Cool stuff whales do

It’s a sunny day, I’m on one of my favourite train routes (up the Northumberland coast, between Newcastle and Edinburgh), en route for St Andrews – home, indeed, of the Sea Mammal Research Unit – so it seems appropriate to forget a recent funding disappointment, and the brewing scientific feud I described last week, and to concentrate instead on cool stuff that whales do. Please don’t expect anything about communication, intelligence, or other cuddly things; this is a tale of death and defecation. Two recent papers highlight the vital roles that the great whales have played in marine ecosystems, and in the global climate system more generally. Given the couple of centuries of concerted effort humanity expended in transforming whales into lamp oil, scrimshaw and corsets, they provide another sobering case study of how we’ve managed to fritter away those very natural resources that keep the world a habitable place.

The first paper, by Pershing et al., concerns the role of the great whales in locking up carbon. As they say,

In terms of their size and potential to store carbon for years or decades, marine vertebrates [especially the large whales] are the only organisms in the ocean comparable to large trees.

They use simple metabolic scaling to show that large animals are more efficient at storing carbon than are smaller animals:

…the same amount of primary productivity can support a higher biomass of large individuals due to the increase in metabolic efficiency with increasing size.

So krill, the small crustaceans on which the Southern Ocean ecosystem is based, are pretty rubbish as carbon stores – too small, and with too rapid a turnover. Blue whales, on the other hand, are great. What’s more, if they aren’t eaten or otherwise removed from the sea, even when they die whales perform an important carbon storage function: sinking carcasses can export carbon from the shallow, sunny surface waters to the deep ocean, where it is likely to remain for 100s or 1000s of years.

Perhaps the neatest part of the paper is in using estimates of pre-industrial whaling biomass of the really big species, to calculate the ‘carbon footprint’ of whaling. First, they estimate that whaling removed 1.7 × 10^7^ tons of C from marine ecosystems. They estimate the upper-bound of the pre-whaling flux to be “1.9 × 10^6^ tons C yr^-1^, or 0.1% of the ocean’s net carbon sink”, and they estimate that whaling contributed a total of 2.35 × 10^7^ t of C to the atmosphere.

The logical consequence of this is that restoring whale stocks will benefit the climate. For instance,

rebuilding the southern hemisphere blue whale population would sequester 3.6×10^6^ tons C in living biomass…[these] new blue whales would be equivalent to preserving 43,000 hectares of temperate forest, an area comparable in size to the City of Los Angeles.

The authors note that such figures compare favourably to other climate remediation schemes, notable geoengineering plans to use iron to fertilise the oceans. Intriguingly, whales may perform this role too. The second cool paper is by Nicol et al., and the start of the abstract sets it up nicely:

Iron is the limiting micronutrient in the Southern Ocean and experiments have demonstrated that addition of soluble iron to surface waters results in phytoplankton blooms, particularly by large diatoms. Antarctic krill (Euphausia superba) eat diatoms and recycle iron in surface waters when feeding. Baleen whales eat krill, and, historically, defecation by baleen whales could have been a major mechanism for recycling iron, if whale faeces contain significant quantities of iron.

They go on to show that whale poo is, indeed, rich in iron. More specifically, krill are rich in iron, and whales absorb this. But their most crucial role is in converting the iron locked up in krill into a form that is more ‘bioavailable’:

Baleen whale faeces are released as a slurry, which disperses rapidly in the surface layer. [Pre-exploitation]… whales consumed some 190 million tonnes of krill per year … thus they converted some 7600 tonnes of iron in krill into iron-rich faeces every year… Thus, whales would have been part of a positive feedback loop that maintained primary productivity by efficiently recycling iron in the surface waters. Larger populations of whales would have led to enhanced primary productivity and this larger food source would have potentially supported bigger krill populations.

Which is exactly what the geoengineers want to achieve with artificial iron fertilisation. Who’d’ve thunk the climate change generation would be recycling the rather retro rallying cry of the 70s environmental movement?

Save the Whale!

Rising to the bait?

No – not another fisheries blog. This time, I’m in a qandry, unsure whether (once again) to engage, through the scientific literature, in another public squabble. More specifically, I’m pondering the following vexed question: exactly how bad does a paper have to be in order for me to drop what I’m supposed to be doing, fire up the old critical faculties, and spit out a vituperative rebuttal? At what stage does ‘petty complaint’ upgrade to ‘vital corrective response’? Here’s the background. A paper has recently appeared, on a subject about which I know more than I do about probably any other academic topic. And it is bad. Truly, terribly awful. It is directly critical of some of my previous work, misguided in almost every way, and sheds no light whatsoever on the subject. And did I mention how bad it is?

On the other hand, it’s on a rather esoteric topic, published by an unknown author, in a decent but middling journal, and is very likely to sink without trace in the citation universe.

So, should I rise to the bait, and patiently destroy each of the the spurious arguments, dodgy simulations, and naïve statistics? And can’t I in any case put a positive spin on all this bile, i.e., that part of my public duty as a practising scientist is to correct errors in the hallowed scientific record, act as a sentinel for truth and reason, and so on and so forth. (Notwithstanding the thrill of the chase inherent in the assassination of shoddy science…)

Hmmm. Well. I really should just let it lie. But over coffee this morning I’ve already discussed this with a couple of senior colleagues, who have similar views to myself. I’ve re-run some of the simulations and plotted a few of them up, and they are as dodgy as I suspected. So, I’m afraid it’s not looking good for all the stuff I’m meant to have done by the end of this week.

Having your fish and eating it

Fish fish fish fish fish.
Fish fish fish fish.
Eating fish!
[Fish, by Mr Scruff]

It is impossible for anyone who has ever studied marine fisheries ecology not to feel a twinge of guilt about joining in Mr Scruff’s enthusiastic refrain. Fish stocks globally are in such a sorry state, subject to such unsustainable exploitation, that to eat wild fish seems incompatible with any kind of environmental sensibility. At the same time, though, seafood’s just so damn tasty, and healthy to boot – so what to do?

Complete avoidance of fish, crustaceans, molluscs, etc. is one option, but (for reasons of taste, health, described above) not a particularly palatable one. An alternative is to ignore the problem – these things are dead anyway, everyone else is eating them, have you even seen Tokyo fish market?! – and eat away whilst ignoring any pangs of conscience. Certainly, I have dined with eminent professors of marine conservation, and watched them tuck into tuna and cod without batting an eyelid. But for me those pangs refuse simply to disappear.

The Marine Stewardship Council scheme therefore seemed to offer the ideal Third Way: by labelling seafood as ‘sustainably produced’, one could scoff away at will, conscience untroubled. And wasn’t the increasing prevalence of the little blue stickers on supermarket fish counters a beautiful illustration of the power of consumer choice?

And then along comes this article by Jennifer Jacquet, Daniel Pauly, and a crack team of other highly respected marine ecologists to piss on this particular eco-consumer bonfire. According to these authors,

Certain MSC-certified fisheries… do adhere to – or even exceed – the principles that underlie the MSC’s certification scheme [i.e. to ‘promote the best environmental choice in seafood’, allowing fishing to continue indefinitely without overexploiting resources, diminishing the productivity of the ecosystem, or violating any local, national or international laws]. It is our assessment that many others do not.

They cite examples such as the US pollock fishery, which is MSC certified despite a recent 2/3 reduction in biomass of the stock; or the Pacific hake stock which was recently certified, although its biomass is just 10% of what it was in the 1980s. Their conclusion?

We believe that, as the MSC increasingly risks its credibility, the planet risks losing more wild fish and healthy marine ecosystems… We believe that the incentives of the market have led the MSC certification scheme away from its original goal, towards promoting the certification of ever-larger capital-intensive operations.

So what should I do? I suppose I can be slightly smug that Waitrose, where I most often buy seafood, has refused to stock some MSC-certified products where it deems certification too lenient, due to destructive fishing methods (Whole Foods has done the same). But is a labelling scheme the right approach to conserving the marine environment? Jacquet et al. argue that if the MSC is not reformed, its £8M budget could be better spent on lobbying to eliminate fisheries subsidies, or to create marine protected areas. That’s maybe true, but it would reinstate a sense of impotence among consumers (at least, among those of us reluctant completely to forego our seafood). I quite like their suggestion of an alternative certification, more akin to the Fairtrade mark used for coffee (which recognises only small cooperatives, not large plantations), which would shift the focus away from huge fishing enterprises back towards smaller-scale fisheries which do tend to be more sustainable.

But for now, I will have to continue lecturing on marine conservation whilst sneaking – well, perhaps not ‘guilt free’, but at least ‘lo-guilt’, certified fish from time to time.