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National Geographic
3 days ago
- Health
- National Geographic
The future of child health: Innovations expanding access to immunization
Child mortality has been halved in the last 25 years. Building on this progress, new innovations in immunization are working towards saving more lives. Vaccines are so effective they've halved child mortality in 25 years—new innovations are now improving access to them. Video by National Geographic CreativeWorks / Animated by Tayla De Beer Groundbreaking advances in medicine have made many of the world's worst diseases preventable. On May 14th, 1796, the English physician Edward Jenner carefully infected eight-year-old James Phipps with cowpox. The boy developed a fever, becoming cold and losing his appetite. But then he felt better. When James was then exposed to smallpox, the deadliest infectious disease of the time, the boy not only didn't get sick but didn't transmit the smallpox to those around him. Jenner had administered a vaccine that imitated the smallpox infection, safely teaching the boy's body how to defend itself. It was a significant step on humanity's journey to research and develop vaccines to protect against infectious diseases. Today, immunization programs are transforming our world, having eradicated smallpox and significantly reduced the impact of many other diseases like polio, measles, and meningitis. Vaccination prevents around five million deaths every year, and has helped to halve child mortality over the past 25 years. However, infectious diseases still kill millions and children are particularly vulnerable. Among children under five, pneumonia is one of the biggest killers, while measles remains among the deadliest diseases worldwide. And infectious diseases do not respect borders: this year, Texas, USA suffered an alarming outbreak of measles, mostly among children and almost entirely among the unvaccinated. Vaccination protects children and stops the spread of infectious diseases: The more people that are vaccinated, the safer the world becomes. Following the lead of national governments, organizations such as the WHO, UNICEF, and Gavi, the Vaccine Alliance support immunization programs reaching millions of children in some of the most hard to reach places. But recently, vaccination rates have stagnated: Coverage for the vaccine that protects against diphtheria, tetanus, and pertussis - the measure of basic childhood immunization- stalled at around 84 percent in 2023. The ideal is to make vaccines available to everyone, and especially to the most vulnerable children in regions where infectious diseases are most prevalent. And as Jenner's work drove forward the development of the first vaccines, pioneering new innovations are now driving ever more effective, efficient, and equitable access to vaccination. In the 200 years since vaccinations were developed, they have saved many millions of lives protecting people from infectious diseases including smallpox, measles, and meningitis. Photograph by Junior Diatezua Kannah © Gates Archive Remarkably, protection against some diseases can now begin before birth by vaccinating pregnant mothers— the vaccine stimulates an immune response in the pregnant mother, who passes protective antibodies to the baby, protecting them from the moment they are born. Such 'maternal vaccination' is widely used to protect newborn babies from tetanus and flu, and new developments have also made it possible for respiratory syncytial virus (RSV). Common among infants, RSV causes breathing difficulties and is the most common cause of pneumonia in infants younger than six months old. After decades of research, a new maternal vaccine for RSV has been developed and will be available to lower-income countries where it is most needed- helping to reduce the 3.6 million hospitalizations and 100,000 deaths in children under five caused by RSV. Thanks to pioneering scientific research, vaccines are now available for more than 30 life-threatening diseases and infections. To maximize the opportunity this brings, it is key to work with countries and partners to efficiently expand global access to these life-saving tools. The new hexavalent vaccine plays a crucial role in this. It combines protection against six deadly diseases in a single vaccine, protecting a child against diphtheria, tetanus, pertussis, Haemophilus influenzae B, hepatitis B, and polio. Reducing the number of injections makes it easier for children to get their full slate of immunizations and reduces burden on caregivers, healthcare workers, and overstretched healthcare systems. Immunization programmes reach people even in the most challenging places, saving millions of lives each year. Photograph by Dominique Catton © Gates Archive Another way researchers are working to expand access is by exploring a simpler way of administering vaccines using microneedle array patches (MAPs). About the size of a small bandage, a single-use MAP is applied to the skin where many microscopic needles deliver the vaccine into the body. It only takes minutes, and unlike traditional injections, administering a MAP may not require a highly trained health worker—it could be given by volunteers. Early trials in The Gambia have shown these patches can deliver the measles-rubella vaccines to adults, toddlers, and infants as safely and effectively as syringes. Key to ensuring a vaccine's efficacy is the cold chain, a network of refrigerators, freezers, and cold storage boxes that keep vaccines at the right temperature as they travel. With vaccines highly sensitive to temperature, the value of a little sticky label called a VVM cannot be overstated. VVMs, short for vaccine vial monitors, are heat-sensitive stickers that change color with cumulative exposure to heat. They enable health professionals to see at a glance when a vaccine should not be used. A microneedle contraceptive patch on display at an exhibition at the Gates Foundation in Seattle. Innovations including the use of microneedle patches are making vaccination easier and more accessible. Photograph by Brandon Hill © Gates Foundation A manager inspects vaccines held in a cold storage room in Somalia. The cold chain is a vital network of refrigerators, freezers, and cold boxes that keep heat-sensitive vaccines at the optimum temperature on their journey from pharmaceutical production to health worker in the field. Photograph by Ismail Taxta © Gates Archive But when a vaccine's end destination lacks reliable electricity for refrigeration, the Solar Direct-Drive (SDD) refrigerator is rising to the challenge. It not only harnesses solar energy to keep vaccines at the right temperature but also stores excess energy to keep running through sunless days. For many communities they can be transformational: in Kenya's Makueni County, the installation of an SDD refrigerator doubled the vaccination rate for children. In the garden of Edward Jenner's home, now a museum, is an eccentric-looking thatched summerhouse that he named his Temple of Vaccinia. Here, Jenner worked tirelessly to provide free vaccinations. It is fitting that the father of immunization never sought to profit from his efforts and was committed to equitable vaccination, because that's what it takes to prevent infectious diseases from spreading. Through the collaborative efforts of health workers, governments, and organizations, adequately funding critical immunization programs, and harnessing the power of science and innovation, progress is possible—bringing the world closer to ending preventable child deaths. Find more life-saving innovations here. More on vaccination innovations here.
National Geographic
02-07-2025
- National Geographic
The wild is a playground
At Bend Whitewater Park, locals and visitors gather to surf, paddle, and watch the action—turning this stretch of the Deschutes into a shared space for outdoor community and connection. Photograph by Jody Macdonald Story and photographs by Jody MacDonald There's a misconception that play is frivolous. That it's something you grow out of when you get older and life gets more serious. But in the wild, play is essential. It's how we learn, how we adapt, how we connect with something far greater than ourselves. And for me, the wilderness has always been my playground not in the sense of ease or safety, but in the freedom it gives me to move, to test my limits, and to create without constraint. That's exactly what brought me to the wilderness around Bend, Oregon. This place sits at the crossroads of landscapes: desert, forest, river, and alpine. One moment, you're walking across lava rock shaped by ancient eruptions; the next you're paddling a glassy alpine lake with snow-dusted peaks towering above you. It's rare to find this much geographic variety so tightly packed into a single region. For someone like me who's constantly chasing light, stories, and moments in motion, it's one of my favorite playgrounds. As an adventure photographer, I've spent the better part of my life chasing wild, remote places. I've come to learn that wilderness isn't just where we escape, it's where we return to something essential. And in Bend, that essence isn't only about discovery, challenge and to disconnect but is also about play. Still from National Geographic CreativeWorks I came here to spend a week reconnecting with the land, with myself and with that instinct to play. I loaded up my Toyota 4Runner just before first light. Kayak strapped to the roof. Camera gear stowed in the back. A cup of coffee riding shotgun. I had a loose plan and a sharpened sense of curiosity, two things that have always served me better than a fixed itinerary. The first stop was Crane Prairie Lake. It's one of those quiet places that catches you off guard. There's something about paddling across still water before the wind picks up, before the day gets loud, that resets your internal pace. Mist hovered low across the surface, and the glassy water caught the first strokes of morning light. I paddled slowly, letting rhythm find me. My camera was tucked in a dry bag just in case the light turned dramatic. Calm mornings on Crane Prairie Lake offer the perfect contrast to high-adrenaline adventures—inviting a slower kind of play in Central Oregon's natural playground. A lone osprey circled overhead. The only sounds were my paddle cutting through water, the distant calls of geese, and the creak of the boat. Out here, I have the freedom to move at the pace of my curiosity. To observe. To respond. To wonder. Later in the morning, I pull my gear back into the 4Runner and hit the road again, switching out of lake mode and following a hunch back toward town. Bend isn't just surrounded by wilderness, it's woven into it. By noon, I was parking next to the Bend Whitewater Park, camera slung over my shoulder and board under my arm. Going from paddling across silence at sunrise to surfing a standing wave by lunch feels a bit surreal, but that's what makes this place so compelling. The river runs straight through town, and locals have carved out a kind of aquatic skatepark, engineered waves where people come to play, wipe out, and try again. At Bend Whitewater Park, the Deschutes River becomes a playground for surfers and kayakers alike—offering manmade waves and natural flow right in the heart of town. I watched for a while from the bank, kids, river rats, weekend warriors, all taking their turns. Laughing, crashing, cheering each other on when someone caught a wave. Then I got in. The water was colder than expected. Fast. Forceful. It knocked me down more times than I can count but that's the point. That's the joy of it. The freedom to experiment. The freedom to get it wrong. In between rides, I grabbed my camera and shot from the riverbank, spray in the air, sunlight bouncing off the water, laughter and expressions caught in that split-second balance between chaos and control. By late afternoon, I was back in the 4Runner, soaked, scraped up, grinning. I took a detour down a forest road and found a quiet pull-off overlooking the Cascades. The dust kicked up behind me and settled slowly as I unpacked gear and dinner, tailgate down, camera batteries charging off the built-in inverter. Still from National Geographic CreativeWorks That night, I pulled a sleeping bag and stretched out under the stars. South Sister glowed in the distance. The hum of a river echoed faintly below. And I just lay there, thinking about how rare it is to be in a place that lets you move like this, from silence to adrenaline, solitude to community, paddle to board, all in one day. That's what a true playground is. A space that invites unstructured, instinctive, joyful interaction with the world around you. No fixed rules. Just open-ended possibilities. The wild around Bend, Oregon, is that kind of space. And for me, play is everything. It's how I connect with the land. It's how I see. It's how I create. Whether I'm climbing, paddling, hiking or chasing light with my camera, the wilderness responds to my curiosity. It challenges me, surprises me and teaches me to adapt.
National Geographic
20-06-2025
- Entertainment
- National Geographic
Okavango in focus
Despite being one of the most photographed natural spaces in the world, stories of the Okavango Delta are rarely told by local talent. A Motswana wildlife photographer is seeking to change that. A Motswana photographer trains the next generation of storytellers around the Okavango Delta. Video by National Geographic CreativeWorks The first edition of National Geographic magazine contained no pictures. It wasn't until nearly 20 years later that the editors took a risk in including a picture essay, prompting at least two board members to resign in protest. They perceived a lack of scientific merit in the publication becoming a 'picture book'—an attribute that very quickly went on to define the magazine's identity as a source of truth. Over a century later, it's now more or less universally agreed that photographs hold an incredible power in storytelling, as do the people who take them. Visual storytelling in and around the Okavango Delta, one of the world's most biodiverse natural spaces, is a popular subject, with around 200,000 visitors coming each year, and rarely without a camera in hand. Those stories are hardly, if ever, told by those local to the Delta. 'In the world of nature photographers [in Botswana], there's still such a small proportion [of local voices],' says Karabo LeBronpeter Moilwa, a Motswana wildlife photographer who broke into the creative landscape and wants to see others follow in his footsteps. 'Every time I look at my camera, I'm like, 'I need to inspire someone to be like me',' he elaborates. 'I got a job in the safari industry where I noticed a disparity—among the sea of tourists I would take out into the Delta [to teach wildlife photography], I'm usually the only black photographer there.' For Karabo, this observation triggered a wider realization that, in terms of visual media, Botswana creatives are underrepresented on their home turf. 'We need more of us out there, because there's a whole lot of stuff that needs to be told, photographed, and filmed by people like us,' he explains. 'We no longer want to rely on foreign media or filmmakers.' The question then became how. For rural communities living on the outskirts of the Delta—places from which it is lengthy and arduous to travel, even in the mightiest vehicles—opportunities to learn these skills are virtually nonexistent. The answer was to start bringing these opportunities to in the form of Storytelling Clubs, which deliver in-the-field photography lessons and ongoing career mentorship. With support through Okavango Eternal—a partnership between National Geographic and De Beers that helps to empower people and create livelihood opportunities across the region—each session is completely free. Karabo brings cameras and other gear into villages, allowing him to give the full photography safari teaching experience to local communities. 'What do you see?' he asks a group of twentysomethings on the outskirts of Beetsha village. 'I want you all to explore and bring me back anything that speaks to you.' His creative instructions belie the soft skills that Karabo instills in his students—find a story then frame and compose its narrative—as well as the technical aspects of photography, such as exposure, editing and exporting. Karabo gives tuition to a group during the field element of Storytelling Clubs. Photograph by NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC CREATIVEWORKS Okavango Eternal has also supported the construction of the Nkashi Knowledge Center on Beetsha's outskirts, which Karabo is able to use as a base of operations when in the field. The center offers equipment and accommodation, as well as classroom space where students can put their images up on screens to critique as a group. It's also available as an exhibition space for students' work, which was on display at the center's opening in April 2025. Water buffalo in the thick African bush. Photograph by Monthusi Monkhanda, Nkashi Wild Storytelling cohort 'I am very happy because photography has taken me to places that I didn't know,' says Bonte Moyambo, a young woman who joined Storytelling Clubs in 2024. 'I was exposed to the various animals that we have, many of which I didn't know. Karabo was the one who taught me about all these animals, and so my knowledge of our surroundings grew.' In acclimatizing the next generation to wildlife in this way, Storytelling Clubs can inspire students to become stewards of photographic storytelling in this field. Through it, there's also hope that these images will help to change perceptions of animals in wider communities and ease conflict between humans and wildlife. There's been a reforging of generational and cultural ties within communities, too, as students' conversations with their parents and community elders offer up learnings about traditional practices. 'I have been able to learn about what brought my relatives to live in this area,' says Bonte. She belongs to the San community, whose cultural identity has somewhat diminished in the modern age. 'There are many things about my culture that I didn't know: About our ancestors and how they used to live their lives, and some of us found relatives here.' Village elder weaving traditional coiled baskets. Photograph by Gape Komane , Xhokwe Somseeko k'xei Storytelling cohort. So far, around 70 young people have joined Storytelling Clubs across multiple villages—stretching from Ngamiland at the north of the Delta to beyond the town of Maun in the south. Several of the first students are now training to become mentors themselves, and students from two collectives attended a 2024 National Geographic Photo Camp, which pairs them with National Geographic Explorers and photographers to further develop their skills and exhibit their work to millions of viewers around the world. Karabo and students critique images in the Nkashi Knowledge Center. Photograph by NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC CREATIVEWORKS Recognizing the role that photography can play in providing another avenue of expression, Karabo established the Visual Voices collective for deaf individuals. Visual Voices provides an outlet for its members to learn these same storytelling skills, while connecting with their peers. 'The importance is that we learn from each other,' says Nkamogelang Monnawapula, a student from the Visual Voices collective. 'I want people to know that there's a deaf boy who takes pictures—and does it professionally. People come, see the beautiful pictures, and start buying from me!' Children kicking around a football as dusk. Photograph by Kelebogile Shakoyi, Xhokwe Somseeko k'xei Storytelling cohort Whether local students go on to become prominent wildlife photographers, artists who preserve their cultural heritage, or move into commercial industries like marketing and production, Storytelling Clubs are about opening young minds to the possibilities of their future. 'There's more to the Delta, there are stories, young men and women with dreams, with hopes, with achievements,' reflects Karabo. 'I came here to tell those stories, but now it's their time. We're just helping them to achieve that. We want them to tell their own story, as it is, right now.' Find out how De Beers creates positive impacts here.
National Geographic
22-05-2025
- Science
- National Geographic
Shades of dark: the story of night photography
Joel Sartore takes you behind the scenes of wildlife sanctuaries that help protect the most endangered animals on Earth National Geographic CreativeWorks Today's camera technology enables almost anyone to take impressive photographs even in the lowest light. But the art of night photography has been driven by a few key personalities in a story that stretches back to the origins of photography itself. In 1895, when English photographer Paul Martin began making photographs of London at night, passers-by ridiculed him saying it was impossible to use a camera at night—he should stop wasting his time and go home to his wife. Martin's celebrated book, London by Gaslight, proved them wrong but it did epitomize the problem: cameras work by capturing light, so making pictures at night was the photographic final frontier. Today however, technological innovations in cameras and even some smartphones make it possible for anyone to capture strikingly clear images in low light. And people pushing the boundaries of night photography is a story almost as old as the camera itself. Nicéphore Niépce produced the first permanent photograph in around 1822, using a process later perfected by the artist and inventor Louis-Jacques-Mandé Daguerre. Daguerre gave his name to the daguerreotype, the first fully-fledged form of photography, that he revealed in January 1839. Just a few days earlier, Daguerre is credited with pointing a telescope into the night sky and making the first ever photographic image of night's brightest feature—the moon. Unfortunately, his historic lunar image was blurred and existed for only a few months before being destroyed in a fire. Not too dissimilar from this camera, the first established form of photography was the daguerreotype, which made images by exposing photosensitive copper plates to light. Photograph from Shutterstock The first verified daguerreotype of the moon was made a year later by John William Draper. His notes describe exposing a prepared plate (a highly polished, silver-plated sheet of copper sensitized with iodine and bromine) to moonbeams focused through a double convex lens. The haunting image, framed by a bright halo, captures both the light and dark shading of the moon. In 1850, John Adams Whipple and William Bond of the Harvard Observatory went on to make the first successful daguerreotype of a distant star—Vega. Their collaboration kick-started astrophotography: barely a decade after photography began, it was probing the night sky for the secrets of the universe. While astrophotography pointed cameras to the cosmos, George Shiras swapped a hunting rifle for a camera to pioneer wildlife photography—notably at night. In 1893, Shiras captured the first known night-time photograph of animals, a striking image of three deer leaping away from the burst of his flash. Over the following decades Shiras' night photography lifted the veil on the nocturnal activities of animals with National Geographic magazine dedicating almost an entire issue to his photographs in 1906 and President Theodore Roosevelt imploring him to publish them as a book. For his earliest photographs, Shiras would simply float quietly in his canoe and point the camera towards promising sounds in the darkness, but over time he devised innovative techniques still used today. As well as his ground-breaking use of flash (an explosion of magnesium powder) Shiras adapted a native American hunting technique called 'jacklighting': Locating animals in the dark by looking for his lanturn's glow reflecting in their eyes before triggering the flash and camera. Shiras also invented camera traps, setting bait, and using tripwires to remotely trigger both flash and camera. A lion lit up in the wild. Illuminating wildlife for night photography like this was pioneered by ex-hunter George Shiras, who located animals using the light of his lantern before setting off a flash. Photograph from Shutterstock Naturally, technological advances drove the art form forward and in the 1880s it was the invention of the gelatin dry plate that allowed for the longer exposures and greater light sensitivity night photography needed. From the 1890s, photographers including Paul Martin in England and Alfred Stieglitz in New York experimented with this, Stieglitz cutting exposure time from 30 minutes to less than a minute enabling him to capture moving objects at night. But it was the Hungarian photographer Brassai who popularized night photography. In the early 1930s, Brassai's Paris de Nuit documented the seedy side of the city's nightlife, sometimes using nature to enhance the urban images and relishing the rain and fog that he felt made the city more photogenic. His work was an immediate hit and night photography was accepted by the art scene. However, by the 1940's interest waned and wasn't really revived until the 1970s when a new wave of night photographers emerged focused in California. Among the leaders of the revival was Richard Misrach whose stark night-time images of cacti, trees, rocks, and the desert floor helped turn him into one of the most influential photographers of his generation. Around the same time, Steve Harper began to capture the passage of time by using 20-minute exposures to track the movement of the stars across the night sky. A pioneer in the field he painstakingly explored, researched, and taught the art of using different lighting techniques, film types, and developing protocols to perfect night photography for a new generation of enthusiasts. The arrival of digital cameras has taken night photography to a new level, where lenses can cut through the blackness to see what even the eye cannot. Improved sensors capture light ever more efficiently while software reduces the grainy quality associated with low light photography. The next leap forward is to make such technology accessible to everyone, something that leading global smart device brand OPPO has realized with its flagship OPPO Find X5 Pro smartphone. Cameras are now synonymous with cell phones, enabling more people to capture more sights and special moments than ever—and at ever improving quality. But taking good low-light photographs on a smartphone has long been a challenge. Shot on OPPO Find X5 Pro, additional hardware and software used. A pigmy hippo, photographed at Omaha's Henry Doorly Zoo and Aquarium. Photograph by Joel Sartore The OPPO Find X5 Pro has been specially designed to master the low light photograph and capture night scenes with unprecedented clarity. Its 4K ultra-night video and ultra HDR capabilities are powered by OPPO's self-developed imaging NPU, capturing videos at night that are bright, rich in detail, and awash in captivating colours. Together with its incomparable dual flagship IMX766 camera system and incredible SUPERVOOC™ Flash Charging technology, the Find X5 Pro opens up new levels of authenticity to photographs taken in the dark. Now, like Paul Martin, we can brush off the cynicism that a night photograph is impossible and even instantly show that a crystal-clear night image can be achieved on a smartphone—flawless night photography has come to the masses. For more on 'Endangered color after dark', click here.
National Geographic
11-03-2025
- Science
- National Geographic
Forgotten forests: Regenerating the kelp forest highway
The rich resources of Pacific kelp forests helped humans populate the Americas. Now depleted by as much as 95 percent, they need our help to recover. The kelp forests off the coast of Ensenada in Baja California once supported a thriving community of sea creatures. Now much depleted, they need our help to recover. Video by National Geographic CreativeWorks The story goes that sometime during the last Ice Age, perhaps 20,000 years ago or so, small bands of seafaring humans followed the fertile coastal waters of the Pacific Rim from Asia north into Beringia—the hinterland between Russia and Canada—so entering the Americas for the first time. There followed a rapid intergenerational migration down through the continent all the way to Central and South America. How were humans able to spread so quickly across such a vast area? Some of the latest research suggests it was thanks to a unique ocean ecosystem: kelp forests. The 'kelp highway hypothesis' has largely replaced the Clovis theory, which held that terrestrial hunter-gatherers crossed the Bering land bridge in order to reach America. Instead, many researchers now believe that maritime peoples took a largely linear route along America's west coast, harvesting a wide variety of resources from the system of kelp forests that runs all the way from present day Alaska to Baja California and beyond. Fish, shellfish, and marine mammals would have provided reliable year-round sustenance. The kelp itself can be eaten, while its strong stipes (stems) were likely fashioned into fishing lines and tools. Baja California is close to the southernmost reaches of the Pacific kelp forest highway that stretches all the way from Alaska to Mexico. Photograph by Celeste Sloman Kelp refers to more than 100 species of large brown seaweed. After coral reefs, kelp forests are among the most productive marine ecosystems on Earth. They provide both food and shelter to thousands of species including invertebrates, fish, marine mammals and seabirds. Kelp grows quickly, adding up to 18 inches (45 centimeters) a day if conditions are optimal, reaching an average height of 100 feet (30 meters). Together, it forms dense forests—three dimensional structures in the water column that offer a wide variety of habitats and ecosystem services from the seabed through the mid-levels to the canopy close to the surface. One of the fastest growing organisms on Earth, kelp can reach heights of 200 feet (60 meters) and more, creating a range of habitats in the water column, from sea bed to canopy. Photograph by Celeste Sloman For Mexican marine biologist Rodrigo Beas, there is nothing quite like these forests. 'First time I saw the kelp forests, I was like, wait, you can fly in a forest?' he exclaims. Beas grew up with coral reefs on his doorstep, but on a chance visit to the cooler waters of the Pacific he encountered bull kelp for the first time and fell in love. Like its terrestrial counterparts, giant kelp supports a complex and delicate ecology, from microscopic algae to urchins, stars and jellyfish to rockfish, bass and gobies—all the way through to sea otters, sea lions, sharks and cetaceans. 'Kelp forests provide all these different resources and a lot of them are fished or fishable,' Beas explains. '[But] when the kelp forest is gone, all the different species associated with the kelp forest are gone, too.' Like so many natural ecosystems around the world, many kelp forests are struggling as a perfect storm of impacts, including overfishing, pollution, disease and climate change, take their toll. Perhaps the most pressing and immediate of these challenges has been an explosion in sea urchin populations—caused by warming ocean waters. Marine biologist Rodrigo Beas prepares to dive one of the few healthy tracts of kelp forest that remain near Ensenada in north Baja California. Successive heatwaves have reduced forest cover by more than 90 percent in the area. Photograph by Celeste Sloman Kelp is algae that thrives in cold, nutrient rich waters—even slight temperature increases can disrupt the way it photosynthesizes and kill it off. 'Between 2013 and 2016, we recorded 355 days of marine heatwaves,' says Beas. 'So, it was very hot water over a long period of time and that reduced the forest coverage by 80 percent in this area of Mexico.' With its quick-growing capabilities, kelp should be able to bounce back, but that's where the sea urchins come in. According to Beas, when kelp forests are thriving, purple sea urchins remain relatively passive, staying in their cracks and crevices and feeding mainly on kelp detritus. 'When the kelp is gone, the sea urchins switch their behavior to more active and aggressive eating and the reef gets covered with sea urchins and nothing but sea urchins,' Beas explains. 'They produce these sea urchin deserts. And as the kelp forests disappear, so do the sea otters, sharks, lobsters, crabs and fish that feed on sea urchins, helping to control their population.' Purple urchins have overrun the kelp forests—a stress response triggered by a lack the kelp detritus they usually feed on, which causes them to eat more aggressively. Photograph by Celeste Sloman This is a classic example of how climate change can massively affect trophic cascades, triggering widespread destruction across an ecological system—and impacting human livelihoods, too. Fishing communities have had to adapt to rapidly shifting dynamics, as their traditional fisheries are disrupted. Many of the invertebrates and fish species that thrive in the kelp forest have a high economic value, so the human cost of this ecological crisis is mounting. In northern California, for example, the red abalone fishery, worth millions of dollars annually, has been closed indefinitely. There is no easy answer to arrest the decline in kelp forests—but efforts are underway to help them recover. Volunteer divers armed with hammers and other tools are culling purple sea urchins in strategic locations, creating cleared zones where kelp can regenerate. There's evidence that this hands-on approach can be successful in giving kelp the breathing space it needs to make a comeback. Scientists are also exploring ways to make kelp more resilient to warming waters—potentially seeding heat-resilient species of kelp in highly damaged areas. Kelp forests are one of the most productive marine ecosystems on the planet. They're also resilient and there is hope that they can recover with our help. Photograph by Celeste Sloman Beyond their historical significance and economic value, kelp forests are powerful allies in the fight against climate change, sequestering vast amounts of carbon and buffering coastlines against storms that are likely to become increasingly violent. They're also living laboratories for understanding how marine ecosystems might adapt to changing conditions. Kelp has been around for 23 million years. It has survived ice ages and heatwaves and provided a pathway for humans to populate an entire continent. Bringing it back will require the kind of ingenuity and collaborative effort that drove those early migrations in the first place. To protect vital marine ecosystems like kelp forests, we need to understand them better. It's one of the reasons that Prada Group teamed up with UNESCO-IOC to create SEA BEYOND educational program—a global initiative that teaches ocean literacy to thousands of children in schools around the world, inspiring young generations to safeguard the ocean. 1% of the proceeds from the Prada Re-Nylon for SEA BEYOND Collection benefit SEA BEYOND. Find out more about how understanding our ocean can be the very thing to help save it; and more about Prada Group's work with UNESCO-IOC here.
