It’s a difficult thing,
to see a landscape I thought I knew,
be ground down into the ocean,
piece by little piece.
It hurts.
The atmospheric river that hit California in January brought heavy rains, strong winds, and major flooding all over the state, devastating so many communities. Asilomar State Beach, which sits on the outer coast of the Monterey peninsula, was left unrecognizable to those who frequent the spot for its vibrant tidepools. Beaches were completely reshaped, and many of the trails were completely washed away. Signs at every barricaded entrance warned that the beach was closed as the storm damage was assessed and repaired. However, I was just one of many who ignored these warnings less than a week after the last of the storms. I was there, like everyone else, to experience the king tides.
Bringing some of the highest highs and lowest lows, king tides offer a unique opportunity to explore areas of the rocky intertidal that aren’t usually accessible, revealing an almost alien world only a few yards from (what used to be) the trail. Adventuring out into these newly exposed areas of the intertidal, I spotted ochre sea stars big enough to wrap around my head, and I was able to sneak up close to a gorgeous great egret as it hunted for little fish in one of the bigger pools.
A great egret hunting fish in a tidepool during the January king tides at Asilomar State Beach. Joshua King
Despite this beauty, the recent devastation was undeniable. I could see where large chunks of rock had been broken off by the immense force of the storm, leaving the intertidal community to start over in that place. I was left wondering how long it would take for these intertidal communities to recover, and how vulnerable these communities are to our changing climate in the long term. Luckily, I had a friend who could help me understand.
A few months prior, I found myself scrambling down a sandy 30-foot cliff with a few dear friends to the rocky shore of Big Sur, California. Despite the majesty of the landscape around us, we weren't there to appreciate the picturesque view that we found ourselves in on that brisk fall day. Instead, we were there to count hermit crabs, snails, and other tiny shelled herbivores that live in the rocky tidepools of the California coast. The reason we were going out to count herbivores was not just for fun, although we had plenty of that. No, instead we were there to collect data for an ongoing research project about how aquatic communities respond to large disturbances.
We were led by Jamie, a PhD student at Hopkins Marine Station in Monterey. She has been collecting data from these specific plots in Big Sur for over a year now in an attempt to understand how a delay in herbivores arriving to a location after a big disturbance might impact the community. To do this, Jamie spent weeks scraping algae off of rocks with a drill and wire brush. Then she set up ‘snail fences’ to keep out herbivores that would try to eat the algae as it grows back. Over time, she has removed some of these fences to allow herbivores back in. While we will still have to wait for a full analysis of the data, Jamie says she has already seen a difference in how communities come back when she delays herbivore arrival.
Jamie taking a video to document algae growth in one of her plots. Joshua King
Jamie’s motivation for this experiment is to simulate how these communities might recover after a big disturbance or destructive event, like the one we would experience just a few months after I joined her for field work. In discussing the broader implication of her work, she said, “I think it’ll really help us think about, if we’re decreasing herbivores around the world, how does their delay in arrival affect what your community looks like.” In the end, Jamie’s research, as well as the research of others, could tell us a lot about how these coastal communities might change as the climate warms and the impacts of human activities continue to change the conditions faced by intertidal ecosystems. At the moment though, it is too early to draw any definitive conclusions. Jamie hopes to wrap up this particular research project and receive her PhD sometime this summer
Mica, Jamie’s research assistant, counts and removes hermit crabs from a ‘snail fence.’ Joshua King
Fast forward back to the king tides, and I can’t help but appreciate that wonderful experience. For a few hours, I was able to completely engross myself in this world that is normally hidden to us, gaining an appreciation and understanding of this mysterious yet important ecosystem. And I wasn’t the only one. We were joined in the tidepools by dozens of people, from families with young children to older couples cautiously exploring the rocky terrain, all discovering (or rediscovering) this beautiful world for themselves. It was, in a word, stunning, if only for a little while. It is a community we still have much to learn from, and we still have much to do to help protect it.
A large ochre sea star nestled in a grassy crevice. Joshua King
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