The Kona Low

Severe flooding across Oahu, Hawaii, is the product of an unusually potent and persistent Kona Low.  The latter is a center of low pressure that typically develops northwest of the Hawaiian Islands during the winter months, sweeping tropical moisture across that archipelago from the southwest.

Held in place by an atmospheric trough (a dip in the jet stream), this "cutoff low"generally persists for a few weeks, producing a typical rainy season.  This year, the Kona Low developed relatively late in the winter but its strength and persistence has led to the torrential precipitation and record flooding.

Of interest, this atmospheric trough over the Pacific is tied to the persistent atmospheric ridge over the Desert Southwest, which has fueled the severe heat that is currently spreading eastward across the U.S.  Climatologists believe that both extremes demonstrate the effects of our warming climate.

Trees Native to Hawaii

Watching a PGA tournament from Oahu this afternoon, I began to wonder how many trees are native to that remote Pacific archipelago.  I thus consulted Common Forest Trees of Hawaii by Elbert L. Little and Roger G. Skolmen of the U.S. Department of Agriculture (available online).

Before reading the article, I assumed that few of Hawaii's trees are native to the islands due to their remote location and relatively young age (10 million years or so); I was wrong.  In fact, Hawaii leads all U.S. States in its number of native tree species.  At least 300 grace the islands, thought to have evolved from 78 unique species that arrived over the years; genetic testing suggests that 45 arrived from the West or Southwest (Indo-Pacific region), 16 from the South Pacific and 7 from North America.

The seeds are thought to have arrived on floating vegetation, via seabird droppings or on the winds of powerful hurricanes.  Of course, the lush vegetation of present-day Hawaii also includes a large number of trees introduced by early Polynesian settlers, by European explorers and by modern-day humans.  Of note, 18 of the many palm species found today are native to Hawaii.

Hurricanes & Shorebirds

The recent Gulf of Mexico hurricanes that struck Florida (Helene and Milton) have significantly altered the beaches of Longboat Key and Anna Marie Island.  The beaches of these barrier islands are noticeably broader and flatter than they were in the past and much of their sand has been pushed onto or across the islands by the storm surge and strong winds.

Such findings were not unexpected when we returned to our condo but I have also noticed a dearth of shorebirds on these beaches. In the past three days I have only encountered modest-sized flocks of sanderlings and a few ruddy turnstones and black-bellied plovers.  While the number of other seabirds seem to be relatively unchanged, one wonders if the storms altered both the structure and ecology of the beaches, "sterilizing" them of food sources that normally attract the shorebirds.

While I have no scientific data to support this theory, there is little doubt that shallow marine and tidewater ecosystems are affected by these powerful storms.  Perhaps the dramatic decrease in shorebirds reflects less obvious changes in the beaches and coastal waters, the recovery of which may take many months. 

Through Helene's Aftermath

Driving out to our condo on Longboat Key, we passed through Bradenton Beach, which was devastated by Hurricane Helene over two months ago.  Significant damage is still widespread and piles of beach sand cover most of the ground.

Most noticeable was the limited human activity on that Friday afternoon.  Usually bustling with tourists during the Holiday Season, many of the shops, restaurants and rental units have been shut down, if not destroyed.  It was a sad sight to behold and a warning that we have just begun to witness the ravages of climate change.

The storm's wrath extended across northern sections of Longboat Key as well but, farther south, our condo complex was spared any serious damage.  Nevertheless, one cannot ignore the growing threat of rising seas and severe hurricanes; we do not plan to rebuild when that day arrives and may choose to abandon this barrier island in advance of its eventual destruction.

Supporting Denial & Risk

Last evening, a story on 60 Minutes (CBS) highlighted life on Smith Island in Chesapeake Bay.  The livelihood and property of the Island's residents are threatened by rising sea levels; the latter, of course, is a consequence of global warming.

The report indicated that Maryland has offered to buy the properties and have them demolished, allowing residents to move to higher ground on the mainland; apparently, there were no takers.  As a result, the State and Federal Government have initiated costly and, in the long run, futile efforts to mitigate the flooding.

Proud of their heritage, long-time residents of Smith Island certainly have the right to hold out as long as possible.  More questionable is the State's willingness to permit new construction by adventurous residents arriving from the mainland.  Island and coastal communities across the globe are threatened by climate change; do we admire their tenacity and support their high risk choices or do we limit public funding to resettlement assistance?  Denial, in the name of tradition, is not a helpful approach. 

Climate Change and Deveaux Bank

In the Autumn, 2024, issue of Living Bird from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, an article describes both the importance of and threat to Deveaux Bank, an offshore island at the mouth of the Edisto River, near Charleston, South Carolina.  Long known as an important breeding site for brown pelicans, black skimmers and other marine birds, it gained special notoriety in 2017 when it was documented to be a rest stop for 20,0000 whimbrels, migrating between the Arctic and South America.

As is reported in the article, Deveaux Bank was significantly eroded by Hurricane Idalia and another powerful storm last year, though some acreage has since been added back by river sediment.  Knowing its importance as both a marine bird nesting site and as a rest stop for half of the whimbrels in Eastern North America (in addition to other shorebird migrants), the island was closed to human use for seven months (March 15-October 15).

This saga highlights the fact that humans are not the only species affected by climate change (though we were the only species to cause it).  Then again, many, if not most species are more adaptable than we are; nevertheless, we must intervene on their behalf whenever possible. 

Milton and the Front

Before Hurricane Milton made landfall, at Siesta Key, Florida, its outer bands had produced almost forty supercell tornados across southern portions of the State.  Indeed, damage from those storms might exceed that produced by the hurricane core itself.

As Milton reached the Gulf Coast, it was interacting with a front that dipped across Northern Florida, producing torrential rain on the north side of the hurricane (including the Tampa-St. Petersburg area).  The most intense winds of the eye-wall remained south of that Metro Area and the strongest storm surge hit the coastline south of Sarasota.

News of damage on Longboat Key may take a while to emerge but our primary risk may have come from surge off Sarasota Bay as well as the high winds of the eye-wall.  Overnight,  Hurricane Milton has moved northeastward along the front and across the Florida peninsula, unleashing heavy rain and destructive winds before heading into the Atlantic. 

In Milton's Path

We purchased our condo on Longboat Key, Florida, over 20 years ago; even then, the building was almost 40 years old.  When we made that leap, we understood that owning property on a barrier island carries a significant risk.  This week, it appears that risk has become a reality as Hurricane Milton, currently a Category 4 storm, barrels toward that narrow strip of sand.

A storm surge of 15 feet is currently predicted and our condo complex may end up in Sarasota Bay.  Though global warming was receiving limited attention back in the early 2000s, we now know that building on barrier islands is pure folly; even if the structure might withstand severe storms, access, utilities and nearby amenities may be lost for extended periods of time.  Indeed, there has been a general exodus from low lying coastal areas of Florida as both extreme weather and insurance rates increase dramatically.  Only the very wealthy are still buying property in these high risk zones.

Whatever level of damage is inflicted by Milton, we won't be visiting Longboat Key anytime soon.  Nature may just reclaim the site.

Reflections on the Faroes

As we prepare to return to the U.S., it is appropriate to reflect on our visit to the Faroe Islands.  Though we expected a small capital city, loosely connected to coastal fishing villages, we found a vibrant economy with air connections to a number of European cities (including winter flights to the Mediterranean).  Long dependent on ferries for regional transportation, the larger islands are now connected via sub-sea tunnels and travel is very efficient throughout the Faroes.  Cell and Wifi service are widely available, even in some of the smallest towns.

Ignited by whaling in the early 20th Century, the national economy now depends primarily on fishing, salmon farming and sheep ranching, though tourism has increased significantly.  Indeed, nordic cruise lines regularly stop in Torshavn, the capital city, which sits along a natural harbor and offers an excellent variety of amenities; its old town neighborhood, art museum and cultural center were especially appealing.

Fortunately, our tour guide grew up in the Faroes and has an intimate knowledge of the landscape; it seemed she knows most of its inhabitants as well.  Without her expert guidance, our visit would have been far less productive and enjoyable. Our thanks for her enthusiastic introduction to these beautiful islands. 

The Erosive Force of Water

Beyond their stark beauty, the Faroe Islands demonstrate the erosive force of flowing water.  Since rifting from Greenland, 55 million years ago, this volcanic terrane has been molded by glacial ice, torrential rain, pounding waves, strong currents and numerous streams.  Due to their northern latitude, freeze-thaw cycles have also played a significant role in sculpting the islands.

Of course, most of this erosive activity persists today and is readily evident to the visitor.  Landslide scars are observed, frequent rain drenches the highlands, currents alter the course of boat transportation and powerful waves lash the rocky headlands.  Sheep and hares, both introduced by humans, are the only mammals that inhabit the steep, grass-covered slopes and countless waterfalls adorn the ridges.

This is a country of rock and water.  Though man has managed to settle along its coasts and fjords, water will eventually erode these scenic islands into the sea. 

Traditions in the Faroe Islands

Heading out this morning, we encountered a funeral procession on a city street.  We learned that the family walks behind the hearse as the body is moved from the hospital to the church and that it is a national tradition for passersby to stop their vehicle and get out to honor the dead.  It proved to be a moving experience.

Soon thereafter, we learned that August is "fulmar season" in the country.  During this time, boaters go out to scoop up chubby fulmar chicks from the sea surface, using nets at the end of long poles.  The chicks, having dropped from nearby cliffs, are unable to fly for a week or so and are thus easily collected for their tasty flesh.

Nearing the end of the day, we visited a whaling museum where the history of that industry was reviewed and where the rusting equipment was displayed; the Faroe Islands have not been hunting large whales since the early 1980s.  Nevertheless, pilot whales are still hunted and that non-commercial practice was defended as a long-standing tradition in the Faroes.  I suppose the appropriateness of traditions lies in the eye of the beholder. 

Hiking the North Coast

When one hikes in the Faroe Islands, they are generally not following a trail.  Rather, they are walking on uneven, meandering paths of mud, rocks and compressed grass.  Today, on a popular hike above the north shore of "Flute Island," a steep climb was followed by braided routes, leading to the North Coast lighthouse.

While the hike was strenuous and slow-going, rest stops at boulders or crumbling out-buildings (photo) offered a broad view of the North Atlantic.  Clouds of seabirds (Arctic terns, kittiwakes, storm petrels, fulmars and others), circled overhead while sheep grazed on the rocky, windswept grasslands.

The hike offered everything that the Faroe Islands are known for: expansive views, stark beauty, a wealth of seabirds and the clash of rock and sea.  One exception to our expectations were the crowds, drawn to this well-known trail despite the chilly, windy conditions. 

The Faroe Islands

 In Why Should I Cry, one of my favorite songs by Sting, he refers to the "stones of Faroe."  For many years, I thought that his reference was mystical, having something to do with a pharaoh.  Then I learned about the Faroe Islands.

The latter are an archipelago of 18 volcanic islands in the North Atlantic, known to naturalists for their marine bird populations; they formed about 55 MYA, along the North Atlantic Rift.  First settled by Nordic explorers as early as the 4th Century AD, the Faroes became a territory of Norway in the 11th Century and joined the Kingdom of Denmark in the early 1800s.  The local culture and language remain distinct from the mainland.

Today we flew from Copenhagen to the Faroe Islands (a 1.75 hour flight), where we will spend the next week; the landscape of grass-covered ridges, numerous waterfalls and intervening fjords reminds us of Iceland and Northern Scotland.  More on these isolated, scenic islands in the coming days. 

An Unexpected Visitor

Walking along the beach this morning, I encountered the usual mix of shorebirds and seabirds that inhabit or frequent Longboat Key.  Joining them was one unexpected visitor.

A barn swallow, more associated with open farm country, was skimming the dunes, searching for insects.  Of course, this traveler (like myself) is but a transient visitor to the barrier island, far more comfortable in terrestrial ecosystems.

Having wintered in Central or South America, barn swallows are common summer residents throughout most of North America; a circumpolar species, they also nest in Europe and Asia.  Well adapted to rural human communities, especially those near lakes and wetlands, barn swallows nest primarily beneath the eaves of buildings or under bridges.  This morning's traveler was the first I have seen this spring. 

Evening Bay Watch

Granted a calm, warm evening along Sarasota Bay, I opted for an hour of birdwatching.  Though the absolute number of sightings was relatively low, it was more than worth my time.

Sitting at the edge of the seawall, my attention first turned to a little blue heron, hunting in a swath of grass.  Fish crows noisily called from the nearby rooftops while a pair of magnificent frigatebirds soared silently above the bay.  Brown pelicans, double-crested cormorants, white ibis and red-breasted mergansers were the most abundant visitors but I also encountered small numbers of least and royal terns, yellow-crowned night herons, great egrets, tricolored herons and roseate spoonbills.

Just before returning to our condo,  I watched five manatees glide along the seawall, their rotund figures barely visible in the fading light.  More from Longboat Key in the coming days.

Barred Owl on Longboat Key

About 5 AM, I was awakened by the distinctive hooting of a barred owl outside our condo on Longboat Key, Florida.  It was my first encounter with this species on the island since we started visiting, twenty years ago.

While barred owls are common in wooded swamps and wetlands (especially in the South), one does not generally associate them with mangroves and palm trees; other than the invasive Australian pines, trees on Longboat Key are mostly limited to those planted in yards and condo developments.  Of course, there are mice, birds and lizards to prey on and barred owls have been known to eat crabs as well.

Perhaps this morning's encounter would not be considered unusual by local birders but it was a pleasant surprise for me.  After all, we humans each have our own definition of "rare" events, based almost exclusively on our personal experience. 

Brier Island

South of Digby, Nova Scotia, a peninsula extends southwestward, broken by two passes into islands at its western extent.  At the western end of this chain is Brier Island, the westernmost point in Nova Scotia.  The peninsula and its islands are separated from the mainland by St. Mary's Bay while they represent the southeastern shore of the vast Bay of Fundy.

Our whale-watching adventure, again cancelled due to high winds, was to have originated at Brier Island so we decided to explore the island itself.  Our best options proved to be graveled roads that lead to its two lighthouses, overlooking the Bay of Fundy at the west and northeast ends of the island.  Seascapes and coastal wetlands at the western lighthouse were especially scenic (photo) and both seabirds and migrant raptors (sharp-shinned hawks and broad-winged hawks) were abundant.  Unfortunately, no whales were observed in the turbulent waters of the Bay.

Tomorrow morning we will leave Nova Scotia via a two-hour ferry trip across the Bay of Fundy to Saint John, New Brunswick; from there we will drive eastward to re-enter the U.S. at the Maine border.  If time permits, we hope to visit Acadia National Park before our long journey back to Missouri.

Islands of the Wealthy

Before our boat tour today, I thought that the "1000 Islands," which crowd the upper St. Lawrence Seaway, were mostly undeveloped, a scenic natural landscape that is also used for human recreation.  In fact, almost all of the islands and islets (which actually number more than 1800) are privately owned and inhabited.

The tour proved to be a study in human greed, development and ingenuity, including elaborate means of dealing with utilities.  Sure, a wide variety of wildlife also reside on the islands but their welfare seems to be secondary.

As we explore this planet, our expectations are not always met.  We may be disappointed by what we discover, as I was today.  But, unless we witness the impact of human activity, we will not alter our course.  Indeed, we are now experiencing the consequences of our poor stewardship.

Maui Wildfires

Though Hawaii is known for its lush, tropical landscapes, the volcanic mountains, prevailing winds and ocean currents produce micro-climates throughout the island chain.  Unfortunately, current atmospheric conditions set the stage for wildfires that are now raging in western Maui.

A dome of high pressure north of the archipelago and Hurricane Dora to the south are combining to rake the westernmost islands with strong east winds.  Gusting to 60 mph or more, the intensity and drying effect of these winds is exacerbated by the mountainous terrain.  As these winds descend west of the volcanos, the air heats up and dries out, augmenting the risk of wildfires.

Indeed, the current wildfires developed on the western slopes of the mountains, invading heavily-populated tourist areas.  Though the winds are expected to subside through the day, damage is reported to be extensive.  At least one wildfire has also developed on the west side of the Big Island. 

Flashback Post XXXVI

Mauna Loa, the largest active volcano on Earth, has reawakened on the Big Island of Hawaii.  A post from 2007 explains the formation and probable future of that volcanic island chain.

See: The Hawaiian Ridge