How a highland ​community ​won the ​battle for ​a Scottish seabed
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A storyteller gestures beside a colourful patchwork quilt while an audience listens at a festival
01/10/2026

How a highland ​community ​won the ​battle for ​a Scottish seabed

 
Karen McVeigh Karen McVeigh
 

Achiltibuie, in the north-west Highlands of Scotland, is a once-seen, never-forgotten kind of place. A string of hamlets and tiny townships overlooking the Summer Isles, amid dramatic mountains, it lies within the Assynt-Coigach national scenic area, the Scottish equivalent of an area of outstanding natural beauty.

But arguably its rarest, most precious and most vulnerable habitat is hidden under the water: an ancient coral-like seaweed known as maerl that forms coral-like purple-pink carpets on the sea floor. The habitats, which act as nurseries for scallops and fish, are threatened by scallop dredging, a fishing practice that drags heavy nets across the seabed.

When the maerl beds were discovered in 2014, members of the 250-strong community, alongside divers, conservationists and local fishers, fought to protect the threatened habitats before they were destroyed for ever.

I’ll explain how – and what happened next – after this week’s most important reads.

 

Essential reads

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‘I just saw this furry brown bottom disappear!’ In search of Samba – the fearless fugitive capybara ‘I just saw this furry brown bottom disappear!’ In search of Samba – the fearless fugitive capybara
 

In focus

Sara Nason, BHA-co-ordinator, (in pink with bobble hat) chats to guests at the Maerl-Herring festival
camera Sara Nason, in the bobble hat, chats to guests at the Maerl and Herring festival. Photograph: Samuel James-Griffiths/The Guardian

When I visited Achiltibuie last weekend, the community was celebrating the successes of their hard-won fight in a weekend-long Maerl and Herring festival.

They told me they have already witnessed a dramatic revival of marine life in the 10 years since their successful campaign to have dredging banned by law in a 600 sq km (150,000 acre) zone now designated a marine protected area (MPA). The seabed has been transformed, allowing scallop populations to recover.

The local rowing club says it has spotted more whales, dolphins and porpoises in the waters around the Summer Isles than before. (Scientists believe the whales are attracted by herring, once plentiful but overfished, after a large herring spawning ground was recently discovered nearby.) Gone, too, are the bitter territorial battles between the industrial dredge fishing boats and the smaller, more sustainable boats.

Sara Nason, a documentary maker, journalist and key player in the community’s fight to protect the maerl beds, told me how the protection of an area conservationist have dubbed “Scotland’s great barrier reef” began. Nason, who moved to Achiltibuie in the early 2000s, had been chatting to a local fisher around 2011, overlooking the water as a scallop dredger went by. The fisher was talking about his “hatred” of dredgers, Nason recalls, due to the damage their heavy nets cause to marine life.

Nason researched the problem and what she discovered shocked her: the slow-growing maerl beds, which provide nurseries to locally important scallops, crabs and fish, were already in poor condition. They had little chance of survival if industrial scallop dredgers were to be allowed to continue ploughing up and down the coast. Most fishers from the village and nearby Ullapool have small “creel” boats of below 150 gross tonnes, used to lay creels or pots on the seabed to collect prawns and lobsters. There are also divers, who hand pick scallops from the bottom. Both are low-impact, more sustainable methods of fishing than dredgers and trawlers.

Nason vowed to work with others in the community, including crucially, the Scottish Creel Fishermen’s Federation, representing creelers and scallop divers, to film the damage – and gain support for the dredge ban. This was long before Ocean, David Attenborough’s documentary, showed footage of scallop dredgers bulldozing the seabed, causing damage that could be seen from space and sparking outrage.

Voluntary “no-go” zones for scallop dredgers had been set up along parts of the coast by the Scottish authorities, where the industrial boats were not supposed to enter. But Nason told me this was “impossible to police” and scallop dredgers were often seen in the bay, ignoring the voluntary ban.

Herring eggs on maerl. The rare seaweed site is 9,000 years old.
camera Herring eggs on maerl. The rare seaweed site is 9,000 years old. Photograph: Chris Rickard/BHA

Sea Change Wester Ross was born, a campaign group made up of “coastal watchdogs”, divers and film-makers. Together, the group, which grew into Blue Hope Alliance (BHA), compiled a dossier of the devastation scallop dredgers were doing to fishing grounds and seabeds in Wester Ross. Their work paid off. In 2016, despite fierce opposition by the industry, the scallop dredgers were banned by law in the Wester Ross MPA, now the biggest protected area for maerl in the world.

Jason Hall-Spencer, a professor of marine biology at Cyprus University of Technology, who authored a report for BHA on 10 years of citizen-science surveys, said it shows the dredge ban has done its job. Hall-Spencer presented his findings to the community at its Maerl and Herring festival last weekend, and told me there that: “If scallop dredgers had spent the last 10 years going up and down here, the habitat would be obliterated … The seabed is now incredibly rich.”

The report, sadly, also shows damage to maerl in certain areas, from illegal dredgers and from invasive algae, which scientists believe could be caused by nutrients from salmon farms. The battle continues across Scotland: the government, criticised in June by an independent watchdog for not fulfilling its legal duty to restore and protect the seabed, has launched a public consultation on improving protections for marine habitats and species inside and outside the MPA network.

For now, the Achiltibuie community is celebrating what Nason describes as a “big, big win”, saying: “What we’ve achieved is huge. The maerl beds here are beyond priceless.”

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Composted reads

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The bad news

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The most important number of the climate crisis:
425.9
Atmospheric CO2 in parts per million, 28 September 2026
Source: NOAA
 

The change I made – Committing to composting

A small compost bin full of fruit peelings and cofee grounds.
camera Every little helps … composting. Photograph: Jessica Hromas/The Guardian

This week’s simple but effective tip from reader Sue Airey is a reminder that even the smallest change can make a difference.

“I live in a small house and just have a front patio with pot plants. Even so, I had quite a lot of garden and kitchen waste, in addition to brown paper and cardboard,” Sue explains, “so I bought myself a portable composter and use it for fruit and vegetable waste, teabags and eggshells. I take great delight in putting the goodies in the compost bin.”

“It’s a small contribution to saving the planet, but hopefully will create delicious (from my plants’ point of view) compost to add to their soil.”

Let us know the positive change you’ve made in your life by replying to this newsletter, or emailing us on downtoearth@theguardian.com

 

Creature feature – Smalltooth sawfish

This image provided by NOAA shows a smalltooth sawfish under water
camera