Oceanographic Magazine / Issue 20 by Oceanographic Magazine

ISSUE

Conservation • Exploration • Adventure

A N TA R C T I C A C O U S T E AU ´ S C A L L

C OLLE C T ION

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Editor’s Letter Philippe's story is a personal, passionate and pin-sharp plea to the world: A n t a rc t i c a needs us.

In February 2020, Antarctica reached 18.3 degrees Celsius. It is the warmest temperature the continent has ever seen, surpassing the previous highest – 17.5 degrees Celsius – by almost a full degree. This is a problem not just for Antarctica and the many species that call it home, but for the entire planet. Why? The great white continent and the Southern Ocean that surrounds it play a pivotal role in the health of Planet Ocean. As Philippe Cousteau so perfectly puts it in this issue's lead story: "what happens in Antarctica does not stay in Antarctica". The impacts of temperature rises at our southernmost point will be felt far and wide, such is the influence of life at the axis. Antarctica and the Southern Ocean regulate the planet's climate, provide nutrients to the world's oceans, and act as a vast carbon sink. Philippe's story is a personal, passionate and pin-sharp plea to the world: Antarctica needs us. Antarctica needs the leaders of the 26 member states of the Commission for the Conservation of Antarctic Marine Living Resources (CCAMLR) who are due to convene in October. Antarctica needs you. His story is one of family and humanity, of history and the here-and-now, of acknowledgement of the disaster that lies ahead and the conviction that it can be averted.

Will Harrison Editor @waj.harrison

The stakes are high. On the table at October's CCAMLR meeting is a proposal for the creation of three new marine reserves in the Southern Ocean spanning almost 4 million km2. Its creation would be a significant moment in history. We must take it. Read his story. Hear his call. Answer it. Join the chorus and #CallOnCCAMLR.

@og_editor Oceanographicmag

Oceanographic Issue 20

Contents O N T H E C OV E R

FEATURE S

COUSTEAU'S CALL

A Weddell seal looks towards the light, amidst the darkness of the Antarctic deep. Photograph by John Weller.

This October, the countries responsible for protecting the Southern Ocean will meet to vote on protecting 4 million km2 of ocean. Here, Philippe Cousteau calls for action, and invites you to join the chorus.

Get in touch ED I TO R

Will Harrison

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

Amelia Costley

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

Chris Anson

CO M M I S S I O N I N G E D I TO R

Beth Finney

CO N T R I B U T I N G E D I TO R

Hugh Francis Anderson

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

Joanna Kilgour

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YO U R O C E A N IMAGES

@oceanographic_mag @oceano_mag Oceanographicmag

A S S TO C K E D I N

For all enquiries regarding stockists, submissions, or just to say hello, please email [email protected] or call (+44) 20 3637 8680. Published in the UK by CXD MEDIA Ltd. © 2021 CXD MEDIA 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 photography shared on social media, both beautiful and arresting. Tag us or use #MYOCEAN for the opportunity to be featured within these pages.

ISSN: 2516-5941

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CONTENTS

20%

S H A R K I SLAN D

SH ELL M O NEY

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

T ITA N & T ITA N IC

L IF E O F L E MO N S

At the southern tip of the Maldives archipelago is an island like no other: Fuvahmulah. Like many of this planet's wild blue spaces, its balance is under threat.

The ocean is life. It provides the world with food, jobs and the oxygen we breathe. For the Tolai people in Papua new Guinea, it also provides their currency.

History was made on July 10, 2021, when Stockton Rush and his team at OceanGate reached the Titanic, at a depth of approximately 4,000 metres, in Titan, the only submersible of its kind.

Mangroves are a critical habitat for many species a place where young can thrive before venturing into the open ocean as adults. But are these important ecosystems appreciated as they should be?

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B E H IN D TH E L E N S

C O LUMN S

ANTARCTIC SPECIAL

THE SOCIAL ECOLOGIST

T HE MA R IN E B IO L O G IS T

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

Each issue, we chat with one of the world’s leading ocean photographers and showcase a selection of their work. In this special edition, we focus on the staggering beauty of Antarctica - a continent that needs protecting.

Big wave surf champion, environmentalist and social change advocate, Dr Easkey Britton, discusses the inclusivity of the ocean, and how it can be a leveller for people of all abilities.

Marine biologist, photographer and writer, Dr Lou Luddington, writes about an experience of witnessing majestic tuna landed in a marine park in the Canary Islands.

Environmentalist and Surfers Against Sewage CEO Hugo Tagholm discusses the importance of personal action and grassroots campaigning to affect meaningful change in the face of the many crises facing Planet Ocean.

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Francesca Page Costa Rica “As I stared into the dark blue abyss off Cocos Island, a beautiful spotted eagle ray soared past,” says Page. “Her starry wings moved in a wave-like motion as she gracefully flew into the dark depths below.” SPONSORED BY

#MYOCEAN

Dan Hunter Indonesia A remote shoreline in the southern Mentawai Islands. “I took this image whilst on a surf trip,” says Hunter. “The island was uninhabited except for a couple of huts that local fishermen used for shelter.” SPONSORED BY

#MYOCEAN

Jason Gulley United States Cave diver and science volunteer Tim Senkevitch collects samples of goethite, a black rock coating the walls of the cave at Florida's Little River Spring, for a group of nondiving microbiologists waiting on the surface. SPONSORED BY

Talia Greis Australia A male white seahorse finds refuge in the shark nets at Chowder Bay, Sydney. “It is a dynamic exhibition of man's impact on the ocean, and marine life's ability to adapt,” says Greis.

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A GLOBAL CALL FOR

ocean protection history I N A N TA R C T I C A This October, the countries responsible for protecting the Southern Ocean will meet to vote on the creation of three marine protected areas covering almost 4 million km2 of ocean. Here, Philippe Cousteau calls for action, and invites you to join the chorus. Wo rd s b y P h i l i p p e C o u s t e a u P h o t o g ra p h s b y Pa u l N i c k l e n a n d J o h n We l l e r

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ntarctica, Earth’s greatest wilderness, is not often the centre of global political attention, but in 2021 the vast frozen continent and the Southern Ocean that encircles it are in the spotlight. That’s thanks to a trifecta created by a momentous anniversary, an escalating planetary emergency, and an unmissable opportunity to achieve the greatest act of ocean protection in history. As we celebrate 60 years since the Antarctic Treaty entered into force in 1961, scientists are warning that the climate crisis is pushing the Southern polar region toward multiple, dangerous tipping points with global ramifications. But we also have a chance to make a real difference. When the countries responsible for protecting the Southern Ocean meet in October, they have a choice to make, and it must be unanimous: vote to create three large marine protected areas (MPAs) spanning nearly 4 million km2 of ocean and fortify our planet’s climate defences, or not. Sixty years ago, a common quest to protect the frozen continent thawed the Cold War just enough to allow its protagonists to set aside their territorial disputes, negotiate the Antarctic Treaty, and agree to dedicate everything south of 60 degrees South Latitude to peace and science for all humanity. More than half a century later, it remains one of the world’s most successful international agreements and an inspiration for what cooperation can achieve – even, or perhaps especially, in a crisis. Will today’s multi-pronged crises of global heating, mass species extinctions, and deteriorating ocean health trigger the same solidarity when the 26 member states of the Commission for the Conservation of Antarctic Marine Living Resources (CCAMLR) meet in October? I sure hope so. Because just like in 1961, every country, community and citizen on this planet has a stake in the outcome. For my family, this historic moment in the long fight for ocean protection has a special resonance. Next year it will be 50 years since my father and grandfather, Philippe and Jacques Cousteau, first set foot on Antarctica and were among the first people to ever dive beneath its ice. Their films delivered this most mysterious of places into the homes – and hearts – of millions of people for the first time. Always a trailblazer, even after that first voyage in 1972 my grandfather raised the alarm that heavy metal contamination and plastic waste were impacting Antarctica’s waters and wildlife. He understood at first sight both the fragility and critical importance of Antarctica. That’s why, in the 1980s, when the spectre of mining threatened to breach the spirit of the Antarctic Treaty, he helped rally a global campaign that – with the help of friendly governments – successfully blocked all mining exploitation and led to the entire continent being designated a natural reserve. PREVIOUS PAGE: The Antarctic Peninsula provides a window into the likely future of the whole continent. THIS PAGE: The Peninsula waters are home to the tiny shrimp-like crustacean, Antarctic krill.

“When the countries responsible for protecting the Southern Ocean meet in October, they have a choice to make, and it must be unanimous: vote to create three large marine protected areas (MPAs) spanning nearly 4 million km2 of ocean and fortify our planet’s climate defences, or not.”

An elephant seal pup is one of many species in Antarctica that rely on an intact ecosystem.

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TOP: The proposed network of new MPAs would be a vital haven for some of the most vulnerable creatures on our planet, such as these Adelie penguins. BOTTOM: In the six months of darkness that is winter in Antarctica, the continent doubles in size as the surrounding ocean freezes into a two-metre-thick slab of 'fast ice.' In the summer, waves, winds and warmth break up the fast ice into a massive jigsaw puzzle of pack ice, which eventually floats away from Antarctica and melts.

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But now, 30 years after that pivotal victory, even greater threats demand far greater and faster global action. A recent study published in Nature, ‘The Paris Climate Agreement and future sea-level rise from Antarctica’, warns that if our greenhouse gas emissions continue at current rates, by 2060 the already accelerating melting of the Antarctic Ice Sheet – Earth’s largest land ice reservoir – will pass a point of no return, causing irreversible, disastrous global impacts. If we keep to this emissions pathway, no human intervention will be able to stop 1721cm of sea level rise from Antarctic ice melt alone by 2100. Meanwhile, at a more local level, industrial fishing of the tiny Antarctic krill that are the cornerstone of the global ocean food web is rising, as are the impacts of tourism and shipping. It is not just penguins and whales that we need to worry about. Antarctica regulates our climate and its waters feed the fish that feed the world. The Southern Ocean connects all the world's ocean basins, its deep cold waters helping to stabilise our climate and circulate vital nutrients across the globe. And, every single day, billions of krill absorb huge quantities of carbon from the surface of the Southern Ocean and excrete it deep below, where it is stored away in one of our planet’s greatest carbon sinks. The fact that temperatures in Antarctica reached almost 20 degrees Celsius in 2020 should be a wake-up call for everyone. Because what happens in Antarctica does not stay in Antarctica. So now it is my turn – and immense privilege – to join a host of actors, artists, activists, scientists and citizens in mobilising a new global campaign to protect Antarctica, its waters, and its unique and wondrous wildlife. Together with my wife, Ashlan Gorse Cousteau, Antarctica2020, and a cabal of ocean conservation organisations, we are inviting everyone to #CallOnCCAMLR to take decisive, united action at their October 2021 meeting and vote to establish three MPAs – in East Antarctica, the Antarctic Peninsula, and the Weddell Sea – that will protect almost 1% of the global ocean and create a buffer against climate change. Once again, people are rising up to save the icy foundations of our planet and once again our voices are being heard by key decision-makers. Scientists are among those calling out the loudest. Because the science is clear: two profound environmental issues are challenging our very existence – climate change and biodiversity loss. MPAs have been proven to boost biodiversity and resilience to climate change. As nowhere is changing faster than Antarctica, nowhere is the establishment of MPAs more vital or urgent than in the precious waters that surround it. They can provide our best line of defence against the disproportionate impacts of climate change in the region by removing the pressures of human activity, especially fishing, and giving vulnerable wildlife much needed breathing space. As the Southern Ocean is taking up to 40% of the total oceanic carbon uptake that is shielding us from the full force of climate change – offering it a ring of marine protection is the very least we could do.

Alarmed at the unfolding polar climate emergency, the Wilson Center’s Polar Institute and Pew Charitable Trusts gathered leading Antarctic scientists together earlier this year to consider how rapid changes in the Southern Ocean are impacting global climate, human, and ecological systems, and what we need to do about it. The resulting report on Climate Change and Southern Ocean Resilience published by the Wilson Center in June makes a compelling case for urgent action. The report warns of the approach of imminent tipping points that could set in motion irreversible, rapid changes to Antarctica's biogeochemical cycles and its critical role in regulating the global climate. Five Southern Ocean processes that will cumulatively drive changes well beyond the Antarctic region are highlighted as high risk priorities: shifts in sea ice and ice sheet dynamics causing loss of critical habitats and biodiversity; changes in ocean chemistry causing acidification and disrupting food webs; rising ocean temperatures leading to ice shelf collapse and multi-metre sea level rise; changes to regional carbon sequestration through the biological carbon pump; and shifting ecosystem and species dynamics leading to biodiversity loss and changes in species’ geographical distributions. It’s a formidable list of threats. But rather than be daunted, the experts propose a four-step program for building Southern Ocean resilience. First, faster and deeper cuts to greenhouse gas emissions across all sectors and geographies to avoid near-term tipping points. Second, creating a circumpolar network of MPAs around Antarctica to protect biodiversity and restore ecosystem services. Third, incorporating climate change risks to strengthen existing ecosystem-based fishing policies. And fourth, re-emphasising a precautionary approach to decision-making in the Southern Ocean to prevent irreversible changes. The first task is the responsibility of every country and company on Earth, for the other three the onus falls on CCAMLR. Which brings us back to the all-important meeting in October. Those of us who have eagerly anticipated these annual meetings in the past know that counting on CCAMLR involves fleeting bursts of ecstasy – like when they voted to create the immense Ross Sea MPA in 2016 – amid a sea of agony and disappointment, like every year since then, when MPA proposals have been sunk by just a few dissenting votes. But this year is different. This year the eyes of the world are on CCAMLR as never before. And, crucially, some of these eyes belong to the leaders of CCAMLR member states – including President Biden. He joined the call on CCAMLR back in April when the White House declared emphatically: “The United States is calling on all CCAMLR members to adopt these marine protected areas at this year’s meeting.” The US then joined the EU and 14 other CCAMLR members in a strong Ministerial Joint Declaration encouraging the “swift adoption by CCAMLR” of the three proposed MPAs and a united, resounding “call on all CCAMLR members to act as soon as possible to conserve the Southern Ocean’s

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A leopard seal.

F E AT U R E

“MPAs have been proven to boost biodiversity and resilience to climate change. As nowhere is changing faster than Antarctica, nowhere is the establishment of MPAs more vital or urgent than in the precious waters that surround it."

LEFT: Antarctica is humbling at every turn. The water temperature is below freezing, liquid only because of its salt, and in each encounter with an Antarctic creature you are witnessing a masterpiece of evolution: fish that make their own antifreeze, sea spiders the size of dinner plates, sponges that live for a thousand years and grow as large as shipping barrels, each supremely adapted to the unimaginable rigours of living in a sea of ice. RIGHT: More than 90% of the Antarctic Peninsula's ice shelves are in rapid retreat.

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"It is not just penguins and whales that we need to worry about. Antarctica regulates our climate and its waters feed the fish that feed the world. The Southern Ocean connects all the world's ocean basins, its deep cold waters helping to stabilise our climate and circulate vital nutrients across the globe.”

Pack ice is crucial for many Antarctic creatures – whales, seals, penguins, krill, and petrels to name a few – which use the ice in a myriad of different ways. Climate change is acting fast in Antarctica, especially damaging for pack ice.

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“My grandfather once described Antarctica as “a vast, eternally white continent where life clings to the borders of death”. His haunting words ring even truer today with the region at the epicentre of global climate change, its unique fauna clinging to the shifting ice. Together we can protect that life and the future of our planet.”

Weddell seals are the southernmost breeding mammals in the world, and the only air-breathing animals besides emperor penguins to brave the Antarctic winter.

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unique biodiversity.” A pledge to fully support the Southern Ocean MPAs even made it into the official G7 Summit Communique in June as part of a new G7 2030 Nature Compact supporting the global mission to halt and reverse biodiversity loss by 2030. Most CCAMLR members now proactively back all three MPAs. But most is not enough: the vote in October must be unanimous. Absent from all the positive declarations by largely like-minded countries are the two with the strongest reputation for obstruction at CCAMLR: China and Russia. We can’t just preach to the choir in Washington and Brussels; the real battle for Antarctic marine protection needs to be waged at the highest political levels in Moscow and Beijing. And in these last few months before the meeting this “diplomacy on ice” needs to intensify. Our campaign is calling on CCAMLR members to deploy all their diplomatic and economic clout and get every single member state on board. At the height of the Cold War, bitter rivals united to protect the continent of Antarctica for all humanity. Coming together now to extend that vital protection to the precious waters that surround it would be an equally momentous act of global peacebuilding as we emerge from a brutal pandemic. That’s why we are mobilising political leadership by rallying massive public support behind the #CallOnCCAMLR campaign to protect the Southern Ocean and a global petition that will be handed directly to world leaders ahead of the meeting. The vote on the MPAs will be a moment of truth for post-pandemic multilateralism and a clear indicator of whether the international community is fit for purpose to take concrete, joint action to deal with the climate emergency. We are all honorary citizens of Antarctica and everyone is invited to add their voice to the call for Southern Ocean protection in 2021. My grandfather once described Antarctica as “a vast, eternally white continent where life clings to the borders of death”. His haunting words ring even truer today with the region at the epicentre of global climate change, its unique fauna clinging to the shifting ice. Together we can protect that life and the future of our planet. When they meet in October, the countries charged with governing Antarctica have the chance to protect 4 million km2 of uniquely important ocean and iconic marine wildlife and boost our planetary defences against climate change. We call on all CCAMLR member states to seize this historic opportunity.

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Column

By Dr Easkey Britton

The social ecologist INCLUSEA

he sea is a place free from judgement, where, once immersed, you get to be all of who you are. Held in its salty embrace, our bodies weightless, untethered from earthly limits, free. For David, the sea is his solace. An avid swimmer, he has been wheelchair bound ever since a freak skiing accident more than 12 years ago. The sea, he says, “is where I’m not defined by my disability… it’s total freedom.” It is a sentiment echoed by many with diverse abilities and differently abled bodies. Johannes, a keen surfer before a tragic accident broke his 5th and 6th vertebrae and left him in a wheelchair, has become an accomplished adapted surfer and coordinator of adapted surf programmes with the German Surfing Association. “Once in the water,” he says, “I’m not thinking about my disability at all. It’s where I’m most free. My only limit is myself, not my environment.” Yet, there is a significant gap concerning the ways in which we engage with seas and oceans, and the potential health-promoting and restorative benefits of these positive interactions. Our beaches, seas and coasts are some of the last freely accessible public spaces. But huge inequalities persist around their access. For many, the reality is that coastal spaces are experienced as exclusionary, risky or dangerous, unwelcoming or inaccessible. Even where adapted surf programmes are offered, accessible facilities and infrastructure are often woefully inadequate without consideration for functional diversity. It’s little wonder that people with disabilities are less likely to participate in sports activities organised by sports clubs than nondisabled people. In Ireland, there are an estimated 640,000 people with disabilities, equivalent to about 13.5% of its population. It’s why the work of Johannes and other community-based organisations and initiatives that build awareness and education of the needs and benefits of getting in the sea for people with diverse functional abilities are so important. Dr Sarah Bell, a health geographer, shares some insights from her recent project, ‘Sensing Nature’, which creatively explored how people living with sight impairment experience nature during

their lives. Loss of sight and sight impairment is increasing. As populations age conditions such as diabetes become more common. Some of the participants she spoke to also swam and surfed. One woman, who lost her sight in an accident five years ago and who also uses a wheelchair, described how being in the sea takes weight off her damaged feet and legs, creating a nourishing feeling of total weightlessness. For another woman in Dr Bell’s study, the sea was somewhere she felt held, “just being able to touch the sea and have this feeling like it’s embracing you, it was fabulous.” At the beginning of this year I joined a new research consortium of seven organisations from five countries across Europe called INCLUSEA. The Erasmus+ funded research project seeks to improve the way we understand and enable more positive and inclusive ocean experiences in the surf for people living with physical disability or sensory impairment. We collaborate with researchers, surf practitioners, adapted surfers and grass-roots organisations to evaluate, develop and co-create best practice guidance for a shared teaching methodology. This will help establish a common international standard for those who lead adapted surfing or surf therapy programs. Through community-based surf initiatives, combined with the support of evidence-based research from projects like INCLUSEA, the way we understand and enable more positive and inclusive ocean experiences is improving. Hopefully, society will shift to understanding people as individuals with diverse ocean interests and knowledge, who may or may not also have disabilities of some kind. To get there, Johannes encourages a ‘beginners mindset’ as a way to challenge biases and assumptions and spark new insights and awakening — something he’s rediscovered through adapted surfing; “That's one of the great things about adaptive surfing: it brings you back to your roots. You can't surf the way it used to be "normal" or how you thought it should be. You start all over again and can reinvent your surfing. In doing so, you have to free yourself from everything you think you know about it.” EB

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@easkeysurf

www.easkeybritton.com

“Through community-based surf initiatives, the way we understand and enable more positive and inclusive ocean experiences is improving.”

About Easkey Dr Easkey Britton is a surfer and blue health researcher with the INCLUSEA project. Her work explores the relationship between people and the sea, using her passion for the ocean to create social change and connection across cultures. She currently resides in Donegal, Ireland. For information or to get involved visit: www.inclusea.eu

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Photography courtesy of INCLUSEA.

BEHIND THE LENS

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Shark island HARMONIOUS CO-EXISTENCE, A N U N C E RTA I N F U T U R E At the southern tip of the Maldives archipelago is an island like no other: Fuvahmulah. As is too often the case with this planet's wild blue spaces, its balance is under threat. Wo rd s b y Ta m s i n R a i n e P h o t o g ra p h s b y J o n o A l l e n a n d M a t t Po r t e o u s

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t’s approaching 7am when we hoist our dive gear onto the dhonis. The engine starts up and we’re immediately asked to safety check our kit and get ready. We untie the ropes, ease off from the dock, and settle in for the journey. Twenty seconds later and only 12 metres from the dock we slow down at the mouth of the harbour. The engine cuts out. We look to the front of the boat where local dive guide Lonu hangs over the edge, using one hand to stabilise himself and the other to point whilst counting to eight in Dhivehi. He beckons us over. “Come and look. Eight tiger sharks.” His enlightened expression and calm tone make us unsure of his statement - there can’t possibly be a tiger shark in the harbour, only three metres away from a family of swimmers. As we find our sea legs to stand, rocking back and forth, wetsuits hanging off the bottom half of our bodies, we’re confronted by our own doubt as long dark shadows circle our dhonis. Hoisting up a ripped and sun-bleached wetsuit over his shoulders, Lonu points to our gear on the floor and tells us to get ready to jump. There’s a mysterious, anxious silence as we prepare to jump into the unknown, placing our trust in a man with little to say, but so much to give. We jump at 7.15am, half a mile down the coast from where we first witnessed the broken shadows of Tiger Harbour. We descend to just 10 metres to the edge of the reef wall, surrounded and completely arrested by an abundance of colour and life. Breathing is steady, and eyes are wide as we swim back towards the harbour. The crackling of the reef and schools of tropical fish are a calming distraction, a focus. Lonu glides through the water and gestures for us to keep looking in front. He knows what is going to happen next. He positions himself five meters into the blue from the reef wall, whilst we perch on the outer edge. Without hesitation he begins to descend before re-emerging beside us alongside an 8-metre female tiger shark (who we later learn is named Pirate due to her missing eye). Hands interlocked behind his back and perpendicular to her stripes, they swim alongside each other. It is an astonishing dynamic, an indescribable connection. Before long we are surrounded by six adult tiger sharks. Remembering the guidelines Lonu had instructed – keeping direct eye contact at all times and giving the sharks the space and respect they deserve – we begin to settle into our dive. The encounter that unfolded taught me more than any book, movie or second-hand story ever could. This was a place like no other, an equatorial gem in the middle of the Indian Ocean, a haven for pelagic life and a testament to a microculture of harmony and coexistence. But, like many of this planet’s wild blue spaces, that harmony and coexistence is under threat. The island of Fuvahmulah, located at the southern tip of the Maldives archipelago, is a 1,300-hectare UNESCO biosphere reserve. It is home to 11,000 residents and has the

“THE ENCOUNTER THAT UNFOLDED TAUGHT ME MORE THAN ANY BOOK, MOVIE OR SECOND-HAND STORY EVER COULD. THIS WAS A PLACE LIKE NO OTHER, AN EQUATORIAL GEM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE INDIAN OCEAN, A HAVEN FOR PELAGIC LIFE AND A TESTAMENT TO A MICROCULTURE OF HARMONY AND COEXISTENCE.”

PREVIOUS: A large female tiger shark dwarfs a dive guide in the shallow waters of Fuvahmulah's harbour. THIS PAGE: Once used by shark fishers, a traditional Maldivian dhoni floats above a dive site having ferried tourists.

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The tiger shark population in Fuvahmulah is renowned for being largely female and for having particularly striking markings.

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“THE REEFS ARE HOME TO ARGUABLY THE HEALTHIEST TIGER SHARK POPULATION IN THE WORLD, WHO SHARE THE REEFS WITH THRESHERS, HAMMERHEADS, WHITE-TIPS AND WHALE SHARKS.”

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A juvenile whale shark, tangled in plastic, with deep lacerations.

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A juvenile whale shark makes a close pass of a dhoni.

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Local divemaster Inah and one of the harbour's regular visitors.

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TOP: Numerous tiger sharks circle a dhoni as it leaves the harbour. BOTTOM: Fuvahmulah's trash pile. A JCB piles up waste, ready for collection.

“GREEN WASTE, METAL WASTE, RECYCLABLES AND SINGLE USE PLASTIC WASTE ARE ALL BEING DUMPED TOGETHER, UNSORTED. PLASTIC WASHES UP ON FUVAHMULAH’S BEACHES FROM ABROAD, WHILE ALSO SEEPING INTO THE OCEAN FROM THE ISLAND ITSELF.”

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most diverse coral ecosystem in the country. The reefs are home to arguably the healthiest tiger shark population in the world, who share the reefs with threshers, hammerheads, white-tips and whale sharks. The geography of this single island atoll is unique, with no other land masses nearby and ocean current patterns that have created a nursery for juveniles and a cleaning station for a wide variety of pelagic fish. The island’s volcanic underwater landscapes and steep drop-offs are said to be attractive for hunting purposes. This, paired with the island's historic fishing plant that was functional in the 1960s, is widely considered the reason for the tiger shark numbers found in the area - still to this day, fishermen throw fish guts overboard as they return to harbour. Commonly known across the Maldives as ‘Shark Island’, Fuvahmulah’s local community has surfed, swum, dived and fished its way into a harmonious relationship with a species that is both feared and threatened. Local ocean-goers like Lonu have shared their backyard with tiger sharks for years and have developed a fascinating relationship with these apex predators. He can identify individuals in seconds by appearance and behaviour. “Learning to understand these animals has changed our lives for the better. We love the sharks.” This micro culture of harmony and coexistence is a gleaming demonstration of an unwritten, unspoken understanding between humans and sharks. One that we can all learn from, for the benefit of both humankind and the future health of the ocean, and one that challenges existing policies around the world that opt to capture and kill sharks in coastal areas to reduce the number of predators on public beaches. While there are many factors that contribute to the safety of diving, surfing and swimming alongside these predators in Fuvahmulah, including the year-round visibility, when asked, locals believe that if they protect the sharks, the sharks will in turn protect them. “If we respect sharks, they will take care of us. We must protect the shark for the future of our island,” asserts Lonu. This island community has redefined the way both locals and visitors interact with sharks and in doing so, respectfully built a relationship with a population of apex predators that has changed their lives for the better. But in order to co-exist, sharks need to continue to exist, and a lack of international agreements to monitor, manage and control shark fisheries and trade, paired with the continued misunderstanding of these creatures worldwide continues to pose a daily threat to the species. The misunderstanding of these creatures isn’t their only threat. Fuvahmulah’s healthy shark population has garnered much attention. While this attention is ultimately positive – much of the island is reliant on tourism – a recent influx of visitors is putting pressure on both the dive sites and the island’s infrastructure. To support the increase in tourist numbers, new roads and guest houses are being built. The speed of this development is impacting the island’s natural habitats, including the ocean. With an overwhelmed and under

resourced waste management system, plastic is a common sight along the beaches and the streets of Fuvahmulah. Due to the lack of water filtration systems, around 200,000 plastic water bottles are imported to the island every month. The island's mountain of trash and plastic, almost three stories high, is growing faster than it can be exported to Thilafushi, an island otherwise known as ‘Trash Island’. As well as lacking any kind of waste sorting system, no recycling initiatives are being practiced. Green waste, metal waste, recyclables and single use plastic waste are all being dumped together, unsorted. Plastic washes up on Fuvahmulah’s beaches from abroad, while also seeping into the ocean from the island itself. The impact of this has been witnessed first-hand with whale sharks seen entangled in plastic so tightly it has cut through their skin. A recent rescue involved a local dive guide cutting an industrial plastic sack from the body of an entangled whale shark just off the island’s shores. We have witnessed how saturation and over-capacity can act as stressors on infrastructure and natural resources (including cultural and heritage assets) when economic growth is prioritised without proper consideration of the environment – particularly mystifying in places where natural resources are so directly linked to sustainable and long-term economic health. We need only look at Boracay in the Philippines and Maya Bay in Thailand, where ecosystems have reached breaking point and governments have been forced to close entire islands to allow habitats and species to recover. In Favuhmulah, locals are aware of the threats of over-tourism and have expressed concerns. There is a groundswell of interest in creating changes that will allow for the sustainable development of their beautiful home. Community clean-ups are already regular events on the island, but there is a desire for bigger and bolder steps that push beyond the parameters of hands-on, grassroots conservation. The regulation and management of dive sites is particularly popular proposition among locals after a number of disputes between the island’s dive operators and visiting liveaboards. Lonu puts it plainly: “All the local dive shops have rules for diving and allocated timings. Some liveaboards just don’t care.” The implementation and management of an islandwide sustainable development policy could take years to facilitate. Given the predicted rate of growth facing the island, there is no time to spare. Finding a balance between development and sustainability is paramount in ensuring the longevity of a healthy tourism industry supported by a protected marine environment. Fuvahmulah City Council and Fuvahmulah Marine Foundation are working towards creating frameworks that will ensure cultural and environmental preservation, creating a policy-driven tourism structure that will see visitors become part of the solution rather than part of the problem, giving guests the knowledge and understanding that Fuvahmulah is as beautiful as it is fragile, that they can play an important role in protecting a magical atoll and the sharks that call it home.

Oceanographic Issue 20

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

ANTARCTICA SPECIAL Behind the Lens places a spotlight on the world’s foremost ocean conservation photographers. Each edition focusses on the work of an individual who continues to shape global public opinion through powerful imagery and compelling storytelling.

BEHIND THE LENS

Photo by Paul Nicklen Two Emperor penguins – a poster species for the continent – and their chick.

Photo by Paul Nicklen At the ends of the Earth, blue reigns supreme. A single structure of glacial ice can contain an entire palette of different hues, and the water shifts from sapphire to cobalt to azure to indigo with the light.

Photo by Paul Nicklen A leopard seal, one of the Southern Ocean's great predators, offers up a penguin,

Photo by John Weller Mount Erebus is the southernmost active volcano in the world, and one of the few with an exposed lava lake. It rises 3,800m from the frozen waters of the Ross Sea, dwarfing the volcanic islands that poke out of the sea ice.

Photo by John Weller The sea ice that surrounds Antarctica supports the world’s most prolific ecosystem. Minke whales pioneer deep into the desert of floating ice, finding impossibly small breathing holes to access the bounty of krill and small fish that live there.

Photo by Paul Nicklen An iceberg slowly succumbs to erosion, creating a visual feast of colour and texture as it does so.

Photo by John Weller During the four months of night, phytoplankton is in very short supply. The entire sea-floor community must wait out the winter for fresh food. Battle tested by cold, dark, ice, and starvation, life on the seafloor still thrives.

Photo by John Weller Emperor penguins breed on the sea ice itself during the Antarctic winter, enduring the most extreme environment on the planet. Without reductions in greenhouse gas emissions, declines in sea ice will force Emperor penguins to near extinction.

Photo by John Weller The Ross Ice Shelf is a floating glacier, up to 600m thick and the size of France. It is also a factory for sea ice. Katabatic winds fly off the ice shelf at up to 200km/hour, pushing the 2m-thick sea ice out of the way, exposing a massive pool of open water, a polynya, in the otherwise ice-capped sea.

Photo by John Weller Weddell seals are the southernmost breeding mammals in the world, and stay in their colonies in the sea ice around Antarctica all year long. They must keep their dive holes open with their teeth, literally eating their way through the ice.

Photo by John Weller Antarctica, in abstract.

Photo by John Weller Multitudes of Odontaster completely restructure the local benthic community. The sea stars are generalists, eating anything they can find – including other species of sea stars, like the larger and slower Acodontaster,

Photo by John Weller Over the course of a week, the sea ice off the shores of Cape Royds took on water, growing soft and grey. Water pooled on top. On January 12th, there was a great fizzing sound that lasted for hours. It could be heard all through the cape. Trapped air escaped the waterlogged ice all at once, as if in a final sigh.

Photo by John Weller Under the ice, the dark water is filled with the lights of luminous ctenophores, flexing lines of hair-like cilia on the sides of their bodies in coordinated waves, propelling themselves slowly forward. Mertensiid ctenophores unfurl a driftnet of fine filaments behind them to capture passing phytoplankton.

Photo by Paul Nicklen A chinstrap penguin clings to the grooves of an iceberg.

Photo by John Weller We must reassess our relationship to Antarctica and the Southern Ocean. This critically important region has started on a disastrous path, and we must act to protect it, and ourselves.

PERSONAL SEALEGACY 82

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Oceanographic Issue 20

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BEHIND THE LENS

Oceanographic Issue 20

BEHIND THE LENS

Shell money The ocean is life. It provides the world with food, jobs and the oxygen we breathe. For the Tolai people in Papua new Guinea, it also provides their currency.

Wo rd s b y Fa b i a n v o n Po s e r P h o t o g ra p h s b y K r i s t i n a S t e i n e r

Oceanographic Issue 20

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n Papua New Guinea, money is not as plentiful as sand, but it is found near the sea. Here, shell money is the official means of payment. The currency has some advantages over the euro and the dollar: it is counterfeit-proof, stable against inflation and, above all, it is peace-making. Time has not stood still in Papua New Guinea. Bank cards, mobile phones and the internet are the great successes in modern times on the island of New Britain, which was part of a German colony in the eastern part of what is now Papua New Guinea from 1884 to 1914. But shell money is not a relic from a bygone era. Appearances are deceptive, but the shell never is. And even more: while capitalism divides many supposedly progressive societies, shell money is the cement in society for the Tolai people in Papua New Guinea. Strictly speaking, the shell money of the Tolai is not shell money at all, but snail money, because the local currency is made from the shells of a small species of sea snail, the nassa snail (Nassarius arcularius). But the term ‘shell money’ has caught on, both in English and in German (German: Muschelgeld). The locals thread the snail shells onto plant fibres. The whole family often helps to make the strings, some of which are metres long. Arm lengths serve as units: from hand to elbow, from hand to shoulder, from hand to opposite shoulder and from hand to opposite hand. A pokono, for example, also called a fathom after the nautical length measurement, corresponds to the distance from fingertip to fingertip along the outstretched arms of an adult. It contains about 320 mollusc shells. The money, which the locals call tambu or tabu, has probably been in use for centuries. The Tolai, an ethnic group of about 120,000 people who migrated from the neighbouring island of New Ireland to the Gazelle Peninsula in eastern New Britain in the mid-18th century, still pay for fruit, vegetables, eggs, fish, meat and betel nuts with shell money at the markets. They also use it to pay bride prices and make amends. Strings of shell money accumulated over the lifetime of the deceased are distributed at their funerals. “Tabu is a means of payment or exchange and a gift at the same time,” according to the German ethnologist Sigrun Preissing. In 2009, she published the book Exchange, give, money? Economic and social counterdesigns. She is still working on alternative forms of economy today. A sweet potato, an egg or a fish can have different prices in the markets of Kokopo and Rabaul, the two largest settlements on the Gazelle Peninsula, despite being the same size, weight and quality – depending on who sells them and who buys them. “For the Tolai, it is not a matter of exchanging conclusively, equivalently, but of making an exchange of unequal things possible in the first place and cultivating PREVIOUS: A nassa snail, its tip cut off so it can be strung with others. RIGHT: Women sell food and drink at an all-day funeral, collecting shell money for their own funerals.

“The money, which the locals call tambu or tabu, has probably been in use for centuries. Strings of shell money accumulated over the lifetime of the deceased are distributed at their funerals.”

MAIN IMAGE: At a village funeral, the deceased's shell money arrives. TOP: Nassa shells being spread out to dry. MIDDLE: Shells being threaded. BOTTOM: Pandanus leaves are wrapped around the strings of shells to protect and preserve them.

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relationships at the same time”, says Preissing. “When we buy a loaf of bread at the bakery in this country, there is an unspoken agreement that the bread is worth three euros. Everyone who has enough money gets it for the same price. By putting three euros on the counter and receiving the bread in return, the exchange is complete. I never have to go to that baker again.” The barter situation at the Tolai market, on the other hand, is completely different, she says. “None of the participants have the idea that the amount of shell money and the items to be exchanged must have the same value.” Rather, it is an agreement, established by social rules, where the items can be exchanged by a certain person of a certain rank or role with another person. Even more significant than the “liquidating” character of shell money is its “non-liquidating” character, for almost every Tolai ritual involves tabu, especially those that change a person's status, such as birth, marriage or funerals. For example, as a bridal offering, the bride's family is given 1,000 pokono strings, which have a value of between 3,000 and 5,000 kina, equivalent to between 750 and 1,300 euros, depending on the exchange rate. These become part of the bride's father's tabu stock. The aim is to strengthen old ties and forge new ones. Tabu is virtually indispensable at funeral ceremonies. The aim of every Tolai is to accumulate as many Loloi rings as possible during their life. These are shell money wheels up to two metres in length, usually wrapped in leaves of the Pandanus tree for protection, which are then cut open at the funeral and distributed to the mourners as strings of shell money of varying lengths, depending on the status of the recipient. The reputation of the deceased either improves or deteriorates, depending on how much tabu is distributed. If a family does not distribute tabu at a funeral, the deceased is doomed to misery in the afterlife. “Tabu is given to participants in many rituals. However, not as a form of payment, but to make relationships visible, to define, regenerate and strengthen them,” says Preissing. To this day, practically all Tolai around the villages of Kokopo and Rabaul are connected to every other Tolai through kinship. For the Tolai, tabu is essential to social order and community. Decades after the introduction of modern monetary systems, the people of eastern New Britain are still closely linked to their sea treasures. In contrast to the weak national currency, the kina, tabu has also proven to be crisis-proof. This is because the shells are hard to come by, as most of the sites in the region around Kokopo and Rabaul have been overharvested; most of the new shell money is now imported from the Solomon Islands and the island of Bougainville. And also because the raw material is difficult to process: searching for the snails is hard work, after which the shells have to be washed, beaten and threaded. Not every Tolai is a master of this craft. This prevents devaluation.

To understand how tabu works, a look at colonial times is helpful. Around 1880, when the Tolai first had permanent contact with Europeans, it became clear that the Reichsmark, which the German colonial masters had brought with them from Europe, was not equal to the shell money because it was not capable of establishing lasting relationships. So, the Tolai kept their traditional money as a parallel currency. There is a comparable situation with the kina today. Since independence from Australia in 1975, corrupt governments have taken their turns in the capital, Port Moresby, while the locals benefit very little from their country's wealth of resources. While the kina lurches from crisis to crisis, tabu retains its value because it is independent of national and global developments. Since the 1970s, it has been possible to exchange shell money for kina in New Britain. In 1999, the local government officially recognised tabu as a complementary currency. So far, all attempts to establish an official shell money bank, where locals can exchange tabu and store it safely have failed. But exchange offices in Kokopo and Rabaul exist where locals can exchange shells for kina if they need cash, and vice versa. One pokono is equivalent to between three and five kina, or 0.75 to 1.30 euros, depending on the form of currency in the country. Another reason the exchange system is booming is because there are more and more Tolai who want to participate in social life using tabu but no longer have the dexterity to make the shell money themselves. These are Tolai who live far from home – in the cities or abroad. Even among government agencies and the church, the acceptance of tabu has increased in recent years. Interest, hospital fees and school fees can be paid for with tabu, at least after exchanging it for kina. It is also a fact that shell money is known in other parts of the world. The kauri money from Africa and China and the wampum money used by the Shinnecock and Pequot Indians in the east of the USA come to mind. In other provinces of Papua New Guinea, too, people still use shells in rituals. Hardly any currency, however, is as deeply rooted in society as tabu. Experts estimate that shell money worth eight million kina – more than two million euros – is in circulation on the Gazelle Peninsula. An estimated 60 million kina – more than 15 million euros – is stored as shell money wheels in private households, mainly for ritual purposes. So, what can this teach us in times of credit cards and cryptocurrencies? The shell money of the Tolai may only be a tiny piece of the puzzle in the world economy, but it contributes significantly to the stability of society and protects it from the harmful effects of globalisation. Those who own tabu have more in their hands than just a few coins, a banknote or a credit card. Tabu ensures social peace. This money holds society together – much more than our money could ever do.

TOP: A woman exchanges shell money for Kina. BOTTOM: Tambuans - holy spirits.

Oceanographic Issue 20

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“Exchange offices in Kokopo and Rabaul exist where locals can exchange shells for kina if they need cash, and vice versa. One pokono is equivalent to between three and five kina, or 0.75 to 1.30 euros.”

Oceanographic Issue 20

Column

By Lou Luddington

The marine biologist MARINE RESERVE BLUES

A tuna, caught in the marine reserve in the Mar de Calme area south of El Hierro, Canary islands.

Oceanographic Issue 20

@lou_luddington

“A

loud double whistle, the kind made to get your attention, makes me jump up from my seat and rush up on deck. Our sailing friends are rowing to the opposite quay, waving and pointing at the fishing boat arriving at the landing stage and beckoning us to join them. I swiftly shoulder my camera bag, hop off the boat, grab my folding bike and whizz along the pontoon to meet them. A crowd has gathered around a small artisanal fishing boat unloading the night’s catch and as I get closer I can see why. Hoisted tail-first a giant fish is hauled up from beside the boat. Water pours from its gaping mouth and the sun glints off a barbed hook held fast in the flesh at its corner, a tiny curve of metal that sealed its fate. Caught by pole and line method in a simulated feeding frenzy of intensive baiting, it would have been unaware of the peril of the lurking hook until it felt the fatal tug towards the air. A long fight would have ensued until exhaustion and the final blow; a slice to the tail to drain the blood and stop the heart. Now brandished by the arm of a crane, 200kg of yellowfin tuna, Thunnus albacares rises high into the air. It is lowered onto a pallet and a forklift truck moves it along the quayside to make way for another. The next fish is bigger, closer to 300kg. Hoisted up in the same way, its sharp profile is etched on to the sky. I am awed by its exquisite features; honed for efficient, high speed and long distance swimming, it is a robust torpedo-like fish. Their fins are sturdy and stiff and luminous yellow finlets run along the tail to reduce turbulence for fine-tuned swimming. At five times my body weight it’s the biggest fish I’ve ever seen landed. Strung aloft by its scythe-like tail fin, a rivulet of blood drips from the mouth, painting a crimson ring on the pavement beneath as it twirls. I’m in disbelief at two things; one that a creature so fantastical lives and swims among us and two, that they are so routinely hunted and eaten by humans, conveniently canned and available in every grocery store. Yet here it is before me, hooked and landed. The small, gathered crowd is a fascinating mix of characters. Proud fishers landing their hard-won catch after a long night of searching, baiting, battling; a distressed boy who begins wailing and pulling away when his dad tries to make him stand next to the huge, bloodied fish; a middle-aged German lady flexing her biceps in make-believe conquest for the camera; a security guard maintaining order; pensive tourists processing a swirl of emotion; and me, with camera in hand. I stand before the tuna, their blood pooling at my feet and begin to crack, throat prickling, eyes hot. I have to walk away and take a moment to compose myself as a sob rises in my chest. Even in death these fish are magnificent. You may be surprised to learn that it is permissible to catch fish like these within the boundaries of

@louluddington

@louluddingtonphotography

a celebrated marine reserve in the Mar de Calme area south of El Hierro, Canary islands. The reserve was in fact proposed and set up by the fishing community of La Restinga primarily to protect their fishing interests. Individually, these small artisanal fishing boats appear to have a low impact as catches are limited, however collectively the Canary Islands tuna fisheries catch around 8,000 tons of tuna per year by pole and line. Tuna are a top predator in the marine food chain, maintaining a balance in the ocean environment. Removing large numbers of top predators creates a trophic cascade – similar to the effect of removing wolves from Yellowstone National Park. The whole ecosystem can break down. We arrived at La Restinga on our sailboat excited to freedive in the marine reserve that scuba diving friends had raved about for its spectacular underwater scenery and rich marine life. The reality turned out to be different for us. Activities within the reserve are very much restricted to protect the artisanal fishery. Set up in 1996, there is a small no-take area at its heart, surrounded by much larger zones where fishing is permitted with traditional equipment. To protect the underwater habitats, anchoring is forbidden within the reserve. Scuba diving is permitted only at designated sites with one of the local scuba diving centres. The reserve is patrolled daily by boat as we found out during a freedive from the shore when we first arrived. I surfaced from a dive to find patrollers interrogating my partner Tom, demanding to see our spearguns. Finally satisfied we were just taking photos they enlightened us to the no freediving rule and sent us on our way. Much to our disappointment it turned out freediving is prohibited throughout the reserve unless you are accompanied by the only freediving outfit on the island and dive at the designated sites. The irony that we couldn’t freedive in the marine reserve and look at marine life whilst the local fishers had free rein to enter and take fish, did not escape us. Surely a space reserved for fishing, however smallscale, is not a true marine reserve. If we are to reverse the declining health of our ocean this has to change. Protecting great swathes of our ocean from all forms of extraction will ensure that glorious creatures like the yellowfin tuna of El Hierro are left to hunt the high seas in great numbers, bringing harmony to our ocean systems and striking awe in our hearts. LL About Lou Dr Lou Luddington is a marine biologist, nature photographer and writer living aboard a sailboat, the Noctiluca, on the move and travelling the ocean in search of stories and adventure.

Oceanographic Issue 20

B E N E AT H T H E S U R FAC E O F D R E A M S :

Titan meets Titanic

History was made on July 10, 2021, when Stockton Rush and his team at OceanGate reached the Titanic, at a depth of approximately 4,000 metres, in Titan, the only submersible of its kind. Wo rd s b y K i m Fra n k P h o t o g ra p h s b y D a v i d C o n c a n n o n , K i m Fra n k & R e n a t a R o j a s

Oceanographic Issue 20

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nce upon a time, a little boy dreamt of being an astronaut, then Captain Kirk of the Starship Enterprise, and from there Han Solo, commanding the Millennium Falcon. That same boy took apart his stuffed bear to study the mechanism that made the animal talk. When this boy became a young man, he built his own fibreglass plane from a 600-page manual and a kit, starting in his mother’s garage. Decades later, he envisioned a new kind of crewed submersible in a unique shape, utilising materials not yet used in deep ocean exploration. A submersible that would defy convention and have the potential to democratise ocean exploration. Meet Stockton Rush, founder of OceanGate Expeditions, creator of the Titan submersible. Stockton is now on a quest. If you’ve heard the phrase, “You can recognise a pioneer by the arrows in his back,” you would recognise Stockton. His determination and confidence have grown into necessary armour. With an unusually thick shock of grey hair, chiselled features, and piercing blue eyes, his dynamic energy and witty, mad scientist personality burst forth. Wild genius seeps out from his foundation of California laid-back cool, with a veneer of Seattle style suitability tossed in for the sake of business meetings. “What makes Titan different than anything ever built?” I ask, setting match to tinder. “Essentially, the difference is the carbon fibre and titanium pressure vessel. Carbon fibre is used successfully in yachts and in aviation, but it has not been used in crewed submersibles.” According to Stockton, this is because of fear. He believes there is no room for innovation because of great fear about using new materials. Given how small the submersible manufacturing space is, and how few new subs are made, there is not a lot of motivation for stretching the envelope. Members are either not used to innovation or not welcoming to a new entrant. In Stockton’s words: “I’m so far out of the box, that if you are in the box, outside the box looks like a bunch of maniacs. Out of the box maniacs smashing the box. The big push back from the existing players in the industry is that it’s not been done before. And if has not been done before in a crewed vehicle, then where is the guy who is going to risk it? Well… here he is.” Stockton Rush, founder and CEO of OceanGate. Dreamers who are doers rank high on my list of favourite kind of people. Much higher than those who say it can’t be done. Significantly higher than those who judge other people’s dreams. “How can you put a price on a dream?” says Renata Rojas, an underwater explorer and Mission Specialist on several of OceanGate’s expeditions. We are onboard the Horizon Arctic to take part in the first round of Titan’s test dives to Titanic. The ship’s crew is constructing a ramp of rollers designed to launch the platform once we are out at sea, 600 kilometres from our dock in St John’s, Newfoundland. Out the windows of the bridge, brightly coloured cottages tucked into the hills seem a calm juxtaposition from the open ocean that beckons beyond the protected cove. “It’s a unique opportunity to be an authentic part of an expedition. For me the dream of being an oceanographer, out on the ship, working in the sub – I’m doing it. The whole thing. Not just getting onboard and waiting for my turn. It’s surreal, the people here on this first mission. These are people I’ve read about in books and followed on television, now they are passing down their experience to me. It hasn’t sunk in yet. The enormity of this.” The Titanic strikes a deep emotional chord with millions of people. Many aspire to someday explore its secrets or merely visit the site as we are doing now, each day for the next week. Renata has pursued her dream with a relentlessness even she cannot explain. “Ever since I was a child, I’ve wanted to go to Titanic. I was 12 years old when I saw the movie, ‘A Night to Remember.’ I was already a diver, with my dad. That’s how I became fascinated with shipwrecks. Titanic had not yet been found. I was drawn to the mystery – how could something so big, it was called unsinkable, disappear from the face of Earth? I was determined to find it. First, I needed to become an oceanographer. So, I applied and enrolled to the maritime academy in New York. But, on September 1st, 1985, just as I’m starting school, I see a picture of a boiler on television. They had found Titanic. All I could do is cry. “I said ‘Okay, I will meet these people and ask them how I can get to Titanic.’ I drove all the way to Massachusetts to hear the person credited with discovering the Titanic speak. I got in line to talk to him. He told me that there would never be another expedition to the Titanic and if that is what I was hoping to do, I would never do it. I left disillusioned and actually changed my career, deciding to become a banker instead. One day I see a front-page photo of William F Buckley climbing out of a submersible. He isn’t a scientist, he doesn’t have a PhD, he just has money. I thought, ‘Maybe that is what I could do?’ Unfortunately, I did not make that much money. But I did start trying to find out what is the best way to go.”

PREVIOUS: The Titan submersible on the deck of the Horizon Arctic, St John's, Newfoundland. THIS PAGE: Positioned over the Titanic stern, almost 4,000 metres below, the Titan submersible, on its platform, is launched down a custom-made roller system from the deck of the Horizon Arctic.

Oceanographic Issue 20

“I drove all the way to Massachusetts to hear the person credited with discovering the Titanic speak. I got in line to talk to him. He told me that there would never be another expedition to the Titanic and if that is what I was hoping to do, I would never do it.”

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Oceanographic Issue 20

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For years, Renata followed everything she could about Titanic expeditions, and she reached out to people involved in every project. Eventually, someone responded and helped her get a spot on an expedition planned for 2010. She prepared and waited through delays. Then, the expedition was cancelled. Suddenly, there were no submersibles available for expeditions to Titanic’s depth, opportunities for new or existing technology were bleak, and Renata’s dreams were dashed again. Still, she did not give up. In 2014, she was introduced to Stockton and OceanGate. She took part in an expedition to the Andria Doria with them the next year. Titan did not yet exist, but Titanic was in the plan. “Why Titanic?” I ask Stockton. “We are trying to get more people underwater,” he responds. “There is only one thing underwater that billions of people know what it is, know where it is, and lots of people want to go there: Titanic. That got us focused, if we were going to go to the Titanic, what do we need? We began to assess our existing technology, recognising that 4,000 metres gets you to Titanic. This led us to decisions around what type of titanium to use, how much carbon fibre, whether we use an acrylic viewport or glass viewport. How do we adapt the launch and recovery system for long term use at sea?” We depart from St John’s, at the edge of the closest land mass to the Titanic site, 600 kilometres out into the deep ocean. As we head further out, the near shore pods of humpback whales and dolphins leaping in the ship’s wake disappear. Rare are the seabirds, save a couple stragglers who find respite on the back deck. Now, at this very spot where Horizon Arctic floats 3,798 meters directly above the Titanic, I am struck by the cerulean blue of the deep ocean, turquoise and white from engine froth, the distant charcoal grey and white caps - the colours of the North Atlantic, just as they would have been 109 years ago. There is something profound about this dance of technology and innovation. For a week, we are firmly, if not ironically, within its embrace. Below us the Titanic, whose feats of engineering represented the best minds of its time. Preparing for the first dive, there is a buzz of activity around Titan. Both the platform and the sub are soon to make technological history, representing a fresh pushing of the envelope, paving the way for increased access to deep sea exploration. The culture onboard the ship is one of respect and dialogue, adjustments for safety, and consistent problem solving. From the ship’s captain to cadet interns, in OceanGate’s twice daily briefings, the eagerness of each person on the team to pitch in is palpable. We are greeted each dawn with fresh coffee, a hot hearty breakfast, and an abundance of cheer from the supremely talented

TOP: Kenny Hauge, OceanGate's Chief Submersible Pilot. MIDDLE: Titan's viewport dome includes a "private toilet" box, as a Titanic dive can take upwards of 8-10 hours. BOTTOM: Inside the submersible for a pre-dive safety briefing, looking out onto the Titanic site.

“There is only one thing underwater that billions of people know what it is, know where it is, and lots of people want to go there: Titanic.”

kitchen crew. Lunch, dinner, an actual BBQ, homemade cookies, pies, cakes, and all-day snacks. We were all more than well-fuelled for the days and nights ahead. A lot of progress is made on this first mission. There are plenty of frustrating disappointments, but always movement forward, and always calm and positive energy. On the last night, some of us gather on the upper deck under a cloudy sky, hoping to see a sunset. The air is damp and surprisingly warm, thanks to the Gulf stream winding through this part of the North Atlantic. We laugh and tell stories; someone picks up a guitar and plays a song. The conversations are honest and include everyone. After we reach St John’s, some of us will go home, but most will stay for the next several weeks. New crew will arrive, and forward momentum will continue. The wind picks up as I walk up to the upper catwalk around the bridge. Looking out over the endless sea, I can’t help but wonder what it must have felt like to be tossed from the safety of my vessel out into the wild water beneath me. In April, with no warm current, among ice floats, in the pitch-black night. I reach for the slim white railing, feeling a sudden surge of vertigo. It’s difficult to reconcile the tragedy that took place here more than a century ago with the science and technology the site has inspired since. The day after we return home, history is made. Titan meets Titanic on the ocean floor, accomplishing an important milestone in ocean exploration. P.H Nargeolet, former French Naval Commander, who has led five prior Titanic expeditions and has visited the Titanic more than thirty times, participated in each of the test dives and he was on the first dive to reach the site. “This recent dive is one of the most memorable dives I have ever done,” he says. “Being able to participate in the deployment and operation of such a ground-breaking sub reminded me of the challenges my team overcame and the determination they exhibited in the development of the Nautile over 35 years ago.” While the team met the goal of reaching the Titanic, there are still adjustments to be made before the next round of missions can continue. For Renata, that means waiting another year as she must return to her day job. She remains undeterred. “I want to see the ship. It’s almost like I lost a part of me in another life and I’m trying to find it. I have a magnetic connection to it. I can’t explain it – all I know is that I have to go down and be there. What do I expect to find? I don’t know. Maybe myself.”

Oceanographic Issue 20

Column

By Hugo Tagholm

e are at the start of what needs to be the most radical decade of environmental action the world has ever seen. The transition away from our unsustainable expectations of Planet Ocean is urgently required and we all have a part to play. There will be no reneging on the changes we all have to embrace. The global community will need to rise as one, collaborate across all sectors and set aside political differences to overcome the challenges and adapt to the converging impacts of the climate, ocean and biodiversity crises. There is consensus between most politicians, business leaders and the public about the need for action. The questions remain though; How fast? How far? At what cost? And who? The extreme impacts of climate change are already with us, accelerating towards and perhaps surpassing tipping points that scientists thought decades away. Extreme temperatures, reaching 49.6 degrees Celsius, in Canada; water shortages, wildfires and drought in Southern California; and a new record temperature in the Antarctic. According to a recent UN report, 20 million refugees annually are already created by climate change events, in search of more habitable conditions, water supplies and the sort of climate stability that has enabled global societies to flourish,

until now. These refugees are often some of the poorest and least equipped to cope. From a marine perspective, the ocean absorbs most of the excess heat created by humaninduced climate change, impacting marine species and ecosystems, reducing their resilience and abundance, and changing the breeding grounds and behaviours of fish and marine mammal populations. Temperature induced coral-bleaching events wipe out some of the richest and most biodiverse areas in the ocean. Adding industrial fishing to the mix squeezes marine life to an ever-diminishing area where it can truly thrive. The increasing fragility of the ocean now threatens human resilience, compromising our food security, driving extreme weather events and removing the protection that intact coastal ecosystems provide for communities worldwide. Natural equilibrium is being lost. As a campaigner and leader of a small but influential NGO, I subscribe to a theory of change that couples individual action and grassroots campaigning with the need for sweeping systemic change amongst government and businesses. This model dates right back to the inception of Surfers Against Sewage in 1990, at the start of a decade that also saw radical uprisings on environmental, social and economic issues in the UK. However, those

The ocean activist NATURE ALWAYS WANTS TO RESTORE EQUILIBRIUM “There is already strong consensus between most politicians, business leaders and the public about the need for action. The questions remain though; How fast? How far? At what cost? And who?”

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Oceanographic Issue 20

The record-breaking G7 Paddle-Out Protest.

@hugotagholm

times often just seem like a dress rehearsal for the scale of the issues and action required for today’s issues. But dress rehearsals are always helpful in making sure the big show is a success. And we are all centre stage now, in front of a global audience. The last two years has also been a crucial part of this rehearsal, with the dramatic uprising of the global climate movement and the pandemic sweeping across continents and jumping oceans. People are demanding radical change – ending fossil fuels, banning industrial fishing; rewilding the planet; a circular economy; abundant renewable energy; and a fairer society. I agree with this – governments and global corporations must set the level playing field for us all through policy, legislation and innovation. They create the conditions that we all operate and exist in. They must be more ambitious on ocean, climate and environmental justice policies and legislation that will drive change. They must also innovate and act faster. We don’t have time to lose. The decisions they make and, more importantly, the actions they take this decade will arguably become the inflection point of how history judges them. It’s a high stakes game. I’m proud to help keep the pressure on those that can make the biggest changes. The record-breaking G7 Paddle-Out Protest was a great example of this

@hugoSAS

people power – over a thousand activists joined us in the ocean off Falmouth in June to call for global governments to put ocean protection at the front and centre of climate action. The global pandemic has shown that governments can act at speed, innovate, collaborate and mobilise huge levels of finance to tackle an emergency. However, individually and collectively, we can’t just wait for governments to act. If we expect governments and business leaders to act and radically change the world around us, we must also hold ourselves up to the light. Are we playing our part? Are we doing enough? What more can we do? What can we do without? More and more people are taking environmental action and I’m encouraged to see the depth and diversity of the new communities rising up to protect Planet Ocean. We must all start somewhere but it’s important that we grow the actions we take, that we don’t offset a high impact lifestyle with just a few small acts. We must challenge ourselves with an expanding portfolio of radical everyday acts – what we eat, how we travel, what we consume, the NGOs we support; the actions we take to drive the changes we want to see. Action creates hope. We must all act to restore the natural equilibrium on Planet Ocean that we all depend on. HT

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

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BEHIND THE LENS

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BEHIND THE LENS

F R O M T H E M A N G R OV E S :

the life of lemons

Mangroves are a critical habitat for many species - a place where young can thrive before venturing into the open ocean as adults. But are these important ecosystems appreciated as they should be? Wo rd s a n d p h o t o g ra p h s b y J i l l i a n M o r r i s

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F E AT U R E

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F E AT U R E

ABOVE: A juvenile lemon shark cruises through mangrove roots. LEFT: A Southern stingray buried in the sand at the edge of a mangrove forest. PREVIOUS PAGE: Juvenile and sub-adult lemon sharks use the mangrove forest as a nursery and refuge.

ver the years the islands of Bimini in The Bahamas have become well known for their diverse and healthy population of sharks. Iconic species such as Caribbean reef sharks, bull sharks and great hammerheads, draw divers, photographers, film crews and scientists from around the world. Nutrientrich waters feeding in from the Gulf Stream support the healthy coral reef, seagrass and mangrove habitats surrounding the islands; which in turn allow the shark populations to thrive. Today I want to take you on a journey as I explore my favourite underwater environment - mangroves. This incredible forest of salt tolerant trees is one of the most beautiful and important ecosystems on the planet. As I slip my mask on and slide into the warm, waist deep water, I am greeted by dozens of curious mangrove and grey snapper. Caribbean lobsters peer out from under the roots, whipping their antennae back and forth having detected my presence. The current carries me deeper into the forest. My eyes scan the tangled roots for a glimpse of orange – a rare encounter with a seahorse. These incredibly delicate animals can be found at the edge of the mangrove forest during low tide when the lack of water forces them out of their protected maze. Like finding a needle in a haystack, I’ve only spotted a few in more than a decade on the island. Deeper channels weave their way through the forest, lined by seagrass meadows, which are separated from the mangrove edge with pathways of sand. Southern stingrays

bury themselves in the sand, with only their eyes and spiracles sticking out. Schools of silversides dance in rhythm under overhanging branches. Juvenile green sea turtles glide along, seeking refuge in the roots when needed. Schools of bonefish move from deeper pockets to the flats to avoid predation. Barracuda and larger sharks, including adult lemons and blacktips, patrol the perimeter looking for a potential meal. Removing my fins, I find a place to settle on the sandy seabed. Camera in hand, I nestle in amongst the prop roots and wait. In the distance, a familiar shape appears. As it moves closer I recognise the two dorsal fins and yellowish hue. It’s a sub-adult lemon shark. At this size, the shark will patrol the seagrass and sand along the edge of the forest, looking for food. Soon, four more sharks of similar size join. I remain submerged just beneath the surface and watch them interact with each other. Decades of research led by Dr Samuel “Doc” Gruber and the Bimini Biological Field Station has helped us better understand the social dynamics of this species. This work has revealed that juvenile lemon sharks have 'friends'. These social networks can help young sharks find food and avoid predators. I've spent hundreds of hours in this magical world, filming, photographing and observing these fascinating animals. Sharks are far too often depicted as mindless eating machines, but in reality they are intelligent and have personalities. Some are bold leaders, while others are 'shy' and prefer to follow.

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“In the spring, on the full moon high tides, pregnant female lemon sharks return to the mangroves of Bimini to give birth in the same area they were born. This natal philopatry or natal homing is similar to that found in Pacific salmon and sea turtles.”

Spending a significant amount of time with any animal allows you a glimpse into their otherwise secret life. Each time we return to a particular patch of mangrove, we watch for the regulars. We can tell individuals apart by a scar, notch on a fin, coloration or patterning. I remember one juvenile we called “Stretch.” He was long and skinny (hence the name) and my husband and I spent hours observing him. We watched as he followed other slightly larger sharks up and down the channel. We watched as he hunted, often unsuccessfully. We watched as he chewed on mangrove leaves and explored his realm. It was fascinating to watch him grow and slowly build up the courage to venture out into the deeper waters beyond the edge – and safety – of the mangroves. Stretch was getting old enough to graduate from this protected ecosystem and, as one season moved into another, we no longer saw him. I hope he survived the transition and is out there somewhere, cruising around the Atlantic Ocean. It is always a relief to see these individuals and know they’ve survived the gauntlet of challenges laid before them, both natural and manmade. Sharks are protected in the Bahamas following the establishment of a nationwide sanctuary in 2011. While it is illegal to target and catch sharks, fishing is not the only threat they face. Habitat destruction poses a major challenge for numerous species. The mangroves are a critical habitat for species above and below the surface – 90% of marine organisms, including juvenile reef fish, conch, lobster and lemon sharks spend at least part of their life here. In the spring, on the full moon high tides, pregnant female lemon sharks return to the mangroves of Bimini to give birth in the same area they were born. This natal philopatry or natal homing is similar to that found in Pacific salmon and sea turtles. The high tides allow the mothers to get closer to the protection of the mangrove roots, nearly beaching themselves, before dropping their pups. Lemon sharks, like other species of shark, are slow growing and reach sexual maturity between the ages of 11-13 years. They are viviparous, meaning pups develop inside the mother and receive nutrients via an umbilical

Juvenile lemon sharks are surprisingly social and have 'friends'.

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Above and below the surface, mangroves provide a critical habitat for numerous species.

F E AT U R E

cord. After a gestation period of 11-12 months, females give birth to an average litter of 7-17 pups. I have been lucky enough to witness a lemon shark give birth and it remains one of the most remarkable things I have seen. Watching the life of a shark begin is truly a miracle. They immediately start wriggling to break free of the umbilical cord and then head deeper into the mangroves to find food and shelter. This particular female gave birth to ten pups. Lemon sharks have been known to be cannibalistic and pregnant females will secrete a hormone that suppresses their appetite, so mothers leave the area before they begin to hunt again. Lemon sharks were recently reclassified on the IUCN Red List, moving from Near Threatened to Vulnerable with a decreasing population trend. For conservation to be successful, it is crucial to protect pupping grounds and nursery habitats. Despite being vital, mangrove forests face a great deal of pressure and are constantly in jeopardy. Coastal development has wiped out acres of mangroves throughout the Bahamas. Runoff, marine debris, storms and climate change are also threatening the survival of these delicate systems. Many lose sight of the importance of the mangroves and label them as stinky, murky, bug-filled swamps, so it is important for us to share the true beauty of these habitats with future generations in order to educate and support future champions of these vital ecosystems. On one visit, we were joined by a local high school student named Billy, who despite being from the Bahamas had never explored the mangroves. I remember the look of amazement on his face as we waded in chest deep water through a slender channel, completely canopied by branches, the only noise coming from birds overhead. During the boat ride we had discussed the threat of a development that would destroy this entire area. We kneeled in the sediment, becoming part of the environment in order to observe the juvenile lemon sharks who use this channel as a refuge from larger predators during the high tide. After more than an hour of watching the five sharks, we made our way back through the mangrove tunnel towards the boat. Billy turned back towards me and asked: “Why don’t we just bring the people who want to destroy the mangroves here so they can see how cool this place is?” I wish it were that easy. This is why connecting children to the natural world is so important. Much like the juveniles that grow and thrive in a balanced and thriving mangrove, we too need to provide our young with a nourishing and healthy environment that will allow them – and therefore us as a species – to thrive. This starts with exposing them to it, allowing places like the mangroves to reveal their wonder and importance. Education and experience are the parents of change. Like Billy said, I wish every person could put on a mask and spend a few hours exploring the magical world of the mangroves. The world might just be a better place for it.

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“ TRAN Palawan, Philippines

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