(February 2023- September 2023)
Historically, wetlands have been despised and are often seen as a disease vector, holding little to no value. This negative outlook completely ignores their potential, and coupled with an unwavering desire for so-called progress, wetlands have seen a decline nationwide.
Wetlands and their surrounding environment have all the markings of prime real estate with their proximity to coasts, fertile soils, and relatively flat land. Mission Bay, a salt marsh in San Diego has been reduced from around 4000 acres to only 60 acres today. In efforts to alter the story of wetlands, work this past year has focused on accurately measuring the carbon found within the remnants of Mission Bay to understand better the potential benefits restoration efforts could provide to the injured ecosystem.
To determine the amount of carbon stored within Mission Bay, I, with the backing of the San Diego Audubon Society (SDAS) as well as the Scripps Institute of Oceanography (SIO), made plans to collect soil and set out toward the mudflats with high hopes. Amongst the groves of pickleweeds, and directly across the bay, we could see the skyline of sunny San Diego. Adjacent were the roller-coasters that now define Seaworld and in between the vast open ocean where jet skis and speed boats roam freely. The smell was distinctly briny with a slight mix of decaying vegetation. I held my breath initially, in a futile attempt to prevent the odor. Still, eventually, I gave up, embracing the salty smell, and slowly developing an affinity for the unique fragrance. As the pickleweed subsided to the mudflats, we suddenly found ourselves unable to move, the mud had succumbed to our weight and we began to sink. We did come prepared, retrieving our makeshift mud shoes, which were meant to distribute our weight over a large surface, however, they are not much help if you’re already sinking. Given the situation before us, we realized our first attempt to collect soil cores would be in vain and we abandoned our post.
A few weeks later, we made another trek to the wetlands, this time approaching from the sea. Having rented a kayak and a canoe, we paddled our way towards the sites, flushing out a flock of birds and watching as a bat ray fled from our presence. Arriving at the site, we quickly jumped out of the kayak into knee-deep water. The water was warm thanks to our wetsuits and we easily touched the bottom even sinking into the mud that had foiled us previously.
With a Russian peat corer, and half-pvc tubes for storage, we began collecting cores. We spent the next hour drilling away until we hit the underlying bedrock. I was standing in mud that had accumulated for the past thousand years. A thousand years of history all summed up by the contents of our drill, I couldn’t help but think about what this mud, by virtue of being still, had witnessed over the past thousand years. With the ancient soil safely tucked in our kayak, we embarked toward our next site, approaching Seaworld and away from the shore. That day, thinking about the wise soil, coupled with the ever-beating sun, I experienced a sort of euphoria. I had felt as if I truly belonged out there, connecting with nature at its core. I was willing to listen to all that nature says, from the flamboyant birds to the humble mud. While in my absentia, the boat wobbled and I felt my senses subdued as I swam upwards towards the surface. The canoe had capsized, presumably from a wake left behind by a passing lifeguard boat. Taking note of the situation, we recovered and flipped the canoe, removing the water only to find our precious samples were missing. This was yet another event we had planned for, this time packing scuba gear exactly for this situation. We spent the rest of the day scouring the bottom of the marsh to recover our precious samples, and just before the sun was about to set we finally found the elusive samples and headed home after a long day.
With our hard-earned samples safely secured, we began the process of preparing them for analysis. This was done at the Deep Sea Drilling lab within the Scripps Institute of Oceanography. The bulk of the project’s time was spent drying, crushing, and fumigating the soil samples with acid. This process took months, but we finally received the carbon data after patiently waiting. The next task was to write a report and present our findings for a research symposium at UC San Diego. Curious to see if carbon stock differed between habitats and elevation, I compared the carbon stock between different habitats within the marsh. After analysis, I found no correlation between stock and habitats. Therefore, with only acreage information, we can arrive at good estimations regarding a wetland’s increased capacity for carbon stock after restoration efforts.
Currently, the San Diego Audubon Society (SDAS), has proposed the ReWild project, a project to restore 227 acres of wetlands around the current stand known as Kendall-Frost Marsh, undoubtedly increasing Mission Bay’s capacity to store carbon. The ReWild project emphasizes resilience, in the face of an ever-changing climate, our restoration efforts must consider the future and address the issues of the past. With 227 acres restored, we could create a natural refuge for plants and animals struggling today and ensure these wetlands exist for future generations despite continued sea-level rise.
Traditional Ecological Knowledge (TEK) is the understanding of local natural resources from the indigenous peoples who inhabited the place in question. For thousands of years, the Kumeyaay people inhabited the area now known as Mission Bay creating a repertoire of deep knowledge and understanding of the Salt Marshes that made up the local environment. On top of this, the indigenous peoples cultivated a reciprocal relationship with the land, comprehending that for all the food and resources provided by the land, we must repay in kind so that future generations may also inherit a land of plenty. As TEK relies on oral transmission of knowledge, the deep understanding of Mission Bay built by the indigenous peoples has been dismissed through the lens of Western science which relies on empirical evidence and experimentation.
Having collected multiple mud cores encapsulating the environmental conditions stretching back thousands of years. I could see and feel the history of land entirely within the PVC pipes we stored the mud cores in. The mud cores were like a physical manifestation of the reciprocal relationship cultivated by the indigenous peoples to today in stark contrast with our relationship with the land which is marred by exploitation. A land that once provided the bare necessities to life is now replaced by Seaworld and a bunch of jet skiers. The mud cores spoke for the land that could not speak for itself, representing much more than our mere research project could express. The historic marsh as it stands, opens a door to a new understanding of our relationship with the land. The land has been ringing alarm bells for decades, prompting us to address our poor relationship, retaliating with a decline in resources and an increase in climate disasters. Have we not heard or have we chosen to ignore these alarms?
Unfortunately, the City of San Diego decided against the ReWild plan for Mission Bay… perhaps they could not understand the significance of the mud cores and what they truly represented to the environment around them. Thankfully they did commit to restoring around 138 acres of wetlands in Mission Bay despite pressures to develop land for other purposes.
In the time that’s passed since this expedition, I’ve boarded a plane to serve as a Coastal Resource Management volunteer with the Peace Corps in the Philippines, standing amongst some of the first batch of volunteers to return to service after the abrupt evacuation of volunteers globally due to COVID-19. I’ve only been in the Philippines for three months but I’ve already gained a lifetime experience. Managing coastal resources here in the Philippines, I’ve seen firsthand the effects of our extractive relationship with land and how it affects people who rely on these resources. These next two years I have an opportunity to build a positive relationship with the coastal resources in the Philippines while continuing to share my experiences here. I look forward to deepening my relationship with the land, learning from those around me, and if fortunate, sharing my knowledge with those interested.
DISCLAIMER: The views expressed are my own and not necessarily those of the Peace Corps or the U.S. Government.
Turn off the Bright Lights 