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I’m honored to announce the winners of Ocean Conservancy’s 2024 Photo Contest. This year we received hundreds of beautiful, inspiring and heartbreaking photo submissions. And I’m so grateful for every photographer who sent in their images and the record-breaking number of voters like you who helped pick our category winners.

This year, we decided to let the Ocean Conservancy team get in on the fun, too. While you and our expert panel of judges were voting for your favorites, so were our staff. Without further ado, I present your 2024 Ocean Conservancy Photo Contest winners!

Staff Choice Winner: Tentacle Tango by Kyla McLay

Learn more about Kyla McLay: Kyla’s Website | Kyla’s Instagram

An alien-like octopus dances above the sand, its graceful and intelligent movements mesmerizing.
An alien-like octopus dances above the sand, its graceful and intelligent movements mesmerizing.

The lighting and composition of this shot really create a sense of movement and elegance. The image really gives me a sense of charisma and character around the octopus, as if it is indeed gracefully dancing. And the smooth, gentle background helps keep the focus on the subject.


Nicholas DeNezzo

2024 Ocean Conservancy Photo Contest Judge


Human Impact Winner: Antisustrato by Mariano Rodriguez

Learn more about Mariano Rodriguez: Mariano’s YouTube Channel | Mariano’s Instagram

I took this image during an exploration dive of the macroalgae forests in the Beagle Channel, Patagonia Argentina. Under the marine ports for small boats, we often find this old waste that merges painfully with the underwater fauna, generating false substrates that over time and the waves degrade into small invisible parts that can be consumed by benthic fauna.
I took this image during an exploration dive of the macroalgae forests in the Beagle Channel, Patagonia Argentina. Under the marine ports for small boats, we often find this old waste that merges painfully with the underwater fauna, generating false substrates that over time and the waves degrade into small invisible parts that can be consumed by benthic fauna.

Direct human impact like shown in this photo is always thought provoking. Images like this one should remind us to do better.


Max Holba

2024 Ocean Conservancy Photo Contest Judge


Marine Wildlife Winner: “Nature’s Embrace” by Angela J. Farmer

Learn more about Angela J. Farmer: Angela’s Website | Angela’s Instagram

A New Zealand Fur Seal (Kekeno) basks in the protective cradle of a coastal tree, exuding both strength and serenity. The natural frame of gnarled, weathered wood and lush, emerald moss evokes the profound connection between marine wildlife and their verdant habitats. Sunlight filters through the dense canopy, casting dappled shadows that dance across the seal’s sleek, glistening fur.
A New Zealand Fur Seal (Kekeno) basks in the protective cradle of a coastal tree, exuding both strength and serenity. The natural frame of gnarled, weathered wood and lush, emerald moss evokes the profound connection between marine wildlife and their verdant habitats. The ancient wisdom of the Maori elders, who have long understood the delicate balance of nature, teaches us the profound significance of living in harmony with our environment. They remind us that the health of our ecosystems reflects the health of our own communities.

Beautiful light and composition. I like how the dark background contrasts sharply with the lighter, textured wood and the seal’s smooth fur, highlighting the subject.

Rachel Moore

Rachel Moore

2024 Ocean Conservancy Photo Contest Judge


Spectacular Seascapes Winner: The Cave by Pier Nirandara

Learn more about Pier Nirandara: Pier’s Website | Pier’s Instagram

A diver emerges from an endless shoal of sardines in a cave in Tonga. On that particular day, I had a cold and was having trouble equalizing. Unable to dive more than a few feet deep, it was enough to capture this shot of a brief moment in time, never to be replicated again.
A diver emerges from an endless shoal of sardines in a cave in Tonga. On that particular day, I had a cold and was having trouble equalizing. Unable to dive more than a few feet deep, it was enough to capture this shot of a brief moment in time, never to be replicated again.

This is such an amazing photo, framing this one moment in time that melds the Earth above with the sea below, the human diver coming up for air while the school of fish carries on below. The lighting and composition really bring it all together, and it tells me such a story of interconnectedness between our world above and their watery world below. Even the angling of the light, as it expands from a small point above, to a wider angle below, really highlights the vastness of the underwater world.


Nicholas DeNezzo

2024 Ocean Conservancy Photo Contest Judge


The Grand Prize – Judge’s Choice Winner: A Silent Wake Up Call by Joaquin Fregoni

Learn more about Joaquin Fregoni: Joaquin’s Website | Joaquin’s Instagram

A humpback whale near Moorea, French Polynesia. Its jaw was possibly broken in a collision with a ship, one of the many human-caused hazards facing marine life on our planet.
A humpback whale near Moorea, French Polynesia. Its jaw was possibly broken in a collision with a ship, one of the many human-caused hazards facing marine life on our planet.

What our expert panel of judge’s had to say:

This is a hard photo to look at… the message here is very clear.


Nicholas DeNezzo

2024 Ocean Conservancy Photo Contest Judge

Simply stunning. Thought provoking, sad but beautiful at the same time. Symbolic for the state of our ocean. The very dark blue almost black colour of the sea creates a depressing initial ambience, the light-coloured skin tone of the whale creates a feeling of hope. However, the whale’s injury reminds us that perhaps hope (for the ocean) is slowly fading away, time is running out. I believe shocking images like that are super important to raise awareness for Ocean Conservancy.


Max Holba

2024 Ocean Conservancy Photo Contest Judge

I think the subject is profoundly impactful. This image evokes a deep sense of empathy and sadness. The depiction of a whale with a broken jaw serves as a powerful symbol of the damage human activities can inflict on marine life. The whale’s gaunt frame and evident suffering tell a heart-wrenching story of pain and desolation. This visual narrative compels the viewer to reflect on the consequences of maritime encounters and the urgent need for ocean conservation. The composition is striking, with the whale’s emaciated frame and fractured jaw as focal points. The contrast between the whale and the dark blue water highlights its frail state, adding depth and emotional weight to the image.


Rachel Moore

2024 Ocean Conservancy Photo Contest Judge

How You Can Help

Here at Ocean Conservancy, we know that all animals deserve a healthy and clean ocean for their homes. Check out our Action Center to see how you can help protect our ocean so marine wildlife can thrive.

The post Announcing Ocean Conservancy’s 2024 Photo Contest Winners appeared first on Ocean Conservancy.

Announcing Ocean Conservancy’s 2024 Photo Contest Winners

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Ocean Acidification

Between Cádiz and the Sea: Our GAME Adventure in Spain

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Welcome to Cádiz

When we arrived in Cádiz in April, we knew that we would be spending the next months working on an experiment about underwater soundscapes. What we did not yet know was how much of our time would be spent carrying equipment through the city, rebuilding experimental frames, solving technical problems and trying to convince various pieces of equipment not to end up at the bottom of the Atlantic.

Cádiz itself was a pretty good and beautiful place to start.

The city is located at the very tip of a narrow peninsula and is surrounded by the Atlantic on almost all sides. There are beaches almost everywhere, small streets leading through the old town, the harbour with its many boats and plenty of places where you can simply sit down and watch the sea. It did not take us long to understand why Cádiz is sometimes called La Tacita de Plata, the Silver Cup.

Our first evening was still fairly relaxed. After arriving and settling in, we went out together for a drink and explored a little bit of the city. It was a good introduction to our new home. The next morning, however, the relaxed part was over and GAME 2026 officially began for us.

A few impressions of Cádiz, from its historic cityscape to its beaches and coastline. Left: Sunset over La Caleta beach. Upper right: Cádiz Cathedral (Catedral de Santa Cruz sobre el Mar). Lower right: Monument to Gades at Paseo Almirante Pascual Pery Junquera. © Liam Stübbecke.

Our project focuses on how underwater soundscapes may influence the colonization of hard surfaces by marine sessile organisms. To investigate this, we used standardized PVC settlement panels mounted on experimental frames and exposed them to different underwater soundscapes.

Over the course of the experiment, we monitored which organisms settle on the panels and checked whether the developing communities differ between the different acoustic conditions. The panels themselves were only 15 x 15 cm in size, but the frames, which were holding them while they were underwater, were much larger and required quite a bit of construction and preparation.

So, before we could investigate anything, however, we had to build everything.

Building the experiment

The first weeks in Cádiz were all about getting the experiment ready. Before the panels could go into the water, we had to prepare the equipment, rebuild the experimental frames and organize everything needed for the different parts of the experiment. Our setup consisted of large rectangular frames made from PVC pipes that carried the 15 x 15 cm settlement panels while they were in the water. In addition to this, we had speakers for the sound playbacks and ropes, buoys and weights that kept everything in position.

Although, there were frames left from a previous GAME project that was done in Cádiz, we decided to build new ones, which meant sourcing new material, cutting and assembling PVC pipes, preparing the panels and putting the different parts of the setup together. Some materials were bought locally, while others had to be ordered. This also resulted in one of our first small fieldwork adventures: transporting several metres of PVC pipes in a public transport bus through Cádiz was not exactly an everyday activity. We did not have a car at the time, and the large hardware store, where we bought some of the material, was quite far away, so getting everything back to Cádiz meant taking several buses while carrying long PVC pipes through crowded streets and vehicles. We bumped into things more than once, attracted a fair amount of attention and quickly realized that carrying several metres of PVC through a busy city is not as easy as it sounds. At one point, the combination of researchers, long PVC pipes and a local hardware store became what we jokingly refer to as the “Bus Hardware Store” episode.

Building the frames also taught us quite quickly that fieldwork rarely goes exactly according to plan. Some parts required a bit of improvisation and technical problem-solving, and when we reached a particularly stubborn technical issue, we even called Liam’s father in Germany for some additional advice. Although he was not directly involved in the project, his background in mechanical engineering and his experience with practical technical problems made him a useful person to call when we needed another perspective. A video call across Europe was not exactly part of the original plan, but it turned out to be a useful addition to our fieldwork toolkit.

Building and preparing the experimental setup, from assembling the frames to preparing the technical equipment. © Liam Stübbecke and Ignacio Gestoso.

At the same time as we worked on the set up, we were preparing the recordings of natural underwater soundscapes that would later be used for the experiment. For this, we built a deployment system consisting of a concrete-filled bucket, a wooden pole and a HydroMoth attached to the pole. The idea was simple: the heavy bucket keeps the structure stable on the seafloor, while the hydrophone records the surrounding natural soundscape above it. The practical part was considerably less simple. Several heavy loads of concrete had to be transported through Cádiz, and once the equipment reached the beach, getting the concrete-filled bucket into position was another workout altogether. We used a two-wheeled hand truck to move the heavy bucket across the beach and then into the shallow water. From there, we worked our way out by snorkeling and swimming, carrying and guiding the setup into position. The water was no more than about two metres deep, so there was no need for a boat.

Preparing and deploying the equipment for recording natural underwater soundscapes, including the construction of the recording setup and transporting the heavy equipment to the water. © Liam Stübbecke and Carlos de Luis Suarez.

The setup may have looked a little unconventional, but it was based on the plans we deleoped for recording natural soundscapes during the preparative course in March. After plenty of cutting, drilling, tying, carrying and assembling, the first major pieces of the project were finally ready. The frames were taking shape, the equipment was coming together and our first soundscape recordings were underway.

With the construction phase coming to an end, there was only one major question left: where exactly will we put everything?

When the plan changed

Finding a suitable experimental site turned out to be one of the more complicated parts of the project.

Our original plans involved a site in a nearby marina, but the situation changed when we were informed that construction work was planned close to the site. The associated noise would have interfered with the acoustic conditions required for our experiment, making the location unsuitable for our setup. We therefore had to move the experiment to a different location at relatively short notice. This meant adapting the setup and transporting the frames again. In the end, we found our new home at Puerto América, at the north-eastern tip of the city.

The change was a good example of how fieldwork can sometimes require a little flexibility. You can spend weeks discussing the experimental design, the set up and the site selection, but once you actually arrive at the water, there are always things that you could not have predicted from a map.

The new location gave us enough space for the experimental setup and allowed us to continue with the project. Hence, the frames were finally transported to Puerto América, weighted and installed.

Getting the frames into the water was actually much easier than building them in the first place. Once we had transported the frames to the harbour, we were able to get them into position and secure them relatively smoothly. The real challenge had been the preparation on beforehand: assembling the large PVC structures, attaching all the necessary components and making sure that everything was ready for deployment.

Deploying the experimental frame at Puerto América. The frame is transported into position, lowered into the water and secured at the jetty before the experiment begins. © Liam Stübbecke and Carlos de Luis Suarez.

After weeks of preparation, the frames were finally in the water. The structures that we had spent so much time building on land were now ready to become the basis of our experiment.

From this point on, the focus shifted from building the experiment to monitoring what was happening around it.

Hydrophones, boats and one very expensive swim

Once the experiment was running, the HydroMoths became an important part of our regular monitoring. These small underwater recorders allowed us to record the acoustic conditions around our experimental frames and to measure the sound levels reaching the area of the experiment. This helped us to keep track of the underwater soundscape throughout the experimental period and to verify in hindcast what acoustic conditions the organisms on the settlement panels were actually exposed to.

Of course, regular monitorings also meant regularly getting the equipment in and out of the water. And this was when one of our more memorable fieldwork incidents happened. One day, Liam was alone at the harbour and had a fairly straightforward task: retrieve a HydroMoth, download the data and put it back into the water. Everything went well until the moment when the HydroMoth decided to make the last part of the procedure considerably easier for itself.

It slipped out of his hands and disappeared into the water.

We tried to retrieve it by diving down, but the visibility was extremely poor. Finding a relatively small piece of equipment underwater turned out to be much harder than expected, and despite our efforts, we could not recover it. It was certainly not part of the original plan, but fortunately, the experiment could continue. The lost HydroMoth has since become one of those fieldwork stories that is much easier to laugh about afterwards.

Hydrophone measurements at the experimental setup. Upper: Acoustic isolation measurements with the HydroMoth positioned at the frame. Lower: Hydrophone monitoring of the experimental frame underwater. Shortly before one of these HydroMoths took an unexpected swim into the depths of the harbour, it was still doing exactly what it was supposed to do. © Liam Stübbecke and Carlos de Luis Suarez.

The regular monitorings also revealed how quickly conditions around the experimental site can change. One day, for example, we arrived at the harbour and found a boat parked remarkably close to our experimental setup, almost directly next to our buoys. Luckily, nothing was damaged and the boat did not cause any problems for the frames, but it was certainly an unexpected sight when we arrived.

An unexpected visitor at the experimental site. A boat ended up unusually close to our experimental frame, leaving Carlos to inspect the situation with some understandable confusion. Apparently, our frame was not the only thing claiming this spot in the harbour. © Liam Stübbecke.

Working in a harbour means that we are sharing the space with many other users, and sometimes the surroundings have a few surprises in store for us. Fortunately, most of them have been harmless so far.

From PVC panels to marine communities

The most interesting changes, however, did not happen above the water.

They happened on the settlement panels.

At the beginning of the experiment, the panels were simply pieces of PVC. We sanded their surfaces and standardized them so that they would provide suitable settlement substrates for marine sessile organisms. After deployment, there was not much to see.

Then the first organisms started to arrive.

During the first sampling events, we began to see the panels changing. Small organisms had settled on the surfaces, and the communities became increasingly diverse. Ascidians and bryozoans were among those colonizers that became particularly noticeable, together with worms, crustaceans and algae.

Suddenly, the panels that we had spent weeks preparing were becoming real pieces of habitat.

A settlement panel after several weeks in the water, harbouring a developing marine hard-bottom community. The panel is already covered by a diverse assemblage of organisms, including ascidians, bryozoans, algae and numerous small polychaetes such as spirorbid tubeworms (Spirorbis). © Liam Stübbecke.

That was probably one of the most rewarding moments of the project. You knew exactly what a panel looked like before it went into the water. Then you retrieve it a few weeks later and had to figure out what has colonized it.

Some organisms were relatively easy to recognize. Others required a microscope, identification guides and considerably more patience.

Our supervisor was a huge help with this part of the project, especially when it came to identifying organisms that were less obvious at first glance. What initially looked like a small patch of something growing on a panel, could turn out to be an entirely different taxonomic group once you took a closer look.

And sometimes the organisms were simply fascinating to look at.

Despite the fauna and flora on the panels, we encountered small crustaceans, fish and other animals using the experimental structures as a habitat. One particularly photogenic shrimp even ended up on Liam’s hand during sampling.

Sampling in the field at our experimental site. Upper: Settlement panels were kept in water-filled containers during sampling and documentation. Lower: Our temporary field laboratory, with the microscope, laptops and equipment set up directly at the harbour. © Liam Stübbecke.

The panels were therefore becoming more than just experimental units. They were small snapshots of the underwater world and the marine biodiversity around Cádiz.

The scientific question remained whether the different acoustic conditions influence the development of the communities. But before we could answer that, we had to document what was actually there.

And that meant sampling.

Sampling in the field

Our first sampling event made another aspect of fieldwork very clear: sometimes there is no perfect laboratory waiting for you at the harbour.

Since our experimental site was relatively far from the university facilities, we transported the equipment we needed directly to the field site by car. This included the microscope and the other equipment needed to examine, photograph and document the settlement panels.

There was no perfect laboratory waiting for us at the harbour. So, we built one.

We set up a small temporary workspace close to the experimental site and arranged everything we needed for the sampling. With the microscope, cameras, laptops, sampling equipment and the panels themselves, we quickly had our own little field laboratory ready to go.

Once everything was set up, the panels came out of the water. One by one, they were photographed, examined and assessed for the organisms that had settled on their surfaces. Some could be identified relatively easily, while others required a closer look under the microscope and a little more time.

The same basic procedure was repeated during the following sampling event, allowing us to compare how the panels had changed over time and which organisms had newly appeared or become more abundant.

Working directly at the field site also had its advantages. Instead of transporting the panels back and forth, we could examine and document them close to where the experiment was running and get an immediate impression of how the communities were developing.

Of course, the conditions were not always perfectly calm. Strong winds can make working at the harbour considerably more challenging, and this is where we really began to appreciate the Levante, the strong easterly wind that regularly affects the Cádiz area. By “appreciate”, we mean learning very quickly how much more complicated even a routine sampling day can become when the wind picks up. Even simple tasks require more coordination, especially when working with equipment and panels close to the water.

Nevertheless, the sampling days became one of the most interesting parts of the experiment so far. Every time we brought a panel out of the water, there was something new to discover.

The youngest member of the GAME team

There was also one very important member of the team who deserves a special mention.

During one of our most recent monitoring days, we had some unexpected assistance from a four-year-old.

While we were reading out the equipme