Tag: arctic

This article was written by Jenn Thornhill and was published in the Globe & Mail on December 18, 2024.

Rapidly changing ice conditions are disrupting fishing traditions and access to essential resources

This is the second of a two-part series on how Inuit communities are adapting to climate change, which is disproportionately affecting coastlines in Canada’s Far North.

Hauling lines from a hole drilled in the seasonal sea ice, Joey Angnatok could easily be ice fishing on the Labrador Sea at the end of March. Early spring or upinngasâk in Nunatsiavut, the self-governing Inuit region in northeastern Newfoundland and Labrador, is a time when many people enjoy going out on the ice to fish and hunt for wild foods.

But instead of using a hook and line to catch fish, the Inuk knowledge keeper and fisherman is using a device called an “IceShark” to collect phytoplankton and zooplankton, the ocean’s tiniest plants and animals.

“I’ve long been a fisherman, but I never imagined I’d be a plankton hunter ,” says Mr. Angnatok, who helped design the harvesting instrument, which mimics ab asking shark.

Just as a basking shark filters seawater through its mouth and gill rakers to feed on plankton and small fish, the IceShark strains water through a four-foot-long cylinder and mesh funnels to trap plankton in a collection tube.

The sample Mr. Angnatok is collecting will go to a local lab to determine whether plankton have bloomed yet, aiming to fill a crucial data gap in the region. While it may not look like the food he lands at the local fishing wharf, plankton is vital nourishment for the entire marine food chain, including the country foods that are important to Labrador Inuit.

In Canada’s Far North, climate change is speeding up the melting ofseaice, which in turn is cuing an earlier spring arrival of plankton. That shift could further threaten Labrador Inuit’s access to the wild foods they rely on for nutrition and which hold cultural significance in Nunatsiavut.

In this region, access to country foods is already constrained by the rising costs of getting out on the land, water and ice to hunt, fish, trap or gather. Since storebought foods are shipped in by airplane or ferryboat, stocking up on healthy, affordable options also remains a challenge because these foods are frequently expensive, inconsistently available and, in the case of perishable items, often arrive in suboptimal condition.

“The high prevalence of food insecurity among Inuit is among the longest-lasting public-health crises faced by a Canadian population ,” the Inuit Tap ir iitKa natami (ITK), the representative body of Inuit in Canada, reported in its 2021 food security strategy.

More than three-quarters (77 per cent) of children in Inuit Nunangat, the Inuit homeland in Canada, lived in households that experienced food insecurity in 2022, according to Statistics Canada’s Indigenous People’s Survey. The majority (68 per cent) of Labrador Inuit over the age of 15 reported living in food-insecure households, according to Statscan’s 2017 survey, which offers the most recent Nunatsiavut-specific estimate.

Back on the Labrador sea ice, Mr. Angnatok holds two chips of dirty ice to the sunlight.

The yellowed ice is the tell-tale sign of algae growth, he says. In spring or upinngak, as the sea ice melts and more sunlight reaches the surface, phytoplankton grows and spreads.

During the peak of that process, the spring bloom, dense microalgae concentrations billow and spiral, forming patterns that are distinctive of the buoyant nature of phytoplankton.

While these microscopic organisms may seem worlds apart from country foods such as Arctic char and ringed seals, they are interconnected and highlight the intricate web of life within the marine ecosystem.

“Plankton is essentially the very beginning of the food web or food chain,” says Eleanor Barry, a Memorial University doctoral student who is working with Mr. Angnatok as part of the local effort to better understand plankton dynamics in Nunatsiavut. “It uses sun and carbon dioxide to create energy, which is passed on through the food web to the small fish, which are then eaten by larger fish, seals and people.”

The spring bloom triggers a period of feeding, starting with zooplankton, such as copepods emerging from deep-sea hibernation to the surface.

“Their biological clock wakes them up and they go to the surface to eat,” says Frédéric Cyr, an oceanographer with the Department of Fisheries and Oceans (DFO) in St. John’s, who studies bloom timing on the Newfoundland and Labrador shelf.

“This is an adaptation to the environment. And if the environment is changing, then it messes up the biological clock of the ocean.”

“If they don’ t find the bloom–if they are too early or too late–then they will die, they will eat each other and they won’t be able to reproduce,” he says.

That’s the mismatch version of the “match-mismatch theory,” when an organism’s demand for a resource is out-of-sync with the peak abundance of that resource, says Maxime Geoffroy, a marine ecosystem researcher who studies sub-Arctic and Arctic regions at the Marine Institute of Memorial University in St. John’s.

“The spring bloom is getting earlier and earlier in Labrador, so you are prone to this mismatch,” says Mr. Geoffroy, pointing to the relationship between zooplankton and capelin, a forage fish that is food for fish, seals, whales and seabirds.

Both larval and adult capelin depend on zooplankton as a primary source of food.

The latest assessment by the Canadian Science Advisory Secretariat, the independent body that provides advice to the DFO, shows capelin are critically depleted, with a population abundance of just 9 per cent of its historical peak. Scientists say more research is needed to understand the food chain connections between an earlier spring bloom on zoo plan kton and cape lin abundance.

Adding to the complexity, Mr. Geoffroy says, is the warming of the Northwest Atlantic, which is pushing species like capelin northward into colder sub-Arctic and Arctic waters. Despite the cold Labrador Current’s “masking effect,” scientists have noted an increased abundance of capelin in the stomachs of Arctic seabirds, whales, seals and fish, while sand lance, another forage fish, is also becoming more prevalent in northern and Arctic waters.

What is particularly worrisome, scientists say, is that changes in forage fish distribution and earlier bloom timing could serve as bellwethers for declining abundance in cherished wild foods like char. Commonly found throughout the Canadian Arctic, char is as crucial an Inuit food source in the north as Pacific salmon is for First Nations in the west.

Like salmon, migratory char moves from freshwater to reproduce, to saltwater to feed, and back again. Found on the Labrador coast, char live in rivers from the northernmost reaches of the waterways in the Torngat Mountains all the way south to the tip of Newfoundland’s Northern Peninsula.

Labrador Inuit rely on Arctic char in summer and winter for subsistence. The Nunatsiavut government operates a commercial communal char fishery in summer.

Inuk elder Gus Dicker is one of about a dozen commercial char fishers in Nain, the northernmost community on the Labrador coast. From aboard his 20-foot boat, the 72-year-old elder says he has seen changes that threaten the fishing and the fish, too.

“It’s nothing compared to what it used to be when I used to manage the fish plant for about 18 years. We used to have hundreds of fishermen,” Mr. Dicker says.

That was in the eighties. The fish plant ran three shifts, operating 24 hours a day, processing 200,000 pounds of char and salmon in a season.

“Now, they’re lucky to get 35,000 pounds,” Mr. Dicker says.

For the past decade, some local

fishers have reported char are smaller and less abundant–an indication that the fishery, although a shadow of what it was, may be less sustainable.

But Mr. Dicker says he has personally seen better-sized char lately – fish 10 to 12 pounds, compared with ones that averaged a few pounds in the eighties.

Keith Watts, manager of the Torngat Fish Co-op, the Inuitowned and operated fish processor running the two fish plants on the northern coast of Labrador, including the one Mr. Dicker used to run in Nain, also reports better catches in recent years but says no one can say for certain without the science.

“We have seen fluctuations in our population, yes, and we are concerned about the science, or lack of, and that’s why we’ve pushed for the last 20 to 30 years to get more eyes there,” Mr. Watts says. IanBradbury, aDFOresearch scientist, says the challenge in making any predictions about char abundance is that there is no data. The last time the federal fisheries department undertook a stock assessment was 20 years ago, in 2004.

“Is there any data on abundance at the moment to say, ‘well, we’re seeing declines in this region that might support those predictions?’ I’m not sure we do,” he says.

“We need better assessment data for Arctic char. But at the moment, we’re left with ecological studies that, while useful, are not really telling us the most important question – how many fish are there?”

What recent ecological studies have shown is revealing, however.

A 2021 Nature Climate Change study examining the genetic variation of Labrador Arctic char as a marker of climate vulnerability found the southernmost population of char to be particularly vulnerable to climate change and other stressors, with evidence that the southern population was already shifting northward. Greater genetic variation within a species helps that species to adapt to changing environments; however, the authors found that southernmost char “may be unable to adapt to pervasive warming in the Arctic.”

Meanwhile, a 2021 Marine Ecology Progress Series study found that migratory char in Nunatsiavut were able to respond to shifts in their environment, such as finding new prey sources when existing ones were diminished. But that behavioural plasticity, as the authors described it, only holds true to a point and may be “insufficient to deal with the large environmental perturbations expected to arise from a changing climate.”

Similarly, a 2024 Environmental Biology of Fishes study found that “due to their use of distinct habitats at specific life stages, migratory chars are vulnerable to climate-induced changes to habitat quantity and quality.”

While studies that evaluate how char respond to changes in their climate and ecosystem are rare, a 2023 Nature study that examined changes in sea ice conditions, sea surface temperature and plankton bloom timing in northern Labrador found that Arctic char and ringed seals shifted their feeding habits in response to shifts in plankton abundance.

In the years when sea surface temperatures were higher and sea ice concentrations were lower, both species adapted by eating a greater variety of prey. Also, in years when phytoplankton was less abundant, the authors found that char fed further offshore, eating less energy-rich prey. In other words, limitations for plankton, at the base of the food chain, reached up the food web to char, negatively affecting the health and condition of the fish.

Having completed their second season of data collection, with sites around Nain and a few hundred kilometres south near the Nunatsiavut community of Postville, Ms. Barry and Mr. Angnatok hope to have findings by early 2025. What they can say is the sea ice is weakening.

“One concern is we are seeing the ice breaking up earlier, the ice season is becoming shorter,” Ms. Barry says.

Case in point: At what is often the coldest time of year, the end of March, when air temperatures average -30 C with wind chill and the ice is at its thickest, Mr. Angnatok recorded the temperature as 10 degrees warmer and the ice a footand-a-half thinner than normal.

That’s evidence of the same warming trend happening across the region, Mr. Cyr says.

Time series data collected for more than half a century and updated annually to inform the Newfoundland and Labrador Climate Index, which is maintained byDFO and describes the environmental conditions of the Northwest Atlantic ocean, show prevalent sea ice season loss, ice degradation and steady and recordbreaking increases in temperature, both in the air and the sea.

These factors – from sea ice retreat to warmer air and ocean temperatures – define the Northwest Atlantic ocean climate that predicates the spring bloom, Mr. Cyr says.

In a peer-reviewed paper, published in 2023 in Limnology and Oceanography Letters, Mr. Cyr and colleagues showed that warmer ocean conditions, as described by the NL Climate Index (and not limited to sea ice retreat), correlate to the timing of an earlier spring bloom – starting earlier in the southern range (mid-March on the Grand Banks of Newfoundland) and later in the northern limits (late April on the southern Labrador shelf). While the relationship is not as strong, a warmer ocean climate also corresponds to a greater abundance of zooplankton-like copepods.

Mr. Cyr and colleagues undertook the work by microscope and satellite, collecting zooplankton samples across the study region to examine in the lab while capturing the phytoplankton bloom using satellite imagery of ocean colour.

“If you don’t have the vantage point of space for oceanography, you are completely blind to things that are happening there,” says Jeremy Werdell, a research oceanographer at NASA Goddard Space Flight Center. Mr. Werdell leads the project team that, in February, launched a new satellite called PACE, which stands for Plankton, Aerosol, Cloud ocean Ecosystem, to add to the space agency’s fleet of Earth-observing satellites.

With the ocean covering 71 percent of the surface of the Earth and phytoplankton communities capable of doubling and tripling on a scale of hours to days to weeks, satellite imagery is an oceanographer’s best friend, Mr. Werdell says.

But seasonal ice and persistent cloud coverage in Nunatsiavut inhibits the use of satellite imagery, which is one of the reasons the locally designed IceShark method is invaluable.

Arctic char, ringed seal and moose are some of what’s on offer at the community freezer in Nain at the end of March. Depending on availability, Labrador Inuit can drop by daily to access these nutritious, safe and preferred country foods at the freezer, which is housed in the same building as the Nunatsiavut government research lab where Mr. Angnatok’s sample will go.

That co-location brings benefits that align with a holistic ecosystem-based approach, says Rodd Laing, director of environment at the Nunatsiavut government. After sending an animal sample to the lab, for example, research lab staff prepare the remaining food for the freezer.

“The rest of the food from the fish, seals and seabirds, rather than being wasted, is going into the community freezers and then being distributed to communities as wild food, which is especially important for those who can’t access wild food,” Mr. Laing says.

In a region that struggles with access to affordable food, the community freezer helps residents feed their families while building on an Inuit tradition of sharing food.

Meals of char – and the plankton research by Ms. Barry and Mr. Angnatok – have become even more important with a decreased supply of caribou, another preferred country food.

The George River Caribou Herd has long been a source of sustenance for Labrador Inuit, but a provincial hunting ban remains in place since 2013 as the latest population survey finds the herd’s numbers are historically low.

The latest population estimate at 8,600 is just 1 per cent of its historical peak, according to an October, 2024, Nunatsiavut government release.

More than a source of food, hunting and fishing reconnects Labrador Inuit to a way of life.

In years past, Mr. Dicker recalls the many trips families took returning to their northern homes in Okak Bay, Hebron and Saglek Fjord to fish Arctic char.

The simple practice of getting out in a boat to catch a few Arctic char is enough to reconnect Inuit to a long-held belief system that home is where the harvest is, Mr. Dicker says.

“They weren’t only fishing, they were going back home,” he says.