Latest news with #Carcharodoncarcharias
Forbes
14-04-2025
- Forbes
Why Massachusetts Is Cracking Down On Shore-Based White Shark Fishing
A person runs as a Great White Shark swims just meters away on the Cape Cod National Sea Shore on ... More the eastern side of Cape Cod, Massachusetts. (Photo by Joseph Prezioso / AFP) (Photo by JOSEPH PREZIOSO/AFP via Getty Images) Are you one of those fishermen chasing social media clout by trying to land a great white shark (Carcharodon carcharias)? If so, Massachusetts has a message for you: think again. Ahead of the upcoming white shark season, state officials have rolled out stricter rules to crack down on shore-based shark fishing, particularly around Cape Cod. While targeting white sharks has long been prohibited, enforcement has been tricky. Anglers have often gotten around the ban by claiming they're fishing for other, legal shark species. That loophole is now closing. Thanks to a recent vote by the state's Marine Fisheries Advisory Commission, new regulations give the Massachusetts Environmental Police the authority they need to address this growing issue. White sharks are protected in state and federal waters, and Cape Cod has become a seasonal hotspot for them. These new regulations are meant to reduce the chances of intentional or unintentional targeting of white sharks, which not only harms the animals but also increases public safety risks. According to Daniel McKiernan, Director of the Division of Marine Fisheries, the goal is to limit shore-based fishing for white sharks without completely shutting down recreational fishing. 'We believe the new regulations balance public safety while still allowing shore-based recreational fishing opportunities for other species,' he said. So what's driving the need for these changes? Part of the problem is how visible and enticing this type of fishing has become on social media. Videos of people landing sharks — especially iconic species like the great white — get lots of clicks, shares, and praise online. This has led to more people trying their luck at catching one, even if they're not supposed to. Jared Silva, a policy analyst with the Division of Marine Fisheries, called out this trend directly, saying there's a growing group of anglers chasing viral fame instead of respecting the rules. But this behavior isn't just risky for the sharks. It's risky for people, too. Chumming and baiting activities bring sharks closer to shore — sometimes dangerously close to where people are swimming, surfing or just enjoying the beach. And as fishermen try to cast their lines farther out, many now use drones or other mechanized devices to drop baits beyond the surf. Add in the summer tourist crowds, and it becomes a volatile mix. 'They can't co-exist,' Silva said bluntly. Shark fishing and sunbathers just don't go hand in hand. 'It's a huge public safety issue.' Greg Skomal pointed out that targeting white sharks in the banned areas is 'quite easy,' given their ... More high seasonal abundance nearshore along the Cape's eastern beaches. 'The abundance that we see out there is mind blowing,' Skomal said. 'They are quite close to shore.' That's why the new rules include clear boundaries, such as a defined ban on shore-based shark fishing in key areas of Cape Cod where white sharks are commonly seen. This includes the coastline from Plymouth Beach south to the Cape Cod Canal, continuing along Cape Cod Bay and wrapping around to the Atlantic-facing beaches down to Chatham. The restrictions cover both the outer and inner Cape, including Monomoy Island and Chatham Harbor — all known white shark hotspots. The South Cape and Islands — where recreational shark fishing has historically focused on species other than great whites — are not included in the restricted area. The regulations also take aim at some of the techniques that have become popular in recent years, such as chumming (the act of throwing bloody fish parts or other bait into the water to attract sharks). Chumming is now banned from sunrise to sunset when fishing from shore, and mechanized or remote-controlled devices (like drones) are not prohibited to deploy bait while fishing with rod and reel from the shore. These specific restrictions give environmental police a better chance at stopping illegal targeting of white sharks before an incident occurs. In other words, officials don't need to guess someone's intent anymore — they just need to see the gear or methods being used. Of course, not everyone is thrilled about the new rules. Tim Brady, the only dissenting member of the Marine Fisheries Advisory Commission, raised concerns that the rules might unintentionally block access to legal shark species: 'I understand the potential user group conflict but are we also preventing somebody who's targeting a different shark species, which they can target?' He also questioned just how likely it really is to hook a great white. But longtime shark scientist Dr. Greg Skomal quickly pushed back. Along the eastern beaches of the Cape, he said, 'The abundance that we see out there is mind blowing. They are quite close to shore.' For Skomal, the new rules are not about taking away fishing opportunities — they're about protecting both people and sharks. He emphasized that most other legally fishable shark species are located on the southern side of the Cape and Islands, far from the newly restricted zones. 'There will be little impact on those existing fisheries,' he added. Pending a final regulatory review, the rules are expected to go into effect for the upcoming season. And when they do, Massachusetts Environmental Police will finally have the tools they need to curb a growing and dangerous trend. Whether you're an angler looking to catch a thrill or a tourist hoping for a peaceful day at the beach, the message is clear: Massachusetts is putting safety and science first.
National Geographic
11-04-2025
- Science
- National Geographic
This was the best place on Earth to see great white sharks—then they vanished
A new study based on two decades of data shows what happens in an ocean ecosystem without great white sharks. Great white sharks, like this one pictured in 2014, were once common residents in the waters around Seal Island in False Bay, South Africa. Photograph by Nature Picture Library, Alamy Stock Photo Built like a torpedo with rows of terrifying 2.5-inch teeth, the world's largest predatory shark is an intimidating sight. So intimidating that some might think an ocean without great white sharks (Carcharodon carcharias) would be a good thing. But their loss causes a ripple effect that transforms the entire ecosystem. A new study in Frontiers in Marine Science shows what happens when sharks vanish. Seal Island, off South Africa's False Bay was once a great white hotspot—one of the few places on Earth where the sharks could be seen surging out of the water to capture prey. 'It was air Jaws,' says marine ecologist Neil Hammerschlag, executive director of the Shark Research Foundation Inc. and a coauthor on the new study. 'I don't think there's anything more remarkable in nature than seeing a 2,000-pound great white flying out of the air with a seal in its mouth.' When the predators disappeared, researchers and conservationists pointed fingers at both encroaching orcas and humans as the culprit. But Hammerschlag and his colleagues, who began studying the ecosystem around the island in 2000 long before the vanishing, saw some surprising changes. The sharks of Seal Island Twenty years ago, Seal Island was 'the greatest place on earth to see great whites,' recalls Hammerschlag, who also serves as president of Atlantic Shark Expeditions. Around 2010, white shark numbers around False Bay started dropping off, and the decline got steeper from 2015 on. By 2018, the great whites were gone. Exactly why the sharks vanished remains a mystery. 'The departure of the white shark is really open to discussion,' says Greg Skomal, a shark biologist with Massachusetts Division of Marine Fisheries who wasn't involved in the study. Some suggest the animals fled because killer whales moved in. Orcas can kill a shark in minutes by precisely carving out its nutrient-rich liver. Hammerschlag thinks humans could also be to blame, as nearby shark nets kill 'somewhere between 25 and 30 great whites a year.' Even a small loss can drive the population into decline, he says, because great whites become sexually mature late in life—males in their 20s and females in their 30s—and have small litters of up to 12 pups. (A baby great white shark led scientists to a huge nursery near NYC.) When the great whites vanished Sharks are thought to keep marine habitats healthy by removing weak and sick animals from the food chain and keeping things in balance. But proving these impacts in a real-world habitat this is challenging. 'These kinds of ecosystem effects are very difficult for us to tease out because they require long-term data sets,' says Skomal. In False Bay, Hammerschlag's and his colleagues partnered with an ecotourism company, allowing them to spend 'full days on the water, 200 days a year.' The team collected over 20 years of data, from before, during and after the great whites' disappearance. 'We saw things happen that we'd never expect,' Hammerschlag says. Broadnose sevengill sharks (Notorynchus cepedianus) suddenly appeared—sometimes as many as 15 in one day. These animals usually hang out several kilometers away in kelp beds, which offer protection from great white attacks. 'From nothing to double digits. It's just mind blowing,' he says. The Cape fur seal (Arctocephalus pusillus pusillus) population also increased. Safe from the threat of sharks, seals were rafting—floating in groups, like a living raft—and going after the cage divers' bait. 'That would have been suicide just a few years earlier,' he says. Both seals and sevengills were on the menu for great whites, so it made sense to see their numbers rise. But Hammerschlag and his colleagues also wanted to find out if the populations of animals that seals and sevengills eat had changed, too. Luckily, scientist Lauren De Vos had installed cameras in 2012 to get a snapshot of fish populations at the time for another study. Hammerschlag's team followed the same method—even down to borrowing the same equipment. As expected, the new data showed a decline in seal prey like anchovies and Cape horse mackerel and sevengill prey, such as smoothhound sharks and pyjama catsharks. This zigzag of impacts—white sharks vanish, their prey increases and, in turn, the animals they eat declines—suggests this isn't caused by problems like pollution or development. 'If habitat destruction was occurring, you would think everything would go down,' rather than some species declining and some increasing, Hammerschlag says. But the study numbers don't reflect that. The small area of False Bay, with relatively few species, made figuring out some of these food chain impacts easier. 'Hammerschlag has that connectivity mapped out because he knows what eats what,' says Skomal. The more species in an ecosystem, the more difficult it is to map the food chain and track the impacts when an animal is lost. Establishing the relationships between animals in a broader area, like the Gulf of Maine, which has hundreds of species, would be much harder, he says. (Cape Cod may have the highest density of great white sharks in the world.) Losing a great white hotspot One possible outcome of all of these shifts is that seals and sevengills might run out of animals to eat. Could the ecosystem collapse? It's too early to know. 'That would be the next question,' says Skomal. 'Is it too many seals?' Today, great whites' incredible aerial displays are a thing of the past at Seal Island. 'You'd never know this was a great white hotspot,' Hammerschlag says. For him, seeing how the whole ecosystem has changed shows the importance of enforcing shark protections and using non-lethal methods to protect beachgoers from shark bites. 'We can't change the orcas' behavior,' he says, 'But we can stop the netting program. That's kind of archaic.'
Forbes
08-04-2025
- Science
- Forbes
The Ecological Fallout Of Losing White Sharks In South Africa
Great White Shark breaching at Seal Island, False Bay, South Africa (Photo by Chris Brunskill ... More Ltd/Corbis via Getty Images) For years, the cold, murky waters of False Bay were home to animals that were sleek, powerful, and unmistakably apex. Great white sharks had ruled these waters for decades, stealthy and silent until a sudden burst of motion shattered the calm. But then, the splashes stopped. One year, fewer sharks were seen. The next, even fewer. By 2018, the hunters had vanished. And what followed wasn't silence… it was change. A sprawling stretch of sea off South Africa's coast, False Bay is no stranger to ecological drama. This nearly 380-square-mile bay has long been a seasonal gathering ground for Carcharodon carcharias, better known as the infamous great white shark. During the colder months, many would patrol the waters around Seal Island, where tens of thousands of Cape fur seals (Arctocephalus pusillus) clustered. In warmer months, the sharks moved closer to shore, hunting fish and other sharks, including large-bodied competitors like the sevengill shark (Notorynchus cepedianus). But sometime after 2015, this pattern began to unravel. Boat-based surveys, conducted over two decades, recorded a sharp drop in sightings (an 82% decline between 2016 and 2020, to be exact). No white sharks have been seen there since August 2018. What caused this sudden disappearance is still uncertain. Some point to increased removals from shark control programs along the South African coast. Others suspect a different predator entirely: a specialized group of orcas that target sharks, including white sharks. These orcas have been seen disemboweling sharks and extracting their livers, a high-energy organ, with surgical precision. Whether it was fishing nets or orca teeth, the result was the same: an apex predator vanished. But nature doesn't like a vacuum. Sharks are highly mobile, elusive, and often difficult to study over long timescales. But their ... More influence reaches far beyond their bite. As this work shows, losing a top predator can shake the foundation of an ecosystem... though exactly how it plays out may depend on the location, species involved, and even who steps into the power vacuum next. The absence of white sharks didn't just leave Seal Island eerily quiet. It triggered a ripple effect, one that began with the sharks' prey and worked its way down the food chain. See, top predators like white sharks don't just eat other animals. They shape ecosystems by influencing the density, physiology, and behavior of their prey. This can create ripple effects that cascade through multiple trophic levels. In coral reefs, for example, the presence of sharks alters how and where herbivorous fish feed, which in turn affects seaweed growth and habitat structure. But studying these cascading impacts in marine environments is tough — there's a lack of controlled experiments, field data is limited, and large predators are hard to track. That's why long-term monitoring programs, like the one in False Bay, are so valuable. Researchers recently analyzed a 20-year dataset of standardized shark surveys from Seal Island, focusing on how the decline of white sharks affected the broader ecosystem. The new study combined long-term monitoring data, citizen science sightings, and visitor statistics, and offers a rare look at what happens when a top predator disappears not gradually, but almost overnight. From 2000 to 2015, shark sightings were relatively stable, averaging 1.64 white sharks per hour of survey. Between 2016 and 2020, that number dropped to 0.3 per hour. And Cape fur seals, the sharks' main prey at Seal Island, seemed to respond quickly. To understand how seal numbers changed over time, the research team turned to public databases like iNaturalist and the Global Biodiversity Information Facility (GBIF), where they found that between 2009 and 2015, there were about 10 reported sightings per million visitors to the area. After the shark decline, that number jumped to over 65 — a 520% increase. In fact, even accounting for fluctuations in visitor numbers due to the Covid-19 pandemic, the trend held strong! And the seals' distribution changed, with sightings reported across a broader stretch of coastline. Their behavior… shifted. So did their stress levels, which dropped noticeably after the sharks disappeared. And something else happened too: sevengill sharks, historically rare around Seal Island (likely due to predation pressure from white sharks) suddenly began appearing in boat surveys. The emergence of these large animals hints at a reshuffling of the predator hierarchy. With their rise, new prey came under pressure. Sevengills feed on smaller benthic sharks and rays, meaning that white shark loss may have indirectly caused declines in entirely different species. This kind of top-down ecological shift, known as a trophic cascade, has been documented in a handful of marine systems (like the coral reefs mentioned above), but rarely with such clarity. The waters of False Bay may seem calm today, but they tell a story of disruption. And for ... More scientists, conservationists, and anyone interested in the balance of marine life, the disappearance of the great white shark offers a cautionary tale: when the top of the food chain falls, everything below it can shift. The ecological implications are clearly complex. An increase in seal and sevengill populations means more pressure on the species they consume, like small pelagic fish and smaller sharks. But as with many real-world systems, it's not always a straightforward chain reaction. A similar study on the Great Barrier Reef, for example, found no clear link between shark numbers and the density of their prey. In False Bay, too, environmental variables likely play a role. Still, the absence of white sharks marked a clear before-and-after moment in the system. And what this long-term study highlights is both the importance and the challenge of understanding apex predators in the wild. Sharks are highly mobile, elusive, and often difficult to study over long timescales. But their influence reaches far beyond their bite. While white sharks may still be present elsewhere in South Africa, their disappearance from this specific ecosystem has left a measurable void. Filling that void are new patterns of behavior, population booms, and shifting predator roles. As this work shows, losing a top predator can shake the foundation of an ecosystem—though exactly how it plays out may depend on the location, species involved, and even who steps into the power vacuum next.
