Mixed messages on Marine Protected Areas

I can’t remember the details of the first scientific conference I ever went to - not even its name - but I know it was on marine conservation, in Cardiff, and that a couple of us undergrads had made the trek from Norwich with little idea what to expect. The keynote speaker was Bill Ballantine, some of whose work on Marine Protected Areas (MPAs) in New Zealand I’d read as research for an essay. I remember no details of his talk, other than it adding to my general opinion of MPAs as a Good Thing; more memorable was his (grumpy, admirable) single word response - “No” - to a lengthy question from the floor. Anyway, this came back to me recently when I saw a new paper from Ballantine, giving a 50 year New Zealand perspective on MPAs. In particular, he suggests that the struggle to convince people of the worth of MPAs elsewhere could be greatly reduced by using New Zealand’s long (and ultimately successful) experiment as an exemplar. As it happens, another eminent MPA researcher, Timothy McLanahan, has also just published an analysis of the effectiveness of Kenyan MPAs based on data going back almost as far. These long-term perspectives give some context to the latest marine planning developments in the UK, where we are slowly (too slowly according to many voiciferous campaigners, not least Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, whose latest Fish Fight aired last week) progressing towards a network of marine conservation zones (MCZs). Campaigners disagree with other marine stakeholders over how much evidence is needed in order to establish these MCZs, and tempers can get rather frayed (not helped by the use of the word ‘Fight’ in the campaign; see my post from last year) - although there has been a certain rapprochment over the last year (this fishing industry view, for example, seems quite conciliatory to me and is hardly ‘anti conservation’).

So any evidence about the effectiveness of MPAs is to be welcomed, and a new study by Graham Edgar and colleagues published recently in Nature provides the most comprehensive review to date. Let me say at the outset that this is an enormously impressive piece of work: the team surveyed almost a thousand reefs from 87 MPAs and another thousand or so non-protected sites, from 40 countries around the world, using a standard methodology, their coverage allowing systematic comparisons of protected and non-protected areas using neat statistical methods. Their decision to concentrate on reefs, and on reef fish in particular, was both sensible - in that most MPAs are on reef systems, and reef fish are especially well studied - and necessary in order for the study to be feasible. It seems almost churlish to note that the 8000 or so reef fish species constitute 3-4% of described marine species, and perhaps just 1% of all marine species; but it is important that we bear this in mind when interpreting their conclusions: we have far less quantitative data on the effectiveness of MPAs for the groups constituting the majority of marine biodiversity.

Nevertheless, the scope of this study was broad enough that certain generalisations emerged. In particular, the authors were able to identify five factors that are key to the conservation success of an MPA. (“Success” here is defined using various measures including numbers of all fish species, numbers of species in key groups such as sharks, biomass of all fish, and of large fish.) These factors they term NEOLI, for No take (no fishing allowed), Enforced (effective enforcement of regulations), Old (long-established), Large (in terms of the area protected), and Isolated (separated from similar habitat by an extent of deep water or sandy substrate). They found that MPAs possessing four or five of these attributes score markedly higher than non-protected areas, particularly for total fish biomass, large fish biomass, and shark biomass. But MPAs with one or two NEOLI characteristics only were ecologically indistinguishable from unprotected sites.

And here’s where the mixed messages begin, in terms of the effectiveness of MPAs as a conservation strategy. First, across their entire dataset only four MPAs had all five NEOLI characteristics. Just five more had four characteristics. In other words, although MPAs can be very effective at achieving conservation objectives for reef fish, hardly any actually are. And as the authors say, “The low proportion of MPAs possessing four or five NEOLI features (10%), and thus regarded here as effective, probably overstates the true proportion of effective MPAs worldwide. Our survey strategy deliberately targeted well-known and well-regarded MPAs, with most large and long-established MPAs included in this study.” This is sobering indeed.

But the second mixed message is rather more subtle. Many proponents of MPAs talk them up as ‘win-win’. That is, MPAs are good for both conservation and for fisheries, largely because fish populations can build up within a reserve and then ‘spill over’ to the surrounding area, where they can be fished. This is certainly an argument I've made in the past. Yet the ‘I’ of NEOLI stands for Isolation, precisely because Isolation avoids spillover, so that protected fish stay within the MPA - in other words, an Isolated MPA specifically excludes the “presence of continuous habitat allowing unconstrained movement of fish across MPA boundaries”, which is exactly what MPAs are supposed to deliver to surrounding fisheries. Thus, one of the major contributors to the success of an MPA in conservation terms, is that it does not benefit fisheries.

This is, I think, extremely pertinent to the current debate within the UK, where conservation outcomes of MPAs are often conflated with other potential outcomes. The danger here is that we end up with reserves that are suboptimal for all objectives. As in all conservation initiatives, it is much better to have specific, measurable objectives defined at the outset, so that the effectiveness of any intervention can be properly assessed. Scientific evidence has a key role in this planning process, and - frustrating as it feels - this can take time. Isn’t it worth taking just a bit more time now, to ensure our seas are properly - and effectively - protected for future generations?

Reading, writing, and aestheticism

Last week my daughter turned one, and - as well as celebrating all the fun of her first year - I found myself reflecting on the growing list of ‘things I used to do’, in those dimly remembered days before the arrival of Webbs 2.0 and 2.1. There are the obvious activities - eating (and drinking) out, sport, long walks and lie ins. There are things that have come alarmingly close to making the list. ‘Doing my job properly’ springs to mind (though I think I have that under control again now…). Any parent will bore you with a similar list. But a growing concern this last year has been the fact that ‘reading for pleasure’ has receded from everyday activity to rare treat. I still read, of course, struggling like all academics to ‘keep up’ with the literature (what a laughable idea!) and to acquire some basic understanding of various topics relevant to assorted projects (and side-projects). At the moment, for instance, I am at varying distances through books on palaeobiology, oceanography, moral philosophy, and statistical graphics (and therein, some might claim, lies my problem - focus, man! - but I digress…) However, here’s a stark fact: I didn’t read a novel in 2013 (unprecedented in my literate life) and the stack next to my bed continues to yellow and gather dust. And while the shamefully low frequency of my contributions here has almost relegated ‘writing a blog’ to the list, I probably still write more posts than I read.

All this means that when I do get the chance to read something just for fun, it’d better be good. And by ‘good’ I mean the writing should offer, before anything else, what William Giraldi, in a lovely NYT review of Wendy Lesser’s Why I Read, calls ‘an ecstasy of aestheticism’. There, I’ve said it: I absolutely prize style over content. Which is why, if I get time, I will pick up the Review section from Saturday's Guardian before any science or tech supplement, to read long pieces by the likes of Will Self, Hilary Mantel, Geoff Dyer or Lionel Shriver. Now that's a pretty diverse quartet, but I know I'll get a good read out of any of them, regardless of the actual subject of their piece.

What this means, I’ve come to realise, is that I read very little that could (even loosely) be described as ‘science writing’. This despite the copious output of the many producers of absolutely brilliant science writing. More people are describing more science more clearly than ever before; but the focus (quite rightly) of these pieces is almost always on content (What cool stuff has been found? What’s the fascinating human story behind the discovery?) and much less on that elusive ecstasy of aestheticism. There is a huge public appetite for informative, readable science writing, and it seems perfectly appropriate that most science writing serves to sate this. But - given time constraints - I’m usually content to rely on 140 character chunks for pure information; for longer reads, I’m looking for brilliant writing first, with scientific content a distant second. I’m in search of the stylists of science writing. Who out there shuns the homogenising algorithms of ‘readability scores’, breaks all the rules of SciComm 101, and dares to stretch the reader with an esoteric vocabulary and the kind of (intricicate, recursive (sometimes (seemingly) infinitely so)) sentence structure that made the lamented David Foster Wallace’s essays such a challenging, pleasurable read?

I touched on some of these issues in a very early Mola mola post on Sciencey Fiction  and although that was focused (as you may have guessed) on fiction - largely novels, in fact - it does identify some writers who I think have nicely seasoned their fine writing with science. More recently, I was given a copy of Richard Hamblyn’s The Art of Science and within a paragraph of the introduction I felt I was in good hands. But it’s a long book, and sits, still, in that yellowing, dusty pile…

So then, let’s cut to the chase. Which writers - in any format - ought I at least try to squeeze in to my few spare weekly minutes to lend my recreational reading more of a sciencey flavour?

Life with Attenborough

Christmas day 1981, Horton General Hospital. Superman cloak: check. Grotesquely swollen neck: check. Life on Earth on the table: check.
Christmas day 1981, Horton General Hospital. Superman cloak: check. Grotesquely swollen neck: check. Life on Earth on the table: check.

Christmas day 1981. A six-year-old boy sits on his bed in the Horton General Hospital, Banbury. He feels poorly, no worse, but for now nobody knows quite what’s wrong with him. His parents hide their worry so well that he is only now, a parent himself, starting to appreciate it. But on Christmas day it’s all smiles, with mum, dad and big brother all crowded into the small room. His brother’s main present was a portable radio, and the two boys share the headphones when Adam Ant’s Prince Charming comes onto Radio 1. The boy has his presents to open too, and from mum and dad is a life-changing book: Discovering Life on Earth, by David Attenborough.

Soon enough I was home, neck back to normal after the glandular fever, a little delicate for a few months but happily free of hospitals for the rest of my childhood (until the late teenage rugby years and associated A&E loyalty card). And able to watch Life on Earth as it was repeated, following each episode studiously in my book, the start of my Life with Attenborough that continues to this day. The book has accompanied me throughout, picking up companions on the way as landmark series followed landmark series. I’ve a few of the Attenborough-narrated ones - The Blue PlanetandFrozen Planet stand out - but it’s the Attenborough-written ones I covet, the Life series and various other side projects that have been a thirty year masterclass in natural history broadcasting and inspirational science communication.

A well-travelled book, a constant companion for 32 years.
A well-travelled book, a constant companion for 32 years.

For instance: an early trigger for my interest in placing people within their ecosystems, The First Eden took on the parallel evolution of civilisation and nature in the Mediterranean.

For instance: as undergraduates in the mid 1990s (my decision to study biology not unconnected to BBC Natural History’s outputs), my housemates and I sat glued to The Private Life of Plants, wowed by the (at the time) phenomenally advanced filming that demonstrated plants growing and behaving in ways I’d never appreciated. Yes, Attenborough makes even plants interesting.

For instance: fresh from my PhD, my first ever DVD boxset The Life of Mammals took familiar beasts and exposed them in all their weird wonder, illuminating the lives of everything from platypusses (I have wanted one as a pet ever since) to people.

And if you want a single snapshot of the Attenborough magic, watch again the scene where he encounters a blue whale, from 1.17 here

“I can see its tail, just under my boat here. And it’s coming up… it’s coming up… THERE!”

That’s part one of the Attenbourough appeal: he is exhilarated by the sight of the largest ever animal - just as we would be - and he breathlessly communicates that thrill. But without pause, we get part two: in seconds he has enriched that emotional response with three pieces of information, bang bang bang:

Bang: “The blue whale is a hundred feet long - 30 metres.”

Bang: “Nothing like that can grow on land, because no bone is strong enough to support such bulk.”

Bang: “Only in the sea can you get such huge size as that magnificent creature”

For part three, just watch from the beginning of the clip to see how he embraces the potential of technology - remember, this is the man who, as head of BBC2, introduced colour to UK television. But technology is only ever used to supplement - never to replace - the storytelling.

Mine's a signed copy, of sorts…
Mine's a signed copy, of sorts…

There we go. My life has been greatly enriched - its course changed - by the work of David Attenborough. So what if there is no conveniently round-numbered anniversary to celebrate? I want to say ‘thank you’, and I want to express my intense admiration of an astonishing oeuvre; and now is as good a time as any. Attenborough is still making fascinating television - although, in the recent When Björk met Attenborough (which, if you have any interest at all in music or nature, you should go to very great lengths to watch) he did, for the first time, look an old man to me, no longer quite so sprightly. Maybe that got me thinking about the profound influence he’s had on my life. Maybe my son’s chickenpox led to some Proustian pondering of my own childhood illnesses. Perhaps it was those UCAS supporting statements I recently read, confirming Attenborough’s influence on yet another generation of biologists.

Or maybe I just needed an excuse to link to this Christmas message…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bMYgcBxKx-w

Happy holidays!