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News

Forgotten Places

Stay Wild

Endangered Folk Art Sites

Photos and Artwork by Souther Salazar // @southersalazar

Story by Monica Choy // @choybot

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My partner Souther Salazar and I got a wild hair and created a community art project called The Trading Tortoise which led us all over the U.S. and Canada for six months. Involving a tortoise-shaped tent, special objects, trading, and sharing stories by memory, we wanted to see what would happen if we considered objects to be symbols of memories rather than monetary value. Would people want to trade their objects and stories for ours? 

Maria Cotera and Jason Wright, friends we were staying with in Ypsilanti, Michigan, suggested we visit various folk art sites across the country. We had stopped at roadside attractions before, and I knew about naive art, but I didn’t get their insistence that we must visit folk art sites. I was working on my own weird art, but was used to thinking of art as existing in galleries or museums, apart from day-to-day life. 

Jason decided to drive us to sites around Detroit, showing us why folk art sites are important. Our first stop was a block-long art environment called the Heidelberg Project. In the 1980s, Tyree Guyton transformed abandoned houses where he grew up on Heidelberg Street up into sculptures. With his grandfather Sam and neighborhood children, he used paint and junk from trashed lots and houses, transforming a forgotten place into art and a symbol of resilience for the community. 

We then visited Dmytro Szylak’s backyard, also known as Hamtramck Disneyland. This colorful display of handmade whirligigs, Christmas lights, wooden cut-outs, and found objects towering 30 feet tall can only be seen from the alley behind his house. 

Our last stop that day was Silvio Barile’s Italian American Historical Artistic Museum. Silvio was in the back of his pizza-shop-turned-museum on a sweltering summer day. Seeing visitors, he put on a short-sleeve button-up shirt, which he left unbuttoned, greeted us with a round belly, and happily gave us an impromptu tour. 

Silvio immigrated to the U.S. as an Italian refugee during World War II and opened a pizzeria. To commemorate the beauty and history of his native Italy, and in response to the commercialism and materialism he saw in America, he built his museum. The walls inside the restaurant are plastered with collages, toys, and handwritten signs about morality, Rome’s greatness, the importance of family, and Catholicism. In the patio behind the pizzeria stands his first cement sculptures, 10-12 feet high, painted colorfully, and studded with trinkets and broken tiles. Across the alleyway, Silvio’s sculpture garden holds 50 years of hand-built works three times the size of those at the pizza shop: figures of Athena, Caesar, and remakes of the Roman Colosseum and Statue of Liberty. These stand alongside figures of his family members, American presidents, the Three Stooges, and a monument to Maschio, a pig Silvio raised as a child. Our minds were blown! 

After that day, we found ourselves detouring dozens of miles during our trip to visit folk art sites. The Orange Show in Houston, an ode to creator Jeff McKissack’s favorite fruit, was a personal favorite: a neatly-constructed park with brightly colored mosaic messages and ironwork. He built it from 1956-1979, finishing a year before his death. Maze-like passageways, balconies, and tiered seating surround a stage where a large, steam-powered juicing machine sits. McKissack imagined thousands of visitors would come to see the orange juicing show one day. The day we visited we had the whole park to ourselves. 

You can’t just look at pictures of these places. The magic of these holy places is actually being there: the grounds, surrounding landscape, resourcefulness, vision, will, and perseverance all coming together for creation—art springing forth from nothing. You can see the hand in the work and imagine yourself making it. This art is untrained. This art says that anyone can make art. 

The way the work was made is what makes it special and also endangered. Folk art sites are wild and subject to the elements. After their creators die, they must be maintained or they fall by the wayside. 

Each site we visited was a singular artistic vision come to life, often representing a lifetime of work and self-appointed purpose outside of social norms and capitalism. Sometimes there was help from family, but most of the sites we visited were built in solitude over many, many years in spaces that were also the artists’ home. They lived their art and did things their own way. I believe each artist who created the places we visited envisioned an audience, but the drive to create the work was independent of outside validation. Maybe what makes them the most endangered is living in a world needing constant instant validation. 

These spaces were made to broadcast messages to the world, at times channeling messages directly from the heavens, or as a humble reminder to “look at your trash,” which is a divine message indeed. 

Like our friend Silvio said, “There is…much more than materialismo.” 

Some other folk art sites we’ve visited: 

Philadelphia’s Magic Gardens // Philadelphia, PA

Porter Sculpture Park  // Montrose, SD

Dr. Evermor’s Forevertron  // Sumpter, WI

Prairie Moon // Fountain City, WI

James Tellen Woodland 

Sculpture Garden  // Sheboygan, WI

Thunder Mountain Monument // Imlay, NV

S.P. Dinsmoor’s Garden of Eden // Lucas, KS

Wonder View Tower // Genoa, CO (under repair)

Nola Tree House // New Orleans, LA (gone)

See and learn about more folk art // John Michael, Kohler Arts Center // Sheboygan, WI // jmkac.org

Leave Only Foot Prints

Stay Wild

The Plastic We Threw Away Didn’t Go Away

Story by Justin “Scrappers” Morrison // @scrappers

Plastic in this footprint was picked up at the beach by 10-year-old Camper Morrison

Plastic in this footprint was picked up at the beach by 10-year-old Camper Morrison

Beachcombers like us know the delight of finding colorful and curvy seashells. Shells are the ghostly remains of a humble mollusk’s life. Once having protected the fragile feelings, hopes, and dreams of sea snails, they’re now empty and scavenged by hermit crabs and beachcombers like us. It makes me wonder: If beachcombers like us made shells, would they be the ocean plastic washing up at our feet? 

Looking at all this plastic in the ocean as human-made shells has helped me take responsibility for picking it up. I don’t make a big deal about it, I simply fill my pockets with plastics while beachcombing. It’s fun, easy, and way more rewarding than stealing mollusk shells from hermit crabs.

Right now, there are people working around the world doing similar things on a bigger scale. Read on and learn more about people in Hawaii, New York, Vancouver B.C., and beyond who are working to reduce the plastic footprint we leave behind.


Lilly Woodbury of Surfrider Pacific Rim // Pacificrim.surfrider.org

What parts of Vancouver Island in Brithish Columbia, Canada does the Pacific Rim cover?

The Pacific Rim runs between Tofino and Ucluelet, and the central western coast of Vancouver Island! Truly one of the most magnificent spots you’ll ever visit. 

What’s the goal of your remote beach cleanups?

Our goal for remote beach cleanups is to restore coastal ecosystems that are not easily accessed by people, as there is a high amount of marine debris to remove, and removing debris from these locations requires special machinery like barges. Through remote beach cleanups, we collect data on what we are finding and use this data to influence policy, businesses, industry, and schools—as well as informing our programs and campaigns that are working to address the root of the plastic pollution problem.

Where does the trash go after a beach cleanup?

All of the marine debris we collect is sorted and sent to the Ocean Legacy Foundation in Vancouver, who recycles marine debris into new resources for companies including Lush Cosmetics North America. Diverting material from landfills into resources is paramount for the creation of a circular economy, and we are so grateful that Ocean Legacy offers this service for coastal cleanup groups. We hope to see marine debris recycling spread around the world, so we can capture the value of this material, not just move it to another environment where it cannot be used or breakdown. 

When you say, “REFUSE REDUCE REUSE RECYCLE REDESIGN,” what’s an example of what that looks like in a daily settling?

All of these actions can take place in one day, over one week, or a month! First and foremost, “Refuse” is the first “R” because we need to lower the amount we consume and eliminate products from our life that contain plastic. So, in one day, you may refuse a plastic bottle of shampoo and then opt for a naked shampoo bar, and you may reduce the amount of waste and plastic you are creating by bringing your own reusable fruit and veggie bag when you go to the supermarket. Following this, if you’re going for a coffee, you have your reusable mug, again, to say no to a single use plastic takeaway mug. Then, let’s say you absolutely have to buy something—it is a necessity and there is no non-plastic alternative (yet)—ensure you recycle the packaging and/or the product itself once it is used. The last part to this is redesigning items that do not have a plastic-free option, like the naked lipstick that was just created by Lush Cosmetics. There are infinite zero waste innovations waiting to be discovered and implemented, and we must do our part to be a part of these solutions and seek them out. We can’t recycle our way out of our waste/plastics crisis; we must refuse, reduce and reuse—and then redesign our systems.


Rebecca Mattos of Hawaii’s Sustainable Coastlines // sustainablecoastlineshawaii.org  

What is endangered about the Hawaiian coastlines?

Hawaii is the most isolated island chain on the planet, yet we’re on the frontlines of a large oil spill—in the form of plastics washing onto our beaches. Our coastlines are getting hammered with microplastic, as well as hundreds of thousands of pounds of larger debris (ghost nets, buoys, and crates) discarded into the ocean every year. Being home to many endangered species, we want to work to stop the influx of plastic pollution for their survival, too. In addition, we see the impacts of sea level rise and erosion happening across our islands. 

How can picking up trash help when every minute more washes up?

Sustainable Coastlines Hawaii’s biggest goal through beach cleanups is to inspire people to be mindful of how much plastic is being thrown “away,” where it ends up, and reflecting on what we use in our everyday lives. Through taking action together at a cleanup, we want people to ask questions about what they are finding, how it got there, and what we can all do together to stop producing and using so much plastic in the first place.

Personally, doing beach cleanups led me to take inventory of what I was purchasing for need, convenience, or temporary satisfaction. I didn’t always connect to the origin or afterlife of what I’d bought. The more we get out there and clean up, even if it’s not trash you started, will begin helping everyone realize we can make larger changes critical to survival. It’s also a way to realize the power we have as a community and have fun all at once!

What are some of the most interesting things you’ve found during a cleanup?

I was fortunate to help Greenpeace, KIRC, and PKO this past October with a two-day cleanup on Kaho’olawe. We found bowling balls, microwaves, vintage kids’ toys, and a San Francisco Giants’ batting helmet that had washed ashore. At our Earth Day cleanup last year, we found several Smart FAD’s (Fish Aggregating Devices), which look like tiny UFOs, as well as a credit card from ‘79. 


Carolyn Munaco of Surfrider’s Eastern Long Island Chapter // easternli.surfrider.org

What environmental challenges does Eastern Long Island face?

On the east end, I believe a lot of plastic debris that washes up from fall to early spring is from the North Atlantic Drift, The Gulf Stream, rivers from Connecticut, and spin-off from the Atlantic Gyre. I’m certain New York City runoff is an issue, but I don’t think we really see much of it on the east end. 

I feel like we have two separate seasons of trash: The storms from October to April drive a lot of trash in, and careless summertime visitors leave lots of garbage behind between May and September.

We have a huge summer population increase and inadequate waste management. I feel like much of the trash and plastic found during summer is from beachgoers leaving trash in unfit or already-overflowing receptacles. Local municipalities don’t have enough employees or funding to keep up. Trash cans are abused during off hours by people refusing to adhere to WM policies. 

What’s the goal of the Surfrider Rise Above Plastics campaign?

In my opinion, our number-one goal is to educate people about the harmful effects of plastics in the environment and steps towards change. 

What steps do you suggest people take to Rise Above Plastics?

I hope to make people aware of consumer choices to avoid single-use plastic. Even beyond what’s recyclable—since a majority of plastic is not recycled. Stop buying liquids in plastic bottles or waxed cartons with plastic spouts and caps. Buy a water filter and a reusable bottle. Eastern Long Island Surfrider volunteers picked up 8,051 plastic bottle caps at a single cleanup. Makes you wonder where all the bottles to those caps are. “Away” doesn’t exist!


Cyrill Gutsch, Founder of Parley for the Oceans // parley.tv

What’s the problem Parley wants people to understand?

It’s very simple: The oceans give us life–we give back plastic and other toxic substances. The oceans generate the air we breathe: Every second breath we take is created by phytoplankton. They make it possible for us to live on this planet. Our responsibility is to protect them–and it’s a survival imperative. If we destroy the oceans, we’re destroying life’s very support system.

What’s the solution?

The Parley AIR Strategy addresses the fast-growing, global threat of plastic pollution based on a belief that plastic is a design failure, one that can only be solved by reinventing the material itself. We all have a role to play in the solution.

A = Avoid plastic.

“Avoid” includes initiatives to educate people on the importance of reducing plastic use, how to avoid unnecessary plastics, and the value of replacing virgin plastic with recycled materials. Through Parley Talks, ocean experts educate creators, thinkers, and leaders on the ocean, inspiring action. This education phase is the first step to ushering in change.

I = Intercept plastic waste.

“Intercept” is a comprehensive approach to minimizing the amount of plastic entering the ocean through a variety of tactics to retrieve and recycle plastic along its journey to the ocean. This approach stops the issue at its core by working with local communities to keep plastic in a closed loop, where it can be recycled and reused. The implementation includes removing plastic from affected areas through community interception and microplastic trawl, along with beach, reef, and seabed cleanups.

R = Redesign plastic materials and products.

“Redesign” is an effort to transform the plastic economy. During the Parley x Biofabricate conference held in New York on December 7, 2017, Parley for the Oceans announced a partnership with the Biofabricate summit and launched the “Material Revolution” to boost development of new materials to replace current plastic, driving the success of the third pillar of Parley AIR: Redesign.

Can the common shopper support the Material Revolution?

It’s up to everyone to make this movement happen, and all are welcome. We need creators to reinvent humanity’s current materials, and create new ones that work in harmony with natural systems.

Learn more and take the Parley AIR pledge // parley.tv 


12 Things You Need to Know About Plastic in Our Oceans.

1. About 8.3 billion tons of plastic have been produced in the last 60 years.

2. Only about 9 percent of this plastic has been recycled, 12 percent has been burned, and the remaining 79 percent has ended up in landfills, roadsides, and waterways.

3. Up to 12.7 million tons of plastic enters the oceans every year. That’s the equivalent of a truckload of plastic every minute.

4. There are five trillion pieces of plastic in our oceans—enough to circle the Earth over 400 times.

5. Places like Canada, the United States, and the United Kingdom export plastic waste to various countries in Asia and Africa, offloading our trash problem to other communities.

6. Low-income people living along rivers and coastlines in China, Indonesia, the Philippines, Thailand, and Vietnam face more health impacts from the greater exposure to plastic toxins.

7. Don’t forget about the animals! Up to nine of 10 seabirds, one in three sea turtles, 50 percent of whale and dolphin species, and over 700 marine species have been endangered by ocean plastic.

8. There is no such thing as “away” when you live on the same planet. We are all impacted, just some of us get hurt earlier than others.

9. We are the leading cause of this problem because we buy what’s being sold.

10. Drink companies produce over 500 billion single-use plastic bottles, and tens of billions of bags of chips are sold annually: This is just a small piece of the disposable pie.

11. Government regulations have been passed; Morocco has banned plastic bags, Seattle has banned plastic straws, Vancouver B.C. has proposed a ban on coffee cups and styrofoam containers.

12. Government and commercial industry regulations won’t stop the problem as long as it makes money. Just because single-use items are sold doesn’t mean we need to buy them. As conforming consumers, we are the cause of the problem—but we can be the solution. Let’s rise above plastic.

 

(Fact Source: www.greenpeace.org/usa/key-facts-about-plastic-pollution)

Deeper Reflection

Stay Wild

Fossil Fuel-Free Expedition through the African Great Lakes

Story and Photos by Ross Exler // rossexler.com 

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I - Introduction

 

In early 2018, I set out to journey across the three largest of the African Great Lakes: Lake Malawi, Lake Tanganyika, and Lake Victoria. My objective was to traverse the region by “fair means”: solo, self-sufficient, and entirely human-powered. I would start in the south and make my way across the lakes via kayak, paddling each day and coming to shore each night to sleep, whilst between lakes I would travel by bicycle. Without engines and guides, I would have no choice but to embrace the landscape and its people without any degree of separation. And, if I succeeded, it would be in a style that I could be proud of.

The African Great Lakes have been on my radar since my time at the University of Colorado, where I studied species of fish from Lake Tanganyika. The lakes are massive and globally important for biodiversity. Altogether, they hold about 25 percent of the world’s unfrozen freshwater and contain as much as 10 percent of the world’s species of fish. These fish are one of the primary food sources and a massive part of the economy for the people who live along the lake. But the ecosystems are fragile, and as the lakeside populations grow, the lakes are becoming increasingly imperilled. If not rectified, the result would be both an ecological and a humanitarian disaster.

By any estimation, my trip would be remote and arduous. Lake Tanganyika is the second-largest lake in the world by volume, the second-deepest lake, and the longest lake in the world. Lake Victoria is the second-largest lake in the world by surface area. Lake Malawi is thought to have the most species of fish of any lake in the world and is the fourth largest by volume. By any measure, they are huge. The route would require approximately 1,500 miles of paddling and pedaling through Malawi, Tanzania, and Uganda. I planned on “bush” camping when possible, but I also knew I’d be spending a lot of time in villages and towns along the way. Small African villages don’t have hotels, so I would be depending on the kindness of others to welcome a stranger into their village and allow me to spend the night there. I felt confident that my trust in the goodness of people would be rewarded. Besides, if I wanted to make the expedition a reality, I had no choice.

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 II - Lake Malawi

 

Armed with knowledge, but unsure what I would come across on the lakes, I set off from a beach on southern Lake Malawi in January 2018.

Some people describe the African Great Lakes as inland seas, and it’s easy to see why. The opposite shoreline is often out of sight or is just marked by distant mountains rising above the water. Powerful storms seem to form and dissipate with puzzling and unnerving speed. These storms kick up waves of several metres, which crash indiscriminately onto beaches and rocky shorelines, often depriving a paddler of a safe place to return to land.

On this expedition, I used a tandem, folding kayak, which could be packed up in bags for transport between lakes. I’d store all my necessary supplies, from food and medicine to camping gear and camera equipment, inside the kayak. Each morning, I’d paddle out a kilometer or two, and then turn and paddle up the shoreline. Most of the time, I would be close enough to shore to see villages and fishing boats, though occasionally I would cross bays large enough for me to find myself seven or eight kilometers offshore.

I paddled long days and made steady progress moving north. Early one morning, a large Nile crocodile surfaced about five meters from my boat, looked at me coldly, and then vanished below the water. I found myself paddling much farther offshore and looking over my shoulder, hoping to not see one of those nightmarish creatures lurking nearby.

The lakeshore was lined with small fishing villages built out of locally available materials. Each afternoon, I would pick a promising village where I could spend the night. As my arrival would usually create a flurry of excitement, most of the village would come down to take a look. So picking a relatively small village would help to keep the crowd size down. Picking open beaches devoid of vegetation and river mouths was to avoid crocodiles.

On one of my first nights on the lake, I was greeted by dozens of smiling kids who helped me drag my boat onto the beach. They took me to meet with the village headman, who immediately grasped my hand and told me he would stay on the beach with me so that I didn’t feel uncomfortable. I went back to the beach, set up my tent, and then the headman came down with his sons and some material. They quickly erected a sort of lean-to, using my tent for structure, and he spent the night out there on the beach with me. In the morning he smiled and shook my hand, wished me a safe journey, and helped to push my kayak off.

Despite choosing villages that seemed rather small, I would always draw a crowd ranging from dozens to several hundred people. The population of Malawi has grown from approximately 3.5 million people in 1960 to over 18 million today, and many of those people live along the lake where they can make a living by fishing. The impacts of this population growth on the environment were obvious as my trip progressed.

At night, I’d sit on the beach and observe the fishermen out on the water. They would paddle offshore during the sunset hours and fish overnight, using powerful lights to draw shoals of usipa up to the surface. The vast, dark canvas of the nighttime lake, coupled with the sometimes dozens of lights dotting the horizon, create a unique effect. Because of this phenomenon, David Livingston dubbed Lake Malawi the “Lake of Stars.”

I found my experience each evening in the village really colored what I was seeing out on the water. Malawi’s nickname, The Warm Heart of Africa, is a source of national pride in a country that is often devoid of things to be upbeat about. When you talk to people in Malawi, they will lament how poor the country is, but quickly point out that it’s a peaceful place. Each afternoon, I’d arrive unannounced and depend on their kindness for safety. Without exception, I’d be welcomed with open arms. People wanted to come down to my camp and talk to me about my impressions of Malawi, show them how my equipment worked or just to kick a football about. Despite how strange a visitor I was, their warm and disarming behavior made me feel at home.

Regardless of their kindness, the people along Lake Malawi were really struggling. In 2017 the IMF and World Bank both ranked Malawi as the sixth-poorest country in the world. There’s simply a lack of ways to make money and put food on the table, besides utilizing the resources available to them: the lake for fishing, and land for farming and producing charcoal. It’s hard to tell people their practices are destructive when they’re just trying to survive.

After a little over three weeks on the lake, I reached the northern terminus of the Lake Malawi leg. I assembled my folding bicycle and trailer, loaded them with my equipment, and started my first biking leg. On the road, unlike on the lake, I was constantly around people. Some would jog along with me or just wave and smile. I peddled out of Malawi and into Tanzania feeling such a strong kinship with the people that I had encountered, but also a great concern for the future of the lake and the people who depend upon it.

 

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III - Lake Tanganyika

After about two weeks of biking, I arrived at the second lake, Lake Tanganyika. My route along the lake would trace the bulk of Tanzania’s shoreline, which stretches along much of the east coast of the lake. Ringed by the distant mountains of Zambia and the Congo and with a deep blue hue, Tanganyika is like the big brother of Lake Malawi. It’s also a Rift Valley lake, so it is long, narrow, very deep, and contains an incredible diversity of mostly endemic fish species.

As I began paddling, it quickly became obvious that the lake was much more sparsely populated, with long sections of wild coastline seemingly untouched by people. On some of these remote sections, I could find wilderness beaches to spend the night. Watching the sun go down over the Congo, alone on these isolated beaches, made me feel like the last person on Earth.

Still, many days required spending the night in small fishing villages. Again, the people charmed me with their warmth. Despite our differences, I was welcomed into each community and graciously allowed to stay for as long as I wanted. The villages were built behind the beach, and beyond that were fields growing maize and cassava. The people living in this remote corner of Tanzania were surviving off the land—a timeless, subsistence way of life.

I continued to paddle north, with long days blending together into weeks. A fierce seasonal wind from the north piled up big waves and a powerful headwind that made progress incredibly difficult. Each day, I’d try to force progress, rolling through three- and four-meter waves. Through this stretch, I was managing only half of my usual daily distance. I began to feel completely mentally and physically exhausted. Lake Tanganyika started to seem cruel. The good fortune of a wind from the south, or even no wind, would make everything, my whole existence out there, so much easier. And yet, each day I would wake up and stand on the beach only to find the wind and waves mercilessly rolling in from the north.

Laboriously, I worked my way to the south end of what was supposed to be one of the high points of the entire trip. I had been granted permission by the Tanzanian National Park Service to paddle through Mahale Mountain National Park. Mahale’s neighbor to the north, Gombe Stream National Park, is perhaps more famous because it is the site of primatologist Jane Goodall’s research camp, but Mahale is far larger and contains a significantly greater population of chimpanzees.

From the southern boundary, it seemed so very intimidating. I had been invited to stay at a wilderness lodge that was located about 35 miles into the park. That distance would’ve equalled my greatest single day distance, and over the past week of headwinds, I had been struggling to cover 12 miles per day. I looked on the satellite maps for safe places to land my boat, but the beaches were either tiny or next to rivers. A few local people told me that I shouldn’t paddle into the park alone because there are so many crocodiles and hippos. These concerns weighed heavily on me as I tried to sleep before entering the park. When you’re alone and trying to use your judgement to evaluate danger, it’s difficult to not wonder if you are making a terrible mistake. Still, I felt like I had come too far to not press on.

Perhaps my faith was rewarded, or perhaps I just got lucky, but I woke in the morning to a strong wind that had entirely switched direction. After over a week, the pounding headwind had miraculously flipped, and this powerful tailwind guided me rapidly up into the verdant wilderness of the Mahale Mountains. Ten miles into the day, the forest canopy began shaking and I heard calls echoing down the hillside. A community of chimpanzees was announcing my arrival.

After a day, I arrived at the Greystoke Mahale lodge. It’s a marvel constructed out of native materials but exuding wilderness luxury—certainly an extraordinary change from the previous weeks of camping on beaches. At that point, something changed. I knew that I was going to make it.

In Mahale, I had the good fortune of observing chimpanzees and avoiding crocodiles and hippos. Chimpanzees, our charismatic cousins, win the popularity contest when it comes to conservation in this region, and it’s easy to see why people love these stunning animals. Still, when it comes to biodiversity and resources for the local people, it’s plain to see that the fishes of Lake Tanganyika deserve considerable attention, too.

Paddling north from Mahale, the population began to increase. Whilst I didn’t observe the volume of fishermen or as much of the destructive practices as I had on Lake Malawi, the fishermen on Lake Tanganyika told me that they were catching fewer and smaller fish over time. They said that the introduction of nets in the past thirty years, coupled with explosive population growth, were starting to take their toll on the lake. To me, it foretold the early stages of what I had observed in Malawi.

But Lake Tanganyika, and the communities around the lake, are beginning to act to protect their resources. Curious about these efforts, I stopped in a town north of Mahale to visit an international NGO, The Nature Conservancy (TNC), working in the area. TNC’s local initiative is called the Tuungane Project, and it works to protect the environment and people of the Greater Mahale Ecosystem. I was invited to spend a few days with the local staff and observe their efforts.

“Tuungane” is Kiswahili for “let’s unite.” This is central to TNC’s strategy for tackling the issues that endanger regional environmental conservation and human prosperity. The aim is to empower local people through education and training, organization, and by providing access to critical resources. The Nature Conservancy has the expertise and resources to guide this type of initiative, but they recognize that without the buy-in of local people, their efforts will never be sustainable. So they’re using their capacity to empower the local people to become partners in a sustainable future where the natural environment is protected and people can prosper.

I was able to observe one of their instructors, Apollinaire Williams, leading a seminar on climate-smart agriculture. Sixteen villages sent two representatives to be trained. The idea is that these newly-trained village leaders can go back to their communities and become educators, sharing the information with other farmers. Over a few days of intensive teaching, Apollinaire instructed the students on sustainable agriculture methodology, water protection to prevent pollutants entering the lake, field data collection, the use of GPS, and other topics that can help protect the region directly. These methods will help them to protect the land, the lake, and produce better yields for years to come.

I was impressed by the interest of the local people to learn and improve their future, not to mention the passion of the professional staff that I met there. Seeing different groups of people from significantly different backgrounds come together gave me hope that human impacts in the region can be as beneficial as they can be negative. I feel optimistic that the future of this region is bright, environmentally and for the local people.

I left the Tuungane Project field office after a few days and paddled north. After just over a month on Lake Tanganyika, I arrived in Kigoma and began biking to the final lake.

 

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IV - Lake Victoria

Lake Victoria is a massive lake, but it is quite unlike Tanganyika and Malawi, which are narrow and deep rift valley lakes. Victoria is relatively shallow and extremely wide. What it does share with the other lakes is a high number of endemic species and a population that’s largely dependent on the lake for their way of life.

Unfortunately, Victoria has endured significant degradation which has led to an estimated 200 species of fish becoming extinct in the past 30 years. The water around urban areas is clogged with algae that is caused by nutrient runoff. Invasive species have largely replaced native fish. Hillsides along the lake are bare—victims of deforestation.

There are signs of improvement, as strict fishing regulations have been written and are strongly enforced, and environmental NGOs work to educate local people and protect the lake environment. But a lot of the damage has already been done, and it will be difficult for the lake to recover.

While paddling on Lake Victoria, I thought a lot about Lake Tanganyika and Lake Malawi. Lake Malawi, with its poverty and rapid population growth, seems like it could be destined for a degraded existence like what I was experiencing on Victoria. Tanganyika, on the other hand, remained my most prized point of optimism. Large portions of the lake are in extremely pristine condition, and the feeling of the momentum of conservation efforts leftover from my visit with the Tuungane Project made me hopeful.

For my part, I mostly just put my head down and paddled as far and as fast as I could. Loneliness, long suppressed by the protracted nature of the expedition, started to come to the fore. I knew that amazingly soon I would be home with my fiancé and family. Storms were a challenge, as powerful squalls came through erratically and forced me to decide between paddling through dangerous weather or fleeing to land. After almost three months of traveling, and with the end in sight, I was feeling supremely motivated, so I usually paddled through. On March 30th, 2018, I arrived in Entebbe, Uganda and pulled my boat out of the water for the final time.

The African Great Lakes are a globally significant region for biodiversity but are increasingly imperilled by human impacts. Still, there’s reason for hope, as evidenced by the cooperative effort between The Nature Conservancy and the local people of the Mahale region of Lake Tanganyika. I have come to see a certain analogous nature to my expedition and conservation efforts. They are both acts of human will. The real test is whether the commitment is there to see the thing through.

The expedition was physically gruelling, but it allowed me to experience the extraordinary beauty and vastness of the African Great Lakes. There’s something magical about dreaming up a big adventure, drawing your finger across a map as you pick the route, and then putting yourself out there, alone, at the edge of your ability. Sitting on a beach at night, watching lightning flicker over the distant Congo, or hearing the rising uproar of a community of chimpanzees as you paddle into Mahale Mountain National Park. These are moments I hope everyone is fortunate enough to experience, but my personal journey was so fully enriched by feeling as though I earned it out there alone. It’s my hope that that same energy, that same human spirit, will continue to be put forth by people who care about conserving these remarkable parts of the world and better the lives of the people who inhabit them.

 

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Learn more about The Nature Conservancy and Tuungane Project


Read more adventure stories like this at discoverinteresting.com

Vanishing Vaquita

Stay Wild

A View from the Edge of Extinction

Photos and Story by Corey Arnold // coreyfishes.com

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Last winter I traveled to Mexico’s Gulf of California, where fishermen illegally gillnet the totoaba sea bass, a 4–5 foot long ancient-looking fish whose valuable swimmer bladder is prized in China. Deployed without markers under the cover of darkness, these nets accidentally ensnare and drown an adorable tiny porpoise nearing extinction called the vaquita, of which there are none in captivity and only 20 or so left in the sea. Within a few years, the vaquita will likely be the next cetacean to disappear from Earth. While I didn’t get pictures of the porpoise (very few have seen them in the wild), I photographed the anti-poaching operations aboard the MV Sam Simon, a Sea Shepherd ship deployed to drag up illegal nets and hand over evidence of poaching to the Mexican Navy. It’s a complicated situation, as harvesting totoaba bladders is more lucrative than local jobs, or even drug trafficking. I don’t believe anyone thinks the vaquita can honestly be saved, but hopefully lessons can be learned by telling the story of the vaquita, and the disastrous effects that the illegal Chinese medicine trade has on endangered species worldwide. 

Learn More and Get Involved with the Work // seashepherd.org