Lake Ohrid is a Balkan treasure, nestled between mountain ranges in North Macedonia and Albania. It’s known for its ancient architecture and natural beauty. But it’s under threat by the very people who love it most.

The turquoise waters of Lake Ohrid are more than two million years old.

Filled through a network of underground springs, the lake is one of the deepest and most biodiverse bodies of fresh water in the world – home to more than 200 endemic species.

Ohrid's crown jewel, its stari grad or 'old town' is one of the most ancient human settlements in Europe, boasting more than 800 Byzantine murals and the oldest Slav monastery in the world.

The lake and citadel were declared UNESCO World Heritage sites in 1979 and 1980 for both their environmental and cultural significance – a source of prestige and allure.

In 2019, the lake's Albanian shores were also given heritage status.

But like many natural wonders, Ohrid is in danger.

Decades of overfishing, unchecked urbanisation, and pollution prompted the UN to put authorities on notice in 2019.

The World Heritage Committee expressed "grave concerns" about the scale and poor architectural quality of developments on Ohrid's coastal zone, noting the excessive use of the coast for tourism.

Untreated wastewater and heavy metal contamination from mining activity in Albania are leading to highly-toxic pollution entering the lake.

Illegal fishing is also pushing Ohrid's endemic fish populations into decline.

The North Macedonian and Albanian governments were given a diplomatic challenge to work together to address UNESCO's concerns by 2021.

Last year, that deadline was extended to June 2023.

The ultimatum is clear: act now or risk Ohrid's relegation to a World Heritage Site 'in danger', much like the fate facing Australia's Great Barrier Reef.

As UNESCO's final deadline approaches, a battle between capitalism and conservation is raging on.

"There are a few people who fight, who speak openly, but it's a lonely fight," local environmentalist Vladimir Trajanovski says.

He is part of a small activist group called Ohrid SOS, which has been fighting to prevent excessive urbanisation and development on the lake for the past seven years.

"I became part of Ohrid SOS after I saw a friend of mine chain himself to a tree to try to block it from being bulldozed to make way for a hotel," he says. 

"It touched me, I'd never seen someone stand up to authorities like that before."

The complicated relationship between environmentalists and local tourism operators is ever apparent at Kaneo beach, named after the iconic clifftop church it's nestled below.

Sunbathers lie on the ruins of a lakefront kafana, which has been partially demolished by local authorities in an attempt to appease UNESCO's demands for conservation.

The restaurant's dining platform contravened local planning laws, which do not permit construction within 50 metres of the shoreline.

Tourists seem unfazed or unaware of the changes, chatting loudly over the competing sounds of passing speedboats and music playing from portable speakers.

A tarpaulin cloaks another abandoned business, Restaurant Potpeš, which bears the hallmarks of a hasty exit.

Local teens have taken to gathering in the wreckage for sunset drinks, leaving their cares and rubbish behind.

Passers-by can be heard whispering "sramota", meaning "for shame".

Some lament the loss of local jobs and revenue, while others point out the laws seem to have been applied at random, noting other still-operational restaurants built into the lake.

The closure of these popular venues is polarising.

North Macedonia's economy is the sixth poorest in Europe, and the majority of Ohrid's residents rely on the short tourist season for their yearly incomes.

But Vladimir doesn't feel too sorry for businesses that were forced to close.

"I think a lot of the restaurant owners aren't the shiniest examples of citizens. I accept some families have lost their livelihoods, but some of them are exploiting the lake," he says. 

"The mentality is disastrous. They see UNESCO's demands as a direct threat to their livelihoods.

"People don't realise that if the lake is destroyed, they will lose their business anyway."

Restaurateur Marijan Mitreski doesn't see the need for alarm.

"I think even without UNESCO status, we'll still have visitors … I mean look at this place, it's paradise," he says.

His family has been serving traditional Macedonian fare at their lakefront kafana in the fishing village of Trpejca for four generations.

Marijan is known for two things: his warm hospitality and the way he cooks Ohrid's local delicacy, pastrmka.

Loved for its fatty pink flesh and crispy skin, the trout is cooked over coals and served simply with lemon wedges and parsley.

The only problem is, the endemic species is endangered and there is a total ban on fishing it.

But the fish is Marijan's livelihood.

"Without trout, I don't have a business," he says.

"All these restaurants, we've all been here from the time of our great-grandfathers.

"We have a right to be here and to make a living."

Marijan insists the trout he serves at his restaurant is sourced from fish nurseries in nearby streams and is completely legal.

He says it is a temporary precaution restaurateurs must take while Lake Ohrid remains without a concessionaire – a private fishing business contracted by the government to regulate commercial fishing.

In January 2020, the concessionaire was stripped of their title due to maladministration. The position still hasn't been filled.

At Ohrid's water police station, officers unload piles of seized fishing nets from their daily patrols.

An officer, who wanted to remain anonymous, says the concessionaire doesn't make much of a difference to illegal fishing.

"If you ask me, the lake's better off without one," he says.

"We seize between 500 and 600 illegal fishing nets every week."

The lack of a concessionaire presents a logistical challenge for Ohrid's Hydrobiological Institute, which is responsible for monitoring fish populations.

The institute relies on the concessionaire to rent equipment needed for its fieldwork, meaning a trout breeding program it has run since 1935 has been inactive for the past three years.

Professor of biology Trajche Talevski has worked at the institute for four decades and fears if the program doesn't return by next year, Ohrid's trout population could face total extinction.

"If we don't act now, the trout will disappear and with it the symbol of Lake Ohrid ... we'll have to wipe it off our currency soon," he says.

The International Union for Conservation of Nature, which co-authored the UN's report, said the institute is "extremely under-financed."

Director Orhideja Tasevska says steps are being taken in the right direction, but there is much work to do.

"We need to have much better bilateral agreements and cooperation with Albania, with whom we share the lake, and good management strategies," she says.

"Unlike other national parks, Lake Ohrid doesn't have a management body … if we did have one, chaired by experts, we'd have a much better idea of where we stood."

In the institute's courtyard, about 200 mature trout reside in concrete breeding ponds, locked under metal grates to prevent theft.

Half of the ponds are empty.

Professor Talevski says the pools used to hold up to 20 million fish eggs and fingerlings, but these days, the breeding program struggles to produce two million eggs.

"There's just no fish left in the lake," he says.

"There's currently a war being waged in Lake Ohrid … a war between the trout and illegal fishermen.

"They see the trout as just a fish that's worth 20 euros a kilo, not an endemic or endangered species."

Professor Talevski is also a member of Ohrid SOS.

His counterpart Vladimir Trajanovski says the group has so far successfully pressured the North Macedonian government to abandon several environmentally destructive projects, including a ski resort on nearby Mount Galičica, and a marina at Studenchiste Marsh.

"We have had some wins, but the big picture is still an open battle," he says.

He points out houses wildly out-of-step with Ohrid's late-Ottoman architectural style; a jarringly modern awning built over an ancient amphitheatre; an extension built without council approval.

A few kilometres down the road, in a village called Daljan, Vladimir points out a monolithic structure towering over a corn field.

"This development was approved as a nursing home," he says.

"I guess they're planning on putting every single old person in Macedonia here."

He fears the building is a sign of what’s to come, with Daljan’s entire foreshore rezoned to allow for developments up to 17.5 metres tall.

At UNESCO's behest, local authorities imposed a brief moratorium on construction around Ohrid in 2019, but a monitoring mission the following year found “a long list of building activities” had continued, "exacerbating the already vulnerable situation towards a point of no return".

Vladimir claims illegal constructions continue to be approved "on a daily basis" due to the power of the "urban mafia" – developers with links to powerful party officials.

In 2020, Macedonia ranked 111 out of 180 countries on Transparency International's Corruption Perspectives Index.

That position improved to 87 in 2021, while Albania slid to 110.

Despite attempts to reduce corruption, local artisan Ljubcho Panevski says it is "a way of life" in the former Yugoslav republic.

Ljubco runs a handmade paper shop in Ohrid's old town, using a technique inherited from fifth century monks.

He jokes that corruption is about as ingrained in the cultural psyche as the Orthodox church.

"The fact that there's corruption in Macedonia isn't a secret. That's how we function," he says.

"If tomorrow you said, 'there's no corruption,' we wouldn't know what to do – the whole economy would collapse."

Despite his sense of humour, Ljubcho is deeply concerned by the prospect of Ohrid's demotion to a World Heritage site in danger.

"I just want to be clear: this is not a question of European interference, or even of politics, this is a question of our lives. What UNESCO is asking us to do is act in our own interest," he says.

"Every sensible person who lives off tourism should be afraid of Ohrid being put on that list. I am certain we'll fail as a tourist destination if that happens."

As Ohrid's heritage status deadline approaches, there are mixed feelings about its progress.

In its latest meeting with the North Macedonian and Albanian governments, the World Heritage Committee welcomed efforts to improve legal processes and management systems.

But it also noted there still appeared to be "conflicting priorities, poor implementation of the legal framework and little involvement of civil society."

The ABC has contacted both nation's governments for comment.

Vladimir hopes Ohrid is placed on UNESCO's endangered list.

"I think if we are put on that list, it will scare authorities into action. I think public pressure will scare them into action," Vladimir says.

"Either way, it's now or never."

Other locals are more optimistic, like Vesna Markovski, who's worked at the popular 'Trout Fishmonger' for the past 20 years.

Carving up some carp fillets, she says it's been "years" since she sold any local trout.

"We don't sell it because it's endangered. I absolutely support the conservation efforts, including the ban on fishing. It needed to happen," she says. 

"I think we'll manage to stay on the world heritage list, I think there's public will."

Framed on the wall of Ljubcho's workshop is the famed poem T'ga Za Jug, written in the 1800s by Ohrid poet Konstantin Miladinov while living abroad in Russia.

Translating to 'longing for the south,' it tells the story of Miladinov's yearning to return to the "clear lake" of his hometown.

There the sunrise warms the soul,
The sun gets bright in mountain woods:
Yonder gifts in great profusion
Richly spread by nature's power.

See the clear lake stretching white
Or bluely darkened by the wind,
Look at the plains or mountains:
Beauty everywhere divine.

Watching wet paper fall through his hands, Ljubcho becomes philosophical about the impermanence of things.

"People are drawn to Ohrid because of its beauty," Ljubcho says.

"They find us because we're a World Heritage site – Ohrid's not exactly on the beaten track. If we lose our UNESCO status, believe me, we'll be forgotten.

"Ohrid will turn into a relic … a place ravaged by time, whose moment is gone."

Reporting and photography: Sara Tomevska
Drone imagery: Nebojša Petrevski
Editor: Jessica Haynes