Go Before They're Gone
Dawson Tozier | November 2021
As our car smoothly ascended the infamous Going-to-the-Sun Road, I lowered my window just enough to try to get a better look at the still snowy peaks and sheer cliffs surrounding me. It was a beautiful August day in Montana, with blue bird skies and only the slightest of breezes. As we rounded the few remaining vertigo-inducing turns to Logan Pass, my family and I refined our plan for the day, the central goal being to see as many glaciers as possible.
Many of us, especially those who have had the opportunity to explore our nations incredible offering of national parks, have likely heard the dreaded statement before. “Go before they are gone”. It’s a mere five short words that pack the punch of about a thousand, and they can be credited to the extraordinarily beautiful, and thus popular, Glacier National Park.
Back in 2017, I too found myself speaking the dreaded phrase, selfishly, in an effort to persuade my parents that we too must make the pilgrimage west, after all, time is running out. Fortunately, the rather depressing approach did just the trick, and soon the dates were set.
It was a typically busy pre-Covid year in the park, and a brief stroll would lead you to encounter tourists from all across the globe. On first thought, I found it rather ironic that many of them likely flew in gas guzzling jumbo jets to get there, but remembering that I myself had driven for nearly two days to do the same, I chose to quietly dismiss the thought. As we began our noble quest to find the remaining ice, I quickly found myself surrounded by signs of the not so distant past; indicators of where the glaciers used to once stretch.
The retreat of the glaciers began to receive acute attention from scientists with the conception of the park itself in 1910, and observations have shown that every glacier in the park has, at least to a certain degree, been decreasing in both area as well as volume ever since (Florentine, 2019). Climate model simulations indicate that the average summer air temperature increased 0.67–1.00°C during the study period (1960– 2012), and glacial surface area decreased by ∼35% from 1966 to 2005 (Giersch, 2015). In the park, the evidence of this mass retreat is inescapable, with natural reminders such as rock color, vegetation moving uphill, and even little signs showing before and after pictures from the 80’s to the present pressing the issue everywhere you go. But, with a closer look, there are much more stressing indicators of the change.
Hidden within the four-word farewell to the glaciers lies a double meaning. If you go to Glacier, you are not only traveling to catch a glimpse of the fading ice giants, but you are also entering into an ecosystem that is fully reliant on the glaciers. As you say farewell to the ice, you are also saying farewell to countless specialized species unique to the area, such as the inconspicuous Zapada Glacier, or Western Glacier Stonefly.
A small invertebrate that is equally rare and picky in taste of environmental requirements, the Western Glacier Stone Fly has found itself in a true biodiversity bottleneck. Starting out life as tiny aquatic nymphs, they eventually emerge from glacial streams as adults, repping a light brown color and translucent wings. The flies are only known to inhabit six streams inside the park, as well as a handful of others outside. They prefer waters at or near a frigid 43°F, and have become a key indicator species for scientists studying glacier loss in the park, as well as the impending consequences (WGS, fws.gov). Stoneflies serve many roles, but from a scientific standpoint, they are considered to be one of the most sensitive indicators of water quality in streams. Due to this, they are frequently used as sentinel organisms in biological monitoring, as they are among the first macroinvertebrates to disappear from systems that are undergoing change, either through temperature, pollution, or other forms of physical habitat degradation (Jordon, 2010).
I, like many visitors to the park, had no idea that I was entering the habitat of these rare flies at the time, much less understood their importance as key environmental indicators. In fact, scientists and fly fishermen are just about the only people who truly take note of their presence in the glacial streams. But I wonder, if all visitors knew of their role and rarity of the Western Glacier Stonefly, how might our attitude toward the park change? Would it help open the eyes of humanity to see that climate change is more than about single species or events, but instead about systems and relationships?
As we made our way to our third target of the day, the breathtaking Many Glacier, I began to contemplate the future of the park and how my children will likely never see the park in the same way I was seeing it. In many ways, the shrinking glaciers are creating a pseudo gold rush for visitors. The closer they become to being gone, the more people will want to travel to see them, thus further worsening the human impact on warming. The Western Glacier Stonefly will likely one day fall as an innocent victim to this effect, but their absence is unlikely to get the attention it deserves. Beyond being an important indicator for scientists studying ice loss, they also serve a role in the broader ecosystem. Stoneflies act as tiny shredders, chomping down on leaves and other organic matter that then easily floats downstream (Federal Register /Vol. 76, No. 243). It’s a noble job for such a tiny creature, and it is one that helps keep ecosystems downstream healthy.
When I consider the story of the Western Glacier Stonefly, I am in a way reminded of the Great Auk, which was killed off due to its immense abundance, and then further down the line, immense rarity (Kolbert, 2015). The auk fell to extinction when their own rarity became so severe that their value to humans actually rose, leading to a few collectors killing off the what remained of the species for private collections. Through the popularity of the shrinking glaciers, the stoneflies are experiencing the exact same effect.
With the glacier gold rush in full swing and our planet warming at unprecedented rates, in my eyes, the Western Glacier Stonefly suddenly becomes a representative of the greater biodiversity crisis. Society has fallen into the pattern of bringing the most attention to species we generally relate with or find appealing, such as big cats or brightly colored tree frogs. Yet, climate change threatens biodiversity as a whole, and though we may not think that a niche species of ant in the Amazon, or a tiny brown fly in Montana may hold much weight, in reality they may be the glue for the entire surrounding ecosystem. This is what we too often miss in the climate change discussion, and the Western Glacier Stonefly truly embodies what it means to be an emblematic species.
Looking back down into the valley, a line of 3 brilliant turquoise lakes sleep just below a cathedral of towering peaks. From the elevated vantage point at Many Glacier, I find it near impossible to dismiss the complexity, and yet utter genius of nature. As glacier runoff moves downhill, the Western Glacier Stoneflies emerge and begin adding nutrients to the flow. Further down the valley, the water finds its first lake, depositing its nutritional payload, essential for supporting the species in the lake, upon entry. With each consecutive lake comes more nutrients and more life, all supporting one another through their roles and behaviors. Back in 2017, I only saw a fraction of this process, but now, I can see how an entire valley can rely on a mere block of ice and a rare brown fly. The Western Glacier Stonefly may not be the most impressive, cute, or even impactful species, but one thing I know for sure is that next time I visit the park, I will be spending a lot less time looking up at the high peaks, and a lot more time taking in what’s below my own two feet.
Sources
Florentine, C., 2019, Glacier retreat in Glacier National Park, Montana. (ver. 1.1, December 2019): U.S.
Geological Survey Fact Sheet 2019–3068, 2 p., https://doi.org/10.3133/fs20193068.
Federal Register /Vol. 76, No. 243/Monday, December ... - FWS. https://www.fws.gov/mountain- prairie/es/species/invertebrates/westernglacierstonefly/76FR78601.pdf.
Giersch, J. Jordan, S. Luikart, G. Jones, L. Hauer, R. Muhlfeld, C. Freshwater Science 2015 34:1, 53-65 Climate-induced range contraction of a rare alpine aquatic invertebrate
Jordon, S. Jepsen, S. Greenwald, N. Mazzacano, C. Hoffman, B. December 30, 2010. Petition to List the Western Glacier Stonefly, Zapada glacier as Endangered Species under the Endangered Species Act. The Xerces Society for Invertebrate Conservation The Center for Biological Diversity. Microsoft Word - Zapada-glacier-petition-28-December-2010.doc (xerces.org)
Kolbert. The Sixth Extinction. Bloomsbury Publishing PLC, 2015.
“Western Glacier Stonefly.” Official Web Page of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, https://www.fws.gov/mountain-prairie/es/westernGlacierStonefly.php.
Dawson Tozier | November 2021
As our car smoothly ascended the infamous Going-to-the-Sun Road, I lowered my window just enough to try to get a better look at the still snowy peaks and sheer cliffs surrounding me. It was a beautiful August day in Montana, with blue bird skies and only the slightest of breezes. As we rounded the few remaining vertigo-inducing turns to Logan Pass, my family and I refined our plan for the day, the central goal being to see as many glaciers as possible.
Many of us, especially those who have had the opportunity to explore our nations incredible offering of national parks, have likely heard the dreaded statement before. “Go before they are gone”. It’s a mere five short words that pack the punch of about a thousand, and they can be credited to the extraordinarily beautiful, and thus popular, Glacier National Park.
Back in 2017, I too found myself speaking the dreaded phrase, selfishly, in an effort to persuade my parents that we too must make the pilgrimage west, after all, time is running out. Fortunately, the rather depressing approach did just the trick, and soon the dates were set.
It was a typically busy pre-Covid year in the park, and a brief stroll would lead you to encounter tourists from all across the globe. On first thought, I found it rather ironic that many of them likely flew in gas guzzling jumbo jets to get there, but remembering that I myself had driven for nearly two days to do the same, I chose to quietly dismiss the thought. As we began our noble quest to find the remaining ice, I quickly found myself surrounded by signs of the not so distant past; indicators of where the glaciers used to once stretch.
The retreat of the glaciers began to receive acute attention from scientists with the conception of the park itself in 1910, and observations have shown that every glacier in the park has, at least to a certain degree, been decreasing in both area as well as volume ever since (Florentine, 2019). Climate model simulations indicate that the average summer air temperature increased 0.67–1.00°C during the study period (1960– 2012), and glacial surface area decreased by ∼35% from 1966 to 2005 (Giersch, 2015). In the park, the evidence of this mass retreat is inescapable, with natural reminders such as rock color, vegetation moving uphill, and even little signs showing before and after pictures from the 80’s to the present pressing the issue everywhere you go. But, with a closer look, there are much more stressing indicators of the change.
Hidden within the four-word farewell to the glaciers lies a double meaning. If you go to Glacier, you are not only traveling to catch a glimpse of the fading ice giants, but you are also entering into an ecosystem that is fully reliant on the glaciers. As you say farewell to the ice, you are also saying farewell to countless specialized species unique to the area, such as the inconspicuous Zapada Glacier, or Western Glacier Stonefly.
A small invertebrate that is equally rare and picky in taste of environmental requirements, the Western Glacier Stone Fly has found itself in a true biodiversity bottleneck. Starting out life as tiny aquatic nymphs, they eventually emerge from glacial streams as adults, repping a light brown color and translucent wings. The flies are only known to inhabit six streams inside the park, as well as a handful of others outside. They prefer waters at or near a frigid 43°F, and have become a key indicator species for scientists studying glacier loss in the park, as well as the impending consequences (WGS, fws.gov). Stoneflies serve many roles, but from a scientific standpoint, they are considered to be one of the most sensitive indicators of water quality in streams. Due to this, they are frequently used as sentinel organisms in biological monitoring, as they are among the first macroinvertebrates to disappear from systems that are undergoing change, either through temperature, pollution, or other forms of physical habitat degradation (Jordon, 2010).
I, like many visitors to the park, had no idea that I was entering the habitat of these rare flies at the time, much less understood their importance as key environmental indicators. In fact, scientists and fly fishermen are just about the only people who truly take note of their presence in the glacial streams. But I wonder, if all visitors knew of their role and rarity of the Western Glacier Stonefly, how might our attitude toward the park change? Would it help open the eyes of humanity to see that climate change is more than about single species or events, but instead about systems and relationships?
As we made our way to our third target of the day, the breathtaking Many Glacier, I began to contemplate the future of the park and how my children will likely never see the park in the same way I was seeing it. In many ways, the shrinking glaciers are creating a pseudo gold rush for visitors. The closer they become to being gone, the more people will want to travel to see them, thus further worsening the human impact on warming. The Western Glacier Stonefly will likely one day fall as an innocent victim to this effect, but their absence is unlikely to get the attention it deserves. Beyond being an important indicator for scientists studying ice loss, they also serve a role in the broader ecosystem. Stoneflies act as tiny shredders, chomping down on leaves and other organic matter that then easily floats downstream (Federal Register /Vol. 76, No. 243). It’s a noble job for such a tiny creature, and it is one that helps keep ecosystems downstream healthy.
When I consider the story of the Western Glacier Stonefly, I am in a way reminded of the Great Auk, which was killed off due to its immense abundance, and then further down the line, immense rarity (Kolbert, 2015). The auk fell to extinction when their own rarity became so severe that their value to humans actually rose, leading to a few collectors killing off the what remained of the species for private collections. Through the popularity of the shrinking glaciers, the stoneflies are experiencing the exact same effect.
With the glacier gold rush in full swing and our planet warming at unprecedented rates, in my eyes, the Western Glacier Stonefly suddenly becomes a representative of the greater biodiversity crisis. Society has fallen into the pattern of bringing the most attention to species we generally relate with or find appealing, such as big cats or brightly colored tree frogs. Yet, climate change threatens biodiversity as a whole, and though we may not think that a niche species of ant in the Amazon, or a tiny brown fly in Montana may hold much weight, in reality they may be the glue for the entire surrounding ecosystem. This is what we too often miss in the climate change discussion, and the Western Glacier Stonefly truly embodies what it means to be an emblematic species.
Looking back down into the valley, a line of 3 brilliant turquoise lakes sleep just below a cathedral of towering peaks. From the elevated vantage point at Many Glacier, I find it near impossible to dismiss the complexity, and yet utter genius of nature. As glacier runoff moves downhill, the Western Glacier Stoneflies emerge and begin adding nutrients to the flow. Further down the valley, the water finds its first lake, depositing its nutritional payload, essential for supporting the species in the lake, upon entry. With each consecutive lake comes more nutrients and more life, all supporting one another through their roles and behaviors. Back in 2017, I only saw a fraction of this process, but now, I can see how an entire valley can rely on a mere block of ice and a rare brown fly. The Western Glacier Stonefly may not be the most impressive, cute, or even impactful species, but one thing I know for sure is that next time I visit the park, I will be spending a lot less time looking up at the high peaks, and a lot more time taking in what’s below my own two feet.
Sources
Florentine, C., 2019, Glacier retreat in Glacier National Park, Montana. (ver. 1.1, December 2019): U.S.
Geological Survey Fact Sheet 2019–3068, 2 p., https://doi.org/10.3133/fs20193068.
Federal Register /Vol. 76, No. 243/Monday, December ... - FWS. https://www.fws.gov/mountain- prairie/es/species/invertebrates/westernglacierstonefly/76FR78601.pdf.
Giersch, J. Jordan, S. Luikart, G. Jones, L. Hauer, R. Muhlfeld, C. Freshwater Science 2015 34:1, 53-65 Climate-induced range contraction of a rare alpine aquatic invertebrate
Jordon, S. Jepsen, S. Greenwald, N. Mazzacano, C. Hoffman, B. December 30, 2010. Petition to List the Western Glacier Stonefly, Zapada glacier as Endangered Species under the Endangered Species Act. The Xerces Society for Invertebrate Conservation The Center for Biological Diversity. Microsoft Word - Zapada-glacier-petition-28-December-2010.doc (xerces.org)
Kolbert. The Sixth Extinction. Bloomsbury Publishing PLC, 2015.
“Western Glacier Stonefly.” Official Web Page of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, https://www.fws.gov/mountain-prairie/es/westernGlacierStonefly.php.