When Norwegian journalists need an expert statement about any species of seabird, they are likely to call Tone Reiertsen. She is a veritable gold mine of information about auks and gulls, yet her academic career started with a very common little garden bird.
Tone Reiertsen. Photo: Ingun Alette Mæhlum
“I studied the pied flycatcher,” she says, “a species you may well have nesting in your bird box at home. I was doing my research in a valley in Balsfjord. That’s where I started, but I was keen to study seabirds, so in 1998 I called NINA [the Norwegian Institute for Nature Research] to ask if they had any seabird research opportunities. ”They didn’t.“ No, we currently have plenty of students doing seabird research,” they said. Reiertsen was fishing for a master’s project on wolverines and reindeer, but a last minute chance meeting with NINA’s scientists just before she was due to meet with the wolverine–reindeer scientists resulted in an offer to study birds instead.
The girl from Myken
Reiertsen hails from Myken, a group of tiny islands off the coast of northern Norway. Her interest in seabirds all comes down to nature and nurture.
“Where did it all begin? I grew up on a small island. Strange as it might sound, there’s a common thread running through my family’s strong connection to seabirds, that inspired me and led me towards a PhD on seabirds. It was by no means given that I should take this path—I’m a first generation academic. But my own family knew so much about seabirds. They watched birds constantly, watched over them too, although I only realised that later.”
Is that related to the idea of seabirds as sentinels?
“Yes. In our field, we refer to seabirds as marine environment indicators. They give clues about what’s happening out at sea. Like where are the fish, and what’s changing? For generations, the fishers in my family were totally dependent on that knowledge. Fisherfolk spotted all nature’s signs and interpreted them. Gulls—much despised here in Tromsø—were a big part of it all. Opinions about gulls might differ on Myken as well, but people respected the lore surrounding them. If the gulls lay few eggs, that meant there was little food for them in the sea, which also forewarned of small catches for the fishery.”
Tone Reiertsen at work high up on a bird cliff at Hornøya. Photo: Norwegian Institute for Nature Research
So you found that lore passed down for generations is still viable. Are oral traditions underrated?
“Well, if you look at science and Norwegian management of the marine environment, the sense is that it’s top-down, slightly arrogant: ‘We’re the experts, we know all there is to know!’ But now that we’re trying to promote local knowledge and traditional lore, I take a hit to the chin for that, too. I think it’s important to acknowledge the existence of many kinds of knowledge, and I have learnt to become more humble and to acknowledge local and traditional knowledge. Maybe this is related to me having feet in both science and local/traditional knowledge. People don’t know why they have to rotate their potato crops. They just know they must do it. There was a time when the consequences of not doing things right were dire: there would be no potatoes on the table. I realised that a lot my knowledge I’ve learnt from books about seabirds. My ancestors had learnt by their close connection to the birds. And sometimes it’s not so different. But one thing we don’t learn from science is to care about the birds. Many traditions include a strong care for nature and birds that leads the way to a more sustainable way of living. Perhaps we all can learn from that,” says Reiertsen.
The challenge of different roles
Recent public discourse in Norway has increasingly focused on loss of pristine natural areas to make way for industry and infrastructure. Reiertsen gets involved both as a scientist and as a private citizen.
“What is the value of land? In practice, the legislation gives developers immense scope for doing as they please. I thought laws were made to protect the natural environment, prevent species extinction, and to conserve local assets. But sometimes my impression is no: they’re written more for people than for nature. Then it’s typically big business that benefits, while community values tend to be disregarded—soft values, like picking cloudberries in the bog or foraging for eggs on the island.”
As a scientist, can you make your voice heard, or are you accused of being an activist?
“Now you’ve put your finger on the tricky part of being a researcher. You’re not supposed to get emotional (like I am now) and you’re expected to present all sides of an issue. We aim to be objective, but it’s very difficult especially if you’re personally invested. On the one hand, there I am, Tone Reiertsen, someone who was raised in and inhabits this reality. On the other hand, I have to be pretty dispassionate and clear in my advice. Which I realise can cut both ways. Because that’s the problem with science; we’re constantly advising the public based on our level of certainty even when there’s some uncertainty about the results. And some people exploit that uncertainty to their advantage, in which case it’s the loudest voice that gets heard. Climatologists hardly dare to speak up anymore. Opinion is so divided they’ll end up in a shouting match!”
Kittiwakes
Your name is probably most closely associated with the kittiwake, an endangered species. A decade ago, townspeople despised that little gull. Now we’re building hotels for them. What happened?
“Well, the debate got so polarised it felt like a lost cause. At first, especially in the media, it was the bird everyone loved to hate. Any scientist who said we had to protect gulls was seen as a half-wit. There was so much invective and hatred. Gulls were seen as pests!
“So we had to start by explaining that there are different species of gulls, and why they come here. The causes are linked to large-scale environmental changes, and several of the species were threatened and needed us to take care of them. We had to get people to understand the different issues, approaches, and solutions. Painstaking reiteration of facts in the media and for the general public. We reached out to the municipal administration and to local communities. Because we soon noticed a gap between urban and rural attitudes. There was much more tolerance of gulls along the coast, whereas in towns, people were saying: ‘It doesn’t belong here, send it back to the coast.’ The problems surrounding urban gulls became incredibly complicated. People along the coast ‘got’ gulls. City dwellers didn’t. I felt that we had to instil coastal understanding of gulls in town residents,” Reiertsen explains.
It helped. Reiertsen and other seabird supporters noticed a gradual shift in attitude.
“Suddenly more concern was being voiced. I overheard things like: ‘Look, that’s a kittiwake; it has black legs. I learnt that from the newspaper.’ There were little changes like that. So you realise that public outreach over time can have impact.”
Hardcore outreach
Reiertsen once made a New Year’s resolution: “This year I’ll do hardcore outreach!” And she followed through, despite her reticent nature and her creeping doubts. Was it worth the trouble?
“We thought maybe we should just give up and concentrate on our research, and let the tide of public opinion ebb and flow. But that was when we noticed the gradual shift in opinion. We were taking calls from all kinds of media, from everyone. I was agreeing to every public speaking engagement I could, and writing debate articles, one thing after another. And then the more public we went, the more inquiries we got, and our campaign really took off. That changed everything: groups in the city began showing concern for the birds. And then the municipal authorities agreed to build kittiwake hotels.”
The debate is less heated now. Complete strangers at the gym who recognise Reiertsen from the telly may commiserate: “Poor little kittiwakes; they’ll die of the bird flu; let them make their noisy ‘kittiwake’ calls, it’s not that bad!”
Recognised from the telly?
In 2016, Tone Reiertsen went from being an anonymous scientist to becoming a familiar face. For five straight weeks, NRK broadcast minute by minute from the bird cliff on remote Hornøya, a wildlife conservation island in the Barents Sea. Reiertsen was one of the researchers selected to appear during prime time to comment on the footage and take questions from viewers.
“It was amazing, but pretty intense. I didn’t have much experience in television outreach. But it was like a bubble out on the island, and I wasn’t thinking much about being aired nationwide. There we were, living with journalists the whole time, and we forgot they were journalists. They became colleagues. It was nice, it was enjoyable, it was creative. We didn’t know what each day would bring, and it was quite a stunt to pull off. Basically, though, I’m a fairly reticent, shy person.”
She had every reason to get over that. Reiertsen knew even back then that the seabirds’ situation was dire. The idea was that if the researchers and broadcasters presented the avian community in an appealing way, the public would care more. And that’s exactly what happened.
Besieged bird cliff
There was a downside, however. The bird cliffs of Hornøya are easily accessible, and wildlife tourism on the island was already well-established by 2016. Still, the local business community wanted more; they jumped at the opportunity to promote Hornøya. “Come see the birds!”
The many tourists disturbed the birds, which were already declining in number. The scientists were very concerned by the increased tourism. Too many people were turning up, and there was no satisfactory system for dealing with the ensuing problems.
“I believe in co-generation of knowledge and free enterprise,” says Reiertsen. “But exploiting a resource to the point of oblivion isn’t in the interest of the tourism industry or anyone else. However, Norwegian regional administration and the local community are worlds apart—both geographically and mentally—so distrust creeps in, often with negative consequences across the board.”
She also points out that Tromsø has set its all-time high for tourism, with 26 direct flights to foreign destinations, and tourists everywhere, not only in the city centre but also in the countryside. Many feel it’s just too much.
“That’s what happened on Hornøya; the community was unprepared. Visitor management was lacking, and we lacked the resources needed to fix it. If we’d had the proper tools, the situation might have been different. As it is, the entire island is at risk of being declared off limits to visitors. The wear and tear is excessive; the impact on the birds is too great. I don’t think the answer is to shut everything down, but rather to promote concern for local sustainability in a different way, through collaboration towards sustainable visitor management.”
Do we need more stewards of natural resources?
“Yes. Think back to when the islands had lighthouse keepers—local people who were always on site, always alert. If anyone came ashore they were told the dos and don’ts. These days, most lighthouses are automated, which means that visitors can do as they please, and sometimes do harm without realising it. Our eagerness to save money by automating has made us poorer. Our connection to nature, the deep knowledge of local inhabitants, including lighthouse keepers, has been disrupted. On top of that, we have all these visitors; they may have the best intentions, but lack insight into how nature works. They use natural areas in a completely different way. They don’t realise that jogging along the shore scares eider chicks out onto the water. And there’s no angry lighthouse keeper to scold people who let their dogs loose.”
The Hornøya legacy
Did you “inherit” the Hornøya watch?
“You can say I took over the watch from the ones before me. Rob Barret from Tromsø University Museum started monitoring the birds on Hornøya in 1979/80. He went there every summer to count and ring birds and measure eggs, returning to Tromsø to analyse his data at the end of the season. That was even before the start of SEAPOP, the Norwegian national seabird monitoring programme, and now Hornøya is a key site within SEAPOP.”
When Reiertsen first went to Hornøya as a scientific assistant in 2005, she had never scaled a bird cliff.
“I was scared of heights, and didn’t really have a clue about what I was doing. At the time, I figured I would never make it doing fieldwork on cliff-nesting birds. But I kept going back, and then in 2009 I was given the opportunity to start my PhD. Once I’d finished, Rob began saying he’d spent so many years at Hornøya that it was getting a bit much. And I was invited to take over his part of the annual seabird monitoring . Some years later the other larger-than-life researcher on the island, Kjell Einar Erikstad, withdrew from fieldwork and I was left in charge. Naturally I was overawed. It’s such an incredible honour. Not to mention that it’s a huge responsibility, one I take very seriously.”
You’ve been going to Hornøya for nearly 20 years. Have attitudes towards scientists changed?
“The world is changing. Both nature and society are undergoing major changes. But my visiting the same place year after year means I’m not just a scientist who comes to do my thing; I’m sort of becoming part of the community. I have to take that on board, too, including the responsibility for passing on local knowledge.”
“I don’t feel any animosity between us and the people in Vardø. But the fact is that we’re outsiders and have to bear that in mind. Historically, Vardø and Finnmark were colonised, and now and again I become aware of those undercurrents. If I’m invited to give talks there, I agree whenever I can. I believe in building alliances between formal, expert knowledge and local knowledge. And one thing we have in common is that we care about the birds—we have a common goal. I also see my role as a scientist being to convey knowledge and in that way support local knowledge and local caretaking. I think this is more important than ever as we experience a crisis in nature—we need to collaborate and build a sustainable, living coast together,” says Tone Reiertsen.
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