It was just another day in paradise. The skies were blue, the sea, a shimmering aquamarine, and the silence on Elephant Beach, blissful. Sleepy waves slapped our bodies, as scores of flying fish gave a synchronised swimming performance a distance away. Then, it changed. A boat gunned its motor, spewing noxious diesel fumes. I saw it drop anchor uncomfortably close to the reef. “Could the anchor damage the coral reef,” I asked the diver who was helping snorkellers view the reefs and the amazing life that existed within them. He sighed and said, “Of course… but in the Andamans, people tend to take nature for granted!”
A little while later, we went into the sea to look at the reefs. I was entranced by the world I saw beneath — fantastic coral formations, fish of all hues flitting past me. My guide tugged my arm. I reluctantly took my head out of the water. “Look!” said he, pointing at some craggy bleached formations on the sea bed, “that’s all dead coral…” The contrast between the vibrant, iridescent life and bleached death was vivid. “As the number of people living on these islands has increased, the water has changed. The corals just can’t survive in it as well as they did earlier,” he said.
Apparently, the change has been most apparent in the last few decades. The number of tourists viewing these reefs has increased. “There are plastic bags and tetra packs floating around,” said he, “although we’re all particular about picking up all the garbage we see.” To cater to the tourists, many local fishermen and divers have begun to trawl the reefs for shells and coral. As they step on the reefs, they risk breaking pieces of coral. “Our local belief is that if a human being touches a coral, it dies. Yet, locals walk on the reefs, break bits of coral to use in aquariums and pluck shells to turn into cheap souvenirs and jewellery…,” said he. Another not-so-obvious threat to the reefs, I later read, was from soil run-offs caused by increased construction and road-building activities on the coast. The soil reduces the amount of light that the coral needs for optimal growth. Further, the soil settles on the reef, effectively choking it to death.
“Natural disasters have also wrecked some of these reefs,” said the diver, adding, “They bore the brunt of the 2004 tsunami, for example. And while they say that the islands with the healthiest fringing reefs were the least affected by the tsunami, the reefs themselves did get quite severely damaged…” About 12 years ago, the coral reefs of the Andamans were also ravaged by the phenomenon of coral bleaching, which occurs when the algae that impart colour to the coral, disappear. The coral reef loses its colour, and eventually dies, its white calcium skeleton exposed. “We literally saw the colourful reefs of our childhood disappearing before our eyes,” said he.
We floated on the sea for a while, letting curious fish nibble at our toes. The tales of doom that the diver had told seemed far removed from the vivid reef beneath us, where sun-dappled corals and the fish that hid within their crags, were clearly visible. All too soon, it was time to go. I looked back for a last glimpse of the mangroves fringing the water. The flying fish rose up in harmonious accord for a final salute. As I said, just another day in paradise.