tag:theconversation.com,2011:/fr/topics/fieldwork-19359/articlesFieldwork – The Conversation2023-11-14T22:59:25Ztag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2169892023-11-14T22:59:25Z2023-11-14T22:59:25ZIt sounds like science fiction. But we can now sample water to find the DNA of every species living there<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/559205/original/file-20231114-19-zdguhr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=31%2C23%2C4175%2C3422&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Figuring out what species live in an ecosystem, and which ones are rare or just good at hiding is an essential way to understand and care for them. Until now, it’s been very labour intensive.</p>
<p>But now we can do it differently. Take a sample from the ocean and match tiny traces of DNA in the water with the species living there. </p>
<p>It’s not science fiction – it’s environmental DNA sampling. This approach opens the door to rapid, broad detection of species. You can find if pest species have arrived, tell if a hard-to-find endangered species is still hanging on, and gauge ecosystem health.</p>
<p>Because eDNA testing is still new, there are questions about its strengths and weaknesses and how it can best be used. For instance, we can tell if <a href="https://www.int-res.com/abstracts/esr/v30/p109-116/">extremely rare freshwater sawfish</a> are present in a Northern Territory river – but not how many individual fish there are. </p>
<p>Today CSIRO <a href="http://www.csiro.au/eDNA-roadmap">released a roadmap</a> created through consultation with many experts to show how eDNA technologies can be best integrated into marine monitoring at a large scale – and what the future holds. </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/558175/original/file-20231107-21-8sujdg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="man collecting DNA samples in buckets of river water" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/558175/original/file-20231107-21-8sujdg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/558175/original/file-20231107-21-8sujdg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=456&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/558175/original/file-20231107-21-8sujdg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=456&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/558175/original/file-20231107-21-8sujdg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=456&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/558175/original/file-20231107-21-8sujdg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=574&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/558175/original/file-20231107-21-8sujdg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=574&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/558175/original/file-20231107-21-8sujdg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=574&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">Here, lead author Maarten De Brauwer collects jerry cans of water from Tasmania’s Derwent River to document hundreds of species in the estuary.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Bruce Deagle</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
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<h2>How does eDNA sampling work?</h2>
<p>Deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA) is a very special molecule. It acts as the code for all life on Earth, holding the cellular instructions to make everything from a beetle to a human. Because DNA is unique to each species, it’s like a product barcode in a supermarket. </p>
<p>As animals and plants live their lives, they shed fragments of their DNA into their environment through dead skin, hair, saliva, scat, leaves or pollen. These traces make up environmental DNA. There’s enough DNA in water and even air to tell species apart. </p>
<p>The real power of eDNA sampling is how broad a net it casts. With one sample, we can detect anything living, from bacteria to whales, and in potentially every environment with life, from the deep sea to underground caves. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/environmental-dna-how-a-tool-used-to-detect-endangered-wildlife-ended-up-helping-fight-the-covid-19-pandemic-158286">Environmental DNA – how a tool used to detect endangered wildlife ended up helping fight the COVID-19 pandemic</a>
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<p>Importantly, this method lets scientists detect species even if we can’t see or capture them. This comes in handy when working with rare or very small species, or when working in environments such as murky water where it is impossible to see or catch them. It will, for example, make it easier to study <a href="https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1002/edn3.365">critically endangered pipefish</a> in estuaries. </p>
<p>To date, much eDNA research has focused on detecting species in water, because it’s relatively easy to collect, concentrate and extract eDNA from liquids. But we now know we can produce species lists based on the eDNA in soil, scat, honey, or even the air. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/558781/original/file-20231110-15-hupxn2.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Figure of mountains, seas, rivers showing how environmental DNA sampling can track species" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/558781/original/file-20231110-15-hupxn2.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/558781/original/file-20231110-15-hupxn2.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/558781/original/file-20231110-15-hupxn2.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/558781/original/file-20231110-15-hupxn2.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/558781/original/file-20231110-15-hupxn2.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/558781/original/file-20231110-15-hupxn2.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/558781/original/file-20231110-15-hupxn2.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">Environmental DNA sampling has a wide range of uses, from land to river to sea.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Berry et al, doi.org/10.1002/edn3.173</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
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<h2>How do scientists actually measure eDNA?</h2>
<p>Typically, you collect samples, perform molecular analysis and interpret results. </p>
<p><strong>Collect samples:</strong> Scientists collect a sample from the environment. This can be water, soil, or virtually any environmental substrate which might contain eDNA. We then process the sample to concentrate and stabilise the DNA. You might collect two litres of water with a bucket, filter it and then freeze or chemically stabilise the eDNA coating the filter. </p>
<p><strong>Molecular analysis:</strong> The first step in the lab is to purify DNA from a sample. The next step depends on your goal. If you want to detect a single species, you would generally use a technique called quantitative polymerase chain reaction (<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Real-time_polymerase_chain_reaction">qPCR</a>), similar to how you test for COVID.</p>
<p>But to detect whole communities of species, you have to use <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Metabarcoding">high-throughput DNA sequencing</a>. Where detecting a single species with eDNA takes only a few days days, completing the labwork for species communities can take weeks to months. At the end, you arrive at a long list of thousands or even millions of DNA barcode sequences. </p>
<p><strong>Interpreting results</strong>: Single species interpretation is simple. Was DNA from your species of interest present or not? But when the goal is to identify multiple species, scientists use <a href="https://research.csiro.au/dnalibrary/">DNA reference libraries</a> to link the DNA barcodes detected in the sample back to individual species. </p>
<p>This works well – but only if we already have the species listed in these libraries. If not, you can’t detect it with eDNA methods. That means eDNA can’t be used to detect new species or those only known from photos and videos.</p>
<h2>Why does eDNA matter? Look at marine parks</h2>
<p>Australia boasts one of the world’s largest and most biodiverse networks of marine parks. But as ocean life reels from climate change, overfishing and plastic pollution, it’s certain the oceans of the future will look very different to that of today. </p>
<p>Gauging impact to support evidence-based decisions across such a vast, diverse and remote area poses challenges difficult to solve with standard hands-on survey methods like like diving, video or trawling.</p>
<p>That’s where eDNA methods can help, offering a powerful, non-destructive, cost-effective and quick form of monitoring that can complement other techniques.</p>
<p>eDNA means we can fine-tune monitoring for specific purposes, such as detecting pests, endangered, or dangerous species. </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/558201/original/file-20231108-15-9w71wp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="figure showing the many future uses for eDNA with underwater drones, samplers in buoys" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/558201/original/file-20231108-15-9w71wp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/558201/original/file-20231108-15-9w71wp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/558201/original/file-20231108-15-9w71wp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/558201/original/file-20231108-15-9w71wp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/558201/original/file-20231108-15-9w71wp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/558201/original/file-20231108-15-9w71wp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/558201/original/file-20231108-15-9w71wp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=533&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">In future, our marine parks may well have networks of buoys sampling eDNA at the surface and underwater drones sampling the depths.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">CSIRO</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
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<p>This is just the start. Imagine a future where eDNA data could be collected from the most remote oceans by autonomous vehicles, analysed by the drone or on board a research vessel, and integrated with other monitoring data so marine managers and the public can see near-real time data about the condition of the ocean. </p>
<p>Science fiction? Not any more. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/you-shed-dna-everywhere-you-go-trace-samples-in-the-water-sand-and-air-are-enough-to-identify-who-you-are-raising-ethical-questions-about-privacy-205557">You shed DNA everywhere you go – trace samples in the water, sand and air are enough to identify who you are, raising ethical questions about privacy</a>
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<img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/216989/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Maarten De Brauwer receives funding from the CSIRO and the National Geographic Society. He is a board member at the Southern eDNA Society. </span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Oliver Berry receives funding from the CSIRO, the Australian Government, and the Minderoo Foundation. He is a board member of the Southern eDNA Society (Australia and New Zealand's professional society for eDNA scientists and other stakeholders). </span></em></p>Every living thing leaves traces in its environment. By sampling water or even air for this environmental DNA, we can know which species live where.Maarten De Brauwer, Research fellow, CSIROOliver Berry, Leader, Environomics Future Science Platform, CSIROLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2142152023-11-06T05:39:38Z2023-11-06T05:39:38ZFieldwork can be challenging for female scientists. Here are 5 ways to make it better<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/555493/original/file-20231024-23-98o1fy.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=17%2C0%2C5851%2C3818&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Merla, Shutterstock</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Women coastal scientists face multiple barriers to getting into the field for research. These include negative perceptions of their physical capabilities, not being included in trips, caring responsibilities at home and a lack of field facilities for women. Even if women clear these barriers, the experience can be challenging. </p>
<p>This is a problem because fieldwork is crucial for gathering data, inspiring emerging scientists, developing skills, expanding networks and participating in collaborative research. </p>
<p><a href="https://doi.org/10.1017/cft.2023.26">Our recent study</a> revisited an international survey of 314 coastal scientists that revealed broad <a href="https://theconversation.com/gender-inequalities-in-science-wont-self-correct-its-time-for-action-99452">perceptions and experiences of gender inequality</a> in coastal sciences. We offer five ways to improve the fieldwork experience for women. </p>
<p>Our collective experience of more than 70 years as active coastal scientists suggests women face ongoing problems when they go to the field. Against a global backdrop of the #MeToo movement, the <a href="https://www.pictureascientist.com/">Picture a Scientist</a> documentary and media coverage about <a href="https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-022-00097-4">incidents of sexual harassment</a> in the field, conversations between fieldworkers and research managers about behaviour and policy change are needed. </p>
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<img alt="A collage of photos showing female fieldworkers operating equipment, carrying gear and fixing engines" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/555495/original/file-20231024-21-prd8yo.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/555495/original/file-20231024-21-prd8yo.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=482&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/555495/original/file-20231024-21-prd8yo.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=482&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/555495/original/file-20231024-21-prd8yo.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=482&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/555495/original/file-20231024-21-prd8yo.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=605&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/555495/original/file-20231024-21-prd8yo.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=605&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/555495/original/file-20231024-21-prd8yo.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=605&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
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<span class="caption">Disrupting the narrative: Women fieldworkers operating equipment, carrying gear and fixing engines.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Women in Coastal Geosciences and Engineering network</span></span>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/sexual-harassment-impacts-university-staff-our-research-shows-how-211996">Sexual harassment impacts university staff – our research shows how</a>
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<h2>Our research: what we did and what we found</h2>
<p>In 2016, we surveyed both male and female scientists about their experiences of gender equality in coastal sciences during an international symposium in Sydney and afterwards online.</p>
<p>From 314 responses, 113 respondents (36%) provided examples of gender inequality they had either directly experienced or observed while working in coastal sciences. About half of these were related to fieldwork.</p>
<p>Our <a href="https://doi.org/10.1017/cft.2023.26">recent paper</a> in the journal Coastal Futures revisits the survey results to further unpack fieldwork issues that continue to surface among the younger generation of female coastal scientists whom we supervise in our jobs. Many of those younger women don’t know how to address these issues.</p>
<p>The paper includes direct quotes from 18 survey respondents describing their experiences. One woman, a mid-career university researcher, said:</p>
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<p>As I fill in this survey, the corridor of the building I work in is lined with empty offices. My colleagues are out on boats doing fieldwork. I have a passion for coastal science. That’s why I’m working in a university. But I have a disproportionately large share of administrative, pastoral and governance duties that keep me from engaging in my passion. I’m about to go to a committee meeting of women, doing women’s work (reviewing teaching offerings). Inequality is alive and well in my workplace! </p>
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<p>Collectively, the responses highlight barriers to fieldwork participation and challenges in the field, such as sexual harassment and abuse.</p>
<h2>A pressing issue, on and off campus</h2>
<p>Universities have recently been <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2023/sep/14/universities-criticised-for-failed-response-after-report-details-extent-of-sexual-violence-on-campuses">criticised for failing to respond</a> to sexual violence on campus. But women employed by universities working off campus – at field sites – can be even more vulnerable. </p>
<p>The social boundaries that characterise day-to-day working life in the office and the laboratory are reconfigured on boats or in field camps. Personal space is reduced. Fieldworkers can be required to sleep in close proximity to one another, potentially putting women in vulnerable situations.</p>
<p>As this female early-career university researcher wrote:</p>
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<p>Sometimes women are ‘advised’ to avoid fieldwork for security reasons. Or [we] are considered weak, or we are threatened by rape for being with a lot of men.</p>
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<p><a href="https://tos.org/oceanography/article/women-in-oceanography-continuing-challenges">Women working on boats</a> commonly face inadequate facilities at sea for toileting, menstruation and managing lactation. Some women said they were “not allowed to join research vessels” or “prevented from [joining] research in the field because of gender”. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/photos-from-the-field-our-voyage-investigating-australias-submarine-landslides-and-deep-marine-canyons-184839">Photos from the field: our voyage investigating Australia's submarine landslides and deep-marine canyons</a>
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<h2>Reminded of our personal experiences</h2>
<p>Just reading the survey responses was difficult for us. Tales of exclusion and discrimination were particularly confronting because they resonated with our own personal experiences. As one of us, Sarah Hamylton, recalls:</p>
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<p>I remember spending a hot day in my early 20s on a small boat taking measurements over a reef. I was the only female. When one of the four guys asked about needing the toilet, he was told to stand and relieve himself off the stern. I had to hold on, so I was desperate when we returned to the main ship in the afternoon. </p>
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<p>But that wasn’t the only challenge Hamylton encountered on that trip:</p>
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<p>We got back into port and the night before we departed to go home, I was woken by the drunken second officer banging on my cabin door asking for sex. The following year women were banned from attending this annual expedition because someone else had complained about sexual assault.</p>
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<h2>Gender stereotypes and discrimination</h2>
<p>Coastal fieldwork demands diverse physical skills such as boating, four-wheel driving, towing trailers, working with hand and power tools, moving heavy equipment, SCUBA diving and being comfortable swimming in the surf, in currents or underwater. </p>
<p>But our survey revealed roles on field trips – and therefore opportunities to learn and gain crucial field skills – are typically handed to men rather than women. Several respondents observed female students and staff being left out of field work for “not being strong enough” and “too weak to pick stuff up”. </p>
<p>Body exposure can also be an issue for women in the field. Close-fitting wetsuits and swimsuits can increase the likelihood of womens’ bodies being objectified by colleagues. Undertaking coastal fieldwork while menstruating can also be a concern.</p>
<p>Another of us, Ana Vila-Concejo, notes:</p>
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<p>Some scientific presentations show women in bikinis as a ‘beach modelling’ joke. Beyond self-consciousness, I have felt vulnerable wearing swimmers and exerting myself during fieldwork. Women students and volunteers have declined to participate in field experiments for this reason, particularly while menstruating. </p>
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<p>The issue of body exposure also sheds light on the interconnections between race, religion, class and sexuality, which can create overlapping and intersectional disadvantages for women. Vila-Concejo adds:</p>
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<p>I am old enough now that I don’t care anymore. I can afford a wetsuit, but many students and volunteers don’t have one. For some women, it isn’t socially or culturally acceptable to wear swimmers, or even to do fieldwork.</p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Gender inequality in coastal sciences: Overcoming fieldwork challenges.</span></figcaption>
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<h2>Five suggestions for improvement</h2>
<p>To improve the fieldwork experience for women in coastal sciences, our research found the following behavioural and policy changes are needed: </p>
<ol>
<li><p><strong>publicise field role models and trailblazers</strong> to reshape public views of coastal scientists, increasing the visibility of female fieldworkers</p></li>
<li><p><strong>improve opportunities and capacity for women to undertake fieldwork</strong> to diversify field teams by identifying and addressing the intersecting disadvantages experienced by women</p></li>
<li><p><strong>establish field codes of conduct</strong> that outline acceptable standards of behaviour on field trips, what constitutes misconduct, sexual harassment and assault, how to make an anonymous complaint and disciplinary measures</p></li>
<li><p><strong>acknowledge the challenges women face in the field and provide support where possible</strong> in fieldwork briefings and address practical challenges for women in remote locations, including toileting and menstruation</p></li>
<li><p><strong>foster an enjoyable and supportive fieldwork culture</strong> that emphasises mutual respect, safety, inclusivity, and collegiality on every trip. </p></li>
</ol>
<p>These five simple steps will improve the experience of fieldwork for all concerned and ultimately benefit the advancement of science.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/gender-inequalities-in-science-wont-self-correct-its-time-for-action-99452">Gender inequalities in science won't self-correct: it's time for action</a>
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<img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/214215/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Sarah Hamylton receives funding from The Australian Research Council. She is affiliated with the Women in Coastal Geosciences and Engineering Network. </span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Ana Vila Concejo receives funding from the Australian Research Council and other sources unrelated to the subject of this article. She is a founding member and former co-chair of the Women in Coastal Geoscience and Engineering Network.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Hannah Power receives funding from the Australian Research Council, the NSW State Government State Emergency Management Program, the Queensland Resilience and Risk Reduction Fund, the New Zealand Ministry for Business, Innovation and Employment Endeavour Fund, and ship time from Australia's Marine National Facility. She is a member of the NSW Coastal Council and is affiliated with the Women in Coastal Geosciences and Engineering Network.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Shari L Gallop works for Pattle Delamore Partners (PDP). She has an honorary lectureship with the University of Waikato. She is a founding member and former co-chair of the Women in Coastal Geoscience and Engineering Network.</span></em></p>Growing awareness of sexual harassment and discrimination in the field prompted an international survey and research into potential solutions.Sarah Hamylton, Associate professor, University of WollongongAna Vila Concejo, Associate professor, University of SydneyHannah Power, Associate Professor in Coastal and Marine Science, University of NewcastleShari L Gallop, Service Leader - Coastal, University of WaikatoLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2074682023-06-29T12:17:15Z2023-06-29T12:17:15ZMeltwater is infiltrating Greenland’s ice sheet through millions of hairline cracks – destabilizing its structure<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/534388/original/file-20230627-36062-evdjnn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C2500%2C1661&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Richard Bates and Alun Hubbard kayak a meltwater stream on Greenland's Petermann Glacier, towing an ice radar that reveals it's riddled with fractures.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Nick Cobbing.</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>I’m striding along the steep bank of a raging white-water torrent, and even though the canyon is only about the width of a highway, the river’s flow is greater than that of London’s Thames. The deafening roar and rumble of the cascading water is incredible – a humbling reminder of the raw power of nature.</p>
<p>As I round a corner, I am awestruck at a completely surreal sight: A gaping fissure has opened in the riverbed, and it is swallowing the water in a massive whirlpool, sending up huge spumes of spray. This might sound like a computer-generated scene from a blockbuster action movie – but it’s real.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/534120/original/file-20230626-19-t5ctl6.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/534120/original/file-20230626-19-t5ctl6.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=336&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534120/original/file-20230626-19-t5ctl6.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=336&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534120/original/file-20230626-19-t5ctl6.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=336&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534120/original/file-20230626-19-t5ctl6.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=423&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534120/original/file-20230626-19-t5ctl6.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=423&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534120/original/file-20230626-19-t5ctl6.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=423&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Alun Hubbard stands beside a moulin forming in a meltwater stream on the Greenland ice sheet.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Courtesy of Alun Hubbard</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>A moulin is forming right in front of me on the Greenland ice sheet. Only this really shouldn’t be happening here – current scientific understanding doesn’t accommodate this reality.</p>
<p>As a <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/profile/Alun-Hubbard">glaciologist</a>, I’ve spent 35 years investigating how meltwater affects the flow and stability of glaciers and ice sheets.</p>
<p>This gaping hole that’s opening up at the surface is merely the beginning of the meltwater’s journey through the guts of the ice sheet. As it funnels into moulins, it <a href="https://cires1.colorado.edu/science/spheres/snow-ice/images/iceMeltGraphic.jpg">bores a complex network of tunnels through the ice sheet</a> that extend many hundreds of meters down, all the way to the ice sheet bed. </p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/inTPFADBWt0?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">Scientists go into a moulin in this trailer for Into the Ice.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>When it reaches the bed, the meltwater decants into the ice sheet’s subglacial drainage system – much like an urban stormwater network, though one that is constantly evolving and backing up. It carries the meltwater to the ice margins and ultimately ends up in the ocean, with major consequences for the thermodynamics and flow of the overlying ice sheet.</p>
<p>Scenes like this and <a href="https://doi.org/10.1038/s41561-023-01208-0">new research</a> into the ice sheet’s mechanics are challenging traditional thinking about what happens inside and under ice sheets, where observations are extremely challenging yet have stark implications. They suggest that Earth’s remaining ice sheets in Greenland and Antarctica are far more vulnerable to climate warming than models predict, and that the <a href="https://doi.org/10.1038/s41561-023-01208-0">ice sheets may be destabilizing from inside</a>.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/stm1pBp0rfk?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">NASA’s GRACE satellites capture Greenland’s ice loss from 2002-2021.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This is a tragedy in the making for the <a href="https://doi.org/10.1038/s41467-021-23810-9">half a billion people</a> who populate vulnerable coastal regions, since the Greenland and Antarctic ice sheets are effectively giant frozen freshwater reservoirs locking up <a href="https://nsidc.org/learn/parts-cryosphere/ice-sheets/ice-sheet-quick-facts">in excess of 65 meters</a> (over 200 feet) of equivalent global sea level rise. Since the 1990s their mass loss has been accelerating, becoming both the primary contributor to and the wild card in future sea level rise.</p>
<h2>How narrow cracks become gaping maws in ice</h2>
<p>Moulins are near-vertical conduits that capture and funnel the meltwater runoff from the ice surface each summer. There are many thousands across Greenland, and they can grow to impressive sizes because of the thickness of the ice coupled with the exceptionally high surface melt rates experienced. These gaping chasms can be as large as tennis courts at the surface, with chambers hidden in the ice beneath that could swallow cathedrals.</p>
<p>But this new moulin I’ve witnessed is really far from any crevasse fields and melt lakes, where current scientific understanding dictates that they should form.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="A helicopter sitting on the ice sheet looks tiny next to the gaping moulin, where a meltwater stream pours into the ice sheet." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/534491/original/file-20230628-29982-adjj2j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/534491/original/file-20230628-29982-adjj2j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534491/original/file-20230628-29982-adjj2j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534491/original/file-20230628-29982-adjj2j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534491/original/file-20230628-29982-adjj2j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534491/original/file-20230628-29982-adjj2j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534491/original/file-20230628-29982-adjj2j.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">High rates of meltwater discharge combined with a thick and gently sloping ice sheet in Western Greenland gives rise to monster holes like this moulin.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Alun Hubbard</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In a <a href="https://doi.org/10.1038/s41561-023-01208-0">new paper</a>, <a href="https://scholar.google.co.uk/citations?hl=en&user=TVrXvoEAAAAJ&view_op=list_works&sortby=pubdate">Dave Chandler</a> and I demonstrate that ice sheets are littered with millions of tiny hairline cracks that are forced open by the meltwater from the rivers and streams that intercept them.</p>
<p>Because glacier ice is so brittle at the surface, such cracks are ubiquitous across the melt zones of all glaciers, ice sheets and ice shelves. Yet because they are so tiny, they can’t be detected by satellite remote sensing.</p>
<p>Under most conditions, we find that stream-fed hydrofracture like this allows water to penetrate hundreds of meters down before freezing closed, without the crack’s necessarily penetrating to the bed to form a full-fledged moulin. But, even these partial-depth hydrofractures have considerable impact on ice sheet stability.</p>
<p>As the water pours in, it damages the ice sheet structure and releases its latent heat. The ice fabric warms and softens and, hence, flows and melts faster, just like warmed-up candle wax.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Alun Hubbard using a rappelling rope lowers himself from the top of the ice sheet into a huge hold with water pouring down the sides. The hole appears to be as wide as a two-lane road." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/534492/original/file-20230628-28043-kaqy3c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/534492/original/file-20230628-28043-kaqy3c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534492/original/file-20230628-28043-kaqy3c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534492/original/file-20230628-28043-kaqy3c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534492/original/file-20230628-28043-kaqy3c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534492/original/file-20230628-28043-kaqy3c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534492/original/file-20230628-28043-kaqy3c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Alun Hubbard rappels into a moulin in October 2019, a point in the year when surface melt should have ceased but hadn’t.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Lars Ostenfeld / Into the Ice</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The stream-driven hydrofractures mechanically damage the ice and transfer heat into the guts of the ice sheet, destabilizing it from the inside. Ultimately, the internal fabric and structural integrity of ice sheets is becoming more vulnerable to climate warming.</p>
<h2>Emerging processes that speed up ice loss</h2>
<p>Over the past two decades that scientists have tracked ice sheet melt and flow in earnest, melt events have become <a href="https://www.esa.int/Applications/Observing_the_Earth/FutureEO/CryoSat/Meltwater_runoff_from_Greenland_becoming_more_erratic">more common and more intense</a> as <a href="https://climate.nasa.gov/vital-signs/global-temperature/">global temperatures rise</a> – further exacerbated by <a href="https://www.nature.com/articles/s43247-022-00498-3">Arctic warming of almost four times the global mean</a>.</p>
<p>The ice sheet is also flowing and calving icebergs much faster. It has lost about <a href="https://climate.nasa.gov/vital-signs/ice-sheets/">270 billion metric tons of ice per year</a> since 2002: over a centimeter and a half (half an inch) of global sea-level rise. Greenland is now, on average, contributing around 1 millimeter (0.04 inches) to the sea level budget annually.</p>
<p>A 2022 study found that even if atmospheric warming stopped now, <a href="https://doi.org/10.1038/s41558-022-01441-2">at least 27 centimeters – nearly 1 foot – of sea level rise</a> is inevitable because of Greenland’s imbalance with its past two decades of climate.</p>
<p>Understanding the risks ahead is crucial. However, the current generation of ice sheet models used to assess how Greenland and Antarctica will respond to warming in the future don’t account for amplification processes that are being discovered. That means the models’ sea-level rise estimates, used to inform Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) reports and policymakers worldwide, are conservative and lowballing the rates of global sea rise in a warming world.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Two people stand inside an ice cave with light coming from a large hole above." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/534490/original/file-20230628-25-453mgb.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/534490/original/file-20230628-25-453mgb.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=899&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534490/original/file-20230628-25-453mgb.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=899&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534490/original/file-20230628-25-453mgb.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=899&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534490/original/file-20230628-25-453mgb.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1130&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534490/original/file-20230628-25-453mgb.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1130&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534490/original/file-20230628-25-453mgb.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1130&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Daniela Barbieri and Alun Hubbard explore the contorted englacial plumbing deep inside a Greenland moulin.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Lars Ostenfeld / Into the Ice</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Our new finding is just the latest. Recent studies have shown that:</p>
<ul>
<li><p>Warming ocean currents are intruding into the <a href="https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-019-53190-6">Antarctic</a> and <a href="https://doi.org/10.1038/ngeo316">Greenland</a> coastlines, flowing under the <a href="https://doi.org/10.1126/science.aaa0940">ice shelves</a> to undercut outlet glaciers and <a href="https://doi.org/10.5194/tc-8-1457-2014">destabilize their calving fronts</a>.</p></li>
<li><p>Increasing rainfall across the Greenland ice sheet not only depletes snow accumulation, it also <a href="https://doi.org/10.1038/ngeo2482">accelerates surface melting and ice flow</a>.</p></li>
<li><p><a href="https://doi.org/10.3389/feart.2015.00078">Algae and microbes</a>, along with <a href="https://doi.org/10.1126/sciadv.aav3738">surface snowpack melt</a>, darken the ice sheet surface, absorbing more solar radiation, which <a href="https://doi.org/10.5194/tc-14-309-2020">also accelerates ice melt</a>.</p></li>
<li><p><a href="https://doi.org/10.5194/tc-10-1147-2016">Superimposed ice slabs within the snowpack</a> are forming across the accumulation zone, forming an impermeable barrier that depletes meltwater retention and drives extraordinary runoff.</p></li>
<li><p>Water at the base of the ice sheet thaws and <a href="https://doi.org/10.1029/2010GL044397">softens the frozen bed, thereby triggering basal sliding</a> and <a href="https://doi.org/10.1002/2013GL058933">accelerating interior ice sheet flow</a> to the margins.</p></li>
</ul>
<p>In the last months, other papers also described previously unknown feedback processes underway beneath ice sheets that computer models currently can’t include. Often these processes happen at too fine a scale for models to pick up, or the model’s simplistic physics means the processes themselves can’t be captured.</p>
<p>Two such studies independently identify <a href="https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.2220924120">enhanced submarine melting at the grounding line in Greenland</a> and <a href="https://doi.org/10.1038/s41586-022-05691-0">Antarctica</a>, where large outlet glaciers and ice streams drain into the sea and start to lift off their beds as floating ice shelves. These processes greatly accelerate ice sheet response to climate change and, in the case of Greenland, could potentially double future mass loss and its <a href="https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.2220924120">contribution to rising sea level</a>.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/534131/original/file-20230626-25-ynneln.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/534131/original/file-20230626-25-ynneln.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=383&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534131/original/file-20230626-25-ynneln.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=383&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534131/original/file-20230626-25-ynneln.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=383&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534131/original/file-20230626-25-ynneln.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=481&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534131/original/file-20230626-25-ynneln.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=481&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/534131/original/file-20230626-25-ynneln.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=481&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Greenland’s ice loss through meltwater and calving of glaciers has contributed nearly 10 centimeters (4 inches) to global sea-level rise since 1900. The chart shows sea level rise from all sources through 2018.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://climate.nasa.gov/vital-signs/sea-level/">NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center/PO.DAAC</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Current climate models lowball the risks</h2>
<p>Along with other <a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.oneear.2020.11.002">applied glaciologists</a>, “<a href="https://www.pnas.org/doi/full/10.1073/pnas.1817205116">structured expert judgment</a>” and a <a href="https://doi.org/10.5194/tc-15-5705-2021">few candid modelers</a>, I contend that the current generation of ice sheet models used to inform the IPCC are not capturing the abrupt changes being observed in Greenland and Antarctica, or the risks that lie ahead.</p>
<p>Ice sheet models don’t include these emerging feedbacks and respond over millennia to strong-warming perturbations, leading to sluggish sea level forecasts that are lulling policymakers into a false sense of security. We’ve come a long way since the first IPCC reports in the early 1990s, which treated polar ice sheets as completely static entities, but we’re still short of capturing reality.</p>
<p>As a committed field scientist, I am keenly aware of how privileged I am to work in these sublime environments, where what I observe inspires and humbles. But it also fills me with foreboding for our low-lying coastal regions and what’s ahead for the <a href="https://doi.org/10.3389/fenvs.2021.751978">10% or so of the world’s population</a> that lives in them.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/207468/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Alun Hubbard acknowledges funding from the Research Council of Norway (Centers of Excellence: CAGE & iC3), The Academy of Finland (PROFI4: Arctic Interactions) and is additionally affiliated to Oulun Yliopisto (Oulu University), Arctic Basecamp and La Venta Esplorazioni Geografiche.</span></em></p>Glaciologists are discovering new ways surface meltwater alters the internal structure of ice sheets, and raising an alarm that sea level rise could be much more abrupt than current models forecast.Alun Hubbard, Professor of Glaciology, Fulbright Scholar, University of TromsøLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1876172022-07-28T20:03:46Z2022-07-28T20:03:46ZPeople stationed in Antarctica menstruate too – and it’s a struggle. Here’s how we can support them<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/476442/original/file-20220728-15-wakxb4.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C634%2C6134%2C3449&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Women have been doing fieldwork in Antarctica for more than 40 years. Yet they comprise just 25% of expeditioners in the Australian Antarctic Program. Despite decades of progress, <a href="https://journals.plos.org/plosone/article?id=10.1371/journal.pone.0209983">historical issues</a> with sexism and gender bias continue in extreme field environments set up for men. </p>
<p><a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/0966369X.2022.2066635">Managing menstruation</a>, in particular, is an overlooked challenge for women working in Antarctica and other extreme, male-dominated environments.</p>
<p>If we want to build a diverse and inclusive polar workforce, we need to openly and willingly address the challenges that women, trans and non-binary menstruators face in the field. </p>
<h2>Who gets to work in Antarctica?</h2>
<p>Over the decades, toileting has been a primary way for men to control who has access to extreme environments. For instance, until the late 1970s women were being told they couldn’t work in Antarctica because there were no <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/2154896X.2017.1373915">facilities</a> for them on station. </p>
<p>Women have been similarly excluded from space travel because their hormonal bodies were deemed to be too <a href="https://heinonline.org/HOL/Page?handle=hein.journals/grggenl19&div=26&g_sent=1&casa_token=72OeEM7szM0AAAAA:tgtCvnSQJPkYNQRiCUBu4SVHPqarTDVPNFS2ZI2sgSY0puKfBMYxBU1OMh-qV56_rU8oclCo&collection=journals">unpredictable</a> by NASA’s male leaders.</p>
<p>Sally Ride’s 1983 mission on the Space Shuttle Challenger heralded a new era of progress for women’s access to Antarctic fieldwork. If women could go to space, they could certainly go to Antarctica! It was around this time the British, United States and Australian National Antarctic Programs began to <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/2154896X.2017.1373915">allow women</a> to do fieldwork in Antarctica.</p>
<p>Ride’s mission also uncovered NASA’s inexperience with menstruation. In re-designing the space flight kit for her, NASA engineers famously asked Ride if <a href="https://www.nationalgeographic.co.uk/space/how-do-women-deal-with-having-a-period-in-space">100 tampons</a> would be enough for a one-week mission.</p>
<p>In my latest <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/0966369X.2022.2066635">research</a>, I spoke to dozens of women expeditioners about how they negotiated the hurdles associated with menstruating in Antarctica. They revealed that managing menstruation remains taboo, and has been made even more difficult by a culture of silence. </p>
<p>As one expeditioner told me:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I haven’t had great conversations with other women because there haven’t been any that I’ve worked with. I’ve been very much by myself with these things.</p>
</blockquote>
<h2>Life as a woman expeditioner</h2>
<p>So why is menstruating in Antarctica difficult?</p>
<p>Well, for one, you can only toilet in certain places due to environmental protection laws. You must collect all your bodily waste in sealed containers, which are carried back to a station for incineration. </p>
<p>Because expeditioners may have to keep used menstrual products with them for several weeks in the field, they need to consider not only what products they will use, but how they will dispose of them. </p>
<p>Re-usable menstrual cups are often preferred because they produce no waste and can be left in the body longer (4-8 hours) than disposable products. However, cups must be emptied and <a href="https://www.mooncup.co.uk/blog/toxic-shock-syndrome/">cleaned</a> at least three times within 24 hours to minimise the risk of toxic shock syndrome.</p>
<p>As one expeditioner explained:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Cups are amazing but [they are] also a huge learning curve. I started
learning to use them for [an expedition] because I’m like I can’t carry used tampons around in my bag anymore […] The hard thing is cleaning them discreetly.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Menstruators must also be prepared to manage their menstruation in small, shared spaces. The women I interviewed described the complexity of doing this in male-dominated teams:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>The first time I went to Antarctica I was out on a boat […] It was me and [a group of] men. It’s my period and I’m like, oh, my god, what do I do here?</p>
</blockquote>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/476443/original/file-20220728-23-xvx9rw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Menstrual products line the supermarket shelves" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/476443/original/file-20220728-23-xvx9rw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/476443/original/file-20220728-23-xvx9rw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=337&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/476443/original/file-20220728-23-xvx9rw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=337&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/476443/original/file-20220728-23-xvx9rw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=337&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/476443/original/file-20220728-23-xvx9rw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=423&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/476443/original/file-20220728-23-xvx9rw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=423&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/476443/original/file-20220728-23-xvx9rw.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=423&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Women on the field in Antarctica work in extreme conditions, yet the onus is on them to figure out how to menstruate with limited resources, sanitation and support.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>All Antarctic expeditioners wear many thick layers to protect themselves from the extreme conditions. However, women need to be able to change menstrual products without exposing their skin to the cold for prolonged periods. The participants in my study came up with creative ways to cope: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>I sewed myself underpants that I could Velcro on the side so that I didn’t have to take all the layers off my legs and my feet to change my undies…</p>
</blockquote>
<p>To avoid these challenges during long-duration expeditions, menstruators often rely on menstrual suppression <a href="https://theconversation.com/how-women-can-deal-with-periods-in-space-58294">technologies</a>. These include the combined oral contraceptive pill, or long-acting reversible contraception (LARC) such as an intrauterine device or injection. </p>
<p>These methods prevent a period and pregnancy. And this is critical in extreme environments, where pregnancy is extremely high-risk. </p>
<p>LARC is convenient because it requires no extra supplies and little maintenance following insertion. That said, <a href="https://www.mayoclinic.org/healthy-lifestyle/birth-control/expert-answers/seasonale-side-effects/faq-20058109#">breakthrough bleeding</a> or spotting can be a side effect:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Having my period [in Antarctica] was a nightmare. Somebody told me that they had an [Depo Provera] injection before they went […] and I thought, “Well, that wouldn’t be a bad idea, to not have a period for that particular time” […] but I had my period the whole time I was in the field. </p>
</blockquote>
<h2>How to support menstruators</h2>
<p>Apart from their other already-demanding work, my research shows women must also undertake additional psychological and physical labour to manage menstruation in extreme environments. Whether in Antarctica or on military deployment, women will often:</p>
<ul>
<li><p>change their menstrual products without privacy or adequate sanitation</p></li>
<li><p>carry bloody menstrual products around with them in the field for a long time</p></li>
<li><p>improvise menstrual products when none are available</p></li>
<li><p>keep menstrual products in their bodies for longer than recommended because they aren’t provided with adequate toilet stops </p></li>
<li><p>alter their hormonal balance with medication to make menstruation less inconvenient. </p></li>
</ul>
<p>The bottom line is this: menstruation in these settings has largely been treated as an individual problem, and not a site for organisational attention. This needs to change. </p>
<p>Some simple changes can be applied in any field environment where menstruation is difficult for women. Organisations should make it a priority to: </p>
<ol>
<li><p>destigmatise menstruation and acknowledge the unique needs of diverse menstruators, including trans people and non-binary folk</p></li>
<li><p>update field manuals to include relevant information about toileting and menstruation </p></li>
<li><p>provide menstrual health education to all expeditioners – especially cisgender men leading field teams</p></li>
<li><p>make toilet stops standard operating practice</p></li>
<li><p>provide menstruators with free menstrual products, and make period underwear available as part of field gear. </p></li>
</ol>
<p>I recently supported the Australian Antarctic Program to revise its field manual and help reconsider how field environments can be sensitised to the needs of menstruators. This is an important first step. But success will only come when inclusive operational measures happen by default.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/supporting-menstrual-health-in-australia-means-more-than-just-throwing-pads-at-the-problem-161194">Supporting menstrual health in Australia means more than just throwing pads at the problem</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/187617/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Meredith Nash was Senior Advisor - Inclusion, Diversity, and Equity at the Australian Antarctic Division from 2020-22.</span></em></p>We’ve come a long time since women were deemed too “hormonal” to be sent into space. Yet gender bias is an issue women in the field still reckon with every day.Meredith Nash, Professor and Associate Dean - Community, Australian National UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1600602021-05-11T13:59:04Z2021-05-11T13:59:04ZCOVID-19: field research needs to find a way back fast after the pandemic<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/399709/original/file-20210510-5702-cj88ep.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">COVID has grounded almost all research trips in the field</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://unsplash.com/photos/hajHdVYCaPE">noaa | unsplash</a>, <a class="license" href="http://artlibre.org/licence/lal/en">FAL</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Until the pandemic hit, academics from a wide range of disciplines relied heavily on work out <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/publication/269393509_The_Need_for_Fieldwork_in_Science">in the field</a> for their research. Not being able to carry out such fieldwork has had a negative effect on both increasing scientific knowledge and making progress. </p>
<p>Many academics have had to rethink their data collection methods. Some have had to <a href="https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-020-03368-0">change them altogether</a>. You cannot undertake <a href="https://errant.live/2020/04/03/archaeology-in-the-time-of-coronavirus">an archaeological dig</a> in Upper Egypt, <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC7322992/">geological sampling</a> on the Galapagos Islands or an <a href="https://www.eth.mpg.de/5478478/news-2020-06-11-01">ethnographic study</a> on the protest movement in Belarus without being there. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="A crowd carrying red and white flags protests on a Belarussian street in winter" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/399712/original/file-20210510-5613-1rfwci5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/399712/original/file-20210510-5613-1rfwci5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/399712/original/file-20210510-5613-1rfwci5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/399712/original/file-20210510-5613-1rfwci5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/399712/original/file-20210510-5613-1rfwci5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=504&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/399712/original/file-20210510-5613-1rfwci5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=504&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/399712/original/file-20210510-5613-1rfwci5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=504&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Ethnographers studying the Belarussian protest movement have not been able to collect data on the ground.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://unsplash.com/photos/hajHdVYCaPE">unsplash</a>, <a class="license" href="http://artlibre.org/licence/lal/en">FAL</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>However, social distancing and other COVID-safe measures have made field-based data collection practically impossible – especially for scholars whose research is tied to other countries. But even those who work closer to home have been constrained by lockdown measures. </p>
<h2>Long-term consequences</h2>
<p>Researchers have had to put their studies on hold where they could, or scrap them entirely, when they couldn’t be delayed. Many research projects <a href="https://www.the-scientist.com/news-opinion/how-the-covid-19-pandemic-has-affected-field-research-67841">have been lost</a> as a result, and cannot simply be picked up again in a year or two. </p>
<p>This is <a href="https://www.timeshighereducation.com/blog/interrupted-fieldwork-could-mean-terminated-careers-phd-students">especially problematic for doctoral candidates</a>, for some of whom the pandemic could spell the end of their dissertation projects. It is also tough for early career researchers, many of whom were already working under difficult conditions due to the instability of academic employment. </p>
<p>Many will be forced to reorient their projects toward other kinds of questions, data and methods. Transforming a scientific project in progress is a mammoth task for a young researcher with little experience and limited funding.</p>
<p>The limitations have affected research productivity across the board, but <a href="https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-020-02183-x">female scientists</a> have seen <a href="https://www.thelancet.com/journals/laninf/article/PIIS1473-3099(20)30568-5/fulltext">the worst</a> of it. As in many sectors, they have been <a href="https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-021-00854-x">more severely impacted</a> than male colleagues by nursery and school closures, and need more direct support from supervisors and funders as a result.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="A woman sits on the ground with one hand on a sleeping baby and the other typing at a laptop" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/399715/original/file-20210510-23-ierssk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/399715/original/file-20210510-23-ierssk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/399715/original/file-20210510-23-ierssk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/399715/original/file-20210510-23-ierssk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/399715/original/file-20210510-23-ierssk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/399715/original/file-20210510-23-ierssk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/399715/original/file-20210510-23-ierssk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Female researchers have been impacted the most by working from home and childcare restrictions during COVID.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://unsplash.com/photos/wwQNoDA3cTQ">standsome worklifestyle | unsplash</a>, <a class="license" href="http://artlibre.org/licence/lal/en">FAL</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Academic freedom</h2>
<p>The scientific community is exploring <a href="https://earthlab.uw.edu/wp-content/uploads/sites/26/2020/07/uts-adapting-research-methodologies-covid-19-pandemic-resources-researchers.pdf">new data collection methods and tools</a>, like ethnography for online communities instead of ethnography on the ground, or online interviews and focus group discussions to avoid in-person meetings and travel to the field site. </p>
<p>However, the pandemic has also resulted in heightened control of information – whether online or through partners on the ground. Even before the pandemic, scientists studying issues including environmental pollution, inequality, protest movements or human rights violations routinely had trouble accessing field sites. This was <a href="https://uk.sagepub.com/en-gb/eur/safer-field-research-in-the-social-sciences/book269877">due to</a> authorities or companies who had an interest in stopping research on such critical issues. </p>
<p>Now, pandemic-related travel and visa restrictions <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2021/01/13/world/asia/china-who-wuhan-covid.html">are being used</a> by governments to restrict access for independent researchers. The case of the WHO research team tasked with investigating the roots of COVID-19 in Wuhan and its recent <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2021/01/13/world/asia/china-who-wuhan-covid.html">trouble to gain access</a> to China serves as a warning example. </p>
<p>It also shows that visa or travel restrictions can serve as a pretext for preventing research that clashes with the viewpoints of local or national authorities. And this could get worse. There is the fear that the pandemic <a href="https://www.hrw.org/world-report/2021/essay/hrw-grapples-with-covids-challenges">will be used as an excuse</a> to deny researchers access to regions that are, for instance, heavily polluted or agitated by political protests. </p>
<p>This has consequences reaching far beyond scientific efforts to increase human knowledge. Information gained through field research regularly informs political debate and decision-making. The current near-total halt on fieldwork will therefore negatively affect debate around development, security and foreign policy. </p>
<p>Fewer researchers looking into issues as sensitive as human rights violations, for instance, means even less scrutiny in place than before COVID-19. And there wasn’t much anyway. This is of particular concern when it comes to the global response to COVID-19 itself. Any efforts will be less effective if data collection on the ground <a href="https://edition.cnn.com/2021/01/26/asia/who-coronavirus-team-wuhan-china-intl-hnk/index.html">is hindered</a> as governments seek to <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/mar/26/egypt-forces-guardian-journalist-leave-coronavirus-story-ruth-michaelson">control the narrative</a> around the pandemic. </p>
<h2>Flexibility and support</h2>
<p>Scholars who rely on fieldwork urgently need greater flexibility and more support. Supervisors and funders should allow their research staff considerable leeway – and all the time necessary – to refocus their projects. Experienced scholars should provide support to more junior scientists to do so, as well as lobby for additional funding or necessary contract extensions.</p>
<p>The pandemic is set to continue to hamper most forms of fieldwork. For the next few years, universities will likely be expected to discourage or even ban research trips to certain areas, depending on travel warnings, new mutations and infection rates. </p>
<p>There was already a growing trend, especially in areas affected by conflict such as Darfur and Mali, for university administrations and review boards <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/01436597.2016.1256766?journalCode=ctwq20">to frame</a> field-based research as a security concern. Consequently, for several years already, fieldwork missions have incurred increasingly complex admin and clearance protocols to insure against risks and liability. This is <a href="https://www.timeshighereducation.com/news/universities-told-resist-creeping-securitisation-offieldwork">likely to continue</a> or even get worse.</p>
<p>Universities and new disciplinary standards are pushing for greater transparency in fieldwork-based data collection efforts. But administrators and editors need to make sure that any new disciplinary or regulatory standards do not become another hurdle for field researchers. Instead they should work toward making even difficult research projects both possible and safe for scholars. Fieldwork has always been fraught with risk, but it remains indispensable for scientific progress.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/160060/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Ilyas Saliba is also a research fellow at the Global Public Policy institute. He received funding from the Open Society Foundation, the Bucerius Zeit Foundation, the German Academic Scholarship Foundation (Studienstiftung) and the the German Academic Exchange Service (DAAD). He is affiliated with the European Coordinating Committee for Academic Freedom Advocacy.</span></em></p>Pandemic restrictions have shuttered research projects - some, for good. The consequences for science, not to mention policy and decision making, must be addressedIlyas Saliba, Research Fellow at the research unit Democracy and Democratization, WZB Berlin Social Science Center.Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1496972020-12-07T13:14:31Z2020-12-07T13:14:31ZFrom permafrost microbes to survivor songbirds – research projects are also victims of COVID-19 pandemic<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/372841/original/file-20201203-21-xk13w2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C156%2C4031%2C2613&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Missing a field season can be devastating if your research subject is melting away.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Karen Lloyd</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>What do you do when COVID-19 safety protocols and travel restrictions mean you can’t do your research? That’s what these three scientists have had to figure out this year, as the global pandemic has kept them from their fieldwork.</em></p>
<p><em>A microbiologist describes the frustration of missing a sampling season in the Arctic at a time when climate change means the permafrost is an endangered resource. A biologist writes about missing for the first time the annual census of a bird population she’s been studying for 35 years and the hole that leaves in her data. And natural events aren’t the only ones researchers are forced to skip. An environmental scientist explains how postponing a global gathering about climate change could have long-term effects for people like her who study the process – as well as for the planet.</em></p>
<hr>
<h2>Focus of this fieldwork is melting away</h2>
<p><em>Karen Lloyd, microbiologist</em>: In March 2020, COVID-19 travel restrictions caused my colleagues <a href="https://scholar.google.com/citations?user=cwNS_2EAAAAJ&hl=en&oi=ao">and me</a> to abruptly cancel our fieldwork plans to sample permafrost in Svalbard, Norway. We have a narrow time window each year in which to do our work, since fully frozen ground, full snow cover and sunlight only cooccur reliably for a month or so in the spring.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/372843/original/file-20201203-23-irjfhs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Woman in survival suit outside in Arctic" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/372843/original/file-20201203-23-irjfhs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/372843/original/file-20201203-23-irjfhs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/372843/original/file-20201203-23-irjfhs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/372843/original/file-20201203-23-irjfhs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/372843/original/file-20201203-23-irjfhs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/372843/original/file-20201203-23-irjfhs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/372843/original/file-20201203-23-irjfhs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Karen Lloyd on a visit to the Arctic in 2016.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Joy Buongiorno</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Our project involves examining deep layers of permafrost. We want to know whether they’re likely to be sources or sinks for greenhouse gases such as carbon dioxide and methane as the permafrost thaws. We’ll use molecular biological techniques to examine how carbon moves through these precious ecosystems. This kind of knowledge will help us understand positive feedbacks between climate change and warming Arctic permafrost. </p>
<p>When we were forced to pull the plug on our fieldwork season, we had already shipped all our drilling equipment, our processing materials and even our personal gear to the <a href="https://www.bas.ac.uk/polar-operations/sites-and-facilities/facility/ny-alesund/">U.K. Arctic Research Station</a> in Ny Ålesund, Svalbard. So it’s all just been sitting there for nearly a year. Now we’re trying to make plans to do the work in spring 2021, but, given the COVID-19 forecast, it will likely be impossible again.</p>
<p>At 79 degrees north, this area has the some of the highest-latitude permafrost on the planet, and, like most permafrost, it is rapidly thawing. Temperatures in Svalbard were some of the <a href="https://www.lifeinnorway.net/hottest-ever-day-recorded-in-arctic-svalbard/">highest on record this summer</a>. No one has ever performed a detailed study of the microbial communities at this particular field site. And now that COVID-19 forces us to sit home instead of doing our work, some of this permafrost will thaw before anyone ever will.</p>
<h2>2020 gap in a decadeslong record</h2>
<p><em>Ellen Ketterson, biologist</em>: Birds die every day. So do people. Learning why may help scientists understand what can and cannot be controlled about life spans.</p>
<p>That’s why my research group <a href="https://scholar.google.com/citations?user=kiZj3UcAAAAJ&hl=en&oi=ao">and I</a> have been following a population of marked songbirds known as dark-eyed juncos, or snowbirds, at <a href="https://mlbs.virginia.edu/about">Mountain Lake Biological Station</a> in Virginia for <a href="https://ketterson.lab.indiana.edu/research/field-sites/virginia.html">more than 35 years</a>. We track how many offspring the birds produce and how long they live by marking them with leg bands. <a href="https://juncoproject.org/">We return each year</a> to determine who is still alive and <a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.anbehav.2013.07.025">what attributes</a> <a href="https://doi.org/10.1086/285451">the survivors have</a>.</p>
<figure>
<iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/58650463" width="500" height="281" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="" mozallowfullscreen="" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">Watch to see some of the techniques Ketterson uses to track juncos over time.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Long-term field research can help answer some crucial questions. Males are more likely to be recaptured over time — are they healthier than females or just more sedentary? Is the likelihood of recapture constant over time? Do we see signs of aging – what we call senescence – in older birds? Or are there periods when the odds of surviving and reproducing are independent of age and more attributable to the luck of the draw, being born into good food years or into a glut of predators? Does <a href="https://doi.org/10.1086/697224">breeding early or late</a> in response to climate-induced earlier springs alter survival? </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/372715/original/file-20201203-13-1lv5h4d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="songbird in front of handwritten field notes" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/372715/original/file-20201203-13-1lv5h4d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/372715/original/file-20201203-13-1lv5h4d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/372715/original/file-20201203-13-1lv5h4d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/372715/original/file-20201203-13-1lv5h4d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/372715/original/file-20201203-13-1lv5h4d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/372715/original/file-20201203-13-1lv5h4d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/372715/original/file-20201203-13-1lv5h4d.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">In 2013, researchers banded the project’s 10,000th junco, posed in front of the data sheet that records its band number, date of capture and location, codes for subspecies and the bander. They’re up to 14,000 birds to date.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Adam Fudickar</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>2020 is the first year since 1984 that we could not do our annual census. Because of the COVID-19 pandemic, we couldn’t travel and the biology station where we work was closed. We decided the need for caution exceeded the value of what we lost: a continuous record of individual bird lives and a chance to band each year’s offspring to follow in the future. We missed the continuity and the companionship of field research.</p>
<p>We can’t make up the gap, but we will resume in 2021, as long as the COVID-19 situation has improved. Ornithologists are committed to determining why North America has lost 3 billion birds in the past 50 years, and long term, seamless records of individual birds’ lives will help us learn the answer.</p>
<h2>Gatherings canceled, momentum lost</h2>
<p><em>Miriah Kelly, environmental scientist</em>: When COVID-19 hit, it caused the delay and rescheduling of the annual meeting of the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) <a href="https://unfccc.int/process/bodies/supreme-bodies/conference-of-the-parties-cop">Conference of the Parties (COP)</a>.</p>
<p>The COP serves as the one time each year when scientists, political leaders, policy negotiators and groups most affected by climate change, along with observers and the media, convene to negotiate the world’s most pressing and complex climate change issues. Back in March, the 26th Conference of the Parties was officially postponed from November 2020 to November 2021. The event will still be held in Glasgow, Scotland, assuming the pandemic is under control.</p>
<p>I attended my first COP as a graduate student in 2010, and it proved to be a transformative experience. Since then, I’ve <a href="https://terra.oregonstate.edu/2014/01/shoring-up-our-coasts/">focused my career on ocean and coastal climate change issues</a>. Like many other academics who work in this space, I was planning to attend this year’s COP 26 to collect data and build collaborations with other researchers. Currently, I’m working on a 10-year analysis (2010-2020) of artifacts derived from the Conferences of the Parties to better understand how the narratives around ocean and coastal climate change have evolved over the past decade. Now it will be a nine-year assessment, with a caveat tacked on to the end.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/372725/original/file-20201203-13-564xra.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/372725/original/file-20201203-13-564xra.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/372725/original/file-20201203-13-564xra.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/372725/original/file-20201203-13-564xra.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/372725/original/file-20201203-13-564xra.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/372725/original/file-20201203-13-564xra.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/372725/original/file-20201203-13-564xra.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/372725/original/file-20201203-13-564xra.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">It’s hard to recreate virtually the informal connections that happened in person at the last COP.</span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The UNFCCC is still hosting a virtual <a href="https://unfccc.int/cd2020">Climate Dialogue</a> this month. But delaying COP 26 is likely to have a great impact on the momentum of the UNFCCC. 2020 was supposed to be a time when countries would be submitting updated commitments to reduce national greenhouse gas emissions. The initial commitments were made in the Paris accord, a nonbinding treaty established in 2015 during COP 21, and were designed to incrementally increase over time.</p>
<p>Now that the COP is set back by a year, countries have been sluggish to move forward with the more ambitious commitments necessary to keep global temperatures from rising more than 2 degrees Celsius. Meanwhile, the most vulnerable communities of the least-developed countries are already suffering the impacts of rising temperatures and seas.</p>
<p>Though virtual events and long-distance collaboration are the best alternatives to in-person meetings at this point, organic interpersonal communication is hindered, and broad participation from diverse stakeholder groups is stifled.</p>
<p>The vast implications of the pandemic for climate change are unknown. But it’s clear that time is running out to substantively address this issue at the global scale, and these COP events have been pivotal to whatever progress has been made.</p>
<p>[<em>Get our best science, health and technology stories.</em> <a href="https://theconversation.com/us/newsletters/science-editors-picks-71/?utm_source=TCUS&utm_medium=inline-link&utm_campaign=newsletter-text&utm_content=science-best">Sign up for The Conversation’s science newsletter</a>.]</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/149697/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Karen Lloyd receives funding from the U.S. Department of Energy, Office of Science, Office of Biological and
Environmental Research, Genomic Science Program under Award Number DE-SC0020369.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Ellen Ketterson has received funding from the National Science Foundation and Indiana University Grand Challenge, Prepared for Environmental Change.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Miriah Kelly receives funding from US Department of Housing and Urban Development (via University of Connecticut CIRCA) for research related to the Resilient Connecticut project. She has received funding in the past from National Oceanic and Atmospheric Association via the Sea Grant programs in Oregon and Connecticut. </span></em></p>Three scientists describe the fieldwork they’ve had to delay in 2020 because of the pandemic. These are setbacks not just for their careers, but for the body of scientific knowledge.Karen Lloyd, Associate Professor of Microbiology, University of TennesseeEllen Ketterson, Professor of Biology, Indiana UniversityMiriah Kelly, Assistant Professor of Environment, Geography & Marine Sciences, Southern Connecticut State UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1295302020-06-09T12:14:20Z2020-06-09T12:14:20ZScientific fieldwork ‘caught in the middle’ of US-Mexico border tensions<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/340154/original/file-20200605-176595-13headg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=215%2C0%2C4066%2C2773&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">The political border cuts in two a region rich in biological and cultural diversity.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/group-of-young-men-walk-along-the-mexican-side-of-the-u-s-news-photo/107497219">John Moore/Getty Images News via Getty Images</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Imagine you’re a scientist, setting out camera traps to snap pictures of wildlife in a remote area of southern Arizona. You set out with your gear early in the morning, but it took longer than expected to find all the locations with your GPS. Now, on your hike back, it’s really starting to heat up.</p>
<p>You try to stick to the shaded, dry washes, and as you round a bend, you’re surprised to see several people huddled under a scraggly mesquite tree against the side of the steep ravine: Mexican immigrants crossing the border. They look dirty and afraid, but so do you.</p>
<p>“¿Tienes agua?” they timidly ask, and you see their empty plastic water containers.</p>
<p>This fictionalized scenario reflects a composite of real incidents experienced by U.S. and Mexican researchers, including me, on both sides of the border in the course of their fieldwork. While giving aid may be the moral thing to do, there can be consequences. Humanitarian aid workers in Arizona have been <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2019/06/11/us/scott-warren-arizona-deaths.html">arrested for leaving food and water for migrants</a> in similar situations, and <a href="https://www.npr.org/2019/05/28/725716169/extending-zero-tolerance-to-people-who-help-migrants-along-the-border">such arrests have risen</a> since 2017.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/340340/original/file-20200608-176595-ekvapg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/340340/original/file-20200608-176595-ekvapg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/340340/original/file-20200608-176595-ekvapg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/340340/original/file-20200608-176595-ekvapg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/340340/original/file-20200608-176595-ekvapg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/340340/original/file-20200608-176595-ekvapg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/340340/original/file-20200608-176595-ekvapg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/340340/original/file-20200608-176595-ekvapg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">In the course of their fieldwork, researchers can encounter migrants, Border Control agents and drug traffickers.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/border-patrol-agents-apprehend-illegal-immigrants-near-the-news-photo/938908426">Loren Elliott/AFP via Getty Images</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The U.S.-Mexico border is a region of <a href="http://www.worldcat.org/oclc/62085339">significant biological and cultural diversity</a> that draws <a href="https://careers.conbio.org/article/the-need-for-a-next-generation-of-sonoran-desert-researchers/">researchers from a wide variety of disciplines</a>, including geology, biology, environmental sciences, archaeology, hydrology, and cultural and social sciences. It is also an area of <a href="https://doi.org/10.1353/jsw.2018.0015">humanitarian crisis and contentious politics</a>.</p>
<p>Migrants have always been a part of this area, but dangerous drug cartels and increasing militarization have added additional challenges for those who live and work here. U.S. and Mexican researchers are faced with ethical and logistical challenges in navigating this political landscape. To better understand these complex dynamics, <a href="https://nextgensd.com/researchers/user/taylor-edwards/">my colleagues and I</a> conducted an anonymous survey among researchers who work in the border region to learn how border politics affect collaboration and researchers’ ability to perform their jobs.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/340153/original/file-20200605-176538-1ly207h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/340153/original/file-20200605-176538-1ly207h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/340153/original/file-20200605-176538-1ly207h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/340153/original/file-20200605-176538-1ly207h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/340153/original/file-20200605-176538-1ly207h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/340153/original/file-20200605-176538-1ly207h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/340153/original/file-20200605-176538-1ly207h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/340153/original/file-20200605-176538-1ly207h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Camera traps meant to take photos of wildlife also capture images of the people traversing this landscape.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Myles Traphagen</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Border fieldwork comes with complications</h2>
<p><a href="http://tumamoc.arizona.edu/about/researchers/benjamin-wilder">Our</a> <a href="https://buhos.uson.mx/PureXML/Investigador/Index/33678-HECTOR%20FRANCISCO%20VEGA%20DELOYA">binational</a>, <a href="https://nextgensd.com/researchers-id/user/michelle-maria-early-capistran/">multidisciplinary</a> <a href="https://wildlandsnetwork.org/person/myles-traphagen/">group</a> <a href="https://nextgensd.com/researchers/user/america-nallely-lutz-ley/">of concerned</a> <a href="https://carolynomeara.weebly.com/">scientists</a> <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/scientific-contributions/2034443586_Martha_M_Gomez-Sapiens">distributed</a> an anonymous, online survey to 807 members of the <a href="http://www.nextgensd.com">Next-Generation Sonoran Desert Researchers Network</a>. From this group of academic professionals, college students and employees of nonprofit organizations and federal and state agencies who work in the U.S.-Mexico border region, we received 59 responses. While not yet published in a peer-reviewed journal, a summary of our results can be found on the <a href="https://nextgensd.com/n-gen-border-survey/">N-Gen website</a>, and the <a href="https://doi.org/10.25422/azu.data.11977818">original data is available online</a>.</p>
<p><iframe id="nx7cb" class="tc-infographic-datawrapper" src="https://datawrapper.dwcdn.net/nx7cb/4/" height="400px" width="100%" style="border: none" frameborder="0"></iframe></p>
<p>Researchers in our pre-pandemic study reported feeling safe for the most part while working in the U.S.-Mexico border region. However this may reflect the fact that they adjust their work to stay away from risky places.</p>
<p>Respondents noted the importance of knowing individuals and communities where they work. For instance, one U.S.-based researcher told us, “I feel safe in Mexico where I know landowners and they know me. I don’t feel safe in U.S. public lands due to Border Patrol’s extensive presence, their racial profiling ways and guns pulled on me.”</p>
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<p>Many respondents reported having encountered situations during fieldwork when they felt their security was threatened, occurring relatively equally on both sides of the border. Participants did not express safety concerns due to migrants themselves, but instead pointed to the militarization and criminal activity associated with the region.</p>
<p>Safety concerns on the Mexico side were primarily <a href="https://doi.org/10.1038/d41586-019-00458-6">due to drug cartels</a> and other criminal activity. Concerns in the U.S. centered on direct intimidation or “uneasy” or threatening encounters with U.S. Border Patrol, private landowners or militias. </p>
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<p>As a result of safety concerns, many researchers from both countries reported their organization or employer had placed restrictions on working in the border areas of Mexico. In most cases, this meant limiting access to specific areas or requiring additional paperwork or approval through their institution.</p>
<p>Respondents reported logistical issues “altered or disrupted” their ability to perform fieldwork. These problems ranged from trouble crossing the border to difficulty obtaining necessary paperwork and permissions.</p>
<p><iframe id="9OCrG" class="tc-infographic-datawrapper" src="https://datawrapper.dwcdn.net/9OCrG/2/" height="400px" width="100%" style="border: none" frameborder="0"></iframe></p>
<p>One researcher reported that permit delays for shipping scientific equipment across the border had stalled their research for over a year. More than half of respondents said these issues had increased in frequency or caused greater disruption to their work within the last three years.</p>
<h2>Caught in the middle</h2>
<p>Unsurprisingly, most researchers surveyed (69%) said they’ve encountered undocumented migrants while conducting fieldwork in the border region, although infrequently.</p>
<p>In situations of contact, migrants asked for assistance, such as food, water or a ride, a little over half of the time. Researchers drew a clear distinction between their willingness to offer food or water versus providing transportation.</p>
<p>Despite concerns about recent prosecutions of humanitarian aid workers in the border region, the threat was not sufficient to stop most respondents from taking action they viewed as moral or ethical.</p>
<p>“I would have pause given legal ramifications,” one person told us, “But I do not think this would change how I would act.” Survey respondents commented that they felt “caught in the middle” of an “impossible situation,” where the fear of prosecution conflicts with their moral imperative to help people in need.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/340152/original/file-20200605-176560-hoqvqm.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/340152/original/file-20200605-176560-hoqvqm.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/340152/original/file-20200605-176560-hoqvqm.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/340152/original/file-20200605-176560-hoqvqm.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/340152/original/file-20200605-176560-hoqvqm.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/340152/original/file-20200605-176560-hoqvqm.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/340152/original/file-20200605-176560-hoqvqm.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/340152/original/file-20200605-176560-hoqvqm.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">A volunteer collects data as part of an ongoing Borderlands Sister Parks project in Rancho San Bernardino, Sonora, Mexico.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Sky Island Alliance</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Overall our results suggest that research is affected by border policies in myriad ways: <a href="https://doi.org/10.1093/biosci/biy063">Restricted access</a> to areas <a href="https://doi.org/10.1093/biosci/biz029">reduces scientists’ ability to collect</a> comprehensive data, such as are necessary for conducting biodiversity inventories.</p>
<p>Restrictions directly affecting the ability of researchers to <a href="https://doi.org/10.1126/science.aal0682">collaborate over international boundaries</a> can limit creativity and discovery. That can have long-term impacts, such as further separating countries’ ability to understand each other and foster <a href="https://theconversation.com/could-science-diplomacy-be-the-key-to-stabilizing-international-relations-87836">meaningful partnerships catalyzed by science</a>, including industrial innovation or ecological sustainability.</p>
<p>Societies have the right to <a href="https://www.ohchr.org/EN/Issues/CulturalRights/Pages/benefitfromscientificprogress.aspx">enjoy the benefits of science</a>. This requires that scientists are able to collaborate internationally and to fulfill their functions without discrimination or fear of repression or prosecution.</p>
<p>[<em>Deep knowledge, daily.</em> <a href="https://theconversation.com/us/newsletters?utm_source=TCUS&utm_medium=inline-link&utm_campaign=newsletter-text&utm_content=deepknowledge">Sign up for The Conversation’s newsletter</a>.]</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/129530/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>The views expressed are those of the author and do not represent the views of the N-Gen network or its members.</span></em></p>Government policies and dangerous conditions affect the ability of researchers working on both sides of the US-Mexico border to conduct scientific fieldwork.Taylor Edwards, Associate Staff Scientist, University of ArizonaLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1394832020-05-27T17:02:01Z2020-05-27T17:02:01ZTeaching experimental science in a time of social distancing<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/337945/original/file-20200527-20264-d79ob7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C261%2C6240%2C3605&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Thanks to its sensors, the smartphone can be a measuring instrument.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">A. Kolli, _La Physique Autrement_</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>When lockdown measures were announced in France and other countries, secondary-school teachers and university professors had to quickly make the transition from classroom teaching to remote education. As a result, practical work was often abandoned – experiments were no longer possible without a lab, test tubes, oscilloscopes and other equipment.</p>
<p>To overcome this problem, some educators used digital simulations, while others analysed existing data. But people familiar with experimental science know that simulations and simple analysis do not replace the lab bench and real experiments. The role of science is to help us to understand everyday phenomena and “real” experiments are absolutely essential.</p>
<p>As academics working in the field of physics, we have been reflecting about developing new forms of practical work that allows for greater student autonomy for several years now. At Université de Bordeaux and Paris-Saclay, we asked our students to <a href="http://opentp.fr/en/">create their own experiment</a>, and in some cases, to conduct them independently with smartphones or <a href="https://www.arduino.cc/en/guide/introduction">Arduino boards</a>, an open-source solution for experiments with electronics.</p>
<p>Lockdown was a great chance to test autonomous practical work, so we jumped on it immediately. During the two months of French lockdown – it began on March 17 and ended May 11 – we adapted and continued to teach using experiments without compromising the quality of content. These “life-size” tests convinced us that it is possible to remotely conduct lessons with experiments for both secondary-school teachers and higher-education professors. We have even observed very positive aspects of this new approach. It changes the student’s relationship with science and with their teachers.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/333418/original/file-20200507-49542-a3t3c8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/333418/original/file-20200507-49542-a3t3c8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=332&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/333418/original/file-20200507-49542-a3t3c8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=332&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/333418/original/file-20200507-49542-a3t3c8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=332&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/333418/original/file-20200507-49542-a3t3c8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=417&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/333418/original/file-20200507-49542-a3t3c8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=417&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/333418/original/file-20200507-49542-a3t3c8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=417&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Practical exercises via video conference at Université de Bordeaux during lockdown: students and teachers measure a pendulum together with their smartphones.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Ulysse Delabre</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>These new education techniques are fantastic opportunities, particularly given that social distancing is likely to persist over the coming year. They do, however, require preparation.</p>
<h2>Smartphone and salad spinner</h2>
<p>What is lab work without a lab and lab equipment? The priority tool is a smartphone with its many sensors. Apart from recording images or sounds, smartphones can measure acceleration, magnetic fields, rotation speeds, audio spectrum, and some models can even measure pressure or light intensity. Free applications such as <a href="https://phyphox.org/">Phyphox</a> can be used to measure, analyse and transfer data in just a few seconds. All you need is a bit of imagination and you can start tinkering.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/wXEbsHfUsZk?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">“The Smartphone Physics Challenge”: How to measure the height of a building with a smartphone?</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Want to measure the period and damping of a pendulum? Hang your phone from a piece of string and measure its acceleration. Interested in centripetal acceleration? Place your smartphone in a salad spinner and start the accelerometer and gyroscope at the same time.</p>
<p>The imagination of students and teachers is the only limit to these types of experiments, as demonstrated by <a href="http://hebergement.u-psud.fr/supraconductivite/smartphone-physics-challenge/?lang=en">“The smartphone physics challenge”</a>. The outcome was 61 ways to measure the height of a building!</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/337966/original/file-20200527-20237-yxsf4v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/337966/original/file-20200527-20237-yxsf4v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/337966/original/file-20200527-20237-yxsf4v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=281&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337966/original/file-20200527-20237-yxsf4v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=281&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337966/original/file-20200527-20237-yxsf4v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=281&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337966/original/file-20200527-20237-yxsf4v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=353&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337966/original/file-20200527-20237-yxsf4v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=353&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337966/original/file-20200527-20237-yxsf4v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=353&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Just 3 of the 61 ways to measure the height of a building with a smartphone.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Physics Reimagined</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>And these techniques are not restricted to physics. It is also possible to conduct simple and precise chemistry and biology experiments at home. For example, you can turn your smartphone into a microscope <a href="https://youtu.be/iRFoAV9RAD4">with a drop of water</a> (and <a href="https://www.canal-u.tv/video/universite%20de%20bordeaux/21%20les%20smartphones%20voir%20des%20cellules%20avec%20son%20smartphone.39421">see cells as a result</a>) or a spectrophotometer.</p>
<h2>Reinventing education</h2>
<p>We have also adapted our teaching methods. At Université Paris-Saclay, we asked about 100 students to autonomously conduct the physics study of their choice. The subjects chosen varied tremendously, including the study of a vinegar rocket and the acoustic modes of musical instruments, the measurement of the earth’s radius and the physics behind yanking a tablecloth from a table without disturbing cutlery placed on it. Students worked in pairs to attenuate the isolation resulting from lockdown.</p>
<p>At Université de Bordeaux, we have set up a site, <a href="http://smartphonique.fr/">Smartphonique</a>, that proposes a range of experiments to students and teachers in different fields, including mechanics, acoustic, optics and fluid physics. In addition to <a href="https://socles3.unisciel.fr/enrol/index.php?id=536">protocols</a>, <a href="https://youtu.be/AToqPdA9F_8">conferences</a> and <a href="https://www.canal-u.tv/producteurs/universite_de_bordeaux/physique_des_objets_du_quotidien/les_smartphones">videos</a>, we organised a collective weekly video conference, <a href="https://moodle1.u-bordeaux.fr/course/view.php?id=5559">“Experiments in Lockdown”</a>, during which students simultaneously experiment and share measurements recorded with their smartphone and the means at hand.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/337967/original/file-20200527-20264-13ac6n8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/337967/original/file-20200527-20264-13ac6n8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/337967/original/file-20200527-20264-13ac6n8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=258&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337967/original/file-20200527-20264-13ac6n8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=258&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337967/original/file-20200527-20264-13ac6n8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=258&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337967/original/file-20200527-20264-13ac6n8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=324&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337967/original/file-20200527-20264-13ac6n8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=324&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/337967/original/file-20200527-20264-13ac6n8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=324&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">An example of practical exercises at home: measuring the sound frequency of a guitar depending on the length of a chord.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Physics Reimagined</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Remote practical exercises are much more interesting</h2>
<p>Such new types of practical exercises are not just emergency solutions in a health crisis. They are interesting new educational techniques because they reinforce the relationship with experimentation and the subject. Teachers are no longer looking over students’ shoulders to control each gesture. As a result, students are less afraid of making mistakes, particularly without expensive equipment that could be damaged (aside from the smartphone itself, of course). Results of surveys demonstrate that most students enjoy the freedom and autonomy.</p>
<p>Another advantage: experiments are no longer isolated in a laboratory, which means that physics is no longer an abstract science practised only highly specialised equipment. On the contrary, it is part of everyday life and, as a result, becomes real. Educational qualities also change. Imagination, tinkering and creativity each have a role to play, and they are all features of real research practise. Some student profiles will flourish using this less academic approach.</p>
<p>Finally, by communicating about remote experiments, students use original communication forms typical of participatory science. Working together on a digital platform is conducive to collaborative action.</p>
<h2>Prepare the 2020 academic year this summer</h2>
<p>Distancing measures at the beginning of the 2020 academic year are likely to change how teaching is organised around the world. Practical work could be one of the first victims… Our message is simple: teaching with experiments at home could well be a practical alternative – but not just a second-rate one. It could be a unique opportunity to review the way we teach scientific disciplines by injecting creativity, freedom and fun.</p>
<p>But we need to prepare for it. Fortunately, learning how is really simple and even fun. If you’re interested, we have developed a number of tools to get you started that you will find on the <a href="http://hebergement.u-psud.fr/supraconductivite/projet/smartphone/?lang=en">Physics Reimagined</a> website and <a href="https://smartphonique.fr/?cat=30">Smartphonique.fr</a>. Tempted? Get out your smartphone!</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/139483/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Julien Bobroff has received public funding from the University of Paris-Saclay, his Foundation and IDEX, CNRS and ANR.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Frédéric Bouquet has received public funding from the University of Paris-Saclay, its Foundation and IDEX, CNRS and ANR.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Ulysse Delabre a reçu des financements du Ministère de la Recherche et de l'Enseignement Supérieur, de la Région Nouvelle Aquitaine et de l'IDEX-Université de Bordeaux pour le projet Smartphonique : Enseigner les sciences avec un smartphone. Il est l'auteur de l'ouvrage "Smartphonique: Expériences de Physique avec un smartphone", Ed. Dunod.</span></em></p>Practical work is essential for science education. But health measures compromise their traditional organization. Here are some game-changing solutions.Julien Bobroff, Physicien, Professeur des Universités, Université Paris-SaclayFrédéric Bouquet, Enseignant-chercheur en physique, Université Paris-SaclayUlysse Delabre, Enseignant-chercheur, Université de BordeauxLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1155062019-10-14T10:54:53Z2019-10-14T10:54:53ZMatthew Hedges: my UAE spy arrest shows universities must do more to protect academics working in the field<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/279838/original/file-20190617-118522-1qdom3t.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Matthew Hedges with his wife Daniela Tejada.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="license">Author provided</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>This article is part of a series on <a href="https://theconversation.com/uk/topics/academic-freedom-series-76963">academic freedom</a> where leading academics from around the world write on the state of free speech and inquiry in their region.</em></p>
<hr>
<p>Last year I was <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-46288510">imprisoned</a> for nearly seven months in the United Arab Emirates (UAE). I was held predominantly in solitary confinement, endured heavy interrogations, with my human rights violated on a daily basis. </p>
<p>During my imprisonment I was force fed drugs, battled depression and thoughts of self-harm. Later, having endured nearly half a year of isolation and mistreatment, I wrestled with thoughts of suicide. </p>
<p>Eventually, in a trial lacking all due process and disregard for international legal standards, I was handed a life sentence. My crime? Undertaking academic research for my doctoral thesis. </p>
<p>My research examines the evolving national security strategy of the UAE, and my knowledge has evolved from years of professional work and research in the UAE and the wider Middle East and North Africa. </p>
<p>I had no reservations about conducting research in the UAE. And I underwent a rigorous ethical and fieldwork assessment and was sure to follow established protocols before and during my trip.</p>
<p>I complied with the university’s requirement to remove all Emirati research subjects as it was assessed that these nationals would not be safe nor trusted when engaging in security-related academic research. And I was happy to go along with the university and the third-party risk firm employed to assess any other risks for researchers travelling overseas. But unfortunately, as my experience proved, this was simply not enough to protect me or my integrity as an academic. </p>
<h2>A vulnerable position</h2>
<p>It became clear there was a lack of understanding by the Emirati authorities about what a legitimate academic is, and about how research is carried out. Standard actions needed to complete field research – such as interviewing sources, researching books, articles and maps along with taking notes – were very quickly taken out of context and distorted by the UAE security authorities. I routinely battled to explain how information cited in my thesis was referenced from publicly available academic books and not from “secret intelligence sources” as the interrogators would often claim. </p>
<p>Following my release, I have had the opportunity to reflect upon my experience. I have also been lucky to travel to academic institutions in the UK and US to discuss the <a href="https://www.nbcnews.com/news/mideast/jailed-spy-freed-british-grad-student-warns-uae-repression-n960066">ramifications of my experience</a> upon academic research. </p>
<p>When discussing how academic fieldwork actually works, my main observation has been that beyond the academic community, there is a very limited understanding of what academic research actually consists of. As such, there is little understanding of the risks it entails. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/277882/original/file-20190604-69075-rp8yko.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/277882/original/file-20190604-69075-rp8yko.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=373&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/277882/original/file-20190604-69075-rp8yko.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=373&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/277882/original/file-20190604-69075-rp8yko.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=373&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/277882/original/file-20190604-69075-rp8yko.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=469&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/277882/original/file-20190604-69075-rp8yko.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=469&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/277882/original/file-20190604-69075-rp8yko.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=469&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Ilham Tohti, a Uyghur economist, is serving a life sentence in China. He is held on separatism-related charges after his criticism of the Chinese government’s policies toward Uyghurs in Xinjiang.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://pen-international.org/news/china-free-ilham-tohti">PEN International</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This leaves academics engaging in fieldwork research in a particularly vulnerable position. It can even lead to a situation, like in my case, where their integrity and legitimacy as an academic is under question. </p>
<p>Indeed, I believe that this lack of information on academic practice exacerbated my situation. Trying to speak reason to the authorities holding me captive, and to those with the power to intervene diplomatically and politically on my behalf, went nowhere. And baseless accusations cast a shadow of doubt upon the legitimacy of my work. </p>
<h2>Safety and security</h2>
<p>For researchers and academics at all levels, the problem of misinformation has consequences extending to the very institutions to which they are affiliated. My experience demonstrates how bureaucracy-led universities are not equipping their students and staff with the appropriate skills and competencies needed to undertake their job in today’s world. Ultimately, effective instructions for fieldwork safety and security are lacking. Furthermore, as the technical capabilities of many states improve, there is an increased risk of deployed researchers <a href="https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/usa-spying-raven/">falling victim</a> to surveillance and unjust prosecution. </p>
<p>Another issue widely under-reported is that while researchers may be somewhat supported by their university, their human subjects are not. This leaves many academics, including myself, questioning whether it’s even possible or ethical to engage in fieldwork in the current age. </p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/277887/original/file-20190604-69095-1k220y9.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/277887/original/file-20190604-69095-1k220y9.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=344&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/277887/original/file-20190604-69095-1k220y9.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=344&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/277887/original/file-20190604-69095-1k220y9.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=344&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/277887/original/file-20190604-69095-1k220y9.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=432&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/277887/original/file-20190604-69095-1k220y9.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=432&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/277887/original/file-20190604-69095-1k220y9.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=432&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Niloufar Bayani, a researcher, conservationist, and scholar, was arrested in January 2018 on charges of espionage in Iran. She recently reported being subjected to torture.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Twitter/@Omid_M</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Having heard testimony from academics with diverse research backgrounds, it is abundantly clear that my experience was not isolated. <a href="https://www.scholarsatrisk.org/2018/10/free-to-think-2018-new-report-documents-global-crisis-of-attacks-on-higher-education/">Hundreds of scholars</a> around the world are targeted and prosecuted for their research. Yet, while their cases are of great concern within the academic community, they continue to rest dormant in the public eye, the political arena and higher education boards. </p>
<p>If academics and universities are to continue to contribute to the generation of knowledge, then research practice and its risks must be acknowledged and respected. The freedom to research is paramount for knowledge creation. And if it is not protected, we risk being accomplices to those who wish to silence us. </p>
<hr>
<p><em><strong>Read more from our series on <a href="https://theconversation.com/uk/topics/academic-freedom-series-76963">Academic Freedom</a>.</strong></em></p>
<hr><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/115506/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Matthew Hedges does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>As I found, academics engaging in fieldwork research are in a particularly vulnerable position.Matthew Hedges, Doctoral Research Candidate in the School of Government and International Affairs, Durham UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1145532019-05-06T10:36:49Z2019-05-06T10:36:49Z60 days in Iceberg Alley, drilling for marine sediment to decipher Earth’s climate 3 million years ago<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272054/original/file-20190501-113852-15dg0x7.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=614%2C0%2C4226%2C2948&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">The research vessel must dodge dangerous icebergs as it drills for sediment core samples.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Phil Christie/IODP</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Competition is stiff for one of the 30 scientist berths on the <a href="https://joidesresolution.org/">JOIDES Resolution</a> research vessel. I’m one of the lucky ones, granted the opportunity to work 12-hour days, seven days a week for 60 days as part of <a href="https://joidesresolution.org/expedition/382/">Expedition 382 “Iceberg Alley”</a> in the Scotia Sea, just north of the Antarctic Peninsula.</p>
<p><a href="https://scholar.google.com/citations?user=ruUF3z4AAAAJ&hl=en&oi=ao">I’m a geologist who specializes in paleoceanography</a>. My research focuses on how Earth’s oceans and climate operated in the past; I’m especially interested in how much and how fast the Antarctic ice sheets melted between 2.5 to 4 million years ago, the last time atmospheric carbon dioxide levels were about 400 parts per million, as they are today. This work depends on collecting sediment samples from the ocean floor that were deposited during that time. These sediment layers are like a library of the Antarctic’s past environment.</p>
<p>The JOIDES Resolution is the only ship in the world with the drilling tools to collect both soft sediment and hard rock from the ocean – material that we recover in long cylinders called cores. No wonder researchers from all over the world, at all career stages, are excited to have traveled from India, Japan, Korea, the Netherlands, Germany, Spain, Switzerland, Brazil, China, Germany, Australia, the United Kingdom and, of course, the United States to join the expedition.</p>
<h2>Fieldwork 1,000 miles (1600 km) from port</h2>
<p>Two months is actually a short amount of time in which to address scientific research questions, but there have been years of careful planning and detailed preparation in advance of this expedition. We scientists onboard make best use of our limited time by drilling at what we’ve already agreed should be the most informative locations.</p>
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<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/4wJOt4fEVnU?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">An animation explains the drilling process.</span></figcaption>
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<p>When the ship arrives at the designated GPS location, the captain, the lab officer and the drilling engineer all check the position coordinates several times. With the ship’s thrusters keeping it precisely in place, workers lower coring equipment, including drill pipe, through an opening in the center of the ship. When the drill pipe reaches the coring depth – in our case ranging from 2,600 feet (800 meters) to 12,500 ft (3,800 m) – we lower a coring tool on a wireline down through the pipe.</p>
<p>Most of our cores are taken with an advanced hydraulic piston corer. In a process similar to using an elaborate cookie cutter, it punches through the ocean floor and collects a thin cylinder of the rock and sediment: our core sample. The wireline brings the 31-ft-long (9.5 m) core back to the ship. In the ship’s lab, we split the core lengthwise into an archive half – to be photographed and described – and a working half. This is the one we sample onboard for density, chemistry and magnetic properties.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272319/original/file-20190502-103057-irmf68.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272319/original/file-20190502-103057-irmf68.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272319/original/file-20190502-103057-irmf68.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272319/original/file-20190502-103057-irmf68.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272319/original/file-20190502-103057-irmf68.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272319/original/file-20190502-103057-irmf68.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272319/original/file-20190502-103057-irmf68.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272319/original/file-20190502-103057-irmf68.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Co-chief scientist Michael Weber and sedimentologists (core describers) Suzanne O'Connell and Thomas Ronge examine the archive half of a split core at the describing table.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Stefanie Brachfeld/IODP</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Today the Greenland and Antarctic <a href="https://nsidc.org/cryosphere/quickfacts/icesheets.html">ice sheets contain 99% of Earth’s fresh water</a>. If all the Antarctic ice were to melt, average sea level would rise 200 feet (60 m). This won’t happen in your lifetime. But knowing how fast an event like this can occur – based on how fast ice has melted in the past – is critical to preparing for the sea level rise already accompanying Earth’s currently warming temperatures. Helping to understand that past change is one of the goals of our work on this expedition.</p>
<p>Establishing when it was that melting glaciers originally deposited the sediments we’re collecting is crucial and difficult. Only by dating this process can we figure out how fast the ice sheets disintegrated. There are two complementary approaches that researchers have traditionally used.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272581/original/file-20190503-103068-ch7ai.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272581/original/file-20190503-103068-ch7ai.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272581/original/file-20190503-103068-ch7ai.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=452&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272581/original/file-20190503-103068-ch7ai.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=452&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272581/original/file-20190503-103068-ch7ai.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=452&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272581/original/file-20190503-103068-ch7ai.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=568&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272581/original/file-20190503-103068-ch7ai.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=568&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272581/original/file-20190503-103068-ch7ai.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=568&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">A microscopic fossil of diatom <em>Actinocyclus actinochilus</em>.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jonathan Warnock/Indiana University of Pennsylvania</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p><a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.gloplacha.2012.05.017">Paleontologists look at tiny microfossils</a> from organisms such as <a href="https://doi.org/10.1038/nature08057">diatoms</a>, <a href="https://www.radiolaria.org/">radiolaria</a> and <a href="https://www.marum.de/Karin-Zonneveld/dinocystkey.html">dinocysts</a> that are found in the sediment cores. Then they can match up the species they spot in the samples with the timeframes they were known to exist. For instance, a paleontologist might know from previous research that a particular species of diatom lived between 1.8 and 2.6 million years ago. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272318/original/file-20190502-103057-knhn72.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272318/original/file-20190502-103057-knhn72.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272318/original/file-20190502-103057-knhn72.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272318/original/file-20190502-103057-knhn72.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272318/original/file-20190502-103057-knhn72.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272318/original/file-20190502-103057-knhn72.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272318/original/file-20190502-103057-knhn72.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272318/original/file-20190502-103057-knhn72.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Sediment samples, called cubes, taken for future paleomagnetic research and marked styrofoam plugs identify where samples were taken for ‘moisture and density’ (MAD) measurements.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Stefanie Brachfeld/IODP</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>A second method of dating depends on paleomagnetists measuring the strength and direction of the sediments’ magnetism. Over Earth’s history, the magnetic field has reversed, with magnetic north flipping to point south, at irregular intervals. Scientists <a href="https://wikipedia.org/wiki/Paleomagnetism">know when the reversals occurred</a>. In the period from 1.8 to 2.6 million years ago, for example, the magnetic field flipped four times.</p>
<p><a href="https://doi.org/10.1029/2012PA002308">The paleomagnetists look for reversals</a> in the alignment of magnetic minerals in the sediment we collect, and if they find them, they <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/profile/Ted_Moore/publication/272713726_Time_is_of_the_Essence/links/569cd6ae08ae2f0bdb8beab4/Time-is-of-the-Essence.pdf">can better identify when</a>, within that 1.8 to 2.6-million-year time interval, the sediment was deposited. If reversals are not present, it might mean the sediment accumulated so fast that only one magnetic interval is represented, or that part of the sediment record is missing. To determine which possibility is more likely, they talk to the people describing the visual properties of the core to see if there are abrupt changes that might indicate a disruption in the sedimentary record.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272594/original/file-20190504-103068-i1law1.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272594/original/file-20190504-103068-i1law1.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272594/original/file-20190504-103068-i1law1.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272594/original/file-20190504-103068-i1law1.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272594/original/file-20190504-103068-i1law1.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272594/original/file-20190504-103068-i1law1.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272594/original/file-20190504-103068-i1law1.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272594/original/file-20190504-103068-i1law1.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Suzanne O'Connell points out details of the core on the description table.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Lee Stephens/IODP</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This sort of observation and consultation proceeds continuously as the cores come up and scientists work their shifts. For me, the joy of this at-sea experience is collaborating with other scientists on the same problem at the same time. If each of us was working in isolation in our own lab, collecting this much data would take years.</p>
<h2>Shipboard life</h2>
<p>Working alongside the scientists are 30 technicians who know how to operate the lab equipment, curate the hundreds of cores and keep all the computers running, and two outreach educators. All of this work is made possible by 65 people including a drilling crew, who operate the heavy equipment that collects the cores; the marine crew, who drive and maintain the ship; and the stewards who prepare the food, do the laundry and clean the ship.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272316/original/file-20190502-103082-1pijf22.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272316/original/file-20190502-103082-1pijf22.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272316/original/file-20190502-103082-1pijf22.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272316/original/file-20190502-103082-1pijf22.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272316/original/file-20190502-103082-1pijf22.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272316/original/file-20190502-103082-1pijf22.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272316/original/file-20190502-103082-1pijf22.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272316/original/file-20190502-103082-1pijf22.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Loading food onto the JOIDES Resolution in Punta Arenas, Chile, to keep everyone fed during the two month expedition.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Suzanne O'Connell/IODP</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>To feed 120 people for two months, 17 pallets of food are onloaded at each port call; each grocery order includes 12,000 eggs, a ton (976 kilograms) of potatoes and 800 lbs (360 kg) of butter. There’s a full-time baker, and the cooks prepare four full meals a day and provide snacks for four coffee breaks. A small gym is available to help to offset the abundant food. On some expeditions, people run on the helipad on the ship’s stern.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272322/original/file-20190502-103045-1bhy1nm.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272322/original/file-20190502-103045-1bhy1nm.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272322/original/file-20190502-103045-1bhy1nm.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272322/original/file-20190502-103045-1bhy1nm.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272322/original/file-20190502-103045-1bhy1nm.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272322/original/file-20190502-103045-1bhy1nm.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272322/original/file-20190502-103045-1bhy1nm.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272322/original/file-20190502-103045-1bhy1nm.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Humpback whales are visible right alongside the JOIDES Resolution.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Bridget Lee/IODP</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>It’s too cold and the seas are too rough for that on this expedition. Instead, we have the thrilling opportunity to see icebergs, whales and penguins. Few places in the ocean offer such a view – but plenty of danger comes with it.</p>
<p>With drill pipe extending 10,500 ft (3,200 m) – about two miles – to the sea floor and as much as a further 2,000 feet (600 m) into the hole, we would not be able to move quickly out of the way of an approaching iceberg. It can take two hours to remove the pipe from the hole. Since the ship is attached to the drill pipe, if an iceberg were fast approaching, there might not be enough time to retrieve the drill pipe – we’d have to break the connection with explosives. Hence, there’s a strict protocol for dealing with icebergs and an experienced ice observer onboard who helps monitor the speed and direction of the nearby icebergs.</p>
<h2>A drilling program that’s grown over decades</h2>
<p>Shipboard life has changed since <a href="https://theconversation.com/scientists-have-been-drilling-into-the-ocean-floor-for-50-years-heres-what-theyve-found-so-far-100309">my first participation in the scientific ocean drilling program</a> almost 40 years ago. Back then, onboard the program’s first drill ship, the Glomar Challenger, the internet and email were not an option. To contact a person on land, an amateur radio operator on the ship would contact a shore-based shortwave radio operator who would then place a collect call to the person you wanted to speak with. If the call was accepted, you could converse, ending each part of your message with “Over” to let the recipient know it was their turn to speak. Since the entire ship could hear the conversation, as well as anyone in the world listening on the radio, it wasn’t conducive to personal communication.</p>
<p>There are many other changes onboard. Core sections are now scanned by multiple machines that improve the interpretation of the data, and new tools allow better core recovery.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272328/original/file-20190502-103082-1y11wat.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272328/original/file-20190502-103082-1y11wat.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/272328/original/file-20190502-103082-1y11wat.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=475&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272328/original/file-20190502-103082-1y11wat.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=475&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272328/original/file-20190502-103082-1y11wat.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=475&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272328/original/file-20190502-103082-1y11wat.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=597&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272328/original/file-20190502-103082-1y11wat.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=597&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/272328/original/file-20190502-103082-1y11wat.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=597&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Co-chief scientists Michael Weber and Maureen Raymo in the JOIDES Resolution engine room.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Sarah Kachovich/IODP</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The most remarkable change, however, is in the composition of the scientific party. Today, half the scientists who go out are women, including the co-chief scientists – the people ultimately responsible for planning the expedition and for it reaching its scientific goals. During the entire Glomar Challenger program, from 1968 to 1983, only three of the 192 co-chief scientists were women.</p>
<p>Soon the expedition will be over, but the research will have only begun. After we’ve returned to our normal lives on land, we’ll continue to collaborate. I’ll be analyzing the size and composition of different parts of the sediment that came from land. Which parts were brought by icebergs, where did they originate, and when were they most active? How much of the sediment was transported by deep ocean currents or even by wind? Colleagues will be addressing the same questions but in the younger sediment, or determining the environmental conditions in which the microfossil communities thrived.</p>
<p>In two years, we’ll reconvene and spend several days presenting the results of our individual research. Each is a part of the larger puzzle about past climates and the rates and causes of climate change before the process was accelerated by human activity.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/114553/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Suzanne O'Connell receives funding from the U.S. Science Support Program, IODP, for participation in this expedition. She and her students have received funding to conduct research on prior scientific ocean drilling sediment samples, primarily from the Keck Geology Consortium, which is funded by the members schools (including Wesleyan University) and the National Science Foundation. She serves on the U.S. Advisory Committee for Scientific Ocean Drilling (USAC).</span></em></p>A paleooceanographer describes her ninth sea expedition, this time retrieving cylindrical ‘cores’ of the sediment and rock that’s as much as two miles down at the ocean floor.Suzanne OConnell, Professor of Earth & Environmental Sciences, Wesleyan UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1104722019-01-30T22:52:45Z2019-01-30T22:52:45ZScientist at work: I’m a geologist who’s dived dozens of times to explore submarine volcanoes<p>Staring up into the night sky as a kid and wondering what was out there started my journey to a career that involves diving in a cramped submersible vessel into the darkness of the deep sea to see what’s there.</p>
<p>By the time I was 15 years old, I discovered I was already too big to fit in those small early space capsules as an astronaut. My focus shifted toward inner space, thanks to Jacques Cousteau’s documentaries, detailed maps of the seafloor and historic dives to the <a href="https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/diving-deeper-than-any-human-ever-dove/">deepest parts of the ocean</a> in submersibles. </p>
<p>In college, I was introduced to the wonders of geology and how the spreading seafloor was one of the keys to understanding the newly developing <a href="https://theconversation.com/plate-tectonics-new-findings-fill-out-the-50-year-old-theory-that-explains-earths-landmasses-55424">theory of plate tectonics</a>. I was hooked. </p>
<p>After obtaining my Ph.D., my grad school colleague Dan Fornari connected me with scientists from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration who were using the <a href="https://www.whoi.edu/main/history-of-alvin">HOV (Human Occupied Vehicle) Alvin</a> to study the geology of the Galapagos Rift – a spreading ridge where deep sea hydrothermal vents and animal communities were first <a href="https://www.whoi.edu/feature/history-hydrothermal-vents/discovery/1977.html">discovered in the late 1970s</a>. They needed a “hard-rock” geologist with a marine geology background to collaborate with them – and I was thrilled to join their expedition leaving from Acapulco. A plate tectonic event nearly stopped me from joining the cruise when the 1985 Mexico City earthquake delayed my flight for hours.</p>
<p>My first Alvin dive into the active volcanic rift was nearly beyond description: frightening, exhilarating, fascinating, tiring and the most exciting event in my life to that point. Although pre-cruise training by the Alvin pilots is very thorough, the fear of the unknown lingered until the hatch was shut and we were lowered into the water.</p>
<p>What will I see? How dangerous is this really? Will the sealed sphere really protect me from the crushing pressure at depth? What is it like to be in such a small space with two other people for eight hours? Will I remember all that I am supposed to do? Do I dare drink the coffee provided? To my amazement, we were heading back to the surface before I knew it – my adrenaline level still high.</p>
<p>That cruise and the results that came from the successful research marked the beginning of my career as one of the few geologists who <a href="https://scholar.google.com/citations?user=zxwOA0QAAAAJ&hl=en&oi=ao">work and study volcanoes on mid-ocean ridges</a>. Since that dive series in 1985, I’ve had around 40 dives in Alvin to depths of nearly 13,000 feet – <a href="http://www.whoi.edu/oceanus/feature/at-age-50--alvin-gets-an-extreme-makeover">until recently close to the limit</a> of Alvin’s capabilities. Since each dive typically spends six hours on the bottom, I have spent a total of about 10 days on the bottom of the ocean – as an “aquanaut.”</p>
<h2>Preparing to dive into the deep</h2>
<p>My typical dive preparation actually starts in the planning stages of a cruise soon after an expedition is funded and a specific oceanographic ship is scheduled. The research vessel Atlantis is specially outfitted to host Alvin and operate multiple <a href="http://www.whoi.edu/main/underwater-vehicles">deep submergence vehicles</a> during a single dive. Most cruises last about a month, with around 20 to 25 dives planned in advance. A few days before each dive, researchers study maps of the dive area, discussing sites for specific sampling and measurements.</p>
<p>The night before the dive, scientists each prepare a bag (generally a pillow case) full of the clothing and recording materials they’ll need. This typically includes a warm hat, pants, sweater and extra socks to put on while on the bottom because the sub rapidly gets cold and damp in the near-freezing seawater at depth. I try to get a good night’s rest because a typical eight-hour dive can be mentally and physically exhausting.</p>
<p>I generally don’t eat or drink much on the morning of a dive and spend some time stretching before I have to squeeze myself into the “ball,” as the interior of the sphere is called. By 8 a.m., Alvin has been checked out, wheeled into off-loading position and is ready for the three aquanauts to slip down into the hatch and settle into position.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/256116/original/file-20190129-42594-909dod.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/256116/original/file-20190129-42594-909dod.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/256116/original/file-20190129-42594-909dod.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=635&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/256116/original/file-20190129-42594-909dod.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=635&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/256116/original/file-20190129-42594-909dod.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=635&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/256116/original/file-20190129-42594-909dod.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=797&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/256116/original/file-20190129-42594-909dod.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=797&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/256116/original/file-20190129-42594-909dod.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=797&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Michael Perfit during one of his dives in Alvin to study seafloor volcanoes.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Molly Anderson</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The pilot sits upright in the middle of the ball, while my colleague and I are tucked on either side under racks of electronics in a semi-prone position. There’s not enough room to fully extend my legs in this position. The heavy hatch above us is closed and sealed air and water tight to maintain atmospheric pressure throughout the dive – no turning back now. </p>
<p>The pilot flicks on carbon dioxide scrubbers that recycle the air we breathe for the entire dive and adjusts the regulator that slowly leaks extra oxygen into the sphere. At just under 6 feet tall, I can just stand upright behind where the pilot sits, but there is only room for one. Other than to stretch my legs, most of the time I am on my knees looking out of the forward or side portholes or scribbling notes on sample sheets.</p>
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<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Alvin is launched off the stern of research ship Atlantis during a recent dive series in the northeastern Pacific Ocean.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Michael Perfit</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Alvin lurches back and forth as it’s lifted off the deck and swung out over the ocean to be launched. Then there’s the comforting sound and feel of our entry into the ocean as seawater starts to cover the five small circular windows. I can see the skin divers swimming around the sub, checking to make sure our equipment is still in place while they undo the recovery line to the ship.</p>
<p>After running through a number of equipment and safety tests, we get the OK to begin our slow descent – descending at about 110 feet a minute, it will take over an hour to reach 8,000 feet. Bright light from the surface reflects off millions of small bubbles streaming around Alvin as we release some air to help us sink. Fairly quickly the sounds of the ship fade and the rocking from surface waves stops. Compared to all the motion and noise on the Atlantis, the interior of Alvin is pleasantly quiet and calm except for the hum of the air scrubbers and some music, picked by the pilot, playing in the background.</p>
<p>As we steadily drift to the bottom, the light outside quickly starts to fade, becoming greenish at first, then slowly very dark blue. Tiny red reading lights illuminate the interior of the sphere. We keep Alvin’s external lights off to save the battery power needed for propelling us on the bottom. After 10 minutes, deeper than 600 feet, it’s almost lightless and hundreds of <a href="https://www.whoi.edu/oceanus/feature/mission-to-the-ocean---s-twilight-zone">glowing bioluminescent organisms</a> stream past the portholes. This magical light show reminds me of the night sky I gazed at in my youth.</p>
<p>A half hour goes by and around 3,300 feet we are in the “midnight zone” where no light penetrates and the shimmering blue-green phosphorescence seems even brighter and more dramatic. By this time, I’m feeling comfortable but anxious to get to work on the seafloor, trying to anticipate what we might see. </p>
<h2>Science on the seafloor</h2>
<p>Approaching the seafloor, Alvin’s external lights turn on and we scout to let the pilot know when we see the bottom. For me, this is one of the most exciting and awe-inspiring parts of a dive because one never knows what will be there. Very slowly the lava- and sediment-covered floor of the ocean begins to appear as if out of a fog into the headlights.</p>
<p>On most of my dives, we land away from the volcanically and hydrothermally active rift zone for safety reasons. These areas typically are covered with different types of lava flows – pillows, lobates and sheet flows dusted by sediment. Nearer the rift axis, areas where lava lakes filled, overflowed, and then drained and collapsed are common. Some areas have hundred-foot-high mounds of pillow lavas that have oozed out of vents or sheer walls hundreds of feet tall that have been thrust upward by tectonic forces.</p>
<p><iframe id="tc-infographic-372" class="tc-infographic" height="400px" src="https://cdn.theconversation.com/infographics/372/cd1879cb7dbb8df3cdd46310f2053290b7e6f117/site/index.html" width="100%" style="border: none" frameborder="0"></iframe></p>
<p>In some of the most volcanically active areas, I’ve found white, cotton-like organic mats covering the black lava flows that are formed by microbes living in the warm subsurface. Sometimes pieces of them are blown upward by streams of hot water flowing out of cracks and pits in the lavas. I’ve seen hydrothermal vents emitting black, sulfur-rich smoke, typically surrounded by communities of tubeworms, crabs, clams, mussels, shrimp and unusual fish – creatures that can survive this extreme environment thousands of feet below the surface.</p>
<p>For six hours on the bottom, I direct the pilot where to go and what to sample or measure using Alvin’s two remarkably agile yet strong hydraulic arms. Multiple digital still and video cameras mounted on Alvin’s external frame record our journey along the seafloor while mini voice recorders and handwritten notes document our observations. Time goes by quickly and rarely do we get everything we planned done before the pilot notes our batteries are running low and drops hundreds of pounds of iron weights to start us on our hourlong transit to the surface. </p>
<p>Even with our extra clothes on, it gets quite cold by the end of a dive so the extra blankets come out and I typically settle in with one of our packed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The glow of light announces our approach to the surface and I always hope the seas have remained calm or else we will experience some uncomfortable bobbing around while waiting for Alvin to be recovered.</p>
<p>Once on board Atlantis and the hatch is opened, it’s a relief to fill my lungs with warm, fresh air and be able to stretch my legs again. Watching the recovery, congratulating the divers, particularly new divers, and checking out the samples we recovered is an evening event for the scientists.</p>
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<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Michael Perfit describing the observations during his dive to scientists on board Atlantis shortly after the recovery of Alvin.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Daniel Fornari</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>It’s been more than 45 years I’ve been <a href="https://www.cambridge.org/us/academic/subjects/earth-and-environmental-science/oceanography-and-marine-science/discovering-deep-photographic-atlas-seafloor-and-ocean-crust?format=HB">researching the geologic features of the seafloor</a> and I’m still excited about taking dives in Alvin. We’re still sampling, photographing, filming and observing, trying to answer questions about how over 60 percent of Earth’s crust is formed. How do submarine volcanoes erupt and what are they made of? Where and why do deep sea geysers – also known as hydrothermal vents – spewing 750 degree fluids form? And how does life thrive in these inhospitable environments?</p>
<p>Even though there are many unmanned robotic subs that can dive to deeper depths for longer periods of time, what scientists see on shipboard video screens from remotely operated vehicles cannot compare to actually being on the bottom and seeing it in three dimensions.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/110472/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Michael Perfit receives funding from the National Science Foundation. He is affiliated with the University of Florida. </span></em></p>When you study volcanoes at mid-ocean ridges, doing fieldwork means becoming an aquanaut – diving thousands of feet to the ocean floor in the submersible Alvin, trading tight quarters for amazing views.Michael Perfit, Distinguished Professor of Geology, University of FloridaLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/960862018-07-13T10:24:32Z2018-07-13T10:24:32ZScientist at work: Identifying individual gray wolves by their howls<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/227222/original/file-20180711-27015-1dr73z1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=164%2C226%2C2079%2C1483&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Each wolf calls with its own 'voice.'</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Angela Dassow</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Love them or hate them, wolves are vital members of natural ecosystems and the health of a wolf population can be an important factor in <a href="https://www.livingwithwolves.org/about-wolves/why-wolves-matter/">maintaining balance</a> among species. Wolf populations are growing in North America – the Great Lakes region in particular now supports over <a href="https://www.fws.gov/midwest/wolf/aboutwolves/wolfpopus.htm">3,700 individuals</a>. Keeping track of wolf pack movements is important for reducing human-wolf conflicts which can arise when packs move too close to ranches.</p>
<p>The traditional way to track wolves involves setting traps, sedating and then radio-collaring individual animals. While effective, this approach is time intensive and expensive, and entails risks for the animals. </p>
<p>I was fortunate to participate in this entire process firsthand as an undergraduate student. During the summer trapping seasons, I became familiar with each of the wolves in the central forest region of Wisconsin. This experience led to several conversations with the wildlife biologists in the area about whether wolf howls could be used to help identifying non-radio-collared pack members.</p>
<p><audio preload="metadata" controls="controls" data-duration="5" data-image="" data-title="Howl from a wild adult wolf, recorded in central Wisconsin by author Angela Dassow and Carthage College biology students, Cara Hull and Caitlin McCombe." data-size="119400" data-source="" data-source-url="" data-license="Author provided" data-license-url="">
<source src="https://cdn.theconversation.com/audio/1199/south-bluff-filtered-howl.mp3" type="audio/mpeg">
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<div class="audio-player-caption">
Howl from a wild adult wolf, recorded in central Wisconsin by author Angela Dassow and Carthage College biology students, Cara Hull and Caitlin McCombe.
<span class="attribution"><span class="license">Author provided</span><span class="download"><span>117 KB</span> <a target="_blank" href="https://cdn.theconversation.com/audio/1199/south-bluff-filtered-howl.mp3">(download)</a></span></span>
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<p>This question remained a fun thought experiment for many years. Now <a href="https://www.carthage.edu/live/profiles/1488-angela-dassow">as a biology professor</a> who specializes in <a href="http://ocr.org/learn/bioacoustics/">bioacoustics</a>, I’ve been able to turn that thought experiment into a full research question: Can we use acoustic features to identify individual wolves in the wild? </p>
<h2>Downsides of radio collaring</h2>
<p>Because of the many challenges involved in radio collaring an animal, it would be useful to have a new way to identify and track wild wolves.</p>
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<figcaption>
<span class="caption">A U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service employee fastens a radio collar onto a sedated female gray wolf.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/usfwsmtnprairie/8488974469">Lori Iverson/USFWS</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>To successfully set a trap, wildlife managers must first spend days, if not weeks, scouting for signs of wolves. Once they’ve identified a suitable area, they set traps that must be checked every 24 hours. If successful, the animal needs to be sedated before it can be removed from the trap – which can be stressful both for the wolf and the researchers involved.</p>
<p>A sedated wolf cannot regulate its body temperature and overheating can become an issue on hot days. Human handling of a sedated wolf can also be stressful on the pack members that are often nearby, observing the scene. Even after an animal is successfully radio-collared and released, it’s still vulnerable to predators while the sedative wears off.</p>
<p>In spite of these risks, radio-collaring has been the standard way to track populations because each collar’s radio-transmitter frequency acts as a unique identifier of an individual. Researchers can then use aerial surveys where a pilot searches for the collared animal or ground surveys where a field crew drives throughout a pack territory searching for feedback from the radio signal. This method is used to track a wide array of animals, including turtles, birds, bats, whales, fish, snakes and more.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/223229/original/file-20180614-32319-1juwm5r.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/223229/original/file-20180614-32319-1juwm5r.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/223229/original/file-20180614-32319-1juwm5r.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223229/original/file-20180614-32319-1juwm5r.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223229/original/file-20180614-32319-1juwm5r.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223229/original/file-20180614-32319-1juwm5r.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223229/original/file-20180614-32319-1juwm5r.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223229/original/file-20180614-32319-1juwm5r.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Angela Dassow and Cara Hull survey a road in central Wisconsin for signs of wolves.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Caitlin McCombe</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Listening to learn who’s who</h2>
<p>In 2013, behavioral ecologist <a href="https://scholar.google.com/citations?user=CZyS1lMAAAAJ&hl=en&oi=sra">Holly Root-Gutteridge</a> and her colleagues successfully demonstrated that they could <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/09524622.2013.817318">identify individual wolves in captivity using acoustic features</a>. Their research provided evidence that it made sense to test whether vocal identification in wild animals is possible.</p>
<p>So with the support of the <a href="https://www.carthage.edu/sure/">Summer Undergraduate Research Experience</a> at <a href="https://www.carthage.edu/">Carthage College</a>, volunteers from the <a href="http://www.timberwolfinformation.org/">Timber Wolf Information Network</a>, and wildlife managers at <a href="https://dnr.wi.gov/topic/lands/wildlifeareas/sandhill/">Sandhill Wildlife Area</a> in Babcock, Wisconsin, my undergraduate students Cara Hull and Caitlin McCombe and I began to record wolves in the wild.</p>
<p>It would be an understatement to say fieldwork can be challenging. On any given day, there can be daunting weather fluctuations. Biting insects, especially mosquitoes and deer flies, are abundant in wolf habitat. We had to constantly check ourselves for ticks. And then of course comes the actual fieldwork. </p>
<p>Wolves naturally avoid coming near people, but the best quality recordings are made up close to where the animals are producing the sounds. To get close with our audio equipment, we had to track the wolves every day to learn where they’d most recently been within their large territories. That’s how we’d establish a starting point for our nightly recording sessions.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/223228/original/file-20180614-32304-mgakkr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/223228/original/file-20180614-32304-mgakkr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/223228/original/file-20180614-32304-mgakkr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=765&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223228/original/file-20180614-32304-mgakkr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=765&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223228/original/file-20180614-32304-mgakkr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=765&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223228/original/file-20180614-32304-mgakkr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=962&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223228/original/file-20180614-32304-mgakkr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=962&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223228/original/file-20180614-32304-mgakkr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=962&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Fresh track from an adult gray wolf.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Angela Dassow</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Conducting a daily survey of wolf habitat requires driving or walking down every possible path within a wolf’s territory. Signs of activity could include fresh footprints or tracks. This can tell us how many animals were in the area and what direction they were heading.</p>
<p>Large dogs can produce footprints that are similar in size to those of wolves; but the pattern of tracks can be distinguished based on the placement of their feet and the directness of the chosen route. Dogs have a tendency to wander more, while wolves will walk in a more efficient straight line.</p>
<p>In addition to tracks, we conduct a survey of fresh scat. It’s not glamorous, but examining their feces provides valuable information about what the wolves have been eating and how recently they walked along a trail.</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/223050/original/file-20180613-32323-8i1dwh.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/223050/original/file-20180613-32323-8i1dwh.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/223050/original/file-20180613-32323-8i1dwh.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223050/original/file-20180613-32323-8i1dwh.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223050/original/file-20180613-32323-8i1dwh.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223050/original/file-20180613-32323-8i1dwh.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223050/original/file-20180613-32323-8i1dwh.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223050/original/file-20180613-32323-8i1dwh.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Carthage College biology students Cara Hull and Caitlin McCombe conduct a howl survey in central Wisconsin.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Angela Dassow</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Using the information from our daytime survey, we plan a shorter nighttime howling route. Howling is a natural behavior during the evenings, when wolves call to signal that a territory is occupied. At each stopping point on our route, a researcher must get out of the vehicle and howl while another researcher records with a microphone any wolf responses, announcing their presence or defending territory. If we are successful in eliciting a response, we continue in its direction until we get as close as possible.</p>
<p>Use of lights is discouraged since it can deter the wolves from calling again, so we needed to feel our way through the forest at night. Personally, I think it is incredibly exciting to be walking down a trail in the dark and have a wolf walk within feet of where I am. It may sound scary, but we are not in any danger since wolves prefer to avoid contact with humans. During our month-long survey, we were fortunate to experience two close wolf encounters. </p>
<h2>Back in the lab, analyzing the calls</h2>
<p>With the howls recorded, we can return to the lab to analyze our findings using audio software.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/223230/original/file-20180614-32316-16wyrn2.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/223230/original/file-20180614-32316-16wyrn2.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/223230/original/file-20180614-32316-16wyrn2.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223230/original/file-20180614-32316-16wyrn2.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223230/original/file-20180614-32316-16wyrn2.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223230/original/file-20180614-32316-16wyrn2.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223230/original/file-20180614-32316-16wyrn2.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/223230/original/file-20180614-32316-16wyrn2.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Acoustic properties are measured using Adobe Audition.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Angela Dassow</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>We were able to isolate 21 howls from two adult wolves over two evenings. For each howl, we made six types of frequency measurements and two types of duration measurements. Frequency is how high or low the pitch of the howl sounds and duration is the length of time the howl lasted.</p>
<p>For wild gray wolves, we found that the maximum frequency – that is, the highest sound an animal produced – and the frequency at the end of the howl were the two variables that were most individualistic. For captive wolves, it was different. The lowest frequency an individual produced – what in acoustics is called their fundamental frequency – and the loudness of its calls were the factors that best differentiated among the captive individuals.</p>
<p>The differences in useful identification information between wild and captive howls are likely a reflection of signal quality. The captive recordings are much clearer than what we were able to record in the wild, where we were typically at least half a mile away from the wolves; the signal degrades with distance. As signal quality declines, maximum frequency and end frequency become more useful in individual identification.</p>
<p>Based on our findings and previous research, it is possible to monitor gray wolf populations using non-invasive methods. To do so effectively, researchers would need to record known individuals in a particular area. Once they’ve built up a database of known individuals’ howls, they can conduct nightly surveys. Comparing new recordings to those in the audio library would let them determine which individuals are in an area. </p>
<p>While radio-collaring procedures may still be useful in some cases, vocal identification is a promising alternative for monitoring individuals. Acoustic surveys are still a time-consuming process, but they eliminate the time needed to trap individuals and remove any possibility of accidentally injuring an animal in a trap. Additionally, once researchers gather a database of positively identified individuals, they can use remote monitoring stations to record howls, thus reducing the amount of time spent conducting nightly surveys. Acoustic monitoring could potentially track all the wolves in multiple packs whereas radio-collaring is typically used to track a single member in select packs.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/96086/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Angela Dassow does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Tracking wild animals can provide lots of valuable data. New research suggests audio recordings of wild wolves can replace the typical radio collars, which can be expensive and intrusive.Angela Dassow, Assistant Professor of Biology, Carthage CollegeLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/914342018-02-21T11:45:25Z2018-02-21T11:45:25ZThe way humans point isn’t as universal as you might think<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/207154/original/file-20180220-116368-j2k6gq.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">The universal sign for 'Look over there!' isn't so common in some cultures.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-illustration/hand-sign-pointing-finger-retro-style-51213262">Helena Ohman/Shutterstock.com</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Octopuses have long arms and plenty of smarts, but they don’t point. Nor do chimps, gorillas or other apes, at least not in the wild. </p>
<p>Humans, on the other hand, are prodigious pointers. Infants use the gesture before they can talk, often around 1 year of age. By 2, they’ll waddle around, their forefingers sweeping over the world like searchlights. </p>
<p>Pointing seems to be in our nature: When people want to draw attention to something, we instinctively extend an index finger. This gesture has been observed across the globe, suggesting that it’s a universal human impulse, perhaps like yawning or laughing.</p>
<p>But research my collaborators and I <a href="http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/cogs.12585/full">recently published</a> shows that pointing is not simply a matter of human nature. How we point is also a matter of culture. These findings suggest that cognitive scientists still have a lot to learn from other cultures about why humans behave in the ways that they do. </p>
<h2>A scrunch and a glance</h2>
<p>In 2009, my collaborator, Rafael Núñez, and I joined a fieldwork project in Papua New Guinea’s remote interior. The goal was to study the language and culture of the Yupno, an indigenous group of some 8,000 people. </p>
<p>While conducting our interviews, we noticed a distinct way the Yupno would point: They would scrunch their noses while looking toward wherever they wanted to direct your attention. To outsiders, it could easily look like an expression of disgust. But there’s nothing negative about it.</p>
<p>This “nose-pointing” gesture, it turned out, was essentially undocumented. After we returned to the U.S., <a href="https://benjamins.com/#catalog/journals/gest.12.2.01coo/details">we published</a> some preliminary observations using examples from our videos. But the study left a bunch of questions unanswered. One in particular kept popping up: Was facial pointing just an infrequent quirk, or did the Yupno use it as much – or even more than – hand-pointing? We didn’t have a good answer. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/207368/original/file-20180221-132663-hzyewa.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/207368/original/file-20180221-132663-hzyewa.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/207368/original/file-20180221-132663-hzyewa.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=290&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207368/original/file-20180221-132663-hzyewa.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=290&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207368/original/file-20180221-132663-hzyewa.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=290&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207368/original/file-20180221-132663-hzyewa.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=364&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207368/original/file-20180221-132663-hzyewa.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=364&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207368/original/file-20180221-132663-hzyewa.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=364&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Two examples of Yupno men pointing by scrunching their noses.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Kensy Cooperrider</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/">CC BY-SA</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Other researchers had previously contested the significance of facial pointing. One dismissed it as merely an “<a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0166411508602010">occasional alternative</a>” to pointing with the hand. Others held that, in indigenous cultures such as the Cuna of Panama or the <a href="https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2007/04/16/the-interpreter-2">Pirahã of Brazil</a>, pointing with the face is actually preferred over pointing with the hand.</p>
<p>None of these claims, however, were supported by systematically collected evidence. So when we returned to the Yupno valley – now joined by another collaborator, James Slotta – we set out to document Yupno pointing more rigorously and, in the process, to weigh in on a bigger question: Do humans universally prefer to point with their hands?</p>
<p>We devised a simple communication game that’s played in pairs. One person sits down with five square cloths on the ground in front of them, forming a plus sign. Off to one side is a tray with a number of small, colorful objects on it – beanbags, cylinders and cubes. The person is shown a photo with eight of the objects arranged on the square cloths in a particular way. Their task is to tell their partner how to arrange the objects to match the photo. The instructions don’t mention pointing. It’s assumed that the players will spontaneously point to instruct their partner.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/207369/original/file-20180221-132650-kj9cn.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/207369/original/file-20180221-132650-kj9cn.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=440&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207369/original/file-20180221-132650-kj9cn.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=440&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207369/original/file-20180221-132650-kj9cn.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=440&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207369/original/file-20180221-132650-kj9cn.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=553&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207369/original/file-20180221-132650-kj9cn.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=553&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/207369/original/file-20180221-132650-kj9cn.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=553&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The set-up for the game used in the study.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Kensy Cooperrider</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/">CC BY-SA</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>We played this game with 16 Yupno adults and then, later, 16 undergraduates in California. The Yupno and Americans pointed at about the same rate. But how they pointed was a different story. As you might guess, the Americans almost always used their hands – 95 percent of the time, in fact. But the Yupno participants used their hands much less – only 34 percent of the time. The rest of the time they pointed with the scrunched nose gesture or just a toss of the head. </p>
<p>In the Yupno, at least, pointing with the face is not just an “occasional alternative.” Our experiment shows it’s how they respond to the impulse to point.</p>
<h2>Pointed questions</h2>
<p>Why do the Yupno point like this? We don’t know the full answer yet. </p>
<p>The Yupno do place a high value on discreet communication, so it could be they use facial pointing because it’s less conspicuous than finger-pointing. Or it could have to do with the Yupno language, which boasts an unusually large set of demonstratives. (Words like “this” and “that” are often used along with pointing.) Or it could simply be that Yupno people’s hands are so often occupied with everyday tasks that they’ve just gotten used to pointing without them.</p>
<p>Even in American culture, pointing doesn’t always take the same form. When our hands are full and we need to point, we’ll jerk our head; when trying to be discreet, we’ll use our eyes to cast a gaze. </p>
<p>Other cultures have more conspicuous – and, to Western eyes, more colorful – conventions for pointing without the hands. In parts of South America, Asia and Africa, it’s common <a href="https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/1005/fbf48846dd34eaa6108b999bd62235fa4c17.pdf">to point with the lips</a>. To do this, you purse, protrude or pout your lips, while looking at whatever it is you want to direct attention to.</p>
<p>Whenever a study finds that another culture does something differently from us, it is natural to ask why “they” do what they do. But cross-cultural findings also often raise questions about why “we” do what we do. Our research is no exception. Facial pointing in one form or another is totally commonplace in indigenous communities all over the world. But it’s utterly absent from major metropolises. You don’t see Brooklynites scrunching their noses to point or Londoners lip-pointing. Why not? Future work may well reveal something that explains our culture’s penchant for the index finger.</p>
<p>Our study is hardly the first to encourage a rethinking of what is “natural.” Cognitive scientists <a href="http://nautil.us/blog/framing-the-world-in-terms-of-left-and-right-is-stranger-than-you-think">once assumed</a> that people everywhere favor the words “left” and “right” over “east” and “west” when talking about space. They also thought humans were universally good at counting and bad at describing smells.</p>
<p>Not any more. In each case, we now know <a href="https://aeon.co/essays/why-do-humans-have-numbers-are-they-cultural-or-innate">these</a> <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/19/science/smells-descriptions-hunter-gatherers.html">behaviors</a> have their roots in both nature and culture. Our bodies and brains certainly set broad bounds on our behaviors. But we’re still figuring out where those bounds are.</p>
<p>And that’s where cross-cultural research like ours steps in. If we want to understand where our behaviors come from, we have to ask how those behaviors vary from one group to the next. So often – even in the case of our most familiar behaviors – there’s more to the answer than we would have guessed.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/91434/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>This research was supported by a grant from the National Geographic Society.</span></em></p>It was long thought that humans everywhere favor pointing with the index finger. But some fieldwork out of Papua New Guinea identified a group of people who prefer to scrunch their noses.Kensy Cooperrider, Postdoctoral Scholar in Psychology, University of ChicagoLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/888512018-01-08T02:47:02Z2018-01-08T02:47:02ZScientist at work: I’ve dived in hundreds of underwater caves hunting for new forms of life<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/198218/original/file-20171207-11347-1kls1cd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Author Tom Iliffe leads scientists on a cave dive.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jill Heinerth </span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Maybe when you picture a university professor doing research it involves test tubes and beakers, or perhaps poring over musty manuscripts in a dimly lit library, or maybe going out into the field to examine new crop-growing techniques or animal-breeding methods. All of it’s good, solid research and I commend them all.</p>
<p>Then there is what I do – cave diving. To study the biology and ecology of coastal, saltwater caves and the marine fauna that inhabit them, my cave diving partners and I head underground and underwater to explore these unique and challenging ecosystems. Often we go to places no other human has been. While the peaks of the tallest mountains can be viewed from an airplane or the depths of the sea mapped with sonar, caves can only be explored firsthand.</p>
<p>Around the globe, from Australia to the Mediterranean, from Hawaii to the Bahamas and throughout the Caribbean, I have explored more than 1,500 such underwater caves over the last 40 years. The experience can be breathtaking. When you are down 60 to 100 feet in a cave that has zero light and is 20 miles long, you never know what you are about to see as you turn the next corner.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/200890/original/file-20180105-26139-u0oep3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/200890/original/file-20180105-26139-u0oep3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/200890/original/file-20180105-26139-u0oep3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=544&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200890/original/file-20180105-26139-u0oep3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=544&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200890/original/file-20180105-26139-u0oep3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=544&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200890/original/file-20180105-26139-u0oep3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=683&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200890/original/file-20180105-26139-u0oep3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=683&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200890/original/file-20180105-26139-u0oep3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=683&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The remipede <em>Cryptocorynetes elmorei</em> from Eleuthera, Bahamas. Remipedes are only found in deeper saltwater layers from caves on opposite sides of the Atlantic and from the Indian Ocean coast of Western Australia.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Tom Iliffe</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>My primary focus is searching for new forms of life – mostly white, eyeless crustaceans – that are specifically adapted to this totally dark, food-poor environment. Cave diving is an essential tool in our investigations since the caves I’m interested are filled with water: typically a layer of fresh or brackish water on the surface and then saltwater at depths of 10 to 20 meters or more.</p>
<p>There’s no other way to access these unexplored areas than to strap on your scuba tanks and jump in.</p>
<h2>Scientific research as extreme sport</h2>
<p>The list of what can go wrong in a cave dive could fill your event planner.</p>
<p>Equipment or light failure, leaking scuba tanks, broken guide lines, getting lost, cave collapse, stirred up silt resulting in zero visibility, poisonous gas mixtures – you get the idea.</p>
<p>It’s fieldwork that can be a matter of life or death. I have had some close calls over the years, and sadly, have lost several good friends and researchers in cave accidents.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/200888/original/file-20180105-159080-p3lh5o.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/200888/original/file-20180105-159080-p3lh5o.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/200888/original/file-20180105-159080-p3lh5o.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200888/original/file-20180105-159080-p3lh5o.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200888/original/file-20180105-159080-p3lh5o.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200888/original/file-20180105-159080-p3lh5o.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200888/original/file-20180105-159080-p3lh5o.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200888/original/file-20180105-159080-p3lh5o.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Tom Iliffe preparing for a side mount dive at Cliff Pool, Bermuda. Rather than carrying tanks on his back as in conventional scuba, a tank is clipped off under each arm, allowing him to pass through low sections in a cave where it would otherwise be impossible to go.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Gil Nolan</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>To put it mildly, underwater caves can be very hostile and unforgiving. One such cave – the Devil’s system in north-central Florida – has <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/27723015">claimed at least 14 lives in the last 30 years</a>, and there are other examples elsewhere in Florida and in Mexico.</p>
<p>Most of the time, human error is to blame, when divers don’t follow the rules they should or lack essential training and experience in cave diving.</p>
<p>My family has gotten used to the idea that what I do is not always a walk in the park. They know that since I’m 69, I stress safety, being physically and mentally prepared, and that I religiously abide by the cardinal rule of cave diving – that you never ever dive alone. My colleagues and I usually go into a cave with teams of two to three divers and constantly look after each other to see if there is anything going wrong during our dives, which usually last about 90 minutes, but can be as long as three hours or more.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/200892/original/file-20180105-26166-1lzfi53.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/200892/original/file-20180105-26166-1lzfi53.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/200892/original/file-20180105-26166-1lzfi53.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=399&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200892/original/file-20180105-26166-1lzfi53.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=399&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200892/original/file-20180105-26166-1lzfi53.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=399&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200892/original/file-20180105-26166-1lzfi53.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=501&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200892/original/file-20180105-26166-1lzfi53.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=501&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200892/original/file-20180105-26166-1lzfi53.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=501&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Tom Iliffe diving with his Megalodon closed-circuit rebreather in a lava tube cave in the Canary Islands.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jill Heinerth</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Death-defying dives pay off in discoveries</h2>
<p>It’s not just <a href="https://doi.org/10.5852/ejt.2017.316">new species</a> we are discovering, <a href="https://doi.org/10.3897/subtbiol.21.11181">but also higher groups of animals</a> including a new class, <a href="https://doi.org/10.2307/1548221">orders</a>, <a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ode.2006.07.002">families</a> and <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/00364827.1985.10419688">genera</a>, previously unknown from any other habitat on the planet. Some of our newfound animals have <a href="https://doi.org/10.1007/s12526-009-0021-8">close relatives living in similar caves</a> on <a href="https://doi.org/10.1126/science.225.4659.309">opposite margins of the Atlantic Ocean</a> or even the far side of the Earth (such as the Bahamas versus Western Australia).</p>
<p>While most of these caves are formed in limestone, they can also include seawater-flooded lava tubes created by volcanic eruptions. Amazingly, <a href="http://www.geoparquelanzarote.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/Guia-interpretativa-ecosistemas-anquialinos-EN.pdf">similar types of animals inhabit both</a>.</p>
<p>In the deserts of West Texas, our team discovered and explored the <a href="http://www.admfoundation.org/projects/phantomcave2013/phantom2013.html">deepest underwater cave in the U.S.</a>, reaching a depth of 462 feet.</p>
<p>The graduate students <a href="http://www.cavebiology.com">in my lab</a> work on a diverse group of questions. They’re uncovering the nature of <a href="https://dx.doi.org/10.1038/s41467-017-01776-x">chemosynthetic processes in caves</a> – how microorganisms use energy from chemical bonds, rather than light energy as in photosynthesis, to produce organic matter – and their significance to the cave food web.</p>
<p>Other students are examining records of <a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.marmicro.2012.02.007">Ice Age sea level history</a> held in cave sediments, as well as the presence of tree roots penetrating into underwater caves and their importance to the overlying tropical forest. We’re finding evidence that sister species of cave animals on opposite shores of the Atlantic separated from one another about <a href="https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-017-03107-y">110 million years ago as tectonic plate movements</a> initiated the opening of the Atlantic, as well as determining how environmental and ecological factors affect the <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/publication/248393742_Anchialine_cave_ecology">abundance and diversity of animals in saltwater caves</a>.</p>
<p>Our research has significant implications, especially concerning endangered species and environmental protection. Since many cave animals occur only in a single cave and nowhere else on Earth, pollution or destruction of caves can result in species extinctions. Unfortunately, the creation of many protected areas and nature reserves <a href="https://doi.org/10.1002/aqc.2350">failed to take cave species into account</a>.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/200891/original/file-20180105-26151-136wew2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/200891/original/file-20180105-26151-136wew2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/200891/original/file-20180105-26151-136wew2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200891/original/file-20180105-26151-136wew2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200891/original/file-20180105-26151-136wew2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200891/original/file-20180105-26151-136wew2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200891/original/file-20180105-26151-136wew2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200891/original/file-20180105-26151-136wew2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The remipede <em>Godzillius robustus</em> from Abaco, Bahamas. Note the darker shaded venom-injecting fangs on the first pair of appendages.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Tom Iliffe</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Some discoveries can be completely unanticipated. For example, when we sequenced DNA from a variety of arthropods, including crustaceans and insects, the data strongly <a href="https://doi.org/10.1093/molbev/msr270">support a sister group relationship</a> between hexapods (the insects) and remipedes, a small and enigmatic group of marine crustaceans exclusively found in underwater caves. This places the remipedes in a pivotal position to understanding the evolution of crustaceans and insects.</p>
<figure class="align-right ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/200889/original/file-20180105-159080-130ipje.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/200889/original/file-20180105-159080-130ipje.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=399&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200889/original/file-20180105-159080-130ipje.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=399&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200889/original/file-20180105-159080-130ipje.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=399&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200889/original/file-20180105-159080-130ipje.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=501&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200889/original/file-20180105-159080-130ipje.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=501&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/200889/original/file-20180105-159080-130ipje.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=501&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The author on a cave dive.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jill Heinerth</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Even at this stage of my life, to me the risks attendant to my cave diving research are worth it. It’s like the Star Trek mantra come true – to boldly go where no man has gone before. The chance to discover new forms of marine life, to view never-before-seen underwater formations, vast chambers, endless tunnels and deep chasms, to swim in some of the bluest and purest water on Earth – I will take that sort of research and its challenges any day.</p>
<p>Yes, it can give new meaning to the old line about “publish or perish” in academia. But I love it, and I will tell you with all honesty, I can’t wait until my next trip.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/88851/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Tom Iliffe does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Scientific fieldwork that happens underground and underwater in spectacular but dangerous caves opens a window on a largely unknown world.Tom Iliffe, Professor of Marine Biology, Texas A&M UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/624152016-09-12T01:41:42Z2016-09-12T01:41:42ZScientist at work: Revealing the secret lives of urban rats<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/136938/original/image-20160907-25257-1bcwvbu.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Public park in Manhattan, home to a rat population with over 100 visible burrows</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Dr. Michael H. Parsons</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>In an era when we can decode language among animals and design coatings that make military weapons virtually invisible, it may seem that there are few things science cannot accomplish. At the same time, we are surprisingly ignorant about some things that are much more ordinary. For me, perhaps the most intriguing example is city rats, which in many ways are the most important species of urban wildlife in our increasingly urbanized world. </p>
<p>Because rats are small, vigilant and live mainly underground, even behavioral ecologists like me know remarkably little about how they move through cities and interact with their environments. That’s a problem because rats foul our foods, spread disease and damage infrastructure. As more people around the world move to densely packed cities, they become increasingly vulnerable to rat behaviors and diseases. That makes it critically important to understand more about rats and the pathogens they carry. </p>
<p>I decided to study urban rats to help fill some gaps in our knowledge of how they use their sense of smell to seek favored resources (food and potential mates), and how this attraction influences their fine-scale movements across particular types of corridors. </p>
<h2>Small animals with big impacts</h2>
<p>Rats like to feed on small quantities of human rubbish while remaining just out of sight, so they have been associated with humans since the rise of agriculture. The ancestors of today’s urban rats followed humans across the great migratory routes, eventually making their way by foot or ship to every continent. </p>
<p>In cities, rats can enter buildings through openings as small as a quarter. They also may “vertically migrate” upward and enter residential dwellings <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0t2VPBF6Kp4">through toilets</a>. Because rats often make their way into homes from parks, subways and sewers, they can transport microorganisms they pick up from decomposition of wastes, thus earning the colloquial nickname of “disease sponges.” </p>
<p>Unlike humans, rats are not limited by the density of their population. In population biology, they are referred to as an <a href="https://www.britannica.com/science/r-selected-species">“r-adapted species,”</a> which means they mature rapidly, have short gestation periods and produce many offspring. Their typical life span is just six months to two years, but a female rat can produce up to 84 pups per year, and pups reach sexual maturity as soon as five weeks after birth. </p>
<p>Like other rodents (derived from the Latin word “rodere,” to gnaw), rats have large, durable front teeth. Their incisors rank at 5.5 on the Mohs scale, which geologists use to measure minerals’ hardness; for comparison, iron scores around 5.0. Rats use their constantly growing incisors to gain access to food. They can cause structural damage in buildings by chewing through wood and insulation, and trigger fires by gnawing on wiring. In garages, rats often <a href="http://www.popularmechanics.com/cars/how-to/a9998/what-happens-when-a-rat-decides-to-live-in-your-car-16393667/">nest inside cars</a>, where they will also chew through insulation, wires and hoses.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/136789/original/image-20160906-25260-l0joa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/136789/original/image-20160906-25260-l0joa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=418&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/136789/original/image-20160906-25260-l0joa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=418&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/136789/original/image-20160906-25260-l0joa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=418&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/136789/original/image-20160906-25260-l0joa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=525&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/136789/original/image-20160906-25260-l0joa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=525&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/136789/original/image-20160906-25260-l0joa.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=525&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="http://www.nature.nps.gov/geology/education/concepts/minerals.cfm">National Park Service</a></span>
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</figure>
<p>In addition to causing physical damage, rats spread diseases directly by passing infectious agents through their blood, saliva or wastes, and indirectly by serving as hosts for disease-carrying arthropods such as fleas and ticks. They are known vectors for Lyme disease, Rocky Mountain spotted fever, Toxoplasma, Bartonella, <a href="http://allafrica.com/stories/201608220314.html">Leptospira</a> and other microorganisms, many as yet unnamed. A seminal 2014 study <a href="http://mbio.asm.org/content/5/5/e01933-14.short">found 18 novel viruses</a> in 133 rats collected in Manhattan. </p>
<h2>Studying rats in the city</h2>
<p>Although they are abundant, wild rats are exceptionally difficult to study. They are small, live mainly underground and are active at night, out of most humans’ sight. When people do see rats they are most likely to notice either the sickest or the boldest individuals – such as the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UPXUG8q4jKU">“pizza rat”</a> captured in a 2015 viral video – and make inaccurate generalizations about all rats.</p>
<p>Scientists study animal behavior by analyzing many individuals so that we can detect variations and patterns in behaviors within a population. It may be funny to see a rat drag a whole slice of pizza down subway stairs, but it is much more interesting and useful to know that 90 percent of a population is drawn to foods that are high in fat and protein. To draw conclusions like this, we need to observe how many individual animals behave over time. </p>
<p>Biologists typically track wild animals and observe their movements by capturing them and fitting them with radio or GPS transmitters. But these methods are nearly useless in urban areas: radio waves cannot pass through rebar-reinforced concrete, and skyscrapers block satellite link-ups. </p>
<p>In addition to physical barriers, working with wild rats also poses social challenges. Rats are the pariahs of the animal world: We associate them with filth, disease and poverty. Rather than striving to learn more about them, most people want only to avoid them. That instinct is so strong that last December an Air India pilot flying a Boeing 787 Dreamliner from Mumbai to London made an <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/travel/travel_news/article-3379095/Rats-plane-Packed-passenger-jet-bound-London-forced-make-mid-air-diversion-rodent-spotted-cabin.html">emergency landing</a> after a single rat was spotted on the plane.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/136961/original/image-20160907-16611-1mml7rf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/136961/original/image-20160907-16611-1mml7rf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/136961/original/image-20160907-16611-1mml7rf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/136961/original/image-20160907-16611-1mml7rf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/136961/original/image-20160907-16611-1mml7rf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/136961/original/image-20160907-16611-1mml7rf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/136961/original/image-20160907-16611-1mml7rf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Assessing the health of a rat prior to implanting a microchip.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Dr. Michael H. Parsons</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Working with Michael A. Deutsch, a medical entomologist at <a href="http://www.arrowexterminating.com/">Arrow Pest Control</a>, I have started designing studies to investigate urban rat behavior in situ so that we can, for the first time, learn the histories of individual animals in the wild. We capture rats by luring them with pheromones – natural scents that they find irresistible – and implant radio-frequency identification (RFID) microchips under their skin to identify each animal. This is the same technology that retail stores use to identify commercial products with bar codes and that pet owners can use to identify their dog or cat if it strays. </p>
<p>After we release the microchipped rats, we use scents to attract them back to specific areas and monitor when and how often they return. Using camera traps and a scale that the rats walk across, we can assess their health by tracking weight changes and looking for new wounds and bite marks. We also test their ability to penetrate barriers, such as wire mesh. And we repeatedly collect biological samples, including blood, stool and DNA, to document the rats’ potential to carry pathogens. We have become familiar enough with some rats to give them names that match their unique personalities.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/137276/original/image-20160909-13379-1n3oypr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/137276/original/image-20160909-13379-1n3oypr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/137276/original/image-20160909-13379-1n3oypr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/137276/original/image-20160909-13379-1n3oypr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/137276/original/image-20160909-13379-1n3oypr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/137276/original/image-20160909-13379-1n3oypr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/137276/original/image-20160909-13379-1n3oypr.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">A newly microchipped rat, groggy but otherwise healthy.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Dr. Michael H. Parsons</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In a <a href="http://journal.frontiersin.org/article/10.3389/fevo.2015.00146/full">pilot study</a> published last year, we reported some initial findings. By monitoring individual rats, we learned that males foraged around the clock 24 hours per day, but females did so only during late mornings. Females and males were equally attracted to scents from lab rats, and females responded to pheromones at the same rate as males. </p>
<p>In 2016 we <a href="http://dx.doi.org/10.3389/fpubh.2016.00132">published our detailed methods</a>
as a roadmap that other scientists can use to replicate this research. Using this approach, we believe scientists can learn when and where particular pathogens enter a given rat population. As far as we know, these are the first two studies to analyze wild city rats at the level of the individual in a major U.S. metropolitan area. </p>
<h2>Overcoming taboos against studying city rats</h2>
<p>In doing this research, I have encountered strong social taboos against working with rats. In 2013, while I was seeking opportunities to carry out field research on rats in New York City, I requested access to the CCTV surveillance cameras of <a href="http://forgotten-ny.com/1999/05/the-alleys-of-lower-manhattan-how-did-mill-lane-marketfield-strret-and-theatre-alley-get-their-names">“Theatre Alley,”</a> a narrow lane in Manhattan’s Financial District where rats scurried at will. Just a few weeks later, I learned that Theatre Alley had been hastily cleaned, changing the setting forever and removing information that could have provided useful insights into rat movements and behavior.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/137090/original/image-20160908-25257-ab48h6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/137090/original/image-20160908-25257-ab48h6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=391&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/137090/original/image-20160908-25257-ab48h6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=391&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/137090/original/image-20160908-25257-ab48h6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=391&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/137090/original/image-20160908-25257-ab48h6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=492&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/137090/original/image-20160908-25257-ab48h6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=492&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/137090/original/image-20160908-25257-ab48h6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=492&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The feeling isn’t mutual.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/denial_land/2911479223">caruba/Flickr</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/">CC BY-NC</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>We have also found that there is little money for this kind of research. Although New York City spends a lot of money training pest control workers and finding and exterminating rat colonies through public institutions such as the <a href="http://www.mta.info/">Metropolitan Transportation Authority</a> and the <a href="http://www1.nyc.gov/site/doh/index.page">Department of Health and Mental Hygiene</a>, there are few opportunities for academic studies. </p>
<p>Officials at public agencies think pragmatically and respond to a specific threat after a problem has been reported. Thus, it is understandable that they may be unreceptive to requests for access to subways for theoretical purposes, or for disease-related surveillance in the absence of a demonstrated threat that may or may not come to fruition. </p>
<p>Instead, Michael Deutsch and I are looking for New York City residents who will allow us to do scientific research in their homes, businesses, apartment buildings and other establishments, without fear of publicity, fines or judgment. To do this work on a larger scale, we need to do more work to build bridges between academic research and front-line public health and sanitation agencies.</p>
<p>In New York alone, up to six million people use the subway system every day, coming into close proximity with rats, and nearly one-fourth of more than 7,000 restaurants inspected so far this year have shown <a href="http://www.theepochtimes.com/n3/2141467-in-new-york-city-rats-and-humans-are-one-for-one-says-rat-expert/?utm_expvariant=D001_01&utm_expid=21082672-11.b4WAd2xRR0ybC6ydhoAj9w.1&utm_referrer=https%3A%2F%2Fnews.google.com%2F">signs of rat or mouse activity</a>. We clearly need to know more about urban rats: how they behave, where they travel, when and where they pick up diseases and how long they spread them, how these diseases affect rats’ health and, eventually, how rats transmit infections to humans.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/62415/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Michael H. Parsons does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Rats foul our food, spread disease and damage property, but we know very little about them. A biologist explains how he tracks wild rats in New York City, and what he’s learned about them so far.Michael H. Parsons, Scholar-in-Residence, Hofstra UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/586112016-08-26T00:21:28Z2016-08-26T00:21:28ZScientists at work: Public archaeologists dig before the construction crews do<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/135385/original/image-20160824-30249-x2u8gy.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Archaeologists on the front lines.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jonathan Cohen/Binghamton University</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Armed with my sharpened trowel, 3-meter tape, shovel, shaker screen and peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I joined my first dig as part of Binghamton University’s Public Archaeology Facility back in 1975. Crews of archaeologists were shovel testing the proposed route of Interstate 88 from Binghamton to Albany, New York. I was so excited at the prospect of discovering archaeological sites, and hoping one would become the basis for my master’s thesis.</p>
<p>After eight weeks wrapped up with no significant discoveries, panic set in – I would never finish my degree! Then, on an overcast and hot day, with a mass of mosquitoes swarming around my bandana-clad head, I descended with my crew into a glade adjacent to a pristine bog. I rammed my shovel into the ground, poured the soil into the shaker screen and heard what sounded like coins hitting the metal mesh. It was hundreds of pieces of chert debitage, the flake by-products of stone tool manufacturing. I had discovered my first prehistoric site. Our whole team was elated, and I had my thesis topic. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/135386/original/image-20160824-30212-vlpuxn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/135386/original/image-20160824-30212-vlpuxn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/135386/original/image-20160824-30212-vlpuxn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=381&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135386/original/image-20160824-30212-vlpuxn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=381&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135386/original/image-20160824-30212-vlpuxn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=381&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135386/original/image-20160824-30212-vlpuxn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=479&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135386/original/image-20160824-30212-vlpuxn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=479&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135386/original/image-20160824-30212-vlpuxn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=479&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The author among just some of the thousands of artifacts found by Binghamton University’s Public Archaeology Facility digs.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jonathan Cohen/Binghamton University</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Fast-forward to now: I’m the director of the Public Archaeology Facility, a research center specializing in cultural resource management. Our mission is to identify, evaluate and preserve significant sites, train students to be professional archaeologists and share our results with the public. We can work on up to 100 projects a year. Since our inception in 1972, the center has discovered more than 3,500 archaeological sites.</p>
<p>Back when my 10-year-old self announced to my parents that I wanted to be an archaeologist, I was met with incomprehension and a little fear – what kind of career prospect was that? But thanks to the 1966 <a href="https://www.nps.gov/history/local-law/nhpa1966.htm">National Historic Preservation Act</a>, federal agencies must consider the impact of construction and development projects on significant cultural resources, and take measures to avoid those impacts. Developers with federal funding or permits hire legions of cultural resource management archaeologists to help them satisfy the law’s requirements.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/135391/original/image-20160824-30246-12tg6sz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/135391/original/image-20160824-30246-12tg6sz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/135391/original/image-20160824-30246-12tg6sz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135391/original/image-20160824-30246-12tg6sz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135391/original/image-20160824-30246-12tg6sz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135391/original/image-20160824-30246-12tg6sz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135391/original/image-20160824-30246-12tg6sz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135391/original/image-20160824-30246-12tg6sz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Binghamton University’s Public Archaeology Facility staff working with community members on a dig.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jonathan Cohen/Binghamton University</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>An archaeological specialty</h2>
<p>People often ask how cultural resource management differs from traditional archaeology. There’s quite a bit of overlap. Academic archaeologists train with mentors, specialize in a cultural region either in the United States or abroad and participate in grant-funded research. They pick the places where they work.</p>
<p>Cultural resource management archaeologists do not pick the places where we dig. Instead, we conduct archaeology in spots where developments or other ground-disturbing projects are planned. We never know where our next project will be. We could be on a nearby bridge replacement project one day checking for sites, travel 50 miles the next day to excavate a 5,000-year-old camp where a housing development is proposed, finish the week with client meetings, then head out the next week to an urban excavation of a 19th-century neighborhood.</p>
<p>Traditional archaeology usually tests a theory or method, or tries to replicate previous scientific findings. A cultural resource management investigation needs to answer questions like: Will this construction project damage or destroy a significant part of our nation’s heritage? This heritage can take the form of archaeological sites hidden below ground, above-ground historic architectural gems and landscapes that hold special religious or ceremonial significance to Native Americans and other communities. </p>
<p>And this isn’t just a small offshoot of mainstream archaeology. For instance, in 2013, <a href="http://ncshpo.org/2013_Historic_Annual_Report_web.pdf">more than 102,000 federal undertakings</a> required some form of compliance with the National Historic Preservation Act. This doesn’t include the thousands of state-permitted projects that fall under the jurisdiction of state historic preservation laws. That year more than 135,000 cultural resources were discovered and evaluated for their historical significance as part of federal projects alone. Each of these sites or properties represents new knowledge about how people lived, worked and viewed their world hundreds and thousands of years ago.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/135388/original/image-20160824-30216-1v8btin.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/135388/original/image-20160824-30216-1v8btin.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/135388/original/image-20160824-30216-1v8btin.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135388/original/image-20160824-30216-1v8btin.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135388/original/image-20160824-30216-1v8btin.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135388/original/image-20160824-30216-1v8btin.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135388/original/image-20160824-30216-1v8btin.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135388/original/image-20160824-30216-1v8btin.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Cultural resource management archaeologists go where they’re needed – for instance, on the shoulder of Route 434 in Binghamton where a walking trail is planned.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jonathan Cohen/Binghamton University</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Finding objects from past cultures</h2>
<p>Even though the origins of our projects are different, cultural resource management archaeologists make exciting discoveries just like our colleagues. For instance, the sites we found during that I-88 project (which I wove into my doctoral dissertation) showed us how seasonally nomadic hunter-gatherers from thousands of years ago lived in communities, moved across the landscape and used a changing assortment of stone tools for their everyday tasks. I-88 data continue to produce new knowledge even 40 years after my first dig; I’ve just published a new article on some of the sites.</p>
<p>Cultural resource management archaeology does not guarantee that you will make discoveries all the time. Probably less than half the projects we survey will locate a site. That’s not a bad thing. After all, modern developments need to happen, and it is best that they are built where there are no significant sites.</p>
<p>But when you do make a discovery, you can almost feel the presence of people who lived here and called this place home thousands of years ago. There is a sense of humility in being allowed to meet the ancient ones through the artifacts they left behind, and this gift needs to be treated with respect. Cultural resource management archaeologists are tasked with finding ways to preserve the sites we find by working with developers and agency officials to see if there are ways to redesign a project to go around the site, thus leaving it undisturbed.</p>
<p>For instance, a proposed commercial development on the Chenango River near Binghamton, New York led to our finding a rare, information-rich camp with scores of stone bowl fragments and cooking hearths. We worked with a cooperative developer and the town board to shorten the width of proposed parking spaces. They also repositioned planned “green space” to allow for preservation of parts of the site. A nice balance resulted – the development moved forward and the site is preserved for future research. </p>
<h2>Skills of a Ph.D. and an MBA</h2>
<p>My job today is less about digging than it is about working with people in the present to build an understanding of the people who created the sites we find.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/135393/original/image-20160824-30257-1qd6mgz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/135393/original/image-20160824-30257-1qd6mgz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/135393/original/image-20160824-30257-1qd6mgz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=337&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135393/original/image-20160824-30257-1qd6mgz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=337&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135393/original/image-20160824-30257-1qd6mgz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=337&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135393/original/image-20160824-30257-1qd6mgz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=423&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135393/original/image-20160824-30257-1qd6mgz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=423&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/135393/original/image-20160824-30257-1qd6mgz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=423&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The author and staff talking with reenactors at the Newtown Battlefield, Chemung County, New York.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jonathan Cohen/Binghamton University</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>My academic knowledge is essential to my professional life; I could not analyze and interpret what I find within meaningful contexts without it. But I also needed experience in business management, negotiation, diplomacy and the ability to share our discoveries with the communities in which we work. </p>
<p>Much of my job today involves working with Native American Nations. I was fortunate to have a Native American chief mentor me in how to build mutual respect with First Nation peoples. What started as a conflict over a natural hill with no artifacts turned into a lifelong lesson on sacred places that are invisible to an untrained person. Once I realized that the past is not just about objects but about people (then and now), a whole new picture of heritage archaeology emerged for me. </p>
<p>I assist clients and federal or state agencies in complying with laws requiring that the descendants of the ancient peoples who created sites be involved in decisions about the preservation of sites in jeopardy of being destroyed. There is satisfaction in knowing that you can not only make discoveries that yield new knowledge, but that you have the ability to help protect these sites and share the reasons why preservation is important.</p>
<p>Cultural resources are fragile nonrenewable resources. Once they are destroyed, they cannot be recreated. This is not only a loss for our nation’s heritage but a more personal loss for the living descendants of these past peoples. Cultural resource management is a specialized industry that employs thousands of archaeologists who are not just diggers but interpreters and preservation experts. The discoveries we make are windows through which we view the people who came before us. It’s our responsibility to respect that heritage and the people who are connected to the sites we discover.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/58611/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Nina M. Versaggi receives funding from several federal, state, and private development groups. She is not affiliated with any of these organizations.
Nina M. Versaggi sits on the Board of the New York Archaeological Council. She receives no funding from that organization. Versaggi also is a member of the Vestal Historic Preservation Commission. She receives no funding from this organization.</span></em></p>Cultural resource management archaeologists don’t choose where they dig. Instead they identify, evaluate and preserve cultural heritage sites in locations slated for development.Nina M. Versaggi, Director of the Public Archaeology Facility and Associate Professor,Anthropology, Binghamton University, State University of New YorkLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/542642016-02-05T14:57:55Z2016-02-05T14:57:55ZThe murder of my friend Giulio Regeni is an attack on academic freedom<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/110468/original/image-20160205-18284-do21b0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Giulio Regeni.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="license">Author provided</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>The body of Giulio Regeni was <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-35490825">discovered in a ditch in Cairo on February 2</a>, showing evidence of torture, and a slow and horrific death. Giulio was studying for a PhD at the University of Cambridge, and was <a href="http://ilmanifesto.info/in-egypt-second-life-for-independent-trade-unions/">carrying out research</a> on the formation of independent trade unions in post-Mubarak Egypt. There is little doubt that his work would have been extremely important in his field, and he had a career ahead of him as an important scholar of the region.</p>
<p>Giulio, originally from Fiumicello in north-east Italy, had a strong international background and outlook. As a teenager, he won a scholarship that allowed him to spend two formative years studying at the <a href="http://www.uwc-usa.org/">United World College</a> in New Mexico. He was especially passionate about Egypt. Before beginning his doctoral research, he spent time in Cairo working for the United Nations Industrial Development Organisation (<a href="http://www.unido.org/en/unido-united-nations-industrial-development-organization.html">UNIDO</a>). At the age of 28, he stood out with his big hopes and dreams, and he was committed to pursuing a career that would allow him to make an impact on the world, which is a poorer place for his passing. </p>
<p>Those of us who worked and spent time with him are grieving – but above all, we are furious about the manner of his death. While murder and torture are inherently of concern, Giulio’s case also has much broader implications for higher education in the UK and beyond.</p>
<p>British universities have long fostered an outward-looking and international perspective. This has been evident in the consistent strength of <a href="http://www.ukcasa.ac.uk/">area studies</a> since the middle of the 20th century. The fact that academics from British universities have produced cutting-edge research on so many areas of the world is an important factor in the impact and esteem that the higher education system there enjoys. </p>
<p>In order to carry out this research, generations of scholars have carried out fieldwork in other countries, often with authoritarian political systems or social unrest that made them dangerous places in which to study. I carried out such research in Peru in the 1990s, working there while the country was ruled by the authoritarian government of <a href="http://content.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1889946,00.html">Alberto Fujimori</a>.</p>
<p>Alongside this research tradition, universities are becoming <a href="https://www.britishcouncil.org/voices-magazine/why-universities-want-to-internationalise-what-stops-them">increasingly international</a> in their outlook and make up. Large numbers of international students attend the classes, and their presence is crucial for making campuses more vibrant and diverse.</p>
<p>Giulio’s murder is a clear and direct challenge to this culture, and it demands a response. If our scholars – especially our social scientists – are to continue producing research with an international perspective, they will need to carry out international fieldwork. By its nature, this will sometimes involve work on challenging issues in volatile and unstable countries.</p>
<p>Universities clearly have a duty of care to their students and staff. This is generally exercised through ethics committees, whose work means that much greater care is taken than in the past to ensure that risks are managed appropriately. However, there is the danger that overly zealous risk management could affect researchers’ ability to carry out their work, making some important and high-impact research simply impossible.</p>
<h2>Time for action</h2>
<p>We cannot protect against all risks, but no scholar should face the risk of extrajudicial violence from the authorities. If universities are to remain internationally focused and outward-looking, we must exercise our duty of care towards our students and colleagues when they are working in other countries. </p>
<p>But there are limits to what academic institutions can do on their own. It is vital that governments raise cases such as Giulio’s, and push strongly for full investigations and for those responsible to be held to account.</p>
<p>The Italian and Egyptian authorities have announced a <a href="http://www.euronews.com/2016/02/04/italy-egypt-to-jointly-investigate-death-of-tortured-student-giulio-regeni/">joint investigation</a> into what happened to Giulio, but the British government also has a responsibility to make representations to this effect. That would send the message that any abuse by authorities of students and researchers from British universities will not be tolerated.</p>
<p>A <a href="https://petition.parliament.uk/petitions/120832">petition</a> to this effect is now available to sign on the UK Parliament website, and Giulio’s friends and colleagues will be campaigning on the issue in the days and weeks ahead.</p>
<p>Giulio Regeni’s murder is a direct challenge to the academic freedom that is a pillar of our higher education system. He is only one of many scholars to find themselves in grave danger. While it’s still not clear what happened to him, we know that <a href="http://mesana.org/committees/academic-freedom/intervention/letters-egypt.html#Egypt20160204">others</a> have been arbitrarily detained and abused in Egypt. As a scholarly community and as a society, we have a duty to strike to protect them and their colleagues who study in dangerous places the world over.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/54264/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Neil Pyper does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Giulio Regeni, a PhD candidate at the University of Cambridge, was carrying out research on the formation of independent trade unions in post-Mubarak Egypt.Neil Pyper, Associate Head of School, Coventry UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/460142015-10-19T09:54:54Z2015-10-19T09:54:54ZScientist at work: observing termite behaviors, personalities – and souls?<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98714/original/image-20151016-25125-1azepm8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=1922%2C0%2C2905%2C1488&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Tiny termites build mega mounds.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Scott Turner</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>In Afrikaans, they are called <em>rysmiere</em>, literally “rice ants,” although their name is more commonly rendered into English as “white ants.” They are not ants, though; they’re not even closely related to the ants. In fact, their nearest insect relatives are cockroaches: they are termites.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98715/original/image-20151016-25125-5fk8u1.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98715/original/image-20151016-25125-5fk8u1.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98715/original/image-20151016-25125-5fk8u1.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=402&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98715/original/image-20151016-25125-5fk8u1.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=402&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98715/original/image-20151016-25125-5fk8u1.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=402&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98715/original/image-20151016-25125-5fk8u1.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=505&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98715/original/image-20151016-25125-5fk8u1.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=505&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98715/original/image-20151016-25125-5fk8u1.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=505&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Termites drinking.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Scott Turner</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>For nearly 20 years, I have been studying the termites of southern Africa. I focus on a particular group of them that builds large above-ground mounds, which are a common sight in the savannas of southern Africa. They are grazers, <a href="http://agris.fao.org/agris-search/search.do?recordID=US9003373">collectively consuming</a> more grass and bark than all the zebra, gazelles, kudus and giraffes that tourists pay thousands of dollars to come to Africa and photograph.</p>
<p>They are also soil builders. Each colony cycles roughly a quarter-ton of soil annually up through its underground nest and mound, enriching it as it passes through the underground colony – and the multitude of termite intestines that live there. The mounds are like slow-motion “nutrient fountains” that spread their bounty over the sandy soil as wind and rain erode them. Indeed, termites are one of the main reasons why arid savannas are lush grasslands, despite the paucity of water.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98708/original/image-20151016-25135-bhmpri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98708/original/image-20151016-25135-bhmpri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98708/original/image-20151016-25135-bhmpri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98708/original/image-20151016-25135-bhmpri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98708/original/image-20151016-25135-bhmpri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98708/original/image-20151016-25135-bhmpri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98708/original/image-20151016-25135-bhmpri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98708/original/image-20151016-25135-bhmpri.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The termites live in their underground nest, one or two meters beneath the mound. It consists of a number of underground chambers where they cultivate their fungus. This is a cross-section.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Scott Turner</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The mound-building termites are also famous for supposedly “air-conditioning” their nests, which are located underground about a meter below the mound. The thought was that <a href="http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/S1742758400004914">the mound was constructed</a> to harness the nest’s waste heat production (about 100 watts) to power a circulation of air between the nest and mound. In this way, the circulating air supposedly exported excess heat and moisture from the nest, keeping it relatively cool and dry: <a href="http://doi.org/10.1038/scientificamerican0761-138">air-conditioned</a>, in a sense.</p>
<p>I came face-to-face with these termites for the first time in 1988, on the fringe of the Kalahari Desert. I had unaccustomed spare time on my hands, so I decided to use it to dig into that conventional wisdom and see how air actually moved in there.</p>
<p>I injected puffs of propane gas into various places and followed where the puffs went: what’s called a “pulse-chase” experiment. After a lot of propane injections, it was clear air flows were not at all what the “settled science” said they should be. The <a href="http://doi.org/10.1016/S0140-1963(05)80060-6">nest is not air-conditioned</a> – the mound controls neither the nest’s temperature or its humidity. Instead, the mound captures energy in wind to stir the mound air and mix it with the nest’s stagnant air, just as you would mix the layers of hot and cold water in a bathtub. This is just what our own lungs do, with the mixing powered by the chest muscles. The <a href="http://doi.org/10.1086/323990">termites’ clever trick</a> is to power that function with energy in turbulent wind.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/f0qdJh0YEAI?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">The internal tunnel network of the mound facilitates gas exchange between the underground nest and atmosphere. It can be revealed by filling the mound with plaster of Paris and then washing away the soil – what we call endocasting. We can make thin slices to study the mound’s internal structure.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Those initial answers led to many other questions. How do the termites build their mound? How do they “know” collectively what is the “right” mound architecture? How does this help these termites get an adaptive leg up in their harsh environment? Along the way, I have had the good fortune of having many <a href="http://www.esf.edu/efb/turner/termitePages/termitePeople.html">very fine collaborators</a> to help answer these questions: entomologists, engineers, physicists, authors, filmmakers.</p>
<p>Every year, we all try to come together in Namibia for a month of fieldwork. It is a raucous circus of science, simultaneously exhausting and exhilarating, an ephemeral research institute plopped into the wild savannas of northern Namibia.</p>
<p>My own role in all this has been to understand the <a href="http://doi.org/10.1007/s11721-010-0049-1">termites’ collective mind</a>. Putting it that way seems a little far-out, I know, but the mound is actually the product of a rich cognitive intelligence. If we can understand this collective intelligence, we will understand something fundamental about how form becomes function, a question that is central to life itself. </p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/cXC0DiF7gAQ?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">Time-lapse video of termites making repairs to their mound.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>You can see the termites’ collective mind at work if you drill a hole in the side of the mound. After about 10 minutes, a few termites will show up and start building a mud wall. Then more will come, and more, and more, until there is a frenzy of little termite masons sealing off that hole.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98705/original/image-20151016-25117-drnd03.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98705/original/image-20151016-25117-drnd03.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98705/original/image-20151016-25117-drnd03.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98705/original/image-20151016-25117-drnd03.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98705/original/image-20151016-25117-drnd03.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98705/original/image-20151016-25117-drnd03.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98705/original/image-20151016-25117-drnd03.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98705/original/image-20151016-25117-drnd03.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">An experimental arena for studying how termites build in controlled environments. We visualize movement of air with lasers (green light).</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Scott Turner</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>That is a remarkable feat of swarm intelligence. The hole itself is quite a long walk for termites living in the nest, but they must somehow come to know their mound has a hole in it. How? How does a blind termite find the hole? How do they direct their repair efforts to the right place? What calls them off once they are done? How do they even know they are done? These are challenging tasks for tiny insects individually, but collectively they seem to solve them just fine, even when the repair extends far beyond the six-week lifespan of a typical termite worker.</p>
<p>The collective intelligence of the colony is quite real, as real as our own intelligence, and we are far from comprehending either.</p>
<p>That’s why I spend quite a lot of time in a dark room on a farm in Namibia watching termites under a microscope or video camera. <a href="http://www.esf.edu/efb/turner/termitePages/termiteMain.html">To tease out what they are collectively “thinking”</a>, I have fed them little drops of fluorescent dye to see how they distribute water to each other. I have tricked them with little pieces of colored polystyrene that they pick up and move around as if they were grains of sand. I give them choices of different types of soil to see whether they build it up or tear it down. I make them build in pipes or between sheets of glass that distort how they sense their tiny worlds. I have painted little dots of fluorescent paint on their backs so I can follow individuals within their swarm.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98706/original/image-20151016-25130-21ztv6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98706/original/image-20151016-25130-21ztv6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98706/original/image-20151016-25130-21ztv6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=460&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98706/original/image-20151016-25130-21ztv6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=460&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98706/original/image-20151016-25130-21ztv6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=460&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98706/original/image-20151016-25130-21ztv6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=578&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98706/original/image-20151016-25130-21ztv6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=578&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98706/original/image-20151016-25130-21ztv6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=578&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">To understand how termites build cooperatively, they have to be identified individually. So we code them with differently colored dabs of paint.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Scott Turner</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>I’ve managed to learn quite a lot from all this watching. For example, termite swarms are prone to cognitive disorders, like a kind of swarm aphasia, akin to a termite speech and comprehension disorder. Tight clusters of termites form that are seemingly oblivious and unresponsive to conditions in the outside world.</p>
<p>There are identifiable termite “personalities.” Some are “initiators,” getting building under way and running around recruiting lazier nestmates to the task, physically prodding them into action if they resist. Some individuals share water avidly with others, devoting 15 minutes or so to sucking up precious water from soil then distributing it to thirsty nestmates.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98707/original/image-20151016-25112-1ns6d54.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98707/original/image-20151016-25112-1ns6d54.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98707/original/image-20151016-25112-1ns6d54.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=402&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98707/original/image-20151016-25112-1ns6d54.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=402&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98707/original/image-20151016-25112-1ns6d54.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=402&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98707/original/image-20151016-25112-1ns6d54.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=505&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98707/original/image-20151016-25112-1ns6d54.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=505&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98707/original/image-20151016-25112-1ns6d54.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=505&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Tracking individual termites is easier under fluorescent light, which makes the daubs of paint glow brightly.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Scott Turner</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>These personality traits can differ between species. One species’ workers will be generous sharers of water, while another species’ workers will be more selfish. One species’ workers will be more attentive to the chemical cues left by nestmates, while another species’ workers will be more attentive to the water content of soils. These translate into different types of mounds. One species will be an “exuberant” builder, throwing up the mound into spectacular tall spires, while another species will be more “restrained” in its building, producing a low conical mound.</p>
<p>When one is deep into experiments and analysis, it’s easy to lose sight of the fact that science is not a method, it is a distinct philosophy of nature. Science is (or should be) prodding nature to give us straight answers about herself. Experiment is one way to get those answers, but simple observation is another. Sometimes nature speaks through observation with a meaning that experiment may not be able to capture, or scientists are willing to hear.</p>
<p>Swarm intelligence provides a case in point: are termites simply little robots, programmed to operate through simple algorithms of behavior? Or is there something special, something vital about them that gives what they do an entirely different meaning?</p>
<p>For a long time, I had thought the former, but I have to say I’m now leaning more toward the latter. What clinched the deal for me was watching swarms of termites settle into what might pass in a Petri dish as a normal setting – familiar soil, a little moisture, a small chip of wood and some fungus from their colony – where there were no swarm aphasias or other signs of cognitive distress.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/uMr7BQBW52U?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">Termite grooming behavior.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>After a while of exploring their little artificial world, the termites would begin to groom one another. It’s a remarkable thing to watch. One termite, the groomer, begins to lick another and then painstakingly works each of the “groomee’s” appendages – legs, antennae, mouth parts – through its mandibles. All this time, the groomee seems almost tranquil: its antennae cease to move, it languidly presents its appendages to the groomer as if to say “now this one.” The grooming can become quite intense, with “grooming stations” forming, groups of termites waiting their turn to be attended by a particularly avid groomer.</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98709/original/image-20151016-25112-18xb6ut.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98709/original/image-20151016-25112-18xb6ut.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/98709/original/image-20151016-25112-18xb6ut.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=768&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98709/original/image-20151016-25112-18xb6ut.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=768&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98709/original/image-20151016-25112-18xb6ut.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=768&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98709/original/image-20151016-25112-18xb6ut.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=966&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98709/original/image-20151016-25112-18xb6ut.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=966&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/98709/original/image-20151016-25112-18xb6ut.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=966&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Macrotermes worker, so much more than an automaton.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Scott Turner</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Eventually, it hit me: these are not robots; they are living things with individuality, wants and desires. A robot cannot ever “want” to be groomed or “want” to give water to another or “want” a drink. But termites seemingly do. And this gives termites, both individually and collectively, something like a soul – an animating principle that one does not find in mere machines. It needn’t be some vital “stuff” as the ancients once thought, but still something ineffable that makes life distinct from nonlife.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/46014/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Scott Turner receives funding from the US National Science Foundation, the National Geographic Society, the US Army Research Office, the Human Frontiers Science Program and the US National Institutes of Health. </span></em></p>They’re the soil-builders that allow Africa’s arid savannas to be lush grasslands. What do they do inside their huge mounds – and how does a collective mind allow them to do it?Scott Turner, Professor of Environmental and Forest Biology, State University of New York College of Environmental Science and ForestryLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/462402015-09-18T10:03:34Z2015-09-18T10:03:34ZScientists at work: space balloons and charged particles above the Arctic Circle<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94869/original/image-20150915-29648-1c9ly8v.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Launching a space balloon in Sweden.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Alexa Halford</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>I research space weather. That’s how physicists describe how <a href="https://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/sunearth/news/storms-on-sun.html#.VfBiw7RVOAV">storms on the sun end up affecting us</a> here on Earth. Most days I sit at a computer coding, attending telephone conference meetings with collaborators across the country and meeting with fellow space physicists. But sprinkled throughout the year I get to do exciting fieldwork in remote locations. We launch high-tech space balloons in an effort to help untangle what happens when charged particles from solar storms hit the Earth’s magnetic field, called its magnetosphere.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94576/original/image-20150913-19845-1yz5lb2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94576/original/image-20150913-19845-1yz5lb2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94576/original/image-20150913-19845-1yz5lb2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=300&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94576/original/image-20150913-19845-1yz5lb2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=300&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94576/original/image-20150913-19845-1yz5lb2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=300&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94576/original/image-20150913-19845-1yz5lb2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=377&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94576/original/image-20150913-19845-1yz5lb2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=377&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94576/original/image-20150913-19845-1yz5lb2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=377&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Events on the sun can change conditions in near-Earth space.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="http://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/sunearth/dhs-nasa-space-weather-twitter-chat">NASA</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>I primarily work with the Balloon Array for Radiation-belt Relativistic Electron Losses (<a href="http://www.nasa.gov/mission-pages/rbsp/barrel">BARREL</a>) mission, led by Robyn Millan here at Dartmouth College. We’re investigating the electrons and protons that travel all the way from the sun and then get trapped in the Earth’s magnetic field. Often they stick around, just bouncing and drifting along in our planet’s so-called radiation belts – these are donut-shaped regions rich in charged particles, held in place around Earth by its magnetic field.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/o4ken8pE7OA?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">It’s a team effort to unravel how space weather works – and affects us.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>But during a geomagnetic storm, changes in the Earth’s magnetic field can <a href="http://dx.doi.org/10.1029/2002GL016513">accelerate and transport</a> these electrons and protons. They can wind up getting “lost”: shot out of the radiation belts back into space or down into our atmosphere. If they start colliding with neutral, uncharged particles in the atmosphere, that can affect upper atmospheric chemistry – and be bad news for our technology down here on Earth. For example, geomagnetic storms <a href="https://theconversation.com/damaging-electric-currents-in-space-affect-earths-equatorial-region-not-just-the-poles-45073">can cause</a> blackouts, increased corrosion in pipelines, destruction of satellites and a resulting loss of communication connections.</p>
<p>My colleagues and I focus on the radiation belt electrons that get lost to the Earth’s atmosphere. If we can unravel more about what’s happening with them, the hope is we can figure out how to better predict space weather – and its effects on terrestrial weather. Ultimately, with better understanding of what’s going on, we can work on protecting our technology from these geomagnetic squalls.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ljfa1R9JXWk?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">What is a magnetic field?</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Magnets all around us</h2>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94577/original/image-20150913-19845-1of3std.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94577/original/image-20150913-19845-1of3std.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94577/original/image-20150913-19845-1of3std.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=403&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94577/original/image-20150913-19845-1of3std.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=403&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94577/original/image-20150913-19845-1of3std.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=403&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94577/original/image-20150913-19845-1of3std.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=506&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94577/original/image-20150913-19845-1of3std.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=506&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94577/original/image-20150913-19845-1of3std.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=506&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The magnetic field of a bar magnet revealed by iron filings on paper.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Magnet0873.png">Newton Henry Black</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>You can think of the Earth as a big bar magnet, like the kind you might have had in your elementary school classroom. You’re probably familiar with magnets’ attractive and repulsive properties. Around a bar magnet, iron shavings trace out what we can think of as lines of magnetic field.</p>
<p>Protons and electrons trapped in Earth’s magnetosphere <a href="http://vanallenprobes.jhuapl.edu/gallery/animations/visualization/ParticleMotionMovie2012.mov">follow these same kinds of lines</a>, converging at the poles. Typically the particles just <a href="http://www.windows2universe.org/glossary/particle_motion.html">gyrate and bounce along these lines</a>, happily drifting around the Earth in those radiation belts. (To get a feel for how the magnetic field lines affect protons and electrons, check out the <a href="http://www.spaceweathercenter.org/interactives/mmg.html">magnetospheric mini golf</a> game.)</p>
<p>Since space is so big, and the density of particles is so small, they can usually travel without bumping into each other. But during geomagnetic activity – like a storm in space – the particles can get pushed farther down the field line, closer to the Earth. In a <a href="http://svs.gsfc.nasa.gov/cgi-bin/details.cgi?aid=20056">process similar to what creates the auroras</a>, they start colliding with the denser atmosphere. And this is when some of the charged particles wind up “lost” from the radiation belts.</p>
<p>What happens to the “lost” particles that seem to disappear in the atmosphere, and why? To answer these questions, we travel to the polar regions to collect data.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94295/original/image-20150909-18653-ee7t20.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94295/original/image-20150909-18653-ee7t20.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94295/original/image-20150909-18653-ee7t20.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=750&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94295/original/image-20150909-18653-ee7t20.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=750&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94295/original/image-20150909-18653-ee7t20.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=750&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94295/original/image-20150909-18653-ee7t20.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=943&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94295/original/image-20150909-18653-ee7t20.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=943&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94295/original/image-20150909-18653-ee7t20.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=943&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Launch of BARREL payload 3B from the SSC’s ESRANGE.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Alexa Halford</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Polar hunt for solar particles</h2>
<p>This year we headed 90 miles above the Arctic Circle to the <a href="http://www.sscspace.com/launch-services-esrange-space-center">Swedish Space Corporation’s ESRANGE</a> to launch our space balloons. Our goal is to send the balloons up as far as 22 miles (35 km) into the stratosphere to measure X-rays during a geomagnetic storm; since X-rays are created when electrons from the radiation belts interact with uncharged particles in the atmosphere, we can use them to infer when electrons are lost.</p>
<figure class="align-left ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94297/original/image-20150909-18669-7ke99m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94297/original/image-20150909-18669-7ke99m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=750&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94297/original/image-20150909-18669-7ke99m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=750&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94297/original/image-20150909-18669-7ke99m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=750&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94297/original/image-20150909-18669-7ke99m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=943&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94297/original/image-20150909-18669-7ke99m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=943&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94297/original/image-20150909-18669-7ke99m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=943&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">BARREL payload.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Alexa</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Each balloon carries a <a href="http://dx.doi.org/10.1002/2014JA020874">payload of scientific equipment</a>. A scintillator counts X-rays. A magnetometer measures the magnetic field of the Earth. Each payload and balloon has its own GPS tracker. </p>
<p>During our last campaigns in Antarctica, we were flying during a period of circumpolar winds that blow long and hard in a circle around the poles. This allowed our 300,000-cubic-foot balloons to stay up, on average, for 12 days. This year in Sweden, though, we flew during a period called “turnaround,” when the stratospheric winds are changing direction, and our flights were lucky to last even four hours.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/KWmDNcKw70I?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">BARREL balloons fly in Antarctica.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>When the balloon either starts falling below an altitude of 13.6 miles (22 km), or starts moving toward too densely populated regions, we have to terminate – that is, pop – the balloon. The balloon and the payload then separately fall back to Earth.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94310/original/image-20150909-18645-sd4hyp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94310/original/image-20150909-18645-sd4hyp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94310/original/image-20150909-18645-sd4hyp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94310/original/image-20150909-18645-sd4hyp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94310/original/image-20150909-18645-sd4hyp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94310/original/image-20150909-18645-sd4hyp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94310/original/image-20150909-18645-sd4hyp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94310/original/image-20150909-18645-sd4hyp.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Retrieval of the balloon from the launch of BARREL payload 3C. It was a short 500 meters from the road and less than an hour drive from ESRANGE.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Alexa Halford</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>When our BARREL balloons flew in Antarctica, we weren’t able to recover most of them because the terrain was so difficult to cross. This year in Sweden we were able to recover all the payloads. When they came down close to the launch base, we drove out and hiked through bogs and woods to retrieve payloads and balloons.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94309/original/image-20150909-18653-176ub90.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94309/original/image-20150909-18653-176ub90.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94309/original/image-20150909-18653-176ub90.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=480&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94309/original/image-20150909-18653-176ub90.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=480&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94309/original/image-20150909-18653-176ub90.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=480&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94309/original/image-20150909-18653-176ub90.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=603&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94309/original/image-20150909-18653-176ub90.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=603&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94309/original/image-20150909-18653-176ub90.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=603&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">We spotted the payload and its orange parachute via helicopter before finding and retrieving it and its balloon.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Alexa Halford</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>When they flew a bit farther away (like into Norway or Finland), we had to rent a helicopter to travel out and pick them up.</p>
<p>During the campaign, when we’re launching the balloons, we’re in constant contact with the instrument teams on NASA’s <a href="http://vanallenprobes.jhuapl.edu">Van Allen Probes</a> as well as other satellite missions. We work together, trying to predict when satellites will be lined up along the same magnetic field lines with the balloons. That way we can look at high-resolution data the satellites are collecting in space on the same magnetic field lines at the same time our balloons are flying. We want to make links between space conditions and our X-ray readings, which stand in for how many electrons are being lost to the atmosphere.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94304/original/image-20150909-18645-1umkr4m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94304/original/image-20150909-18645-1umkr4m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94304/original/image-20150909-18645-1umkr4m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94304/original/image-20150909-18645-1umkr4m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94304/original/image-20150909-18645-1umkr4m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94304/original/image-20150909-18645-1umkr4m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94304/original/image-20150909-18645-1umkr4m.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Conjunctions between the BARREL balloons and satellites. The green lines marked ‘B-field’ show magnetic field lines.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Alexa Halford</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Using our data to fill in what we know</h2>
<p>There’s still a lot to do once we wrap up the campaign and head home with our new data – the measurements taken in the magnetosphere during what are essentially space hurricanes. It takes plenty of ingenuity to translate the raw data into scientific understanding, and we have to do a lot of processing and analyzing.</p>
<p>Our “lost” electrons interact with neutral particles in the atmosphere, producing the X-rays our balloons measure. The X-rays let us infer the energy of electrons we’re interested in. We combine our BARREL observations with those of satellites and other ground-based instruments to sort out how much energy the “lost” electrons had before they were lost. No single data set gives us the full picture, so we have to collaborate, fitting each piece of the puzzle together.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/iueTbgU5-NE?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">The size and number of particles in the radiation belts can change drastically over short periods of time.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Knowing how much energy the electron had before it got lost to the atmosphere, how large a region this phenomenon occurs over and how frequently this occurs gives us a better understanding of how the radiation belts work.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94311/original/image-20150909-18649-1yzs2o4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94311/original/image-20150909-18649-1yzs2o4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/94311/original/image-20150909-18649-1yzs2o4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94311/original/image-20150909-18649-1yzs2o4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94311/original/image-20150909-18649-1yzs2o4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94311/original/image-20150909-18649-1yzs2o4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94311/original/image-20150909-18649-1yzs2o4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/94311/original/image-20150909-18649-1yzs2o4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Sometimes science is done at a coffee shop, where you can find me writing up the next set of papers from our last campaign.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Alexa Halford</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This fall, we’re starting to write up papers and put together presentations about our research to share with colleagues. We were incredibly lucky with this campaign. Every balloon that we sent up got some amazing data! Here’s hoping we’re one step closer to understanding the dynamics of the Earth’s radiation belts.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/46240/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Alexa Halford receives funding from NASA. She is also a member of the Sierra Club. </span></em></p>Geomagnetic storms can interact with particles near Earth, causing issues for satellites and other tech. Researchers send balloons 20 miles into the sky to figure out just what’s going on up there.Alexa Halford, Postdoctoral Research Associate in Physics and Astronomy, Dartmouth CollegeLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/452952015-08-10T18:01:23Z2015-08-10T18:01:23ZScientists at work: cracking sea lions’ high-thrust, low-wake swimming technique<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91296/original/image-20150810-11088-c74cup.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Observing the foreflipper clap.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Megan Leftwich</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>The California sea lion has a unique way of moving through the ocean. This highly maneuverable aquatic mammal produces thrust primarily with its foreflippers – the ones it has where you have hands. Despite being fast, efficient and agile, this sea lion swimming technique is quite different from the way other large fish and marine mammals move through the water.</p>
<p>It wouldn’t be easy to design a system from scratch that could match the sea lion’s specifications – they produce high levels of thrust while leaving little traceable wake structure. So it makes sense to learn as much as we can about how they do it – with the thought that someday we might be able to engineer something that mimics our biological model. </p>
<p>To understand sea lion hydrodynamics – that is, the physics of how their swimming motion disrupts the surrounding water – we have to first characterize the kinematics – how their bodies move. And to do that we need to observe lots of California sea lion movements. So we head to the zoo.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91200/original/image-20150807-27600-is2z2t.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91200/original/image-20150807-27600-is2z2t.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91200/original/image-20150807-27600-is2z2t.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91200/original/image-20150807-27600-is2z2t.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91200/original/image-20150807-27600-is2z2t.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91200/original/image-20150807-27600-is2z2t.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91200/original/image-20150807-27600-is2z2t.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91200/original/image-20150807-27600-is2z2t.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Visiting the sea lions at the National Zoo with GW undergrad researchers. (Author upper right.)</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">William Atkins/The George Washington University</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>“Field” work close to home</h2>
<p>Typically, fieldwork is hard, time-consuming and expensive. But because our “field” is only two miles away from <a href="https://leftwichlab.seas.gwu.edu/">our lab</a>, and because the <a href="http://nationalzoo.si.edu/Animals/AmericanTrail/">American Trail</a> staff at the <a href="https://nationalzoo.si.edu/">Smithsonian National Zoo</a> is so accommodating, for us it is only hard and time-consuming.</p>
<p>We are able to return time and again to try new techniques and collect more data as needed. To avoid crowds but still get adequate lighting for our cameras, we arrive at 7:30 am to set up and begin taking data.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91198/original/image-20150807-27571-mq4t2y.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91198/original/image-20150807-27571-mq4t2y.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91198/original/image-20150807-27571-mq4t2y.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91198/original/image-20150807-27571-mq4t2y.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91198/original/image-20150807-27571-mq4t2y.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91198/original/image-20150807-27571-mq4t2y.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91198/original/image-20150807-27571-mq4t2y.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91198/original/image-20150807-27571-mq4t2y.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Single-camera setup with markers on the glass for filming sea lions.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Megan Leftwich</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Our data are high-resolution, high-speed videos. We set up cameras in precise, known locations and place small calibration markers on the viewing window. Multiple cameras are synced using a flash or audio marker – and then we wait.</p>
<p>While this is an “observational” study – we do not mark or touch the animals while obtaining data – the sea lions prefer to play rather than just be observed. So we’ll wave and run back and forth across the viewing window (a great job for undergrad research interns) to entice them to exhibit the behavior we hope to capture. What we really want to see is the sea lion’s propulsive stroke – where they clap their foreflippers toward their belly and glide forward.</p>
<p>So far, in just under two years of collecting data, we have amassed over 100 hours of footage of sea lions swimming, about 30 minutes of which is usable data.</p>
<figure>
<iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/133349233" width="500" height="281" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="" mozallowfullscreen="" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">The author describing her research.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Back in the lab</h2>
<p>The vast majority of our time is spent not at the zoo with the animals, but with our videos of their movements.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91201/original/image-20150807-27617-1rt8bsw.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91201/original/image-20150807-27617-1rt8bsw.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91201/original/image-20150807-27617-1rt8bsw.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=809&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91201/original/image-20150807-27617-1rt8bsw.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=809&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91201/original/image-20150807-27617-1rt8bsw.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=809&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91201/original/image-20150807-27617-1rt8bsw.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1017&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91201/original/image-20150807-27617-1rt8bsw.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1017&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91201/original/image-20150807-27617-1rt8bsw.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1017&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Ten tracked points on the sea lion’s foreflipper.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Megan Leftwich</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Learning something from the data we collect takes time, patience and computers. Of course video is only a two-dimensional representation of what really happened in space. So we convert all our video through a process called digital linear transformation, a method used to <a href="http://dx.doi.org/10.1088/1748-3182/3/3/034001">track three-dimensional motion</a> that was developed by Ty Hedrick of UNC to track hummingbird and hawk moth flying.</p>
<p>Individual points on a sea lion’s flipper are digitally located in each frame of the video (120 frames per second). Those locations are tracked from frame to frame, creating a surface that represents the motion of the sea lion’s foreflipper while swimming.</p>
<p>Through this process, we can create a digital foreflipper that can be programmed to move like a real swimming California sea lion. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/90940/original/image-20150805-22485-puip2u.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/90940/original/image-20150805-22485-puip2u.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/90940/original/image-20150805-22485-puip2u.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=375&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/90940/original/image-20150805-22485-puip2u.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=375&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/90940/original/image-20150805-22485-puip2u.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=375&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/90940/original/image-20150805-22485-puip2u.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=471&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/90940/original/image-20150805-22485-puip2u.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=471&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/90940/original/image-20150805-22485-puip2u.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=471&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">We write and use computer codes to track the surface of the foreflipper as it moves.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Megan Leftwich</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>So how do they actually move?</h2>
<p>The California sea lion relies predominantly on its foreflippers for thrust production. Thrust is the force that accelerates the animal in the forward direction. The large flippers move through the water in a clapping motion that ends with each flipper pressed against the animal’s torso.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91301/original/image-20150810-11104-he934g.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91301/original/image-20150810-11104-he934g.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91301/original/image-20150810-11104-he934g.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91301/original/image-20150810-11104-he934g.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91301/original/image-20150810-11104-he934g.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91301/original/image-20150810-11104-he934g.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91301/original/image-20150810-11104-he934g.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91301/original/image-20150810-11104-he934g.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Watch me clap my foreflippers.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Megan Leftwich</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This flipper-based motion differs significantly from other large fish and marine mammals, which typically have a dominant oscillation frequency. For fish, that means they flap their tails side to side continually. Aquatic mammals flap up and down. In both, every flap takes about the same amount of time. Instead, in sea lions, each clap of the flipper is followed by a prolonged glide — particularly unusual for large, high-thrust-producing swimmers. The smooth swim is assisted by the animal’s low drag coefficient, meaning it glides through the water easily without much resistance slowing it down.</p>
<p>Our observational work so far has led to a <a href="http://dx.doi.org/10.1088/1748-3182/9/4/046010">detailed two-dimensional description</a> of sea lion swimming, and we are currently working to track the flipper in three dimensions.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91202/original/image-20150807-27612-elucf0.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91202/original/image-20150807-27612-elucf0.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91202/original/image-20150807-27612-elucf0.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=346&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91202/original/image-20150807-27612-elucf0.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=346&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91202/original/image-20150807-27612-elucf0.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=346&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91202/original/image-20150807-27612-elucf0.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=435&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91202/original/image-20150807-27612-elucf0.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=435&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91202/original/image-20150807-27612-elucf0.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=435&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">3D geometry for sea lion foreflipper based on laser scanning.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Megan Leftwich</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Creating a robo-foreflipper</h2>
<p>My background, and the focus of my lab, is fluid dynamics, but so far our sea lion studies have been kinematic studies. Ultimately, we want to know how the water around the sea lion reacts to the what we’re learning about how their bodies move. To do that, we are using all the data we’ve collected from the field studies to create a robotic sea lion foreflipper.</p>
<p>The flipper geometry is based on <a href="http://doi.org/10.5226/jabmech.4.25">high-resolution laser scans</a> of a real California sea lion foreflipper. We program its motion based on the results of our field studies. </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91300/original/image-20150810-11107-gi35g4.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91300/original/image-20150810-11107-gi35g4.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/91300/original/image-20150810-11107-gi35g4.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91300/original/image-20150810-11107-gi35g4.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91300/original/image-20150810-11107-gi35g4.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91300/original/image-20150810-11107-gi35g4.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91300/original/image-20150810-11107-gi35g4.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/91300/original/image-20150810-11107-gi35g4.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The robotic flipper will be used to measure the reaction of the water to the sea lion’s clapping motion.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Megan Leftwich</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>By creating a robotic platform, we have a controllable, scalable device that can be used in the lab. We want to measure how the water reacts to the sea lion flipper, something that’s very hard to figure out using live sea lions, mostly due to their size and the need for highly specialized equipment. </p>
<p>Now with our robo-foreflipper, we can investigate, and hopefully understand, the unique way that sea lions move the water while performing their one-of-a-kind swimming motion. Eventually we might see this technique incorporated into an engineered underwater vehicle that could be used to search for underwater mines, or shipwrecks, or unexplored caves – anything that requires stealth, agility and speed in the water.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/45295/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Megan Leftwich does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>The way sea lions swim is unique among fish and marine mammals. Their technique provides a biomechanical model to design agile underwater vehicles… but first we have to figure out how they do it.Megan Leftwich, Assistant Professor of Mechanical and Aerospace Engineering, George Washington UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.