The grand Tañon
May 9, 2004 | 12:00am
Dawn has just dipped its rosy fingers into the sky breaking over the port of Bais. A chorus of roosters wails plaintively, resounding an endless lament of another day less to live. Some 50 corporate volunteers and nature workers are sitting, still groggy, in jeepneys too psychedelic for the precious morning. The boats arrive, and our anticipation leaps and twirls like the creatures we are about to see. Delayed briefly only by the Mayor, who wishes to see us off with a short speech on conservation and something called the Gloria Miracle fish, we motor off into the seas of Bais Bay. The onboard breakfast of longganisa, danggit and a hard cone of rice steamed-wrapped in leaves, combined with the lulling sensation of the ocean, put me back to sleep. An hour later, I wake up abruptly. "Are there dolphins yet?"
The swerving waves in the half-morning light were a thousand pods of dolphins, they were the dunes of a deep blue desert, they were gathering thunderstorms. But they were not, they were only waves. No dolphins have been spotted yet, just mirages. Crest after gray crest, until something materialized in the distance. A wave that jumped. Someone shouted "There it is!" and the dolphin chase began. Giving in to our fervent wishes, the dolphins emerged, coasting, dipping, spinning away in a light show of their cetaceous abilities. Something childlike was released in everyone on the boat, and we clapped gleefully.
The Tañon Strait, on which Bais Bay forms a mouth that feeds down to the Bohol Sea, is a narrow coastal passage that lies between the islands of Negros and Cebu. Home to 11 species of cetaceans, the strait is the second most concentrated area of dolphins and whales in the Philippines, and a habitat for a wide array of other organisms from fish larvae, sharks, and sea turtles. Village residents and municipal fishermen are heavily dependent on coastal resources for survival and livelihood, and aside from fish, families gather crabs, shellfish and other marine products for subsistence as well as for sale to local markets.
However, like all natural resources that have given abundantly yet were mismanaged, the strait is now under threat by severe exploitation. It is the most overfished water in the archipelago. Older fishermen recall a time when the seas were serene, the fish were heartily jumping into fishing nets, and the mangroves, the nursery grounds of marine life, stood lush and thick. Things changed drastically from the ‘60s onwards – fishpond technology was introduced, and there was also a time when the government sponsored the conversion of mangroves to fishponds. Additionally, commercial mangrove cutters were quickly depleting the forest for firewood and uling (charcoal). Because of the decline in catch, our fishermen have resorted to illegally poaching outside Philippine waters.
In the midst of this crisis, in swoops the World Wildlife Fund (WWF). Just as it was my first time to survey dolphins in the wild, it was also my first encounter with WWF workers. Hardly granola as one would be led to believe. They were not the hippie slingers who mount reactionary campaigns and chain themselves to trees, but intelligent and pragmatic people whose concern for the environment is entirely human-based. Dr. Ari Bautista, based in Dumaguete, 45 km. south of Bais, is quick to dispel the notion that WWF and nature activists prioritize endangered animals over endangered humans. "We are looking at the big picture," she says. "When the environment is protected from degradation, the livelihoods and resources of the people are consequently sustained."
The Tañon Strait Initiative, started in 2003 and project managed by the good Dr. Ari, is an effort to bring together the different sectors – NGOs, academic, government and community organizations all along the coast of 41 towns and cities, to collaborate concertedly in taking care of their respective waters by enforcing regulations, and changing the people’s attitudes through awareness campaigns. The focus, however, is on the strait’s southern portion of Bais, its most significant bay. Having the most extensive mangrove areas, it is considered a "source." Explains Jose Palma, WWF Field Operations vice president, "We must plug the hole where it’s most strategic. We must save the source."
If Bais once boasted of having 1,180 hectares of dense mangrove, that number has been pared down to a scant 300. "It is impossible to rehabilitate everything, but at the very least, we must maintain what we have," Jose says. Their goal for this year is 27 hectares, and the work is divided among the LGUs (local government units), WWF, and the Peace Corps. "Partnership is key. Our focus is on Bais, but by setting an efficient example, everyone – from Bais and beyond the strait – will benefit."
When the dolphins tired of our antics and swam off, we set the boat towards the Talabong Mangrove Reserve. A long thin boardwalk connects the sea to the oasis-like outgrowth of trees in this intertidal zone. Its eerie silence and sentient shrubbery brought to mind the hallucinatory island where Pi and his tiger Richard get washed up. Deep into the forest we walked, spidery roots crawling over the ashy white sand that low tide reveals. Talabong was named after a white heron found there, but no creature made its presence known now. It is a place that time seems to forget, or where you forget time, and can easily be forgotten.
Returning to the swampy entrance where little fish first find their way beneath the protective and nutritive mother mangroves, the volunteers get ready to plant their seedlings, adding a small but not insignificant area to the reserve. It was simple enough: Unwrap the plastic that held the soil, and plunk the plant down securely into its watery hole. The seedlings have been specially pre-grown till it had roots before being handed to us to plant, to ensure a high mortality rate. The conditions out here, they say, can be harsh.
The natural method of mangrove reproduction is simpler, more violent. Mature trees drop their seeds, shaped like spears, into the muddy ground below. Ideally, it would stab the floor and take root. But not everyone makes it, and so we give a little interventionary help. Joan Binondo, another WWF representative, tells us that 10,000 seedlings can be planted per hectare, but left to their own devices, the mangroves may take too much time. There are regular tree-planting excursions organized by the WWF, and they recruit local student volunteers, as well as parolees and those on probation, for their community service points. Now that’s twice the rehabilitation at half the cost.
It is only lunchtime, and I bid goodbye and a tall growth to my little plant. Lunch is held at the Sandbar, which is not really a place but just three very rustic standalone huts stuck impossibly in the middle of the ocean. The nearest islands are still a boat ride off. During low tide, a wide strip of sand as white as Boracay rises up and greets the afternoon. During high tide, you can kick off your Dumaguete sandals and wade waist-deep in water for a clear eternity, sky, sand and sea blending in a gradient of blue and white mirrors. Our buffet of suckling pig and grilled squid is shuttled to us in a bangka. A surreality check, and I already mourn for the future loss of this place.
For the past three years, HSBC has been partnering with WWF Philippines as a corporate sponsor. Globally, HSBC is donating $50 million over five years to three NGOs: WWF, Earthwatch, and Botanic Gardens Conservation International, making it the largest single charitable donation ever. Locally, HSBC provides staff volunteers for their many environmental excursions. Last year, the group went to Palawan to observe the sweet but endangered dugong. In promoting ecotourism, WWF aims to educate both locals and tourists about the richness of the country’s biodiversity, and encourage non-destructive livelihoods for the villagers (converting them from hunters to conservers). In furthering the Tañon Strait Initiative, WWF intends to protect cetaceans by reducing the occurrence of their accidental catch in nets, through reforesting the mangroves, and through facilitating the different groups involved in coastal resource management. Eventually, they hope to ban commercial fishing, and put up a sanctuary where the bottlenose dolphin, the dwarf sperm whale, the pygmy killer, the long-snouted spinner, and all the other amazing and light cetaceans of our seas, will be free from human threat.
A boat ride from Bais to the dolphins of Tañon Strait costs P3,000. For more information, contact the Bais City Tourism Office (035) 541-5161.
To join Worldwide Fund for Nature and participate in their eco-trips, visit www.wwf.org.ph
E-mail the author at audreycarpio@yahoo.com.
The swerving waves in the half-morning light were a thousand pods of dolphins, they were the dunes of a deep blue desert, they were gathering thunderstorms. But they were not, they were only waves. No dolphins have been spotted yet, just mirages. Crest after gray crest, until something materialized in the distance. A wave that jumped. Someone shouted "There it is!" and the dolphin chase began. Giving in to our fervent wishes, the dolphins emerged, coasting, dipping, spinning away in a light show of their cetaceous abilities. Something childlike was released in everyone on the boat, and we clapped gleefully.
However, like all natural resources that have given abundantly yet were mismanaged, the strait is now under threat by severe exploitation. It is the most overfished water in the archipelago. Older fishermen recall a time when the seas were serene, the fish were heartily jumping into fishing nets, and the mangroves, the nursery grounds of marine life, stood lush and thick. Things changed drastically from the ‘60s onwards – fishpond technology was introduced, and there was also a time when the government sponsored the conversion of mangroves to fishponds. Additionally, commercial mangrove cutters were quickly depleting the forest for firewood and uling (charcoal). Because of the decline in catch, our fishermen have resorted to illegally poaching outside Philippine waters.
The Tañon Strait Initiative, started in 2003 and project managed by the good Dr. Ari, is an effort to bring together the different sectors – NGOs, academic, government and community organizations all along the coast of 41 towns and cities, to collaborate concertedly in taking care of their respective waters by enforcing regulations, and changing the people’s attitudes through awareness campaigns. The focus, however, is on the strait’s southern portion of Bais, its most significant bay. Having the most extensive mangrove areas, it is considered a "source." Explains Jose Palma, WWF Field Operations vice president, "We must plug the hole where it’s most strategic. We must save the source."
If Bais once boasted of having 1,180 hectares of dense mangrove, that number has been pared down to a scant 300. "It is impossible to rehabilitate everything, but at the very least, we must maintain what we have," Jose says. Their goal for this year is 27 hectares, and the work is divided among the LGUs (local government units), WWF, and the Peace Corps. "Partnership is key. Our focus is on Bais, but by setting an efficient example, everyone – from Bais and beyond the strait – will benefit."
Returning to the swampy entrance where little fish first find their way beneath the protective and nutritive mother mangroves, the volunteers get ready to plant their seedlings, adding a small but not insignificant area to the reserve. It was simple enough: Unwrap the plastic that held the soil, and plunk the plant down securely into its watery hole. The seedlings have been specially pre-grown till it had roots before being handed to us to plant, to ensure a high mortality rate. The conditions out here, they say, can be harsh.
The natural method of mangrove reproduction is simpler, more violent. Mature trees drop their seeds, shaped like spears, into the muddy ground below. Ideally, it would stab the floor and take root. But not everyone makes it, and so we give a little interventionary help. Joan Binondo, another WWF representative, tells us that 10,000 seedlings can be planted per hectare, but left to their own devices, the mangroves may take too much time. There are regular tree-planting excursions organized by the WWF, and they recruit local student volunteers, as well as parolees and those on probation, for their community service points. Now that’s twice the rehabilitation at half the cost.
It is only lunchtime, and I bid goodbye and a tall growth to my little plant. Lunch is held at the Sandbar, which is not really a place but just three very rustic standalone huts stuck impossibly in the middle of the ocean. The nearest islands are still a boat ride off. During low tide, a wide strip of sand as white as Boracay rises up and greets the afternoon. During high tide, you can kick off your Dumaguete sandals and wade waist-deep in water for a clear eternity, sky, sand and sea blending in a gradient of blue and white mirrors. Our buffet of suckling pig and grilled squid is shuttled to us in a bangka. A surreality check, and I already mourn for the future loss of this place.
To join Worldwide Fund for Nature and participate in their eco-trips, visit www.wwf.org.ph
E-mail the author at audreycarpio@yahoo.com.
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