May 31, 2017
By Liz Clift
Editor’s Note: This post provides a hands-on experiment you can do with children to help them understand how erosion and floodplains work to re-distribute nutrients, especially in flood events. You may want to couple this with reading news reports about floods (new or old) for older children, or with a visit to a local brook, creek, stream, or river to try and identify high (or low) water indicators, such as damage to trees, bank erosion, detritus or debris from previous floods, or to observe how or if the bank has been stabilized through placement of riprap or vegetation.
Years ago, I lived near a pond. During heavy rains, it overtopped its banks, crept toward the nearby playground, and over a walking trail. It would back up into its inlet, which was lined with riprap and willows. During these rains, it seemed impossible that when the waters receded the fish and other animals that lived in the pond would retreat as the water dropped.
But of course, for the most part, the fish, turtles, crustaceans, and other animals retreated as the water levels returned to normal. The flood waters would leave detritus—dead grass, small animals tangled up in the summer clots of algae that snagged on the blue grass that surrounded most of the pond, decomposing leaves—and nutrient-rich muck. No one ever did anything about the detritus. Sometimes geese or ducks would pick at it, but for the most part, it decomposed along the upper banks of the pond.
This is similar to what happens when other bodies of waters, such as rivers, flood—and part of what has made flood plains historically beneficial places for agriculture. The flood waters deposit nutrient-dense material onto the flood plains, and over time, these materials build up.
You can replicate this for children in your life several different ways. One way is with andwich cookies and a milk (not chocolate) of your choice. You’ll need at least one sandwich cookie for each person who is participating in the experiment, a small cup of milk for each participant, and a shallow-bottomed bowl or a plate with fairly high edges for each participant.
Start out by placing the sandwich cookie(s) at the bottom of bowl on one side. Replicate erosion by slowly dribbling milk over the sandwich cookie and observing what happens. You might ask the children if they notice the milk turning colors. You might ask if they notice small crumbs from the sandwich cookie being carried away.
Ask the children to observe what happens as the sandwich cookies continue to soften. Does the erosion speed up or slow down? What happens if you add more milk?
They should see the sandwich cookie “eroding.” They should notice that the crumbs follow a particular pattern (the exact results will depend on the bowl or plate you’re using).
Ask the children to pour more milk in to represent a flood. How does this change the distribution of the crumbs? What happens to the sandwich cookie?
You can ask children to use a straw to gently suck up some of the milk (some crumbs will come too, and that’s okay). This will allow them to better see how the crumbs are distributed.
You can repeat the experiment using sandwich cookies that are pre-crumbled and see how that changes things.
You can also do this with other cookies, based on dietary needs or preferences. You might do it with some potting soil and water on a cookie sheet or in the garden. The goal is to help children engage in ecological processes, so that they can better understand not only what they see in the natural world—but so that they might grow to care about it.
You can also incorporate landscape architecture or engineering (does arranging the sandwich cookies or soil in a different way change what happens when you add milk/water? How can you slow erosion through design? Can you alter patterns of deposition?
Give it a try. Get dirty.Leave a comment
May 16, 2017
By Michael Kaminski
Last week Great Ecology staff boarded a yacht to attend the 2017 Waterfront Conference along New York City’s Hudson Riverfront. The annual event is hosted by the NYC-based non-profit Waterfront Alliance and features a variety of talks and panel discussions. This year’s topics ranged from how current national politics may impact our local waterways and waterfronts, measuring the success of mega projects aimed at restoring New York City’s degraded waterways and strengthening its coastlines, and even looking at whether investments in offshore wind energy benefit the health of the environment and harbor.
The day’s highlight was a speech by New York City’s Mayor Bill de Blasio, in which he regarded New York City’s 520 miles of coastline–longer than the coastlines of Miami, Boston, Los Angeles, and San Francisco combined–as one of the City’s most valuable assets. He acknowledged years of neglect and poor urban development policy that have led to large portions of the waterfront being inaccessible and cut off from the public. For decades, mayoral administrations have dreamed about a continuous and unbroken public greenbelt around the perimeter of Manhattan. In an effort to make this dream a reality, de Blasio reiterated his recent April 26 announcement that the City has pledged $100 million to revitalize a major stretch of Manhattan’s waterfront along the East River between 41st and 61st Streets.
To measure the quality of waterfront development, including future efforts stemming from the Mayor’s pledge, Waterfront Alliance developed Waterfront Edge Development Guidelines (WEDG), a tool to assess exemplary waterfront planning and design in the New York metropolitan area. WEDG, now in its second year, is doing for the waterfront what LEED has done for buildings; the program formalizes a set of best practices and a voluntary ratings system for waterfront projects that results in more access, better ecology, and increased resiliency amidst the growing threats posed by climate change.
Great Ecology has been providing guidance throughout the advancement of this cutting-edge tool by serving on the WEDG advisory committee. We look forward to watching the WEDG program grow as we all strive for a more resilient New York waterfront that provides valuable ecological habitat and access for all.Leave a comment
May 10, 2017
By: Liz Clift
Milkweed is sometimes considered a noxious weed, because its propagates readily – each seedpod contains hundreds of seeds. As such, it has been discouraged from growing on a variety of landscapes. However, monarch butterflies (Danaus plexippus) rely on milkweed (Asclepias spp.) to reproduce – milkweed is the sole source of food for their larvae (adults can sip nectar from a variety of wildflowers). In recent decades, there has been a lot of campaigning to encourage people to plant milkweed in an attempt to aid monarch recovery.
And based on acres occupied in the Mexican forest where monarchs overwinter, their numbers are on the rise. This past winter, they occupied 10 acres of forest, compared to their record low number of 1.66 acres in 2013.
However, monarchs still face problems, and one of those problems has to do with the type of milkweed people have been planting. Until fairly recently, the primary milkweed commercially available in the United States was tropical milkweed (Asclepias curassavica), which in warmer southern climates doesn’t die back during the winter.
Since tropical milkweed doesn’t die off, some monarchs aren’t completing their migration, preferring instead to stay in the southern areas of some southern states, where tropical milkweed can bloom year-round.
So, some monarchs aren’t flying as far. No big deal, right?
Unfortunately, milkweed can also host a protozoan parasite Ophryocystis elektroscirrha (OE) which infects monarchs and queen butterflies (Danaus gilippus). The long and the short of it goes like this:
An adult monarch (or queen butterfly) carrying OE spores lays its eggs on a milkweed plant and in the process scatters those dormant spores on the eggs and the leaves of the milkweed plant. Larva consume their egg casing as they hatch, and may pick up OE that way, or through consuming the infected milkweed plant.
Once the dormant spores are in the monarch larva’s digestive tract, enzymes break the spores open and release the parasite. The parasites move into the intestinal walls and begin to reproduce asexually – and each OE parent cell can reproduce many times.
The majority of the damage to the butterfly happens during its time in the chrysalis. About three days before the adult emerges, OE spores begin to form and show up as dark patches that can be seen from the outside layer of the chrysalis. The infected adult butterfly may be too weak to emerge from the chrysalis, or to cling to the chrysalis while their wings fully expand. Those that survive are often smaller than healthy monarchs, and have shorter forewings, and they carry the spores on their abdomens. The cycle repeats.
OE also damages the outer layer of a monarch’s abdomen, which causes the butterflies to dry out and lose weight faster than normal. This is especially problematic for the butterflies when there are shortages of water or nectar.
The cyclical nature of this parasitic infection is exacerbated by the fact that when a milkweed plant doesn’t die off (or get regularly trimmed down) in the winter, OE can continue to survive on it. If a milkweed plant is killed off over the winter, the returning monarchs (at least those that are uninfected) have an improved chance of being able to produce eggs that will grow into healthy adults.
In recent years, more milkweed plants have become commercially available, and many organizations dedicated to saving the monarch provide resources for people to help them select milkweeds that are regionally appropriate and also appropriate for a particular set of growing conditions. This effort will, hopefully, curb OE infections in monarchs.
Aside from planting regionally appropriate species of milkweed, how else can people help save the monarch?
There are also opportunities for citizen scientists to help collect data on infection rates in monarchs. Testing for OE spores is conducted by gently pressing a piece of clear tape to the abdomen of a monarch. The tape sample is then sent to a lab, where it is evaluated for spores (and total spore count) under light or electron microscopes.
This research helps scientists better understand not only what percentage of the monarch population is infected with OE, but how OE spreads through a population, or a region. This may lead to advances in how OE is treated—or how the message about the importance of planting native milkweed is spread.
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May 3, 2017
By: Liz Clift
It’s National Wildflower Week—and from a restoration ecology perspective, it’s important to realize that wildflowers aren’t the same everywhere. If you decide to plant wildflowers in your yard, try to stay away from wildflower seed mixes, as these can contain varieties that aren’t native to your area (and may even be considered invasive!)
Instead, plant native wildflowers, which are adapted to the climate in your region, and which have co-evolved with native pollinators. The co-evolution aspect is important—especially for insect pollinators*, whose tongue lengths may be specifically adapted for particular types of flowers. A bee with a short tongue, for instance, can’t acquire what it needs from a flower with a longer corolla, such as Columbine (the state flower of Colorado).
It’s tempting to think then that a long tongue is better—or that just planting flowers with shorter corollas (yarrow, for instance) is better. But, long tongues are difficult to get into shorter flowers.
And that’s not all. Some pollinators like a “platform” to land on, while others will hover or burrow into the flower. Some pollinators are more likely to be out midday, while others are crepuscular or even nocturnal. A variety of native wildflower species will help create preferred forage for a variety of pollinators—and will likely create a bloom pattern that lasts over several months, rather than peaking at one particular point and then leaving pollinators without additional sources of food.
In some cases, planting a non-native species of a plant (like milkweed, Asclepias spp.) can actually be detrimental. Milkweed is the exclusive host plant for monarch (Danaus plexippus) caterpillars – but depending on the type you plant, it may not die back enough to kill off the protozoan parasite Ophryocystis elektroschirrha (OE). OE, when ingested by monarch caterpillars, causes the adult butterfly to be much weaker than their healthy counterparts—and carry spores to spread to other milkweed plants.
This can result in a decline of monarchs.
Fortunately, there are many native species of milkweed you can plant, which are adapted for your region—though getting your hands on seeds for these varieties may be a little more difficult.
If you’re not especially familiar with the native plants in your area—or have suddenly realized that your “wildflower mix” came from a company in the northeast and you live in Central California—there are a variety of resources that can help you focus your wildflower efforts to your region.
Many states have Native Plant Societies as well as university extension offices (like this one for Colorado and this one for Minnesota) that can help guide you toward an appropriate wildflower mix. The Xerces Society also provides lists of plant species by region. These easy-to-read lists note the bloom period (early, mid-late, etc.), common name, scientific name, flower color, maximum height, water needs, and additional notes that include what it attracts, shade tolerance, etc.
The National Wildlife Foundation has a Native Plant Finder (in beta) that allows you to search native plants by zip code and also spits out which butterfly and moth pollinators use particular plants as a host plant.
If you’re working on a restoration project, and are considering how to better include native pollinator habitat as part of your design, please contact us. Great Ecology has developed pollinator-focused plant palettes and landscape designs for a variety of projects, including one for a BASF site in New Jersey.
*There is also evidence that this makes a difference for other pollinators, including bats.Leave a comment
May 2, 2017
By: Liz Clift
If you read this blog regularly, you know I listen to a lot of podcasts. Recently, 99% Invisible ran an episode called “Sounds Natural,” focused on the ways that the nature documentaries that we watch might be altered from real reality. For instance, there’s the now-infamous scene in Disney’s 1958 documentary White Wilderness that shows lemmings plunging from a cliff—which has led to a lot of lore and sayings about lemmings. As you may be familiar though, the entire scene was staged.
As you might have guessed by the titled of this podcast episode, the majority of the episode examined the “natural” sounds in nature documentaries. These sounds are often created by foley artists, and 99% Invisible focused on a foley artist named Richard Hinton. An animal walking through snow, for example, might be created by squeezing a bag full of powdered custard. An elephant’s footfalls, although we frequently hear them on nature documentaries, are actually nearly silent.
Silence, at least to our human ears, is often the sound we’d actually hear if an animal was approaching—especially in the snow—or perhaps, in other climes, the sound of leaves rustling, a chuff of breath, a sudden cessation of bird calls, or a cacophony.
The link above will take you not only to the podcast episode, but an accompanying article (listen to the podcast first), along with several videos that show a foley artist in the midst of creating sounds to go along with the scene. You can watch the full 13-minute film of one of those clips here.
But what about animal calls, you might ask. The podcast explains this too—and it’s more involved than you might initially expect.
Foley artists exist not just for documentaries, but for pretty much everything you watch (I can think of a few that use music—often symphonic—in place of the sounds we’d normally associate with nature, or which intentionally use silence throughout).
Confession time: Foley artist is a career I very briefly considered at some younger point in my life, after watching some newsy television program that featured one. According to John Roesch, a master foley artist, there are more astronauts than foley artists. The job is difficult, requires thinking outside the box about every day objects, and very precise timing.
So, a question for you: what do bird wings sound like up close? From farther away? What sound does a deer make when it approaches you in the woods? Or in a prairie? What would a robot’s feet sound like? Exactly what sound does a horses hooves make on a race track? In a meadow? In the snow? Now, watch a documentary or a favorite film, and consider the work that went into making all the sounds that help keep you in the world created for you on screen.Leave a comment
April 28, 2017
By: Ashley Tuggle
Ecologists and ectobiologists, meteorologists and meterologists, geologists and geochemists, biomedical researchers and mechanical engineers, everything in between, and regular science enthusiasts came out in force on April 22nd in support of the March for Science. Great Ecology’s own intrepid crew in San Diego struck out for the day to march in support of scientific research and science education, revel in the diversity of our local community, and send a message.
What do we want?
When do we want it?
After rigorous peer review!
What can you expect from a bunch of nerds?
The March for Science was a nationwide march to celebrate science, bring awareness to the need for basic scientific research in all areas, and promote government policy and action rooted in sound science. While the march in Washington, D.C. was the main march, thousands of people turned out for the San Diego march where the pre-march rally included talks from Scripps Institute professors Ralph Keeling, PhD and Lynne Talley, PhD on the impacts of climate change and rising sea levels, a biomedical PhD student who went into his field in the hopes of finding a cure for his daughter’s blindness, and three students from local schools who had won their local science fairs. The youngest of the winners, Ryan Alfonso, summed things up nicely: Even if it’s something small, science can matter. His research into a simple color change for giant balls placed in California Reservoirs to help reduce evaporation is an important step in increasing the efficiency of this effort and conserving a precious resource in the state.
The scientific method is designed to help us answer questions that can make a very real impact the local, regional, and global level.
The People’s Climate March (started in 2014) is next on the spring schedule. Whether it’s because you’re interested in adaptation under our changing climate, feel strongly about environmental justice issues related to climate, or because you find the science of climate change fascinating in its own right, there’s a reason to find a march in your city on Saturday, April 29th. We all live on one planet and there’s no escaping our climate, whatever it happens to be. Research into understanding climate shifts and climate adaptation will be keys in the coming decades to protecting our water, our heath, our food, and our way of life.
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April 21, 2017
By: Liz Clift
I used to teach an introductory version of watershed science to school children. Depending on how much time I had with these young people, this might include diverse topics such as where our water came from, the water cycle, and/or the movement of pollutants and/or particulates through a system.
In the summer camp version—which meant I had them for a full week instead of a maximum of 90 minutes like I had them during the school year—the curriculum included an exploration of the water cycle that involved several hands-on experiments, giving students the opportunity to explore how sediment falls out of water, to attempt to use different household materials to filter out visible particulates and pollutants, pH testing, examining water from different sources under a microscope and more, with the curriculum modified depending on the age of participants.
At the end of the week, we’d pull out a scale model version of our local watershed. It came with props that were part of our watershed, including people, animals (livestock and wild), cars, train tracks, houses, and lots of trees. Sometimes I’d pull out some clay for the students to use to hold certain things (houses, trees) in place—which was an impactful way to show how landslides could happen because of a soaking rain.
We’d go over how to replicate a gentle rain, a soaking rain, a downpour using the tools provided*, and then the participants would get to work (the model included a drain that I’d position over a bucket, and hope the bucket didn’t get knocked aside, or worse, over!). This allowed them to see how different amounts of rainfall could alter our watershed. After a while, I’d introduce a pollutant (in the form of food coloring). Sometimes we’d decide as a group to put it in a particular place, and wait to see when the water reached it. Other times, I’d introduce it without fanfare at points in the watershed and ask the young people to describe what was happening.
Afterward, we’d talk about what they’d observed about types of rainfall, about flooding, about what places tended to fill with water first and why, about the introduction of pollutants. We’d talk about ways we could individually help limit pollution in our watershed, and about any feelings the activity brought up. If we had time, they were then free to return to any activity we’d done over the week, including the scale model watershed (always the most popular).
Helping young people understand the dynamics of a watershed—and for that matter, helping them conceptualize their watershed—can be an important component of making science and conservation tangible. It can be especially useful in arid environments where most of the water comes from snowmelt, as it was in the place I taught this class (replicated with crushed ice, when time allowed).
A few years later, I taught a similar class in another state in a three-week long summer camp. I didn’t have a scale model of the watershed. Instead, I had the ability to take the young people on field trips. We did many of the same activities, interspersed with exploring our watershed.
That camp class, of all the ones offered, was the one the young people kept clamoring to come back to—not because they had any special affection for me, but because we did things like look at pond water, the backbone of a catfish, and sand under a microscope; performed pH tests; watched tadpoles develop; and made bracelets representing the water cycle. For field trips, we traveled to a nearby glacier, to a eutrophic creek, to a local pond, to an “Aqua Golf” course, to a neighborhood waterpark. With the oldest group of participants (rising 5th and 6th graders), I had long conversations about water waste and conservation that the participants brought up among themselves and then to me.
Some of these oldest campers did additional research on their own, and taught back to their families. In this way, they became watershed ambassadors, which is an important step to encouraging community-scale conservation and restoration support.
*Misters, pipettes, funnels, small measuring cups, etc.Leave a comment
April 17, 2017
By Liz Clift
Whether you’re adding carbon-rich materials to soil for ecological restoration purposes, trying to figure out how to make your compost more efficient, or perhaps figuring out why last year’s chop-and-drop mulch in your garden isn’t breaking down the way you expected it to, it’s important to understand carbon to nitrogen ratios (C:N).
Carbon and nitrogen are both necessary for plant growth—and an imbalance can lead to slower or stunted growth, or make an area more hospitable to certain types of weeds. In addition, the relative levels of carbon or nitrogen on a site impact how quickly mulch—including grass clippings, leaves, crop residue, etc.—decomposes.
How does this factor into restoration ecology?
One of the hurdles of restoration ecology is what to do with pioneer species (aka weeds) we don’t want colonizing a piece of land. Vigorous weed growth can be a sign of high levels of nitrogen in the soil, relative to carbon. By increasing the levels of carbon in the soil, it’s possible to effectively manage nitrophilic weeds (such as cheatgrass, Bromus tectorum), even with a reduced (or no!) use of herbicides.
By focusing on increased soil health through increased carbon supplementation, it is possible to shift the competitive balance. Increasing soil carbon mimics later successional stages of soil ecology, which generally favors native plant growth. Often, native plants can more easily establish and thrive in low nitrogen environments, which allows them to begin the process of out competing nitrogen-loving weed species—some of which produce many more seeds than native species.
Sawdust and wood chips, when used as an incorporated soil amendment, provide opportunities to increase carbon in the soil, as do fire-regimens that allow for controlled burns of prairies or woodlands. Controlled burns, unlike wildfires, generally burn at a lower temperature, which leaves the microbiota of the soil intact. Although controlled burns are not always understood as a management technique by the public at large, it’s critical that we remember fire used to be a standard part of most ecosystems.
If we face public resistance to incorporating woodchips, sawdust, or a fire-regimen (or other forms of carbon supplementation), we will do well to remember that this is an opportunity to talk with people about soil health and why we’re doing what we’re doing. For those of us who work in grasslands, it’s especially important to note that increasing carbon in the soil has been shown to be effective at facilitating prairie restoration.
Great Ecology employees have successfully applied carbon supplementation as part of oil pad reclamation, and are currently applying the process at some Denver-area park sites as a means to reduce weed species proliferation and reduce operations and maintenance costs.
Part II of this blog will cover the role of carbon and nitrogen in agricultural restoration and compost.Leave a comment
March 16, 2017
By Liz Clift
Editor’s Note: Earlier this year, we used social media to post condolences about the death of Rob Stewart (1979-2017), a marine conservationist and documentary filmmaker who died in a diving accident off the coast of Florida, at Alligator Reef. Stewart was best known for his 2006 documentary Sharkwater.
I recently watched Sharkwater, a documentary about sharks, and was immediately captivated by the beauty of the world under sea that Rob Stewart captured—as well as the devastation caused by the commercial shark fin industry.
Stewart once said, “Conservation is the preservation of human life on earth, and that, above all else, is worth fighting for.” In the course of the documentary, it’s clear that he believed this, because viewers witness some (though not all) of the challenges he faced while making the film—including risks to his life. He created Sharkwater as a way of raising awareness about sharks (and how, despite what the creators of Jaws and Sharknado might have us believe, they are not all that dangerous. In fact, you’re more likely to be killed by a vending machine than a shark.).
There’s a memorable scene where Stewart is on the ocean floor, cuddling a shark. There’s a breath-taking view of hundreds of hammerhead sharks schooling. There are also multiple scenes depicting the brutality of the shark fin industry, and statistics that will break your heart.
In the documentary, Stewart makes the compelling argument that sharks play a vital role in the survival of humankind, and life on earth as we know it. An understanding of how predators change landscapes indicate he’s probably right (think: reintroduction of wolves into Yellowstone).
Sharks, as Stewart points out, are apex predators and have existed for millennia almost unchanged. As apex predators, they provide evolutionary pressure to fish (and are likely the reason that some fish form tight schools, much as herd animals on land evolved to tighten up to avoid predation) and help maintain fish populations at a state that can be supported by the marine ecosystem.
This in turn helps ensure that plankton, which produce the majority (estimated 70%) of the oxygen we rely on, are not overconsumed. With fewer higher level predators, primary and mid-level consumers that include a heavy diet of plankton could cause the plankton population to crash.
That would not spell good things for the planet, or for us.
When Stewart died, he was reportedly making a sequel to Sharkwater. He also made the 2012 film Revolution and the 2015 film The Fight for Bala.
If you haven’t seen Sharkwater yet, and have the ability to access it (it’s available on a number of streaming services, including ones that do not require a subscription), take the time to watch it. The Sharkwater website also contains a teacher’s guide for teaching this film to secondary school students, which may also be useful for home viewing, especially if you watch the film with teens.
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March 7, 2017
By Liz Clift
Many of the models on the Seasteading Institute website showed solar energy capture, with solar fields taking up part of the city, or covering rooftops. Unfortunately, it is still difficult to store solar energy, but depending on the location of the floating city perhaps this would be only a minor problem (if it was located in a place in the world with abundant sunshine).
As long as we’re talking about solar energy—what does this look like without solar panels? The Seasteading institute suggests that since the tropical oceans absorb 3x the amount of energy each day that the world currently consumes, there are opportunities for research, development, and harnessing. The Institute also suggests that Ocean Thermal Energy Conversion provides an opportunity for generating power (for the floating city as well as land-based nations).
There’s also the potential for capturing wave energy. The Bureau of Ocean Energy Management (BOEM) notes that wave energy, at least along the coast of the United States has tremendous potential as an energy source. “[T]he total wave energy resource along the outer continental shelf [was estimated] at 2,640 terawatt hours/year (TWh/yr).” The energy potential in this is significant as just one TWh/yr can supply a little shy of 94,000 average US homes with power annually. However, wave energy cannot be fully harnessed due to things like shipping, commercial fishing, and environmental concerns in sensitive areas.
Harnessing wind energy is something we’ve already started to do, and with a fair amount of success. Depending on the location, wind energy has a lot of potential (pun intended) for this type of project. It would be fairly easy to set up wind generation stations on the roofs of buildings or as other parts of the landscape.
Compost piles can be used to heat water or to generate biogas (through the use of a biodigester) for use in cooking. If done properly, either of these options will have little to no odor, and provide an opportunity for dealing with the floating city’s waste.
My colleague brought up the question of what happens to sea life beneath these cities, and I think that really depends. If the cities are static (i.e. more or less permanently moored), this has the potential to radically alter the way that sea life looks below them, since fewer-to-no UV rays would be able to extend into those parts of the ocean. The materials used would also impact the suitability of these cities to become anchor points for crustaceans, seaweeds, and other ocean life that prefers to anchor to a particular place rather than drifting or floating.
We may have some reference points in the form of oil and gas (O&G) platforms, which are generally designed to last 20 to 30 years, though some are maintained to last longer. The topsides of most O&G platforms include living quarters that consist of an average of 20 rooms, with thirty beds, a cooking facility, a galley, a landing pad for helicopters and other features. Most fixed structure standing oil platforms can stretch as deep as 1,500 feet, and may stretch across several pilings or ‘legs.’ The British Petroleum Oil Rig in the Gulf of Mexico that lead to the deep-water horizon disaster was 400 feet by 250 feet, roughly the size of two football fields, and supported a crew of 130 people. Some platform structures are even larger, in fact many of today’s platforms are essentially small cities equipped with cafeterias, lounges, and some even have small movie theatres.
While the aforementioned O&G structures are fairly typical to the industry as we’ve understood it in the past, there may also be a model in the world’s largest ship ever built, and the first floating liquefied natural gas platform, which is scheduled to begin drilling later this year. Although this is a moveable facility, the ship is expected to remain moored for 25 years. The sheer size of these structures alter the ocean life around them—but they also provide new opportunities for colonization, which leads to species congregation near the structure and/or greater species diversity.
On the other hand, if these cities are unmoored (truly floating cities), that changes the impact to sea life immediately beneath them—and likely decreases the risk of an area receiving little or no UV light. It also increases the risk that these floating cities would drift into deeper waters, where wave power could change, and where ocean currents could sweep them far adrift (and therefore outside of the range of mainland emergency services, among other things). There would also be the risk that truly unmoored floating cities would break apart in rougher waters without ways to reunite or end up in the path of a barge as they drifted into a shipping channel. They might even end up in the territorial waters of a hostile nation or face other, unexpected interpersonal or geopolitical problems.
These considerations must be taken into account to keep the residents of the floating city safe.
While the reality of a floating city might be years (or longer) away, it’s interesting to consider some of the problems (and solutions!) which might arise from such a place. Floating cities, in some ways, force us to consider what it might be like to dramatically restructure our lives—and potentially on a more permanent basis than what occurs with remote research or O&G facilities.
Floating cities also provide an opportunity to expand our conception of what SLR planning (and resiliency planning, in general) could look like and how technology, engineering, ecology, and a spot of idealism might play a role in shaping these types of places.
Floating cities are not exactly a new concept—but so far, none have come to fruition in the ways conceived by this project. As mentioned earlier, O&G platforms, in many ways, serve as self-contained cities for short periods of time. People have also approached this idea as a way to divest themselves from global politics or economics—for reasons focused on self-governance, participatory governance, and economic freedom.
But, these projects have, so far, failed to become reality because of the tremendous expense associated not only with the conceptual design and development, but also with the actual construction of such places. This price tag will need to be addressed, as will the idea of who, exactly gets to live in places with such a high price tag. Will these options truly be open to people who lose their homes and livelihoods due to sea level rise?
Although I’ve focused on floating cities for the purpose of this blog post—because of the MOU signed between the Seasteading Institute and French Polynesia—the research for this blog has also taken me on an adventure of exploring how these floating structures might look as research centers or farms, and the potential opportunities these options present as well (algae farming, anyone?).
What have I missed? I would love to hear your feedback through our Facebook page.Leave a comment