How could a Pacific island nation of just 20,000 residents create a conservation model many large countries still strive for?

Palau has married cultural pride with global leadership to create a living legacy of conservation and stewardship. Initiatives, including the Palau Pledge, have redefined what it means to travel responsibly and protect marine life; a journey here is a masterclass in purpose-driven tourism.

The Palau Pledge

The Palau Pledge is the world’s first immigration policy centred on environmental responsibility. It was launched on 7 December 2017 and requires every international visitor to sign a pledge upon arrival, stamped directly into their passport. This mandatory commitment, available in multiple languages, helps preserve Palau’s ecosystems and cultural traditions.

Uniquely, the pledge was co-created with local schoolchildren and is addressed to the children of Palau. It repositions tourism as a shared responsibility, symbolising a collective promise to future generations.

Unsurprisingly, this has had global resonance. The Palau Pledge has generated over 1.7 billion media impressions and is on track to reach more than two million signatures in its first decade since inception. It has inspired initiatives beyond its shores with other countries seeking to balance tourism and sustainability.

Palau’s Conservation Achievements

Shark Sanctuary

In a bold world-first move, Palau declared its entire exclusive economic zone a shark sanctuary in 2009. Over 135 shark and ray species have benefitted, as the sanctuary covers all waters up to 200 nautical miles from the coastline, encompassing hundreds of islands. This response to the global decline in shark populations led to a worldwide movement with 17 other countries following suit.

Palau National Marine Sanctuary

In 2015, Palau built on its conservation leadership by establishing the Palau National Marine Sanctuary, which protects 80% of its national waters. It banned all extractive activities, including fishing and mining, in an area about the size of California. It also made a groundbreaking ban on reef-toxic sunscreens to safeguard its coral ecosystems.

This move has protected over 1,300 fish and 700 coral species and safeguarded critical habitats for manta rays, whales and endangered sea turtles. Palau established locally-managed fisheries in the remaining 20% of the waters to also ensure food security for the nation.

The United Nations has praised Palau’s conservation model as it showcases how big of an impact a small island nation can make to protect global marine life.

Palau Wildlife

Marine Life

Some of the planet’s most diverse and vibrant marine life exists in Palau due to its location in the heart of the Coral Triangle. The country’s pioneering conservation efforts ensure over 130 species of sharks can thrive there, as well as manta rays, which glide through the nutrient-dense waters. Over 700 coral species live in the underwater worlds of coral reefs, and hawksbill and leatherback sea turtles have critical nesting grounds on its shores. One of the most unique species here is the stingless golden jellyfish, which occupies ‘Jellyfish Lake’ in the millions.

Land-Based Life

Palau’s land-based wildlife is just as vibrant as its marine wildlife due to millennia of isolation within rich island habitats. Dugongs are among the most rare and elusive residents; these shy, gentle creatures play a crucial ecological role in maintaining healthy seagrass beds. Palau is one of the few places in Micronesia where they graze.

Avian diversity is also exceptional in Palau. There are over 150 recorded bird species, including at least 13 endemics found nowhere else. Colorful residents bring the forests and wetlands to life, such as the Palau Fruit Dove with its soft green plumage and pinkish crown. The Palau Ground Dove, Palau Scops Owl and the Giant White-eye are further examples of species adapted to the country’s diverse habitats, which range from lush tropical forests to limestone islands.

Pioneering Responsible Tourism

The impact of the Palau Pledge extends beyond how visitors experience this island nation. It has transformed the landscape of responsible tourism and blazed a trail for other countries to follow.

At its core, the requirement for every international visitor to sign the pledge created a powerful ‘green nudge’. They must commit to protecting the environment, making stewardship a collective responsibility. 96% of visitors reported being more mindful of their environmental impact, and 65% actively used the pledge’s principles to educate others during their stay.

The Pledge has also catalysed several innovative policies and regulations, including the world’s first ban on reef-toxic sunscreens. Palau has expanded protected areas and introduced ‘Green Fees’, which channel money into local conservation projects, including marine monitoring, waste management and community-led environmental education. Tourism revenue, therefore, delivers tangible benefits to local people and nature.

“Palau is driving investment in large-scale protection to benefit people and the ocean. It is a beacon to the rest of the world.”
— Fiorenza Micheli, Stanford’s Centre for Ocean Solutions

A Model for the World

If we have learned one thing from Palau, it’s that size is not a barrier to global leadership in conservation. Palau has set a benchmark in environmental stewardship by creating the Palau Pledge and vast marine sanctuaries, alongside its unwavering commitment to fostering responsible tourism.

A visit to this Micronesian nation is an opportunity to become part of its conservation success, not just witness it. You can explore its protected seascapes through guided dives and snorkelling excursions and go birdwatching and hiking through its pristine forests. You can even witness discussions among Palau’s environmental leaders and contribute to citizen science projects and conservation monitoring.

This is a rare opportunity. Palau invites you to stand alongside them in fighting for the future of our oceans.

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Ready to Take the Pledge?

Journeys With Purpose offers private, conservation-focused journeys to Palau, with tailor-made itineraries built around your passions. Get in touch with our expert travel specialists today on +44 20 8044 9538 or at connect@journeyswithpurpose.org to find out more.

 

Seabirds have long been considered indicator species, useful for gauging the health of a marine ecosystem as a whole. They can be observed more easily than fish, whales, and other creatures living under the surface of the ocean. For most of our history, humans had very few ways to make observations beneath the waves. Seabirds, however, have always been visible to us. Though they live and breed above water, they feed almost exclusively on fish. They form an arm of the marine food web that sticks up above the water, where we can see it with the naked eye.

In recent centuries, technological advancements have made it just as easy to take measurements under the water, observing entire marine ecosystems in situ, but so too have they multiplied the number of ways in which we can study seabirds.

The Evolution of Tools and Methods

The 21st century saw a number of advancements that affected the field of seabird biology. There was a boom in the popularity of solar panels, improving remote camera setups. Drones, or remotely piloted aircraft systems (RPAS), were approved for commercial and private use. Machine learning, particularly neural networks, became mainstream tools. And of course, the quality of images taken on digital cameras continues to improve.

All of these tools came together on the project that became my master’s thesis (and that of three other students). Together we studied breeding success at three mixed Double-crested Cormorant and Pelagic Cormorant nesting colonies, but my project focused more particularly on comparing methods of surveying.

Remote Island Realities: Mitlenatch Island

The three colonies sit on a spectrum of remote to urban environments. Mitlenatch Island is a tiny island in the Salish Sea, only about one kilometer long by half a kilometer wide. It sits in the north of the Salish Sea between Vancouver Island and mainland British Columbia, Canada. Both Vancouver Island and the mainland are covered in rainforest, but Mitlenatch Island is in the rain shadow of Vancouver Island, making it a tiny semi-arid blip in the middle of the sea. It is accessible only by small boat and is a provincial park and nature reserve with only a couple public trails. I have been to Mitlenatch Island six times, but many volunteers in its stewardship trust have visited countless times over many decades.

Where they haven’t been, however, is the Double-crested Cormorant nesting colony atop the cliff at the southwest corner of the island. It is far from the public trails, and we needed a permit from BC Parks to access that part of the reserve. One week after moving to British Columbia, I was clambering up those rocks to install a camera to photograph the cormorants for my master’s degree research.

Many seabirds nest on cliffs because they afford protection from predators. But this cliff was accessible to numerous predators: crows, ravens, gulls, and even otters can get close enough to snatch eggs if the parent is away from the nest. And as we found in the photos on the camera that first year, the cormorant parents all left their nests nearly every day for the same reason: bald eagles. A bald eagle pair nests on Mitlenatch Island, less than 200 m away from the cormorant colony. Every time either of them overfly the colony, or any of their young that are still around (juvenile eagles may stay with their parents for a few years while they mature), every last cormorant flushes from the colony.

Years of Discovery and a Breakthrough

In 2021, the first year we set up the camera at the Double-crested Cormorant colony, we observed that not a single chick hatched. We didn’t get any photos of eggs either, but we assumed that some had been laid given the normal courtship and incubation posture we saw the cormorants in. When we returned that fall to collect the camera (not knowing what we would find on it, as it doesn’t transmit the photos), we spotted eggshells a stone’s throw away from the colony. Not somewhere they would have ended up after hatching. We assumed predation of those eggs. Some predation is expected, of course, in any population, but we were astonished to realize not a single egg had survived to hatch.

What happened to them? The camera showed evidence that pressure from the bald eagle family was causing the cormorants to flee from their nests daily, only returning once the threat had passed. It captured numerous photos of an empty colony with eagles seen in the background. In 2023, the camera finally captured proof: a photo of a crow, with an egg in its beak, flying past the camera while all the nests were empty.

Then, in 2024, for the first time since installing the camera, we saw chicks. Something had gone right for the colony this year, but what? The eagles were still around, with their family of four flying around the island. We don’t know what made the difference that year. Our options for observation were limited to our post-mounted camera and the kayak-based surveys done by the stewardship trust. Mitlenatch Island is too remote for frequent visits.

Middle Ground: Gabriola Island

Gabriola Island is much larger at 14 km long by 4 km wide and is less remote—being accessible from the city of Nanaimo by a 25-minute ferry ride. It is also between Vancouver Island and the mainland, but unlike Mitlenatch Island it has permanent human inhabitants, and is bypassed constantly by boat traffic both large and small. The Gabriola Island cormorant colony is on a sheer cliff face facing the city of Nanaimo and a busy shipping channel, but atop the cliff there are only a few quiet dwellings. Here, too, we installed a single static camera to photograph the colony from above. Unlike Mitlenatch Island, however, we had a vantage point 1 km away in Nanaimo from which we could take long-distance photos, too. We took these once or twice per breeding season. The Gabriola Island colony successfully reared chicks throughout my time working on the project, but wasn’t nearly as productive as the third colony site.

Urban Success Story: The IMSN Bridge

The largest colony not only in our study, but in the entire Salish Sea, is found on the mainland at the Ironworkers’ Memorial Second Narrows (IMSN) Bridge in Vancouver. The IMSN Bridge connects the city of Vancouver with the Lower Mainland’s north shore, and is one of only two road bridges that do so. The cormorants nest on the crisscrossing support beams below the road surface and have vehicle traffic passing overhead 24/7. A rail bridge passes parallel to the IMSN Bridge less than 100 meters away, and a shipping channel passes right below. It’s unlikely for the IMSN Bridge cormorant colony to ever have a quiet day. But there’s one thing that doesn’t seem to give them much trouble: eagles.

In all our observations of the bridge colony, 2–4 times per week for five breeding seasons, we have never observed the cormorants flush from their nests. There are certainly bald eagles in the area, with at least one nest within 1 km of the bridge. But they don’t seem to frighten the cormorants on the bridge like they do those on the cliffs.

Why not? The question of why animals do anything is always difficult. It’s possible the horizontal surface overhead makes the cormorants feel safer, or even that it hides the eagles from their view when they are close enough to normally be a concern. Whatever the mechanism might be, it appears the bridge offers some measure of predator protection to the cormorants.

The Power of Access and AI

Aside from apparently being less accessible to eagles, the IMSN Bridge colony was more accessible to us as researchers. We students took it in turn to visit the colony (averaging 2–4 visits per week between the four of us) and photograph it from a ground-level vantage point below the bridge. We used a robotic mount, tripod, and 200x zoom lens to take a mosaic of photos, to be stitched together into a panorama later. We also experimented with the use of a drone, or RPAS, to photograph the nests from above. Because the bridge colony was so accessible, we ended up with more panoramas than we could process. Finally, we developed a convolutional neural network (CNN) to count the cormorants and nests in the panoramas. The CNN can scan a panorama much faster than a human, and after months of tuning, is about as accurate as a human too. With our Nanaimo-based vantage point, it might be possible to someday make a similar model for Gabriola Island, but Mitlenatch Island is too far from any other landmass for it.

A Changing Field with Expanding Possibilities

The three colonies we studied have varying degrees of accessibility and different sets of survey methods. Ultimately, there is no single method that can be used at every colony. At the IMSN Bridge, which is owned by the provincial government, we were unable to get permission to install a stationary camera. We didn’t have the time or resources for frequent visits to Gabriola Island or Mitlenatch Island. Hiring a licensed RPAS pilot was prohibitively expensive to do for the duration of the project. Any seabird colony study will run into limitations on what methods are feasible for them. Even so, we are spoiled for choice in comparison to past decades. New methods can improve the quality of data, the amount and types of data it’s possible to collect, and the speed at which they can be analyzed. With an abundance of data and software tools to process it, we can investigate new and more complex questions with the time we would once have spent on manual entry and calculations. Where our options as seabird biologists were once limited to recording data with pencil and paper from a boat or bird blind, a whole world of new possibilities has opened up.

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About the Author

Rose Wilkin is a lesbian conservationist based in Vancouver, BC. She monitors the Great Blue Heron colony in Stanley Park and previously studied various cormorant colonies in the Salish Sea. Rose received her Master’s degree in Ecological Restoration from Simon Fraser University in collaboration with the British Columbia Institute of Technology. Her thesis focused on cormorant monitoring methods. Her forthcoming paper based on this work will appear in Ornithological Applications. Seabirds have been her lifelong passion, and she considers it a privilege to study them in her career.

 

I used to measure success in cost savings and efficiency gains. My days were spent analyzing data, reassuring stakeholders, and ensuring goods moved smoothly from point A to point B. It was a career that made sense on paper – stable, well-paying, and rewarding. But over time, I started to feel a disconnect. I couldn’t shake the question: what impact am I actually making?

That question nagged at me, growing louder with each passing month. Then, in 2023, I decided to take a break. I left my corporate job and spent time traveling abroad, hoping to learn about myself and the world around me. Along the way, I explored the oceans I had only seen in documentaries, earning scuba diving certifications and witnessing firsthand the beauty and fragility of marine ecosystems.

Underwater, I found the passion I had been searching for and the clarity I had been chasing. Everywhere I looked, there was vibrant life. Schools of fish wove effortlessly through the water. Occasionally, one would stop to acknowledge me before continuing on its way. Corals, anemones, starfish, crabs, and urchins adorned the ocean floor, creating a mesmerizing tapestry of color and movement.

I felt such a connection to everything around me, like I was a part of it. I wasn’t just observing nature – I was immersed in it, welcomed by it. It made me question the role we choose to play in the natural world. Do we have to remain outsiders and disruptors? Or could we begin to see ourselves as part of a larger environmental community, with the responsibility to protect it?

Unfortunately, our impact so far has been detrimental. Coral reefs, which support 25% of all marine life, are bleaching and dying due to human-caused issues like acidification and rising ocean temperatures. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) projects that up to 90% of our coral reefs could disappear by 2050 if current trends continue. Key species are losing their habitats, shellfish can no longer form their shells, and populations are at risk of extinction from overfishing.

Our oceans are suffering, and we can’t afford to let that happen. Aside from being beautiful and full of fascinating life, the ocean supports humanity. It regulates our climate, produces oxygen, and provides food security for billions of people. It’s not enough to admire the ocean, we must act to protect it.

I am now a graduate student studying Ocean and Coastal Resource Management. In other words, how we govern, protect, and sustainably manage the ecosystems that exist in our oceans and where land meets sea. I’m learning about how we can build policies and practices that work with nature rather than against it.

Unlike my corporate career, where efficiency was the goal, this new path is filled with ambiguity and open-ended questions. The transition hasn’t been easy. It’s daunting to step away from a familiar world into one where outcomes are harder to measure and career paths are less defined. But I’ve also realized something crucial: my experience in the corporate world wasn’t wasted time, it was preparation.

Strategic thinking, managing complexity, and building partnerships are skills just as essential in conservation as they are in business. Professionals across traditional industries are uniquely equipped to take on environmental work, and shifting careers can lead to deeper meaning. That feeling I had underwater, of being part of something larger and worth protecting, is what continues to guide me.

Ultimately, the crises we face – rising temperatures, pollution, biodiversity loss – affect every single one of us, whether we realize it or not. Addressing them, protecting the systems that sustain life, should be an urgent global priority.

Healing the environment isn’t the job of scientists alone; there are broad, collective efforts to conserve and restore natural ecosystems. These efforts need storytellers to shift public opinion, analysts to track progress, economists to shape financial strategies, and policymakers to drive systemic change. In other words, they need people from every profession. They need you.

Critics of leaving corporate life may argue that stepping away from stability is a reckless move, one that sacrifices financial security and career progression. There’s some truth in that concern. But what’s often overlooked is the cost of staying: stagnation, disillusionment, and the feeling of contributing to something that no longer aligns with who you are.

Maybe the ocean isn’t your thing, and that’s okay. Our parks, forests, rivers, and wetlands need just as much attention. The skills, passion, and urgency required to protect each of these places are the same. What matters is choosing to engage, wherever your connection to the natural world lies.

Of course, not everyone can pivot careers, but purpose can also be found in staying. It can be found in pushing for sustainable practices, launching green initiatives, and advocating for policy changes within your company. You can also volunteer with, or donate to, environmental groups. Every action matters. Whether it’s by changing careers or embedding sustainability into your current role, you can be part of the solution.

If you’re seeking inspiration, just look around. I’ve found mine in countless people who work tirelessly and selflessly to protect our planet. One of the most meaningful moments of my journey so far was meeting Dr. Sylvia Earle at the Goldman Environmental Prize Ceremony, and having the chance to personally thank her. Though our exchange was brief, it left a lasting impression.

Dr. Earle has been a trailblazer in ocean exploration and conservation for decades. Her advocacy, research, and storytelling helped shape how the world sees and values the ocean. She is a personal hero of mine, and a reminder that change can begin with a single person. People like Dr. Earle, and so many others, prove that one voice, one career, one commitment can ripple outward and make waves. I’ve already experienced so many moments that reaffirm my passion for this work, and I know more inspiration lies ahead to keep me moving forward.

To anyone feeling stuck or unfulfilled, do yourself a favor and ask: does your current path align with your values? Does it make you proud? The world needs people who understand both business and sustainability, who can bridge the gap between commerce and conservation.

When I think about my future now, I feel incredibly optimistic. The challenges in protecting our ocean are enormous, but so are the opportunities. My journey is still unfolding, but for the first time in my career I know I’m moving in the right direction.

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About the Author

McKenzie Ploen is a graduate student in Ocean and Coastal Resource Management and a
former corporate supply chain strategist. She writes about sustainability, purpose-driven work,
and marine conservation.