Witnessing the Devastating Impact of Mass Tourism on Egypt’s Spinner Dolphins
An Unexpected Calm on the Horizon
Diving with the lively Spinner dolphins of the Sataya Reef in Egypt was undeniably one of the most memorable experiences of my life. Naturally, the anticipation of revisiting this place a year later filled me with indescribable joy.
As we steered into the reef in our boat, my heart raced in excitement. I couldn’t wait to immerse myself once again in this magical place. Memories of dancing with my dolphin friends appeared vividly before me, and I couldn’t help but screen the horizon for their jumping, leaping, and spinning silhouettes. Spinner dolphins are named after their acrobatic ability to spin two to five and a half times in a single leap.
Yet, the surface remained calm. I couldn’t see any playful dolphins. “They must be resting,” I thought, imagining them recuperating from their nocturnal hunt for fish out in the open ocean. That’s the usual rhythm at Sataya Reef, also known as “Dolphin House.” The spinner dolphins are nocturnal hunters and set out to the open ocean for their nighttime hunt each day in the late afternoon. As nocturnal foragers, they feast on a variety of small fish, squid, and shrimp, diving between 200 and 300 meters. After their hunt, they return from the blue and swim back to the shallow waters around the Sataya Reef. These waters protect them and provide shelter from currents, storms, waves, and predators. It’s their home, where they nurse their calves, mate, give birth, and grow into hyper-intelligent mammals.
How lucky we were to be spending 4 days at this incredible reef!
By the time we had fixated our boat with mooring lines, excitement buzzed through the air. We all were eager to meet the dolphins, most of my companions for the first time. We all got ready, wetsuited up, and boarded the zodiac (dinghy) to set out to locate the dolphins. While our amazing boat boys were steering around the reef, we scanned the horizon. After a while, we spotted them a few hundred meters away. A few dorsal fins cut through the waters, indicating that the dolphins were coming up to breathe. They spent only a short amount of time at the surface, suggesting that they were resting and periodically swimming up to get a sip of air. Nevertheless, everyone was beyond excited. After getting closer to roughly 50 meters, we jumped in and immersed ourselves in my favorite place in the world: the ocean.
A Troubling Silence in the Reef
I immediately caught sight of the dolphins, thanks to the good visibility in the waters of the Red Sea. It was a very small pod of around 20 individuals, roaming close to the sandy bottom. My initial gasp of awe and pure joy quickly turned into a gasp of shock and sorrow when I saw that one of the bigger individuals had its dorsal fin completely cut off. It was a clean cut, indicating that this wasn’t a shark bite. It was most likely caused by a boat propeller or some sort of fishing accident involving a net or fishing line.
I gathered myself and analyzed their behavior. I noticed that they were resting, as they were swimming in slow, long U-shaped patterns that periodically brought them to the surface to breathe. Many of them had one eye closed, a sign of unihemispheric sleep, where only half of their brain rests at a time, allowing them to remain alert. This sleep method enables them to breathe and stay vigilant against predators.
It felt good to be back in the water with my favorite animal in the world, though I couldn’t help but ask myself where the others were. This pod was very small. Soon we aborted the encounter, wanting to let the dolphins rest, and waited for more playful moments to jump back in. During the whole day, these playful moments never came, and by the time the sun set, I had not seen a single spinner dolphin leap or spin.
As I lay in the comfort of my cabin, the waves cradling me, my thoughts returned to the dolphins. I couldn’t help but see the injured dolphin with no dorsal fin and the tired faces of the small dolphin pod we encountered. But it was only the first day, I thought to myself. I was sure we were going to find the whole big pod and play with our happy dolphin friends soon enough. I mean, we still had three days left with them.
Witnessing the Dolphins’ Struggle
The fresh morning brought fresh motivation and excitement. After getting up with the sun at sunrise, I sipped on my delicious Egyptian coffee with cardamom while scanning the blue surrounding us for the return of the dolphins from their hunt. At 7 am, I spotted the first dorsal fins just 50 meters from our boat and automatically went into incredible excitement and anticipation mode, shouting “Dolphins!” and “Get ready to jump in!” to the sleepy faces surrounding me. Good thing I was already wearing my swimsuit. I just slipped into my wetsuit, got my fins and camera ready, and jumped in.
I didn’t expect the dolphins to be in a playful mood, coming back from a long night’s hunt, but it was worth a shot, remembering last year’s dives, where we spent several hours in a row playing, swimming, interacting, and learning from and with the dolphins. I was right. They were cruising along quickly, looking for some peaceful rest rather than a playful encounter. When our neighboring boat spotted us, they quickly came and dropped off their divers with the zodiac, so we decided to leave and allow the dolphins to rest, trying again later.
Later came quickly. After breakfast, we spotted a single dolphin playing just next to our boat and a small pod in the shallows of the reef, so we got ready again. In a small group, we kicked our way through the turquoise waters towards the shallower areas of the reef. The dolphins swam past us at a slow speed. This group was even smaller than the day before, and the individuals were different. The more you dive with marine life, the more you learn to pay attention to the details, so I had already noticed distinctive features of each of the dolphins, like scars, the shape of their fins, their size, and patterns, so I was able to tell the difference between the groups. This morning, I counted 12 individuals. Compared to the year before, this small pod was not even 10% of the number of dolphins seen at the same time of year.
Unlike last year, the dolphins didn’t pay much attention to us. They just stayed in their formation, cruising around, spending little time at the surface to catch a breath. As always, when I’m freediving, I focus on my breath and my surroundings. I let myself be cradled by the waves and relax my body before taking a big breath and diving down to greet my dolphin friends. They let me approach them, but as I came closer and linked eyes with one of these elegant creatures, I felt stabbed in the heart. What I saw was not a curious, joyful, and playful being. What I saw was deep sadness, exhaustion, and a cry for help. I let myself fall back, not diving side by side with the dolphins any further, and took a moment to process what I had just seen. I felt a sickening lump in my throat. Did I really just see a dolphin begging for my help by looking it in the eye and interpreting its gaze at me? Was I imagining things while glorifying the experience I had the year before?
I had to make sure I was not imagining this. As soon as the dolphins came swimming back toward my direction, I took a deep breath and dove down again. As always, before getting any closer to the small pod, I observed their body language for any signs that they didn’t want me any closer, and in the absence of such signs, I swam closer at the same speed as the dolphins. A different dolphin linked eyes with me, and for the second time, I was hit by indescribable sadness. Another surface break to breathe, another dive next to the dolphins—each time I was confronted with misery. I had seen enough and let myself fall back, not continuing the swim with the dolphins. As I floated there, breathing through my snorkel, I tried to wrap my head around what I had seen. Back on board, my mind was still with the dolphins. I did not dare speak of what I had experienced, looking into all the happy faces of the divers who had dived with dolphins for the first time. Quietly, I went to bed, wishing that I had imagined everything.
The Shocking Discovery
By day three, our dolphin morning watch was already routine, and the following days continued like the previous ones: watching out for playful dolphins, jumping in with them, getting on board, drying off, just to jump back in again. We were lucky to encounter the dolphins twice, in a slightly playful mood that didn’t last long. I remember from the year before that we danced and played with them for hours at a time. This year, we considered ourselves lucky to get 10 minutes of playfulness. Even during the playful moments, I noticed three important things:
- Not once did a dolphin leap out of the water. Spinner dolphins are named for their acrobatic spins in the air, which serve communication and social interaction purposes.
- Not once did I hear a single sound from the dolphins. Spinner dolphins use clicking sounds for hunting and feeding, burst-pulsed sounds for fighting or defending against predators and buzzes for social interaction, playing, and mating. Even during their fleeting playful moments or mating, they were silent. The year before, I could hear the spinners’ sounds in the water even before spotting them, but this year, the ocean was an ocean of silence.
- We never encountered more than 20 dolphins at once, whereas the year before we found ourselves amidst 200 playful individuals.
The Heartbreaking Reality Unfolds
During the first three days at Sataya Reef, I found myself constantly questioning why. I pondered the possible reasons for the dolphins’ sudden change in behavior and why so many seemed to have vanished. The answer hit me hard, like a battering ram, on the morning of the fourth day when an armada of day-tour boats arrived at the reef. These boats were filled with masses of people of every age, fitness level, and swimming ability. I was stunned into silence as I watched the scenario unfold from our deck.
What happened next drew everyone out on deck to witness the unfolding tragedy. As the hordes of day tourists dressed in their swimming vests, their so-called guides jumped onto zodiac boats and navigated across the reef in search of the dolphins. Once one guide spotted the dolphins, it became a race with the other zodiac drivers. They rushed back to their groups, and within seconds, visitors were hurried onto the zodiacs—sometimes up to 14 people on a boat designed for 8 to 10. In the chaos, some people forgot their snorkels, others their masks, and some had fins while others did not. Packed like sardines in a can, the guides then proceeded to chase the dolphins at full speed.
Remember, dolphins need to surface to breathe, especially in a place like Sataya, where there are many young calves who need to surface more frequently than adult spinner dolphins. The dolphins hunt at night and swim into the bay of the reef to rest during the day—rest that was taken from them. The guides, fully aware of this, exploited it. They chased the dolphins, predicting where they would surface next and cutting them off to literally throw their guests on top of the dolphins. Most guests, disoriented with foggy masks or none at all and unable to swim properly, were confused and didn’t even look below the surface amidst the chaos. Many just clung to their guide, who dragged them through the waters, while others tried to chase after the dolphins to get a shot.
During these maneuvers, many of the zodiac motors remained running, cutting through the water and, I’m certain, sometimes also slicing through dolphins’ fins and backs, causing severe injuries. The dolphins desperately tried to escape the horrors of people falling on their heads and boats blocking their path to the surface for air. But the guides, showing little regard for their suffering, repeatedly collected their groups by hauling them out of the water to resume the relentless hunt. The scene was a heartbreaking spectacle of exploitation and distress unfolding before our eyes. Not even Shakespeare would have found the words to describe this tragedy.
Some jokes about the absurdity of the situation pierced the silence that had fallen upon our boat as we tried to process what we had just witnessed. Unable to hold back my tears, I quickly hid on the lower deck. My emotions overwhelmed me with sorrow, pain, and disbelief. I was hurting and couldn’t stop thinking that I was part of the problem. Just a year ago, this sacred spot was lush, wild, and a paradise for dolphins. I created heartfelt videos of the encounters and shared them on social media, bringing this place to people’s attention. The tourism industry quickly followed. I couldn’t stand it, so the tears kept rolling down my cheeks.
I couldn’t shake the guilt that plagued me. It was as if every joyful memory I had of this place was now compromised by the reality that unfolded before me. I wondered if my videos had played a part in turning this hidden gem into a crowded tourist destination, attracting people who lacked the respect and understanding that such a place required.
The Dark Side of Dolphin Tourism
The following morning, the routine of scanning the horizon for dolphins felt more like a chore than a thrill. Collectively, we decided that we had seen enough and departed from the reef for our next destination, carrying a lingering sense of bitterness. In the days that followed, I pushed aside the heaviness in my gut to focus on my responsibilities as the trip leader, but once I was back on solid ground, my mind immediately went back to the dolphins. So I started to do some digging. When I started looking into these day tours, I was shocked to find that numerous TripAdvisor reviews had perfectly captured the disturbing reality of these excursions:
“On arrival, there were about 8 dive boats, each with 40-50 people on board. You put on your snorkeling gear, get squeezed onto a zodiac […] with too many people, and chase a pod of dolphins along with about 10 other zodiacs. When close enough, you’re told to jump […] trying to keep up with the dolphins as they desperately try to get away, chased by about 200-300 people in the water.”
“Almost cried. I have never seen such terrible exploitation of dolphins as in Sataya Reef.”
“[…] the zodiacs chase the dolphins and then have you literally jump into the water on top of the dolphins. And as the dolphins try to escape, the zodiacs do not hesitate to push down and surround the dolphins to force them to stay with the swimmers. A real hunt… for dolphins. For those who love and respect animals, you will be horrified.”
“Terrible. There were about 18 ships there. Each with 2 motorboats. There’s nothing more to say. If you like dolphins, please keep your hands off this trip. It brought tears to my eyes to see so much animal cruelty. Please don’t book.”
“The experience of swimming with the dolphins was ruined by the amount of boats racing around and chasing them, the smell of diesel, and the other too many people jumping on top of you. Really not safe in my opinion.”
Interestingly, most of the very negative comments were added recently, throughout 2024 and 2023. Older reviews are mainly positive. From this, combined with my personal experience, I concluded that Sataya Reef’s rapid rise in popularity as a tourist hotspot is to blame. Just a few years ago, it was an unknown jewel, known only to a few lucky ones. Now it has become a money-making machine.
As my thoughts still continued to circle back to the dolphins, I couldn’t shake off the harsh reality that I had witnessed. The overwhelming number of visitors, the aggressive behavior of tour guides, and the dolphins’ obvious stress highlight a serious issue with wildlife tourism. What was once a beautiful interaction between humans and nature had been turned into a tragedy, driven by greed and a lack of regulation.
The Impact of Neglect and Exploitation
In 2020, Shawky, Christiansen, and Ormond undertook a study on the effects of swim-with-dolphin tourism at the Egyptian Samadai Reef, where tourism regulations are in place, revealing significant disturbances in the behavior of spinner dolphins. The findings uncover that, despite regulations, tourist activities substantially reduce the dolphins’ resting time, triggering increased milling, traveling, and avoidance behaviors. This exposure not only disrupts their natural patterns but also raises concerns about potential long-term impacts on the dolphins’ energy budgets, health, and overall population sustainability.
Unlike Samadai Reef, Sataya lacks regulations to manage tourist activities. As a result, the impact on the dolphins at Sataya is even more severe, with increased disturbances and a noticeable decline in their resting behavior. Tourism is completely unregulated, and the dolphins are exposed to more frequent and intense interactions with tourists, leading to greater disruptions of their natural behaviors. Observing the rapid deterioration of the dolphin population at Sataya, I’m convinced it’s only a matter of time before the dolphins disappear entirely. In just one year, we’ve gone from diving with 200 playful and curious dolphins to encountering only between 10 and 20 stressed and anxious individuals.
Toward a Future of Responsible Tourism
I am a firm believer in and advocate for wildlife tourism, but only when it is conducted in a strictly regulated and ethical manner. When properly managed, wildlife tourism can serve as a powerful tool for conservation, education, and economic support for local communities. However, the events at Sataya Reef have shown how easily this delicate balance can tip into exploitation and harm.
Wildlife tourism should not be limited to passive observation, where tourists simply watch and take photos. It should involve active participation, where visitors contribute to conservation efforts, help protect the animals, and ensure that their presence is not disruptive but beneficial. Imagine a version of Sataya where tourists engage in activities like cleaning the reef, monitoring dolphin health, or assisting in scientific studies. These are the types of experiences that not only leave a lasting impact on participants but also contribute positively to the environment and the species they are there to observe.
The way I see it, there are three key pillars that can create a strong foundation for ethical wildlife tourism—one that not only avoids harm but actively protects, educates, preserves, and revives. The first pillar is individual responsibility. Each person must thoroughly research any wildlife activity they plan to engage in, ensuring that the operators they support are ethical and prioritize the well-being of the animals. Tourists need to be aware of the impact of their actions and take full responsibility for the choices they make.
The second pillar is government intervention. Governments play a crucial role by enforcing regulations that protect their natural treasures rather than exploit them. They must invest in research, initiatives, and programs that support ecosystems and provide the resources necessary to create sustainable, long-term income.
The third pillar is business accountability. Businesses need to recognize that continuing unsustainable practices will ultimately harm their profit margins. Ethical experiences, where wildlife is respected and protected, are not only more likely to be enjoyed by customers but can also command higher prices. By safeguarding these natural treasures, businesses can ensure long-term profitability. However, if they persist in destroying the very resources they depend on, their operations will likely collapse within a few years.
Education is the foundation of meaningful change. Tourists need to be informed about the importance of responsible wildlife tourism and the significant impact their actions can have on the animals and ecosystems they visit. Businesses must understand the long-term benefits of ethical practices and the dangers of continuing harmful ones. It is essential that governments, businesses, conservationists, and scientists collaborate, listen to each other, and develop sustainable practices that are both economically viable and environmentally sound. Each of us has a role to play in halting the cycle of destruction we’re currently on, ensuring that future generations can continue to enjoy the natural wonders that surround us for years to come.
If you find yourself in a situation where something is not done right or where you see unethical practices during a wildlife experience, it’s crucial to speak up. However, do so from a place of empathy and compassion rather than judgment. We all make mistakes, and the goal should be to help each other improve rather than to criticize. By addressing these issues with understanding, we can foster positive change and ensure that others learn from their mistakes.
As a consumer, you hold substantial influence through your purchasing power. Every dollar you spend is a decision to support either businesses that harm or those that help. Choose to invest in companies that align with ethical practices and contribute to the well-being of our planet.
As for myself, I have decided to speak up and no longer lead trips to Sataya. I can’t help but feel a profound sense of loss. The magic and wonder I once felt in this place have been replaced by sadness and guilt. The dolphins, once playful and free, are now weary, stressed, and in danger. I realized that I couldn’t remain silent about what I had witnessed—it became my responsibility to raise awareness about the devastating impact of uncontrolled tourism on these magnificent creatures and their fragile habitat.
As I left Sataya, I made a promise to do everything in my power to protect the dolphins and their home. I committed to using my voice and platform to advocate for responsible tourism, educate others on the importance of respecting wildlife, and push for stricter regulations to ensure the dolphins can once again find peace in their sanctuary. The memories of the injured dolphins and the chaotic scenes of human interference will stay with me, driving my commitment to make a difference.
It is crucial that everyone, from tourists to tour operators, plays a part in driving change. If we don’t, these magical places will be lost forever. I fear that Sataya will cease to exist if rapid and strict regulations are not implemented soon and if people don’t change their thinking and conduct.
It is crucial that everyone—from tourists to tour operators—takes responsibility in driving change. Without collective action, these magical places will be lost forever. I fear that Sataya will disappear if strict regulations are not implemented and enforced and if people don’t fundamentally rethink their actions and behaviors.
Sataya, along with the many exploited places it represents, may soon become nothing more than a memory—one of the best and worst of my life.
