Isolation and Vulnerability in Bermdua

The approach to Bermuda began in the pre-dawn hours of our ninth day at sea. Before the sun rose we saw the far off glow of civilization, the island was about 20 miles away. As we sailed closer and the sky turned lighter, the bright beacon of the lighthouse faded into the bright blue sky surrounding the low-lying island. Sea Dragon approached the entrance to St. George's harbor, navigating through reefs and the narrow cut in the limestone. In the channel we were flanked by dense woods of palm and evergreen, which were dotted with pastel pink and blue and green cottages. The first inhabitants we encountered were the three dogs that ran to the end of their waterfront property and saluted us with barks. As we tied up at the port of entry dock, we were approached by a bubble-helmeted man named Bernie, who not only gave us the scoop on the island scene, but directed to a quaint marina known as "Captain Smokes".Bernie's brother, Captain Smokes, met us at the spot and filled us in on all the happenings (or lack there of) in St. George's. As we were soon to find out, winter is the slow season on the island. The tourism-based economy slows down as the temperature drops in the winter. Wandering around the empty town on that Sunday morning was like walking through an empty theme park, and the carnival-esque nature of the scene was augmented with replica stocks and gallows in the town square where pirates, should they invade, would be tried. To complete the scene a replica of a tall ship loomed just adjacent the towns square. Sharply dressed locals began to trickle out of the woodwork as the morning church services finished. Coming from months in the Caribbean, I was struck immediately by the socioeconomics of the island nation. Both black and white Bermudians were dressed with casual opulence. With the average price of a house being just short of $1million, and with the third highest GDP per capita in the world, Bermuda really came across as a country of comfort and class. Our mission at sea (studying plastic density/marine debris in the Sargasso Sea) that had brought us to the island led to a lot of local interest. Beginning on the first day, and continuing through our stay, curious visitors made their way to the boat and quizzed us on our task. Several environmental groups, such as BIOS and Greenrock went out of their way to see that our stay was productive and that we were taken care of. We were all kept busy, between preparing the boat for the next leg of the trip to the Azores, engaging the public on the issue of ocean pollution, and assessing the effects of it on the island. On our third day on land, friends from BIOS brought us snorkeling with a group of school kids. The boat tour of the island was astounding, as we beheld the abundant reefs, lushly forested islands, and beautiful white sand beaches. The water was such a clear blue that we could see straight down to the sea urchins 30 feet below the boat. We jumped into the brisk water to explore the reefs surrounding Nonsuch Island, but one of the lead researchers on our science mission, Dr. Marcus Eriksen, and I headed for shore to explore the uninhabited rock. At first inspection, the island was as pristine as any I'd seen. Yet after a few minutes of scanning the beach, it was obvious that Bermuda was another victim of the global tragedy of plastic pollution. Forests of cedar and palm and sea grape and beverage bottles flanked white sandy beaches dotted with seashells and derelict fishing floats. Waves gently lapped at the shore, creating a colorful high-tide line of plastic particle confetti. Meadows of long grasses were home to nesting birds, nylon ropes, and washed up oil jugs. It was terribly frustrating to see such an idyllic beach marred by human waste and carelessness, and unfortunately, this was not an isolated incident. Bermuda is perilously placed on the western edge of the North Atlantic Gyre, making it a sponge for debris coming from the Atlantic rim and beyond. Many Bermudians are cognizant of this issue, and are doing what they can to preserve their island. However, the location that once kept the country so pristine and safe from outside influence now puts them in a position to take the brunt of the North Atlantic's debris. Our work in the gyre was well received in Bermuda, and the support we had from many groups was beyond generous. A cocktail party at the Consulate General's house, numerous crew dinners, and more donated food than we know what to do with served as a sort of thanks for the efforts we are putting in to the problems at hand. In general, everyone we encountered was exceedingly gracious. On a few occasions, asking for directions in the street turned in to lengthy conversations. New friends were easy to make and eagerly took us into their homes and out on the town. Passers-by always go along with a happy greeting, and driving a taxi seems more like a hobby for those anxious to meet new people than a profession. Despite some rough winter weather, we were glad to have come when we did. The open streets and quiet towns were a nice contrast to the tourist trap of USVI that we had left behind. Our stay in Bermuda has been nothing short of spectacular. But however beautiful the people of this unique atoll nation are, their land has fallen victim to an environmental catastrophe that is leaving their shores and waters trashed and polluted. The same story is playing out all over the world, too: The Canary Islands, Palau, and Cape Verde are other victims. But by embracing the issue, Bermudians are setting an example globally. Whether it is organized beach cleanups by Keep Bermuda Beautiful, adopting steel water bottles, or educating the youth, Bermuda seems to be tackling this global issue on a local scale. Let's hope that we find such enlightenment in the people of our next stop, The Azores, after our next few weeks of research and discovery in the core of the North Atlantic Gyre. Steve Amato