Forget sharks… here’s why you are more likely to be injured by litter at the beach



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Sadly, people plus beach equals litter, so be careful out there.
Wikimedia Commons

Marnie Campbell, Murdoch University; Cameron McMains, Murdoch University; Chad Hewitt, Murdoch University, and Mariana Campos, Murdoch University

Our beaches are our summer playgrounds, yet beach litter and marine debris injures one-fifth of beach users, particularly children and older people.

Our research, published in the journal Science of the Total Environment, found more than 7,800 injuries on New Zealand beaches each year – in 2016, some 595 of them were related to beach litter. The most common injuries caused by litter were punctures and cuts, but they also included fractured limbs, burns, head trauma, and even blindness.

Children under 14 suffered 31% of all beach litter injuries, and were injured by beach litter at twice the rate compared with other locations in New Zealand. Beach litter injury claims exceeded NZ$325,000 in 2016, representing a growing proportion of all beach injury claims. Beach injury claims changed from 1.2% of the total in 2007 to 2.9% in 2016.




Read more:
This South Pacific island of rubbish shows why we need to quit our plastic habit


Our study relied on reported injury insurance claims in New Zealand, and thus probably underestimates the true injury rate, particularly for minor wounds. Our 2016 survey of beachgoers in Tasmania found that 21.6% of them had been injured by beach litter at any time previously – even on the island state’s most picturesque beaches.

Alarmingly, most beach users in the Tasmanian survey did not consider beach litter an injury risk, despite the high rate of self-reported injuries.

Awash with danger

As more debris washes ashore and our recreational use of our coasts increases, it is more likely than ever before that we will encounter beach litter, even on remote and “pristine” beaches.

Global studies have found up to 15 items of debris per square metre of beach, even in remote locations. On Henderson Island – a supposedly pristine South Pacific outpost miles from anywhere – some 3,570 new pieces of litter arrive every day on one beach alone.

Beach litter typically includes a huge range of items, such as:

  • broken glass
  • sharp and rusted metal such as car bodies, food cans, fish hooks, and barbed wire
  • flammable or toxic materials such as cigarette lighters, flares, ammunition and explosives, and vessels containing chemicals or rotten food
  • sanitary and medical waste such as used syringes, dirty nappies, condoms, tampons and sanitary pads
  • bagged and unbagged dog faeces and dead domestic animals.

The health hazards posed by beach litter include choking or ingesting poisons (particularly for young children), exposure to toxic chemicals, tripping, punctures and cuts, burns, explosions, and exposure to disease.

Degrading plastic can also produce toxins that contaminate seafood, potentially entering human or ecological food chains.

Rubbish knowledge

Despite the potential severity of these hazards our understanding and study of human health impacts from beach litter is poor. We know more about the impacts of beach litter and marine debris on wildlife than on humans.

Two of our previous studies in Australia and New Zealand have found beach litter that can cause punctures and cuts at densities 227 items per 100 square metres of beach, and choking hazards at densities of 153 items per 100 square metres of beach. These exposures to beach litter hazards in Australia and New Zealand may be 50% higher than global averages (based on preliminary data).




Read more:
How much plastic does it take to kill a turtle? Typically just 14 pieces


Even “clean” beaches can be hazardous, and may even increase the likelihood of injury. Visitors to a recently cleaned or supposedly “pristine” beach may be less vigilant for hazards. What’s more, European studies have found that actively cleaned beaches can still have hazardous debris items.

The risk of injury will continue to increase without concerted efforts to prevent addition of new debris and the active removal of existing rubbish. Besides watching where we tread when at the beach and participating in beach cleanups, we also need to make sure we deal with rubbish thoughtfully, so litter doesn’t end up there in the first place.The Conversation

Marnie Campbell, Chevron Harry Butler Chair in Biosecurity and Environmental Science, Murdoch University; Cameron McMains, PhD Candidate, Harry Butler Institute, Murdoch University; Chad Hewitt, Professor and Director, Murdoch Biosecurity Research Centre, Murdoch University, and Mariana Campos, Lecturer and researcher, Murdoch University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

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Lucky winner: why this beach in WA claims the crown of Australia’s whitest sand



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The winner! Lucky Bay, Cape Le Grand National Park, Esperance WA.
Peter Masters

Noel Schoknecht, Murdoch University

In 2005, when I was chair of the National Committee on Soil and Terrain, I started a debate: where is Australia’s whitest beach? This was a diversion from the committee’s normal business of looking at the sustainable management of Australia’s soils, but it led down a path I hadn’t expected.

What began as a bit of after-hours banter became a serious look across Australia in search of our whitest beaches. New South Wales had already laid claim to the title, arguing that Hyams Beach at Jervis Bay has the whitest sand in the world, purportedly backed up by Guinness World Records.

As it turned out, both claims were false. Guinness World Records has no such category, and the whitest beach (as we found) is actually elsewhere.

Hyams beach in Jervis Bay, NSW, has been rumoured to have the whitest sand in Australia.
Kristina Kl./Flickr, Author provided

So we drafted terms of reference, and the search for Australia’s Whitest Beach began. Over the next year samples were collected across the nation. The criteria were simple: samples had to be taken from the swash zone (the gently sloping area between the water and the dunes) and the samples could not be treated in any way apart from air-drying. No bleaching. No sieving out of impurities. Marine environment only.

The results of the first judging in 2006 were startling. Of all the states and territories, the much promoted Hyams Beach in New South Wales came in fourth. Third was Victoria, second Queensland, and first Western Australia.

The other states and territories came in at Tasmania fifth, Northern Territory sixth, and South Australia seventh. The ACT didn’t have a beach to sample, although technically some of the Commonwealth lands around our coasts could possibly come in under their banner (but that’s another debate altogether).

A sample of the main contenders for the whitest beach in Australia. Unfortunately, samples submitted from South Australia didn’t make the final cut.
Photo: Noel Schoknecht, Author provided

The winning beach was Lucky Bay in Cape Le Grand National Park on WA’s south coast, but in reality any of the beaches in this area could have been winners – Hellfire Bay, Thistle Cove and Wharton’s beach (just to name a few) are all magnificently white.

A quick qualification here: the southwestern end of Lucky Bay, where many people enter the beach, is covered with seaweed – not the whitest bit! I should also note that all of the finalists in the whitest beach challenge were in their own right fabulously white. But when compared side-by-side, some beaches are clearly whiter than others.

The Queensland team felt aggrieved, so in 2007 I carried out a repechage with new samples from Queensland at Whitehaven Beach in the Whitsundays, and Lake McKenzie on Fraser Island. Lake McKenzie was ultimately disallowed as it is a freshwater lake and the rules stipulated a marine environment. Meanwhile, Whitehaven didn’t quite cut the mustard in the judging and Lucky Bay in WA was again the winner.

Whitehaven beach in Queensland just missed out on the top spot in the recount.
Jared Yeh/Flickr, CC BY-NC-SA

So what makes a beach white, and is it important anyway?

The assessments were based on a visual comparison, so to remove any possible visual bias after the 2007 challenge all the samples were scanned for their reflectance – how much light bounced off the sand, essentially – in the visible and infrared wavelengths. Our assumption was that higher reflectance throughout the visual spectrum correlates with greater whiteness.

As it turned out, the results from the scanning exactly correlated with the visual assessments. The eye is quite good at discerning small differences in colour and reflectance. (More background and the results from the competition are available here.)

So what makes a beach white? Obviously, a pristine environment helps. Another factor is the distance from rivers, which deliver coloured organic and clay contaminants to the coast.

The geology of the area and the source of the sand are also critical, with quartz seemingly a major requirement for fine sands. Most white sandy beaches are derived from granitic, or less commonly sandstone, geologies that weather to produce fine, frosted quartz sand grains. Interestingly, sands made from shell or coral fragments just aren’t as white.

The source of the sand is very important; sand made from shells or coral aren’t as white as quartz.
Tracey Croke/Flickr, CC BY

Is it important?

While this competition began in fun, I do believe it’s important. Beaches are places of refuge in this crazy world, and a pristine white beach indicates a cleanliness that is worth striving for. The reflectance of light off these sands through shallow waters near the beach creates a surreal, magical turquoise colour. White beaches are like the canary in the coalmine – once they’re spoiled, we know we’re in trouble.

Even though this study was a first look at some of Australia’s whitest beaches, and sampling was limited, it did highlight the sheer number of wonderful sandy beaches that Australia has.

The story’s not finished though. There are many white beaches out there yet to be sampled, and if you’d like to alert me to your potentially award-winning beach please email me or leave a comment on the whitest beach website.

It’s our responsibility, and I believe honour, to protect these amazing places. I’m sure there are more wonderful beaches out there that we haven’t sampled which may defeat Lucky Bay.

The ConversationShelburne Bay in northern Queensland, for example, is a contender yet to be sampled, and there are some magnificent beaches on the east coast of Tasmania. Whatever the outcome, let’s celebrate the natural wonders that surround our country.

Noel Schoknecht, Senior research associate, Murdoch University

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.

Contested spaces: saving nature when our beaches have gone to the dogs



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Early in the morning and late in the evening is when shorebirds escape disturbance on the beaches on which their survival depends.
Arnuchulo

Madeleine Stigner, The University of Queensland; Kiran Dhanjal-Adams, Centre for Ecology & Hydrology, and Richard Fuller, The University of Queensland

This is the ninth article in our Contested Spaces series. These pieces look at the conflicting uses, expectations and norms that people bring to public spaces, the clashes that result and how we can resolve these. The Conversation


There’s no doubt about it, Australians love the beach. And why not? Being outdoors makes us happy, and all beaches are public places in Australia.

Head to a beach like Bondi on Christmas Day and you’ll share that space with more than 40,000 people. But we aren’t just jostling with each other for coveted beach space. Scuttling, waddling, hopping or flying away from beachgoers all around Australia are crabs, shorebirds, baby turtles, crocodiles, fairy penguins and even dingoes.

Beaches are home to an incredible array of animals, and sharing this busy space with people is critical to their survival. But, if we find it hard to share our beaches with each other, how can we possibly find space for nature on our beaches?

Beach birds

Here’s a classic example of how hard it is to share our beaches with nature. Head to a busy beach at dawn, before the crowds arrive, and you will most likely see a number of small birds darting about.

You may recognise them from the short movie Piper – they are shorebirds. As the day progresses, swimmers, kite surfers, dog walkers, horse riders, 4x4s and children descend upon the beach en masse, unwittingly disturbing the shorebirds.

We share beaches with an extraordinary array of life, including many shorebirds.

Unlike seabirds, shorebirds do not spend their life at sea. Instead, they specialise on the beach: foraging for their invertebrate prey, avoiding waves, or resting.

However, shorebird numbers in Australia are declining very rapidly. Several species are officially listed as nationally threatened, such as the critically endangered Eastern Curlew.

There are few places you can let your dog run for as long and as far as it pleases, which is one of the reasons beaches appeal to dog owners. But this disturbance results in heavy costs to the birds as they expend energy taking flight and cannot return to favourable feeding areas. Repeated disturbance can cause temporary or permanent abandonment of suitable habitat.

The world’s largest shorebirds, Eastern Curlews are critically endangered – and Australia is home to about 75% of them over summer.
Donald Hobern/flickr, CC BY

The fascinating thing about many of these shorebirds is that they are migratory. Beachgoers in Korea, China, Indonesia or New Zealand could observe the same individual bird that we have seen in Australia.

Yet these journeys come at a cost. Shorebirds must undertake gruelling flights of up to 16,000 kilometres twice a year to get from their breeding grounds in Siberia and Alaska to their feeding grounds in Australia and New Zealand. In their pursuit of an endless summer, they arrive in Australia severely weakened by their travels. They must almost double their body weight before they can migrate again.

And these birds must contend with significant daily disruption on their feeding grounds. A recent study in Queensland found an average of 174 people and 72 dogs were present at any one time on the foreshore of Moreton Bay, along Brisbane’s coastline. And 84% of dogs were off the leash – an off-leash dog was sighted every 700 metres – in potential contravention of regulations on dog control.

Managing the menagerie

One conservation approach is to set up nature reserves. This involves trying to keep people out of large areas of the coastal zone to provide a home for nature. Yet this rarely works in practice on beaches, where there are so many overlapping jurisdictions (for example, councils often don’t control the lower areas of the intertidal zone) that protection is rarely joined up.

The beach-nesting Hooded Plover is unique to Australia where it is listed as vulnerable (and critically endangered in NSW).
Francesco Veronesi/Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA

Benjamint444/Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA

However, our work at the University of Queensland shows we don’t need conservation reserves in which people are kept out. Quite the reverse. We should be much bolder in opening up areas that are specifically designated as dog off-leash zones, in places where demand for recreation is high.

In the case of Moreton Bay, 97% of foraging migratory shorebirds could be protected from disturbance simply by designating five areas as off-leash recreation zones. Currently, dogs must be kept under close control throughout the intertidal areas of Moreton Bay.

By zoning our beaches carefully, the science tells us that the most intense recreational activities can be located away from critical areas for nature. And there’s no reason why this logic couldn’t be extended to creating peaceful zones for beach users who prefer a quiet day out.

By approaching the problem scientifically, we can meet recreational demand as well as protect nature. Proper enforcement of the boundaries between zones is needed. Such enforcement is effective when carried out in the right places at the right time.

We believe that keeping people and their dogs off beaches to protect nature is neither desirable nor effective. It sends totally the wrong message – successful conservation is about living alongside nature, not separating ourselves from it.

Conservationists and recreationists should be natural allies, both working to safeguard our beautiful coasts. The key is to find ways that people and nature can co-exist on beaches.


You can find other pieces published in the series here.

Madeleine Stigner, Research assistant, The University of Queensland; Kiran Dhanjal-Adams, Research Associate Ecological Modeller, Centre for Ecology & Hydrology, and Richard Fuller, Associate Professor in Biodiversity and Conservation, The University of Queensland

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.

Inskip beach collapse: just don’t call it a ‘sinkhole’


Stephen Fityus, University of Newcastle

As was widely reported in the media, at around 10pm last Saturday night, a “sinkhole” opened up at a beachfront campground on the Inskip peninsular.

The thing is, it almost certainly wasn’t a sinkhole.

Unanticipated ground collapses occur around the world from time to time, and these generally get labelled “sinkholes”, for want a more appropriate term. Yet “sinkhole” is poorly defined and often misused, generally referring to some type of geological phenomenon that causes localised ground surface collapse.

In its strict sense, a sinkhole occurs when there is movement of surface soil or rock downward to fill a cavity in the ground below it. Thankfully, open underground cavities are not so common in nature, and are limited to a few characteristic geological settings.

The classic manifestation of sinkholes is in karstic geological environments, such as the Nullabor Plains. These are where the percolation of groundwaters through limestones and dolomites over geological timescales causes them to dissolve, leading to the formation of underground cave systems.

Where the span of the caves becomes too great, or the overlying roof rocks are too thin to support themselves, these may collapse. This produces the stereotypical sinkholes such as those known from Guatemala, Florida, Louisiana, and parts of China.

Sinkholes can also arise from anthropogenic activity, such as mining and engineering works. Poorly backfilled or capped mine shafts may subside if the backfill collapses or is washed to deeper levels in the mine by inflowing water, such as occurred in the case of the Swansea “sinkhole” near Newcastle, New South Wales, in 2014.

Shallow tunnels can also collapse, leading to a hole or depression forming in the ground above. Small sinkholes can also occur above breaks in unpressurised wastewater pipes if soil from around the pipes is able to collapse into the pipe and be carried away with the flowing water.

Sandy straight

So how does any of this explain the Inskip beach “sinkhole”? Well, it doesn’t. And from the photographs and available geological information, it seems like the event at Inskip beach is not a sinkhole at all.

The Inskip beach area is not undermined, and not known for the occurrence of limestones in its bedrock. So its very unlikely that the missing sand has been swallowed into some deep hole in the sea floor.

To understand the likely reasons behind the Inskip event, it is necessary to understand the geological setting of the Inskip peninsular. For millions of years, the coastal river systems of New South Wales have generated vast quantities of clean quartz sand, which have been delivered to the ocean.

Some of this sand is pushed up to create some of the best sandy beaches in the world. Meanwhile, the excess (and there is a lot of it) is swept northward along the coast by ocean currents until it reaches a place where it can be deposited.

Through a complex combination of ocean current, ocean swell, coastal morphology and bathymetric factors, Fraser Island in Queensland – the largest sand island in the world – is the repository for much of this excess sand.

The situation is complicated by the Mary River, which discharges into the ocean at the same place. This means that Fraser Island is separated from the mainland by a channel, which allows the Mary River to discharge to the ocean, mainly northward through Hervey Bay.

The southern end of this channel, the “Great Sandy Straight”, forms an estuary at Tin Can Bay, which accommodates tidal flows inward and outward between the Inskip peninsular and Fraser Island. And this is the site of recent collapse event.

It might look like a sinkhole, but it’s something quite different.
AAP Image/Higgins Storm Chasing

Slippery sand

Tidal channels are dynamic environments, carrying sand backward and forward on a daily basis, depositing sand, and then scouring it out again when the channel becomes constricted. If sand is spilled into a pile, it forms a slope at a characteristic angle, referred to as the angle of repose.

If a slope is made any steeper than this, it is potentially unstable and prone to collapse. Sands deposited to form the submerged banks of the channel are flatter than, or equal to, the angle of repose and exist in a stable condition.

However, if the sandy banks of the channel are steepened through erosion in the bottom of the channel, then the over-steep submerged slope may become unstable, resulting in a submarine landslide. Such a slide, initiated at the toe of the slope, will effectively see the slope unravel, with slices of the slope progressively slumping into the space created by the slumping of the slice below.

This mechanism fits well with the situation at Inskip beach, both in terms of the geomorphological conditions and the reported characteristics of the beach collapse.

Will there be more events like this? At some time in the future, most likely. But when, where and how big are all questions that are difficult to quantify without site specific geotechnical and hydromorphological data. Coastal environments are dynamic, restless environments, and the risks of sudden changes are small, but ever-present.

The Conversation

Stephen Fityus, Professor in Geotechnical Engineering, University of Newcastle

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.

Australia: NSW – Arakoon National Park


The link below is to a media release concerning Little Bay Beach at Arakoon National Park in New South Wales, Australia. The release reports on the closure of the northern section of the beach due to a rock fall and the possibility of further falls.

For more visit:
http://www.environment.nsw.gov.au/media/OEHmedia13111801.htm

Media Release: Myall Coast Beaches Closed to 4WDs


The link below is to a media release concerning the closure of Myall Coast beaches to vehicles due to weather conditions.

For more visit:
http://www.environment.nsw.gov.au/media/OEHmedia1306201300.htm