Oceanographic Magazine / Issue Three by Oceanographic Magazine

ISSUE

Conservation • Exploration • Adventure

CHANGING WINDS SEARCHING FOR OCEAN POSITIVITY IN T H E G R E AT PA C I F I C G A R B A G E PAT C H

BEHIND THE LENS

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BEHIND THE LENS

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Editorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Letter She has started using a re m o t e l y o p e ra t e d ve h i c l e to bring back i m a g e s f ro m t h e deepest parts of Patagonia.

Communication is everything. Especially when it comes to conservation. The world is full of passionate ocean advocates, but we always need more; while there are millions of people out there who care deeply for this blue planet, there are millions more who either feel they have no connection with it, or haven't yet been compelled to care. Communicating the need for change is a slow but essential grind, according to photographer Nick Hawkins, the subject of this issue's Behind the lens (p.51). He communicates the majesty of our ocean and the creatures who call it home through beautiful imagery, using his camera to transport people beneath the waves. His victories are varied, from impacting policy decisions to connecting with people "outside the echo chamber" via Instagram. Columnist Matt Draper (p.48) harnesses the power of social media better than most. In this issue he speaks passionately about combining his art with science to communicate more effectively with his 118,000 followers, to better relay a compelling conservation message. Then there is marine scientist Vreni HĂ¤ussermann, a 20-year veteran of Patagonia, who says: "If the general public and key decision makers fail to connect with Chilean Patagoniaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s marine life, they will never fight for its protection". She has started using a remotely operated vehicle to bring back images from the deepest parts of Patagonia (p.30), hopeful that such beauty and mystery will connect a seemingly disinterested public with the wonder of the fragile region.

Will Harrison Editor

Emily Penn uses adventure to communicate the problem of plastic pollution (p.20), while Jason deCaires Taylor creates underwater sculptures (p.40). Everyone has a medium, everyone has a voice. Communication. Connection. Then, maybe: Change.

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Contents O N T H E C OV E R

FEATURE S

C HA N G IN G W I N D S

Emily Penn, co-founder of eXXpedition, at the helm of Sea Dragon during the North Pacific Gyre expedition. Photograph taken by Eleanor Church.

Get in touch

Ocean advocate, adventurer and plastic pollution campaigner Emily Penn reveals the shock and optimism felt by the all-women crew of eXXpedition, who sailed the Great Pacific Garbage Patch this summer on a research and public awareness mission. PAG E 2 0

ED I TO R S U B - E D I TO R

Georgina Fuller

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

Amelia Costley

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

Joanna Kilgour

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

Chris Anson

I N S U P P O RT O F

Will Harrison

YO U R O C E A N IMAGES

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

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

Printed by Warners Midlands Plc ISSN: 2516-5941

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CONTENTS

CHILEAN PATAGONIA

SCU LP T I NG VI EWS

F IS HIN G B A N

S VA L B A R D B E A R S

B A J A ' S MA N TAS

Revered as one of the planet's last true wild places, Patagonia is under threat. Scientist Vreni Häussermann reveals the beauty of the area's marine environment, along with some of her biggest concerns and what gives her hope for the future.

Renowned marine sculptor Jason deCaires Taylor discusses his latest project: Coralarium. The installation looks at our connectedness with the natural world as well as the generational divide regarding climate change and our (un)willingness to change.

The high seas are lawless. This year the UN convened for the first of four summits to discuss the implementation of a treaty that would include protections from overfishing. What would such a fishing ban look like, and how would it work?

With rapidly retreating sea ice and the associated loss of hunting grounds, polar bears face an uncertain future. Biologist and explorer Jonathan Green analyses the Svalbard bear population, which seems to be managing the changing climate just fine.

The Sea of Cortez was once regarded as a haven for manta rays. Then they disappeared. After nearly two decades they have returned once more. Joanna Lentini meets the biologist monitoring their return.

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BEHIND TH E L E N S

C O LUMN S

NICK HAWKINS

THE SOCIAL ECOLOGIST

T HE B IO L O G IS T

T HE A RT IS T

P R O J E C T AWARE

Each issue, we chat with one of the world’s leading ocean photographers and showcase a selection of their work. In this edition, we meet International League of Conservation Photographers member Nick Hawkins.

Big wave surf champion, environmentalist and social change advocate Dr Easkey Britton discusses the power of our inner cycles and how we should work to tune into our natural ebb and flow.

Underwater photographer and artist Matt Draper, whose mantra is to ‘replace fear with fascination’ discusses how art and science can work together for the benefit of lasting conservation.

Dr Simon Pierce, Principal Scientist at the Marine Megafauna Foundation, discusses whale shark tourism and reveals the places that offer the best sharkfriendly interactions.

The team at Project AWARE, Oceanographic’s primary charity partner, reveal how, contrary to popular belief, the global shark trade isn't all about fins and Asia.

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#MYOCEAN

Sam Lawrence Australia A large adult leatherback turtle glides through the electric blue waters of the Indian Ocean. This turtle rested for a breath at the surface, before disappearing to the depths below.

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Daan Verhoeven Bahamas Sachiko Fukumoto, a freediver/ director/surfer/actress/model, in a sandfall in Dean's Blue Hole, Bahamas. The hole is 200 metres deep, shaped like a jug and located right at the beach, so sand slides in from above. SPONSORED BY

#MYOCEAN

CHANGING WINDS

Ocean optimism in the North Pacific Gyre

Amid the horror of the North Pacific Gyre, adventurer and plastic pollution activist Emily Penn, along with her all-female eXXpedition crew, finds something unexpected: optimism. Wo rd s b y E m i l y Pe n n P h o t o g ra p h s b y E l e a n o r C h u rc h

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PREVIOUS: Crew member and Norwegian designer, Siri Østvold, compared the eXXpedition Pacific voyage with that of fellow Norwegian Thor Heyerdahl, who made the journey aboard the Kon-Tiki in 1947, across what would have been a significantly cleaner ocean. ABOVE: Circular economy expert, Kristine Berg, counting microplastics collected during one of the trawls. OPPOSITE: eXXpedition crew looking at microplastics washed up from the Pacific Ocean on a remote beach in Oahu, Hawaii.

e’re a thousand miles from anywhere, five days from land, right in the middle of the North Pacific Ocean. It starts when we spot a fragment, about the size of a 50 pence piece. Then, things we recognise: a toothbrush, a washing basket, a loo seat, a garden chair. We begin to notice hundreds of fragments in between. It gets to the point where a piece is floating past the hull every ten seconds. And when we get the trawl into the water to take a surface sample handfuls of plastic come up, pieces we couldn’t see on the water’s surface - microplastics, smaller than our fingernails. That's the moment we realise. Looking out over mostly blue ocean, a few pieces of plastic floating in our sight, we see what’s actually there: a soup of tiny pieces, covering the entire surface, as far as the eye can see in any direction. There is plastic everywhere. How did we get here? A ship in search of answers eXXpedition is a series of all-women voyages. Sailing around the planet on Sea Dragon, a 72ft racing yacht, we investigate the effects of plastic pollution. It began for me when I was 21 and was given the chance to crew a boat (the biofuelled Earthrace) around the world. I witnessed the plastic accumulation zones - the gyres - where the waste in the ocean converges. I saw how tiny the pieces are, their introduction into the food chain and the dangers of subsequent pollution. Working with the UN, I went on to have my own blood tested. I discovered that 29 out of 35 chemicals, banned for their toxicity, were already inside my body. The experience threw up so many questions. How’re

these chemicals getting into our bodies? Where are they coming from? So eXXpedition began as a search for answers. Many of the chemicals being introduced into the environment by plastics are endocrine disruptors. These mimic our hormones and particularly affect women, passed on through pregnancy and childbirth. So, we tackle the issue by taking teams of amazing women out into the marine environment, undertaking expeditions and scientific work to better understand the impact of plastic on the ocean and ourselves. After these journeys end, it’s all about outreach and awareness. And as eXXpedition grows and shifts, we’re developing an army of ambassadors for the issue. With each voyage a tribe of women from vastly different backgrounds gain first-hand experience of the problem. On board, we look at their skillsets - their superpowers - and ask, ‘where do they intersect the plastic problem? How do we turn that into something amazing?’ Beating into the wind This summer, we headed to the North Pacific Gyre, the densest plastic accumulation zone on the planet and our most ambitious voyage to-date. Starting in Hawaii and making our way across to Vancouver, we planned to cross right through its centre. The minute the crew first came together in Oahu, Hawaii, we launched straight into a beach clean-up. Oahu sits right on the southern edge of the gyre, acting as a natural net to all the plastic that floats around at the shoreline. We’d only just landed and you could see the shock on everyone’s faces. The beach is in a protected national park and isn’t open to the public, but we couldn't

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see the sand. Alongside larger pieces of rubbish, a fine layer of microplastics completely covered the surface. We tackled the tiny bay with 30 to 40 people and still could've stayed there for a week. Sifting sand through fine nets to weed out the plastic, it’s hard not to think, ‘how on earth are we ever going to get these bits of plastic out?’ They’re the same size as the natural debris - the sand, seaweed, rocks and shells - and are completely mixed in with it. That was our first day. It was a fairly brutal start that threw us straight into thinking about the problem. The next morning we were off and straight into the grind. The North Pacific is remote, with strong trade winds, and can be unforgiving. Heading towards specific co-ordinates where we expected to find plastic, we weren’t sailing with the wind as you would normally. Those first five days we slogged through a pretty gnarly ocean, wind and waves right on the nose of the boat, keeled over at 40 degrees and smashing through the swell. Many of these women had never crewed a boat before - it was a fairly intense bonding experience. Sailing connects you to the ocean as well as each other. At the helm of a 72 foot yacht, you’re constantly thinking about the wind and waves and steering your way through, as the environment changes around you. The winds pick up, the waves change direction, and you have to respond. It places you right in the moment. It’s central to the transformational experience we’re creating onboard, the psychological journey that the crew members go on. And when you're in on a common goal with a team of people, driving in the same direction, you end up forming bonds that last forever. Through the gyre and down the microscope The winds calmed towards the end of the first week. A long way from Hawaii, we started to see plastic over the side of the boat. Pieces were floating past at an unbelievable frequency - every 10 seconds. There was a distinctive change of mood onboard on that day. Although the first five days had been hard, there’d been a huge amount of humour, as people bumbled along learning how to live aboard Sea Dragon. There was a sudden shift in tone as we started to realise what we were facing. Every time I woke up and came on deck, the plastic was there again. On and on and on, for seven days in a row. We were sailing fast but it just didn’t stop. We sailed through 1,000 more miles of water, seeing plastic over the side and collecting samples several times a day. All of them were saturated with plastic. Early eXXpedition voyages focused on how much plastic is out there and where it's ending up, but we're looking now at the chemicals adhering to the surface of the plastic. The focus for this voyage was on their impact on the environment and ourselves. We undertook seven very intense days of science as we journeyed through the gyre, documenting visual observations, taking water samples and manta trawl samples, analysing everything. One of the samples we pulled contained 507 plastic fragments which, scaled up, is the equivalent of more

than half a million pieces in a square kilometre. Those were just the fragments we could see and count. We collected water samples to send back to the lab to be tested for even smaller particles: microfibres that come off our clothing, microbeads from pharmaceutical products too small for our onboard microscopes to pick up. It's hard to articulate with an image that feeling of waking up every day and still seeing plastic. It covers such distance, you can't capture it in a frame or film. We were learning just how small the pieces are, and how many are out there. They’re the same size as certain marine life, and it's almost impossible to separate the two, especially in an area so remote and vast. At times we saw beautiful albatross swooping overhead. They feed on squid that float on the surface, white patches that look identical to plastic fragments. We’d see them descending towards the water and, knowing it was plastic they were diving towards, desperately want them to return to the sky. They don't, and you're helpless to stop it. I think it’s fair to say that everybody onboard came to the conclusion that clean-up isn’t the place to start. We have to stop plastic getting to the ocean in the first place. It was the worst I'd ever seen on any of my voyages, the densest samples I’ve pulled out of anywhere in the world. It's been amazing seeing awareness raise - particularly in the UK - and it gives me buzz that everybody's talking about the issue. But it was a shock, even for me, to be back out there again only to see that it's got worse. We've got a long way to go. In fact, we don’t have a moment to lose. That’s what I felt getting off the boat: urgency. Inconvenient convenience On the second leg of the journey, we anchored Sea Dragon on the sheltered side of an uninhabited island off the coast of Vancouver. We wanted to survey the windward shore and it took us a couple of hours to hike through deep and dense forest to get there. When we did, we found fishing debris and a huge number of plastic bottles. We were 6,000 miles from Asia, but half the bottles had Asian writing on them. They must’ve travelled right across the Pacific Ocean to wash up there. It was incredibly hard work to get to this remote stretch of beach, and even harder work to sail 1,000 miles into the wind to the gyre. But, whoever drank from that plastic bottle, 6,000 miles away, was probably doing so for the sake of convenience. It’s an illusion. When you think how this bottle’s ended up on a beach that’s almost impossible to get to, let alone clean, it swiftly becomes the least convenient thing you can imagine. There was a day out at sea when we came across an enormous ball of floating debris. Discarded fishing line was acting as an aggregate to other waste. I saw a comb and a bottle down there. We had a tracker from the University of Hawaii, from a team looking at how debris moves on currents and the species it carries with it. These islands of rubbish can act as a coral reef does, hosting animals, which could explain what’s causing certain invasive species to move around our planet. I ended up

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TOP: Microplastics come in many forms. Thousands of miles from land, the crew found microbeads used in gels and beauty products. MIDDLE: Emily Penn attaches a tracking device to a floating mass of debris. Its movements are now being tracked by researchers from the University of Hawaii. It will eventually be collected. BOTTOM: A luxury on a three-week expedition: fresh fruit. The crew managed to eke out fresh food supplies until the last week.

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“We need an army to fix this. It won't happen overnight, but first-hand experiences like these can motivate people to change.”

jumping in the water with the tracking device and swimming over to the ball. It was like an iceberg, around ten times bigger underwater than it appeared on the surface. We put the tracking device on, so it can be followed and eventually cleaned up. It's one thing seeing fragments, but when you see bottles, combs and toothbrushes, you think, ‘this belonged to somebody. This was somebody's comb. Whose hair was it brushing? How did it get here, 800 miles from land?’ Finding people's belongings in these remote places brings it home: this really doesn’t make sense. It’s far from convenient. And it’s everybody’s problem - we all share the ocean. A bottle you use might end up thousands of miles away in the Pacific or washed ashore on an uninhabited island. It's hard to get your head around and that’s partly the problem, a case of ‘out of sight, out of mind’. But, somewhere, every piece of plastic we’ve ever used still exists. The Onward journey After sailing through 1,000 miles of plastic, it took us another week to sail out the other side and on to Vancouver. Throughout that time, we documented our journey and went into workshop mode. We sat down to solutions sessions and planned our next steps. Having been confronted with what we’d seen, we started to look to the future and talk about where our superpowers intersect the problem. Trying to clean up the ocean is a huge challenge. This journey, in particular, made that clear to all of us. We have to be working hardest on land, to stop the plastic getting into the ocean in the first place. We need people working from every angle, whether that's packaging designers, policy makers, scientists, teachers or artists; it’s about bringing everything together. It's what we're trying to do with eXXpedition. We want to grow an army of multidisciplinary people supporting one another through solutions on land, accelerating change. The small world on the boat enables conversations we should be having more broadly, starting with what we can do individually - we had teachers onboard planning educational projects and a packaging designer considering ways her company can fix failures in product design - right on up to government level, looking at how we can move towards a more circular way of living. By the time we landed in Vancouver to present our findings and experiences, there was a hugely positive feeling on the boat. Working with the team on board, with the energy of the crew and their determination to change, I was left feeling overwhelmingly optimistic. This sense of growing an army has become, in many ways, the main focus of these adventures. We need an army to fix this. It won’t happen overnight, but first-hand experiences like these can motivate people to change. The eXXpedition voyages are an intense time and they end with people stepping off that boat and dedicating their lives to the problem, just as my own experience set me off on the exact same path, ten years ago.

Scientists Rowan Henthorn and Emily Duncan in the evening sun, somewhere in the middle of the Pacific.

E m i l y Pe n n

E l e a n o r C h u rc h

EXPLORING T H E U N K N OW N DEPTHS OF

Chilean Patagonia

Scientist Vreni Häussermann, a 20-year veteran of Chilean Patagonia, discusses the region's turbulent present and reveals how she hopes a Rolex grant will help her reshape it's future. Wo rd s a n d p h o t o g ra p h y b y V re n i H ä u s s e r m a n n a n d G ü n t e r F ö r s t e r ra

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“Prior to the Huinay team starting its work, it was believed the Chilean fjord region consisted of just one large marine habitat. Scientists have since identified at least 13 diﬀerent biogeographic subunits with significantly diﬀerent communities and species.”

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“G

reen hell” was how Charles Darwin described Chilean Patagonia when he reached the temperate rainforests of South America’s far southwest aboard his famed ship, the Beagle. Nowadays, in a world of vanishing primary forests and polluted rivers, Patagonia’s labyrinth of islands, channels and fjords is one of the last true wildernesses on Earth. Darwin would still be overwhelmed. The word Patagon, meaning ‘big foot’, was given by the Portuguese mariner Magellan for the natives of the region during an expedition in 1520. He believed them to be giants. The natives turned out to be no such thing and instead became the first (easy) victims of European colonisation. The landscape, on the other hand, is a different matter altogether - Patagonia’s nature is gigantic and, to a large extent, remains undefeated today. Describing Patagonia requires superlatives. Chile’s southern inland ice field is one of the largest ice bodies outside the polar regions; San Rafael, one of its draining glaciers, calves into the sea closer to the equator than any other glacier. Chile contains the world’s largest fjord region (with respect to coastline) and has a sponge-like system of archipelagos enclosing countless channels and bays - more than 80,000km of shoreline which, stretched out, would reach twice around the globe. Much of this coastline is so remote that very few humans have seen it. A yearly rainfall of up to nine metres and extreme winds produce an unpredictable and extremely unstable climate, sometimes showing all four seasons in one day. Tides ranging up to 12 metres produce dangerous currents in poorly charted channels. These conditions have preserved the coastal waters of the western parts of Patagonia from major human impacts for a very long time. The inaccessibility and desertedness of some parts of this region were dramatically revealed in April 2015 when scientists stumbled across a mass mortality event that would have otherwise gone completely unnoticed. The carcasses of 360 sei whales were discovered during an expedition to the remote Golfo de Penas. The whales had died from a massive red tide event, a phenomenon becoming ever more devastating and frequent as a result of climate change and marine pollution. In 2001, the Huinay Foundation opened a scientific field station on the shores of one of the Northern Patagonian Fjords. The station was tasked with studying the biodiversity of Chilean Patagonia. Vreni Häussermann, Günter Försterra and their team were the first to dive in many of the remote fjords and channels in the region. Over the ensuing years they have unravelled fascinating truths from a largely unknown, beautiful and highly biodiverse marine environment. Although Rapoport’s Rule states that species diversity is supposed to decline towards the poles, species numbers in Patagonia’s fjords and channels are at least four times higher than along comparable sections of the coast north of the PREVIOUS PAGE: A king crab meets a fjord starfish on a mussel bank. LEFT: Comau Fjord, Northern Chilean Patagonia.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;This paradise is under threat from an unparalleled economic boom in Chilean Patagoniaâ&#x20AC;?

In 2015, scientists discovered the carcasses of 360 sei whales. They had died from a red tide event, a more common occurrence in a changing climate.

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TOP: Mussel beds covered by sea anemones - areas known as 'marine animal forests'. LEFT: The South American sea lion lives in large colonies throughout Chilean Patagonia. RIGHT: Back at Huinay Scientific Field Station, Vreni HĂ¤ussermann and her assistant Francine Beaujot look at samples collected during a dive.

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“Of all the species Vreni and her team found, 10% were new to science - an amazing figure given the team were focusing on the most conspicuous, most abundant and easiest to sample species.”

region. With reason the Chilean Patagonian sea was recently named a biodiversity hotspot and declared a ‘Hope Spot’ by the Mission Blue Foundation, an initiative created by legendary oceanographer, Sylvia Earle. Patagonia is home to numerous species of marine birds and mammals, many of which are endangered, and no other nation counts more whale species in its territorial waters than Chile. The fauna on the bottom of the sea is also spectacular - lush, eye-catching and colourful. Of all the species Vreni and her team found, 10% were new to science - an amazing figure given the team were focusing on the most conspicuous, most abundant and easiest to sample species. In some groups such as sponges, sea fans, sea whips and soft and hard corals up to two thirds of the collected species had not been described before. Defining new species is an arduous and time-consuming process, so ‘only’ about 100 of these new species have made it into scientific literature so far. Vreni and her team have even revealed entire new marine communities, such as special cold-water coral reefs - and all this within recreational diving limits. Prior to the Huinay team starting its work, it was believed the Chilean fjord region consisted of just one large marine habitat. Scientists have since identified at least 13 different biogeographic subunits with significantly different communities and species. This extensive, complex and ancient paradise is now under threat from industry. Since the mid 1980s, the high-impact aquaculture industry has grown rapidly and now produces approximately one million tonnes of salmonids every year. Annual exports of the fish in 2017 were valued at US$4.65 billion, almost 7% of Chile’s total exports. In 2018, 3,002 aquaculture concessions were registered for Chilean Patagonia, most of them concentrated in the northern fjord region. In recent years the industry has started to move southward and is now targeting previously pristine areas of central and southern Patagonia. This has created a goldrush-like situation with devastating consequences: trash is piling up on beaches; organic waste from the farms is changing food chains and species composition; dead zones covered with anaerobic bacteria now characterize the seabed beneath the cages. Pharmaceuticals are applied excessively in Chilean fish farms. On average, more than 1,400 times more antibiotics are applied to Chilean stocks compared to those in Norway - with Chilean production being realised in a quarter of the concession area. Uncontrolled amounts of pesticides kill non-target species and accumulate in the food web. In Comau Fjord, for example, the abundance of hermit crabs and rock lobsters is today a fraction of what it was ten years ago. In 2012, a strong algae bloom induced by eutrophication killed the corals along half of the fjord. In 2016, during a strong El Nino event, there were mass mortalities of salmon, shellfish and jellyfish, and earlier this year 690,000 salmon with toxic concentrations of antibiotics escaped from farm pens. But these catastrophes are just the tip of the iceberg. Long-lasting anthropogenic impacts have destabilised ecosystems and made them vulnerable. It is not only fish farming that leaves a footprint. Nowadays, even remote regions are reached by smallscale fisheries, whose number has quadrupled in a decade - and today they have better boats and more efficient fishing gear. In the past they fished for self-sufficiency and local markets; now they operate in commercial networks, which allows them to catch and sell much more. The irony, of course, is that fishermen are the first members of society to suffer from overfishing and marine ecosystem degradation. While small-scale fishermen put stress on near-shore fish stocks, industry fisheries land huge quantities of fish from outside the three-mile zone. Chile was one of only two countries that managed to increase its fisheries landings in the last 25 years. A 2017 report from the Undersecretary of Fisheries declared nine of Chile's largest industrial fisheries were in a state of collapse, a further five in a state of over-exploitation, and nine in a state of full exploitation. Just a couple of years ago these stocks were thought to be endless. To-date approximately 14% of the Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) of Chilean Patagonia's ocean possesses some kind of protection. However, practically all of this is located in the South Patagonian Zone, an area that includes relatively few coastlines. Conservation efforts have been opportunity-based and have not included many of the high-conflict areas such as Northern Chilean Patagonia. Many marine protected areas are multiple use areas, where all kinds of commercial activities, including aquaculture concessions, can exist. Current protected areas lack surveillance and meaningful restrictions, undermining their effectiveness. With the help of a PEW fellowship Vreni and her team have gathered extensive data they hope can influence a

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plan to create a network of marine protected areas that would offer maximum impact in the minimum amount of space. It is a project they are working on with the Ministry of Environment and several NGOs. Vreni and her team have come to realise, however, that science and data alone can’t save Chilean Patagonia. They needed to communicate the region’s beauty and increasing fragility to people outside of the scientific community - if the general public and key decision makers fail to connect with Chilean Patagonia’s marine life, they will never fight for its protection. The public’s impression of the Patagonian Sea as grey and lifeless needed to be addressed. Vreni’s newest project, Patagonia in depth - financed by the Rolex Awards for Enterprise, a grants programme that has, since 1976, supported “inspiring individuals who carry out innovative projects that advance human knowledge or protect the world’s natural and cultural heritage” - is aimed at gathering video footage from Chilean Patagonia’s waters, to bring the unique marine life of the region to the Chilean people, to help them fall in love with the beautiful seascapes and myriad creatures that call them home. The funding helped the team buy a remotely operated vehicle (ROV) that allows them to extend their recording range from typical diving depths to 500m. In April 2018, they left for their first ROV expedition, travelling to the remote channels and fjords of central Chilean Patagonia. The journey there involved an arduous week filled with technical and logistical problems, as well as severe weather. When the team finally reached Messier Channel, the deepest spot in Chilean Patagonia, their efforts were quickly rewarded when, diving into the cold darkness, colourful tentacles emerged into the spotlights of the ROV - meadows of an unknown species of a yellow gorgonian. On another dive, large yellow funnel-shaped forms appeared from the darkness, revealing themselves to be huge deep-water sponges that are themselves home to other deep-sea creatures. In one, a long-legged crab takes cover, and on a second a snake star spreads its arms into the current, waiting for food to pass by. Further research has revealed these sponges are not known to Chile-based marine biologists, and could potentially be new to science. Regardless, they are colourful and captivating, something to excite the Chilean people: Patagonia’s bountiful and mysterious deep, a place never seen before. Vreni and her team intend to return to the fjords of central Chilean Patagonia next year to capture more material and visit additional sites. After 20 years of science that has equipped them with a deep understanding and love of Chilean Patagonia’s marine environment, they feel buoyed to be entering a new chapter. Now able to shine a light on the hidden treasures of this magical part of the planet, they hope to start sharing those treasures more effectively with a wider audience, to make them care and, ultimately, help pave the way for the region’s protection. V re n i H ä u s s e r m a n n & G ü n t e r F ö r s t e r ra

Fluorescent green jewel anemones are an enchanting sight for visiting divers.

BEHIND THE LENS

“When the team finally reached Messier Channel, the deepest spot in Chilean Patagonia, their eﬀorts were quickly rewarded when, diving into the cold darkness, colourful tentacles emerged into the spotlights of the ROV.”

Oceanographic Issue 03

Column

By Dr Easkey Britton

The social ecologist EBB AND FLOW: THE POWER OF CYCLES

“Where and when do I feel that aliveness most? In the sea. Where there is that constant ebb and flow. The sensation of water enveloping me whole. Where all of my body is suspended for a moment, held in a great embrace that asks nothing at all from me.”

Photography by Andrew Kaineder. Photography shared in issues 01 & 02 created by Ian Mitchinson and Simon Williams respectively.

About Easkey Dr Easkey Britton is an internationallyrenowned surfer, artist, scientist and explorer from Ireland. She pioneered women’s big-wave surfing in Ireland as the first woman to surf Aileen’s at the Cliffs of Moher and Mullaghmore. Easkey is a five-time Irish national surf champion, and holds a Ph.D. in Marine Environment and Society. She is the founder of Be Like Water, a platform to explore innovative ways to reconnect with who we are, our environment and each other, through water. Watch: A Lunar Cycle, directed by Andrew Kaineder, at: vimeo.com/288338638.

Oceanographic Issue 03

ur bodies have been shaped and formed by water. We have an ocean inside us - like the Earth, we are 70% water. Amniotic fluid is the same density as sea water. Our mammalian dive reflex causes our heart rate to slow when in water. Cold water stimulates the vagus nerve, calming our fight or flight response, lowering cortisol and releasing feel-good hormones. Our blood, our sweat, our tears all return, ultimately, to the ocean. Each drop of water has been here forever and continually returns to the ocean where it is recycled and renewed. Cycles are everywhere in nature, and within our bodies. Women, especially have an incredible in-built intelligence system that directly links to the natural cycles and rhythms of the world around us. Yet, for so many of us, we remain unaware of the power of this potential. We live in a society where the natural rhythms of our cycles are suppressed in order to ‘perform (conform) well’. Increasingly, I see examples of disconnectedness not just from each other and our environment, but our own bodies. As a lifelong surfer and someone who has a passion for the sea, I’ve also wondered how it would be if we could learn to move with the tides in and out of the water, honour our inner ebb and flow? Cycle awareness has always influenced every aspect of my life. As a woman who surfs, I naturally move with the tides. Since early childhood I was already attuned to the rhythms of my local environment. I was born on a new moon and an awareness of the lunar cycle and its influence on me and my environment was instilled in me from an early age. That said, this inner-wisdom and innate sea-connection was something I often felt I had to suppress or conceal in my young adult years. As a competitive athlete the emphasis was always on performance, being more ‘aggressive’ and ‘attacking’ the wave. I felt silenced. This conscious awareness of my inner cycle has only recently been awakened in me. At the beginning of this year my intention was to enter it open-hearted, self-connected, and full of courage. Instead, it has felt like an intense and at times bewildering shadow dance. The power of discernment abandoned me, I struggled with fear daily, and there were times I never felt more disconnected. Adrift, lost, alone, sometimes feeling like I’d gone crazy with a longing I couldn’t name. By the time the end of January came I felt exhausted, emotionally and physically spent. But then I noticed the moon. And remembered. It would be full on February 1st, Imbolc. In more ancient times, Imbolc was celebrated as the beginning of the year, the first day of Spring in the Celtic calendar. I decided to start my year on the full moon of Imbolc. A new beginning. And I could use the cycle of the moon to help guide me back to myself, to help me tune in to

my own inner cycle. Beginning to consciously link and chart the influence of the tides, moon and menstrual cycle alongside my experience of surfing this last winter was profoundly powerful. Noticing when and how the outer seascape might mirror my inner cycle was the inspiration behind a new short film, A Lunar Cycle. The creative process of making the film allowed me to explore what it would be like to let the energy of the different phases of my cycle express itself through how I surf. Fusing cold water surfing, dance and poetry, I explored a synodic month from a female perspective. It became an emotive journey through the places in-between, where instability reigns supreme. Embracing the imperfections as we connect with ourselves and the environment around us. This awareness of cycles helps me reconnect with my body in nature, understand my own inner ebb and flow. It reveals the high cost of being always ‘on’ in a society that has a toxic relationship with time, and the need for stillness and reflection. I feel a process of recovery is underway. We all have cycles, men and women. We’re living beings influenced by our environment and are affected by the cycles of night and day, the moon, the seasons, the tides. Our body tells us when it’s time to act and when it’s time to rest. Those of us who work with the sea are perhaps already attuned to the rhythms of our local environment. What if we could learn to live more intimately with the world around us and come to know our rhythms more deeply? What would it be like to let the energy of the different phases of our cycle express itself through how we engage with the ocean? In the surf, instead of always glorifying high performance, hyper-masculine, shortboard surfing, what if we celebrated surfing and surfers in all their cycles? Through the life cycle, the seasons, the tides, the breath. Young and old, smooth lines, explosive surrender. Allowing for the days when we’re just not feeling it. When I return to my 2018 intention for greater ‘self-connection’ I realise it’s a desire to be fully in my own skin. Where and when do I feel that aliveness most? In the sea. Where there is that constant ebb and flow. The sensation of water enveloping me whole. Where all of my body is suspended for a moment, held in a great embrace that asks nothing at all from me. It doesn’t have to be surfing or the sea. Maybe for you it is the mountains, rivers or lakes. It’s what it symbolises that matters. It’s about reclaiming sites for celebrating the fullness of who we are. Maybe it’s deciding to leave the equipment behind and simply play in the shore break, bodysurfing like we used to as kids. Creating a temporary tidal altar or offering on the reef before or after we enter the ocean. On those wilder days, breathe into your belly, be present and embrace the mystery. EB

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T H E O C E A N S C U L P TO R

shaping opinion

Marine artist, Jason deCaires Taylorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s latest installation addresses our speciesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; connectedness with the ocean, our comprehension of the damage being done by climate change and, critically, the generational divide regarding both culpability and willingness to act. Wo rd s b y M a r i a Pa d g e t P h o t o g ra p h s b y C a t Vi n t o n

Oceanographic Issue 03

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Moulds of endemic banyan trees, screw pines and corals are integrated with casts of local people to demonstrate our connectedness.â&#x20AC;?

F E AT U R E

t first glance, the glistening metallic structure appears as a mirage on a horizon. Located in a remote turquoise Maldivian lagoon, figures come into view on the shining cube, taking in their Indian Ocean surroundings from their elevated vantage point. On closer inspection, the figures reveal themselves as jesmonite sculptures, encrusted with the coral of the sea. Welcome to Coralarium, the latest installation from British sculptor and marine artist Jason deCaires Taylor. Coralarium, located in the clear waters of the house reef of Fairmont Sirru Fen Fushi, is the latest jewel in the crown of deCaires Taylor’s growing body of work in unusual aquatic locations around the world. Stylistically, the installation riffs off a theme familiar from deCaires Taylor’s previous permanent exhibitions, including Museo Atlántico in Lanzarote and Museo Subacuático del Arte (MUSA) in Mexico: submerged human forms that are subsequently colonised by the coral and sea life surrounding them. In the Maldives, he takes this theme to the logical next step, teasing the viewer as figures are concealed and revealed with the incoming and outgoing tide. Now you see me, now you don’t. Coralarium is a triumph of grace, serenity and intrigue. Viewed from the shore, the exposed portion of the structure reflects and mirrors the sea and the sky, taking on the hues of the sun and the moon as they change throughout the day and the night. It is visually arresting, especially in its shoreline location on a tiny island where little more can be seen than the sun, the moon, the stars and the occasional seabird. Viewed from the water, thirty hybrid forms, part-human, part-plant, part-coral, symbolise the dependence of humans on the natural environment. Moulds of endemic banyan trees, screw pines and corals are integrated with casts of local people to demonstrate our connectedness. As strong as the visual cues are in his art, deCaires Taylor spins an equally strong narrative. “With Coralarium, the stainless steel building reflects all the light from the horizon and brings together the sky and the sea in one art installation. At the same time, I’m trying to talk about rising sea temperatures and rising waters. A lot of the sculptures at the bottom of the installation are of children and some of the higher ones are of adults. It asks: what kind of future are we leaving to the next generation?” One of the sculptured figures is Young Charles, who you will find sitting on the edge of the platform, legs dangling over the side. A slightly morose figure who is none too impressed with the world he is to be bequeathed, the adults around him remain wilfully oblivious. This is a recurrent theme in deCaires Taylor’s work - that we are sleepwalking towards catastrophe. We saw it in The Rubicon in Museo Atlántico - a work of 35 people walking towards a gate, unaware they are heading to a point of no return. They look down or look at their phones, in an almost dreamlike state. Coralarium takes these ideas and gives them a distinctly Maldivian twist. Dead coral collected from the shore, white calcium carbonate formations that take on the appearance of bones, are embedded in the

PREVIOUS: Coralarium is lit up by the soft hues of a full moon. ABOVE: Statues of submerged children pose questions about the threat of climate change and rising sea levels. OPPOSITE: Stag horn corals take over half-submerged sculptures, symbolising our species' dependence on the natural world.

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F E AT U R E

sculptures, demonstrating how the coral reefs are part of Maldivian DNA. The coral is also a warning sign for the Maldives, screaming loud and clear of the crisis swirling under the surface, threatening the future of the nation. “The Maldives are low-lying islands, they are some of the first that are going to be affected by rising sea temperatures and rising sea levels,” says deCaires Taylor. “Already they have been affected by temperature change. Around many of the atolls I visited, most of the corals were dead.” Climate change is a recurring theme in his work. His own awakening was less a sudden shock than a gradual realisation, gained through a childhood spent in and around the ocean and years of observational experience as a diving instructor. “I think about places I visited when I was young and nowhere ever compares to them. The amount of coral, the diversity of coral, the diversity of fish species, the quantity of fish you used to see. The ocean has changed dramatically since then. “Some of the most depressing places I’ve ever been are in the Maldives. In the northern atolls, which are closer to the equator, some areas are completely decimated. In Shaviyani Atoll where we were working, you could see the fragments of amazing plate corals, some of the most beautiful formations you can get. They typically grow in shallow water - less than a metre - and there weren’t any. I didn’t see one, just thousands of dead skeletons. “I’d say changing temperature accounts for 70-80% of the damage but there’s also been a massive amount of development - lots of pollutants entering the waterways and lots of overfishing. The fish keep the algae in line. If you remove the fish, the algae inundates the coral. It’s interesting though, I went to a few different atolls that are uninhabited and completely untouched and they were also in pretty bad shape and that can only really point towards climate change.” Coralarium is not only an art installation but also a regeneration project. Creating new coral habitats is integral to the installation and coral fragments are propagated around the sculptures. Guests at the resort are invited to install fragments themselves, guided by an onsite marine biologist who explains what is happening to the coral reefs and the perils they face. Over time, the coral grows, the works are inhabited by the organisms around them and they become the foundation for a new ecosystem. It’s a process that continues to fascinate deCaires Taylor. “I think a lot of the inherent beauty and interest is in the colonisation and how the work changes - it is never a static thing," he says. "I can go and see a piece and it’s got

Coralarium's coral-patterned walls are porous to allow the tides, currents and marine life to pass through, oﬀering a platform to encourage filter-feeding organisms to proliferate.

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“Coralarium is not only an art installation but also a regeneration project. Creating new coral habitats is integral to the installation and coral fragments are propagated around the sculptures.”

F E AT U R E

Oceanographic Issue 03

BEHIND THE LENS

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Coralarium is possibly the most complex of deCaires Taylor's work, reminiscent of guerilla artworks by legendary sculptors Christo and Jeanne-Claude for sheer audacity and its unexpected location. Designing and building an installation that would survive and thrive in such a remote marine location was never going to be easy.â&#x20AC;?

Coralarium intersects sky. It is the only landmark that can be seen from the island.

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an amazing sponge that’s growing across a figure’s face. You see all these intricate details and the whole piece looks alive, the sun radiating down on it. Then I go back a week later and a fish has eaten all the sponge! It’s very changeable.” While relatively small in scale - MUSA by comparison includes 450 life-size pieces - Coralarium is possibly the most complex of deCaires Taylor’s work, reminiscent of guerrilla artworks by legendary sculptors Christo and Jeanne-Claude for sheer audacity and its unexpected location. Designing and building an installation that would survive and thrive in such a remote marine location was never going to be easy. When asked about the build process, deCaires Taylor laughs the laugh of the weary. “The whole project was extremely challenging. Everything that could happen did: malaria, tropical storms, trouble getting the materials to a coral atoll in the middle of nowhere, getting them through customs, getting them loaded onto boats, getting staff that wouldn’t go insane living on a small spit of land. It was the hardest thing I’ve done. “The building was laser cut in the UK. The onsite installation took four to five months with ten assistants. They all thought it was paradise the first two weeks. After three months it was dubbed the Cárcel en Paradiso - Prison in Paradise.” For deCaires Taylor, the current divisive political climate demonstrates the need to emotionally connect with people. He believes art plays an important role as an instigator. Evidence-based arguments alone simply cannot compete with the fear that dominates public discourse. “We can see how an artwork becomes a lightning rod for anger or for sentiment. One of the first installations I did in Grenada about ten years ago [Viccisitudes, 2006] was a ring of children holding hands. It was meant to be about how children are shaped by their environment, how they change and are morphed. Half of the ring was in a nutrient rich current and the other half wasn’t and both [sides were] changing and evolving very differently. It was meant to be a circle of continuum about our link to the environment, but locally it was translated as 'African slaves thrown off boats'. At first I was upset people had missed the meaning of it, but then I realised it was working as an artwork, it was stimulating debate." If a strong motivation behind an artwork is to create a wave of public empathy on an issue, The Raft of Lampedusa would seem to be a good case study regarding the difficulties of gauging success. Installed on the seabed in Lanzarote in 2016 as part of Museo Atlántico, The Raft of Lampedusa depicts 13 refugees on a raft, drifting towards an uncertain future. It draws its inspiration from Théodore Géricault’s Raft of the Medusa which represents the vain hope of shipwrecked sailors. Despite being able to see the rescue vessel on the horizon, they are abandoned to their fate - much as refugees are today. It is one of deCaires Taylor’s most powerful works, but assessing its impact is not an easy task. “Something I struggle a little bit with is, how do you gauge public response? Do you judge it by the comments people write on social media? Do you talk to people after they have seen the work? If I read the comments after an article, they vary depending on who is publishing the piece. The best responses I get are from people who visit The Raft of Lampedusa in person. There’s something about the blue stillness of the ocean and the way [the installation] has been colonised now that people find moving. It’s probably the piece that gathers the most emotional response after people have dived it.” For his next work, deCaires Taylor will continue to highlight the pressures on the ocean. This time he will be heading for the most iconic - and one of the most endangered - marine locations of all: Australia’s Great Barrier Reef. A grand project that will evolve over several years, it will explore what our reefs might look like in the future and expose the contradictions that can occur in even the most fabled of locations. On the doorstep of the Great Barrier Reef is one of the biggest coalmines in the world, exporting huge quantities of fossil fuel to China. It’s a bleak picture. Is there anything that gives deCaires Taylor hope? “I’m working with James Cook University which has the biggest marine science department in the world, leading the industry on coral conservation. I’ve spoken to some of the leading coral experts there and I wish I could tell you something nice, but I can’t. It’s catastrophic - the Great Barrier Reef had 30% of corals die in the 2016 heatwave." As deCaires Taylor’s stature increases, so does his confidence to speak out on the issues he cares about. “As my reputation grows I can be more controversial, more hard-hitting. I think we really have to start holding people to account for what they are doing [to our planet]. And that needs to be documented in stone rather than in a few words in a newspaper column that disappears. There are a lot of people whose actions need to be immortalised.” As more people follow his work, so deCaires Taylor’s message is amplified. And to those who continue their assault of this planet - you could soon be turned to stone.

C a t Vi n t o n

M a r i a Pa d g e t

Oceanographic Issue 03

Column

By Matt Draper

The artist SCIENCE, COMMUNICATION AND CONSERVATION

â&#x20AC;&#x153; I often ask myself, what am I doing for this planet? How am I promoting conservation? What am I doing to stop the unnecessary slaughter of tens of millions of sharks? More to the point, how am I communicating science through my art?â&#x20AC;? 48

About Matt Matt Draper is an Australia-based underwater photographer who specialises in wide-angle black and white imagery. He spends countless hours in the water, learning to better understand the species he interacts with. By meticulously studying and patiently moving through each untamed environment, he is able to reveal distinct characteristics and behaviours.

Oceanographic Issue 03

A humpback calf moves towards the surface of the ocean, bathed in dawn light.

he thought of a scientist and an artist working together might seem strange. Bunsen burners and paint brushes, surely, just don’t mix. Professionally too, most would consider them to be at odds: one comes to objective conclusions that either support or contradict an original hypothesis, while the other focusses on the subjective expression of a feeling, idea or opinion. They seem to conflict. Collaborations of this kind, however, are becoming more prevalent, particularly in the world of conservation. Central to this burgeoning partnership of disciplines is communication. While scientists often fail to communicate findings or compelling data in a way that connects with a wider ‘non-sciencey’ audience, artists do not - the discipline, at a fundamental level, is communication. Some science, of course, doesn’t need to reach the eyes and ears of those outside of the academic community, but there is plenty that does - especially where conservation is concerned. This need was perfectly summarised by Senegalese forestry worker, Baba Dioum, in a 1968 statement to the General Assembly of the International Union for the Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources. He said: “In the end we will conserve only what we love, we will love only what we understand, and we will understand only what we are taught.” Half a century later, his words still hold true. The difference is that now we are bridging that gap between understanding and loving more effectively through science and art respectively - promoting nature’s inherent beauty and her biggest threats through visually striking imagery and compelling science-based narratives. As a package it’s powerful and engaging. It captures people’s attentions on an emotional level and backs it up with hard facts - a transformational combination that could be key changing collective will and protecting our blue planet. I often ask myself, what am I doing for this planet? How am I promoting conservation? What am I doing to stop the unnecessary slaughter of tens of millions of sharks? More to the point, how am I communicating science through my art? These questions sometimes seem hard to answer - as an artist, my ‘results’ aren’t always conclusive. But, with a large social media following I am aware of my responsibilities, especially as my followers are people who appreciate the life and beauty found within our ocean. Over the last few years I have had the privilege of regularly sharing the water with migrating humpback whales in Vava’u, Kingdom of Tonga. Witnessing these majestic creatures up close has been a powerful personal experience, as it has been becoming part of the small community that regularly works in this particular part of the world. As a photographer I hope the body of work I create here connects with people: An unassuming individual is scrolling through his or her explore page on a social media app when an image steals their attention - a curious humpback whale calf surfacing for air as the rising sun penetrates the water’s surface. The viewer navigates to the artist’s page and discovers an extensive collection of underwater photographs full of creative flare and valuable information. Over the coming months more images are uploaded. They learn that, between the months of July and October, humpbacks travel to Tonga to mate and give birth. Excitement takes hold when a new image reveals the opportunity of joining a trip of a lifetime - to dive with the humpbacks themselves. They do it. They fall in love. They spend time reading about these amazing migratory creatures - researching, understanding. Personal journeys such as this - stimulated by imagery, backed up with substance - have the power to create unimaginable change. Never before have we needed to better communicate the message of conservation. Science and art both have critical roles to play in the fight for positive change. We are all in this together, each voice as important as the next. My chosen voice is art. What’s yours? MD

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Photo shot on Leica SL from the series “Parkour Motion”, © Ben Franke

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

NICK HAWKINS 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.

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BEHIND THE LENS

Q&A NICK HAWKINS International League of Conservation Photographers member & BBC Wildlife Photographer of the Year winner. Nick Hawkins is a Canadian conservation photographer and photojournalist specialising in natural history, science and conservation. A biologist by training, Nick believes that photography and storytelling are key components of conservation.

OCEA NO G R A PH I C M AGAZ I N E (OM ): W H E N DID YOU FIRST CONNECT WITH TH E OCEAN? NICK HAWKINS (NH): I grew up in New Brunswick, a small province in Atlantic Canada about 150km inland. I didn't visit the ocean much until my early teens, when my family started taking me whale watching. We spent time on the beaches and snorkelling too. There definitely was a connection from those early family trips, but I grew up on mostly rivers and lakes. I always loved documentaries and read books about the ocean. I always had an interest in the natural world in general - the lakes and rivers were just more accessible than the sea. That fascination lead to a degree in biology from the University of Brunswick. I took some marine courses, took field trips to the ocean. I did an Honours thesis which focussed on marine invertebrates, but I finished in crisis, feeling research wasn’t for me, but I still loved biology, the ocean and the people I’d met in research so I started looking for a way I could contribute, to still be a part of that community. That’s when I found the world of conservation photography.

OM: W H EN D ID YOU F I RS T P I C K U P A C AM E RA? NH: My brother lived near my university. One lunchbreak I walked over and told him I was struggling with how I was feeling about my degree and my future. When I got there, I saw a National Geographic sitting on the table. It was open on a story by Brian Skerry about fisheries and bycatch. I looked into Brian's work and discovered he'd formed the International League of Conservation Photographers (ILCP) with Cristina Mittermeier, who I also then looked up. My head exploded. These people were using photography to communicate science and research. I thought: maybe I could do that? I’d felt frustration with research for so long - doing great work but not communicating it with the public. So I bought a DSLR. That was in 2010. OM: YO U R NOW A M E M BE R OF T H E I L C P. T H AT’S BEEN A BUSY EIGH T YEARS! NH: It’s been a pretty intense period. I’ve been out in the field with my camera most of that time, but I also needed to earn a living so I got a job as a naturalist on a whale watching boat. It was seasonal and I got to use my camera a bit - the operators loved it when I got great images. In the winter I’d travel to Central America, meet researchers, explore, take photos, experience what it would be like to be a photojournalist communicating science and conservation.

OM: W H EN D ID YOU RE AL I S E T H E P OW E R OF OCEAN P H OTOGRAP H Y AND WAS TH ERE A M O MENT T H AT YOU AC T I V E LY D E C I D E D TO H ARNESS TH AT? NH: I’m not sure I could hang it on one moment. Paul Nicklen's, Cristina's and Brian’s work have all been hugely influential. But seeing that magazine article and being introduced to ILCP was a big moment. I admired these people's commitment to telling scientifically accurate stories, working in close collaboration with researchers. I saw the impact of having images that hooked people in, opened them up to a story - that’s when you could deliver a conservation message or something important, raise awareness for an issue. That power of combining research and photography became clear to me. I thought, ‘that’s it, that’s the way forward.’

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BEHIND THE LENS

O M: WH AT ROL E D O YOU T H I N K P H OTOGRAP H Y IS P LAYING / CAN P LAY IN TERMS OF TH E G LO B AL C ON V E RS AT I ON AROU N D ISSUES SUCH AS RISING SEA TEMP ERATURES, CORAL B LEAC H I N G AN D OV E RF I S H I N G? . NH: Most people have to see things to believe them. When you talk about things like coral bleaching, you can have compelling data but unless you have an image of it people find it hard to relate. Now it’s even harder - people see it and still don’t believe it. But ultimately, a single image can make people pay attention. Then maybe they’ll read the article the image is attached to. We’re competing for attention now and people have short attention spans. You have to show them beauty, that’s the best way to inspire. In amongst such imagery you can include images on topics such as bleached coral - part of a broader portfolio. As an underwater photographer, I'm often up close with sharks and whales - charismatic creatures that not many people get to see - and it’s almost as if your camera is an eye that these creatures stare back into. As they do so, they're engaging with society. It’s a simple link between society and the ocean. That’s why I’m always looking for that eye contact - that’s what people want, so it’s the best way to get images seen. It’s also the best way to connect people with the subject, to make them care, to have them respect these creatures and their environment, just as we want to be respected in our homes.

O M: W E RAN A BE AU T I F U L LY W RI T TEN P IECE BY YOUR SEALEGACY COLLECTIVE CO LLEAGU E TAV I S H C AM P BE L L I N OUR LAUNCH ISSUE - 'TH E FISH TH AT FEEDS TH E F O R ES T ' . H E TAL K E D ART I C U L AT E LY AND PASSIONATELY ABOUT TH E BEAUTY OF SALMON A ND T H E I R AN C I E N T I M P ORTAN C E TO TH E LOCAL ECOSYSTEM, AS WELL AS H OW NONNAT IVE S AL M ON FARM I N G AN D P O OR INDUSTRY P RACTICE IS DEVASTATING LOCAL PO PU LAT I ON S . N AT U RAL BE AU T Y CORRUP TED. IS TH AT SOMETH ING YOU RELATE TO? NH: For sure. I’m the only Collective member on the East Coast of Canada. It’s great to see those guys speaking out against the industry on the West Coast, but that industry basically came out of my backyard. New Brunswick is where salmon aquaculture started in North America. When the pens went in, the Bay of Fundy salmon started to decline, and now the stock is practically extinct. So we saw the effects of these farms before they spread out to the West Coast and it’s pretty much the same story. The difference is, we just don’t have the voices on this coastline, despite having the same issues of disease and parasites. Regarding the West Coast, it’s crazy they’ve been allowed to introduce non-native species into the ecosystem. I don’t understand how, in the 21st Century, that’s allowed to happen. Interestingly, over here, where the Atlantic salmon is native they’ve taken this stock and they’ve selectively bred it over generations for things like low aggression and rapid body growth - a lot of things that are good in the context of growing fish in pens, but not in terms of growing a wild salmon capable of surviving predation and migrating up rivers. So when these animals escape - which happens every year - they go up rivers and they spawn with native stock and introduce bad genetics. It’s a quick form of extinction. Rivers have been wiped out because the progeny of those fish, they don’t survive, they don’t have the genetics to complete that epic migration all the way to Greenland, or the Bay of Fundy, or wherever they have to go. These fish are masterpieces of evolution and hugely important to us. We’re undoing evolution. So, yeah, I connect a lot with that fight.

Continued on p.80...

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BEHIND THE LENS

Q&A Continued...

OM: D O YO U T H I N K T H E RE ’ S AN Y M E RI T I N MOVING FARMS INLAND? NH: That is the solution. It’s not a case of getting rid of aquaculture, it’s a case of promoting the proper aquaculture products. The industry needs to transition inland, but it’s costly, so the industry needs support to do it. I believe in working with the industry. As much as the salmon industry has caused problems - and often makes me angry - it's an important source of jobs, especially in Atlantic Canada. They could provide the same jobs operating as a land-based industry. Companies are coming online now, so hopefully change is coming. O M : U K - B A S E D C O N S E RVAT I O N I S T L I Z Z I E DALY RECENTLY RELEASED A FILM ABOUT S A LMO N FA R ME RS S H OOT I N G S E AL S I N S C OTLAND TO STOP P ENS BEING RAIDED. IS T H AT A PR AC T I C E YOU ’ V E S E E N I N C AN ADA? NH: Absolutely. Farms have licenses to shoot seals that are seen as problem animals near pens. I used to live on a sailboat near the farms when I was working as a whale watching guide and I’d hear gunshots all the time. On one occasion I was out with a group of whale-watchers and I saw a guy lean out of the caretaker hut on the pen, rifle in hand, and shoot. He was well within sight of whale-watching tourists. It was shocking how brazen they were about it. That’s one of the most frustrating mindsets of our species - that we can put thousands of fish into a seal’s natural environment and then shoot them for showing an interest. We had another issue with illegal gill nets that were being set around the pen. I have a friend who dived the sites and saw the nets, which had seals entangled in them. He came up and questioned the pen guards, who laughed it off. They didn’t care and they won’t be held to account. There’s a war on seals here on the East Coast. We fished out all the fish and, of course, they think that seals are to account for the lack of recovery of the cod stocks. People are so quick to blame Mother Nature for the things we have done to it. There needs to be more respect for the natural environment. If we give it that then we’ll see an increase in natural fisheries and see healthier ecosystems. We’ll benefit. Currently, we’re suffering from our own stupidity.

O M: YO U’ VE DO N E S OM E AM AZ I N G W ORK W ITH NORTH ATLANTIC RIGH T WH ALES. TELL US MO R E A B O U T T H E E N TAN GL E M E N T I S S U E T H AT YOU’VE P LACED A SP OTLIGH T ON. NH: It’s probably the biggest focus of my work right now. I’m working on a story for Smithsonian. It all started as a result of my ties with the whale-watching community. I did a story about the Campobello Whale Rescue Team. They were this ragtag group of fishermen and a researcher than lived on the island. They were using old gear, old boats and donated equipment to get out there and cut lines from entangled whales - all kinds of whales. The entanglement issue is much worse than people realise. So many whales are dying. Not just dying, but suffering. Suffering in ways that are truly unimaginable. When you have a 50-tonne animal that’s wrapped up in ropes, it’s body movements shift those ropes like a steel-cutting saw, cutting into bone for days, months or even years. It’s heart-breaking. One of the people I worked with on that story was Joe Howlett. Two months after the story was published Joe was killed disentangling a right whale. It was a huge blow. A big focus of the story was the lack of funding and the poor equipment that the team was working with. Joe’s quoted as saying that they need better gear to do the job safely. I wrote it, I walked away, then Joe died. I realised then these aren’t just stories, or just photographs, these are people’s lives. When you lose someone you’ve worked with, it magnifies an issue and I wanted to work on it more. I knew that Joe would have wanted more publicity. Of course, when he died it became an emotional story that connected with people. It created a huge wave of public awareness.

Oceanographic Issue 03

BEHIND THE LENS

O M: A L OT OF YOU R I M AGE S ARE H IGH -IMPACT, SUCH AS TH E RIGH T WH ALE P ORTFOLIO YO U ' V E C R E AT E D F O R S M I T H S O N I A N . D O YO U T H I N K I T ’ S I M P O RTA N T TO S H O C K VIEW ER S S OM E T I M E S ? NH: Definitely. When you're shooting for a story, you need to make a portfolio of images. You need images that inspire people and allow them to have an emotional connection with the animal your shooting, which involves photographing the animal on its own terms, being natural, thriving. But then you need to have those poignant images that do shock people. You’re limited by opportunity, but it’s important to take them when they come along. It took me three years before I could photograph an entangled whale. Ultimately though, I don’t believe in showing people gruesome or disheartening images without showing the other side.

O M: CRISTINA MITTERMEIER H A S S AID: IF PEOPLE AREN’T SCARED OR WORRIED ABOUT T H E S TAT E OF OU R OC E AN , T H E Y ’ R E NOT PAYING ATTENTION. H OW BIG A ROLE DO YOU T H INK OC E AN P H OTOGRAP H E RS – SUCH AS TH E SEALEGACY COLLECTIVE - IS H AVING IN G R A B BI N G P E OP L E ’ S AT T E N T I ON ? NH: I’m an optimist. Maybe a reluctant one. I think that what we’re doing with SeaLegacy is new, in terms of Instagram and the campaigning. We have so much beautiful imagery of our oceans, so if it was just a case of grabbing people’s attention, we’d have the healthiest oceans possible. I see our work and its application as the an opportunity to reach outside the echo chamber. You just have to look at the comments on posts - some make me laugh, some make me cry, come fill me with confusion. There’s this huge diversity of people who are paying attention, so some comments are very strange. But that’s because we’re reaching people from inner cities, people with no connection with the ocean - that’s the power of social media, but to try and quantify that in terms of the benefit it brings is hard, but there certainly is one. It’s a slow grind, which can be frustrating. Change doesn’t happen overnight. We’re building on the work of conservationists before us and people will do it after us. All we can ever do is turn the lens towards important issues and important stories, get those images out there in front of new audiences. Do it consistently, do it well and don’t stop.

O M: W H AT ’ S BE E N YOU R P ROU D E S T ACH IEVEMENT AS A P H OTOGRAP H ER? NH: One of my proudest achievements has certainly been shining a light on some of the key conservation issues here in Atlantic Canada within the context of creating marine protected areas. I did a story on a particular area, which, along with work by a number of other people and conservation groups, helped create an explosion of interest in the topic. That region was recently announced as a place of interest as a marine protected area. I think as a photographer, when that happens, when you use imagery to highlight an important issue, and that’s met with an advancement in process or policy decisions that could lead to greater protections, that’s the highest honour you can get in this work - lasting change. I'm still working on the story now - looking at additional areas of interest. The Canadian government has pledged to protect 10% of our ocean by 2020. Many other nations have committed to the same. The work I’m doing this summer, and the reason I’m in Quebec right now, is I’m travelling to these areas that have been proposed for protected status or are areas of interest. I’m producing material that can be used by our partners and NGOs to create communication material to represent these places when we bring this to the government. It continues to be one of the most fulfilling things I’ve worked on.

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BEHIND THE LENS

LEICA. DAS WESENTLICHE.

Canada A curious grey seal investigates Nick's camera housing in the cold waters of Canada's Gulf of Saint Lawrence.

Quebec, Canada Atlantic salmon - a species close to Nick's heart - holding in a clear river in Quebec's Gaspé Peninsula.

Canada Benthic invertebrates filter feed in the rich currents of the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, Canada.

Galapagos A green sea turtle in the shallows off San Cristobal Island in the Galapagos.

Nova Scotia, Canada Aerial view of the complex and beautiful coastal ecosystem found along Nova Scotia's south shore.

Bay of Fundy, Canada A young humpback whale rests at the surface in the Bay of Fundy.

Cocos Island, Costa Rica Fish school under an illegal fish aggregating device that was subsequently collected by park rangers in Cocos Island National Park.

Costa Rica A turtle caught as bycatch from shrimp trawling - the true cost of cheap seafood. This image, a finalist at Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2014, helped launch Nick's photography career,

Newfoundland, Canada Renowned marine biologist, Dr Boris Worm, investigates a catch of cod. The catch is part of a new fishery that hopes to find sustainability in the wake of the historic cod collapse that crippled the region.

Cocos Island, Costa Rica A researcher places a satellite tag on the dorsal fin of a silky shark, part of research programme studying the migratory patterns of endangered hammerhead and silky sharks.

Halifax, Canada An ocean sunfish (mola mola) hovers beneath the waterline in Nova Scotia.

Cocos Island, Costa Rica A massive school of big-eyed jacks splits apart to pass Nick and his camera.

THE MOMENT

Behind the lens NICK HAWKINS Nick is an assignment photographer working in Canada and Central and South America. He has produced feature articles for Canadian Geographic, BBC Wildlife Magazine and Canadian Wildlife Magazine. He is a member of the International League of Conservation Photographers, an elite group of the world’s top wildlife, nature and culture photographers who have each demonstrated a deep commitment to conservation efforts around the globe. Nick’s work has received awards in the Windland Smith Rice International Light. Motion. Moment. The Leica SLphotography is the camera awards for capturing special Its as well as thephotos. BBC Wildlife Photographer of the Year.

Halifax, Canada A blue shark, the most widely distributed shark species in the world, off the coast of Nova Scotia.

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Oceanographic Issue 03

BEHIND THE LENS

A boatswain goes about his business on a pitching deck and rolling sea. Photograph by Lalo.

Oceanographic Issue 03

BEHIND THE LENS

HIGH TIME FOR A

high seas fishing ban? In early September the United Nations convened for the first of four summits aimed at creating a treaty that will help regulate the high seas. One of the key discussion points across all four summits is the protection of marine biodiversity, with some calling for a ban on high seas fishing. Could such a ban work? Wo rd s b y A l a s t a i r B l a n d P h o t o g ra p h s b y A s s o r t e d

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“Detection of illegal fishing activities is now possible at a global scale thanks to satellite tracking technology. However, enforcement will require international cooperation and a clear mandate, which we don’t have yet.”

As a fisherman sorts through catch on the approach to harbour, gulls hover in the hope of an easy meal. Photograph by Jacek Dylag.

F E AT U R E

bout four years ago, murmurs began circulating in the fishery science and management world of a wild idea: banning commercial fishing in international waters, also known as the high seas. Now, the proposition is gaining support from researchers, conservationists and journalists, who hope to see the idea considered by global fisheries managers during four planned United Nations summits, the first of which took place in New York in September. Over the course of two years member states will negotiate a global treaty that would build upon the existing UN Convention on the Law of the Sea, which regulates seafloor oil drilling and mining, and protect ocean biodiversity beyond national jurisdiction - often referred to as BBNJ. “Right now, the goal of the summit is to develop a legally binding instrument that could allow for enforcing something like this,” says Enric Sala, a marine ecologist and National Geographic explorer-in-residence who has emerged in recent years as a leading proponent of a high seas fishing ban. He has argued that fishing in the high seas, which include all points on the ocean at least 200 miles from any shore, is far more destructive than it’s worth, and that the benefits - both ecological and economic - of a fishing ban would outweigh the costs. “Deep-water trawling is one of the most destructive fisheries [practices] in the world,” Sala says. “Tuna stocks are declining. The catch of sharks is atrocious.” All of these problems, he says, could be directly alleviated if fishing was eliminated from waters beyond national jurisdiction. Sala and other sustainable fisheries advocates hope the talks will set a regulatory foundation on which, probably years down the road, a high seas ban could be established and enforced. Sofia Tsenikli, a political strategist for Greenpeace International, has been attending the United Nations BBNJ meetings. In a video statement posted on the website of the High Seas Alliance - a coalition of groups advocating for high seas fishing restrictions she says: “What we really need is to see a global ocean treaty that is able to … set aside large areas of the ocean and designate them as ocean sanctuaries.” Casson Trenor, a fisheries sustainability analyst and consultant and the author of Sustainable Sushi, says the fact that high seas fishery management is being seriously discussed marks a significant step forward in protecting the ocean. “Just the idea that we’re talking about this - it’s huge,” he says, before explaining the UN summit’s focus on fisheries in international waters reflects two things - that depletion of marine resources is approaching a key policy-making tipping point, and that international regulators and lawmakers are getting serious about addressing the problem of overfishing. Currently, the high seas are loosely regulated. Little more than voluntary arrangements between fishing nations regulate what can and cannot be caught in this vast zone, which represents 58% of the sea’s surface, and even these hand-shake laws aren’t necessarily obeyed. For instance, international agreements not to kill whales are routinely violated in the high seas by several nations - especially Japan and Norway revealing how, in waters beyond national jurisdiction, laws may lack teeth. Indeed, some experts aren’t convinced that a ban could be enforced. Carl Safina, a fisheries researcher, activist and author who has focused much of his career on studying bluefin tuna, thinks a ban wouldn’t be just unenforceable; he feels the entire concept is almost too radical to even talk seriously about - especially, he says, since existing fishing policies are already rather flimsy. “I cannot even conceive of a serious proposal to close the high seas to all fishing, to ban fishing there,” he says. “There is no political will for that. Zero.” But Sala says he is confident that enforcement of a ban wouldn’t be a deal-breaking obstacle. New and developing technology makes it possible to see many, if not most, boats on the ocean from space, and Sala thinks there is, in fact, the political will to enforce a global agreement not to fish in certain waters. “Detection of illegal fishing activities is now possible at a global scale thanks to satellite tracking technology,” he says. “However, enforcement will require international cooperation and a clear mandate, which we don’t have yet. This should come out of the ongoing BBNJ negotiations at the [United Nations summit].” The idea of closing international waters to fishing may have first come about with a peer-reviewed paper from California researchers Crow White and Christopher Costello. Oceanographic Issue 03

F E AT U R E

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Zeller co-authored a recently published paper showing that boats now catch one third the fish they did per distance travelled compared to 70 years ago.â&#x20AC;?

TOP: The ocean is connected. Biomass booms from a high seas ban could benefit coastal fisheries, say researchers. BOTTOM: Fishing boats at port.

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F E AT U R E

In that study, published in 2014 in the journal PLOS Biology, the authors described massive gains in overall ocean productivity and financial returns for fishermen that could be realised if international waters were designated a marine reserve. Since then, other scientists and activists have become attached to the idea - and they say there are few good reasons not to do it. A high seas fishing ban, they have argued, would protect far roaming species like tunas and billfish and cut back on destructive deep-water trawling, which generates enormous volumes of discarded bycatch while destroying ancient deep-water corals. Many scientists have also made calculations on how a ban would affect biodiversity, and they generally agree it would lead to a net increase in the total abundance of fish in the sea. Although relatively few fish, overall, are caught in international waters, scientists and advocates say protecting those fish would, over time, generate a high seas fish surplus that would benefit coastal fisheries. In 2014, in White and Costello’s seminal paper, the authors calculated that banning high seas fishing could lead to a global biomass boost of more than 150%. This would create a spill-over effect, they found, that would increase productivity for coastal fishing fleets by more than 30%. Able to catch more fish with less distance travelled, the authors found, fishermen could double their profit margins. Other research has found that marine reserves are capable of producing six-fold increases in biomass in just a decade. Dirk Zeller, a University of Western Australia researcher who has voiced strong arguments for the high seas fishing ban, says even an increase of just 18-20% in tuna stock biomass would generate economic returns in coastal fisheries. “The spill-over into EEZ [exclusive economic zone] waters would more than make up for the loss from the fishing ban,” Zeller says. Recent research has also shown that there would be relatively little immediate economic impact from halting fishing activity on the high seas. For one thing, high seas waters produce relatively little edible catch. In a paper published in August in Science Advances, Dalhousie University’s Laurenne Schiller, working with Sala and two other co-authors, estimated that seafood caught in high seas waters makes up less than 5% of global catch. In other words, international waters are an insignificant source of employment and an insignificant source of global nutrition. Of the small amount of fish caught in international waters, much of it, including much of the tuna catch, shark fins and two species of toothfish (sold as Chilean sea bass), is bound for upscale markets in nations

that don’t face food insecurity issues. High seas waters are becoming less productive, requiring longer fishing voyages to produce the same volume of catch. Zeller co-authored a recently published paper showing that boats now catch one third the fish they did per distance travelled compared to 70 years ago, and a recent study led by Sala found that more than half of fishing efforts in international waters would not be profitable if national governments didn’t subsidise the boats with cash handouts. Most of these subsidies are given to large industrial-sized vessels. A ban could also eliminate unfair market advantages of large fishing boats able to make longer voyages and, Sala says, could reduce the frequency of forced labour on unwatched vessels. “Some of these boats in high seas waters are employing slave labour with very little enforcement,” he says. Zeller even makes the case that outlawing fishing in international waters could, by designating a very clear notake zone, make enforcement of fishing regulations easier for regulators, who rely on satellite tracking and remote surveillance tools. “It would simplify management because any fishing activity at all beyond 200 miles [from shore] would be illegal,” Zeller says. In spite of the research showing the ecological gains that could accrue over time if fishing was prohibited beyond national waters, Trenor - though he likes the idea of a ban - says his enthusiasm comes with a caveat: he doesn’t believe protecting the high seas from fishing necessarily does a lot of good. “The top of the water column in most of the high seas is like a desert - very little lives out there,” he says. “Ecologically valuable areas are disproportionately concentrated closer to shore.” Trenor says he is concerned that large amounts of advocational energy might be used in the process of establishing large reserves that, because of their relative lack of natural productivity, ultimately don’t protect a great deal of wildlife. Worse, he speculates, the placement of a large high seas reserve could mean that nearshore reserves that might otherwise have been created might not be. “A ban like this could be great, but I don’t want it to count against further conservation measures,” he says. “If we’re serious about true marine reserves that work, they need to be in national waters where they can be policed and where they’ll affect ecological resources.” For many, the best next step would be the implementation of large marine reserves in international waters that compliment those already created - as well as those being created - in EEZs. Such a step-by-step approach is one supported by Zeller, who wants to see the creation of large but separate marine reserves in international waters. “Then we could say, ‘See, it works', and start placing larger reserves in more locations.”

Alastair Bland

Oceanographic Issue 03

Column

By Dr Simon Pierce

The marine biologist WHALE SHARKS AND TOURISM

wimming with whale sharks is a once-in-a-lifetime, bucket list desire for many people. I encourage them to make better life choices, so they can schedule regular time with these gigantic sharks, but I'll admit to some personal bias. Whale sharks are massive, but placid. They're a lot of fun to swim and dive with. The sharks are easy to find in certain places. Tourism operators have taken advantage of that situation. Of course, the sharks aren’t there to play with humans. They have their own business to attend to. Whale sharks are also a globally endangered species. That tension, between tourism demand and the species' conservation needs, often leads to conflict. With that background, one might wonder: should people swim with whale sharks? I’m in a good position to offer an opinion. I’ve been a whale shark researcher for more than ten years - since 2005. I’ve studied them all over the world. I’ve delivered on-the-ground training on best-practice whale shark tourism in several countries. I also led the latest global conservation assessment for the species. And I have this column. So here we are. Tourism is great. It has introduced millions of people to these gentle giants. That has created innumerable advocates for marine conservation. Whale shark tourism is a US$100 million industry. The majority of that money gets spent in the developing world.

These economic benefits are often cited by governments to justify marine protection. All good news. It’s our responsibility to ensure that the whale sharks can enjoy the positives of tourism as well. The species didn’t become endangered because of its own actions. People have killed more than half of the world’s whale sharks since the 1980s. Their continued survival is by no means assured. In the absence of management, tourism is yet another burden for the sharks. Best-practice whale shark tourism should have minimal impact on the sharks. How is that achieved? Well, the sharks need to be protected. Their habitat and food source too. Guides provide accurate and interesting information to guests, along with effective supervision. Regulation and licensing is in place to prevent crowding. The local economy benefits from tourist income and job creation. The industry supports whale shark research and conservation in a tangible way. Shark numbers are monitored to detect changes in abundance, and management is tweaked as needed. Ideally, shark numbers should be consistently increasing. Such unicorns do exist. Other sites are approaching that standard. SP

January / February: St Helena Island, in the mid-Atlantic, is a new area for whale shark tourism. It's one of the rare sites where large adult sharks occur. Tourism is being developed to international best-practice standard, and it’s a unique destination. Tofo Beach in Mozambique is also great early in the year. Splash through the surf in an inflatable boat and watch for the sharks swimming along the dunelined coast.

May / June: Ningaloo Reef in Western Australia sets the global standard for whale shark tourism. Exmouth, one of the world’s best ecotourism destinations, obsesses over whale sharks. My people.

March / April: It’s all about the Philippines. Avoid Oslob, where they feed the sharks, until they improve management. Southern Leyte offers a natural snorkelling experience. Tubbataha Reefs Natural Park, off Palawan, is one of the world’s best dive destinations. It's a fantastic place to see whale sharks on a spectacular coral reef. It's also among the bestmanaged marine protected areas anywhere.

Without further ado, these are the best options for awe-inspiring and guilt-free whale shark encounters:

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July / August: Head to the ocean north of Isla Mujeres, Mexico, for a tuna spawning extravaganza. Hundreds of whale sharks join the feast. It does get crowded here, but management is getting better.

Tourism and conservation can coexist. These places prove it. They're not all perfect, and some are a bit out of the way, but your holiday will help to protect these huge, iconic, friendly sharks. Thank you. Have fun.

September / October: Experienced divers can see the world's largest whale sharks in the Galapagos Islands. Most of the sharks are pregnant females. The sharks swim past Darwin Arch, in the far north of the archipelago, during their migration through the Eastern Pacific.

November / December: Mafia Island in Tanzania and Nosy Be in Madagascar were both up and coming ecotourism destinations. They have arrived. The sharks move close to shore at Mafia to gorge on trillions of shrimp. The tourism is all locally-run, and the encounters are wonderfully diverse. The sharks might be cruising across a shallow sandbank, playing slalom with the

starfish. They may be lunge-feeding in the depths, with shrimp fleeing in front of them. Life is a gigantic box of sharkshaped chocolates. In Nosy Be, the sharks follow tuna schools around as both hunt tiny baitfish in the vivid blue water. You might also get lucky and see the rare Omuraâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s whale, which feeds on krill in the same area, along with giant manta rays.

About Simon Dr Simon J Pierce is a marine conservation biologist and underwater photographer from New Zealand. He is a co-founder and Principal Scientist at the Marine Megafauna Foundation, where he leads the global whale shark research programme, and a regional Co-Chair for the IUCN Shark Specialist Group.

Whale sharks: the ocean's biggest fish.

Oceanographic Issue 03

BIG BEARS

on thin ice Biologist and conservationist Jonathan R Green discusses the polar bears of Svalbard, a largely healthy sub-population that appears to be thriving in a rapidly changing climate. Wo rd s a n d p h o t o g ra p h y b y J o n a t h a n R G re e n

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F E AT U R E

â&#x20AC;&#x153;...during the 18th and 19th centuries, Walrus were hunted extensively and most local populations were brought to the brink of extinction at which time whaling began in earnest...â&#x20AC;?

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F E AT U R E

ost people are aware of the ever-decreasing sea ice at and around the North Pole. We are constantly reminded that the indigenous wildlife faces an uncertain and seemingly decreasing chance of survival. But how does that compare with the face-to-face experiences in areas such as Svalbard, the archipelago that includes the iconic island of Spitsbergen. The Dutch explorer Wilem Barentsz put Spitsbergen on the map in 1596, although earlier visits by Russian settlers, known as Pomors, and Norsemen are likely. The area was exploited by the Pomor settlers during the 17th Century and increasingly by Norwegians during the 18th and 19th centuries. Walrus were hunted extensively and most local populations were brought to the brink of extinction, at which time whaling began in earnest, with whalers from mostly England and Holland. It was not until 1920 with the signing of the Svalbard Treaty that the area found relative political stability, although this treaty was not ratified until 1925 and temporarily suspended by the German occupation during World War Two. Lying between 74° and 81° North, high above the Arctic Circle, Svalbard at its northern most point is just under 600 nautical miles from the North Pole but enjoys a relatively gentle climate considering its northerly location. This is due, in a great part, to the presence of the warm Gulf Stream that also benefits much of northern Europe and the UK. The West Spitsbergen Current is the final extension of the Gulf Stream, which descends and mixes with the much colder East Spitsbergen Current, which originates in the Arctic Ocean. This combination of currents gives rise to two very distinct climatic regions in Svalbard. The sub polar, more moist western area, which includes most of Spitsbergen and the cold dry polar desert that extends from the east of the Hinlopen Strait and includes Nordaustlandet, Kong Karl’s Land and the eastern isles. Not surprisingly all human settlements are concentrated along the western coast of Spitsbergen, the biggest being the capital Longyearbyen, with a population of around 3,000 people during the summer months. There is also the old Russian coal mining town of Barentsberg, with around 500 inhabitants, and the international scientific station with a summer population of around 130 from 15 nations. The principal activities are mining, tourism and science, with tourism rapidly becoming the fastest growing industry. Ship and small vessel expedition cruising accounts for more than 75% of total visits, which is expected to top around 200,000 this year. Most tourists visit during the summer months, though increasing numbers visit during the winter as the four months of polar night make this an excellent destination for observing the Northern Lights. Since the decline in mining and the move towards conservation most of Svalbard’s 61,022 square km of land surface area is now under some form of protection, including seven national parks and six large nature PREVIOUS: A young bear captivated by its reflection. OPPOSITE: Adult walruses are dangerous targets for bears.

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â&#x20AC;&#x153;This certainly seems to explain why the bears of Svalbard are still apparently flourishing. What is not clear is how long these conditions may prevail. The shrinking sea ice will certainly limit primary productivity and make the distance between land and breeding and hunting grounds an increasing challenge.â&#x20AC;?

F E AT U R E

reserves. All wildlife is protected but hunting and trapping is still permitted in a very limited manner for certain species. Polar bears, undoubtedly the main attraction for most summer visitors, have been protected since 1973. Polar bears in the Barents Sea area, which includes Svalbard and Franz Josef Land, currently number around 3,000 individuals out of an estimated world population of 20-25,000. It is one of 19 sub-populations and considered a stable population. Because of the dynamics of the oceanographic and atmospheric circulation of this area, the Barents Sea is considered particularly susceptible to climate change and highly fluctuating sea ice conditions indicate this is already the case. The question is: how exactly are the bears responding to environmental and habitat change and how easily can they adapt to these changes in both the short and long term? Polar bears need very specific conditions in order to survive and sea ice is critical. Denning areas are often limited, frequently remote. Sea ice provides access to these areas as well as their food supply. Polar bears are the most carnivorous of all bears and most of their diet consists of ringed and bearded seals that they hunt and kill on the pack ice edge or along the fast ice near to land. This is particularly the case of females with cubs of the year (coys), which cannot travel long distances between ice floes or ice and land. Sea ice in the Svalbard region usually starts forming to the north and east of the island at the beginning of autumn. Sea ice levels are usually lowest in September and greatest in March. Fast ice (sea ice that forms in contact with land) extends outwards as shallow marine areas freeze earliest, eventually coalescing with the Arctic ice pack until a single pack extends from the north of Svalbard to the North Pole. The Arctic Ocean sea ice during winter historically covers several million square km, providing a massive area on which polar bears can roam, hunt and breed. Records of annual Arctic sea ice coverage show alarming rates of decrease, with the greatest fluctuations during the last 15 years. All the data indicates we are at a climatic tipping point. The reasons for this and the possible scenarios are complex - and thus not the focus of this article - but what exactly might this all mean for the polar bears and other native inhabitants? I have been visiting and working in Svalbard for nearly a decade and have had the great fortune to observe and photograph polar bears. While the polar bear is the icon of the Arctic and Svalbard, the area is home to a plethora of marine and terrestrial animals. Besides bears there is a total of 18 marine mammals including walrus, five species of seals and cetacean species that include the humpback, bowhead, sperm, fin and, the mightiest of them all, the blue whale. All of these speciesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; populations have increased since the ban on whale hunting. On land there are Arctic foxes and the endemic sub-species of Svalbard reindeer. A total of 36 bird species nest here. Although I had seen blue whales in the Galapagos I was not prepared for the frequency of sightings I have had over the years in Svalbard. I had never before seen them lunge feeding, accompanied by fin whales - a species with which they are now apparently interbreeding and hybridising. At the ice edge over 80Â°N I saw my first ever bowhead, once hunted to the brink of extinction but now classified on the IUCN Redlist as being of least concern - an extraordinary comeback. In July of this year I watched a massive bowhead whale feed with diminutive white belugas in the shallow waters of Liefdefjord, north eastern Spitsbergen. The seabird nesting cliffs of Alkornet and Alkefjellet have to be seen and heard to be believed. Tens of thousands of nesting Brunnichâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s, common and black guillemots, kittywakes and glacous gulls blanket the cliff faces, whilst geese, terns and skuas nest along the sloping faces and raised beaches. The birds are the primary food for Arctic foxes and literally tons of guano fertilises the thickly vegetated and verdant slopes and plains, providing rich grazing for the Svalbard reindeer a perfect picture of a well-balanced trophic chain from primary producers to predators. As for the bear population, I have seen individuals in all states of apparent health, from painfully thin with protruding ribs and vertebrae to massive (in human terms, obese) individuals feeding exclusively on blubber out on the pack ice. The majority, however (more than 70% of those I have personally observed) are healthy individuals in seemingly prime condition. This is, as a biologist, what I would expect to observe in a healthy population. The thin bears have all been land-locked individuals, in two cases mothers with a cub or cubs. Bears on land have limited access to food, particularly as the fast ice disappears mid- to late-summer and often survive by scavenging on the carcasses of walrus, seals and beached whales. They also join foxes in scouring the base of bird cliffs for fallen eggs and hatchlings and island-hop small offshore islets and outcrops in the hope of finding ground nesting bird sites. For a mother with cubs, she has to both feed herself and provide for her young, at least for the first months. The females are often undernourished but not to a point that might be life-threatening whilst the coys are rotund and positively bouncing with energy. If the mother can survive until the return of the sea ice then she will once again recover the body fat reserves necessary to survive through the harsh winter. With successive years I have watched the sea ice form later, break up earlier and retreat

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faster northwards and eastwards. The rapid melting of the ice is what leads to bears getting caught on land unintentionally. Each season I have sailed further and further north to the edge of the pack to search for bears. In June this year, I reached 82°41° North, just 450 nautical miles from the geographical North Pole before finding a solid pack edge. Of course, there have been intervening years with more ice but generally each year brings less. Yet the bears on the pack have all been, and continue to be extremely big, fat and healthy in appearance - both male and female. Many of the male bears have been in excess of 1,000lbs. So what is happening in Svalbard? The rise in population is to be expected since hunting was made illegal. Just like isostatic rebound as the ice retreats and the land rises seeking stasis, wildlife populations will tend to recover after bans on hunting are introduced as long as the remaining population is viable, i.e. there are enough individuals with a broad enough gene pool to re-establish the historic population numbers. But beyond this recovery process there seems to be additional elements that favour bears in this region. When headed to the pack edge we usually plot a course that takes us to the “golden triangle” of Svalbard, where the cold, relatively fresh, Arctic water meets the warm, saline Atlantic water of the West Spitsbergen Current at what is termed a polar front. This is where we most frequently sight bears and observe them hunting or with a kill. The mixing of waters of different temperature and salinity, combined with sunlight and sea ice provide the perfect environment for a massive explosion of life at the very base of the trophic chain with algal growth and phytoplankton. These in turn feed microscopic life such as copepods, which are then consumed by Arctic cod and other fish species. This provides the food for seals that form such an important part of the diet of polar bears. This certainly seems to explain why the bears of Svalbard are flourishing. What is not clear is how long these conditions may prevail. The shrinking sea ice will certainly limit primary productivity and make the distance between land and breeding and hunting grounds an increasing challenge. Not so much perhaps for the males, but certainly for juveniles and mothers with cubs that need to be able to move with ease between denning areas and areas with ice conditions that provide food. But as these distances increase, the frequency of encounters between male and female decrease, with obvious results. The truth is, we simply do not know at this moment in time what will happen to Ursus maritimus, the polar bear, if current trends in sea ice and climate continue. One thing that is clear however, is that if the human race continues to ignore these changes in the simple hope that all will be well in the end, the polar bear is not the only species that will be walking on proverbial thin ice.

“This certainly seems to explain why the bears of Svalbard are still flourishing. What is not clear is how long these conditions may prevail."

PREVIOUS: A fat, healthy bear shakes itself dry after exiting the frigid waters of the Arctic. RIGHT: A standoﬀ between a young but large male polar bear and two male walruses. Only inexperienced or desperate bears typically attack adult walruses. BELOW: Walruses tussle in the blue water of the Arctic Ocean.

J o n a t h a n R G re e n

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The return of Bajaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s mantas For the first time in nearly two decades, giant Pacific manta rays are returning to the southern reaches of the Gulf of California - welcome news for local marine biologists and divers, as well as the ocean tourism industry. P h o t o g ra p h s b y E r i c k H i g u e ra a n d J o a n n a L e n t i n i

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â&#x20AC;&#x153;Local scientists and fishermen are in talks surrounding the re-emergence of the rays and how to protect this important natural resource.â&#x20AC;?

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t the turn of the last century, the southern portion of the Sea of Cortez was renowned for its manta rays, along with the region’s other ‘Big 5’ - sea lions, whale sharks, scalloped hammerheads and mobula rays. Then, in 2002 - an otherwise warm and typically beautiful year - the unthinkable happened: the Pacific giant manta ray population collapsed. For the next 16 years, the region saw a dramatic decline in scalloped hammerhead sharks too. But while shark fishing in the region was not a new phenomenon, the mantas’ disappearance perplexed scientists. As time went on, rumours circulated and suspicions grew, until one day lifeless mantas were discovered stacked up on the sandy shores of a local shark fishing camp. Whether the fishing operation was to blame for the manta ray collapse is unconfirmed, but it certainly would have contributed towards the species’ predicament. Now, a decade and a half later, manta rays have returned in small numbers to an islet called La Reina, just 40 miles off La Paz, Baja California Sur, Mexico. Their reappearance has made the local news, and spread excitement across the region. Amongst those celebrating is marine biologist and underwater cinematographer Erick Higuera. Having lived in La Paz since 1997, Higuera has spent the last two decades photographing and filming below the surface there. Higuera understands the significance of their return, as manta rays are important indicators of a healthy ocean and, as their wide distribution points out, play an integral role in the ecological function of our oceans. Higuera and his colleague Dení Ramírez work closely with WWF Mexico and Pelagios Kukanja, a La Paz-based non-profit dedicated to researching and protecting sharks and rays. Baja California Sur’s capital city, La Paz, has long been a destination for passionate divers hoping to dive with pelagic creatures. Situated on the south-eastern coast of the Baja peninsula, La Paz was considered one of the best manta diving spots in the world. This quintessential Mexican town boasts a waterfront dotted with ecoconscious cafes, boutique mezcalerias, and fantastic food, graced by a sprawling turquoise sea to one side and sunscorched mountains to the other. Reflecting on the diving at the turn of the century, Higuera recalled a time and place where manta rays were a common occurrence - where one would typically encounter five or six mantas every day from July through to November. The reliable presence of mantas also meant more tourists, and therefore more opportunities for local businesses - whether hotels, restaurants or dive operators. As natural capital, manta rays attract tens of millions in tourism dollars for dive and snorkel activities worldwide, and well in excess of US$100 million in direct spend, including related tourism expenditures. With Mexico consistently listed as one of the ‘Top 10’ manta destinations on the planet, the Baja peninsula has much to gain from this hopeful return. “Healthy manta populations are a valuable natural resource,” says

Higuera, “and offer considerable economic potential via ecotourism. Ecotourism is a growing segment of the global tourism industry that is making a positive contribution to the environmental, social, cultural and economic wellbeing of destinations and local communities around the world. Ecotourism provides effective economic incentives for conserving and enhancing bio-cultural diversity and helps protect the natural and cultural heritage of the planet.” While nature may appear to be resilient on its own, much of this progress has undoubtedly resulted from dogged conservation efforts by multiple organisations in the region. In fact, recent manta ray sightings are a testament to their impact and importance. Through constant engagement with the local community and fishermen, these organisations have maintained an ongoing dialogue to promote ocean education and awareness. Higuera asserts: “Ecotourism is an effective vehicle for empowering local communities around the world to achieve sustainable development.” Local scientists and fishermen are in talks surrounding the reemergence of the rays and how to protect this important natural resource. Enrique Castillo, owner of FunBaja, a La Paz-based dive operation, has noted a 30% drop in business since the mantas’ disappearance. While the region has certainly missed the manta rays and felt the sting economically, an amazing array of marine life has maintained a consistent presence, which has continued to attract divers over the last fifteen years. Whether permanent residents or transients, animals such as sea lions, mobula rays, whale sharks, humpback whales, dolphins and orcas can be spotted there. Now, with the re-emergence of manta rays, Castillo has been inundated with enquiries from divers wanting to see them. La Reina, the site in which fourteen giant mantas have recently been encountered, sits three miles north of Cerralvo Island, the first island as you enter the Gulf of California from the south, and a little under an hour and a half from La Paz by boat. The dive site is an easy, shallow dive, which boasts schooling fish, barracuda, and a handful of jovial sea lions. Higuera has had the opportunity to spend the past few weeks in the water with the manta rays and has been able to tag five of fourteen identified individuals - the majority of which he believes to be juveniles no larger than three metres. Higuera recalled the sheer surprise and happiness he felt when he encountered mantas at the site earlier this summer. He soon found himself spending most of his time at the dive site trying to tag individual rays, and explained the importance of doing so: “The tagging of marine animals with electronic sensors is increasingly

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PREVIOUS & OPPOSITE: After 16 years the Pacific giant manta ray has finally returned to the southern Gulf of California.

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MAIN IMAGE: Sea lions can be encountered at La Reina, which sits in close proximity to the permanent sea lion colony of Los Islotes. TOP: Two schools of fishes drift past one another at the same shallow dive site 14 manta rays have recently reemerged. MIDDLE: Marine biologist Erick Higuera has tagged five of the 14 manta rays spotted at La Reina. BOTTOM: Manta rays are a valuable natural resource that attract tourists and inject life into local businesses.

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â&#x20AC;&#x153;As tourists are once again flocking to La Paz, Higuera and his colleagues are working tirelessly to establish a code of conduct to ensure divers and snorkelers respect the [marine life]."

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Balandra Bay is considered one of the most beautiful bays in Mexico. It is a short drive from downtown La Paz.

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being undertaken by scientists worldwide to track their movements. Electronic tags are revealing when, where and how marine animals travel and how these movements relate to the ocean environment.” Higuera says the goal is to “help us to predict them, based upon an understanding of what drives their movements. That information has a key role to play in marine conservation and fisheries management.” He is specifically looking for data that reveals from where the mantas come and where they go after they visit La Reina. Keeping track of their travels can perhaps help to define a protected area in the future. There has been some speculation that La Reina may very well be a nursery for a reemerging manta ray population in the Gulf, and if this is in fact true, a campaign to protect La Reina could materialise. Higuera believes “the challenge for marine science now is to ensure these manta rays are protected, so they do not quietly disappear before we can fully understand just how important they are.” Higuera understands the significance of the mantas’ return for the local economy as well as the local reefs and ocean ecosystem. He says: “Giant manta rays are highly valued by ocean tourism operators because they are normally curious and friendly with humans. They are a major driver of tourism. People travel to the farthest corners of the planet for a chance to encounter one of these majestic creatures in the wild.” The encounters Higuera has had with the new population have taken place throughout the water column - from the surface down to 25 metres - making the rays accessible to snorkelers as well as divers. For those who have had the opportunity to encounter these magnificent creatures in the wild, the experience can be life changing. And as tourists are once again flocking to La Paz, Higuera and his colleagues are working tirelessly to establish a code of conduct to ensure divers and snorkelers respect the re-emerging population. The information they produce will be distributed to boat captains, divers, dive guides, fishermen and anyone else who may have contact with the rays. The first workshop, held on September 13, 2018 in La Paz, delved into the proper etiquette for interacting with the vulnerable species. It also pointed out the importance of the mantas return and the necessity of preserving the site. The re-emergence of manta rays has not only breathed new life into local dive operations, but has also breathed life into an organisation that had been dormant for some time. Manta Mexico, a non-profit organisation founded by Paul Ahuja, was first established in 1999 to monitor and study the manta ray population in the southern Gulf of California. With the decline of the rays the organisation went idle. Now, hopeful about the mantas’ return, Manta Mexico is the driving force behind the code of conduct workshops. As this organisation, made up of a number of smaller bodies and supported by WWF Mexico, continues with its efforts to raise awareness and implement its newly created protocols, the question remains whether the new manta ray population will return next season. The species’ re-emergence in the southern Gulf of California is certainly promising, but their long-term survival depends on the local community’s ability to recognise their value and implement changes that will safeguard their future.

Joanna Lentini

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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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S TAT E O F T H E G L O BA L M A R K E T FOR SHARK PRODUCTS Think it’s all about fins and China? Think again.

Busting myths about the state of the global shark market • The vast majority of shark fins are destined for consumption in a relatively small selection of countries and territories in East and Southeast Asia. The world’s largest consumers of shark meat are found in South America and Europe. • Markets for shark meat are much more diverse and geographically dispersed than those for shark fins. European and North American markets such as the USA, Italy and France show a preference for dogfish species. • Hong Kong is not a producer, and essentially the entirety of its outgoing trade consists of shark fins that have been imported from sharkcatching countries or regional traders and then re-exported. • Sometimes shark fins are reported as shark meat making the reporting imprecise and not reliable. • Between 2000 and 2011, the annual volume for shark fin imports decreased by 5% while the annual volume for shark meat imports has increased by 42%. • Shark meat markets have expanded considerably due to a combination of demand growth and finning bans intended to encourage the full utilisation of carcasses.

Project AWARE®’s latest interactive infographic launched in 2018 illustrates the full story of current, trade-related, threats to shark and ray populations based on the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) 2015 report “State of the Global Market for Shark Products” by Felix Dent and Shelley Clarke. The appetite for shark fin soup has played a major role in shark overfishing and is often positioned as the main threat to sharks today. Recent data on international trade in shark fins and meat analysed in the report, however, reveals a global, interdependent market for a variety of shark products across scores of countries, including several in South America and Europe whose demand for shark meat places them among the world's top shark consumers.

"With so many shark species and products in trade, it can be difficult to get your head around what is really happening, Understanding sources and trends is a critical step toward making sure the trade is sustainable and traceable, and the underlying fisheries are properly managed.” DR SHELLEY CLARKE, CO-AUTHOR OF THE FAO SHARK TRADE REPORT AND RENOWNED SHARK FISHERIES SCIENTIST

With technical assistance from Dr Clarke, as well as Sonja Fordham, a shark and ray policy expert, Project AWARE created a visual representation of the report that debunks myths about the global shark trade and points the way to key improvements.

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TA K E A C T I O N F O R T H E O C E A N “We set out to make the findings of the landmark 2015 FAO shark product report more accessible and actionable. In addition to mapping out the top shark trading countries and routes, the infographic offers a close look at the challenges researchers face when studying these global markets, and highlights the measures necessary to increase trade traceability and sustainability.”

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The infographic reveals the significant growth in markets for shark and ray meat, as well as the countries and inadequately restricted fisheries associated with this largely under-the-radar trade. “The shark fin trade is at long last receiving worldwide attention from the media, conservationists, and lawmakers, but we must urgently broaden our horizons to also consider other threats to sharks and closely related rays,” said Sonja Fordham, President of Shark Advocates International, a project of The Ocean Foundation. “We hope that Project AWARE’s initiative will shine a light on these emerging issues and channel public concern toward workable solutions, before it’s too late.” The best way to ensure an end to finning is to require that sharks are landed with their fins still “naturally” attached. Project AWARE works with various shark conservation partners to use the power of international conservation agreements and management regulations for change and calls for national, regional and global sciencebased, species-specific conservation actions that heed all available scientific advice for limiting shark and ray catches, protect endangered species, and completely ban the removal of shark fins at sea.

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