Researchers from NOAA Fisheries Southwest Fisheries Science Center in La Jolla California, and Insitituto Nacional de Ecologia in Mexico estimate the current population to be 250 animals.

The aim of Expedition Vaquita was to provide a more concise abundance estimate for the population. For more information about the scientific methods behind it, watch this video:

Watch more videos from the documentary – “Vaquita – The Search for the Desert Porpoise”.

The following is the excerpt from SEMERNAT:

THE SEMARNAT PRESENTED MONITORING RESULTS ON MARINE VAQUITA TO THE IWC
The Secretariat of Environment and Natural Resources (Semarnat), through its representative before the International Whaling Commission, Lorenzo Rojas, presented the results of the Vaquita Acoustic Monitoring Cruise in the Upper Gulf California, which took place from September to November of 2008, to the scientific committee of the IWC.

The investigation indicates that the population of the vaquita is of approximately 250 individuals, when in 2007 the population estimate was of 150 animals, which does not mean that the population has increased from one year to the next, but that the 2008 estimate was done with a more precise method, designed especially to assess its abundance.

The Semarnat restates that to avoid the extinction of the species it is essential to eliminate the incidental mortality in its totality, as it has been recommended by specialized scientific organizations, including the IWC.

In this sense, Semarnat implements since the end of 2007, the Vaquita Conservation Action Program (PACE-Vaquita), that has managed to diminish significantly the number of fishing nets in the Upper Gulf of California. The final goal of PACE-Vaquita is to eliminate the incidental mortality of this species by means of offering socio-economic alternatives and alternative fishing gear, friendly to the vaquita, to the fishermen communities in the Upper Gulf of California.

The Monitoring was responsibility of researchers from the National Institute of Ecology, and the Southwest Fisheries Science Center of the United States (SWFSC-NOAA), who combined visual and acoustic techniques, as well as analytical methods of recent development to estimate the abundance of this specie of marine mammal, the most endangered in the world and endemic of this area.

The NOAA Fisheries research vessel David Starr Jordan returned to San Diego after an epic two month expedition to search for and document the number of vaquita in the northern gulf, the rarest and most endangered cetacean on the planet. Last week, the scientists concluded the research, left the ship and returned home. The David Starr Jordan made its way back down the gulf of California, around the Baja Peninsula, back to its home port.

Media was not permitted onboard the vessel during the expedition. However, NOAA gave us permission to film on the ship and interview scientists for our documentary. When I returned from El Golfo de Santa Clara, I joined the ship for a week in November.

I had the opportunity to spend time with and speak in depth to scientists Barbara Taylor and Tim Gerrodette of the NOAA Fisheries Southwest Fisheries Science Center in La Jolla, California. I wanted to learn more about the purpose of the expedition in Mexico, the science behind the visual survey, and explore the new acoustic technologies they were assessing to monitor the vaquita population throughout the year.

Following is the latest in the series of short “rough cuts” produced about the expedition.

So what are the results of the survey? We are going to have to wait for scientists onboard to collate and publish the results about the estimated number of vaquita, which will assist the Mexican Government in modifying and implementing effective management strategies for the long term protection of the desert porpoise. However, the research is not ending here. The Mexican research boat, the Koi Pai, will continue to deploy and test acoustic buoys to collect data in the upper gulf to keep tabs on the species throughout the year.

Later this week, I will post my final blog in this series about how fishermen in the region feel about the Vaquita, and the conservation measures being implemented.

I returned from filming the encounter with the killer whale calf, deflated, depressed and feeling a little helpless. I backed up the footage on my computer and hard drives set up in a corner of the dry lab, where other scientists had laptops arranged for their end of day duties.

It was still early in the day, only 10am when we returned with the Zodiac. The weather was flattening out to a gentle Beaufort 1 sea state, which means there is relatively no wind, no white caps, no swell, only a few ripples on the water. The stage was set, perfect weather for seeing vaquita.

I walked onto the flying bridge where the observers were poised scanning the horizon. There was a buzz in the air as news spread that both Tom Jefferson‘s team using the local sport fishing boat, the Pancho Villa, and the acoustic sailboat, the “Vaquita Express” had encounters with the animal that everyone was searching for, the desert porpoise, locally known as the ‘Vaquita Marina’.

I grabbed my camera, and filmed more shots of researchers looking through the giant “big-eyes”, recording conversations and listening to stories. I noticed Bob Pitman come off a break, and make his was toward his station. Although he would never agree, Bob is a bit of a legend in the marine mammal world, spending over 30 years doing visual surveys for marine mammals across the globe. If something is out there, he will see it – with eagle eyes and a superstar personality, he lives up to his reputation with ease. Within seconds, out of the corner of my eye, I notice him take one look before declaring, “I think we have vaquita!”

It is as if you are watching Michael Jordan hit a half court shot with only one second left in the game – if anyone was going to do it, it was him. The sighting sent the team into an excited frenzy. One sighting quickly turned into two, then three. All the observers took a look to get oriented and see what an animal that almost none of them have ever seen before actually looks like.

The Jordan was traveling through a supposed vaquita ‘hotspot’ just at the right time. Although we were seeing vaquita around the ship, they were too far for me to even think about filming.

After an hour or so recording sightings, we called Tom Jefferson on the Pancho Villa. He was within a 5 miles of the Jordan. We wanted to let him know what we were seeing so he could move in and hopefully take some photo-id images.

Barb Taylor turned to me and said – “Hey Chris, I think it may be a good idea that you join Tom. They are close enough we can send you over in a zodiac. You want to go?”

“Sounds great!”

I never dreamed I would be in a position to even see vaquita, let alone film the animal in the wild. It has been tried unsuccessfully over many years, and is akin to climbing Mount Everest with no oxygen, and your legs tied together. Several images of dead, entangled vaquita exist, together with a few snaps of their tiny pixilated bodies in the distance.

I furiously packed my camera gear, put my bags on the zodiac, and made my way at high speed to the Pancho Villa. Tom had the most enormous grin across his face tempered with sheer relief. The zodiac pulled up to the side of the boat and Tom had success written all over his face – “We got pictures!!!!”

I had never been so happy for a scientist in my life. Over the weeks, I have pointed my video camera (probably quite annoyingly) at Tom’s face, asking him day after day what was happening, while documenting the search for an animal so rare and illusive, people told us we would never see it, let alone photograph or film it. Through all of the pressure to deliver, Tom has been fantastic to work with. He is a walking library of scientific knowledge about cetaceans and I have learned a lot by listening to him over seemingly endless hours drifting and waiting for an animal we were starting to believe may never appear.

When you try something different (some said crazy) like starting a photo-id project on vaquita, an animal known to keep its secrets well hidden, it is only natural to criticize, or doubt it can be done. However, considering that we know far more about mammals on land than we do about their marine cousins, I believe it is the risky projects such as this that make a real difference to our scientific understanding, and in raising awareness amongst the public.

Before I joined the Jordan, Tom had told me he was up all night, worried about the “what if we don’t see a vaquita” scenario. Now the pressure was off.

I yelled to Tom as I dragged my bags to the aft deck.

“How many photos did you guys get?”

“Well, at least a couple hundred!” An even bigger smile emerged on top of his already impossibly giant grin.

It was getting late in the day, and Tom decided to stay out on the water overnight. I prepared my film equipment for the next day, and lay out on deck thinking about what the next day may bring. There was no wind, and the sea blended together with the desert in magnificent hues of yellow, orange and red. That night as I lay out under the stars it was as if we were floating in a giant bathtub, every sound amplified by the stillness. At 3am, a California seal lion kept me company swimming and snorting around the boat. At 4am, a pelican flapped its wings as if to say, “Hey don’t go to sleep!” All of the excitement kept me awake, and I loved being on the sea with my new acquaintances. It felt like even the animals were happy with the respite brought by the calm weather.

I kept thinking how I was probably the only one on the expedition who had not glimpsed a vaquita yet. I was so busy filming the unfolding action, I forgot to look through the “big-eyes” on the Jordan, and I arrived too late on the Pancho Villa. But as I would realize, good things come to those who wait!

We were still fairly close to the Jordan, but they decided to continue their research survey on a track line further south. They asked if they could send Greg Silber over on the zodiac, and if we would later bring him to port to transfer on a van back to San Diego. On my short stint on the Jordan, I talked to Greg quite a bit about the area, and his history doing PhD work on Vaquita over 20 years ago. His presence and field experience was going to have a significant impact on the day.

Very soon after Greg arrived, so did the vaquita! The slick sea revealed tiny dorsal fins 800 meters away. Paula Olson picked out a couple of groups near us. It was my turn to meet the ‘Vaquita Marina’.

There was no blow, just a series of distant dark triangular shapes briefly breaking the surface of the water, then a pause, then a rapid “kicking” movement and they were down. They would surface four or five times consecutively, then disappear for a few minutes. I have never worked with porpoises in the wild, and could not get over how tiny these animals were.

It took awhile to become accustomed to how they moved, and how to spot them. But there is one thing I quickly learned, that the only way to see the world’s smallest cetacean is in the calmest of sea conditions. From a small boat, Beaufort 2, a sea state perfect for sighting almost any other cetacean species, is too rough to sight vaquita unless the animals are within 30 meters, or you are pointing binoculars directly at them. Beaufort 1 is much better, but the only way to really work with them, is to have the magical conditions of a glassy Beaufort 0. Those rare instances when the sea is like a mirror and you can almost see your reflection. Luckily for us, this was our stage today.

They were in groups of 3 or 4 and we were quietly drifting closer and closer. Vaquita are so shy that the few sightings in past years have seen them disappear at a range of about 700 meters, but we were steadily getting much closer. It was difficult to pick out the dorsal even at 200 meters away though the viewfinder, and equally challenging to keep the camera steady. The photographers were poised high on the flying bridge to get photo- id shots, Greg was on the foredeck shouting positions, and sharing his field observations. I was on the bow attempting to get some imagery at a lower angle, close to the water.

It was challenging trying to focus, and keep track of the animals. I just could not believe how small they were. I understand now why many people think of these animals as mythical creatures. They are akin to the people in society that go about their business unnoticed and blend into the background, or the kid in the back of the class who never gets attention because they are not loud or boisterous, rather they are shy, quiet, and introverted. Vaquita are mysterious, timid little guys living their life on their own terms, showing no interest in boats or people.

Cameras were firing photographs faster and faster and the frustration of weeks of searching melted away, replaced by sheer joy. The Pancho Villa was in the perfect position following the animals cautiously when something miraculous happened. A pair of animals decided to do something unusual for vaquita, they headed straight toward us, diving only 20 meter away they swam directly beneath the bow.

I was able to frame a couple of close shots and was now equally relieved myself. I set the camera to film in slo-motion to capture the movement of the animals at the surface. Like all photographers I was hoping for more, but thrilled to finally be in the right position at the right time to record this event.

Greg Silber called over to me, “Did you get that Chris?”

“I think I did…”

“You know, a lot of people have come here over the years, and that is something no one has ever been able to film. You are very lucky my friend…”

My thoughts exactly.

We spent an hour or so among a couple of groups who were milling at the surface. However, soon they decided the show was over and slipped away as quickly as they had emerged. Tom and his team captured crucial images to help start the photo-id catalog of the animals. We are posting some of them so people can view clear images for the first time, of this very rare and poorly understood species in their natural habitat.

Tom finishes his project on October 30th, so I will spend the next couple of days with him on the water, as well as visiting and filming with researchers on the Koi Pai. I will then focus on the local community and the conservation complexities faced by vaquita and fishermen. Then, it’s back to the Jordan until mid-November.

Photos and video taken under permit (Oficio No. DR/847/08 &amp No. DR/488/08 ) from the Comisión Nacional de Áreas Naturales Protegidas (CONANP/Secretaría del Medio Ambiente y
Recursos Naturales (SEMARNAT), within a natural protected area subject to special management and decreed as such by the Mexican Government. This work was made possible thanks to the collaboration and support of the Coordinador de Investigación y Conservación de Mamíferos Marinos at the Instiuto Nacional de Ecología (INE).

For more information about the use of photos or videos from this posting, visit the FOR MEDIA section.

Early in the day, excitement turned into grave concern. Bob Pitman sighted an animal, but it was moving strangely. After a few minutes, he saw the dorsal fin and the head. Too far away to identify, he thought it may be a small or young cetacean entangled in nets. Could this be our first encounter with a vaquita?

So fragile is the population that the possibly of losing one is devastating at this point. This is the final year of gillnetting in the northern gulf of California. It is the accidental capture and drowning of vaquita in gill nets that scientists cite as the main threat to the survival of the species. Scientists give the population only two years before they would be extinct if nothing is done. Fortunately, the Mexican Government is acting.

Barb Taylor asked me to go along in the zodiac with Bob, Todd and a team from the Jordan to take a closer look and to get footage of what was happening. We were not sure what we were going to encounter, but were shocked when we realized what it was.

Watch this video to see what was thought to be an entangled dolphin or vaquita turn out to be a killer whale calf, on its own, struggling for survival.

This was absolutely, totally unexpected. Watching a young animal like this fighting to live, all alone, was gut wrenching. Sadness doesn’t come close to describing the mood in the zodiac. I have never witnessed anything like this in the wild, watching this incredible mammal in its last moments, and there was nothing we could do. If this was an entangled animal, perhaps we could have done something, but in this case we could only assess and monitor the progress of the unfolding situation.

For this young killer whale, the most debilitating issue was distance. We were hundreds of miles from any kind of land based facility with the expertise to at least try and help the calf.

This was a front row view of nature at her most brutal. The killer whale is an iconic mammal, a keystone species in the marine ecosystem. This young animal was supposed to grow up as a strong, apex predator, but instead, was the victim of circumstances we could do nothing about.

I spent the ride back to the ship silently hoping that things would turn around, or that magically, its family would come to the rescue of the young killer whale in some spectacular Hollywood ending. But this was not to be.
I will never forgot this morning…

There was no Hollywood ending for the young killer whale. Soon after we left, nature took its course and the young whale died, washing up on a beach south of San Felipe.

Windy days have dominated the past week and a half here in the northern Gulf of California frustrating researchers, local fishermen and even myself, the lone filmmaker trying to document “the story”. Wind is a natural element that hinders, encourages, and often times teases the state of the sea. As has happened this past week, it can blow endlessly for days with no end in sight. It can bring an honest brutal truth to working at sea. Yet, within minutes, the wind can suddenly subside and chaos becomes calm. Calm brings hope that the search, a real unhindered search, will commence once again for that elusive vaquita sighting.

Friday became the real “Day 1” of “Expedition Vaquita” with all vaquita research vessels going out to sea at once – Mexico’s Koi Pai, NOAA’s RV David Starr Jordan and Corsair – known here as the “Vaquita Express”, and the locally hired sport fishing boat the Pancho Villa, used by Tom Jefferson as a photo id platform.

It was time for me to transfer from my land base and daily surveys on the the Pancho Villa to a much bigger platform, the NOAA research vessel David Starr Jordan, referred to as “the Jordan”.

While the expedition is being led by Mexican authorities at the Instituto Nacional de Ecologia in Ensenada, colleagues from NOAA were invited to help with the visual effort at sea. Until the end of November, scientists from around the world will join the Jordan in the search for vaquita. The Jordan was here in 1997 conducting the last major visual survey, which documented the declining population of vaquita in the region.

For a number of reasons, 2008 is a big year for vaquita. There has never been such a large coordinated effort in the region to look for the animals with so many boats.

I woke at dawn and made my way down to a panga that was to transfer Todd Pusser and I to the ship. Todd is part of the observation team who searches for animals through gigantic binoculars called “big-eyes” – 25x binoculars mounted on an observation platform. With this tool, and in good conditions, researchers can see animals 5-6 miles from the ship. On the Jordan there are a set of four “big-eyes”, with researchers spending 40-minute shifts looking in different directions for vaquita.

The Jordan was 15 miles south of San Felipe dropping one of the acoustic bouys that will be used to gather long-term data by continuously recording echolocation clicks that vaquita make. It is the hope and expectation of researchers that deploying multiple buoys with specialized digital audio recorders in vaquita habitat, will result in an “acoustic census” or population estimate, and reveal information about movement patterns. With the ability to monitor the animals 24 hours a day, these buoys are seen as vital to the success of the science and conservation effort.

On the ride out, Todd and I traded photographer stories, moments we capture in the field that can only be appreciated by others who practice the craft. Some are tall tales, some are incredible encounters. Kind of like talking shop, most of these exchanges occur when people are coming and going, are passing through airports, or like right now, traveling at 18 knots in a panga with our bags wrapped in garbage bags to protect them from the salt spray. We yell loudly to each other although we are only half a meter away, competing with the noise from an outboard engine opened up at full throttle.

We arrived at the Jordan, an impressive 185-foot vessel, just as an acoustic bouy was being deployed. So, I took out my video camera and filmed it dropping into the sea. It was great to be staying on a boat again, wrapped in the fashion of the job – a giant reflective orange lifejacket that I am sure had its own story to tell.

After 15 minutes we pulled along side, and were greeted by the crew. Among them was a good friend, Southwest fisheries scientist Robert Pitman. Known to friends and colleagues as “Bob”. He pulled my multiple bags of equipment aboard, and gave me a short tour of the ship. I have heard stories over the years of the epic eastern tropical pacific surveys from Bob and his wife, scientist Lisa Balance. This is my first time on a NOAA ship, and I was overwhelmed initially by its size, facilities and by the history paved on her deck, and display within her hull. These stories I will explore over the coming weeks as well as stories from the Koi Pai.

I spent the first day getting my sea legs again. Although, the ship is the most stable platform I have ever been on, I felt like I should take a day at being an observer myself. I was greeted by Dan, a NOAA officer who took Todd and I though all of the safety procedures on the vessel, and rules of the ship. I walked around the ship in the wet lab, dry lab, and back to “the mess” where meals are served at 7am-8am, 11am-12pm, and 5-6pm. I could barely feel the boat rock, although the sounds and smells remind you, you are at sea.

Over the day, I met with a number of the science team talking about how the big-eyes worked, what kind of data will be collected on their line-transect, and people’s hopes of seeing the illusive vaquita. I felt a buzz in the air, an air of excitement and expectation to be on the ship searching for the most endangered cetacean on the planet.
That night, I spent talking with Bob, Todd, Barb Taylor (the Chief Scientist onboard), Jay Barlow, and Greg Silber. Greg was onboard visiting from the Office of Protected Resources at the National Marine Fisheries headquarters in Silver Spring, Maryland. Greg did his PhD work on vaquita over 20 years ago with the esteemed Ken Norris, laying the groundwork for many of the researchers working with vaquita today.

I backed up footage shot during the day, charged the batteries, cleaned the equipment, and prepared for what the next day would bring. We heard on the radio that the Vaquita Express (Corsair), and Pancho Villa, encountered vaquita in different areas during the day. There was a palpable sense of relief on the ship. We were all silently afraid vaquita may be disappearing too rapidly to encounter on this survey.

All night, I tossed and turned, sharing a bunk with a crewperson onboard the ship. I was thinking about what it would be like to see a vaquita through the “big-eyes”, what kind of video footage I may get, which has eluded filmmakers and researchers through the years. These directorial dreams dominated my evening. I woke up at 5am the next morning eager to get going.
When I woke at dawn, everyone else was up too and looking through the big-eyes, excited that today’s weather was perfect for sighting vaquita. Everyone wanted to be on watch, to be the first on the ship to see it!

Everyone I have interviewed is breathing a collective sigh of relief. It is difficult enough to try to sell the concept of the vaquita to the local community, some of whom believe it doesn’t exist. Now, there are some good quality images to help local communities learn about their special little Mexican porpoise.

While there have been great days for sightings from all researchers in the area, we are only half way through the expedition. What the current population of vaquita is, and how that will affect conservation strategies and management efforts in the northern gulf, are major questions on many people’s minds. The answer will have to wait until the conclusion of the science expedition in late November.

I have interviewed many people from the realm of vaquita science and conservation over recent weeks. One person’s name you often see in the press and in scientific papers is Lorenzo Rojas Bracho. Lorenzo has been a ‘voice for vaquita’ for many years. He is the co-coordinator for Marine Mammal Research and Conservation at the Instituto Nacional de Ecología (INE), in Ensenda, Mexico. INE are leading the current scientific survey along with NOAA Fisheries, Southwest Fisheries Science Center in the United States.

I spoke to Lorenzo at length about vaquita research methodology and science-based solutions. Many are praising his recommendations, yet they are viewed as controversial by others in local communities. He is redefining what a ‘scientist’ is in an era full of critical conservation issues for marine mammals. For vaquita, his view is clear – Mexico can reverse the impending extinction of the vaquita, but it must take care of the fishermen at the same time.

The following is a selection of rough cuts from my interview with Lorenzo.

This is the week I took time away from searching for Vaquita, to learn more about the politics this little mammal is generating. Because its estimated population is at a critical level (150 animals), and due to free trade agreements between Mexico, United States and Canada, the conservation of this animal does not only fall on the responsibility of local and state government, but within an international coalition called the Commission for Environmental Cooperation (CEC). CEC encourages these three countries to adopt a continental approach to the conservation of wild flora and fauna.

Through the CEC, the NORTH AMERICAN CONSERVATION ACTION PLAN (NACAP) initiative for vaquita, met in Mexicali, Mexico. We are now at the end of year 1 of a two-year immediate plan to pull the vaquita back from the brink of extinction. NACAP is a group made up of government, NGOs, industry groups, scientists and local groups (also commonly referred to as ‘stakeholders’ by media and persons attending)

The aim of NACAP is to tackle conservation challenges in the region. Because these countries define the Vaquita as ‘highly threatened’, this co-operative group steps in to deal with these management issues. In the recently published NACAP document you can learn more about the principles and their approach to the conservation of vaquita.

Download the NACAP document in PDF format.

An except from the report including the following conservation-related elements shall be integrated into the structure of each NACAP:

• Threats prevention, control, and mitigation
• Education and Outreach
• Information sharing and networking
• Capacity Building and Training
• Research Gaps
• Use of Innovative approaches and tools.

The meeting had been cancelled a couple of times over recent months, and included a last minute change from Puerto Penasco to Mexacali, an industrial city on border of Mexico and the United States. There were rumors that fishermen we going to protest at the meetings in this fishing town, but in the end, it was announced that the presidential plane flying in from Mexico City could not land on the airstrip in Puerto Penasco.

We departed on the Tuesday the 28th at dawn. I followed scientists Jay Barlow, Barb Taylor and Anna Hall through the lonely Baja desert north to Mexicali. As I drove through the desert I wondered about the questions I would ask, but really spent most of my time repeating – ‘I hope this is covered in my budget!’

I was intrigued to see how conservation efforts were progressing at the end of the all important ‘year 1’. In a key paper published in 2007, scientists gave the vaquita two years before its numbers slipped to a level that the population could not bounce back from.

My hope was to film the NACAP meeting where the President of Mexico was going to arrive and give a big speech about vaquita conservation. In the end, the President was a no show and the Minister for Environment gave a speech in front of media, attendees, and a group of high school students who filled up all of available seats. The three flags of Mexico, US and Canada floated in the rafters as a passive symbol of a complex unity.

So what happens at the end of multinational meetings like these? It is time to eat. At the end of all of the speeches and presentations, two busses drove guests across town to a Chinese restaurant. Apparently in Mexicali, there is a substantial Chinese population, and Chinese food is the local equivalent of what Mexican food is to people in the United States and Canada – an alternative to the local cuisine to spice up life for a brief moment. The restaurant was a giant hall full of long tables of roughly 40 people each.

The next day was a technical meeting at the Crowne Plaza hotel with all of the key players involved in conservation management, fisheries buyout, scientific research and fundraising.

On Wednesday, scientists, conservationists and managers crammed into a small conference room in the Crown Plaza Hotel. Hans Herman of CEC chaired the meeting. Over the weeks, everyone I have met has been very kind. People allowed me to record events with my oversized video camera, opening up and sharing opinions and observations about how vaquita affects their lives. Hans was receptive to me filming a couple of the presentations in the morning. However, he wanted me to leave the room when the real discussions started to allow stakeholders to talk openly and honestly without “media scrutiny”. There were issues that needed to be discussed so a unified message could be officially released.

This often happens to me at these types of meetings. On one hand I totally understand it. It is the one chance in the year for people to get together and talk openly, share data, information and anecdotes. Most of the time, people in science and conservation deal with each other via email, and less these days, by phone. So it is vital to communicate face to face especially over an issue as hot as vaquita conservation.

However, there was no other “media” there lined up to break the story. And, why would there be? Media often have extremely tight deadlines tempered by extremely tight budgets. This was not a newsworthy meeting. I am lucky to receive a grant to spend 6 weeks in Mexico writing and documenting the people and issues surrounding the vaquita. Sometimes, I feel like a crazed filmmaker desperately wanting to be invited to the party, but often left on my own without a date.

Everyone had laptops there connected to the internet around the table. If someone wanted to, they could have blogged about it, they could have recorded it, or emailed press. At these meetings I always find attendees checking their email during presentations. All of this funding to bring together the experts, and some were chatting on skype.

There were presentations about “YEAR 1” of the fisheries buyout. If you read the New York Times (which I do most days), then you would think that major NGOs had the issues completely under control. Fishermen are being bought out; the problem is going away, success is imminent.

New York Times article – “Mexico Pays Fishermen to Help Save a Species”.

However, this is a complex issue…extremely complex. There is the “buyout” (where a fishermen sells his license, engine, and boat for an amount of money), a “rent-out” (where a fishermen receives a sum to keep his gear, boat and nets out of the water for a year), and a “switch-out” (where a fishermen keeps his boat, license, but uses ‘alternative gear). The problem with the “switch-out”, is that gillnets are cheap and effective, and the alternatives are proving to be more challenging to both use and sell to fishermen than was first expected.

AND, there are reports that fishers who are part of the “rent-out” are teaming up with others in a cooperative agreement and fishing together. For example, one fisher has the license, the other has the boat and they decide – “hey let’s fish together”…

More importantly, not all gillnet fishermen using pangas are licensed anyway. Illegal fishing is a major issue and authorities do not know how many pangas are on the water (even though this is changing). So there is a major effort to license every gillnet boat on the region. However, this does not cover the many large shrimp trawlers in the Gulf of California. The buyout plan only affects the local gillnetters.

In Mexico, Vaquita is changing the definition of what ‘conservation’ means. Conservation is attempting to redefine life for many local fishermen and communities in an area where shrimp is akin to oil in a sea encompassed by desert. Alternative livelihoods are few and far between. Just buying, renting, or switching is going to create additional social challenges to this region that may be outside the bounds of the NACAP.

Today is my last day in San Felipe. Tomorrow I travel to El Golfo de Santa Clara to learn more about what fishermen think and feel about an animal that is redefining their lives.

The other day, I had the opportunity to join the corsair, a 21-foot tri-maran sailing out of San Felipe everyday to search for vaquita. Rather than posting visual observers to find the animals – specialists with binoculars scanning the horizon in search of the tiny dorsal fin or blow of the vaquita – researchers on the corsair are increasing their odds of finding the animals by listening for the vocalizations underwater.

Because these animals are so difficult to detect at the surface, some of the world’s leading bioacousticians who specialize in porpoise echolocation and detection are here in town. Bioacousticians are scientists who study the sounds animals produce, or how sound can affect the animals. Here in Mexico, bioacousticians specializing in cetaceans (whale, dolphins and porpoises) are designing research strategies to be implemented by Mexican and US research ships in the northern Sea of Cortez to monitor the vaquita They are hoping to use different devices to monitor sound produced by the animals. The techniques vary for making recordings in the short term of this research expedition, and in the long term over the next ten years.

All toothed whales ‘echolocate’. Echolocating animals emit calls out to the environment, and listen to the echoes of those calls that return from various objects in the environment. They use these echoes to locate, range, and identify objects, during navigation and foraging. Some species also emit high frequency whistles when communicating with each other. Here in the northern gulf, scientists have designed techniques to utilize underwater recording devices called hydrophones to listen for the echolocation clicks made by vaquita, and to determine their location.
The Corsair is the smallest boat in the vaquita research fleet. In recent days, they have detected vaquita vocalizations using their hydrophone array – a 25-meter pair of hydrophones in an oil filled tube dragged behind the boat. It is connected to a computer running a software program called Rainbow Click. Rainbow Click visually displays acoustic detections on a screen and is constantly recording an audio signal from the hydrophones. Designed by Jonathan Gordon and Doug Gillespie of the Sea Mammal Research Unit at St. Andrew’s University in Scotland, it is a tool that I am very familiar with, and have used around the world to search for sperm whales.

By towing an acoustic array behind a boat, a trained user of the software can follow sperm whales for hours, or even days as long as at least one sperm whale in a group keeps ‘clicking’.

All porpoises, including the vaquita, produce rapid bursts of echolocation clicks. Unlike the clear, constant, slow pattern of clicks displayed on Rainbow Click when tracking sperm whales, the information displayed when vaquita are in the area leaves the screen awash with a mess of color, making it far more difficult to determine their location. This is the reason why so many experts are here. They aim to figure out the best method, or combination of methods to use.

When you are on the sea in the northern gulf, it is like being in an open-air cathedral – silence dominates the ‘topside’ environment. So much so, that when I am out on the panga rolling with the gentle swell, it acts like a giant rocking chair. In the scorching desert heat, there are times I just want to lay down and fall into a deep sleep; the kind you have when everything around you stops and the world falls quiet. However, drop a hydrophone into the water and it’s as if every sound of New York City is being pumped into the water live via the Internet, and combined into rhythmic white noise. Cacophonous clicks from snapping shrimp (or some type of crustacean) are everywhere. Biologists are not sure what exact species is producing such loud sound, but it definitely turns the underwater realm of this seemingly tranquil oasis into a dissonant symphonic crackling orchestra in all directions.

Audio of background environmental noise recorded from the acoustic array on the Corsair. Courtesy of René Swift.
The ultimate challenge for the bioacousticians is to design techniques that will filter out nature’s background noise in order to find the world’s smallest cetacean on a regular basis, to monitor their progress over the coming years, and hopefully document population growth, rather than slide towards extinction.

Enter, Jonathan Gordon of St. Andrew’s Sea Mammal Research Unit, Jay Barlow of NOAA Fisheries – Southwest Fisheries Science Center, Tom Akamatsu of Japan and Nick Tragenza of the United Kingdom. If there were a “dream team” in the world of porpoise bioacoustics, these guys would be leading contenders.

I travelled down to the dock to meet up with the crew of the Corsair, captained by an old friend I have shared many adventures with at sea – Rodrigo Olson. I have sailed with Rodrigo on various parts of the Voyage of the Odyssey expeditions in Papua New Guinea, Western Australia, Sri Lanka, Maldives, and the Seychelles. He is originally from Ensenada, Mexico, and if there is one person you want captaining a sailboat, it’s Rodrigo.

Shannon Rankin of NOAA Fisheries – Southwest Fisheries Science Center is leading the bioacoustics field research program on the Corsair, along with researcher Renee Swift of Sea Mammal Research Unit in Scotland. Today, Jay Barlow and Jonathan Gordan decided to go out on the tri-maran to take a look at the array setup, and test a couple of new acoustic components to detect porpoises.

We left at 8:30am. About one kilometer out to sea, René and Jay deployed the acoustic array with a few additions strapped onto the cable. They attached a couple of Tom Akamatsu’s “pods”, live recorders collecting real time data that will add to the information gathered from Rainbow Click.

The wind was blowing at about 8-10 knots, a perfect day to sail the Corsair. We sailed around Rocas Consag, and came upon a mass feeding frenzy of dive-bombing boobies, frigates, long-beaked common dolphins and California seal lions.
We rounded Rocas Consag and headed back into San Felipe when the wind dropped, seas smoothed out, and sails flapped without purpose. Although, not good for propelling a sailboat under natural conditions, it became perfect weather for filming. Before we started the engine, I took out the video camera out of my dry-bag and asked Jonathan and Jay some questions about the acoustic challenges in listening for and detecting vaquita.

Links:
• Sea Mammal Research Unit – St. Andrew’s University, Scotland
• NOAA Fisheries – Southwest Fisheries Science Center. La Jolla, California, USA
• Read about Chris’ experiences tracking sperm whales on the Voyage of the Odyssey expedition

After settling into the rhythm of San Felipe, adjusting to the heat and pace of this sleepy seaside town, I am spending most of my time with Tom Jefferson and his team, researchers Paula Olson and Tom Kieckhefer. We wake before dawn each morning and are on the water at sunrise, taking advantage of the calmest water. The wind tends to blow up as the day progresses causing a choppy sea surface, significantly reducing our chances of spotting vaquita.

Their job is to try to find the animals, to photograph them and gather imagery to aid scientists and conservation groups in their research and communication efforts both on a local and international level. A lot of people in the northern gulf, do not believe the vaquita even exists, so any images will go a long way to raising its extremely low profile, and hopefully, aiding in the recovery of the species.

Photographing the vaquita is another story altogether. People who work with marine mammals are used to the frustrations of unpredictable weather and the long days and months searching for locations in which animals congregate and feed. Sometimes, as is the case with the vaquita, just spotting an animal when it surfaces to breathe is an enormous challenge in itself. One day the sea may be flat calm, perfect for photographing animals, but you may spend too much time in the wrong spot. Another day, you may be in an area with animals all around, but you cannot see them because the sea whips up into a frenzy that forces you back into port.

However, when the elements come together, and as long as your gear is working (your batteries are charged, you have extra memory cards and you have managed to protect your lenses from the salty spray) you will have the opportunity to interact with animals and get some pictures.

In my case, I brought with me the new Sony EX-3 XDCAM EX video camera. What does this mean? If we are lucky, I can film a vaquita in a high definition (HD) format that can capture a high-resolution image sequence of an animal coming out of the water, and (if I keep my cool and the timing is right) I will try to capture slow motion footage!

An estimated 150 vaquita remain worldwide, all of which are concentrated in an area of approximately 40 square miles in the northern gulf. An area declared a biosphere reserve and vaquita refuge. This is a small space for a small animal. Yet, this does not make them any easier to find, nor helped prevent their demise.

Tom tells me that our chance of getting a good photograph of the shy vaquita is a challenge. After a week on the water, I think that it may be the marine equivalent to walking on the moon. To say it is a tough task is an understatement. But, if you do not try – if you do not get out on the sea, day after day after day, then it will never be done!

Tom has done his research reviewing scientific papers and examining reports on past vaquita quests. He is here for the month of October, when traditionally the seas flatten out. This gives his team the greatest chance of finding the animals. Although ones chances of winning the lottery may be greater than finding a vaquita, by being here when the weather is right, he has bought himself a thousand tickets, instead of one, which theoretically increases the odds of winning the big prize.

Tom is working in conjunction with the Mexican Government and scientists from Instituto Nacional de Ecologia in Ensenada (INE), as well as NOAA Southwest fisheries. The NOAA Fisheries Research Vessel David Starr Jordan arrived today, where it will stay for the next two months, its team of international scientists and crew joining in the search.
For another couple of days, Tom is using a panga, a local fishing boat, to spend as much time as possible at sea, drifting with the engine off. Guided by our GPS we drift quietly in areas researchers and fishermen have sighted animals in the past.

Over the coming weeks as I am documenting all of the action, I will be posting “rough cuts” that will all somehow turn into a documentary about the Vaquita, conservation topics in the area and explore the local communities of the northern gulf of california. Let’s go behind the scenes and hear from Tom about his project, and the challenges we are facing in this short video.

A week ago, I boarded the epic flight to the United States; Qantas flight 93 from Melbourne to LAX, followed by a commuter shuttle to San Diego. This was the beginning of my journey to search for and document the vaquita – the world’s smallest cetacean (whale, dolphin or porpoise).

It all started when we produced an online documentary entitled ‘Wake of the Baiji’. In 2007, we interviewed scientist Robert Pitman of NOAA Southwest Fisheries about his role on a research expedition that declared this marine mammal, the Yangtze River Dolphin – “functionally extinct”. It was the first cetacean species to be declared extinct in modern times, as a direct result of human activities.
He told us a very personal story about what it meant to document the extinction of a species from the perspective of a scientist, but also as a human citizen. What was supposed to be discovery turned to the despair – another reminder of the consequences of the expanding global human footprint! He eloquently reflected upon the concept and reality of extinction and what it meant to him, and us.
Fast forward one year, and we are on the doorstep of another cetacean extinction – the vaquita. An estimated 150 animals remain in a sea dominated by desert. In recent years human pressures have taken an enormous toll on what is known as the ‘desert porpoise’.

In 2007, we were invited to join and document an international research expedition launched by the instituto Nacional de Ecologia in Ensenada, Mexico (INE) and National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, Southwest Fisheries Science Center in La Jolla, California (NOAA), to search for the vaquita. They will use three research vessels deploying newly designed scientific techniques to monitor its population. We wanted to record something being done about extinction, to see if all is lost, or if there is reason to hope and this collaboration was the perfect opportunity.

The plan is for governments, scientists, fishermen, local and international NGOs and local community members to work together and devise a plan that works for everyone, including the vaquita, so its population can increase before it is too late. I wanted to be here to see if this could develop into a model that may inspire solutions for other critical marine environmental problems, or if this is a futile exercise in doing too little too late.

For the past 8 months, most of my spare time has been filled with making phone calls, raising funds, writing emails, obtaining permits to film in the biosphere reserve in Mexico, getting health checks to record events and interviews onboard the NOAA research vessel David Starr Jordan, and writing more and more emails. It was if I was glued to my desk, skype, in the hope I could do something to raise awareness about what extinction means.

The plan is to spend 6 weeks searching for the illusive vaquita and record its influence on the lives of people living in the northern gulf, and their influence on its life. There are many people to meet, questions to ask, answers to listen to and complexities to explore.

A few days ago, I arrived in San Diego fraught with excitement, and a bit of nervousness. I spent a couple of days getting last minute items for the trip that I could not bring on the plane. I rented a car, shopped for food and bought a few essential items for the long stay in Mexico.

A few days ago, I travelled into the desert towards the northern gulf of California – in a time that is very precarious for an animal that many people do not know about, is almost impossible to photograph and film, that is shy, solitary, and stays far away from boats. Mentioning the name “vaquita” can evoke a sharp spike in the blood pressure for many locals. An animal few fishermen have ever seen, unless entangled as accidental bycatch in invisible fishing nets. For most, its legacy has blossomed into an almost mythical creature; it is like Mexico’s version of the Loch ness monster. Some do not even believe the vaquita exists at all.

While the Loch ness monster has inspired humanity on a relentless quest over countless years, this year, the vaquita bring sweeping changes that will impact and change the lifestyle of local communities that rely on the sea. A couple of weeks ago, the shrimping season began which continues until March. However, the Mexican government in order to enforce conservation regulations already in place in marine areas such a vaquita refuge and biosphere reserve, have declared this will be the final year for this fishery. How fishermen feel about this, and what they will do in the long-term is a question on the minds of many.

Navigating the 5-hour drive through the desert of Baja, Mexico, can cause one to reflect about one’s life and the journey they are about to embark on. For me, questions occupied my time of solitude staring into an endless sea of heat and sand. Can a plan to monitor and “save” the vaquita be devised in time, and if so, can it work? Can we afford to lose it, and what will it mean for us if we do? How do you convince people that a small, rarely seen mammal, that is of little or no economic value, nor an essential element in the marine ecosystem is worth saving?

I arrived in San Felipe, a community that is caught between an impoverished fishing community, and unplanned tourist development on the edge of the desert. There seems to be only one way that people will survive here long-term, and that will be to balance growth, tourism and sustainable living – but all of these things come with a cost. Money seems to be trickling in here slowly rather than flowing with a vigorous force. These are topics I want to investigate and learn more about, to share in my search for the desert porpoise.

I am still battling jetlag brought on by the extreme change in time zones – Melbourne, Australia is 17 hours ahead of San Felipe, Mexico. I continue to wake at 3am each morning. These days, I am more than ready to get on the water after such a long period seemingly on the sidelines. I have been dreaming of the sound of waves filling my days, while scanning the blue horizon of a desert sea in search of the vaquita.

Today, I joined Tom Jefferson a cetacean researcher, who is conducting a vaquita photo-identification project. Tom is a wealth of knowledge, with an incredible passion for his work and years of experience in the field. A self-confessed morning person, his energy is absolutely infectious as the sun emerges in the early hours of the day. Tom has designed his search for the vaquita to be done on small boats, drifting for long periods with the hope that with the engine off, vaquita may reveal themselves to us. For two weeks, we will be working on “panga” – an 8-meter long fiberglass hulled boat originally used for gillnet fishing, but more now for tourism. In the coming days, you will meet Tom and his team and learn more about their project.

It is going to be long hours of extreme waiting and patience – lots of patience. Our day began at 7am this morning with clear skies and calm seas. We launched the boat without a problem, and headed straight to Rocas Consag – a rocky outcrop 18 miles form San Felipe bathed in sea lions and other abundant marine life. Historically, this is the place where vaquita are known to reveal themselves to people.

I have not been to sea for a year, and even on a small panga, it took time to find a rhythm with the ocean. When you are on a rocking boat, everywhere on your body moves in places you never imagined, and in ways it is not supposed to move, or in my case, it’s more like a ‘jiggle’. After an hour or so, as if some DNA memory kicked in, I was lulled into its pace and felt an easygoing euphoria to be back. Most of our time, we scanned in all directions, looking for splashes, any sign of life at the surface both near and far.

The only sightings were of our neighbors on the water – local fishermen searching for shrimp using gillnets. These fine mesh nets are the local tools of the trade in the northern gulf, but cause so many problems for vaquita navigating these waters. The sea is full of activity now with small pangas closer to shore and larger shrimp boats further out and scattered along the horizon. I was told seeing the shrimp boats on the water was a spectacle, and we have a front row seat.

The sea was quiet for a few hours as if to tease us. By 10am, the wind whipped up and whitecaps emerged. A panga is designed for small seas, not heavy wind. On the horizon, a line of boats pointed there bows straight back to port.

We were only 9 miles offshore and decided to come back in, as the risk was too great to stay out with the wind steadily increasing. Tom made the decision; it was time to get back in. Anything over a sea state ‘Beaufort 3’ (a measurement of wind speed and wave height on a scale from 0-12) was impossible for us to even spot a shy, low-lying vaquita from the panga. I heard Ricardo, the boat driver, trying to start the engine again, and again, and again….. Nothing. This was a familiar sound to me, the choke of a flooded engine. We weren’t going anywhere for a while.

When someone says “It is time to go back in” – it is almost on cue that things happen. A moment of silence enveloped all of us on the boat. It is at these times, you calculate the risks being taken in your work – “ok, we are only 9 miles offshore, the cell phone works, we have a VHF, the wind will blow us BACK to San Felipe…”

A consistent loud calm cuts through all of us on the boat because you know what everyone is thinking, “How did I get myself into this?”

During these moments I question why I am here, floating around for hours, searching for an animal that I may not film, let alone even see. A narrative voice booms within my head saying “you should have been a lawyer, or a doctor, or a dentists, or a banker….” – somehow wildlife filmmaker never enters the picture when caught out of the comfort zone.
Luckily, this time, the problem was found after a few minutes of investigating the outboard motor. Water in the fuel, and lots of it clogged the engine as if it was having a heart attack. Ricardo got the engine started, and I wanted to give him a giant hug and a big ‘hi-five’ – trying to translate “on ya mate!” into Spanish. However, my “professionalism” kicked in, so instead I flashed a happy smile.

You feel the quiet relief when all is ok again. There was a spare fuel tank onboard, so the line was swapped, and we were on our way to port with the wind at our backs.

So the journey begins here. Where it ends, I have no idea. But it’s all part of the mystery and challenge in attempting to find the most endangered marine mammals on the planet?
 The search begins…

Links:
• Learn more about the Vaquita Porpoise in our factsheet.
• Read about our documentary “The Search for the Desert Porpoise”.

Natural History Magazine, July-August, 2007 by Robert L. Ritman, Lorenzo Rojas-Bracho

Vaquita!” Two on, duty and three dozing off-duty observers, spring to attention on the flying bride of our research vessel under the suffocating heat of the Mexican sun. The shouting observer checks the readings on her binoculars, but she can barely check her excitement: “Twenty-two degrees left of the bow, about 1,200 meters away. Looks like a mother and calf swimming together!”
Momentary mayhem breaks out on the flying bridge as members of the survey team tussle for binoculars and jockey for position. Everyone wants to see the world’s most endangered marine mammal.
We have been looking for vaquitas for more than a week with little success, here in the northern reaches of the Gulf of California, Mexico. The gulf, also called the Sea of Cortez, is the thousand-mile-long spear of ocean wedged between the mainland of northwestern Mexico and Baja California. There is no wind: the ocean’s surface looks like stretched Saran Wrap. The air temperature climbed above 100 degrees Fahrenheit just after sunrise this morning and hasn’t looked back. Onshore, all we can see is desert. Towering cardon cactuses stand like sentinels flexing their biceps; the rest of the vegetation is mainly scrubby afterthought, sparsely sprinkled over scorching sand. This is the last place on Earth you would expect to see a porpoise, and our survey team is well aware that the vaquita, the desert porpoise, may not be here for anyone to see much longer.
But the austerity surrounding the gulf belies the productivity just beneath its surface. Seasonal winds and a thirty-foot tidal range dredge up cool, nutrient-rich waters that support an enormously productive marine food chain. The gulf is home to large populations of blue whales, fin whales, and sperm whales; throngs of common dolphins charge about in schools that number in the thousands; multitudes of breeding seabirds crowd together on cactus-studded islets. The stark contrast between the relatively barren terrestrial landscape and the lush marine seascape is a defining paradox evident everywhere in the gulf.

Tucked away in the northernmost extremity of that abundant ecosystem lives the entire world population of the vaquita–a cetacean, as are whales, dolphins, and the five other living species of porpoise. (Porpoises are distinguished from dolphins in having teeth that are flat, like chisels, instead of round, like pegs.) The vaquita was first recognized as a new species in 1958, on the basis of three skulls found on beaches in the northern gulf: But a quarter century passed before a live animal was scientifically documented, and only in 1985 were its external features first described by biologists.
In addition to being the rarest of cetaceans, the vaquita is also the smallest. Its torpedo-shaped body measures less than five feet from snout to tail; calves are just twenty-eight inches long at birth, the size of a large loaf of bread. From a distance, the vaquita appears drab gray with a lighter belly, but at close range some intriguing details in the paint job emerge. A black stripe runs forward from each flipper to the middle of the lower lip, so the animal appears to be holding its own bridle. It has a black, circular patch around each eye. And its black lips set off a haunting little smile: Mona Lisa with black lipstick.
But the vaquita has no reason to smile. The world population of vaquitas is probably about 200 individuals–you can see more people in a Wal-Mart on a busy weekend. And though Wal-Martians are definitely in no danger of extinction, the vaquita is losing market share. Gill nets–nearly invisible fishing nets set in the water like curtains and often left unattended–are the single greatest cause of vaquita mortality each year. Vaquitas become entangled and drown when they swim into the nets by accident; or they might be lured there by fish that are already stuck. Vaquitas aren’t the intended targets of any fishery; they’re merely the bycatch of local fishermen trying to earn a living–collateral damage.
With the vaquita’s population in steady decline, its distribution in the northern gulf has also contracted, so that its range is now the smallest of any marine mammal. Nearly the entire population lives in a region less than forty miles across. To put that into perspective, while on surveys throughout the gulf, we have seen a few dozen vaquitas over the years. But never have we seen one without being able to look up and see Consag Rock, a 300-foot-tall, guano-covered spire in the middle of the northern gulf.
Even the vaquita’s scientific name, Phocoena sinus, acknowledges its claustrophobic range. Phocoena is derived from both the Greek and Latin words for “porpoise”; sinus is Latin for “bay” or “pocket,” and refers to the animal’s restricted home waters. (The common name, vaquita, means “little cow” in Spanish–a rather fitting name now that biologists know that all cetaceans are the product of a successful re-invasion of the ocean by terrestrial ungulates.)
At a recent forum convened in San Diego to address the fate of the vanishing vaquita, the organizers displayed a gallery of nearly every known photograph of the species. Most showed a dead animal swaddled in gill net in the bottom of a fishing boat, that innocent smile frozen on its face in death as in life. There were only a couple of photographs of live animals, and they were no more than blurred images of a head or a dorsal fin hastily rolling out of sight in the distance. We were struck that a large mammal living in our time could be driven off the planet forever, and leave behind such a scant record that it was ever here.

The best estimate of the world’s vaquita population to date comes from a 1997 shipboard survey of the vaquita’s known range, which was conducted by the U.S. National Marine Fisheries Service in collaboration with Mexican investigators. From the survey data, Armando Jaramillo-Legorreta, a Ph.D. candidate in oceanography at the Autonomous University of Baja California in Ensenada, and several of his colleagues estimated the vaquita population at 567 individuals.
To determine whether the population is growing, declining, or holding steady, one must know, among other things, its mortality from both natural and human causes. The latter is essentially the number of animals that die in nets every year, and that critical piece of information was supplied by Caterina D’Agrosa, now a postdoctoral fellow at Arizona State University in Tempe. Between January 1993 and January 1995, as part of her master’s thesis, D’Agrosa had interviewed fishermen and placed observers aboard fishing boats, primarily in El Golfo de Santa Clara, one of the three main fishing communities in the northern gulf. Extrapolating from her sample, she estimated that seventy-eight vaquitas were being killed annually, an overall population decline of about 10 percent per year. At that rate, a population of 567 individuals in 1997 would have

Beyond those population estimates, and despite numerous surveys to observe vaquitas in the wild, little is known about their biology or life history. Because the animal is shy as well as rare, it has not readily disclosed its secrets. But what little is known does not bode well for its future. The normal lifespan is probably twenty years or more. It reaches sexual maturity between three and six years of age, and females apparently give birth to a single calf every other year. It typically travels alone or in mother-and-calf pairs. A recent study determined that the species has little or no genetic diversity; it may have passed through a population bottleneck at some time in its past, or evolved from a small founder population. The combination of low numbers, late maturity, low birth rate, and low genetic diversity makes the vaquita vulnerable to extinction, even without such strong pressure from people.

In 1993, as a result of public and scientific outcry about its fate, the Mexican government created the Upper Gulf of California and Colorado River Delta Biosphere Reserve [see map on opposite page]. Within the reserve, gill nets are prohibited. At the time, the reserve was thought to include most of the vaquita’s marine habitat, but after two shipboard surveys, in 1993 and 1997, it became clear that as much as half of the population was actually living south of the reserve boundary. Consequently, in December 2005 the Mexican government designated a vaquita refuge, which overlaps part of the biosphere reserve and includes an area where some 80 percent of recent vaquita sightings have been made.

In spite of the good intentions reflected by the creation of those protected areas, harmful fishing practices have continued virtually unchecked. A 2006 review concluded that there has been little or no change either inside or outside the biosphere reserve since its creation. When we visited the vaquita refuge in March 2006, we found unattended gill nets set right in the middle of it. One of us (Rojas-Bracho) recently launched a series of aerial surveys, which will provide a far better appraisal of fishing activity throughout the region than has so far been possible. But because the boundaries of the reserve and the refuge are not marked, and because there is little enforcement of the no-gill-netting rule, poor results seem all but inevitable.

Fishermen, armed with nets, are the main reason for the vaquita’s decline–just as they are for the mortality of marine mammals everywhere else in the world. Of the six porpoise species, for instance, the two that live in open oceans–and thus have the least exposure to gill nets–are faring much better than their shallow-water relatives. Populations of Dall’s porpoise (Phocoenoides dalli) in the North Pacific and the spectacled porpoise (Phocoena dioptrica) in the Southern Ocean are in relatively good shape.

For the rest, the story is quite the contrary. On the Yangtze River in China, an endemic population of finless porpoise
(Neophocoena phocoenoides), the world’s only freshwater porpoise population, is in steep decline. The causes? Unmanaged fishing and rampant development on the river. The marine populations of finless porpoise are somewhat better off, depending on how much fishing is done in their home waters. The message is clear: if there’s a net in the water, a porpoise will find it.
And then there’s the baiji (Lipotes vexillifer), a dolphin that lived only in the Yangtze River. In the fall of 2006 one of us (Pitman) took part in a search for the last baiji. For the past twenty to thirty years the baiji had been recognized as the world’s most critically endangered cetacean, because of its high rate of accidental drownings in fishing gear. In a six-week survey, the searchers failed to find a single individual–and in the end, were forced to conclude that the baiji, after more than 20 million years swimming in the Yangtze, was probably extinct.

There are troubling similarities between the baiji and the vaquita, the next cetacean in line for extinction. Historically, both species occupied small, insular ranges surrounded by fishing communities. They both faced the same threat to survival: nets. Both species, like all cetaceans, were slow to mature and had long intervals between births, so even if the threats to their survival had been removed, their reduced populations would have recovered very slowly. Both had been at risk of extinction for some time. “Protective measures” were put in place for both: reserves were created and laws were crafted that made harmful fishing practices illegal in protected areas. But the reserves existed largely in name only, and enforcement was unsuccessful.

All that remains of the baiji are lessons. Extinction is real. Unmanaged fishing practices have the potential not just to reduce populations of aquatic mammals, but to catch and kill every last member of a species. And extinction can happen quickly, right before our eyes. A scientific paper published a few months before the Yangtze River survey concluded that the baiji would be extinct in twenty years if protective measures were not stepped up. But the last baiji had probably already died before that article was written.

Vaquita conservation, of course, raises thorny ethical and sociological issues. The people who live along the desert shores eke out a tenuous living by fishing in the same waters as the vaquita. They simply want to keep their families fed and improve their lot. The tragedy is that their poverty and their struggles will continue long after the last vaquita loses its own final struggle in a ball of monofilament net.

It is all too easy to imagine the end of the vaquita: An exasperated fisherman wrestles with an entangled carcass under the blazing Mexican sun. He finally extricates it from the net and dumps it unceremoniously over the side of his panga–his small, open fishing boat. As the last vaquita sinks out of sight, the last human being ever to see one goes back to pulling his net.
We need to take care of this fisherman if we want to take care of the vaquita.

As in the baiji’s case, the future of the vaquita is no longer a scientific issue. The time for surveys is over. The trend is clear, the threats are known, and the answer is simple: the nets must come out of the water. A recent socioeconomic survey of the northern gulf suggested that for about $25 million, all vaquita bycatch could be eliminated. The money would be directed toward the 3,000 or so fishermen who make their living putting nets into those waters, either to buy out their fishing gear and help them get into another line of work, or to teach them sustainable fishing practices that don’t threaten the vaquita. Economists from the U.S. and Mexico are now working to design such a program, but the money remains a stumbling block.

Maybe what the vaquita needs is a corporate sponsor. For the price of a couple of minutes of ad time during the Super Bowl, an underwriter could buy a future for the species. Corporate donations do not come free, of course–vaquitas might have to carry painted logos on their sides, like NASCAR race cars. Perhaps the species could be renamed, something like “The Home Depot ‘You can do it, we can help’ porpoise.” Increasingly, people seem to be losing the ability to recognize the intrinsic value of Earth’s wildlife; species will have to earn their way to justify their survival, a sad but honest appraisal of a world losing contact with its natural heritage and hewing only to market forces.

Just so, if this little porpoise goes extinct, many people will shrug off its passing as the disappearance of an obscure species from an out-of-the-way corner of the globe: “So what?” For others, however, the loss of any biological diversity on our planet is of grievous concern, particularly when what is lost is a relatively large, warm-blooded creature like the vaquita.

The vaquita has no value as a commodity: It is too shy and small ever to support an ecotourism venture. It is not a vital link in the marine food chain. There is no cure for any human disease lurking in its liver proteins. It is just a lowly beast trying to make its way, like the rest of us. Its loss would barely be noticed.

Yet it was part of the magnificent diversity of life on Earth that our generation inherited, and it is rapidly becoming part of the dwindling legacy we are leaving behind. We have a year or two now to decide whether we are going to let this species live, or whether, like the baiji, we vote it off the island and wipe that little black smile off the face of the Earth forever.

COPYRIGHT 2007 Natural History Magazine, Inc.
COPYRIGHT 2008 Gale, Cengage Learning