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How the Return of Salmon to the Klamath River Shows Us What’s Possible in Wildlife Conservation

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Tuesday, November 26, 2024

November 26, 20244 min readHow the Return of Salmon to the Klamath River Shows Us What’s Possible in Wildlife ConservationOnce a tragic example of degraded wildlife habitat, the Klamath River’s dam removal demonstrates how people can halt the decline of, and even restore, wildlifeBy Jeff OppermanThe removal of the earthen Iron Gate Dam at the Klamath River in its final phase on August 14, 2024 in Hornbrook, California. Gina Ferazzi/Los Angeles Times via Getty ImagesImagine standing on a riverbank as thousands of dead salmon float past, belly-up and rotting in the hot California air. That's the sight—and smell—that greeted people along the Klamath River in September 2002, when 35,000 fish perished there in the span of a few days. They were victims of warm water temperatures and low river levels, both caused by dams and diversions that altered the river’s flow.This dramatic loss isn’t unique: according to October’s 2024 Living Planet Report, of which I was a co-author, wildlife populations monitored around the world have declined on average by 73 percent in just the last half century. Freshwater species like salmon have suffered even greater losses. Farming and development, like dams, in natural habitats have driven these declines.But the Klamath story continues to be written. Just a little over two decades on from the massive fish kill, the Klamath became the site of the largest dam removal project in history. Since removal of the lower four dams on the river was completed last month, salmon have surged upstream to parts of the river where they haven’t been seen for more than a century. On supporting science journalismIf you're enjoying this article, consider supporting our award-winning journalism by subscribing. By purchasing a subscription you are helping to ensure the future of impactful stories about the discoveries and ideas shaping our world today.No longer is the Klamath River a tragic example of the global nature crisis; instead, its restoration serves as an inspiring story of how people can work together to repair wildlife habitats. This huge turnaround was made possible through collaboration and unwavering commitment—especially by the region’s Indigenous people. It is an example we can learn from and start replicating across the world.The scale of that global need for restoration is daunting. The alarming results in the Living Planet Report are derived from the Living Planet Index (LPI), a set of statistics developed by the Zoological Society of London. The LPI provides a broad view of wildlife health across the planet, drawing on data from nearly 35,000 populations of birds, mammals, fish, reptiles and amphibians, across more than 5,000 species. It can also be used to track specific groups, such as migratory fish—from tiny gobies to giant catfish—which have experienced a staggering 81 percent decline since 1970.Halting—and then reversing—the alarming downward trends in fish and other wildlife populations will require major shifts in how we produce energy and food, and how we implement conservation. The Klamath shows that those shifts are within reach.Biologists capture juvenile Coho salmon, Chinook salmon and steelhead trout in Wooley Creek, a tributary to the Salmon River which is one of the largest tributaries to the Klamath River on August 15, 2024. The Coho and Chinook are tagged with a monitoring device and also fin clipped for a genetic study.Gina Ferazzi/Los Angeles Times via Getty ImagesThe Klamath was once the third most productive river for salmon on the west coast of the United States. Its migratory fish were the primary food—and central to the culture—of the Karuk, Yurok, Klamath and other tribes. But, beginning in the 1920s, four hydropower dams were built on the river, blocking salmon from swimming upstream to spawn and limiting them to a reduced stretch of the river. The expansion of irrigated farming further stressed the salmon through reduced flows and high water temperatures—the factors that caused the 2002 fish kill—and the runoff of chemicals and nutrients.But from that low point, the opening for recovery emerged. At the heart of the Klamath’s stunning turnaround was the unwavering dedication of the tribes to restore their salmon. Their long-neglected legal rights, cultural commitment, and steadfast efforts made river restoration possible. Collectively, their breakthroughs demonstrate that implementing conservation at the scale necessary to restore wildlife will require a diversity of both leadership and strategy.A man rides past an "Undam the Klamath" mural on the Orleans Market on Wednesday, Aug. 16, 2023 in Orleans, CA.Brian van der Brug/Los Angeles Times via Getty ImagesFirst, regulators, conservation groups and tribes negotiated agreements with farmers to reduce agricultural runoff, improve water quality, and balance irrigation demands with water levels in the basin’s lakes and wetlands. That led to the Klamath Basin Restoration Agreement, signed in 2010. That agreement also set the stage for removal of the four hydropower dams, an outcome the tribes had been pursuing for decades.Another catalyst for removal was the legal requirement that the owner of the dams, PacifiCorp, renew the dams’ licenses, which were set to expire in 2006. In the U.S., hydropower project owners must periodically apply for new licenses through a process that considers options for reducing the projects’ social and environmental impacts. For the Klamath dams, regulatory agencies recommended that license renewal would require the addition of fish ladders to allow salmon to swim above the dams— construction projects that would have been prohibitively expensive. Ultimately PacifiCorp signed a settlement agreement with the tribes, agencies and conservation groups to remove the four dams, which started late last year.The removal of four hydroelectric dams may seem like a major loss of renewable energy. Thanks to California’s rapid expansion of wind and solar energy generation projects, however, the loss of the Klamath dams—which provided just 2 percent of PacifiCorp’s generation capacity—will be offset many times over. In fact, California’s new renewable capacity added during the dam removal process will be nearly 20 times greater than that of the Klamath dams.Restoration of the Klamath clearly demonstrates the potential for leadership and resource management by Indigenous people—whose lands encompass 40 percent of the world’s remaining natural areas—and whose efforts will be central to effective conservation in the 21st century.Further, restoration was only possible through a diverse set of strategies. For centuries, nature conservation has been synonymous with setting aside large tracts of land in national parks or wildlife refuges. The Klamath Basin encompasses six national wildlife refuges, two national parks, and wilderness areas—and approximately two thirds of the basin is in public land, mostly national forests. And yet the salmon—one of the basin’s most important environmental and cultural resources—still found themselves on the ropes. Restoring that resource required agreements on water use, agricultural management and dam removal to restore river connectivity.Just such examples are sorely needed. In November representatives from 196 countries wrapped up the United Nations Biodiversity Conference (COP16) in Colombia and, while some important agreements were reached, much of the work of setting targets and designing strategies for conserving and restoring nature remains to be done. Reversing the losses of wildlife worldwide will require a diverse set of strategies. Protected areas will remain important, but so will transformations in how we produce energy and food and implement conservation. And while “transformation” may sound daunting, the Klamath’s remarkable turnaround demonstrates that the recovery of nature remains in reach.This is an opinion and analysis article, and the views expressed by the author or authors are not necessarily those of Scientific American.

Once a tragic example of degraded wildlife habitat, the Klamath River’s dam removal demonstrates how people can halt the decline of, and even restore, wildlife

November 26, 2024

4 min read

How the Return of Salmon to the Klamath River Shows Us What’s Possible in Wildlife Conservation

Once a tragic example of degraded wildlife habitat, the Klamath River’s dam removal demonstrates how people can halt the decline of, and even restore, wildlife

By Jeff Opperman

A view of the partially dismantled Iron Gate Dam on the Klamath River as a group of people on a hillside above watch.

The removal of the earthen Iron Gate Dam at the Klamath River in its final phase on August 14, 2024 in Hornbrook, California.

Gina Ferazzi/Los Angeles Times via Getty Images

Imagine standing on a riverbank as thousands of dead salmon float past, belly-up and rotting in the hot California air. That's the sight—and smell—that greeted people along the Klamath River in September 2002, when 35,000 fish perished there in the span of a few days. They were victims of warm water temperatures and low river levels, both caused by dams and diversions that altered the river’s flow.

This dramatic loss isn’t unique: according to October’s 2024 Living Planet Report, of which I was a co-author, wildlife populations monitored around the world have declined on average by 73 percent in just the last half century. Freshwater species like salmon have suffered even greater losses. Farming and development, like dams, in natural habitats have driven these declines.

But the Klamath story continues to be written. Just a little over two decades on from the massive fish kill, the Klamath became the site of the largest dam removal project in history. Since removal of the lower four dams on the river was completed last month, salmon have surged upstream to parts of the river where they haven’t been seen for more than a century.


On supporting science journalism

If you're enjoying this article, consider supporting our award-winning journalism by subscribing. By purchasing a subscription you are helping to ensure the future of impactful stories about the discoveries and ideas shaping our world today.


No longer is the Klamath River a tragic example of the global nature crisis; instead, its restoration serves as an inspiring story of how people can work together to repair wildlife habitats. This huge turnaround was made possible through collaboration and unwavering commitment—especially by the region’s Indigenous people. It is an example we can learn from and start replicating across the world.

The scale of that global need for restoration is daunting. The alarming results in the Living Planet Report are derived from the Living Planet Index (LPI), a set of statistics developed by the Zoological Society of London. The LPI provides a broad view of wildlife health across the planet, drawing on data from nearly 35,000 populations of birds, mammals, fish, reptiles and amphibians, across more than 5,000 species. It can also be used to track specific groups, such as migratory fish—from tiny gobies to giant catfish—which have experienced a staggering 81 percent decline since 1970.

Halting—and then reversing—the alarming downward trends in fish and other wildlife populations will require major shifts in how we produce energy and food, and how we implement conservation. The Klamath shows that those shifts are within reach.

Biologists in wetsuits standing in Wooley Creek hold juvenile Coho salmon, Chinook salmon and steelhead trout up above a net in the water for the camera

Biologists capture juvenile Coho salmon, Chinook salmon and steelhead trout in Wooley Creek, a tributary to the Salmon River which is one of the largest tributaries to the Klamath River on August 15, 2024. The Coho and Chinook are tagged with a monitoring device and also fin clipped for a genetic study.

Gina Ferazzi/Los Angeles Times via Getty Images

The Klamath was once the third most productive river for salmon on the west coast of the United States. Its migratory fish were the primary food—and central to the culture—of the Karuk, Yurok, Klamath and other tribes. But, beginning in the 1920s, four hydropower dams were built on the river, blocking salmon from swimming upstream to spawn and limiting them to a reduced stretch of the river. The expansion of irrigated farming further stressed the salmon through reduced flows and high water temperatures—the factors that caused the 2002 fish kill—and the runoff of chemicals and nutrients.

But from that low point, the opening for recovery emerged. At the heart of the Klamath’s stunning turnaround was the unwavering dedication of the tribes to restore their salmon. Their long-neglected legal rights, cultural commitment, and steadfast efforts made river restoration possible. Collectively, their breakthroughs demonstrate that implementing conservation at the scale necessary to restore wildlife will require a diversity of both leadership and strategy.

A man rides a motor bike past a mural that reads, "Undam the Klamath," advocating for the removal of the dams on the Klamath River with imagery depicting the past industry along the river, the restoration, and the future history of the river after removal. In the center Northern California Native people people perform a stomp dance to bring balance to the world

A man rides past an "Undam the Klamath" mural on the Orleans Market on Wednesday, Aug. 16, 2023 in Orleans, CA.

Brian van der Brug/Los Angeles Times via Getty Images

First, regulators, conservation groups and tribes negotiated agreements with farmers to reduce agricultural runoff, improve water quality, and balance irrigation demands with water levels in the basin’s lakes and wetlands. That led to the Klamath Basin Restoration Agreement, signed in 2010. That agreement also set the stage for removal of the four hydropower dams, an outcome the tribes had been pursuing for decades.

Another catalyst for removal was the legal requirement that the owner of the dams, PacifiCorp, renew the dams’ licenses, which were set to expire in 2006. In the U.S., hydropower project owners must periodically apply for new licenses through a process that considers options for reducing the projects’ social and environmental impacts. For the Klamath dams, regulatory agencies recommended that license renewal would require the addition of fish ladders to allow salmon to swim above the dams— construction projects that would have been prohibitively expensive. Ultimately PacifiCorp signed a settlement agreement with the tribes, agencies and conservation groups to remove the four dams, which started late last year.

The removal of four hydroelectric dams may seem like a major loss of renewable energy. Thanks to California’s rapid expansion of wind and solar energy generation projects, however, the loss of the Klamath dams—which provided just 2 percent of PacifiCorp’s generation capacity—will be offset many times over. In fact, California’s new renewable capacity added during the dam removal process will be nearly 20 times greater than that of the Klamath dams.

Restoration of the Klamath clearly demonstrates the potential for leadership and resource management by Indigenous people—whose lands encompass 40 percent of the world’s remaining natural areas—and whose efforts will be central to effective conservation in the 21st century.

Further, restoration was only possible through a diverse set of strategies. For centuries, nature conservation has been synonymous with setting aside large tracts of land in national parks or wildlife refuges. The Klamath Basin encompasses six national wildlife refuges, two national parks, and wilderness areas—and approximately two thirds of the basin is in public land, mostly national forests. And yet the salmon—one of the basin’s most important environmental and cultural resources—still found themselves on the ropes. Restoring that resource required agreements on water use, agricultural management and dam removal to restore river connectivity.

Just such examples are sorely needed. In November representatives from 196 countries wrapped up the United Nations Biodiversity Conference (COP16) in Colombia and, while some important agreements were reached, much of the work of setting targets and designing strategies for conserving and restoring nature remains to be done. Reversing the losses of wildlife worldwide will require a diverse set of strategies. Protected areas will remain important, but so will transformations in how we produce energy and food and implement conservation. And while “transformation” may sound daunting, the Klamath’s remarkable turnaround demonstrates that the recovery of nature remains in reach.

This is an opinion and analysis article, and the views expressed by the author or authors are not necessarily those of Scientific American.

Read the full story here.
Photos courtesy of

California Coastal Commission approves land deal to extend last nuclear plant through 2030

A landmark deal with Pacific Gas & Electric will extend the life of the state's remaining nuclear power plant in exchange for thousands of acres of new conservation in San Luis Obispo County.

California environmental regulators on Thursday struck a landmark deal with Pacific Gas & Electric to extend the life of the state’s last remaining nuclear power plant in exchange for thousands of acres of new land conservation in San Luis Obispo County.PG&E’s agreement with the California Coastal Commission is a key hurdle for the Diablo Canyon nuclear plant to remain online until at least 2030. The plant was slated to close this year, largely due to concerns over seismic safety, but state officials pushed to delay it — saying the plant remains essential for the reliable operation of California’s electrical grid. Diablo Canyon provides nearly 9% of the electricity generated in the state, making it the state’s single largest source. The Coastal Commission voted 9-3 to approve the plan, settling the fate of some 12,000 acres that surround the power plant as a means of compensation for environmental harm caused by its continued operation. Nuclear power does not emit greenhouse gases. But Diablo Canyon uses an estimated 2.5 billion gallons of ocean water each day to absorb heat in a process known as “once-through cooling,” which kills an estimated two billion or more marine organisms each year. Some stakeholders in the region celebrated the conservation deal, while others were disappointed by the decision to trade land for marine impacts — including a Native tribe that had hoped the land would be returned to them. Diablo Canyon sits along one of the most rugged and ecologically rich stretches of the California coast.Under the agreement, PG&E will immediately transfer a 4,500-acre parcel on the north side of the property known as the “North Ranch” into a conservation easement and pursue transfer of its ownership to a public agency such as the California Department of Parks and Recreation, a nonprofit land conservation organization or tribe. A purchase by State Parks would result in a more than 50% expansion of the existing Montaña de Oro State Park. PG&E will also offer a 2,200-acre parcel on the southern part of the property known as “Wild Cherry Canyon” for purchase by a government agency, nonprofit land conservation organization or tribe. In addition, the utility will provide $10 million to plan and manage roughly 25 miles of new public access trails across the entire property. “It’s going to be something that changes lives on the Central Coast in perpetuity,” Commissioner Christopher Lopez said at the meeting. “This matters to generations that have yet to exist on this planet ... this is going to be a place that so many people mark in their minds as a place that transforms their lives as they visit and recreate and love it in a way most of us can’t even imagine today.”Critically, the plan could see Diablo Canyon remain operational much longer than the five years dictated by Thursday’s agreement. While the state Legislature only authorized the plant to operate through 2030, PG&E’s federal license renewal would cover 20 years of operations, potentially keeping it online until 2045. Should that happen, the utility would need to make additional land concessions, including expanding an existing conservation area on the southern part of the property known as the “South Ranch” to 2,500 acres. The plan also includes rights of first refusal for a government agency or a land conservation group to purchase the entirety of the South Ranch, 5,000 acres, along with Wild Cherry Canyon — after 2030. Pelicans along the concrete breakwater at Pacific Gas and Electric’s Diablo Canyon Power Plant (Brian van der Brug/Los Angeles Times) Many stakeholders were frustrated by the carve-out for the South Ranch, but still saw the agreement as an overall victory for Californians. “It is a once in a lifetime opportunity,” Sen. John Laird (D-Santa Cruz) said in a phone call ahead of Thursday’s vote. “I have not been out there where it has not been breathtakingly beautiful, where it is not this incredible, unique location, where you’re not seeing, for much of it, a human structure anywhere. It is just one of those last unique opportunities to protect very special land near the California coast.”Others, however, described the deal as disappointing and inadequate.That includes many of the region’s Native Americans who said they felt sidelined by the agreement. The deal does not preclude tribal groups from purchasing the land in the future, but it doesn’t guarantee that or give them priority.The yak titʸu titʸu yak tiłhini Northern Chumash Tribe of San Luis Obispo County and Region, which met with the Coastal Commission several times in the lead-up to Thursday’s vote, had hoped to see the land returned to them. Scott Lanthrop is a member of the tribe’s board and has worked on the issue for several years. “The sad part is our group is not being recognized as the ultimate conservationist,” he told The Times. “Any normal person, if you ask the question, would you rather have a tribal group that is totally connected to earth and wind and water, or would you like to have some state agency or gigantic NGO manage this land, I think the answer would be, ‘Hey, you probably should give it back to the tribe.’” Tribe chair Mona Tucker said she fears that free public access to the land could end up harming it instead of helping it, as the Coastal Commission intends. “In my mind, I’m not understanding how taking the land ... is mitigation for marine life,” Tucker said. “It doesn’t change anything as far as impacts to the water. It changes a lot as far as impacts to the land.” (Christopher Reynolds / Los Angeles Times) The deal has been complicated by jurisdictional questions, including who can determine what happens to the land. While PG&E owns the North Ranch parcel that could be transferred to State Parks, the South Ranch and Wild Cherry Canyon are owned by its subsidiary, Eureka Energy Company. What’s more, the California Public Utilities Commission, which regulates utilities such as PG&E, has a Tribal Land Transfer Policy that calls for investor-owned power companies to transfer land they no longer want to Native American tribes. In the case of Diablo Canyon, the Coastal Commission became the decision maker because it has the job of compensating for environmental harm from the facility’s continued operation. Since the commission determined Diablo’s use of ocean water can’t be avoided, it looked at land conservation as the next best method.This “out-of-kind” trade-off is a rare, but not unheard of way of making up for the loss of marine life. It’s an approach that is “feasible and more likely to succeed” than several other methods considered, according to the commission’s staff report. “This plan supports the continued operation of a major source of reliable electricity for California, and is in alignment with our state’s clean energy goals and focus on coastal protection,” Paula Gerfen, Diablo Canyon’s senior vice president and chief nuclear officer, said in a statement. But Assemblymember Dawn Addis (D-Morro Bay) said the deal was “not the best we can do” — particularly because the fate of the South Ranch now depends on the plant staying in operation beyond 2030.“I believe the time really is now for the immediate full conservation of the 12,000 [acres], and to bring accountability and trust back for the voters of San Luis Obispo County,” Addis said during the meeting. There are also concerns about the safety of continuing to operate a nuclear plant in California, with its radioactive waste stored in concrete casks on the site. Diablo Canyon is subject to ground shaking and earthquake hazards, including from the nearby Hosgri Fault and the Shorline Fault, about 2.5 miles and 1 mile from the facility, respectively. PG&E says the plant has been built to withstand hazards. It completed a seismic hazard assessment in 2024, and determined Diablo Canyon is safe to continue operation through 2030. The Coastal Commission, however, found if the plant operates longer, it would warrant further seismic study.A key development for continuing Diablo Canyon’s operation came in 2022 with Senate Bill 846, which delayed closure by up to five additional years. At the time, California was plagued by rolling blackouts driven extreme heat waves, and state officials were growing wary about taking such a major source of power offline.But California has made great gains in the last several years — including massive investments in solar energy and battery storage — and some questioned whether the facility is still needed at all. Others said conserving thousands of acres of land still won’t make up for the harms to the ocean.“It is unmitigatable,” said David Weisman, executive director of the nonprofit Alliance for Nuclear Responsibility. He noted that the Coastal Commission’s staff report says it would take about 99 years to balance the loss of marine life with the benefits provided by 4,500 acres of land conservation. Twenty more years of operation would take about 305 years to strike that same balance.But some pointed out that neither the commission nor fisheries data find Diablo’s operations cause declines in marine life. Ocean harm may be overestimated, said Seaver Wang, an oceanographer and the climate and energy director at the Breakthrough Institute, a Berkeley-based research center.In California’s push to transition to clean energy, every option comes with downsides, Wang said. In the case of nuclear power — which produces no greenhouse gas emissions — it’s all part of the trade off, he said. “There’s no such thing as impacts-free energy,” he said.The Coastal Commission’s vote is one of the last remaining obstacles to keeping the plant online. PG&E will also need a final nod from the Regional Water Quality Control Board, which decides on a pollution discharge permit in February.The federal Nuclear Regulatory Commission will also have to sign off on Diablo’s extension.

Costa Rica Made BBC’s 2026 Best Destinations List

Costa Rica has earned a spot on the BBC’s list of the 20 best places to travel in 2026. The recognition comes as the country pushes forward with conservation projects and opens up remote areas to visitors who value nature and sustainability. The BBC’s selection focuses on destinations that balance tourism with environmental protection and […] The post Costa Rica Made BBC’s 2026 Best Destinations List appeared first on The Tico Times | Costa Rica News | Travel | Real Estate.

Costa Rica has earned a spot on the BBC’s list of the 20 best places to travel in 2026. The recognition comes as the country pushes forward with conservation projects and opens up remote areas to visitors who value nature and sustainability. The BBC’s selection focuses on destinations that balance tourism with environmental protection and community support. For Costa Rica, this means showcasing its mix of beaches, volcanic landscapes, rainforests, and historical sites. Travelers can expect experiences that connect them directly with the land, from spotting wildlife in protected parks to joining local initiatives that preserve habitats. One key area the BBC highlights is the Osa Peninsula, where rainforests meet the sea. This region alone holds 2.5% of the world’s known land species. Visitors wake to the calls of howler monkeys, paddle through mangrove channels lit by bioluminescence at night, and surf strong waves along the coast. The peninsula also serves as a base for activities like guided hikes into Corcovado National Park, where people practice breath work, meditation, or yoga before setting out. Access to these spots improves in 2026 with new direct flights from San José to Puerto Jiménez. This change cuts travel time and lets more people reach the southern Pacific coast without long drives or boat rides. It aligns with broader efforts to expand protected zones on land and in the ocean. Local groups and national partners work to strengthen corridors for jaguars in the forests and safeguard migratory sharks in offshore waters. Community-led projects play a central role in this push. Surf schools run by residents teach skills while promoting ocean health. Eco-lodges and retreats adopt practices like solar power and wastewater recycling. One example involves a program that partners with conservation organizations to protect sea turtles, allowing guests to participate in nesting patrols and releases. These steps show how tourism can fund protection rather than harm it. Costa Rica’s history of environmental leadership supports this appeal. The country reversed deforestation decades ago, now covering nearly 60% of its land in forests. A quarter of the territory falls under legal protection. The national plan targets carbon neutrality by 2050, guiding decisions from energy use to land management. Beyond the Osa Peninsula, other regions offer similar draws. Misty peaks around volcanoes provide trails for hikers, while colonial towns reveal pre-Columbian roots through artifacts and stories. Beaches on both coasts attract surfers and those seeking quiet escapes. The BBC notes that Costa Rica combines wilderness with wellness, where a day might include spotting macaws over coves or relaxing in thermal springs. This listing arrives at a time when global travel shifts toward responsible choices. People seek places where their visits contribute to positive outcomes, like funding ranger patrols or supporting artisan crafts. In Costa Rica, that means tourism dollars flow to communities that steward the land. For us here in Costa Rica, the BBC’s nod reinforces pride in our nation’s model. It also signals potential growth in visitor numbers, prompting calls to maintain balance. Officials emphasize that sustainable practices must guide any expansion, ensuring that natural sites remain intact for future generations. As 2026 is about to start, Costa Rica prepares to welcome those drawn by the BBC’s article. The post Costa Rica Made BBC’s 2026 Best Destinations List appeared first on The Tico Times | Costa Rica News | Travel | Real Estate.

MP calls for ban on ‘biobeads’ at sewage works after devastating Camber Sands spillage

Exclusive: Use of toxic plastic beads in treatment works is unnecessary and outdated say conservationists after hundreds of millions wash up on beachThe use of tiny, toxic plastic beads at sewage works should be banned nationwide, an MP and wildlife experts have said after a devastating spill at an internationally important nature reserve.Hundreds of millions of “biobeads” washed up on Camber Sands beach in East Sussex last month, after a failure at a Southern Water sewage treatment works caused a catastrophic spill. This caused distress and alarm for local residents and conservationists, as not only are the beads unsightly, but they pose a deadly threat to wildlife. Continue reading...

The use of tiny, toxic plastic beads at sewage works should be banned nationwide, an MP and wildlife experts have said after a devastating spill at an internationally important nature reserve.Hundreds of millions of “biobeads” washed up on Camber Sands beach in East Sussex last month, after a failure at a Southern Water sewage treatment works caused a catastrophic spill. This caused distress and alarm for local residents and conservationists, as not only are the beads unsightly, but they pose a deadly threat to wildlife.Scientists at Kings’ College London tested the beads and found they contained heavy metals including lead and arsenic.The local Labour MP, Helena Dollimore, is on Thursday launching a campaign with the Wildlife Trusts to get the use of these beads banned for good. There is no record held by the government or the regulator of how many water plants use these beads, the condition of the containers holding them, or the risk posed to the beaches near where they are kept.Campaigners will gather at Rye harbour nature reserve, an internationally important habitat for rare wading birds, to call for the beads to be banned.Research by the Guardian found at least 15 treatment works using these beads, all situated around the south and south-west coast of England. These plants are older, mostly built in the 1990s and early 2000s. They use billions of floating plastic beads to create layers of biofilm, bacteria that purify water, which are separated from the environment by a mesh screen. Recent technological advances mean that water can now be purified using electric currents, and using fixed surfaces made of ceramic or concrete. There are similar but more costly products made of glass, which is less harmful to the environment.Dollimore, who is the Labour and Co-operative MP for Hastings, Rye, said: “A month ago I wasn’t aware that these plastic beads were used in local wastewater plants until 320m washed up on our beaches and nature reserve, causing an environmental catastrophe. The use of beads is an outdated technology and better modern methods exist. So why are water companies still using them in coastal plants – the very place they could do most damage? We’re calling for them to bin the beads.”A spade-full of biobeads collected on Camber Sands. Photograph: Anna McGrath/The GuardianThese beads contain a high number of polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons, which have been linked to cancer. They often contain toxins including lead, antimony and bromine. Once in the sea, they attract algae, making them smell like food to sea creatures, which then ingest them and can be poisoned.The local Wildlife Trust has been struggling to deal with the spillage. Conservationists have been working tirelessly to remove the beads, which has been difficult as they are embedded in fragile habitats including the saltmarsh and in the shingle. The trust said it would be ordering autopsies of dead birds found, to see if the beads were a cause of death. The nature reserve is loved by birds such as Wigeon ducks because of the plentiful seeds found in the muddy flats; but these are identical in size to the bio-beads, so it is likely they will be ingested.Henri Brocklebank, director of conservation at the Sussex Wildlife Trust, said: “Rye harbour nature reserve is internationally important for its birds, with species travelling thousands of miles to feed and breed here. Bio-beads are small and buoyant, not dissimilar to many of the food items these birds are searching for. The impact of bioplastics accumulating in the digestive systems is well documented, but the effects of any contaminants that could be released in the acidic gut systems of these birds are far less understood. The removal of the bio-beads from the environment is paramount, but I fear that our grandchildren will still be finding them in years to come.“There is only one way to guarantee that we never have a spill of bio-beads again. That is to stop our wastewater treatment works from using them. They are an old and redundant technology and we must see their use ended swiftly.”Water minister Emma Hardy has written to water companies to find out the extent of their use of beads. The Environment Agency continues to investigate Southern Water after the spillage on Camber Sands.Southern Water apologised for the spill and said it was unable to comment on third-party testing.Defra has been contacted for comment.

Spandrels of the Sea: From Evolution’s Byproducts to Blueprints for Equity and Representation in Ocean Conservation

Unintended consequences can become indispensable — in architecture and in efforts to preserve life on Earth. The post Spandrels of the Sea: From Evolution’s Byproducts to Blueprints for Equity and Representation in Ocean Conservation appeared first on The Revelator.

Conservation isn’t always about grand designs. Sometimes the most powerful tools are byproducts of other work — unintended consequences that become indispensable. Think of the spaces that emerge between a dome and its arches. No one designs these triangles. They simply arise, an inevitable feature of the structure. Yet in the Basilica of San Marco in Venice, the Alhambra in Spain, or the Taj Mahal in India, these spaces are decorated with lavish mosaics of gold and glass, or with paintings and iconography so beautiful that they become the focal point of the entire building. They’re what biologists Stephen Jay Gould and Richard Lewontin called spandrels. Spandrel at La Mezquita de Córdoba, Andalucía, Spain. Photo: Brent Miller (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0) In 1979 Gould and Lewontin borrowed this architectural term to challenge the idea that every biological trait is a perfect adaptation honed by natural selection. In their essay, “The Spandrels of San Marco and the Panglossian Paradigm,” they argued that some traits arise as inevitable byproducts of structure or developmental constraints. Eventually these spandrels may be repurposed with a new function. Once you understand the idea, you can’t help but see spandrels everywhere. Not just in cathedrals, but in our own systems. Conservation, like nature, generates byproducts. Some fade into obscurity. Others, once decorated with meaning, become indispensable to our work. The Spandrel in Evolutionary Biology: Origin and Reasoning The mid-20th century was dominated by what Gould and Lewontin called the adaptationist programme: the assumption that every trait must be adaptive, shaped directly by natural selection. If birds had red plumage, it must confer advantage. If humans had chins, they must aid chewing or sexual display. The tiny arms of a Tyrannosaurus rex must have served a purpose. Gould and Lewontin resisted this Panglossian optimism, named for Voltaire’s Dr. Pangloss, who insisted, in a jab at the philosophy of Gottfried Leibniz, that all features exist in “the best of all possible worlds.” They urged scientists to consider whether traits might simply be incidental byproducts of other evolutionary processes. When domes meet arches, the leftover triangular spandrels are unavoidable. In the same way, some traits in organisms show up simply because of limits in embryonic development, links between traits, or even random chance. Later these features may be put to use in a process known as “exaptation,” a term introduced by Gould and paleontologist Elizabeth Vrba in 1982. Classic examples of biological spandrels abound. Male nipples, for instance, persist as a feature retained from our shared embryology with females. The famously tiny arms of T. rex may have shrunk as an unintended consequence of its skull and jaw enlarging over evolutionary time. Human cognition itself, manifested in art, religion, and music, may be a by-product of neural circuits originally evolved for language and pattern recognition. Even the panda’s so-called “thumb,” a modified wrist bone, began as a structural constraint before being coopted into a remarkably effective bamboo-stripping tool. Together these cases reveal how traits that emerge incidentally can be repurposed — “decorated,” as Gould might say — into vital adaptations. From Biology to Conservation: The Ocean’s Decorated Spandrels If spandrels remind us to look for unintended byproducts in organisms, the metaphor helps us analyze our own conservation practice. Ocean conservation produces spandrels too: outcomes not deliberately designed but emerging from structural constraints, cultural forces, or institutional habits. Some fade away. Others are decorated — infused with meaning until they become central to our storytelling, fundraising, and advocacy. Just as San Marco’s spandrels hold shimmering mosaics, conservation’s byproducts often bear the weight of public engagement. Decorated Conservation Spandrels Charismatic megafauna: Fascination with whales, dolphins, and turtles wasn’t engineered. It arose culturally through storytelling, religion, aquariums and documentaries. Conservationists later took advantage of that, making these species ambassadors for bycatch reform, fisheries policy, and climate resilience. Citizen science: Born from scarcity, it began as a stopgap for limited funding and capacity. Today it empowers stewardship, ownership, and participatory democracy. Conservation tourism: Shark dives and manta snorkeling began as commercial novelties. Reframed, they became conservation tools, turning spectacle into empathy and tourists into donors. Ocean days and hashtags: UN “international days” were bureaucratic spandrels. Activists decorated them into rituals for fundraising, awareness, and norm-building. #OceanOptimism: Emerging from burnout and doom fatigue, #oceanoptimism wasn’t a designed strategy. But once decorated, it reframed narratives, energized practitioners, and invited new communities into ocean care. Hunting for Spandrels: A Framework for Practice Conservation often produces unexpected side effects: some trivial, some troublesome, some surprisingly useful. Instead of ignoring or lamenting these byproducts, we can deliberately scan for them and ask: What hidden opportunities might they hold? That’s the heart of what I call “spandrel hunting.” Here’s a practical way to do it: Identify the byproducts: Notice the extra things our work generates, from viral memes to volunteer enthusiasm to funder metrics. Diagnose spandrelness: Ask whether these features arose by design or simply as incidental outcomes. Scan for coopt potential: Explore how unintended products can be repurposed into advocacy or engagement tools. Watch for self-defeating spandrels: Stay alert to “false friends” like paper parks, plastics-only campaigns, or other distractions that undermine deeper goals. Institutionalize the scan: Build spandrel-hunting into evaluations, retrospectives, and funding cycles so it becomes routine practice. In this way conservation can reframe failure and side effects into raw material for innovation — irritants that can be polished into mosaics. Case Study: Sharks, Spectacle, and the Spandrels of Charisma For much of the 20th century, sharks were cultural villains. The movie Jaws and its imitators spurred fear and culls. No strategist would have proposed sharks as conservation icons. And yet spandrels emerged. Discovery Channel’s Shark Week (1988) was a ratings ploy, not a conservation platform. Its lurid fearmongering carved sharks into public consciousness. Simultaneously, coastal fishers turned to tourism as economies shifted. Shark diving in the Bahamas, South Africa, Fiji, and Palau revealed living sharks’ economic value: millions annually, far surpassing fishing revenue. Conservationists decorated these spandrels. NGOs injected science into Shark Week narratives. Operators partnered with researchers, blending spectacle with tagging and data collection. Even Jaws author Peter Benchley recanted, becoming a shark advocate. But the risks remain. Sensationalist media still perpetuate myths. Some tourism practices alter shark behavior. And the megafauna focus risks neglecting less telegenic species. The shark spandrel offers several lessons. First, visibility matters, even when it begins in a negative light, as with the fear stoked by Jaws and early Shark Week spectacles. Second, economic pivots, such as the rise of shark tourism, can transform these unintended byproducts into powerful conservation assets. Third, cultural narratives can be “hacked” to shift public perception, turning once-vilified predators into ambassadors for ocean health. Finally, there’s a caution: Over-decorating a spandrel can mislead or distract, as sensationalism sometimes overshadows science or diverts attention from less charismatic but equally threatened species. Future Spandrels: Byproducts as Pathways to Justice and Representation The spandrels of tomorrow won’t just be about memes or metrics. They’ll also emerge in the spaces where conservation bumps into questions of justice, representation, and whose stories are told. The future spandrel landscape is rich with opportunities to elevate Indigenous stewardship, amplify BIPOC and LGBTQ voices, and redirect cultural byproducts into tools for equity as well as ecology. Ocean plastic cleanups: Photogenic and headline-friendly, but often narrow and sometimes scientifically shaky. They can, however, be reframed as on-ramps into bigger justice debates about petrochemicals, environmental racism, and the frontline communities most hurt by waste and toxic industries. Hashtag and meme culture: Algorithmic byproducts that can be harnessed as equity pivots, amplifying hashtags like #BlackInOceanScience, #IndigenousKnowledge, #LandBack, #BlackBirders, or #QueerInScience alongside micro-actions and entry-level engagement. Funder metrics: Donor-driven and often ill-fitting, but when redirected to track inclusion (Black-led organizations, Indigenous stewardship roles, community participation), they can make funder logic itself a lever for equity. Doom fatigue: Burnout as a psychological spandrel. When acknowledged and reframed, it can open the door to movements like #OceanOptimism that decorate despair with agency. Highlight how communities of color and Indigenous groups have practiced resilience under centuries of ecological and cultural stress. 30×30 proliferation: Risks creating “paper parks,” but even shallow commitments can normalize the idea of large-scale protection and provide political footholds for deeper action. Coopt 30×30 momentum to emphasize Indigenous-led MPAs and community tenure rights, reframing the spandrel of empty targets into footholds for lasting sovereignty and equity. Conservation tourism shifts: Once sold as selfies and thrills, now reframed as ambassador programs that foreground Native guides, local narratives, and traditional ecological knowledge ensuring visitors learn whose waters they’re in and whose stories they’re hearing. Blue economy buzzword: Vague and overused, but politically potent. The “blue economy” can be hacked to prioritize equity and sovereignty, Indigenous tenure, small-scale fishers, and coastal communities too often sidelined in ocean development schemes. Influencer science: Deliberately cultivate and platform Black, Brown, and Indigenous scientists as digital ambassadors on TikTok, Instagram, and beyond. Invest in training, partnerships, and amplification so that the algorithmic by-product of “influencer science” broadens whose faces and voices represent ocean knowledge. By treating these cultural and institutional byproducts not as noise but as raw material, conservation can reroute attention and energy toward hidden representation gaps, making equity and inclusion inseparable from innovation and impact. Final Thought: Decorating Our Own Spandrels The genius of Gould and Lewontin’s spandrel metaphor was not to deny adaptation but to guard against easy narratives. In evolution not every trait is adaptive. In conservation not every tool was designed. But accidents can be opportunities. Side effects can become strategies. Byproducts can become mosaics. Many of our most powerful tools (charismatic species, citizen science, Shark Week) began as spandrels, emerging as a result of cultural and economic factors and only later becoming central to the work we do to save our ocean. The ocean’s future may depend on our ability to keep scanning for these spandrels: to notice the byproducts of our work, ask what might be coopted, and decorate them into mosaics of resilience. If we decorate tomorrow’s spandrels with justice and inclusion, the mosaics we leave will reflect not only resilience, but whose voices and visions truly belong in the ocean’s future. Our basilica of conservation is still under construction. The dome rises. The arches stand. The spandrels are waiting. Previously in The Revelator: Incredible Journeys: Migratory Sharks on the Move The post Spandrels of the Sea: From Evolution’s Byproducts to Blueprints for Equity and Representation in Ocean Conservation appeared first on The Revelator.

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