Why must everything come in packaging that’s seemingly ready-made for nuclear meltdown?

The clamshell isn’t finished, but perhaps it has met its match in the flesh-eating Pyranna, a wrap rage coping tool with teeth to cut ridiculously over-packaged goods. Evidently, manufacturers are more focused on anti-theft and cost saving plastic than consumer convenience. We are especially reminded of the wasteful abundance when seeing the hordes of back-to-school shoppers lining up at Office Depot with carts of protractors and mechanical pencils housed in impossible chambers of reconstituted petroleum – which includes anything related to a computer, music device or phone.

Instead of weapons for assaulting a plastic seal with the zeal of man eating fish, how about an industry wide replacement of wasteful packaging with containers that let us get to the goods without wrenching our necks, as I once did with an envelope of sliced turkey on a lunch break. Who knew fowl dangers lurked beyond the occasional Cargill Inc. bird?

I’m ashamed to admit I find myself at times relying on my teeth like some kind of primitive cave babe, emulating the piranha to no avail as the kid looks on with disdain.

We all curse those hermetically sealed ester-oysters that seem immune to ripping and stabbing, the ones that send well intentioned consumers to the emergency room for gashes, sliced fingertips and severed tendons. As we seek more responsible and sustainable packaging technology, it doesn’t appear to yet be a priority of the manufacturing world, which instead focuses on anti-theft measures at the lowest possible cost.

“History shows consumers will pay for convenience and if you eliminate difficulty opening packages at the same time you reduce the amount of package materials consumed in manufacturing, you’re winning on multiple fronts,” observes Bill Perell, whose company, PopPack, offers manufacturers an eco-friendly, Bubble-in-the-Seal® solution, a seal alternative engineered to give consumers, especially kids and seniors a break. Perell’s own father, a surgeon, resorts to a medical knife to cut his way through products.

His methodology of popping eliminates both challenging cartons, caps and wasteful tabs. “We did a study of Kellogg and General Mills and weighed the film tab on the cereal boxes and it is a third of an ounce and in the aggregate that creates a lot of waste,” he says.

The following is our list of the worst offenders.

Item: Audio CDs

Best Tool: Open Smart – One of several teethy tools on the market for slicing CD shrink wrap.

Solution: There are still people who have not learned about iTunes? Help these poor souls.

Item: Sauce Packets

Best Tool: Common, newly sharpened scissors  – which you may or may not have with you when eating sushi on the run.

One of the downsides to getting sushi to go is wrestling with those sauce packets which are torture unless you can find the sweet spot that may or may not indicate you should “tear here.”

Solution: Opt for sustainable sushi splurges prepared fresh at your nearest Japanese restaurant.

Item: Sliced Packaged Cheese

Those sealed 36-packs of cheddar are impossible without a pair of sharp scissors handy, so if you drag these to that family reunion picnic, better bring sharp scissors. This container is only rivaled by string cheese packets.

Best Tool: Sharp scissors

Solution: High quality cheeses from the local natural foods store or farmers’ market wrapped in wax paper or less plastic. It’s really not so hard to slice, is it? Certainly easier than getting those string cheese packs open.

Item: Oral B Electric Toothbrush

No one gets a charge out of trying desperately to crack open these packages to simply brush your teeth with that new dentist-recommended tool. Gillette opted for the ridiculously stiff plastic clamshells, but Procter &  Gamble has since created a cardboard box alternative. Arthritis sufferers must be overjoyed to be able to get to the product at last.

Best Tool: Sharp scissors

Solution: A standard tooth brush works just fine for most pearly whites. Go for a recycled plastic variety.

Item: Green Light Bulbs

It’s just so counterintuitive when you need to order a tool from Amazon to open your green light bulb. The light is on but nobody is home at the factory, as it were.

Best Tool: Zipit battery operated device from Amazon

Solution: How about simple recycled cardboard like the housing for the conventional bulbs?

Item: The Common Computer Mouse

Whether wireless or for the desktop PC, it shouldn’t be this hard to get to the mouse. The trap? The ubiquitous clamshell requiring tearing and cutting.

Best tool: Zipit battery operated device from Amazon or Pyranna

Solution: Bribe a child to open it.

Item: All Natural Frontier Sea Salt

So what could be so daunting about this little shaker of fine grind? The grinder is a nightmare, composed of a thick rim of impenetrable plastic with a small hole that must be punctured with anything but the human body. Jeez, I just wanted to flavor my chard.

Best tool: A sharp little knife, a steady hand and accurate eye

Solution: Luck.

Image: Pyranna; Amazon; Pink Moose; Peyri: Costco; Oral B: Zipitopener, dylancantwell, nioxxe, espensorvik

Keep plastic out of the landfill with a clever gift card alternative.

Plastic gift cards: those little irresistible envelope stuffers are everywhere – markets, book shops, warehouse stores. Thousands are being printed up for Father’s Day, alone.

Add that batch to the 1.6 billion cards made and shipped across the country each year, prompting sites like Treehugger to question if these are the new bottled water.  Arguably the most convenient and least creative gift to pick up, this new currency is often coated with polyvinyl chloride (PVC), a known human carcinogen. After being swiped and spent they are usually tossed out, since few recipients are aware of online alternatives or take part in gift card recycling programs aimed at reducing our plastic jungles.

Among the forward-thinking alternatives: GiftRocket, an entirely digital email-based gift card recently launched as a start-up venture by three founders who decided it was time for the redemption process to go digital. You simply go to the site and purchase a customized and personalized gift for a friend, perhaps $50 for the coffee shop in their neighborhood. The recipient is notified of the gesture via email or Facebook. They stroll to the shop for breakfast, click a button on their phone to redeem, et voila, free scones and cappuccinos! The money is instantly transferred to spend as you like.

“A way that we are different is we send out reminder emails to make sure they are used, a feature you would never get with a physical gift card,” explains co-founder Kapil Kale. “At my college graduation, I received so many gift cards they ended up being lost. I’m sure I still have a drawer full of them at home.”

Kale argues going digital curbs the no-brainer physical act of grabbing a card on the run and instead adds some thought to the process, since another cool feature is the giver isn’t limited to businesses enrolled in a gift card program. They can choose any business they like and GiftRocket will manage the money in an escrow account until it is redeemed.

It’s a good way to go, consider just how wasteful some of those printed plastic cards are, such as the iTunes card which can be gifted and downloaded electronically. This way, there is nothing to lose. And nothing to get swiped by a sister or roommate. Best motivator: No wallet filing. It’s hard enough keeping track of those frozen yogurt cards that reward you with a freebie after buying a few dozen you probably don’t need.

Images: Apple; GiftRocket

SeriesEnvironmental cleanup in the wake of Japan’s twin disasters. Part 4 in a special series.

A surreal and compelling mix of headlines (read: Royal weddings, Osama bin Laden) may be dominating this week’s news, but the unfolding events in Japan after the March earthquake and tsunami – compounded further by nuclear plant instability – continue. Among the many significant issues: all that garbage.

Nothing illustrates the growing glut of plastic in the ocean from land-based sources like a natural disaster. All of those bleach bottles, all of those candy wrappers, all ending up somewhere. Whether littered or properly disposed of, it doesn’t actually matter when natural forces manifesting in the ocean overcome the borders of sea and land. And rather than death by a thousands cuts (plastic litter and watershed trash from land), Japan’s tsunami unleashed a vast amount of debris virtually overnight into the Pacific. (To see how the theoretical path of the debris works over time, click on this link to view an animation.)

This figure exhibits the projected pathway of flotsam that entered the ocean after waves hit Japan on March 11, 2011.  The model is based on historical data from drift buoys pinging GPS locations in The North Pacific over several years. Image Credit: Nikolai Maximenko, International Pacific Research Center.

The garbage is coming.

Within about a year, garbage will start hitting Hawaii’s shores and the coast of California within three, before circulating back out again to Hawaii and adding to The North Pacific Garbage Patch where it will circulate in the gyre.

Initially, it is difficult to determine how much we’re talking about, but think of it this way: Imagine taking all the plastic for a couple of miles or more from several cities situated on a coastline, and sucking it into the ocean. Think about taking thousands of grocery stores full of plastic products, all those single-use yogurt cups and half and half containers, lifting them all at once, and throwing them into the ocean. Think about all the dumpsters. The reycling bins. The storage facilities. The freight containers. Interesting, if disheartening, California beach-combing is on the way.

University of Hawaii at Manoa‘s Nikolai Maximenko and Jan Hafner created the model. (Full disclosure: Maximenko advises the non-profit I work for on our gyre expeditions to search for plastic pollution.) Modeling, as a science, is still a very difficult enterprise as so many vectors affect how flotsam will actually travel when at sea. But judging by the vast amounts of debris pulled out to sea by Japan’s tsunami, the ultimate impact will be significant.

Finding remnants of the waste three to five years from now, after it has traveled thousands and thousands of miles at sea, will remind us as a society that although the 24/7 news cycle might forget past tragedies, plastic is forever. And it will remind us of the legacy of our culture. 24/7.

Editor’s note: This is part 4 in a special series on plastic. Read part 3, part 2 and part 1.

Images: Official U.S. Navy photographs

ColumnThanks, I brought my hands.

Hi, I’m Sara, and I don’t use bags. Oh, sometimes I use my bags, I just don’t use yours. San Francisco, Los Angeles, New York, Seattle, Dallas, everywhere I go, I’m not bagging it. Today’s message comes to you from Cape Cod, where I’m embedded with EcoSalon’s DuFault unit, also not-a-bagger. Here, we’ve been eyed suspiciously for buying not one but four avocados and plopping them into a roomy handbag instead of a plastic sack. We’ve bought and returned a sweater without a bag, picked up new earbuds without a bag, even bought a battery – all without a bag.

Sometimes there’s no escaping the bag, even when you bring your own. Social mores ensure that the bottle of wine picked up on the way to the dinner party be brown-bagged inside your bag. At least they don’t try to bag the housewarming orchids at most stores. But on those inevitable days where I forget my Envirosax or my swag of bag from the latest green event, and I’m not in the mood to go fetch it, I simply go bag free. I endure the social ostracism in the name of toned upper arms in addition to my environmental sensitivity.

This concerns people, who, it turns out, really believe in bagging things. I’ve learned even picking up truffles sans-sack warrants a stare, never mind that the chocolate comes in a bag already. Walking down the aisles holding my geranium dish soap, a Pink Lady apple, brie and head of dino kale, you’d think I was juggling obese ferrets on a Ritalin bender. “Do you want a bag? A basket? Hey, how about a cart?” a stock boy will ask, hoping I’m not about to throw a ferret at the wall or launch into my life story. Some days, I want to reassuringly scream, “Hey, guy? I’m not crazy lady!” but restrain myself, knowing this will hardly help my case. What happened to carrying things with our actual arms? Stocking up for the Superbowl I get. You’re going to need a bag or five, maybe even a cart. Stocking up for a wild night of pear and spring greens with goat cheese for dinner? I rest my case.

Most of the time, I’m just amused by how relentless the bag pushers are. Rather than sigh in irritation during my moments of canvas bag forgetfulness, I’ve actually taken to forgetting my reusable bags on purpose just to see if I can be allowed out of the store without a bag for my chives or new d’Orsays. No one has called me crazy to my face. But their eyes say it all.

Don’t take my word for it. You, too, can enjoy confused stares and with any luck, mild arguments.

I can report that the box that was once bulging with pretty gray Restoration Hardware bags and shiny Annual Event sacks is down to just one lonely, wrinkled Fred Segal bag, with no plans to refill. I don’t even get the occasional paper bag “for the recycling” anymore; the bin is outside my front door, and it occurred to me recently that the connection between bagging recyclables for a nine yard walk to the bin and my ever-hopeful aspiring muffin top was more than a little coincidental.

A jug of organic tea, the fresh bundle of tulips, a bag of Feline Pine, a bar of paper-wrapped grapefruit-scented vegetable soap, actual grapefruits: all perfectly capable of getting home without a bag, though you will need hands or the crook of an elbow. Considering the facts on bags, though, there’s really never an excuse to use one in the event you forget your own. You can ask for the paper bags, but if you’re only picking up a few things, why not toss them into your purse or better yet, work those biceps.

Most things, it turns out, just don’t need bags. Why, for example, does a handle of bananas need its own bag, as a recent cashier insisted? I know conventional banana skins are teeming with pesticides but I think the carton of cream can handle cozy company with some organic bananas for the three-minute journey home.

If all the bagging is any indication, humans are pathetically fragile. And if individual items such as detergent and multivitamins are so toxic they need their own baggage, why are we putting them on and in our bodies at all?

Being a resident of San Francisco, I seem to end up at Mollie Stone’s more than I’d like. It’s a grocery store chain that cannot decide if it wants to be Whole Foods or Safeway, and ends up failing at both. (The prices are high and the quality is notoriously inconsistent.) But I am at least morally outraged by the baggers at Mollie Stone’s, who are customer-service-hellbent on bagging things in as many layers of bags as possible, and that counts for something. Think the already-bagged baguette doesn’t need its own bag inside your bag? Think again. That hormone-free rotisserie chicken in the sealed plastic suitcase? Unless you insist, and sometimes anyway, that chicken is getting its own bag.

Whatever happened to wrapping things in twine and brown paper, or just…well, holding them? In a short 40 years of convenience plastic, we’ve become hooked on bagging it. Double bagging it, as if we need one for the road. Separating food from cosmetics, soap from sundries, categorizing our consumption in concentric rounds of poly. If you’ve stopped the bottle, it’s time to stop the bag, too.

This is the latest installment in your editor’s column, The Insider’s Guide to Life, exploring topics such as media, culture, sex, politics, and anything else. Cheers and spellcheck!

Image: taberandrew

seriesThe first in a special series on plastic.

It’s a plastic world and it’s here to stay – the plastic, that is. It clogs our sewers, it litters our beaches, it kills our turtles, it leaches chemicals into our baby bottles (and we’ve recently learned that it’s not just BPA that causes estrogenic activity). But the people who produce and sell this non-biodegradable omnisubstance of our lives sure don’t want you to stop buying, buying, buying. And they’re spending a lot of money to protect their market interest.

In the coming weeks, I’ll be investigating where plastic hides, the powers that protect it, the environmental consequences of widespread adoption, as well as taking a look at alternatives and ways to reduce the plastic footprint. Click through to the slideshow to start the series.

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This fall I had the chance to sail across The South Atlantic ocean with pro surfer Mary Osborne, studying plastic pollution in the South Atlantic. I enlisted Mary to the cause and she’s picked up the ball and is running with it, serving now as an ambassador for 5 Gyres. I caught up with Mary recently to chat about what she’s up to in her outreach efforts. To raise plastic use awareness, she has worked with Ventura, California photographer, Angela Izzo to produce this series of portraits with Mary clad in waste packaging.

Says Angela of her inspiration for the series: “By using pop culture imagery and media as an inspiration to create ‘Fantasy’ like scenes and sets, the images entice the viewer to look deeper into the photograph. At once, the viewer is confronted with the actual material being made of plastic trash, and Mary’s iconic image works to target a wider audience who may not be aware of this issue. My goal for this project is to raise awareness of the current plastic devastation confronting our oceans and to encourage change through individual action like bringing your own bag to the store, growing your own food and being mindful of our everyday habits. Together we can make this world a better place.”

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Stay tuned for more synthetic sojourning in the days to come.

ColumnIf you can read this sentence without corrective lenses, you are pre-disposed to eco-activism.

Let me make one thing clear: I am not old. Although, to be perfectly honest, I am not exactly young, either. On the continuum of age, I happen to fall at the precise numeric midpoint between Miley Cyrus and Betty White – a piece of pop culture trivia which somehow strikes me as deeply significant. If I had to guess, I would say that I am also somewhere between those two women when it comes to my wardrobe, my taste in music, and my bong habits. But when it comes to recycling, I feel like I belong firmly in the ranks of the elderly.

Recycling, much like computer skills, comes organically to those in their 20s and younger. Being planet-friendly is natural to them, since they have never known a world where newspapers could be carelessly thrown out, along with banana peels and tuna fish cans. For young people, recycling is easy and automatic – it is embedded in their DNA, along with Facebook and an endless fascination with Joseph Gordon-Levitt. But the biggest eco advantage for young people is that they can easily read the teeny tiny numbers inside the teeny tiny triangles on the bottom of plastic recyclable goods. Whereas I – squinting, in full daylight, and holding the item as far away from me as my arms will allow – cannot.

Those numbers tell you what a particular item is made of: a number 1 means the container is polyethylene terephthalate, and a 3 signifies the presence of polyvinyl chloride. Items with a number 1 or 2 are the most likely to be recycled, but for anyone over the age of 40 these numerals – especially when imprinted on clear plastic – are almost impossible to read. My friend, Pat, solves this problem by waiting until her kids come home from school before disposing of anything plastic. My own solution is to be constantly surrounded by a ginormous collection of reading glasses.

I used to think of glasses as fashion accessories –  like an extremely functional pair of earrings. When I was young, and didn’t really need glasses to see, I enjoyed the “smart girl/sexy librarian” vibe I thought they lent me. If I liked a pair of frames, I would buy the glasses and wait for my eyes to deteriorate into them. Then came a near catastrophe, when misreading the directions on a medicine bottle almost caused me to give my daughter an overdose of Robitussin. At that point, glasses were no longer an accessory, but a necessity. Today they have become something of a fetish. I have glasses that I keep upstairs and some that stay downstairs; there is always one pair in my car, one in my office, and another in my purse. This past week alone I discovered forgotten glasses in my junk drawer, the pocket of an old winter coat, and under the dog’s bed. And there is one massively strong pair I keep around just for texting.

But the numbers on the bottom of jars and bottles are so ridiculously small that even plentiful access to reading glasses doesn’t necessarily help.  This strikes me a galling example of ageism. The Boomers invented ecology – we are, after all, the generation that dreamed up Earth Day. We should not be carelessly shoved aside by a youth oriented eco culture.  Recycling information should be printed in a font size that even mature adults are able to see. It’s bad enough that people my age can’t wear skinny jeans or two-piece bathing suits anymore – at least let us recycle our Activia containers.

Editor’s Note: Susan Goldberg is a slightly lapsed treehugger. Although known to overuse paper products, she has the best of intentions – and a really small SUV. Catch her column, The Goldberg Variations, each week here at EcoSalon.

Image: e-magic

ExclusiveThe final chapter in a voyage through the Atlantic gyre.

It’s not what you think, but it is true that I go both ways.

I’ve just finished an epic three-point, five-month voyage that had me sailing from Brazil to South Africa to Namibia to Uruguay. We crossed the Atlantic twice, traveling some 9,000 nautical miles by sea in a rugged sailboat. Along the way, I’ve recorded the adventure – and trials – here at EcoSalon, sending my dispatches to our editor at all hours via satellite. For those of you who are just joining the saga, in addition to journalism, I work with an NGO called The 5 Gyres Institute that hunts the world’s oceans for plastic pollution in areas that no one else studies. We maintain a constant presence at sea, and this expedition completed the first two research transects of The South Atlantic Gyre sampling the ocean surface for plastic every 60 nautical miles.

Here’s what I can tell you right now: There’s a lot of plastic between South America and Africa that no one has ever talked about, and I’ve just spent 63 days at sea staring at it firsthand.

At home in the States, I listen to politicians debate the importance of bag bans in my hometown of Portland. I watch science organizations and universities that study marine plastic pollution fight for supremacy on the issue, along with various NGOs vying to be the dominant voice of the movement. It makes me ill. Out there, in the wide blue frontier, ego is irrelevant. The west coast of the United States, where the vast majority of people who work on this issue reside (and where their research vessels are moored), is roughly 1,400 miles long. But there are millions of miles of beaches in this world with plastic on them and 315 million square kilometers of ocean surface with particles of plastic stratified to the depths. Despite what we hear, it has nothing to do with islands of plastic the size of Texas. It’s a soup, not a tarte.

And it’s crazy, isn’t it? That’s what this job impresses upon me everyday – that we are crazy to be so careless and inconsiderate with a material so resilient and toxic. Yet reflection inspires me, because I’ve also witnessed NGOs, scientists and politicians championing the cause in an ethical, selfless, passionate manner. These people matter, and we owe them our gratitude. They have mine.

All of us, humbly or arrogantly, started using plastic in earnest about 40 years ago. As a global society, we are head-over-heels in love with the stuff. Widespread utilization of plastic started, among several reasons, as a way to help women get out of the kitchen – believe it or not, single-use plastic adoption has roots in feminism – but the result has become a pernicious addiction to a wonder material that no one can figure out how to handle once it’s used. And so, in 40 years, we broke the ocean.

That’s a lot of space to break. In terms of pollution vectors, plastic is just another threat, but it’s a big one and as far as the amount of people working on the issue, it’s the underdog in terms of ocean advocacy.

What is big?

It is difficult to really convey how much space we’re talking about. Until you two-time (yes, I’m a sea slut; I’ve done the North Atlantic, too), crossing an ocean by ship, it’s almost impossible to grasp. Flying over the sea doesn’t exactly do it. You need the unique vantage of being that person on the bow of a ship chasing the horizon endlessly for months on end. You need to leave Africa and notice she’s out of view within six hours – and you won’t see anything but light blue on blue or dark grey on grey for a month. You might spot a couple of albatrosses or storm petrels, perhaps the occasional whale or dolphin. But for the most part, you don’t see anything other than a color pallet study for 30 days. Thirty days is a long time.

With the exception of windless days when we can dive and make repairs or conduct additional research, we’re constantly moving forward doing at least 155 nautical miles a day. 30 days, 24/7 moving, 8-9 miles an hour.  There is nothing to hit, nothing to see, no one to meet, with one exception: every hour, we saw plastic. You can get remote as you want to get, and you’re still going to find plastic.

It is no exaggeration to say that we know more as a species about outer space than we do about our own shared oceans. We know it’s really big, so consider the size in the context of an additional ocean reality we now know: on average, there is a pint glass-full of plastic particles scattered over something the size of a football field with the occasional bucket, toothbrush, water bottle or bleach bottle on the 50 yard line tossed in. Over 315 million square kilometers on this planet, this is an almost incomprehensible amount of pollution.

While the media love to run Texas Sized headlines about the North Pacific Garbage Patch, which confuses the public about the true nature of this problem (and some NGOs too), our team and others working with us everywhere in the world are finding the same plastic everywhere – without exception. Density varies, but frequency does not.

It doesn’t matter who owns the issue. A global problem needs a global solution, and this is absolutely a global problem. We need to go beyond the North Pacific, beyond the USA-centricity, beyond the ego and the get. We must start engaging each other as a species, worldwide, and stop this madness made real by something as absurd to our true needs as mere convenience.

Editor’s Note: This is part 14 in an exclusive series. Voyage with Stiv and catch the latest each week here at EcoSalon during his months-long journey into the heart of the South Atlantic Gyre and beyond.

ExclusiveThe voyage into the heart of the Atlantic gyre continues.

To make landfall in Uruguay, we’re dependent on our engine to propel our vessel through the windless areas of the open sea. But today, as we followed a line of garbage where we pulled out milk crates, buckets, and nondescript plastic garbage, we heard something terrible. The engine seized. Assessing, we determined that the gearbox had broken, rendering the engine useless. To fix this problem we’d need a machine shop, something one doesn’t have 1200 miles from land. The gearbox shaft extends to the propeller. When the propeller doesn’t spin, the boat doesn’t move forward. End of story.

So here I am, spinning slowly between swells on a becalmed sea with sails hanging, adrift in the South Atlantic with new thoughts on the definition of “the middle of nowhere.” Until wind, we wait, we sweat and we swim. The sea is so placid right now, we can watch small fragments of plastic on the surface floating by.

As Skip Dale donned Scuba gear to sort out the propeller shaft below Sea Dragon, I filmed from the water – the interaction between sea life and a fairly substantial ghost net (net bolus, net ball) we had happened upon just before the gearbox broke. Still under power when we discovered it, we had nearly missed it, and would have if it not for Simon’s spear. Yes, our South African artist crewmate, Simon, had brought a handcrafted, hand-fabricated spear on the expedition, the purpose of which had eluded me until now. Seeing it on the dock in Cape Town, I simply thought: hey, he’s an artist; this object is useless at sea, but it’s cool for photos. I could not have been more wrong. As I watched the bolus drift pass, Simon reared up, and like a Zulu warrior took a short running start and launched the spear from the stern. As if he’d done this a million times before, he hooked the net straight away (the design featured a barb so that it sticks whatever it speared), and he pulled it to the boat with a retrieval line, tied a line to it and then let it drift behind us.

A ghost net is a tangled mess of ropes and fishing nets that floats on the surface, kind of like an iceberg. From surface observations it appears small, but underwater it’s a massive ball that extends downward. Rope and fishing tackle are no longer made of natural fibers, having been replaced within the past 30 years by the non-biodegradable counterpart, polypropylene.

As I swam with the bolus, about 50-100 small fish took shelter under it. Three large Dorado orbited the smaller fish under the bolus and at one point I was able to get within a couple feet of them. Beautiful.

What’s bizarre about ghost nets is how many different kinds of ropes and netting materials comprise them. The ropes don’t necessarily come from the same source vessel, harbor, or watershed, but still somehow, in a great cosmic-drift-grind, they find each other out here, in the open ocean. Drifting through time and space, they conspire only to tangle together, tangle marine life, and slowly disintegrate in the sun, sending pollutant infused plastic fragments adrift in the ocean.

Simply touching this net-ball made a cloud of polypropylene dust explode into the water. I watched as the tiny fish just breathed right through it, unaware. As I hovered there, with Sea Dragon’s belly in the azure distance, I began to shudder to think about where I was, what I was doing and what I was seeing.

With a chill, I realized I was the first person on earth to shoot underwater video footage of a naturally occurring net bolus in the middle of the South Atlantic Gyre. It’s not a realization that fuels the ego, but one that stirs the senses as they rub up against the definitions of words like massive, horrific, unseen, random and sublime.

With modern technology, it’s often easy to forget you’re in the middle of the ocean – indeed a blue desert that encompasses 70 percent of the earth’s surface (only five percent of which has been explored). Yet here I was, having no idea that when I woke up this morning what awaited me in 15,000 feet of water.

Here I swam, untethered to anything, alone, observing bits of manufactured goods that once started out as oil in the ground. That oil was extruded from different sources, then refined at different refineries and shipped to different rope factories all over the world, sold, bought, lost only to one day collect here and be happened upon, quite by accident by our crew. And at this strange moment, in this nondescript patch of pure blue, I observe this entanglement as a sinister, toxic shelter for sea life drifting in a cerulean nether land. It’s like, as one crewmate said of our samples, finding a Twinkie in outer space.

Unfortunately, what we’ve confirmed now, in two separate expeditions, is that the Twinkies are everywhere.

Editor’s Note: This is part 13 in a special series. Voyage with Stiv and catch the exclusive each week here at EcoSalon during his months-long journey into the heart of the South Atlantic Gyre and beyond.

Images: Stiv Wilson

BPA, or Biphensol A, has become the scourge of environmentalists and health advocates. And rightly so – the chemical has been used for over forty years and is found in nearly everything made of plastic. From bottles, to children’s toys, to the lining of tin cans and even the coating of sales receipts, this chemical was long considered safe by the FDA. Then studies started showing up proving the government wrong.

Just how does BPA harm you? As Time reported, “the chemical has been linked to neurological disorders, hormonal disruptions, cancer and genital abnormalities in newborn boys.” Now studies have turned their attention to its influence on fertility, as lab animals showed side effects such as infertility.

Ah, yes, fertility. It seems like you can’t open a web browser these days without someone wringing their hands over the state of women’s reproductive abilities. (We’ve previously discussed fertility drugs and misconceptions about this topic.) Do we really need another discussion over the state of women’s reproductive skills? Won’t someone think of the (unborn) children?

Based on the recent news out of medicine covering the dangerous effect of BPA on fertility – yes, we do. As Time reports, extensive studies were conducted in 2007 and 2008 at the University of San Francisco to see if BPA had an impact on fertility and IVF by studying women who were undergoing the procedure. It turns out, it does. Scientists think that BPA damages the quality of eggs in women. They found that higher blood levels of BPA, they found, were linked to a “50% reduction in normal fertilization of eggs after they were retrieved for IVF.”

Further, BPA may damage sperm. Via The Daily Green, Kaiser Permanente recently published a report that BPA can reduce sperm count and mobility in men. BPA mimics estrogen in the body which would account for its negative influence on sperm. Experts conclude that more studies will be necessary to look at this connection. But in the light of this evidence, one wonders why Congress recently refused to ban BPA from baby products.

The good news? While regulations seem to rise and fall regarding the permanent disuse of this chemical, people are starting to listen to its dangers. Even the government has released a warning on how to reduce you and your children’s exposure to the chemical.

And until BPA is banned permanently, there are some easy ways to avoid BPA. Lose the plastic bottles and containers in your home. And if you must go plastic, avoid plastics with recycling codes 3 and 7. They are more likely to contain BPA. Also, lose any plastic containers that are scratched. This is an easier route for the BPA to leech into your system.

Image: stevendepolo

The rains coming in mean bad news. In Gugulethu, the shanties here are on dirt and when the water comes, this equals mud. But even though the rain has poured during what is typically the dry season, people are out and about preparing for the Christmas tradition. Here, there are no gifts. No decorations. No blinking lights or packed car parks. The “better off” people of this area are buying live chickens and preparing Christmas meals. What characterizes the holiday is open doors and closed doors. A closed door means you have nothing to offer in the way of food to passersby. An open door means anyone can come in for a snack. Children roam the dirt and mud corridors, going from door to door, stuffing their faces with good eats. When they get full, they put food in their bags and carry on. It’s like a like a savory U.S. Halloween with no ghosts.

This was how Laura, our guide described Christmas tradition. But as we drove with her, the meta-stories turned more personal. Though she’s what anyone would call a survivor – educated, powerful and kind – she’s had a tough year. Many in her family have died from all sorts of ailments and she’s been looking after a ten-year-old girl with HIV whose parents passed away earlier in the year. The child doesn’t know she has HIV and her parents made Laura promise she would not tell her. The girl takes anti-retro viral drugs but is told that the drugs are for asthma. What concerns Laura is that the girl is looking to start drinking and when drinking happens with women, it means sex. Yes, we’re talking about a ten-year-old girl. Many are mothers by 13 and 14, and eager boys will use inebriation to initiate sex with their young counterparts. Laura is concerned about the HIV and doesn’t know what to do. She’s concerned about the girl drinking and having sex too, but much is out of her power. Drugs and alcohol are big problems in the slums.

The men are the ones who typically drink. They brew a crude beer there and spend the days drinking it. With so much unemployment, there is little else to do. Meth is an issue and so is something new: Smoking anti retro viral drugs. The HIV medication is so plentiful and cheap here that apparently one can smoke it and get a crack-like high. The come down, I’m told, is extremely painful and thus the drugs used this way are highly, highly addictive. But again, Laura invites to look at the good things we see – the children laughing, the young girl playing a game called Puca which involved drawing a circle and placing stones inside it. The goal is to throw one stone in the air and remove one from the circle before the stone is then caught with the same hand. Once all stones are out of the circle, they replaced in the same but opposite fashion. If successful without dropping the thrown stone, the player wins. Imagination holds children’s minds here – there are almost no books (the pages of books are often used as toilet paper), and definitely no soccer fields. The family dwellings are squatted illegally, but no one kicks anyone out. There is nowhere for them to go. Power is supplied but there is no plumbing. Several families share what amounts to a stone outhouse with a bucket. Once a week, if they are lucky, a service comes round and empties the bucket. With the sun beating during our visit, the evidence of too many people sharing the same bathroom lingers thick in the air.

On the outskirts of Gugulethu, just before a Muslim camp, we come across a circumcision shanty situated between the freeway and the off ramp. When boys are 18 they are sent here to be circumcised without anesthesia as part of a ritual into manhood. The shanty amounts to what look like several igloo shapes, only made of old tarps and plastic bags. They are hot and dirty and unsanitary. Laura explains that many boys get infections from the procedure.

But there are no hospitals. Well, there are, kind of, but ordinary people can’t walk into them and be treated. One hospital serves two million on the outskirts of Cape Town and I’m told that people fear it as it is a place where you go to die. There has been some aid from Doctors Without Borders, but two million people is a lot. Much of the resources that would go to help people here are cutoff by corruption in government. Corruption happens at a very low level and as soon as someone gains a bit of power, he looks to siphon money from aid. There are crackdowns occasionally, but officials are rarely, if ever, prosecuted.

As Laura drives us back into the colored and white part of Cape Town, we see the hustle and bustle of holiday shopping by those who can afford to do it. We’re getting dropped off at The Two Oceans Aquarium and I’m talking about the work on pollution that 5 Gyres does; we have a display we have at the aquarium. Laura mentions that she’s never been to an aquarium. When she says this, I can’t believe it. She’s educated, she’s a home owner, she makes a living. But the stigma things such as aquariums being for people other than her is pervasive. I tell Laura to park the car and come in with me. She’s like a child in a candy store looking at the sharks. She’s amazed. She’s heard about these creatures but has never seen them. We are together and still worlds apart.

Merry Christmas Laura. You’re an inspiration to the world you serve. And beyond.

Editor’s Note: This is part 9 in a special series. Voyage with Stiv and catch the exclusive each week here at EcoSalon during his months-long journey into the heart of the South Atlantic Gyre and beyond.

Images: Stiv Wilson