![Snorkelling amid a seagrass meadow in Dingieshowe, Orkney.](https://media.guim.co.uk/6b0d7ad856efb9f0c68da64d3e9a8b0912d997dd/0_9_2048_1229/1000.jpg)
St Peter’s Pool, a wide bay lining the isthmus that connects mainland Orkney to its Deerness peninsula, doesn’t look like much to shout about. In comparison with Dingieshowe, the glamorous, silk-sand beach it backs on to, it presents as a muddy-looking flat made untidy with worm casts. I’ve never paid it much attention before.
But a few days ago, I joined three marine conservationists as they donned masks and wetsuits, and waded out into its shallows at 7am. They – Dr Esther Thomsen, Lyle Boyle and Nathan Tsang – are spending several weeks in our islands, snorkelling every day as part of the ambitious £2.4m Restoration Forth initiative that will collect Orkney seagrass seeds for relocation to the more damaged Firth of Forth, 200 miles to the south, to help its ailing ecosystem.
![A sea hare in a seagrass meadow.](https://media.guim.co.uk/416483af484605c0656a1d90301378ccf179450c/0_748_5184_3110/1000.jpg)
As the water rose over our knees, we came upon a hard border where pale rippled sand met dense vegetation, the meadow’s sharp edge. From above, in the dull light of a dreich summer day, it appeared a thick mat of sludge green. But, following Lyle’s lead, I folded forward, flopped on to my belly, and submerged my face and head.
Below the surface was a vision of verdant growth, seagrass undulating gently in the waves. I spotted a starfish barely bigger than my thumbnail, clinging to a blade for dear life, the fleshy cushion of a sea squirt. A tiny, translucent shrimp scooted by. A whole world in miniature, illuminated in shimmering, silvering light – a sanctuary for juvenile fish, hermit crabs and other small sea creatures.
![A hermit crab among a seagrass meadow.](https://media.guim.co.uk/388c0919897cb0c7128aaa0391d4b13b32b98d1b/0_284_2048_1229/1000.jpg)
Esther, Lyle and Nathan drifted serenely over the seagrass, scanning for reproductive shoots. These are brighter, greener blades that split to reveal ripening seeds like peas in a pod. Harvesting them is easy enough: grasp the shoot with a gloved hand, follow it down to where it branches and pluck it cleanly away. It doesn’t harm a plant; it simply accelerates what happens naturally. A patch of meadow this size – 50 hectares or so – will produce many millions of seeds each year so it can spare a few for a poor relative down south.
Despite my suit, I’m soon shivering. We head back to shore. In the time that it took me to grab a handful, Esther had filled her net bag. Still, every little helps.
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