Acres of plastic and gear for an industrial geoduck installation jeopardize a small, fragile lagoon in the Salish Sea.
The place:
Burley Lagoon in Purdy, Washington, about 25 miles southwest of Seattle
Burley Estuary. Photo: Wendy Ferrell (used with permission)
Why it matters:
Two salmon-spawning streams run directly into the small Burley estuary. The lagoon itself is an embayment partially blocked by a sandspit; only a narrow 300-foot channel allows the water level to rise and fall with the tide. This narrow opening restricts its water exchange with the greater Puget Sound. Because open waters are partially blocked by the natural sandspit, the lagoon is a low-energy environment and serves as a refuge from incoming wave action from the larger Henderson Bay just outside.
The lagoon environment may be protected from the harsher open waters, but this leaves it with a limited flushing capacity, which is important to water quality, ecosystem functions, sedimentation, pollutant distribution and other healthy functions. Because of this, if this ecosystem is disrupted by industry, it will take longer for it to recover.
The mudflats at the bottom of the bay are exposed during low tide, providing food sources for waterfowl. The mudflats themselves would typically teem with life when they haven’t been scraped bare and netted over by industry. As the tide rises, they can provide feeding grounds for fish and marine mammals like seals, otter, and sometimes even orca or gray whales. Eelgrass and other salt-tolerant nearshore vegetation grows on the edges of the mudflats. Shellfish naturally grow on the rocky shoreline.
This combination of characteristics creates an ecosystem that sustains flora and fauna adapted for these unique living conditions. Restoration of salmon runs is paramount in the Puget Sound, including the runs in Burley Lagoon that are the lifeblood of Southern Resident killer whales (orcas), whose population is already dwindling. This special estuary is considered a nursery of sorts for forage fish that provide sustenance for salmon, which in turn feed the orcas.
The threat:
A large industrial aquaculture company already has a presence in the lagoon. But it currently has its sights set on a cash crop that will fetch a high price on foreign markets: geoducks — a giant saltwater clam valued as a delicacy in Asia.
Geoduck site in Puget Sound. Photo: Wendy Ferrell (used with permission)
Even now, the Burley estuary has large areas of tideland covered in plastic predator-exclusion nets to protect industrial oyster and clam beds from aquatic animals and birds considered “pests” by the industry. Visitors to the lagoon are already troubled by the loss of natural habitat and feeding grounds for aquatic animals, plants and waterfowl that call Burley Lagoon and Puget Sound home.
Geoducks. Photo: Eugene Kim (CC BY 2.0)
Now the industry has proposed installing a 25.5-acre geoduck site in the Burley Lagoon. This would bring even more plastic gear and nets. If the permit is given the green light, cumulative impacts of industrial aquaculture practices could threaten the estuary’s ecosystem and continue to interfere with the natural food web of Puget Sound. A 25.5-acre industrial geoduck installation means millions of PVC pipes pounded directly into the substrate and covered by large predator nets. The disruption to the entire ecosystem and the natural processes of the estuary threatens to be severe, potentially damaging the restoration efforts of critical species like salmon and orcas.
Geoduck PVC pipes in Puget Sound. Photo: Wendy Ferrell (used with permission)
My place in this place:
As a fifth-generation resident on the Salish Sea, and on Burley Lagoon in particular, the estuary, full of life, has been my neighbor and my friend. I’ve watched the tiny crabs and shrimp scurrying in the tidepools, the small forage fish darting in the shallows, the loyal salmon returning to spawn, and the playful seals and sometimes whales visiting to feed. The ecosystem was always alive and vibrant before aquaculture became modern and took over with acres of plastic and gear.
Now, in Burley Lagoon, I see plastic predator-exclusion nets spread out on the tidelands for commercial shellfish aquaculture operations. This is what greets the spawning salmon returning to Purdy and Burley Creeks after their time in the open sea. Should we further disrupt their runs and their ecosystem by adding millions of PVC pipes to their feeding ground? Will the ecosystem of the bay be able to withstand this loss of diversity of species? Will the dollar signs of this geoduck cash crop be too tempting to pass up?
How will our fragile lagoon that is already stretched to its tipping point withstand another onslaught of industrialized gear and methods with a potential geoduck farm?
Who’s protecting it now:
Many hardworking families, some who have lived here for multiple generations, have watched the increasing and shocking industrialization of the lagoon and the loss of myriad sea creatures who used thrive in local tidepools. These neighbors and friends have rallied together in a grassroots effort to bring awareness to the current and future threats to this unique body of water.
What this place needs:
Burley Lagoon needs scientists and activists who care about the food web of the Salish Sea to stand with us against industrial aquaculture and its big pocketbooks.
New and developing technologies are helping to push conservation efforts at a critical time.
Each fall thousands of pronghorns migrate 150 miles between their summer grounds in Grand Teton National Park and their winter habitat in Wyoming’s Green River Valley. It’s a journey complicated by fences, roads and other development. Conserving this antelope-like species means identifying these threats — not an easy task for such a wide-ranging mammal.
But after outfitting the animals with GPS tracking collars, researchers were able to identify the pronghorns’ routes and areas of potential problems. It turned out that a critical piece of their pathway was slated for development, which would have made their journey even more difficult and dangerous.
Roaming ungulates aren’t the only beneficiaries of the technology. Since the mid-1990s, GPS collars — and now smaller GPS satellite tags — have been used to map the journeys of migrating birds, well-traveled sea turtles and countless other animals.
But when it comes to boosting conservation work, it’s not the only tool in the toolbox. A bevy of new and evolving technologies and techniques are helping researchers better study animals that are few in number, far-ranging or hard to find. And that can lead to more protections for imperiled wildlife and the habitat they need to survive. The research comes at a critical time as we face accelerating extinction rates across the world.
Here are some tools helping to gather information and inform policy:
1. Smile, You’re on Camera
Wolverines are so elusive that for decades scientists didn’t know much about them. That’s changing now with help from new technologies, including motion-triggered remote cameras, relatively cheap and noninvasive devices also known as “camera traps.”
“Camera traps have completely revolutionized how we study wolverines because they’re [our] eyes out in the landscape over huge areas,” says Jason Fisher, a wildlife ecologist at the University of Victoria. “Instead of putting a collar on a small handful of wolverines, you can now monitor an entire population — and you can do that continuously for as long as you want to.”
Camera traps can be paired with passive infrared sensors, which trigger the cameras when they detect an animal’s body heat.
And if positioned correctly, the photos can help identify individual animals that have distinctive markings.
Wolverines, like American martens and Asian black bears, often have unique fur patterns on their chests or throats that aren’t visible when they’re walking on all fours, so scientists sometimes suspend bait in front of camera traps to encourage animals to stand and expose those unique ventral markings.
A adult female wolverine stands at a camera station in Mt. Rainier National Park. Photo: NPS/Cascades Carnivore Project
Tigers and jaguars often need cameras on both sides to capture distinctive flank markings. Others, like bottlenose dolphins or African lions, are identified best through facial markings.
Camera traps can also help even when they don’t get images of the animals being studied.
“We put them in places where we think wolverines are and where we think wolverines aren’t because getting those absences are just important,” says Fisher. “If we think they should be using a piece of landscape, but they’re not, we need to know that so we can figure out why — is it human pressure from recreation or landscape development or climate change?”
2. Listen Up
Researchers don’t always need to see an animal to know it’s there. Acoustic recorders can help capture birdsong and can be combined with automated species identification programs like Cornell University’s BirdNET to assess bird populations.
Much like camera traps, these systems allow recordings to be collected 24 hours a day and without any noticeable human intrusion.
“These low-cost and automated tools may greatly improve efforts to survey bird communities and their ecosystems, and consequently, efforts to conserve threatened indigenous biodiversity,” researchers from the California Department of Fish and Wildlife wrote in a 2021 study.
Surveys and song meter recordings conducted at Mt Haupu, Kauai, by @NTBG and Archipelago Research and Conservation found new evidence of an endangered seabird ‘A’o (Newell’s Shearwater) colony adding to the importance of this unique site! pic.twitter.com/v01GiluYfK
In Australia researchers enlisted the help of landowners to attach recorders to trees on their property. But the scientists were interested in capturing koala bellows, and not birdsong, to determine which areas had the most suitable koala habitat in private forests, where survey work is often limited. The research may help the species, which Australia declared endangered in February due to habitat loss, disease and other threats.
3. Tag, You’re It
Passive Integrated Transponder (PIT) tags have been around for decades, but they’re still incredibly useful to researchers — especially those who track fish that are often out of sight.
The devices, which don’t require batteries, function like microchips used to identify pets. A tiny radio transponder with a unique code is housed in a glass cylinder, then affixed or injected into an animal.
Injecting a PIT tag into a yearling pallid sturgeon at Gavins Point National Fish Hatchery. Photo: Sam Stukel/USFWS
They’ve helped scientists understand the life cycles, predation, habitat and movement of not just fish but creatures like snakes and turtles. And because some PIT tags can be as small as a grain of rice, they’ve also been used to keep track of freshwater mussels, which are among North America’s most imperiled species.
“We take a microchip and we glue it on the shell of the mussel and we have a [transponder] wand that can go underwater and we can find that mussel without having to dig for it,” says Matt Ashton, an aquatic biologist at Maryland’s Department of Natural Resources who was involved in research assessing an effort to restart populations of eastern elliptio mussels in Maryland’s Patapsco River.
4. Snagged
If you want to study a grizzly bear, it might be easier — and less invasive — to just snag a piece of its fur than capture the whole animal. So-called “hair traps” or “hair snares” can take different forms, but often involve using a scent to lure the animal to barbed wire that will harmlessly grab a tuft of fur, but not restrain the animal. Researchers then use the DNA in the hair follicle to get biological information.
Since the 1990s the practice has grown in popularity and has been used for a wide variety of animals, especially elusive carnivores — including wolverines.
“DNA from hair samples has gone a long way to helping us understand how wolverines use landscapes and for documenting population size, because you can identify those right down individuals,” says Fisher.
5. DNA at Large
In more recent years, collecting DNA from animals has evolved. Scientists can now collect genetic material shed from plants and animals in the water, soil or air — known as environmental DNA or eDNA.
Although the technology still has much room for improvement, it’s already proving useful in aquatic ecosystems, where it’s been used to look for the presence of invasive carp. It’s also being used to assess whether threatened or endangered species are in an ecosystem.
Recently researchers in Brazil using eDNA detected the presence of a frog, Megaelosia bocainensis, not seen since 1968.
“For conservation it’s really helpful, because by using environmental DNA you don’t need to directly see the species and it’s not an invasive process — you don’t need to manipulate the animal and you don’t need to disturb the environment — and it’s cheap,” Carla Martins Lopes, a scientist involved in the Brazil discovery, told Mongabay.
There have also been recent breakthroughs with airborne DNA. Two recent studies showed that researchers could detect and identify dozens of species in a zoo through eDNA collected from the air.
And the work is spilling over to plants, too. In another effort, scientists analyzed eDNA from dust traps which collect pollen and other airborne molecules. “The team found several species of grass, fungi, and even an invasive species called tree of heaven (Ailanthus altissima) that had all been overlooked by more conventional surveys,” The Scientist reported.
6. Going Global
The more tools researchers have to collect information, the more data they have. Generating more data is good, but being able to share, access and analyze data from other researchers all over the world is even better.
A new study looked at a global data set with information from 8,671 camera traps on four continents and found that there was more mammal diversity in protected areas than other wilderness areas that lacked protections.
It’s the kind of research that could help drive big policy decisions.
“Under the Convention on Biological Diversity, the world is currently discussing new targets for how much of the earth’s surface should be covered by parks,” Cole Burton, a conservation biologist and study coauthor told Science Daily. “We need to have better information to inform these policy discussions. Hopefully this study helps fill the gaps in our knowledge.”
More tools are also being developed to help on this front, too.
One is Movebank, a free online database hosted by the Max Planck Institute of Animal Behavior, which lets researchers upload animal tracking data that can be shared or privately held. It gets about 3 million new data points each day.
There’s also a corresponding app, Animal Tracker, which allows researchers to connect with citizen scientists who can help with tracking, including locating a tagged animal that’s gone down.
7. Nose for Conservation
Humans investigate a Rogue’s find. Photo: Deanna Williams/U.S. Forest Service
Not every conservation tool these days is high tech — sometimes you just need a really good nose.
Specially trained conservation detection dogs sniff out information that will protect endangered species and aid scientific research.
For Eba, that’s putting her nose to work on the Salish Sea, helping researchers find scat from endangered Southern Resident killer whales, which can reveal a lot about the orca’s health and habits.
“I think we can all agree that dogs can find the scat of myriad species in the wild,” Jennifer Hartman, Filson’s handler and a field scientist from Rogue Detection Teams, told The Revelator. “But when you start to think about caterpillars, or viruses on plants, or invasive species at different stages in their life cycle, that’s when you really start to see the power of the nose at work.”
Of course no single tool — be it high- or low-tech — can save an endangered species by itself, but the more information we have the more we can protect. And with each technological development, the conservation picture from that information — and the processes to understand it — gets a little bit sharper.
Treeline, a new book by Ben Rawlence, explains how climate change is causing far-reaching shifts in one of our most important ecosystems.
British journalist Ben Rawlence knows a lot about how people cope with extreme situations. His first book, Radio Congo, chronicled Africa’s deadliest war. And his second, City of Thorns, detailed life in Kenya in the world’s largest refugee camp.
“Both of those describe extreme situations in conflict zones, but those lessons are absolutely relevant to humans everywhere,” he tells The Revelator.
His latest project took Rawlence to a vastly different landscape — the Arctic Circle — but also to the front lines of another global crisis.
“I was interested in trying to tell a story about climate change where it’s already history — where we can already look at what’s happened in the past,” he says. He realized that trees at the edge of the Arctic, where boreal forest meets tundra, have been responding to our changing climate for decades. And those changes sound a warning for the rest of the planet.
“The migration of the treeline north is no longer a matter of inches per century; instead it is hundreds of feet every year,” he writes in The Treeline: The Last Forest and the Future of Life on Earth. “The trees are on the move. They shouldn’t be. And this sinister fact has enormous consequences for all life on Earth.”
In TheTreeline Rawlence tells a complex ecological story by focusing on changes affecting seven tree species in seven different boreal ecotones — Scots pine in Scotland, birch in Norway, larch in Russia, spruce in Alaska, poplar in Canada and rowan in Greenland.
The book takes him to remote places, where he interviews Indigenous people, scientists and others with a front-row view of the unfolding climate crisis.
The Revelator spoke with Rawlence about what these changes mean for forests, the Arctic and the rest of us.
This book was an enormous journalistic endeavor. What did you learn?
I think the first thing is that nature is really complex. It’s the butterfly effect, where tiny things can have huge consequences. The fact that beavers were protected in the United States in the 1920s means that large numbers of them in Alaska are now transforming the Arctic ecosystem there. Whereas in Siberia, that’s not happening because there’s no beavers.
The second thing is because it’s so complex, you cannot make adequate judgments about the carbon sequestration potential of ecosystems and species. So “net zero” is nonsense — dangerous nonsense. It’s false accounting.
Ben Rawlence. Photo: Jonny Donovan
It’s going to lead to all kinds of problems, because you might say a spruce tree today is capable of sequestering 30 tons of carbon dioxide over the course of its life. But that’s based on the climate as it is now. In five years’ time, that spruce tree is tinder and it’s actually adding to global warming.
How does this concept of “trees on the move” affect permafrost in the Arctic, which has a vital role in sequestering carbon?
Most people might think more trees are good, right? But actually more trees in the Arctic is a source of real concern. More trees means roots into the soil. They trap more snow, which insulates the ground, which promotes more microbial activity and more melting of the permafrost.
That then releases loads of carbon dioxide, loads of methane, and completely destabilizes the tundra ecosystem, which has been stable up to this point.
The idea of “trees on the move” is actually contributing to the “great thaw.” I think that’s a phrase that we’re going to become more and more familiar with. [The melting of the permafrost] is a very serious prospect in terms of the billions of tons of methane being released.
At the end of the prologue you write that, “The last forest will be boreal. When humans are only fossils, it is these hardy northern species that will still be standing tall.” Why are boreal forests so important and what makes them endure?
[Boreal tree] species have evolved in dialogue with the ice to travel over enormous latitudes. So you can have spruce trees somewhere near the Tropic of Cancer, and you have them right up at the Arctic Circle. The same with larch and birch. They have a very, very wide niche and that niche is what makes them supremely adaptable, and that means that they’re likely going to be among the species that remain.
That’s why the boreal forest is important in the long history of the planet: Because they’re going to be key players in what comes next.
But the boreal forest is important now because of all the enormous geophysical functions that it performs.
It has one-third of all the trees on Earth. It produces way more oxygen than the rainforests. It has historically moved on the heels of the ice and formed the organic crust of the northern hemisphere, which allows us to live and get food and so on. It creates its own rain. We now know trees fire aerosols into the air, which bond with water vapor, condensing them into water, which makes them heavier so they fall as rain. It then regulates that rain in the soil, and filters and discharges it into the oceans, which has a key relationship with sea ice and salinity.
As [the boreal forest] heats up, all of those functions are disrupted.
One of the points your book makes is that it’s not just natural systems that are at risk, but languages and cultures, too. You went to great lengths to interview many Indigenous people living in remote areas. What did you learn?
I’m a great believer in Gaia — that humans are part of nature. They are a key component of any ecosystem. What I’ve learned from the journey was that humans are keystone species in these places. Even just a small activity, like protecting beavers, has had enormous impacts in how warming is now unfolding in Alaska. The same is true in Siberia where humans eliminated all the megafauna and now the taiga forest is on the site of what used to be savannah, and the larch trees have become a weed.
So humans are a keystone species — it’s really important to understand that role in ecosystem processes.
But also of course we are human. And we need windows on how to look at forests, how to understand what’s happening. And [Indigenous peoples] are the repositories of the knowledge that we need to survive in the future, because if we learn anything from looking at the warming that’s coming down the pipe, we need to be re-entangled with ecosystems. We need to pay attention to ecosystems.
If pollinators don’t work, if species are moving, if the soil is no longer fertile, we have to really pay attention and understand nature in ways that we’ve forgotten. And we will starve if we don’t get that right.
And that way of looking and way of being is still in existence — although it’s under assault — in those Indigenous communities, and by and large communities who live in forests, whether in the tropics or in the temperate zones or up in the boreal.
So I was very keen to talk to those people where I could find them and benefit from their insights and just give a little bit of a sense of what I think we need to be thinking about it.
After years of doing this research and writing the book, how do you feel about our prospects and what we should do next?
I’ve been a bit frustrated with this sort of simplistic analysis, one of which is that it’s all going to be OK if we do X, Y and Z. And the other is that there’s nothing we can do and it’s going to be awful.
What I tried to present was what I think is a more realistic prospect, which is that human life isn’t going to end immediately, but it’s definitely not going to be OK. And that definitely can’t be avoided. So we need to actually rigorously engage with the prospect. We need to think deeply about what it means. And we need to be proactive and do stuff.
We know largely what we must do. The question is how do we act and implement that in our own life? And how do we play a role in forcing change among recalcitrant corporations and governments who aren’t playing ball?
That’s why I’ve founded Black Mountains College, a new liberal arts school [in Wales], in direct response to the climate and ecological emergency.
It’s focused on preparing people for new ways of looking, thinking and working. That means practical skills that we’re going to need when the climate impacts hit — short supply chains, changes to crops, shortages of water and so on. We are focusing in the first instance on regenerative horticulture and sustainable forestry. And we’re looking at adding renewable energy, conservation farming, agroecology and other things like that.
It’s also looking at the emotional, political and social transformations that need to happen. So back to the point about Indigenous ways of being and seeing, trying to bring that into the conversation, trying to find ways to offer people opportunities to transform their own lives.
We want this to be an example of the kind of education that we think everybody needs. I’m hoping it’s the kind of education that my kids can do so they can get ready and can have a meaningful life in what will be a rapidly changing, much-depleted planet.
For me, [starting this college] was about finding a sense of purpose and a mission, rather than the kind of doom and gloom prospect for the world. Of course it’s sad, we have to grieve for the species that we’re losing. But we haven’t got time to be too self-indulgent about that. We’ve actually got a lot of work to do.
California’s stressed blue oak woodlands abound with beauty and teem with uncertainty.
What happens to us as the wild world unravels? Vanishing, an occasional essay series, explores some of the human stakes of the wildlife extinction crisis.
At an early age I went into the blue oak forest, fell under an enchantment and never left.
These remarkable woodlands on the flanks of Mount Diablo, in Northern California’s Contra Costa County, hold sway over my daily activities to this day. More than a second home, this place is a spiritual center for me, a land where the infinite and the intimate connect — and where I have been spoiled for any other.
I can never forget the first time I was stopped dead with aesthetic arrest, a pre-adolescent boy, hardly able to breathe in the face of the sublime beauty of this humble place. The epiphany from that first visit informed what was to become my life’s work as a naturalist and writer. It was not stirred by some epic vista like the Grand Canyon or under some enormous conifer in the Sierra Nevada but in a quiet grove of blue oaks at sunrise in the California spring.
It was probably a Tuesday. I remember the blinking blue eyes on the small wings of the buckeye butterflies (Junonia coenia) as they leapt up from under the knee-high grass at my approach. I remember the kaleidoscope of the orange monkey-flower (Diplacus aurantiacus), the golden violets (Viola pedunculata) and the purple of the black sage blossoms (Salvia mellifera) all reaching to the first rays of the morning’s red light. I remember the racket of so many songbirds, the nuthatches, titmice, wrens, kinglets, warblers, sparrows and others who could not be individually distinguished over the din. I remember dozens of bee species, some small, green and metallic (Agapostemon texanus) and some big, fuzzy and slow (Bombus californicus). I remember tarantulas, salamanders, the heady smell of mushrooms everywhere.
And the blue oak itself? It’s a modest if unruly deciduous tree that’s squat compared to the trees with which it often shares its woodlands, the sprawling valley oaks and the evergreen live oaks. It goes dormant in the rainy season after producing its crop of acorns, only to unfurl fresh, blue-green leaves in early spring that contrast the gray, often gnarled, furrowed bark of the trunk.
Photo: John Rusk (CC BY 2.0)
I emerged that day with the feeling that I had visited a secret world right in my backyard, a vibrant universe that had gathered around the offerings of the precious, arboreal habitat of the blue oak.
It wasn’t until a little later in life that I learned the names and details of those inhabitants, but I understand now that there was an unsettling paradox here: This ecosystem had long been well-equipped to weather natural, endemic disturbances but was now fragile to the onset of modernized, anthropogenic pressures.
This endemic woodland evolved to survive historic climate conditions that brought periodic fires, drought and insect outbreaks. But now that conditions are changing so rapidly the blue oaks (Quercus douglasii), a keystone species that can live as long as 700 years, are having a hard time keeping up.
The blue oak, you see, only thrives inside of a complex array of delicate, environmental conditions. Disrupt the finely tuned calibration of those conditions – foul the air, alter fire regimes, drain the soil of its richness — and the blue oak system begins to fray along with the thousands of species that rely on it.
Photo: John Rusk (CC BY 2.0)
A 2016 U.S. Geological Survey study found that in the past 30 years more than 40% (over 500 square miles) of blue oak woodland was lost or degraded due to drought, fire and development. Today the distribution of the moderately sized blue oak is confined to a nearly continuous ring around California’s Central Valley. The Goldilocks zone for this endemic tree, between the valley grasslands and the montane forests, can range from sea level up to 6,000 feet. Depending on soil composition, latitude and slope orientation, the oldest and biggest trees are generally found between 2,000 and 3,000 feet. These drought-resistant and fire adapted trees thrive in shallow and rocky soils and generally avoid the rich and loamy soils of the valley floor favored by their bigger cousins, the valley oak (Quercus lobata).
But therein lies an important conservation dilemma: These are old trees, and this is an aging habitat type that is not progenerating nearly as robustly as it once did. This sad state of affairs is not primarily because of habitat loss or even climate breakdown due to global warming, but mainly because of the effects of cattle grazing and invasive grasses. The Eurasian grasses that have steadily expelled the native grasses of California over the past several centuries tend to have much shallower roots than their endemic counterparts. Because of this, the grass competes with blue oak saplings for nutrients, including water, and blue oak seed recruitment continues to decline. With the added stress of more fire and increased drought, the result is that fewer and fewer young blue oaks ever make it to adulthood, raising doubts about the future of the species.
Photo: Joe Decruyenaere (CC BY-SA 2.0)
Internationally, the blue oak species has yet to be designated as being at serious risk, but the ecosystem it supports and the habitat systems it provides are so valuable that the diminution of the tree’s range and population need to be taken seriously. Researchers are now focused on identifying and prioritizing threatened areas of blue oak woodland and engaging strategies to restore woodland that has been lost despite growing aridity and air temperature and an increasingly severe fire regime.
Blue oak has two good things going for it: Because the conditions it enjoys are generally unfavorable for agriculture, blue oak woodland is most typically utilized as rangeland. And because it is not good timber wood, old-growth blue oak habitat might be the most-common ancient woodland type left in the California. By studying the stress preventing blue oak recruitment, designating the habitat-type as threatened, and understanding why and where the habitat still exists in its pristine state, we have an opportunity to prevent the vanishing of this precious ecosystem.
And, importantly, by preventing the collapse of the blue oak woodland, the regeneration of so much biodiversity across California’s interior valleys remains not only possible, but probable.
Photo: Joe Decruyenaere (CC BY-SA 2.0)
So many decades after that first vision of beauty hit me out of a clear blue sky, I still live next to that radiant woodland, and I go every day to talk to my more-than-human friends and to listen to what they might have to say. In the protected lands of Mount Diablo State Park, I have noticed some seasonal diminishment of certain populations of flora and fauna due to 20 years of increasing aridity and prolonged drought, but this place is not subject to so many of the ravages that most blue oaks face elsewhere.
What I do find there, still in great abundance, is my own wonder at its staggering beauty. That connection that I feel with this living system offers a shield against so much despair and anxiety that so easily takes hold in this unfolding world. The enchantment inspires the protective impulse. I maintain the number one thing that the public can do to help in the conservation of this, or any other endangered ecosystem is to go there, to feel its beauty, to take it in to you and to let yourself fall in love.
“We need to make the time to water a new kind of wild empathy,” writes the cofounder of the Church of Stop Shopping.
EDITORS’ NOTE: Around the world in recent months, committed activists have stepped up protests and direct action to demand progress on climate change, environmental justice and the extinction crisis. Among them are the Church of Stop Shopping, an activist choir group from New York City that visited last year’s United Nations COP26 climate conference in Glasgow, Scotland, to sing, protest and make good trouble. Their enigmatic front man, the “firenado and brimstone” preacher Rev. Billy Talen, provides this account/sermon of inspiration from the event.
This outrageous apocalypse! These multiplying disasters! Can’t we find where these cataclysms are coming from? Why don’t we go to the source and make adjustments?
But what is that source? The people who want to explain the whys and wherefores of plagues, river-leaping fires, 200 mph winds and mass disappearance of species have split into two powerful camps: religion and science. The church people say that “God did it.” And the natural scientists point to a “dynamic, living system” or a “self-regulating organism.”
The trouble with these mystifications is that they leave us at a vague middle distance from the Earth. Neither the religious nor scientific explanation feels truthful. Or maybe a better way to put it is, they aren’t intimate. They distance us from the Earth. These institutions insist on mediating our personal relationship to this place where we live. Our activism for the Earth becomes harder to make powerful.
The author Rev. Billy Talen is the pink preacher here performing with the Stop Shopping Choir in New York.
Once we’re at that big remove from the touch, smell, dazzling sight, heady weirdness and fantastic life of the Earth, our activism loses its traction. We’re trying to “save the Earth” by way of politics, ideology, scary data or old morals. We’re trying to be good environmentalists, and that is turning out to be … not nearly enough.
Is the fire and flood getting worse because we’re not doing enough? As the Sixth Extinction heats up, it would seem that the Earth is highly critical of the human species. And so the Earth is doing what she has always done — inventively evolving life to escape a dead planet.
By now you, dear reader, have noticed that I allow the Earth conscious intent. Some may accuse me of being religious, giving the Earth the role God once had. Others would say I’m a member of the new wave of scientists who argue that consciousness is a material, the mortar of all things in the universe. I’m just a desperate activist.
I noticed in Glasgow in November that of all the scores of environmentalist types — from the United Nations diplomats to Extinction Rebellion to Scottish birdwatchers — the most ardent and hard-hitting activists were Indigenous mothers. They were the ones who talked about the Earth as if she was a noble friend who had been wronged. And they could pray to the Earth and sing to the Earth in the middle of a transfixing harangue. And they led the walkout by “civil society” from the COP26 negotiations, leaving the billionaire oil men and their bankers playing poker at their table.
That familiarity with the Earth needs to be a part of all our activists’ emotional lives. For instance, when we are out in the wilds, we should be aware of the mass movement of all life in this warming. We should know that we must migrate, too, and be a part of this extinction. The practice of defending the Earth in this time of the Sixth Extinction calls upon us to grow an empathy for the Earth that may feel intensely strange.
We need to make the time to water a new kind of wild empathy.
Our old nature culture needs new nakedness. We won’t be able to wall off the Earth with “recreation,” “nature photography” or “donating to the Sierra Club.” We need to walk those jagged miles to a wild place, a forest, a wetland, a coral reef, an alpine meadow … go there and whisper to the Earth a sweet nothing.
Give in. Abandon politics. Abandon religion and science. Abandon ideology. Find that intimacy. Start the whole Earth relationship over.
Walk straight into the nearest forest — or park if that’s all you’ve got access to — and stay there until the breakthrough happens. Give the Earth a name and have a conversation. Stop calling the natural world a “creation” or a “system” and talk to her and listen.
If our conscious life exchanges signals with Earth’s conscious life, there is a better chance we can evolve our activism. What kind of zealotry is the Earth calling for? Our answer is in the eye-wall wind of a great storm.
Hear that? “Go to the violence and end it,” the Earth tells us. “Now 50,000 of you walk to a pipeline and dismantle it with your hands.”
The opinions expressed above are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of The Revelator, the Center for Biological Diversity or its employees.
Policymakers can’t hide behind a lack of research anymore when it comes to enacting meaningful conservation measures to protect dwindling wolverine populations.
Wolverines are notoriously elusive, which has made them hard to study. And harder to protect.
Often dwelling in high mountain reaches and denning in deep snow, wolverines (Gulo gulo) prefer to stay away from people. Although evidence has long suggested their populations have declined, some scientists and policymakers have, for years, fallen back on a common trope that not enough is known about them to warrant protective action.
But a new study published in Global Ecology and Conservation flips this narrative — and renews the call for conservation.
Jacob and a team of 15 other researchers surveyed the scientific literature and found 156 peer-reviewed studies about wolverines published in English — mostly from North America and Scandinavia — in the past 20 years.
“We can’t just keep hiding behind the idea that wolverines are hard to study and so we’re going to ignore them,” says lead author Jason Fisher, a wildlife ecologist at the University of Victoria. “I think the big take-home from the study is that we do know a lot about what’s affecting them. We can do something about this now, so let’s get to it.”
The Threats
The review of wolverine research found a troubling trend.
“By and large we’re finding that wolverine populations are declining in some part of their range all over the world,” says Jacob. The species lives in many parts of the global North, including Russia and Mongolia.
Broadly speaking, the biggest threats come from people — specifically landscape changes and climate change, although there are some geographic differences. In places like British Columbia and Scandinavia, hunting and trapping of wolverines are also big threats.
In other parts of Canada, including Alberta, landscape changes are the key factor.
“The places that used to be pretty far tucked away are now being very heavily developed for oil and gas, forestry, and recreation,” says Fisher. “And it’s those incursions that are taking a big toll on wolverines.”
Across Canada’s southern border, things are even more dire. Wolverines used to range across large parts of the United States, from coast to coast and as far south as New Mexico. But European colonization has pushed wolverines into just the upper Rocky and Cascade mountains. Only 300 or so of the animals remain in the lower 48 states.
There, ample snow, especially in the spring when females are denning, seems to be an important factor in wolverine survival.
Wolverine tracks in a snow field. Photo: NPS/Cascades Carnivore Project
“The populations left behind now most definitely need those mountain strongholds and need snow,” says Fisher. “If not for snow itself, then at least for the things that snow represents, whether that’s dens for kits or it’s places where other species can’t live.”
Recent research shows that wolverines face a lot of competition, but they can outcompete other predators, such as coyotes, in deep snow because they’re especially adapted to it, including having “monstrous, snowshoe paws,” he says.
A reduced snowpack from climate change poses an additional threat for the remaining populations.
So too does more people getting out into the backcountry, such as skiers accessing mountain areas by helicopter and snowcat.
“Even though wolverines can fight off bigger carnivores — including grizzlies — from a kill, the research also shows they’re incredibly sensitive to human activities,” says Jacob. “That can be something we think of as insignificant, like recreation in the wrong places at the wrong times. Or it can be landscape-scale change that you can really see. All of these things add up to affect a species that’s really sensitive to people.”
Scaling Solutions
In recent years wolverines have benefitted from a few conservation programs at the regional level.
In Scandinavia, Indigenous Sámi have traditionally hunted and trapped wolverines to reduce their numbers and protect reindeer herds they rely on for their livelihoods. Sweden has implemented a program to compensate Sámi for not killing wolverines that’s shown success, says Fisher.
“In British Columbia there’s been extensive work that shows that wolverines are overharvested — they have the most liberal harvest on the planet,” he says. “But they have made some regional changes to their harvest policy to decrease that pressure.”
In other parts of the province, researchers have identified areas where female wolverines are denning and posted notices informing recreationists to avoid those areas.
“Most people do it, even though it’s voluntary,” says Jacob. “But it’s important because it’s a critical time for a species that’s slow to reproduce and doesn’t have many babies.”
In Alberta dozens of overpasses and underpasses, along with corresponding roadside fencing, are helping wolverines and other animals safely cross busy highways around Banff National Park. Speeding cars, of course, pose a safety risk, but research has also found that female wolverines often won’t cross busy roads, and that poses a risk to the animal’s genetic diversity.
An overpass for wildlife on the Trans-Canada highway in Banff National Park. (Photo by Janusz Sliwinski, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)
More wildlife crossing structures are needed along busy stretches of road, but we need to prevent more roads from being built in areas where we don’t have them, says Jacob.
“A male wolverine might have a territory of 380 square miles or more in some cases. And he will not share that with other male wolverines,” she says. “This is what makes wolverines unlike many other species.”
Wolverines need a lot of area to move — and those areas need to be connected.
“What this research tells us is that we have to be thinking about landscapes at really big scales,” says Jacob. “And unless we do that, wildlife, like wolverines, aren’t going to thrive.”
Next Steps
What’s needed next is a better-informed public and more action from decision-makers, say the researchers.
“Animals like caribou and grizzly get more attention — at least here in Canada,” says Fisher. “So we’re really hoping that some changes come really soon, before it’s too late for wolverines.”
Specifically he hopes that the research they’ve compiled can help drive support for reassessing wolverine populations and what’s needed to help them.
In Canada wolverines are listed as “special concern,” the lowest category for a species at risk of extinction. There’s no federal management plan for them, and in British Columbia, Jacob says, their provincial management plan hasn’t been updated in more than 30 years. In Alberta wolverines are designated as “data deficient,” which should also be reassessed in light of recent research, she says.
And in the United States, conservation groups are fighting a 2020 decision by the Fish and Wildlife Service to deny listing wolverines as threatened under the Endangered Species Act.
“What we’re really hoping is by producing this paper and getting this consensus opinion, that’ll drive governments to take a much closer look,” says Fisher. “Hopefully the United States will reconsider the endangered species listing, and Canada and individual jurisdictions will reassess wolverines and take some stronger conservation action because right now they’re really falling through the cracks.”
The coral reef ecosystems in Brazil’s largest coastal Marine Protected Area need defending against overfishing, tourism and global warming.
The place:
Costa dos Corais Environmental Protection Area, Northeastern Brazil
Why it matters:
Costa dos Corais harbors one of the largest reef formations in Brazil and is rich in biodiversity —groups of algae, fish, crustaceans, molluscs and aquatic mammals, along with its namesake corals. It’s home to endangered species like manatees, turtles and whales, and approximately 200,000 people live in the region, most of whom depend directly on the use of the reef’s natural resources for tourism and artisanal fishing.
The Costa dos Corais Environmental Protection Area was created by federal decree in 1997 to protect these fragile, enchanting reefs and their biodiversity. It’s the largest coastal marine protected area in Brazil: more than 1,540 square miles (400,000 hectares) extending along 75 miles (120 km) of beaches in the north (state of Pernambuco) and south (state of Alagoas). The area is classified as a “sustainable use conservation unit,” which aims to sustainably integrate conservation and uses like tourism and fishing.
Photo courtesy Reef Conservation Project
Ecological, scientific and cultural tourism are among the management objectives of Costa dos Corais. Local projects seek to develop tourism sustainability, address the challenges of the local population — such as health, education, professional qualification and access to culture — and encourage the conservation and inspection of nature. There’s a constant dialogue between stakeholders and government to formalize the rules already established so tourism and care for the environment can coexist with mutual respect.
The threat:
One of the challenges in this area is expanding tourism, combined with insufficient monitoring of the effects of visitation on reef environments.
Thermal stress caused by global warming is also a major threat. Recently our research with the NGO Reef Conservation Project found an unprecedented coral mortality in the Costa dos Corais following the worst thermal stress event since 1985, when average live coral cover reduced by 18.1%. Mortality was highest for two endemic species (Millepora braziliensis and Mussismilia harttii).
My place in this place:
When I was just a girl, in love with nature and especially the sea, the question I most liked to answer was: “What will you be when you grow up?” Every time I would answer “a biologist.” And it was like that, without realizing that I made a promise, I would be a biologist — a marine biologist.
During my master’s degree program I undertook research at Costa dos Corais, exploring the conservation status of an endemic coral (Mussismilia harttii). It was love at first sight — I was enchanted with this place.
In 2017 I started my work at Reef Conservation Project, working directly in conservation and monitoring of fish and corals in the region, joining the management bodies in building good habits, environmental education and protection of the region. At Costa dos Corais I truly learned how to be a biologist — and understood that my dream had been fulfilled.
The author, center, with the Reef Conservation Project team.
It was wonderful to be able to get here, but it was challenging, I learned a lot and I still learn every day. I reinforce my commitment to being a biologist by taking care of the sea — and especially Costa dos Corais.
Who’s protecting it now:
The MPA Costa dos Corais is protected and managed by the Chico Mendes Institute for Biodiversity Conservation through its integrated management center located in the municipality of Tamandaré, state of Pernambuco. The Institute has partnerships with governmental institutions and private and nongovernmental organization, working to promote public policies for conservation through monitoring of biodiversity, production of studies, demonstration projects, environmental education, protection of endangered species, improvement of environmental legislation, communication and engagement of society.
What this place needs:
The region has consistent legislation in its management plan to inspect and coordinate the sustainable exploitation of its areas. However, it still requires support from the private sector, volunteers, and in-depth scientific exploration. We need a greater understanding of the biotic and abiotic processes present at the site, so that inspection is carried out effectively and fully to fully mitigate the impacts arising from problematic use of its resources. We also need to strengthen community-based tourism and include local populations in tourist activities.
Lessons from the fight:
Costa dos Corais is open to new partnerships and this will certainly expand and generate new knowledge, both for the management and for the community residing here. We’re always seeking to strengthen citizen science, where the local population is directly involved in the conservation of biodiversity, bringing a sense of belonging to this very rich ecosystem. Environmental education of tourists, easy accessibility to data and local actors are essential for the sustainable use of these areas and quality management to be achieved. Integrating society, universities, local institutions and management bodies in environmental preservation is a key path that needs to be taken.
A new study shows how the concerning overlap between the biodiversity and climate crises.
Animals that eat fruit and spread the seeds in their droppings offer an all-inclusive transportation service for half the world’s flora. But as more seed-dispersing birds and mammals die off globally, some of these plant species will lose their ability to shift their locations to keep pace with escalating climate change, says new research.
“When you hear the headlines about the biodiversity crisis, some call it the sixth mass extinction, that decline of birds and mammals also means the decline of seed dispersers,” Evan Fricke, lead author of the new study, recently published in Science, said.
Fricke and colleagues reported that the loss of birds and mammals has reduced the ability of animal-dispersed plants to track climate change by 60%.
This number “is somewhere in the alarm bell territory,” he said. “I hope [this finding] focuses people’s attention on the importance of seed-disperser biodiversity for plant adaptation to climate change.”
“If there are no animals available to eat their fruits or carry away their nuts,” Fricke said in a press release, “animal-dispersed plants aren’t moving very far.”
As the climate warms, many species will need to change locations to stay within a temperature range that they can tolerate. On a mountain, this might mean they move upslope by just a few to tens of meters per year. On flatter terrain, organisms need to move toward the poles, perhaps hundreds of kilometers, to keep pace with climate change. The speed at which suitable climate zones move across the landscape (also known as the climate change velocity) is faster, and therefore more challenging, for plants to track on flat land.
While animals can crawl, fly, swim or walk to new places, plants cannot pick up and move. So the question, Fricke said, becomes: “How many seeds disperse at least that distance that the climate has shifted during the year? How many seeds are dispersed far enough to keep pace with that climate change?”
In the past, scientists have studied what the loss of seed-dispersing animals means for plants in ecosystems, and they’ve also studied how plant populations respond to climate change. But combining those two catastrophes — climate change and mass extinction — on a global scale has been a tougher nut to crack.
To accomplish this goal, the researchers used data from hundreds of past studies to train a machine-learning model to make estimates and conclusions about the loss of seed-dispersal services. The far-ranging data sets analyzed and compared IUCN data on worldwide animal populations; which seeds are dispersed by which animals; where and how far these animals travel; and how long seeds take to pass through the guts of their dispersers.
A grizzly visiting berry bushes in Denali National Park. Photo: Sanjoy Ghosh, (CC BY 2.0)
Seed-dispersal losses, they found, are most extreme in the temperate regions of North America, Europe, South America and Australia. Extinction of the world’s current endangered species would most impact dispersal in tropical regions in South America, Africa and Southeast Asia.
“This paper is an elegant analysis of how the loss of animals will affect plants under climate change scenarios,” said Mauro Galetti, a seed-dispersal researcher from the University of Miami who was not involved in the study. “The results are worrisome because most natural ecosystems’ large fruit-eating animals are vanishing.”
The scientists also found that even just a small decline in the number of animal species leads to a massive decline in plants’ ability to track climate change. “One might expect that if a location loses 10% of its seed-dispersing animals, we would see a 10% decline in dispersal,” Fricke said, “but this is not the case.” When animals die off in an ecosystem, we’re often first losing the large ones — those that are the best at long-distance dispersal.
“We found regions where climate-tracking seed dispersal declined by 95%, even though they’d lost only a few percent of their mammal and bird species,” Fricke said.
“From elephants and gorillas in Africa, to toucans and tapirs in South America, large seed dispersers are vanishing rapidly and their dismissal will have strong consequences on seed dispersal,” Galetti said. “Many plants will be trapped in space without seed dispersers.”
This first global analysis of the loss of seed-dispersers, according to Fricke, demonstrates the critical interconnectedness of the climate change and biodiversity crises — two of the nine planetary boundaries identified by scientists. The destabilization and overshoot of one or more of these boundaries due to human interference could cause the failure of critical Earth operating systems.
“Biodiversity of seed-dispersing animals is key for the climate resilience of plants, which includes their ability to continue storing carbon and feeding people,” Fricke said. “Extinction and habitat loss damage complex ecological networks. This study shows animal declines can disrupt ecological networks in ways that threaten the climate resilience of entire ecosystems that people rely upon.”
This heavily exploited species just got a temporary reprieve, but new protections come with a ticking clock.
With their pointed snouts, slender gill slits, cobalt-blue skin, flashing metallic sides and white bellies, North Atlantic shortfin mako sharks are a stunning sight. They’re deadly fast, too, reaching speeds up to 45 miles per hour — the fastest sharks in the ocean. As apex predators, they evolved in a niche that helped maintain ecological balance by controlling prey populations. Through a diet of big, meaty fish like tuna and swordfish, makos can grow to 13 feet in length and live up to 30 years.
Some species could survive that pressure. Not makos. Their late breeding — females don’t reach sexual maturity until age 19 — and the fact that their prey are also heavily overfished leaves them especially vulnerable.
In fact most makos are caught unintentionally by fishing boats seeking other species — a well-documented, avoidable, unmitigated disaster and one of the clearest, most catastrophic shark conservation crises in the world.
Safina with a mako shark tagged for scientific study. Photo used with permission.
This disaster truly surfaced in 2017, when an assessment by the International Commission for Conservation of Atlantic Tunas — the management body responsible for the well-being of large migratory fish species in the Atlantic Ocean — found the population overfished. Another 2017 report found that even if we stopped all catch of makos today, it would still take the deeply depleted population more than five decades to fully recover. These reports landed North Atlantic makos on the IUCN Red List as endangered in 2018.
Still, the commission failed to take serious action until late 2021, when it finally passed some protections for North Atlantic mako sharks.
Those protections come with a ticking clock.
Delayed Action
Last November delegates to the ICCAT convened virtually for their annual meeting. Far removed from the high-running groundswell and moodiness of the North Atlantic Ocean, committee members met to decide their role in determining the fate of the rapidly declining North Atlantic mako shark. As usual they tossed around jargon like “landing rates” and “retention bans.” Notes were taken, coffee was sipped, points were argued, and disagreements were vigorous.
But this time, progress was made.
Up for debate was the implementation of an “international retention ban” on North Atlantic mako sharks. That’s jargon again, but such a ban would mean no mako sharks could be brought to land. Any mako shark caught while fishing for, say, tuna or swordfish would have to be released — or, if dead upon arrival, discarded. Canada had already implemented its own national retention ban and first proposed the international version in October 2020, backed by ample scientific evidence of rapid decline and the support of the commission’s scientists.
Photo: NOAA
After more than four years of commission scientists warning us about the vulnerability of mako sharks, the committee finally listened. Thanks largely to the leadership of Canada, the United Kingdom, Senegal and Gabon, the committee agreed on a two-year full international retention ban of all mako sharks, the first step in a long-term, international rebuilding plan for this population.
As Sonja Fordham, president of Shark Advocates International, said after the November committee meeting, “With all the existing commitments and warnings about the dire status of makos, this win should not have been this hard.”
The move was a success — undeniable progress — but not nearly enough.
What Next?
Although this two-year international retention ban does show progress, the question remains, what happens after it expires?
Even with the ban, mako sharks are still coveted, not only for their meat and fins, but as a prize catch for sport fishermen. And their widespread range means that both individual and commercial catches boost local economies. So it’s no surprise that the countries with the highest global mako catch rates — the United States, members of the European Union (primarily Spain and Portugal) and Morocco — were the groups that consistently opposed the proposed ban on keeping makos. They cited the usual short term “economic reasons” that in the long-term drive people broke, until now.
During the November meeting, the European Union, which has long been the biggest offender of North Atlantic shortfin mako catch — it took 74% of the total mako catch last year — held firm on a complicated cocktail of conditions, potentially setting itself up to exploit some loopholes after the short respite. In the words of Ali Hood, director of conservation for the Shark Trust, “At long last, we have the basis for a game-changing rebuilding plan, but it won’t be successful if we take our eyes off the EU and their egregious intent to resume fishing a decade before rebuilding is predicted to begin.” We can’t afford to slide backward just as progress starts.
Photo: SEFSC Pascagoula Laboratory; Collection of Brandi Noble, NOAA/NMFS/SEFSC
Retention bans, when done right, can work. Through a recent study, the commission found that makos caught and then released have a 77% chance of surviving, proving that this ruling, plus other mitigation strategies, could be a straightforward way to help this population and immediately stop mortality.
But it can’t work with loopholes, and it can’t work in two years. The U.S. National Marine Fisheries Service needs to enforce regulations specifying that this retention ban is not just for open ocean (pelagic) fisheries but for all boats in all water. If done swiftly, that could fill some regulatory cracks before anyone can slip through.
Experts agree that two years is not nearly enough for this population to fully recover. As of now, the current ruling states that after 2023 shortfin mako sharks will once again be up for grabs. Boats in the North Atlantic will be able to land mako sharks if the total bycatch from the previous year is under 250 metric tons. For context, according to ICCAT scientists, the EU alone landed 1,261 metric tons in 2020, so while this quota is a definite improvement, it still creates some upsetting possibilities. By allowing any landings you open the door to a whole array of possible half-truths and lies, fudging bycatch numbers, claiming the mako was dead on arrival — anything to justify landing these sharks.
To avoid this, member countries need to align their conservation goals to be a unified front against powerful parties like the EU — insisting on a full international retention ban and nothing less.
Conservationists, divers, scientists, aquarists and elected representatives who have been steady advocates for these sharks cannot let up now. These people, dubbed the “voice of the makos” by Hood, have been crucial to the victory and should continue to fight.
Finally, those on the water — fishermen, who witness the athleticism of makos firsthand through a whipping metallic blue tail or a splash of white belly in the waves — need to do their part, too. Historically, sport and recreational fishermen have resented and resisted any bans on landing makos. Catching them is a thrill and a challenge — the focus of intense “mako tournaments,” where fishermen compete to catch the heaviest shark for a cash prize. For many of these fishermen, the mako victory out of ICCAT was bad news for their sport and a personal disappointment for those who never crossed a mako off their fishing bucket list.
But abiding by, and actively supporting, these regulations will go a long way — not just for making sure these sharks are around for future anglers to enjoy, but also for helping to maintain a healthy ocean ecosystem that can provide joy and sustenance for years to come. By encouraging fellow anglers to support the retention ban, recreational fishermen have a chance to be the strongest “voice of the makos.”
The makos caught a temporary break this time. All of us, together, need to make sure it lasts.
The opinions expressed above are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect those of The Revelator, the Center for Biological Diversity or its employees.
It’s time to overhaul the chemical industry — for the sake of fenceline communities and the rest of the planet.
Climate change is quickly evolving into climate catastrophe, and there’s a narrow window of time to do something about it. While the world works on solutions, there’s surprisingly little focus on the chemical industry, which accounts for roughly 7% of global greenhouse gas emissions — as well as other environmental harms.
Weak or nonexistent regulations of the industry have led to widespread cancer, respiratory illnesses, and even facility explosions, primarily in low-income communities and communities of color.
But the industry essentially has a free pass to continue business as usual — it just keeps on keepin’ on, with little accountability.
The same holds true when it comes to the industry’s contributions to our warming planet, which is happening in three major ways:
First, fossil fuels are the “feedstocks” for chemical manufacturing, meaning that oil, natural gas and coal are used as raw material for chemicals. Global plastic production relies heavily on fossil fuel feedstocks and is expected to grow by 40% by 2030. That will bring more environmental problems. Around 98% of single-use plastic is derived from fossil fuels, and it releases greenhouse gas emissions at every stage of its life cycle. Only a small amount of plastic products are recycled. Most end up in landfills or the environment, and nearly one-quarter is incinerated, releasing millions of metric tons of carbon dioxide and other harmful air pollutants.
Second, fossil fuels power chemical manufacturing. Some of the most commonly manufactured “primary” chemicals, like ethylene, propylene, benzene, toluene, ammonia and methanol, account for two-thirds of the energy used by the industry, according to the International Energy Agency.
While the industry has implemented some energy efficiency measures and low-carbon technology, direct carbon dioxide emissions from chemical production have continued to increase.
Third, the chemical industry contributes to climate change by producing chemicals that are themselves potent greenhouse gases. For example, hydrofluorocarbons, used as refrigerants and foam-blowing agents, are 3,800 times more damaging to the climate than carbon dioxide.
Under the Kigali Amendment of the Montreal Protocol, countries have committed to cutting production and consumption of HFCs by at least 80% by 2047. And just this year, the EPA announced a goal to reduce U.S. production. But this may create new problems. For example, some proposed plans for capturing HFCs (rather than replacing them with safer chemicals that don’t harm the climate) will result in emissions of other hazardous air pollutants like chloroform, hydrochloric acid, chlorine and hydrogen fluoride. All of these hazardous air pollutants contribute to the cumulative burden faced by fenceline communities.
Finally, not only does chemical production and use contribute to climate change — the intensifying weather patterns of climate change will worsen the industry’s environmental and public health impacts. Chemical and petrochemical facilities are concentrated along the Gulf Coast of Texas and Louisiana: the very same areas that are and will be hit hard by hurricanes, flooding and sea-level rise. Many of these facilities are unprepared for these effects, increasing the risk of catastrophic chemical disasters — predominantly in communities of color and low-income communities.
Across the country, hundreds of thousands of aboveground storage facilities containing hazardous chemicals — such as arsenic, formaldehyde, and trichloroethylene — are NOT subject to state or federal rules designed to prevent and mitigate spills.https://t.co/C9tYm94kIP
Ultimately, to mitigate the worst impacts of climate change, limit the risk of chemical disasters, and begin to remedy a legacy of environmental injustice, we must significantly reduce and replace the use of fossil fuels in every part of the chemical industry, which needs a systemic overhaul.
It’s a mighty task. Only a handful of more than 40,000 chemicals on the market have ever been restricted; even asbestos hasn’t been fully banned. There are still almost 3.5 billion pounds of hazardous releases to the environment every year. The United States is covered with 1,300 toxic “Superfund” sites, plus thousands more contaminated sites.
But that hasn’t stopped affected communities and organizations from banding together to say enough is enough. Recently a group of more than 100 health, science and environmental justice groups called for a transformation of the chemical industry with the release of the new Louisville Charter.
Named after an area in Kentucky with 11 industrial facilities that release millions of pounds of toxic air emissions every year — disproportionately impacting people of color — the Charter’s 10 principles outline a vision for how to overhaul chemical policies in favor of safety, health, equity and justice, and how to avoid false solutions that simply shift harms to other people and places.
These principles include calls to reduce or eliminate fossil fuel use, substitute toxic chemicals with safer alternatives, remedy environmental injustice, end subsidies for polluting companies, and give communities and workers information about chemical risks and the ability to act upon these disclosures.
We can make gains to achieve these goals if Congress passes the Environmental Justice for All Act and the Build Back Better Act, which would advance the some, but not all, of the Charter’s principles. More action is needed, and the Charter can guide the way.
Whether it’s to solve climate change, stop toxic chemicals from bombarding overburdened communities, or reduce hazardous substances in household products, we need to start replacing harmful chemicals with safe alternatives. No more free passes.
The opinions expressed above are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of The Revelator, the Center for Biological Diversity or its employees.
The lagoon environment may be protected from the harsher open waters, but this leaves it with a limited flushing capacity, which is important to water quality, ecosystem functions, sedimentation, pollutant distribution and other healthy functions. Because of this, if this ecosystem is disrupted by industry, it will take longer for it to recover.
Many hardworking families, some who have lived here for multiple generations, have watched the increasing and shocking industrialization of the lagoon and the loss of myriad sea creatures who used thrive in local tidepools. These neighbors and friends have rallied together in a grassroots effort to bring awareness to the current and future threats to this unique body of water.
At an early age I went into the blue oak forest, fell under an enchantment and never left.
