Lockdown Dairies - Discovering Coral

23rd April 2020

Over the last few days, I have watched Chasing Coral on Netflix - no, it's not that long, just that I have watched in snatches - with awe, fascination, that changed to consternation and horror and finally ended with a feeling of misery and shame as to what we have done and what a screw up it all is.

The film is about the 2016 destruction of the Great Barrier Reef, and the great bleaching event that year, across the world, in oceans everywhere, putting the entire ocean ecosystem in peril.

In April 2017,  we (MNS) made a memorable trip to the Andaman Islands, and this included a snorkelling morning off Havelock.

Sheila's picture of the beautiful day it was

Seeing the picture brought back memories of that glorious morning, the shared delight of seeing those unknown marine creatures, the joy on my friend Raji's face at this whole new experience of ocean watching, the cool water under the strong April sun

I revisited the underwater pictures that one of the diving crew took and shared with us.

From what I understood from the documentary, this then is dead coral - just back to being like a rock.  Look at those beautiful fishes,

One piece of agrophora(?) coral still holding on

Honeycomb coral (I think) to the left, but on the right, that looks dead to me.  

And is this a bleaching coral?

There had been much tectonic change in the region after the tsunami.  However, as the ANET researchers were telling us, there had also been large-scale bleaching events as recent as 2016.

I read on their page that they now have a Citizen Science project REEF LOG.  Indian waters and corals suffer from poor levels of documentation and research so this is a welcome effort.

Vardhan Patankar and a whole host of young scientists are also studying reef resilience in the Andaman waters - why some reefs seem more able to recover from bleaching events than others.

This may lead to better predictive models.  "Coral stress is caused by an increase in sea surface water temperatures that remain above a specific threshold for three months. The threshold is usually one degree celsius above the highest summertime mean sea surface temperature for three months, or above four ‘degree heating weeks’ (DHWs), as this metric is called."

In the meantime, this year, there seems to have been another mass bleaching event this year on the GBR.

This is likely the last generation to see the Great Barrier Reef as humans have known it

Michael J. CorenApril 8, 2020

For 500,000 years, the Great Barrier Reef has grown steadily in the cool, clear waters off Australia. But after surviving five glacial periods, the reef’s billions of inhabitants may not survive humanity.
On March 26, the Reef endured its third major bleaching event in five years. Many of its corals sustained massive bleaching, even in the southern portion relatively untouched during the previous events, according to the Australian government. A rapidly warming climate has sent wave after wave of hot waters washing over the 3,000 individual coral reefs that make up the massive living structure, which stretches over 2,300 km (1,429 miles).
When water temperatures rise just a few degrees above normal, stressed corals may eject their symbiotic algae, leading to bleaching events. The bone-white corals are left without their life-giving partners. Some recover. But if bleaching occurs too often, and too intensely, the reefs die along with their ecosystem, often compared to a rainforest.
Sea surface temperatures, already 0.4 degrees Celsius higher than historical averages, are set to hit 2.5 degrees Celsius above normal by the end of the century. “Climate change remains the single greatest challenge to the Reef,” states Australia’s marine park agency.
Andrea Dutton, a paleoclimatologist at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, has spent her life studying this phenomenon. She drills into fossilized corals to see what they can tell us about the last few hundred thousand years of sea levels and ice sheets during bouts of global warming.
She spoke with Quartz twice over the past year to detail what today’s corals portend about the climate, and the significance of bleaching on the world’s largest coral system. Change, she knows, is part of life on the reef. But the pace now dwarfs anything that has come before. “It’s not that life can’t adapt,” she says. “But the question really is, can we still support human civilization, in a sustainable way on this planet. To do this, we need a healthy ecosystem around us…Not having healthy oceans is a profound risk to human civilization.”

Can you describe exactly what’s happening?
When the ocean heats up, symbiotic algae, the zooxanthellae [a yellowish-brown symbiotic dinoflagellate that lives in the coral and gives it color], can’t stay there anymore. And so they leave. And what’s left behind is just the coral skeleton, which is white. If you were to look at it from above, it completely changes the reef. All the color would be gone. The things that rely on coral to feed them also start to struggle.
And that’s what the corals look like in the fossil record. They’re just these white carbonate skeletons that I work with to try to understand what happened in the past.
If you had to analogize what’s happening to the reefs as if they were a human city, how would you describe that?
When a hurricane comes through and wipes out everything you need to live, it’s left in ruins. Things start to grow over it. You can’t imagine life being there anymore. That’s what’s happening to coral reefs, which are home to so many different organisms in the oceans.
When those corals don’t survive, they get covered with algae. This really slimy green yucky stuff. I’ve been diving on reefs that are covered with algae. It smells with all the dead organisms on the reef after the bleaching event. It was so upsetting I had to get out of the water. I couldn’t stay in it. It was absolutely horrifying to experience in person when you see what’s happening.
The problem is if you want to rebuild the reef, it’s not like rebuilding a city. If you had a whole bunch of money, you could go in there and build new buildings, and people could move in right away. For reefs, you could try to put in little recruits, little tiny coral colonies in there, and it would be so difficult to repopulate the entire reef. We would have lost species. A lot of those coral recruits wouldn’t survive anyway. 

It’s not like we can just flip a switch and rebuild in the way that you can rebuild a city.

Will the Lockdown help keep the ocean temperatures down this summer?

PS:  The film has a shot of the Madras Marina beach (with a crow, scores of people and the lighthouse to boot), at bout he 65th minute.

Lockdown diaries - Adyar evenings

April 22nd 2020

In the evenings, pelicans come to the estuary, and its entertaining to watch them fish.  Today they fished along with the fishermen, and the sun lit them up so nicely.  This is an iphone picture, through the binoculars.

On the western side, the sun shone on the blooming Copper Pod, yellow on yellow.  The picture couldn't capture the "on-fire" effect.

 

I liked the way the evening sun lit up the panorama.

And another day ends.

My naturalist friends are busy looking at the night skies.  The Meteor showers show.

Lockdown diaries - Crow Chronicles

19th April 2020

And so the lockdown will continue we are told.  Stay home and stay safe.  It happens to be a Sunday today.  As a wit on WhatsApp observed, why bother with days, its either this day or that day or like every other day!  Sundays are different - I get a fresh crossword to do and see the answer for that annoying one about the Cockney bruiser  from last week.

More morning walks.

Past the crow bath I go.  They all line up, one row at the bath and the next row waiting for their turn.  There's a fizz and cheer in them, as they have a good splash before they fly off to the Tabebuia nearby to dry themselves.  

In good Indian fashion, these crows bathe before breakfast - sustenance provided by a Good Samaritan in the building.  Every morning as I walk round and round, I ponder the question to feed or not to feed.  And arrive at no answer.  I used to be anti-feeding....in the current situation, I don't know anymore.

A crow hops on the path in front of me, reluctant to waste energy in flight until there seems no other go.  Oh these pesky humans!

Anyways now that we pesky humans are all at home, everyone else is out celebrating it seems!

Chennai Skies so blue 

Flamingoes in Mumbai, Starlings murmuring somewhere else, starry nights and even the Pallikaranai marsh is teeming!

Downsizing life

R Bhanumathi, Naturalist

For Bhanumathi, the lockdown has been a chance to think about her lifestyle choices: a reminder to live a sustainable life. “We need to examine how much resources we are using,” she says. Whether it is using ingredients judiciously in the kitchen, buying fewer gadgets and cars, or “on a more personal level, even whether we need to have two or more children. I am glad many are making the conscious decision to adopt instead. Because we have to think about the kind of planet we are leaving for them, 30 years down the line.” 

Given that things are no longer easily available to us at our doorstep, she says this has made her pay attention to the whole process of manufacturing that goes behind a finished product and all the people involved in it. 

The lockdown is a huge shift from her regular life, given she would go on Nature expeditions almost twice every month. “This period has taught me tolerance and patience in thinking before making decisions.” The odd dragonfly still wanders inside her window. “One day, I heard the calls of a spotted owlet at around midnight. I have lived in Chennai since 1982 and that has never happened before.”

OK, Pesky humans, time to change!

Lockdown diaries - all is well in the world

Were those painted storks I spied, flying northwards?

It's April and the Tabebuia blooms, as it should,

...as does the Spathodea.
The skies are blue....

...and the sunsets are brilliant.

I need to remember that one species out of 8.7 million on earth is having a bad time, and I am one out of 6 billion of that said species.  OK that is inaccurate.  About 3,000 animals and another 3,000 plants are also having a bad time, because of the one species.  

Lockdown diaries -

April 9th 2020

5am and I'm up with the crows (who never seem to sleep these days), to set off for my morning walk, before "rush hour" and so that I can keep the physical distances needed by the new world of Covid protocols.

Milk man, newspaper man, gardener lady, all rushing by with masks on and purpose-filled strides.  I hear a tailor bird calling among the Spathodea trees, but mainly its the chorus of kakas, who line up and dip into the little man-made pools of water, as they have a "kaka kuzhi".  Its a Neil Young kind of morning, as he belts out Hey Hey, My My.  Round and round, in eights and circles, among the plumeria, pugs and labradors I go.

And then I see the gardener trimming the border hedges.  The Ikebanist in me swoops down, gathers a handful and carries on up back home.

A summer exuberance

 11am - Done with the chores, and some time for watching the water and the birds.  I spy a cormorant flying south.  I perk up and look more keenly.  Four painted storks do a flyby.

I see the Adyar bridge with no traffic - what a strange sight, and the old bridge is being recaptured by nature.

And there's the broken bridge - in the background.  Here's hoping and wishing we don't see
that weird idea of a new bridge over there. 

I move to the other side, and see the Chettinad Palace, with the TS behind.  In-between, the Adyar flows.
Black Kites circle overhead

The backwaters and the Bay of Bengal - it is a lovely day.

Another arm or the backwaters, to the north.  Egrets wing across the water.  And was that a lone sandpiper that skimmed the surface? And in the background, is the Marina, strangely empty.

3pm, and the sun has vanished, I look across the Adyar bridge, and there in the distance, I can see it raining somewhere.

And soon, the rain comes, the empty roads glisten, and the smell of wet mud wafts all the way up to the 12th floor.  The first rains after several months.  Thunder, lightning, winds and wet clothes, tea and chocolate muffin.

In an hour or so, it eases, and I go down to do some in-building shopping.  It is beautiful and cool, time to stop and stare.  What's the rush?  Walk carefully, are the stones slippery?  

Avoid those door handles, use elbows for lift buttons, wash hands on reaching home....the new behaviours that I am now doing without thinking.  The new normal.

Lockdown diaries - Yellow and Purple

April 3rd 2020

Golden Bells

Ringing in my ear

26 years already?

Tecoma stans bounty

Bauhinia - a reminder of Darpana, another life.

and this one - what is it I wonder.  Pretty yellow flowers with a white bract

Lockdown diaries - A tree lifer

April 2nd 2020

Morning perambulations

Turn the corner

A sweet fragrance

Joy!

Shenbagham flower - Magnolia champaca - the heady and sweet floral fragrance that perfumers love - blooming here and now.

I thought of Janani and of Tanya and of our fragrance testing and the emotions of smell.  In Nature, the fragrance of the Sampige or shenbagam is rich and sweet and yes, joyous.  Something about natural fragrances, they are delicate yet strong, lingering yet effervescent..

It was my first time seeing a champaca tree in bloom!

Tagore's - The Champa Flower.  this one is for you SG and your Champa at home.

SUPPOSING I became a champa flower, just for fun, and grew on a branch high up that tree, and shook in the wind with laughter and danced upon the newly budded leaves, would you know me, mother? 

You would call, 'Baby, where are you?' and I should laugh to myself and keep quite quiet.
I should slyly open my petals and watch you at your work. 

When after your bath, with wet hair spread on your shoulders, you walked through the shadow of the champa tree to the little court where you say your prayers, you would notice the scent of the flower, but not know that it came from me. 

When after the midday meal you sat at the window reading Ramayana, and the tree's shadow fell over your hair and your lap, I should fling my wee little shadow on to the page of your book, just where you were reading. 

But would you guess that it was the tiny shadow of your little child?
When in the evening you went to the cowshed with the lighted lamp in your hand, I should suddenly drop on to the earth again and be your own baby once more, and beg you to tell me a story. 

'Where have you been, you naughty child? '
'I won't tell you, mother. ' That's what you and I would say then.

Lockdown diaries - The constant gardener

29th March 2020

Meanwhile, there's a  diligent and gentle gardener at work on our balcony beauties, reds and pinks.

Hibiscus rosa-sinensis - chilli red

Adenium obesum - cheerful pinks  

A new baby pink on our balcony - Kopsia fruticosa.  This one's special - the first bloom after coming home from my mother's garden.

Amaryllis lilies also red

and the rose bush in the corner, still putting out flowers...

..... this was its bounty in February