Dawn of the jellyfish

In the Sea of Japan right now there are estimated to be over 20 billion Nomura's Jellyfish. Weighing up to 400 lbs each, swarms can fill the sea for hundreds of miles and the the Japanese fishing industry is in financial crisis as it's fishermen dredge up tonne after tonne of these gelatinous creatures instead of the food fish they seek. The phrase 'reaping what we have sown' is very apt here. As the jellyfish are slashed and torn by the fishermen before being thrown back into the depths, its last act before dying is to release millions of fertilised eggs.

The Sea of Japan has been remorselessly plundered for 50 years. Predators and prey fish alike have been stripped from the depths and laid out in Tsukiji fish market in ever-increasingly unsustainable numbers. The fertilised eggs of the Nomura's become polyps and produce new-born jellyfish which are now free to grow and grow and grow until they can fill the void to become the primary predators in their habitat. A single adult Nomura's can filter a volume of water the size of an olympic swimming pool in a day, depriving fish of the zooplankton they need to survive in numbers.

The result is fewer of the traditional fish in the Tokyo markets, the end of an industry which has been the architect of it's own demise and oceans full of jellyfish for the rest of us. Be in no doubt, if affects us all. The alarming news for the western world is that this problem is not just a Japanese one. There are about 300 known species of jellyfish, and they are ALL thriving, positively blooming in all the oceans of the world. For them, a slight change in sea temperature means boom-time. Any change in temperature, salinity or levels of nutrients and pollution means it's time to get busy and with their normal predators out of the picture they've got the place to themselves.

If you enjoy any sort of marine based activity or even just a dip in the sea on your holidays then make the most of it while you can. The rise of the jellyfish could be unstoppable and they're reclaiming the habitat they were once kings of in the past.

On the rocks

Tightly clad in a wetsuit that fitted me last year I raced down to the beach along with my team-mates. This was going to be the 'surfing' section of a 2 day adventure race across the rolling hills of Devon. Actual surfboarding, of course, is an acquired skill so this stage meant simply lying on a board and paddling 100 metres out to a checkpoint and back again. Seems simple enough doesn't it? I dumped my rucksack, picked a nice blue board and made for the surf, cleverly positioning myself further up the beach to allow for the current running left to right. How hard can it be, I thought. This shouldn't take too long.

In knee-high surf I confidently leapt on, settled myself centrally and began to paddle, but not quickly enough to stop the first wave I met dumping me off the board and carrying me straight back onto the beach. A rather self-conscious moment, to say the least as I arrived back at the feet of the marshal who'd wished me luck a minute earlier. I'm sure he wasn't smiling sympathetically but I wasn't going to make eye contact.

Looking around, it seemed that a chest-high surf launch was the norm which was logical but equally problematical in the choppy conditions. I estimated a window of about three or four seconds between waves to pull myself up, get balanced and begin paddling like fury to try and straighten up into the next breaker. My technique, however, took 5 seconds. Several seconds later my board arrived back on the beach once more towing me behind it. The marshal's restraint in offering helpful advice was a gesture I'll always appreciate!

Third time lucky and I'm on the board, paddling and over the first wave. I'm away! In a couple of minutes I'm past the breakers and cresting the swells. Five minutes later I'm exhausted. The brief was to use my arms as though I was swimming, but this is nothing like swimming. It's surprisingly difficult to lift an arm clear of the water to reach forward without immediately unbalancing myself. The effort involved in wrenching my shoulders upwards and forwards while lying dead flat is immense, particularly while simultaneously keeping my head up to see where I'm going and maintaining a vice-like grip on the board with my feet. I'm constantly slipping sideways and having to re-set myself and making very slow progress. Looking back I see I'm only about 50 metres from shore and the buoy is a further 50 away.

At about 70 metres out, I'm completely drained of energy and the litre of sea water I've swallowed hasn't helped. I'm struggling and common sense finally prevails. This might not be the most sensible thing I've attempted. I slowly manage to turn around and try to find the strength to head back for solid land abandoning the points on offer despite my team-mates having made it. About now I really begin to appreciate the strength of the longshore current. What really brings it home is the wave-lashed jagged rocks to my right that appear to be the beaching point on my diagonal course. A butterfly-type stroke helps keep me balanced but this is even more exhausting and I'm beginning to worry about those rocks. I wonder whether getting in the water and swimming normally would be the solution but I don't know whether the board would drag me sideways.

Looking up I see a marshal running down the beach frantically waving at me in a sort of universally recognisable semaphore to move left and paddle very, very quickly. Ah yes, why didn't I think of that? I'm now squarely on route for a dashing on the rocks and will almost certainly need a new wetsuit afterwards.

My best option seems to be reverse paddling in the desperate hope of avoiding the rocks and drifting along to the next cove. Just as I do so, however, my board turns around under me and makes for safe harbour. "G'day mate, having a problem" comes a distinctively Australian voice from behind me. Somehow he manages to defy the laws of physics by pushing me forwards without pushing himself backwards. In the end it only takes a few metres to escape the current and I'm able to paddle slowly ashore just short of the rocks.

I pick up the missed points using a kayak. Safe and stable with great big paddles.

A crap way to protest

'Environmental campaigners' dumping manure on Jeremy Clarkson's lawn is an immature and pointless act of vandalism that neutralises the point they are trying to make. Yes, the world is getting gradually warmer and yes, it's entirely feasible that human activity is adding (or perhaps causing) the problem by our casual attitude to the build-up of CO2 but childish stunts like this add nothing to the debate and merely entrench the 'Daily Mail' image of hippy green protesters. Personally, I thought the '4x4 to the North Pole' episode was fantastic, ground-breaking television and a unique adventure which I'd have given my right arm to take part in. It's all part of the joy of being ALIVE! However, we have to be aware of the impact of our actions and take reasonable steps to minimise it. Global warming and cooling has, of course, occurred many, many times during the earth's history. Nevertheless we are, uniquely, the first creatures able to measure it, anticipate it and perhaps affect it positively or negatively.

There's nothing hypocritical about enjoying driving and flying and yet still want to find solutions to the problems caused by warming, whether it's man-made or not. We don't have to be extremist tree-hugging, manure chuckers to be aware of what's happening. We just have to see things for what they are and take responsibility for our actions. We don't have to ban cars, ban aeroplanes, ban wood fires, ban having any fun at all. But if we want to enjoy Jeremy Clarkson's tribe ploughing a furrow to the North Pole we also have to maturely and reasonably contribute to a debate about whether the North Pole ice cap will still be there in 25 years. Simple awareness of the possible problems and their cause and effect is required.

That's a start, and it doesn't take any great change in lifestyle.

Sinar Mas

Watched a programme on the palm oil industry last night. Can't really believe how short-sighted some corporations are. A smiling executive from Sinar Mas calmly explained how the rainforests in Indonesia are 'unproductive' and they were cleverly and systematically cultivating them with palm oil plantations instead. It wasn't the job of Sinar Mas, he stated, to worry about CO2 emissions causing global warming, they were providing a valuable resource for the people of Indonesia. Millions of hectares of prime rainforest are being slashed and burnt every year.

Cut to the indigenous people in these areas who are now forced to trek miles to beg permission from nearby farmers to dig for roots. These same local people are supposed to own the forests, but are powerless to stop the loggers coming in and raping their land. Unsurprisingly the police are paid better by Sinar Mas than they are by the state and little serious action is taken to protect their rights. Apparently all Sinar Mas have to do to receive permission for new plantations is prove that an area of rainforest is not productive (which in this case means not cultivated). The production of oxygen, fixing of CO2, provision of natural habitats for wildlife and protection of biodiversity are seemingly not covered under this description.

And palm oil? Alarmingly common in many of the products we put in our shopping baskets every week, it's often listed as vegetable oil. It's cheap and versatile and yet costs the earth!

http://www.greenpeace.org/usa/news/sinar-mas-forest-and-climat

Flipping fun in Farne

There was an episode once of Vicar of Dibley where Dawn French tried to perform a ballet routine with Darcy Bussell only to realise how hopeless her best efforts were. It comes to mind whilst reflecting on a great weekend of diving in the Farne Islands brought to us again by London School of Diving in Chiswick. Diving with the Grey Seals of Farne brought home to me my aquatic limitations whilst being captivated by the poise, elegance and power of these majestic mammals who are engagingly interactive underwater.

Trying to swim with them or copy their effortless style just invites derision and leads to dizzying exhaustion. Instead, a better method is to simply sit yourself down on a comfy rock at about 10-15 metres and wave your fins about a little. In quick time you'll immediately become a play-thing for the amusement of these curious locals who'll dart back and forth like excited puppies, sniffing, nibbling and generally checking you out. Eventually, some of the more confident individuals may permit you to show them your best moves . . . the sound you'll hear is of seals laughing.

The Farne Islands are on the Northumberland coast, just south of the Holy Isle of Lindisfarne. Up here these silky little divers are the star attraction (unless you're into Puffins!). Four thousand of them populate this rugged cluster of 15 islands (28 at low tide) and large numbers can be found sunning themselves on the rocks whilst awaiting the next delivery of nutty neoprene playmates.

We stayed at the spacious Bamburgh Castle Inn which takes pride of place in the little port of Seahouses, a town and harbour built for the sole purpose of capturing thousands of tonnes of Herring in a once bountiful era, but now re-purposed to successfully cater for the divers and tourists looking to explore the wildlife of the sea-swept rocky pinnacles just offshore. The nature of these rocks, tides and currents have accounted for hundreds of wrecks over the years.

For the diver these craggy isles offer stunning sheer cliff-faces descending vertically below the waterline for 20 or 30 metres to the boulder beds. Bright white and yellow corals, mostly Dead Man's Fingers, are flourishing here and illuminate the ravines and mazes. Lobster, octopus and crab take cover in the high kelp jungles, although sadly the kelps appear to be suffering from a surprisingly numerous sea urchin population. We managed four dives over the weekend and our furry companions accompanied us on each one. The visibility was superb throughout.

The most striking feature of the Grey Seal has to be their mesmerizing deep black eyes which give them a slightly sad looking demeanor and constant look of nervous curiosity. Finning around the boulders we'd often happen upon a less playful seal having a quiet ten minutes in a makeshift nest of beaten down kelp fronds. An almost imperceptible shimmy and flick of the tail would see it speed away into the distance, leaving us eating plankton.

Between dives we ate fish & chips, monopolized the penny push machines at the amusement arcades, played on the kiddie rides and finished off with ice cream and candy floss. Sadly, no deck chairs to complete the picture but the magnificent beaches in this part of the world match anything you'd see on the French riviera. Golden smooth sands in sheltered bays from where we launched and landed our screamingly fast RIB, the Farne Discovery skippered by Capt. Paul and his able first-mate Ben. The short trip out to the islands each day was an enjoyably white-knuckle, windswept, roller-coaster ride which quickly taught us the value of full encapsulation in dry suit and mask before leaving the beach.

Flippin' great weekend.

Aquacultural awareness

For me, there's something more than a little worrying about the current growth in Aquaculture, i.e. the intensive rearing of aquatic animals in closed pens for human consumption. Didn't some bright spark in the fifties have the same idea regarding egg production? The overwhelming majority of articles I see in the media seem to report aquaculture as a good thing, the way forward, the solution to the collapsing wild fisheries. Packs of Haddock and Prawns in my supermarket proudly proclaim their 'sustainably farmed' origins while 'wild' caught fish, responsibly caught, seem to be increasingly rare.

So . . . is it okay now to continue to deplete our resources of large wild fish in the knowledge that we can farm them instead?

Beware. With industrial techniques come industrial processes. Some very potent drugs and chemicals are used to keep the thousands of fish crammed in the pens alive, free from disease and the cages clean. These chemicals promote unnatural growth, stimulate reproduction cycles, deter sea-lice and even colour the flesh of the rapidly grown fish to a more natural hue. Inevitably the drugs, pesticides, bleaches and concentrated fish waste escape into the surrounding marine environment through the netted walls and floors of the pens causing enormous harm to the natural ecosystems in the local area. The mature fish from these farms look entirely normal.

At the end of this 'responsible' process we eat the fish!

Some farms are undoubtedly more environmentally conscientious than others, but without more stringent environmental controls in place how can we have confidence in what we're eating. It may well be, perhaps, that large scale aquaculture will prove to be beneficial and ultimately reduce pressure on wild stocks but surely we cannot allow the industry to develop unchecked and too late discover the cost.

The very air

It's not only the much-maligned seafood lovers of Japan and East Asia that drive the increasingly desperate fishing industries to chase down their prey in newer, more imaginative ways. Consumers from the western world too must, of course, bear a significant responsibility for the demise of once abundant species from Atlantic, Icelandic and Baltic fishing grounds. There is, after all, only one ocean and we are eating our way through it - literally - from top to bottom, and it's killing us . . . un-noticeably slowly, but certainly surely.

Cod, Monkfish, Halibut and Plaice, to name but a few of the most serious cases, have been trawled from the seas around our island in unsustainable numbers for too many years with too little complaint, perhaps to the point of no return. Instead, much of the fish you'll find in your local chippy or supermarket is now taken from Icelandic or Baltic waters, so-called sustainably managed fisheries. But for how long and who's doing the managing? Where will we find our favourite fillet when we've exhausted these new supplies? Larger boats, with inevitable short-sightedness, will trawl smaller waters for lesser fish of fewer species. Will our governments continue to subsidise their livelihoods when we're paying £15 for a portion of cod and chips? We're taxing our own demise.

Many supermarkets offer trendier options such as Swordfish, Snapper and Marlin, vitally important predator species that are facing imminent virtual extinction in large areas of the world. Yet, there they lay, sliced up on beds of clean white ice behind the glass counter next to the expanding selections of squid and jellyfish (get used to it!). If prime cuts of Panda belly were laid out waiting for the frying pan, shoppers would be sidestepping placarded protesters chaining themselves to the doors and leafleting every windscreen wiper.

The vital piece of information that many of us are ignoring is that the imminent removal of each species is about more than just not having them served up in a nice beer batter with some chunky chips . . . it's about the very air we breathe. The removal of predator fish and near extinction of primary food fish ultimately and irretrievably leads to acidifying oceans and global warming.

If you give even the smallest of damns about your planet or just your fish, ask where it came from. While there's a market, unsustainable and unregulated industrial fishing methods will continue, somewhere, somehow. Check the label. Take an interest. Ask where the fish were caught, and just as importantly HOW they were caught. It matters! It's a simple measure that everybody can take at no cost and will have a positive impact on our ecosystem.

Labels such as 'line caught' may conjure up images of woolly-sweatered boat anglers with a rod and a bucket of worms but in truth usually means 'long-lining', an incredibly indiscriminate method of fishing which takes thousands of tonnes of illegal bycatch. Sustainable means 'pole-caught', 'seine-netted' or 'midwater trawled'. UN-sustainable means 'line caught', 'dredged' or, perhaps worst of all, 'bottom trawled' a remarkably efficient method of mass destruction, turning sea beds into muddy bottomed wastelands, violently devastating every iota of life in the path of the trawl beam.

Jelly fish continue to thrive.