In this final journal entry, I want to share some of my observations of Midway. Reflecting on my recent experience, I can already see it from several different vantage points. Its meaning for me is deep and will be lasting, I am sure, but it is not a single meaning. Like everything else in life the message of this amazing time depends on where you look from and the lens you look through.
First, I feel humbled by the privilege of having been one of twelve participants in an amazing environmental leadership program in Midway Atoll. I hope to be an environmental ambassador for the NW Hawaiian Islands as a result of my experiences there. The home communities and work of all twelve participants vary widely, but our shared experience here on Midway help us to find common ground.
Sand Island on
Midway Atoll fits most people’s idea of a tropical paradise. Bicycling across the island, I dodge baby albatrosses waiting for their parents to return with food. I will learn that the adult birds fly 1,200 miles every other week to the Bering Sea and points beyond. The young birds are not wary of humans. Now and then one of them will look up and clack its bill at me and I hear moaning coos or high-pitched peeps from near and far as they call out to their parents. The fledglings sit neatly spaced in fields of fragrant white fragrant flowers in roughly formed nests. The parent birds ignore humans as they feed their chicks, regurgitating the squid and other food they have foraged from distant seas. They are dedicated parents, and it is a joy to watch them with their young.
Walking down the trail, I see white terns roosting on branches and cliff ledges. They swoop and hover around me like little fairies, usually just checking me out but sometimes even landing on an outstretched hand.
Further down the trail thousands of yellow sunflowers bloom in the fields with their rich green foliage, a gorgeous contrast of color against the clear blue sky. These fields of sunflowers outline the sand hills of the northernmost part of the island. More albatross fledglings and other sea birds sit among the plants waiting for their parents to return.
Going down to the beach, I stoop to pick up some colorful striped cone shells, and the tiniest chubby sand dollar I’ve ever seen, bleached white like the coral sand. Walking down the smooth, peaceful stretch of sandy beach, I spot a monk seal sunning in the sand with its sleepy pup. A honu, or green sea turtle, basks on a large rock nearby.
Walking back from the beach through a forest of trees that look like some kind of pine, the branches are dotted with more tiny white terns. There is a peaceful-looking cemetery nearby, the old headstones a memorial to island residents otherwise unremembered.
I later learn that the island has been an important site for religious and ceremonial purposes for centuries by early native Hawaiians. More recently around the middle of the 20th century, buildings designed by the renowned industrial architect Albert Kahn were constructed here. The clean lines and distinct design features of the buildings remind me of Frank Lloyd Wright. It wasn’t that long ago this island was a bustling community, built with care and serving important purposes.
Roads criss-cross the island and the old airstrips built by the U.S. military during WWII are still here. Many of the albatross nesting grounds are alongside and even on the roads. Albatross babies sit on manhole covers their parents chose as nesting places. Many wait in less developed areas that have been taken over by invasive non-native plants, and some sit among fields of Alyssum plants that were introduced to keep down noxious weeds and provide groundcover.
The ground around the nesting areas is strewn with bits of plastic garbage: cigarette
lighters, bits of fishing line, lego blocks, toothbrushes, bottle caps, and pieces of plastic of all colors, shapes, and sizes. These have been brought back by the parents mixed with the squid and fish eggs collected to feed their young. Floating in the sea, they were first swallowed by the parents, then regurgitated and swallowed by the growing babies along with food. Albatrosses cough up indigestible parts of their diets such as squid beaks and eyeballs – and all kinds of plastic debris - as boluses similar to owl pellets. The organic components of the boluses eventually decompose, leaving the plastic bits on the ground. Here and there I come across a decomposed albatross carcass and I can see the mass of plastic debris that filled its stomach.
The lovely yellow sunflowers that cover much of the island are Verbesina encelioides or golden crown-beard, an invasive weed that can quickly choke out all native vegetation. The thick foliage of Verbesina, up to four feet tall and dense enough to block cooling breezes from the sea, can create stagnant “dead zones” where it can be ten degrees hotter than surrounding areas. Many fledglings, whose instinct is to stay where their parents leave them, die here with no escape from the heat. Thickets of verbesina can also make it difficult for parents to find their babies, and for other ground-nesting or burrowing birds to find a place to nest.
On the sand around the monk seals on the beach are plastic buoys, colorful laundry hampers, and tangled piles of rope. A monk seal pup playfully investigates a plastic jug washed up on the shore. The honu’s basking place is actually a concrete boat ramp strewn with plastic marine debris.
The pine-like forest is made up of ironwood trees from Australia, another non-native species that has replaced naupaka and other kinds of native shrubby vegetation. Albatross and other birds have trouble flying around and among these trees and often crash into them and die. In this area Verbesina and ironwood have also taken over precious habitat for ground-nesting birds.
The historic Kahn-designed buildings, as well as many of the former shops and maintenance sheds on the island, are in varying stages of decay and disrepair. Many of the white terns use crumbling windows sills as nesting “cliffs”. Falling roofs and eroding walls are hazards to people and animals. I see young birds standing listlessly, unable to hold their wings up off the ground, the effects of poisoning from eating lead paint chips.
I learn that the peaceful cemetery we observed had gravestones marking the final resting place of several key American military doctors and others whose lives were lost during World War II. Most Americans, if they recognize the name “Midway” at all, know it only as the site of a battle considered an important turning point in the Pacific war. In June of 1942 four Japanese aircraft carriers and a heavy cruiser were sunk in exchange for one American aircraft carrier and a destroyer. Over 300 Americans and more than 3,000 Japanese soldiers lost their lives in this battle.
As I write this I feel heaviness in my heart and a deep sense of tension between these two views of the beautiful island. It is an idyllic tropical paradise and at the same time, it is also an example of an ecological disaster caused by the thoughtless development of our throw-away society and the narrow purposes of the military. But these two views alone do not encompass the whole story of Midway.
In many parts of the world there is growing concern and organized action to undo the effects of ocean pollution and the many threats to wildlife. On Midway itself I have participated over the past days in active efforts led by dedicated refuge staff to save endangered wildlife and restore badly needed habitat. While the effects of environmental degradation caused by historic human impacts are still obvious, now I can also see where people have begun to make a difference.
I know now that the Laysan duck, monk seal, and green sea turtle populations are rebounding from near extinction, due to efforts of dedicated researchers and wildlife managers. Thanks to an enormous effort by the military, the accidentally introduced black rat was finally eradicated in 1997, allowing small ground nesting species such as the Bonin petrel to make a comeback on the island.
The Verbesina that once covered most of the island has been cleared from large areas through the dedication and tremendous efforts of refuge staff and volunteers. Native bunchgrasses are taking root, providing shade and cover for ground nesting birds. These grasses were raised in greenhouses and carefully planted by hand. A management plan has been drafted that will guide the removal of many of the ironwood trees, and their replacement with native shrubs and tree species.
An enormous quantity of non-native soil was brought to the island in past years, making the island no longer a totally natural area, but people are working hard to repair the damage caused by past “standard” practices, and are making increasing efforts to integrate nature with human occupancy and use. Having spent a few days on Midway I can now see the results of restoration efforts all over the island: rehabilitation of natural seeps, invasive plant control, historic building restoration, and marine debris clean-up.
There are even plans to restore many of the old Albert Kahn buildings on the island. Many of the salvageable buildings are currently being renovated for use as housing and offices for year-round residents of Sand Island. There are extraordinary efforts underway to make habitation on the island sustainable. Hydoponic gardens supply many kinds of fresh produce for islanders and strategies to save energy and water in line with sustainable practices are happening now.
The most important message I took with me when I left Midway was that natural world here has endured through years of changing uses: from a communications depot, an important military installation, and finally a wildlife refuge of global significance. Scientists, educators, and visitors to this special place are spreading the word on marine debris and its impact on the ecosystem. Conservation groups such as the Surfrider Foundation and World Wildlife Fund are helping in this effort.
These and many other efforts are starting to link up worldwide, leading to a growing sense of questioning the purposes and methods of a culture based on disposable products. For the first time since the plastic boom that began in the 1950s, people are beginning to see that we can’t go on this way, as the truth on plastics is reaching the general public. Cities in Ireland, Australia, and China have already banned one time use plastic bags, and the UN is now calling for a global ban. I have been a lifelong conservationist and supporter of environmental causes, but it was not until my trip to Midway that I really became fully conscious of the consequences of my unexamined consumer habits, especially my use of one-time use plastic products.
When I feel as if th
e glass is half full, I think of Midway and the loveliness of a tropical island paradise with abundant sea bird populations and clear blue ocean waters. When it seems the glass is half empty, I see a trash-strewn and weed-infested island, where coral, birds, seals, and sea turtles have an uphill battle to fight extinction. But what is really happening is that people - seeing Midway through the lens of hope supported by inspired action – are devoting themselves to the painstaking effort of restoring this beautiful place to keep the legacy of the refuge alive for future generations. Like ripples on a pond, this message is continuing to travel across the world. Now that I have experienced and fallen in love with Midway, I know this is the direction we must travel together.
With aloha and kuleana,
Karen Matsumoto deChadenedes
I have thought about the commitment of Greg Schubert, who despite overwhelming odds in the battle against the invasive Verbesina he continues to get up everyday and plot his tactical take back of the island for the birds. His ability to see the possibility has been a huge boost for me when I have been looking at entire cities with barely a native plant in sight and despair. For many years I have thought of the city where I teach a lost cause, and looked for beauty in nature elsewhere. I was wrong.
