Nayyir Ransome builds relationships between the government and the people it serves to support the ocean. As Senior Analyst with Ocean Conservancy, Nayyir sees the power of small, incremental steps that lead to big impacts for people and waterways.
“I want to encourage people to start where they are. Start with your friends, your church group, your classroom”, Nayyir shared.
Nayyir started advocacy work when they were young, joining the Campfire Youth Legislature as a seventh-grade student in Broadmoor Middle School in East Baton Rouge Parish School System, a school that was closed in 2019. “I was one of the youngest people in the room. The bill that I proposed didn’t even make it out of committee. So, when it was time to come together on the floor and vote on all the bills that came out of committee, I decided that I was going to speak on every single bill that hit the floor, literally, all of them. I ended up winning Outstanding Legislator that year. This honor is given only to one legislator out of almost 500 young people from across the state. I still have the medal. I keep it on my desk lamp with all my other conference tags and medals. It reminds me how much impact a person simply speaking up can have. Whether or not the vote goes your way at that moment, someone is still listening.”
Nayyir got involved in Youth Legislature at a time in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, when many students were feeling unheard, anxious and facing physical displacement after Hurricane Katrina.
Remembering the day Hurricane Katrina landed
On August 29th, 2005, Hurricane Katrina made landfall in New Orleans. At least 1,900 people were killed in the storm and, due to medical and infrastructure complications, post-storm. The devastation of one of the deadliest hurricane seasons in United States history forced 650,000 survivors from their homes—some were never able to return.
“We were out of school for two weeks. Compared to New Orleans where many schools closed for months and others shut their doors permanently, this felt like a privilege. When we went back to school, there were 200 more students in the building. Many families from New Orleans were forced to move to temporary housing in Baton Rouge. Our school was one of many that saw a large influx of students from New Orleans where many schools were unable to reopen due to Katrina. There wasn’t enough space, services or support to handle that, and it became a tense environment for all of us.”
Nayyir’s family moved to Baton Rouge just one year before the storm. Coming from Philadelphia, one of the largest metropolitan cities in the country, Nayyir experienced an intense culture shock when adjusting to life in open-air, sea-centric Southern Louisiana. Nayyir reflected on the contrast of towering buildings and lightning-fast train transport to kids catching mudbugs from the crawfish mounds in the drainage ditches, designed to channel storm water, along roads without sidewalks.
“When I started participating in Camp Fire USA’s Youth Legislature program, I felt intimidated. It was a strange experience, grappling with my own sense of displacement while watching other kids being displaced on such a large scale due to Hurricane Katrina. I wasn’t from the area, but I was there, and I did understand how it felt to be pushed out, to feel discarded.”
New Orleans has a culture unlike any other place in the world, and this rich weaving of languages, ethnicities and histories creates an unshakable strength that still stands today. Yet, the crippling impacts of Hurricane Katrina can be traced through the yet-to-be-rebuilt homes in the Lower Ninth Ward and the reality of long-term health consequences and economic instability for many residents, even now, 20 years after the storm.
Hurricane detection is better than ever, thanks to NOAA
In 2005, the best hurricane detection science provided around a 48-hour warning. The people of New Orleans had less than 24 hours from the time the mandatory evacuation order was issued to when water began to spill over one of the levees.
When Hurricane Katrina developed into a Category 3 storm, receded and then reformed as a Category 5 storm, scientists, local officials and communities scrambled to keep up and spread information quickly.
“We didn’t know what was happening in New Orleans for three days. People with friends and family there were starting to panic.”
Now, thanks to the steady, decades-long efforts of organizations like the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), current predictive technologies can provide up to five days warning of extreme weather—enough time potentially to prevent storms from having the same catastrophic impact as Katrina. Yet, the question remains, ”Will we continue funding the hurricane forecasting systems we know are protecting our communities?”
Tell Congress to Protect NOAA Today
Take action to ensure Congress stands up for NOAA, demanding the agency be fully funded and fully staffed.
Understanding NOAA’s vital role during storm season
It might not be clear what NOAA does during hurricane season because much of their work is behind the scenes. The National Weather Service sits under NOAA, and NOAA scientists and professionals are key players in many of the long-term conservation measures, research and technology that prevent the most dire consequences of extreme weather. Their work includes projects that we may not think of as disaster preparedness and resilience, such as coastal restoration initiatives.
NOAA uses a variety of scientific instruments on crafts such as planes, saildrones and gliders to gather data from inside hurricanes. Long term ocean observations contribute to hurricane and weather models. This hurricane season we have an opportunity to speak up about the proposed cuts to NOAA and the vital resources we would lose if these budget changes are approved by Congress. Continuing to fund NOAA is one way to ensure ongoing improvements to weather forecasting, honor those lost to Hurricane Katrina and, in the aftermath, support the people of New Orleans today, as they rebuild and heal.
We can all speak up for life-saving hurricane detection and research
As storm seasons intensify, we need faster, more accurate weather prediction and storm detection more than ever. NOAA is America’s first line of defense against the deadliest impacts of natural disasters on our communities. Yet, NOAA’s funding is facing major cuts that, if enacted, will result in lives lost. We need to keep moving forward keeping in mind and heart the nearly 2,000 people who lost their lives during Katrina, the thousands more New Orleanians who lost their land and legacies, and the hundreds of thousands of people who are impacted by deadly storms in the United States each year.
Looking back, Nayyir can see how these experiences growing up in post-Katrina Louisiana shaped their advocacy and approach to community organizing.
“My time in Southeast Louisiana taught me a lot about people-centered advocacy. Even if we haven’t experienced something at its most extreme, we can find a way to understand the root of it by looking at our lives and the places we live. Ocean Conservancy has helped me to grow in how and why we must work across government agencies and lines to protect our ocean and the people who rely on it.”
Ocean Conservancy works alongside NOAA as a science-led advocacy organization mobilizing federal, state and local action for our ocean. Every investment in NOAA translates into vital seconds, hours and days of response time for communities when hurricane season strikes. The more data we can collect and use to predict the behavior and patterns of storms, the better we can respond and prevent tragedies.
Each year, storm season is intensifying from climate change—and not just on our coasts. Communities throughout the U.S. are affected by hurricanes and floods that threaten lives and livelihoods. We all rely on NOAA’s vital research and tools for weather prediction and extreme weather warnings. These services are a lifeline we cannot afford to lose.
Call on your Congress members today and insist they support full funding and operation of NOAA.
The post Honoring New Orleans 20 Years After Hurricane Katrina Means Protecting NOAA appeared first on Ocean Conservancy.
Honoring New Orleans 20 Years After Hurricane Katrina Means Protecting NOAA
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 equipment, working on the frames and dealing with the usual collection of sampling tasks, our youngest helper decided that watching from the side was not enough. He wanted to participate.
So he did.
For a short time, we had officially found the youngest member of the GAME team. He may not have been able to explain the experimental design or tell us anything about sound pressure levels, but he was very enthusiastic about helping with the work. It was a small moment, but it was also a nice reminder that fieldwork is rarely as isolated as it can sound when described in a scientific paper. People around us had become part of the experience, whether they were helping with equipment, giving advice, asking questions or simply were curious about what two researchers are doing at the harbour with a collection of PVC pipes.
And occasionally, they became part of the team.
Life outside the frames
Of course, our time in Cádiz did not consist entirely of PVC, HydroMoths and sampling.
Living in Cádiz for several months also meant getting to know the city and the surrounding region outside the harbour. We spent a lot of our free time near the sea, whether that means going to the beach, playing sport or simply enjoying the city after a long day of fieldwork. With beaches, the old town and the harbour all within easy reach, there was usually no shortage of places to spend a few hours away from the experiment.
We have also used our time here to explore more of Andalusia. We visited Sevilla, where we could experience one of the region’s larger and more historic cities, and travelled to Tarifa, where we joined a whale watching trip and got to see some of the marine wildlife of the area from a completely different perspective.
Other trips took us to places such as Zahara de la Sierra, a small mountain town overlooking the reservoir, and Ronda, famous for its spectacular location above the deep El Tajo gorge.
These trips were a welcome change from our usual routine and gave us the opportunity to see a little more of the region we called home for the duration of the project.
The weather had certainly helped. Temperatures were regularly around 30 degrees, although the strong winds could make the conditions feel very different. After spending a day working at the harbour, a few hours at the beach were therefore not the worst way to finish the day.
Andalusia has also experienced some major environmental events while we had been here. Large wildfires affected parts of the region during the summer, although Cádiz itself was not directly affected.
Then there was the solar eclipse.
Cádiz experienced a partial solar eclipse, which gave us the opportunity to witness something very different from our usual fieldwork. For a short time, the attention of the two marine biologists was directed away from the water and towards the sky.
It was a nice change from looking down at the panels.
Poco a poco
Looking back at the time in Cádiz, the project had not developed exactly as we imagined it would.
We changed the experimental site. We rebuilt parts of the setup. We carried heavy concrete across the city. We improvised a sampling station outside. We dealt with strong winds, boats appearing where they were not supposed to be and one HydroMoth disappearing into the sea.
But at the same time, the experiment was running.
The frames were in the water. The HydroMoths were recording. The speakers were playing their experimental soundscapes. And the settlement panels slowly became colonized by marine organisms.
That is probably the most satisfying thing about seeing the project now compared with the beginning. In April, most of what we had was equipment, plans and a long list of things that still needed to be done. At the end, there was an actual marine community growing on the structures we built.
And all the observations that we made are now data that can be analysed.
Perhaps the best way to describe fieldwork in Cádiz is with a phrase we have heard and used plenty of times:
Poco a poco.
Little by little, the experiment was coming together.
Hasta luego, Cádiz!
Carlos & Liam
When I attended the OBIS Data Mobilization Workshop in the Azores (Thanks to the Air Center) this year, one observation immediately caught my attention: compared with countries such as the United States, Europe still appears surprisingly fragmented and underinvested in biodiversity data mobilization. The issue is not necessarily a lack of biodiversity research. European scientists produce enormous amounts of ecological data. The challenge is that publishing biodiversity observations into global infrastructures such as MBON/GBIF often remains an additional task rather than an integral part of funded research. In the United States, biodiversity data publication is frequently embedded in funding mechanisms and institutional mandates. Data management, curation, and dissemination seem to be recognized research activities. In much of Europe, including Denmark, researchers often mobilize data on top of their existing responsibilities, with limited dedicated funding for long-term stewardship.
I asked myself how is Denmark performing compared with its Nordic and neighboring countries?
Denmark is not lagging behind, but neither is it leading
The numbers reveal a mixed picture.
Germany clearly stands out as the regional leader, with both the highest number of datasets and the highest taxonomic coverage. Denmark has the lowest number of occurrence records and species represented among the four countries, despite having a very active biodiversity research community. What is striking is that Denmark does not fall dramatically behind in dataset numbers. Rather, the difference appears in scale and breadth. Danish datasets tend to contain fewer records and cover fewer taxa than those from Germany, Norway, and Sweden.
Different countries tell different biodiversity stories
The taxonomic breakdowns are equally revealing. Denmark should appreciate its fish and birds’ activists. Large portions of the records belong to Gadidae (cod family), Clupeidae (herring family), Laridae (gulls), and other marine vertebrates. This reflects Denmark’s historical strengths in fisheries monitoring, marine ecology, and seabird observations. However, many invertebrate groups, microorganisms, and less visible components of biodiversity remain comparatively underrepresented in global data sets despite active programs like national Program like MONIS.
Norway shows stronger contributions from invertebrate sides such as polychaetes, bivalves, copepods, and marine benthic fauna. The Norwegian data landscape appears heavily influenced by aquaculture sectores, long-term marine monitoring programs and offshore environmental surveys. There is greater representation of marine invertebrates, which are often cri