WDC Blog - From the Front Line

The marine conservation world lost one of its greatest and most modest heroes last week. Dr Mandy McMath, the senior marine ecologist at CCW (the Countryside Council for Wales) passed away after a long battle with cancer.

Mandy McMath touched the lives and hearts of many of us who work on marine wildlife and we could all do a lot worse than seek to walk in her footsteps.

The news of Mandy’s death took me by surprise as a few days earlier I had exchanged emails with her and she was as wise and witty in these exchanges as ever. By then, I had heard that she would have to run her life from a wheel chair, as her cancer had resurfaced, but I did not know that her death was imminent. Perhaps she knew but chose not to share this, instead channelling her energies into positive engagement with colleagues and issues, as she had always done.

Mandy was renowned for her championship of two key causes in the marine conservation sphere: firstly, the conservation of the marine mammals in Welsh seas; and, secondly, the promotion of the role of women in conservation and science. Part of her legacy is the conservation designations that now gird the Welsh coastline. In this context, she was also a great friend and supporter of research on dolphins and seals around her beloved Bardsey Island and elsewhere in Cardigan Bay.

One of my fondest memories is sitting with Mandy on Bardsey one particularly fine sunny day at what we call the Cliff End lookout and surveying the wonderfully flat sea south across the Bay. A small group of the usually elusive Risso’s dolphins accompanied by their calves swam into view and then milled for long wonderful minutes in the waters directly below us. Clip boards with forms for essential data and cameras were forgotten, the dictaphone was dropped and cameras kicked as we both lost our professional detachment in the thrill of this rare inshore encounter. Her enthusiasm for marine wildlife was undeniably infectious.

In recent years, Mandy visited Bardsey many times and led the innovative work there using digital photography to examine how mother gray seals returned to the same coves and often the same mates each year. Several of the team from the Whale and Dolphin Conservation Society are on the island today and send their best wishes and join their thoughts with yours. One of Mandy’s last messages to us asked for photographs of the recently moulted seal pups, to extend this project, which of course we have been doing.

Seals have a strange status in the UK and can be the subject of human persecution. Bardsey Island is relatively remote and offers a sanctuary for them.  Mandy was one of their champions working hard to navigate the complex politics that affect them. It is not surprising that the handful of people who live on the island (who all knew her well) have already made a small salute to her memory and named a recently born seal pup there ‘Mandy’.  I think that would have made her smile. She did not like fuss and she certainly did not seek accolades (this eulogy would have made her cringe) but my goodness she deserved to be recognised as the fundamental force for marine conservation that she was, and Mandy the seal’s chances of a long and happy life in an increasingly busy and dangerous sea have certainly been improved by her namesake.

The second sphere of influence where Mandy was also an undoubted champion was more subtle, but nonetheless important, and this concerned her encouragement of the participation of women in conservation and science. Mandy recognised the many difficulties that often stopped an enthusiastic female graduate from making a career in conservation.  With a kind and encouraging word here and some subtle manipulation elsewhere she would help them along. Her influence will have been spread by them all around the world.

Over the years that I knew her she encouraged many people of both genders in their endeavours and a chat with Mandy would often serve to re-inspire and redirect even the most jaded researcher. ‘Keep going Boyo’ she would say to me and I am sure she spoke similarly to many others.

Mandy was funny. Mandy was fun. Her good humour helped many of us through difficult periods in the field, as well as in dealing with our frustrations with the authorities.  Above all, she was wonderfully wise and I am sure like many of you, I will miss being able to talk to her.

Part of what Mandy leaves behind her is a body of papers and reports which bear her name as author or project manager, but her influence is much greater than this. Put simply, Mandy significantly nurtured marine conservation in Wales, and also far beyond. One example of the ‘far beyond’ being her contributions to the work of the European Cetacean Society which also extends its condolences. Recently she helped to establish the European Cetacean Society’s Conservation Prize and in doing so also ensured the Prize’s strong focus on education.

In what turned out to be our last email exchanges, when I was initiating a visit to see her, Mandy commented that the people at CCW could not have been more supportive of her in her illness and how proud she was of her team. Perhaps I should have seen a hint in the tense she used in this thought that she shared with me.

In response to my comment: ‘Those are some tough life cards you have been dealt…’ her reply was characteristically wise:

“The trick now is to make the most of the hand dealt.”

As I said, we could all do a lot worse than try to walk in Mandy’s shoes – striving to adopt a similar positive attitude and her good humour, being down to earth but still inspirational, and at least attempting the wonderfully wise support to friends and colleagues that Mandy gave so generously. 

 
WDCS wishes all of Mandy’s family and friends well at this sad time. It was a pleasure and privilege to know her.

As we focus on our own sporting prowess at the London 2012 Olympics, maybe it is a good time to think about some of the gold-medal holders in the animal kingdom too.

LONGEST SWIM
The longest mammal migrations are made by the whales too – a humpback travelling from its feeding ground in Antarctica to the breeding ground off Colombia may cover 5,176 miles (8,334 km). The gray whales are also contenders for this gold medal and also cover vast distances.

DEEPEST DIVING
The deepest diving mammal is probably the sperm whale. 2000 m has been recorded but indirect evidence indicates that they may go a further 1000 m. The beaked whale family are contenders for this medal too and are known to dive to similar depths.

LONGEST DIVER
The record for the longest dive may belong to the sperm whale too – two hours and 18 minutes were recorded. Team Beaked Whale is again a contender in this sport.

LARGEST
Of course the largest animal on Earth is the blue whale – the heaviest recorded weighed 209 tons (190 tonnes) and the longest measured 110 feet and 2 inches (33.5 m). A similar length to a Boeing 737 jet airliner. (The fin whale comes second!) 

LOUDEST VOICE
The loudest sounds made by any animal also come from the blue whale (and the fin whale) – these low frequency pulses can be up to 188 decibels.

MOST TUNEFUL
The longest and most complex song produced by any animal is that of the humpback whale. Each song may last for half an hour and contains many components.

Team Whale are also contenders in the following events:

FASTEST SWIMMER
Dall’s porpoises can reach 30 knots which is about 34.5 miles per hour.

MARINE GYMNASTICS
The spinner dolphins with their amazing high spinning leaps from the water might be the gold medallists here but don’t discount the amazing aerial displays by the humpback whales.

LONGEST LIVED
Perhaps not really a sport but certainly an important attribute and the bowhead whale is now known to live up to about 200 years. This probably makes them the longest-lived vertebrate animal.  

At the 2012 annual meeting of the European Cetacean Society (ECS) in Galway, Ireland in March, the annual Conservation Award – which is part-sponsored by WDCS - was given to Dr Peter Evans.

Mark Simmonds, the WDCS International Director of Science, helped to celebrate this event with a speech which is reproduced below virtually verbatim (give or take some adlibbing indicated by square brackets). It is important to note that Dr Evans later disputed some of the ‘history’ recounted here and that he was walking with the aid of a stick after he broke his leg in a fall in an icy marina in Wales a few months back. BDMLR is British Divers Marine Life Rescue.

Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great personal pleasure to now address the ECS with my short paper entitled:

The Natural History of Peter Evans

By Mark Peter Simmonds.

.. And whilst the sample size is certainly not large, I hope that you will agree that it is significant!

My study period covers only the last two decades, but there are earlier sightings records that have been carefully verified based on some quite distinctive and long-lasting markings. [Reference was made here to Peter’s distinctive shock of hair and a comparison drawn with the hair styles of currently-popular boy band One Direction].

There is also a general agreement that at some unknown point that Peter must have been born. And the earlier hypothesis of Donovan, Hammond, Foot and Rogan that he was cloned has largely been discredited on the simple grounds that he is truly unique.

Ethically-conducted genetic sampling reveals Peter to be of both English and Welsh stock. His early academic ‘prey’ seems to have been largely avian [for this cetacean-orientated gathering, I note that this refers to birds] and it is believed that he played a role in the infamous exploding starling incident in Oxford (which you may like to ask him about later).

Indeed, around the time that he surfaced in marine mammal matters for me, his distribution was in fact centred around Oxford – although all tagging attempts have to date failed. He famously held meetings of the great and the good (including the JNCC) in his Oxford bedroom, which was allegedly also the location of the new legendary sub-mattress data-storage cache.

There is evidences of some regular seasonal long distance movements to the Caribbean [where for all we know he may have a second life as a pirate] and this seems to be something to do with birds again [allegedly a parrot], and also shorter on- and off-shore movements along the coasts of Western Scotland, where this highly-social animal is well known in many local bars. This range at one time almost certainly extended to Ireland, where romantic behaviour has also been suggested.

[It is not entirely clear if this romantic behaviour was focused on his beloved seabirds, his first whale sighting (which was indeed in Ireland) or as the ‘Berrow Theory’ has it, that this involved a “flame-haired, green-eyed, Kerry girl”.]

Oddly enough the relevant copy of the ECS Journal on this topic was never published.

I will not elaborate further on breeding behaviour as others are better qualified, but I believe it involves some well-rehearsed dance steps as frequently seen at ECS meetings.

Over the now many years that I have known Peter and had the privilege of often working with him in tandem on issues, his influence on European cetacean conservation across Europe has simply been enormous. He occupies a niche that can only be described as uniquely Peter Evans-shaped. He brings a widely-respected integrity to all his work and somehow manages to span the weird divides between academe and NGOs and science and conservation policy. The fact that he does most of this from a small NGO-platform, I think makes this all the more remarkable.

Peter’s publications range from high-impact journals to the famous UK cetacean Atlases (based in part on that fabled sub-mattress data cache). There are also many Evans’ books and many of us always keep a copy of his 1897 classic “The Natural History of Whales and Dolphins” at hand at all times.

Peter is also outstanding in the sphere of education. For many of us he has been a mentor; even if in some cases he did not know it.

He birthed the Sea Watch Foundation in 1991 and more to the point here [at the ECS annual conference], he was fundamental in the founding of the European Cetacean Society; once there were five (he was the first Secretary) and now we are almost five hundred. For many years he was also, of course, the essential ECS editor, churning out those distinctive volumes and putting us all through our paces. 

If Peter Evan’s is not the Father of the ECS, he is at the least our beloved Dancing Uncle.

Peter’s home territory has now moved to his beloved North Wales and many of your will have noticed evidence of a recent stranding event in Pwllheli Harbour. Fortunately Peter was successfully refloated (and my suspicion is that he may need to be refloated again later tonight – so BDMLR please go on standby) – and unfortunately we will not be treated to those famous dance moves this year.

Ladies and Gentlemen, it was of course only a question of ‘when’ and ‘how long’ we would make Peter wait -  rather than ‘if’ we would pass this award to Peter. He epitomises in his career to date all that is appropriate in terms of moving science into conservation action, and he does this with energy, enthusiasm and modesty. To steal a comment from Greg Donovan [who gave a key note speech earlier]: he is “humility mixed with knowledge”.

Please now prepare to again make a loud noise for our

‘Small Celtic Giant’,

‘Our ECS Dancing Uncle’,

the Inspiration that is the unique and remarkable Dr Peter Evans.

[Rapturous applause and a standing ovation followed.]

Peter receives his award.

By Elsa Panciroli

With photographs by Charlie Phillips

I’d just finished my lunch when I got the call from my local BDMLR coordinator, Linda Nicholson, “it’s on.” She’d messaged to warn there’d been a mass stranding and I should stay by the phone. I’d spent the last 20 minutes manically gulping food and going over the action plan: call my boss, close-up, get fuel, go home, put together a grab bag, check the location - and drive.

It’s a stunningly beautiful 3 hour journey from Inverness where I run the WDCS Dolphin and Seal Centre with my colleague Kila, to Sarsgrum near Durness, in the far-flung north-westerly corner of the UK. I found myself see-sawing between excitement and dread. On the one hand I was going to see my first long-finned pilot whales: I’d be able to touch them, hear them and examine their beautiful bodies. On the other hand, was this really how I wanted to see my first: suffering as they lay crushed by their own weight on the cold sand?

At 6:15pm, I was the second WDCS worker on the scene after Field Officer Charlie Phillips, and far from the first person - let alone the first marine mammal medic - to get to Sarsgrum. The Kyle of Durness is a snaking bay just next door to Cape Wrath. It is narrow, shallow and riddled with mud and fine sand banks - a cetacean’s worst nightmare.
The police, Coastguard and BDMLR were visibly present, their cars lining the edge of the single-track road in a lopsided conga above the shore. There were 4 pilot whales at Sarsgrum: a mother and calf, an adult about 20 metres from them, and another adult on a bank in the middle of the bay, separated from the shore by waist deep water. As we are taught in training, I kitted up and made straight for the highest ranking BDMLR medic.

Tracey Meiklejohn, Coordinator for Caithness, filled me in on events so far. Around noon 50-60 pilot whales had been seen in the bay when the tide was in. Even at full water it was dangerously shallow. The Navy bomb disposal team, who operate off the cape, had used their boats to corral most of them out of the danger zone and seawards, but the four at Sarsgrum had beached despite their best efforts. We had to keep them alive and comfortable and wait for the tide, which was in 6 hours. Their chances of survival were quite slim.

I approached my first live pilot whale with my heart in my throat. It looked more like the models we trained on than a living creature. It proved itself conscious with explosive exhalations, its blowhole opening from a half moon slit to a fist-size gape and then swiftly pulling shut. At 4-5 breaths per minute it was in the normal range for a beached pilot. I went to the mother and calf and offered to take over from those who had been keeping them wet and monitored since they’d beached hours before.

The mother was 5-6 metres long, her calf 3-4 metres. They lay side by side, the calf squealing constantly in distress. Its mother listed terribly to her left, despite all efforts to upright her, and she occasionally thrashed in an effort to get closer to her youngster. They were draped in sheets, kept wet by three diligent members of the public. I sat myself beside the calf and began gently caressing him and cooing, hoping to calm him. He couldn’t have been more than 2 years old, still suckling.

What struck me was their eyes: they look right into you. Adrift on the land like this, whales are useless lumps of flopping fat, but you can see the intelligence and distress in their eyes. In the water these creatures have majesty and agilty, but out of their element they are crushed by gravity, prisoners in their own bodies and helpless.

It was decided to move the calf - a male - so the mother could see it more easily. She was distressed by the process, but calmed afterwards. The youngster continued to squeal. It was at this point we got the terrible news from BDMLR medic Jamie Dyer about the rest of the whales. While 20 of them had made it out of the Kyle to the open sea, the remaining animals had tragically beached on a sandbank out of sight of Sarsgrum. “It’s carnage out there,” he warned us, “only come if you have a dry suit and a strong stomach.”

At this point several of my colleagues from the WDCS Spey Bay centre arrived, so WDCS Conservation Officer Alison Lomax and I struggled into our drysuits and boarded the Coastguard and Navy ribs along with 30 others including medics and brave members of the public. As we were ferried through the shallow channel to the whales, Jamie Dyer explained that the animals were upside down, on top of one another, some being sick and others bleeding. “There are some already dead - you just have to put them out of your mind for now, try not to dwell. Our priority is to save those who are still alive and have the best chance of survival.”

We braced ourselves for the worst.

Some kind of safety valve shuts off your emotions in situations like this. Although the scene was terrible, we took a collective deep breath and went straight to work. Jumping into the shin deep water we split into two teams, moving from whale to whale, often stepping over dead ones to reach those still desperately trying to keep breathing. The noise was incredible, as every animals puffed, thrashed, squealed and screamed to each other. After digging into the sand under the belly side, we pushed each whale upright. One person stayed behind to brace the animal and stop it from tilting back onto its side, and the team moved on to the next. It went on like this until every living pilot whale was upright with its blowhole free of water and sand.

Many of the usual rules didn’t apply: pontoons and such equipment couldn’t be deployed effectively as the water got steadily deeper, and with the animals piled on top of one another it was impossible to avoid their powerful flukes. We had to watch out for one another and ourselves.

Soon the water was up to our thighs and we were able to help the smaller whales and juveniles off the sandbar. We did this in groups where possible, but again and again they came back towards their distressed friends. Some of us wrangled them away from the sand while others pushed and tugged more whales out to safety. Soon the group of swimming pilot whales had grown to around 15 animals, all huddling together and calling frantically.

It was an exhausting final effort to get the last and largest individuals out to join them. Two in particular refused to leave without each other. When we tried to push one, it would hear the other calling and turn back. In the end we had to push them nearer each other before both consented to be shoved off the sandbar. Meanwhile the bodies of those who didn’t make it were covered over and soon disappeared, including a calf no more than a couple of months, perhaps 2 metres long, its neonatal folds still clearly visible. It had died before we could get there.

The tide raced into the bay, and soon the ribs were pulling us out of the water. Alison and I, being tall, remained as long as physically possible, gently but forcefully pushing the pilot whales in the right direction and keeping them together. Soon we were close to being swept off our feet and the ribs retrieved us too. Only 4 or 5 people with flippers stayed to keep driving the group out to the sea and safety. We felt a mix of elation and worry as we watched them recede into the distance.
It was close to 11pm when we reached shore again. It had taken over 4 hours of punishing physical effort, but we’d achieved something fantastic: every whale that was alive when we got there had been refloated. Alison was cold and my drysuit had leaked badly. Thoughtful locals had come with hot drinks and snacks. We refuelled, changed our clothes and returned to Sarsgrum. We gave our drysuits to our WDCS colleagues and let them continue the fight to save the remaining 4 whales at Sarsgrum.

Alison and I were completely exhausted - it was over for us. Our thoughtful and resourceful boss, Centre’s manager Alice Mayne, had booked all of us into a hostel, where we collapsed into fitful sleep. Our team members kept the last whales alive and refloated them after 1am.

I woke at 4am and went to rejoin those still at Sarsgrum. Charlie Phillips and I had been keeping one another updated, and he was now out on the headland watching to make sure none of the animals were coming back. He told me at least 8 of the whales had restranded in the night, but only 4 were still alive. The other bodies may have been some of those already dead on the sandbar, but the 4 who were alive were likely to have been the ones that had been refloated late that night. One was a calf.

They were sinking into the mud, and it was a distressing couple of hours before a vet could reach them through the dangerous terrain and assess them. All were humanely euthanized. We breathed a sigh of relief that their suffering was over.

Our thoughts have to remain with the survivors. It’s a horrible event, and every death is sad and painful, but of 50-60 animals more than half, 40+ of them made it back to the sea. This is a fantastic success. Everyone worked tirelessly, despite the cold, lack of sleep and difficult conditions. I for one think exhaustion and aching muscles are worth it to rescue such beautiful, special creatures.

If it wasn’t for our efforts, most - if not all - would have perished.

It will be months before any of us will close their eyes without seeing pilot whales in their dreams.

The opening of IWC 63.

Monday 11th of July.

The hall of the annual whaling Commission looks much the same as ever as delegates gather. Some are moving into place to sit behind their national flags and name plates. Others are milling and chatting in the aisles. The NGOs are vying for seats at the back at the room but (and this is very exciting) this year they have tables, water and electricity sockets (thank you Secretariat). The seats at the further back being the most popular as no one can read your emails and skypes over your shoulder (well not directly from the screens anyway).

Note books are poised, lap tops precariously perched on laps (and tables), and outside the raucous calls of gulls high overhead punctuate the muted rumble of the traffic on the streets of St Helier.

Press interest has been building over the last few days and scattered around the hall are a handful of reporters (recognisable by red badges), many of whom know this forum well and what to expect. Indeed, there are many people here who have been attending the IWC meetings for years, in some cases even decades. But there are new faces too. Several of the European Commissioners are new, including the UK’s Commissioner, Richard Pullen, today flanked by his minister, Richard Benyon MP. Perhaps this year the latter will get to speak. Despite coming all the way to Agadir last year, because the Commission rapidly went into secret session for three days, he was not able to say anything, although of course a ministerial-level presence from the UK was noted.

We are also pleased to welcome a new canine delegate. Following hard on the paws of her distinguished colleague Giles, the guide dog who used to accompany the UK’s previous Commissioner, the formidable Richard Cowan, comes Vicky. She will be assisting the UK’s legal expert. Hopefully Vicky will be less mischievous than the redoubtable Giles and especially when in buffet areas and receptions, where Giles’ loyalties were clearly sometimes torn between attending to his master and answering the call of his stomach.

Anyway, we are now under ‘starter’s-orders’ and further to the preceding months of preparation and closed meetings, we wait to see if anything will change this year.

And they are off… stay tuned.

Following the remarkably heavy rains of the end of last week, the weekend has been bright and sunny here in Jersey. Many delegates have been able to escape from their various co-ordination meetings and joined the bustling streets of St Helier. The town boasts all the usual chain stores found in European cities but also some speciality retail outlets for the produce of the Channel Islands. There are also many art galleries and alongside the pastoral views and seascapes, the Jersey cow with its friendly and expressive face features strongly.

Sunday will be busier for everyone, with many high-level preparatory and co-ordination meetings happening ahead of the IWC opening tomorrow. But this has been an IWC of two parts this year and let us look a few weeks back, when the IWC’s Scientific Committee held its annual meeting (for the first time for many years this was not back-to-back with the main Commission meetings).  At the invitation of the Norwegian government it was held  in Tromso in the Arctic north.  The report of the Scientific Committee remains confidential until the opening of the main meeting (another of the IWC’s old fashioned and secret procedures); but we can report that Tromso was a pleasant venue –a friendly town on a small island nestled amongst many fjords, snow capped mountains (even in June) and so far north that night never comes!

It is a beautiful part of the world stunning in its detail – a thousand waterfalls and a burst of Spring time flowers and amongst them the reindeer and elk wander freely.

Meanwhile, back to Jersey. For comparison, here we have the famous eponymous local cow and an indigenous bank vole. The locals also have some sort of unusual preoccupation with their local toad (referred to using the French word ‘crapaud’). Monsieur Crapaud is so revered here that there no less than two statues of him in St Helier’s main squares. In one the crapaud is flanked by several life-sized jersey cows in the other a huge toad is mounted on top of a column. We shall be further investigating the significance of this in due course.

There are also some less appealing wildlife. A late morning survey of the somewhat suspiciously sticky streets sees the slow and shy emergence of some very strange creatures indeed. Red-eyed and big of belly, they appear to be primates of some sort. Are they perhaps escapees from the local Durrell institute for Conservation menagerie? Certainly they have some primate features and possibly even a rudimentary form of language – high in expletives and low in general vocabulary. They appear to be mainly nocturnal. In the daylight, odd specimens can be found propped up in coffee shops around the town gently re-hydrating and going bright red in the sun.

They belong to the family of lower primates more frequently seen in Mediterranean resorts where alcohol is cheap. They are the fabled British Booze Hounds.

The wildlife in and around the immediate vicinity of the meeting hotel is otherwise quite limited. Here we find severe warning notes about the “aggressive” local gulls and the terrace of the hotel onto which in fine weather the hotel’s one café extends, has a fine network of nylon lines strung high overhead to try to keep them off. The gulls appear to have worked out ways through these nearly invisible lines and parade shamelessly amongst the delegates eyeing with interest their soups and salads. Indeed the obvious puzzle-solving abilities of the gulls, combined with the intelligent glint in their eyes, raises a question as to whether or not they might be included in the group of animals that are regarded as sentient. There has been much interesting and important discussion about which animals qualify as having this attribute in recent years. From a casual study of the behaviour of the local wildlife, this observer at least feels that the case is appreciably stronger for the herring gull than the British Booze Hound. 

We are now in the last couple of days before the opening of the 63rd meeting of the International Whaling Commission. Workshops have been running behind the closed doors of the meeting halls in the Hotel de France in St. Helier, Jersey, in the Channel Islands and the Commission will finally open its doors to the public and the press on Monday.

So, how do we come be in Jersey? Well, when no country invites the IWC to town for its annual meeting, as was the case for at least the main IWC meeting this year, the IWC Secretariat (which is based in Cambridge, UK) has to find a venue based on the budget that it has available. The last time this happened was the meeting held in Hammersmith in London. This time the Secretariat has brought us to Jersey (for which we thank them). Strictly speaking, the Channel Islands are not part of the UK, but they are part of Britain and thanks to some interesting quirks of local history, here the royal toast is to ‘Her Majesty the Queen, the Duke of Normandy'.

The Islands are self-governing and steeped in their own rich history which is strongly coloured by some five centuries of battles between the UK and France for their ownership. There is still a strong French influence visible, for example, in many place names here. It seems that allegiance to the British crown was achieved because it allowed self-governance. Another strong local influence is the legacy of the years of occupation that the islands suffered during World War II when they were the only part of Britain to be occupied by Nazi forces. Early in the war, Hitler issued instruction that the islands should be fortified and many remaining structures show how efficiently this was achieved. There are also many monuments to this time. One stands just outside the main bus station – the Liberation Station - on the quay in St Helier (the Island’s capital). Here a joyful group of people are depicted waving a giant Union Jack (the British flag) in the air. It was never clear during the War that the Islands were of any strategic significance. They were too far away from the UK coastline for that and, for example, played no part in the evacuations of cornered ally troops from the beaches and harbour of Dunkirk. However, Hitler’s orders were rigorously followed and although many islanders escaped before the occupation, many were also trapped here.

It would be inappropriate to make a comparison between those times and the meetings happening here now at the Hotel de France. So we won’t. However, July 2011 sees a meeting of nations – potentially as many as 89 if all the member nations of the IWC show up – of some significance, not just for the whales but also for how the international community conducts itself because key issues on the agenda this year include the ‘governance of the IWC’. The old Convention that established the IWC was agreed in 1946 and includes many elements that more modern treaties now clearly avoid. Most famously there is the ‘scientific whaling’ clause which allows nations to issue quotas to themselves for ‘scientific research’. Then there are the various veils of secrecy that affect many issues and meetings. Hence the report of the scientific committee (which we can reveal met a few weeks ago in Tromso in Arctic Norway) remains secret as do the meetings that happened this week – until we get to Monday. Then there are arguably lesser, but still important, matters relating to how the IWC functions such as the fact that countries can turn up and pay their annual dues (and secure their right to vote) during the meeting and in cash. These and a host of other issues need to be updated to make the IWC fit to face the 21st century. The UK has a proposal in play – as can be seen on the IWC website - (in the form of a resolution – the usual way that the IWC makes decisions) to address some of these issues. In many ways it is a modest proposal, but it is still a step in the right direction if it goes through.

Other key issues include how the IWC deals with requests for ‘aboriginal subsistence whaling quotas’. Quotas to provide subsistence for certain indigenous peoples who have a nutritional and cultural dependence on whales have been permitted by the IWC for decades. However, concerns have arisen in recent years about the conformity of some hunts with those longstanding principles, in particular the growing commercialization of whale products in Greenland beyond those who depend on them for subsistence, including sales to tourists. More of this later. There is also much work to be done to protect whales in the 21st century from modern threats such as climate change and marine debris. We are encouraging the IWC to step up and take these matters urgently in hand. So please look here for updates from the WDCS team at the IWC to see how these things are progressing. The main Commission meeting (when it opens its doors to the public) starts here on the 11th and runs until the 14th.

World Oceans Day, 8 June 2010. Eulogy for the Gulf of México. Let us now remember and celebrate the life of what was one of the most species diverse and productive corners of the world ocean: the now beleaguered Gulf of México, its brilliance long to be stained by the reality and the legacy of one of the world’s largest ever oil spills.

Supposedly now being contained on the north side of the Gulf, the spill was last compared to the size of Luxembourg but that doesn’t account for the three-dimensional penetration of the mile-plus water column.

The human addiction to oil — and corporate greed shouting out in its willingness to take extraordinary risks for profit —has much to answer for.

Of course, the Gulf itself is not dead. But sadly the world will now think of oily destruction whenever they hear “Gulf of Mexico”. How long it will take the Gulf to get back to “normal”?

For now, the bodies pile up: seabirds, turtles, fish, dolphins. The fishing boats lie rusting in the marinas. The beaches are near empty. And all over the world, the people who trusted the can’t-miss blue chip BP with their pensions and investments, will suffer, too. Even the oil workers on other rigs in the Gulf have been choking on the fumes, and many have been evacuated. Spare a thought for those species that have nowhere to go but to try to live, and sooner or later die, in the mess.

Let us now remember this sea of gold. Please remember the gold was never the oil; it was the fish, shrimp, dolphins, whales, the sea itself. This golden sea will long be tarnished.

Let this at least be a warning to those who may become similarly blinded by the promise of false gold beneath the sea, eager and willing to risk our future, and our children’s future. We can’t let it happen again.

In a follow up to my recent post on the issue of climate degradation I noted two features in this week's New Scientist Magazine that i thought might interest you.

Firstly, further evidence is coming to light that methane is being released from under the Arctic Ocean. Alaskan based scientists have discovered over 100 hot-spots where methane is leaking from seabed permafrost to form areas of seawater at eight times the level of expected dilution in surrounding Arctic waters. Estimates suggest that 7 million tonnnes are being released a year at the moment, but as the Arctic warms up this could accelerate, contributing to rapid climate degradation.

At the same time three US states, Texas, Louisiana and South Dakota, have told their schools that they have to teach climate change scepticism. In the land of the 'First Amendment' it appears that states can decide what science is relevant, and what is not, and dance closely with the Constitution to insist that a political view is promoted in schools. So, whilst UK schools can debate the issue, with all points of view able to be discussed by enquiring students based on the evidence they can find; in South Dakota the state legislature has decided that the science is 'unresolved' and is 'complicated and prejudiced'. The legislature bill also says that climate change debate is 'political'.

These phrases from our state governments are political in their own right and I charge that they challenge the fundamental concept of Freedom of Speech. How can our legislators, local, state, federal or inter-governmental, insist that the science is 'prejudiced' unless they have already decided it is 'prejudiced' against what they wish students and young people to believe.

I for one thought the USA was founded on the right to oppose tyranny; but the modern tyranny of thought control over our children is maybe of more concern than any British musket ever could be.

Stop telling us what to believe, and let us decide ourselves.