By: Ariel Smith

It’s an early September morning in Mahone Bay and I’m greeted by Nova Scotia’s quintessential fog as I step onto the dock. It’s my last trip of the season collecting microplastics in the town’s harbour. At this point, the scene is a familiar one. Data collection was a seasonal ritual for more than four years and part of my ongoing effort to understand the hard-to-see plastics floating on the surface of the ocean off the province’s South Shore. Somehow I find the routine of ocean-based sampling both overwhelming and meditative. There’s the stress of efficiency — ensuring I don’t waste the crew’s time — alongside the comfortable predictability of a task I’ve done for many years. So on this foggy morning in 2021, I recite the meditative movements of setting up the boat, reviewing the checklist, and making sure everything is in its place before we launch into the quiet harbour. My favourite sound during these trips is the gentle lap of the ocean as we slowly leave the shore. The boat moves methodically through the anchored sailboats and toward the many islands of Mahone Bay. Picking up speed at the mouth of the bay, I feel the mist against my face, waking me up. Our crew of four is the perfect size for the small no-frills whaler, but it also provides no protection from the elements. We hold on tight as we make our way to the first site near Chester.

It’d be easy to say that as a native British Columbian, my journey to the East Coast was a straight line, that I was always meant to live near the ocean. But in reality, my journey was much more meandering. At a young age I was passionate about the environment, but spent many of my formative years landlocked on a farm outside of Winnipeg, and then in B.C.’s Okanagan interior. After weaving environmental science into my post-graduate studies, I found myself in Lunenburg visiting my sister. This idyllic seaside town nestled against the Atlantic Ocean was where my passion for protecting and understanding our changing oceans came into full view. I spent that first year diving headfirst into plastic pollution research and making many individual changes to eliminate plastic from my daily life. I volunteered at two non-profits, evolving into a full-time position at the Lunenburg-based NGO Coastal Action. This is where my passion turned into tangible research. Alongside my colleagues and mentors, I developed a microplastic project that focused on understanding just how pervasive the microplastic issue was in the waters off my new home. I was well-versed in the macro-level plastic problem, and even the high levels of microplastics in populated cities around the globe, but what was really going on in this quaint, quiet, and aesthetically ‘clean’ community? 

I toss in the low-aquatic debris instrument (or LADI as she’s affectionately dubbed by Memorial University’s Civic Laboratory for Environmental Action Research) at the first site, close to the sailing town of Chester. We start the slow trawl, skimming the ocean’s surface water and collecting debris into a tapered cod-end. As many times as I’ve been at sea, I still get queasy, so in between gathering samples, organizing bottles, and writing notes, I keep my eyes on the horizon. 

It reminds me of when I sailed from Bermuda to Rhode Island on a 60ft wooden schooner and was sea sick for the first two days of the five day trip. During that trip in 2016, I watched the endless sea stretch out before me, no land in sight, and nothing but my thoughts to entertain me during the night shift. When I returned home, the “land-sickness” hit me hard. I jumped out of bed in the middle of the night and stared out the window thinking I was still onboard, searching for the horizon to steady me.

After visiting five sites and trawling dozens of times in and around the islands of Mahone Bay, we head back to shore in the late afternoon. We arrive at the now bustling shoreline. The fog has lifted, families are strolling in the little town, and boats are puttering around the bay to take advantage of the still hot September weather. Soon, the hurricane winds will pick up and the unpredictability of Nova Scotia’s weather will take over. But for now, we savour the sunshine and bask in that mix of accomplishment and exhaustion that you can only get after a day of sampling on the ocean. 

This summer, I’m moving back to the South Shore after seven years of living in the city. Returning to this area reminds me of where my Nova Scotian adventure began, and allows me to slow down and reconnect with that initial passion for the ocean. I’m forever grateful to this ever changing coastline and the people who have instilled in me a deep love for the ocean that will continue forever.