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FIELD TRIP TO THE FUTURE— FAIRBANKS, ALASKA field trip—a group excursion for the purpose of firsthand observation, as to a museum, the woods, or a historic place (www.answers.com)
2010
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’m riding in the back seat of a brandclean, navy blue Chevy Suburban, owned by the University of Alaska. The eight of us here (plus two other truckloads of artists and scientists) are headed on a field trip from Fairbanks (population 32,000) into the Bonanza Creek Experimental Forest, then down the hill for lunch by the Tanana—that broad, silty river whose cocoa-brown water flows relentlessly, with power and ease, toward the ocean. Sitting next to me, quietly, is ecosystems scientist Terry Chapin (a.k.a. Dr. F. Stuart Chapin III). I’m trying to think of a way to ask about his work. “You mentioned this morning that your current research is centered around fire. Does your work focus mainly on North America? Or do you also study fire in Siberia and the Russian Far East?” “No. Right now it’s just Interior Alaska.” Such a simple statement, I’m thinking— “just Interior Alaska.” A huge stretch of land, and yet, only one small part of the Circumpolar North. “Were you always interested in fire?” “No. I started out by studying the physiology of a particular plant.” A plant!? This surprises me. Did this man begin his career, then, as a botanist? Later I discover that the “particular plant” is Alaska cotton grass—that wily, woolly little cotton ball: 14 species in Alaska. It thrives in small patches or whole meadows— a frolic of pure-white fuzzies on sturdy green stems that sway in the breeze like tropical island dancers, beckoning to any human who appears. Terry’s voice continues: “Then I realized I couldn’t understand the plant without
studying the particular environment of the plant. So I studied that…Then I realized I couldn’t understand the environment without studying the ecosystem, and the place of the plant and its environment within the ecosystem. So I studied that.” This scientist, I realize, is telling me a story. In his humble voice, he’s telling a story. “Then I realized I couldn’t understand the ecosystem without studying the relationship between the ecosystem and disturbance. So I studied that…Then I realized I couldn’t understand the ecosystem and disturbance without studying the relationship between humans and the ecosystem and disturbance. So I studied that…And that is what interests me most now: the relationships between humans, ecosystems, and disturbance. “You know, we used to think, as scientists, that the best way to learn about and understand an organism—such as a plant, or a place—was by seeking it out and studying it in its most natural state. But maybe now we’ve come to see that nothing is ‘natural.’ Or rather, everything is. Including humans. And disturbance.” 2050 Forty years from now, in 2050, I may turn 99. More likely, though—like my father and my mother now—I’ll be gone from this Earth. But what of my small cabin on the northwest side of Chena Ridge? What may become of it by then and of its habitat—its 1.98 acres of birch forest and the 90 quiet wooded acres, beside it and below? Well, I’ve studied the findings* of forestry
scientists Scott Rupp and Anna Springsteen, of the University of Alaska Fairbanks, as well as the work of other scientists and social scientists. Based on “moderate” emissions models, here is what I’ve learned about my home… It seems likely that, by 2050, the pond and wetlands on the 90 acres adjacent to mine will disappear. And when so much wet habitat dries up, much or all of the Alaska cotton grass found there will also disappear. It’s possible that the log walls of my cabin will become more vulnerable to damage from carpenter ants and perhaps from species currently located further south, such as carpenter bees or powderpost beetles. Increased rain and sleet, when flung at the logs by increased wind, may also help lead to my cabin’s demise. The birch trees, too, may become more susceptible to changes in climate. Warmer, longer, drier summers may encourage birch defoliators, including the birch skeletonizer, the birch leafminer, and that destructive beauty currently found in Alaska: the spearmarked black moth. Defoliation alone may not kill the trees, but it can weaken them and make them susceptible to other threats, including the most serious insect pest of the paper birch: the bronze birch borer. As if that weren’t enough, micro-organisms may also flourish and enter my trees, including more stem cankers, decay-causing fungi, and root-rotting fungi that cause cracks— called “collar crack”—at the base of the tree. The projected increase in average annual temperature in Alaska’s Eastern Interior of
*Projected Climate Change Scenarios for the Bureau of Land Management Eastern Interior Management Area, Alaska, 2001-2099. T. Scott Rupp and Anna Springsteen, University of Alaska Fairbanks. Prepared for the U.S. Department of the Interior / Bureau of Land Management, October 16, 2009.
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