Patrick is answering questions about the ocean right now on Twitter! (3-5pm EDT, 6/8/2015). Label your tweets with #MyOceanQ to reach him and other ocean experts convened by the Ocean Leadership group.
What happens when you turn a lake blue? Specialists suffer, generalists eat something else. Ryan’s paper in Ecosphere is here.
Jim Morley started work back in early January, but as of last week, has joined us at Rutgers. He previously finished a Ph.D. with Jeff Buckel at NC State working on bluefish, and his interests include climate change, food webs, and fisheries. He’ll be working on a research project with the Pew Charitable Trusts and the South Atlantic Fisheries Management Council to understand whether climate variability is influencing food webs in the southeast U.S. We’re excited to have Jim join us!
- Ryan gave at talk at the ASLO meeting on February 25 in Grenada, Spain, “Long-term changes in North American coastal communities.”
- Malin presented a poster at the Kavli Frontiers of Science meeting in Jerusalem on February 24.
- Jim talked on a panel affiliated with the March SAFMC meeting about our new project on Southeast Atlantic climate impact on fish.
- Malin’s off to Brazil to give two talks at the Effects of Climate Change on the World’s Oceans conference (March 22 and 25).
There’s not much to listen to while scuba diving… mostly your own bubbles, and the Rice Krispies pops and crackles of coral-munching fish and disgruntled snapping shrimp. If they made underwater headphones, I’d totally be rocking out like Star Lord from Guardians of the Galaxy, or getting into my Steve Zissou groove, while I spend my hours searching for and tagging anemones and clownfish.
But the quiet found, as you slowly glide over vast expanses of reef, pausing to observe an odd creature or jot down some notes, is definitely good for a little meditation.
Specifically, thinking about change.
I decided to take a small step outside of my feelings about change, and instead put on my scientist hat and start thinking about change. I did my best to try to observe how the natural world is changing, instead of placing positive or negative values on those changes.
Change can be scary. Sometimes it’s exciting. Sometimes it is overwhelming, or invigorating, but it can just as easily go unnoticed. Depending on your perspective, change can be historically cataclysmic, or it can be mosquito-fart inconsequential. But change is inevitable, especially in nature. And nature, like a scientist, doesn’t place value on things.
The reefs we’re studying are not what they once were. It’s clear from the intricate and expansive algae-covered structures we see on every dive: these were once vibrant reefs, populated with countless species of thriving corals and fish. Over the last several decades, with overfishing, agricultural runoff, pollution, dynamiting, invasive species, tropical storms and climate change, these reefs have been hit hard. Much of the old reef is now a mossy brownish-green; ancient ruins in an overgrown forest. Even the banded sea snakes have become bandless pea snakes. And don’t worry about sharks: on these reefs, you’d be hard-pressed to find a fish bigger than your hand.
But it’s not dead–far from it. Life continues here, in between the rubble of blasted coral, the spiderwebs of discarded fishing net, the plastic bags and diapers. For one, it is a fantastic place to live if you’re a species of encrusting algae, or one of the many invisible jellyfish floating about, stinging unsuspecting marine biologists.
It’s also still a place where anemones can do well, and they and the soft corals are surrounded by a still diverse set of fishes, crabs, nudibranchs, worms, sea stars, and so much more. And the most bizarre creature I’ve ever almost-accidentally-touched: a six foot-long sea cucumber that looked like a swimming pool lane marker mated with a monster from Tremors.
I don’t know what these reefs looked like a hundred years ago, but I can make educated guesses. A before-and-after photo would probably be a punch to the gut.
Or, it could be historically inconsequential.
Twenty thousand years ago, global sea level was nearly 400 feet lower. Where these troubled reefs stand would instead have been the lush foothills of the stunning mountains that tower over this island. The nearest coral reefs would have been on the other side of Leyte, lining the edge of the Philippine Trench.
Ten thousand years from now, sea level will likely have risen such that these waters would be far too deep for any light-dependent coral polyp to even consider living here. As they have for hundreds of millions of years of Earth’s history, coral reefs will move up and down the peripheries of islands, following the shallow waters of the millenial tides.
Yes, it is hard on individuals, and on many generations of corals and the plethora of organisms, including Filipino fishermen, that depend on them. And on the scale of a human lifetime, this change is dramatic.
But ultimately, this is just change, on a larger scale–not good, not bad, just change.
Malin and his colleagues recently published a paper in Science outlining the trend of disappearing ocean species, pointing to a developing ocean counterpart to the Anthropocene Extinction Event well underway on land. This is change on a level seen only a few times in the history of the planet, Through our actions, our inactions, and our unintended consequences, we’re in the running to get a Most Change Caused trophy, like the one given to the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs.
At this point, it looks like our dependence on fossil fuels (like the leaded gasoline they sell in Coke bottles on the side of the road here) is far from dwindling. And our best models are starting to show that, even if all carbon production stopped tomorrow, global temperatures will continue to rise into the next century.
Change is inevitable. Perhaps, then, the question should shift away from “How can we stop (or reverse) it?” to “How are we going to adapt to it?” What do we want our oceans to look like in a hundred years? If change is going to happen, can we influence how it affects us and the other species we depend on, or will we just adapt our livelihoods, like the reefs, to the rising and falling tides?
I wonder what fish we’ll have to eat when I’m 100 years old.
Our global review of animal loss in the oceans is just out today in Science (or for free here) in a paper authored with Doug McCauley, Steve Palumbi, Jim Estes, Francis Joye, and Bob Warner. As we report, today’s oceans remain vastly more wild places than land. You can take a couple turns off of Hollywood Boulevard, don snorkel gear, and swim among three-hundred-pound giant sea bass and see families of grey whales – all of this within sight of the skyscrapers of Los Angeles. Yet, at the same time the majority of large tunas and sharks are gone, cod stocks have collapsed, and whales are just now climbing back from near extinction. We find that the same patterns that led to the collapse of wildlife populations on land are now occurring in the sea, but ocean exploitation remains centuries or even millennia behind in the oceans. The next one hundred years promises to present major challenges to the health of marine wildlife.
Our press release
A slideshow on extinct species
Video to accompany the paper
New York Times (front page)
And Carl Zimmer’s reflections on writing the piece (National Geographic blog)
ABC7 Los Angeles (broadcast 12/16)
Four fifths of the Pinsky Lab is here to conduct a census of clownfish and their host anemones. After two full days of travel by plane, ferry and van, we set to work surveying the coral reefs on the western coast of central Leyte. Surveys are conducted on SCUBA and we work in teams to tag all of the anemones and note the clownfish. Some sites have tons of anemones and others are very sparse with terrible visibility. Each dive is like a 2-3 hour Easter egg hunt and it’s our job to find all of the anemones before we run out of air. Besides a lot of anemones and clownfish, we’ve also seen clownfish eggs, a diverse array of fishes and an uncanny number of sea snakes.
We have hired a boat to take us to our sites, which makes it very convenient for diving. It also means that we spend most of the day on or in the water, including eating our rice and fried chicken lunches off of dive slates and fins! In addition, commuting by boat allows us to admire the spectacular deep valleys and sheer green cliffs of Leyte that are dotted with long ribbon-like waterfalls. Often times, we arrive back to our hostel just as the sun is setting. With a coconut palm lined coastline, it is incredibly picturesque and a beautiful way to round off a long day of diving.