Anyone who's played Risk will probably remember Kamchatka as "That place you can attack Alaska from." Like most of the territories in Risk, Kamchatka of the Hasbro game doesn't exactly match its modern political boundaries :
400,000 people live on the peninsula, and about 13,000 are Koryak (about 3%). For comparison, Alaska has about 686,000 people, of which roughly 100,000 (15%) are native peoples. In terms of population, the Koryaks' situation more closely resembles that of the Ainu of Hokkaido (also about 3% of the population, going by self-identification) than native Alaskans.
Kamchatka has volcanoes. Lots and lots of volcanoes. It's part of the Ring of Fire, with 160 volcanoes, 29 of which are active. The whole area is seismically active, and there was a decent-size quake off the coast just this Sunday.
Phil Plait at Bad Astronomy posted about an this awesome photo of two Kamchatkan volcanoes erupting at the same time. It was captured in February, 2010 by NASA's TERRA Earth-observing satellite as it flew over (the TERRA website appears to be down right now - this isn't rocket science, NASA!).
These volcanoes, and the microbes that live in and around them, are the reason why we're traveling around the world to see this place. Wherever magma is close enough to the surface to interact with groundwater, superheated steam can be forced toward the surface. Depending on the how much it cools before reaching the surface and the pressure under which it emerges, the liquid can for a variety of hydrothermal features; geysers, fumaroles and springs if the liquid emerges on land, and black smokers and white smokers if it emerges under water.
Along the way, the water dissolves various minerals and gases from the rock, and catalyzes the formation of new minerals and gases. By the time it emerges at the surface, it has become a complex suspension of minerals, gases and liquids, some dissolved, others suspended as a colloid, and others in bubbles and grains. I'm going to stop calling it "water" and call this stuff "volcanic liquid."
The chemistry of the emerging liquid depends on the chemistry, temperature, depth, thickness, packing and order of each layer of rock and soil it transits on the way to the surface, as well as the pressure and temperature of the liquid at each step along its journey.
A thermal pool at Lassen Volcanic National Park
My favorite way to explain how there could be so much variety in volcanic liquids is to think about coffee. It's possible to make several very different kinds of coffee from the same beans. If you grind them very fine, pack them tightly, and force steam through the grounds at high pressure, you get espresso. If you grind them even finer and suspend them in hot water as a colloid, you get Turkish coffee. If you grind them coarsely, suspend them in water, and remove them with a sieve, you get French-style coffee. If you grind them moderately, put them in a filter cone, and pour hot water through them, you get American-style drip coffee. They each taste totally different, despite being made from exactly the same ingredients.
Now, instead of coffee grounds, imagine many layers of rock, each with different chemistry, packing density, and thickness. Rocks, by the way, are pretty complicated things, and can be made out of almost anything. Practically every source of volcanic liquid from around the world has a unique chemical composition.
This variety is one of the reasons microbiologists are so interested in the organisms that live in these liquids. Organisms that live in the Earth's atmosphere, like you and me, have only a few attractive options for how we run our metabolisms. For organisms that live in volcanic liquids, every combination of dissolved and suspended minerals and gases offers its own unique metabolic opportunities. Volcanic structures tend to persist for a long time, and so their denizens have time to evolve very well-adapted strategies for living in these places.
Visiting these volcanic vents is like taking a trip to an alien world, or like visiting Earth when it was a radically different planet. Volcanic zones don't just look alien, they are alien!
An alien habitat at Lassen Volcanic National Park
I will be spending almost two weeks up-close-and-personal with some of these alien habitats, so there will be more to come.
This is the first in a series of articles I plan to write over the next three weeks covering my field expedition to Uzon Caldera and attendance the 2010 International Workshop on Biodiversity, Molecular Biology and Biogeochemistry of Thermophiles. In this post, I'll outline my plans for the series and explain why I'm writing it.
If you would like to follow along, check in here, or subscribe to my RSS feed. Or if you would like to follow the series and not the rest of my blog, I will be tagging all of the posts in the series kamchatka. At Uzon Caldera, I will be posting updates to my Twitter feed by satellite phone (you can also subscribe to my Twitter RSS feed.)
Before I leave on Tuesday, I will post articles introducing the natural history of Kamchatka, my plans and preparations for getting getting there and working there, and maybe a few other things.
I have two broad goals :
- Study the biochemistry, genomics, and physiology of thermophilic organisms in their natural habitat.
- Document and share the experience.
The second mission is to bring you along. I've been asked by my thesis advisor to write about, photograph, tweet and film as much of the field expedition and the workshop as possible, and present it as an example of what it's like to actually do science. My goal is to present the company, the food, the work, the travel, the joys, the annoyances, the surprises, the good, the bad, and the ridiculous.
Science remains firmly misunderstood by the public. My personal experience suggests that the public actually understands the products of science -- powerful theories and key facts -- a bit better than polling data suggests. The core of public misunderstanding, I think, rests in how people believe science works as an institution and as a profession.
A couple of years ago, Fermilab invited a group of seventh graders to visit the laboratory to check out the various awesome things they have available for the public to see. Before the visit, the students were asked to write about what they thought scientists were like, and to draw a picture to go along with it. After the visit, they were asked to repeat the exercise. The results eye-opening. Here is an example I particularly liked, from a girl named Rachel :
Most of the before pictures feature lab coats filled by older, white men without much hair. Many of the kids mentioned that they thought scientists were "a little bit crazy," and most represented their scientist as some sort of authority figure. The after-visit results are equally interesting; many of the comments seem astonished that scientists have families, and that they enjoy things other than science.
The phrase "regular people" comes up again and again in their after-visit writing. Students are usually pretty good at ignoring phrases that are deliberately emphasized. When you see a bunch students incorporate exactly the same phrase into a free-form writing assignment, it's usually something that an adult mentioned without anticipating the impact it would have. The concept that scientists could be "regular people" was evidently a bit of a shock.
Obviously this is anecdotal, and it's important not to read too much into it. It is, however, a useful example of the sort of challenges we face if we want society to understand science itself, rather than simply memorizing the things science produces. None of this is original to me. If you want an entertaining treatment of science in the media, check out Christopher Frayling's Mad, Bad and Dangerous?: The Scientist and the Cinema (I apologize for the bizarre question-mark colon thing).
I've written about this before. Last November, I wrote :
The problem is that scientists do not spend enough time talking with the general public. Only a small minority of scientists take the trouble to arrange their findings in a form digestible by the lay audience, as Darwin did. When they do, it is almost never cutting-edge research that fills the pages. Very few scientists go on television or the radio. The practice today is to bring research to lay the audience only when it is neatly tied up (or, the research community feels that it is, anyway). There are those who do otherwise, but there is a negative stigma to it; scientists who announce their findings with press releases instead of peer-reviewed papers are usually regarded with suspicion.Scientists have a responsibility to share what they do.
Over the next three weeks, I'm going to put that thought into action.
I've been working on the analysis of environmental samples from two sites at Uzon Caldera (about 10,000 Sanger reads from each sequenced at the JGI), and I'm hoping that I'll be able to reprocess the DNA here at the UC Davis Genome Center using some of our high-throughput machines. Licensing and customs restrictions will probably make it impossible to bring my own samples back, but I may be able to entrust them to a colleague with fancier credentials than my own.
Insofar as it will be possible, I will be blogging from Kamchatka and uploading photographs and data, so please ask questions in the comments!
I'll be arriving in Petropavlovsk on the 30th of July, with the help of a generous grant from the Carnegie Institution for Science Deep Carbon Observatory.