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Butterflyfish effect
IT NEVER CEASES TO AMAZE ME how many critically endangered species can claw and swim their way back from near-certain oblivion, with a little help from a handful of human friends. In every corner of the world there are people who have devoted their lives to saving wildlife on the edge and, very often, it's only their determination and perseverance that stands between an endangered species and extinction.
Without devoted individuals on the front line, conservation work around the world would grind to an abrupt halt.
This fact of conservation life has been reinforced in the wake of December's tsunami. The monster wave devastated turtle conservation in the Indian Ocean - not so much because it obliterated turtle populations or destroyed their nesting beaches, but because it killed scores of conservation field staff.
Admittedly many thousands, possibly tens of thousands, of turtle eggs and hatchlings were washed into the sea and several important breeding grounds were severely damaged. That was bad enough. But it was the loss of dedicated staff that will have the biggest impact.
For example, India's Andaman and Nicobar Environment Trust field station at Campbell Bay, in Great Nicobar, was devastated by the tsunami. Six of its seven field staff - including four scientists studying olive ridley and leatherback turtles - are still missing, presumed dead.
Similarly, the Kosgoda nesting beach on Sri Lanka's southern coast was hit by a 6m-high wave. The Turtle Conservation Project there was managed by 17 local egg-protectors, and all but three of them were swept into the sea.
Emergency conservation measures for sea turtles in the Indian Ocean are needed desperately - but they won't happen without finding sufficiently qualified and committed staff to replace those lost.
Caring for these endearing and enigmatic creatures is tough, challenging work. It's hard enough finding the right people at the best of times, let alone in the aftermath of such a major disaster.
I was diving in the Maldives recently and saw two Italian divers squabbling over a hawksbill turtle. One of them was actually riding on its back. After a lot of gesticulating, I persuaded them to let the turtle take a breath and, after a brief respite at the surface, it disappeared safely out of reach in the depths below.
Back on the boat, the divers were initially angry and quite aggressive towards me, but I persevered over a beer or two afterwards and I genuinely think they won't harass a turtle again.
It was insignificant in the scheme of things, but it was my small contribution to what I call the Butterflyfish Effect.
The original Butterfly Effect theory suggests that a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil can cause a tornado in Texas months later - or, more appropriately in our world, a butterflyfish swishing its tail in the Red Sea can alter the course of a current off Madagascar.
Small and apparently insignificant incidents can set in motion a chain of events with far-reaching consequences. Maybe those Italian divers will encourage other divers to show a little respect, too, and slowly word will spread. I hope so.
Individuals are also needed on a grander scale. The World Wide Fund for Nature (WWF) recently warned that coastal communities killing sea turtles for meat and shells, or collecting their eggs, lose millions of tourist dollars every year.
WWF studied 18 sites in Africa, Asia, Latin America and the Caribbean. Half killed turtles and produced an average annual income from sea turtle products of £332,000, while the other half protected them as an attraction for divers and other tourists and made three times as much.
The figures speak for themselves. But the only way this report will make any real impact is by individuals banging on the doors of developers, politicians and community leaders in areas where turtles are being killed, and persuading them to switch from turtle-hunting to watching.
What I find reassuring is knowing that such people - willing to work long hours, often against the odds, coping with one setback after another, for relatively little money, and sometimes at risk to their own personal safety - actually do exist.
Zoologist, conservationist, writer and broadcaster Mark Carwardine writes each month in DIVER. Visit his website, www.markcarwardine.com
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