1
Hello.
Now throughout the years,
I've done so many
different kinds of work,
but never this kind.
A narrator
of a documentary film.
So why now?
Why this film?
Well, because it is
an important film
with an important message
created by a man that
I've admired for years...
Jean-Michel Cousteau.
Now, when I first saw
the footage,
I have to admit,
I was blown away.
So I knew I wanted
to be involved in some way.
And that's precisely
Jean-Michel's aim,
to get people involved.
Jean-Michel reminds us
that we all need to contribute
to the change that must come,
that the decisions
our leaders make
and the choices
we individuals make
will determine the future
of the ocean
and our own survival
on planet Earth.
As governor and now
as a private citizen,
I, too, have been
fighting for change
and for a clean environment
and to make people aware
of this very important issue.
So, I am pleased
to lend my voice
to this unique
film experience.
Jean-Michel has created
a declaration of love
to the living beauty
of the ocean.
Because like his father
Jacques Cousteau,
Jean-Michel believes that
you only protect what you love,
and he's absolutely
correct in that.
So let's get started
and fall in love
with the "Wonders of the Sea."
Hmm?
He was Cousteau.
Jacques Cousteau.
A pioneer of the ocean.
Back in the 1940s,
when diving gear was clunky
and confining,
Cousteau co-invented
the aqualung,
allowing divers
to dive longer,
deeper,
and more freely...
free to discover
and document.
He also made great strides
in the art
of underwater filming.
Together, these innovations
meant that Cousteau's team
could go where no one
had gone before,
capture images
previously unseen,
and share them with millions
around the world.
We are all in debt to the pioneer work
of Jacques Cousteau,
and in a sense, modern divers
are all his children.
But I was his first.
I am Jean-Michel Cousteau.
I was only seven,
skinny, like my dad,
when my mother Simone
slid fins on my feet
and my father strapped
a scuba tank on my back
and pushed me overboard.
And my life changed forever.
From there on,
I, too, was a diver.
I, too, was a Cousteau.
And my children,
Cline and Fabien,
without a doubt,
they, too, are Cousteaus,
working to raise awareness
to affect opinion
through their own expeditions
and their own films.
But this time, it was important
for me to invite them along,
to combine forces,
you might say.
It's actually been years
since we did a project
like this together.
It's big and ambitious
and important.
Who could say no?
Ahead, a voyage
of over 8,000 miles
to explore some major
ocean habitats.
And we start here in Fiji.
I think we're gonna have
an opportunity to show...
Marine biologist
Holly Lohuis
and cinematographer
Gavin McKinney
round out the team
and are practically family
as well.
Jean-Michel is really excited
about the new technology.
That's a big part of his motivation
this time around.
The aim is to capture
not only large sea life,
but also the smallest creatures
and tiniest movements
and behaviors that even divers
have never experienced.
Here,
and all around the tropics,
is the pulsating heart
of the ocean...
the coral reef.
If we compare the endless
waters of an ocean
to the endless sands
of a desert,
then the coral reef
is its oasis.
When the reef is healthy
and thriving,
it is a haven full of life.
But what are coral reefs?
They look like stone,
but they are alive.
They look like plants,
but in fact,
they are all animals.
Tiny sea creatures
called coral polyps
huddle together in colonies
and form a common
limestone skeleton
for protection.
Skeletons build
on skeletons,
and over centuries, grow into
great rocky structures.
We know of about 800
different species of coral,
and different they are.
Some build rigid limestone
castles around themselves,
and some are soft
and sway gently
like grass in a breeze.
And yet others,
like these sea fans,
remind us of the leaves
of some exotic vegetation,
or this curled up
basket star.
But they're all animals.
They are, in fact,
gentle predators
that move and hunt
in their own subtle way,
not only to survive,
but to secure the survival
of the ocean.
The variety of form and color
of the corals is stunning.
Their motion may seem
like the passive swaying
of straw in the breeze,
but what you see
is in fact
the deliberate reaching,
grabbing, and devouring
of a hungry hunter.
We are so easily impressed
by the larger species,
the darling dolphins,
the scary sharks,
the whales and walruses.
But this time, I also want
to capture the tiny wonders,
not only for their beauty,
but for their significance.
Meet the Christmas tree worm.
They are tiny and timid
and flamboyant.
The Christmas tree worm,
like so many other
sea creatures,
have a name inspired by
their particular appearance.
But the Christmas tree worm
is more worm than tree.
For its meals,
in unfurls its feathery plumes
and filters plankton
from the passing current.
Plankton means
"wanderer" of "drifter."
They're small,
often microscopic organisms.
But for many of the
stationary reef dwellers,
like the coral clam
or these feather duster worms,
food that delivers itself
is a necessity.
It's so large,
it may be hard to spot
in its surroundings here
on the sea floor.
Right before me
is a giant clam.
The clams we eat for dinner
may each weigh
one or two ounces.
But a giant clam
can weigh over 500 pounds
and live for a century.
It's impressive
that an organism
that can't hunt or gather
and that can't
move around at all
manages to attain
such proportions.
Two items are on the menu,
the plankton it filters
from the currents
and the food produced
by algae that lives
within its fleshy interior.
Although it's both
male and female,
it can't inseminate itself.
The giant clam discharges
both sperm and eggs
into the ocean currents
and never meets its mate.
Survival at its most
fundamental level
is dependent on two factors,
eating and not being eaten.
Nature has provided
its creatures
with survival strategies
of endless variety
and creativity,
often involving
unlikely alliances.
A sea anemone looks harmless,
even inviting,
as it sits there on that reef.
But when small creatures
venture too close,
they're quickly disabled
by stinging tentacles
and then captured
and consumed.
With the exception
of this fish, the clown fish.
Clown fish wear mucus coating
that makes them immune
to the venom.
In exchange for a safe haven,
the clown fish guards
the anemone
and chases away fish that may
try to eat its tentacles.
It's one of many mutual
defense alliances
we will find on the reefs.
A similar symbiosis occurs
between another
anemone species
and the colorful crustacean
of the Atlantic
known as Peterson's shrimp.
This cleaner shrimp
is not inherently immune
to the anemone's poison,
but rather works up
a tolerance
by rubbing itself
against the tentacles
for increasing amounts
of time.
This cleaner shrimp sways
on the deadly tentacles
as if to taunt
anyone passing by
by saying,
"My domain, your doom."
As a child, I dreamt
of building fantastic underwater cities,
and even studied architecture
to realize that dream.
But what can compete
with the beauty of the reefs?
Of nature's masterful design
of even
the smallest details?
Behold the humble flatworm.
They are the small,
multicolored magic carpets
of the reef...
and their equally colorful
reef companions,
the nudibranchs.
Nudibranch means
"naked gill,"
which is the plume
that we see on their backs.
There are over 2,000 species
of nudibranchs,
none of which are
particularly speedy.
Nudibranchs lay eggs
in a variety
of fascinating shapes.
The white spiral
is an egg case
which is attached
to the rock.
The egg case provides
nutrition and protection.
We gather here
to examine another
of the reef's
curious inhabitants,
the banded coral shrimp.
They dine on scraps
that no one else wants,
plus the parasites, fungi,
and damaged tissue
they pluck off the fish
that come to them for grooming.
The survival strategy
of the banded coral shrimp,
like all cleaner shrimp,
is to make themselves
indispensable
by providing
a unique service
they advertise with
their super-sized antennae.
When they find
a suitable spot,
they settle there
for up to a year.
And when they find
a suitable partner,
the two remain together
for the rest of their lives.
The health of the coral
reef is dependent
on a delicate ecological
balancing act.
Altering one parameter can have
unforeseen consequences.
Take, for example,
the crown-of-thorns starfish.
With up to 21 thorny arms
and a venomous spine,
it creeps along,
molding itself perfectly
to the reef's contour.
The crown-of-thorns starfish
then proceeds to suck out
the living flesh
of the coral polyps,
leaving behind a white scar
and a wounded reef.
Normally, these starfish
pose no danger.
But recently, their population
has grown alarmingly,
threatening the health
of many reefs.
One reason for this
is the disappearance of animals
that normally feed on them.
So where are these predators?
Maybe on your bookshelf.
The beautiful
Triton's trumpet,
a popular boardwalk souvenir,
is one of the few
reef dwellers
that feeds on
crown-of-thorns starfish.
But as long as it is
collecting dust for you,
it's not contributing to
nature's delicate balancing act.
We await a new arrival.
He's a marine ecologist,
a colleague of mine
from countless expeditions
through the years,
and above all a good friend...
Dr. Richard Murphy.
He joins us here in Fiji
to prepare us for a night dive
and a confrontation
at the bottom...
the bottom of the food chain.
First time Jean-Michel and I
did that was...
Well, at the very bottom
are the phytoplankton,
tiny and humble.
And yet,
in terms of biological
and environmental significance,
they are giants.
There are thousands of
varieties of phytoplankton,
which nearly all marine life
is dependent upon,
But so are we.
Globally,
phytoplankton produce
more than twice
as much oxygen
and devour twice as much CO2
as the Amazon rainforest.
In all, over half
the planet's oxygen
comes from these
tiny organisms.
That means that every other
breath of air you take
is a gift from the ocean.
The next step up
in the food chain
is zooplankton,
bizarre
and mysterious creatures
that we hope
to encounter tonight.
Night dives are very special.
It's not exactly fear,
but there's an extra
attentiveness,
an extra thrill.
The ocean floor
is 6,000 feet below us.
So on this moonless night,
there is absolute darkness
in every direction.
You only see
what you point your light at.
You can sink deeper
than intended without noticing,
and an attack would come
with no warning.
Why would we do this?
To witness, of course,
something like this.
It is the largest migration
of any animal group on Earth,
and it happens
each and every night.
The zooplankton float up
from the very depths of the ocean,
submit themselves
to the will of the currents
and the appetites
of the sea creatures
above them
on the food chain.
Like the phytoplankton
they feed on,
many zooplankton species
are microscopic.
Others aren't,
like these comb jellies,
whose hair-like cilia
refract our dive lights.
In fact, they are probably
the most delicate animals
in the world.
Sparkling constellations.
Nebulae.
Sputnik.
I wonder,
is this the final frontier?
More humans have walked
on the moon
than the bottom
of the deep sea.
We know more
about the surface of Mars
than the submerged surface
of our own planet.
And life-forms?
Millions of species
waiting to be discovered
from the depths
of this inner space.
In this state,
it's easy
to lose track of time.
The zooplankton
is not only mesmerizing,
but challenging to film
as well.
So we spent more time
down there
than was anticipated,
which meant that we needed
an even longer safety stop
on the way up.
A safety stop is
a planned pause during an ascent
to avoid decompression sickness
or death.
And luckily,
there was a lot to see
at 50 feet while we waited.
Remoras are classic
freeloaders.
With a front dorsal fin
that acts like a suction cup,
remoras can attach themselves
to larger marine animals
for a free ride, free lunch,
and the security
a big host can provide.
The turtle seems displeased,
but he might just be
a squeamish patient
as the remora removes
a parasite
or dead tissue from his eye.
Treatment for one
and a treat for the other.
Even during the turtle's dance
of courtship and seduction,
the remoras hang on.
In daylight,
there's almost
too many impressions.
In darkness,
you can focus.
Colors are richer
and the familiar looks new.
Here, nestled in the branches
of soft coral,
we find a true creature
of the night
that can be found
here in Fiji,
the Atlantic,
and many other waters...
the basket star.
They have no heart,
no blood, and no brain.
But they have a mouth,
and the good sense to fill it
with the passing plankton.
And if they must,
the basket star
uses its many arms
to crawl to a better spot
along the stream of nutrition.
Just nearby,
an enigmatic encounter occurs
between two arrow crabs.
It made us wonder,
is this about love or war?
A duel or a dance?
Showdown or showing off?
Whether it was courtship
or combat,
the outcome seems
to be friendly.
So, how about dinner?
And when the reef is healthy,
there is abundance for all.
We leave the coral reefs
and tropical waters of Fiji.
We cross the equator,
the International Date Line,
and nearly the entire
Pacific Ocean,
towards the cooler waters
off of California,
and the next ocean habitat
my father has chosen
to explore.
And the dolphins escort us,
as they did
the "Calypso" of my youth.
They are like the ocean's
goodwill ambassadors...
playful, friendly,
and with smiles
that seem to say,
"Come with us,
but come in peace."
"Okay, we can watch you
play a bit,
but then we must be
off again.
I have an important date
to keep."
"What kind of date
do you have?"
"Ah, you shall see."
Our next destination will show
just how diverse
the habitats are.
The coral reefs
are colonies of small,
slow-growing sea animals.
The kelp forest is in fact
a fast-growing
underwater forest
of giant sea algae.
Off the coast
of California,
the conditions are just right.
Cold, relatively
shallow waters,
and plenty of nutrients
and sunlight.
The coral reefs
we saw in Fiji
can grow two,
maybe four inches a year.
The kelp that we see here
can grow over 18 inches
in a single day.
The largest can be up
to 175 feet long.
Now that's about the length
of a giant sequoia tree.
Kelp provides food and shelter
to a huge variety of species,
from sea urchins and snails
to seals and sea lions,
and even the occasional
gray whale.
The gas-filled bladders keep
the kelp's leaf-like fronds
afloat near the surface.
Through photosynthesis,
kelp transfers energy
and nutrients to the sea.
A bit farther out to sea
from the kelp forest
of Santa Catalina Island
is the sight of an incredible
squid mating frenzy.
I first witnessed it
with my father
right here over 50 years ago.
It happens only once a year
during winter,
and I feared we were either
too early or too late.
But was incredible luck,
we were right on time
for this reproductive ritual.
These squid live
for less than a year,
so this is their only shot
at procreation.
The mating frenzy
is hugely successful.
The sea floor is carpeted
with millions of egg cases.
Each capsule contains
hundreds of eggs.
Many species, including us,
are dependent
on squid for food.
Fishing practices
are improving in some places,
but the ultimate goal
is sustainable
squid harvesting globally.
The ultimate goal
is sustainability, period.
When I look out
on this vast ocean
and pristine coastline,
it reminds me of other seas,
other shores,
and other times of innocence,
and, quite frankly, ignorance.
When my dad first
pushed me overboard,
we all believed that we could
push anything overboard,
that the oceans were
bottomless receptacles
for whatever waste
we didn't want on land.
But our expeditions uncovered
a completely different truth.
Seas and waterways everywhere
were imperiled.
We have come to realize
that our blue planet
is in fact a rocky sphere
with a thin,
thin surface layer
of saltwater,
and an even more finite
supply of freshwater,
and those precious drops stand
between us and extinction.
We follow the Pacific coastline
down and around
to the fabled Sea of Cortez
in Mexico.
With unrivaled biodiversity,
it was a place
my father once described
as the world's aquarium.
There are 6,000 cataloged
species from the Sea of Cortez,
and possibly thousands more
waiting to be found.
But also here,
appearances deceive.
Industrial fishing
has depleted these waters
of tuna, red snapper,
and shark that were
so plentiful not long ago.
The contrasts are striking.
From our wet, wet world,
we climb out
onto the semi-arid steps
of San Jose Island.
From a dive in the abundant vegetation
of the kelp forest
to a hike through these
somber cactuses,
the presence
or absence of water
determines nearly everything.
These giant cactuses
approach heights of up to 60 feet
and survive in this
unforgiving climate
for as long as 300 years.
So, these cactus
might have been around
when George Washington
was born.
They're greedy and efficient,
grabbing every drop of rain
and storing them
for even drier days.
All life is connected
with water across the planet.
There is only
one water system.
The rains that fall
on the highest mountaintops
carve the landscape of Earth
and make their way back
to the sea.
Suddenly,
it's all smaller and simpler...
a rubber dingy and snorkel gear
and the three of us together.
My thoughts wander to the web
of narrow rivers deep in the Amazon
where I've been on
expeditions lately.
In every way, far from
a Cousteau's open ocean,
my father's, my brother's,
and my own independent projects
are so different,
and yet somehow connected,
maybe a bit like the separate
arms of these inlets,
always coming from
and leading back to the ocean.
Tucked in these marshes
on the southern tip
of San Jose Island
is a hidden world
teeming with life.
Here we find our next habitat,
the mangrove.
Lining the edge of the water
here are mangrove trees.
Now, the mangroves survive
in sea water
because their roots have
evolved to filter out salt.
These roots tangled and exposed
above and below the waterline
offer an intricate,
nutrient rich haven and nursery.
Some creatures will
never leave this habitat,
but for many other species,
life begins here
and continues out on the reef
or open ocean.
These delicate creations
are single-celled organisms
known as
the mermaid's wineglass.
The study of these plants
advanced our
understanding of DNA
nearly a century ago.
Sea cucumbers are
the recyclers of the sea,
combing the seabed
in search of the debris.
Their mouths are surrounded
with tentacles
which probe and gather whatever organic
leftovers they might find.
The sea cucumber can be
as short as a tenth of an inch
or as long as nine feet.
We can watch, but not touch.
Maybe make eye contact
carefully,
because the stone scorpion fish
is one of the most
venomous fish on Earth.
How easy it would be
to step on a scorpion fish,
mistaking it for a bit
of rocky terrain.
It will sting
and discharge its venom
that is potentially fatal.
This is a conch,
a large sea snail
native to the tropical
northwestern Atlantic.
Strong currents
have rolled him over.
This is a hermit crab.
There are over a thousand
varieties worldwide.
What they have in common
is their inability
to build their own shells.
So, they occupy empty ones.
But as they grow,
they must constantly hunt
for larger vacant ones.
The hermit crab
eyes the upended conch.
Only a very few species
of hermit crab
are willing to kill
for a bigger shell.
Could that be what
we're about to witness?
The hermit crab
needs to act fast
if it wants
to change addresses.
The conch needs
to protect itself
by tipping its shelter
back into place.
The crab is making a move.
The turnover is successful.
The conch is safe,
and for the hermit crab,
moving day must wait.
With infinite
variety of form and function,
they are like the pieces
of an intricate puzzle.
When all the species
are present,
the ecosystem is complete.
And when all
the ecosystems are thriving,
then the ocean is complete.
Complete and healthy.
But many pieces of those
puzzles are missing today.
It's true.
Big pieces are missing,
but my belief is that
they are not lost forever.
The ocean is forgiving.
Papa is growing impatient.
He knows it's time to move on.
He keeps saying
he has an important rendezvous.
The sun sets in the west,
and on our Pacific adventure.
We must move onward
and eastward.
I have an important rendezvous.
Like that.
I'm anxious and excited.
It happens only once a year,
so I cannot miss it.
What could it be?
Come on, Fabien.
Next stop, Nassau.
It will be February.
Think big.
You only pretend
not to know, right?
Sure, of course.
Yeah, right.
It does feel like coming home
when we've now reached
our final destination,
the Bahamas.
We've all dived here
on countless occasions.
Gavin is a native
and knows every square inch
of these waters.
It's true.
We spent our days in the water.
The ocean was
my childhood's playground.
And Fabien filmed
his first TV documentaries
on sharks right here.
My brother is
a very skilled diver
and completely fearless,
and he loves sharks.
Yeah, sharks
have fascinated me
since I was a kid.
And ever since I saw "Jaws,"
I wanted to set
the record straight
about this incredible animal.
Well, then please do.
It's true that sharks
occasionally attack humans.
But these are rare exceptions.
Basically,
we are not on their menu.
Fabien,
give us the numbers.
Okay. Shark attacks resulting
in human fatalities... 12.
On average 12 humans
killed by sharks per year.
And shark fatalities?
Through overfishing
and by-catch...
By-catch is the collateral
damage of fishing.
- It's senseless death.
- Right.
And most horrifically,
for use in shark fin soup...
100 million sharks per year.
That number is almost
too big to fathom.
So, think of about
a third of the US population
slaughtered every year.
Yeah, think about that.
There live thousands
of miles of ocean
and millions of years
of evolution
between the plankton
at our journey's start
and these sharks
near our journey's end...
the bottom and top
of the food chain.
Sharks are amongst
the world's most ancient predators.
Through the ages, they've honed
their hunting skills
and overcome every environmental
challenge except one...
industrialized humans.
Another threatened
inhabitant of the reef
and amongst its most important predators,
are groupers.
This one here is a permanent resident
of this sunken ship.
Through their
selection of prey,
top predators like sharks
and groupers play a critical role
in balancing
the complex web of life.
It's not long now,
maybe only a day or two
till my special meeting.
These waters around Nassau
are teeming with reef life,
so there's plenty
to watch while we wait.
We are not alone.
Who's this lurking
on the sandy bottom,
also watching, also waiting?
It's difficult
to view a stingray
swimming over the sea floor
and not think of flight,
of huge wings,
a majestic bird gliding,
cruising in slow motion
over a lush terrain.
I never did build
the submerged structures
I dreamt of as a child.
But I always marveled at how
the ocean colonizes wreckage,
rebuilds,
and renovates with life.
Moray eels may look
like snakes,
but they simply
a very long, thin fish.
They are found
in warm ocean reefs worldwide
with a variety of size,
colors, and patterns.
They can reach a length
of up to 14 feet.
The gaping mouth
is not a threat.
It's just breathing.
This cleaner shrimp
grooms the Moray
in exchange for scraps
it removes.
The eel seems
generally grateful,
like I generally appreciate
my dentist.
Life expectancy on the reef
diminishes dramatically
for creatures that
just hang out in the open,
so finding a suitable shelter
is vital.
And some species,
like this spiny lobster
or the slipper lobster,
need to find a new hiding place
every single day.
Some days, they may compete
for the same nook or cranny.
The spiny lobster
finds a suitable spot first
and backs in.
The slipper lobster stops,
maybe hoping that
the spiny lobster will sublet.
His entrance blocked...
"No vacancy, man."
And the slipper drudges on.
Come, I want to show you
some of the biggest,
scariest, most ruthless
predators in these waters.
- Papa.
- By burrowing into the reef,
these sea monsters
make perfect hiding places.
- Papa, we're grown-ups.
- Oh, just let him.
We're not buying
that silliness.
Beware, my friends,
these terrors of the deep,
gobies and blennies.
Maybe not big and scary,
but big in number,
these tiny creatures
can make up a third
of the population on a reef.
So, they are an important
staple for the larger fish
like cod, haddock,
and flounder.
They usually burrow into rock
or coral themselves
or in pairs,
but sometimes get help
from a willing shrimp.
Speaking of insatiable
terrors of the deep...
Okay, papa, enough.
No, this time it's true.
The lionfish.
Their extravagant beauty
is meant to confuse predators
and prey alike.
The lionfish is an unstoppable hunter
with a big appetite,
consuming up to
40 small fish in an hour.
Inside their fins
are venomous spines
which discourage
would-be predators.
For humans, the poison
can cause convulsions,
heart failure,
and even death.
Lionfish sneak up slowly
and then attack
with lightning speed.
The lionfish is a native
of the Pacific Ocean
and was accidentally released
in the Atlantic.
Because it has no predators
in these waters,
the lionfish population
has exploded here,
seriously reducing the juvenile
reef fish population.
So even small,
unintentional actions
can have great consequences,
disturbing the sensitive
balance of nature.
My all-time favorite animal
always makes me think.
Like us,
they are highly advanced.
But because
our evolutionary paths
diverged 600 million years ago,
we developed in radically
different ways.
In fact, we may never come
closer to alien intelligence
than this... the octopus.
A formidable hunter,
an octopus ambushes its prey
by covering large areas
with its parachute-like body.
Below, tentacles will grab
and a venomous bite
will kill.
They shift colors and patterns
to match their surroundings
with astonishing speed
because their skin can think.
Octopuses recognize faces,
can tell people apart,
and even
in identical dive suits,
they can grow fond
of certain humans
and hold grudges
against others.
And in an environment where
shelter equals survival,
they are the ultimate
contortionists.
It seems that no space
is too tight or uncomfortable.
My father called the octopus
the soft intelligence
of the sea.
I think it's time to explain
about this rendezvous
you've hinted at
for the last
Okay.
The migration of the great
hammerhead shark
is largely a mystery route,
except for this place
and this date.
Every year, they pass
through these waters
for a few days in February.
You see, the hammerhead
population here in the Atlantic
has been cut in half
only since the 1990s.
In Africa and in Asia,
it's even worse.
So, I'm a bit nervous
about these encounters.
When will be
the last time?
We need to feel confident
of her future,
which is
so fundamentally connected
with the well-being
of the ocean,
that this rendezvous
can repeat itself
for years and years to come.
We almost want to hear
her say...
Arnold, please?
Just this once.
Okay.
"I'll be back."
I hope so, my friend.
Yeah.
My father and my grandfather
were not born
environmentalists.
Fabien and I were not born
environmentalists.
But if you spend time
underwater like we have,
you fall in love.
You start to care deeply,
and you feel the need
to protect and defend.
When we fail to do so,
the reality is far scarier
than a school of sharks.
This is a dead reef.
All life is gone.
It is no longer the home
of countless life-forms
as in the reefs
we saw earlier.
According to
the United Nations
about 20% of the world's
coral reefs are now dead.
Many more are damaged
or endangered.
This desolation is
overwhelming.
It should be required viewing
for decision-makers everywhere.
Coral reefs
are not important to save
because they are pretty.
They are important to save
because they are crucial
to the health of our planet.
And we know why
this is happening.
Ocean warming
is one major cause.
Another is
ocean acidification,
which is caused
by greenhouse gases.
All the habitats we visited;
coral reefs,
kelp forests,
sandy bottoms,
mangroves,
where the greatest abundance
of marine diversity thrives,
all have one thing in common...
they are near land.
They are near their most
fortunate beneficiary
and biggest threat... us.
We spill oil.
We dump chemicals,
raw sewage, and plastics,
and unimaginable waste
into her.
Meanwhile,
land and air pollution
are equally damaging
for the oceans
and ultimately, mankind.
This is the ocean we dream of,
and it can be a reality
even where there is
desolation today.
Because life returns
when the conditions are right.
The ocean forgives.
Today, environmental
organizations,
activists, and ordinary citizens
around the globe
are championing an array
of environmental causes,
among them, the establishment
of marine-protected areas.
Marine-protected areas
are like the national parks
of the ocean.
Governments around the world
are beginning to listen
and to act... slowly.
So far, only about 4%
of the oceans
are marine-protected areas,
but it is an important step
in the right direction...
one of many.
Ultimately, this is
about our will to survive
through our ability to adapt.
The ocean survives
without us.
We don't survive
without the ocean.
Or, as my good friend
Sylvia Earle once said,
"No water, no life.
No blue, no green."
You know something?
I couldn't have said it
better myself.
For me, this voyage has been
about connections...
connections between habitats,
between the ends
of the food chain,
the ends of the Earth,
between us and the ocean,
and between generations.
That's why we are all here.
I kind of picked up on that.
I don't believe in dynasties
anymore than my father did.
But we have a family passion
that is hard to escape.
Impossible, I'd say.
Well, your father entrusted you
with a certain legacy.
He did.
And somewhere down the road,
I might do the same.
Take your time, Papa.
Out there are still
so many wonders...
...we may share.
If we stand here
Side by side
We can bring her back
To life
And the heart of the ocean
Beats in me
Let the heart of the ocean
Set you free
It is not too late,
not to late to change
Not too late
to make a change
It is not too late,
not too late to change
Not to late
to make a change
It is not too late,
not too late to change
Not too late
to make a change
It is not too late
If we stand here
Side by side
We can bring her
Back to life
And the heart of the ocean
Beats in me
Let the heart of the ocean
Set you free