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Be The Earth Foundation | Wildfarmed | SAMI Consulting

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A gigantic UFO drops out of the sky and shoots laser beams into the night.

The lasers lower, crosshatching to form a net, eventually crashing into the soil on the outskirts of London. As the UFO moves forwards, it tears up the foundations of buildings, uproots trees, and topples bridges. All living creatures, great and small, run in desperate fear, only to be swept up into the chaos. Once the four-mile stretch from side to side has been captured, the ship leaves, taking its haul up into the sky.

In its wake lie travesty, destruction, and despair.

This may seem fictional. But this is what a industrial fishing vessel does daily to the sea bed, and it's heart-wrenching.

Each year in the UK, 30,000 square kilometres of seabed it trawled, roughly the same size as the country of Belgium. 

Scientists report that Europe’s seabeds are so extensively destroyed that there are no longer any living references of a healthy seabed ecosystem. Historical records are being used to gauge what healthy actually means.

All of this … and for what? Cheap sardines, dog food, the supermarket's own-brand fish fingers? Here is another example of humanity's extractive insanity.

It almost feels hopeless.

Down here in Cornwall, I enjoy a regular chat to Nick, a local fisherman. He vividly paints a picture of the massive industrial trawlers out at sea, whilst he works through the night to catch 20 mackerel on a line. The contrast between what is easy and what is right has never been so stark.

But amongst the dark depths, there is a glistening reflection of hope.

Recently, I am finding that hopeful stories often come from Scotland, and here is another.

On the beautiful island of Arran sits the South Arran Protected Area. The Firth of Clyde was historically overfished, with landings of once-abundant commercial species like herring and cod. When those populations dwindled, they were followed by dredging and trawling for scallops and lobster. Soon enough, the area faced widespread ecological collapse. 

But, in 2008, a small community stepped in.

I don't know about you, but I am a huge fan of David versus Goliath stories. After eight years of intensive campaigning for fishing regulations, a small win came: the designation of a No-take Zone.

Ten years on, scientists have documented a recovery. Three times more marine species exist inside these zones compared to the unprotected waters. These are mainly smaller species, like worms. But these are the gardeners of the ocean floor, and the workers of nature's regeneration.

From my experience working with terrestrial soils, worms are fundamentally intertwined with soil health and ecosystem recovery. To rebuild soil's carbon stocks it takes years and years. I can only imagine it's similar if not longer underwater. But with protection in place, biodiversity and carbon storage have a chance to return.

Simply by not trawling, nature gets a chance to do its thing, and bounce back.

What I love is that all of this started with a group of people, a community, the salt of the earth. Big change can come from seemingly small places, by people who care a great deal.

Here's my question for you this week:

Where are you fighting the good fight, against seemingly impossible odds?

Reply and tell me about it. I love hearing from you.

Warmly, 

Rob.

PS, Just like Arran, the South-west has its own protected no-take zone, Lundy Island. Again, similar evidence of ecosystem recovery exists. My partner and I visited a couple of years ago, we went swimming with the locals …

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