Ghost nets are fishing gear lost or abandoned at sea, killing creatures for decades as plastic slowly breaks apart. Here in the Sundarbans, they last a lifetime, snagging on mangrove roots where no boat can retrieve them. Nobody gets a regular salary to clean them; it's us researchers and the occasional fisher, cutting them free with blistered hands during our surveys, unpaid extra work the grant never covers. I know because my prize find last month was a net from the 1990s, wrapped around a tiger track on the mudflat—proof of its long, cruel journey from someone's livelihood to this forest's snare.
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