Mass balloon releases usually pose little risk to the environment. After all,
as balloon manufacturers are wont to remind us, balloons nowadays are made of
biodegradable natural latex. However, between 5 and 10 per cent of balloons that
are released do not burst, travel farther and eventually return to Earth intact,
if somewhat deflated. A few may carry a winning ticket and be retrieved, but
most of them will litter the land or sea until they finally decompose. Their
numbers may not be large, but add them to all the other balloons surviving from
other charity and celebration launches and that’s a lot of rubber.

In Britain, the Marine Conservation Society, the Tidy Britain Group and the
Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals are all worried about the
potential environmental damage and have called for an end to mass balloon
releases. Many American states have already banned such events and the Canadian
government has decided to cease the traditional balloon release that marks
Canada Day on 1 July.

One of the main concerns is the threat that rogue balloons can pose to marine
life. Balloons have turned up in the guts of dead dolphins, turtles and fulmars.
While there is no confirmation that these animals actually died from ingesting
balloons, their presence in the gut shows that the animals ate them and died
shortly afterwards. Did they mistake the balloons for food—a jellyfish,
say? Although a balloon is not toxic, once ingested it can fill part of an
animal’s gut, perhaps reducing its appetite. Alternatively, it may cause some
kind of internal blockage.

Balloon manufacturers often quote research by Peter Lutz of the University of
Miami, which they claim proves that balloons do not kill animals. When Lutz fed
pieces of latex balloon to turtles, all the animals later passed the latex and
were otherwise unaffected. That’s good news for turtles encountering stray
fragments from a mass balloon release, but it scarcely proves that devouring
entire balloons is harmless.

The National Association of Balloon Artists and Suppliers (NABAS) in
Ross-on-Wye claims that “stray balloons found on beaches are always found with
some object attached”. It adds that most beached balloons are a mixture of latex
and foil—a non-biodegradable type which is not used for mass balloon
releases. The implication is that beached balloons result from accidental
releases by careless people. This contrasts with the findings of volunteers from
the Marine Conservation Society in its annual Beachwatch litter survey. They
estimate that the two or three beached balloons that they find per kilometre of
beach each year are often without attachments.

Whether or not mass balloon releases can kill wildlife, it is surely
irresponsible to release thousands of balloons, which are a form of litter. The
NABAS claims that “a balloon breaks down as quickly as an oak leaf”. But so does
a paper bag, and if I were to release thousands of air-filled paper bags I would
probably be charged with littering.

The sight of thousands of colourful latex spheres rising into the sky is
certainly eye-catching and something that brings momentary joy to many people.
But is it right to allow an event which benefits one cause to have a detrimental
environmental impact hundreds of kilometres away? No one wants to be a party
pooper and there is certainly no intention to put balloon manufacturers out of
business. Latex balloons, used responsibly, are an environmentally acceptable
product. But the mass release of thousands into the atmosphere is
irresponsible.

Before nations become gripped in the excitement of millennial celebrations,
there is still time to prevent mass balloon mania.

One of the most dramatic human influences on the environment has come from
the introduction of plants and animals to areas where they do not naturally
occur. We all know that introducing predatory mammals into New Zealand had a
disastrous effect on the flightless birds there, and that the rabbits brought
into Australia for food and sport devastated the vegetation over vast areas.

Lesser known examples include what happened in Britain when the balsam
brought in from the Himalayas successfully colonised countless wetlands with
detrimental effects to the native flora. Most botanists would consider the
shoulder-high purple loosestrife with its long spikes of purple flowers to be a
desirable native of Britain’s wetlands. However, it has proved truly disastrous
in Canada and the US, where it has invaded marshes and lakes. It has become so
common in states such as Minnesota that remote sensing is being used to map its
distribution so that its spread can be controlled by spraying.

The American attitude to purple loose-strife is a logical one. If an
introduced species is threatening the local ecology, the best solution must be
to remove it.

That’s all very well if the invader is a plant, but if it is an attractive
animal you can have a potential public relations disaster on your hands. Take
the North American ruddy duck. Since it was allowed to escape from the
Slimbridge Wildfowl Trust in Gloucestershire in the 1950s, the wild population
in Britain has expanded. Finding a vacant niche, it caused no apparent
ecological problems until it began to colonise mainland Europe, where it now
threatens to wipe out the remaining populations of the closely related
white-headed duck through cross-breeding.

The Department of the Environment set up a Ruddy Duck Working Group in the
early 1990s following pressure from the Spanish government to sort out the mess.
The group proposed a cull of ruddy ducks. While ecologically a sensible
solution, the proposal has proved particularly controversial. Since its arrival,
the ruddy duck has become so popular in Britain that one bird club has even
adopted it as its emblem.

The British conservationist Bevan Craddock fears that it is too late to save
the white-headed duck. We would do better, he claims, to direct resources
towards establishing a working group to examine the whole issue of restricting
the introduction of alien species.

If the ruddy duck cull is to succeed it might be necessary to abandon the
usual British voluntary approach and make the control of ruddy ducks mandatory.
But whatever the outcome, restrictions on future introductions would seem to be
logical. How they could be made to work is another matter.

In the past, species were often introduced to increase the variety of
wildlife in an area, or even to act as a reminder of home in newly colonised
countries. The Victorians even established acclimatisation societies to promote
the introduction of species to new lands. Their more unwelcome efforts included
the grey squirrel.

Today there is legislation to prohibit the further release of some
particularly troublesome introduced species, but how do you know if the Bloggses
have surreptitiously sprinkled a few Japanese knotweed seeds on their local
wasteland? Laws could be introduced to prohibit the deliberate introduction of
all non-native species, but policing it would be well-nigh impossible.

And what about unwanted pets? Many a pond has an established colony of
goldfish or terrapins, ejected from homes after the novelty of looking after a
pet had worn off. Of course, many exotic species are unlikely to survive our
climate, but sometimes even the most unlikely ones do.

Worldwide trade has opened up another possibility: that of animals being
accidentally imported with other goods. Bird-eating spiders that turn up in a
consignment of bananas may not survive long in Britain, but insects accidentally
imported from another temperate country could easily establish populations and
become pests.

If a working group were to be established to consider the introduction of
alien species, it would certainly have a massive job on its hands. While it may
be possible to produce plans that would prevent the deliberate release of alien
species into the countryside by banning their importation, only a total
cessation of world trade and travel could solve the problem of accidental
introductions.

While the introduction of alien species cannot be condoned on ecological
grounds, we have to admit that a fair proportion of Britain’s flora and fauna
are introduced species. Not all these have had disastrous effects: species such
as the little owl have apparently had no impact on native wildlife. Others have
had a mixed reception—the rabbit may be a pest to some, but it can also
play an important role in the management of nature reserves.

Short of returning to the Stone Age, it would seem that nothing can be done
to guarantee that introductions can be prevented. This leaves us with only one
real solution: mandatory control of any introductions which could prove
harmful.