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Leonie (left) and Najwa (right) in front of the CEMACS jetty (© Izzat).

Selamat Datang and welcome to the hot and sweaty country of Malaysia! Ever since we, Leonie and Najwa, have arrived in Penang, the northwestern island of Malaysia, in April this year, it has been a constant 30 degrees with an average humidity of 70%. However, it feels both hotter and more humid than that. Unfortunately, the weather will not change much during our stay as Malaysia lies very close to the equator (at latitude 5°N). Thus, it has no seasons, but a nearly constant temperature and day/night rhythm of 12 hours.

Beginning to adapt

The sun is just peaking above the sea when I (Leonie) have to leave my house. The bus leaves (more or less) always at the perfect time to watch the sun slowly rise over the ocean. I use the 30 min bus ride, which costs me about 2 Ringitt (or ~20 cent), to wake up and prepare for the day ahead at the Centre for Marine and Coastal Studies (CEMACS). During the bus ride beaches, restaurants, cafés and small towns pass by in the window. Especially, one secluded beach and its beach house, which is for sale, make the bus ride go by fast – thanks to daydreaming about living there. When I arrives at 8 am at the entrance to the National park, in which the institute is located, Najwa is already waiting for me. She only needs a 5 minute car ride to get there from home, since she found an apartment close by. Now we just have to wait for the boat to take us to the institute within the national park. Technically, a 40 min hike through the park would also do the trick, but both of us are not ready for such a sporty activity at 8 in the morning and a daily boat ride is so much more fun anyways.

CEMACS lies in the heart of the Taman Negara Pulau Pinang, the national park of the island of Penang in northwestern Malaysia. Because of that, it’s quite a way to the big city of Georgetown and thus sources of noise, disturbances and pollution are far away. This is especially important for this year’s GAME project as we aim to find out whether underwater soundscapes influence the formation of hard-bottom communities.

Leonie taking a nap on the beach during lunch break (left, © Najwa).
The sunset by the institute (right, © Leonie).

We are trying to find answers to this question in the warm and salty ocean right in front of the gates of CEMACS. For that we deploy large metal frames that carry settlement panels into the sea. Two of those frames will additionally be equipped with an underwater speaker with which we can playback – in principle – any kind of sound we like (trust me, it was tested and it was a good day). To distinguish between the experiments that the two of us will conduct, we will use different soundscapes. One will focus on anthropogenic noise, i.e. the sound that is emitted by either a fishing or a container vessel. The noise will be played back at random times during the day, but will accumulate to a total of 30 minutes every hour. The other team member will focus on a natural soundscape that will be recorded at a healthy underwater location close by. The settlement panels will be retrieved regularly in order to find out how and if the playbacks are affecting the composition of the establishing hard-bottom communities.

The set-up of our ambient frame without (left) and with the dummy speaker (right, ©Leonie).

Sounds easy enough, yea? Technically it is, but the nature can be treacherous around here. Jellyfish, like the Ribbon Jellyfish (Chrysaora chinensis), are daily visitors and as pretty as they are, as much does it hurt to get stung by them. After some painful incidents, we now wear full body coverage whenever we are in the water to minimize the skin contact. One person, who stands on land, is always watching the water surface to give a warning in case one of us comes too close to one of the jellies. It’s important to always have someone watching, since we don’t see a lot when we are in the water ourselves. The visibility can be so poor that you cannot even see your hand in front of you. Which is why we struggle to detect the up to 50 cm long tentacles that can sting us. The jellies drift with the currents and like to hang around the jetty, where our frames are deployed.

Leonie and Najwa successfully retrieving all the HydroMoths (hydrophones) (top left, ©Izzat). Buoys that mark the position of one experimental frame near the jetty on a calm day (top right, ©Leonie). Najwa and Leonie attaching PVC settlement panels to the frames in the water (bottom left/right, ©Izzat).

But even on the land, it’s not entirely safe. Since CEMACS is in the middle of the national park, it is not uncommon to see animals around the institute. The cats and even the lizards are rather cute to look at but the monkeys and the mosquitos? A nightmare! Before the morning boat even leaves at 08:10 both of us already have 5 mosquito bites, a constant buzzing in the ear and are always itchy. Want to have your lunch by the water on the beach? Think twice because monkeys can and will steal your food. Even the laboratory is not safe and has to be locked up monkey-proof.

A ribbon jellyfish (left) and our technical equipment box locked to keep it safe from the monkeys (right, ©Leonie).

When we are not blasting ABBA or LinkinPark while setting-up our experiment or trying not to get stung by jellyfish during maintenance work in the water, we can actually enjoy Georgetown. The city is about 1 hour by bus from our living quarters and offers the exact opposite of CEMACS. It is loud, full, bright and brimming with life (humans, not animals). Due to its rich mix of Malay, Chinese, Indian and indigenous cultures clashing together, you can find every kind of food downtown. From delicious savoury food over sticky fruits and drinks to sweet desserts. You can find these tasty items all over the island often in hawker stalls or cute restaurants. Of course, you can also go shopping wonderfully (much to the dismay of Leonie and her limited baggage weight for the flight back home) or just walk around the town and get swept up by the street murals, salty breeze and picturesque buildings.

A traditional dish – Roti Kari, very tasty! (top left). The bottom left and right picture show Love Lane and Umbrella Lane within downtown Georgetown, which are popular for going out and shopping (©Leonie).

Do we have to restart?

The deployment of our frames went smoothly, attaching and retrieving the HydroMoths (i.e. hydrophones) went smoothly, and the preparation for the sampling week went smoothly. Probably, everything went a bit too smooth in hindsight, because when the sampling week arrived, nothing went smoothly.

We seemingly lost our entire control frame (i.e. frame without sound playbacks).

During our daily boat ride towards CEMACS we have normally perfect view to see the white buoys of our control frame floating in the distance. Except on that Tuesday. The weather was a bit rough over the weekend and it was still windy and wavy, so we tried to argue that the glare of the sun plus the waves are messing with our eyesight. Surely, we would see it once we get out there to take off and analyse our panels. But when our boat reached the exact coordinates, at which we deployed the frame, there was nothing. No buoy. No rope. No frame. No hint whatsoever. Immediately, we got into the water and were searching the area with the help of two colleagues. But still, we found nothing. The visibility was not in our favour and Najwa got stung by a jelly, what didn’t make the situation better.

After we had to realize that the possibilities were high that our frame got either stolen by someone or it got washed away during the storms, we accepted defeat. Over the next couple of days, we were analysing the panels from the frame with sound playback (aka speaker frame) and discussed options with our supervisors. Upon agreement we started one more search and rescue mission. This time we were dragging an anchor across the seabed for quite some time. Clammy hands, shallow breath and elevated heartbeat. Everyone on the boat was on edge after 30 min of searching. Our colleague held up his hand. The boat stopped. He got something. To everybody’s surprise he pulled up our control frame!! It was completely covered with barnacles, so that the frames and panels were barely distinguishable but we got it back. It obviously became to heavy for the buouys that we attached to it and sank to the seafloor. Immediately, we got to work: Pulling the frame onto the boat, cutting off each panel to inspect it in the lab and cleaning the frame (which was equally stinky, disgusting and difficult).

Finding the ambient frame and pulling it out of the water (top left, ©Najwa). Najwa is cleaning the barnacles off of the frame (top right, ©Leonie). Our ambient frame on the boat after we pulled it out (bottom left) and the cleaned-up frame shortly before we deployed it again (bottom right, ©Leonie).

Now the hard work began: analysing the panels. We first weighed and photographed them to estimate the biomass and the degree of coverage on them. Then each and every panel needed to be inspected through a stereomicroscope to identify as many organisms as possible. Most of the panels were covered with barnacles, to be precise it was Amphibalanus amphritite. But apart from that we also found some worms that built themselves tubes on our panels (probably individuals from the family Sepulidae and Spionidae) and were thus sessile too, some bryozoans, colourful tunicates and a lot of small shrimps, crabs and flatworms that were roaming around. Just within four weeks, the sad-looking grey PVC panels have become a location for the smaller animals of the ocean to settle and start their lives.

A juvenile crab found on our panels in between the barnacles (top left), some Ascidiacea on the panels (bottom left) and the barnacle Amphibalanus sp. next to some bryozoans (right, ©Leonie).

Before we deployed the frame again, we attached a total of 13 buoys and have now a little buoy party in the water which never fails to make us giggle. They are supposed to prevent the frame from sinking again.

Leonie deploying the ambient frame after the first sampling event with the newly added buoys (©Haziq).

The natural soundscape dilemma

Now that Leonies experiment is running (more or less smoothly) it is time to concentrate on the preparation for Najwas experiment which will focus on the natural soundscape.

At first, CEMACS and Penang seemed like the perfect place to begin collecting natural soundscape recordings. We believed it would provide a healthy, natural, and undisturbed underwater acoustic environment. However, despite being located in the national park with little human activity per se, Penang is one of Malaysia’s busiest coastal regions. The constant movement of ferries, fishing boats, tourist vessels, and commercial shipping creates a persistent layer of anthropogenic noise beneath the water. Instead of capturing the quiet rhythms of marine life, many of the recordings that we made were dominated by human activity. It became clear that Penang was not the ideal location for getting an undisturbed soundscape on tape. But where can we find that?

The search led us to Langkawi, an archipelago of 99 islands located just 100 km north of Penang near the border with Thailand. Renowned for its clear waters, rich marine biodiversity, and relatively low levels of coastal development in certain areas, Langkawi offered a far more promising environment for natural underwater acoustic recordings.

Within Langkawi, our attention turned to Pulau Anak Datai, a small island situated off the northwestern coast of the main Langkawi Island. It’s surrounded by coral reefs, rocky shorelines, and lush tropical rainforest. Compared to many of the more popular tourist destinations in Langkawi, Pulau Anak Datai experiences considerably less boat traffic, allowing its underwater environment to retain a more natural acoustic character. These conditions make it an ideal site for our needs.

With the study site finally selected, the next challenge was deploying the HydroMoths.

Concrete blocks with metal poles (left). Najwa on the way to Anak Datai Island together with Izzat (left) and Mr Suhardi (right, ©Najwa).

The recordings were scheduled over five consecutive days, with two HydroMoths deployed simultaneously to maximize the number of sites we could survey. To secure the HydroMoths underwater, we brought along two concrete blocks fitted with metal poles from CEMACS. These were previously used by another GAME team, and at the time, they seemed like the perfect solution. The concrete blocks were heavy, stable, and, most importantly, gave us peace of mind. We were worried about the HydroMoths moving with waves and currents, creating unwanted handling noise in the recordings. We were also concerned about the possibility of losing the devices whether due to storms, strong currents, or even someone discovering and taking them. But due to the seabed at Pulau Anak Datai being covered in rocks, corals and just life, it was difficult to position the blocks securely. The handling became a struggle, above and underwater.

No, we needed to adapt. Field work has a funny way of destroying the illusion of a thought through plan and pointing out every little flaw. We thought the original plan was fool proof. Turns out, it was not.

Giant clamps, soft corals, anemones and clown fish that we found in Anak Datai Island during the HydroMoth deployment for natural sound recording (©Najwa).

After surveying the area more closely and brainstorming some ideas, we purchased ~100 cm long metal poles, which we would simply hammer down into the ground between the corals. We then could attach the HydroMoths onto them. Fool proof, for real.

The new setup was lighter, easier to transport, quicker to deploy, and required only a fraction of the energy needed for the concrete blocks. What initially felt like a major setback showed us that flexibility and adaptability are the most important qualities during field work. And keeping a cool head, which can be the most difficult part.

Najwa is now owner of hours on end of the natural underwater soundscape in Langkawi. In order to actually use it as a playback, though, she has to listen, filter, crop and edit the recordings.

A HydroMoth attached to metal pole that was anchored in a concrete block (top left). Hydromoth attached to a 100 cm metal pole (top right). Najwa inserting a metal pole with a HydroMoth for recording (bottom left). Najwa with two HydroMoths on the last day of a natural sound recording trip in Langkawi (bottom right, ©Najwa).

Every obstacle from searching for a truly natural soundscape to redesigning our deployment method became a lesson that no classroom could have taught. In the midst of our experiment, we are still learning to adapt, be patient with ourselves and stay curious about the processes and solutions that fieldwork demand. The ocean rarely follows our plans, but perhaps that is exactly what makes studying it so rewarding. Jumpa lagi! (See y’all!)

Barnacles, buoys and boat engines: researching the effects of underwater sound in Malaysia

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Ocean Acidification

Do Sea Turtles Get Lost?

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Did you know some female sea turtles can travel hundreds—or even thousands—of miles through open ocean before returning to nest on or near the very beaches where they hatched? In fact, Leatherback sea turtles take this long-distance travel to an extraordinary level. Pacific leatherbacks nesting in Indonesia have been documented migrating more than 10,000 kilometers to the West Coast of the United States. That’s the longest migration of any air-breathing marine vertebrate. So how do they accomplish this without Google Maps?

Scientists have found that sea turtles can sense magnetic information and use it as a navigational cue. Because the strength and angle of Earth’s magnetic field vary across the planet, these subtle differences can provide turtles with information about where they are and help guide their movements across the ocean. For turtles that return to their birthplace to nest (a behavior known as natal homing), these magnetic cues may be especially important. It’s an extraordinary system, but even the best navigation can take a turtle only so far.

Despite their great sense of direction, sea turtles don’t always make it where they’re going.

A sea turtle may be capable of navigating thousands of miles, but reaching the right destination is that much more of a challenge when human-caused obstacles lie in the way.

Artificial light is one example. Artificial lighting not only discourages nesting females from coming ashore but also has a harmful impact on hatchlings, which historically emerge from their nests at night and orient toward the brightest horizon. On a natural, undeveloped beach, that is generally the open ocean. But artificial light from coastal development can overwhelm the natural cue, drawing hatchlings inland away from the water and causing them to get lost on day one.

Coastal development not only brings more artificial light and human activity to the shoreline, but it also changes turtle habitats themselves. Buildings, roads and other development can alter or reduce areas sea turtles need for nesting. Shoreline armoring, such as seawalls, can eliminate the dry sand turtles need to successfully nest, while beach driving and other activities can further disrupt nesting habitats. And these challenges extend beyond the beach.

The ocean is getting noisier, too. Sea turtles have internal ears and can hear underwater sounds. Vessel traffic, oil and gas surveys, underwater construction and sonar all add noise to the marine environment. Human-generated sound can cause stress, disrupt normal behaviors or even force marine animals to move from preferred habitats or divert from migratory paths.

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Evolution never saw the plastic grocery bag coming.

Then there’s a threat sea turtles encounter almost everywhere they travel: plastic pollution. Sea turtles evolved over millions of years to spot drifting prey, like jellyfish. But plastic rapidly started to be used only around 60+ years ago.

Our plastic trash entered the ocean so quickly that animals haven’t had time to adapt. To a hungry sea turtle, a floating plastic bag still looks enough like dinner to trick even an experienced turtle. Plastic bags, balloons, soft plastic packaging and other plastics, once swallowed, can block a turtle’s digestive tract or puncture internal organs. And it doesn’t necessarily take much.

A recent Ocean Conservancy study of more than 10,000 marine animal autopsies found that nearly half of the sea turtles studied had ingested plastic. Even more alarming, researchers found that for adult loggerhead turtles, swallowing just one and a half times the plastic in a golf ball was enough to kill 50% of these creatures.

It’s a heartbreaking reminder that something we use for minutes can threaten an animal that’s been roaming Earth’s ocean for more than 100 million years.

A Hawaiian Green Sea Turtle captured from above as it glides over the reef.

Ancient animals still face very modern threats.

Sea turtles survived the extinction event that wiped out dinosaurs. They’ve outlasted shifting continents and dramatic changes to our planet. But surviving millions of years doesn’t make them invincible. Today, they’re facing threats that appeared in the blink of an evolutionary eye: plastic pollution, habitat loss, vessel strikes, fishing gear entanglement and climate change. The remarkable thing is that many of these challenges aren’t inevitable. They’re problems we can all help solve.

Together, we can reduce the amount of plastic that reaches the ocean. We can protect and restore nesting beaches. And we can support policies that protect healthy ocean ecosystems. Every action helps make our waters a safer place for animals that depend on it.

So, do sea turtles get lost? When left to their own devices, not often. Sea turtles have an extraordinary ability to navigate across vast stretches of open oceans. But there’s a bigger question worth asking: Can we help make the ocean a safe place while they make these incredible journeys? Navigation is only part of the challenge for sea turtles trying to find their way home. Sea turtles may know where they’re going, but it’s our job to ensure the ocean and coastlines they depend on are safe when they get there. That’s why Ocean Conservancy is committed to protecting our entire ocean—and all the creatures that dwell there.

We’re fortunate to share the planet with these amazing creatures. Their journeys are a remarkable feat of science and survival. To all the turtles out there: Here’s to finding your way—wherever you’re going!

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The post Do Sea Turtles Get Lost? appeared first on Ocean Conservancy.

https://oceanconservancy.org/blog/2026/08/27/do-sea-turtles-get-lost/

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First Spotted, or Simply First Recorded? Velella and Our Ecological Blind Spots

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A remarkable strandline discovery deserves attention, but not exaggeration. The arrival of Velella velella on Sylt is probably Germany’s first documented record. It is not the first occurrence in the North Sea, nor is one stranding sufficient proof of a climate-driven invasion.

The discovery of Velella velella on Sylt on 23–24 August 2026 has been announced as the first German record of this oceanic hydrozoan (Listen to the News here). It is an exciting observation, but the word “first” needs careful interpretation. A first documented record is not necessarily the species’ first arrival. It may instead be the first time somebody recognized, photographed and reported it through the right channels. Fragile marine organisms such as Velella decompose rapidly, and their transparent floats are easily overlooked among material on the strandline.

A photographed Velella found on the west coast of Jutland in 2018 was considered the country’s first documented record. However, earlier reports exist (see here). Velella velella, known as the by-the-wind sailor or Segelqualle, is often described in the German media as a “Mediterranean jellyfish.” This is misleading. The species is a widely distributed oceanic hydrozoan found in tropical and warm-temperate waters, including the Mediterranean and the Northeast Atlantic. The familiar blue object is not a single conventional jellyfish but a floating colony of specialized polyps. Its diagonal sail allows wind to push the colony across the sea surface. Velella cannot swim effectively against this transport, so large strandings are principally the outcome of population size, surface currents and persistent onshore winds. The Sylt animals should therefore be understood as oceanic visitors transported into German waters, not automatically as an invasive species or an established North Sea population.

The North Sea has seen Velella before

In February 1988, thousands of colourless Velella floats washed ashore along the Belgian coast after strong westerly storms. The event was described as the first published North Sea record (See the article) Denmark also has a documented history. A photographed colony was found at Grønhøj on the west coast of Jutland on 26 July 2018. It was considered Denmark’s first documented record, although unverified reports exist from 1947, 1976 and 1997. Naturbasen

In Scotland, strandings have been recorded since at least the 1950s, with another mass event in the Clyde in 2002. Scottish Marine Atlas

The Sylt discovery is therefore regionally unusual, but it is part of a longer history of intermittent Velella transport into northern European waters.

Is this climate change?

Ocean warming may increase the probability that warm-water organisms survive and occur farther north, while winds and currents determine whether they reach Sylt in a particular year. Calling this one observation definitive proof of climate-driven range expansion would be premature. Equally, dismissing it as an irrelevant accident would ignore the wider pattern of warming seas and increasing biological movement into the North Sea.

This is exactly why systematic observations matter.

Historical absence from a database is not proof of ecological absence. It may reflect limited monitoring, failed identification or observations that were never preserved. The public can help close this gap. Photograph unusual strandline organisms, record the date and exact location, include a size reference, estimate their number and submit the observation to us (GoJelly/JellySpotter APP) or another biodiversity platform like the iNaturalist. Today’s carefully documented beach find may become tomorrow’s essential evidence of how marine distributions are changing.

Recommened for reading:

  1. Pires RFT, Cordeiro N, Dubert J, Marraccini A, Relvas P, dos Santos A (2018) Untangling Velella velella (Cnidaria: Anthoathecatae) transport: a citizen science and oceanographic approach. Mar Ecol Prog Ser 591:241-251 https://doi.org/10.3354/meps12266
  2. Betti, F., Bo, M., … Enrichetti, F. (2019). Massive strandings of Velella velella (Hydrozoa: Anthoathecata: Porpitidae) in the Ligurian Sea (North-western Mediterranean Sea). The European Zoological Journal86(1), 343–353. https://doi.org/10.1080/24750263.2019.1671506

Picture courtesy to https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:20160518_170717_Velella_velella_1.jpg

First Spotted, or Simply First Recorded? Velella and Our Ecological Blind Spots

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Lessons from Coastal Legends

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Storytelling is one of our oldest human behaviors. Across every culture and continent, people have used stories to share values, pass down knowledge and make sense of the world around them. The tales that survive, retold across generations, kept alive through memory and ceremony, aren’t arbitrary. These coastal legends carry essential wisdom.

For countless coastal communities, that wisdom is related to the ocean.

Here are five coastal stories that are important parts of different oral traditions and teach us about our ocean.

Scotland: Selkie Stories

Early written records from the coast of Scotland describe seal-people who shed their aquatic skins to walk among humans on land.

These are the selkie. Their stories follow a familiar arc. One is discovered on shore, their sealskin is stolen and they are bound to a human life. They marry, raise children, but remain melancholy, always watching the water. When the skin is finally found, they return to the sea without hesitation.

It’s not difficult to see where the concept took root. Gray and harbor seals have strikingly humanesque features like expressive eyes, complex vocalizations, mothers who nurse their pups. Early coastal communities observed those qualities, and the selkie story began to spread. It produced a cultural taboo against the excessive hunting of seals.

Today, the selkie is one of Scotland’s most recognized figures. Conservation organizations have adopted the selkie as a bridge symbol of cultural identity and ocean protection. Gray seal populations in Scottish waters continue to face pressure from abandoned fishing gear and historical culling practices, behaviors the selkie taboo was designed to prevent.

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Pasifika: Wayfinding

Pasifika is a collective term for the Indigenous Peoples of the Pacific Islands. For more than 3,000 years, they’ve managed to pass along extremely complex knowledge on how to navigate the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean.

Their secret weapon? Storytelling.

They shared stories of the demigod Māui and his canoe, Waka-a-Māui, then navigated by their corresponding constellations in the sky. Tāwhirimātea was the god of wind and storms. When his eyes appeared in the sky (as the Pleiades cluster), it meant that it was a good time to start a long voyage. Stories like these gave navigators a framework for planning their journeys and navigating the distances.

Wayfinding is a science. The people of Pasifika developed their knowledge system through thousands of years of empirical observation, experimentation at sea and rigorous knowledge transmission. The names and stories were a medium of storing and sharing this knowledge, and an effective one at that.

Mexico: Chalchiuhtlicue

Chalchiuhtlicue is the Aztec goddess of rivers, lakes, seas and the ocean, as well as the protector of fishermen and navigators. In Aztec cosmology, she was one of the most actively worshiped deities.

In different stories, she is portrayed as both a creator and destroyer, as surges of water can result in abundant harvests or devastating floods. Today, Mexico’s Pacific and Gulf coasts are among the world’s most biologically rich but storm-exposed marine environments.

Chalchiuhtlicue’s tradition reflects an understanding of how water has the potential to be life-giving or destructive depending on amount and location. Mexico’s Indigenous cultures understood water as the foundational substance of existence, from the ocean to the hydrological routes that fed agricultural soil.

Vietnam: Grandfather Whales

The coastal communities of Vietnam have long shared stories of whales as divine protectors, often referring to them as Cá Ông or “Grandfather Whales.” 

It is believed that when fishing boats are lost in a storm, whales physically rescue the crew by sending them toward shore. Several fishing villages in Vietnam still celebrate the Whale Prayer Festival twice a year. Because the whales are so revered, fishermen report whale encounters. Whales received sacred funerals whenever they are beached.

These coastal villages demonstrate a relationship with whale species marked by reciprocity. Sperm whales, humpbacks and gray whales, in fact, show behaviors that are consistent with the stories about rescue. They may approach distressed swimmers, encircle capsized vessels or even support injured kin. When a whale dies, gratitude and grief are expressed. The practice of providing a proper Confucian funeral to beached whales reflects the way that a whale carcass can still sustain hundreds of species after death.

Caribbean: Mami Wata

Many cultures in the Caribbean have carried a belief in Mami Wata. She is an ocean deity, often depicted as a mermaid, who goes by several names: La Siréne in Haiti, River Mumma in Jamaica, and Yemonja in Brazil. Her reinterpretation across several cultures maps how her oral tradition was carried across the Atlantic by enslaved Africans and adapted in different Caribbean settings. Mami Wata is depicted as a beautiful woman, skilled at music, who can be both generous and dangerous. This dual nature is parallel to the Caribbean. It is one of the world’s most biodiverse marine environments, supporting coral reef ecosystems of extraordinary productivity, but it is also a region of violent tropical storms, dangerous currents and unpredictable weather.

Sightings of Mami Wata are thought by some scholars to be related to sightings of manatees. The large, slow marine mammals with humanlike eyes and nursing behavior may match the characterizations of the deity. When the belief in Mami Wata began to decline, so did manatee populations. This reflects a phenomenon researchers call the “sacred species” effect. When a creature holds deep spiritual significance in a culture, harming it carries social and moral consequences that can be more powerful than legal ones. This provides an element of protection that is sometimes more effective than law.

Long before satellites tracked ocean temperatures, people who lived alongside the water were paying close attention. They noticed which creatures signaled safe weather and which behaviors led to abundant catches. They encoded those observations into the stories they told—deities, creatures, warnings and rituals that traveled across centuries intact.

These aren’t relics. Many are living traditions, still practiced and still relevant. And when held up alongside what marine science has since confirmed, the parallels are striking.

The stories contain lessons

What connects a fisherman’s reverence for seals in Scotland to a Vietnamese community’s funeral rites for a beached whale? Around the world, people understand that the ocean is not only a resource for extraction but also offers a relationship to be maintained.

Ocean Conservancy operates on the same understanding. This drives our work today, from protecting marine ecosystems and rebuilding fish populations to fighting the pollution and policy decisions that put our ocean at risk. Right now, aging offshore oil and gas infrastructure is corroding on the seafloor, threatening many of the species that cultures around the world hold dear. The companies that build this infrastructure exploit loopholes to avoid cleaning it up. But we can change that. The proposed Offshore Leasing Standards and Accountability Act before Congress now would require oil and gas companies to take responsibility for their operations before, during and after they drill.

The ocean has always been worth protecting. Add your name and help us pass the Offshore Leasing Standards and Accountability Act now.

The post Lessons from Coastal Legends appeared first on Ocean Conservancy.

Lessons from Coastal Legends

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