The Unseen Issue by The Planet Magazine

THE UNSEEN FALL 2021

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Olivia Hobson ADVISER Warren Cornwall MANAGING EDITOR Kaleigh Carroll STORY EDITORS Sadie Fick Riley Weeks Olivia Palmer PHOTO EDITOR Linnea Hoover VIDEO EDITOR Erik Anderson SCIENCE EDITOR Alyssa Tsukada PUBLIC EDITOR Benjamin Leung DESIGNERS Willlow Cook Kim Hoang Renita Kolica WRITERS Olivia Hicks Meghan Fenwick Liz McLane Janie Egan Adin Romano Liam Flynn Lotus Blount Allison Carroll Brianna Pruitt Casey Rothlisberger Dena Muething Heather Pedroza Kylie Maioriello Lily Smith Lily Winchel Raine Westfall PHOTOGRAPHERS Olivia Hicks Cierra Coppock Forrest Morris Katya McMullen VIDEOGRAPHERS Hugh Fogarty Troy Schulz

DEAR READER, The theme “The Unseen” came out of an admiration for mystery. Gathered together on a Zoom call last May, the editors imagined stories of intrigue, of things unknown, of things microscopic. The unseen was what led to that Zoom call, and all of the other Zoom calls, after all—a microscopic virus, unseen until its global spread, had forced us out of our classrooms, newsrooms and offices and onto our computers for almost a year and a half. But a vaccine, filled with more unseen things, was giving us a chance to return back to the desks and classrooms and whiteboards. In fall, we thought, we’ll be back, and ready to tackle the mysterious, secretive, nefarious. The stories of the unseen would be a testament to what we’d learned over the last year: that the unseen is everywhere, and that it affects all of us, all the time. But, of course, the return to our newsroom brought more unanticipated, unseen things. Seeing reporters working face to face, in small work groups rather than virtual breakout rooms, was triumphant. But it was also challenging. Navigating social distancing and safety measures, transportation, scheduling and a plethora of other items, all familiar pre-pandemic, felt like moving through uncharted waters, impossibly complex, stressful and unending. I appreciate the patience and flexibility each staff member demonstrated throughout the quarter—without it, we wouldn’t have this magazine. Rather than a collection of stories about the mysterious or the secretive, many of these stories are about helping the unseen be seen, supporting it, making it strong. Rather than stories about people hurting, many of these stories are about people helping. Fitting, I think, during a quarter and year where we all had to help and support one another. That’s another lesson we learned over this pandemic—that people can help, too. People helping people, helping animals, helping the environment, helping heal. This issue is about the unseen, how we help it, and how it helps us. I am proud of every reporter, photographer and editor that persevered through a quarter that was more difficult than anyone expected—or, at least, than I expected. I hope you enjoy reading these stories as much as I have enjoyed watching them grow and evolve. Best,

Olivia Hobson Editor-in-Chief

CONTENTS 02 OLD MAIN’S HIDDEN HORTICULTURIST

19 MEET THE NEW FACE OF THE PUGET SOUND

How Western’s landscaping can be better for the

Fishers are hauling squid out of Seattle waterways as

environment, one decision at a time.

salmon stocks are depleted, favoring the tentacled

06 THE PUFFINS OF PROTECTION ISLAND

creatures as a healthy food source that’s fun to catch.

24 BURIED BELOW

Professional and citizen scientists are teaming up to study

The clock is ticking, and time is almost up for many of the

the tufted puffin on Protection Island.

underground storage tanks in Washington state, some

10 POST AND PROTECT: MAKING YOUR HASHTAG MATTER

holding a cocktail of chemicals.

26 SEEDING THE FUTURE

Washington state researchers are using social media data

Volunteers at the Salish Seed Guild are collecting,

to understand how people are using the land—and how

preserving and sharing locally-adapted seeds with

that land can be protected most effectively.

the community.

14 DAM IT Squalicum Creek was designed with salmon in mind. Now, the planners are watching, trying to see how the beavers might impact those fishy visitors.

ON THE COVER Squid fishermen wait patiently for a bite atop Seacrest Pier in West Seattle on Nov. 2. Squid fishing begins after dusk when squid are most active. PHOTOGRAPH BY FORREST MORRIS

The Planet Magazine c/o Huxley College Western Washington University 516 High Street, CF 220 Bellingham, WA 98225 360.650.3542 theplanetmag@gmail.com theplanetmagazine.net

THE PLANET MAGAZINE is the quarterly student publication of Western Washington University’s Huxley College of the Environment. We are dedicated to environmental advocacy through responsible journalism. *This issue of the Planet is printed on Mohawk PC Via Cool White. It is made from 100% recycled content. Mohawk is a certified Women-Owned Business Enterprise and is the first U.S. paper mill to offset 100% of its electricity with wind power renewable energy credits. It is also the first U.S. premium paper mill to shift towards carbon neutral production. Basically, they’re environmental superheroes. We are proud to support them.

Leaves scatter in a section of campus. Western’s landscaping team has gone above and beyond achieving their Sustainability Action Plan goals.

OLD MAIN’S HIDDEN HORTICULTURIST

STORY AND PHOTOS BY OLIVIA HICKS

How Western’s landscaping can be better for the environment, one decision at a time. THE LAWN OF WESTERN’S historic Old Main is picturesque regardless of the season, but few know the face tasked with maintaining this poster-child of campus. Meet Oskar Kollen, the man who spends his days making campus brighter and more eco-conscious with each seedling. Kollen started landscaping as a dependable way to make extra cash when he wasn’t on the road with his band, but found a love for keeping foliage flourishing when he started working as a nursery and grounds specialist for the university six years ago. As the Acorn Project—Kollen’s six-piece

electro-funk rock band—decided they were past their couch-surfing prime, the keyboardist’s interest in the outdoor world grew. With that interest came a commitment to protecting the environment “Once you get interested in plants and planting, you start to notice and learn names of plants, which I think is really helpful because that gives you a connection to the outside,” Kollen said. “Then you become a little more intuitive to nature and treat it with respect.” Kollen cares for roughly seven hectares of the most picturesque grounds on Western’s campus, sprawling across Red Square, the

Western Libraries and Old Main. With that charge comes a responsibility to balance aesthetic appeal with sustainability. In Kollen’s slice of campus, he has found a way to tweak the landscaping process to be more eco-conscious than before—either of his own accord or by facility standards. By spring, a native rhododendron will bloom white in time for graduation, in the same place where Kollen removed a hollow, dying tree that once stood tall at the library entrance. By chopping the tree into wood chips, a natural weed barrier, he offers an alternative mulch that is healthy for the local soil. The cycle of

FALL 2021 sustainability will continue when Kollen prunes the pristine rhody with his now-electric hedge trimmers and weed whacker. When combined, these small actions start to check the boxes in Western’s Sustainability Action Plan—a guide for the university to be more conscious of its ecological footprint across departments. Whether it’s through scrawling sustainability lessons across whiteboards, monitoring water use in campus restrooms or improving landscaping measures on campus, the checklist pushes departments to find new ways to implement sustainability standards. Compared to other departments, groundskeepers excel at incorporating Western’s sustainability goals into everyday tasks, according to a 2013 sustainability rating.

Actions contributing to the aboveaverage rating include cutting back on gaspowered equipment, introducing native and drought-resistant plant species, making natural insect repellent rather than spraying harmful pesticides and recycling dying trees to create mulch. Despite this progress, Kollen believes the campus could be even better. With a new market for all-electric gear, Kollen said he has high hopes for electricpowered equipment to be more available and efficient on campus, and believes the university “could make it happen to be pesticide-free.” The university’s minimal use of pesticides and herbicides makes banishing harsh chemicals on campus seem possible. Warding off pests

presents a daily opportunity to translate Western’s abstract sustainability goals into action. Armed with a mixture of two dozen eggs, Kollen seems ready for action as he defends the rose garden against intruders. The mixture effectively repels deer and insects threatening to disrupt the dazzle of dew-specked orange, pink and red roses without causing potential harm to passing students, staff and furry-friends. BELOW: Kollen and his maintenance truck, newly filled with all-electric equipment, sit near the rose garden next to Old Main. The landscaping staff is slowly making the switch from gas powered equipment to reduce noise complaints and CO2 emissions.

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But students might not be aware of behindthe-scenes work like his. “There are things being done, it’s just no one knows about them because they are unseen,” said Zinta Lucans, a graduate teaching assistant for Western’s Sustainability, Equity and Justice Fund (SEJF). “It’s a lot of background people doing all of the work, and it’s just not noticed by anyone, so it’s not appreciated.” The SEJF, an offshoot program of Western’s Sustainability Engagement

Institute (previously known as the Office of Sustainability), funds student and faculty-led projects. Six years ago, the fund helped add compost bins to the landscaping team’s arsenal. Kollen agrees that students simply don’t notice the work. After 48 trees were removed from campus in 2020, a claim from the local blog The NW Citizen that Western “seems to hate trees” illustrates the lack of public awareness about sustainable action on campus, Kollen said.

The trees were removed to make room for the new interdisciplinary science building, and are intended to be used for landscaping, benches and salmon habitat renewal. They will be replaced with 56 diverse saplings across campus, according to Western. Kollen’s work paints a hopeful picture for the future of a scenic and sustainable campus. There’s more to do, but for now, students can stop and smell the roses, in their pesticide-free glory, on their way to class.

LEFT: Kollen holds a handful of ground mulch from a dying tree located on campus near the Western Libraries. The university nursery staff uses arbor chips salvaged from dying or rotten trees throughout campus or from local lumber companies.

BELOW: Kollen loosens the roots of a new shrub to replace one that didn’t survive the scorching summer heat. The university might have to adjust its landscaping “game plan” as summers become hotter and fewer native plants can survive the intense temperatures, Kollen said.

OLIVA HICKS is a photojournalist for The Planet and an environmental journalism student who has previously worked as a reporter for The Front and a story editor for The Planet.

FALL 2021

THE PUFFINS OF PROTECTION ISLAND STORY BY MEGHAN FENWICK PHOTOS BY LINNEA HOOVER

Professional and citizen scientists are teaming up to help the tufted puffin on Protection Island.

FALL 2021 A PAIR OF HUNGRY, ambitious bald eagles wait for the right moment as they circle a frightened duck paddling in the Salish Sea. One dives toward the duck, sending it below the surface in a panic. Once it swims back up, the other eagle is off. The duck grows tired, never having time to breathe as it works to evade this tag team of predators. “It’s not a pretty thing to watch,” said Scott Pearson, research biologist at the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife (WDFW), who witnessed the incident. “But nature often is that way.” Pearson has a front-row seat watching the seabird species at the Protection Island National Wildlife Refuge try to strike a balance between competition and survival. Perched at the northernmost edge of the continental United States, off the coast of Port Townsend, this isolated spot is a living laboratory. Here, a small cadre of government and

LEFT: Tufted puffins’ faces lighten during breeding season and darken during their time over the open ocean for the rest of the year. Photo by Ray Hennessy on Unsplash. BELOW: A non-breeding tufted puffin shakes off water after a swim at the Point Defiance Zoo and Aquarium.

university scientists are slowly unraveling mysteries that could shed light on the lives of some of the region’s most sensitive seabirds, including the endangered tufted puffin and the rhinoceros auklet. Among the questions they are trying to answer: Could the revival of the onceendangered bald eagle mean dangerous waters for the struggling tufted puffins? On Protection Island, the endangered tufted puffin has enough fish to fry. Eagles might prefer a gull egg to a puffin snack, but scientists don’t yet know how the eagle’s comeback will affect the safehaven the puffins desperately need. The fate of the tufted puffin lies in the hands of experts and volunteers alike who work to answer questions like these. The island, located in northeastern Jefferson County, is owned by both the state and the federal Fish and Wildlife Service. It was declared a refuge in 1982, halting plans for development. Plots originally designated for homes and streets now boast flourishing grasslands and sandy bluffs. Signs urging boaters to stay 180 meters away protect a variety of marine mammals and birds. Pearson is part of a team that includes university and federal scientists monitoring the seabird colonies of Protection Island and completing surveys there every ten years. Their research highlights the value of Protection

Island’s winged residents to marine science studies: these birds are great indicators of what’s happening in the marine ecosystem. The auklets depend on small fish for food, so their success mirrors the success of fish populations, said Peter Hodum, a biology professor at the University of Puget Sound who is part of the research program. Oddly, rhinoceros auklets are more closely related to puffins than other auklet birds. Both are nesting seabirds that build homes for their eggs underground. Although closely related, it is easy to tell the two apart. While both have sleek black feathers and orange beaks, the puffin’s beak stands out against its stark white face, and its pale eyes are outlined in a fiery red. Some say it looks like a tiny clown. Bob Boekelheide, former director of the Dungeness River Audubon Center, has studied marine mammals and birds for much of his life. He fondly recalls rhinoceros auklets and tufted puffins at the Farallon Islands in California, where he worked as a research biologist for twelve years. “We have this impression that they’re these lovely little birds flying out there,” Boekelheide said. “But they’re really—there’s a lot to them.” Puffins and auklets are both surprisingly stout and strong, according to Boekelheide. He has held them both, and sometimes their sharp

FALL 2021

PROTECTION ISLAND MAP

Where is Protection Island?

British Columbia, Canada

Pacific Ocean Bellingham Salish Sea

Protection Island

Seattle Port Townsend

Washington, USA

8 Kilometers

Map by Olivia Hobson. Data courtesy WWU, 2005-2020. Albers Equal Area Conic.

BIRDS OF PROTECTION ISLAND

Rhinoceros Auklet

Tufted Puffin

FALL 2021 claws would dig into his hands. Other times, they would sit in his hands peacefully. Despite their similarities, rhinoceros auklets are thriving, while tufted puffins are struggling. At Protection Island, the puffin population makes up one of the last breeding colonies in the Strait of Juan de Fuca. In addition to eagle disturbances, they face a decline in prey, warming ocean temperatures, pollution and habitat loss. The Washington Department of Natural Resources manages the Protection Island Aquatic Reserve. In 2016, they set out to collect more data about the wildlife in the area. With the help of the Port Townsend Marine Science Center (PTMSC) and one generous skipper, a monthly boat-based bird and mammal survey emerged. Five years later, the project lives on. Ross Anderson, who volunteered his boat “Sea Hardy,” meets monthly with science center members Betsy Carlson, Bob Boekelheide and other volunteers. Together they count every puffin, auklet, murre and gull that comes into view of their binoculars. The successful revival of the bald eagle in the United States means good news for some, but might be bad news for others. As salmon runs dwindle, eagles search for alternative menu items like glaucous-winged gull chicks. Tucked under the soil, tufted puffin chicks are not prone to kidnapping like the gull chicks. However, Pearson has noticed the mere presence of eagles on Protection Island affects how the adult puffins are able to feed their chicks. The puffin parent returns to the colony during the day, unlike the rhinoceros auklet parent who returns at night. A puffin would rather their chicks go hungry than take the risk of becoming a meal themselves. “Instead, they go to the water, and they hang out on the water, and they wait,” Pearson said. “Sometimes they may have to wait hours before they can go and feed their chicks.” Boekelheide recalled counting 77 eagles on or around the island at a time. He anticipates

LEFT: An illustration of a rhinocerous auklet, left, and a tufted puffin, right. Scientists are trying to understand why the tufted puffin is struggling while auklet populations are stable. Some data suggests that the puffin diet is more limited and thier hunting behavior may be more energy-costly. Another hypothesis predicts that auklets don’t interact with predators, like eagles or falcons, as often as puffins because of their nocturnal habits. Illustrations by Alyssa Tsukada. RIGHT: A bald eagle lies in wait for prey. These raptors will team up in pairs to dive-bomb waterfowl on the open water, wearing their meal down overtime. “It’s not a pretty thing to watch,” said Scott Pearson, research biologist at the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife (WDFW).

even higher numbers in the future, but to predict long term impacts, more data and research is needed. “We don’t have the resources and the human power to do the work at the scale that it needs to be done,” Hodum said. “And that’s where this community involvement is so helpful.” To learn more about seabirds in any area, Boekelheide has one tip: go birdwatching. “Every time you see a bird, learn the bird, focus on it, get to know what it’s doing,” Boekelheide said. “Not only learn colors, but learn its shape, and silhouette, and its size and become intimate with the bird.” Growing awareness often means growing advocacy, which can lead to more eyes in the skies and more voices speaking up for the endangered, Hodum said. The eagle’s long term impacts on the puffin populations may not be known yet, but the marine system encompassing Protection Island is dynamic, sensitive and essential.

Any observation about these seabirds or their environment helps aid the fight to conserve this species. In Carlson’s eyes, this island can continue to be an oasis for tufted puffins and others, as long as collaborations between citizen scientists and paid researchers are encouraged and fostered. The Planet editors would like to thank the Point Defiance Zoo and Aquarium for allowing its photographer to take photos of their tufted puffins. At this time of year, tufted puffins spend 100% of their time on the open ocean with little opportunity for photographs. Thanks to the Point Defiance Zoo, we were able to capture these photos for our readers.

MEGHAN FENWICK is a sophomore at Western Washington University majoring in Environmental Journalism. LINNNEA HOOVER is a senior visual journalism major who enjoys sea kayaking, thru-trekking, travel, adventure and wildlife photography.

FALL 2021

STORY BY LIZ MCLANE PHOTOS BY ??????

POST AND PROTECT: MAKING YOUR HASHTAG MATTER

STORY BY LIZ MCLANE PHOTOS BY OLIVIA HICKS

Washington state researchers are using social media data to understand how people are using the land—and how that land can be protected most effectively. THE #PNW PAGE on Instagram features 27 million posts. One post shows the rapids of Washington State’s official waterfall— Palouse Falls— tumbling downward. In the background is the night sky, bursting with the lavender majesty of the Milky Way Galaxy. The convergence of stars, gas and dust jet across the horizon as the falls continue their descent, feeling just as infinite as

the seemingly endless gallery of photos. This social media bombardment can feel irrelevant— after all, there is a difference between seeing the Palouse Falls through a screen and feeling the waterfall mist settle gently on the skin. But some researchers are putting social media data to good use for trail conservation and land management. The hashtags, location

records, and captions can help people trying to understand how the land is used. The knowledge gathered from social platforms about people’s interactions with the outdoors— whether it’s a mountain trail or a rainy beach— is anything but trivial. Traditional data collection methods, like vehicle counts, trail sensors or surveys, are accurate, but often require significant time and

FALL 2021 money. Recently, however, local research has suggested free data from social media posts can be added to land management professionals’ toolkits worldwide. THE TECHNOLOGICAL AND THE TRADITIONAL Researchers at the University of Washington’s Outdoor Recreation and Data

LEFT: A scenic view of Baker Lake Trail is captured on a phone. For many, taking photos of popular natural locations satisfies a form of validation that the person was there and saw the beauty, making a record of the experience. BELOW: Fog veils part of the Baker Lake Trail view. The UW team works in the Mount BakerSnoqualmie National Forest, one of 154 federallyowned forests, to track hiker activity through social media location posts.

Lab launched a study in 2016 to gauge social media data’s potential to help with recreation planning projects in the Mt. Baker Snoqualmie National Forest. In the study, researchers used social networking data from the photo-sharing app Flickr and the Washington Trails Association’s (WTA) database of trip reports to collect information from 16 different trails in the national forest, which runs from the Canadian border near Bellingham south to Seattle and the edge of Mount Rainier National Park. They also used cameras, vehicle observation and sensors. Social media data cannot completely replace traditional methods for tracking trail use, said Spencer Wood, the director of the data lab and a co-author of the study. But,“if we

use multiple different types of social media, as well as multiple different types of on site data collection, like surveys, then we get a richer picture over longer time periods,” Wood said. Using this data-blending method, the team concluded that data accessed from Flickr and WTA strongly matched with data collected on site. For Sarah Lange, an outdoor recreation planner at Mt. Baker Snoqualmie National Forest, having access to these datasets has been a game-changer when her team applies for competitive funding. The Great American Outdoors Act, which will use money from the energy industry to invest in public lands from 2020 through 2025. The act will be an important source of funding for Mt. Baker Snoqualmie, Lange said. But to

FALL 2021

secure needed funding for ongoing projects, the outdoor recreation team has to back up their proposals with strong numbers. Thanks to the robust data that combines the traditional with the technological, they can. Lange said she doesn’t know of any other national forest agencies able to access such thorough data about their lands. “We’re special,” she said. ADJUSTING FOR POPULARITY Flickr and the WTA trip report forum are the main sources of social data used in Wood’s research to understand visitor counts. Flickr allows researchers to access information more easily than other photo-sharing platforms, like Instagram. But Flickr’s popularity has declined since its peak in 2012. If fewer people use a platform, there are fewer posts, so simply looking at post counts isn’t enough. But there are ways researchers can use the data to accurately predict visitation trends. Enter math. Kimi Noguchi is an associate professor specializing in statistics at Western Washington University. After learning about Wood’s research, Noguchi was eager to work with the data. Using social media data sets, Noguchi and students in Western’s math department have created a model predicting future visitation for public lands like national parks. His team was able to adjust this model to rule out the effects of platform popularity. “You can actually make fairly accurate monthly visitation predictions for one to 12 months ahead,” he said. “That’s actually quite groundbreaking.” WHY DO WE POST? The breadth of data from social media wouldn’t exist without people’s desire to share their outdoor experiences online. Whether it’s Flickr, TikTok or Instagram, these platforms give users the opportunity to express themselves and their interests, and outdoor recreation is no exception. People are motivated to share their outdoor experiences on visual platforms because they want to communicate about nature, connect with friends and family and ‘store’ memories, according to research by the British Ecological Society. When we share our experiences in nature, it gives us validation— that we were there, we saw something beautiful and we have our own record of it. Irma Arts, a PhD researcher investigating intersections between humans, nature

and technology at the University of Aberdeen, Scotland, found some people now engage with nature while keeping the idea of social media in mind. “They were not a hundred percent always just doing the activity that they were wanting to do, but also thinking of how to communicate about it later,” Arts said. Arts added that for many, there is a strong narrative that technology disrupts the connection with nature, and diminishes the pride many feel in not using tools that tell you “where you are and where to go.” But Arts said attitudes toward technology and recreation don’t have to be this way. “You can take pride and happiness out of

knowing you’re going to share it and that your whole family is going to see it,” she said. “They were maybe there with you, because you were taking the pictures and you were thinking of them and adding another layer to your experience.” BELOW: A hiker registry at the start of Baker Lake Trail. Registries help the National Park Service understand foot traffic on popular trails, but new research is combining this traditional data gathering method with data from social media posts. RIGHT: A hiker is walking along a popular trail, the Sehome Hill Arboretum, by WWU. The trail overlooks the city with many residents and students stopping regularly to snap photos to document the beauty, and for their social media.

FALL 2021 Lauren Hurst, a 2017 Huxley graduate and nature photographer, has almost 14,000 followers on Instagram. Hurst works with a program in Denali National Park as a geographic information systems assistant. Without Instagram, Hurst says she probably would never have found her love for the environmental field. The first people that I ever followed outside of my direct circle were outdoor photographers in Washington because I like to hike,” Hurst said.

“I think that just got me excited about going outside, and that somehow led me to Huxley.” Local Facebook group Bellingham Outdoor Women has 3,000 members. A quick scroll through the feed reveals discussions about fly fishing and ski trips to Mt. Baker. Fiona James, a page moderator, said the group gave her the opportunity to connect with people she wouldn’t have met otherwise. “I’ve met people that I share interests with and people that introduce me to new

things, like paddleboarding, and mushroom hunting, and going up creeks and looking for rocks,” she said. “It’s helped me re-find my West Coast self.” People raised without exposure to the outdoors can see posts of people’s experiences in outdoor settings and think to themselves, “Oh, I kind of want to see that. And I want to have a picture of that as well,” Arts said. This can be a positive phenomenon, Arts said. People will see more of nature than they would have without social media. For Noguchi, the research using social media data for better trail conservation and planning also presents the opportunity for these same positive impacts. “From a [diversity, equity and inclusion] perspective … park managers can find out what kind of people visit there,” he said. “They can know the demographics of it, from which they can think about improving the inclusion perspective of the park.” FROM LOCAL TO GLOBAL Although Wood and his team focused their research on the Mt. Baker Snoqualmie National Forest, the methods can be used in other places. “We like to test these methods locally because, well, we like the region,” Woods said. “It’s fun where we live, but we’ve also tested these methods and applied them in lots of other places.” Wood has seen “very similar” results from around the world, including Korea, the Caribbean and the southeastern U.S. “The sort of questions that land managers ask are universal all around the world,” Wood said. Whether it’s through conservation or community, people are beginning to flip the narrative that social media is trivial. For researchers like Wood and community members like Fiona James, using social media means gaining more knowledge about the world around us. “We all know more about what’s out there because we look at each other’s pictures,” James said.

LIZ MCLANE is a third-year news and editorial journalism student at Western Washington University. Her interests include digital design, hiking near Larrabee State Park and cooking up good vegetarian meals. OLIVIA HICKS is a photojournalist for The Planet and an environmental journalism student who has previously worked as a reporter for The Front and a story editor for The Planet.

DAM IT STORY BY JANIE EGAN PHOTOS BY CIERRA COPPOCK

Squalicum Creek was designed with salmon in mind. Now, the planners are watching, trying to see how the beavers might impact those fishy visitors.

The beavers living in Squalicum park are using the park’s trees to help them dam the creek. What was intended to be running water has turned into a pond.

FALL 2021

LONG AGO, a single species held the role of architect, ecologist, city planner and construction worker in what is now Bellingham. Beavers, an important native species in the Pacific Northwest, dominated the landscape by controlling the watersheds. But today, at sites like Willow Spring, beavers are forced to defend their titles from ever-intrusive humans, whose plans and goals may or may not overlap with the beaver’s insatiable craving to stop moving water. In the front row for this environmental engineering showdown is Park Steward Volunteer Bev Siegele, who watched as beavers terraformed the area surrounding Willow Spring in just a few short years. “It used to be just a free flowing stream,” Siegele said, marveling at the murky pool below her. Gazing across the beavers’ slowly rising pond, all Siegele could do was chuckle in amused

disbelief. But for the local species involved, this is no laughing matter. Since 2010, the City of Bellingham has been building Willow Spring, a human-made stream bed which acts as a pitstop for salmon on their journey up Squalicum Creek. In the middle of the project, a handful of local beavers set up shop, significantly changing the original design. Now, the debate is on: Will the Willow Spring beavers help or hurt the salmon that the creek was intended to serve? And should beavers or city planners take the lead in designing our ecosystems? Bev Siegele isn’t certain she knows the answer. “It’s just one of those interesting intersections between people and wildlife. What are the peoples’ goals and what are the animals’ goals?” Siegele said, stepping over the trunk of a once-towering cottonwood tree,

its end whittled down to a point bearing the distinctive marks of beaver teeth. Siegele routinely volunteers for the city to rehabilitate habitat around Willow Spring, a section of the larger Squalicum Creek Park. She has removed invasive vegetation, planted trees and watched the area grow into a lively ecosystem. When Siegele first started working here, Squalicum Creek Park looked nothing like it does today. In the early 2000s, the park still showed signs of its industrial past as a concrete factory, a gravel pit and even an airport. Humans had irreversibly changed the landscape at this site, so city officials created a plan in 2005 to

BELOW: A beaver dam blocks off the flow of Willow Creek. The creek has a tiered system of beaver dams which may make the upper portion inaccessible to salmon. Illustration by Alyssa Tsukada.

Beverly Siegele stands in front of the beaver-made pond at Willow Spring in Squalicum Park. “It used to be just a free flowing stream,” Siegele said marveling at the murky pool below her.

PRE-WILLOW SPRING PARK (2005)

WILLOW SPRING PARK IMPLEMENTATION (2010)

WILLOW SPRING PARK WITH BEAVERS (2021)

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Score marks left by the beaver’s teeth can be seen on many of the tree trunks near Squalicum creek.

FALL 2021

A beaver dam blocks off the flow of Willow Creek. The creek has a tiered system of beaver dams which may make the upper portion inaccessible to salmon.

turn what was once an industrial wasteland into a new community park. Creating salmon habitat was one piece of this plan. By 2010 the city’s excavators had created a meandering stream channel where there was no trace of a creek before. Today, as Siegele walks through the young forest surrounding Willow Spring, those meticulously designed banks and bends are nearly unrecognizable, submerged under still, dark water. By building dams, beavers have substantially changed the man-made log jams, snags and resting pools which were created to provide new salmon spawning habitat. While the primary goal of redevelopment at Squalicum Creek Park was to create a community recreational space, the plan also incorporated habitat restoration and aimed to meet the needs of every possible stakeholder, including the ones with fins. “It’s part of a very long-view plan of trying to bring back a healthy salmon population,” Siegele said. “It’s all connected in that way: It’s all the salmon.” The Nooksack Salmon Enhancement Association (NSEA) is trying to encourage this kind of thinking. The nonprofit group restores salmon habitat in Whatcom County and contributed to the Squalicum Creek plan back in 2005. The organization has improved nearly five kilometers of salmon habitat in Squalicum Creek over the past four years. “We often come across beaver habitat, sadly,” said Darrell Gray, the project manager for NSEA. Gray oversees NSEA’s salmon habitat restoration projects. “If a fish can’t get to it, there’s so few fish that we have to do something to modify that beaver activity,” Gray said. “At some point you can go in and just compromise their dam to allow fish to get through, and they’ll rebuild it.” Salmon can only thrive in specific habitat

LEFT: A beaver dam blocks off the flow of Willow Creek. The creek has a tiered system of beaver dams which may make the upper portion inaccessible to salmon. Illustration by Alyssa Tsukada.

that is scarce in Whatcom County. Barriers to precious habitat—like large beaver dams— can impede young salmon on their journey upstream. To Gray, removing or dismantling those dams is worth it to guarantee safe passage for salmon. “I love beavers, and I love salmon, but at this point I probably love salmon a little bit more,” Gray said. Based on Gray’s reservations, beavers may mean trouble for the salmon restoration efforts at Willow Creek. However, not all dams stop young salmon, and beaver ponds make great habitat for the juveniles before they travel out to sea. Annaleise Burns, the habitat and restoration manager for the city’s Public Works Department, isn’t worried yet. Burns oversees the restoration projects at Squalicum Creek Park, and her team believes the beavers will help local salmon. Beaver activity leads to more woody debris in the creek, which can replenish salmon food sources. The ever-deepening ponds can provide resting spots for salmon, and the beaver activity ultimately increases biodiversity and supports creatures like crayfish and blue heron, Burns said. “Beavers are welcome inhabitants of the Willow Spring restoration site and have created greater habitat complexity that extends the use of the site to a wider range of plants, fish and wildlife,” Burns said in an email. So beaver and salmon may not have to square up in the first place. Molly Alves, a wildlife biologist for the Tulalip Tribes, thinks beavers can even help salmon. Alves works with the Tulalip Beaver Project, which relocates ‘nuisance’ beavers from developed areas to public lands across the Snohomish Watershed. “Beavers are our partners in salmon restoration,” she said, kneeling next to a temporary beaver enclosure at the Tulalip Tribes’ salmon hatchery. “We’re just the ones moving them, and then they do all of the work.” At the tribes’ hatchery near Marysville, Washington, beavers await relocation in a narrow concrete enclosure filled with water and woody debris. In dozens of similar enclosures

nearby, millions of adolescent salmon build up strength for the wild. “The whole point of our project from the Tulalip standpoint is salmon habitat creation and restoration,” Alves said. Over the seven years Alves has run the Tulalip Beaver Project, she’s trapped, tagged and found new homes for countless beaver families. She is well acquainted with beavers’ impacts on the environment around them. “We’ve seen areas where there’s pretty much no life, and then the beavers come in and build dams and we have explosions of biodiversity,” Alves said. In natural settings, dams can support salmon by cooling water temperatures and capturing sediment that harms salmon gills. Unfortunately, places with intense human development, like Squalicum Creek Park, don’t always see these effects. “It’s not really the beavers that are the problem,” Alves said. “It’s our infrastructure that isn’t meant to have beavers active in their stream systems.” For now, the city hopes to monitor and embrace the busy beavers at Willow Spring, Burns said. But human safety is another question. The city has started to cage or top off trees to ensure the beavers’ actions don’t threaten human infrastructure or safety. As long as the Willow Spring beavers have to accommodate Bellingham’s roads, parks, and planning, they might always be in conflict with humans. Fortunately, there is one thing that will benefit both beavers and humans at this site, at least for now. Still standing over the Willow Spring beaver dam, Siegele’s eyes glint with excitement as she describes upcoming community work projects at Squalicum Creek Park. Through organizations like NSEA and the Bellingham Parks Volunteer Program, community members can plant native species, remove invasives, and help build healthier ecosystems. Siegele knows that other battles for ecological health will always lie ahead: “There’s work to do!”

JANIE EGAN is a third year environmental studies student from Denver, Colorado. She is driven by her passions for sustainable design, environmental education, and connecting with others in the outdoors. CIERRA COPPOCK is a visual journalism and studio art double major. Combining photojournalism, fine art and intersectional environmentalism, Cierra loves being outside and taking photos of the all beautiful places she goes.

The squid are deep sea swimmers but come spawning season, they can be found floating along the shores of Puget Sound. Seacrest Pier is a popular spot for squid fishing that comes with a beautiful view of downtown Seattle.

MEET THE NEW FACE OF THE PUGET SOUND STORY BY LIAM FLYNN PHOTOS BY FORREST MORRIS

Fishers are hauling squid out of Seattle waterways as salmon stocks are depleted, favoring the tentacled creatures as a healthy food source that’s fun to catch.

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Squid fishermen wait patiently for a bite atop Seacrest Pier in West Seattle on Nov. 2. Squid fishing begins after dusk when squid are most active.

AS THE SUN DIPS below the horizon on a frigid fall evening, fishers wielding jigs and nets swarm the docks at West Seattle’s Alki Beach. Howling wind blows across Puget Sound as Seattle’s downtown skyline stares back at the barnacle-covered pier. It’s nearly midnight, and blinding lights beam down into the pitch-black water, luring prey. This isn’t an unusual sight for anglers like Peter Klos, who visits the dimly lit boardwalks along Puget Sound in search of one thing: squid. Not as widely known as their southern California relatives, market squid fill the waterways of Puget Sound and fishers take full advantage. Mystery shrouds the local sea creatures, but studies are shedding new light on what could be a rich source of clean protein. Certain marine animals are known as the “face” of the Puget Sound. Dungeness crab, geoduck and Chinook salmon bring eager anglers and hungry tourists to the coastal region year-round. The market squid doesn’t enjoy such celebrity status. These cephalopods are deep sea swimmers, but come spawning season, they can be found floating along the shores of Puget Sound. The length of a football, these squid

have relatively short life spans, usually dying after spawning their eggs in the eelgrass beds near shorelines and docks. Little is known about their day-to-day whereabouts; even experts have a hard time tracking them down. “There isn’t a lot of solid information on their life or their lifespan in Puget Sound,” said Roy Clark, who manages squid fishing regulations for the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife. While the peak of squid fishing season in the Seattle area isn’t until mid-summer, any adventurous person can easily find market squid floating through Neah Bay and Port Angeles as early as May. Optimal squid fishing takes place at night, in the dead of fall and winter evenings. Typical squid fishing trips can leave you lounging at the pier as late as 2 a.m., said Helen Chau, a West Seattle native and occasional squid angler. Hopeful squid catchers aren’t out this late for no reason. The squid are attracted to light, so it’s best to go when a bright flashlight can cast its beam into the depths below. White and blue lights have been proven to attract more squid, according to squidding research out of

Korea. At local Seattle squid-haunts, fishermen can get creative with their homemade lighting rigs. “A lot of squid fishers have setups with a car battery and lamps that shine into the water,” said Joey Zhang, a squid fisherman and Western Washington University student. Despite only having gone squid fishing twice before, Zhang and many other West Seattle residents are familiar with the local squidding scene. “There are a lot of people,” Zhang said. “If you don’t get there early, it’s hard to find a spot, at least at Alki Beach.” It may come as no surprise, seeing how popular the pastime is among Seattleites, that squid fishing is highly accessible and beginner friendly. All you need is a light action trout fishing rod and a $17.40 state license, Clark said. Squid fisherman Peter Klos first got interested in squidding in 2012 when he visited his local dock in Edmonds, Washington. “I looked in their buckets and it’s full of squid, and I was like, ‘I want to go do that,’” Klos said. “So, I went to Sportsman’s, picked up some squid jigs and started learning.”

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All ages are encouraged to join because it can provide a unique interactive experience. Kids especially like it when the squid squirt ink and change colors, Clark said. “When you put them in a bucket of water, you can just watch them go through all these different color changes,” Clark said. “They’re just a really unique and interesting animal. And tasty too!” Because of the gear involved, fishermen don’t have to wait around for a bite. “Squid jigs are unique in that they have 50 little hooks on them…it’s a good umbrella,” Klos said. “[Squids are] mollusks and they have that kind of soft tissue on them. When they grab, you pull up and they can’t get off.” While the gear is specific, catching one of the eight-armed creatures isn’t difficult, so

Klos can bring some of his rookie friends along. “It’s something I can take anyone, anytime. Like, ‘Hey, what are you doing? Nothing? Oh, want to go to the docks?’” Klos said. “Afterwards we go to my friend’s house and fry them up that same night.” Along with a tasty flavor, squid also have some health benefits compared to other aquatic animals. Contaminants have been found in salmon and fish species migrating throughout Puget Sound, compelling local officials to issue consumption advisories. These toxic chemicals and microplastics are found in the runoff from the industrial manufacturing of everyday items. Products ranging from heat insulators to household paint once contained PCBs, a toxic, man-made chemical. Although PCBs have been

ABOVE: Squid fishers attach a “squid jig” to their reel on Seacrest Pier in West Seattle on Nov. 2. Squid jigs are fish shaped bait with rows of sharp points designed to catch squid.

banned for decades, these toxic chemicals are still found in salmon, said Jenée Colton, toxicology and contaminant assessment supervisor at King County Department of Natural Resources and Parks. These pollutants have direct impacts on fish and people in Puget Sound. The Washington State Department of Health suggests limiting servings of Puget Sound salmon to once a week. The King County Water and Land Resources Division published a report in 2019 on toxic contamination in squid to determine if they are safe to eat. The squid found in King

Optimal squid fishing takes place at night, in the dead of late fall and winter evenings. Recreational squid fishers use homemade setups with car batteries and lamps.

FALL 2021 County waters have less contamination than salmon and are safe for consumption by the general population, Colton, a co-author of the report, said. “We came to squid because it was one of the species that we had not been sampling, but that we knew was being actively fished off of piers in downtown Seattle,” Colton said. “But because the results have turned out positively… we’re moving on to other species.” BELOW: A squid fisher’s catch from the evening atop Seacrest Pier in West Seattle on Nov. 2. Squid’s large eyes allow them to perceive more light, making it easier to detect predators and prey.

While they are safe to eat and easy to catch, there might be a reason why squid haven’t joined the ranks of other iconic Puget Sound delicacies. From year to year, the amount of squid at the docks varies, Clark said. But on a good night of squidding, fishers can leave the pier carrying bucket loads of squid. “Every minute or so you’ll have one. It’s fast action—you don’t have to wait around,” Klos said. “It’s kind of its own little addicting thing.” With a bucket full of squid and the moon perched high in the sky, it’s time for people like Klos to pack up and head home from their perch

at the edge of Seattle’s Elliott Bay. Tonight’s spoils might be cooked into squid fried rice, calamari or a heaping plate of squid pasta.

LIAM FLYNN is an environmental studies major who is inspired by the ocean and passionate about climate change and environmental justice. FORREST P. MORRIS is pursuing a degree in visual journalism with an economics minor. He hopes to bring positive change to economic and environmental policies through visual storytelling and multimedia.

FALL 2021

BURIED BELOW

STORY BY ADIN ROMANO

The clock is ticking, and time is almost up for many of the underground storage tanks in Washington state, each holding a cocktail of chemicals. BENEATH THE SOIL of many Washington state businesses and homes lie tanks filled with petroleum and other hazardous substances. These tanks, some as long as school busses, risk releasing the toxic chemicals stored within. Time is catching up to many underground storage tanks (USTs) scattered across the state. Small businesses are especially vulnerable when these steel behemoths give way, as many struggle to pay for repairs. As of 2021, there are more than 500 buried tanks in Whatcom County, and over 200 of those sites have documented contamination. Tanks are commonly found at commercial businesses like gas stations, where they provide

fuel, but they can also supply heating oil to homes. No matter where they’re located, leaking tanks can lower property values, force businesses to close for repairs and contaminate drinking water. Over the years, tank safety has evolved. Tanks are now equipped with technologies like leak detection, as well as corrosion, overspill and overflow prevention. These allow for leaks to be detected and reported on the same day, said Annette Ademasu, a senior tank inspector at the Washington State Department of Ecology. Tanks can vary in size depending on their use. At gas stations, they can hold over 76,000

liters of fuel, roughly two tanker trucks’ worth, Ademasu said. “The sheer volume of fuel that’s in underground storage tanks is tremendous. And if you look at it, the potential for contamination is huge,” said Michael Warfel, an Ecology site manager. For Ruth Sofield, an aquatic toxicologist at Western Washington University, this highlights an even bigger issue about our relationship with the chemicals we regularly interact with. “Why aren’t more people concerned about the chemicals we’re exposed to?” Sofield asked. “I really think it’s because we can’t see them.” Federal and state laws require owners to

FALL 2021 pay for leaks from their tanks. If they don’t, they have to stop using them. This makes pollution liability insurance critical, as it helps owners and operators clean up leaks and upgrade tanks. BELOW: Crews from the Department of Ecology remove a UST from the ground. These tanks, which contain hazardous chemicals, can be buried beneath gas stations, small businesses and homes. Photo courtesy of The Department of Ecology.

As tank infrastructure ages, insurance prices continue to increase. Fearing insurers would abandon Washington because of rising costs, Russell Olsen, director of the Pollution Liability Insurance Agency (PLIA), reached out to Washington state Sen. Lisa Wellman (D), and they were able to pass Senate Bill 6257. This law gives the director of PLIA authority to create an emergency program granting owners coverage if private insurers leave. “We chose in 1950 to put steel and plastic

into the ground and pretended it was never going to degrade and have issues,” Olsen said. “We just can’t build it and leave it and not have responsibility for it.”

ADIN ROMANO is a junior at Western Washington University pursuing environmental studies and geographical information science. He is passionate about maps, urban design and the great outdoors.

UNDERGROUND STORAGE TANKS CAN DEGRADE DIFFERENTLY IN DIFFERENT SOILS

Underground storage tanks can degrade at different speeds depending on what type of soil they are buried in. Infograpic by Willow Cook.

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A worker at Inspiration Farm cuts open a squash and gets ready to scoop out and sift through the seeds. The Seed Guild harvests its plants annually and distributes the seeds with hopes of giving people power over their food.

SEEDING THE FUTURE STORY BY LOTUS BLOUNT PHOTOS BY KATYA MCMULLEN

Volunteers at the Salish Seed Guild are collecting, preserving and sharing locally-adapted seeds with the community. THERE WERE ONCE 789 varieties of corn grown in the United States. Within 80 years, that number has shrunk to 52. This trend is not uncommon. The United States has lost 97% of its total seed diversity over the same time period. Attempting to reverse the trend is no easy feat, but the Salish Seed Guild has is trying to do just that. Formalized as a non-profit within the last year, the guild

provides locally adapted seeds and spreads knowledge about seed saving to people in the Bellingham area. Co-directed by Brian Kerkvliet and Krista Rome, the guild works to improve local seed resilience and hosts educational workshops and volunteer days at Kerkvliet’s Inspiration Farm 30 kilometers north of Bellingham. “The goal is to have locally adapted heirloom variety seeds readily accessible to

people that want them or need them,” Kerkvliet said. Experts consider seed varieties “heirloom” if they are older than 50 to 80 years. “The longer it’s grown in a particular area

RIGHT: Brian Kerkvliet stands outside his glass blowing shop on Inspiration Farm. Kerkvliet wants to encourage local gardeners and community members alike to think about the importance of resilient, locally sourced seeds.

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and the more that seed is saved for generation after generation, the more it learns our climate, our soil, our rain patterns,” Kerkvliet said. Kerkvliet’s salt-and-pepper beard, pitch fork and mud-proof boots paint the picture of someone ready to go assess the fields and tend to the crops. In addition to running Inspiration Farm, Kerkvliet invites artists from around the county to show their work at the farm’s art gallery and runs his on-farm glass blowing shop, Gossamer Glass, which doubles as the guild’s seed collection bank. The guild’s work varies throughout the year, but the end goal is always the same: to produce strong, locally adapted seeds to share with the community.

In spring, guild volunteers are in the dirt preparing beds and planting squash, peppers, sunflowers and more at Kerkvliet’s farm. By summertime, the focus is on maintenance, ensuring each crop is getting the attention it needs to thrive. In fall and winter, they harvest, process and distribute the seeds.

ABOVE: Volunteers at the Seed Guild sit across from one another, exchanging laughs, as they cut open a pile of red, yellow and orange peppers to extract the seeds. BELOW: A volunteer at the guild sifts through a pile of seeds that were harvested at Inspiration Farm. The seed guild hopes to produce strong, locally-adapted seeds to share amongst the community.

“It’s not just saving the seed. It’s actually learning to farm and grow the stuff as well,” Kerkvliet said. “It’s really valuable to see things through the whole season.” The Salish Seed Guild is just one of many groups taking matters into their own hands to contribute to the seed saving efforts on a local scale. Over 900 seed banks have sprouted in the U.S. since the first one was started in California in 1999. These banks aim to give people power over their food and guarantee a reliable food supply in an uncertain world. Guild volunteers are reconnecting the community with seeds, an act of rebellion in the face of big agriculture. Historically, seeds were the most important thing people could bring with them when they were traveling, Kerkvliet said. “[Seeds were] the most precious thing because that’s their history, that’s their nourishment, that’s their story,” Kerkvliet said. “In more traditional times, [seeds were] the currency.”

LOTUS BLOUNT is studying environmental education and international studies. In her free time she loves to bake goodies for others, skateboard, and go on walks in the woods. KATYA MCMULLEN is an environmental studies student who is passionate about connecting people to the environment through her photography.

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