Family ties

A few weeks ago now I received a first-class lesson in self-sufficiency from an unexpected source: my estranged uncle. I hadn't seen the guy since I was maybe a toddler, and hence had no real memory of him. Everything I knew came from a few sparse photographs or some terse offhand comments about Hugh and his backwoods trailer. But as it turns out, mum's little brother was exactly the kind of person I needed to meet.

 He's been squatting on a marginal scrap of for longer than I've been alive. For 23 years he's worked to carve out his own quiet life in a picturesque valley outside of Motueka. When he first arrived at the place he now calls home, it was nothing more than a patch of scrub, weeds and gorse bordering a mountain stream that feeds out from Kahurangi National Park. Since then he has laboured to clear the whole area, built a beautiful crescent-shaped driveway, set up some pastures for his stock, and even started a small native plant garden and barbeque area, complete with picnic table and sun umbrella. His pride and joy, however, is his trailer. And what a trailer it is. From the outside, with its wooden shingling and ornate green trim, it looks as if it should be attached to some flamboyant train, perhaps with a travelling circus. But once inside, his mobile abode is replete with stunning original woodwork, all done up in a rainbow of native New Zealand timber. The space is small of course, but the attention to detail is astonishing. It is a visual delight, with angular diamond patterns set into walls and doors, while the shelves are thoughtfully decorated with bronzed knick-knacks, tiny ancient bottles of liquor and other curiosities. Some of which belonged to my grandfather apparently.

 Inconspicuous 12 volt lights line the roof at key locations, ensuring efficient use of power. His whole system runs almost entirely on solar year-round, though there is a generator to pick up the slack if need be. Even the electric cattle fences are solar-powered. You would think that hydro would be an obvious choice too considering his streamside location, but it turns out that the flow is simply too strong for domestic use. The turbines would just be washed away during a big rain event. Trust me, he's looked into it. The piece de resistance of his energy scheme, however, is the simple coal range stove that does triple duty in the trailer. Not only does it cook up a mean mutton roast, it more than adequately heats his tubular home, and it even heats the water so efficiently that you can have a sauna in the dead of winter. Then there are additions like the outhouse longdrop, done up with a carved wooden seat, scenic posters of New Zealand, and a sheepskin floormat to keep your toes cozy. Next to that appears to be a simple metal toolshed, but in fact this houses the generator as well as a cleverly designed shower, drawing water from the stream just behind. An actual toolshead, and a spare campervan with auxiliary shade tent attachment round out the property's features.

 In terms of food, my uncle has his own cattle to bop on the head every six months for meat. One of his best mates is the local butcher, and they keep a shared walk-in freezer between several of the neighbours (although neighbours in this case can mean several kilometers in any direction). This freezer is supplemented with an assortment of wild meats such as venison, boar, or whatever else can be bartered for between one another. There certainly is no shortage or protein. These are people whose primary concern is providing for themselves. A few colonies of hobby beehives also offer more honey than my uncle can rid himself of; about 90kg still to be spun out at present. Consequently I came away with a big jar for my own consumption.

 There's heaps of space for a veggie patch, but unfortunately my uncle isn't too keen on most things green and leafy. Besides, the cows would probably get out and destroy the whole thing anyways he said. But he really has everything he needs otherwise. He is king of his land and I was lucky enough to witness his set up firsthand, if only for a meager 24 hours. You wouldn't expect it but this big, burly, tattooed meat-eater is almost certainly a more authentic environmentalist than I can claim to be; or most people with a degree in the environmental field. He just lives it. He knows the habits of the local hawks and other animals because he spends the time to be quiet and watch throughout the course of the year. There is no dichotomy between man and nature there; he truly inhabits his land. That's what it's all about. He's not likely to leave anytime soon either, and so I'm honestly quite tempted to join him for an extended period of time. I've got an invitation to come back and work over the summer, so I may have to take up the opportunity.

 Who knew that I would find inspiration like that within my own family? Certainly not me. But what a pleasant revelation it was.

The Adaptive Radiation of Metal

As it turns out, extreme metal fits quite well into the ecological model of adaptive radiation; at least in a general way. First of all, think of a remote island. An island where no blast beats, distortion or tremolo picking has been before. Then imagine the introduction of one original colonists (for argument's sake we'll just use the band Death). No other immigrants make it to this island. The pioneer species, Death, has the entire resource base of the island to fill with its progeny.

 What follows is a rapid sequence of speciation and diversification, ultimately filling all the viable niches within the bounds of extreme metal. For example, some members of the population begin to focus their diet on slamming grooves and guttural vocals, eventually distancing themselves to where they no longer interbreed with their source population and become a new species. Others thrive on a diet of speed and relentless blast beats, shrieking their heads off in the forests of the island to become grindcore. And still others might embrace the progressive, noodling aspects of later-era Death and shoot off into the wilds of extreme experimentation. Any number of combinations might be tried, with varying levels of success depending on inter- and intra-specific competition.

Of course, this intense specialization leaves the myriad subgenres vulnerable to extinction because their numbers are low, and the people interested in their music are few as well. While closely allied to other species, they cannot always interbreed to secure new audiences and thus their continuity. The result is a kaleidoscopic array of metal music, some of which may blink out in an evolutionary second, never to be heard from again (Eighteen Visions anyone?). Over a thirty year span we've encountered thrash metal, grindcore, blackened death, melodic death, groove metal, tech death, jazz-fusion, folk metal, djent and on and on.

While you can argue whether Death actually had anything to do with the genesis of Anaal Nathrakh or Russian Circles, etc., I think there is a distinct enough sonic pedigree that has been passed down through the generations, if twisted and morphed and alloyed with other influences, that can be credited to a few pioneer bands. Metal is a very insular genre; it is very much on its own island in terms of popular appeal. The metaphor isn't perfect I know, but at the very least it provides and interesting thought experiment on the evolution of music. A single style exposed to an empty new environment can diffuse across the auditory spectrum until all the possibilities have been exhausted. Ecology is everywhere man.
 
 Speciation breeds some wild things, no?

Ode to the Olive

The common olive:
Olea europaea

Branch of Champions
Flag of Conquerors
Symbol of Peace
Hero of the Mediterranean

So diminutive and yet so noble
Arrayed in greens and purple blacks
Hard stone anchoring its core
Dripping from gnarled trees
As jewels of dew at first light
Entwined by leaves of burnished silver

Plucked laboriously, lovingly by
Thick tanned leather hands
To be pressed, rock upon rock
Until they shed their golden tears
Whereupon it is bottled greedily
And yet with gratitude
To fuel the society of Men

Lubricating the gears of ancient war
Fortifying the hearts of the People
Kissing their daily bread
The fruit of their lands
Embodying a living tradition

Wrestlers slathered in oil
Undertake slippery combat
Mortal against Mortal
Paying their tribute to Athena
And Aristaeus both

This ovoid wonder
Crucible of civilization
Balm of Philosophers
Honored down through the ages

Grows quietly in my Californian backyard

Perhaps aware of its history and Virtue,
Or perhaps not.

The Political Geography of Environmentalism

Oftentimes I think the lens through which we consider the environmental movement is far too narrow. In this post I would like to situate it on the global stage. To truly address our growing ecological crises, we need to consider our international relationships and the structure of our economic activities. Perhaps the most significant detail here is the division of the Developed North from the poverty-stricken Global South: the disparity between the Haves and the Have-nots. The industrialized nations require the raw materials and resources that the less-developed countries contain. And because the infection of capitalism has spread throughout the world, these peoples are willing to sacrifice the integrity of their precious ecosystems to make the money they need survive. Their continuity depends on these extractive industries. Subsistence living has nearly become a relic of our species' past. When it comes to contemporary individual economics, the value of biodiversity means nothing in the face of hunger. As such, great ecological atrocities are committed for the sake of survival and for the benefit of faceless multinational corporations. A wretched job is still a job for those with no other employment opportunities.

The result of this exploitative system is that the Global South stays poor while its resources are wiped and land ravaged. The North is allowed to externalize its costs, both monetary and environmental, to those without any political representation or power. In turn, formerly industrialized nations such as the US and Britain can shift their focus from the dirty productive sector to cleaner industries such as service and technology while bringing in all of its material necessities from India, China, Malaysia, Indonesia, Pakistan, Mexico, Guatemala, and on and on... Our modern lifestyles draw from all corners of the globe these days. I spent a week cataloguing all of the resources I consumed in one week, only to be blown away by the diversity of their origins. Hardly anything was produced in New Zealand itself. There are people abusing the land and themselves in order to satiate my material desires. This I think is the greatest threat to environmental health: the lifestyle of the Global North. The story would be very different if each country were satisfied to cultivate their own resources locally, tailoring their lifestyles to the prevailing conditions. Instead we're faced with a monoculture of consumerism that proliferates in all sorts of places that it doesn't belong. Everywhere people expect the same type of material comfort and convenient existence.  Of course, this brings with it the usual litany of waste byproducts: overflowing landfills, marine dead zones and trash islands, excess levels of CO2, hazardous chemicals, etc. This really doesn't have to be the case. It's merely a symptom of our fast-paced, high-capacity international supply chain.

There's really no need for me to delve further into the details of why capitalism is bad or the technicalities of our worsening environmental conditions. Really I just want you all to understand that environmentalism is not a form of class warfare between the crunchy granola-types and the suit & tie industry monkeys. It is in fact a global phenomenon concerning the distribution of raw materials and wealth. Each of us has what the other wants. The Brazilian fieldhand will happily burn some fringe of the Amazon for sugarcane if it means he can feed his children for another week on wages from his international employers. This is the reality of the system we have wrought. And it is extremely dangerous.

Musings on Biomes

This morning while out for my daily walk I took to contemplating biomes, those unique biotic assemblages and ecosystems spread around the Earth. The distribution of biomes is predominantly dependent upon abiotic factors such as temperature, precipitation, latitude, elevation and so on. Subtle differences in rain totals, day length or wind regimes can have enormous effects upon the land. Having just spent a year exploring New Zealand as an environmental science major and today being back in my native California, those peculiarities of place are fresh in my mind. And lately I’ve been wondering what to make of those differences in perhaps a more philosophical sense. I think now I’ve discovered a reasonable enough analogy.

I realized that in many ways that global biomes may be likened to our global religions or any other human system of belief. This is because ecosystems are in essence an expression to the wild vitality of the universe and an attempt to make order/meaning from it. This is the same as humanity attempting, through various beliefs/rituals/moralities, to construct a functional world from the existence we’re given.  All the plants and animals organize themselves in whatever pattern makes sense to them just as organize ourselves in a way that makes sense to us. What happens is that we are all making use of the same base materials but constructing different structures that are nonetheless equally viable.

In New Zealand, the dominant forest tree might be Totara, Matai, Rimu or Beech while in California it might be Oak, Bay Laurel, or Redwood. In both instances the trees play the same roles of carbon sequestering, habitat provision, soil building and so forth. It is exactly the same story for Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Existentialism or whatever you prefer. Each provides some measure of comfort, community, love and tradition in its own way. Those are some of the main functions of religion now whatever where you’re from. And so again it comes down to the fact that nobody can necessarily be wrong; we’re just doing what we can with what we have.

That’s what I’ve come up with at least. Biomes are like religions: creative expressions of life each equally worthy of respect and valuable for their diversity.

Cultivating Landscape Literacy

I want to take some time here to appreciate the fact that there are incredible stories written within our landscapes, if only we have the eyes to read them. This is why I love the field of environmental sciences as a whole. They allow me to draw back the tapestry of the present and peak behind into the narratives of the past. Doing so reveals that Earth is a restless and dynamic system capable of tremendous activity: take for example the Manawatu region of New Zealand.

Driving through, it appears to be nothing more than your standard expanse of pastureland, maybe a few hills in there, a winding river, some small mountains in the distance, but mostly flat and grassy. Yet to comprehend the immensity of time and the multiplicity of events required to assemble these unassuming vistas is quite a task. For one thing, it wasn't long ago on a geological time scale that most of the Manawatu Region lay beneath the sea in the form of unconsolidated sediments. Its current expanse is largely due to the accumulation of these marine sediments and a progradation of the coastline. This is why it's so flat. The underlying continental crust of Zealandia isn't quite thick enough to buoy itself above sea level alone, especially as sea level today is comparatively higher than during past glacial periods.

As such, repeated marine transgressions and inundations subsequently emplaced a great thickness of mudstone, shale, limestone, marine gravels and the like. Gravel terraces are a common feature of the area but often go unrecognized because their vegetative cover or overlying layers of loess. The Massey University campus and Palmerston North itself sits atop such gravels. The Tokomaru Marine Terrace demarcates the former height of the shoreline; a huge distance inland from where it now rests.

The Manawatu River has likewise been an active agent of erosion and deposition for many thousands of years. It has incised and abandoned numerous floodplains, leaving behind another system of undulating riverine terraces. As its level rises and falls, the surrounding area feels its affects accordingly. Oxbow lakes, alluvial fans, in-filled swamps, etc. all owe their existence to this perpetual channel. The river even existence prior to the uplift of the axial ranges. These are some of the most rapidly rising topographical features in New Zealand aside from the Southern Alps. The Manawatu River, whose course crosses the ranges, has cut down through the hard greywacke rock as quickly as it has been thrust upwards to create the spectacular Manawatu Gorge.

At the top of the Ruahine and Tararua ranges, however, you'll still find those marine sediments previously mentioned. Rounded gravels, soft mudstones, etc. all compose a thin veneer draped over the more resistant greywacke. This makes the steep slopes susceptible to landslides and other mass movement failures, especially when saturated with rain. These loosened sediments are then carried away by the river to be deposited wherever it sees fit or to in-fill the coastal estuary, altering its morphology. There is even a massive dune-field associate with the Manawatu coast, the largest in New Zealand. But again, this is hidden by verdant dairy farmland

In short, what appears to be a static and perhaps even boring landscape actually carries with it a dramatic history of floods, erosion, massive uplift, marine transgression and other events that lie outside the typical human framework of cognition. With some effort we can learn to read and make sense of these events, thereby more deeply understanding our current place in things. This all stands testament to the extraordinary capacity that the Earth has for change. Nothing stays the same for long. It's the progression and interconnectivity of these processes that I find so perpetually engaging.

Of course, these ideas on dynamism can help us interpret the rest of our world even on a more human time-scale. Understanding the impermance and fluidity of life is a rather liberating experience. It is simply the nature of things, as anyone who has lived a few years can recognize. By contrast, it's often when we hold rigid expectations that things should stay the same that we do ourselves the most harm.

I just hope that this little example of the Manawatu region's geomorphology can help us all to grasp impermanence inherent in our existences. Learn to read the signs.

100% Pure Denial

If there's one thing that I've learned since studying environmental science here in New Zealand, it's that the country has a dirty little secret. Despite the relentless marketing of a "clean, green New Zealand," this idyllic Pacific nation is in fact in the midst of a harrowing but unpublicized ecological crisis.

Since the arrival of Maori people and especially Europeans, the landscape has undergone massive upheaval. From a forest covering of roughly 80% this has been reduced to somewhere in the order of 20%. The lowland areas proved especially vulnerable, and almost all of the swamp-loving Kahikatea trees were uprooted in favour of a grass monoculture. This is truly where New Zealand's troubles began. After the furious logging of native timbers and clearance for pasturage, the land has become increasingly encumbered with exotic stock species such as the iconic sheep and all-important cow. Today these animals are the backone of New Zealand's export economy. Fonterra, the monopolizing dairy processing corporation, is the largest company in Aotearoa, rivalled only by communications giant Telecom. This economic reliance on stock, however, has brought about a host of environmental issues that only being exacerbated by current practice and policy.

Cows, of course, are prolific defacators and urinators. That means a huge amount of nitrogen is deposited directly onto the land in concentrations that natural nutrient cycling processes cannot handle. It either gets washed overland straight into water courses, or infiltrates the soil through to the water table; but either way the nitrogen ends up in New Zealand's many rivers and streams. The excesses nutrients facilitates massive algal growth, which in turn uses up much of the available oxygen that fish species need to survive. Fish can quite literally suffocate in extremely eutrophic environments; the effect is amplified in static lake habitats. But these nutrients, along with miscellaneous other industrial wastewater pollutants, have hit native stream fauna hard. The Manawatu River, which runs pretty much right past campus here, was recently classified as one of the most polluted in the Western world. This is a direct function of intensive dairying and also human effluent that is minimally treated before being released. Let's just say that the kids don't play by it's banks anymore.

Then there is the sediment. The clearance of native vegetation for pasture has destabilized a huge portion of our hill country and left it susceptible to routine erosion/slippage/failure. Our precious soils are being washed out to sea with every rain event. This wouldn't happen had forest cover been maintained. Once this sediment load is suspended within a stream channel, it only multiplies its adverse effects. Sediment reduces water clarity and forces whatever fish remain to hide in the gravel and substrate of riverbeds just to survive. Sediment also results in deposition and in-fill, raising the height of the stream and leaving already flone-prone regions (i.e. Manawatu) even more likely to be inundated. Where the rivers flow out to sea also is being choked with debris almost to the point of separation between ocean and stream. These estuarine habitats are crucial to numerous avifauna, both migratory and domestic who may feed or overwinter there.

As each of these ecosystems are modified further, there is less and less change of regenerating those species characteristic of New Zealand. A large proportion of flora and fauna here are endemic, meaning they occur nowhere else in the world. This alone should be enough to instill a strong ethic of stewardship, but many species have nonetheless gone extinct or found their way onto the critically endangered list. Our native fish, for example, receive no legal protection and yet are commercially harvested for whitebait fritters despite being classified as threatened. The juveniles are similar snapped up to be eaten as they fight their way back from the sea and up freshwater channels. What a great idea, right? Kill the young before they have a chance to reproduce and maintain population levels. Introduced trout, on the other hand, are tightly managed by innumerable Fish & Game councils. And that is a clear illustration of the problem. It's an economic one. Trout, despite being an exotic, is much more lucrative that tiny native Galaxias fish.

Habitat loss is almost always couched in terms of business development. New Zealand relies on primary, extractive industries that take from the land such as mining, forestry, farming and the like. Coal mines (operated by the state-owned resource company Solid Energy) recently killed off a species of giant carnivorous snail, Powelliphanta augusta, from its native range and today it only survives in holding fridges. Dairying as mentioned has eliminated vast tracts of podocarp-broadleaf forest habitat and thus the populations and communities associated with it. Exotic timber species such as Pinus radiata have since overtaken much of the middle north island. Wetland habitats have been essentially entirely drained away for farms. Basically New Zealand makes its money by marketing its natural capital overseas. This is not a sustainable business model.

On top of this, a number of unfortunate mammalian introductions have wreaked further havoc on native species. The possum is the classic villain, munching on native trees, native birds (even the beloved Kiwi), native snails, geckoes, weta, the whole lot. The blighters are aided also by weasels, ferrets, stoats, rats, pigs and so on. A saddening number of our native species are consequently restricted to offshore islands where these predatory species don't have access. These pests seem here to stay though. That means Motuweta isolata, the tusked weta, won't be returning to the mainland anytime soon; among the other castaways.

Even the introduction of the common wasp has been a massive detriment to New Zealand. They thrive in beeh forests at some of the highest concentrations in the world, feeling on the beech scale insect and its sugar-rich byproduct called 'honeydew'. Typically the honeydew goes towards feeding native birds such as Tui and Bellbirds along with geckoes and even some invertebrates. With wasps eating most of the honeydew though, it really puts a limit on the populations of those species and those that depend on them by extension.

Through its myriad problems, the country continues to run vapid campaigns such as "100% Pure New Zealand" that simply ignore the reality of the situation for the sake of the tourist or business dollar. Prime minister John Key, who should be quite concerned with the state of his country's environmental assets, has both given his support for further mining projects and flat-out dismissed the sciene that 90% of our rivers are below the standards for swimming/bathing. While there is legislation such as the Resource Management Act and government bodies like the Department of Conservation, they are too often hogtied legally, politically or economically into impotence. Even regional councils cannot be trusted to enforce the policies that are handed down for fear of crossing their residents. They have an awful record when it comes to enforcing violations of resource consents, and so the polluting goes on.

In short, the land that brought you Lord of the Rings is a lie. There are just as many, if not more, issues here than in any other developed Western country. New Zealand is not 100% Pure and is instead a dysfunctional assemblage of introduced species, primarily brought in for economic purposes. Hell, the possum was intentionally released in hopes of establishing a lucrative fur industry before that all got out of hand. Look where we are now. If New Zealand wishes to maintain its natural character, and it surely does, then it is going to have to shift its priorities dramatically and probably make some material sacrifices along the way.

A deeper issue even though, is that most Kiwis aren't even aware of these imminent and systemic problems. To them dairying is the best thing that ever happened and there is severe backlash for anyone who dares challenge its dominance. As long as it keeps bringing the money in, it's not going anywhere. There is a precedent, nevertheless, in the Lake Taupo region where taxpayers compensated farmers to limit the number of cattle they ran on the surrounding farms. This has helped keep the lake healthy and free of excess nutrient run-off. But this was an expensive endeavour, and not exactly feasible for the entirety of the country. The point is that there is hope and all it takes is a bit of critical thinking and initiative. After all, rivers (at least) are some of the easiest landscape features to clean because if you stop the input, they'll quickly flush out the remaining toxins.

Of course in the end, this article isn't to detract from the stunning beauty that Aotearoa does in fact possess, but nor do I want people to live under the illusion of a perfectly green and healthy land. Not all areas are being affected equally, that's a given. Peter Jackson still found enough scenery to film The Hobbit. It's the lowlands and rivers that have taken the brunt of the impact. Montane and alpine zones are still relatively free from human intervention, and while they look pretty that's not enough. There are problems here, but they are reversible if only people are willing to engage them fully. Now that we're aware of them, who wants to help implement some solutions? I for one want to see my adopted home country restored to its former glory.