Hi! I’m Sophie, and I’m a freelance writer, journalist, scientific diver and MSc Marine Systems & Policies student.
Over the last two years I have time as an intern for various organisations, including Seawilding. Here, I worked on their Native Oyster and Seagrass Restoration project. Read on for further information about this internship, in this special blog about restoring Scotland’s wild west coast.
A summer in Scotland
The summer I worked on the rugged, verdant coast of western Scotland, restoring native shallow marine ecosystems, was a tough but golden period that redirected my life. I was about to go into my final year of an ecological and environmental science degree, and had just come back from a month in Indonesia, training to be a scientific diver. As much as I loved the magic and thrill of travelling the tropics, I found myself eager to touch base with home turf. Scotland is a beautiful country, its ecosystems exuding an unruly, wild charm – though, like every ecosystem on the planet – are faced with a crushing range of pressures, challenges and threats. I had a month left of summer break and I wanted to use it wisely.
Oysters had never struck me as particularly interesting; they were strange, slimy, grey orbs, buried deep in the seabed under layers of muck, or scrawled in thin cursive on the menus of restaurants. I knew nothing about them other than to avoid ordering them at all costs unless I wanted to pay a fine price to slurp a raw splodge of mollusc. This all changed as soon as I arrived in the village of Ardfern.
Tucked away in the rolling Atlantic coastline of Argyll, a new wave of marine restoration is sweeping the region, in green and grey: seagrass and oyster restoration. Lush, dense meadows of flowing sea grass once fringed the shallows all around the UK, harbouring a rich diversity of organisms, binding sediments, and cushioning the coastline from the brunt of the tumultuous storms rolling in from the west. These past meadows were historically interwoven with large patches of oysters, which formed thickly layered reefs and served as a primary habitat for many fish and crustacean species as well as purifying the water column. However, intense exploitation, pollution, and unsustainable development throughout the 1800s led to the degradation of these vital habitats; only a fraction of the original seagrass cover remains, and natural oyster reefs suffered total loss.
Myself and two other ecology and marine science undergraduates were integrated into the core team of the local marine conservation charity, and involved in every facet of the work and impact they make. The charity’s driving mission is to facilitate the regeneration of native seagrass species, Zostera marina and Zostera noltii, and the native oyster species Ostrea edulis, to their former abundance along the Scottish west coast. Throughout our month-long internship, we absorbed new knowledge like sponges, soaking up every morsel of wisdom and expertise, from the ground team, the scientists, and the locals, and quickly became familiar with the ecosystem and its inhabitants.
How we spent our days
Our days consisted of early mornings at the boathouse, checking the seagrass tanks and doing water changes, followed by long hours spent on the water, jostling for space in a tiny boat, geared up in bright yellow fishing overalls. We would coast out to the oyster nursery, where spat (baby oysters) were being reared for embedding in the restoration reefs, and check them for disease, clean algae and sea squirts from the cages, and sort through the dead culch which was thrown overboard. It was gruelling, pungent, repetitive work, but easily lightened by our own humour and the serene feeling of being out on a calm, flat sea.
Other days we were dressed head to toe in neoprene, bound in weight belts and fins, ready to plunge into the icy shallows to harvest mature seagrass seeds which were taken to the nursery. We conducted grass density measurements, biodiversity surveys, recorded oxygen concentrations and took water samples. We experienced an aquatic heatwave, a mass oyster die-off, and many observations of illegal fishing happening in the protected zones. I remember being in a constant state of soul-clenching brain freeze, intense determination to make a positive difference, and unrivalled awe at the sparkling kingdom sprawled out around me.
Fronds of emerald green twisted and danced in dappled sunlight, hiding the glossy blue carapaces of velvet swimming crabs, and the silver shrapnel of sandeels weaving in and out. Across the oyster reefs, pearly mussels embellished the seabed, beneath shoals of goldsinny wrasse shimmering like oil droplets in the blue-green haze. The occasional gannet would dive into the water and snatch up a pollock, then emerge back into the terrestrial realm, out of view. It was a whole other world.
During the month I also conducted my own research using baited underwater video cameras. I was assessing the fish and crustacean biodiversity in the seagrass meadows compared to the oyster reef zones, to understand how species were using each habitat, and how tightly interlinked they might be. It was invigorating to contribute something valuable to the marine conservation field, a feeling I will be forever chasing.
Long-term benefits
The month was transformative; the seagrass meadows stretched and flourished, the deeper oysters survived whilst the surface cages perished, we taught local volunteers how to plant seagrass in hessian sacks and took visitors out on guided snorkel safaris. My knowledge of the local ecosystem reached cavernous new depths, and I became passionately devoted to protecting it. The whip of the wind and sting of the salt took nothing from the magic of this shoreline.
Our conversations dipped and delved into the topics of fish farm pollution, harmful algal blooms, unprecedented water temperatures, illegal dredging, an exhaustive list of possible causes for the mass mortality of the oysters. Whilst slightly depressing, it was also stimulating and exciting to be in the midst of it all. I learned how to think on my feet, reel in oyster cages, pluck ripened seeds from fertile seagrass blades, spot otters from the headland and teach people about the wildlife that surrounds them.
We foraged wild blackberries, identified fish, chased sheep from the kitchen, and spent more time in the water than out. There was a rawness and realness that brought me right back to earth; the threats and impacts of human life on nature were so blatant, but so was the dedication and passion of the local community to do something about it. It was an amazing experience that has equipped me with a whole toolkit of knowledge, understanding and appreciation for the natural world, and I would highly recommend getting involved in active restoration if you can. We have a lot of work to do, but educating people about it, and letting them discover its wonder, is a huge step in the right direction.
Thanks to our guest writer Sophie Coxon for this blog!
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