Climate Change: Examples from Glacier Bay

In Glacier Bay, you can see the evidence of climate change before your very eyes. In just one century, Grand Pacific Glacier retreated 65 miles and created present day Glacier Bay, and kayaking to the majority of the tidewater glaciers in the park you can sit and watch the effects of climate change. You can literally watch glaciers retreat as ice crashes from the face of the glacier into the water.


Just like abundant rainfall can oversaturate soils and overflow to create a river or stream, centuries or millennia of continual snowfall compress into enough ice that the ice "overflows" and moves down a mountainside as a "river of ice." This resulting river of ice is called a "glacier." Just as rainfall affects the volume and flow rate in rivers, snowfall affects the volume and flow rate in glaciers. For example, climate change causing a decrease in snowfall results in a slower conversion of snow into ice, which ultimately slows the flow of ice in the glacier. If ice melts faster at the end ("face") of the glacier than the rate that ice flows in the glacier, then the glacier melts back. A glacier that melts back is called a "retreating" glacier.

Before Grand Pacific Glacier began its notorious retreat, the immense glacier stood 1000 feet thick at the mouth of Glacier Bay. Presently located 65 miles up the bay in the West Arm, the glacier stands 400 feet thick.

I lived in Glacier Bay in 2003, and paddling in my kayak up the East Arm of the bay this past summer, climate change was visible. Two glaciers, Muir and McBride, both retreated and shrank noticeably in size. Check out the following pictures of Muir Glacier to see the drastic retreat since 1941.


1941

1950

2003

The rapid retreat of many glaciers in Glacier Bay is drastic even between decades. What effect will the disappearance of glaciers have upon the ecology of the area? What implications do disappearing glaciers have for the environment?

Climate change in Glacier Bay is blatant and easily seen in the retreating glaciers, but less obvious signs of climate change are occurring in many places of the world. Look around the area where you live. Is there any evidence of climate change in your area? What changes in nature where you live foretell a changing climate? Have there been changes in dominant vegetation or animal species in your area? Look around and see. Our whole world is connected and changes in your area could potentially be a trend happening all across the world. What could these changes mean for the habitat where you live, or on a larger scale, the planet as a whole?

People vs. Park

Living in Shenandoah National Park, I watched the seasons change. I arrived during the final weeks of summer when the trees were covered in green leaves, and tourists were seldom seen. Within weeks, the leaves began to change as chlorophyll decomposed to reveal the brilliant pigments that create the beautiful Autumn scenery that we all love. Tourists flocked by the busloads. As the leaves fell from the trees leaving angular branched silhouettes against the sky, I began to pack my bags for my season at the park was coming to a close.

While the trees transitioned into their winter form, the wildlife continued on their autumn feasts. Every night outside my window, deer would dig through leaves and noisily chomp acorns as they chewed. I would regularly pass families of deer and they would do nothing more than look up from their grazing and then continue eating as if I weren't there.

I realized in Shenandoah National Park, the ban on hunting allowed deer to coexist with humans without fear. The park truly is a wildlife safe haven, and it was remarkable to observe.

Living in the park, I learned that some local people harbor lingering resentment towards the park. In the 1920's and 30's people living within the park boundaries were forced to leave in order to create Shenandoah National Park, and some animosity continues to exist today. Although the removal of local people was a controversial act, how else could such a vast, wild area exist today? In a world where urban centers continue to grow and spread, and suburbia continues to urbanize, wild places shrink and disappear. I believe it is our role to protect and nourish such wild areas for not only the health of wildlife populations, but for our younger generations to explore, enjoy, and cherish. Humanity has dominated much of the world, so isn't it our role to ensure pieces of the nature remain uninhabited and protected? Although the creation of Shenandoah National Park angered local inhabitants, the area exists today as a contiguous healthy ecosystem for all to enjoy, and I, along with the busloads of tourists, am grateful for it.

The Resiliance of Nature

From the summit of Stony Man, Shenandoah National Park is endless forest and rolling mountaintops. The vibrant autumn colors lure tourists from around the globe. Although hard to imagine today, the forests here were not always viewed as beauteous mountainsides of scenic wonder, but instead mountainsides of railroad ties, charcoal, and lumber.

The majority of forests east of the Mississippi River were harvested in the 1800’s for the western expansion of the United States. Most eastern forests were felled to fuel this westward push. In fact, today less than 1% of original old growth forests exists east of the Mississippi. Thus, looking out from my belvedere at Stonyman summit, I am looking out to United States history and the story of nature’s resilience.

Of course the rebounded forest on these mountainsides necessitated the cooperation and collaboration of leaders and law. It was the work of inspired environmentalists, outdoor enthusiasts, and political powers that lead to the proclamation of Shenandoah National Park in 1936. Protection from federal law inevitably planted the way for nature to demonstrate its resilience within said boundaries, but what about other natural areas of our country that are not so fortunate?

What about overlooked habitats integral to ecosystem health? What about those corridors of habitat that exist at the heels of urban cityscape? How resilient can such nature be without mercy granted by political authority? What lines are drawn to protect these final corridors to ecosystem sustainability?

In Shenandoah, it was those inspired environmentalists and outdoor enthusiasts banging upon government doors. In Southern California, it could be the residents of the Gavilan Hills Plateau demanding attention and spreading awareness about their backyards, about their dwindling habitat that unifies otherwise discrete protected areas.

Without a voice, how can the relevance of natural areas be known?

Standing here overlooking Shenandoah National Park and the Blue Ridge Mountains, I am grateful to the men that made the relevance of this area known. Because of them a national park was created, between drawn lines nature rebounded, and 70 years later I am watching the dazzling autumn show.

The Golden Bear Republic (Reflection from Alaska)

California – The Golden Bear Republic. I smirk and shake my head thinking about the irony. The last California grizzly was hunted in 1922 and the bear is the emblem of their flag.

I’m sitting in the grass looking out to the bay completely surrounded by bear scat. I even moved some to pitch my tent. In Alaska, brown bears are a reality, a regular sighting in the wilderness of Glacier Bay. Unlike California, the ecosystem of Glacier Bay is complete and undisturbed. When combined with the protected areas to the north, Glacier Bay is the largest protected land in the world north of Antarctica.

Here in Glacier Bay, endangered species flourish and dominate. The food chain is alive. Salmon jump and splash, bald eagles soar with fish wriggling in their talons, grizzlies leap through rivers with fish clenched in their jaws, and humpbacks lunge-feed, their pleated throats bulging with fish and water. Here there are no roads, no sky scrapers, not a trace of a human.

Sitting by the beach, Glacier Bay becomes my window into the past. I try to imagine the first westerners arriving to the West Coast of the United States and seeing the sights before me. I wonder if they were struck with awe. I wonder if rivers would turn black with running salmon or if the seas were so densely packed with microorganisms that trails of light would stream behind their boats under night skies.

Looking out to Glacier Bay, I think about the explorers discovering wild lands of the western United States. I think about the turning of centuries and the expansion of camps to villages, towns, and cities. I think of the concrete, the roads, and the fallen trees. I think of the Golden Bear Republic where the iconic grizzly only exists in dusty photos and flying flags, and I wonder what has happened to this world.

Human population explosion in California fragmented ecosystems and marginalized wildlife species. Some species like the California grizzly were eradicated to extinction. With the depletion of truly wild lands, places like Glacier Bay become rare windows into the past, living examples of complete ecosystems and the abundant wildlife that follow. Neglect and oblivious destruction leads us to a world absent of iconic species, and a world full of flags and pictures advertising the wildlife that has vanished. If the world could see the wondrous setting before me, people would wish to turn back time and perhaps true wilderness would not be so hard to find.

Nature for All

"To everyone, especially to those who live in narrow streets where automobiles are thicker than ants in an ant hill and where trolleys clang, sirens screech, and people rush about, we say, come to this beautiful Blue Ridge area for recreation and interesting knowledge...; come, and enjoy tranquillity in the canyons where streams ripple over rocks and waterfalls...; come, and feel the stimulation of the strong wind on some lofty peaks. Do these things, and you will not be disappointed; you will carry away a memory of beautiful and interesting places and a little more strength, a little more wisdom, a little more happiness than you brought with you." -- James R. Lassiter, "Shenandoah National Park," reprinted from The Commonwealth, July 1936, Spec. Coll., U.Va.

I woke up this morning to a doe and fawn eating leaves outside my bedroom window. In Shenandoah National Park I am surrounded by forest and wildlife, but the "wilderness" area surrounding me was not always so.

Until Shenandoah became a national park in 1936, the area was largely farmland and orchards. After the state acquired private lands and removed local inhabitants, forests filled the hillsides once again to create the scenic landscapes present today. As James R. Lassiter eloquently expressed, in our present day world with disappearing natural areas we become reliant upon parks and protected oases of nature as a retreat for the soul; a respite for recharge from our busy work lives in the city. Beyond the meditative effect that nature can provide, parks and protected areas are essential to sustain wildlife populations in a world dominated by humans and their expanding footprint of pavement and cultivated land. And thus, we must remember to plan our landscapes and allot areas for nature, not only for the benefit of wildlife, but for both present and future generations of people to enjoy.

Enter: Shenandoah

I just arrived in Shenandoah National Park (Virginia) from Glacier Bay National Park and Preserve (Alaska) 3 days ago. This Once-Upon-A-Time City Boy was thrown into culture shock in the city of Washington D.C.. Straight from the unpaved untouched temperate rainforest of Alaska, I did not feel entirely different than a mountain lion in California stumbling upon a 5-lane highway. What has happened to this planet? I couldn't wait to re-enter the woods. Enter: Shenandoah National Park.

Likely with a confused expression plastered upon my face, the shuttle snagged me from the arrival doors at the airport. I gladly ducked inside with my backpack, eager to meet the calm world of the forest once again. Within an hour, my face was pressed to the glass admiring the rolling hills, trees, and farmland. I entered a new type of National Park. I entered a "wild" land corralled by cityscape and paved roads. Nonetheless, I was intrigued. I welcomed this different kind of nature.

Here I am, my first day off in Shenandoah National Park. I'm situated in the middle of the forest, just below the crest of the hill that overlooks the Shenandoah Valley. The forests here are largely second growth forests, reemerging from the farmlands that once dominated the landscape. I traveled from the rainforests of Alaska to the mountains of Virginia, but it wasn't until my afternoon jog that my new setting dawned upon me. The forest here is thick with thin-trunked trees and a deep layer of brown leaf detritus separated by ferns and under-shrubbery. The lack of a dense tree canopy was rather alarming at first glance. I am used to interlocking branches draped with thick layers of moss. Everything in Alaska is green. Further, here in Shenandoah the presence of humanity is apparent. There are benches along the trails, there are bridges, horseback riding trails, and roads. To most Americans, Shenandoah is the wild. To me, after living in "The Last Frontier," I see a "wild" area created by humanity for nature, yet not a true wilderness. Regardless, the sunshine, the bird calls, the prancing deer leaping before me, were all welcoming sights after leaving Alaska.

I am excited to spend my autumn in Shenandoah National Park. I'm excited to be on the East Coast with the erratic thunderstorms, the second growth forests, the milkweed and butterflies, the deer, the crickets that sing under the sunshine, the moonlit orchestra of sounds from our lovely family: the insectidae, and the indescribable array of colors the trees display as the summer nights transition to the winter's eve. I am back on the East Coast and although it's a world apart from Alaska, it still is a wild land of nature, and I am looking forward to the stories that unfold.