Page 84 - AlertDiver_Winter2013

than the first, but once again the pup made a hasty exit. The
first dives into the frigid water, it seems, are hard even for a seal.
The daggers of light had changed locations over the course
of the dive as the sun had slowly circled westward, aligning
with one seal hole, then another. We headed back to our own
hole, surfaced, handed our equipment up to the dive tenders
and kicked out of the hole to sitting positions on the floor of
the hut. I didn’t want to come up. Had it not been for the fact
that my hands and feet had nearly lost all function, I might
have stayed longer. But surface I did, and free from the gear
but still in my suit, I walked outside into the still air. We lay
down on the surface of the ice, looking up at the sky. The sun
warmed our black suits, and we baked, blood flowing back
into fingers and toes. Below us, through the ice, we could still
hear the chorus of seals trilling, chirping and glugging.
Over the course of
the season I watched
as the mother and
pup, which I quickly
learned to recognize,
made longer and
longer trips under
the ice. Near the
end of my stay,
the pup was nearly
independent. Big
males started their
rut, and I witnessed
confrontations under
the crack. Females
came back into heat,
and the process
of renewal began
again. All in all, I had
10 precious dives at Turtle Rock, 10 chances to watch the
graceful seals cruise the crack, 10 chances to drop through
the iris of the giant eye and swim in the blue light through the
cathedral of sound.
The Last Ocean
To meet the needs of a growing world population hungry for
fish, the global fishing industry has pressed south. In 1996,
a single long-line boat, carrying a 9-mile-long line of hooks,
finally cut its way through the ice and into the most isolated
body of water on earth. In addition to the challenges presented
by a changing climate, the Ross Sea ecosystem must now
contend with a commercial fishery that targets its largest fish.
The fishery is international and takes 3,000 tons of Antarctic
toothfish from the Ross Sea every year. The deep-dwelling
Antarctic toothfish — the shark of the Southern Ocean —
now supports the most remote fishery on earth.
The Ross Sea toothfish fishery is playing with fire in the
last intact large marine ecosystem on earth. The seals that
eat their way through the ice, the birds that hold eggs on
their feet through months of darkness, the fish that make
their own antifreeze and all the other organisms that have
conquered the cold are unique triumphs of life. Ross Sea
denizens already face an uncertain future, and growing
evidence indicates that the fishery is already compounding
these challenges. The Commission for the Conservation of
Antarctic Marine Living Resources (CCAMLR) is charged
with managing Antarctic ecosystems under the directive
of “rational use.” There doesn’t seem to be anything more
rational than protecting these vulnerable creatures as they
fight for their lives in a fast-changing world.
But the argument for Ross Sea protection goes far beyond
the question of whether this fishery is sustainable or not.
While we squabble
over a few thousand
tons of fish —
1/300th of 1 percent
of the global catch
— ocean health
continues to decline
precipitously. We
need to take a
stand. We need
to open the door
to a new age of
enlightenment, a
new global ocean
culture. I believe the
Ross Sea is the key.
Having failed to
act on its promises
to deliver a network
of marine protected areas by 2012, CCAMLR will have
another chance next year to make a resounding, global
statement about what is, and is not, rational. We must call
on our national governments and demand decisive action.
Jane Lubchenco, administrator of the U.S. National Oceanic
and Atmospheric Administration, once remarked, “If we
can’t protect the Ross Sea, what can we protect?” But her
insight has two sides. We must also ask, “What if we can
protect it?”
Imagine the 25 member nations of CCAMLR speaking as
one to proclaim the Ross Sea, the “last ocean,” as a no-take
marine protected area, an international marine wilderness,
a rejection of the culture of overuse, a gift to the future.
Imagine that voice amplified across the Antarctic by an
entire network designed to protect the Antarctic core. We
have the opportunity to set the stage for sweeping changes in
the way we manage the ocean. Imagine what we could do if
we take this next step. AD
82 | WINTER 2013