The
galaxy in the harbor isn’t twinkling as brightly as once it did.
I
had a lovely seaside vacation last week. I saw many of Mother Nature’s
wonderful designs, including happy splashing seals, crabs, barnacles, kelp and
minnows. I even got a chance to see a beautiful, sleek Sandhill Crane standing
more than ankle deep in water, his reflection shining on the gently rippling
surface.
But
the one thing I did not see, not once, no matter where or how hard I scoured
the shores, was a single solitary sea star. Not even one.
I
remember, as a child, running down to the shore, especially at low tide, to see
gloms of those purple stars plastered to the rocks. They would be there in
droves, piled on top of each other, crammed into every cranny and nook. They
ranged in size from a coaster to a dinner plate. Most were purple. Some were an
orangey color. We spent hours down in that bay turning them over in our hands
and trying to learn everything they had to teach us. Once we even ran into one,
clinging to the side of a sheer rock face just below the clear surface, that
was an orange-yellow hue and had so very many arms all around it that we didn’t
know what else to call it but a sunfish (which turned out to be wrong, by the
way, but actually close. They’re called Sunflower Fish.)
Now,
granted, we were lucky enough to have relatives who had a cottage in a remote,
private and semi-secluded little bay, far from the hustle and bustle of
cigarette butts, car fumes and endless, endless noise of the city-bound shores,
and it was in this little hideaway that we saw most of those starfish. However
I remember as recently as eight years ago exploring along a stretch of mid-city
beach and finding a little five-legged fellow sitting on the shore waiting for
some kindly passing blogger to return him to his watery home (if the incoming
tide didn’t do the honors first). I looked at him a moment, showed him to my
walking companion, then set him adrift. So it’s not as though they don’t have a
history of coming a little closer to the urban areas. So it’s not that.
Besides
of which, I don’t believe that there should be any part of the shore that should
be off limits or unlivable to – of all things – the sea life!
Yet
here we are in a time where it is possible to spend a week in a sea-side city
and be unable to find one single sea-star.
While
all those cigarette butts and car fumes are certainly not at all helpful, they
are not the only culprits in the fading of the harbor galaxy.
Something else is
going on.
The sea star
population has been visibly and undeniably dropping for quite some time, now.
At least the last couple of years. They’ve been becoming dreadfully sick and
dying off in great numbers. And it’s causing great alarm.
The disease is called
“Sea Star Wasting Disease”, and it’s horrible. First the Sea Stars develop “lesions”
on their skin, which, as I understand it, basically means their skin begins
looking bad. This is followed by a certain limpness that comes from a breakdown
of their natural symptoms. They can no longer hold themselves “upright” or
star-shaped. The body then begins to fall into segments with arms coming away.
Finally, the poor little creature is gone.
Disease will visit
any animal population at some stage. And it’s not as though this disease is new
to the sea stars. There is a documented history of this illness before. The question is why is there so much of it
all at once, recently? What triggers it, exactly?
Scientists have
been researching hard, and have found some answers.
But
even once they have an idea what kind of virus causes it, they still aren’t
sure what would cause such a surge all at once. They’ve entertained the idea
that it might come from an increase in ocean temperatures, brought on by the
dreaded global warming. Or perhaps a reduction in salt levels caused by too
much freshwater entering the ocean. Another theory is that it’s a natural
result of over-population. They reason that an over-abundance of individuals
necessitates being close together, and contact. This could result in a lot of
opportunities for the disease to spread.
Not
that they are all wiped out, by any means. I’m certain that, somewhere, there
are purple (and other colored) colonies huddled together in coves and bays
waiting for this plague to subside so they can be free to bring our harbors to
life again.
One
day, little kids will, once again, bound down to the water’s edge and watch the
galaxy sparkle.
Photo by D. Gordon E. Robertson
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