Limnology and Oceanography Bulletin最新文献

In a recent piece about scientists who marry other scientists, Marx (2024) briefly tells the story of a few couples whose lives (and research) have been enriched for having a like-minded partner (see also the Acknowledgments and the section before the References in Wiltshire and Boersma 2016). One of these scientists states the obvious—that science is too hard to do alone—but breaks away from competitive tendencies in academia to also say that engaging with the right people and setting ego aside can allow one to learn and grow as a scientist. This partnership is what brings joy and progress to their work. Researchers need to have a social network in which they feel comfortable to ask seemingly obvious or basic questions and to fail, without fear of reproach or shaming. Marx and one of the interviewees note that friends can also be partners; this position is not reserved to spouses; (…) “a life in science is infinitely richer if oriented around, connecting with—and staying connected to—the right thought partners.”

Our friendship grew exponentially during our overlapping year as Editorial Fellows, and we kept finding projects that would require that we spend time talking to one another. Consistent and spontaneous interactions about a suite of topics further cemented our friendship: we met twice a month during the RCEF with ASLO Editors and the Wiley publishing team; saw each other (and held events together) during ASLO conferences; had impromptu conversations about the future of scientific publishing and about sharing what we Fellows learn with our peers (e.g., Franco-Santos et al. 2023, 2024); engaged with ASLO and Wiley teams on intense discussions about Open Access publishing and the future of ASLO journals during the Wiley Strategy Day; conducted an ASLO-wide survey on how our members interpret and experience Open Access publishing; and so much more. We also talked a lot about our science—Erin is a salt marsh queen and Rita currently investigates potential carbon sequestration from kelp forests, so we share a curiosity for coastal systems, carbon cycling, and tracers for environmental processes (e.g., stable isotopes and fatty acids). Our friendship continued even after our Fellowships ended. We constantly discuss potential projects to connect us and to enable comparisons between current and emerging blue carbon ecosystems in the United States and Australia (where we reside).

When Rita finished her RCEF tenure, incoming Fellow Frank Akamagwuna asked what she prized most about the program, to which she replied the people that the experience had brought her (Fig. 1). At every ASLO meeting, we see lasting friendship demonstrations from our longer-serving members to one another. Those begin at some point, usually through service—we can attest to it. This piece also serves as a loving friendship letter from Erin to Rita, from Rita to Erin, and from us to you (Fig. 2). We invite you t

Twelve thousand feet above sea level in the remote wilderness of southwestern Colorado, the once pristine Turkey Creek Lake turned pea-soup green. On a crisp July morning, our field crew of academic researchers, forest service managers, and pack mules began a five-day backcountry expedition into the Weminuche wilderness to figure out why (Fig. 1, Video S1).

Mountain lakes are climatic canaries in a coal mine (Moser et al. 2019). These naturally oligotrophic systems are highly sensitive to changes in climate and watershed processes. Small watersheds and thin soils around these lakes cause very low nutrient concentrations. As a result, even miniscule environmental shifts can manifest in observable biotic change (Fig. 2). The greening observed in Weminuche lakes is not an isolated phenomenon, but rather part of an unexpected trend of once-crystal clear systems turning green each summer (Vadeboncoeur et al. 2021). Considering algal blooms in North American systems, one may be tempted to picture the Midwest, where farm fields and concentrated animal feeding operations dominate the landscape. However, even the most remote ecosystems are vulnerable to human influence, both directly and indirectly.

It is no surprise that barriers to access create undersampling and spatial biases in limnology: most publicly available limnological data come from just a small subset of lakes (Stanley et al. 2019). In high mountain valleys, human impacts are often less conspicuous, making it more challenging to identify the drivers of change in those lake ecosystems. Identifying changes and their causes in these environments requires researchers to be creative and resourceful with equipment, strategy, and new partnerships.

Fishermen, hunters, hikers, and trail crews have been passing by Turkey Creek and the Fourmile Lakes for decades. Recently, they began reporting to the Forest Service that their beloved lakes were turning green. Eventually, those reports made it to the desk of Joni Vanderbilt, a career Forest Service hydrologist, who forwarded the reports to colleagues stationed near Weminuche and sought out the expertise of Dr. Isabella Oleksy, a researcher at the University of Colorado Boulder. Subsequently, Dr. Oleksy planned a compressed field sampling campaign to investigate the mystery of the lake blooms, limited to installing buoys in the three lakes and collecting water samples with a team of seven researchers, including three undergraduates, two graduate students, and one professional research assistant. As the field season neared, Vanderbilt brought on Ros Wu, a forestry specialist at the Forest Service, who suggested enlisting her staff and several horses and mules to help clear downed logs from the trail and carry field equipment and basecamp gear. This greatly expanded the scope of the planned research, enabling the team to bring sediment coring gear to reconstruct the lakes' histories and more deeply