In his first assignment, Oceanographic’s current Storyteller in Residence, Henley Spiers, travels to Scotland to find out more about the country’s varied approaches to ocean conservation.
Don MacNeish is in New Zealand on a mission of enlightenment, determined to meet a man he reverentially refers to as ‘God’. His quarry: Dr. Bill Ballantine, senior lecturer at the University of Auckland’s Leigh Marine Laboratory, and architect of New Zealand’s no-take marine protected areas.
“How does one reach Bill?” Don asks.
“You phone him up.”
“And how do you get his number?”
“You look him up in the phone book.”
A legendary figure in marine conservation, Ballantine is surprisingly accessible. Don calls, Bill answers. ‘God’ is on the line. The rest of Don’s mission would be much, much harder…
Don hails from Arran, a quintessentially Scottish island off the Western seaboard. Only accessible by boat, its small community lives with omnipresent natural beauty: lush forests cascade down dramatic mountains, and the scenic coastline is framed by an enticing sea. The Isle of Arran had long been a popular destination for anglers, but in 1994 the celebrated Lamlash Fishing Festival was permanently cancelled as catches had collapsed by 96%. Don, alongside diving buddy Howard Wood, think they knew where the fish had disappeared. For nearly a hundred years, bottom trawling and scallop dredging had been banned within 3 miles of the Scottish coastline, but since the abolition of the ‘3 mile limit’ in 1984, Howard and Don witnessed first-hand the rapid erosion of marine life in their local dive spots.
150 miles to the east of Arran, on the Berwickshire coast, Lawson Wood was also worried. An Eyemouth native, he grew up in one of the meccas of British diving as the sport took off in the post-war period. The government encouraged outdoor recreation and, with the advent of the aqualung, scuba diving for the masses had arrived, with an exotic appeal reinforced by Jacques Cousteau’s televised undersea adventures. The fashion for British diving, supported by a network of dive clubs, was at its peak. The allure lay in its ability to turn users into explorers and, for many scuba divers in the 70s and 80s, foraging was an intrinsic part of the experience.
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