PART ONE: Fiji Or Bust

It’s Friday night and the Bramble family have invited their neighbours, the Whites, for dinner.  Their guests marvel at the scrumptious display of raw fish. Mr. White is especially taken with the salmon tartare, his favourite, and comments:

“Imported salmon! Your teeth sharpening business must be doing very well Charlene. I’ve never seen a salmon that big in these waters.”

Charlene smiles uncomfortably and is just about to talk when her husband slips over for a kiss. “The salmon isn’t the only good catch in this shipwreck you know.” Charlene blushes and leads her hubby to the kitchen to help with the crab cakes while their kids entertain the Whites with fish impressions.

Once in the kitchen, Charlene speaks her mind. “They have a right to know what they are eating, Skip.”

“Net, Charlene, we don’t even know what we’re eating.”  

Charlene scowls at him.

He continues. “What? You want me to tell them that we’ve been paying Ching Lee protection money? That we’re so stuck that all we can afford now is some Poseidon knows what human engineered salmon from a high security testing facility in Peru? And In front of the kids to fin!”

Skip starts stacking the crab legs on a coral platter while Charlene responds.

“Well no, angelfish. But if he finds out…He’s a lawyer you know.”

Charlene starts filling an Acropora platter but the weight of the crab chips the coral. She swears under her gills: “Spawning human induced CO2!”

Skip hands her a Galaxea platter and frowns disapprovingly at her cussing .

“Regardless, we have a family to feed and protect.”

Charlene swims in close and whispers: “We could move to Fiji. I’ve seen pictures. It’s so beautiful. Coral teaming with life. And food everywhere! It’s a Reef of Eden. It’s the water of the free, Skip. We can have a new life. Cleaner. Peaceful. For us and the kids.”

She leans into him and curl her tail around his, dreamy eyed.

Skip is skeptical. They have had this conversation before and he is still circling the issue.

“Sounds too goo to be true, minnow.  If it’s one thing these shark teeth have taught me, Charlene, is that the reason  humans taste so bad is because they’re rotten from the inside out. I don’t trust them one bite.”

“But what if—“

“—That’s what we pay Ching Lee for.” He adds. “And besides, not everyone in the refugee nets make it their alive. We’d be a fin fest out there in the open sea.”

Charlene recalls the gruesome images in the New Ocean Times of finless sharks spiralling to their death and left to be pecked at by crabs and shudders at the realization of what she is serving tonight.

“You’re right, but the whole situation just bites!”

Skip hands the heaping platter to a sullen Charlene, then rubs her dorsal fin and nuzzles in. Charlene sighs. Laughter flowing from the dining room perks up her spirits and the couple join their little clown fish at the table.

“Your kids really should start a comedy channel on chew-tube. My brother up the coast can set them up.”

Charlene and Skip look over at their pups and beam. Their little ones mean the ocean to them.

While Charlotte serves a slice of dogfish pate to the Whites, she spies her son Joey trying to eat a crab leg by sliding it across the table towards his mouth and scolds him, mortified:

“Joey Bramble! Where are your manners? We use BOTH fins at the table, young shark. Sit up straight and put your right fin above the table this instant!“ Joey just sits there frozen. His little sister Katie sticks her head under the table and squeals.

“Mommy, mommy his fin!”

Charlene’s eyes grow wide, Skip drops his crab leg on the deck, and the Whites look on in horror as Joey slowly sits up straight revealing a half severed fin.

Charlene rushes to her son with tears in her eyes: “Who did this to you?”

Joey tries to speak but he is too afraid. “I can’t. They’ll hurt Katie.”

Charlene continues “And what about when they take the next fin, and the next? Joey, please! You have to speak up! Who was it?”

Joey twitches his tail sheepishly under the table and slouches again. “Tang Lee.”

Skip falls off his chair. Charlene gasps. Her eyes go blank: “Ching Lee’s son?”

Mr. White listens intently as Joey continues. “He called you a guppy, mom. So I said his dad had teeth envy. That he was just a thug with small teeth. Then he and his buddies pushed me up to the surface and held me there while“ Joey starts sobbing and holding his mangled fin.

Charlene is furious. She swims circles around the bow of the wreck until their dinner gets swept into her slip stream.  

Mr. White seizes the opportunity: “We can press charges. Even Ching Lee isn’t above the law. Triads have no place in the deep.”

Charlene calms down, stops right in front of her guests and announces. “No. We pack tonight. We’re going to Fiji.”

Mrs. White’s fin reaches for Mr. White’s. “My brother’s not just a talent scout. Meet me tomorrow at high tide. But don’t be late. They don’t wait for stragglers.”

PART TWO: Fiji Bound

Mr. and Mrs. White are laying side by side in their bedcave discussing the shocking turn of events  at the Brambles this evening. Due to the urgency of the Brambles’ situation, Monique’s brother was able to pull some fishing lines and find a captain who had room for a few more stowaways.

Passage on these underwater operations have become much more difficult to secure in recent months due a surge in local triad activity causing a near state of panic amongst the sharks. There are just not enough boats to service the refugees.  Some families have even spent their life’s savings only to board a vessel that was a front for the Taiwanese finning industry. They never made it out of the bay. The community still has not recovered from the gruesome images splashed all over the sonar displays the next day. That’s why the pickup locations have moved to south side of Nantucket Island, in the hope that proximity to the wildlife refuge would keep would-be poachers away.

Joey will never get his fin back and the bullying will only intensify. Mr. White knows that Charlene and Skip’s decision to move to Fiji is a sound one, but he still worries about their safety during the 7,000 nautical mile journey in mostly open seas. The law can’t protect them out there. And even if it could, it could only punish the perpetrators not prevent the crime. Punitive damages do not bring back loved ones.  Mr. White sees this time and time again in court.

Their little Lisa is still too young to make the journey, otherwise he and Monique would pack tonight and join their puphood friends. They just need to stay off the radar for 6 more months and then they’ll risk the transfer. In the meantime, Mr. White will continue to push for legislation to take back their native rights as first ocean nations.

Monique rolls over to her husband and tries to still his racing mind with a nibble on his snout. “Get some sleep, Alan. The Brambles are resourceful. They’ll make it to the island safely.” Mr. White takes a voluminous draw and relaxes.

The diving gannet announces the break of dawn.

The Brambles haven’t slept all night. They’ve been inside and out of every nook in their shipwreck looking for Katie’s seagrass allergy medication and now they are swimming behind schedule. Because of Joey’s mangled fin they will have to take the shorter but more treacherous route due south in open waters to Nantucket Island where the escape tank is moored. It would take too long to follow the coastline and approach from the bay.

Mr. and Mrs. Bramble tie the final loop in their travel net and wave to their pups to jump in. They swim back and forth along the side of the hull a few times to test the drag, make a few quick adjustments, and they’re good to go.

Charlene takes one last look at their Cape Cod home which has been in their family for 5 generations and suffers a moment of indecision. Her grandmother’s grandmother took her first swims on that very deck. Now she must abandon all that history and her own fond memories of first Joey then Katie flopping around clumsily as they developed their sea fins.

Skip senses his partner’s anguish, slips over, and puts a fin to her heart. “The memories are in here, Minnow, and they’re coming to Fiji with us.”

Charlene dances around her lover and best friend, the father of her two beautiful pups, and the most honourable shark of the eastern coastal waters, and rubs her underbelly against his. “That’s why you’re my Angelfish.” And they kiss. Joey and Katie groan in unison.

The Brambles pick up the travel net with their mouths and turn their front halves towards their pups. “Ready for a ride?”

“Yeah!!!”

“Hold tight. Here we go!”

Within 10 minutes, they have cleared the peninsula and are heading to freedom.

PART THREE: Onwards To Fiji

“Are we there yet?” Katie yells from inside the travel net to her parents pulling it ahead.

Mr. Bramble raises a fin at her as if to say keep quiet. They are still swimming in unsafe waters and certainly do not want to alert any of the Lee family wisesharks scouting the ocean floor for fugitives.

Yes. Fugitives from the lawless is what they have become. Dragonfin Lee is not likely impressed at Charlene Bramble’s failure to remit the weekly protection dues this morning. They must swim on quietly at least until they reach the southern tip of the Monomoy National Wildlife Refuge.

After sneaking past the 50 miles of coastline, Charlene takes a quick look around them and declares: “Phew! We made it through without picking up any thugs.” She releases the tow rope, swims up to the surface for a time check, then rejoins the family. “We can still make the boat if we hurry, Skip.”

They pick up speed as they bridge the gap to Nantucket Island, snapping up some cod along the way for fuel.

Skip flips a few cod to Katie and Joey resting in their makeshift pup carrier. Mrs. Bramble curls her torso to watch as the little ones play pass the fish and smiles. Then suddenly, Skip and Charlene whip backwards and slam into the their pups as their pups shoot forward.

Horror! The Brambles are caught in a long line!

Skip doesn’t skip a beat. He starts chewing the carrier at the hook point, while Charlene attempts to untangle little Katie from the carrier. And Joey, determined not to let the fear spiral him, sits on the line with his tail fin to stop it from signalling a catch to the vessel above.

Time is against them now. If they can’t free Katie, they will miss the pickup at Nantucket Island. Charlene is starting to panic. She gnaws violently at the netting in sheer desperation. Just then Joey spots a sharp piece of metal on the ocean floor and yells “Dad! Look!” Skip is on it. He races to the debris, picks it up with his teeth, and starts sawing away at the line.

At last their pup is free! But the carrier is tangled. They must leave their belongings.

Charlene salvages a shark tooth necklace, the remains of her ancestors, where she will add her own tooth one day and pass it on to Katie and instructs the pups to hop on, bite down hard, never let go.  The couple race to their destination with their little ones attached to their dorsal fins.

Once at the island they cautiously approach the large shipping vessel moored off shore. A large net comes down on them and hoists them up into a large bin on wheels filed with salt water. Skip trashes about in a display of parental assertion as the captain orders the trolly to the secret tank in the ballast.

Their cell is filled with others just like them, looking for their chance at a better life. Charlene whispers to Skip, her voice quivering: “And to think we almost didn’t make it.” Skip looks over at Katie and Joey already making new friends and finally relax.

A human form appears over a glass window, notices Joey’s mangled fin and puts her hand to her mouth in sadness. She waves at him and smiles.

A joyful Great White shark approaches the Bramble family and gives them some fin.

“I was getting worried. We were just about to leave without you,” Monique White’s brother Pierre explains. “Rest assured you are in good hands. I’ve made this trip dozens of times. Captain Steward would rather eject the ballast in the high seas than let the finners get us. She is a Woman Not Waiting for us to go extinct that’s for sure.”

The anchor lifts and Captain Steward orders the trap window sealed.

They will travel the rest of the journey in darkness.

PART FOUR: Fiji Ahoy

Captain Steward stands on the weather deck with Chief Officer Cousteau reviewing the secret passenger manifest. There are no names, titles, or identification documents, in this little black book. There is simply a list of different pencil strokes representing counts for the various species of sharks they are transporting. No other crew member has any knowledge of the life swimming circles inside the ballast, not even the Second Officer. It is best for the safety of the crew, the passengers, and the success of the mission itself, just in case.

The pair have been working together even before the documentary SharkWater brought global awareness to the abhorrent shark fining practises plaguing the oceans and threatening to render extinct the top predator fish of the marine ecosystem. Their cover is ingenious. The “Sweet Shepherd” transports flour and meals of oil seeds from the U.S. and returns with molasses from Fiji as her “official” cargo. When they dock in Fiji, the crew is so busy unloading the “official” cargo that the routine action of flushing the ballast draws no attention.

However, the journey for Captain Steward is anything but routine. Although she and Chief Officer Cousteau keep a strict vow of silence on the real nature of their exports and communicate only via the encoded scribbles in the little black book, she also has hidden cameras and motion sensors directly connected to her smart phone in case any of the crew members decide to explore the lower decks of the ship.

Second Officer Reynolds radios the Captain to the navigation bridge and Chief Officer Cousteau takes over the watch.

“Weather’s not looking good, Captain. We’ll need to stick closer to the coast until the storm dissipates. If not, then we angle down around Florida into the Gulf of Mexico then into the Caribbean from there. The direct line to the Dominican then straight to Panama is too risky.”

Captain Steward presses for details. The detour will take longer and more importantly will place the Sweet Shepherd into waters she would rather avoid. “What kind of storm are we talking about here?”

Reynolds pulls up the satellite feed and circles the forming hurricane with his fingers. Captain Steward swears under her breath. “OK. Change course and radio Fiji.” She returns to the weather deck and updates Chief Officer Cousteau, who immediately disappears to the cargo hold.

12 days go by and the satellite feed consistently shows storm fronts moving into the western front of the Atlantic.

The Sweet Shepherd is now in the Caribbean Sea on her new course to the Panama canal. Something approaches in the distance.

Captain Steward is sitting on the weather deck staring out and welcomes First Officer Cousteau…at first.  The bearer of the bad news gets the brunt of her self-criticism. “Crap, Jacqueline! Why didn’t you speak up?” But she catches herself and realizes that it was herself who let down the guard. “I apologize. I should have double-checked the satellite feed.” She takes a moment to regroup. “Make the call.” Jacqueline nods and calmly adjusts her uniform as she nonchalantly joins Second Officer Reynolds in the navigation bridge, muttering “What are they doing out so far?”

Movement in the ballast is erratic.

Katie nuzzles up to Mr. Bramble. “Dad, why are we stopping?”

There are rumbles through the wall inconsistent with the engine cycles.

“Shhh. I think captain Steward is being boarded,” Mr. Bramble replies. He turns to Charlene and whispers: “We must be nearing Panama by now…that means…” Skip and Charlene stop swimming for what feels like an eternity and coral the pups between them.

“That means what mom?” Katie pipes in.

Joey rubs his mangled fin and escapes to a corner of the tank, whimpering. Skip swims over and tries to comfort him. Charlene nuzzles up to Katie: “It just means that we have to be extra quiet.” She slides her nose over to Katie’s and adds: “Can you do that for mommy, Katie?” Katie nods very very quietly.  “Good girl. Let’s listen.”

“Buenos días inspector.” Captain Steward greets the Costa Rican coast guard.

“Papeles por favor, señora.” He gives the Captain’s manifest a cursory glance then orders: “¡Pedro!” A heavily armed official approaches and frisks Captain Steward vigorously while the commanding officer smirks.

“¿Hay problema?” Captain Steward attempts to buy some time.

The commanding officer brings the manifest over and points to the word “flour” and mocks: “¿Harina?“ He walks up to the Captain’s face and claims: “Tenemos informaciones de que Ud está cargando no harina sino cocaína.”

Captain Steward is not quite sure she understood what he said, but she certainly understood that he is accusing her of smuggling cocaine. Something feels wrong here, she manages a peak at their deck and sees a bloody shark fin sticking out from under a tarp. She retorts: “And your ‘papeles’ inspector.”

Pedro shoves her to the ground and shouts in broken English: “Shut up woman! We don’t need papers, we have guns.”

Just then, a welcome English voice booms from a megaphone.

“You are out of your jurisdiction. Leave the ship immediately or we pump up the cannons.”

Captain Steward shouts. “They’re poachers!”

“¡Silencio! ¡Te mato!” The false coast guard inspector points a semiautomatic rifle to Captain Steward’s head. Pedro draws his attention to the name on the charging vessel. It’s the Dundee!

The invaders redirect their focus to the oncoming boat. Her captain, Paulina Watson, is worth more to their client than any amount of shark fins they could harvest from the Sweet Shepherd. But the water canons are primed and the criminals are thrown back into their ship and chased into Panamanian waters where they are promptly arrested by the real coast guard.

The Dundee does an abrupt turn back into international waters and is free to come to the rescue another day.

Meanwhile, tension in the ballast dissolves and the Sweet Shepherd weaves her way through the Panama canal.

The next stop brings a questioning Katie back to her parents who reply: “Yes! We’re there Katie.”

A section of the secret ballast chamber opens up exposing it as a thick glass portal into a larger room.

Captain Steward stands eye to eye with Skip, a 6 inch glass barrier between them.  She looks over at Joey playing with his sister Katie and smiles. Fully aware that the Brambles do not understand human language (muahahaha little does she know) but believing in the mute energy transfer of intention between life forms, she holds up a picture of their new Fiji Paradise against the glass. Charlene awakes from her cautious scrutiny in the background and swims towards the Captain. She stares at her for a few moments then offers up her fin. Captain Steward places her hand against the glass and the two share a moment only the soul can understand.

“Welcome to your new home, Charlene.”

The bottom of the tank opens up and the Brambles swim to freedom.

— The End … but a new beginning for the Brambles –

(originally posted as a blog series at WomanNotWaiting.com by Kaz Lefave)

—moving right along now…

In the past couple of weeks there have been numerous articles floating around the internet concerning the imminent collapse of 6 massive West Antarctic glaciers in the Amundsen Sea.  In 40 years, from 1973 to 2013, the amount of melt has increased by 77%, their speed towards the ocean has increased and their grounding line, the point at which they lose contact with the ground, has retreated.

If this bears a striking resemblance to the natural progression of male pattern baldness that’s because man is a microcosm of our dear Gaia who is a microcosm of the universe. Our veins are her rivers, our bladders her lakes, our blood her water.  

So perhaps if we applied engineered Rogaine™ to the affected area the glaciers would thicken and their grounding line would return to their youthful level of the 70s, minus the mustache,  over-sized sun glasses, and disco shirts of course. Shudder.  

Or perhaps not. 

I wager that Gaia is somewhat allergic to geoengineering and that the best thing we can do at this point is to prepare for the onslaught of the Emperor Penguins.

Yes, with all this melting, the Gangnam Style muse (hey…sexy penguin) may be a beauty of the past. Penguins are at risk of extinction but they will not leave this planet without a bold statement. 

The Empire of 4-foot tall Penguins will strike back in the form of a 4-foot rise in global sea levels.

Coincidence? I think not…then again,  I am partial to science fiction. Muahahaha.  

The Emperor Penguins will morph according to the laws of spiritual physics.  Dust to dust for land creatures is like water to water for our ice dwellers.  Based on to the daily barrage of Antarctic doom in the waterless cloud, humanity has sealed their fate.

How can we ensure their descendants live to carry on their epic march?

Will an ingenious corporation create “Ice Land” inside a building where penguins can travel on treadmills in a virtual reality simulation until the effects of our past fuel choices are finally absorbed by Gaia’s intelligence?  

Let’s march forward with non-combustible energies…if not for the penguins for us all.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Near freezing temperatures, complete darkness, and the pressure of 4 SUVs on your big toe!

If this sounds like beginner salsa with an elephant in Prague in November, you’d be on to something in a random kind of way.  Your partner’s trunk would bare a slight resemblance to one of the residents of the deep: the tubeworm.

Banquets of freshly decomposing carbon-based life forms provide the bacterial feast these segment-wriggling invertebrates need to thrive.  And thrive is what they do at 7 miles deep.  They convert oxygen, hydrogen sulfide (H2S) and carbon dioxide (CO2) into inorganic molecules which their host worm munches on. A process known as chemosynthesis.

Unlike humans, a cocktail of hydrogen sulfide doesn’t kill the host.  It would be in our best interest to let our deep ocean friends do their cleanup work so that the H2S and earth-warming CO2 stay in the deep.

If we consider our planet to be a microcosm of the universe forever expanding, then the hydrothermal vents erupting at the bottom of the deep ocean represent life expanding into our oceans.  These nutrient rich trenches could very well be the first nibbles which supply the entire food web up the water column and ultimately into our tummies.

So when humanity views these black smokers solely (not soul-ly) as a source of copper and gold, their monumental significance is lost.

Exploration and study in my opinion are the only conscionable “uses” of the deep ocean frontier.  Let’s leave the wild west tactics to the gold rushes of the past and help develop new economies based on exploration, education, eco-tourism, and a healthy sustainable food supply for humans and sea creatures alike.

As sea floor mining plans advance and The Papua New Guinea Pig  is tested, James Cameron’s Deepsea Challenge 3D documentary hits theatres later this year.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Here’s to those who are curious and courageous (crazy!) enough to visit the depths and live to tell the story for all of our benefit and enjoyment.

It is ironic that we are so obsessed with outward personal hygiene and home cleanliness — nasty streaks on shiny surfaces (for the love of shiny objects), stubborn stains from one too many wine glasses, evil odours from garbage we willingly produce — while at the same time sending all the chemicals right back at us through the water cycle as filth inside our own bodies, that of our fellow sea creatures, and a double-double through those we “love” enough to eat (hmmm food for a future post).

Gaea forbid that we might have the slightest hint of natural pheromones wafting through the air as we make our grand tour of the local fish market.  Fish scented perfume soap blend…lovely.

But what if we just say NO?

No to chemical beauty products.

No to polyethelene toothpaste.  That’s right. Those sparkly little bits that give our gums that extra twinkle when we smile are an added bonus for buying your child the “sparkly” toothpaste.  We sure love our shiny objects.

No to polyethelene scrub. For the adults who worship exfoliation as a means to have the perfect skin so as to attract that perfect match, if the plastic micro beads don’t get lodged in your pours they’ll sure make it to lakes, rivers, and oceans laced with all sorts of pollutants they suck up along the way.

No to chemical household cleaners.  

Instead, let’s say yes to health, clean water, and a sustainable life.

The most inexpensive and more than adequate cleansers are the ones our great-grandparents (or grandparents) used to use— various witches brews of vinegar, water, baking soda, food oils, grandpa’s scotch,… People still had teeth, had some good nooky (way to go grandpa), and shiny windows.  They even had a one-up on us today…clean water to drink.

So let’s get the plastic off our face and make our oceans a better place.

And in the meantime, let’s use clean up the mess we left with innovative ideas like this one.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Do you know of any other clean up solutions while we move to eliminate the plastic sources from our daily lives?  Please leave a comment below.

Photo: Fritz Mueller

“Imagine a giant river, which connects all Canadians and helps control our climate, had something to say” —  Walter & Duncan Gordon Foundation

And imagine that this same river had the power to converse with another great river, the Mississippi, using his unique voice, one that appears silent to human ears but roars in volume and urgency to the oceans which connect the two.

What tale would these majestic beings tell?

A thwarted expression of earthly love with Mack pining for the graceful curves of his dear Miss only to fall prey to his own demise at the hands of unmentionable ills (unmentionable in accordance with the Aguacene language police of course, see Bye-bye F-word)?

Or would it be many heroes’ journeys bestowing the boons of their creative endeavours onto Mack so that he can muster the strength to revive his southern Belle before she is drained and drugged into toxic oblivion?

Within the breathtaking valleys of the Mackenzie River Basin lies a wisdom which knows how to give life and beauty to one of the last remaining pristine natural wonders of our world.  It’s the wisdom of the Deh-Cho.

Mack knows how to assemble the creeks, brooks, and rivers of his watershed clan and inspire them to press onwards to the north in a wave of ice.  He knows how to carry nutrients to the abundantly biodiverse pools of microscopic creatures waiting by the shores of the Beaufort Sea.  He even knows a thing or two about climate change and negotiating with his salty cousin for sea ice.

There is nothing Mack has not witnessed in his travels around the world and back as water,  mist, or ice.  He has seen it all and now he laments.

He bemoans the suffering of his southern Belle, his Miss, and the salty waters of her tears in the Gulf of Mexico. But his resolve is strong and with it that of the people who form part of his powerful clan— the people of the Deh Cho.

If Mack could talk in words we all could hear, he would say “Thank you Walter & Duncan Gordon Foundation for being my voice.”  

Spread the message far and wide and please share your comments and thoughts below.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Digging into the real story becomes increasingly challenging so I plunge into a sea of Eckhart Tolle wisdom and swim for the space between the drops, the hope amongst the madness.

Instead of baiting the greed of the extraction and destruction industry with headlines like “Cold War Over Arctic Heats Up” or “The Race for The Arctic”, how about creating a vision for the Arctic that excludes the F-word?  That F-word which lies beneath the catchy hook? It’s even a double-F-word or F-squared! Just pick the one that shakes the b-geebees inside you most.

The F-word is Gaia’s dirty little secret which she spits out at us from time to time when she feels particularly incensed and potty-mouthed. From now on Aguacene ejects the F-word from all communications and thought.

We won’t be dropping any F-bombs here!

Of course, eliminating its use completely although ideal is not immediately probable, but we can certainly still politely ask the offending guest to leave the party.  And what of those who crash our life celebration with their obnoxious display of sustainably unacceptable behaviour? I am sure an ice-faced bouncer can “escort them” to the oil rigs from whence they came.

In the spirit of non-resistance let us think thoughts which dissolve the profanity. Perhaps we can imagine how a pristine Arctic looks without the slimy gooey F-word?  Without F-squared? 

Well, it turns out we don’t have to burst a blood vessel trying blow bitumen bubbles out our ears to capture a glimpse of it. Take a peak. She is already absolutely breath-giving. Let’s keep her that way.

Click here to view the embedded video.

The scent of freshly pressed bills clog the minds of greedy corporations and fossil fuel hungry national leaders with a convoy of flying piggies with slits on their backs.

Is this the Arctic storm of the future?

According to an article at the RT network , “Experts say the future of the world economy, to some extent, is dependent on the Arctic.”

They fail to mention, however, a fact that trumps any human device — that the future of humanity, to a MASSIVE extent, is dependent on the Arctic. And here is why.

Sea ice does more than just reflect the sun’s energy and keep the planet cool. It affects weather patterns by shaping the jet stream which decides when to suck up moisture and where to dump it.  It’s the weather wizard curse of droughts and floods with a swish and flick of the wand. Now add increasing moisture in the air from more arctic ice-melt and the loop spawns a new industry retrofitting houses on the east coast with rooftop entrances. (Hmmm. Aguacene™ Portals perhaps?)

Sea ice also controls the deep ocean conveyor belt pictured above. Check out the National Snow and Ice Data Center for all things ice.

Salty water freezes at much lower temperatures. That is why we add salt to winter sidewalks. Well, that’s not really why…we’re just too lazy to shovel. We’d rather assault our fresh water systems, but that’s outside the scope of this post. Keeping the Arctic cold is crucial.

Unlike lake ice which simply floats on fresh water, sea ice ejects salt from its clutches as it freezes. This increases the density of the water layer absorbing the salt underneath the ice and stalls it from freezing. The warmer sea water further below gives way and the sluggish chilly layer sinks to the bottom and heads for the equator in true Canadian fashion.  Then, after taking a nice leisurely cruise around the tropics, it eventually meanders its way back north, with a stop to visit the Queen of course.

This thermohaline circulation, as the conveyor belt action is called, moves oxygen around the deep ocean. No sea ice, less circulation, less oxygen, more dead zones, and welcome dystopian science fiction reality.

Sea ice does not only respond to air temperature and cold winds either. The great Arctic rivers, such as the Mackenzie River feeding the Beaufort Sea is truly the Deh-Cho when it comes to climate change and human life.  Her watershed comprises nearly 20% of Canada. She flows into the Beaufort Sea creating an influx of fresh water massive enough to kick start an intricate process of sea ice melting, thus feeding into an already compromised system as river discharge alters Arctic sea ice.

But before you say “Hey! Let’s just damn her and imprison her behind a concrete wall” think again.  

Arctic deltas contribute to sea ice formation in the winter by bringing in fresh water to reduce salinity and allow land-based sea ice to form. Arctic watersheds also provide much needed Nordic ice cover on the great rivers which would otherwise be hot little spring photon suckers that float on down to the Arctic ocean to spice things up even further. Yum. Baby seal vindaloo.

As long as the fresh and salt water relationship is kept in delicate balance all is good. Unfortunately, all is not so good. The Deh-Cho in particular is in immediate danger (more on that in a future post) which brings us full circle to the recent political interest in the great white further north.

If Arctic warming continues at its accelerating pace, whoever “owns’ the Arctic sea floor in this fossil fuel addicted world will control the global economy…but for how long? The answer to that question exists in the oceans themselves — our life source.

Time to do some virtual snowboarding on the Mackenzie ice jams and get informed.

Pro surfer Kiron Jabour – photo by shark attack survivor Mike Coots

O’s the word…

…Oh some think it’s dirty

Oh some think it’s fun

But life stops without it

So let’s get it done.

Of course what I am talking about here is the United Nations Environment Programme Two Minutes on Oceans with Jim Tooney!

What were you thinking, hmmm? I trust it was a pleasant thought nevertheless. Perhaps it stirred some treasured feelings, a oneness with someone in a way science can only partially explain?

Now you may not experience the same kind of elation sharing an H2O moment with someone but without healthy oceans we won’t have two minutes to live let alone two minutes to love. So let’s enjoy six together.  I said…six!

Let’s watch six educational and action-inducing (always a good thing) videos that give us an appreciation for how important the other big O in our life is starting with the colour of love, blue. Enjoy Jim Tooney’s Blue Carbon.

Click here to view the embedded video.

And if you’re screaming more, More, MORE! Please visit Two Minutes on Oceans with Jim Tooney!  for the whole sexy lot of them. It’s just a click away. No one’s watching…go for it.

“When I was young, I used to walk 5 miles to school every morning.” How dreadful! Good thing you take a school bus, you think to yourself. And what’s a mile? If it’s as big as my grandmother’s eyes then it must be really far, your little Canadian heart throbs.

The next iteration adds “…in a snow storm up to my waist.” And you secretly thank the bus driver as you remember the spit balls flying.

Then “…with no shoes on.” To this you sneak a peek at the fuzzy boots at the door and wipe the dread off your forehead.

“…carrying my books in my bare hands,” tops it off . How could it possibly get worse, you gasp. But it does every time.

Apparently when our most senior generation grew up winter actually lasted 10 months! Incredible!

As little guppies we believed everything adults said, especially the ones who hooked us with sweets when they visited. Then as we became a little wise to the bait ourselves, we started to question, and question, and question.

The response was of course predictable. “Oh yes,” grand-maman emphasizes. “We froze our little tookies off!”

Hmmm. She’s off her rocker is the thought that buds. And years later this thread has woven itself into a blanket discounting all the stories of the past— the stories of the preplastic-o-zoic age.

But no more. Scientists have been measuring, documenting, postulating, and very recently sharing in terms that we can finally internalize. 

With social media and the internet gone wild, the proof of the past is splashing us in the face.  We can’t help but get a little soaked by the messages, sometimes drowning in them, so let’s grab a towel to brush off the toxic debris of lunacy and listen to the wisdom, the truth, the proof and…

..Yes!  The poetry of Dr. Sylvia Earle —scientist, grandmother, steward, and true inspiration to all of us who believe that a plastic-free ocean can thrive again.

Click here to view the embedded video.

More wisdom from Dr. Sylvia Earle…

Click here to view the embedded video.

 And even more…

Click here to view the embedded video.

“I wish you would use all means at your disposal — films! Expeditions! The web! More! — To ignite public support for a global network of marine protected areas, hope spots large enough to save and restore the ocean, the blue heart of the planet” — Sylvia Earle, 2009, TED Prize Winner 2009

Let’s honour Sylvia’s wish.

Ice can feel?

Now hang a sec, you snort.  That is just insane. How can a block of ice have feelings?

But what if she did?

Consider for instance every winter (or elongated polar ice cap gradient-induced jet stream mutant spring, like some places I know are experiencing…ahemmm) when you pull out that toxic chemical cocktail and spread a nice crunchy veneer onto your clear sidewalk in anticipation of a sprinkle of snow heading your way. Imagine the happy oblivious water crystals dancing down from the sky like little ballerinas in Swan Lake. Girl, are they in for a nasty surprise! They fall onto a sharp bed of chlorine and cyanide infested shards that attack them like they would the Wicked Witch of the West.

The innocent snow angels melt into oblivion.

When enough of these well-intentioned, delicate, and beautiful crystals have morphed into a big slushy, the cool air still hovering above them and smashing them down to the fiery concrete hell will eventually corral them so that their little H2O hands reach out to one another and snuggle in tight…”United We Stand!” is their battle cry as they courageously meet their ice-maker.

But that just won’t do in the human world.  Concrete rules! So out comes another serrated blanket called Carpetface and the shrunken and fear-frozen droplets get their arms sawed off. Water spurts everywhere and the community shrieks in searing pain.

Meanwhile down in Antarctica, the mighty glaciers hear their cry.  

Remember, there is only one water. All drops are part of the one big Hydrologic Cycle and news travels faster in water than in air (a little science factoid). The majestic ice cliffs are doing their fair share of melting “sans salt” with just the whiff of humanity’s presence in the atmosphere.

According to a study funded by NASA’s Cryospheric Science Program and MEaSUREs program, glaciers actually do “feel” what is happening far downstream of themselves and react accordingly. In fact, (well, more like in jest) if they had discos in the Antarctic, the theme song would be There’s a Whole Lot of Melting Going On.

Find out why Antarctic ice divas are leaping at record heights into the sea: Antarctic ice study finds global sea levels could rise even faster than before.