one on the boat, connected with the wild but disconnected from the European civilisation, and our lives in France, where we are connected with our civilisation but disconnected from our resources.” In 2015, together with humanitarian and advocacy strategist Marion Courtois, Erwan made a plan to travel 66,000km, spending seven years exploring the furthest reaches of the planet. Their enduring goals include discovering true adventure, to learn and share valuable lessons and to understand the environmental impact of civilisation in these remote places. Simply, the three core values of adventure sport, education and environmentalism, has driven them to sail north from Brittany, France, cross the Northwestern Passages, head south through the Bering Strait to French Polynesia, via the Kuril Islands, Papua New Guinea, Australia, Tasmania and New Zealand. Erwan has described life onboard Maewan like living on a ‘mini-Earth’ – she can store enough gear and food for five solid months of adventure and navigation. As with the remote communities they visit, careful management of resources is vital for survival. As Erwan says, they don’t have access to any more resources

than that which they have on board, a state that has allowed them to reconnect to the value of food, water, energy, sleep and waste. As they sail from place to place, they get to see those communities that make it work and those that don’t, sharing those lessons as they go with the children of these communities in the form of environmental workshops. “Every place we go we meet people and try to understand their way of living according to the climate, the location and their resources,” explains Erwan. “But every place we go that has little to no access to foreign information, the main concern is the same. They want to know what is happening out there that has caused their freshwater sources to dry up, the fish to disappear from their reefs or the influx of plastic on their beaches. Everywhere we go they are concerned about what is happening elsewhere and how that might impact them.” On their travels, they’ve defined three types of island in terms of resource management, using Alejandro Salkrik Island off the coast of Chile, Ducie Island in the Pitcairns at the heart of the southern Pacific Ocean and Easter Island, a World Heritage Site at the southeasternmost point of the Polynesian Triangle in the Pacific Ocean, as key examples. Where the tiny community of Alejandro Salkrik are working hard to remain self-sufficient, Easter Island now relies heavily on tourism, which has resulted in greatly diminished resources. Despite being uninhabited, Ducie Island has been hit hard by poor global resource management and is covered in plastic that has washed in from all over the world. By accessing these

Oceanographic Issue 11

places, sharing them with a variety of high-profile crew members, Erwan and Marion are creating a growing network of environmentally conscious individuals within the adventure sporting arena. While their crews of athletes take their experiences home to share, Erwan and Marion continue to pack up their stories and lessons learned to share with new communities on their journey. It’s creating change on a local level. Innovations in behaviour and resource management in communities without much outside communication can lead to great improvement in environmental impact for these unique settlements, all while creating space for future generations to garner some control over their changing environment. The hope is that their workshops will give communities the tools to push back against economic pressures in order to preserve the future of their natural homes. “I don’t think you can split humanitarianism and environmental issues today,” muses Marion. “The human being is a part of global change. It’s interesting to see what can be done on a small scale because the result it so much faster than on larger islands.” Marion continues: “The first real connection starts the few days before our arrival. Navigating on a sailing boat allows us to discover and apprehend the climate and therefore to feel, to apprehend, to begin to understand the living conditions of the communities we are going to meet. When we arrive, our first action after we drop anchor is to go and introduce ourselves to the mayor or village chief. Then, we like to take some time to observe

â&#x20AC;&#x153;There is no area on the Earth where you don't see an impact of humans. I was hoping to go far enough to escape from human destruction but I'm afraid it's too late, it doesn't exist anymore.â&#x20AC;?

Joseph Grierson preparing some fish for dinner off the island of Rapa Iti.

TOP: A carpenter works on wood from a nonnative pine tree - income from conservation. MIDDLE: D'Ortoli conducting a youth workshop in French Polynesia. BOTTOM: Easter Islander Tito works on a new wooden statue, built to protect future generations on the island.

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“I deeply believe that the human race is equally as capable of better, we must just awaken and encourage the development of the good things in us."

and discuss with people at random about our encounters. This acclimatisation time is essential to connect with a culture different from ours. Travelling by boat offers us the huge advantage of being able to share our life, our home with the people we meet. The exchange is therefore totally mutual since we are also ‘visited’ by the communities we meet. This is one of the aspects that I prefer, the relationship seems fairer to me and more balanced.” This life of diving into the unknown is not without its emotional blows. Cruising towards the uninhabited Ducie Island in the Pitcairns group, the crew initially found an abundance of corals and marine life surrounding a peaceful habitat for thousands of seabirds. However, upon arriving on the shore, the crew discovered the nests of frigates and petrels smothered in plastic. With no resident community on the island, there is nobody to bear witness to it, as on neighbouring Henderson Island. “There is no area on the Earth where you don’t see an impact of humans. I was hoping to go far enough to escape from human destruction but I’m afraid it’s too late, it doesn’t exist anymore. There’s not a single beach in the Pacific that has not got plastic on it. It is very difficult to see and to realise how big the problem really is.” While circumnavigating Ducie, the Maewan team noted how the corals and marine life were still vibrant, more so than those surrounding Henderson Island. Ever the optimist, Marion has faith in the knowledge that sharing their experiences of the human impact that threatens the Pitcairns, there is hope. “In our modern societies, we tend to point out what is going wrong, and it is true that we have many reasons to be indignant,” adds Marion. “But I deeply believe that the human race is equally as capable of better, we must just awaken and encourage the development of the good things in us.” Both Erwan and Marion seem to have an insatiable curiosity for finding and igniting connection. The connection humans have with each other and with the environment. This is where the adventure comes into play. Finding untouched natural destinations and experiencing them in the most exhilarating way possible is part of what draws top-level athletes such as kitesurfer Fabienne D'Ortoli, rock climbers Charlotte Durif, Solenne Pirret and Nina Caprez, skier Léo Slemett and snowboarder Xavier De Le Rue to the project. As a result, they’ve been skiing on the mountainous Kuril Islands (between Russia and Japan), scaled great walls of ice in Iceland, been kite-surfing in the Bering Strait, rock climbing in Tasmania, BASE jumping into the isolated fjords of New Zealand and even tried highlining at dizzying heights in the Marquesas Islands. “We are capable of making a plan with our visitors that many would think was crazy,” laughs Erwan. “We don’t have many limits. If there’s a place that there’s not much knowledge about, we go and try to learn more about it. We open doors to some of the wildest and most remote places, no matter what the cost.” Maewan has a number of generous supporters who have great faith in their work, including BALL Watch – but cost goes beyond the financial. The vehemence of their experiences ranges from tumbling down snowcapped mountains clutching ski poles to numerous breakdowns, ice-choked waters, freezing conditions, skyscraper-like waves and the unforgiving conditions of the open sea. “The more we go to remote places the more we are surprised and the more we learn about the life of our planet,” says Erwan. “Everywhere we’ve been we find people, landscapes, different ways of living that are completely fascinating. At the same time, we’re seeing such a massive impact of human activities of those who are not concerned with it on this local level.” The journey is far from over, and in 2020, is unlikely to be smooth. Maewan will set sail south from Cape Horn, stopping off on route to surf in Antarctica, ski on South Georgia Island before heading north again on their final stretch home. For two months, the captain, the program manager, and professional rock climbers will teach and assist 45 young people in Brazil in putting together and developing their personal, professional, or community service project. This combination of low-impact, slow travel with adventure and giving back to remote communities is the sort of balance that we’re likely to see more of in an age of environmental awareness. “We want to create a bridge so that more people can feel connected to the wild and to each other,” says Marion. “With Maewan we have an opportunity to live and experience these remote places, but also commit to using this expedition for a deeper goal to act for the future generations and for our planet.”

Oceanographic Issue 11

F O R T H E L OV E

of reefs

A team of marine biologists from the California Academy of Sciences is working to better protect deep mesophotic reefs around the world. Their most recent Hope for Reefs mission took them to the Fernando de Noronha National Marine Park in Brazil â&#x20AC;&#x201C; a marine park they would like to see expanded.

Wo rd s b y Ju s t i n G ru b b P h o t o g ra p h s b y Ju s t i n G ru b b a n d L u i z R o c h a

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ur research vessel rocked back and forth in moody and turbulent seas off the coast of Fernando de Noronha, a volcanic island nearly 300 miles east of Brazil. The view from our starboard side included the expansive Atlantic Ocean, which contrasted with the crashing waves and 100-foot cliffs on our port side. Below us, seemingly never-ending depths of open ocean. The hisses of regulators and clunking of cylinders dominated the soundscape as the team prepared its gear for the long dive ahead. The expedition was undertaken in pursuit of a larger mission to reverse the trend of extinction for reefs all over the world. An initiative called “Hope for Reefs” is the driving force behind this mission. It is led by the California Academy of Sciences – a research institute and natural history museum in San Francisco, California. With nearly 75% of the world’s reefs threatened by overfishing, habitat destruction, water pollution and climate change, the academy sends teams of scientists out to descend to unexplored depths of the ocean to learn what it takes to save this valuable habitat. With every expedition, the team of six travels to some of the world’s most remarkable reef systems and Fernando de Noronha is by no means an exception. With its picturesque clear blue water, white sandy beaches and stunning topography, this island not only serves as a destination for tourists but a haven for ocean life. The biggest industry on the island is scuba diving as visitors flock from around the world to get up close to the wildlife that has benefited from the protection of the Fernando de Noronha National Marine Park, established in 1988. The park, however, mostly encompasses shallow reefs, only affording protection for smaller fish species and animals that move through its waters. Beyond these shallows, lies a completely different and unprotected ecosystem called the mesophotic reef. This habitat ranges from 100 to 500 feet in depth and contains some unique coral and fish species that are as vulnerable to exploitation as shallow-reef marine life. Throughout the world, these deeper reefs are often ignored when establishing new protected areas because they are not considered as vulnerable. The California Academy of Sciences visited Fernando de Noronha with help and funding of Fundação Grupo Boticário to study its deep reefs and to collect data that they hope can be used to expand the marine protected area with the help of the Brazilian government. The local government has taken great strides in conservation practices by limiting the number of tourists on the island, banning the importation of plastic by visitors and by applying a hefty daily visitation fee to support continued environmental protection. As the voice of the dive safety officer carried the team through their pre-dive checklist, Luiz Rocha, photographer and Associate Curator and Follett Chair of Ichthyology at the California Academy of Sciences, lifted his head and pointed to a small fishing boat between us and the towering cliffs. “See that?” he said to me, pointing with his head. “That boat is fishing in protected waters; we are on the edge of the reserve right now.” A

“The California Academy of Sciences visited Fernando de Noronha with help and funding of Fundação Grupo Boticário to study its deep reefs and to collect data that they hope can be used to expand the marine protected area.”

PREVIOUS: A school of black bar soldierfish swim above volcanic rock and encrusting coral at the top of the mesophotic reef zone. THIS PAGE: A coney grouper, found at a depth of approximately 40 metres.

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â&#x20AC;&#x153;As we wrapped up this mission and broke the surface, the team finally began to show their excitement about what had been collected during the dive. [They] believed the fish within were a new species that could aid in laying the groundwork for extending the Fernando De Noronha National Marine Park.â&#x20AC;?

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TOP: The Stegastes roasensis is endemic to Fernando de Noronha and Rocas and doesn’t have an English name. BOTTOM: Dive officer Tyler Phelps on a deco stop holding a specimen container with possible new species of reef fish.

rapid radio call to the proper authorities followed, but the team remained focused on the dive. Luiz is a Brazilian native and grew up along the coast. As a child he had an extensive collection of live marine organisms in aquariums where he replicated their ecosystems to study their husbandry. This is where Luiz discovered his love for the ocean, and as time went on, cultivated his drive to protect it. “It is a little bit depressing at times when we get to a place and we see the ecosystem that we love and grew up with dying in front of our very eyes, but for the most part, this has been very rewarding.” Luiz made this remark as he reflected on being back in Brazil to conduct this valuable research and on what the team had accomplished thus far. Through the Hope for Reefs initiative, Luiz and his team have been on more than 16 expeditions since 2016 and have discovered a handful of new species that aid in developing new conservation strategies. On the boat, Luiz pushed his weight off the front of the bench, dipping his body down to slip on his rebreather, which is decorated in marine animal stickers. He then lifted the whole system over his head and sat up as the rebreather fell into place. As he completed this manoeuvre, the team, one by one, stepped off the boat and slowly disappeared into the dark blue water below. My role in this expedition was to document the scientific undertaking in Fernando de Noronha and highlight the work of the California Academy of Sciences. As a wildlife filmmaker with a background in marine biology, I found this particular expedition very exciting. Three hours into the dive, it was my turn to take the plunge beneath the waves to join the team. As I followed their surface marker buoy line down, I could see everyone hard at work carefully laying out transects and collecting fish. As we explored the vertical volcanic walls, an incredible diversity of ocean life surrounded us. Large schools of pelagic fish swam by to check us out as smaller gobies and damsels darted into the cracks and crevices, wary of our approach. Sharks, octopuses, turtles, and eels regularly appeared to accompany us on our dive. As we wrapped up this mission and broke the surface, the team finally began to show their excitement about what had been collected during the dive. Bart Shepherd, Director of the Steinhart Aquarium in San Francisco, presented me with a small container of fish. The team believed the fish within were a new species that could hopefully help in laying the groundwork for extending the Fernando De Noronha National Marine Park. In high spirits, we headed back to shore. To learn more about what a potential expansion of the marine park might mean for the region, I met with one of many local fishermen. Fishing is the second largest industry on the island. The fisherman I talked to was

friendly to the efforts of the Hope for Reefs initiative as he himself provided support for the research team throughout the expedition. He stood by the decisions of local environmental authorities to restrict the use of harmful fishing methods such as using gill nets and long lines. However, he raised some concerns about expanding the marine park. He feared that, by extending the marine park even further, fishermen will have trouble making ends meet. The fishing restrictions put into place already cause greater competition among fishermen. In addition, when the weather is poor on the open-fishing side of the island, fishermen lose a day of productivity as they are unable to manoeuvre to the other side of the island and fish due to its protection status. For the time being, fishermen and environmental authority relationships remain peaceful and collaborative. To get an idea of how local government authorities balance the intricacies of conservation, community and economy, I met with the main environmental authority on the island to conduct a quick interview. This individual has been instrumental in allowing the research expedition to occur and has been very supportive of our efforts. Standing on a crowded road alongside the busy harbour, I went over the questions I was hoping to ask him and the conditions that would allow me to film. After agreeing to appear on camera, he suddenly changed his mind and wished to do an audio interview only. This way, he felt more comfortable answering my questions. As I prepared my equipment, some heavy discussion broke out amongst his advisors and ten minutes later, he decided not to go through with the interview. He described his fear of severe retaliation by the government of Brazil for voicing his opinions on the importance of conservation. Recently, the government has backtracked on environmental protection policies and refuses to acknowledge climate change as a global threat as evidenced by the recent fires in the Amazon rainforest. Despite the overwhelming challenges, Luiz and his team remain optimistic and believe there is a bright future ahead for the ocean. “There is a lot of hope,” he said as he referenced an earlier expedition to the Marshall Islands. “Bikini Atoll was nuked 50 years ago, but today supports a great population of healthy fish and corals due to their protection. All you need to do is leave it alone and it will recover.” There is still a year of expeditions planned for the current phase of the Hope for Reefs initiative. After Brazil, the team will head to the Indian Ocean to explore the deep reefs of the Maldives. Luiz’s face lit up as he described his next trip. “The Indian Ocean is a place we have always wanted to explore because everywhere we go is unexplored from a scientific perspective.” In this new frontier, the goals are similar: explore deep reefs and describe new species that can aid in the development of new conservation management strategies. Luiz feels that the Hope for Reefs initiative has been successful and looks forward to continuing his work in exploring and protecting the ocean.

Oceanographic Issue 11

Column

By Toby Dickson

“To my knowledge these are the first underwater photographs of the southern species of the right whale dolphin.”

The guest columnist ENCOUNTERING SOUTHERN RIGHT WHALE DOLPHINS

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@tobydickson

www.tobydicksonphoto.com

About Toby Toby Dickson is a photographer and aspiring marine scientist currently undertaking an MSc in marine science at the University of Otago in Dunedin. He studies sperm whales in Kaikoura using UAVs. This is where most of his wildlife encounters happen. He is deeply passionate about the marine environment and ocean conservation.

aikōura, on the east coast of New Zealand’s South Island is a marine life mecca due to a the narrow continental shelf with a steep gradient which forms the Kaikōura Canyon, dropping to a depth of 1,000m just 5km from the coast. It has been described as the most productive non-chemosynthetic deep sea habitat on the planet, and is a favoured foraging ground for numerous marine mammals. Sitting on the side of our six-metre research vessel ‘Grampus’ positioned a few miles off the coast of Kaikōura, we were looking for sperm whales. Dusky dolphins (Lagenorhynchus obscurus) are common in this area, and are inquisitive, playful and regularly approach boats to bow ride. Most days we are out on the water we tend to see them, often in large groups. On this particular day, we had approximately 20 dusky dolphins cruising around the vessel, when suddenly four dolphins shot past underneath the boat, much faster than the duskies. These were Lissodelphis peronii, the southern sub-species of the right whale dolphin. These are oceanic, offshore cetaceans found in the circumpolar sub-Antarctic and cool temperate waters in the Southern Ocean, associated with oceanic deep waters, and highly productive continental shelves. The species is seen occasionally off the coast of New Zealand, and has been known to associate with dusky dolphins, as well as pilot whales. Sightings are typically quick glimpses as they speed by, or a fast paced encounter with a pod on the move. The only other time I have seen them was a few years ago, when they breached a few times before disappearing again. Along with right whales, southern right whale dolphins lack a dorsal fin. Their sleek, tapered body shape allows them to move swiftly through the water, and they are usually boat shy, keeping their distance. Instantly I recognised their striking black and white coloration. They made several close approaches, swimming underneath the vessel, turning on their side and eyeing us up along with the duskies at close range. I stumbled over to the stern in a rush to grab my camera in its underwater housing, hoping they might pass by a few more times. We watched in awe – they seemed almost relaxed in our presence, lobtailing, breaching onto their sides and socialising with the dusky dolphins. There appeared to be only four individuals in the group, a rarity in itself as they are known to travel in pods of up to 1,000, with 53 being the average pod size. I watched from the bow, hoping they might return to examine the vessel a few more times. To my surprise they made several more passes, completely unphased by me leaning over the side with my camera. Standing back up on deck I was exhilarated to have had another encounter with these elusive creatures, let alone to take some photographs of them in their underwater domain. To my knowledge these are the first underwater photographs of the southern species of the right whale dolphin. Very little information on these dolphins exists, known mostly from chance encounters and strandings. They are known to congregate off Namibia, Chile and New Zealand, but no global population size estimate for this species yet exists. Migration, reproduction, communication and human impacts are largely unknown for Lissodelphis. I find it fascinating that in an age where we humans are able to go almost anywhere on the planet, there remains large mammals like these that are still such a mystery. I am grateful for the encounter, and hope to see these beautiful creatures again. TD Southern right whale dolphins are rarely seen and little understood.

Oceanographic Issue 11

BEHIND THE LENS

W H I T E C O N T I N E N T,

dark future? Drone photographer Florian Ledoux visits Antarctica to capture life from above. But what of live below the waterline, the basis of life on the continent? What does the future hold for the white continent, and what impact might that have on the rest of the world?

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he waves crashed over our boat, one after another, on what seemed like an endless journey. Our 18-metre sailboat, Icebird, faced walls of water up to 10 metres tall and methodically cut through them. I felt like a cork in a washing machine. I was seasick and the only thing I could try to do was keep watch or sleep. I was stuck in a strange rhythm, living with the ebb and flow of the waves, far from land and in one of the roughest oceans on Earth. But this is what it takes to reach Antarctica. I wondered more than once why I had ventured into the Drake Passage, cursing my obsession with Antarctica as my stomach churned and my skin ached from the cold. After four days clinging on to various appendages of the yacht, I saw the peninsula in the distance. The barren landscape, with its jagged mountains caked with dense, blue-hued ice, made me forget the last few miserable days at sea. I had never seen an environment that looked so untouched and never-ending – I was mesmerised. The western Antarctic Peninsula possesses some of the most biologically vibrant areas of the Southern Ocean. Throughout our journey, sailing from fjords to glaciers, I was intrigued to see which species were thriving, though there’s more going on beneath the surface than meets the eye. Once our stomachs settled and we’d got some unbroken sleep, we cruised into Paradise Bay in search of whales. It was a quiet evening, clouds hanging low, reflected in the still waters. Suddenly, a blow in the distance interrupted the peace. We navigated towards it and found a humpback whale on the surface, mouth agape and feeding on krill, a vital life source for wildlife in Antarctica. I was blown away by the views from my aerial equipment and marvelled at the size, grace and capacity of this extraordinary creature. But my awe was mixed with a sense of unease. Krill may seem like insignificant creatures, but Antarctic krill are known to play a huge role supporting marine life, and studies show that a combination of global heating and industrial-scale fishing for food, bait and aquaculture has sent populations into decline in Antarctic waters, which will have a devastating impact on the whales, seals and penguins that feed on them. Recent studies have also found that Antarctic krill play a vital role in carbon capture, removing up to 12 billion tonnes of carbon from the Earth’s atmosphere each year. Antarctic krill are among the largest of the 85 known species of krill and can live for up to 10 years. They live in the colder areas of the ocean, approximately 100 metres below the surface, only rising up to shallower waters in order to search for plankton. The ocean is a hugely effective carbon sink. Carbon dioxide is removed from the atmosphere during photosynthesis by phytoplankton and sequestered to the deep ocean as organic material sinks to the seafloor. PREVIOUS: A crabeater seal takes a rest on pristine piece of bright white ice. THIS PAGE: Penguins return to the ocean to hunt.

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â&#x20AC;&#x153;Suddenly, a blow in the distance interrupted the peace. We navigated towards it and found a humpback whale on the surface, mouth agape and feeding on krill, a vital life source for wildlife in Antarctica.â&#x20AC;?

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TOP: Crabeater seals rest on a barely large enough piece of sea ice, one seal bloodied from a lucky escape. BOTTOM: A humpback whale feeds.

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The Southern Ocean is one of the largest carbon sinks in the world, so resident krill can have great influence on atmospheric carbon levels and therefore the global climate. After returning from Antarctica, I spoke with Dr Emma Cavan, a research associate at Imperial College London focusing on ecosystem modelling who has published a paper titled ‘The importance of Antarctic krill in biogeochemical cycles'. ” There is some evidence they have retreated southwards and that salps (gelatinous animals) are replacing them,” explained Dr Cavan. “As krill are extremely important prey for many animals in Antarctica this could have negative impacts on predators, such as whales, seals and penguins if they can't find enough krill or feed off an alternative food source. Krill are fished, but only a very small percentage of the population is fished, so likely the bigger threat to krill is still climate change. This includes warming seas, melting ice and changes to habitats.” It’s no secret that Antarctica is under numerous threats. This fragile place has experienced the changing climate violently and with already devastating impacts. Warming oceans and, more specifically, retreating ice has been blamed for the reported 80% decline in Antarctic krill population since the 1970s, as it forms habitat for marine algae and plankton. Remove or lose certain species and the whole ecosystem can become unstable. “Zooplankton are an important part of the food chain, usually at the second trophic level (after phytoplankton) and pass energy up to larger zooplankton, fish and higher predators,” Dr Cavan said. “Like krill, they also release faecal pellets full of carbon that sink to the deep ocean so are important in the carbon cycle. Without this carbon sink more carbon dioxide would be released to the atmosphere. This is because phytoplankton use carbon that has dissolved from the atmosphere into the oceans to photosynthesise and make organic carbon mass (i.e. cells). This carbon either sinks to the seafloor as dead phytoplankton or is eaten by krill or zooplankton and sinks to the seafloor as faecal pellets.” The delicate and cyclical nature of the food cycle in Antarctica is further revealed when examining how the large amounts of iron released in the surface ocean from whale faeces can help phytoplankton grow, which are fundamental to the carbon cycle. Krill eat phytoplankton and it is their carbon mass that passes to the deep ocean in a krill faecal pellet, locking it away from the atmosphere for long periods of time. Krill will also often consume the carbon-rich and nutritious faeces produced by other krill. Surprisingly perhaps, krill have the greatest biomass of any single marine metazoan species – characteristically having a multicellular body with cells differentiated into tissues – which is a sometimes overlooked fact that holds global significance. It’s important to note too that, while krill is fished in the Southern Ocean, approximately 0.4 million tonnes

“Warming oceans and, more specifically, retreating ice has been blamed for the reported 80% decline in Antarctic krill population since the 1970s, as the ice forms vital habitat for marine algae and plankton.”

(around 0.5% of the krill population) is caught per year, which is significantly less than the internationally agreed catch limits of 8.7 million tonnes a year. Dr Cavan explained that scientists don’t yet know the effect that harvesting krill could have on atmospheric carbon and ocean chemistry. “Southern Ocean ecosystems and chemical processes are highly complex and poorly understood, and our lack of knowledge about the extent of krill’s ability to affect the carbon cycle is a concern, given that it is the region’s largest fishery,” said Dr Cavan. “Our study has shown there is a pressing need for further research to address these and other questions about the significance of krill, as well as for more accurate estimates of their biomass and distribution. This information would inform both our understanding of biogeochemical processes in the ocean and the management of the krill fishing industry.” The Antarctic Peninsula is one of the most rapidly heating places on Earth. Average temperatures have increased by around five times the global average in the past 50 years and by 2012, sea ice on the Western Antarctic Peninsula had reportedly decreased by up to 25%. Crucially, krill need sea ice to survive and those species that rely on krill for sustenance, such as the chinstrap and adélie penguins, are declining in numbers. Reducing fishing pressure on krill is one option for mitigating the overall consequences for marine life, according to a study published in 2018, but global heating is a dominating factor in the disruption of the Antarctic life cycle balance. While there are studies that show krill are in decline it is difficult for scientists to know exactly how many krill there are left. Methods used to estimate the number of krill vary and the Southern Ocean provides an unaccommodating environment for accurately measuring populations, meaning detecting trends is challenging. Studies into the projected effects of ocean warming on Antarctic krill are urgently needed. “Nature and ecosystems exist in a balance, and our actions are disrupting this balance,” added Dr Cavan. “Some ecosystems and animals can be resilient and adapt to change, some cannot. Highlighting the importance of the carbon cycle may help to give the public and politicians another incentive to reduce emissions, as

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A crabeater seal rests, unbothered by a bitter wind.

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“With every anchorage, I felt the urgency of the fact that we were sailing through a rapidly changing marine environment.”

oceanic ecosystems provide such an important service to us humans by regulating our climate.” The significance of krill and plankton in Antarctica’s carbon cycle is part of a broad and complex ongoing conversation around the warming oceans. January 2020 marks 200 years since Fabian Gottlieb van Bellingshausen and his crew became the first known people to set eyes on mainland Antarctica. Just days before the anniversary, NASA received images from the Operational Land Imager on Landsat 8 of the biggest known melt to have occurred on the George VI ice shelf. The extent of the melt in the January 2020 image is widespread, spanning a length of about 140km on the shelf. With every new anchorage, I felt the urgency of the fact that we were sailing through a rapidly changing marine environment. A few days after our encounter with the humpback, we cruised into Port Lockroy, our sailboat struggling through the broken ice that filled the fjord. It could have been a long night, trying to navigate through the ice. But luckily, we were not alone. The dense ice that tops the fjord is also the perfect location for crabeater seals to call home. We spotted hundreds of them gathered together atop the ice, resting, diving elegantly into the icy water to feed on krill and fish. From the boat we could see their collective breath rising into the air. We spent the night anchored in the middle of the ice, which was quickly drifting around us, watching at least 500 crabeater seals moving languidly around our boat. When I find myself in the incredible region of Antarctica, co-existing with the wildlife that calls it home, I know that this is, for now at least, how a balanced ecosystem should feel. I feel in my bones that this is an environment that simply makes sense. It makes me want to do everything I can to protect its wilderness from the impact of human activity. I seek out ways in which I can present a new perspective on the wildlife in Antarctica, and the aerial view helps me understand their situation, behaviour and habitat. I believe drone photography allows us to observe and document the behaviour of wild animals from a new and non-intrusive perspective, capturing them in a wider variety of habitats and landscapes. Before drones, it was almost impossible to photograph the wild in this way, so it offers an opportunity to learn more about farflung reaches of our planet. It is past time to act for the warming planet and I want my photographs to help drive the argument for more Marine Protected Areas in the polar regions where the wildlife population lives on the edge of the ice, relying on the ocean for survival.

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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.

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O C E A N C O N S E R VAT I O N S S TA RT S W I T H Y O U MEGAN WHITE, COMMUNICATIONS SPECIALIST, PROJECT AWARE

As ocean adventurers, we all share a deep connection to the sea and with that, the understanding that we need to protect it. Whether you surf, sail, dive or walk the coastal paths, the ocean gives us so much. It is only right that we give back, but with the health of the ocean in such desperate need, it can sometimes feel like an impossible task, like the actions we are taking are not making the change we want to see. Individually, our everyday actions can feel small, but when we work together, anything is possible. The Project AWARE community is living proof of this. A global network of passionate, like-minded people, connecting their love for the ocean with conservation efforts to create lasting change. Every local action taken by our community is working towards global results for the ocean. Here are just a few examples to inspire you to keep going: Project Azraq - The Red Sea Amy and Nour met whilst working at a dive centre in Dahab and immediately connected over a shared passion for the underwater world. They set up Project Azraq with a vision to create lasting change in the Red Sea. The project started as marine education workshops for children in Dahab and is now a social enterprise leading the way in Egypt to connect business with the environment, with a core value that we should all exist and interact harmoniously with nature. The Project continues to provide marine education with weekly workshops in the centre of Dahab for people of all ages, both residents of the town and visitors alike. Going from strength to strength, the co-founders expanded their programmes to include reef monitoring and clean-up dives, collecting data to provide Project AWARE and the wider marine research community with evidence to create policy change. Amy and Nour built Project Azraq on passion and hope for a better world. This combined with their drive and determination is getting results and has connected them with a community of ocean goers wanting to take action to protect the local waters.

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Gili Shark Conservation - The Gili Islands Gili Shark Conservation was founded by three ocean lovers, who found each other on Gili Air. They wanted to make a difference to their beautiful island home, so they did.

" Wh e n w e s t a r t e d o u r p ro j e c t w e d i d n ’t h a ve a l l t h e k n o w l e d g e , n e i t h e r d i d w e h a ve y e a r s o f experience. All we had was an intention, a lot of energy and the d e s i re t o b e p a r t o f t h e s o l u t i o n . We d i d n ’t w a n t t o s t a n d o n t h e s i d e l i n e s a n y m o re a n d w a t c h h o w o t h e r p e o p l e t r y t o s o l ve a p ro b l e m w h i c h w e a re a l l re s p o n s i b l e f o r. " ROSE HUIZENGA, CO-FOUNDER GILI SHARK CONSERVATION PROJECT

A main objective of the programme is to have the surrounding marine reserve officially recognised as a shark nursery and therefore a critical habitat for sharks. Through collecting consistent data from the reef, the team can analyse the health of the marine zones within the protected area, and by sharing this information with the local government, support better protection to the reserve which is home to Whitetip and Blacktip reef sharks as well as bony fish, rays and turtles. Gili Shark Conservation is an example of what people can achieve through passion, commitment and citizen science. The Blue Army - Iceland Tómmi Knúts began diving in Iceland in 1973 and from then on developed an expansive career as a diving professional. After establishing Iceland’s first PADI dive centre in 1998, he spent the following ten years teaching students the wonders of the underwater world and setting the standards for diving in Iceland.

Oceanographic Issue 11

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Tómmi’s love for Iceland's natural spaces came through in his teaching and he would often organise underwater and beach clean-ups with his students. These clean-ups grew into bigger events with more and more volunteers attending, and so The Blue Army was established. For 25 years and counting, The Blue Army has been leading the removal of rubbish from the beaches and the waters that surround Iceland. Now a registered NGO and well-known in Iceland as well as internationally, the clean-up events are attended by locals and visitors wanting to take action. Tómmi continues to work tirelessly at the helm and shows no signs of stopping. A true inspiration. The Fifth Point Dive Centre Northumberland, UK For four years, Nic and James ran the busiest dive centre in Malaysia where they fell in love with the underwater playgrounds they worked in. Returning to the UK, they opened their dive shop The Fifth Point and embedded their passion for the environment into the very foundations of the business. The dive centre itself was built from as much reclaimed material that Nic and James could get their hands on and recycling, upcycling and composting are normal practices in the day-to-day running of the centre. In the water, a focus on correct weighting, neutral buoyancy and good trim are evident in all activities, following their philosophy to educate and engage in responsible diving. Nic and James have made protecting the ocean business as normal at The Fifth Point, influencing and educating each person who walks through their doors. Join these ocean stewards and the Project AWARE community by taking action for a clean and healthy ocean. Be the change you want to see for our ocean planet: projectaware.org/take-action

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Project AWARE creates positive change for a return to a clean, healthy ocean through community action WHAT YOUR SUPPORT HELPS ACHI EVE

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