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Cetacean Sanctuaries, Pandemic Poaching, and Future Food
 
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Lest we give Jeff Bezos anymore print or airtime, his brief foray into space coincided with the time I was working with writer Sharmila Vaidyanathan to get her story about a salt-tolerant species of Indian rice ready for publication. Like many, I thought, Wow, what a waste. What a waste of resources and money and scientific energy his 10-minute trip to the edge of space took. Sure, he can do what he wants with his billions, but what irked me most was the implication that our planet was done for and his declaration that we’re going to have to leave it to “make it better.” How about if we just stay and make it better? This week’s stories have a few examples he might take inspiration from—a group searching for suitable sanctuaries for whales “retired” from aquariums, and Vaidyanathan’s story on efforts to revive traditional farming practices for a salt-tolerant species of rice, perfect for thriving along coastal zones inundated by a rising sea. No one person can “save” all that ails our planet in one fell swoop—or by just decamping to space—but choosing something to work on, as these individuals and organizations have, is something.

Adrienne Mason
Managing editor
 
 
 
This Week’s Stories
 
 
The Hard Sell of Whale Sanctuaries
 
As aquariums end captive-whale programs, advocates seek to build ocean-based retirement homes for the animals—but finding the right host community is a feat.
 
by Matthew Halliday • 4,300 words / 22 mins
 
 
 
The Pandemic Poaching Pandemic
 
In Costa Rica, Panama, and elsewhere, COVID-19 lockdowns caused suddenly desperate people to begin poaching sea turtle eggs and meat, threatening hard-won conservation achievements.
 
by Alexander Villegas • 1,400 words / 7 mins
 
 
 
How Might Fish Farms Be Affecting Lobsters?
 
Let us count the ways.
 
by Brian Owens • 650 words / 3 mins
 
 
 
Food for a Future Planet
 
India’s rice farmers look to an ancient crop to prepare for a flood-prone tomorrow.
 
by Sharmila Vaidyanathan • 1,400 words / 7 mins
 
 
 
Noise Pollution Affects Practically Everything, Even Seagrass
 
Seagrass may not have ears, but that doesn’t stop noise pollution from causing serious damage to the plant’s other structures.
 
by Ashley Braun • 600 words / 3 mins
 
 
 
 
What We’re Reading
 
A massive coastal cleanup in British Columbia is expected to remove 400 tonnes of plastic and other debris from the province’s coastline, with much of it being recycled or repurposed. (CBC)

Things are not going well for Florida’s manatees. (NPR)

Oysters are literally weighing things down at the canoeing and rowing venue at the Tokyo Olympics. (BBC)
 
A little-known hazard of being an ornithologist: volcanic eruptions. (The Atlantic)
 
Channel your inner Miss Frizzle and take a trip through a shark’s intestines. (New York Times)
 
Not specifically coastal, but still wet, Gastropod has a two-part podcast on water: Bottle Versus Tap. (Gastropod)
 
And since you’re probably here because you care about the world’s coastlines and oceans, here’s a bit of beauty: an encounter with a glass octopus. (Schmidt Ocean Institute)
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
If you’re a barefooted beachcomber, your first clue that waterline isopods are present will likely be a surprising series of small but sharp pinpricks to your feet or ankles. Waterline isopods are minuscule crustaceans that roam the calm shallows and small waves that spread out across sandy shores. They search for dead, dying, or living flesh to scavenge—wading human feet included. After a nibble, the sand-colored, zippy little swimmers rapidly burrow back into the sand or swim out with the receding waves, and you’re left wondering what in the world just bit you. A less painful way to find them is to look for what seem like clumps of sand moving over any unfortunate animals washed ashore, such as this salp (a planktonic tunicate, above at left)—but watch your toes as the waves return!

Photos by Kelly Fretwell
 
 
 
Behind the Story
 
 
Matthew Halliday, author of The Hard Sell of Whale Sanctuaries,” explains how a missed opportunity during the pandemic led to an even richer story.

Early last year, I was planning one of those journeys that make the precarity of the writer’s life worth it: a trip to a remote Icelandic island, where I was to go behind the scenes to witness the opening of the world’s first open-water sanctuary for whales retired from show-biz captivity.

It would be the culmination of years of effort for the project’s proponents, and it came with an irresistible narrative hook: the magnificent bay where the belugas would live was the same one that Keiko, Free Willy’s famous killer whale, had stayed in nearly 20 years ago, during an attempt to reintroduce him to the wild. 

Then came COVID-19, and the trip was kiboshed. The sanctuary opened, but I wasn’t there. Fortunately, it turned out that I didn’t need to go to Iceland at all.

Just up the coast from my home in Halifax, Nova Scotia, in a small community called Port Hilford, another cetacean sanctuary—one of a growing number cropping up globally in recent years—had been announced. The Whale Sanctuary Project was spearheaded by a who’s who of the world’s marine-mammal cognoscenti, and was animated by a deep sense of ethical urgency.

But sanctuaries, as I learned, are no simple solution. They’re ambitious, expensive, and technically challenging. They’re dogged by doubters. And if they’re to make a difference for more than a handful of the thousands of animals in captivity today, the concept will need to scale dramatically. That means every proposal will need to confront the same daunting challenge: convincing human coastal dwellers that they can live happily alongside cetacean neighbors. 

On Nova Scotia’s eastern shore, the Whale Sanctuary Project encountered both excitement and resentment, open arms and threats of violent reprisal. I never got to Iceland, but in my own backyard I found what may be an even richer story about the complexity of coastal politics, the mysteries of cetacean intelligence, and the tension between big ambitions and practical reality. 
 
 
 
 
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