Palmer's Pages

A wavering blue dances all around as light fractures into ribbons. The hue deepens and shapes begin to emerge, some tall and spindly reaching skywards like leafless trees, others squat and boulder-like nestled into place, and still more rippling and swaying gently, as if in a breeze. The vibrant mosaic of deep purples, rich browns, pinks and yellows come into focus. A surreal tapestry. If it could be encapsulated in a single scene, it seems that all of the world’s palette is placed here for reference, each colour preserved in the most vivacious aspect of its spectrum. Closer,  the texture resolves into intricate patterns, repeating in honeycomb grids or winding in maze-like ridges. Run your finger along it and it will feel rough like stone, inert and unyielding, but this is a deception, because what you’re touching is alive.   

We were diving on the Belize Barrier Reef. The array of wildlife that call the reef home is nothing short of spectacular.  The cold, lifeless eyes of a nurse shark track us as it patrols. Disturbed from their hiding places on the seabed, rays lift and glide away, their wings undulating in slow, rhythmic waves, clouds of sand trailing behind them. These big and beautiful creatures of the ocean cannot help but inspire awe in those lucky enough to see them. But the true magic of diving is in studying the smaller unassuming lives, the shy beings sheltering within the nooks and crevices of the coral, lurking in the rippling strands of seagrass or buried beneath the seabed.  Worms resembling feather dusters that, when disturbed, will shoot back into the tube from which their plumage protrudes; jawfish hover above their burrows, mouths full of sand, darting down in a flash, spitting it out to seal the entrance; and sea cucumbers, oddly poised on end, periodically expel clouds of white matter into the water. 

The influence of animals in the ecosystem is not proportionate to their size; they all play a role, no matter how strange and niche. Indeed, it is one of the smallest and strangest that is the foundation of the diversity that divers so covet, because coral itself is an animal. This animal – the ‘Polyp’ – creates a hard rock-like exoskeleton, and each reef represents the vast effort of a colony of Polyps, the product of millions of years of communal building. In this jumble of life, each creature is bound to the reef in some way – sometimes directly, sometimes through chains of connection that stretch across the vast ocean. 

With sweeping strokes of its powerful flipper, a loggerhead turtle appears with a surprising grace despite its bulk. Its shell catches the light in shades of green and brown, patterned like mottled glass. His large, calm eyes give him a world-weary character. Turtles such as this one help maintain the reef. By grazing on seagrass and algae or picking sponges off the coral, they keep these prolific populations from overwhelming the reef.  In their passing, turtles leave behind small openings in the surface of the reef, spaces where polyp larvae may one day settle and grow.

Like most relationships on the reef, it is not onesided.  Belize’s palm-strewn cayes provide safe places for turtles to lay their eggs. If you walk the beaches at first light, you can see the tell-tale signs, the drag of flippers and the scatter of freshly turned sand. But these cayes are fragile, little more than low piles of sand and coral fragments held together by roots and current. Already they are eroding, beaches retreating, trees collapsing into the water, and some cayes disappearing altogether. Watching from these beaches, waves seemingly break mid-ocean, as if meeting an invisible shore. This is the reef absorbing the force of the sea, breaking the waves before they reach the low-lying cayes where turtles nest, helping to hold the fragile stretches of sand in place. And once they hatch, it is the reef that will shelter these turtles through their earliest and most vulnerable years.

Corals do not just build a habitat for the almost unimaginable life that surrounds it, but also provide much of the energy that is the necessary ingredient for life. They do this by hosting countless tiny organisms within their bodies that absorb energy from the sun; it is these that paint the corals in their many colours. But here and there on the reef, patches stand out, their vividity dulled to a milky hue. The effect drains the scene of some of its opulence, certainly, but this is not an  issue of aesthetics, it is symptomatic of a system unravelling. All over the reef the relationship between corals and their tiny guests is deteriorating, with rising sea temperatures causing the coral to expel the energy-producing algae, leaving the ghostly white skeleton of the coral behind.

So what is to be done? Across Belize’s waters, the harvesting of parrotfish has been banned in recognition of their role in controlling algal growth and maintaining the balance of the reef. Along the southern coastline, stretches of beach are protected during turtle nesting seasons to safeguard emerging hatchlings. Most fascinatingly, coral nurseries have been established; fragments of broken coral are collected, fixed to underwater frames, and cultivated in calmer water before being returned to degraded reef areas. This work is admirable and, at times, effective. 

But conversations about humanity’s connection to the reef still tend to adopt a tone that mirrors the physical and biological distance between us. It is, after all, a world decidedly unlike our own. Discussion revolves around what services the reef provides us with. What it can do for us. How it can protect coastal communities from erosion, or supply the fishing industry; How many medicines can be made from reef species, and how the reef’s filter feeders help maintain water quality. Every creature benefits from the reef. Parrotfish graze, sharks hunt, corals capture plankton. Nothing survives without taking. But all other creatures remain embedded in the harmonious relationships that sustain the; taking what they need and giving back to the system. What kind of relationships are we making?