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In the coastal waters of the mid-Atlantic, an endangered shark is making a comeback. Led by former Smithsonian postdoc Chuck Bangley, scientists at the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center (SERC) tagged and tracked nearly two dozen dusky sharks over the course of a year as part of the Smithsonian’s Movement of Life Initiative. They discovered a protected zone put in place 15 years ago is paying off—but it may need some tweaking with climate change.
Dusky sharks are what Bangley calls “the archetypal big, gray shark.” Born three feet long, as babies they’re already big enough to prey on some other shark species. But they’re slow growing. It can take 16 to 29 years for them to mature. If their populations take a hit, recovery can take decades.
The sharks’ numbers plummeted in the 1980s and 1990s, when well-intentioned managers offered sharks as an “alternative fishery” while other stocks, like cod, were collapsing. The overfishing that followed wiped out anywhere from 65 to 90 percent of the Chesapeake’s duskies, said Bangley, now a postdoc at Dalhousie University in Nova Scotia. Managers banned all intentional dusky shark fishing in 2000. Five years later, they created the Mid-Atlantic Shark Closed Area encompassing most of the North Carolina coast. The zone prohibits bottom longline fishing, which can accidentally ensnare dusky sharks, for seven months of the year.
A yellowtail fish approaches a “squid pop” in the coastal waters off Mexico. By planting squid pops (stakes with dried squid bait) in coastal waters around the world, ecologists were able to sketch a global “BiteMap” of fish feeding. (Credit: Brigitta van Tussenbroek/Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México)
Where are small marine animals most vulnerable to getting eaten? The answer has big consequences for coastal ecosystems, where most of the world’s fishing takes place, since predators can radically change underwater communities. In a new study published in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences Oct. 26, an international team of scientists sketched the first global “BiteMap” showing where the ocean’s mid-sized predators are most active. By fishing with dried squid baits called “squid pops,” they discovered rising temperatures can shape entire communities of predators and have potential impacts lower down the food web.
“We know that communities around the world are changing with climate warming,” said Emmett Duffy, co-author on the paper and director of the Smithsonian’s Marine Global Earth Observatory program. But while warmer temperatures generally increase animal activities like eating, researchers are only just starting to grasp what those changes mean for marine ecosystems as a whole. “We might expect a soccer team, for example, to perform better in warm weather than in really cold conditions. But what if in the warmer conditions, the team switches out for different players? That can completely change the game.”
A white-tailed deer browses for food in the forests of the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center. (Credit: John Parker/SERC)
For years, scientists have attempted to unravel why some invasive plants escape the grazing of hungry herbivores.
It turns out, the chemical makeup of some invasive plants protects them from being eaten. In a new paper, scientists have taken a closer look at invasive plant species in forests of the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center (SERC) in Maryland. In the new study, published in the August issue of Ecology and Evolution, they found that five common plant invaders have a chemistry just quirky enough to make animals like deer and insects avoid them. The results suggest that their strange chemistry has helped fuel some successful invasions into SERC’s Maryland forests.
Charlie Schmidt, a student in SERC’s virtual river otter class, poses with his poster presentation. (Photo courtesy of the Schmidt Family)
In spring, the SERC campus comes alive. Snow thaws, peeper frogs start calling, and troops of schoolchildren descend on campus to get their hands dirty and experience science in the field. For some, this could be the first time they’ve seen the Chesapeake Bay, walked through a forest or spent time in nature.
This year, the pandemic forced schools to close and SERC had to cancel all its spring and summer programs. However, thanks to the efforts of the SERC education team, the pandemic hasn’t stopped science education, just changed it. Karen McDonald, SERC’s education specialist, is working with her staff, interns and a dedicated volunteer team to develop virtual programs that bring SERC science into the homes of eager learners, from elementary students to adults.
Fall color in the Dolly Sods Wilderness, part of Monongahela National Forest in West Virginia. “Natural forest regrowth,” a climate-mitigation strategy where forests regrow without human interference, could store 1.6 billion metric tons of carbon annually. (Credit: Kent Mason)
Trees have a powerful ability to absorb carbon dioxide, and a lot of it. According to the Environmental Protection Agency, American forests offset about 12% of the carbon emissions the U.S. creates each year from fossil fuels. While it’s great to plant trees, it can be costly. It’s also important to plant the right species in the right places to avoid disrupting other ecosystems. A major new study published Sept. 23 highlights the potential of an alternate strategy—natural forest regrowth—which can soak up excess carbon and help mitigate climate change.
Plastic buoy in the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, colonized by gooseneck barnacles and crabs. (Credit: Justin Hofman/Greenpeace)
This article is part of a series of posts highlighting research the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center is continuing to do amid the COVID-19 pandemic, and adaptations its staff have been making in a more socially distant world.
In nature, adaptation is key to survival. This year more than ever, being adaptable and resilient has also been essential to working as a scientist. Faced with a pandemic, researchers around the world have had to find creative ways to continue their work.
SERC postdoc Linsey Haram is part of the FloatEco Project, a research collaboration that studies artificial ecosystems made of floating ocean plastic. By hitchhiking on pieces of plastic, coastal organisms can drift into the Great Pacific Garbage Patch and survive in the middle of the ocean.
Author’s Note: SERC is keenly interested in finding more descendants of the Sellmans, Contees, enslaved Black families, tenant farmers and others who lived and worked on what is now the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center. If you wish to be part of documenting our shared history, please send information to Kristen Minogue at minoguek@si.edu.
The tombstone of Thomas Francis from 1685, now split in two. (Credit: Christine Dunham)
On March 19, 1685, a major named Thomas Francis took his wife on a boating trip to visit their neighbors across the Rhode River, at a plantation called Tulip Hill in southern Maryland. He never returned. Francis drowned in a boating accident on the way back, at the young age of 42.
His tombstone bore a poetic inscription urging his family not to mourn, but to hope for a reunion after death. One snippet read: “For tho grim death thought fitt to part us here/Rejoyce & think that wee shall once appeare/At that great day when all shall Summond be.”
Fast forward to the 1850s. The field where Thomas Francis lies buried now sits near the intersection of two plantations belonging to the Contee and Sellman families. Both families rely heavily on enslaved Black families to grow wheat, corn and tobacco. Like many wealthy plantation owners, the Sellmans bury their dead in a family cemetery near the house.
Dozens of people lived, toiled and died on the land that today forms the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center (SERC). But much remains unknown about their burials. SERC staff knew that Thomas Francis’ tombstone—reportedly the oldest in Maryland’s Anne Arundel County—was on SERC property, but at least a decade had passed since anyone had seen it. Three gravestones once inside the Sellman family cemetery now sit in the nearby All Hallows Church. While small footstones and brick pavers still mark the original graves, SERC staff didn’t know how many other Sellmans lay under the site. There are rumors, but no definitive records, of where the enslaved people had their final resting place.
Today, a team of archaeologists, historians, citizen scientists and cadaver dogs is on the brink of solving the mystery. Click to continue »
When it comes to orchids, delicate, rare flowers with striking colors and shapes might come to mind. But did you know orchids make up 10 percent of the world’s flower species? With roughly 30,000 known species, they grow on all continents but Antarctica, ranging from the tropics to north of the Arctic Circle.
Orchids grow on soil, on trees and even on rocks. And like so many plant species in the world, orchids are vulnerable to habitat loss. While they can grow wherever there are fungi, the key is to have the right fungi.
“While we tend to think of fungi as bad and associate them with fungal infections, here’s this beautiful plant that turned the tables around,” said Melissa McCormick, principal investigator at SERC’s Molecular Ecology Lab. Click to continue »
Marc Rosenfield sets up a carbon cycling sensor outside the U.S. Capitol Building. (Credit: Megan Wilkerson)
This is the second in a series of posts highlighting research the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center is continuing to do amid the COVID-19 pandemic, and adaptations its staff have been making in a more socially distant world.
When the pandemic hit, many scientists’ field sites closed down, bringing countless research projects to a screeching halt. Marc Rosenfield, a graduate student at George Washington University, found himself in this exact situation when the Virginia Coast Reserve shut its doors. An ecosystem ecologist, Rosenfield was studying the exchange of carbon between the land and the atmosphere. He’d planned to deploy carbon sensors to understand how carbon exchange differs when moving from marshes to surrounding forests.
Instead of giving up, Rosenfield switched gears and transformed his research into a citizen science project. He, along with his dedicated undergraduate assistant Leona Neftaliem, reached out to colleagues in Washington, D.C., to see if anyone would allow the setup of carbon sensors in their backyards. To his surprise, an overwhelming number said yes. Soon, strangers were asking him to set up sensors on their properties. Today, Rosenfield has 30 sensors in locations across D.C., from private backyards to the U.S. Botanic Garden. There’s even one at the famous 9:30 nightclub.
Left to right: Jeff Blumenthal, Acy Wood, Chela Zabin and Corryn Knapp do field work in Point Orient, a study site southwest from the team’s main living shorelines restoration site, Giant Marsh. (Credit: Ted Grosholz)
This is the first in a series of posts highlighting research the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center is continuing to do amid the COVID-19 pandemic, and adaptations its staff have been making in a more socially distant world.
Along the outer coast of San Francisco Bay, rocky, wave-crashing coastline gives way to acres of reefs. As the tides retreat, castle-like formations made of sand, oyster shells and cement reveal a living shoreline.
Since 2012, the San Francisco Bay Living Shorelines Project has used a nature-based approach to reinforce the shoreline and minimize coastal erosion while restoring critical eelgrass, Olympia oysters, and tidal marsh plant habitats. As a California State Coastal Conservancy public works project, it also falls under “critical infrastructure.” This meant scientists could still do socially distant fieldwork amidst the global pandemic.
“The shoreline protection might not seem too critical in 2020, but will be critical in 2050,” said Jeff Blumenthal, a technician with the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center’s San Francisco branch, or “SERC-West.”
