Tag Archives: biogeographic oyster study

Growing Pains (bigger is definitely not always better)

Dr. David Kimbro FSU Coastal & Marine Lab

California oyster cages

IGOR chip- biogeographic 150The small cages in the photo above were used in an experiment I conducted to study California oysters. The insanely large cages in the photo below are from an experiment designed for our insanely large biogeographic oyster study.

David by cage
While we had planned to install only 18 of these cages along the Atlantic coast of Florida, my crew wound up installing 70 cages over about six weeks. How did we reach such inflation in the number of cages and amount of digging? Well, it mainly stemmed from my ignorance of this area and the St. Johns River, which happens to dump a lot of sediment around oyster reefs. Because this sediment is deep and flocculent, it’s dangerous and almost impossible to work in. In fact, I may design a new study to analyze how oyster reefs manage to keep themselves above this ever-growing mud pit. I digress.

Relative to the abundance of these un-workable oyster reefs, mudflat areas suitable for our new experiment (i.e., near oyster reefs and firm footing) are quite rare. It was our luck (for better or worse, as you will soon read), we stumbled upon a sufficiently and suitable mudflat north of Jacksonville. After three days of hard digging, we managed to create large cages ready to support our experimental treatments. Suspecting that this site seemed too good to be true, we left the cages to fend for themselves for a week. If we returned to discover no problems, then we would proceed with the experiment.

On to St. Augustine- fitting the theme of bigger not always being better, our gargantuan stone crabs burrowed out of cages we had installed there. Even worse, cages without stone crabs were coming out of the ground because they were not dug in deep enough. The stone crab problem represents another example of why I should always run pilot experiments before attempting anything ambitious. Unfortunately, I have not learned this lesson yet. Or, I seem to periodically forget it.

Because I lacked the time to run such a pilot experiment, I ditched the troublesome stone crabs. We then awoke at dawn for the next three days to re-install cages (see the video below) in an over-kill sort of way. For this task, we took digging deep to a whole new level. Nothing was going to get inside or out of these cages without our permission. You can see how much deeper the cage bottoms extended into the ground by looking at the same cage pre- and post- renovation.

Having weathered the St. Augustine mishaps, we confidently headed back to Jacksonville to assess those cages. Upon arrival, I was subjected to a horrific scene: three days of hard labor undone by high flow conditions.

Note to self: mudflats are firm because flow is too high to allow sediment accumulation.

Stubbornly, I decided to force my will upon Mother Nature by digging cages in deeper and reinstalling them at locations behind marshes that would presumably buffer flow. Lacking the time to test this new cage installation, we immediately installed experimental treatments. This leap of faith was necessary in order to stay on schedule with the NC and GA teams.

Okay- cages up, reefs in, bells and whistles turned on. Afterwards, I raced back across the state to help two interns on their projects. Halfway back across the state and late on the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, I managed to blow the old lab truck’s transmission. As if getting a tow truck to Lake City at midnight wasn’t hard enough, getting one that would tow our truck and our kayak trailer was highly unlikely. But, taking pity on us, a wonderfully nice tow-truck driver agreed to load the trailer onto our truck.

 

Meanwhile, team Georgia was also experiencing problems with flow, sedimentation, and misbehaving predators. In short, we were throwing everything at this experiment and making little progress. At this point, ironically, the relative slackers amongst the three teams- the slow-to-start NC team- moved into first place- the horror!

After the passing of one mercifully tranquil week, we headed back to St. Augustine to check on things and collect data on our tile experiment. Interestingly, the experiment was working and we observed some variation in how predators indirectly benefit oysters; the positive effect diminished with latitude.

But then back again to Jacksonville- destroyed cages followed by some extremely colorful language. There should not have been deep pools of water surrounding the cages at dead low tide.

Phil by wrecked cage

Obviously, it was time to cut our losses by not messing around with this site anymore. As a result, we spent the next three days searching all of northern Florida and southern Georgia to find a new ideal study site: suitable to oysters, no quick sand, firm footing and modest flow. After three days of intensive searching, we can confidently claim that such a site does not exist.

After accepting that this experiment could not be conducted in northernmost Florida, we decided to redirect Jacksonville resources to St. Augustine. There we would conduct a similar experiment that focused on a predatory assemblage unique to Florida: stone crab, toadfish, catfish, and crown conchs. So, nine more cages, nine more experimental reefs, and all the associated bells and whistles were established once again. By this time, my crew felt that they could easily serve in the Army Corps of Engineers.

Although things are now going well and we have a much better understanding of how to initiate this type of an experiment, my general ignorance has kept a Florida State University intern in St. Augustine for 7 weeks after agreeing to be there for only two weeks. Ooopsie!

Stay tuned in for a Hanna update on St. Augustine’s crown conchs and a post from Tanya about the summer madness from a technician’s perspective.

Cheers,
David

David’s research is funded by the National Science Foundation.
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Back in the Day

IGOR chip- employment 150This week’s videos look at Dr. David’s Kimbro’s collaborators in the NSF funded biogeographic oyster study. While he has been the face of the study for On the Reef, he is one member of a team of scientists.  Today’s videos feature Dr. Randall Hughes (In the Grass) and Dr. Jon Grabowski.  Later this week, we’ll have a short video with Dr. Jeb Byers.  Randall and David’s posts accompanying the videos are reminiscences on their early days in marine ecology in North Carolina, where they and their fellow team members met while in school.

Dr. Randall Hughes FSU Coastal & Marine Lab
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Getting my first taste of marine ecology.

In my last semester as an undergraduate at the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill, I took a class in marine ecology from Dr. Charles (Pete) Peterson and Dr. Mark Hay.

At the time, I was a double major in biology and public policy analysis, and despite being just a few months from graduation, I was still very uncertain what I was going to do next. So when Pete asked me if I would like to work as a summer research assistant at UNC’s Institute of Marine Sciences for his graduate student, Jon Grabowski, I accepted with little idea of what I was getting myself into.

Jon’s project involved comparing the value of restored oyster reefs in different locations in the marsh (next to marsh edges, sandwiched between marsh edges and seagrass beds, or isolated on sand flats) as habitat for important fishes and crabs. What that meant in reality was that in the summer of 1997, we used ~2 tons of dead oyster shell to create 12 intertidal oyster reefs in Middle Marsh, NC – largely by carrying the shell in orange baskets from one big pile to the specific places where we needed it.

A sand flat oyster reef in 2002

One of the reefs we built in 1997 on a sand flat, pictured here in 2002.

In the process, I learned to trailer and drive a boat, build 30+ fish traps that involved welding rebar together and dipping the whole contraption in “net dip” (the most disgusting substance known to man), deploy and retrieve those traps and happily (well, at least begrudgingly) handle the blue crabs, toadfish, and other critters that we caught, and various other tasks that made my parents wonder why I needed a B.A. degree for this job. But by the end of the summer, I was hooked!

Jon at IMS

Jon, before he was Dr. Grabowski.

After that first summer, I returned to work with Jon for 3 more field seasons until starting graduate school myself in 2000. (David and my paths crossed at IMS, working for Jon together in 1999.) During the “off-season” I taught school, first in Mexico and then in NC, because I wanted to be sure that becoming an ecologist was really the thing for me. I love teaching, but I love research even more, and so going to graduate school seemed the logical way to combine the two.

Much like the no-see-um story from Jacksonville, the long hours and hard work involved with Jon’s project generated a lore surrounding that first (and subsequent) years. Here’s just one of my favorite stories from the summer of 1997 –

Pete in the marsh

Dr. Pete Peterson in Middle Marsh, NC.

Once the reefs were created (and lots of stories could be told about that process), the plan was to sample them once a month over consecutive daytime and nighttime high tides. Because we couldn’t sample all of the sites at the same time, this involved 48 hours of effort with only short breaks in between times in the field. The first time attempting this sampling happened to fall the 2 days before I was scheduled to leave to start my job teaching in Mexico – oh, and on my birthday. After day 1, we realized that returning to the lab from our field sites and then going home to get cleaned up before getting some rest was burning lots of valuable sleep time, so we decided that the second night we would camp on one of the barrier islands close to our sites. Jon packed most of the gear, including a giant and heavy cooler, and off we went. Of course, it was the middle of the night when we finished up in the field and drove the boat over to Shackelford Island, and we hadn’t bothered to set up camp earlier in the day. Jon thought he knew of a shortcut to cross over to the ocean side, which had a nice breeze and far fewer mosquitos. Unfortunately, we didn’t find the shortcut immediately, and we ended up carrying the heavy cooler and all of our other gear while swatting and cursing mosquitos for quite a while. About 5 minutes from the beach side of the island (though we didn’t know that at the time), I snapped, announcing to Jon that I was NOT walking any farther and so we better set up camp in that spot. (I had maintained a fairly mild-mannered and easy-going persona all summer, but there was nothing mild about my ultimatum that we stop walking.) I was in better spirits after a few hours of sleep, feeling more than a little chagrined at my outburst when I realized how close we were to the beach, and especially when learned that the primary object in that heavy cooler was a chocolate birthday cake for me! I have since apologized many times, and Jon and I laugh and re-tell that story virtually every time we get together.

Of course, beyond the friendships, funny stories, hard work, and good food, we also learned a heck of a lot about oyster reefs and the animals that live on and around them. That’s why our current collaboration “On the Reef” is so satisfying – it’s a way to return to our roots scientifically, professionally, and personally.

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The biogeographic oyster study is funded by the National Science Foundation.

The Dirty Work

Tanya Rogers FSU Coastal & Marine Lab


IGOR chip- biogeographic 150IGOR chip- habitat 150IGOR chip- employment 150(Editor’s Note.  Although David refers to Randall’s participation on this study, her role was not elaborated upon in this video.  That will be a part of the next video, on David’s collaborators, as Randall is David’s Co-PI- or Primary Investigator)

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Tanya measures a fish caught in a gill net.

It’s been said that research techs are those who do the dirty work in science. Although true in many ways, I love being where the action is, collecting the data, turning ideas into reality. That said, here is some of my perspective on what went into our October trip and what days in the field were like.

A busy field trip like our October sampling push typically takes at least as many days to prepare for as the length of the trip itself. Although the daily blog posts covered our time in action, David and I spent most of the previous couple weeks just planning for this trip so that it could run as smoothly as it did. I feel it worth mentioning the many hours I spent pouring over tide charts and editing and re-editing our complicated schedule so that we could accomplish everything as efficiently as possible, factoring in all manner of time and tidal constraints, travel time, land and sea transportation, overnight stays, and numerous other variables, plus designing it with enough flexibility that we could adjust our plans in the field at a moments notice (and indeed we did). In addition to scheduling I also had to make sure we had all the materials we needed to for our trip, that those materials were all in working order, and that they are all packaged up accordingly and conveniently in our two vehicles. The last thing you want is to be out in the field and realize you’re missing some critical piece of equipment.

striped burrfish

As they conduct these initial sampling trips every few months, they keep finding new and interesting species living in and around the reefs. Here, Tanya is taking measurement of one of her favorite finds of this last trip, a striped burrfish.

Out in the field, going to retrieve our traps and nets is always the most exciting for me, since you never know what we’re going to catch, and I was interested to see how the October fish community compared with that of July. We caught a few new fish species in our traps this round, including a beautiful spotfin butterflyfish (Chaetodon ocellatus), juvenile snapper (Lutjanus sp.), and a couple tiny pufferfish (technically striped burrfish, Chilomycterus schoepfi – they were very adorable). Equally exciting was getting to use the new motor on our skiff for the first time at our sites. Although noisy and bizarre-looking, it performed admirably in shallow water, as it was designed to. At least in terms of temperature and humidity, conditions on the reefs were considerably more pleasant for us than during the summer. It was wonderful not to be wiping sweat from your face every 10 minutes. The dramatic increase in the no-see-um population at dawn and dusk was not so pleasant however, as David has duly noted. The dawn low tide at Jacksonville brought the worst swarms we’d ever encountered in the field. Incredibly irritating both physically and mentally, they made work nearly impossible, and forced me to spend the subsequent week covered in uncountable numbers of ravenously itchy welts.

spotfin_butterflyfish

Despite its exotic look, the spotfin butterfly fish is a native of both the Gulf and Atlantic coasts of Florida.

When not out on the reefs, there was rarely a moment when something didn’t need to be done – whether filtering water samples, rinsing gear, or (most frequently) extracting spat. Our only breaks seemed to be for the necessities of eating, showering, sleeping, and making coffee. (For David, coffee appears to rank just below data and samples in terms of his most valued possessions in the field.) Our biggest and most time-consuming challenge was whether we could get all of the spat extracted and tiles made for our predator-exclusion experiment in the time allotted between netting and trapping. The process of isolating spat was incredibly tedious to say the least, and particularly frustrating when, after you’ve been working on a spat for several minutes, your tool slips and the spat gets crushed, or it flies across the patio, never to be seen again. You couldn’t help but feel the spat always picked the most inconvenient places to settle. It was also quite a messy process, with water and oyster bits flying everywhere and various crabs skittering across the counter. The oysters also love to slice your fingers open during the few moments when you neglect to wear gloves. Yet in spite of the tedium, we couldn’t help noticing new and interesting critters living amongst the oysters as we broke them apart. For instance, we noticed considerably more porcelain crabs (Petrolisthes sp.) and Boonea impressa (a small, white snail that parasitizes oysters) than we’d seen in previously collected oyster samples. We also found an oyster pea crab (Pinnotheres ostreum), which lives on and steals food from the gills of oysters, and a number of dark brown cylindrical mussels (Lithophaga bisulcata) that bore into the calcareous shells of oysters. It always amazes me how many different animals can be found living within the structurally complex habitat created by species like oysters.

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Young oyster spat, beginning their new careers in science.

I remember on one of the last days of our trip, I kayaked out to our St. Augustine reefs for a final service and check while David finished up the dremeling. I remember looking upon reef #5, seeing our newly deployed, spat-covered tiles and cages, our cleaned tidal data logger housing, and our newly replaced spat stick, arranged so neatly on our marked reef, and feeling delighted at our accomplishment, knowing how much effort has gone into this setup. I remembered that in my position it’s easy to get sucked into the details, but it’s equally important to remember the big picture, and how this research will contribute to our greater understanding of oyster reef ecology.

After our field trip, as we recover from battle wounds and wait for the mud to work its way out from under our fingernails, work on the oyster project continues at the lab. For me this has meant entering lots of data and starting to process our many samples. Before you know it though, it’s time to start to preparing for our next journey onto the reefs and the adventures that await.

The Kimbro, Hughes, et al. biogeographic oyster study is funded by the National Science Foundation.
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Yes We Did!

Dr. David Kimbro FSU Coastal & Marine Lab

IGOR chip- biogeographic 150The following is the first of three or so videos on the big October oyster trip.  In this one, you get a long busy day in the field condensed into two minutes (it’s much less exhausting that way).  We’ll have videos in the next couple of weeks on David’s co-collaborators (including video of the Georgia/ S. Carolina team and all the sharks they caught) and a video on David’s own team.

P1010986

The "October Oyster Push" had many objectives, but none took as much time to implement than the tile experiment. Seeing how these baby oysters- spat- grow over the next few months will give David an idea how oysters typically fare at each reef over the course of their lives.

I spent most of this past week feeling pretty darn good about having just finished our October sampling and experimental objectives out on the oyster reefs.  Of course, this glow continued into the weekend as my football team pulled out a W in Tallahassee.

But back to the science.  Although Rob chronicled each day of our crazy road trip, I want to relive it once more just to give the trip from my perspective.  So, here are my top-ten thoughts:

Number 1: Planning the details of the road trip (housing, which team is going where and when) as well as figuring out how to set up the tile experiment (see video) was pretty stressful.  Thank goodness I had Tanya around to bounce scheduling ideas off of.  Because I kept chaning my mind, I think Tanya made like 6 different versions of our schedule.

Number 2: I talked the NC and SC/GA teams into doing the aforementioned experiment with oyster spat to examine how actual predation and the fear of being eaten affects oysters up and down the coast.  I successfully convinced the teams partly because I  emphatically claimed that the additional work load would only be five hours of more work at each site.  Well, I got that wrong.  It was probably triple that estimate.  That’s one of my flaws: I always underestimate how long research tasks take, which is bad because you constantly feel behind as a result of being over-scheduling.  Rule of thumb: always multiply my work estimates by at least 2.

Number 3: I never want to see a dremel again.  With dremel in hand one evening at Saint Augustine, I had only extracted ¼ the spat I needed for the experiment but the time spent on this task had already surpassed my previous estimate.  That’s when coffee and the ability to lose yourself in the task become extremely important.  I guess I took it one oyster spat at a time.

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(L to R) Tanya, Hanna, and Cristina pick up the slack while David dremels away back at the lab space.

Number 4: I could not have lost myself in the task of setting up the experiment if it hadn’t been for Tanya, Hanna and Cristina.  Knowing that they were fully trained to carry out the sampling objectives, I did not have to busy myself with those numerous tasks, such as setting gill nets and traps (and retrieving the catch), taking sediment and water samples, etc.  In fact, after finishing the sampling objectives and follow-up lab work, they would immediately begin helping me with the experiment by cleaning adult oysters and identifying spat for me to extract with the dremel.  With that help, I was able to focus solely on dremeling.

Number 5: Dremeling 1080 spat out of adult oyster shell stinks.  Did I already say that? Well, this task deserves two spots on the top-ten list.  In tact, I probably attempted to extract over 2,000 oysters because I would often slip with the dremel and accidentally kill the oyster spat that I had spent five or so minutes on.

Catfish of Alligator Harbor

Hardhead and sail catfish seem to be the dominant predator of the Florida Gulf sites. By eating mud crabs that predate oysters, these fish perform an important function on oyster reefs.

Number 6: we couldn’t have asked for better weather.  In fact, I think there were some temperature records being set.  Despite these warmer than usual temperatures, there was about ½ the diversity and number of predatory fish on our reefs.  So, going against my expectations, these Florida sites are experiencing some seasonality in the assemblage of predators.  Interestingly, all teams were catching red drum on their reefs; guess it’s their time of year.  The red drum mostly had smaller fish in their stomachs.  The SC/GA team was still catching lots of sharks.  And catfish was still the most abundant predator on our reefs.  Those slimy things are definitely major players on southern oyster reefs because they had lost of mud crabs (who eat oysters) in their guts.  Final detail about the Florida sites is that my northern locations (Alligator Harbor on Gulf and Jacksonville area on Atlantic) had more predatory fishes than did the more southern sites in Florida…. intriguing.

Number 7: We had to change plans at the end of the week and this mid-course change actually went smoothly.  This change came about because the housing space near our Jacksonville site was not conducive for setting up the tile experiment.  Luckily, Hanna and Cristina ventured up to Jacksonville to figure all of this out for me.  This “divide and conquer” strategy allowed Tanya and me to finish up the sampling and experimental objectives in Saint Augustine, while Hanna and Cristina began sampling in Jacksonville to keep us on schedule.  And rather than resting up in Jacksonville, Hanna and Cristina ripped up oyster habitat and drove it back down to Saint Augustine.  They looked pretty rough upon that later return to Jacksonville.  But after a good dinner and a few hours of sleep, their oyster delivery allowed us to work on the materials for the Jacksonville experiment in a much better laboratory setting.

Number 8: Team morale and will to finish objectives hit a low point once we reached Jacksonville.  The lodging for the first evening was haunted with cockroaches: this is Hanna’s kryptonite.  Luckily, Tanya whipped us up some good pasta to help keep our minds off of the roaches.  The next morning, cockroaches began to seem not so bad.  When we got to the boat-launch and found there to be no wind, I knew it was trouble because this site had the reputation for being particularly buggy.  So, we headed into the mouth of our creek and hit the first reef.  Not too bad… actually, no fish in the nets.  Only a few bugs and two free hands to swipe them away.  But as we ventured further into the belly of the creek/bug hell and found tons of fish in our nets, I began to worry about mutiny.  As I was exhorting the crew to extract tons of fish from the next set of nets, I realized that freeing this many fish would take twice as long because we needed to spend an equal amount of time cursing the no-see’ums and keep them out of our ears and noses; kind of hard to do with fish in your hands.  While taking fire from the no-see’ums, we then began sustaining additional injuries from other natural agents.  I suffered my first good-sized oyster cut.  Hanna got her finger nearly cut off by a large stone crab.  For the pain finale, a decent sized catfish stabbed my hand with the barb of its dorsal fin.  I don’t blame it, but daggum that hurt.  At this point, the unpleasantness was almost comical.  Note to self: buy hats with bug nets to combat no-see’ums.

Number 9: All of the pain and stress of that week is now good fodder for the lab to laugh about and bond over.  That’s one of the perks of conducting research as a team.  And that’s one of the reasons why Big Jon, Randall and I are still collaborating.

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David walks away from the tiles he and his team spent so much time putting together. He won't know how successful the experiment was until he travels back to these sites.

Number 10: Now that we have all caught up on sleep, have relived our stories, and have begun to look at the data, I now stress about whether the tile experiment will actually work.  Like most experiments I conduct, I put a lot of effort into something that has a 50% chance of not succeeding.  For example, the spat that I extracted and adhered to tiles may have been overheated by the dremel/extraction process…are they dead already?  And then, oh boy…what if the glue doesn’t hold?  That’s what really keeps me up at night.

Till next time,

David

Nuts and Bolts

Dr. David Kimbro FSU Coastal & Marine Lab

Why is Dr. Kimbro selecting smaller reefs to study?  How big is a mature oyster?  Watch and find out.

IGOR chip- biogeographic 150In my previous post, I outlined my original reasons for being out on the reef. Although I’m still pursuing those goals, my lab is currently busying itself on the reefs with some newly formed research goals. Anticipating the arrival of oil, we’ve scrambled a lot over the last few weeks to come up with questions and methods that will allow us to understand how the oil affects oysters as well as the assemblage of other important species that it supports.

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Using kayaks, David and his crew moved more easily about Alligator Harbor

Step number one in gearing up to study the impacts of oil and to launch our original project involved figuring out a better way to transport a lot of people and gear out to the reefs during low tide, where shallow water prevents boating and deep mud prevents walking. My lab now uses a fleet of kayaks to zip around all the oyster reefs within Alligator Harbor, which sure beats sitting in highway traffic.

Now, once you see our study reefs (patchy, small and next to marsh), if you are a local, you must be thinking that we’re crazy for sampling these puny little things instead of the massive mudflat reefs that are more isolated from the marsh. And I wholeheartedly agree. However, my other colleagues studying oysters in VA, NC, SC, and GA don’t have big massive reefs like these anymore thanks to a much longer and more destructive history of harvesting, dredging and disease. So, to complete our original research goals and to compare things among many different estuaries, we are using the lowest-common-denominator reefs among all of our estuaries: hence the small and patchy little reefs we selected.

Ok, now we’ve figured out how to access our sites and we’ve selected our reefs. Although the latter sounds simple, it’s actually been pretty messy: kind of like my first trying to walk out to the oyster reefs in Alligator Harbor! Using global positioning system (GPS) and Google maps, my colleagues and I have been remotely weighing in on which reefs to use based on whether particular reefs are too large, too small, too close to the ocean, too far from the ocean, exposed to too much harvesting pressure, or exposed to too much pollution. Again, in order to learn how similar food webs operate and affect oyster reefs differently over long distances, we need to make sure that we are comparing apples to apples, not apples to oranges or young oyster reefs (nothing but small oysters) to old oyster reefs (nothing but large oysters) or polluted oyster reefs to pristine oyster reefs.

Over the past week, we’ve not only selected oyster reefs within Alligator Harbor to be part of our original oyster study, but we also set up additional oyster reefs to study the impacts of the oil spill. This involves permanently establishing areas within reefs that are censused for the number of dead and living oysters before the oil hits. Then, when the oil hits, we determine if the number of dead oysters increased.

But, even if we see more dead oysters than live oysters in the future, how do we know whether the oil (rather than some other factor) was the cause?

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Well, we are also taking water, sediment, and oyster samples to be processed for stable isotopes. In short, chemical elements (e.g., Carbon, Nitrogen) exist in different forms (i.e., isotopes) and oil hydrocarbons have a Carbon isotope that can be used like a fingerprint.

So, we are also sampling the environment (water and sediment) and the whole food web centered on oyster reefs to determine background levels of oil. Then, when the oil hits we should see a tremendous increase in a new oil signature (that from the Deepwater Horizon spill) that coincides with negative impacts on oysters.

But, in addition to oysters themselves, we are also interested in the predators and prey that it supports. Because we do not yet have a lot of data describing when and how many predators and prey are around and because there is no way to get that data in time before the oil arrives, we are using other stable isotopes to quickly describe how predators and prey are organized within the oyster food web: who is eating whom. The isotopes of Nitrogen are good for this because the form of Nitrogen changes as it passes up the food web from things like oysters to things like big crabs and fishes. So, our second new question is… who has been eating what and how does this organization, which took a long time to develop, change immediately and a few years after the oil spill? Pursuing this new goal has involved some pretty fun hunting of all sorts of critters that make up the oyster food web such as amphipods, polychaetes (worms), clams, mussels, mud crabs, snails, blue crabs, stone crabs, and fishes. We just finished sampling Alligator Harbor and are now off to do the same things in Cedar Key, St. Augustine, and Jacksonville.

Because these four sites in Florida will likely experience much different levels of oil, we will be able to learn how much oil is required to negatively impact oyster reefs and the community of animals that they support.

David’s research is funded by the National Science Foundation.

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