The goal was to create a tree where the top represented the ocean’s surface and the base representing the abyssal floor. With a series of white, blue, and black ribbon and silver and blue miniature bulb ornaments, we created the effect of attenuated light as you move deeper. We wanted to make sure to include both a remotely operated vehicle on a lighted tether as well as lighted bathysphere. The tree also included a giant squid attacking a shark and whale fall complete with crabs and eels. We also made some tiny experimental wood falls to resemble the real ones we now have deployed all over the Gulf of Mexico.

You can print all of these decorations yourself. The complete collection can be found in my Thingiverse collection and include:

• The research vessel on top is the ICE – the icebreaker by vandragon_de (with the addition of little printed A-frame for the aft deck.
• The basic and blocky (or to sound like a sophisticated maker low-poly) remote operated vehicle was designed by us.
• Giant Squid by TheGreenFilament
• Shark! Sliced to Print by MacGyver
• Starfish model by Empiricus
• The Voyage of the Bathysphere by themindseye
• LOW POLY CRAB by RaffoSan (for whale fall)
• Eel by Benc (for whale fall)
• Whale by YahooJAPAN (whale for whale fall)
• Giant Deep-sea Isopod by the one and only Andrew_Thaler. (The model is actually based on a real specimen in our lab.)
• Puffer Fish (of awesomeness) by Dinoman (garland)
• A simple log by Montravont
• Vampire Squid by sinryan
• Hammerhead Shark by pmoews

The post 3-D Printing the Ulitmate Deep-Sea Christmas Tree first appeared on Deep Sea News.

Everyone gets into science communication for different reasons, but to date this might be my favorite:

“Some senators were being dicks and criticizing physiology science as wasteful spending of taxpayer dollars.”

Garfield Kwan, of the dynamic duo behind the ocean comic Squidtoons, was working in a physiology lab at the time when Senator Tom Coburn’s scaling 2011 critique of “wasteful” NSF funding was released. Little did the Senator know that putting on blast the epic physiological research that involved running shrimp on treadmills would inspire Kwan to explore connecting a larger audience to science in his own unique way.

Thus, Squidtoons was born. In collaboration with scientific illustrator Dana Song, Squidtoons is an ocean comic dedicated to translating scientific research into engaging infographics to educate the pubic about science, provide educators with teaching tools, and support scientists with compelling illustrations. Infused with a significant dose of humor and pop culture, each comic is the product of an extensive amount of research and expert scientific review. The illustrations are as accurate as they are dazzling. We here at DSN were fans of Squidtoons before it was cool.

This year Kwan and Song expanded their inky, scicom-ic empire by publishing their first ever Squidtoons book “illustrating science with farts, burps, and giggles.” Containing 120 pages of the Squidtoons “best of” playlist, the book is a fun romp for both kids and adults alike. Garfield reflects on his hopes for the book, “Squidtoons has the potential to be a great outreach tool for researchers around the world, as well as a great platform for the public to understand science by researchers from around the world.”

Get yours today just in time to dazzle your relatives for the holidays with all of your ocean science nerd jokes- courtesy of Squidtoons!

The post Writings on the SeaWall: Squidtoons first appeared on Deep Sea News.

Ocean science and conservation, like any human enterprise, is subject to its fair share of internal messiness from time to time.  As someone whose expertise and experience intersects several discrete domains (coral reefs, sharks, marine protected areas, and policy), I’ve witnessed plenty of dust-ups, arguments, and spats over the years.  And this week’s flurry of discussion instigated by a New York Times editorial on ocean protected areas is just the latest kerfuffle. In his op-ed, Bigger Is Not Better for Conservation, coral reef scientist and California Academy of Sciences curator, Dr Luiz Rocha, argues that large-scale, remote marine reserves are a disservice to ocean conservation.  It’s Dr Rocha’s perspectives, however, that seem more damaging.

Rocha’s argument hinges on four key points:

1. The current tally of big, remote marine reserves is in low-conflict, easy to protect (ie, low-hanging fruit) areas of the ocean where human reliance upon them is negligible and therefore government willingness to protect is strong;
2. There’s nothing worth protecting in these big, remote areas;
3. More important, smaller, near-shore ocean areas with high levels of human use are in dire need of protection;
4. Marine protected areas should be science-based (eg, protected zones should be guided by “sustainable catch limits” of commercially targeted species).

Let’s go one-by-one to see if any of these points hold water. [Note: For the sake of brevity, I’ll be using the acronym MPA frequently in this piece for “marine protected area,” but it will also serve as shorthand for “marine reserve,” “protected area,” “locally managed marine area,” or “marine managed area.”  I recognize that an MPA may not be managed or enforced, but let’s forego that technicality for the moment.]

POINT 1: “Big MPAs are easy and less consequential.”
As of today, there are approximately 20 large-scale protected areas across the ocean (ranging from tens-of-thousands to millions of square kilometers in protected area).  This includes a range from the Marianas Marine National Monument’s 16,400 square kilometers to the 1.15 million square kilometers of the Papahānaumokuākea Marine National Monument in Hawai’i.  These MPAs may consist of fully-protected, no-take (no fishing/extraction) designation to protection that still allows multiple uses.  According to the folks at MPA Atlas, there are approximately 15,000 small, coastal MPAs around the world.  Some of these, like Cordelia Banks off the island of Roatan in the Bay of Honduras, encompass only 17 square kilometers.  Many are even smaller.  Totaling all of the massive/remote and small/near-shore MPAs together gets us to approximately 2% of the ocean under some form of protection.

The International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) World Conservation Congress, held in Hawai’i in September 2016, called for member nations to set aside “30% of each marine habitat” in “highly protected MPAs and other effective area-based conservation measures” by 2030, with the ultimate aim being ”a fully sustainable ocean, at least 30% of which has no extractive activities.”

For rhetorical effect, I’ll reiterate that as of March 23, 2018, only 2% of our global oceans is protected, and 2030 is only twelve years away.

As someone in the MPA biz, I can testify that there are at present a small handful of big, deep-pocketed, international NGOs working on big international MPAs: The Pew Charitable Trusts, Conservation International, Oceana, and National Geographic. These folks have the gravitas, influence, and resources to capture heads of state attention and convene forums necessary to get things done.  You can bitch all you want about the pros and cons, but this is the reality.  Alongside the big NGOs, there are tens-to-hundreds of small to medium-sized NGOs that are working simultaneously on everything from big/remote MPAs to smaller/near-shore MPAs.  Sometimes the big NGOs work in concert with the smaller ones.  Sometime not.  It’s all site dependent.

Having worked on everything from massive MPAs to tiny MPAs over my career, I can say that none of them were “easy wins.”  So-called “low hanging fruit” may represent a unique opportunity in time.  You may have a receptive government or local community that welcomes the process.  It’s always easier to work with the willing than the resistant.  But every MPA effort in which I’ve participated involved strategy, identifying champions, public consultations, negotiations, community organizing, building political will, battling nefarious characters, rebooting strategy, sweating-out votes, and of course finding funds to support all of this.  If there are “easy wins” out there, big or small, I sure would appreciate someone pointing me in that direction.

Protecting big/remote areas or smaller/near-shore areas is not an either/or game.  This is not a binary proposition of doing one or the other.  It’s a yes/also.  We need to protect small, not so small, medium, larger, big, bigger, and massive tracts of the ocean.  We need to protect what is easy to protect, and what is harder to protect.  We must gather every bit of low-hanging fruit, and plan to reach the currently out-of-reach fruit.  MPAs occupy a spectrum or continuum, and we need to be prepared to work with everything along that spectrum.  Some NGOs will have a mandate (and talent) for pursuing big swaths of ocean.  Others are more tuned to work on local needs.  But there is a lot of real estate between the biggest and smallest MPAs for organizations, individuals, and yes, even FUNDERS to find their niche.

POINT 2: “There’s nothing worth protecting.”
This is just wholesale wrong.  What is Rocha considering as “worth” protection?  Certainly, there are species whose entire life cycle may be captured by the boundaries of an MPA.  Other species may only spend a portion of their lives within the boundaries of protection.  Protected areas are designed to factor in these variables.  But not all MPAs are envisioned around biological significance alone.  The Monitor National Marine Sanctuary in North Carolina, the very first marine national monument designated by the United States in 1975, honors the historic significance of the shipwreck of the famed Civil War ironclad, USS Monitor.  Similarly, the Papahānaumokuākea Marine National Monument and the entire Northwestern Hawaiian Islands, including the 110 seamounts, open waters, and all life in that area are considered biocultural resources and linked to the Hawaiian people through environmental kinship.

The ocean as a cultural seascape is vital to Hawaiian identity, their being, and essential dimension to their cognitive understanding of the world.  The ocean waters in Papahānaumokuākea were an ancient pathway for a voyaging sphere that occurred between this region and the main Hawaiian islands for over 400-500 years (ca. AD 1300-1800).  The practice of traditional wayfinding and voyaging—recently popularized in the film Moana and which is one of the most unique living traditions of the world—requires protection of the entire marine environment and open waters, not just the islands and reefs, because it relies on biological signs and natural phenomenon, such as winds, waves, currents, and the presence of marine life and birds at key moments and locations.

At the same time as Papahānaumokuākea was successfully expanded in 2016 by President Obama, the State of Hawai’i also supporting the establishment of small, coastal community-managed makai areas, driven by and for the community.  Yes, both can happen at the same time and using the same human capital, as many of the same people fought for both the small makai areas and the big Papahānaumokuākea effort.

POINT 3: “There are more important, smaller places to protect.”
Importance is relative and subjective.  It is place-driven and context-heavy.  What is important to someone in Brazil, might be less so to someone in Hawai’i.  So instead of casting stones at our neighbors, perhaps we should recognize that there are seriously limited resources, conservation bandwidth, and political will, and try to triage our priorities.  I recognize that the reality is that not all NGOs/organizations like to play-well together.  Furthermore, some places and approaches are simply not tenable due to practical considerations and political and social realities.  Again, this is a reality of modern conservation.  But as I mention above, effective MPAs do not occupy one half of a binary state.  It’s not either small or large.  Remote or near-shore.  Fully managed/enforced or paper parks/un-enforced.  Every single MPA in existence occupies a position somewhere along a continuum of effectiveness.  Even an un-managed, unfunded, and unenforced MPA is a work in progress along that continuum.

POINT 4: “They’re not science-based.”
Science should help inform MPA zoning and designation.  No questions or arguments here.  But the science needed may at times be incomplete or lacking.  Many decisions around the world, particularly in developing nations, on “sustainable catch limits” are not acted upon because data is deficient.  Should we be expected to wait for the science to be decided and settled (whatever that might mean) before action/conservation measures can be activated?  And science is but one arrow in our quiver that we should use to scope, establish, and manage MPAs.  The social sciences and economics are also driving MPA priorities and planning.

Finally…
I find an editorial like Rocha’s to be, quite frankly, dangerous.  Staking-out a claim on one side of a false dichotomy or constructing straw man arguments is the purview of graduate school.  I get it… Rocha would like to see more love shown to near shore/coral reef areas (including where he has worked in Brazil).  But what is the benefit to conservation as a whole to publish these half-baked propositions that large, remote MPAs are a waste of time in the pages of The New York Times and under the banner of an august and internationally recognized organization like the California Academy of Sciences?  We are not currently living in normal times, and this sort of rhetoric plays right into the hands of those keen to see less ocean protection, not more.

For the first time in US history, an administration is rolling back protections on national monuments, both land and sea.  Australia just this week has announced the possibility of cutting in half the protections for the Coral Seas MPA.  Conservation in one place in the ocean is not the enemy of conservation in another place.  And MPAs are not a binary switch of either big or small…  Local or remote…  Fully protected or not.  If we are going to get to the IUCN recommended target of 30% of our oceans under strong protection by 2030, we need to ramp up protections everywhere along the MPA continuum.  Yes/Also should become our mantra!  We must embrace a process of continuous improvement in our MPA work, not display a reflex of undercutting other conservation efforts.  And we need to keep our focus and attention on the real threats to a healthy ocean: over-fishing, illegal fishing, pollution, climate change, and lack of political will for action.

The post Embracing Yes/Also: Marine Protected Areas Are Not An Either/Or Proposition first appeared on Deep Sea News.

Cassidy was photographed throughout his run on The Partridge Family as well as on his international concert tours wearing white puka shell chokers. It actually became somewhat of his calling card. While not alone in sporting the puka necklace (rat packer Frank Sinatra had even been photographed with a puka choker), David Cassidy was certainly the most frequent ambassador for this style. Even in first grade, I remember boys and girls wearing puka shells. Which, for a bunch of land-locked Northeast Pennsylvania kids, is amazing. Also, this was decades before cultural appropriation would become part of our everyday discourse.

So, what’s a puka shell?

For us haole kids (I’d learn the word “haole” a couple of years later in 1972 during the Brady Bunch Hawaii vacation episode), Puka just meant “shell necklace.” In 1970, if you found any string of shells, that was a puka shell necklace.

The work “puka” is Hawaiian in origin and means “hole.” Traditionally, puka shell necklaces were constructed from scavenged shell fragments that already had a naturally-occurring hole in them. A genuine puka shell necklace is sourced from the terminal helix of a cone snail. When the snail dies, the shell may eventually erode until the terminal helix breaks off. If the tip of the helix erodes further, it will leave a ring-shaped fragment of shell as a remnant. This natural bead was collected to create the original puka shell necklaces.

Thanks in large part to David Cassidy, demand for puka shell necklaces would skyrocket around the world throughout the 1970’s. To meet demand, any shells were sourced as raw material, and shells and shell fragments from snails and bivalves were cut and drilled to create “puka” beads. This high-volume puka production continues to this day, with the majority of these puka knock-offs coming from the Philippines.  Obviously, there are a plethora of conservation concerns related to the shell jewelry trade, but that’s another post.

Puka shells today remain a mainstay for tourists from Santa Cruz, to Daytona Beach, to Point Pleasant, to Ipanema, to Bondi Beach, to back home in Waikiki. They are part of the surfer phenotype.  A quick rummage through my cabinet of embarrassing and dated jewelry found a motley collection of assorted puka necklaces (from fake to authentic) that I once proudly wore.

But puka shell interest has also evolved. Today, the most prized shell lei and necklace demand is still found in Hawaii, but now its centralized on the small island of Ni‘ihau. There, traditional artists work with tiny ocean snail shells sourced only from the island and meticulously crafted (sometimes over the course of years) to produce exquisite shell necklace designs that can fetch tens-of-thousands of dollars. The traditional craft is so important to Hawaii that in 2004, the Hawaii State Legislature unanimously approved H.B. No. 2569 which prohibits the sale of “seashell items” with a description or label using the term “Ni‘ihau” or “Niihau” unless 100% of the shells are from the island of Ni‘ihau and the item is made entirely in Hawai‘i.

The Ni‘ihau shell-work is astonishingly intricate and beautiful. But shells are still assembled by punching a minuscule hole, a “puka,” in the micro-thin shell in order to pass a thread thread through.

A shell necklace or lei remains an expression of Aloha. “Aloha” can have rather broad definitions. But my time spent working in Hawaii over the years has taught me that it certainly can be used to express a “joyous affection.” It’s in that spirit that I extend my sincere “Aloha” to the memory of David Cassidy for his music and introducing this marine biologist to puka shells.

The post How David Cassidy Introduced A Hawaiian Shell To The World first appeared on Deep Sea News.

I love kelp. I love art. It’s safe to say that ‘kelp art’ brings me to a whole new level of excitement that some could consider “overwhelming” in normal human interactions. I’m okay with it- people need to get on my level.

I first came across artist Bryan Helfand’s kelp art a few years back now and I have since been a huge fan. Normally, I reserve this bit for artists whose work communicates science in some interesting way- Bryan is the exception here- but I have found myself enthralled with the way he portrays the ocean and more specifically everyone’s favorite primary producer. Helfand is a local San Diego artist who specializes in mixed media paintings, wood carvings, and murals and whose muse stems from his passion for and experience with the sea. I often find myself perusing his Facebook page for his next beautiful masterpiece- the man is a wizard with a jigsaw.

I love how he captures the unique ebb and flow of Macrocystis – not true to form per se – but beautiful and vibrant none the less. Enjoy a few of his imaginings here and then go take a look at his website for some inspiration. The ocean needs more excellent artists like Bryan to speak for it and show the world how beautiful it truly is.

The post The Writings on the Sea-Wall: Ocean Art by Bryan Helfand first appeared on Deep Sea News.

Frequent readers will recall that I’ve talked about being queer in ocean science in this space before.  And there has been a growing body of research and writing since my early ruminations, by smart colleagues and friends (especially by Jeremy Yoder & Allison Mattheis, Maria Broadfoot, and others), who have been investigating a variety of realities and issues related to queers in STEM.

I don’t have anything new to add.  Not a lot of my perceptions or thoughts regarding being queer in ocean sciences has shifted much since I first put pen to paper several years ago.  There are still precious few exemplars of LGBT leaders in our field.  The rise of Trump and Pence has had, for these eyes, a chilling effect on the ease and safety of LGBT Americans to be more open in the public, academic, or employment space.  And quite frankly America appears to be embracing a conservatism that has me remembering the early Reagan years.

Since I am fresh from fieldwork, I thought for this Pride I’d share some of my perceptions of what it’s like for me to be a queer ocean scientist doing work internationally.  It goes without saying that these are not EVERY queer’s experiences or perceptions.  These are mine, and they are personal.  But perhaps by sharing what it’s like to go about my job, while also being an out, queer man, I can share a slice of reality that many of my cis, straight colleagues may take for granted.

Anyone who travels outside of the US will recognize that our culturally accepted personal boundaries dissolve once we set foot in a new country.  For sure there is a spectrum, but from nearly 30 years of international field work in mostly developing countries I’ve grown accustomed to the usual onslaught of interrogatives from strangers which almost always arrives on two primary subjects:

• “Are you married?” and,
• “Do you have children?’

It’s not hard to understand these sorts of interrogations.  First of all, English is often limited, and this is simply an easy way to make some conversation.  Fair enough.  On another level, as I have been reminded by very wise colleagues, this is a first salvo to ensure that I (the stranger) am “one of them.”  “One of them,” for immediate purposes, meaning someone whom they can relate to.  This older, strange man in their village has a wife.  He has kids.  He is like them.  It is a normalizing exchange designed more to set my hosts at ease than it is to set me at ease.  And that is absolutely fine.

However it creates, for this queer man, an often difficult dilemma.  I want to be transparent and open and honest with my hosts or my colleagues or my stakeholders in the field.  I want them to trust me as an individual.  As a person.  But at the same time, I have a job to accomplish.  And that job takes precedence to my personal needs or feelings.  Most of the regions where I work (the Caribbean, Pacific, IndoPacific, Indian Ocean), have abysmal LGBT policy.  Homosexuality (mostly defined as same sex relations between men) is still a punishable offense throughout most of the countries in which I work.  And while I understand that a gay American won’t necessarily receive the same social penalties as a gay local in my field sites, I have to calculate whether I want to be “that gay American” rather than just “that American” in almost every setting.

Obviously, the more time I spend in a destination, and the closer I get to stakeholders, the more comfort and safety I feel in opening up to my colleagues and friends.  I’ve shared that I’m gay, and married, with quite a few field colleagues over the years.  But it is extremely site and situation specific.  Being “out” with colleagues in Turks and Caicos is VERY different than considering such a proposition in Papua New Guinea, Madagascar, or Indonesia.

Each of the countries in which I’ve conducted field work is positioned somewhere along a continuum of acceptance of the existence of LGBT people, and subsequently their rights and value to that country.  I’ve commented before that while on field work in Fiji, I was reminded by one of my Fijian staff that, “Fiji does not have gay people.”  This in contrast to the reality that you can fire up Grindr and find dozens of local listings or walk through the Fijian capital of Suva on most any night and find trans women in many of the bars.

My personal reality as a gay man trying to conduct ocean science or conservation in developing parts of the world is that I am choosing to focus upon my work and my professional priorities over my personal identity politics.  Others may make a different decision, and that is their prerogative.  But I have limited time, funding, and limited attention span.  I choose to have my stakeholders focus upon the work at hand.  If I have the luxury of extra time in a destination, certainly this equation can be adjusted.

Unfortunately, the net result to me is often a feeling of regret or sadness that I “can’t entirely be myself.”  Straight colleagues have sometimes chided me that I should not care about this as much.  But I think that’s their privilege talking.  I don’t want to be, “Rick, the gay scientist,” or, “Rick, the gay conservationist.”  I just want to be Rick.

So, it all makes me feel a bit like Mark, the best man in the film Love Actually, played by The Walking Dead’s Andrew Lincoln, who is in love with his best friend’s fiance.  He spends the entire film putting on a charade of indifference to the now-married Keira Knightley, but finally finds a way to let her know his true feelings (through the ridiculous use of cue cards and a boombox). Not a perfect metaphor for my situation, but it nonetheless underscores a wish that I have that I didn’t need the identity acrobatics in order to do good work.

The post Pride, Actually. first appeared on Deep Sea News.

Using computer art magic, Armand Dijcks has turned the still photographs of Ray Collins into wonderful kinetic images of waves. Turn on full screen. Press play. Be soothed. Calm out.

The post Morning Zen: The infinite waves of Ray Collins first appeared on Deep Sea News.

As a coastal community, the economic, social, and industrial capacity of San Diego is intrinsically linked to climate change. So much so, that the city maintains one of the world’s most ambitious Climate Action Plans. Along these same lines, in an effort to unite the community towards climate resilience and education, the Climate Science Alliance (CSA) was established. The Alliance stands as a bi-national collaboration of over 130 government, academic, non-profit, private, tribal nations, and educational institutions working toward science focused partnerships, capacity building, and innovative community engagement. The ultimate goal — a united front on the South Coast across agencies and stakeholders to come together and work towards safeguarding our coast and communities from the effects of changing climate.

As part of their commitment to building a community of practice around climate adaptation, the Climate Science Alliance has developed the Affiliated Artists Program to work directly with artists who are exploring themes related to climate change and environmental stewardship. They work collaboratively to develop projects, programs, and opportunities to bring artists and scientists directly into climate resilience activities.

The artisans the Alliance collaborates with range from dancers to singers to more traditional art mediums. Working with students across the county and participating in large scale public engagement events, the seamless incorporation of art and science has resulted in a highly effective messaging strategy for the Alliance regarding climate change. The art allows people to connect to the issues of sea level rise, ocean acidification, and warming seas in a way that is more relatable than the science itself. Additionally, most of the pieces serve as a call-to-action platform whereas students and the public are encouraged to incorporate their climate commitments into the artwork. Through this program, the Climate Science Alliance has taken an effective approach for large-scale community dialogue and engagement regarding the most pressing issues facing our coastlines.

The post The Writings on the Sea-Wall: Climate Science Alliance first appeared on Deep Sea News.

As a result of anthropogenic climate change, sea level has risen approximate 7 inches in the past 100 years. With the combination of melting land ice and expansion of warmer seas, scientists conservatively predict a 1-4 foot rise by the year 2100. Effectively, sea level rise poses widespread and continuing threats to the economy and environment of coastal regions.

To reinforce the urgency of this situation, New York based artist Eve Mosher, started to walk the line. Literally. Using a baseball field chalk marker, Mosher laid a 70 mile white line of chalk in 2007 across Manhattan and Brooklyn. The HighWaterLine as it was called, demarcated the areas that would be severely impacted by increased mega floods if climate change continued. The power of this public installment truly hit home ironically in 2012 when the flooding brought on by Hurricane Sandy surpassed the proverbial “chalk line.”

“Walking the line with the participants and hearing of their stories after the event provides concrete evidence of the power of transformation of HighWaterLine…I hope that in every instance, HighWaterLine is just the beginning of these communities working together to build resilience and transform their cities.” says Mosher.

Since the first exhibition of the HighWaterLine, the project has debuted in five different cities from Bristol to Miami, the most climate vulnerable U.S. city. Along with the art piece, the project is also accompanied by interactive workshops to get the community more involved in the climate conversation and provide tools to create a culture of change. Currently, the group is working on a Action Guide to mentor others in bringing the HighWaterLine project to groups around the world.

The post The Writing on the Sea-Wall: High Water Line first appeared on Deep Sea News.

Go to this site NOW.

https://medium.com/@lubellwoo/mappin-the-floor-81a3b0472ca4#.su63m7ohx

Sincerely, SCIENCE.

WANT MOAR? Follow out Lucy on the twitters or even better, sponsor her on Patreon.

The post A research cruise as depicted by a high-seas adventure cartoonist? YAAASSSS first appeared on Deep Sea News.