David Suzuki seems to have been present all my life as a voice of reason and intelligence. I needed a fillip and this came through on the 6th: “Deniers deflated as climate reality hits home.”
Brilliant SMH/Age science journo Peter Hannam wrote yesterday about a highly technical article just out from Griffith Uni researchers Joao Morin, Mark Herner, and Fernando Andutta. Here’s the original article. $8 for a layperson to even rent it out, with no means of storing it for future re-evaluation, is too expensive, so I’m reliant on Hannam’s interpretation and analysis, but that’s good enough for me because this research is stunningly difficult and still most uncertain. The conclusions refer to end-of-century unabated-emissions assumptions – call them imprecise! – but it’s the best we can do.
Here’s the Hannam skinny as crudely restated by me. Over the century warming-world-induced stronger winds mean that the nastier big ocean waves will occur 5-15% more often and will be 5-15% nastier and will shift direction. The reason I’m interested is that annual sea level rises of a few millimeters won’t soon swamp my hometown of Melbourne. But what seems to also happen is more frequent, more vicious storm-like surges that f**k up a shoreline as “oncer” events. The Griffith Uni tyros predict bigger whacks more often. Different surge directions in particular redistribute sand and shoreline in big licks. It seems North Atlantic shorelines might be pummelled less while my southern Australian beaches will change or vanish.
By itself this is all frustratingly vague to me – will shores near my grandchildren be inundated over, say, a decade or two? – but that’s the complexity our scientist-heroes face.
And Hannam points to a NSW coastal weather warning for “dangerous” and “rather rare” surges over the three days from tomorrow. Will Victorian beaches wilt similarly? My weather forecast checks don’t clarify but I’ve asked someone in the know and will watch out.
Intellectually and emotional pursuing the future fate of fifteen bird species, a fate that must necessarily consider extinction, within the notion of the Anthropocene, a notion that encompasses human extinction, is terrifying. At its core might might be four questions. Will Cranes survive? So what? Will my grandchildren (or great grandchildren – what is the apt timeframe?) survive? So what do I do?
You think it easy to ponder extinction. Not so. Just asking those four questions clearly raises major ethical issues, for only in a perfect heaven can one guarantee everyone life forever.
Thomas Moynihan’s “The end of us,” published August 7 on Aeon, posits that only since the Enlightenment, perhaps the mid 18th century, have we humans even been able to consider species extinction (Moynihan deals with human extinction) and that this renders the extinction concept as one marking human maturity.
I was in a Nijmegen cafe, redrafting a chapter on 1950s reactors, when I turned to his well-written paper, and the leap from the former to the latter made me impatient. Surely the extinction “topic” first crescendo’d in the 60s/70s/80s, after Carson, Ehrlich, and cruise missiles? Surely any sense of philosophical “maturity” about extinction remains murky, in spite of damned fulsome knowledge, because some of us believe in obligations to future generations whilst most could not care less?
I’ve not treated Moynihan fairly, I know, but was and am asking a different extinction question to his. What that question is remains fuzzy.
(Image is from Aeon’s website article, just a screenshot)
Back on July 27, journalist Guy Kelly’s “The biologist in a race against time to save the Great Barrier Reef” came out in the Telegraph Magazine, and I noticed it today (edited a bit) in the Good Weekend magazine of my paper back home, The Age. British (but now in Sydney) biologist Emma Camp and one of the world’s foremost climate change/coral reef experts spoke to, of all things, an explorers’ conference:
Climate change is compromising not just the Great Barrier Reef, but reefs globally. Warmer, more acidic, low-oxygen seawater is fundamentally affecting the biology of the corals, and this is compromising whether they’ll be able to exist in the future. In just three years, over a third of the Great Barrier Reef has been lost.
Camp turns out to be both pessimistic and optimistic. She is exploring the idea of grafting on coral evolved to exist in more acidic water, which sounded to me, as I read it, intriguing but most speculative. As Guy Kelly explores her scientific world, she ends up summing up:
The best case scenario in 50 years is that we have coral reefs that are still biodiverse, serving their function, and we have an even healthier marine environment than we do now, respecting biodiversity not just for its value to us as humans. The worst case scenario is that we’ve lost coral reefs as we know them. I don’t want to tell my future grandchildren that this was a privilege I had, but they won’t, and it was all because we didn’t do enough.
I reflected that my ongoing task is to clearly identify the truth about the world’s coral reefs (Guy’s article has a graphic showing the world’s eight major coral reefs, our Great Barrier Reef being the largest). I suspect the truth is more or less suppressed simply because of tourism impact. I think I’ll turn to the IPCC next.
Our heroes: those battling inaction at home and those frenetically seeking to amass the evidence to compel action, i.e. our scientist-heroes. Check out arctic geologist Kristin Laidre on her way home from the far north:
Returned from field work in Greenland studying narwhals at 75N wearing t-shirts during a heatwave w/ glaciers calving off massive chunks, on the way home passed a wildfire burning on the coast & returning to US flew over endless melt pools. Climate change is real.
I wrote briefly a day or two back about a Peter Prince documentary I’d love to get about the remote-living Black-necked Crane. What I haven’t been able to get out of my mind are a few seconds from Peter’s trailer showing three Black-necked Cranes flying. See their arrow-straight streaming tails, the powerful wings, the kink in their necks… Their whiteness underneath amidst all the pure black! The trueness of their trajectories.
This silly obsessiveness – I keep replaying the trailer – is no doubt because I’ve seen few actual Cranes in the flesh, as one might say, and even fewer flying. All that, I hope, is to come. Is that what hope is, the desire to witness something just once?
This post’s blurry image is a screenshot from that blessed trailer. Go see Peter’s life-affirming website.
A week ago at the Rijksmuseum, a 1651 Jan Asselijn painting gave me pause. I thought of all the shoreline residents who will inevitably persist in believing higher and higher levees will suffice for the coming sea level rises. And when those defences are swept aside…
On my birthday, I checked out this NASA Earth Laboratory article. The Okjökull glacier was healthy in 1900, beginning to suffer in the late 40s, and was pronounced dead/gone/kaput in 2014. Five years ago! In three days, on the 18th, there will be a memorial atop where frozen snow used to tower. I, for one, will offer a brief heartfelt farewell. As glaciers vanish, as coral reefs die, as species go extinct, we should add our mental goodbyes. Goodbyes, after all, are goodbyes.
I already know these remote breeding cranes are best seen in Bhutan, a mysterious close kingdom. Canadian musician Peter Prince produced a relevant doco last year that I stumbled across. Just pure luck.
This blog post “Bhutan – The Kind Kingdom” showcases what Peter calls his “modest documentary.” The three-minute trailer did not seem at all modest to me. The portrayed petite Black-necked Cranes, seen in flight, with their brilliant black necks and feathers, and their red crowns, are magnificent. I swooned.
I could not find any obvious way to obtain or view the documentary but have written to Peter Prince. Here’s hoping.
At the Rijksmuseum three days ago, before the main crush of crowd arrived, I spotted a couple of cranes in a 1680 painting, “The Floating Feather,” by Melchior d’Hondecoeter. The unmistakable spectacular Black Crowned Crane in the centre, which I’ve never seen, is found only in Africa. The other crane below and to the right of the big one seems to be a Sarus Crane (again, not yet sighted by me), which I understand is found only in Asia or northeast Australia. Why were these included? Did the artist see them live or just paint from specimens brought back from overseas? Fascinating.