Sophie Coxon - Fieldwork adaptation & routine
Fieldwork excursions always bring new challenges and unpredictable hurdles which requires a baseline level of resilience and adaptability in researchers. My short time in Magoodhoo has come to an end and I have recently travelled northwards to the North Male atoll, to settle into life as an assistant marine biologist on the Oaga Art Resort island. Arriving at the island, with my colleague Lorna, we were quickly shown to the staff accommodation block and introduced to the island chief and his employees. There was a warmth and friendliness to the welcome that has persisted throughout our first few days here, the hospitality and kindness of the Maldivian people never failing to brighten a day. Despite the stark differences in environment and social structure, the buoyant smiles and contagious happiness of the local people of Magoodhoo is reflected in the Oaga staff, a tribute I am hugely grateful for.
Fieldwork can be tough, especially in the tropics, and despite being based on a paradise island for 3 months, marine fieldwork is not equivalent to a holiday. So, to everyone back home who thinks Lorna and I have come here to bask in the sun and sip coconut water on the beach in skimpy bikinis, here is a snippet of the real day-to-day life as a marine biologist in the field.
We are up and on it by 6am to catch the sunrise and take a quick walk on the beach or do some yoga before the day starts - yes, because this is a gorgeous period of time where everything is quiet and peaceful and bathed in the honey-pink glow of morning sunlight, but also because this is the only spare minute we have in the day. Our accommodation is basic, the standard for resort staff in the tropics - four of us share a small bunk room in a building essentially built of old shipping containers welded together. There is mould on the walls and the corridor looks like a death scene from a horror movie, but after a couple of days I adjusted and began to see its unexplainable charm. Breakfast is in the staff canteen at 7.30, and by 8 we are starting the work day as the island starts to bake under the ruthless Maldivian sun. You’d be surprised what you get used to once you do it a few times.
Our morning dive is dedicated to my research, and usually lasts around an hour. We kit up at the dive centre, and then walk to the shore, weighed down by a full SCUBA set each plus an assortment of transect lines, dive slates and quadrats. If the resort guests want to use any of the gear, we have to take the dregs, sometimes using half-full tanks or BCDs that are a few sizes too big. It's really a case of making do with what's available, learning to adapt and overcome - a valuable life lesson. I feel like a yak trekking across the hot sand sometimes, as if I will sink right into the beach under the weight of all this scientific gear digging into my skin and making me sweat. The relief the water brings - cooling the heat and lifting the heaviness of metal and plastic - is a perfect moment every single day. A quick check of the gear and we descend underwater, entering the magical kingdom of the reef. As soon as I’m in the ocean, surrounded by the bejewelled forms of corals and clouds of shimmering fish, I feel at peace. The engulfing blue that surrounds everything has a calming effect on the mind, and I feel my thoughts slow down and become simpler, purer, when I’m down there.
We lay the transect line across the reef substrate before swimming the length of it, recording fish abundance by species. This requires being able to identify a huge list of fish - moving targets - whilst maintaining buoyancy in the water column, level breathing, constant speed and writing down data on a slate at the same time. It takes a lot of concentration. We retrace the transect line, this time laying a quadrat every metre and taking photos to analyse substrate composition. You see all sorts lurking within the cavernous nooks and crannies formed by the reef structure - black ropes of moray eels with gaping mouths and unblinking eyes, silvery red soldierfish hovering stock-still under plates of montipora, the occasional triggerfish being triggered by our presence and attempting to chase us off, usual to no avail but if it big enough, with large enough teeth, you bet we are swimming rapidly in the other direction.
By the time we have surfaced, changed, rinsed the gear and eaten lunch, it's time for the afternoon dive, dedicated to working in the coral nursery. A sack full of pliers, gardening gloves and toothbrushes, and a very rusty hammer, accompany us to the coral gardens for a two-hour session of cleaning away algae and removing dead coral fragments from the nursery structures. Some of the algal mats are as thick as rugs, carpeting the metal tables and domes used to grow coral fragments on, often smothering out the coral and leading to general death and destruction. This is brushed off, ironically, with a toothbrush, forming clouds of green debris in the water which attracts swarms of hungry wrasse. They really get up in your face as you work, making unsettling eye contact and even nipping at your arms and legs if they feel they aren't getting their share of lunch.
Being underwater for so long, breathing compressed air and being unable to make a sound does allow for some interesting thought spirals, but generally working in the coral gardens is a very serene and meditative experience. I usually run through my research plans in my head, think about new questions to ask or interesting angles I could take, never really disconnecting from my work. It's good to stay distracted anyway, as much of the reef is depressingly dead - what was once a vibrant, teeming coral reef, diverse with thriving corals of rich amber, brown, red and ochre, is now a wasteland of skeletons, bleached white or infused with the grey of death, veiled in ghostly films of algae. It isn't the prettiest of sights, and sometimes I find myself questioning if it's all worth it, all this effort to grow and plant and clean and monitor these coral fragments, if a bleaching event can just wipe out the entire garden in the span of a few days. My conclusion is always the same: of course it’s worth it.
Who would we be if we didn't even attempt to save these magnificent reefs we are so recklessly destroying? The dependency humankind has on coral reefs is immense, though not many people realise how crucial these ecosystems are. And if action is not taken, rapidly, people will soon know - through losing their income, their food source, the very land they live on. By this point it will be too late. And so, each day I put on my wetsuit, I drag my dive gear to the shoreline, and I spend upwards of four hours underwater, trying to salvage the remnants of this Maldivian coral reef and understand its inhabitants so we can better protect it. At least I can say I tried, I care. But I do hold hope for the future of reefs, if we band together and collectively tackle this as a global issue. After all, it affects everyone.
The extreme hunger pangs that come with the end of a long dive are almost unbelievable. After the kit is cleaned, we raid the canteen, piling our plates high with fragrant rice and spicy curry, shovelling it into our mouths like there’s no tomorrow, sitting around a wooden bench under a lantern, bare feet on the sand. The evenings are quiet, just moonlight on the ocean and the lazy buzz of insects circling the lights. We spend the last few hours of the day in the office, analysing data and writing up reports. Countless cups of tea and coffee are consumed, separated by frequent walks along the beach to look at the stars. And then we head to bed, before repeating it all again tomorrow. The days are long but fly past, and our single day off seems to zip round in the blink of an eye. It’s an unusual workday routine, but I’ve learned to love it, and fall into bed satisfyingly exhausted each night. And there are so many golden moments - peach and lilac sunsets over the ocean, the constant immersion in nature, sipping a coffee on the beach between dives, the shadow of a shark in the blue distance as we descend - every day is unique, and every day brings tiny moments of wonder that completely overwrite any discomfort.
