One man's reflection about the seas and what it means to our lives.

MOUNTAINS & SEA

At almost two miles in elevation, surrounded by towering volcanic peaks, Otavalo, Ecuador, seems as far removed from the ocean as any place on Earth. In the grass-covered mountain ridges high above the treeline, condors soar in the updrafts and thermals rising from sun-warmed green valleys. It’s an area populated by an ancient indigenous population of short, dark, fiercely proud people who have maintained their cultural identity through wave after wave of invaders – including the Incas and Spanish Conquistadors – none of whom ever fully succeeded in changing their beliefs or subverting their culture. The elaborate iconography in the area’s Catholic churches and cathedrals – full of Quechua symbols and animal figures – demonstrates that those who came hoping to change these people succeeded only in having to adapt their own beliefs to accommodate the indomitable indigenous spirit.

For four millennia, mas o menos, these people have held tenaciously to their belief in Pachamama, the spirit of Mother Earth. The power inherent in the natural world is all-pervasive to them, and while their Christian god provides security for their souls, every earthly facet of their lives – life, birth, death, food production, health and human relationships – is shaped by, enhanced or restricted by Pachamama.

The Quechua are an open, curious and accepting people, most of whom, restricted by their lack of material wealth, have never traveled very far beyond the broad valley formed by their three sacred dormant volcanoes of Cotacachi, Imbabura and Mojanda. And yet, given what one might expect would be a limited world view,, their appreciation of things far removed from their own experience is surprisingly vast, especially when it involves their understanding and appreciation of the natural world.

My wife, Mimi, and I recently became godparents to Sarita, an 18-month-old girl from an indigenous family whose primary language is still the ancient Quechua tongue. In a lull in the three days of fiestas that included both Christian and Pachamama rites of passage, German, Sarita’s father, asked me what I did for a living. In Spanish, I told German and his friends and family that I was dedicated to helping protect and restore the sea. At the long dining table in German’s house, which sits literally at the verdant base of steep-sided Imbabura, I suddenly realized that all but a couple of the guests had ever seen the ocean, let alone the other sides of the surrounding mountains. Coming as I do from a lifelong immersion in the sea, yachts and marine conservation, I found myself in the odd position of having to explain my life’s passion to people with virtually no frame of reference to fully appreciate it.

Then I remembered a speech that Jim Moran, my late, much missed friend and fellow SeaKeeper, once gave in front of an audience of his yachting peers. He stood at the microphone with a glass of water and told the gathering, “This is the most precious commodity on Earth.” I repeated those words to them, knowing full well that these farmers and ranchers know the value of water as well as anyone. I went on to explain that all our water – either salt or fresh -- that ever was, or ever will be, exists today. I explained how all rivers eventually drain from the mountains into the sea, and how moisture rises from the seas to form the clouds that rise and replenish the water in the highlands.

“Es un circulo de vida,” German said, a circle of life, and in his response I knew that he understood perfectly not only the nature of my work, but the fundamental, unifying principle behind all forms of conservation.

I went on to explain how industrialized fishing was depleting the seas far faster than life could replenish itself, how the ocean was becoming polluted with runoff from cities and erosion caused by deforestation, becoming warmer due to climate change, and more acidic due to absorption of carbon dioxide, and that these problems are even now affecting millions upon millions of people whose livelihoods and whose food supplies depend on healthy, sustainable seas. I explained how even the climate two miles above sea level cold change dramatically in the coming years because the ocean controls the world’s weather and climate patterns.

My audience sat quietly for a minute after I had finished, many frowning and nodding their heads. I couldn’t be sure whether they had understood my explanation, or were just demonstrating politeness. After a minute the elder man sitting on my left, Don Antonio, Sarita’s quiet, dignified grandfather, spoke up. “Entonces, “ he started, “Dices lo que passas al agua de la montanas passas al mar tambien.” He said, “So, what you’re saying is that what happens to the water in the mountains also happens to the water in the sea.” I nodded my head. He continued, “And what happens to the water in the sea also happens to the water in the mountains.” I nodded again and looked around the table at my new family and friends and saw that they all understood perfectly what I had been saying.

Then Maria Juana, Sarita’s grandmother, surprised me by rising from her seat and taking both my hands in hers and kissing them. “Gracias mi padrito,” she said. “Thank you, godfather,” she said, “for everything you are doing to protect us.”

I was never more honored and humbled in my life.

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