Sustainability Management student Ned McLean wrote his perspective after watching a major coral bleaching event over the course of two trips to Anegada's barrier reef. The op-ed was originally written as part of Claudia Dreifus' "Writing About Global Science for the International Media" course.
Our catamaran drifted across the water as we prepared to disembark on Anegada, a small Easterly island in the British West Indies.
My crewmates and I, burgeoning SCUBA divers who had just completed our advanced certification course, shuffled across the deck to gaze at the crystalline water as it caught the sunlight and reflected back the day’s promise. We had sailed for three hours from Virgin Gorda, one of the most populous parts of the British Virgin Islands, to explore Horseshoe Reef, one of the largest barrier reefs in the world.
There exists one narrow passageway in and out of the island and any deviance from it will surely result in running aground; the ghostly remains of three hundred or so shipwrecks dotting its surrounding waters tell a cautionary tale.
We set off by jeep for Loblolly Bay, famed for its white sand beaches and native population of flamingos and sea lavender. But the real prize lay inches and feet and yards beneath the surface.
We waded into the Caribbean Sea and lowered our masks into the water. When we reached the outskirts of the reef, I was struck dumb by its enormity. Brilliant reds, greens, and yellows danced before our eyes. Sea fans swayed in the current. Parrotfish picked away at the structure, transforming their meals into the sand we walked on, and the familiar tinkling of busy shrimp scraping algae from rocks reverberated around us.
Coral is an amazing amalgamation, an evolutionary partnership between plant and animal stretched around an in-house secreted calcium carbonate skeleton. Growth is slow and deliberate: a single head of brain coral the size of a basketball takes 50 years to grow to that size. Horseshoe Reef is 18 miles long and ascends some 30 feet from bottom to surface. This ancient colossus had grown polyp by polyp, year after year.
After hours of snorkeling, exploring swim-throughs, and passively observing the complexities of this megadiverse system, we left Loblolly in awe, our minds overflowing with wonder and admiration.
Five years later, in the summer of 2010, I returned to Anegada as a SCUBA Divemaster and an active member of the Coral Watch Project, a community-oriented approach to accessing the health of the world’s reefs. We would be conducting underwater surveys and communicating the results to the project’s leaders.
I withdrew my coral health chart, which contained a wheel of numbered colors ranging from white, denoting fully bleached coral, to a spectrum of healthy greens, oranges, browns, and yellows. Noting the GPS coordinates of each survey location, my heart sank as I recorded the code for white over and over again.
Donning our gear, we entered the water and kicked farther and farther from shore. That familiar natural architecture loomed before us but as we approached, I noted an absence. Where once-vivid colors greeted us and the hustle and bustle of busy fish electrified the reef, only greys and whites remained, a bleached skeleton of the behemoth that once lived there.
I remember trying to gauge my peers’ reactions as we connected at the surface. Some had only been diving and snorkeling for a few months. Their reactions were the most alarming; ominous, even. For them, this was the norm. Vibrant coral is a rarity to new divers.
Geologists have dated the island of Anegada to around 125,000 years old, with its surrounding reef predating the first patch of limestone to breach the surface. The reality set in: in just five years, this portion of Horseshoe Reef, representing more than 125,000 years of growth, had died.
I withdrew my coral health chart, which contained a wheel of numbered colors ranging from white, denoting fully bleached coral, to a spectrum of healthy greens, oranges, browns, and yellows. Noting the GPS coordinates of each survey location, my heart sank as I recorded the code for white over and over again.
Major coral bleaching events, caused by severe heat stress, are now happening on average once every six years. Coral reefs face additional stress when the errant hands of untrained tourists touch and disturb the delicate mucous membrane that covers its calcium carbonate skeleton. A single touch can kill an entire colony. Keeping one’s hands to themselves can help save coral reefs.
It has been estimated that half of all coral reefs have died in the last 30 years and conservative models predict some 90 percent will be dead by the end of the century, with many species becoming extinct in the process.
With their extinction, global marine biodiversity will drop. Jobs that depend on healthy reefs will disappear too, and our tropical coastal communities will lose vital protection against strong weather events.
I trudged back onto the shore in silence and noticed two young children building sandcastles nearby. I wondered, will they ever get to experience the vibrancy of a coral reef as I did throughout my teenage years?
The views expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily represent the views of any other person or entity.