Category Archives: Environmental Studies

Between the Tides in California: Q&A with Authors Ryan P. Kelly, Terrie Klinger, Patrick J. Krug, and John J. Meyer

The vast and diverse California coast is an awe-inspiring place of exploration and discovery, full of life forms that are shockingly unfamiliar.

In the newly released guidebook Between the Tides in California—a follow-up to the popular Between the Tides in Washington and Oregon—scientific experts reveal the hidden worlds of the intertidal zone, profiling sites from the remote northern seashores to the popular beaches of Southern California. Richly illustrated and accessibly written, the book transforms readers into nearshore detectives, with each species offering unique clues about the environment around them.

What inspired you to write this book?

Ryan P. Kelly: This book was a long time coming. I was sitting in California—in 2011, before I moved to Seattle and UW—and drafted the original sketch. The idea was to do a roadside guide to ecology, focusing on the intertidal, aimed at a curious, outgoing public. Terrie, John, and I are all originally from California, and we asked Pat to be a part of this book both because of his deep knowledge and because he’s actually in place there in Southern California, while the rest of us live in Seattle.

John J. Meyer: For me, it was an opportunity to pay homage of sorts to the place and coastline I love the most. The West Coast is truly spectacular—all of it—but the beaches and tidepools of California are where I fell in love with the ocean in the first place.

Patrick J. Krug: It’s a lucky few of us who have been able to live immersed, literally and figuratively, in the study of marine biology. Not much beats the fun of sharing everything you’ve seen, read, and been taught over a lifetime with other people who like to explore and learn about the ocean.

When people see me working in the intertidal and ask what I’m doing, it only takes a few minutes to show them how to find animals they’ve never seen before. I wanted the book to be like having four marine biologists in your pocket, pointing out sea creatures you may have overlooked your whole life.

Patrick J. Krug

As research scientists, why write a book for the broader public? Did you perceive a specific need?

RPK: It just seemed like ecology deserved the kind of treatment that geology has gotten in the Roadside Guide to Ecology series. There are lots of guides to shells and seashore creatures, but it seemed like nothing explained why a thing was here and not elsewhere. The why seemed important to explain to a broader audience.

JJM: As a researcher turned policy specialist turned communications professional, I have seen firsthand the importance of making science broadly accessible to all people. If we can help do that for our oceans, I am all for it.

PJK: Right now there’s so much curiosity and appreciation for the ocean paired with concern about how to protect our coast from escalating human impacts. It felt like the right time to talk about the shoreline we love in accessible terms to anyone looking to explore, learn, and be inspired.

In writing this book did you learn new things that differ from your day-to-day research activities? If so, what?

RPK: I loved getting the chance to look up facts and distinguish them from scientific lore and rumor. We all learned a ton. And as my day-to-day work has pulled me away from the intertidal, this was a great opportunity to reimmerse myself in some real-world ecology.

TK: I learned a great deal from my coauthors, whose specializations are somewhat different from mine. For instance, who knew that gumboot chitons have magnetite in their teeth? Or that hermit crabs can be extremely picky in choosing a new shell to inhabit?

PJK: I spent a lot more time thinking about places instead of species. I do a lot of biodiversity discovery work, finding and naming new species, so I’m often thinking: what is special and different about this organism, what sets it apart from every other form of life? But for this book, we wanted to give the character of places—what do you find on this beach, and why is it here? It was a different challenge to capture in photos and words the feel of each rocky point or sandy cove that we profiled along the Golden State’s epic coast.

The intertidal community at Big Sur’s Partington Cove is typical of high-energy environments where wave-tolerant species dominate the shore. Photograph by the authors.

Many Californians are familiar with Ed Ricketts’s Between Pacific Tides published in 1939. Is there any connection between your book and his?

RPK: Those are very, very big shoes to fill, and I wouldn’t say we were aiming to fill them at all. Inevitably our book does have thematic overlap with Ricketts, but he was setting out the language of intertidal ecology for what was probably the first time for a relatively popular audience. That book is pretty dense with detail; we have tried to stick to a more narrative style and to focus on geographic patterns that visitors are likely to notice in a day at the shore.

TK: Between Pacific Tides was formative for all four of us—you might say that as students we were weaned on that book. I’ve been carting around a copy for almost fifty years, and I still use it. But we did not set out to replicate it—that would be impossible.

How did you approach the main themes of the book and bring them to life?

RPK: It’s easy to write about things you love and find fascinating. I’d say we just tried to convey that enthusiasm—I hope it worked.

JJM: This book is filled with photos of ocean and tidepool habitats, which was intentional; you can read and see the magic of the California coast. I hope they help transport the reader to these special places and that readers then become inspired to go see them in person!

PJK: When people see me working in the intertidal and ask what I’m doing, it only takes a few minutes to show them how to find animals they’ve never seen before. I wanted the book to be like having four marine biologists in your pocket, pointing out sea creatures you may have overlooked your whole life, to tell you about their hidden world, their challenges, and the incredible adaptations that let them thrive in the unforgiving world of the intertidal zone.

The Mendocino Headlands, carved from a jumble of metamorphic and sedimentary rock, form rugged boundaries between land and sea. Photograph by the authors.

Is there a location in the book that is your favorite? What about that location makes it special?

TK: Hands down, my favorite is Partington Cove on the Big Sur coast. It’s a truly magical spot.

JJM: Terrie turned me on to Partington Cove too, which was new for me and now ranks among my favorites. But the intertidal on the Stornetta Lands in Mendocino County I think is my favorite; the diversity of micro-habitats is immense, which leads to lots of diversity in the organisms that live there. And the rugged coastline as a backdrop only makes it that much more special!

PJK: I wanted to find the outrageously neon pink sea slug, Hopkins Rose, so I went back to the same rock channel in La Jolla, San Diego where I first found this species thirty years ago. And they were right where I left them in my early twenties, same exact spot. A great puzzle in marine ecology is how rare species persist in one place in a dynamic, turbulent ocean. This was a wonderful illustration of that mystery for me.

Everyone has a favorite species or two. Which species in the book are your favorites, and why?

TK: It’s hard to beat giant kelp (Macrocystic pyrifera) for sheer majesty—but giant kelp is not an intertidal species. In the intertidal, I might vote for the kelp Lessoniopsis littoralis. Its common name—flat pom-pom kelp—does it no justice. This kelp lives in only the gnarliest wave-swept spots and can survive for many years. Its thick stipe is reminiscent of a tree trunk, helping it tolerate the onslaught of waves where few other organisms can persist. To me, it’s the oak tree of the intertidal.

JJM: Almost impossible to pick, but I’ll go with the Spanish shawl. It’s such a crowd-pleaser, fairly common, and simply stunning to see with its bright purple body and orange mane against the greens and browns of a tidepool.

PJK: I always hunt for two elusive species of limpet (small snails) that can usually be found, with some effort, by their special “home turf.” One lives only on the feather-boa kelp, blending in with its glossy brown shell. Its relative glides up and down the narrow blades of surfgrass, like a dime cut in half. Both are marvelously adapted to their different hosts, and the kelp and grass benefit from the pruning and cleaning activities of their little shelled gardeners. There’s something special to me about knowing you can always go back and find your old friends waiting right where you left them if you know their haunts—not too different from people.

A sea slug, the Spanish shawl (Flabellinopsis iodinea), found below Sunken City, near Los Angeles harbor. Photography by the authors.

What are the most important messages conveyed in the book? What do you hope that readers will gain?

RPK: Once you start to notice a thing in the world, once it appears on your mental map, you’re likely to start to care about it. That was a core goal here: help others see what we see when we visit the coast, with the likely outcome that others will start to feel about these places the way that we feel about them.

TK: The California coast is magical for so many reasons. But some of that magic can get lost amid its crushing popularity. We wanted to capture some of the beauty and intrigue that can still be found along this coast. It is an absolutely stunning place.

JJM: There are still wild, thriving places, even in the most populous state in the union. Of course, that’s because all the right natural ingredients are there, but it’s also because of the choices people have made. Californians place a high value on their coast, and as such protect it and care for it in many awesome ways. It’s great to see that investment pay off—many special places remain and are there for all to experience.

PJK: To me, the book is about why each beach and bluff in California has a unique vibe and look. The chapters should help readers find new places to explore, and unpack the backstory of the marine life, rock formations, dune plants, and birds a visitor might see on a given outing. My experience is that the more people learn about the ocean, the more they are inspired to protect it, so I hope that a deeper understanding of California’s coast will bring readers a passion for conservation—and more fun on every trip to the beach.

Fossil shells are exposed in the cliffs behind Moonstone Beach south of Trinidad.
The starburst anemone (Anthopleura sola) occupies rocky habitates at Fitzgerald Marine Reserve.
The sedimentary substrates—mudstones, siltstones, and sandstones—found along much of the California coast can be covered in cavities known as tafoni. Common in granular surfaces, they are likely created through abrasion, wind erosion, salt weathering, and other mechanisms.

How does this book differ from field guides, textbooks, or other books on intertidal communities?

RPK: My bookshelf is full of similar books. Did the world need another one? We thought yes, because we were filling an unfilled niche. The book is about why rather than about what: why some things live here and not there, and how a person can learn to read a beach and glean meaning from the patterns of life on the shore. We think that’s unique among books in print.

PJK: I felt people would like the beach version of a travel guide that tells you what not to miss when you visit a place, explaining the history of that particular fountain, wall, or monument: why it’s special and remarkable, who put it there, the historical context that will enrich your experience standing in front of it. We have that for Berlin and Rome, why not for the California coastline? I also don’t think scientists are always great at speaking plainly to people, at capturing the wonder they themselves feel about nature in their writing or images. That’s probably because we are trained to be dispassionate and technical in our work, but we love what we study, and I wanted that exuberance to come through (along with some good ecology) for the interested reader!

What’s the best way for readers to approach this book?

RPK: There are lots of photos, sidebars, maps, and so on, which some readers might find as useful points of entry. It’s quite readable (we think) straight through, too, but we were aiming to stay away from sounding like a textbook. My hope is that you can throw it in your car and pull it out on a road trip along the coast.

PJK: Like a literal choose-your-own-adventure book. Decide where you want to go: maybe it’s nearby, or you’ve never been there before, or a photo catches your imagination. Take a drive, go for a walk in the sea breeze and sunshine, and make a new discovery. One thing should lead to another, and then another. . . and if you hit the end of a chapter, flip to a random page and start again.

About the Authors

Ryan P. Kelly
Terrie Klinger
Patrick J. Krug
John J. Meyer

Ryan P. Kelly is professor of marine and environmental affairs at the University of Washington. Terrie Klinger is professor of marine and environmental affairs and co-director of the Washington Ocean Acidification Center at the University of Washington. Patrick J. Krug is professor of biological sciences at California State University, Los Angeles. John J. Meyer is senior director of marketing and communications in the College of the Environment at the University of Washington.

Related Books

Celebrate Earth Month: Books in Environmental Studies

For Earth Month 2024, we invite you to explore environmental awareness, advocacy, and resilience through curated reading lists. Browse books in environmental studies below and don’t miss our past selection of books on the natural world with a focus on the Pacific Northwest.

Capturing Glaciers: A History of Repeat Photography and Global Warming
Photographs of receding glaciers are one of the most well recognized visualizations of human-caused climate change. Historian Dani Inkpen explores the use of repeat glacier photographs, examining what they show, what they obscure, and how they influence public understanding of nature and climate change.

The Toxic Ship: The Voyage of the Khian Sea and the Global Waste Trade
Environmental historian Simone M. Müller uses the infamous voyage of the Khian Sea as a lens to elucidate the global trade in hazardous waste from the 1970s to the present day, exploring the story’s international nodes and detailing the downside of environmental conscientiousness among industrial nations as waste is pushed outward. Shedding light on environmental racism and justice, The Toxic Ship is “a deft philosophical and literary examination about what we throw away, where our discards go, who is harmed, and why” (Kerri Arsenault, author of Mill Town: Reckoning with What Remains).

Cherokee Earth Dwellers: Stories and Teachings of the Natural World
Ayetli gadogv—to “stand in the middle”—is at the heart of a Cherokee perspective of the natural world. Emerging from a deep and continuing collaboration between Christopher B. Teuton, Hastings Shade, Loretta Shade, and others, Cherokee Earth Dwellers offers a rich understanding of nature grounded in Cherokee creature names, oral traditional stories, and reflections of knowledge holders. From clouds to birds, oceans to quarks, this expansive Cherokee view of nature reveals a living, communicative world and humanity’s role within it.

Settler Cannabis: From Gold Rush to Green Rush in Indigenous Northern California
Yurok scholar Kaitlin Reed situates the booming California cannabis industry—dubbed the “green rush”—within a broader legacy of settler colonial resource extraction and wealth accumulation in the state. Revealing the ongoing impacts on Indigenous cultures, lands, waters, and bodies, Reed shares this history to inform the path toward an alternative future. Combining archival research with testimonies and interviews with tribal members, tribal employees, and settler state employees, Settler Cannabis offers a groundbreaking analysis of the environmental consequences of cannabis cultivation that foregrounds Indigenous voices, experiences, and histories.

Charged: A History of Batteries and Lessons for a Clean Energy Future
In this “eminently readable, elegantly precise treatise on the topic of batteries” (Science)—a finalist for the Cundill History Prize—James Morton Turner unpacks the history of batteries to explore why solving “the battery problem” is critical to a clean energy future. With new insight on the consequences for people and communities on the front lines, Turner draws on the past for crucial lessons that will help us build a just and clean energy future, from the ground up.

After the Blast: The Ecological Recovery of Mount St. Helens
Eric Wagner takes readers on a fascinating journey of Mount St. Helens through the perspective of forest scientist Jerry Franklin, who helicoptered into the blast area a couple of weeks after the eruption. From fireweed to elk, the plants and animals Franklin saw in the blast area and beyond would not just change how ecologists approached the eruption and its landscape, but also prompt them to think in new ways about how life responds in the face of seemingly total devastation—a “superb look at scientists and science at work” (Publishers Weekly).

Fukushima Futures: Survival Stories in a Repeatedly Ruined Seascape
In this study of disaster, modernization, and fishing communities, anthropologist Satsuki Takahashi examines the complex relationship between commercial fishing families and the Joban Sea—once known for premium-quality fish and now notorious as the world’s worst nuclear catastrophe. In response to unrelenting setbacks, fishing communities have developed survival strategies shaped by the precarity they share with their marine ecosystem. The collaborative resilience that emerges against this backdrop of vulnerability and uncertainty challenges the progress-bound logic of futurism, bringing more hopeful possibilities for the future into sharper focus.

The River That Made Seattle: A Human and Natural History of the Duwamish
With bountiful salmon and fertile plains, the Duwamish River has drawn people to its shores over the centuries for trading, transport, and sustenance. Unfortunately, the very utility of the river has been its undoing, as decades of dumping led to the river being declared a Superfund cleanup site. Using previously unpublished accounts by Indigenous people and settlers, BJ Cummings’s compelling narrative restores the river to its central place in Seattle and Pacific Northwest history. Writing from the perspective of environmental justice—and herself a key figure in river restoration efforts—Cummings vividly portrays the people and conflicts that shaped the region’s culture and natural environment and offers a call for action in aligning decisions about the river and its future with values of collaboration, respect, and justice.

Anticipating Future Environments: Climate Change, Adaptive Restoration, and the Columbia River Basin
Ecological restoration is often premised on the idea of returning a region to an earlier, healthier state. Yet the effects of climate change undercut that premise and challenge the ways scientists can work, destabilizing the idea of “normalcy” and revealing the politics that shape what scientists can do. Using the restoration efforts in the Columbia River Basin as a case study, UW research scientist Shana Lee Hirsch explores how climate change affects the daily work of scientists, and how a scientific field itself can adapt to climate change.

Hatched: Dispatches from the Backyard Chicken Movement
In this engaging and thought-provoking book, Gina G. Warren digs into the history and food politics of the backyard chicken movement, chronicling her own misadventures raising chickens and attempts at sustainable eating. The result is a fresh and charming story that also raises questions about sustainable farming, industrial agriculture, and our connections with the animals we love.

Celebrate Earth Month: Books on the Natural World

In recognition of Earth Month, we’re sharing books that will inspire you to go out and explore. With information on how to forage edible and medicinal plants, dig razor clams, create a garden of native plants, and more, these books offer a deeper understanding and appreciation of the natural world.

Between the Tides in Washington and Oregon and
Between the Tides in California
These essential guides to exploring beaches and tidepools of the Pacific Coast feature full-color photographs, site profiles, fascinating stories of animal and plant species, and an accessible introduction to how coastal ecosystems work—perfect for beachgoers who want to know why.

Seattle Walks: Discovering History and Nature in the City
Bestselling author and popular science writer David B. Williams will give you a new appreciation for how Seattle has changed over time, how the past has influenced the present, and how nature is all around us—even in our urban landscape. Ranging along trails and sidewalks, these guided walks lead to panoramic views, intimate hideaways, and beautiful greenways.

Edible and Medicinal Flora of the West Coast: The Pacific Northwest and British Columbia
We’re hard-pressed to choose just one of horticulturalist and arboriculturist Collin Varner’s indispensable guides to the natural world of the Pacific Northwest, but this compact, full-color forager’s guide is a great place to start. The region is home to a multitude of edible and medicinal plant species, edible mushrooms, and marine plants, and this book offers clear photography, descriptions, safety tips, and warnings, as well as culinary and medicinal uses from Indigenous Peoples and settlers, for more than 150 wild-growing flora species.

Razor Clams: Buried Treasure of the Pacific Northwest
Challenging to dig, delicious to eat, and providing a heady experience of abundance, razor clams are entwined with Washington state’s commerce, identity, and history. Author David Berger shares his love affair of the Pacific razor clam and gets into the nitty-gritty of how to dig, clean, and cook them in this lively history and celebration of the Siliqua patula.

Flora of the Pacific Northwest: An Illustrated Manual
A classic since it was first published in1973, this tome covering Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Montana, and British Columbia is the most comprehensive reference on Pacific Northwest vascular plants for professional and amateur botanists, ecologists, rare plant biologists, plant taxonomy instructors, land managers, nursery professionals, and gardeners—“a must for your home garden library” (Washington Park Arboretum Bulletin).

Gardening with Native Plants of the Pacific Northwest
The Pacific Northwest abounds with native plants that bring beauty to the home garden while offering food and shelter to birds, bees, butterflies, and other wildlife. Whether you’re a novice or expert gardener, renowned botanist Art Kruckeberg and horticulturist Linda Chalker-Scott show you how to imagine and realize your perfect sustainable landscape.

Ice Bear: The Cultural History of an Arctic Icon
Michael Engelhard‘s thought-provoking and beautifully illustrated iconography of the polar bear brings this elusive and powerful animal into focus. Eight thousand years of artifacts attest to its charisma, and to the fraught relationships between our two species. Drawing on meticulous research, Engelhard traces and illuminates this intertwined history. Doing so, he delves into the stories we tell about Nature—and about ourselves—hoping for a future in which such tales still matter.

Spirit Whales and Sloth Tales: Fossils of Washington State
In this richly illustrated guide to the amazing array of fossils found in Washington state, renowned paleontologist Elizabeth A. Nesbitt teams up with David B. Williams to offer a fascinating, richly illustrated tour through more than a half billion years of natural history. The spectacular paleontology of the state is brought to life through details of the fossils’ discovery and extraction, their place in geological time, and the insights they provide into contemporary issues like climate change and species extinction.

Fishes of the Salish Sea: Puget Sound and the Straits of Georgia and Juan de Fuca
This comprehensive three-volume set, featuring striking illustrations of the Salish Sea’s 260 fish species by noted illustrator Joseph Tomelleri, details the ecology and life history of each species and recounts the region’s rich heritage of marine research and exploration. Beginning with jawless hagfishes and lampreys and ending with the distinctive Ocean Sunfish, leading scientists Theodore Wells Pietsch and James Orr present the taxa in phylogenetic order, based on classifications that reflect the most current scientific knowledge.

Birds of the Pacific Northwest: A Photographic Guide
Spanning a vast, distinctive region rich in protected wildlands and iconic national parks, this bestselling field guide is a superlative, complete resource for enjoying the many bird species found from British Columbia to southern Oregon. Renowned bird experts Tom Aversa, Richard Cannings, and Hal Opperman illuminate the key identification traits, vocalizations, seasonal statuses, habitat preferences, and feeding behaviors of bird species in the region. The compact, full-page accounts feature maps and more than 900 photographs by top bird photographers.

Read More on the Blog

Celebrate Earth Month: Books in Environmental Studies

Between the Tides in Washington and Oregon: Q&A with Ryan P. Kelly, Terrie Klinger and John J. Meyer

Photo Essay: Razor Clams

Repeat Photography and Global Warming: An Excerpt from ‘Capturing Glaciers’ by Dani Inkpen

Photographs of receding glaciers are one of the most well recognized visualizations of human-caused climate change. These images, captured through repeat photography, have become effective with an unambiguous message: global warming is happening, and it is happening now. But this wasn’t always the case. The meaning and evidentiary value of repeat glacier photography has varied over time, reflecting not only evolving scientific norms but also social, cultural, and political influences.

In Capturing Glaciers, Dani Inkpen historicizes the use of repeat glacier photographs, examining what they show, what they obscure, and how they influence public understanding of nature and climate change. Though convincing as a form of evidence, these images offer a limited and sometimes misleading representation of glaciers themselves. Furthermore, their use threatens to replicate problematic ideas baked into their history.

Excerpt from Capturing Glaciers

I visited an old friend recently. It had been years since seeing the Bow Glacier. Both of us had changed. I was last in her neighborhood on a winter day so bright and cold it transformed my breath into crystals that shivered and sparkled in the air. She was indisposed, hibernating beneath her billowy robes of winter snow. I had to content myself with a view of her front garden, soft and rounded, blue and white. In summer she presides over one of the most breathtaking scenes on the (for now) aptly named Icefields Parkway in the Canadian Rockies. Perfectly framed by peaks, the glacier perches above the indigo waters of Bow Lake, to which she is connected by thundering Bow Falls and a creek that winds its way through rainbow-pebbled flats. The whole scene can be taken in from the front porch of red-roofed Bow Lake Lodge, set on the lake’s shore by packer and guide Jimmy Simpson. In 1898 he deemed this a good spot to “build a shack.”

I met the Bow Glacier the summer I left home, one of those free-spirited summers that Hollywood films coat thickly with nostalgia. Freshly released from the corridors of teenagedom, I chose a seasonal job that could not possibly advance the career I was preparing for in college but that would give me plenty of time in the mountains: housekeeping at a historic alpine lodge. In my time off I often scrambled up chossy peaks where I met wobbling marmots and grizzlies lounging in full-blooming meadows. I drank from swift, icy streams and camped wherever suited me (because, like many seasonal workers, I believed that national park rules didn’t apply to me). The Bow Glacier looked on with dignified indifference. I stood on her surface, secure in mountaineering harness and crampons (though a couple foolish times not) and marveled at the white westing plains of the Wapta Icefield from which the Bow drains, dreaming of even grander vistas beyond. I knew in those moments I was one of thousands to behold that sight yet felt like the world had just taken form. My happiness was untouchable, not yet complicated by the conundrums of adulthood. I was immortal; death did not exist and time would never run out.

Old friends: The Bow Glacier and the author, 2003.

But time does run. And glaciers, compressions of time in frozen water, are excellent gauges of its passage. Mountain glaciers like the Bow are disappearing at rapid—and accelerating—rates. When Jimmy Simpson pondered building his shack, the Bow cascaded down to a forest abutting the lake in three undulating lobes, with the topmost flaring like outstretched eagle wings. I studied its shape from a black-and-white photograph hanging in the lobby of the lodge. Crevasse-torn icefalls separated the lobes, giving the glacier an intimidating look. It was big. It was beautiful. But the Bow Glacier has since receded. When I arrived one hundred years later, only the topmost lobe remained; dark cliff bands, wetted by Bow Falls, stood where crevasses once churned. The eagle wings were gone, and the glacier’s surface was noticeably lowered. Yet you could still see its toe from the lodge. Today it has retracted even further. Like a wounded spider, it now huddles on the lip of the cliff over which it draped in 2003, barely visible from Bow Lake Lodge.

Photographs of glaciers are about more than just glaciers. They’re also about nature, land, how we can know about such things, and the value we ascribe to them. Grasping this allows us to better appreciate repeat glacier photographs for what they can tell us about global warming, but also how they are conditioned by history and where they fall short.

Dani Inkpen

For many people who are not climate scientists, drastic recession of mountain glaciers like the Bow is clear and persuasive evidence of global warming. Since most folks have never been to a glacier, photographs are often how they learn of disappearing ice. This is achieved through what are called repeat photographs: juxtapositions of old photographs and recent re-creations taken from the same perspective at the same time of year (because glaciers fluctuate with the seasons). Curiosity about the historical photographs in repeat series, like the one hanging in Bow Lake Lodge’s lobby, eventually pulled my carefree summer in the Rockies into the trajectory of a professional life.

My book, Capturing Glaciers, is the result: it is about the people who photographed glaciers repeatedly and systematically to produce knowledge about glaciers and a variety of other subjects such as ice ages, wilderness, the physics of ice, and global warming. Throughout the twentieth century those studying glaciers used photography to capture changes in glacier extent and distribution, but they did so for different reasons and with different consequences. I trace the evolving motivations behind the use of cameras to capture images of ice and concomitantly changing ideas about what is (or is not) being captured.

The book title is thus a double entendre, referring to both the enduring allure of glaciers as repeat photographic subjects that “capture” beholders and the variety of ways people sought to capture glaciers with their cameras. I pay especial attention to the perceived value of repeat photographs as a form of evidence. Doing so illuminates some of the ways repeat photography has encapsulated and conveyed changing ideas about what glaciers are and why they matter. Photographs of glaciers are about more than just glaciers. They’re also about nature, land, how we can know about such things, and the value we ascribe to them. Grasping this allows us to better appreciate repeat glacier photographs for what they can tell us about global warming, but also how they are conditioned by history and where they fall short. It helps us see them not as static representations of the present situation, but as still-evolving elements in a process much bigger and more complex than any photograph could possibly capture.

I take a photograph-centered approach, following the photographs to archival information about the practices behind their creation. The history of how repeat photography was used to study glaciers in North America is checkered and discontinuous. Its value as a form of evidence ebbed and flowed based on ideas about what glaciers were and what knowledge-makers wanted to know. This was more than just a scientific matter. While many of the actors who populate the pages of the book were scientists, producing knowledge of glaciers required an extensive host of characters and institutions. And the meanings of repeat glacier photographs broke the bonds of scientific intention and interpretation, drawing from and circling back to potent cultural associations. We will see, then, that the value of a form of evidence is conditioned by nonscientific elements, including political and practical considerations. Evidence, like objectivity, has a history. And history continues to make itself felt in the present.

Dani Inkpen is assistant professor of history at Mount Allison University.

More from the Weyerhaeuser Environmental Books Series

The Infamous Voyage of the Khian Sea: Excerpt from The Toxic Ship by Simone M. Müller

In 1986 the Khian Sea, carrying thousands of tons of incinerator ash from Philadelphia, began a two-year journey, roaming the world’s oceans in search of a dumping ground. Its initial destination and then country after country refused to accept the waste. The ship ended up dumping part of its load in Haiti under false pretenses, and the remaining waste was illegally dumped in the ocean. Two shipping company officials eventually received criminal convictions.

In The Toxic Ship, historian Simone M. Müller uses the Khian Sea‘s voyage as a lens to elucidate the global trade in hazardous waste—the movement of material ranging from outdated consumer products and pesticides to barges filled with all sorts of toxic discards—from the 1970s to the present day, exploring the story’s international nodes and detailing the downside of environmental conscientiousness among industrial nations as waste is pushed outward.

From the Introduction

Often the rotor blades were audible before the helicopter became visible. The weather had been mediocre since the ship had anchored at Big Stone Beach. Two small inlets, defining the lower end of Delaware Bay, sheltered it from the waves and winds of the Atlantic. Looking out to sea—one of their pastimes since they had been grounded—the crew could observe waves with crests just about to break and a sea garnished with foam. When they heard the sound of swirling air cut by metallic blades, it usually meant that members of the US Coast Guard were approaching by boat. At the beginning of the ship’s nearly three-month stay, the coast guard had come frequently to check on what they called inoperable equipment and outdated charts, two almost laughable details given the dilapidated freighter’s signs of wear and rust. The ship’s papers were not in order either. Its stay at sea had outlasted its insurance coverage and other certificates. Technically it was a renegade ship, since Liberia was withholding its flag until the ship’s papers were renewed.

Sometimes, the coast guard had been accompanied by guys in white hazmat suits, who had crawled all over the ship’s cargo with their gloves, their test tubes, and their clipboards. Captain Arturo Fuentes Garcia was not sure what exactly these people were doing, but he knew it had to do with his cargo and would determine whether the ship could proceed up the Delaware. He also knew that their activities were of great interest to the journalists circling above in the helicopter, like vultures waiting for the lions to finish their meal.

When Garcia had taken over as captain of the freighter Khian Sea, he had expected nothing out of the ordinary. It became the voyage of a lifetime. Fuentes, a native of Honduras, learned about the job in November 1987, when the Khian Sea had already been roaming the greater Caribbean for over a year. The ship had left Philadelphia in September 1986, carrying about fifteen thousand tons of incinerator ash destined for the Bahamas. The ship was owned by Lily Navigation, Inc., and chartered by the Amalgamated Shipping Corporation, both registered in the Bahamas. The latter had a contract with the Philadelphia waste-hauling company Paolino & Sons. Paolino, in turn, had a multimillion-dollar contract with the city of Philadelphia for the disposal of up to two hundred thousand tons of incinerator ash for fiscal year 1986–87. To add to this complex arrangement of international stakeholders, the ship was sailing under the Liberian flag (at least until its papers expired). For Fuentes, these different involvements mattered little. His main contact partners were two Americans, John Patrick Dowd and William P. Reilly, president and vice president of the Annapolis-based company Coastal Carriers, which was the US representative of Amalgamated.

Mostly it was Reilly who told Fuentes where to take the ship. After the original plan to unload it in the Bahamas had fallen through, Fuentes was directed to sail to the port of Gonaïves in politically fractured Haiti, where Coastal Carriers had secured a landing for the ship’s cargo as topsoil fertilizer. Years later, when he testified to an attorney with the US Department of Justice’s Environmental Crimes Section about what happened next, Fuentes would say the ship had “bad mojo.” In the middle of unloading, Haitian soldiers had ordered them at gunpoint to stop. Under cover of darkness, Fuentes set sail to take the Khian Sea back to Philadelphia, abandoning part of its cargo at Sedren Wharf in Gonaïves, but US officials ordered them to anchor in lower Delaware Bay and confined the crew to the ship.

With morale low and nerves strained, Captain Fuentes then committed his first major crime by disobeying direct orders from the US Coast Guard and taking the Khian Sea back out to sea. In news interviews and later court testimony, Reilly and Dowd from Coastal Carriers made it sound as if they had been blindsided by Fuentes’s move, but that was questionable. Fuentes next took the ship across the Atlantic to West Africa, the Mediterranean, and Eastern Europe, through the Suez Canal, and across the Indian Ocean to Southeast Asia, always on the lookout for a new site to unload the cargo. Meanwhile, an international network of environmentalists, US officials, and the media hunted the renegade ship. They managed see through its attempts at disguise, such as changing the ship’s name from the Khian Sea to the Felicia, the Pelicano, and finally the San Antonio. It was a game of cat and mouse that, most of the time, Fuentes lost.

The Toxic Ship scrutinizes the tensions inherent to a world where, since at least the mid-twentieth century, we have been facing the issue of growing amounts of hazardous waste combined with finite planetary disposal spaces and acute, and increasing, social and economic inequality.

Simone M. Müller

Fuentes’s problem was the cargo and its purpose: mounds of black incinerator ash, interspersed with bits of half-burnt paper and pieces of metal. It represented the remnants of Philadelphia’s waste, material that US traders had repeatedly tried to sell as fill material for land reclamation, fertilizer, or building material. The issue was not the cargo’s texture or its musty smell, but minute particles of heavy metals and dioxins in material intended for use in sensitive ecosystems and relatively unprotected production contexts in countries of the global South. No matter what those people in the white hazmat suits had found out from testing the ash, the label déchet toxique—the Haitian term for toxic waste—had stuck to the ship throughout its journey of more than two years. Always sailing on the verge of illegality, Fuentes eventually broke more laws, marine and otherwise, by dumping the cargo in the Atlantic and Indian Oceans.

By following the journeys of the Khian Sea and other waste-carrying ships from the United States, The Toxic Ship scrutinizes the globalization of hazardous waste, environmental justice, and environmental governance in the latter half of the twentieth century. Starting in Philadelphia, the story takes in Panama, the Bahamas, Haiti, Honduras, Sierra Leone, Guinea, Nigeria, Italy, Norway, Yugoslavia, Switzerland, the Philippines, and Singapore. The book opens by reviewing the emergence of environmentalism in the industrial world in the 1960s, a trend that was followed almost immediately by the creation of the first waste-trading schemes with countries of the global South. The story centers on the 1980s, the height of this unequal trade, before considering instruments of global environmental governance implemented in the 1990s, such as the UN’s Basel Convention (passed in 1989 and implemented in 1992), and the Organisation of African Unity’s Bamako Convention (passed in 1991 and implemented in 1998). The Toxic Ship ends in the early 2000s, when the partial cargo of incinerator ash that the Khian Sea had abandoned in Haiti was returned to the United States.

The international trade in hazardous substances is a broad term for a trading network that moves items ranging from hazardous waste to banned pesticides and nonmarketed consumer products. It has received considerable attention from environmental, health, and human rights activists, investigative journalists, administrators, policymakers, and scholars. Most activist literature examines the trade through a normative lens and the framework of global environmental justice and environmental racism. From this viewpoint, the Khian Sea is the flagship of the evils of the global waste economy. It and other ships like it represent all that is ethically despicable, and yet the Khian Sea’s activities were mostly legal, part of a multimillion-ton and multimillion-dollar trade in hazardous waste between countries of the global North and those of the global South, marked by substantial differences in political stability, economic opportunities, and environmental and health and safety regulations.

What led a city like Philadelphia, with a large African American population, to export hazardous waste to Panama, the Bahamas, or Haiti, and what induced local agents to import it (legally) for use in sensitive ecosystems? How did the actors involved in the global waste economy endure the conflicting pressures born from the fact that hazardous waste would not go away, but had to be disposed of somewhere?

The Toxic Ship scrutinizes the tensions inherent to a world where, since at least the mid-twentieth century, we have been facing the issue of growing amounts of hazardous waste combined with finite planetary disposal spaces and acute, and increasing, social and economic inequality. The book examines the structures and dynamics underpinning a global system that appeared to be based simultaneously on toxic colonialism and voluntary exchange, yet which was ultimately premised on different valuations of human life.

Simone M. Müller is Heisenberg Professor for Global Environmental History and Environmental Humanities at the University of Augsburg. She is author of Wiring the World: The Social and Cultural Creation of Global Telegraph Networks.

More from the Weyerhaeuser Environmental Books Series

Between the Tides in Washington and Oregon: Q&A with Ryan P. Kelly, Terrie Klinger and John J. Meyer

A spectacular variety of life flourishes between the ebb and flow of high and low tide. Between the Tides in Washington and Oregon uncovers the hidden workings of the natural world of the shoreline. Richly illustrated and accessibly written, the guide illuminates the scientific forces that shape the diversity of life at beaches and tidepools.

Ryan P. Kelly is associate professor in the University of Washington’s School of Marine and Environmental Affairs. Terrie Klinger is professor in the UW’s School of Marine and Environmental Affairs. John J. Meyer is Senior Director for Marketing and Communications for the UW’s College of the Environment.

Can you tell us a bit about Between the Tides in Washington and Oregon and what motivated you to write the book? How does it differ from other coastal guides?

Terrie Klinger: This book is about the wonder of the intertidal environment, why it is unlike any other on Earth, and the seaweeds and animals that have evolved to live in such a place. We wanted to share that wonder with others who might not be marine scientists. The title evokes Ed Ricketts’s Between Pacific Tides. Published in 1939, Ricketts’s book is widely held to be the classic in the field. We wanted to honor that book and the lasting influence it has had on each of us.

John J. Meyer: The Pacific Northwest is brimming with so much incredible life and beauty between the tides—the diversity of marine invertebrates and seaweeds is just stunning. We wanted to shine a light on these special places, which many folks don’t discover unless they just happen to be at a good rocky beach on a good low tide. A little planning can unlock a world you never knew was there!

Ryan P. Kelly: This book is an attempt to tell people why the species at the shore are where they are, rather than simply being another guide about what one might find there. It’s about ecology, about process. That’s pretty unusual in a book for non-specialists.

There’s a degree of order to the apparent messiness of life along the shore, and uncovering the hidden rules that result in that order is really exciting.

Ryan P. Kelly

What are the main themes of the book and how are they brought to life?

Kelly: We wanted to show, rather than tell. While the themes are those that you might find in a course on marine ecology, we tried to bring those to life by highlighting examples that the reader might run across during a visit to particular places. That was the power of using individual places along the coast as a way to illustrate processes that happen in many other places as well.

Klinger: Intertidal habitats and the species that occupy them are our focus. Habitats determine who can live where, and once occupied, the residents in turn shape their habitats—like your neighbors shape your neighborhood. We try to shed some light on these complexities.

Meyer: To support showing not telling, this book is filled with many photos that are more than just pretty pictures; they are meant to visually bring the vignettes we write about to life.

Who is this book for and how would you recommend readers approach it?

Kelly: The book is for everyone! Mostly non-scientists, but the kinds of curious, outdoorsy people that might find themselves at the shore. We ended up with a lot of text at the beginning that bears reading straight through, but the geographically specific chapters are meant to be read in bits, perhaps as the reader is headed out on a road trip.

Klinger: Nearly anyone who likes to stroll along on the beach, stumble across slick rocks, and explore out-of-the way places along the Washington and Oregon coasts might find something of interest in this book. Readers can jump around to find fun facts and satisfy their curiosity or read from cover to cover for a consistent narrative. My friend Jane, who just celebrated her hundredth birthday, read all the place-based chapters before diving into the first two chapters.

Meyer: This book is meant for people who love to discover new things. So much of what’s living in the intertidal looks and behaves like nothing else, it’s almost like discovering organisms from another planet here on Earth.

Surfgrass (Phyllospadix sp.) grows alongside subtidal kelp (Laminaria setchellii) at Ecola State Park in Oregon.

Which location or site in the book is your favorite to visit and why?

Meyer: Second Beach in Olympic National Park is a favorite. I discovered it nearly thirty years ago while on a road trip and have gone camping there every summer since. I always couple my visit with a good low tide for some excellent tidepooling, which is backdropped against a spectacularly beautiful location.

Kelly: I just fell in love with Ecola State Park in Oregon during a research trip, and I’ve been back since. What a beautiful place.

Klinger: The rocky sites are my clear favorites. They’re chock-full of interesting species arranged in ways that beg for investigation and explanation.

What’s your favorite species profiled in the book? Are there any fun facts that you’d like to share?

Kelly: I did my PhD on chitons, and so I suppose I can’t resist a good chiton. Tonicella lineata, the lined chiton, is probably the most beautiful thing you’re likely to see on the outer coast.

Meyer: A friend of mine introduced me to the sea palm, Postelsia palmaeformis, years ago, and it’s been a favorite ever since. Watching hundreds of them getting bowled over by crashing waves and then pop back up is one of my favorite things to see.

Klinger: There are some fun facts for sure—for instance, the story about the horse stuck in a sea of foam—and I have a ton of favorite species. One favorite is the air-breathing sea slug called Onchidella—I’m always excited to find one.

The sea palm (Postelsia palmaeformis) grows among mussels and barnacles on wave-swept shores.

What do you hope readers will take away from the book?

Klinger: I might hope readers deepen their curiosity about life in the intertidal and the puzzling complexity of nature all around us.

Kelly: A sense of wonder, really. But also a sense that there are answers to questions like “why is this snail here, but not over there?” There’s a degree of order to the apparent messiness of life along the shore, and uncovering the hidden rules that result in that order is really exciting.

Meyer: I think once you understand something a bit more, you care about it a bit more. I hope readers walk away indeed with a sense of wonder that also translates to stewardship.

Upcoming Events

April 11, 6:00 pm at the University Book Store: Learn more about the intertidal zone at an author talk with Terrie Klinger and Ryan P. Kelly. Register for this free event here.

May 13, 11:00 am–4:00 pm, at Friday Harbor Laboratories Open House: The San Juan Island marine biology field station of the UW College of the Environment, Friday Harbor Labs, invites the community to their annual Open House. Guests may meander about the campus and experience touch tanks, science demonstrations, seaweed pressing, and a science speaker series that will include a talk with Terrie Klinger. Visit the FHL news and events page and stay tuned for more details!