“Do we really need to collect this muck and bring back with us? Are you serious?!”
My field assistant was young, fresh out of college with an undergraduate degree in Geography with no prior field experience. She was here with me to explore, miles away from the comforts of typical city life. Little did she know about the exciting life of a grad student.
It was a sunny, cloudless day. The weather seemed perfect for some FieldSpec measurements. We usually set out in the wee hours of morning. That way we didn’t have to justify our need for boats when the tourists wanted to sight-see. An early start also ensured that we could board the only local bus in case we wanted to conduct village surveys. Our return rides were negotiated a day before with local auto drivers and on-demand bike rental services.
My field assistant was young, fresh out of college with an undergraduate degree in Geography with no prior field experience. She was here with me to explore, miles away from the comforts of typical city life. Little did she know about the exciting life of a grad student.
It was a sunny, cloudless day. The weather seemed perfect for some FieldSpec measurements. We usually set out in the wee hours of morning. That way we didn’t have to justify our need for boats when the tourists wanted to sight-see. An early start also ensured that we could board the only local bus in case we wanted to conduct village surveys. Our return rides were negotiated a day before with local auto drivers and on-demand bike rental services.
...
Some days we planned and some days we went with the flow. Such was life.
One field day, our village survey plans fell through when our usual auto-driver had to suddenly rush to town. Without him, we wouldn’t have a return ride.
And just like that, I decided to give this day a chance at some ecological data collection. A mix of activities usually kept our days exciting and my assistant engaged.
After managing the logistics and coordinating with my field assistant, we decided to hitchhike on a tourist boat to record some observations, measure some trees and collect some mud.
Mangrove soils are tough bees. I mean, what do you expect? These trees stay put in the most turbulent areas. The ground they hold is tougher than you can imagine. If you’ve waded through one, you may have observed the dark grey clayey layer in which it bathes all day.
One field day, our village survey plans fell through when our usual auto-driver had to suddenly rush to town. Without him, we wouldn’t have a return ride.
And just like that, I decided to give this day a chance at some ecological data collection. A mix of activities usually kept our days exciting and my assistant engaged.
After managing the logistics and coordinating with my field assistant, we decided to hitchhike on a tourist boat to record some observations, measure some trees and collect some mud.
Mangrove soils are tough bees. I mean, what do you expect? These trees stay put in the most turbulent areas. The ground they hold is tougher than you can imagine. If you’ve waded through one, you may have observed the dark grey clayey layer in which it bathes all day.
The most fascinating aspect about this layer of slush is how it quickly disappears into the Earth’s cradle when you wash it down. When dry, it is such a hard nut to crack! I spent countless days pulverizing my soil samples in a wet laboratory where I tried to decipher its secrets. Several lives were mildly disturbed during this process. All that noise, all that sound. All those spaces it flew abound (My sincere apologies to Lab 22 folks).
On a serious note, mud is the Earth’s very own Pensieve, a gigantic memory box with millions of hidden secrets, each embedded in layers.
We often pay very little attention to this space that’s everywhere, just like trees. As trees stay fixed in the background, sometimes whistling with the wind, mud stays under our feet escaping our gaze until it clutches our feet. It’s not just a background filler, but a complex mixture of nutrients and dirt that practically sustains the living world. Each layer (known as the soil horizon) is unique in its composition.
We often pay very little attention to this space that’s everywhere, just like trees. As trees stay fixed in the background, sometimes whistling with the wind, mud stays under our feet escaping our gaze until it clutches our feet. It’s not just a background filler, but a complex mixture of nutrients and dirt that practically sustains the living world. Each layer (known as the soil horizon) is unique in its composition.
The topmost layer (O) is also called the humus layer, consisting of mostly organic matter like decomposing leaves and other woody mass. The thickness of the O horizon varies in different soil types and the layer of organic matter decreases with depth. Mangrove soils are especially found to contain enormous quantities of plant litter and rich in organic matter in both their top and surface soils. The surface soil is rich in mineral content which is used by plants for their growth. The B horizon is generally a zone of accumulation where minerals, and other soluble salts and clay accumulate over time. The continuous influx of tidal water causes fluctuations in soil aeration levels, with lower layers of soils being more anaerobic, which means lacking in oxygen. Mangrove soils are generally poorly aerated which is also the reason for its dark colour resulting from sulphides from the anaerobic processes.
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What mysteries do these buried layers hold?
For one, by digging dirt that’s under the bottom of lakes and marshy areas, scientists can decipher the past climate and shed light on disasters like hurricanes that have occurred. To decipher these mysteries, scientists usually dig cores to collect sediment (or dirt). A sediment corer, or an auger, is basically a hollow tube made of metal, which researchers push into the earth and then pull back out. What you get is a column or core of different layers of mud intact.The core can then be divided into segments to further study different natural processes and phenomena that have riled the earth’s past. You know what? It’s not just the past that’s interesting to work out, but also what’s stored in that dirt and how it influences our future.
Carbon is the future that mangrove soil has carefully preserved over the years…
One such interesting element is carbon. When we talk about carbon, our immediate reflex would be to think of vegetation and rightly so. All trees, through the process of photosynthesis, convert carbon in the air (actually carbon dioxide) to sugars and oxygen, and grow more green leaves and woody mass, like their trunks and roots where much of this carbon gets accumulated as the tree grows.
Mangrove trees in fact are crucial in limiting our carbon levels by storing enormous quantities in their trunk and roots and thus acting as effective carbon sinks. They are found to sequester more carbon than any other terrestrial vegetation type, even rainforests. This carbon they store, along with seagrasses and salt marshes, is termed ‘blue carbon’.
But mangrove mud can also store enormous quantities of carbon in its layers. Studies have shown this amount is roughly equivalent to billion metric tons. The carbon stays locked up in the soil until these forests are destroyed. Isn’t that fascinating? Using lab procedures, scientists can determine this amount in the soil and then extrapolate it for a large area.
All this makes mangroves a significant game changer in the fight against climate change. It’s fascinating how an element that is literally the backbone of almost every biological molecule in this universe has finally become this entity that has gathered all the rightful attention it deserves. Alas, for the wrong reasons.
Carbon is the future that mangrove soil has carefully preserved over the years…
One such interesting element is carbon. When we talk about carbon, our immediate reflex would be to think of vegetation and rightly so. All trees, through the process of photosynthesis, convert carbon in the air (actually carbon dioxide) to sugars and oxygen, and grow more green leaves and woody mass, like their trunks and roots where much of this carbon gets accumulated as the tree grows.
Mangrove trees in fact are crucial in limiting our carbon levels by storing enormous quantities in their trunk and roots and thus acting as effective carbon sinks. They are found to sequester more carbon than any other terrestrial vegetation type, even rainforests. This carbon they store, along with seagrasses and salt marshes, is termed ‘blue carbon’.
But mangrove mud can also store enormous quantities of carbon in its layers. Studies have shown this amount is roughly equivalent to billion metric tons. The carbon stays locked up in the soil until these forests are destroyed. Isn’t that fascinating? Using lab procedures, scientists can determine this amount in the soil and then extrapolate it for a large area.
All this makes mangroves a significant game changer in the fight against climate change. It’s fascinating how an element that is literally the backbone of almost every biological molecule in this universe has finally become this entity that has gathered all the rightful attention it deserves. Alas, for the wrong reasons.
Memories of the mire...
While we were sampling for this mud, villagers often looked bewildered. Some would wait patiently near the forest-road edge to make sure we got out just fine. Others would accompany us inside the forest and show us trails that were easier to navigate. We often got lost. So, having them around was reassuring.
I usually referred to the handheld GPS for directions as phone service was pretty iffy in this part of town. This one time both my phone and handheld GPS conked. We were deep inside the forest, a bit off from the main trail. Just me and my field assistant. In every direction were large dense trees, embedded in slushy, muddy ground with no end in sight. I started mentally preparing myself for ways to survive here, in case we got stuck for a very long time. Did I know how to start a fire? Did we have enough food? Just snacks would get us by for another hour at the least. No, probably just another ten minutes because the stress was making us hungrier. Everything was wet and there was no way we could get a fire going. Plus, no dry ground to rest our tired bums.
We tried to stay calm. We also enjoyed the adventure but wouldn’t advise anyone to tread alone here. After many failed attempts, we finally stumbled upon a trail that led us to a large swath of open rice fields. A little further down, we spotted a mud house. We went inside to ask for further directions, and also inquired about handheld water pumps that we could use to wash our legs that were soaked in knee-deep-mud.
The woman noticed the zip lock bags we were carrying and asked us if there were crabs inside. She was baffled upon knowing it was “only” mud. She then looked at the sickle and our makeshift auger and asked my field assistant why we didn’t get any firewood?!
The women at my field site have a special relationship with this mud. Their sense of balance is admirably astonishing. If you’ve walked on a rice field filled with KAdo or mud, you’d know what I mean. If not, it’s as slippery as a marbled floor covered with soap water. The soles of their feet are often cracked just like the dry earth under their feet. Their toenails chipped, like delicately sturdy ballerinas. They slip through the gaps created by mangrove roots very easily too.
To them, the land underneath their feet is more than a provider for the firewood they collect to cook food and the rice they sow and harvest to earn a living. It's the material that shelters them. The place that connects them to their families, gives them a sense of comfort when their husbands and sons migrate in search of jobs. It connects them to the land, constant under their feet despite the battering from frequent cyclones. Their playful childhood wandering and working the secrets of the dense jungle, the camaraderie of village folk while toiling for wood.
It’s the memories they hold.
I usually referred to the handheld GPS for directions as phone service was pretty iffy in this part of town. This one time both my phone and handheld GPS conked. We were deep inside the forest, a bit off from the main trail. Just me and my field assistant. In every direction were large dense trees, embedded in slushy, muddy ground with no end in sight. I started mentally preparing myself for ways to survive here, in case we got stuck for a very long time. Did I know how to start a fire? Did we have enough food? Just snacks would get us by for another hour at the least. No, probably just another ten minutes because the stress was making us hungrier. Everything was wet and there was no way we could get a fire going. Plus, no dry ground to rest our tired bums.
We tried to stay calm. We also enjoyed the adventure but wouldn’t advise anyone to tread alone here. After many failed attempts, we finally stumbled upon a trail that led us to a large swath of open rice fields. A little further down, we spotted a mud house. We went inside to ask for further directions, and also inquired about handheld water pumps that we could use to wash our legs that were soaked in knee-deep-mud.
The woman noticed the zip lock bags we were carrying and asked us if there were crabs inside. She was baffled upon knowing it was “only” mud. She then looked at the sickle and our makeshift auger and asked my field assistant why we didn’t get any firewood?!
The women at my field site have a special relationship with this mud. Their sense of balance is admirably astonishing. If you’ve walked on a rice field filled with KAdo or mud, you’d know what I mean. If not, it’s as slippery as a marbled floor covered with soap water. The soles of their feet are often cracked just like the dry earth under their feet. Their toenails chipped, like delicately sturdy ballerinas. They slip through the gaps created by mangrove roots very easily too.
To them, the land underneath their feet is more than a provider for the firewood they collect to cook food and the rice they sow and harvest to earn a living. It's the material that shelters them. The place that connects them to their families, gives them a sense of comfort when their husbands and sons migrate in search of jobs. It connects them to the land, constant under their feet despite the battering from frequent cyclones. Their playful childhood wandering and working the secrets of the dense jungle, the camaraderie of village folk while toiling for wood.
It’s the memories they hold.