A New Era - MOTHER Volume 3

The third issue of the "Mother" magazine. Extra Article with Anderson Rocio. "Power In Us"

VOLUME 3 MOTHER

There will be nothing left but stories

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SONY

CREATING A WORLD FILLED WITH EMOTIONS

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Jane Goodall / Courtesy of Vital Impacts “Fifi and Faustino”

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Jane Goodall / Courtesy of Vital Impacts “Self Portrait”

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Series Directors of Photography on National Geographic’s 2024 series focusing on female leadership in nature, ‘Queens.’ She has also worked on feature fi lms for Disney Nature and BBC Earth as well as landmark bluechip series for, amongst others, Net fl ix, National Geographic and The BBC including Dynasties I and II, Our Planet I and II, The Hunt, Planet Earth II and Life Story, all narrated by the legendary Sir David Attenborough. Growing up in the UK, Ireland, and Iran, Sophie traveled to East Africa in her early twenties where she met eight-time Emmy Winner & Cinematographer Hugo van Lawick. Hugo, renowned for his long-term partnership with National Geographic and Jane Goodall, took Sophie on as a fi lming apprentice in the 1990’s and she spent several years learning the craft of natural history fi lmmaking out on the Serengeti Plains. Sophie carries on Hugo’s legacy today, in addition to fi lming she is actively and passionately involved in mentoring, public speaking & increasing diversity in wildlife fi lmmaking.

SOPHIE DARLINGTON

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FOREWORD

Volumes 1 and 2 of Mother beautifully showcase how a single captivating image can ignite our passion for conservation. Whether it’s Cristina’s majestic orca in full flight or Ami’s heartwarming capture of a Reteti reticulated giraffe calf, the talented contributors to this magazine inspire us to protect our planet. It’s only natural, then, that Volume 3 expands this ethos to embrace not just photographers, but also filmmakers, scientists, and explorers. We each have our own unique way of storytelling, and now more than ever, we should be coming together and embracing diverse mediums. When my eye is to the viewfinder, I don’t just see an image—I feel it. That empathy drives me to action. And that’s the crux of it: If our audience can feel what we felt in that moment, then perhaps we can make a real difference. Cinematography and exploration have the power to unite, inspire, and heal, but only if we level the playing field and amplify diverse voices, particularly those of the communities we visit and portray. Mentorship is key to fostering this inclusive ethos. Over 30 years ago, I was fortunate to be mentored by the visionary filmmaker Hugo van Lawick, who taught me the importance of inclusivity in storytelling. Hugo and his crew mentored without structure; I often learned as much listening over dinner as I did by watching the way they filmed. I try to remember that—mentoring doesn’t have to be structured and is very much a two-way street. You learn as much as you share, if not more. It all starts with a conversation, and when the tide rises, it lifts all the boats. Surely that’s what we want right now? “I was really excited to see that the photo of me looking out at the valley at Gombe with my trusty lightweight telescope was chosen. It was taken in, I think, 1962. That was in the days before digital, so I had to wait a long time before I got the results back from National Geographic . I was pretty proud of myself. I love that picture.” —Jane Goodall The captivating photographs gracing these pages belong not to me, but to the legendary primatologist Jane Goodall. Ami Vitale, known not only for her powerful work as a photographer but also for Vital Impacts, recently collaborated with 90 other voices to celebrate Jane’s 90th birthday. What better platform than this magazine to amplify such extraordinary talent? As an African proverb wisely notes, “When ants unite, they can lift an elephant.” Let’s harness the collective power of our talents, voices, and experiences to lift the weight of environmental and cultural challenges together.

Sophie Darlington

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OFFICIAL TRAILER

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Director of Photography

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CONTENTS

14 22 34

44 52 62

Earthbound Aliens

Dragon Blood

Arctic Refugees

Echoes Beneath the Surface

Whispers of the Cormorant

Alisar – Isle of Skye

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74 82 94

102 112 122

136 144 154

The Silent Ambassador Sisterhood on Wheels

Tails of the Heart

Sacred Serenity

Burning Hope

Luminous

Emperor of Ice

The Snow Monkeys

Contributors

158 160

Power In Us Project Official Music Video

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TEXT BY GOLI MOHAMMADI & MELISSA SCHÄFER

EARTHBOUND

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY KAREN JERZYK AL I ENS

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THE UNIVERSE

KAREN JERZYK

She floated through the ether, a stranger in a strange land. The flicker of dying neon cast lightning storms across her brow. What was it about this place? So familiar yet so foreign. That old song played in the background, the vinyl crackling to the beat. Faded remnants and dire consequences were strewn as far as the eye could see. Her kind were known to be whimsical, sometimes brilliant, but sometimes nonsensical, unaware, without care, floating through the ether, estranged in a spectacular land. the world turns quiet at night . The once-busy streets lie in the shadows, distant music and laughter now only emanating from select doors and windows. The wind glides through the streets, carrying a lost bus ticket and a flock of flyers toward the next corner. The hectic movements, the millions of voices and vehicles, pause. Night is her favorite time to explore the world and the people who thrive in the dark. Time to think and create. With her camera, she captures the true essence of our species, not what we think we are, the true face we all try to hide so well. The essence of humanity. The fleeting moments when the world is whole and connects us all together. Yet we float through our world, everyone shielded in their own suit. We’re surrounded by millions of voices, yet isolated. Our suits give us a sense of exploration, freedom, and creating a new world with new purpose, yet we’ve never been so lonely. We’ve trapped ourselves inside, alone. She steps off the lit streets and moves toward abandoned buildings and neglected alleyways. The windows are shattered, and the crumbling facade represents a forgotten era. The last sounds of the streets behind her fade away. As she ventures deeper into the darkness, she gazes at the sky. The dilapidated roof perfectly frames the stars and galaxies far away. As long as humans have roamed the Earth, the stars have been flirting with them. They wink from unattainable distances and flash galaxies ripe with the distant prospect of life and hospitable climes. Is there anyone out there? And could their planet support our form of life? Nations across the globe task their brightest minds to find out. Humans are inherently explorers, wanting to push the boundaries, discover, and sometimes, colonize. Funding for something as sexy as being the first to find a thing in the sky always seems to be readily available. A handful of years ago, NASA scientists excitedly announced the discovery of a little faraway exoplanet system, named TRAPPIST -1 after the telescope it was first seen through. This system, much like ours, consists of seven planets orbiting around a star. It’s the largest discovered batch of Earth-size, habitable-zone planets around a single star. So much potential. Truly amazing.

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SWEDEN 64°43’01.2”N 20°53’39.4”E

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PLANET EARTH

“While the cities grow bigger, sand transforms into asphalt, oceans, once a symphony of biodiversity, turn into graveyards of plastic, and the air, once keeping us alive, starts to poison us from within.”

Maybe, just maybe, one of the planets might host life. The catch? The system is 40 light- years (235 trillion miles) from Earth. If we could travel at the speed of light, which of course we can’t, it would take us 40 years to get there. Using the Space Shuttle, it would take us roughly 1.5 million years. But those are minor details in this exciting discovery! Regardless, the NASA site tickles our fancy with mock travel posters and playful text proclaiming, “Let our Exoplanet Travel Bureau book your trip to the fourth planet in the TRAPPIST -1 system, featured in our new travel poster.” Then there’s the 360 VR renderings of the surface of our faraway cousin, transporting us to its red-tinted surface and unbelievable night sky. Disclaimer text reads, “You are viewing an artist’s impression of what an exoplanet surface might look like, based on limited data. No actual images of this planet exist.” As generations passed, Mother Earth transformed into an alien world for those who only look up toward the stars and dream of a world that is not theirs. Humans become strangers to their own planet. While the cities grow bigger, sand transforms into asphalt, oceans, once a symphony of biodiversity, turn into graveyards of plastic, and the air, once keeping us alive, starts to poison us from within. We turn from explorers and astronauts into aliens to our own home, creatures that can’t connect with Earth but are looking for another one, a better one. One thing for sure is that humans have been combing the skies for a long time, and we’ve never found anything that compares to the singular gem known as Mother Earth. Imagine if we did. We would celebrate it, study it, cherish it. Now imagine what would happen if the resources and brain power expended toward finding another Earth were instead invested in preserving and protecting this one. After millennia of eyes to the skies, humans have become far-sighted, and the treasures beneath our feet are a blur. We quest to find another Earth while alienating the one that gave birth to us, the one to which we earthlings belong.

She sat between the stones and roof tiles for hours, the light of dawn breaking softly through the remaining pieces of glass. The reflections on the floor shot light into the sky, and for just a moment, she thought maybe somewhere, far out there, someone is watching me and seeing the blink of light. Knowing I am here, where I belong.

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ARCT IC

PHOTOGRAPHY AND TEXT BY SOPHIE LANFEAR REFUGEES

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CHUKOTKA 67°50’22.6”N 175°52’01.5”W

SOPHIE LANFEAR

“This is not a natural gathering. Not one made by choice. It is a new phenomenon brought about by global warming.”

no matter how meticulous our planning , nothing could have prepared us for what we would witness on October 18th, 2017. Indelible memories were etched that can never, and should never, be forgotten. The sight, sound, and smell of nature’s greatest and most tragic spectacle stays with me even to this day. They arrived under the cover of darkness during the long, cold polar night. We could hear them long before it was possible to see them. Their calls got louder and louder, until finally the knocking of their tusks reverberated through the cabin walls. I didn’t sleep a wink that night, partly from fear but mostly from excitement. I had waited years for this moment, and there was no guarantee it would happen in the month we had to film it. Waiting for morning to come so we could see them for the first time was tantalising to say the least! But just knowing they were right beside us was, in a strange way, comforting. We had come to Russia’s high Arctic to film Pacific walruses for a film I was making about the polar regions for Netflix. It was Netflix’s first David Attenborough series and my first film. My journey to Russia really began three years previously when I was researching walrus stories in Silverback’s office in Bristol, UK . I had reached out to an old Russian contact who put me in touch with Anatoly Kochnev, Russia’s most eminent walrus biologist. When I first opened Anatoly’s email, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It contained photographs of a beach with more walrus than I’ve ever seen hauled out along it. I knew straight away this story needed to be featured in my film. It was one thing seeing photographs of the beach so densely packed with walrus, while sitting in an office in Bristol. It was quite another to experience it in person! Safety was a major consideration. Adult walrus can weigh over a ton, and dozens of them were piling up against the cabin walls. These walls were built more than 70 years ago by native hunters on an ancient neolithic site, the relics of which still remain. Thoughts did cross my mind of a walrus crashing its way through the crumbling walls and joining us in our makeshift shelf beds! I’m not sure who would’ve been more shocked—the walrus or the seven cosy cabin inhabitants (eight, if you include the lemming that snuck into our sleeping bags for warmth at night). Thankfully Anatoly and another walrus-savvy scientist, Maxim Kozlov, had the foresight to board up the cabin window as darkness descended. Their effort had seemed relatively pointless at the end of each day—until it wasn’t. Previous experience taught them the hard way. As more and more walrus arrived, the calamity outside escalated. They just kept on coming, clambering on top of one another, finding what space they could. Young calves called out for their mothers, squabbles broke out to defend what little space they had, jostles erupted into heavyweight fights. There was a definite sense of unrest.

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CHUKOTKA 67°50’22.6”N 175°52’01.5”W

“We scrambled as fast as we could to find spare planks, nails, hammers—any- thing we could use to barricade the doorway.”

It wasn’t long before the cabin was surrounded. Periods of vociferous distress subsided into periods of relative tranquility, during which you could hear individual walrus gently snoring. Their heads pressed against the same wall as ours, only the thickness of an old rickety wooden plank separating our two worlds. As I lay awake, I imagined what it must be like for them to haul themselves out onto a crowded beach in total darkness. Were they panicking in case they couldn’t find a place to rest? What physical state were they in? How would a mother ever keep track of her calf among the crowd? Do they take comfort in being packed so tightly together or is it pure necessity? How many were being fatally crushed, too weak to fight back? What do their vocalisations mean? What sort of information is being transferred? While pondering these questions and many more, I heard Anatoly get up and open the door. He was gone a few minutes before returning to wake up Maxim, and the two of them left. Then bang, bang, bang! Bang, bang, bang! We got up to see what was going on. The outer part of the cabin, where all our food and camera equipment was stored, was at risk of being invaded. The walrus had inadvertently pushed over the fuel drum that was blocking the open doorway, and now there was nothing stopping them from clambering inside. We scrambled as fast as we could to find spare planks, nails, hammers—anything we could use to barricade the doorway. While doing so, I caught my first glimpse of a walrus up close, mere centimetres away. Such impressive beasts. With their intimidating size, I was thankful for the cabin walls holding them at bay. We managed to block off the doorway and went back to our sleeping quarters to get what rest we could. The minute the sun graced us with its presence, we were up, buzzing at the thought of being able to finally see the walrus. How many were there? Did they fill the beach? What do they look like up close? When the moment came, it was as formidable as it was shocking. Anatoly opened the door and we were met with a wall of walrus less than half a metre away. He shut it again quickly, so as not to cause any disturbance or alarm. This moment was everything we had been waiting for. We were literally at the epicentre of the largest gathering of walrus on the planet, and they had no idea we were there. It was the most intimate of experiences pressing my face up against the wooden slats with a walrus sleeping on the other side. We had a privileged window into their world, being among them at their most vulnerable of times. It was, without a doubt, the most incredible wildlife experience I’ve ever and probably will ever have. And yet, I’ve never felt so guilty and remorseful. This is not a natural gathering, not one made by choice. It’s a modern phenomenon brought about by global warming. Yes, walrus have historically come ashore to rest as part of their natural migration move- ments, but the frequency and scale with which they do so now is unprecedented.

Squirrel monkey, Costa Rica

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Sulawesi crested macaque, Sulawesi

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CHUKOTKA 67°50’22.6”N 175°52’01.5”W

“It was really important to me that this suffering is not in vain. It is a bitter pill for us to swallow – the consequences of our collective actions, but swallow it we must.”

Anatoly has been studying the historical context of walrus haul-out sites along the Russian coast for 45 years. His research shows that as the summer sea ice retreats farther and farther north each decade, walrus are relying on land haul-out sites more and more. The physical condition of the walrus, especially mothers and calves, is also deteriorating, most likely because of the stress they’re under to find food and then swim for hundreds of kilometres to rest, rather than use the sea ice as their sanctuary. The true scale of what we found ourselves in the middle of could only be realised once we got the drone in the air. We couldn’t believe our eyes. There were walrus as far as the eye could see, spread across every available centimetre of beach for two kilometres. Anatoly’s analysis of the images revealed it was even bigger than previous events he had witnessed. He estimated over 110,000 walrus came ashore that day. To put it in context, that’s approximately three quarters of the world’s population of Pacific walrus in one place. Nothing like this had ever been witnessed before. It was an important moment in time to document. No one had ever filmed this before. I doubt more than a handful of people even knew it was happening. Being able to bring this story to a global audience was a heartening end to my journey. It’s important to me that this suffering is not in vain. The consequences of our collective actions is a bitter pill for us to swallow, but swallow it we must. We need to acknowledge and understand the global impact we’re having and try to do something about it before it’s too late. The Arctic is warming faster than anywhere else on the planet, and these mass gatherings of walrus are now happening almost every year. The lives of walrus, like those of bears and seals, are changing. All are living at the frontier of climate change and all are suffering as a consequence. For now, the Arctic winter returns and the sea ice reforms. Order is restored. Relief is provided for the many creatures that depend on the ice, but for how much longer will their frozen worlds be a part of life on our planet?

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WHISPERS

CORMORANT OF

THE

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PHOTOGRAPHY AND TEXT BY JULIA WIMMERLIN

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GUILIN, CHINA 24°39’20.9”N 110°36’22.1”E

JULIA WIMMERLIN

“Like in any hunting or farming activity where men rely on animals either for their agility, strength, or both, you could see a bond between the fisherman and his birds.”

the first time i heard about cormorant fishing , we were living in Japan in 2010. The idea seemed so unusual and improbable that, as a newbie photographer, I decided to see it with my own eyes. It took me nearly 10 years to execute—in a different country, in a different setting, and with different photographic skills. Cormorant fishing is a traditional fishing technique not only in Japan and China but also in some Mediterranean countries like Greece and Macedonia. In 2019, living in Hong Kong, I took the opportunity to organize a trip to Guilin in the Southern part of China, where cormorant fishing was once a tradition and is now a main tourist attraction. Nowadays, fishing with these birds is nearly impossible for reasons including competition from modern fishing methods, industrial overfishing, freshwater pollution resulting in a drastic decrease of fish, and the absence of skilled cormorant fishermen and trained birds. To witness cormorant fishing, you need to have a personal demonstration with one of the few remaining traditional fishermen, which is what I did. The skills of training the cormorants are passed from generations to generations, but in modern China, nobody uses cormorants anymore, so the skills will be lost with the last remaining fishermen. Most fishermen who still know how to use the birds are in their 80s, and the youngest are in their 60s. With so very few of them remaining and the growing popularity of internal tourism, as well as increasing interest in traditions, these fishermen are becoming local celebrities in China, often appearing on national TV . I learned all of this after I returned from my trip, so at the time, I concentrated on absorbing the magical environment of the karst mountains and the foggy sunrise and shiny sunset on the Li River. We agreed to meet with the fisherman at around 4 a.m. on the shores of the Li River, allowing me to set up my equipment and watch the fisherman prepare. With nearly complete darkness at first, there were only a few boats fishing on the river with torchlights and fisherman arguing in the dark, their voices echoing all around by the mountains. It felt completely surreal. When the fisherman brought the birds, I realized how big these great cormorants were. Like in any hunting or farming activity where men rely on animals either for their agility, strength, or both, you could see a bond between the fisherman and his birds. With an average lifespan of 25 years, it looked like the birds and the fisherman knew each other’s habits very well.

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GUILIN, CHINA 24°39’20.9”N 110°36’22.1”E

“The fading tradition of cormorant fishing serves as a reminder of our responsibility to safeguard the welfare of wildlife, ensuring that our interactions with the natural world are rooted in respect and coexistence rather than exploitation.”

The fisherman was equipped with a fishing net and three cormorants. He explained that nets are good to catch smaller fish closer to the surface while cormorants are used to dive deeper and bring bigger fish. Birds are cast into the water, and as they plunge, they capture fish in their throats. To manage the birds, fishermen secure a slack loop close to the foundation of the bird’s throat. This doesn’t hinder the bird from ingesting small fish but hinders it from swallowing larger fish, which are briefly retained in their gullet. When a cormorant has caught a fish in its throat, the fisherman brings the bird back to the boat by pulling the rope and has it regurgitate the fish. After a successful fishing trip, the cormorants receive their share of caught fish. Having a private demonstration allowed me to capture the action both over and under the water, using underwater housing for my camera. I repeated the experience at sunset the same day in a different part of Li River with another fisherman. I left China with mixed feelings. Observing cormorants across diverse landscapes allowed me to appreciate these magnificent, untamed birds in their natural element. Renowned for their adept fishing skills, these creatures, at certain points in human history, faced the threat of being perceived as rivals to human fishermen, leading to widespread culling. However, a transformative shift occurred when humans recognized the potential for collaboration rather than competition. Historically, the art of training cormorants to work with fishermen not only alleviated the perceived threat but also established these birds as valuable allies. What was once a survival tool for many fishermen evolved into a symbiotic relationship, showcasing the adaptability of both species. This practice not only preserved the lives of the cormorants but also demonstrated the coexistence of wildlife and humans, offering a poignant lesson in sustainable resource utilization. Nevertheless, as we navigate the complexities of the modern world, the tradition of cormorant fishing has undergone changes. While the spectacle remains visually captivating, reminiscent of a circus where trained animals showcase their skills, I find solace in the thought that this age-old craft is gradually fading. The disappearing act of cormorant fishing, soon to be relegated to folklore and visual arts, reflects a collective awareness of ethical considerations and evolving attitudes toward our animal counterparts. As we bid adieu to this practice, we carry forward the lessons learned about the delicate balance between humans and nature. The fading tradition of cormorant fishing serves as a reminder of our responsibility to safeguard the welfare of wildlife, ensuring that our interactions with the natural world are rooted in respect and coexistence rather than exploitation.

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DRAGON

BLOOD

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY KRISTINA MAKEEVA THE MAGIC OF SOCOTRA ISLAND TEXT BY SARAH BENTON

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SOCOTRA, YEMEN 12°27’59.4”N 53°47’40.6”E

trees named dragon blood ooze scarlet - coloured sap . Legless lizards slither like snakes. And sand dunes shapeshift from mountains to plains and back again. On Socotra Island, you can begin to imagine how Alice felt when she fell down the rabbit hole. This remote cluster of rocks is the definition of anomaly. The Socotra Archipelago, of which Socotra Island is the largest, is politically part of the Republic of Yemen, yet geographically African, closer to the Horn of Africa than the Middle East. Unlike other far-flung lost worlds, such as Easter Island, Socotra is not volcanic; it calved off Gondwana between 15 and 20 million years ago. Its isolated location coupled with its unique climate and topography resulted in some fairy-tale-like flora and fauna, much of which is endemic to the islands. “It’s a lost world,” states Kristina Makeeva. “My first time on Socotra Island was mind-blowing.” The Russian-born, London-based photographer helped put Socotra on the international tourist map in 2021 with her dreamy pictures of the island’s most photogenic models: dragon blood trees and bottle trees. “Everyone was amazed by the dragon trees with their blood-coloured sap, the dunes of white sand, and the wonderful blue shade of the Indian Ocean. I liked the bottle trees the most. They are so varied and cute that a garden of them brings up magical images in the imagination.” Kristina describes her artistic style as “magic in the ordinary.” Socotra is definitely magical, though it’s rather less ordinary. A case in point is the dragon blood tree. The extraordinary dracaena cinnabari is native to Socotra, and its presence on the island has been documented throughout history. Over its long residency, it adapted to this harsh, arid environment. Not only can it “drink” rainwater through its leaves and roots, but, using a process called horizontal precipitation capture, it can also draw moisture from fog and clouds, injecting that water into its root system and the surrounding landscape. This benefits the plants growing in its understory, as the soil is replenished with moisture even when rain is nowhere to be seen. This whimsical tree resembles an umbrella with its uniform crown of leaves adorning a rigid network of branches. It provides shade to weary shepherds and animals during the intense heat of a midsummer’s afternoon. Kristina’s favourite, the bottle tree or adenium obesum socotranum, looks as though it’s been turned upside down and dipped in rose petals. Growing up to 4.6 metres tall, its swollen trunk stores water during the monsoon season as insurance against drier times. And its stumpy brunches, more akin to stunted roots, blossom with flamingo pink flowers. Socotra is also home to the only species of Cucurbitaceae—the plant family that calls squash, pumpkin, and courgettes members—to grow in a tree form. Dendrosicyos, commonly called the cucumber tree, is one of Socotra’s tallest trees and, seeing as it predates Socotra’s existence as an island, is a relic of a lineage that once existed on the mainland. “When I used to read fairytales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one.” —Alice in Wonderland KRISTINA MAKEEVA

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY ANNA-CLARA NEUNER TEXT BY MELISSA SCHÄFER

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SOCOTRA, YEMEN 12°27’59.4”N 53°47’40.6”E

“The idea is to show how to find magic in the simplest, most ordinary things: a ray of sunshine, smoke, steam from a cup of tea, a leaf under your feet, and so on. I want to show how beautiful everything you already have is.”

Continuing with the weird and wonderful, Socotra is home to 190 species of butterfly, 600 species of insects, and 22 species of lizards, the majority of which can be found nowhere else on earth. It’s also the holiday home for migratory birds of all shapes, shades, and sizes, including flamingos, egrets, herons, and gulls. But today’s challenges are catching up with the land that time forgot. Non-native grazing animals, notably goats that support the archipelago’s human population of around 50,000, are munching and trampling their way to dominance, destroying young and fragile native residents in the process. “One of the biggest problems on the island is the goats,” explains Kristina. “They eat almost all the young dragon and bottle trees. You rarely see young shoots of these amazing plants.” This challenge, at least, can be tackled locally. Island residents opened a plant nursery to nurture young shoots, protecting them from the hungry mouths of goats and other domesticated animals. Once the trees are strong enough which can take many years due to their exceptionally sluggish growth rate—they are moved into the wild to positively support the island’s ecosystem. But the greater—and altogether more existential—challenge for Socotra is climate change. Despite the ingenious adaptations of the native flora and fauna, rising heat and sea levels are battles Socotra and its plants and animals are not winning. Despite lying at the mercy of strong monsoon winds, Socotra rarely suffered cyclones. But in 2015, two incredibly strong and destructive cyclones battered the archipelago, dumping too much rain for the landscape to cope with and winds so intense they destroyed up to 30% of Socotra’s trees. Is this a sign of things to come? Extreme weather events are linked to warming oceans and climate change. What could this mean for Socotra and its human, animal, and plant life? For now, Socotra continues to provide an otherworldly escape for up to 2,000 tourists a year. Holiday accommodation and facilities are sparse. But that’s part of the appeal. Socotra is a release. It’s a place to change your perspective, slow down, and reconnect with nature. “Nature is a real salvation for me,” says Kristina. “I go to Socotra to rest my eyes and soul.” Kristina has a photo project called Simple Magical Things . “The idea is to show how to find magic in the simplest, most ordinary things: a ray of sunshine, smoke, steam from a cup of tea, a leaf under your feet, and so on. I want to show how beautiful everything you already have is.” On Socotra, those simple, magical things are like something from a fantasy novel, a fairytale from a mirror world, where everything is familiar, yet not quite as it seems. What’s ordinary in Socotra is magical everywhere else.

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PHOTOGRAPHY BY MERCHE LLOBERA TEXT BY MERCHE LLOBERA & MELISSA SCHÄFER

ECHOES BENEATH THE SURFACE

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SEA OF CORTEZ 30°26’13.9”N 113°50’25.8”W

MERCHE LLOBERA

“They navigate through the mobulas with such grace, nearly as if selecting from a buffet before making their move.”

it ’ s 9:30 in the morning . The ship’s radio crackles with unintelligible voices. In the distance, a movement catches my attention. “Orcas!” the captain shouts over the radio. I quickly gear up: mask, fins, camera. Despite the chilly February air this early morning, excitement rushes through me as I sit on the boat’s edge, geared up and ready. The black dorsal fins of the orcas slice through the water, accompanied by dark shadows. “There are over 10 orcas and several groups of mobula rays,” the captain shouts towards me. “They’re going to hunt them. Jump in!” Without hesitation, I dive in, feeling the cold water sweeping through my wetsuit; the cold is just a side thought I don’t care about. My mind races, my eyes even faster, analyzing every detail and everything around me. Where are they? I see a shadow and swim towards it. Adjust the camera, the light, and the exposure, swim faster, and breathe. The mobulas glide gracefully through the ocean. Mobula rays are filter feeders, primarily consuming plankton and small fish. They use specialized structures called gill rakers to filter food particles from the water as they swim with their mouths open. I start taking photos while searching for the orcas in the chaos of movement. The mobulas’ movements are getting intense. I know the orcas must be close, but I can’t see them through the chaos surrounding me. Where are they? I wonder as I swim back and forth. Submerging my head in the water, I hear them perfectly while underwater. I feel as uncoordinated as the mobulas. They communicate and organize themselves. Suddenly, an orca emerges less than a meter away from me. It looks at me, exhales, and dives down. A smile spreads across my face as I greet it with a muffled “Hello” through the snorkel. There’s no chance of accidental collisions, and I’m certainly not on their menu. So I immerse myself in the spectacle with respect, careful not to disturb their natural rhythm. At this point, you might be wondering if I was scared or perhaps even crazy. It’s the first question people ask when they see these photos, often with a mix of fear and fascination. “Were you in the water with them?! Orcas are incredibly dangerous.” I’m not afraid because I trust them. I understand and know that even behind a wall of mobulas, with their echolocation, the orcas are fully aware of my presence. The mobulas pick up speed, their movements becoming increasingly uncontrolled. They hit me at one point, momentarily turning my camera off. I feel the orcas coming closer once more. Suddenly, two of them materialize out of the depths, swiftly targeting and capturing mobulas right before my eyes. Their beauty, intelligence, and unwavering determination fascinate me. The effortless precision with which they hunt leaves me in awe. I watch them, almost not believing what is happening right in front of me. They navigate through the mobulas with such grace, nearly as if selecting from a buffet before making their move. It’s comparable to how effortlessly you might munch on popcorn while watching a good movie at home.

MOTHER VOLUME THREE

SVALBARD 78°19’09.5”N 18°51’35.6”E

MOTHER VOLUME THREE

SEA OF CORTEZ 30°26’13.9”N 113°50’25.8”W

Orcas are the apex predators of the ocean. Neither sharks nor blue whales, three times their size, can challenge or defeat them, leaving the mobulas with no chance or hope of escape. Their hunting techniques vary depending on the pods and the animals they’re hunting. They have different diets all around the world. The orcas in Norway eat mostly herring, the ones in Argentina sea lions, the ones in Antarctica seals. That same morning, I saw two of these orcas, a mother and calf, with a blue shark in the mouth of the mother. Nature, untamed and beautiful. Despite its wildness and brutality, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

“As a tightly knit family, separation is a rare occurrence for us. Our bonds run deep as we diligently care for one another.”

Navigating the beautiful waters around the Baja California peninsula, we pass through the Sea of Cortez and the Pacific Ocean. Today, we arrived near La Ventana, a familiar spot we like to revisit, where large groups of mobula rays and dolphins often gather, both being a delicious part of our diet. I feel like today we’re going to have a good feast. Among us is Níich, named for the distinctive shape of her dorsal fin, resembling a bite. Sometimes human name us to study us better, to separate us, but if they just knew how much we understand. Every pod even has their own dialect. Humans so often believe that they know everything, but they’d be surprised of the beauty that’s still hidden before their eyes. There are so many schools of mobula rays that we separate at times. I approach a group with my sisters. I descend and show my white belly to the mobulas so they get scared and go to the surface, while my sisters go around the other side, surrounding them. With this technique, we can hunt them more easily. My mother taught me that. We’re not born knowing. The matriarch teaches us everything she knows: how to hunt, communicate, and the traditions of our family. She even takes the time to train the youngest members, isolating mobula rays for them to practice hunting. As a tightly knit family, separation is a rare occurrence for us. Our bonds run deep as we diligently care for one another. I watch Níich circling a group of mobulas, hunting as many as she can. Now she does it alone. I can sense something else being behind the mobulas. While I think about which one to eat, Níich approaches to investigate. It’s just a human. They’re clumsy in the water but can be useful in cornering the mobulas. Despite occasional discomfort from human presence, Níich maintains a curiosity toward these beings who often come just to observe. Yet she remembers the mistreatment her species has endured at the hands of some of them. We speak, we play, we love, and we take care of each other. When a baby dies, the mother drags it around for days and even weeks grieving her loss. We belong in the ocean, free, and not in a manmade tank. We love and fear. We feel.

Do you still think we’re so different from you?

MOTHER VOLUME THREE

PHOTOGRAPHY BY JACQUELINE CARINA WERRMANN TEXT BY JACQUELINE CARINA WERRMANN & MELISSA SCHÄFER

AL ISTAIR ISLE OF SKYE

MOTHER VOLUME THREE

OLD MAN OF STORR 57°30’26.8”N 6°11’05.3”W

JACQUELINE CARINA WERRMANN

“If you hike the mountains by yourself, you could find his cottage hidden in the earth.”

he tells stories of the past . He knows about myths the land holds and tales the rivers sing in silence. He spoke of kelpies that roamed the lochs, giants who slept beneath the mountains, and fairies who hid in the folds of the mist. Each tale was a journey through time, a glimpse into the soul of the Highlands. In the middle of the Highlands stood his house. Wildflowers sprouted around his doorstep, and to those who don’t know what to look for, it was almost invisible, covered in moss, an organic part of the landscape. It was as if Mother Earth herself created it and knowingly kept it secret from unwanted eyes. A melody of birds living in the stonewall and tree branches around the house faded away into the air that smelled like firewood. The weather had changed; the sunny day from this morning turned into a war of elements where the wind pushed me downhill and the slippery stones almost made me lose my balance with every step. A creeping wave of fog rolled over the mountains, making me lose my orientation. My heart raced as I stumbled down the path, searching for much-needed shelter. The thought that I must have been out of my mind when I decided to hike the Highlands all by myself flashed like lightning through my brain. Soaked and cold, I came across the house. This place somehow seemed to have a protective shield that the elements couldn’t touch. As I knocked on the wooden door, uncertainty overcame me. Was I not supposed to be here? But I had no choice; I needed to warm my bones and dry my clothes. A feeling deep inside my guts pushed me forward. Before I could change my mind, an old man opened the heavy door. His long, flowing beard, white as snow, and his intricately wrinkled face filled my vision. His weathered hands on the old wooden door seemed able to hold the world. And his moss-green eyes, which had the wisdom of ages, were mesmerizing. His voice was vibrating and deep, yet trustworthy, as he offered me to sit by his fireplace and warm up. My clothes were soaked, and my body was shaking, so the old man offered me a bowl of potato soup and pointed out a cozy, big wing chair. His voice was gracious, capturing my attention in a way I had never experienced before. He sat beside the fire in his wooden chair, crafted from solid oak, its warm, honey-hued grain danceing in the ambient light. Over the fireplace, the light reflected on a metal statue, a unicorn. Before I could grasp a thought or say something, the old man slowly followed my eyes while rocking in his chair. A subtle smile appeared on his face. With a slight nod, he said, “Sometimes, to become conscious of the hidden truths, we must first believe. By unlocking the vision that lies beyond the visible, we find the clarity to truly see.”

MOTHER VOLUME THREE

OLD MAN OF STORR 57°30’26.8”N 6°11’05.3”W

“Their footsteps left imprints on the earth, creating our rivers and valleys. Each mountain peak bears the marks of their hands, growing higher and higher so everyone can see their beauty.”

Alistair, as I came to know him, spoke of kelpies that roamed the lochs, giants who slept beneath the mountains, and fairies who hid in the folds of the mist. Each tale was a journey through time, a glimpse into the soul of the Highlands. The light of the shrinking fire reflected in his eyes and held me captive while I listened to the mysteries he unfolded. I felt the warmth of the soup filling my body. My chest felt lighter as my mind was calm and focused on his voice. It was almost like I was in a trance. My attention was centered on his tales, and I felt sucked into them. “Earth was here before we claimed every stone and tree as our own; long ago, other creatures created this world and shaped the earth beneath us. Today, we call them giants. They didn’t just walk the ancient lands but they created them. Giants emerged from the earth itself and shaped the valleys and mountains. Two lived here, where we sit now. Their footsteps left imprints on the earth, creating our rivers and valleys. Each mountain peak bears the marks of their hands, growing higher and higher so everyone can see their beauty. With their pure imagination, they evoked a mossy tower for the fairies to call home. The surrounding land, with hills covered in grass, covered by wild lines that give Fairy Glen its unique textures. The giants loved the fairies. That’s why they gave rise to beautiful waterfalls running down the mountains of Allt Coir’ a’Mhadaidh. The water was so blue as it cascaded down several levels, pouring into the next waterfall. The flowing stream was guarded by mysterious rowan trees. Glumagan nan Sithichean was their name for it—the Fairy Pools. But in this world, no one lives forever, not even giants. When they felt their time had come to leave this earth and let others continue to shape and form the landscapes, they merged with the elements they had so lovingly shaped in an act of profound sacrifice. Their bodies transformed into the imposing mountain range known today as the Scottish Highlands. Their immortal souls reared up one last time and transformed into wild-romantic stone pillars, protecting the Scottish nature forever. They stand side by side, like dormant watchers, and look into the land they created, now known as The Old Man of Storr.

MOTHER VOLUME THREE

OLD MAN OF STORR 57°30’26.8”N 6°11’05.3”W

“Sometimes, to become conscious of the hidden truths, we must first believe. By unlocking the vision that lies beyond the visible, we find the clarity to truly see.”

The giants’ spirits also became the winds that whispered through the glens and the rivers that rushed down the slopes. With their water, they carry ancient secrets out into the world. Legend has it that, on clear nights, the silhouette of the giants can be seen in the mountains, their profiles etched against the clear, starlit sky. The people of Scotland became blind to the magic surrounding them, but some still see and feel the giants’ presence, reminded that every crag, loch, and hill is a testament to the enduring friendship that shaped the very soul of the Highlands.” I had somehow fallen asleep and dreamed wild dreams of giants, fairies, and the world’s creation. When I woke up with the mist of daylight, I found myself alone in the shack, wondering if this was all a dream. The fireplace was slowly smoking when I got up to hike to the next village. When I stepped into the daylight, I shielded my eyes with my hand. Little by little, the landscape silhouettes came back, and I gasped when I found myself facing a stranger. “You’re not supposed to be here, madam. It is said one should never enter this shack!” he proclaimed. I explained my situation and told him about the old man in the hut, the giants, and the myth of Scotland. The local man looked at me in disbelief when I said the old man’s name was Alistair. “You mean Alistair, who died 60,000 years ago, the myth himself? The one who lives between the worlds? Only a handful of people claimed to have seen him before they disappeared. If you hike the mountains by yourself, you could find his cottage hidden in the earth. But you will never return to our time—at least, I’ve never heard of it.”

MOTHER VOLUME THREE

THE SILENT

MOTHER VOLUME THREE

PHOTOGRAPHY AND TEXT BY GRETCHEN KAY STUART AMBASSADOR

MOTHER VOLUME THREE

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