tag:theconversation.com,2011:/africa/topics/scientists-at-work-8538/articlesScientists at work – The Conversation2024-03-14T12:43:43Ztag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2196872024-03-14T12:43:43Z2024-03-14T12:43:43ZCity mouse or country mouse? I collect mice from Philly homes to study how they got so good at urban living<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/576250/original/file-20240216-24-90lbyl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">European colonizers brought mice to the Americas, where they squeaked out a comfortable life.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/photo/mouse-peeking-out-of-the-hole-royalty-free-image/525023427">Dejan Kolar/iStock Collection via Getty Images Plus</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Dusty barns, gleaming stables and damp basements. These are all places where you might find a house mouse – or a member of my research team. </p>
<p>I’m an <a href="https://scholar.google.com/citations?user=DMxMLmwAAAAJ&hl=en">evolutionary biologist</a>, and my lab at Drexel University studies wild house mice. With help from Philly residents, we are collecting mice from high-rises and row homes to learn more about the impacts of city living on house mice. In short, we want to know whether there is any scientific basis to <a href="https://sites.pitt.edu/%7Edash/type0112.html#aesop">“The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse” fable</a> in which the cousins eat differently based on where they live.</p>
<p><a href="https://www.npr.org/2023/07/26/1190071137/its-hot-out-there-a-new-analysis-shows-its-much-worse-if-youre-in-a-city">Cities are hotter</a> and they have a lot of people living in high densities, which means more trash and usually more pollution. This can affect how <a href="https://www.doi.org/10.1126/science.aam8327">species that live in cities evolve</a>. Cities are also dominated by artificial habitats such as sidewalks, high-rises and subways rather than open fields and forests. </p>
<p>We are interested in many possible changes, but especially in whether the many differences between urban and rural environments translate into genetic differences between city mice and country mice, such as which versions of genes related to metabolism are more common. </p>
<p>To find the answers, we sequence the mice’s genomes. With that data, we can answer a variety of questions, such as: Are city mice more or less genetically diverse than country mice? Are there regions of DNA, the molecule that encodes genetic information, that are consistently different between urban and rural mice? If so, what are the functions of genes in those regions? </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/579697/original/file-20240304-16-fd7au7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="An illustration of two mice from a translation of Aesop's Fables published in 1912." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/579697/original/file-20240304-16-fd7au7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/579697/original/file-20240304-16-fd7au7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=410&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/579697/original/file-20240304-16-fd7au7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=410&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/579697/original/file-20240304-16-fd7au7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=410&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/579697/original/file-20240304-16-fd7au7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=516&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/579697/original/file-20240304-16-fd7au7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=516&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/579697/original/file-20240304-16-fd7au7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=516&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">Just how different are city mice and country mice? Researchers are studying their guts and genes to find out.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Rackham_town_mouse_and_country_mouse.jpg">Arthur Rackham, public domain via Wikimedia Commons</a></span>
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</figure>
<h2>Why study house mice?</h2>
<p>One reason we study house mice is because they are so widespread. European colonizers <a href="https://doi.org/10.1093/g3journal/jkac332">brought house mice to the Americas</a> around 500 years ago. The rodents have now spread into many different climates and habitats across North and South America in most places that humans live, including Philadelphia. </p>
<p>Though small in size, house mice have made immeasurable <a href="https://shop.elsevier.com/books/the-mouse-in-biomedical-research/fox/978-0-12-369456-0">contributions to genetics and medicine</a>. They are mammals like humans, but house mice reproduce quickly and are relatively easy to breed and maintain. In fact, part of why scientists adopted mice early on as a model system is because people were already breeding “<a href="https://doi.org/10.7554/eLife.05959">fancy mice</a>” as pets. As a result, methods for keeping and breeding them were known.</p>
<p>Mice have many visible traits for geneticists to study. My team wants to know more about the genes and traits that have contributed to their ability to thrive in a variety of environments. The work we do with wild house mice also feeds back into work with laboratory mice and biomedical research. The house mice found in attics and cabinets are the same species that are studied in labs, but they are <a href="http://doi.org/10.1038/ng.847">more genetically diverse</a> than laboratory strains. Our project will generate whole genome sequences from many wild mice, and that data can help scientists who study traits and diseases. </p>
<h2>Tips for catching mice</h2>
<p>I previously worked on a large project studying <a href="https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pgen.1007672">how house mice have adapted to different climates</a> in the Americas. For that project, I went to many, many farms throughout the eastern United States and became very good at catching mice in barns. </p>
<p>Starting this project with a focus on cities was a new challenge. First, our team had to find Philly residents who wanted us to trap their mice. We spent a lot of time spreading the word on social media, talking to friends and posting flyers. </p>
<p>We talked to many Philadelphians who were frustrated with trying to rid their homes of mice. Some had videos of house mice avoiding the traps they had set or stealing the bait and running away. We share this frustration and feel it keenly. In some cases, it took us many days to catch a single mouse in an apartment.</p>
<p>Part of the reason is because many Philadelphia houses are old. This means they are often full of character – and holes that give mice great places to hide. Luring the mice out of their nests and into our traps is difficult. We had the most success with peanut butter bait, which has a strong and very appealing odor for mice. But mice are omnivores, eating a diverse diet that includes insects. We have heard many stories from community members who used bait such as chocolate, cereal, cookies and even bacon bits. </p>
<h2>What’s next</h2>
<p>We hope to start sharing results over the next two years. We are working in three cities – Philadelphia, New York City and Richmond, Virginia – and have completed our first collections. Now we need to generate and analyze genetic data, so we are very busy in the lab. </p>
<p>We are extracting DNA, as well as another form of genetic material called RNA, from different tissues. With the DNA we will study how much genetic variation exists within city mouse populations, and whether there are genetic differences between urban and rural mice. The RNA will help us understand how differences in DNA translate into differences in metabolism, physiology and other cellular processes. </p>
<p>We will also look to see whether there are differences in traits. For example, we will measure their skulls and skeletons. We will sequence the DNA of the microbes in their digestive system to learn about their gut microbiomes, the collection of bacteria that live in their digestive system, and use <a href="https://www.futurelearn.com/info/courses/archaeology/0/steps/15267">stable isotope analysis</a> to identify any differences in their diets. Stable isotope analysis of diet uses the ratios of naturally occurring atoms of elements such as carbon and nitrogen to determine what types of food an organism has eaten.</p>
<p>Cities are full of wildlife. Learning about how cities shape the evolution of mice may help us find better ways to manage mouse populations and other urban wildlife while also better understanding evolution.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/219687/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Megan Phifer-Rixey receives funding from the National Science Foundation (NSF CAREER 2332998 Division of Environmental Biology).
</span></em></p>An evolutionary biologist is studying what these resilient urban pests can teach us about adaptation and evolution.Megan Phifer-Rixey, Assistant Professor of Biology, Drexel UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2132002024-03-05T13:59:52Z2024-03-05T13:59:52ZRobber flies track their beetle prey using tiny microbursts of movement<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/553851/original/file-20231015-26-ku2y0f.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Robber flies visually track their prey before spearing it with their proboscis.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Paloma Gonzalez-Bellido</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>April in the Florida Panhandle. It was hot, humid, and a thunderstorm was lurking. But as a fresh graduate student, I was relieved for the escape from my first brutal Minnesota winter. I was accompanying my adviser, <a href="https://scholar.google.com/citations?user=OpaFwzoAAAAJ&hl=en&oi=ao">Paloma Gonzalez-Bellido</a>, on a project that would end up dominating <a href="https://scholar.google.com/citations?user=oux0RxAAAAAJ&hl=en">my Ph.D. work</a>. Out in the scrubland, my eyes darted at every movement, on the alert for an insect that likes shiny beads. </p>
<p><a href="https://doi.org/10.1093/aesa/43.2.227"><em>Laphria saffrana</em></a>, also known as robber flies, are chunky black and yellow flies. Most of a laphria’s head is made up of its large eyes, between which sits a formidable proboscis – a long, tubular mouthpart that can deliver a potent venom capable of incapacitating prey in a heartbeat.</p>
<p>The photos Paloma showed me before we got there, though stunning, were of no help in looking for the fly. There were insects flying in every direction, their movements a blur, making it impossible to pick out any details. I only had a split second to figure out whether the thing I was seeing was a laphria, a similarly colored yellowjacket wasp, or something else entirely. </p>
<p>Despite their <a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cub.2017.02.032">relatively crude vision</a>, the flies I was looking for are far more adept than I am at picking out the insects they’re targeting. Somehow they’re able to zero in on their prey of choice: beetles. Based on her field observations the previous year, Paloma thought they did this by looking for the flash of beetle wings.</p>
<p>If she was right, laphria have hit upon an ingenious trick that balances the need for speed, accuracy and specificity. Here are some of the clues we’ve found to <a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cub.2023.06.019">the secrets of their success</a>. </p>
<h2>Following the flash</h2>
<p>Paloma had previously studied other predator insects such as dragonflies and killer flies. Their <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/topics/medicine-and-dentistry/compound-eye">compound eyes</a> don’t provide a lot of detail about the visual world, making it possible to trick them into chasing simple beads as if they were their prey insects.</p>
<p>But when Paloma tried the same sleight of hand on laphria, they wouldn’t go for the regular black beads. They chased only clear beads. </p>
<p>The one important difference between laphria and the other predators Paloma had studied is that they’re picky eaters. Their prey of choice are beetles. So, Paloma and our collaborator, Jennifer Talley, speculated that the reason laphria are attracted to shiny beads is because they reflected light and flashed like the clear wings of a beetle.</p>
<p>In Florida, we tested this idea by swapping out the plain black beads for a panel of LED lights that we could program to flash in sequence at a frequency that matched the wing beats of beetles, which can be anywhere from 80 to 120 beats per second. </p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">The experimental setup, with a robber fly sitting on a log facing the LED light panel.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In an outdoor enclosure, Paloma placed previously caught robber flies one after the other on a log. Outside, Jennifer and I controlled the LED panel in front of the log and the high-speed cameras that captured the action.</p>
<p>The LED pixels flashed in sequence, simulating a moving target. Laphria tracked the lights with keen interest only when they flashed at the same frequency at which beetles flapped their wings.</p>
<p>But even as our initial experiments began confirming the hypothesis, a new puzzle presented itself. How do the flies accurately track their prey?</p>
<h2>Unique strategy to track and identify</h2>
<p>Before they give chase, all visual predators, including laphria, need to accurately track their prey’s movements. Although many animals have this ability, what we found in laphria was, to our surprise, a slightly tweaked formula compared with other predators. Their strategy allows them not only to accurately track but also count those flashes from their prey’s wing movements.</p>
<p>When I looked at the high-speed videos of laphria tracking the flashing LEDs and actual beetles, I noticed that they primarily moved their head in short bursts, called <a href="https://eyewiki.aao.org/Saccade">saccades</a>, interspersed with little or no other movements. These saccades are extremely quick, lasting less than 40 milliseconds, and the time between them is only slightly longer. To the naked eye, this looks like continuous motion, but our high-speed videos show otherwise. The degree to which the flies moved their heads during each burst depended on the speed of the target and how far off center it was from the direction of the fly’s gaze.</p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Watch a robber fly watching moving lights it perceives as a prey beetle.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p><a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cub.2023.06.019">What our findings told us</a> is that instead of continuously moving their heads to maintain the position of the target within the most sensitive parts of their eyes, laphria allow it to pass over their retina, moving only when it slips out of focus. We think this strategy helps them count the flashes of the prey’s beating wings, which determines their continued interest.</p>
<p>That is, the laphria know the wingbeat frequency of their most tasty prey and so pay attention to flashes that match. If the flash count matches their expectations, they will continue to track the target after it slips out of the sensitive zone of their eyes.</p>
<p>To bring it back into focus, though, they have to account for its speed and the position where they last saw it. Because the size of the saccade matches the speed of the prey, we think the laphria are keeping track of how fast the prey moves while at the same time counting the flashes from its wingbeats. So once a beetle slips out of focus, the predator knows how much to move its head to refocus.</p>
<p>Even though people track moving objects all the time – like while playing sports such as baseball or tennis or even just while watching a bird fly by – <a href="https://www.freethink.com/series/the-edge/eye-tracking">it’s a complex process</a>. It involves dynamic cross-talk between the visual and muscular systems.</p>
<p>Regardless of the motivation, the goal while visually tracking a target is the same – to train the most sensitive zone of the eyes, <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK554706/">known as the fovea</a>, onto the item of interest. <em>Laphria saffrana</em> have seemingly tweaked that rule so they can learn more about the target. Their customized prediction strategy allows them to accurately locate and quickly chase down their very specific dietary needs.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/213200/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Siddhant Pusdekar 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>Not much is known about the predator fly Laphria saffrana. New research identified how they count the wingbeats of their favored prey, letting it slip out of focus before adjusting their heads.Siddhant Pusdekar, Graduate Researcher in Ecology, Evolution and Behavior, University of MinnesotaLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2201062024-01-09T13:25:50Z2024-01-09T13:25:50ZI set out to investigate where silky sharks travel − and by chance documented a shark’s amazing power to regenerate its sabotaged fin<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/567867/original/file-20240104-19-fvz9ed.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C114%2C919%2C596&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Rather than a tracking tag telling scientists where this shark traveled, its violent removal let them observe an unexpected regeneration process.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Josh Schellenberg</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>I made an accidental and astonishing discovery while studying the movements of sharks off the coast of Jupiter, Florida. I set out to record the migration routes of silky sharks, named for their smooth skin. Instead, in a story filled with twists and turns, I ended up documenting the rare phenomenon of a shark <a href="https://doi.org/10.1155/2023/6639805">regenerating a dorsal fin</a>. </p>
<h2>Tagging, then trauma</h2>
<p>It all started in the summer of 2022, when my team and I tagged silky sharks (<em>Carcharhinus falciformis</em>) as part of my <a href="https://chelsealeighblack.com/research-projects/biotrack/">Ph.D. research</a>. <a href="https://www.floridamuseum.ufl.edu/discover-fish/species-profiles/carcharhinus-falciformis/">Silky sharks</a> are commonly found in the open ocean and grow to be 10 feet long. Scientists know these sharks congregate in South Florida each summer, but where they go the rest of the year remains a mystery – one I hoped to solve. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/567682/original/file-20240103-23-h8z0ck.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Three scientists wearing latex gloves lean over the side of a boat holding a still shark. Woman in middle attaches a hand-sized tag with an short antena to the fin on the shark's back." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/567682/original/file-20240103-23-h8z0ck.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/567682/original/file-20240103-23-h8z0ck.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=493&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567682/original/file-20240103-23-h8z0ck.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=493&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567682/original/file-20240103-23-h8z0ck.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=493&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567682/original/file-20240103-23-h8z0ck.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=620&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567682/original/file-20240103-23-h8z0ck.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=620&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567682/original/file-20240103-23-h8z0ck.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=620&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Chelsea Black, center, leads a satellite tagging team from the University of Miami in June 2022.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Tanner Mansell</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Local boat captain John Moore took us to a site where sharks are known to gather. We carefully caught and gently attached GPS trackers to the dorsal, or top, fin of 10 silky sharks. </p>
<p>The tags, which are attached like large earrings, do not interfere with swimming and are designed to fall off after a few years. When the tag’s antenna breaks the surface of the water, its GPS location is picked up by overhead satellites, hopefully revealing details of the shark’s secret life.</p>
<p>I headed home to track their travels from my laptop. </p>
<p>The story took an unexpected turn a few weeks later, when I received disturbing photos from an avid diver and underwater photographer, Josh Schellenberg, who knew of my work.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/567714/original/file-20240103-23-9nlx4h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Silky shark swiming in water with its dorsal fin missing a chunk of tissue shaped like a satellite tag." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/567714/original/file-20240103-23-9nlx4h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/567714/original/file-20240103-23-9nlx4h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=333&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567714/original/file-20240103-23-9nlx4h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=333&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567714/original/file-20240103-23-9nlx4h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=333&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567714/original/file-20240103-23-9nlx4h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=419&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567714/original/file-20240103-23-9nlx4h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=419&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567714/original/file-20240103-23-9nlx4h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=419&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 first sighting of the wounded silky shark in July 2022.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Josh Schellenberg</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The photos showed a male silky shark with a large, gaping wound in its dorsal fin, as if someone had taken a satellite-tag-shaped cookie cutter and punched it right through. Josh wondered if this individual was one of the sharks from my study. </p>
<p>When placing the GPS tags, I also place a second tag beneath each shark’s dorsal fin that displays a unique ID number, so I was able to confirm the injured shark was one from my study, #409834.</p>
<p>I felt a mixture of relief and sadness. Relief that the shark survived this ordeal; sadness for the scientific data that would now go uncollected. </p>
<p>Silky sharks are often caught by local fishermen in this area but are protected in Florida and <a href="https://myfwc.com/fishing/saltwater/commercial/sharks/">illegal to kill or retain</a>. Josh’s photos of #409834 showed several hooks in his mouth, so I knew this animal had been captured several times since my team tagged him.</p>
<p>The way the satellite tag attaches means it’s impossible for it to naturally rip out of the fin and leave a wound of this shape. Why someone cut off the shark’s satellite tag remains a mystery, but perhaps they thought they could resell it or possibly wanted to interfere with research. I never expected to see that shark again.</p>
<h2>The return of #409834</h2>
<p>Flash forward to one year later, the summer of 2023. I received several photos of silky sharks from John Moore, our boat captain, who is also an avid diver. John was on the lookout for any of our sharks making their seasonal return to Jupiter. In the many shark photos he sent, I noticed a silky shark with an oddly shaped dorsal fin. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/567740/original/file-20240103-15-s905sn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Silky shark swimming through water with an oddly shaped dorsal fin." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/567740/original/file-20240103-15-s905sn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/567740/original/file-20240103-15-s905sn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567740/original/file-20240103-15-s905sn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567740/original/file-20240103-15-s905sn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567740/original/file-20240103-15-s905sn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567740/original/file-20240103-15-s905sn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567740/original/file-20240103-15-s905sn.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">Shark #409834 spotted a year later, in June 2023, with a healed dorsal fin.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Josh Schellenberg</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>I knew immediately it had to be #409834 from the previous summer. A few days later, John was able to get close enough to photograph the ID tag to confirm my hunch. Josh Schellenberg also spotted and photographed #409834. With both John’s and Josh’s photos, I was able to compare the healed dorsal fin with the freshly injured one. </p>
<p>I wasn’t expecting to make a groundbreaking discovery. Simple curiosity led me to start analyzing the photos. But the revelation was astonishing: Not only had the wound completely healed, but the 2023 dorsal fin was 10.7% larger in size than it was after the injury in 2022. New fin tissue had regenerated.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/567744/original/file-20240103-29-ocqay6.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A collage of four photos – two are close ups of the dorsal fin freshly injured in 2022 and two are close ups of it healed in 2023. Much of it has grown back." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/567744/original/file-20240103-29-ocqay6.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/567744/original/file-20240103-29-ocqay6.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=359&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567744/original/file-20240103-29-ocqay6.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=359&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567744/original/file-20240103-29-ocqay6.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=359&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567744/original/file-20240103-29-ocqay6.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=451&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567744/original/file-20240103-29-ocqay6.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=451&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/567744/original/file-20240103-29-ocqay6.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=451&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Changes in the dorsal fin from 2022 and 2023.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Josh Schellenberg and John Moore</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/10.1155/2023/6639805">My analysis</a> determined that within 332 days, the shark regenerated enough tissue that his dorsal fin was almost back to 90% of its original size, growing back more than half of what had been cut off in 2022.</p>
<p>The <a href="https://dlnr.hawaii.gov/sharks/anatomy/fins-swimming/">dorsal fin</a>, pivotal for balance, steering and hydrodynamics, is vital for a shark to be able to hunt and survive. Seeing no infection or any signs of malnourishment in #409834 suggests an extraordinary feat of endurance.</p>
<p>Scientists know that sharks have an incredible <a href="https://doi.org/10.1093/conphys/cov062">aptitude for healing</a> – but mechanisms behind these observations are still poorly understood. While limb regeneration has been widely documented in other marine animals like <a href="https://ssec.si.edu/stemvisions-blog/all-about-starfish">starfish</a> and <a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jembe.2023.151895">crabs</a>, there is only <a href="https://doi.org/10.1093/conphys/coaa120">one other documented case</a> of dorsal fin regeneration in a shark – a whale shark in the Indian Ocean that regrew its dorsal fin after a boat accident in 2006.</p>
<h2>400 million years of resilience</h2>
<p>There’s a reason sharks have been on Earth <a href="https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/1999/04/990422060147.htm">longer than trees</a> and have survived <a href="https://doi.org/10.1101/2021.01.20.427414">multiple mass extinction events</a> that wiped out other species. They are a product of <a href="https://www.nhm.ac.uk/discover/shark-evolution-a-450-million-year-timeline.html">400 million years</a> of <a href="https://www.floridamuseum.ufl.edu/discover-fish/sharks/fossil/basics/">evolutionary adaptations</a> that demonstrate their remarkable resilience and have primed them for survival.</p>
<p>To be able to pinpoint an ability that helps make them so resilient is a major scientific advance – especially considering scientists are still questioning where silky sharks spend most of their time in the Atlantic. </p>
<p>One person’s attempt to undermine shark science and harm a shark ultimately proved futile. Instead, the shark’s toughness prevailed and led to an amazing discovery about this species. This story also shows there are countless individual people, including scientists like me and shark enthusiasts like Josh and John, who share a genuine love and respect for these animals.</p>
<p>While I’ll never know for certain where #409834 spends the rest of the year, I hope he continues to return to Jupiter each summer so we can further assess his progress. Based on the healing rate calculated in my study, we just might see his dorsal fin grow back to 100% its original size.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/220106/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Chelsea Black 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>After scientists’ GPS tracking tag was violently removed from one shark’s dorsal fin, they were in for a surprise: The wound didn’t just heal, but the missing tissue grew back.Chelsea Black, Ph.D. Candidate in Marine Ecosystems and Society, University of MiamiLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2109972023-10-23T12:25:38Z2023-10-23T12:25:38ZA layered lake is a little like Earth’s early oceans − and lets researchers explore how oxygen built up in our atmosphere billions of years ago<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/542374/original/file-20230811-17-9wl0g5.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C12%2C4031%2C2692&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Researchers sample water from various layers to analyze back in the lab.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Elizabeth Swanner</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Little Deming Lake doesn’t get much notice from visitors to <a href="https://www.dnr.state.mn.us/state_parks/park.html?id=spk00181#homepage">Itasca State Park</a> in Minnesota. There’s better boating on nearby Lake Itasca, the headwaters of the Mississippi River. My colleagues and I need to maneuver hundreds of pounds of equipment down a hidden path made narrow by late-summer poison ivy to launch our rowboats.</p>
<p>But modest Deming Lake offers more than meets the eye for <a href="https://scholar.google.com/citations?user=QopCtZ4AAAAJ&hl=en&oi=ao">me, a geochemist</a> interested in how oxygen built up in the atmosphere 2.4 billion years ago. The absence of oxygen in the deep layers of Deming Lake is something this small body of water has in common with early Earth’s oceans.</p>
<p>On each of our several expeditions here each year, we row our boats out into the deepest part of the lake – over 60 feet (18 meters), despite the lake’s surface area being only 13 acres. We drop an anchor and connect our boats in a flotilla, readying ourselves for the work ahead.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554300/original/file-20231017-27-mjcpvk.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Smooth lake with boats in the distance against woodsy shoreline" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554300/original/file-20231017-27-mjcpvk.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554300/original/file-20231017-27-mjcpvk.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554300/original/file-20231017-27-mjcpvk.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554300/original/file-20231017-27-mjcpvk.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554300/original/file-20231017-27-mjcpvk.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554300/original/file-20231017-27-mjcpvk.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554300/original/file-20231017-27-mjcpvk.jpeg?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">Researchers’ boats on Deming Lake.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Elizabeth Swanner</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Deming Lake is <a href="https://www.worldatlas.com/articles/what-is-a-meromictic-lake.html">meromictic</a>, a term from Greek that means only partially mixing. In most lakes, at least once a year, the water at the top sinks while the water at the bottom rises because of wind and seasonal temperature changes that affect water’s density. But the <a href="https://eartharxiv.org/repository/view/4827/">deepest waters of Deming Lake never reach the surface</a>. This prevents oxygen in its top layer of water from ever mixing into its deep layer.</p>
<p>Less than 1% of lakes are meromictic, and most that are have dense, salty bottom waters. Deming Lake’s deep waters are not very salty, but of the salts in its bottom waters, <a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.earscirev.2020.103430">iron is one of the most abundant</a>. This makes Deming Lake one of the rarest <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/topics/earth-and-planetary-sciences/meromictic-lake">types of meromictic lakes</a>.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554302/original/file-20231017-23-utrjoi.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="man seated in small boat wearing gloves injecting water into a collection tube" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554302/original/file-20231017-23-utrjoi.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554302/original/file-20231017-23-utrjoi.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554302/original/file-20231017-23-utrjoi.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554302/original/file-20231017-23-utrjoi.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554302/original/file-20231017-23-utrjoi.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554302/original/file-20231017-23-utrjoi.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554302/original/file-20231017-23-utrjoi.jpeg?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">Postdoc researcher Sajjad Akam collects a water sample for chemical analysis back in the lab.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Elizabeth Swanner</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The lake surface is calm, and the still air is glorious on this cool, cloudless August morning. We lower a 2-foot-long water pump zip-tied to a cable attached to four sensors. The sensors measure the temperature, amount of oxygen, pH and amount of chlorophyll in the water at each layer we encounter. We pump water from the most intriguing layers up to the boat and fill a myriad of bottles and tubes, each destined for a different chemical or biological analysis.</p>
<p>My colleagues and I have homed in on Deming Lake to explore questions about how microbial life adapted to and changed the environmental conditions on early Earth. Our planet was inhabited <a href="https://theconversation.com/were-viruses-around-on-earth-before-living-cells-emerged-a-microbiologist-explains-197880">only by microbes</a> for most of its history. The atmosphere and the oceans’ depths didn’t have much oxygen, but they did have a lot of iron, just like Deming Lake does. By investigating what Deming Lake’s microbes are doing, we can better understand how billions of years ago they helped to transform the Earth’s atmosphere and oceans into what they’re like now.</p>
<h2>Layer by layer, into the lake</h2>
<p>Two and a half billion years ago, ocean waters had enough iron to form today’s globally distributed <a href="https://www.sciencedirect.com/topics/earth-and-planetary-sciences/banded-iron-formation">rusty iron deposits called</a> <a href="https://www.amnh.org/exhibitions/permanent/planet-earth/how-has-the-earth-evolved/banded-iron-formation">banded iron formations</a> that supply iron for the modern global steel industry. Nowadays, oceans have only <a href="https://youtu.be/EpzEv0H4lvg">trace amounts of iron</a> but abundant oxygen. In most waters, iron and oxygen are antithetical. Rapid <a href="https://bio.libretexts.org/Bookshelves/Microbiology/Microbiology_(Boundless)/05%3A_Microbial_Metabolism/5.10%3A_Chemolithotrophy/5.10D%3A__Iron_Oxidation">chemical and biological reactions between iron and oxygen</a> mean you can’t have much of one while the other is present.</p>
<p>The rise of oxygen in the early atmosphere and ocean was due to <a href="https://ucmp.berkeley.edu/bacteria/cyanointro.html">cyanobacteria</a>. These single-celled organisms <a href="https://asm.org/Articles/2022/February/The-Great-Oxidation-Event-How-Cyanobacteria-Change">emerged at least 2.5 billion years ago</a>. But it took roughly 2 billion years for the oxygen they produce via photosynthesis to build up to <a href="https://askanearthspacescientist.asu.edu/oxygen-animal-evolution">levels that allowed for the first animals</a> to appear on Earth.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554308/original/file-20231017-27-m0c4vb.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="water concentrated on a filter looks pale green" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554308/original/file-20231017-27-m0c4vb.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554308/original/file-20231017-27-m0c4vb.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=471&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554308/original/file-20231017-27-m0c4vb.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=471&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554308/original/file-20231017-27-m0c4vb.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=471&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554308/original/file-20231017-27-m0c4vb.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=592&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554308/original/file-20231017-27-m0c4vb.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=592&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554308/original/file-20231017-27-m0c4vb.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=592&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Chlorophyll colors water from the lake slightly green.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Elizabeth Swanner</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>At Deming Lake, my colleagues and I pay special attention to the water layer where the chlorophyll readings jump. <a href="https://www.britannica.com/science/chlorophyll">Chlorophyll is the pigment</a> that makes plants green. It harnesses sunlight energy to turn water and carbon dioxide into oxygen and sugars. Nearly 20 feet (6 meters) below Deming’s surface, the chlorophyll is in cyanobacteria and photosynthetic algae, not plants. </p>
<p>But the curious thing about this layer is that we don’t detect oxygen, despite the abundance of these oxygen-producing organisms. This is the depth where iron concentrations start to climb to the high levels present at the lake’s bottom.</p>
<p>This high-chlorophyll, high-iron and low-oxygen layer is of special interest to us because it might help us understand where cyanobacteria lived in the ancient ocean, how well they were growing and how much oxygen they produced. </p>
<p>We suspect the reason cyanobacteria gather at this depth in Deming Lake is that there is more iron there than at the top of the lake. Just like <a href="https://theconversation.com/blood-in-your-veins-is-not-blue-heres-why-its-always-red-97064">humans need iron for red blood cells</a>, cyanobacteria need lots of iron to help catalyze the reactions of photosynthesis.</p>
<p>A likely reason we can’t measure any oxygen in this layer is that in addition to cyanobacteria, there are a lot of other bacteria here. After a good long life of a few days, the cyanobacteria die, and the other bacteria feed on their remains. These bacteria rapidly use up any oxygen produced by still photosynthesizing cyanobacteria the way a fire does as it burns through wood.</p>
<p>We know there are lots of bacteria here based on how cloudy the water is, and we see them when we inspect a drop of this water under a microscope. But we need another way to measure photosynthesis besides measuring oxygen levels. </p>
<h2>Long-running lakeside laboratory</h2>
<p>The other important function of photosynthesis is converting carbon dioxide into sugars, which eventually are used to make more cells. We need a way to track whether new sugars are being made, and if they are, whether it’s by photosynthetic cyanobacteria. So we fill glass bottles with samples of water from this lake layer and seal them tight with rubber stoppers.</p>
<p>We drive the 3 miles back to the <a href="https://cbs.umn.edu/itasca">Itasca Biological Station and Laboratories</a> where we will set up our experiments. The station opened in 1909 and is home base for us this week, providing comfy cabins, warm meals and this laboratory space.</p>
<p>In the lab, we inject our glass bottle with carbon dioxide that carries an <a href="https://www.britannica.com/science/isotopic-tracer">isotopic tracer</a>. If cyanobacteria grow, their cells will incorporate this isotopic marker. </p>
<p>We had a little help to formulate our questions and experiments. University of Minnesota students attending summer field courses collected decades worth of data in Itasca State Park. A diligent university librarian digitized <a href="https://cbs.umn.edu/itasca/research/student-research-papers">thousands of those students’ final papers</a>.</p>
<p>My students and I pored over the papers concerning Deming Lake, many of which tried to determine whether the cyanobacteria in the chlorophyll-rich layer are doing photosynthesis. While most indicated yes, those students were measuring only oxygen and got ambiguous results. Our use of the isotopic tracer is trickier to implement but will give clearer results.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554313/original/file-20231017-17-p7jytu.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="woman holds a clear plastic bag aloft, she and man are seated in boat" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554313/original/file-20231017-17-p7jytu.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554313/original/file-20231017-17-p7jytu.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554313/original/file-20231017-17-p7jytu.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554313/original/file-20231017-17-p7jytu.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554313/original/file-20231017-17-p7jytu.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554313/original/file-20231017-17-p7jytu.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554313/original/file-20231017-17-p7jytu.jpeg?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">Graduate students Michelle Chamberlain and Zackry Stevenson about to sink the bottles for incubation in Deming Lake.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Elizabeth Swanner</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>That afternoon, we’re back on the lake. We toss an anchor; attached to its rope is a clear plastic bag holding the sealed bottles of lake water now amended with the isotopic tracer. They’ll spend the night in the chlorophyll-rich layer, and we’ll retrieve them after 24 hours. Any longer than that and the isotopic label might end up in the bacteria that eat the dying cyanobacteria instead of the cyanobacteria themselves. We tie off the rope to a floating buoy and head back to the station’s dining hall for our evening meal.</p>
<h2>Iron, chlorophyll, oxygen</h2>
<p>The next morning, as we wait for the bottles to finish their incubation, we collect water from the different layers of the lake and add some chemicals that kill the cells but preserve their bodies. We’ll look at these samples under the microscope to figure out how many cyanobacteria are in the water, and we’ll measure how much iron is inside the cyanobacteria. </p>
<p>That’s easier said than done, because we have to first separate all the “needles” (cyanobacteria) from the “hay” (other cells) and then clean any iron off the outside of the cyanobacteria. Back at Iowa State University, we’ll shoot the individual cells one by one into a flame that incinerates them, which liberates all the iron they contain so we can measure it.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554323/original/file-20231017-27-p7jytu.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="rowboat with one woman in it on a lake with woodsy shoreline" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554323/original/file-20231017-27-p7jytu.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/554323/original/file-20231017-27-p7jytu.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554323/original/file-20231017-27-p7jytu.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554323/original/file-20231017-27-p7jytu.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554323/original/file-20231017-27-p7jytu.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554323/original/file-20231017-27-p7jytu.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/554323/original/file-20231017-27-p7jytu.jpeg?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">Biogeochemist Katy Sparrow rows a research vessel to shore.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Elizabeth Swanner</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Our scientific hunch, or <a href="https://www.britannica.com/science/scientific-hypothesis">hypothesis</a>, is that the cyanobacteria that live in the chlorophyll- and iron-rich layer will contain more iron than cyanobacteria that live in the top lake layer. If they do, it will help us establish that greater access to iron is a motive for living in that deeper and dimmer layer.</p>
<p>These experiments won’t tell the whole story of why it took so long for Earth to build up oxygen, but they will help us to understand a piece of it – where oxygen might have been produced and why, and what happened to oxygen in that environment.</p>
<p>Deming Lake is quickly becoming its own attraction for those with a curiosity about what goes on beneath its tranquil surface – and what that might be able to tell us about how new forms of life took hold long ago on Earth.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/210997/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Elizabeth Swanner receives funding from the U.S. National Science Foundation and the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. </span></em></p>An unusual lake with distinct layers of low-oxygen and high-iron water lets researchers investigate conditions like those in the early Earth’s oceans.Elizabeth Swanner, Associate Professor of Geology, Iowa State UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2000482023-05-08T12:19:31Z2023-05-08T12:19:31ZClothes moths: Why I admire these persistent, destructive, difficult-to-eradicate and dull-looking pests<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524520/original/file-20230504-1338-tnizp0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=78%2C103%2C1284%2C860&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">*Tineola bisselliella* can survive on as little as a hairball and some vitamin B.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tineola.bisselliella.7218.jpg">Olaf Leillinger/Wikimedia Commons</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/">CC BY-SA</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Every day, I come into the lab to check the moth jar. The jar, which previously housed a liter of honey, now contains a multitude of small golden moths and their wriggly caterpillar offspring.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524198/original/file-20230503-19-qkt3kv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="smiling woman holds a liter-size jar with scrunched up knitting in it" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524198/original/file-20230503-19-qkt3kv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524198/original/file-20230503-19-qkt3kv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=749&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524198/original/file-20230503-19-qkt3kv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=749&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524198/original/file-20230503-19-qkt3kv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=749&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524198/original/file-20230503-19-qkt3kv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=941&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524198/original/file-20230503-19-qkt3kv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=941&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524198/original/file-20230503-19-qkt3kv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=941&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 in the lab with her prized moth jar.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Isabel Novick</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The founding population came from within my house – pests that fervently fed on my sweaters, rugs and horsehair plaster. When they emerge from my walls in the evenings, I chase them with zeal and catch them in jam jars. “Moth!” I shout, jumping up from the couch, knocking over whatever is in front of me. In the lab, I feed them clippings of a mohair sweater that shrank in the wash, which I soak in brewer’s yeast.</p>
<p><a href="https://scholar.google.com/citations?hl=en&user=Cog3A6IAAAAJ&view_op=list_works&gmla=AHoSzlX3j284dvhFbLwvsoW_JOhIs5qvImnVBOhC7QrqXwX53uEoVh9osKUVd9oBWd7foWeY7X0W3TJBE-pg97Ik">I’m a doctoral candidate</a> <a href="https://www.bu.edu/biology/people/profiles/isabel-novick/">studying the evolutionary relationships</a> within the moth family Tineidae. I’m interested in how webbing clothes moths, <em>Tineola bisselliella</em>, have dispersed so widely and colonized our homes so readily. I am using a population genetics approach, examining the DNA of isolated populations of moths from all over the world. They eat crazy stuff. They live mostly indoors. How did this happen?</p>
<h2>Resourceful, vigorous, tanklike eating machines</h2>
<p>Webbing clothes moths are part of a distinctive, primordial lineage called the <a href="https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4020-6359-6_3921">fungus moth family</a>. These guys emerged long before more well-known species like silk moths. If you’re unlucky, you are already aware of the destruction they can wreak on sweaters, rugs and upholstery. But you many not realize how fascinating Tineidae are.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524201/original/file-20230503-22-bkppfb.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="little worms on the surface of a knitted material" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524201/original/file-20230503-22-bkppfb.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524201/original/file-20230503-22-bkppfb.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=437&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524201/original/file-20230503-22-bkppfb.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=437&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524201/original/file-20230503-22-bkppfb.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=437&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524201/original/file-20230503-22-bkppfb.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=549&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524201/original/file-20230503-22-bkppfb.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=549&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524201/original/file-20230503-22-bkppfb.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=549&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"><em>Tineola bisselliella</em> larvae living it up on a scrap of sweater in the lab.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Isabel Novick</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>These moths can eat hair, skin and feathers, all of which comprise a protein called keratin. Keratin – the main ingredient in nails, hoofs and horns – is <a href="https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0202608">notoriously tough to digest</a>. Biologists still aren’t sure how clothes moths can metabolize keratin, and this is something I aim to address in my research. One study posits that they harbor a <a href="https://doi.org/10.3390/microorganisms8091415">microorganism in their gut</a> that uses digestive enzymes to break down keratin for them.</p>
<p>However mysterious the process may be, their nutritional needs can be met with as little as a hairball and <a href="http://publichealth.lacounty.gov/eh/docs/safety/managing-clothes-moth-infestations.pdf">some vitamin B</a>, which they can glean from sweat, pee and food stains. Not only that, but research suggests these moths somehow <a href="https://agris.fao.org/agris-search/search.do?recordID=US201301122326">produce water as a byproduct of digesting keratin</a>, so they can happily survive within the dry recesses of your home.</p>
<p>Incredibly, webbing clothes moths can safely digest poisonous heavy metals like <a href="https://doi.org/10.1071/BI9510049">arsenic, mercury and lead</a>. They can easily <a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jspr.2005.08.004">chew through soft plastics and metabolize synthetic fabrics</a>. They have been known to feast on <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/publication/292321410_Forensic_entomology_applied_to_a_mummified_corpse">mummified human remains</a> and have even been a recognizable pest long enough to be <a href="https://bible.knowing-jesus.com/topics/Moths">mentioned in the Bible</a>. They are so economically destructive that by the 1990s they were causing up to <a href="https://www.wiley.com/en-us/Introduction+to+Insect+Pest+Management%2C+3rd+Edition-p-9780471589570">US$1 billion in damage per year in the U.S. alone</a>.</p>
<p>This pest insect, over time, has hitchhiked all over the world. It can now be found from Australia to Chile, from Nigeria to Canada. The current hypothesis is that these moths originated in Africa and expanded their range by <a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jspr.2005.08.004">hitchhiking on 19th-century ships</a>. </p>
<p>Scientists consider webbing clothes moths synanthropes: organisms that benefit from, and <a href="https://davidrousefaicp.com/synanthropic-species-why-are-they-important-to-our-future/">have adapted to, human spaces</a>, much like pigeons or bedbugs. They have taken this to an extreme and are now <a href="https://doi.org/10.4081/jear.2011.83">mostly found indoors</a>.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524673/original/file-20230505-27-dokyrv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="color drawing of an insect with long antennae and folded wings" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524673/original/file-20230505-27-dokyrv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524673/original/file-20230505-27-dokyrv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=456&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524673/original/file-20230505-27-dokyrv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=456&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524673/original/file-20230505-27-dokyrv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=456&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524673/original/file-20230505-27-dokyrv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=572&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524673/original/file-20230505-27-dokyrv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=572&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524673/original/file-20230505-27-dokyrv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=572&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">These moths aren’t particularly pleasing to the human eye.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/carpet-moth-tineidae-artwork-by-steve-roberts-news-photo/492779087">Steve Roberts/De Agostini Picture Library via Getty Images</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Researchers are still not sure what evolutionary adaptations have allowed these moths to colonize, and ultimately depend upon, human environments. However, it seems likely to me that their global domination is associated with their diet. Webbing clothes moths are known as <a href="https://doi.org/10.4081/jear.2011.83">facultative keratinophages</a>, which means they can choose to eat and digest keratin, but it’s not a required part of their diet. This kind of nutritional flexibility is common to other well-known synanthropic species – is there anything a raccoon won’t eat? – and may be fundamental to the moths’ successful global dispersal.</p>
<h2>Moth genes from around the world</h2>
<p>To study the differences between populations of webbing clothes moths around the world, I am analyzing a type of genomic data made from sequencing “<a href="https://doi.org/10.1093/sysbio/sys004">ultraconserved elements</a>.” This technique targets specific genes that all moth species share, called orthologs, and compares the variable genetic regions on both sides of the conserved sequence. This data tells researchers like me how distantly related the clothes moths in, say, Australia are to clothes moths in Hawaii.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524647/original/file-20230505-25-gz6i5l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="about a dozen small dead moths stuck to sticky cardboard" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524647/original/file-20230505-25-gz6i5l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524647/original/file-20230505-25-gz6i5l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=619&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524647/original/file-20230505-25-gz6i5l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=619&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524647/original/file-20230505-25-gz6i5l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=619&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524647/original/file-20230505-25-gz6i5l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=778&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524647/original/file-20230505-25-gz6i5l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=778&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524647/original/file-20230505-25-gz6i5l.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=778&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">This trap came back with plenty of moths that unwittingly donated themselves to science.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Isabel Novick</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>To that end, I’ve spent the past two years internationally shipping pheromone-baited moth traps to interested volunteers. They set up the traps in their closets or storage rooms. After two months, I ask whether they’ve caught anything, request a photo of the trap and have them ship it back to me.</p>
<p>People generally want to help because they hope my research will yield better <a href="https://ipm.ucanr.edu/PMG/PESTNOTES/pn7435.html">methods of moth eradication</a>. Ultimately, it may, but I’m primarily interested in appreciating these organisms from an evolutionary perspective.</p>
<p>So far, I have received over 600 moths. But many of my correspondents don’t catch anything, or catch the wrong thing. Sometimes the trap gets thrown out with the trash. Sometimes I send a trap and never hear from the recipient again. It can be a frustrating process. I end up spending hundreds of dollars and sifting through hundreds of moths, most of them other tineids or pantry moths, looking for the flash of dusty golden wings. </p>
<p>I spend a lot of my time in the lab extracting moth DNA and a lot of time on my computer analyzing it. Ideally, this research will yield a more comprehensive picture of how moths in this family are related to one another, and clarify whether clothes moths from around the world are actually the species we think they are. If these moths are experiencing sexual isolation, we might be using the wrong methods to control them depending on their location. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524202/original/file-20230503-1364-y4rm31.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="pale moth with dark eye" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524202/original/file-20230503-1364-y4rm31.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/524202/original/file-20230503-1364-y4rm31.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=277&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524202/original/file-20230503-1364-y4rm31.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=277&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524202/original/file-20230503-1364-y4rm31.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=277&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524202/original/file-20230503-1364-y4rm31.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=348&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524202/original/file-20230503-1364-y4rm31.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=348&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/524202/original/file-20230503-1364-y4rm31.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=348&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"><em>Tineola bisselliella</em> moth, ready for its close-up through the microscope.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Isabel Novick</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Appreciation for a pest</h2>
<p>Even though clothes moths can destroy your wardrobe or devour priceless objects like taxidermy, oriental carpets and upholstered furniture <a href="https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/story/2021-04-22/getty-museum-covid-closure-moth-remediation">in museum collections</a>, I can’t help but admire them.</p>
<p>They are not intentionally pests; they are innovative, cunning and endlessly capable. Their ability to capitalize on unfilled niches has allowed them to spread far and wide throughout homes everywhere. They’re not chomping through your drapes with malicious intent; they’re operating exactly as they evolved to, in a way that has worked to their advantage for thousands of years. The reasons people dislike them – being persistent, destructive and difficult to eradicate, not to mention dull-colored – are the reasons they’ve been able to survive and thrive so successfully for so long.</p>
<p>I gently urge you to consider their efficiency and determination as a sort of evolutionary elegance. How incredible is it for something to have evolved to eat the inedible, to occupy the uninhabitable and to overcome every evolutionary obstacle in its way? Of course, that doesn’t mean their damage can’t be devastating, or that battling these moths doesn’t stink. But, from an evolutionary standpoint, the webbing clothes moth should inspire wonder instead of disgust, awe instead of frustration, and instead of exasperation, admiration.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/200048/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>I used to work at the Museum of Science, Boston</span></em></p>An appreciation for the moths that chomp holes in your clothes. They eat the inedible, occupy the uninhabitable and overcome every evolutionary obstacle in their way.Isabel Novick, Doctoral Candidate in Ecology, Behavior and Evolution, Boston UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1872342022-09-27T12:29:12Z2022-09-27T12:29:12ZHurricane hunters flew through Ian’s powerful winds to forecast intensity – here’s what happens when the plane plunges into the eyewall of a storm<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/474652/original/file-20220718-24-9bzmk2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=152%2C8%2C2802%2C1675&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Flying into Hurricane Harvey aboard a a P-3 Hurricane Hunter nicknamed Kermit in 2018.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Lt. Kevin Doreumus/NOAA</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>As Hurricane Ian intensified on its way toward the Florida coast, <a href="https://www.omao.noaa.gov/find/media/video/dropsonde-launch-and-flight-center-tropical-storm-ian-noaa-wp-3d-orion-miss-piggy-september-25-2022-credit-lt-cmdr-kevin-doremus-0">hurricane hunters were in the sky</a> doing something almost unimaginable: flying through the center of the storm. With each pass, the scientists aboard these planes take measurements that satellites can’t and send them to forecasters at the National Hurricane Center.</em></p>
<p><em>Jason Dunion, a <a href="https://scholar.google.com/citations?user=BFiIdhQAAAAJ&hl=en">University of Miami meteorologist</a>, leads the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s 2022 hurricane field program. He described the technology the team is using to gauge hurricane behavior in real time and the experience aboard a <a href="https://www.omao.noaa.gov/learn/aircraft-operations/aircraft/lockheed-wp-3d-orion">P-3 Orion</a> as it plunges through the eyewall of a hurricane.</em> </p>
<h2>What happens aboard a hurricane hunter when you fly into a storm?</h2>
<p>Basically, we’re take a flying laboratory into the heart of the hurricane, all the way up to Category 5s. While we’re flying, we’re crunching data and sending it to forecasters and climate modelers.</p>
<p>In the <a href="https://www.omao.noaa.gov/learn/aircraft-operations/about/hurricane-hunters">P-3s</a>, we routinely cut through the middle of the storm, right into the eye. Picture <a href="https://scied.ucar.edu/video/dropsonde-animation-noaa">an X pattern</a> – we keep cutting through the storm multiple times during a mission. These might be developing storms, or they might be Category 5s.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="View out the aircraft window of the eyewall." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/486820/original/file-20220927-18-3ei8of.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/486820/original/file-20220927-18-3ei8of.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486820/original/file-20220927-18-3ei8of.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486820/original/file-20220927-18-3ei8of.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486820/original/file-20220927-18-3ei8of.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486820/original/file-20220927-18-3ei8of.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486820/original/file-20220927-18-3ei8of.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">In the eye of Hurricane Teddy in 2020. The eye is the calmest part of the storm, but it’s surrounded by the most intense part: the eyewall.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.omao.noaa.gov/learn/aircraft-operations/media/images">Lt. Cmdr. Robert Mitchell/NOAA Corps</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>We’re typically flying at an altitude of around 10,000 feet, about a quarter of the way between the ocean surface and the top of the storm. We want to cut through the roughest part of the storm because we’re trying to measure <a href="https://www.unidata.ucar.edu/data/NGCS/lobjects/chp/structure/">the strongest winds</a> for the Hurricane Center. </p>
<h2>That has to be intense. Can you describe what scientists are experiencing on these flights?</h2>
<p>My most intense flight was Dorian in 2019. The storm was near the Bahamas and <a href="https://www.nhc.noaa.gov/data/tcr/AL052019_Dorian.pdf">rapidly intensifying to a very strong Category 5</a> storm, with winds around 185 mph. It felt like being a feather in the wind.</p>
<p>When we were coming through the eyewall of Dorian, it was all seat belts. You can lose a few hundred feet in a couple of seconds if you have a down draft, or you can hit an updraft and gain a few hundred feet in a matter of seconds. It’s a lot like a rollercoaster ride, only you don’t know exactly when the next up or down is coming.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="View of Earth and a large hurricane from a portal on the space station." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/486822/original/file-20220927-12-shn7r8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/486822/original/file-20220927-12-shn7r8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486822/original/file-20220927-12-shn7r8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486822/original/file-20220927-12-shn7r8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486822/original/file-20220927-12-shn7r8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486822/original/file-20220927-12-shn7r8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486822/original/file-20220927-12-shn7r8.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Hurricane Dorian seen from the International Space Station.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://earthobservatory.nasa.gov/images/145559/a-devastating-stall-by-hurricane-dorian">NASA Expedition 60</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>At one point, we had G-forces of 3 to 4 Gs. That’s what <a href="https://www.spaceanswers.com/space-exploration/what-g-force-do-astronauts-experience-during-a-rocket-launch/">astronauts experience</a> during a rocket launch. We can also get <a href="https://twitter.com/TheAstroNick/status/1575179322599493632">zero G for a few seconds</a>, and anything that’s not strapped down will float off.</p>
<p>Even in the rough parts of the storm, scientists like myself are busy on computers working up the data. A technician in the back may have launched a dropsonde from the belly of the plane, and we’re checking the quality of the data and sending it off to modeling centers and the National Hurricane Center.</p>
<p><div data-react-class="Tweet" data-react-props="{"tweetId":"1575288070223630336"}"></div></p>
<h2>What are you learning about hurricanes from these flights?</h2>
<p>One of our goals is to better understand why storms <a href="https://theconversation.com/the-2020-atlantic-hurricane-season-was-a-record-breaker-and-its-raising-more-concerns-about-climate-change-150495">rapidly intensify</a>. </p>
<p>Rapid intensification is when a storm increases in speed by 35 mph in just a day. That equates to going from Category 1 to a major Category 3 storm in a short period of time. <a href="https://theconversation.com/hurricane-ida-turned-into-a-monster-thanks-to-a-giant-warm-patch-in-the-gulf-of-mexico-heres-what-happened-167029">Ida</a> (2021), <a href="https://www.nhc.noaa.gov/data/tcr/AL052019_Dorian.pdf">Dorian</a> (2019) and <a href="https://www.nhc.noaa.gov/data/tcr/AL142018_Michael.pdf">Michael</a> (2018) are just a few recent hurricanes that rapidly intensified. When that happens near land, it can catch people unprepared, and that gets dangerous fast.</p>
<p>Since rapid intensification can happen in a really short time span, we have to be out there with the hurricane hunters taking measurements while the storm is coming together.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="A pilot at the controls with the storm seen through the window" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/486826/original/file-20220927-24-tc8raz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/486826/original/file-20220927-24-tc8raz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486826/original/file-20220927-24-tc8raz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486826/original/file-20220927-24-tc8raz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486826/original/file-20220927-24-tc8raz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486826/original/file-20220927-24-tc8raz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486826/original/file-20220927-24-tc8raz.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 hurricane hunter flies through Hurricane Ida in 2021.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.omao.noaa.gov/learn/aircraft-operations/media/images">Lt. Cmdr. Kevin Doremus/NOAA Corps</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>So far, rapid intensification is <a href="https://www.science.org/content/article/why-scientists-had-trouble-predicting-hurricane-michael-s-rapid-intensification">hard to predict</a>. We might start to see the ingredients quickly coming together: Is the ocean warm to a great depth? Is the atmosphere nice and juicy, with a lot of moisture around the storm? Are the winds favorable? We also look at the inner core: What does the structure of the storm look like, and is it starting to consolidate?</p>
<p>Satellites can offer forecasters a basic view, but we need to get our hurricane hunters into the storm itself to really pick the hurricane apart.</p>
<h2>What does a storm look like when it’s rapidly intensifying?</h2>
<p>Hurricanes like to stand up straight – think of a spinning top. So, one thing we look for is alignment.</p>
<p>A storm that isn’t yet fully together might have low-level circulation, a few kilometers above the ocean, that isn’t lined up with its mid-level circulation 6 or 7 kilometers up. That isn’t a very healthy storm. But a few hours later, we might fly back into the storm and notice that the two centers are more lined up. That’s a sign that it could rapidly intensify.</p>
<p>We also look at the <a href="https://www.aoml.noaa.gov/news/planetary-boundary-layer-parametrization/">boundary layer</a>, the area just above the ocean. Hurricanes breathe: They draw air in at low levels, the air rushes up at the eyewall, and then it vents out at the top of the storm and away from the center. That’s why we get those huge updrafts in the eyewall.</p>
<p>So we might watch our dropsonde or tail doppler radar data for how the winds are flowing at the boundary layer. Is that really moist air rushing in toward the center of the storm? If the boundary layer is deep, the storm can also take a bigger inhale.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/474543/original/file-20220718-18-7tvint.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/474543/original/file-20220718-18-7tvint.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=328&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/474543/original/file-20220718-18-7tvint.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=328&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/474543/original/file-20220718-18-7tvint.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=328&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/474543/original/file-20220718-18-7tvint.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=412&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/474543/original/file-20220718-18-7tvint.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=412&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/474543/original/file-20220718-18-7tvint.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=412&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Cross-section of a hurricane.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.weather.gov/jetstream/tc_structure">National Weather Service</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>We also look at the structure. A lot of times the storm looks healthy on satellite, but we’ll get in with the radar and the structure is sloppy or the eye may be filled with clouds, which tells us the storm isn’t quite ready to rapidly intensify. But, during that flight, we might start to see the structure change pretty quickly.</p>
<p>Air in, up and out – the breathing – is a great way to diagnose a storm. If that breathing looks healthy, it can be a good sign of an intensifying storm.</p>
<h2>What instruments do you use to measure and forecast hurricane behavior?</h2>
<p>We need instruments that not only measure the atmosphere but also the ocean. The winds can steer a storm or tear it apart, but the ocean heat and moisture are its fuel.</p>
<p>We use <a href="https://www.eol.ucar.edu/content/what-dropsonde">dropsondes</a> to measure temperature, humidity, pressure and wind speed, and send back data every 15 feet or so all the way to the ocean surface. All of that data goes to the National Hurricane Center and to modeling centers so they can get a better representation of the atmosphere.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="A scientist in a flight suit puts a device into a tube in the bottom of the plane to drop it." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/486828/original/file-20220927-12-391k29.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/486828/original/file-20220927-12-391k29.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486828/original/file-20220927-12-391k29.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486828/original/file-20220927-12-391k29.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486828/original/file-20220927-12-391k29.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486828/original/file-20220927-12-391k29.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486828/original/file-20220927-12-391k29.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">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">A NOAA technician deploys an airborne expendable bathythermograph.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.omao.noaa.gov/learn/aircraft-operations/media/images">Paul Chang/NOAA</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>One P-3 has a laser – a <a href="https://www.aoml.noaa.gov/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/3_2021HFP_InstrumentDescriptions.pdf">CRL, or compact rotational raman LiDAR</a> – that can measure temperature, humidity and aerosols from the aircraft all the way down to the ocean surface. It can give us a sense of how juicy the atmosphere is, so how conducive it is for feeding a storm. The CRL operates continuously over the entire flight track, so you get this beautiful curtain below the aircraft showing the temperature and humidity.</p>
<p>The planes also have <a href="https://www.aoml.noaa.gov/real-time-doppler-radar/">tail doppler radars</a>, which measure how moisture droplets in the air are blowing to determine how the wind is behaving. That gives us a 3D look at the wind field, like an X-ray of the storm. You can’t get that from a satellite.</p>
<p>We also launch ocean probes call AXBTs – <a href="https://www.aoml.noaa.gov/phod/dhos/axbt.php">aircraft expendable bathythermograph</a> – out ahead of the storm. These probes measure the water temperature down several hundred feet. Typically, a surface temperature of 26.5 degrees Celsius (80 Fahrenheit) and above is favorable for a hurricane, but the depth of that heat is also important. </p>
<p>If you have warm ocean water that’s maybe 85 F at the surface, but just 50 feet down the water is quite a bit colder, the hurricane is going to mix in that cold water pretty quickly and weaken the storm. But deep warm water, <a href="https://theconversation.com/hurricane-ida-turned-into-a-monster-thanks-to-a-giant-warm-patch-in-the-gulf-of-mexico-heres-what-happened-167029">like we find in eddies</a> in the Gulf of Mexico, provides extra energy that can fuel a storm.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Map showing Ida's track and the depth of heat" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/476567/original/file-20220728-27592-3cxnt3.gif?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/476567/original/file-20220728-27592-3cxnt3.gif?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=570&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/476567/original/file-20220728-27592-3cxnt3.gif?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=570&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/476567/original/file-20220728-27592-3cxnt3.gif?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=570&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/476567/original/file-20220728-27592-3cxnt3.gif?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=716&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/476567/original/file-20220728-27592-3cxnt3.gif?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=716&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/476567/original/file-20220728-27592-3cxnt3.gif?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=716&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The depth of ocean heat as Hurricane Ida headed for a warm eddy boundary on Aug. 28, 2021.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">University of Miami</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This year, we’re also testing a new technology – small drones that we can launch out of the belly of a P-3. They have about a 7- to 9-foot wingspan and are basically a weather station with wings.</p>
<p>One of these drones dropped in the eye could measuring pressure changes, which indicate whether a storm is getting stronger. If we could drop a drone in the eyewall and have it orbit there, it could measure where the strongest winds are – that’s another important detail for forecasters. We also don’t have a lot of measurements in the boundary layer because it’s not a safe place for a plane to fly. </p>
<h2>You also targeted the Cabo Verde islands off Africa for the first time this year. What are you looking for there?</h2>
<p>The Cabo Verde Islands are in the Atlantic’s hurricane nursery. The seedlings of hurricanes come off Africa, and we’re trying to determine the tipping points for theses disturbances to form into storms.</p>
<p>Over half the named storms we get in the Atlantic come from this nursery, including <a href="https://oceanweatherservices.com/blog/2022/03/20/what-should-we-expect-for-the-2022-hurricane-season/">about 80% of the major hurricanes</a>, so it’s important, even though the disturbances are maybe seven to 10 days ahead of a hurricane forming.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="The plane on a runway at sunrise." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/486821/original/file-20220927-16-bc6a7c.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/486821/original/file-20220927-16-bc6a7c.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486821/original/file-20220927-16-bc6a7c.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486821/original/file-20220927-16-bc6a7c.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486821/original/file-20220927-16-bc6a7c.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486821/original/file-20220927-16-bc6a7c.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/486821/original/file-20220927-16-bc6a7c.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">NOAA’s P-3 Orion nicknamed ‘Kermit’ prepares to take off.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.omao.noaa.gov/learn/aircraft-operations/media/images">Lt. Cmdr Rannenberg/NOAA Corps</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In Africa, a lot of thunderstorms develop along the Sahara desert’s southern border with the cooler, <a href="https://doi.org/10.1093/acrefore/9780190228620.013.510">moister Sahel region</a> in the summer. The temperature difference can cause ripples to develop in the atmosphere that we call tropical waves. Some of those tropical waves are the precursors for hurricanes. However, the <a href="https://www.aoml.noaa.gov/saharan-air-layer/">Saharan air layer</a> – huge dust storms that come rolling off Africa every three to five days or so – <a href="https://doi.org/10.1175/BAMS-D-20-0212.1">can suppress a hurricane</a>. These storms peak from June to mid-August. After that, tropical disturbances have a better chance of reaching the Caribbean.</p>
<p>At some point not too far in the future, the National Hurricane Center will have to do a seven-day forecast, rather than just five days. We’re figuring out how to improve that early forecasting.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/187234/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Jason Dunion receives funding from NOAA, NASA, and the Office of Naval Research.</span></em></p>The meteorologist leading NOAA’s 2022 hurricane field program describes flying through eyewalls and the technology in these airborne labs for tracking rapid intensification in real time.Jason Dunion, Research Meteorologist, University of MiamiLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1771362022-04-29T12:18:24Z2022-04-29T12:18:24ZI’m a Black sociologist, and a mom – by listening to other Black mothers, I’ve learned about their pandemic struggles and strengths<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459562/original/file-20220425-24059-4ezr5r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=221%2C8%2C5086%2C3587&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">When schools shut down to prevent the spread of COVID-19, moms took on the burden of supporting students at home.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://newsroom.ap.org/detail/PicturesoftheWeekPhotoGallery-NorthAmerica/91f236f0ee234a3cbe723889ef6bb1e3/photo?boardId=d7f2514f50804466b15dfb81ed00d9cd&st=boards&mediaType=audio,photo,video,graphic&sortBy=&dateRange=Anytime&totalCount=61&currentItemNo=0">AP Photo/Shafkat Anowar</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>I spent the 2020 spring break week setting up to teach my college courses online while helping to care for my 14-month-old grandchild, whose daycare had closed. At the same time, I couldn’t help thinking, <a href="https://saph.umbc.edu/ftfaculty/person/qd36810/">being the sociologist I am</a>, of the devastating consequences of COVID-19 I saw for women like me, Black mothers, whom I have studied for over a decade.</p>
<p><a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/13645570902966056">Social science research</a> <a href="https://www.whysocialscience.com/blog/2017/6/20/because-social-science-drives-smart-investments-in-public-safety">can influence policy</a>. Sharing Black mothers’ stories in their own voices may ultimately lead to more compassionate policies. My work is part of a small body of descriptive research, mostly by researchers of color, countering negativity and victim-blaming in earlier studies of Black families.</p>
<p>My research partner, sociologist <a href="https://www.neiu.edu/faculty/barbara-scott">BarBara Scott</a>, lives in Chicago, where I grew up. In our studies of Black mothers there, we’ve explored <a href="https://scholar.google.com/citations?view_op=view_citation&hl=en&user=mrM-LJsAAAAJ&sortby=pubdate&citation_for_view=mrM-LJsAAAAJ:w1MjKQ0l0TYC">parenting in violent communities</a> and living with <a href="https://doi.org/10.29011/2688-7460.100048">inadequate health care</a>. In 2019, before COVID-19 hit, we were preparing to study parenting practices.</p>
<p>But when lab conditions change, scientists need to reorganize their work. I am a social scientist and society is my lab, where the pandemic dramatically altered the conditions of my research. </p>
<p>We adjusted, preparing to interview remotely instead of in person. We added new questions to investigate, like: How were Black mothers coping with pandemic conditions? How did the murder of George Floyd and the resulting protests affect them? Our research would now include the pandemic and the country’s racial upheaval, highly unusual factors complicating Black mothers’ already challenging lives.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/460413/original/file-20220428-9919-b9c38b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="masked Black woman hugs masked elementary school girl" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/460413/original/file-20220428-9919-b9c38b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/460413/original/file-20220428-9919-b9c38b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/460413/original/file-20220428-9919-b9c38b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/460413/original/file-20220428-9919-b9c38b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=401&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/460413/original/file-20220428-9919-b9c38b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=504&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/460413/original/file-20220428-9919-b9c38b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=504&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/460413/original/file-20220428-9919-b9c38b.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"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Parenting didn’t stop when the pandemic started.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/photo/mothers-with-children-back-to-school-during-covid-royalty-free-image/1278438579">kali9/E+ via Getty Images</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Researching with rapport</h2>
<p>The first challenge was finding participants. We put up fliers in and around schools, churches, the YWCA and other places Black moms go when not at work. Even in the best of times, though, they face practical barriers to joining a research project. Child care responsibilities might be theirs alone. Taking time off from work means their paychecks take a hit not nearly covered by the $25 gift cards we offered. </p>
<p>But they called. Some just wanted to sign up after looking me up on their phones. Others, who may have known that the <a href="https://www.fda.gov/about-fda/center-drug-evaluation-and-research-cder/institutional-review-boards-irbs-and-protection-human-subjects-clinical-trials">federal government oversees</a> studies involving people, asked why I was studying them and what I would do with their information. I knew that if any of the women thought talking with me might bring embarrassment or other trouble, they might be less forthcoming or decide not to participate. My findings would be much less credible.</p>
<p>I assured the moms that I would keep their responses confidential and that they had a right to leave the study whenever they wanted to.</p>
<p>None of them did. We signed up enough moms for two focus groups of five to seven participants each. I ran group meetings and conducted 12 one-on-one interviews via video conferencing. </p>
<p>To start our 60- to 90-minute sessions, I introduced myself and got the mothers talking with an ice breaker question like, “What is the farthest place from your current neighborhood that you’ve been?” </p>
<p>I also tell them that I have a Black mom, and that I am one. And then, because my skin tone is fair, I mention that I have an Italian father. I didn’t want to be mistaken for white; the moms might feel <a href="https://doi.org/10.1177%2F004912418000800403">less comfortable discussing certain topics with me</a>. But after realizing that I’m Black too, a few of them said things like, “I knew there was something about you!”</p>
<p>I share my belief in centering – and that’s the word I use – Black mothers’ lived experiences and exploring their parenting from a strength perspective. That’s when I got a lot of smiling and nodding.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459563/original/file-20220425-26-57or0h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Black woman wearing a mask marked #StayHome" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459563/original/file-20220425-26-57or0h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/459563/original/file-20220425-26-57or0h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459563/original/file-20220425-26-57or0h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459563/original/file-20220425-26-57or0h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459563/original/file-20220425-26-57or0h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459563/original/file-20220425-26-57or0h.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/459563/original/file-20220425-26-57or0h.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">Many Black mothers were front-line workers who couldn’t heed the message on Chicago Mayor Lori Lightfoot’s mask in the early days of the pandemic.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://newsroom.ap.org/detail/ChicagoMayor/bef1b02bd98146d58fe3dcf8fb1a089b/photo?boardId=d7f2514f50804466b15dfb81ed00d9cd&st=boards&mediaType=audio,photo,video,graphic&sortBy=&dateRange=Anytime&totalCount=61&currentItemNo=1">AP Photo/Nam Y. Huh</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>No time for racism</h2>
<p>Black mothers don’t need a pandemic to face impossible choices. But it took a pandemic for others to see that. As nearly everyone else <a href="https://www.chicago.gov/city/en/depts/mayor/press_room/press_releases/2020/march/StayAtHomeOrder.html">stayed home</a> to stop the spread of COVID-19, it became obvious that Black women were more likely <a href="https://www.niussp.org/education-work-economy/frontline-workers-in-the-u-s-race-ethnicity/">than any one else</a> to be <a href="https://www.bls.gov/careeroutlook/2020/article/essential-work.htm">essential workers</a> in <a href="https://doi.org/10.1057/s11369-021-00230-7">front-line jobs</a>. And despite risking COVID-19 infection to keep their jobs, Black workers were more likely to <a href="https://www.census.gov/library/stories/2021/07/how-pandemic-affected-black-and-white-households.html">lose them anyway</a> during the pandemic.</p>
<p>I asked the mothers about the pandemic’s effect on their lives. They talked about the trickiness of trying to isolate or distance in small or crowded homes. They hated being unable to get masks and hand sanitizer when stores closed during the George Floyd protests, which none of them attended.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/458971/original/file-20220420-20-vcz8q0.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A crowd of people including some holding signs and some shouting, face police officers on bicycles at a large protest." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/458971/original/file-20220420-20-vcz8q0.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/458971/original/file-20220420-20-vcz8q0.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/458971/original/file-20220420-20-vcz8q0.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/458971/original/file-20220420-20-vcz8q0.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/458971/original/file-20220420-20-vcz8q0.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/458971/original/file-20220420-20-vcz8q0.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/458971/original/file-20220420-20-vcz8q0.jpeg?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">None of the Black moms in the study went to the protests George Floyd’s death spurred in 2020.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/protesters-and-chicago-police-clash-during-protests-news-photo">Natasha Moustache/Getty Images News via Getty Images</a></span>
</figcaption>
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<p>I asked why they didn’t go, given their stated frustrations with racism affecting their lives. Some didn’t want to risk getting sick. But most of these Black mothers told me they don’t dwell on racism, saying things like, “Yeah, racism is bad, but I got things to do.” </p>
<p>And so they did those things. While at work, they sent their kids text reminders to go to remote school if it was available, or if it was not, to study. The moms came home from long shifts and helped with homework, worrying about their kids falling behind academically. The mothers worried about getting COVID-19 and losing custody of kids if they became too sick to parent well.</p>
<h2>Keeping the conversation flowing</h2>
<p>The qualitative research I do is about words and meanings, not just numbers and statistics. It allows me to explore the lives of Black moms in depth.</p>
<p>In my interviews, I don’t ask closed-ended questions – the kind where the answer is simply yes or no, true or false, or limited to a set of multiple-choice answers. For example, if a participant can only respond to the question, “How safe is your community?” with the options “very safe,” “somewhat safe,” or “not safe,” that’s a closed-ended question. </p>
<p>In qualitative research, however, questions are often open-ended. Participants decide what a question means to them, then answer in any way they choose. I’ve been asking the Black mothers questions like: “How do you feel about Chicago as a place to live and raise your children? How do you feel about working and raising your children during the COVID-19 pandemic?” </p>
<p>Reading the transcribed interviews later, I look for general thoughts, or themes, in the mothers’ collective responses. For example, when I asked about violence, the overall sentiment was that it was around, but avoidable. One participant told me, “You have to know where [to go] and where not to go, when to go and when not to go.” And she called Chicago “a great place,” with “great opportunities” for anyone who wanted to be there. </p>
<p>This response was common: The moms know that Chicago can be violent, but many focus on the positive aspects of the city. My theory is that this is their conscious or unconscious way of explaining why they stay in a violent community. That question has come often enough – usually from those with far more options – to hang over the heads of these Black moms, even if no one asks them directly.</p>
<p>A related sentiment the moms had was that moving away is pointless since violence “is everywhere.” They may simply want to stay close to the generations of family and community ties they have. But it’s also true that moving isn’t affordable for many of these mothers. </p>
<p>Identifying these themes helps me present a picture of Black mothers’ lives as a corrective to the earlier research. Documenting their experiences as the center of my research gives them a voice and validates their lives as worthy of exploration.</p>
<p>[<em>More than 150,000 readers get one of The Conversation’s informative newsletters.</em> <a href="https://memberservices.theconversation.com/newsletters/?source=inline-150K">Join the list today</a>.]</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/177136/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Loren Henderson 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>As the world locked down and a country’s racial reckoning heated up, this social scientist refined her approach to studying the lives of Black moms.Loren Henderson, Associate Professor of Sociology, University of Maryland, Baltimore CountyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1645292021-09-17T12:19:15Z2021-09-17T12:19:15ZScientists at work: We use environmental DNA to monitor how human activities affect life in rivers and streams<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/420917/original/file-20210913-21-185he0a.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C3259%2C1832&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Environmental DNA is a promising tool for tracking species in freshwater ecosystems like Oregon's Elkhorn Creek.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://flic.kr/p/NZgE7n">Greg Shine, BLM/Flickr</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Rivers, lakes and wetlands cover just 1% of the Earth’s surface but are home to nearly 10% of all species, including fish, mammals, birds, insects and crustaceans. But these rich, <a href="https://wwfcee.org/pdf_collections/7/world_s_forgotten_fishes__final_april9_.pdf">diverse</a> ecosystems are <a href="https://wwf.panda.org/discover/our_focus/freshwater_practice/the_world_s_forgotten_fishes/">in free fall</a>. Worldwide, species are <a href="https://www.un.org/sustainabledevelopment/blog/2019/05/nature-decline-unprecedented-report/">declining faster now</a> than at any other time in human history, and fresh waters are losing more species than land or ocean ecosystems.</p>
<p>Today about <a href="https://www.iucn.org/theme/species/our-work/freshwater-biodiversity">1 in 4 freshwater creatures face extinction</a>. Wetlands are disappearing <a href="https://doi.org/10.1093/biosci/biaa002">three times faster than forests</a>. Across the globe, water quality is plummeting, polluted by <a href="https://uneplive.unep.org/media/docs/assessments/unep_wwqa_report_web.pdf">plastic, sewage, mining sludge, industrial and agricultural chemicals and much more</a>. </p>
<p>It’s challenging to study how these stresses are affecting aquatic life. There are many diverse threats, and river networks cover broad geographic regions. Often they run through remote, nearly inaccessible areas. Current techniques for monitoring freshwater species are <a href="https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1365-2664.2010.01864.x">labor-intensive and costly</a>.</p>
<p>In our <a href="https://esajournals.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1002/eap.2389">work</a> as <a href="https://scholar.google.fr/citations?user=rhmblP8AAAAJ&hl=fr">researchers</a> in <a href="https://scholar.google.com/citations?user=hxHYAA8AAAAJ&hl=en">ecology</a>, we are testing a new method that can vastly expand biomonitoring: using environmental DNA, or eDNA, in rivers to <a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.tree.2014.04.003">catalog and count species</a>. Federal and local agencies need this data to restore water quality and save dwindling species from extinction. </p>
<figure>
<iframe src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/66103145" width="500" height="281" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="" mozallowfullscreen="" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">This preview of the film “Hidden Rivers” reveals the diverse and little-known life in Southern Appalachian waterways.</span></figcaption>
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<h2>Traditional methods are slow and expensive</h2>
<p>With traditional biomonitoring methods, scientists count individual species and their abundance at just <a href="https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1365-2664.2010.01864.x">a few sites</a>. For example, one recent study of <a href="https://doi.org/10.1086/676997">mountaintop mining impacts on fish in West Virginia</a> sampled just four sites with a team of four researchers. </p>
<p>Collecting and identifying aquatic organisms requires highly skilled ecologists and taxonomists with expertise in a wide variety of freshwater species. For each sample of fish or invertebrates collected in the field, it takes from hours to weeks to identify all of the species. Only wealthy nations can afford this costly process.</p>
<p>Conserving threatened and endangered species and keeping river ecosystems healthy requires monitoring broad areas over time. Sensitive aquatic insects and fish species are the freshwater equivalent of the proverbial canary in a coal mine: If these species are absent, that’s a strong indicator of water quality problems. The cause may be mining, agriculture, urbanization or other sources, as well as <a href="https://www.nwf.org/Magazines/National-Wildlife/2012/AugSept/Animals/Appalachian-Rivers">dams</a> that block animals’ downstream movements.</p>
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<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/W3lcHdFyzrQ?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">Scientists sample for fish in a Maryland stream by ‘electrofishing’ – stunning fish with a mild electrical pulse so they can be collected, identified and released after the shock wears off.</span></figcaption>
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<h2>Free-floating genetic evidence</h2>
<p>Innovations in genetic technology have created a powerful, affordable new tool that we are now testing. The process involves extracting eDNA from genetic material floating in the water – skin, scales, feces and single-celled organisms, such as bacteria. </p>
<p>By analyzing this genetic information, we can <a href="https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1365-294X.2012.05470.x">detect a wide range of species</a>. We started considering using eDNA for our research in 2018, after several studies demonstrated its power to monitor single species of interest or groups of organisms in <a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.tree.2014.04.003">rivers</a> and <a href="https://theconversation.com/fishing-for-dna-free-floating-edna-identifies-presence-and-abundance-of-ocean-life-75957">oceans</a>.</p>
<p>Collecting eDNA is easy: One 4-ounce water sample can capture remnant DNA from thousands of aquatic species. Another benefit is that it doesn’t require killing wildlife for identification.</p>
<p>In the lab, we analyze the DNA from different taxonomic groups one by one: bacteria, algae, fish and <a href="https://www.epa.gov/national-aquatic-resource-surveys/indicators-benthic-macroinvertebrates">macroinvertebrates</a> – organisms that lack backbones and are large enough to see, such as snails, worms and beetles. Many researchers study just one group, but we assess all of them at the same time. </p>
<p>We then match our DNA sequences with freshwater species that are already catalogued in existing databases. In this way, we can chart the distribution and abundance of these organisms within and across rivers.</p>
<p>This process requires just a cheap filter, a syringe and vials, and anyone can do it. Commercial eDNA companies charge less than $200 to extract and sequence a sample. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/421209/original/file-20210914-13-u7g2zq.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Graphic showing how scientists analyze eDNA to detect different species." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/421209/original/file-20210914-13-u7g2zq.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/421209/original/file-20210914-13-u7g2zq.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=364&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/421209/original/file-20210914-13-u7g2zq.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=364&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/421209/original/file-20210914-13-u7g2zq.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=364&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/421209/original/file-20210914-13-u7g2zq.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=457&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/421209/original/file-20210914-13-u7g2zq.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=457&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/421209/original/file-20210914-13-u7g2zq.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=457&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Most eDNA the authors collect from streams is microbial (the gray DNA in the cartoon above). Without special techniques, they would not ‘see’ the less frequent DNA from other taxonomic groups, so their surveys would generate a species abundance curve like the one on the bottom left, in which most groups of conservation concern are too rare to detect or fall into the ‘long tail’ of rare occurrences. By using targeted primers – short stretches of DNA that are unique to specific groups of organisms – they can amplify the eDNA of less abundant groups, like algae, arthropods and fish, as shown on the right.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Emily Bernhardt, produced using Biorender</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Altered rivers</h2>
<p>Using this method, we extensively surveyed 93 rivers in West Virginia – looking at the entire tree of life, from the tiniest bacteria to fish – in two days with a four-person team. </p>
<p>The Appalachian rivers that we study teem with life. These are some of the world’s most biologically diverse temperate freshwater ecosystems, home to <a href="https://www.conservationfisheries.org/appalachia">many fish species</a>, as well as salamanders, crayfish, mussels and aquatic insects. <a href="https://www.natureserve.org/publications/rivers-life-critical-watersheds-protecting-freshwater-biodiversity">Many are found nowhere else</a>. We tallied <a href="https://doi.org/10.1002/eap.2389">more than 10,000 different species</a> in those 93 waterways. </p>
<p>The area where we worked is an intensive coal mining region, which heavily affects waterways. Liquids draining from mines are <a href="https://www.epa.gov/nps/abandoned-mine-drainage">acidic</a>, but in this region they react with limestone rock, so the net effect is to make local streams alkaline. Mine drainage also increases streams’ salinity and concentrations of <a href="https://doi.org/10.1021/es301144q">sulfate and other contaminants</a>. Our research revealed that mined watersheds held 40% fewer species than areas without mining operations, and the organisms we detected were less abundant than in unaffected rivers. </p>
<h2>Assessing river health</h2>
<p>We believe this new approach represents a revolution for biomonitoring, expanding our ability to quantify and study freshwater life. It’s also an important new conservation tool, allowing scientists to track changes in populations of endangered or invasive species. Researchers also can use eDNA to monitor biodiversity or discover new species in oceans or soils. </p>
<p><div data-react-class="Tweet" data-react-props="{"tweetId":"1303976383178309633"}"></div></p>
<p>This <a href="https://doi.org/10.1002/fee.1490">open-science method</a> makes all DNA data widely available, with nearly all sequences placed in public repositories. Moving forward, we expect that it will aid many types of research, as well as state and local monitoring and conservation programs. Investments in collecting eDNA and identifying organisms and analyzing their genetic signatures will continue to make it a more effective tool.</p>
<p>[<em>Over 100,000 readers rely on The Conversation’s newsletter to understand the world.</em> <a href="https://theconversation.com/us/newsletters/the-daily-3?utm_source=TCUS&utm_medium=inline-link&utm_campaign=newsletter-text&utm_content=100Ksignup">Sign up today</a>.]</p>
<p>Efforts are underway to better target various individual species, focusing on those that are endangered, invasives that damage ecosystems and sensitive species that serve as indicators of river health. Scientists are freezing eDNA samples at -112 degrees F (-80 C) in expectation that technological advances may yield <a href="https://doi.org/10.1038/s41559-018-0614-3">more information in the future</a>.</p>
<p>Traditional monitoring approaches remain valuable, but eDNA adds an important new tool to the toolkit. Together, these approaches can begin to answer many questions about food webs, the conservation status of species, reproduction rates, species interactions, organisms’ health, disease and more.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/164529/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Marie Simonin is a research scientist at INRAE, the French National Research Institute for Agriculture, Food and Environment.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Emily S. Bernhardt has received funding to research the impacts of mountaintop removal coal mining from the Foundation for the Carolinas and the National Science Foundation, which supported the work described in this article. She currently is engaged as an expert on these impacts by the US Department of Justice.</span></em></p>Rivers are among the most embattled ecosystems on Earth. Researchers are testing a new, inexpensive way to study river health by using eDNA to count the species that rivers harbor.Marie Simonin, Research Scientist, InraeEmily S. Bernhardt, Professor of Biology, Duke UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1631782021-06-28T15:01:52Z2021-06-28T15:01:52ZSouth African scientists explain why they make time for science festivals<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/408238/original/file-20210624-17-1r3z7wo.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C627%2C4601%2C2393&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Scientists from the Wildlife and Environment Society of South Africa at Scifest Africa 2019 engage with visitors. </span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">The South African Institute for Aquatic Biodiversity</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Science festivals across the world attract millions of visitors every year. They are typically busy, buzzing events: visitors stroll through interactive displays, enjoy science-themed shows and popular science talks and take part in hands-on workshops. </p>
<p>These events appeal to different groups of people for different reasons. For adults, they <a href="https://doi.org/10.1177/0963662512458624">provide</a> rare – and <a href="https://doi.org/10.22323/2.18020202">valued</a> – opportunities to talk directly to scientists while learning in a leisure context. For students visiting with their schools, there is often a focus on science learning, inspiration and sometimes getting advice about science careers.</p>
<p>Science festivals form part of an expanding global range of events designed for public engagement with science. This science engagement format has been adopted in South Africa with support from <a href="http://www.africangong.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/03/lagos-declaration-and-call-to-action.pdf">pan-African</a> and <a href="https://www.gov.za/sites/default/files/gcis_document/201912/white-paper-science-technology-and-innovation.pdf">South African </a> science policies.</p>
<p>But what is the appeal for the scientists whose participation is key to festivals’ success? Some studies have examined <a href="https://doi.org/10.1177/1075547018786561">scientists’ willingness to engage</a> with public audiences, but this research was done almost exclusively in the developed world. For example, <a href="https://doi.org/10.1177/0963662506067660">one study</a> found that scientists who participated in the Madrid Science Fair wanted to improve public interest in and appreciation of science. They also hoped to promote a general culture of science in society. <a href="http://www.diva-portal.org/smash/get/diva2:1396178/FULLTEXT01.pdf">A Swedish study</a>, meanwhile, found that scientists participated in science festivals primarily for personal reasons such as improving their communication skills.</p>
<p>We wanted to understand what motivates scientists in South Africa to participate in science festivals – or deters them. This is important for two reasons. First, because science communication of the sort that happens at these festivals benefits society by <a href="https://www.pnas.org/content/110/Supplement_3/14102.abstract">bridging the gap</a> between scientists and non-experts. It brings science to people and demonstrates how science can be a <a href="https://theconversation.com/scientists-have-much-to-gain-by-sharing-their-research-with-the-public-64129">positive force for change</a>.</p>
<hr>
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<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/scientists-have-much-to-gain-by-sharing-their-research-with-the-public-64129">Scientists have much to gain by sharing their research with the public</a>
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<p>Second, scientists usually participate at festivals as volunteers and have to invest significant time in preparing and contributing. It is vital to <a href="https://doi.org/10.3389/fcomm.2019.00078">understand the factors that encourage or deter scientists’ participation</a>, as well as the perceived benefits and risks that may affect their future involvement. That’s what <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/eprint/BPG5ZPFJHKG9BFT4VEIP/full?target=10.1080/21548455.2021.1905904">our new study</a>, the first of its kind to explore the participation of scientists in an African science festival, set out to do.</p>
<p>We found, among other things, that scientists enjoyed informing, exciting and inspiring the public. They also recognised the value of being role models, getting school children and students interested in science. Some of the barriers they identified included time constraints and a lack of institutional support and recognition for public engagement.</p>
<h2>Driving factors</h2>
<p><a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/eprint/BPG5ZPFJHKG9BFT4VEIP/full?target=10.1080/21548455.2021.1905904">Our study</a> focused on <a href="https://www.scifest.org.za/">Scifest Africa</a>, which has been held annually in South Africa since 1996. In 2020, it <a href="https://www.scifest.org.za/south-africas-national-science-festival-goes-online/">moved online</a>, as did many other science festivals around the world, because of the COVID-19 pandemic. </p>
<p>Forty scientists who participated in the festival in 2019 took part in an online survey. </p>
<p>One key finding was that scientists are mainly motivated by the objectives of informing, exciting and inspiring the public. As one respondent said:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Normally, the public does not know the science that we do. Scifest Africa is a good platform to make your science known to the public.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Scientists also said they were driven by a sense of duty, given that they work with public funding. A respondent suggested that since “research is paid using taxpayers’ money, the public has a right to know how their money is being used”.</p>
<p>Another finding was that South Africa’s <a href="https://www.sahistory.org.za/article/history-apartheid-south-africa">apartheid legacy</a> inspires a strong moral obligation among scientists to give something back to society. One of the respondents told us:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Today, science communication can also be done by black people, e.g., we can be the ones who are explaining, teaching and demonstrating science to white people.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><a href="https://theconversation.com/a-personal-journey-sheds-light-on-why-there-are-so-few-black-women-in-science-91165">Black women scientists</a> in particular identified being role models as a key motivating factor for taking part in the festivals. A respondent suggested that “many black girls are afraid of studying science because they think it’s too difficult”, and that her engagement as a role model may help.</p>
<p>Other motivating factors included improving their own communication skills and finding it rewarding to engage with the public. </p>
<h2>Barriers</h2>
<p>When it came to barriers or deterrents, many respondents mentioned time constraints. Others were concerned that their institutions neither recognised nor supported public engagement work. A respondent said: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>It is time-consuming and demanding to man an exhibition, but we are not paid for this and no one accounts for the productive time lost.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Some respondents complained that institutions didn’t generally provide training opportunities to equip scientists with effective public dialogue skills.</p>
<p>Our findings offer practical insights to help festival funders and organisers to sustain and expand scientists’ participation. </p>
<p>They highlight the need for universities, research institutions and other science engagement entities to build expertise and provide continuous support to improve scientists’ participation.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/163178/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Eric A. Jensen receives funding from the European Commission and other funders to conduct research on aspects of the science-society relationship globally.
Jensen delivers training on evaluation and social research methods as part of the Methods for Change professional development programme, run by an education and research charity: methodsforchange.org</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Marina Joubert and Mpfareleni Rejoyce Gavhi-Molefe do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Scientists enjoyed informing, exciting and inspiring the public.Mpfareleni Rejoyce Gavhi-Molefe, Mathematical Scientist & AIMS House of Science Manager, African Institute for Mathematical SciencesEric A. Jensen, Associate Professor in Sociology, University of WarwickMarina Joubert, Science Communication Researcher, Stellenbosch UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1583672021-05-13T12:35:35Z2021-05-13T12:35:35ZScientists at work: Helping endangered sea turtles, one emergency surgery at a time<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/400089/original/file-20210511-19-1b92k70.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=55%2C78%2C3012%2C2221&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Kemp's ridley sea turtles are an endangered species that live and nest in the Gulf of Mexico.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:2010_Kemp%27s_ridley_sea_turtle_project_at_Padre_Island_National_Seashore_(for_NRC)_(f1b41723-09a4-4933-8312-14fedb1c1b81).jpg">National Park Service/WikimediaCommons</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>“Help! I’m fishing and just caught a huge sea turtle. She’s completely swallowed my hook.” We are two veterinarians, <a href="https://www.vetmed.msstate.edu/directory/dpm232">Debra Moore</a>, who specializes in sea turtles, and <a href="https://www.vetmed.msstate.edu/directory/jmt294">John Thomason</a>, who specializes in internal medicine. This is a call we get a lot in our work with the <a href="https://imms.org/sea-turtle-rehabilitation/">Sea Turtle Stranding and Salvage Network</a>.</p>
<p>Thirty minutes after we received this call, the Sea Turtle Stranding team arrived at the Moses Pier in Gulfport, Mississippi, to find a frantic fisherman standing next to a 65-pound female <a href="https://www.fisheries.noaa.gov/species/kemps-ridley-turtle">Kemp’s ridley sea turtle</a>. She was lying on the pier with fishing line coming out of her mouth. After examining the turtle for injuries, the team drove her to the veterinary hospital to see if we could save this turtle’s life.</p>
<p>But why was this one sea turtle so important? </p>
<p>The Kemp’s ridley sea turtle has been <a href="https://www.fisheries.noaa.gov/resource/document/kemps-ridley-sea-turtle-lepidochelys-kempii-5-year-review-summary-and-evaluation">on the brink of extinction</a> for the past 40 years. Saving this one turtle, which our team named Toni, could greatly support the survival of this species.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/400095/original/file-20210511-23-1167xfg.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A tiny newborn sea turtle on the sand." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/400095/original/file-20210511-23-1167xfg.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/400095/original/file-20210511-23-1167xfg.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/400095/original/file-20210511-23-1167xfg.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/400095/original/file-20210511-23-1167xfg.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/400095/original/file-20210511-23-1167xfg.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/400095/original/file-20210511-23-1167xfg.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/400095/original/file-20210511-23-1167xfg.jpeg?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">Only 1% of Kemp’s ridley hatchlings make it to adulthood.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Lak_posht_tavallod.JPG#/media/File:Lak_posht_tavallod.JPG">Nightryder84/WikimediaCommons</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/">CC BY-SA</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>A critically endangered species</h2>
<p>Kemp’s ridleys can weigh as much as 100 pounds as adults – though they are still the smallest species of sea turtle – and can live for decades. It takes about 15 years for turtles to mature to the point that <a href="https://www.fisheries.noaa.gov/species/kemps-ridley-turtle">they can lay eggs</a>, and a mature female can lay <a href="https://www.fisheries.noaa.gov/species/kemps-ridley-turtle">two to three clutches of about 100 eggs</a> each nesting season. But less than 1% of hatchlings survive to adulthood, so every adult turtle is important to the overall population – especially a breeding female.</p>
<p>Kemp’s ridley turtles live primarily in coastal environments in the Gulf of Mexico. Over the past century, these gentle creatures have faced increases in pollution, oil spills and accidental catch risk from commercial fishing, as well as coastal development and crowded beaches in their nesting areas. And as Toni’s situation exemplifies, recreational fishing also poses a major threat.</p>
<p>It’s hard to count how many individual Kemp’s ridley sea turtles live in the Gulf of Mexico and Atlantic Ocean, so biologists count nests to track the health of the population. In the early 1940s, biologists estimated there were 40,000 nests in the Gulf of Mexico. By the mid-1980s, that number had fallen to fewer than 750. Through intensive conservation efforts, nests increased to 19,000 by 2009, but the number has dropped back down to <a href="https://www.fisheries.noaa.gov/resource/document/kemps-ridley-sea-turtle-lepidochelys-kempii-5-year-review-summary-and-evaluation">11,000 nests in 2014</a>, the last year biologists published a nesting survey. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/400098/original/file-20210511-17-kdep2i.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A female sea turtle digging a nest." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/400098/original/file-20210511-17-kdep2i.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/400098/original/file-20210511-17-kdep2i.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/400098/original/file-20210511-17-kdep2i.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/400098/original/file-20210511-17-kdep2i.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/400098/original/file-20210511-17-kdep2i.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/400098/original/file-20210511-17-kdep2i.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/400098/original/file-20210511-17-kdep2i.jpeg?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">Female Kemp’s ridley sea turtles can lay hundreds of eggs a year, so saving mature females is critical for the species.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Kemp%27s_Ridley_sea_turtle_nesting.JPG#/media/File:Kemp's_Ridley_sea_turtle_nesting.JPG">National Park Service Staff/WikimediaCommons</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Endangered turtles need help</h2>
<p>In an effort to save these turtles, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration established the <a href="https://www.fisheries.noaa.gov/national/marine-life-distress/sea-turtle-stranding-and-salvage-network">Sea Turtle Stranding and Salvage Network in 1980</a>. We are part of this team of veterinarians, biologists and researchers who work with the public to locate stranded turtles, give them the medical care they need and rehabilitate them for release back into the wild. The public plays a crucial role. If someone who sees an injured animal contacts our rescue team, there is a good chance we can save these turtles.</p>
<p>[<em>You’re smart and curious about the world. So are The Conversation’s authors and editors.</em> <a href="https://theconversation.com/us/newsletters/the-daily-3?utm_source=TCUS&utm_medium=inline-link&utm_campaign=newsletter-text&utm_content=youresmart">You can read us daily by subscribing to our newsletter</a>.]</p>
<p>Luckily, the fisherman in Gulfport, Mississippi, knew exactly what to do. As soon as he accidentally caught the large Kemp’s ridley, he contacted the <a href="https://imms.org/sea-turtle-rehabilitation/">Institute for Marine Mammal Studies</a> (IMMS) stranding hotline. IMMS collaborates with the <a href="https://www.vetmed.msstate.edu/">Mississippi State University College of Veterinary Medicine</a>, where we work to provide top-notch medical care and rehabilitation to many marine mammals, including Kemp’s ridleys. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/400096/original/file-20210511-18-b7ox4h.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="An X-ray showing the turtle with a hook visible near where the shell meets the neck." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/400096/original/file-20210511-18-b7ox4h.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/400096/original/file-20210511-18-b7ox4h.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=758&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/400096/original/file-20210511-18-b7ox4h.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=758&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/400096/original/file-20210511-18-b7ox4h.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=758&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/400096/original/file-20210511-18-b7ox4h.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=952&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/400096/original/file-20210511-18-b7ox4h.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=952&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/400096/original/file-20210511-18-b7ox4h.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=952&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 fishhook, seen near the top of this X-ray, was lodged in the turtle’s stomach.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Debra Moore/Institute of Marine Mammal Science</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Turtle care and rehabilitation</h2>
<p>That summer afternoon, the sea turtle stranding team transported Toni to the veterinary hospital nearby at IMMS. Once at the hospital, Debra and the veterinary team took an X–ray and found that the hook was lodged deep in the turtle’s stomach. Getting it out would not be easy. Debra then called John to come to Gulfport to try to remove the hook with an endoscope.</p>
<p>We passed an endoscope – a long, thin tube with a camera and a light on the end – into the turtle’s esophagus and stomach. The esophagus connects the mouth to the stomach, and in most animals it is a smooth tube. But not in sea turtles. Sea turtles have hundreds of fingerlike projections called papillae that stick out in the esophagus to trap shrimp, crabs and other food in the stomach. Using the endoscope, we could see that the point of the hook was deeply embedded in the stomach, but the other half, which contained the eye of the fishing hook, was hidden behind some papillae. We needed to be careful to avoid tearing the stomach. </p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/GzhBoNE--L0?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">This video shows the esophagus of a different turtle that the team rescued after it swallowed a fishing hook.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Once we got a good view of the hook, the team passed a small lasso through the scope. We needed to slide the lasso over the eye of the hook, then tighten it as close as possible to the point embedded in the turtle’s stomach – a challenging task, since the hook was lodged flat against the stomach wall and hidden by the papillae. But after four hours, our team was finally able to free the hook and pulled it out through the turtle’s mouth.</p>
<h2>Recovery and release</h2>
<p>It took almost four months, but after a complete recovery, Toni was ready to go home. Once Toni was healthy, we outfitted her with some tracking technology and released her. The hope is that she can help teach conservationists more about her species. You can track Toni and see where she is swimming by <a href="https://imms.org/track-our-turtles-3/">visiting the IMMS website</a>.</p>
<p>Rescuing this turtle, removing the hook and eventually releasing her back into the wild was an incredibly rewarding process. Everyone on the team knew that because of our efforts, Toni could go on to lay eggs and help support her species. But biologists, veterinarians and the Kemp’s ridley turtles can’t do this alone. We need the public’s help to alert our rescue team if they come across a stranded animal and – more importantly – to take steps to limit the risks these turtles face so that we wont need to rescue Toni again.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/158367/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Debra Moore receives funding from National Fish and Wildlife Foundation through Mississippi Department of Environmental Quality</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>John Thomason 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>For the endangered Kemp’s ridley sea turtle, every individual matters. A team of veterinarians and biologists has formed a network along the Gulf Coast to save injured sea turtles and the species.John Thomason, Associate Professor of Small Animal Internal Medicine, Mississippi State UniversityDebra Moore, Assistant Clinical Professor of Veterinary Medicine, Mississippi State UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1541562021-03-03T13:24:59Z2021-03-03T13:24:59ZScientist at work: Tracking the epic journeys of migratory birds in northwest Mexico<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/386775/original/file-20210226-19-1rmnrnh.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C208%2C5353%2C3395&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Shorebirds gather by the thousands at important feeding and resting areas, but how individual birds move among sites remains a mystery.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Julian Garcia-Walther</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>One morning in January, I found myself 30 feet (9 meters) up a tall metal pole, carrying 66 pounds (35 kilograms) of aluminum antennas and thick weatherproofed cabling. From this vantage point, I could clearly see the entire <a href="https://storymaps.arcgis.com/stories/d78dbb88d9cd4ad7a09bc6a48603e751">Punta Banda Estuary</a> in northwestern Mexico. As I looked through my binoculars, I observed the estuary’s sandy bar and extensive mudflats packed with thousands of migratory shorebirds frenetically pecking the mud for food.</p>
<p>In winter, more than 1 million shorebirds that breed in the Arctic will visit and <a href="https://whsrn.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/biodiversitas.pdf">move throughout the coastline of northwest Mexico</a>. It’s possible they are tracking rare <a href="https://www.biodiversitylibrary.org/page/5781542#page/91/mode/1up">superabundant seasonal resources</a> like <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3sp_k_gXdxM&t=43s">fish spawning events</a>. Or maybe they are scouting for sites with better habitat to spend their nonbreeding season. The truth is, researchers don’t actually know. It has been incredibly hard to elucidate how birds use the region and what drives their movements in this vast network of coastal wetlands spanning 3,100 miles (5,000 kilometers) of coastline. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/384324/original/file-20210215-23-12zrkua.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A map of existing Motus stations covering much of North America and showing planned stations in northwest Mexico." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/384324/original/file-20210215-23-12zrkua.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/384324/original/file-20210215-23-12zrkua.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=517&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384324/original/file-20210215-23-12zrkua.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=517&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384324/original/file-20210215-23-12zrkua.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=517&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384324/original/file-20210215-23-12zrkua.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=650&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384324/original/file-20210215-23-12zrkua.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=650&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384324/original/file-20210215-23-12zrkua.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=650&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">There are currently few Motus stations in Mexico, leading to a large information gap.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Julián García Walther</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Tracking birds has always been a challenge. To make it easier, scientists have built a massive network of radio antenna devices called <a href="https://motus.org/about/">Motus stations</a> across the U.S. and Canada that can automatically track the movements of tagged birds. However, Motus stations – Motus means movement in Latin – are still <a href="https://motus.org/data/receiversMap?lang=en">missing in much of Latin America</a>. This has resulted in large gaps in biologists’ understanding of where migratory shorebirds go during their nonbreeding season. </p>
<p>A biology <a href="http://www.sennerlab.com/people.html">doctoral student</a> studying bird migration, I am collaborating with the nonprofit <a href="https://www.pronatura-noroeste.org/">Pronatura Noroeste</a>. We have one goal: to expand the Motus network in northwest Mexico and unravel the mystery of where shorebirds are going during the winter.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/384328/original/file-20210215-21-g1z54l.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Side-by-side photos of a red knot in summer plumage in the Arctic and in winter plumage in Mexico." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/384328/original/file-20210215-21-g1z54l.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/384328/original/file-20210215-21-g1z54l.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=208&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384328/original/file-20210215-21-g1z54l.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=208&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384328/original/file-20210215-21-g1z54l.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=208&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384328/original/file-20210215-21-g1z54l.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=261&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384328/original/file-20210215-21-g1z54l.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=261&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384328/original/file-20210215-21-g1z54l.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=261&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Red knots and many other shorebirds travel thousands of miles from breeding grounds in the Arctic (left) to nonbreeding grounds in Latin America (right).</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Julián García Walther</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>How to track a bird</h2>
<p>Much of my work is focused on <a href="https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Red_Knot/overview">red knots</a> – stubby sandpipers that feed on muddy flats that are uncovered during low tide in many estuaries. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/386777/original/file-20210226-13-1jz5j43.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A red knot standing on a rock with a tiny colored flag on its leg." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/386777/original/file-20210226-13-1jz5j43.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/386777/original/file-20210226-13-1jz5j43.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/386777/original/file-20210226-13-1jz5j43.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/386777/original/file-20210226-13-1jz5j43.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/386777/original/file-20210226-13-1jz5j43.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/386777/original/file-20210226-13-1jz5j43.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/386777/original/file-20210226-13-1jz5j43.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">Biologists use tiny flags attached to the legs of birds to track them over thousands of miles, but it’s not very efficient.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Julián García Walther</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In the past, to learn how red knots move among wetlands meant walking through knee-deep mud with a scope, trying to find birds with color-coded flags on their legs. I would then have to get close enough to read the writing on the flags to determine who had attached the flag and where in the continent the bird had been seen before. This is not easy work. It requires large numbers of flagged birds and many skilled ecologists trying to find them, so you get very limited data in return for a lot of time and effort.</p>
<p>Motus stations make this job much easier, and with a Motus network in Mexico, ecologists like me will get much more data on the movements of these animals. The project involves two parts: attaching tiny radio transmitters to birds and building a network of stations to track them.</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/384310/original/file-20210215-17-5brj2b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Two transmitters sitting next to a paper clip for size comparison. The paper clip is bigger." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/384310/original/file-20210215-17-5brj2b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/384310/original/file-20210215-17-5brj2b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384310/original/file-20210215-17-5brj2b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384310/original/file-20210215-17-5brj2b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384310/original/file-20210215-17-5brj2b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384310/original/file-20210215-17-5brj2b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384310/original/file-20210215-17-5brj2b.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">The transmitters are tiny and extremely light.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Julián García Walther</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Motus stations work similarly to a cellphone tower. Researchers attach tiny transmitters weighing just 0.45 grams to animals and these transmitters emit a radio pulse every five seconds. Each station has multiple antennas pointing toward a site used by birds – like the mudflats at Punta Banda – and is always listening for these radio signals. </p>
<p>Motus stations can pick up signals from tagged birds in a 12-mile (20-kilometer) radius, 24/7. A small computer built into the Motus station can then record and send information to researchers about when animals arrive to the site, how long they stay and in which direction they are headed when they leave.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="Author climbing a pole to mount the radio receivers and the view from the top of the receiver." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/384325/original/file-20210215-17-1e464d3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/384325/original/file-20210215-17-1e464d3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=273&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384325/original/file-20210215-17-1e464d3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=273&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384325/original/file-20210215-17-1e464d3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=273&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384325/original/file-20210215-17-1e464d3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=343&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384325/original/file-20210215-17-1e464d3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=343&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384325/original/file-20210215-17-1e464d3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=343&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Motus stations require a high vantage point that overlooks estuaries.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Julián García Walther</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Building a network</h2>
<p>The station at Punta Banda is the first and, so far, the only tower my team and I have erected. But the ultimate goal of our project is to deploy two dozen Motus stations in 15 coastal wetlands spanning the whole northwest coast of Mexico. When we are done, we will use these stations to track the movements of birds among these sites, as well as the <a href="https://motus.org/data/numbers">more than 1,000 other sites with active stations</a> across the world.</p>
<p>The <a href="http://visitpuntabanda.com/">Punta Banda Estuary</a> is one of the key stopovers for red knots. To maximize our chances of detecting birds, we chose to build the station on top of an old 30-foot metal pole overlooking the whole estuary. After getting approval from the pole owner, my colleagues and I assembled the station components. Then I climbed the pole, hoisting multiple antennas with me, and pointed them in all directions over the estuary.</p>
<p>By the time red knots start arriving in the fall, after breeding in the Arctic, our team hopes to have built many more stations like this one across northwest Mexico, ready to detect passing birds.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/384319/original/file-20210215-19-s16m3a.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A red knot with a radio transmitter glued to its back." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/384319/original/file-20210215-19-s16m3a.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/384319/original/file-20210215-19-s16m3a.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384319/original/file-20210215-19-s16m3a.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384319/original/file-20210215-19-s16m3a.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384319/original/file-20210215-19-s16m3a.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384319/original/file-20210215-19-s16m3a.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/384319/original/file-20210215-19-s16m3a.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">Any bird with a transmitter will be picked up if it flies within 12 miles (20 kilometers) of a Motus station.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Julián García Walther</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Tagging birds</h2>
<p>The stations alone can’t detect these animals. The final step, which will happen in the coming months, is to catch birds and tag them. To do this, our team will set up a soft, spring-loaded net called a whoosh net in sandy areas where the red knots rest above the high-tide line. When birds walk past the net, the crew leader will release the trigger, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vwMiA2iqVc0">safely trapping the birds with the net</a>.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/vwMiA2iqVc0?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">A team of biologists using a whoosh net to safely capture birds in Texas.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Once we’ve successfully caught a bird, we will attach a transmitter to its back. Transmitters are solar-powered and very light – less than 1% of the bird’s weight – and they can thus provide many years of data <a href="https://doi.org/10.1111/2041-210X.12934">without harming the birds</a>. Because younger birds may move differently than adults across the region, our team hopes to tag 130 red knots of different ages at other estuaries in northwest Mexico. The larger Motus project has already tagged more than <a href="https://motus.org/data/numbers">25,000 animals</a>, so any other birds that come to northwest Mexico will also get picked up by our stations.</p>
<h2>Filling important gaps in knowledge</h2>
<p>Migratory shorebirds are among the most threatened bird groups. Their populations have <a href="https://www.doi.org/10.1126/science.aaw1313">plummeted by 37% since 1970</a> owing to <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2018/04/27/opinion/shorebirds-extinction-climate-change.html?mtrref=www.ecosia.org&gwh=6DD49ABEFC5BE097C8850B9AC1EE6161&gwt=regi&assetType=REGIWALL">habitat loss, human disturbance and climate change</a>. Without robust information on how birds use important sites like the ones we are working on in Mexico, it is hard to focus conservation actions when and where they are most needed. As our network of stations grows, the data they collect will help fill critical knowledge gaps. </p>
<p>For researchers like me, this data will allow us to understand how the movement of shorebirds might be disrupted as global threats such as sea level rise continue to affect the coastal wetlands they depend on. In turn, conservationists will be able to implement better and more effective on-the-ground actions to conserve species like red knots.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/154156/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Julian Garcia-Walther is a PhD Student at the University of South Carolina and consults for Pronatura Noroeste, A.C. He receives funding from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, the Sonoran Joint Venture and The David and Lucile Packard Foundation.</span></em></p>In northwest Mexico, biologists are building a network of radio towers to track how individual migratory birds move among important wetland areas.Julián García Walther, PhD Student in Ornithology, University of South CarolinaLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1539392021-02-09T13:31:19Z2021-02-09T13:31:19ZScientists at work: New recordings of ultrasonic seal calls hint at sonar-like abilities<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382875/original/file-20210207-18-1wwb8n2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=75%2C42%2C2766%2C1697&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Scientist and seal, under the Antarctic ice.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">McMurdo Oceanographic Observatory</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span></figcaption></figure><figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382838/original/file-20210206-17-q3qr1u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="SCUBA divers sit around a square hole cut in Antarctic ice" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382838/original/file-20210206-17-q3qr1u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382838/original/file-20210206-17-q3qr1u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382838/original/file-20210206-17-q3qr1u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382838/original/file-20210206-17-q3qr1u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382838/original/file-20210206-17-q3qr1u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382838/original/file-20210206-17-q3qr1u.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382838/original/file-20210206-17-q3qr1u.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">Divers inside the shelter hut prepare to drop into the ocean.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">McMurdo Oceanographic Observatory</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>I’m sitting on the edge of a hole drilled through 15 feet of Antarctic sea ice, about to descend into the frigid ocean of the southernmost dive site in the world. I wear nearly 100 pounds of gear – a drysuit and gloves, multiple layers of insulation, scuba tank and regulators, lights, equipment, fins and over 40 pounds of lead to counteract all that added buoyancy.</p>
<p>I do a final check with my dive buddies: Air? Hoses? Weights? Then, one by one, we put in our mouthpieces, plop into the hole and sink out of sight into the dark.</p>
<p>As we frog-kick along, following our lights toward the work site, <a href="http://weddellsealscience.com/">a Weddell seal glides by</a> with a few effortless undulations. It glances sideways at us a couple of times, as if doing a double-take.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382841/original/file-20210206-17-2c0iz3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Weddell seal swims by SCUBA diver with scientific equipment" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382841/original/file-20210206-17-2c0iz3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382841/original/file-20210206-17-2c0iz3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382841/original/file-20210206-17-2c0iz3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382841/original/file-20210206-17-2c0iz3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382841/original/file-20210206-17-2c0iz3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382841/original/file-20210206-17-2c0iz3.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382841/original/file-20210206-17-2c0iz3.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">A Weddell seal swims by as Paul Cziko works.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">McMurdo Oceanographic Observatory</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In contrast to us awkward, gear-laden human divers, Weddell seals are completely at home under the ice. They can hold their breath for over 80 minutes and dive to a depth of nearly 2,000 feet. Somehow they explore, find food and return to their isolated breathing holes even when it’s completely dark.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382840/original/file-20210206-21-181rvme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Exit hole for divers cut through 15 feet of ice" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382840/original/file-20210206-21-181rvme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382840/original/file-20210206-21-181rvme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382840/original/file-20210206-21-181rvme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382840/original/file-20210206-21-181rvme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382840/original/file-20210206-21-181rvme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382840/original/file-20210206-21-181rvme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382840/original/file-20210206-21-181rvme.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">There’s just one way out for the research divers.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">McMurdo Oceanographic Observatory</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>We, on the other hand, have about 30 minutes of bottom time before our hands get too cold to work. Then we make our way back to the dive line. Its flags and blinking lights guide us to our one and only way out.</p>
<p>During my deployment to Antarctica in 2018, I participated in 40 such dives to help maintain the <a href="https://moo-antarctica.net/">McMurdo Oceanographic Observatory</a>. Polar marine biologist <a href="https://scholar.google.com/citations?user=Zn3asugAAAAJ&hl=en&oi=ao">Paul Cziko</a> installed the 70-foot-deep, seafloor-mounted recorder in 2017. Known affectionately as “MOO,” it resembled R2-D2 in both looks and charm. For two years, MOO successfully sent continuous audio, video and ocean data back to our onshore lab via cable connection. It also streamed a real-time view of this enthralling Antarctic marine ecosystem: ice glittering on the seafloor and ceiling, <a href="https://www.sciencemag.org/news/2020/09/creepy-sea-spiders-have-evolved-be-tough">giant sea spiders</a> and isopods creeping among the sponges and soft corals.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382839/original/file-20210206-20-1htjv2x.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="SCUBA diver accesses underwater recording equitpment" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382839/original/file-20210206-20-1htjv2x.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382839/original/file-20210206-20-1htjv2x.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382839/original/file-20210206-20-1htjv2x.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382839/original/file-20210206-20-1htjv2x.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382839/original/file-20210206-20-1htjv2x.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382839/original/file-20210206-20-1htjv2x.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382839/original/file-20210206-20-1htjv2x.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">The McMurdo Oceanographic Observatory, mounted to the seafloor, 70 feet below the Antarctic ice.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">McMurdo Oceanographic Observatory</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Seals were only occasionally caught on camera, but their haunting calls dominated the soundscape. Although the initial goal of the MOO was to support research on the <a href="https://www.openaccessgovernment.org/antarctic-notothenioid-fishes/41433/">ice-adapted fishes native to the area</a>, analysis of the audio recordings led us to a surprising discovery. <a href="https://doi.org/10.1121/10.0002867">Weddell seals produce ultrasonic calls</a> – sequences of chirps and whistles with frequencies well above 20 kHz, the upper limit of human hearing. </p>
<h2>Surprising seal sounds</h2>
<p>These newly discovered call types – nine in total, with base frequencies above 20 kHz and ranging up to nearly 50 kHz – are the first report of such high-frequency vocalizations in any wild seals, sea lions and walruses, the group of sea mammals collectively known as pinnipeds.</p>
<p>Although scientists have studied Weddell seals for many decades and <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/publication/258836261_Quantitative_analysis_of_the_underwater_repertoire_of_the_Weddell_seal_Leptonychotes_weddellii">described much of their diverse vocal repertoire</a>, acoustic recording has historically been limited by time and equipment constraints. Most prior studies sampled within the human-audible range only for short stints during the Antarctic field season.</p>
<p>The MOO was the first long-term observatory of its kind, and its cutting-edge technology let us collect an unprecedented data set, including sounds with frequencies up to about 10 times higher than most previous studies.</p>
<p>Our discovery begs the question: What do the seals use their high-pitched ultrasonic calls for? One possibility is that they represent a form of active biosonar, similar to the <a href="https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4614-9146-0_1">echolocation used by bats and dolphins</a>. That is, the returning echoes of their high-frequency sounds may provide information to the seals about their environment and potential prey.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/NE-sNx1R2L4?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">Weddell seal producing ultrasonic vocalizations in McMurdo Sound, Antarctica.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Previous studies have <a href="https://doi.org/10.1121/1.428506">argued that pinnipeds do not echolocate</a> because they do not possess the specialized anatomy for producing or processing tightly focused sounds with very short time intervals. Additionally, their known calls don’t exhibit the telltale characteristics of echolocation pulses, such as accelerating in time as an animal approaches a target.</p>
<p>But the ability to use sound to “see” their surroundings would be especially useful during very low-visibility conditions – like what the seals encounter under thick ice or in the polar winter, when there is no daylight for four months. Our preliminary findings indeed suggested that the use of certain high-frequency pulsed vocalizations increased during the dark Antarctic winter. It is also very likely, and not mutually exclusive, that the seals use ultrasonic calls for communication, as <a href="https://doi.org/10.1139/z83-194">has been shown for their human-audible calls</a>.</p>
<h2>Serendipitous discovery raises more questions</h2>
<p>It’s still a mystery how seals navigate and forage under the ice in certain conditions. Weddell seals and other seals that live on the ice <a href="https://doi.org/10.1016/j.dsr2.2012.07.006">have many adaptations</a> for diving and <a href="https://doi.org/10.1139/z92-238">finding their breathing holes again</a>, including good low-light vision, spatial memory and extremely sensitive whiskers, called vibrissae.</p>
<p>However, these senses each have their limitations. Sometimes there may be literally no ambient light where the seals are diving. Following the same routes on every dive would preclude finding new patches of mobile prey. And the tactile sensation provided by whiskers is only useful at close range.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382836/original/file-20210206-17-1o3tql4.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Weddell seal" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382836/original/file-20210206-17-1o3tql4.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/382836/original/file-20210206-17-1o3tql4.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=337&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382836/original/file-20210206-17-1o3tql4.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=337&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382836/original/file-20210206-17-1o3tql4.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=337&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382836/original/file-20210206-17-1o3tql4.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382836/original/file-20210206-17-1o3tql4.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/382836/original/file-20210206-17-1o3tql4.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">Weddell seals swim in challenging conditions.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">McMurdo Oceanographic Observatory</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>It seems obvious that seals would also use sound to gain information about their surroundings. Indeed, Weddell seals and other related species can <a href="https://doi.org/10.1007/s00359-013-0813-y">hear frequencies up to at least 60 kHz</a>, and researchers have found that seals use acoustic cues, when available, <a href="https://doi.org/10.1139/z92-238">to navigate</a>. However, actively emitting high-frequency chirps and interpreting their own echoes would definitely be a step beyond passive listening.</p>
<p>[<em>Deep knowledge, daily.</em> <a href="https://theconversation.com/us/newsletters/the-daily-3?utm_source=TCUS&utm_medium=inline-link&utm_campaign=newsletter-text&utm_content=deepknowledge">Sign up for The Conversation’s newsletter</a>.]</p>
<p>Back in the lab <a href="https://www.usap.gov/videoclipsandmaps/mcmwebcam.cfm">at McMurdo Station</a>, the MOO livestream ran as we worked at our desks. The ethereal trills and chirps of seals filled the air. During their Southern Hemisphere spring breeding season, vocal activity is nearly constant. A couple of monitors showed real-time graphical displays of the incoming data: ocean temperature, salinity, tides. A scrolling audio spectrogram would pull us in every so often, mesmerizing us with colorful squiggles that appeared as we heard the calls – a synchronized visual soundtrack.</p>
<p>Every few minutes, bright wiggles and lines would scroll by in the upper register, announcing sounds that we cannot hear. They are patterned; they are repeated again and again. They are seal voices. If we can decode them, they may tell us <a href="https://doi.org/10.1007/s00227-020-03730-w">more about how these seals thrive</a> in what we humans perceive to be a very challenging environment. As technology sheds new light into the depths, what else will we find?</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/153939/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Lisa Munger 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>Microphones on the seafloor recorded life under the Antarctic ice for two years – inadvertently catching seal trills and chirps that are above the range of human hearing. Could they be for navigation?Lisa Munger, Instructor of Natural Sciences, University of OregonLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1460672020-10-28T12:25:18Z2020-10-28T12:25:18ZScientists at work: Sloshing through marshes to see how birds survive hurricanes<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/365956/original/file-20201027-15-1o2njm0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=13%2C0%2C1280%2C931&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">A clapper rail with a fiddler crab in its bill.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Michael Gray</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>When hurricanes menace the Gulf Coast, residents know the drill: Board up windows, clear storm drains, gas up the car and stock up on water, batteries and canned goods.</p>
<p>But how does wildlife ride out a hurricane? Animals that live along coastlines have evolved to deal with a world where conditions can change radically. This year, however, the places they inhabit have borne the brunt of <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/weather/2020/10/26/zeta-louisiana-florida-flooding/">10 named storms</a>, some just a few weeks apart.</p>
<p>As <a href="https://scholar.google.com/citations?user=jJytBnoAAAAJ&hl=en">wildlife</a> <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/profile/Mark_Woodrey">ecologists</a>, we are interested in how species respond to stresses in their environment. We are currently studying how marsh birds such as <a href="https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Clapper_Rail/overview">clapper rails</a> (<em>Rallus crepitans</em>) have adapted to tropical storms along the Alabama and Mississippi Gulf coast. Understanding how they do this entails wading into marshes and thinking like a small, secretive bird. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/365955/original/file-20201027-13-1op6sa3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Least bittern in marsh grass" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/365955/original/file-20201027-13-1op6sa3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/365955/original/file-20201027-13-1op6sa3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=613&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365955/original/file-20201027-13-1op6sa3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=613&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365955/original/file-20201027-13-1op6sa3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=613&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365955/original/file-20201027-13-1op6sa3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=770&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365955/original/file-20201027-13-1op6sa3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=770&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365955/original/file-20201027-13-1op6sa3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=770&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 least bittern, one of the smallest species of heron.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Michael Gray</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Mucky and full of life</h2>
<p>Coastal wetlands are <a href="https://www.fisheries.noaa.gov/national/habitat-conservation/coastal-wetlands-too-valuable-lose">critically important ecosystems</a>. They harbor fish, shellfish and wading birds, filter water as it flows through and buffer coastlines against flooding. </p>
<p>You wouldn’t choose a Gulf Coast salt marsh for a casual stroll. There are sharp-pointed plants, such as <a href="https://plants.usda.gov/factsheet/pdf/fs_juro.pdf">black needlerush</a>, and sucking mud. In summer and early fall the marshes are oppressively hot and humid. Bacteria and fungi in the mud break down dead material, generating sulfurous-smelling gases. But once you get used to the conditions, you realize how productive these places are, with a myriad of organisms moving about. </p>
<p>Marsh birds are adept at hiding in dense grasses, so it’s more common to hear them than to see them. That’s why we use a process known as a callback survey to monitor for them. </p>
<p>First we play a prerecorded set of calls to elicit responses from birds in the marsh. Then we determine where we think the birds are calling from and visually estimate the distance from the observer to that spot, often using tools such as <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laser_rangefinder">laser range finders</a>. We also note the type of ecosystem where we detect the birds – for example, whether they’re in a tidal marsh with emergent vegetation or out in the open on mud flats.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/y3b9fOUrdzQ?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">Adult clapper rail calling.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Through this process we’ve been able to estimate the <a href="https://doi.org/10.1672/08-174.1">distributions of several species</a> in tidal marshes, including clapper rails, <a href="https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Least_Bittern/overview">least bitterns</a> (<em>Ixobrychus exilis</em>) and <a href="https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/seaside_sparrow">seaside sparrows</a> (<em>Ammospiza maritima</em>). We’ve also plotted trends in their abundance and identified how their numbers can change with <a href="https://doi.org/10.1007/s13157-018-1082-x">characteristics of the marsh</a>. </p>
<p>We’ve walked hundreds of miles through marshes to locate nests and to record data such as nest height, density of surrounding vegetation and proximity to standing water, which provides increased foraging opportunities for rails. Then we revisit the nests to document whether they produce young that hatch and eventually leave. Success isn’t guaranteed: Predators may eat the eggs, or flooding could wash them out of the nest and kill the developing embryos inside. </p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/3E32JHYSdSU?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">Salt marshes shelter many types of plants, birds, animals, fish and shellfish.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Rails in the grass</h2>
<p>Our research currently focuses on clapper rails, which look like slender chickens with grayish-brown feathers and short tails. Like many other marsh birds, they have longish legs and toes for walking across soft mud, and long bills for probing the marsh surface in search of food. They are found year-round along the Atlantic and Gulf coasts. </p>
<p>Clapper rails typically live in tidal marshes where there is vegetation to hide in and plenty of fiddler crabs, among <a href="http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s12237-010-9281-6">their frequent foods</a>. Because they are generally common and rely on coastal marshes, they are a good indicator of the health of these coastal areas. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/365944/original/file-20201027-14-smv7k7.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Scientist in marsh holding live Clapper Rail" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/365944/original/file-20201027-14-smv7k7.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/365944/original/file-20201027-14-smv7k7.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365944/original/file-20201027-14-smv7k7.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365944/original/file-20201027-14-smv7k7.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365944/original/file-20201027-14-smv7k7.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365944/original/file-20201027-14-smv7k7.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365944/original/file-20201027-14-smv7k7.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">Ecologist Scott Rush with clapper rail, Pascagoula River Marshes, Mississippi.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Mark Woodrey</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Water levels in tidal marshes change daily, and clapper rails have some adaptations that help them thrive there. They often build nests in areas with particularly tall vegetation to hide them from predators. And they can raise the height of the nest bowl to protect it against flooding during <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1525/cond.2010.090078">extra-high or “king” tides and storms</a>. The embryos inside their eggs can survive even if the eggs are submerged for several hours. </p>
<p>When a tropical storm strikes, many factors – including wind speed, flooding and the storm’s position – influence how severely it will affect marsh birds. Typically birds ride out storms by moving to higher areas of the marsh. However, if a storm generates extensive flooding, birds in affected areas may swim or be blown to other locations. We saw this in early June when Hurricane Cristobal <a href="https://www.wlox.com/2020/06/09/marsh-birds-blown-by-cristobal-out-place-beach/">blew hundreds of clapper rails onto beaches</a> in parts of coastal Mississippi. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/365938/original/file-20201027-18-1okc6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Clapper rails hiding under a breakwater" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/365938/original/file-20201027-18-1okc6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/365938/original/file-20201027-18-1okc6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365938/original/file-20201027-18-1okc6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365938/original/file-20201027-18-1okc6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365938/original/file-20201027-18-1okc6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365938/original/file-20201027-18-1okc6s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365938/original/file-20201027-18-1okc6s.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">Clapper rails on a Mississippi beach after Hurricane Cristobal in June 2020.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Mark Woodrey</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In coastal areas immediately to the east of the eye of a tropical cyclone we typically see a drop in clapper rail populations in the following spring and summer. This happens because the counterclockwise rotation of the storms results in the highest winds and storm surge to the north and east of the eye of the storm. </p>
<p>But typically there’s a strong bout of breeding and a population rebound within a year or so – evidence that these birds are quick to adapt. After Hurricane Katrina devastated the Mississippi Gulf Coast in 2005, however, depending on the type of marsh, it took several years for rail populations to return to their pre-Katrina levels. </p>
<p>Now we’re radio-tagging clapper rails and collecting data that allow us to determine the birds’ life spans. This information helps us estimate when large numbers of birds have died – information that we can correlate with events like coastal hurricanes.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/365873/original/file-20201027-17-x8plpi.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="2020 Atlantic hurricane paths" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/365873/original/file-20201027-17-x8plpi.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/365873/original/file-20201027-17-x8plpi.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=371&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365873/original/file-20201027-17-x8plpi.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=371&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365873/original/file-20201027-17-x8plpi.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=371&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365873/original/file-20201027-17-x8plpi.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=467&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365873/original/file-20201027-17-x8plpi.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=467&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/365873/original/file-20201027-17-x8plpi.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=467&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Summary map of the 2020 Atlantic hurricane season, updated Oct. 27.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2020_Atlantic_hurricane_season#/media/File:2020_Atlantic_hurricane_season_summary_map.png">Master0Garfield/Wikipedia</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Losing parts</h2>
<p>Tropical storms have shaped coastal ecosystems since long before recorded history. But over the past 150 years humans have complicated the picture. Coastal development – draining marshes, building roads and reinforcing shorelines – is altering natural places that support marsh birds. </p>
<p>Clapper rails and other species have evolved traits that help them offset population losses due to natural disasters. But they can do so only if the ecosystems where they live keep providing them with food, breeding habitat and protection from predators. Coastal development, in combination with <a href="https://www.climate.gov/news-features/understanding-climate/climate-change-global-sea-level">rising sea levels</a> and <a href="https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1920849117">larger tropical storms</a>, can act like a one-two punch, making it increasingly hard for marshes and the species that live in them to recover.</p>
<p>[<em>Deep knowledge, daily.</em> <a href="https://theconversation.com/us/newsletters/the-daily-3?utm_source=TCUS&utm_medium=inline-link&utm_campaign=newsletter-text&utm_content=deepknowledge">Sign up for The Conversation’s newsletter</a>.]</p>
<p>Biologist Paul Ehrlich has compared species at risk to <a href="https://doi.org/10.2307/1313377">rivets on an airplane</a>. You might not need every rivet in place for the airplane to fly, but would you fly it through a cyclone if you knew that 10% of its rivets were missing? What about 20%, or 30%? At some point, Ehrlich asserts, nature could lose so many species that it becomes unable to provide valuable services that humans take for granted.</p>
<p>We see coastal marshes as an airplane that humans are piloting through storms. As species and ecosystem services are pummeled, rivets are failing. No one knows where or how the aircraft will land. But we believe that preserving marshes instead of weakening them can improve the chance of a smooth landing.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/146067/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Scott Rush receives funding from U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), </span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Mark Woodrey receives funding from the United States Fish and Wildlife Service, the National Fish and Wildlife Foundation, and the Mississippi Agricultural and Forestry Experiment Station. </span></em></p>Birds found along the Gulf Coast have evolved to ride out hurricanes and tropical storms. But with development degrading the marshes where they live, it’s getting harder for them to bounce back.Scott Rush, Assistant Professor of Wildlife Ecology and Management, Mississippi State UniversityMark Woodrey, Assistant Research Professor, Mississippi State UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1361502020-04-29T12:09:29Z2020-04-29T12:09:29ZScientist at work: Trapping urban coyotes to see if they can be ‘hazed’ away from human neighborhoods<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330436/original/file-20200424-163058-14pbtk6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C12%2C4031%2C2999&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">A sedated coyote about to be released with a tracking collar in greater Los Angeles.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Niamh Quinn</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/">CC BY-SA</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>After weeks of sleepless nights spent scrutinizing grainy images relayed from our remote cameras, mostly of waving grass and tumbling leaves, finally, there it is. A live coyote with a loop around it’s neck. On October 8, 2019, my colleagues and I caught the first member of the University of California Agriculture and Natural Resources pack, #19CU001.</p>
<p>We captured, collared and released this coyote to help answer an important question; is <a href="https://www.humanesociety.org/resources/coyote-hazing">community hazing</a> an appropriate management method for urban coyotes in Los Angeles County? Hazing is pretty much what it sounds like – shouting, arm waving and noise-making directed at urban coyotes in hopes of getting them to significantly change their behavior and avoid urban-residential areas. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330438/original/file-20200424-163067-10fdkme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330438/original/file-20200424-163067-10fdkme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330438/original/file-20200424-163067-10fdkme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=432&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330438/original/file-20200424-163067-10fdkme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=432&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330438/original/file-20200424-163067-10fdkme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=432&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330438/original/file-20200424-163067-10fdkme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=543&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330438/original/file-20200424-163067-10fdkme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=543&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330438/original/file-20200424-163067-10fdkme.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=543&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 coyote crosses a street in the densely populated Westlake neighborhood, west of downtown Los Angeles.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/64/C-144_crossing_street_%2819896711640%29.jpg">National Park Service</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Coyotes attack and often eat domestic animals, <a href="https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/urban-coyotes-eat-lot-garbageand-cats-180974461/">especially cats</a>. In a 2019 study, cats were found in <a href="https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0228881">19.8% of coyote scat</a>. Coyotes also occasionally bite humans, especially in Southern California. In the first few months of 2020, five people have been bitten in Los Angeles and Orange counties alone. Hazing is being <a href="https://www.humanesociety.org/resources/coyote-hazing">touted as the answer</a> to coyote management across many urban areas in the United States. </p>
<p>But there is little scientific evidence to support hazing as an effective management tool. In fact, so far, the method has failed to work in other wildlife situations including those with <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/3873205">bears</a> and <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/4641110">birds</a>. Wildlife managers are eager for science-based solutions, which is why, <a href="https://scholar.google.com/citations?user=POa4sLkAAAAJ&hl=en&oi=ao">as biologists</a>, my colleagues and I decided to study hazing.</p>
<h2>First, catch 20 coyotes</h2>
<p>We designed an experiment that calls for the capture, GPS collaring and release of 20 coyotes east of the 110 Freeway in Los Angeles. Initially, we will measure how the coyotes use open space and the urban environment. Then, we plan to haze 10 of them and remeasure how they use space.</p>
<p>The other 10 will serve as a control group. After 18 months, the un-hazed coyotes will switch to a hazing treatment and the 10 already-hazed coyotes will have their collars dropped remotely and we will set about capturing another 10 to replace them.</p>
<p>I work with the LA County’s Department of Agriculture to identify trapping sites, which is one of the trickiest parts of catching coyotes. We first look for areas that have had recent or historic coyotes sightings, examining the subtle signs left on the ground, like paw prints and scat. We also are careful to make sure no people or dogs are nearby.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330873/original/file-20200427-145525-jwd8xv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330873/original/file-20200427-145525-jwd8xv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330873/original/file-20200427-145525-jwd8xv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330873/original/file-20200427-145525-jwd8xv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330873/original/file-20200427-145525-jwd8xv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330873/original/file-20200427-145525-jwd8xv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330873/original/file-20200427-145525-jwd8xv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330873/original/file-20200427-145525-jwd8xv.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">When triggered, this device throws a secure, non-choking cable loop over the coyote’s head.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Niamh Quinn</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Once we have confirmed the presence of coyotes, two skilled trappers from the county <a href="https://www.wildlifecontrolsupplies.com/removal/Collarum.html">set a Colloraum trap</a> – which is a humane canine capture device. It requires the animal to bite down on a lever to engage a cable that traps the animal by the neck. You can’t legally bait traps in California, so the lever looks like a fluffy mammal. We have it set to a hair trigger. Game cameras surround the trap and send images to an app on my phone that lets me monitor what is happening at night, when coyotes are most active. </p>
<h2>Catching ‘Lazy Legs’</h2>
<p>The night I see we’ve finally caught our first coyote, it’s all go! I call my team, greeted by sleepy hellos from my county partners, our wonderful veterinarian and my staff. We have to rally quickly because it is important to get the animal out of the trap and processed in as short a time as possible.</p>
<p>When I arrive at the site, I can already see the coyote’s yellow eyes reflecting light from my car’s headlights. The excitement is hard to express. It certainly makes up for the hours and hours of watching leaves and grass sway in the breeze. </p>
<p>Our veterinarian from Western University of Health Sciences, prepares the animal for sedation. We restrain and muzzle the coyote, just in case he wakes up. We prepare the collar and weigh him. He’s a good size, 29 lbs. (13 kg). We check his teeth to try to estimate his age. He’s definitely not a juvenile, but is probably less than 3 years old. I secure the collar in place around his neck.</p>
<p>Then it’s time to administer the sedative reversal. We “reverse” him in a crate to ensure we don’t release a drugged coyote that could wander in front of a car. </p>
<p>When we swing the door open, he bolts and is out of sight in a flash. Just like that, 19CU001 is out on the wind collecting data for our project. Based on the data coming from his collar, this individual appears to have a home range of less than half a square mile, which is why we nicknamed him “Lazy Legs.” Hopefully, he will be easy to find and haze, when the time comes.</p>
<p>Currently, we have caught five out of the 20 coyotes we need for our study, but the current coronavirus health restrictions have suspended our work for the time being.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330458/original/file-20200424-163088-169smn7.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330458/original/file-20200424-163088-169smn7.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330458/original/file-20200424-163088-169smn7.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=360&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330458/original/file-20200424-163088-169smn7.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=360&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330458/original/file-20200424-163088-169smn7.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=360&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330458/original/file-20200424-163088-169smn7.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=452&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330458/original/file-20200424-163088-169smn7.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=452&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330458/original/file-20200424-163088-169smn7.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=452&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Yellow and blue flags represent locations from March 2020 of two male coyotes in Laverne, Calif.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Niamh Quinn</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>So far, <a href="https://www.arcgis.com/home/webmap/viewer.html?webmap=9f6b8f71dc104ddfad9264331d98bceb&extent=-117.9815,33.9519,-117.93,33.9795">the data</a> we’ve collected shows individual animals have home ranges that vary widely in size, from less than half a square mile up to seven square miles. We also have observed they spend considerable amounts of time in the urban environment, probably looking for food.</p>
<p>The data will help us pinpoint exactly where, when and in what types of habitat coyotes live in Eastern Los Angeles and will also give us a baseline for when we begin to test hazing.</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/136150/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Niamh M. Quinn receives funding from Los Angeles County's Productivity Investment Fund. </span></em></p>Biologists capture and collar coyotes in urban Los Angeles in order to study the effectiveness of ‘hazing’ as a wildlife management tool.Niamh M. Quinn, Human-Wildlife Interactions Advisor, University of California, Division of Agriculture and Natural ResourcesLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1366732020-04-28T12:10:37Z2020-04-28T12:10:37ZScientists at work: Uncovering the mystery of when and where sharks give birth<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330807/original/file-20200427-145566-12cpxhm.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Using new technology to answer questions about shark reproduction.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="http://www.blueelementsimaging.com">Tanya Houppermans</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>If you have a toddler, or if you encountered one in the last year, you’ve almost certainly experienced the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XqZsoesa55w">“Baby Shark” song</a>. Somehow, every kid seems to know this song, but scientists actually know very little about <a href="https://www.nationalgeographic.com/magazine/2016/07/great-white-shark-research-population-behavior/">where and when sharks give birth</a>. The origins of these famous baby sharks are still largely a mystery.</p>
<p>Many of the large iconic shark species – like great whites, hammerheads, blue sharks and tiger sharks – cross hundreds or thousands of miles of ocean every year. Because they’re so wide-ranging, much of sharks’ lives, including their reproductive habits, remains a secret. Scientists have struggled to figure out precisely where and how often sharks mate, the length of their gestation, and many aspects of the birthing process. </p>
<p><a href="https://hannahverkamp.wixsite.com/profile">I am a Ph.D. student</a> studying shark ecology and reproduction and am on a team of researchers hoping to answer two important questions: Where and when do sharks give birth?</p>
<h2>In need of innovation</h2>
<p>Until very recently, the technology to answer these questions did not exist. But marine biologist James Sulikowski, a professor at Arizona State University and my research mentor, changed that. He developed a new satellite tag called the Birth-Tag with the help of the technology company <a href="https://www.lotek.com">Lotek Wireless</a>. He has no stake in the company. Using this new satellite tag, our team is working to uncover where and when tiger sharks give birth and is demonstrating a proof of concept for how scientists can do the same for other large shark species. </p>
<p>The Birth-Tag is a small, egg-shaped device that we insert into the uterus of a pregnant shark where it will remain dormant and hidden among the fetal sharks throughout pregnancy. This kind of tag has never before been used on sharks, but <a href="https://doi.org/10.1186/s40317-019-0184-4">similar implanted tags</a> have been used to figure out the birthing locations of terrestrial mammals, such as deer, for decades with great success. When a tagged mother shark gives birth, the tag will be expelled alongside the babies and float to the sea surface. Once it senses dry air, the tag transmits its location to a passing satellite, which then sends that location and time of transmission back to our lab. As soon as we download this information, we know where and when that shark gave birth.</p>
<p>After years of fine-tuning this new technology, we launched the first phase of the study in December of 2019 and began deploying the tags. Once the study was approved by the Institutional Animal Care and Use Committees at both Arizona State University and the University of Miami, as well as the Bahamian government, we set out to find some tiger sharks. To do this, our team of researchers from the <a href="https://sites.google.com/view/sulikowskilab/home">Sulikowski Shark and Fish Conservation Lab</a> and the <a href="https://sharkresearch.rsmas.miami.edu">Shark Research and Conservation Program</a> at the University of Miami led by marine biologist Neil Hammerschlag, traveled to the crystal-clear waters of Tiger Beach off Grand Bahama Island to tag tiger sharks.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330802/original/file-20200427-145525-180kd6g.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330802/original/file-20200427-145525-180kd6g.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330802/original/file-20200427-145525-180kd6g.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330802/original/file-20200427-145525-180kd6g.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330802/original/file-20200427-145525-180kd6g.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330802/original/file-20200427-145525-180kd6g.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330802/original/file-20200427-145525-180kd6g.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330802/original/file-20200427-145525-180kd6g.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">Tiger sharks are large and powerful predators. Getting close enough for a check-up is not easy.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.blueelementsimaging.com/">Tanya Houppermans</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Up close with an apex predator</h2>
<p>Tiger Beach is a <a href="https://doi.org/10.3354/ab00648">hot spot for female tiger sharks</a> of many different life stages, including large pregnant individuals. These pregnant females may be aggregating in the warm, calm waters of Tiger Beach to take refuge and speed up their gestation.</p>
<p>The high number of pregnant sharks in this small area makes finding one much easier, but actually catching and bringing a 10-foot-plus shark to the boat is no easy task. We fish for the sharks <a href="https://www.semanticscholar.org/paper/Integrating-Physiological-and-Reflex-Biomarkers-of-Jerome/01db87057ab3142d134095d3340345d971277a1c/figure/1">using drumlines</a>, and it can take several hours to safely catch, pull in by hand, and secure one of these powerful creatures next to the boat.</p>
<p>Once we catch a female tiger shark, we first take several length and girth measurements to get an idea of her general health and to see if she is sexually mature. Then we check for bite marks, which are evidence of a recent mating event.</p>
<p>After we collect this baseline information, we rotate her upside down to coax her into a trance-like state called <a href="https://www.sharktrust.org/tonic-immobility">tonic immobility</a>. Tonic immobility is a natural reflex in many sharks that induces a state of physical inactivity. This keeps the powerful shark calm and still for the most exciting part of the workup, the part where my experience comes into play: the pregnancy check.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330800/original/file-20200427-145513-1m8s6jo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330800/original/file-20200427-145513-1m8s6jo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330800/original/file-20200427-145513-1m8s6jo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330800/original/file-20200427-145513-1m8s6jo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330800/original/file-20200427-145513-1m8s6jo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330800/original/file-20200427-145513-1m8s6jo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330800/original/file-20200427-145513-1m8s6jo.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330800/original/file-20200427-145513-1m8s6jo.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">A not-so-routine ultrasound.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.blueelementsimaging.com/">Tanya Houppermans</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Expecting</h2>
<p>Just like the ultrasounds used on humans, we use a mobile ultrasound machine to figure out if a shark is expecting. I put on a pair of goggles that allow me to see everything the ultrasound sees, lean over the side of the boat, and place the probe onto the upside down shark’s abdomen. The image is usually fuzzy at first as water splashes over the shark and up onto the boat. The team holds the shark still as I slowly maneuver the probe along her belly. Then, if she’s pregnant, something magical happens.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330801/original/file-20200427-145513-nuf0v8.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330801/original/file-20200427-145513-nuf0v8.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330801/original/file-20200427-145513-nuf0v8.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330801/original/file-20200427-145513-nuf0v8.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330801/original/file-20200427-145513-nuf0v8.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330801/original/file-20200427-145513-nuf0v8.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330801/original/file-20200427-145513-nuf0v8.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330801/original/file-20200427-145513-nuf0v8.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 happy healthy baby is a welcome sight for any mother.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://newcollege.asu.edu/james-sulikowski">James Sulikowski</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Wriggling baby tiger sharks, up to 40 of them packed tightly together inside their mother’s womb, appear in front of my eyes. The image also appears on a screen held by another team member on the boat, and everyone cheers as they gather around to take a peek into the secret world of unborn sharks. We spy on them as they pump fluid through their still-developing gills, and we watch in awe as they wiggle around, blissfully unaware that anything extraordinary is happening outside in the world. Once we have enough data on the approximate size of the offspring – which gives us an idea of how far along the pregnancy is – it’s time to tag the mama shark.</p>
<p>As I hold the probe as still as possible to keep a visual of the shark’s internal anatomy, Dr. Sulikowski takes the Birth-Tag and uses a custom-designed applicator to carefully insert it into the uterus through the urogenital opening. No surgery required, the tagging procedure is complete in a matter of minutes. Once the tag is inside the uterus, we rotate the shark upright to wake her and release her back to the open ocean. I am filled with hope as I watch her swim gracefully away to continue her pregnancy, with a stow-away Birth-Tag hidden among her unborn offspring.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330813/original/file-20200427-145530-1paqeo1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330813/original/file-20200427-145530-1paqeo1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/330813/original/file-20200427-145530-1paqeo1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330813/original/file-20200427-145530-1paqeo1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330813/original/file-20200427-145530-1paqeo1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330813/original/file-20200427-145530-1paqeo1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330813/original/file-20200427-145530-1paqeo1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/330813/original/file-20200427-145530-1paqeo1.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">These apex predatory sharks are important to ecosystems around the world.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.blueelementsimaging.com/">Tanya Houppermans</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Solving the mystery</h2>
<p>Last December, we deployed the first Birth-Tags on three pregnant tiger sharks. For tiger sharks, pregnancy is thought to last <a href="http://sedarweb.org/docs/wsupp/S21_RD07_AQUA15(4)_Cycles2.pdf">12-16 months</a>, but researchers have little in the way of hard data. Since these tagged sharks ranged from recently mated to mid-gestation, an added bonus of this study is that it might help refine estimates of the length of pregnancy for this species.</p>
<p>Although we work in The Bahamas, a <a href="https://www.epicdiving.com/bahamas-shark-sanctuary-conservation/">shark sanctuary</a> where it is illegal to kill sharks, tiger sharks <a href="https://dx.doi.org/10.1038%2Fsrep11202">migrate extensively</a>. As such, each tagged shark will likely spend time outside of The Bahamas in unprotected waters where she will have to navigate carefully to avoid interaction with fishing gear. Tiger sharks are considered <a href="https://www.iucnredlist.org/species/39378/2913541">near threatened</a> by the International Union for Conservation of Nature and their populations are currently in decline. The data we gain from this first round of tags will give us and policymakers information that could inform future protections for this species.</p>
<p>We are currently waiting to receive a notification from our online <a href="https://www.argos-system.org/argos/who-we-are/international-cooperation/">ARGOS satellite system</a> that will alert us that one of our sharks has given birth. When that happens, we will be the first in the world to know, in close to real time, where and when tiger sharks give birth.</p>
<p>Many species of shark are <a href="https://elifesciences.org/articles/00590">threatened with extinction</a>, and understanding their reproductive cycles is key to the effective conservation of these ecologically important and beautiful creatures. Using the Birth-Tag, we are at the cusp of unlocking this information about tiger sharks and will hopefully show that this can be done for many more species. </p>
<p>We are planning future expeditions to deploy many more Birth-Tags, but for now, we’ll just have to keep singing the “Baby Shark” song as we patiently wait for our first glimpse into the private lives of these incredible creatures.</p>
<p><em>This story has been updated to remove a photo of the Birth-Tag.</em></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/136673/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Hannah Verkamp works for Arizona State University as a Research Associate in the Sulikowski Shark and Fish Conservation Lab.
The research is funded by the Herbert W. Hoover Foundation. </span></em></p>Researchers are using a newly developed satellite tag to study previously unknown aspects of tiger shark reproduction. This approach could be used on other difficult-to-study shark species.Hannah Verkamp, PhD Student in Marine Biology, Arizona State UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1331222020-03-06T14:49:15Z2020-03-06T14:49:15ZWe tracked 300,000 trees only to find that rainforests are losing their power to help humanity<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/318944/original/file-20200305-106610-15bfobk.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Chokniti Khongchum / shutterstock</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Tropical forests matter to each and every one of us. They suck colossal quantities of carbon out of the atmosphere, providing a crucial brake on the rate of climate change. Yet, new research we have just published <a href="https://doi.org/10.1038/s41586-020-2035-0">in Nature</a> shows that intact tropical forests are removing far less carbon dioxide than they used to.</p>
<p>The change is staggering. Across the 1990s intact tropical forests – those unaffected by logging or fires – removed roughly 46 billion tonnes of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. This diminished to an estimated 25 billion tonnes in the 2010s. The lost sink capacity is 21 billion tonnes of carbon dioxide, equivalent to a decade of fossil fuel emissions from the UK, Germany, France and Canada combined.</p>
<p>How did we reach such an alarming conclusion, and how is it that nobody knew this before? The answer is that we – along with 181 other scientists from 36 countries – have spent years tracking individual trees deep in the world’s rainforests. </p>
<p>The idea is simple enough: we go and identify the tree species and measure the diameter and height of every individual tree in an area of forest. Then a few years later we return to exactly the same forest and re-measure all the trees again. We can see which grew, which died and if any new trees have grown.</p>
<p>These measurements allow us to calculate how much carbon is stored in a forest, and how it changes over time. By repeating the measurements enough times and in enough places, we can reveal long-term trends in carbon uptake.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/319089/original/file-20200306-118881-114hfxw.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/319089/original/file-20200306-118881-114hfxw.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/319089/original/file-20200306-118881-114hfxw.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=286&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/319089/original/file-20200306-118881-114hfxw.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=286&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/319089/original/file-20200306-118881-114hfxw.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=286&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/319089/original/file-20200306-118881-114hfxw.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=360&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/319089/original/file-20200306-118881-114hfxw.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=360&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/319089/original/file-20200306-118881-114hfxw.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=360&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Most of the world’s primary tropical rainforests are found in the Amazon, Central Africa or Southeast Asia.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://glad.umd.edu/gladmaps/globalmap.php#primary_humidtropical">Hansen/UMD/Google/USGS/NASA</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/">CC BY-SA</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This is easier said than done. Tracking trees in tropical forests is challenging, particularly in equatorial Africa, home to the second largest expanse of tropical forest in the world. As we want to monitor forests that are not logged or affected by fire, we need to travel down the last road, to the last village, and last path, before we even start our measurements.</p>
<p>First we need partnerships with local experts who know the trees and often have older measurements that we can build upon. Then we need permits from governments, plus agreements with local villagers to enter their forests, and their help as guides. Measuring trees, even in the most remote location, is a team task.</p>
<p>The work can be arduous. We have spent a week in a dugout canoe to reach the plots in Salonga National Park in central Democratic Republic of the Congo, carried everything for a month-long expedition through swamps to reach plots in Nouabalé Ndoki National Park in the Republic of Congo, and ventured into Liberia’s last forests once the civil war ended. We’ve dodged elephants, gorillas and large snakes, caught scary tropical diseases like Congo red fever and narrowly missed an Ebola outbreak.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/319075/original/file-20200306-118913-1pj0vx2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/319075/original/file-20200306-118913-1pj0vx2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/319075/original/file-20200306-118913-1pj0vx2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=376&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/319075/original/file-20200306-118913-1pj0vx2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=376&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/319075/original/file-20200306-118913-1pj0vx2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=376&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/319075/original/file-20200306-118913-1pj0vx2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=473&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/319075/original/file-20200306-118913-1pj0vx2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=473&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/319075/original/file-20200306-118913-1pj0vx2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=473&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Wading through swamps in Nouabalé Ndoki National Park.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Aida Cuní Sanchez</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Days start early to make the most of a day in the field. Up at first light, out of your tent, get the coffee on the open fire. Then after a walk to the plot, we use aluminium nails that don’t hurt the trees to label them with unique numbers, paint to mark exactly where we measure a tree so we can find it next time, and a portable ladder to get above the buttresses of the big trees. Plus a tape measure to get the tree diameters and a laser to zap tree heights.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/318952/original/file-20200305-106573-jsxv41.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/318952/original/file-20200305-106573-jsxv41.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/318952/original/file-20200305-106573-jsxv41.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/318952/original/file-20200305-106573-jsxv41.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/318952/original/file-20200305-106573-jsxv41.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/318952/original/file-20200305-106573-jsxv41.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/318952/original/file-20200305-106573-jsxv41.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/318952/original/file-20200305-106573-jsxv41.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">Researchers in Cameroon measure a 36 metre high tree.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Wannes Hubau</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>After sometimes a week of travel, it takes four to five days for a team of five people to measure all 400 to 600 trees above 10 cm diameter in the average hectare of forest (100 metres x 100 metres). For our study, this was done for 565 different patches of forest grouped in two large research networks of forest observations, the <a href="http://www.afritron.org">African Tropical Rainforest Observatory Network </a> and the <a href="http://www.rainfor.org">Amazon Rainforest Inventory Network</a>.</p>
<p>This work means months away. For many years, each of us has spent several months a year in the field writing down diameter measurements on special waterproof water. In total we tracked more than 300,000 trees and made more than 1 million diameter measurements in 17 countries.</p>
<p>Managing the data is a major task. It all goes into a website we designed at the University of Leeds, <a href="https://www.forestplots.net/">ForestPlots.net</a>, which allows standardisation, whether the measurements come from Cameroon or Colombia.</p>
<p>Many months of detailed analysis and checking of the data followed, as did time for a careful write-up our findings. We needed to focus on the detail of individual trees and plots, while not losing sight of the big picture. It’s a hard balancing act.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/319077/original/file-20200306-118890-17akqvf.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/319077/original/file-20200306-118890-17akqvf.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/319077/original/file-20200306-118890-17akqvf.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/319077/original/file-20200306-118890-17akqvf.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/319077/original/file-20200306-118890-17akqvf.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/319077/original/file-20200306-118890-17akqvf.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/319077/original/file-20200306-118890-17akqvf.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/319077/original/file-20200306-118890-17akqvf.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">One of the authors in Rep. Congo with Noe Madingou of Marien Ngouabi University and other local guides and researchers.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Aida Cuní Sanchez</span>, <span class="license">Author provided</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The final part of our analysis looked to the future. We used a statistical model and estimates of future environmental change to estimate that by 2030 the African forests’ capacity to remove carbon will decrease by 14%, while Amazonian forests may stop removing carbon dioxide altogether by 2035. Scientists have long feared that one of Earth’s large carbon sinks would switch to become a source. This process has, unfortunately, begun.</p>
<p>The declining carbon sink results provide pretty grim news and not what we would like to report. But as scientists, we have a job is to follow the data wherever it takes us. That can be far into the rainforests of Congo, or onto the TV to tell people about our work. It’s the least we can do in the climate emergency we are currently living though. We will all need to play a role in solving this crisis.</p>
<hr>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/263883/original/file-20190314-28475-1mzxjur.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/263883/original/file-20190314-28475-1mzxjur.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=140&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/263883/original/file-20190314-28475-1mzxjur.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=140&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/263883/original/file-20190314-28475-1mzxjur.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=140&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/263883/original/file-20190314-28475-1mzxjur.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=176&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/263883/original/file-20190314-28475-1mzxjur.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=176&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/263883/original/file-20190314-28475-1mzxjur.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=176&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption"></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p><em><a href="https://theconversation.com/imagine-newsletter-researchers-think-of-a-world-with-climate-action-113443?utm_source=TCUK&utm_medium=linkback&utm_campaign=TCUKengagement&utm_content=Imagineheader1133122">Click here to subscribe to our climate action newsletter. Climate change is inevitable. Our response to it isn’t.</a></em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/133122/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Simon Lewis has received funding from Natural Environment Research Council, the Royal Society, the European Union, the Leverhulme Trust, the Centre for International Forestry, National Parks Agency of Gabon, Microsoft Research, the Gordon and Betty Moore Foundation, the Greenpeace Fund, and the David and Lucile Packard Foundation.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Aida Cuní Sanchez and Wannes Hubau do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Scientists behind a major new study explain how they discovered these forests are becoming less able to sequester carbon.Wannes Hubau, Research Scientist, Royal Museum for Central AfricaAida Cuní Sanchez, Postdoctoral Research Associate, University of YorkSimon Lewis, Professor of Global Change Science at University of Leeds and, UCLLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1194992019-07-22T10:55:31Z2019-07-22T10:55:31ZWaiting for an undersea robot in Antarctica to call home<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/281448/original/file-20190626-76705-w53a62.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C310%2C5184%2C3135&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">One of two underwater gliders is deployed from a research ship into Antarctic waters.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">NOAA</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>“Call! Just call!” I think loudly in my head. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”</p>
<p>I might seem like a worried parent waiting for a teenager to report in from an unsupervised outing. Rather, I’m a <a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/jenmariewalsh">research biologist</a> with the Antarctic Ecosystem Research Division at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. It’s late February 2019, and I am waiting for an autonomous underwater glider in Antarctica to surface and call me via satellite, so I can give it new diving instructions. The longest it’s supposed to go without surfacing is eight hours, and it’s now been nine.</p>
<p>Did it get stuck under an iceberg? An underwater ledge? I feel so helpless; I’m 9,000 miles away in San Diego and all I can do is chew my fingernails and think, “No. This can’t happen. We can’t lose this glider so close to the end.” </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/281837/original/file-20190628-94720-cx387f.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/281837/original/file-20190628-94720-cx387f.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/281837/original/file-20190628-94720-cx387f.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=565&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281837/original/file-20190628-94720-cx387f.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=565&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281837/original/file-20190628-94720-cx387f.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=565&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281837/original/file-20190628-94720-cx387f.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=711&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281837/original/file-20190628-94720-cx387f.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=711&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281837/original/file-20190628-94720-cx387f.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=711&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 survey area where gliders measured Antarctic krill populations.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">NOAA</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Our research team is two-and-a-half months into a three-month-long mission just north of the Antarctic Peninsula. This is our first time deploying gliders so far from home, and our hope for a successful field season – not to mention a great deal of research – depends on recovering the two gliders our group deployed in December 2018. The gliders are now full of oceanographic data that will help us provide scientific advice on how best to conserve the Antarctic ecosystem as the area around the peninsula warms faster than almost any other region on Earth, which may adversely affect the animals that live there.</p>
<h2>9 hours, 30 minutes: No call</h2>
<p>For over 30 years, the <a href="https://swfsc.noaa.gov/textblock.aspx?id=551&ParentMenuId=42">NOAA group I’m part of</a> has conducted studies to estimate how many Antarctic krill, small shrimp-like creatures that support the diverse Antarctic food web, live around the Antarctic Peninsula.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/281449/original/file-20190626-76734-1ycpivt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/281449/original/file-20190626-76734-1ycpivt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/281449/original/file-20190626-76734-1ycpivt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=467&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281449/original/file-20190626-76734-1ycpivt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=467&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281449/original/file-20190626-76734-1ycpivt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=467&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281449/original/file-20190626-76734-1ycpivt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=586&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281449/original/file-20190626-76734-1ycpivt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=586&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281449/original/file-20190626-76734-1ycpivt.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=586&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Antarctic krill, <em>Euphausia superba</em>, can grow up to about 2.5 inches long.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Krill666.jpg">Uwe Kils/Wikimedia Commons</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/">CC BY-SA</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Krill feeds penguins and seals that breed in this area every summer and whales and fishes that feed here year-round, while also supporting a major fishery. You may have seen bright-red dietary supplements made from krill oil prominently displayed at the pharmacy. Our data help establish catch limits for the krill fishery, ensuring enough krill remain in the ocean to maintain the population after all people and animals take what they need to make a living. Without good data to support fishery-management decisions, krill fishing could <a href="https://www.ccamlr.org/en/fisheries/krill-%E2%80%93-biology-ecology-and-fishing">undermine the food web</a> for which Antarctica is so well known, as demand for supplements and other <a href="https://bestmarketherald.com/krill-oil-market-demand-expected-to-raise-by-dietary-supplements-segment-in-upcoming-years/">krill products surges</a>.</p>
<h2>10 hours: No call</h2>
<p>Until three years ago, my program chartered a research vessel for a month each year to sail around the Antarctic Peninsula and <a href="https://swfsc.noaa.gov/contentblock.aspx?ID=14326&ParentMenuId=42">estimate the biomass of krill</a>. But after 2016, rising vessel costs eliminated our surveys. For our program to continue, we had to find a creative way to collect our data in Antarctica without actually going to Antarctica. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/281776/original/file-20190628-94724-w5a3pn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/281776/original/file-20190628-94724-w5a3pn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/281776/original/file-20190628-94724-w5a3pn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281776/original/file-20190628-94724-w5a3pn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281776/original/file-20190628-94724-w5a3pn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281776/original/file-20190628-94724-w5a3pn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281776/original/file-20190628-94724-w5a3pn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281776/original/file-20190628-94724-w5a3pn.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">An autonomous glider in the ocean.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">NOAA</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Our solution was to use autonomous underwater gliders, which can be deployed in just a few hours by a small team from a ship in Antarctica, and then recovered months later. Gliders can dive to 3,000 feet, cover thousands of miles and follow commands from anywhere in the world with a laptop and an internet connection. Their batteries last six months, which means that they can collect much more data for much less money than a bunch of scientists on a research vessel. </p>
<p>The gliders resemble torpedoes in appearance, but contain three massive batteries and an array of scientific sensors that collect much of the same data we used to collect from a ship. Although the gliders are able to transmit small amounts of data via satellite throughout the deployment, the most valuable data are stored on the glider. If we lose a glider, which is always a possibility when you let something roam free in the ocean unattended for months, then we also lose the data.</p>
<p>We had effectively replaced ourselves with drones. But would they work?</p>
<h2>12 hours: No call</h2>
<p>For most of our team, the transition just a year ago from annual research voyages to the aquatic versions of C-3PO and R2-D2 was exciting. Secretly, though, I was terrified. I had spent my career as a scientist collecting krill samples from research vessels for biochemical analyses of their tissues. Suddenly I found myself ousted by oceanographic robots full of cables, wires, circuit boards and all sorts of other technological gadgetry.</p>
<p>These are not what you’d call smart robots. A bit like human toddlers, they have some degree of self-awareness, but would destroy themselves without semi-constant monitoring and instructions on how deep to dive or where to go. Outside supervision is especially important in the Southern Ocean, which is full of seamounts, canyons, strong currents and, most importantly, icebergs. </p>
<p>You can’t glider-proof the ocean the way you can baby-proof a house, so I had to forget everything I knew about biochemistry and learn as much as I could about glider piloting in 10 short months.</p>
<h2>13 hours: No call</h2>
<p>All that training and practice felt like 10 minutes by the time we finally packed up the gliders and shipped them to the Southern Hemisphere for their first Antarctic deployments. The commands for how deep to dive and where to go seemed simple enough, but the gliders responded as unpredictably as the ocean itself. </p>
<p>A near-disastrous practice deployment in San Diego revealed how slowly they maneuver, particularly in strong currents. Piloting them felt like trying to drive a remote-control semi-truck through a go-kart course, which reinforced our apprehension about driving these things through the ocean all the way across the planet, in one of the most remote and treacherous oceans on Earth.</p>
<p>Never mind the wind and the currents and the icebergs. What made this deployment far scarier was that if things started to go horribly wrong, we had no way to get the gliders back. It was like dropping a toddler off at college on another continent: What if he needs you and you can’t get to him?</p>
<h2>14 hours: No call</h2>
<p>Almost exactly 10 months from our first day of glider training, we carried the gliders across the Drake Passage on a research vessel bound for the Antarctic Peninsula. The deployments were flawless, and over the next few days, our confidence began to build. We quickly learned that icebergs were enemy number one, and they were formidable opponents. Satellite images of icebergs were <a href="https://www.polarview.aq/antarctic">available every couple of days</a>, and we overlaid maps of planned glider tracks onto those images so we could steer the gliders around any ice in their way. The trouble was, even the newest images we received were already a day old, and the ice had already moved.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/281839/original/file-20190628-94708-1yfhkyg.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/281839/original/file-20190628-94708-1yfhkyg.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/281839/original/file-20190628-94708-1yfhkyg.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=312&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281839/original/file-20190628-94708-1yfhkyg.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=312&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281839/original/file-20190628-94708-1yfhkyg.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=312&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281839/original/file-20190628-94708-1yfhkyg.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=392&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281839/original/file-20190628-94708-1yfhkyg.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=392&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/281839/original/file-20190628-94708-1yfhkyg.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=392&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">On this chart of the South Shetland Islands, one intended glider path is marked in straight gray lines. Circled in red in the middle is the iceberg the researchers called ‘Yacu.’</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">NOAA</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Smaller icebergs were usually avoidable, but around three weeks into the deployment, “Yacu” appeared on the scene. Inspired by a <a href="http://www.salem-news.com/articles/august162010/monster-amazon-ta.php">mythological South American snake</a> that eats everything in its way, that was the nickname we gave a 12.5-mile-wide iceberg from the Weddell Sea that drifted right into the path of one of the gliders. Yacu stuck around for the rest of the deployment, every few days spawning smaller (but still huge) icebergs that posed a constant and unpredictable threat to gliders already at the mercy of currents, tides and wind.</p>
<p>If a glider gets trapped under an obstacle and senses that it’s been underwater for too long, it drops an emergency weight to rocket itself to the surface for an immediate recovery. Once a glider drops its weight, it can’t dive anymore. So if it is trapped under ice, it’s likely to stay trapped under ice. And one way to know if a glider is trapped is that it stops calling in, because it can connect to satellites only when it’s at the surface.</p>
<h2>15 hours: No call</h2>
<p>And then…</p>
<p>Ding ding! Ding ding! My laptop screams at me after 16 long hours: The glider is at the surface.</p>
<p>It is well past 9 p.m., but every member of our five-person team has been glued to a computer since early afternoon, and we collectively sigh with relief. We now think the glider probably surfaced after the first eight hours, failed to connect to the satellite and resumed diving, which can occasionally happen. The reason for the gap is unimportant compared to our elation. A couple of weeks later, we successfully recovered both gliders on schedule and completed our first autonomous Antarctic field season. </p>
<p>One key finding is that we can, in fact, replace a vessel-based fishery assessment with a glider-based one in less than a year. With gliders, we can get krill biomass estimates comparable to those we would expect from a ship. That means we can use gliders to continue to provide critical data for managing the krill fishery.</p>
<p>This is a profound accomplishment for us and for NOAA, and it also has far-reaching promise for the future of fisheries research globally. The cost of science keeps going up, and autonomous instruments offer an affordable way to collect critical data for effectively managing ocean resources and conserving fragile marine ecosystems worldwide. </p>
<p>Our gliders are like toddlers in one final way: They’re advanced technology, yet they’re still in their infancy. Their ongoing usefulness to understand our changing planet in real time will depend on new sensors and instruments yet to be developed. What we accomplished is only the the tip of Yacu compared to what the future of autonomous oceanographic research holds.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/119499/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Jennifer Walsh is employed and funded by the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. The scientific results and conclusions, as well as any views or opinions expressed herein, are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the views of NOAA or the Department of Commerce.</span></em></p>Sending autonomous vehicles to the Southern Ocean can be fraught with anxiety, especially if one of them doesn’t make radio contact when it’s supposed to.Jennifer Walsh, Research Biologist, National Oceanic and Atmospheric AdministrationLicensed 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>
<figure>
<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>
</figure>
<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>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<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>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<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>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<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>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<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>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<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>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<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>
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<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/1042972018-12-03T11:45:17Z2018-12-03T11:45:17ZScientist at work: To take atomic-scale pictures of tiny crystals, use a huge, kilometer-long synchrotron<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/247512/original/file-20181127-76752-130m1ub.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C4200%2C3444&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">It takes a giant piece of equipment to look deep inside a tiny atom.</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.aps.anl.gov/About/Welcome">Advanced Photon Source at Argonne National Lab</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>It’s 4 a.m., and I’ve been up for about 20 hours straight. A loud alarm is blaring, accompanied by red strobe lights flashing. A stern voice announces, “Searching station B. Exit immediately.” It feels like an emergency, but it’s not. In fact, the alarm has already gone off 60 or 70 times today. It is a warning, letting everyone in the vicinity know I’m about to blast a high-powered X-ray beam into a small room full of electronic equipment and plumes of vaporizing liquid nitrogen.</p>
<p>In the center of this room, which is called station B, I have placed a crystal no thicker than a human hair on the tip of a tiny glass fiber. I have prepared dozens of these crystals, and am attempting to analyze all of them. </p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/240005/original/file-20181010-72110-13t1boh.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/240005/original/file-20181010-72110-13t1boh.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/240005/original/file-20181010-72110-13t1boh.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=311&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/240005/original/file-20181010-72110-13t1boh.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=311&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/240005/original/file-20181010-72110-13t1boh.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=311&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/240005/original/file-20181010-72110-13t1boh.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=391&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/240005/original/file-20181010-72110-13t1boh.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=391&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/240005/original/file-20181010-72110-13t1boh.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=391&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 her colleagues preparing crystalline samples to take to the synchrotron, in hopes of determining their atomic-level structures.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Courtesy of Kerry Rippy</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>These crystals are made of <a href="https://theconversation.com/smart-windows-could-combine-solar-panels-and-tvs-too-95352">organic semiconducting materials</a>, which are used to make computer chips, LED lights, smartphone screens and solar panels. I want to find out precisely where each atom inside the crystals is located, how densely packed they are and how they interact with each other. This information will help me predict how well electricity will flow through them.</p>
<p>To see these atoms and determine their structure, I need the help of a synchrotron, which is a massive scientific instrument containing a kilometer-long loop of electrons zooming around at near the speed of light. I also need a microscope, a gyroscope, liquid nitrogen, a bit of luck, a gifted colleague and a tricycle.</p>
<h2>Getting the crystal in place</h2>
<p>The first step of this experiment involves placing the super-tiny crystals on the tip of the glass fiber. I use a needle to scrape a pile of them together onto a glass slide and put them under a microscope. The crystals are beautiful – colorful and faceted like little gemstones. I often find myself transfixed, staring with sleep-deprived eyes into the microscope, and refocusing my gaze before painstakingly coaxing one onto the tip of a glass fiber. </p>
<p>Once I’ve gotten the crystal attached to the fiber, I begin the often frustrating task of centering the crystal on the tip of a gyroscope inside station B. This device will spin the crystal around, slowly and continuously, allowing me to get X-ray images of it from all sides. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/240002/original/file-20181010-72113-1aubjn9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/240002/original/file-20181010-72113-1aubjn9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/240002/original/file-20181010-72113-1aubjn9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=211&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/240002/original/file-20181010-72113-1aubjn9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=211&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/240002/original/file-20181010-72113-1aubjn9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=211&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/240002/original/file-20181010-72113-1aubjn9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=265&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/240002/original/file-20181010-72113-1aubjn9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=265&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/240002/original/file-20181010-72113-1aubjn9.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=265&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">On the left is the gyroscope, designed to rotate the crystal through a series of different angles as the X-ray beam hits it. Behind it is the detector panel which records the diffraction spots. On the right is a zoomed in picture of a single crystal, mounted on a glass fiber attached to the tip of the gyroscope.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Kerry Rippy</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>As it spins, liquid nitrogen vapor is used to cool it down: Even at room temperature, atoms vibrate back and forth, making it hard to get clear images of them. Cooling the crystal to minus 196 degrees Celsius, the temperature of liquid nitrogen, makes the atoms stop moving so much.</p>
<h2>X-ray photography</h2>
<p>Once I have the crystal centered and cooled, I close off station B, and from a computer control hub outside of it, blast the sample with X-rays. The resulting image, called a diffraction pattern, is displayed as bright spots on an orange background. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/247144/original/file-20181125-149332-prb8n6.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/247144/original/file-20181125-149332-prb8n6.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/247144/original/file-20181125-149332-prb8n6.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=608&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/247144/original/file-20181125-149332-prb8n6.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=608&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/247144/original/file-20181125-149332-prb8n6.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=608&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/247144/original/file-20181125-149332-prb8n6.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=764&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/247144/original/file-20181125-149332-prb8n6.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=764&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/247144/original/file-20181125-149332-prb8n6.PNG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=764&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">This is a diffraction pattern that results when you shoot an X-ray beam at a single crystal.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Kerry Rippy</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>What I am doing is not very different from taking photographs with a camera and a flash. I’m about to send light rays at an object and record how the light bounces off it. But I can’t use visible light to photograph atoms – they’re too small, and the wavelengths of light in the visible part of the spectrum are too big. X-rays have shorter wavelengths, so they will diffract, or bounce off atoms. </p>
<p>However, unlike with a camera, diffracted X-rays can’t be focused with a simple lens. Instead of a photograph-like image, the data I collect are an unfocused pattern of where the X-rays went after they bounced off the atoms in my crystal. A full set of data about one crystal is made up of these images taken from every angle all around the crystal as the gyroscope spins it. </p>
<h2>Advanced math</h2>
<p>My colleague, <a href="https://www.linkedin.com/in/nicholasjohndeweerd/">Nicholas DeWeerd</a>, sits nearby, analyzing data sets I’ve already collected. He has managed to ignore the blaring alarms and flashing lights for hours, staring at diffraction images on his screen to, in effect, turn the X-ray images from all sides of the crystal into a picture of the atoms inside the crystal itself.</p>
<p>In years past, this process might have taken years of careful calculations done by hand, but now he uses computer modeling to put all the pieces together. He is our research group’s unofficial expert at this part of the puzzle, and he loves it. “It’s like Christmas!” I hear him mutter, as he flips through twinkling images of diffraction patterns.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/247152/original/file-20181126-149338-1sjgkjx.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/247152/original/file-20181126-149338-1sjgkjx.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/247152/original/file-20181126-149338-1sjgkjx.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=332&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/247152/original/file-20181126-149338-1sjgkjx.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=332&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/247152/original/file-20181126-149338-1sjgkjx.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=332&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/247152/original/file-20181126-149338-1sjgkjx.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=418&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/247152/original/file-20181126-149338-1sjgkjx.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=418&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/247152/original/file-20181126-149338-1sjgkjx.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=418&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Solving a set of diffraction patterns produces an atomic-level picture of a crystal, showing individual molecules (left) and how they pack together to form a crystalline structure.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://doi.org/10.1002/cplu.201800451">Kerry Rippy</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>I smile at the enthusiasm he’s managed to maintain so late into the night, as I fire up the synchotron to get my pictures of the crystal perched in station B. I hold my breath as diffraction patterns from the first few angles pop up on the screen. Not all crystals diffract, even if I’ve set everything up perfectly. Often that’s because each crystal is made up of lots of even smaller crystals stuck together, or crystals containing too many impurities to form a repeating crystalline pattern that we can mathematically solve. </p>
<p>If this one doesn’t deliver clear images, I’ll have to start over and set up another. Luckily, in this case, the first few images that pop up show bright, clear diffraction spots. I smile and sit back to collect the rest of the data set. Now as the gyroscope whirls and the X-ray beam blasts the sample, I have a few minutes to relax.</p>
<p>I would drink some coffee to stay alert, but my hands are already shaking from caffeine overload. Instead, I call over to Nick: “I’m gonna take a lap.” I walk over to a group of tricycles sitting nearby. Normally used just to get around the large building containing the synchrotron, I find them equally helpful for a desperate attempt to wake up with some exercise. </p>
<p>As I ride, I think about the crystal mounted on the gyroscope. I’ve spent months synthesizing it, and soon I’ll have a picture of it. With the picture, I’ll gain understanding of whether the modifications that I have made to it, which make it slightly different than other materials I have made in the past, have improved it at all. If I see evidence of better packing or increased intermolecular interactions, that could mean the molecule is a good candidate for testing in electronic devices. </p>
<p>Exhausted, but happy because I’m collecting useful data, I slowly pedal around the loop, noting that the synchrotron is in high demand. When the beamline is running, it is used 24/7, which is why I’m working through the night. I was lucky to get a time slot at all. At other stations, other researchers like me are working late into the night. </p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zfhJgY2Begk?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">Taking a tricycle for a ride at the Advanced Photon Source.</span></figcaption>
</figure><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/104297/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Kerry Rippy 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>It turns out to be fairly complicated to figure out how electricity will flow through materials – a crucial question for designing new electronics and semiconductor materials.Kerry Rippy, Ph.D. Candidate in Chemistry, Colorado State UniversityLicensed 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">
</audio>
<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>
</div></p>
<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>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/227472/original/file-20180712-27024-1pztro3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/227472/original/file-20180712-27024-1pztro3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/227472/original/file-20180712-27024-1pztro3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=568&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/227472/original/file-20180712-27024-1pztro3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=568&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/227472/original/file-20180712-27024-1pztro3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=568&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/227472/original/file-20180712-27024-1pztro3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=714&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/227472/original/file-20180712-27024-1pztro3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=714&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/227472/original/file-20180712-27024-1pztro3.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=714&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 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>
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<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>
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<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/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>
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<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>
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<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>
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<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/851482017-10-18T23:39:14Z2017-10-18T23:39:14ZScientist at work: Measuring public health impacts after disasters<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/190687/original/file-20171017-19058-1vmpwto.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Crews clean up debris in a neighborhood flooded by Hurricane Harvey in Beaumont, Texas, Sept. 26, 2017. </span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="http://www.apimages.com/metadata/Index/Trump-County-Considering-Climate/a9ba8f3c8c41405bb7be0343373b4c63/55/0">AP Photo/David Goldman</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Two months after Hurricane Harvey submerged much of metropolitan Houston, recovery is under way across the city. Residents and volunteers are <a href="http://sbpusa.org/where-we-help/harvey-recovery">gutting and restoring flooded homes</a>. Government agencies and nonprofit organizations are <a href="https://www.epa.gov/newsreleases/san-jacinto-waste-pits-superfund-site-cleanup-plan-approved">announcing cleanup programs</a> and developing plans to <a href="http://www.houstonchronicle.com/news/politics/houston/article/Officials-dole-out-7-5M-in-Harvey-relief-fund-12250900.php">distribute relief funds</a>.</p>
<p>But many questions remain about impacts on public health. What contaminants did floodwaters leave behind? How many people are being exposed to mold – which can grow rapidly in damp, humid conditions – as they repair their homes? Will there be an increase in Zika, West Nile or other vector-borne diseases as <a href="http://publichealth.harriscountytx.gov/Services-Programs/All-Services/Mosquito-Control-Services">mosquito populations recover</a>? Or an uptick in reported cases of other illnesses?</p>
<p>I am an epidemiologist, and my work focuses on understanding the causes and distribution of illnesses, injuries and deaths among different populations – a critical issue during and after major disasters. Our work starts when the water recedes: We want to find out how well residents were prepared before the storm, and what kinds of health impacts they may be experiencing now or can expect in the future. If they still have unmet needs, we can connect them with information and resources.</p>
<p>Researchers are at work across Texas in areas impacted by Harvey. Here’s what some of us are doing.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LwWDcpV2MCk?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
<figcaption><span class="caption">Houston homeowners fight mold and standing water after Harvey.</span></figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Contaminants left behind</h2>
<p>I’m currently working in Houston with partners from community organizations including <a href="http://tejasbarrios.org/">Texas Environmental Justice Advocacy Services</a> and the <a href="http://www.houstontx.gov/health/">Houston Health Department</a> to sample soil and sediment that was mobilized by flooding during Harvey. </p>
<p>For example, residents of Manchester, a neighborhood in Houston’s East End with many low-income and minority residents, live close to <a href="http://www.ucsusa.org/center-science-and-democracy/connecting-scientists-and-communities/double-jeopardy#.Wc017NFOmUk">industrial sites, refineries and chemical storage facilities</a>, many of which were <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2017/09/06/us/harvey-houston-valero-benzene.html?mcubz=0&_r=0">flooded during Harvey</a>. They are worried that contaminated sediments may have been washed into their yards and could threaten their health if dust enters homes as it dries. This is a valid fear. A <a href="http://dx.doi.org/10.1021/es9812709">1999 study</a> found that dredging in New Bedford, Massachusetts mobilized toxic PCBs from harbor sediments, which later were detected in house dust and yard soil in nearby homes.</p>
<p>We also are working around Buffalo Bayou, a slow-moving river that flows through Houston and buffers the city against flooding. Buffalo Bayou is surrounded by <a href="http://buffalobayou.org/">public recreation areas</a>, including nature trails, bike paths, children’s playgrounds and dog parks. Today trails in some of these parks are covered by up to six feet of <a href="https://www.click2houston.com/news/hurricane-harvey-leaves-behind-piles-of-sediment-at-buffalo-bayou-park">accumulated sediment</a>. We are working with the Houston Health Department to collect and test these sediments for environmental and health hazards.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/190695/original/file-20171017-30410-197fvfz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/190695/original/file-20171017-30410-197fvfz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/190695/original/file-20171017-30410-197fvfz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=411&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/190695/original/file-20171017-30410-197fvfz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=411&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/190695/original/file-20171017-30410-197fvfz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=411&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/190695/original/file-20171017-30410-197fvfz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=517&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/190695/original/file-20171017-30410-197fvfz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=517&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/190695/original/file-20171017-30410-197fvfz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=517&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">According to the Environmental Protection Agency, an unknown amount of a dangerous chemical linked to birth defects and cancer may have washed downstream from the San Jacinto River Waste Pits site in Channelview, Texas during flooding from Hurricane Harvey.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="http://www.apimages.com/metadata/Index/Harvey-Toxic-Sites-Underwater/2300fe0bcd3244bbaa0aaf68b2a689dd/5/0">AP Photo/John L. Mone</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Documenting contamination is only the first step. Residents, the media and public officials can easily misinterpret lab results and risk predictions, which are based on complex modeling.</p>
<p>To help people understand what these exposures could mean to their short-term and long-term health, we are working with established teams of toxicologists, environmental health specialists, civil engineers, chemists, risk communication specialists and graphic designers as part of Texas A&M’s <a href="http://ifsc.tamu.edu/">Institute for Sustainable Communities</a>. We are also exploring ways to use social media to communicate with residents at risk as part of the university’s new <a href="https://superfund.tamu.edu/">Superfund Research Program</a>. </p>
<p>During and after Harvey, some Houston residents were exposed to complex mixtures of contaminants from <a href="http://www.latimes.com/nation/la-na-houston-chemical-plant-20170831-story.html">chemical plants</a> and <a href="http://www.businessinsider.com/ap-ap-exclusive-evidence-of-spills-at-toxic-site-during-floods-2017-9">toxic waste sites</a>. We need better, more accessible materials and communication tools to help people understand what kinds of health risks they may face if they have come in contact with industrial chemicals or hazardous waste.</p>
<h2>New data sources</h2>
<p>After major disasters, epidemiologists need ways to determine quickly where the greatest needs lie. Student volunteers from my <a href="https://sph.tamhsc.edu/epi-bio/epi-assist.html">EpiAssist program</a> have helped conduct surveys to rapidly <a href="https://twitter.com/hcphtx/status/916046362541772800">estimate remaining unmet needs</a> and assess <a href="https://www.cdc.gov/nceh/hsb/disaster/casper/">how prepared residents were when the storm hit</a>. </p>
<p>We also can measure people’s needs by looking at how they use telecommunications. After Hurricanes Katrina and Rita in 2005, researchers at Texas A&M’s Department of Landscape Architecture and Urban Planning
analyzed use of <a href="http://www.211texas.org/">2-1-1</a>, a telephone number that Texas used to help Katrina evacuees in Texas to search for services across the state. By studying 2-1-1 data, they were able to identify unmet needs in real time. </p>
<p>Now people are using <a href="https://theconversation.com/why-social-media-apps-should-be-in-your-disaster-kit-83743">social media networks and apps</a> during disasters. After Harvey, many desperate flooding victims <a href="http://money.cnn.com/2017/08/28/media/harvey-rescues-social-media-facebook-twitter/index.html">turned to Facebook and Twitter</a> to appeal for help or find supplies. With colleagues from Texas A&M’s Computer Science and Engineering and Health Promotion and Community Health Sciences departments, I am analyzing tweets sent during Harvey to see how volunteer responders provided lifesaving assistance, and to understand risks and exposures that many volunteers may have experienced.</p>
<p><div data-react-class="Tweet" data-react-props="{"tweetId":"903988916243619841"}"></div></p>
<h2>Long-term questions</h2>
<p>More information about Harvey’s impacts will become available over time and can tell us a lot. I will be requesting and analyzing data from the <a href="https://www.fema.gov/">Federal Emergency Management Agency</a> to design studies to assess the quality and pace of recovery. </p>
<p>One key priority should be to enroll a large number of Houstonians in a <a href="http://dx.doi.org/10.1097/PRS.0b013e3181f44abc">cohort study</a> that can follow them over time to see how strongly certain risk factors – such as exposures to contaminated flood waters, chemical spills or leaking Superfund sites – are associated with future illness. Researchers track cohort members’ health by surveying them periodically, collecting biological samples from them and reviewing their medical records.</p>
<p>Studies like this after past disasters have produced important findings. Researchers used a registry of firefighters and emergency responders who were involved in the Sept. 11, 2001 terrorist attacks to <a href="http://dx.doi.org/10.1001/jama.2012.110980">identify cancers</a> from exposure to ignited chemicals and materials. The <a href="https://www.niehs.nih.gov/">National Institute for Environmental Health Sciences</a> created a similar <a href="https://gulfstudy.nih.gov/en/index.html">registry</a> after the 2010 Deepwater Horizon oil spill to assess health outcomes of people who were involved in cleanup and remediation activities.</p>
<h2>An emerging field</h2>
<p>Epidemiology is <a href="https://www.cdc.gov/mmwr/preview/mmwrhtml/mm5334a1.htm">more than 150 years old</a>, but <a href="https://www.elsevier.com/books/disaster-epidemiology/horney/978-0-12-809318-4">applying it in disaster settings</a> is relatively new. Using epidemiologic methods and study designs in post-disaster settings can help identify vulnerable populations, quantify deaths and injuries and determine how disasters have affected public health. It also can lead to better decision-making and use of resources. </p>
<p>Wide-scale disasters can create conditions that foster serious health threats afterward. For example, in Texas and Florida communities that experienced hurricane flooding and where local transmission of Zika has been documented, health officials may need to pay closer attention to people of childbearing age in shelters and put more resources into mosquito control and personal protective measures. Officials in Puerto Rico have reported two confirmed and 10 suspected cases of <a href="http://outbreaknewstoday.com/leptospirosis-cases-reported-puerto-rico-post-hurricane-maria-11119/">leptospirosis</a>, a disease transmitted via contaminated water, in the wake of Hurricane Maria. Amassing more evidence about how disasters affect health will improve readiness, response, recovery and mitigation for all Americans.</p>
<p><em>Editor’s note: This article has been updated to clarify that Zika virus transmission has been documented in Texas and Florida, but Zika is not endemic in the continental United States.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/85148/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Jennifer Horney 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>Epidemiologists study disease outbreaks in populations to determine who gets sick and why. In the wake of this year’s hurricanes, they are assessing impacts from mold, toxic leaks and other threats.Jennifer Horney, Associate Professor of Epidemiology and Biostatictics, Texas A&M UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/823142017-08-10T05:30:33Z2017-08-10T05:30:33ZClimate change has changed the way I think about science. Here’s why<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181626/original/file-20170810-4244-oydjjn.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Science is a human approach to understanding the world. </span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/download/confirm/434725927?src=y0e-tAxOM2hm4jrPZkMRHA-3-19&size=huge_jpg">Nitirak Rakitiworakun/shutterstock</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>I’ve wanted to be a scientist since I was five years old. </p>
<p>My idea of a scientist was someone in a lab, making hypotheses and testing theories. We often think of science only as a linear, objective process. This is also the way that science is presented in peer reviewed journal articles – a study begins with a research question or hypothesis, followed by methods, results and conclusions.</p>
<p>It turns out that my work now as a climate scientist doesn’t quite gel with the way we typically talk about science and how science works. </p>
<p>Climate change, and doing climate change research, has changed the way I see and do science. Here are five points that explain why. </p>
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<p><em><strong>Read more</strong>: <a href="https://theconversation.com/australia-needs-dozens-more-scientists-to-monitor-climate-properly-report-says-81958">Australia needs dozens more scientists to monitor climage properly</a></em> </p>
<hr>
<h2>1. Methods aren’t always necessarily falsifiable</h2>
<p><a href="https://theconversation.com/how-we-edit-science-part-1-the-scientific-method-74521">Falsifiability</a> is the idea that an assertion can be shown to be false by an experiment or an observation, and is critical to distinctions between “true science” and “<a href="https://theconversation.com/trump-has-embraced-pseudoscience-and-its-deceptive-tactics-in-a-post-truth-world-70134">pseudoscience</a>”.</p>
<p>Climate models are important and complex tools for understanding the climate system. <a href="http://climate.calcommons.org/sites/default/files/Hargreaves2014.pdf">Are climate models falsifiable?</a> Are they science? A test of falsifiability requires a model test or climate observation that shows global warming caused by increased human-produced greenhouse gases is untrue. It is difficult to propose a test of climate models in advance that is falsifiable.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181629/original/file-20170810-4257-pzqwcf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181629/original/file-20170810-4257-pzqwcf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=432&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181629/original/file-20170810-4257-pzqwcf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=432&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181629/original/file-20170810-4257-pzqwcf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=432&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181629/original/file-20170810-4257-pzqwcf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=543&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181629/original/file-20170810-4257-pzqwcf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=543&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181629/original/file-20170810-4257-pzqwcf.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=543&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Science is complicated - and doesn’t always fit the simplified version we learn as children.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-vector/school-children-lab-clothing-safety-glasses-556610134?src=3K026F_QfLPHxPW1CYHBVA-1-62">FoxyImage/shutterstock</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>This difficulty doesn’t mean that climate models or climate science are invalid or untrustworthy. Climate models are carefully developed and <a href="https://theconversation.com/there-are-no-time-travelling-climatologists-why-we-use-climate-models-15347">evaluated</a> based on their ability to accurately reproduce observed climate trends and processes. This is why climatologists have confidence in them as scientific tools, not because of ideas around falsifiability. </p>
<h2>2. There’s lots of ways to interpret data</h2>
<p>Climate research is messy. I spent four years of my PhD reconstructing past changes in Australian and Indonesian rainfall over many thousands of years. Reconstructing the past is inherently problematic. It is riddled with uncertainty and subject to our individual interpretations.</p>
<p>During my PhD, I submitted a <a href="http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/nasapub/66/">paper</a> for publication detailing an interpretation of changes in Indonesian climates, derived from a stalagmite that formed deep in a cave. </p>
<p>My coauthors had disparate views about what, in particular, this stalagmite was telling us. Then, when my paper was returned from the process of peer review, seemingly in shreds, it turns out the two reviewers themselves had directly opposing views about the record. </p>
<p>What happens when everyone who looks at data has a different idea about what it means? (The <a href="http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/nasapub/66/">published paper</a> reflects a range of different viewpoints). </p>
<p>Another example of ambiguity emerged around the discussion of the <a href="https://www.nature.com/ngeo/journal/v7/n3/full/ngeo2116.html">hiatus</a> in global warming. This was the temporary slowdown in the rate of global warming at the Earth’s surface occurring roughly over the 15 year period since 1997. Some sceptics were <a href="http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0959378015000515">adamant</a> that this was unequivocal proof that the world was not warming at all and that global warming was unfounded.</p>
<p>There was an avalanche of academic interest in the warming slowdown. It was attributed to a <a href="https://www.nature.com/nature/journal/v545/n7652/full/nature22315.html">multitude</a> of causes, including deep ocean processes, aerosols, measurement error and the end of ozone depletion. </p>
<p>Ambiguity and uncertainty are key parts of the natural world, and scientific exploration of it. </p>
<h2>3. Sometimes the scientist matters as well as the results</h2>
<p>I regularly present my scientific results at public lectures or community events. I used to show a photo depicting a Tasmanian family sheltering under a pier from a <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/news/2015-10-13/tasmanian-bushfire-report-finds-recommendations-adopted/6849576">fire</a> front. The sky is suffused with heat. In the ocean, a grandmother holds two children while their sister helps her brother cling to underside of the pier.</p>
<p>After a few talks, I had to remove the photo from my PowerPoint presentation because each time I turned around to discuss it, it would make me teary. I felt so strongly that the year we were living was a chilling taste of our world to come. </p>
<p>Just outside of Sydney, tinderbox conditions occurred in early spring of 2013, following a dry, warm winter. Bushfires raged far too early in the season. I was frightened of a world 1°C hotter than now (regardless of what the equilibrium climate sensitivity turns out to be).</p>
<p>At public lectures and community events, people want to know that I am frightened about bushfires. They want to know that I am concerned about the vulnerability of our elderly to increasing summer heat stress. People want to know that, among everything else, I remain optimistic about our collective resilience and desire to care for each other. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/distrust-of-experts-happens-when-we-forget-they-are-human-beings-76219">Distrust of experts happens when we forget they are human beings</a>
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<p>Communicating how we connect with scientific results is also important part of the role of climate scientists. That photo of the family who survived the Tasmanian bushfire is now back in my presentations.</p>
<h2>4. Society matters too</h2>
<p>In November 2009, computer servers at the University of East Anglia were illegally <a href="http://www.nature.com/news/2009/091120/full/news.2009.1101.html">hacked</a> and email correspondence was stolen. </p>
<p>A selection of these emails was published publicly, focusing on quotes that purported to reveal dishonest practices that promoted the myth of global warming. The “climategate” scientists were exhaustively <a href="http://www.nature.com/news/2010/100707/full/news.2010.335.html">cleared</a> of wrongdoing.</p>
<p>On the surface, the climategate emails were an unpleasant but unremarkable event. But delving a little deeper, this can be seen as a significant turning point in society’s expectations of science. </p>
<p>While numerous fastidious reviews of the scientists cleared them of wrongdoing, the strong and ongoing public interest in this matter demonstrates that society wants to know how science works, and who “does” science.</p>
<p>There is a great desire for public connection with the processes of science and the outcomes of scientific pursuits. The public is not necessarily satisfied by scientists working in universities and publishing their finding in articles obscured by pay walls, which cannot be publicly accessed.</p>
<p>A greater transparency of science is required. This is already taking off, with scientists communicating broadly through social and mainstream media and publishing in open access journals.</p>
<h2>5. Non-experts can be scientists</h2>
<p>Climate science increasingly recognises the value of <a href="https://theconversation.com/explainer-what-is-citizen-science-16487">citizen scientists</a>. </p>
<p>Enlisting non-expert volunteers allows researchers to investigate otherwise very difficult problems, for example when the research would have been financially and logistically impossible without citizen participation.</p>
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<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/exoplanet-discovery-by-an-amateur-astronomer-shows-the-power-of-citizen-science-75912">Exoplanet discovery by an amateur astronomer shows the power of citizen science</a>
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<p>The OzDocs <a href="http://climatehistory.com.au/">project</a> involved volunteers digitising early records of Australian weather from weather journals, government gazettes, newspapers and our earliest observatories. This project <a href="http://climatehistory.com.au/publications/">provided</a> a better understanding of the climate history of southeastern Australia.</p>
<p>Personal computers also provide another great tool for citizen collaborators. In one ongoing project, climate scientists conduct <a href="http://www.climateprediction.net/weatherathome/">experiments</a> using publicly volunteered distributed computing. Participants agree to run experiments on their home or work computers and the results are fed back to the main server for analysis.</p>
<p>While we often think of scientists as trained experts working in labs and publishing in scholarly journals, the lines aren’t always so clear. Everyone has an opportunity to contribute to science.</p>
<p>My <a href="https://www.palgrave.com/de/book/9783319542645">new book</a> explores this space between the way science is discussed and the way it takes place. </p>
<p>This isn’t a criticism of science, which provides a useful way to explore and understand the natural world. It is a celebration of the richness, diversity and creativity of science that drives this exploration.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/82314/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Sophie Lewis receives funding from the Australian Research Council. She is the author of the book discussed in this article, and has received remuneration for its publication but does not receive royalties. </span></em></p>Science provides a useful way to explore and understand the natural world. But it also has a richness, diversity and creativity that is often overlooked.Sophie Lewis, Research fellow, Australian National UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/806362017-08-08T00:57:14Z2017-08-08T00:57:14ZScientist at work: Why this meteorologist is eager for an eclipse<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181075/original/file-20170804-27483-1h1khg2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=209%2C0%2C1622%2C1072&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Hiscox and students practice for the big day with a weather balloon.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Joshua Burrack</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>By all accounts a total solar eclipse is a life-changing event. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never seen one. Fortunately for me and millions across the U.S., that will change this summer.</p>
<p>I’m not really an eclipse expert, even though I can’t wait for August 21. I’m actually a meteorologist, and a fairly specialized one at that. Six months ago, I didn’t know the difference between an umbra and penumbra. What I did know is that the sun provides energy for everything that happens on our planet, and that the daily cycle of sun rising and setting is a key component of what happens in the atmosphere, and how air circulates locally and globally. </p>
<p>So why is someone who worries about subsecond- and submeter-scale winds interested in this astronomical-scale event? Because any change in incoming sun – such as the complete blackout during a total solar eclipse – will affect the energy received by the land, and in turn the energy transferred back to the atmosphere. And because the total eclipse period is short, those changes will be small. It’s both an exciting event and an interesting challenge: a scientist’s dream.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181116/original/file-20170806-10088-1o0whzd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181116/original/file-20170806-10088-1o0whzd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181116/original/file-20170806-10088-1o0whzd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=408&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181116/original/file-20170806-10088-1o0whzd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=408&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181116/original/file-20170806-10088-1o0whzd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=408&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181116/original/file-20170806-10088-1o0whzd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=513&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181116/original/file-20170806-10088-1o0whzd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=513&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181116/original/file-20170806-10088-1o0whzd.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=513&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 mini-night caused by the moon blacking out the sun during the day is an opportunity to investigate many scientific questions.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="http://www.apimages.com/metadata/Index/Russia-Europe-Solar-Eclipse/44d1094c93774d39a3324d19adb5efee/1/0">AP Photo/Dmitry Lovetsky</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Coupled with advances in observational techniques, every eclipse offers a new chance to prove meteorological theories. This one even more so because coordination across the entire length of the continental United States almost guarantees that someone will have ideal observing conditions. We’re prepping our weather balloons and weather stations to take advantage of that opportunity – to see exactly what a short blackout does to atmospheric motion.</p>
<h2>Meteorology all goes back to the sun</h2>
<p>From how <a href="https://www.epa.gov/ozone-pollution">pollutants are formed and transported</a>, to how plants exchange carbon using photosynthesis, to what direction the wind blows, daytime processes are <a href="https://doi.org/10.1175/JAS3654.1">different from nighttime processes</a>. Without energy input from the sun, the lower atmosphere slowly flips itself at night. </p>
<p>During the day, it’s warm near the ground and cooler up above; at night it’s just the opposite. This “stable” (warmer over cooler) air inhibits vertical motion of the air and anything suspended in it. So <a href="https://doi.org/10.1191/0309133305pp442ra">pollutants can stay closer to the ground</a>, <a href="https://doi.org/10.1175/1520-0469(2001)058%3C1409:FADONB%3E2.0.CO;2">clouds form differently</a>, <a href="https://doi.org/10.1175/1520-0469(1967)024%3C0029:KWITEA%3E2.0.CO;2">air flows faster down valleys</a> and at the coasts <a href="http://www.srh.noaa.gov/jetstream/ocean/seabreeze.html">wind blows offshore instead of on</a>. </p>
<p>While those generalities are known, the nuances and timings aren’t fully understood, and thus they are not completely predictable. That’s my sphere of science – turbulence. I’m interested in the atmospheric changes in short times and small spaces that can eventually influence the larger “weather” most people are familiar with.</p>
<p>The total solar eclipse is a mini-night experience, so we will use it as a natural experiment. Is a brief period without solar radiation enough to cause detectable changes in turbulence and stability, or is it the slower interactions of land and atmosphere over a whole night that are required? We’ll take what we find and use it to think about normal non-eclipse conditions.</p>
<h2>Head in the sky</h2>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181066/original/file-20170804-6948-1y2u1lq.gif?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181066/original/file-20170804-6948-1y2u1lq.gif?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181066/original/file-20170804-6948-1y2u1lq.gif?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=329&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181066/original/file-20170804-6948-1y2u1lq.gif?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=329&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181066/original/file-20170804-6948-1y2u1lq.gif?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=329&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181066/original/file-20170804-6948-1y2u1lq.gif?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=413&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181066/original/file-20170804-6948-1y2u1lq.gif?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=413&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181066/original/file-20170804-6948-1y2u1lq.gif?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=413&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 troposphere is the part of the atmosphere closest to Earth’s surface and includes the air we breathe.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.giss.nasa.gov/research/features/201210_shindell/">NASA ESPO/INTEX-NA Educational Outreach</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>By launching a series of weather balloons before, during and after the eclipse we will see the evolution of winds and temperatures above the Earth’s surface over time. The instrument packages attached to the balloons take measurements from about 100 meters above the surface up through the lower atmosphere, troposphere and lower stratosphere, eventually reaching nearly 20 kilometers. Scientists are coordinating all across the eclipse’s path, and will conduct this same experiment at <a href="http://eclipse.montana.edu/">several sites</a> across the country.</p>
<p>At our site in South Carolina, we are focusing on the question of whether a total eclipse can generate internal atmospheric <a href="http://glossary.ametsoc.org/wiki/Gravity_wave">gravity waves</a>: parcels of air moving together as chunks trying to regain an equilibrium in temperature and density. (These are different from the <a href="https://theconversation.com/gravitational-waves-discovered-top-scientists-respond-53956">gravitational waves</a> that result when black holes collide.) Sometimes gravity waves are visible in clouds. During previous eclipses <a href="https://doi.org/10.1098/rsta.2015.0222">there has been promising evidence</a> of gravity wave activity, but not enough data from enough locations to fully understand them.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181044/original/file-20170804-10658-igira4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181044/original/file-20170804-10658-igira4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181044/original/file-20170804-10658-igira4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=462&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181044/original/file-20170804-10658-igira4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=462&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181044/original/file-20170804-10658-igira4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=462&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181044/original/file-20170804-10658-igira4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=580&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181044/original/file-20170804-10658-igira4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=580&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181044/original/file-20170804-10658-igira4.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=580&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 pattern of atmospheric gravity waves is visible in this satellite image of double, overlapping arcs of clouds over the Indian Ocean.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://visibleearth.nasa.gov/view.php?id=69463">Jacques Descloitres, MODIS Rapid Response Team, NASA/GSFC</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The vertical profiles of temperature, relative humidity, wind speed and wind direction we collect will be used to answer a number of other scientific questions as well. First, we’ll add to the sparse database of eclipse-induced temperature changes and provide quantitative measures of how strong the temperature change is and how long the lag between the total blackness at solar minimum and the temperature minimum is.</p>
<p>We will also be able to see if the cooling when the sun disappears and sudden rewarming when it returns propagates vertically and, if so, how far above the Earth’s surface it goes. In terms of wind, questions to be answered center around changes in wind speed and turbulence intensity. We believe we will see a reduction of both, which provides further explanation for the eerie “<a href="https://phys.org/news/2016-08-mystery-eclipse-years.html">eclipse wind</a>” so often cited by human observers.</p>
<p>This more comprehensive examination of the troposphere and stratosphere in time and space will help inform our modeling and prediction of regional weather and climate.</p>
<h2>Feet on the ground</h2>
<p>But what if the changes are smaller? A helium-filled balloon leaves the ground quickly – ideally at five meters per second – and the first reliable measurement is almost 100 meters above the ground. A lot can happen in 100 meters.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181067/original/file-20170804-2386-s32kso.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181067/original/file-20170804-2386-s32kso.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181067/original/file-20170804-2386-s32kso.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181067/original/file-20170804-2386-s32kso.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181067/original/file-20170804-2386-s32kso.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181067/original/file-20170804-2386-s32kso.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181067/original/file-20170804-2386-s32kso.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181067/original/file-20170804-2386-s32kso.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">Postdoc Alexandria McCombs and graduate students Mayra Roman-Rivera and Peter Tereskiewicz work on installing meteorological instruments in preparation for the eclipse experiment.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Ian Giammanco, Insurance Institute for Business & Home Safety,DisasterSafety.org</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>To fill in that gap, at our site in South Carolina, we are adding other measurements. We’ve erected a small tower with fine thermocouples every half-meter from the ground up. These thin wires can detect temperature changes over 0.1-second time periods and will help us see if the darkness causes a very shallow layer of cooler air to start to grow under the typical daytime warmth. </p>
<p>The tower will also house two sonic anemometers – sensors that use disruption in a sound pulse to measure the wind speed in three dimensions at very fast rates – to see if a <a href="http://glossary.ametsoc.org/wiki/Wind_shear">wind shear</a> develops near ground level.</p>
<p>An infrared gas analyzer will record carbon fluxes throughout the eclipse period to see if there is any detectable change in plant respiration. Remember, they “breathe” in carbon dioxide. <a href="http://sciencing.com/animals-reaction-solar-eclipse-3503.html">Some animals interpret an eclipse as night</a> – do the plants?</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181069/original/file-20170804-2386-e2v3uh.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181069/original/file-20170804-2386-e2v3uh.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181069/original/file-20170804-2386-e2v3uh.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181069/original/file-20170804-2386-e2v3uh.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181069/original/file-20170804-2386-e2v3uh.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181069/original/file-20170804-2386-e2v3uh.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181069/original/file-20170804-2386-e2v3uh.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181069/original/file-20170804-2386-e2v3uh.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">The USC backscatter lidar at a recent field deployment in New Zealand.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">April Hiscox</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Finally, we’ll also deploy a lidar system. That’s like a radar, but with a laser that will point upward. This is to see if there are any changes in the depth of the boundary layer – a transition point between where the atmosphere is affected by the Earth’s surface to the free troposphere above.</p>
<p>And we’re going to do all of this in just two minutes and 36 seconds. A tiny window for a big impact.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181070/original/file-20170804-7490-3b1kae.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181070/original/file-20170804-7490-3b1kae.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/181070/original/file-20170804-7490-3b1kae.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181070/original/file-20170804-7490-3b1kae.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181070/original/file-20170804-7490-3b1kae.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=338&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181070/original/file-20170804-7490-3b1kae.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181070/original/file-20170804-7490-3b1kae.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=424&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/181070/original/file-20170804-7490-3b1kae.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">A practice weather balloon soars above the USC campus.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Patrick Remson</span>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/4.0/">CC BY-ND</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>Collating the data to flesh out the theory</h2>
<p>A total solar eclipse is often referred to as a meteorological playground, and that is just how it feels. We’re taking out all our scientific toys to see what we can find. Eclipse events are relatively rare; meteorologists like me take what we know about the interactions between land and air to think logically about what will happen during an eclipse. But until we see it, put an equation on it and predict the next one, it still falls into the realm of theory, not reliably predictable weather. </p>
<p>I feel like a kid again – the eclipse has forced me to think about meteorology in a new and different way – just like looking at the world while hanging upside down from monkey bars.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/80636/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>April Hiscox receives funding for eclipse related research from South Carolina Space Grant and The University of South Carolina Office of Research. </span></em></p>Meteorology researchers across the country are prepping experiments for the mini-night the eclipse will bring on August 21 – two minutes and 36 seconds without the sun in the middle of the day.April Hiscox, Associate Professor of Geography, University of South CarolinaLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.