Some two decades ago I was marooned on the remote uninhabited island of Taransay in the Outer Hebrides. As part of a year-long social experiment for Castaway 2000 on BBC One, I was left on the island with 35 other volunteers. We created a fully self-sufficient community from scratch. Leaving all the home comforts of London behind, we grew our own crops, reared and slaughtered our own animals and lived entirely off the land and sea.
Taransay was home to the kind of deserted white beaches that nourish the soul. Mile after mile of achingly gorgeous coastline flanked huge grasslands, home to wildflowers, red deer and ground-nesting birds. Yet even almost 20 years ago this beautiful island was tainted by the hideous curse of plastic litter. A short walk along the coastline revealed an alphabet soup of washed-up plastic bottles, toothbrushes, flip-flops and cotton buds.
Bizarrely, back then we were delighted by the treasures we found on the beach. They became cherished decorations in our sleeping quarters. Fishing nets became hammocks. Litter doubled up as marine art. Fenders from ships were used as toys for the children. We found discarded shampoo bottles from more than 6,000 miles away in Japan. We stumbled upon a plastic bottle containing a message sent by someone in the Eighties in the United States.
Back then we marvelled at these plastic treasures. In the two decades since, we have begun to understand the true impact of the ocean litter, which now threatens the very fabric of our seas. What once caused fascination and curiosity now elicits horror. A decade ago I featured in the film A Plastic Ocean — one of the first documentaries to explore the ticking time bomb that is plastic pollution. While filming, I dived into the Indian Ocean to be greeted by a hideous gloop of toxic plastic detritus. After each dive I was forced to scrub my skin clean of the plastic sludge that I had waded through hours earlier.
Not long after my experience as a castaway in the Hebrides I made the long, arduous sea voyage to the remote island of Pitcairn in the Pacific Ocean. For 10 days we sailed into a ferocious storm aboard our sailboat the Sauvage. Along the way we stopped at Henderson, an uninhabited island whose nearest neighbours — New Zealand and Chile — are more than 3,000 miles away.
Within minutes of arriving on Henderson it was clear the island’s isolated location had not saved it from the creeping hand of plastic pollution. No one lives there yet the island is a magnet for plastic trash. In 2017 a study by scientists at the University of Tasmania revealed that, with nearly 18 tonnes of recorded rubbish — 38 million separate items — the island has the highest density of plastic debris anywhere in the world. When plastic is dumped in the ports of South America or Australia, it is spat back out by the ocean on the shores of Henderson.
There has been no shortage of powerful graphic accounts of what plastic is doing to our most precious flora and fauna. Few could now argue that plastic is suffocating us and putting our way of life at risk. But amid all the bleak predictions, a new band of visionary leaders is making real the promise of a plastic-free future.
More than 15 countries across Africa have implemented a complete ban on plastic bags or introduced heavy taxes on them. In 2008 Rwanda became one of the first countries in the world to move to legislate against plastic bags. Now anyone flying into the country’s capital Kigali will be greeted by stern warnings of the penalties facing those who flout the ban.
Those found using plastic bags face a fine of around 50,000 francs or £42. Now Rwanda has some of the cleanest streets in the world. In 2013 Cameroon also began enforcing a ban, with Eritrea, Morocco, Mauritania and Tanzania following suit.
The people of Nepal have also shown they are not scared to show real leadership in the fight against single-use plastics. Visited by some 100,000 trekkers each year, Everest Base Camp was once dubbed the world’s highest rubbish dump. Discarded plastic was a curse on a wilderness supposed to epitomise the untainted wondrous beauty of nature.
Embarrassed into action, the Nepali government now requires climbers to remove 8kg of litter in addition to their own. Sherpas have been incentivised to remove plastic from the mountain environment, being paid the equivalent of £1.50 for every kilogram of rubbish removed. The results have been stunning. Now the Himalayan trails that lead to Base Camp are some of the cleanest mountain routes anywhere in the world.
While the developing world is leading the way, the West is beginning to wake up to its responsibilities too. Next Wednesday is One Plastic Free Day, where people can pledge to say no to products encased in plastic.
In 2016 France became the first country to prohibit the sale of all single-use plastic cups, cutlery, plates and takeaway food boxes. December last year saw the EU announce that it is to ban disposable cutlery, plates and straws in an effort to stem the tide of marine pollution.
In Britain the Treasury is currently consulting on proposals to tax plastic packaging that does not include at least 30 per cent recycled content.
But change isn’t only being driven by politicians. Grassroots campaigners on the front line are giving up huge chunks of their time in a bid to halt the plastic scourge once and for all.
Some 35,500 people took part in the 2018 Big Spring Beach Clean, removing more than 60 tonnes of marine plastic and litter from 575 beaches across the UK. I’ve now lost track of the number of times I’ve taken my family down to the beach and picked up plastic litter.
Forward-thinking retailers are increasingly starting to do their bit. Iceland is aiming to remove all plastic packaging from its own-label ranges by 2023. Last year Dutch supermarket chain Ekoplaza worked with A Plastic Planet to launch the world’s first “plastic-free aisle” to give shoppers the choice to choose products that are free from plastic packaging.
Belsize Park supermarket Thornton’s Budgens became the first store in the UK to introduce plastic-free zones in November last year. From meat and fish to fruit and vegetables, retailers are increasingly finding innovative new ways to go plastic-free.
In the fight against plastic there are huge grounds for optimism. Inspirational campaigners are persuading governments and huge multinational corporations to clean up their acts, achieving the kind of change that even five years ago seemed unthinkable.
However, the pace is too slow. If we don’t get a move on, by 2030 humanity will be dumping two truckloads of plastic in global oceans every minute. Now more than ever we must throw our weight behind those plastic-free visionaries who are leading the fight. From going on beach clean-ups to electing leaders who are unafraid to tackle the issue head-on, our children expect us to do right by the world they are set to inherit. We must make the 2020s the decade we kicked our plastic habit.
Ben Fogle is the UN Patron of the Wilderness. Wednesday is One Plastic Free Day, aplasticplanet.com
Look out for The Future London Plastic-Free Project supplement next Tuesday
