by Anjali Shah

In 2024, Anjali Shah (Brown ‘25) spent 9 weeks at the NOAA Pacific Marine Environmental Laboratory (PMEL) as a NOAA Hollings Scholar working with the EcoFOCI program. She conducted an initial exploration to quantify the spatial and temporal extent of ice associated with open water phytoplankton blooms from an operational field test of a glider deployed in the Bering Sea in 2023. To further her experience, she traveled to present at the University of Alaska Fairbanks Strait Science lecture series in Nome, Alaska, in August 2024.

Arriving in Nome

After 17 hours of flying, 5 different time zones, 3 choc-olate croissants, 2 macarons, 2 cups of coffee, and 3 seasons of Derry Girls, I breathed a sigh of relief after our tumultuous landing. The winds stung my face as we walked from our plane to the airport terminal, where we sought a cab in the area. Thus began my experience in Nome, Alaska, on the doorstep of the US Arctic and just around the corner from the Bering Strait.

About 500 miles from two of the state’s largest cities, Anchorage and Fairbanks, Nome is only accessible by sea or air. The town center is exposed to the Bering Sea’s winds and waves, necessitating the elevation of many buildings a foot above ground level to avoid flooding. The community’s roughly 3,700 residents practice subsistence and recreational hunting and fishing, especially since barged-in goods are highly priced. Many Alaska Native community members hunt seals, walruses, and other marine mammals.

The availability of these resources depends on yearly sea ice advance and retreat. Each spring, this cycle stimulates phytoplankton blooms that drive productive fisheries. However, amplified warming at higher latitudes has decreased yearly sea-ice cover. Less sea ice fosters different species of phytoplankton during blooms, which means slimmer pickings for commercial and recreational hunters and fishers all over Alaska.

Studying Arctic climate

So how do we study such a complex, rapidly changing system? Climate models are one answer, but models need observations to validate them, and—to put it bluntly—Arctic observational oceanography is hard. NOAA, CICOES, and other research institutions use a variety of methods and instruments to collect data, such as moored buoys and research cruises, but the hazards of sea ice, storms, and complex currents can upend missions or destroy oceanographic instruments. The sheer volume of ice also limits where we can put instruments in the water. However, it is impossible to understand how fisheries and sea ice are changing near cities like Nome without high resolution data collection. So, how do we solve this problem?

Part of the answer may lie in the Oculus seaglider, developed by University of Washington Applied Physics Laboratory and NOAA’s PMEL over the past decade. This instrument continuously feeds water through temperature, salinity, chlorophyll, oxygen, light, and turbidity sensors in order to characterize both the physical and biological aspects of the surrounding marine environment. Additionally, this instrument can move up and down in the water column without human assistance, which has created a newfound wave of
“autonomous” oceanographic observations that require much less physical effort than collecting data manually.

The glider also collects higher resolution data than conventional moorings and floats, allowing scientists to observe how the smallest-scale variations in the physical ocean environment (temperature, salinity, and light) impact biological patterns like chlorophyll and oxygen. For example, extremely cold temperatures in one location may be associated with high chlorophyll and oxygen concentrations, indicating high biological productivity. However, high salinities in a new location may correlate to diminished chlorophyll and oxygen levels, indicating sensitivity of the biology in the region to small-scale physical conditions.

The glider’s first deployment in 2017 successfully allowed oceanographers to identify how small-scale rotating eddies can be hotspots of biological activity, with implications for fisheries off the coast of northwest Alaska. In 2023, the glider traveled within 5 kilometers of the ice-edge off the coast of southwest Alaska, cap-turing the physical and biological influence of ice melt in the ocean and creating the basis for my summer research. In 2022, the glider traveled to Bering Strait waters off of Nome. A local family worked with NOAA PMEL crew members to deploy the Oculus glider aboard their boat the Audrey Kadi, helping to spearhead the first successful glider journey through the narrow and stormy Bering Strait. This risky experience (of almost losing the glider itself) represents a meaningful aspect of the Oculus mission: conducting science with communities. Collaborating with communities like Nome helps build relationships with local people so that we, as scientists, can shape our research around community needs.

Presenting my research

This brings us back to my arrival in Nome in August 2024. My mentor, Heather Tabisola, was set to give a talk at the Strait Science lecture series, organized by Alaska Sea Grant agent Gay Sheffield. She made sure I had the opportunity to join her and present my sum-mer research with the Oculus mission. The citizens of Nome have been predicting biological hotspots (large fish populations) based on physical conditions (storms, ice, wind, and ocean currents) since time immemorial, so presenting at Strait Science allowed us to discuss findings rather than share one-sidedly, creating an open forum of conversation between communities and scientists. The goal of such interactions is to listen to what communities need and what research will help them in the future, as well as listen to new perspectives on our data.

The morning before the talk, Heather and I were headed to have breakfast at a bakery, where we discov-ered no open seats. A fisherman and his friend beck-oned us to come sit with them and we proceeded to chat for over two hours. He told us about how the king crab fishing had never been better, and that he noticed the impact of ice on the microscopic algae of the area, which eventually fed the crabs and helped his business. This story shocked me, since this was exactly what my talk would discuss! I perked up immediately as he brought it up, and I told him I had noticed similar patterns in my data, and used a machine learning algorithm to bring them to light. He was impressed with the methods, but unsurprised by the results.

During our talk, I discussed how the glider traveled through distinct oceanographic regimes, one with low temperature and salinity conditions, which reflected the influence of ice. This prompted a fisherman to comment on the fact that he often observes herring near such ice-influenced fronts. The project’s principal investigator, Phyllis Stabeno, was surprised by this insight and asked the man for more details on the placement of the herring: were they above or below the salinity front? Closer or further from the ice? It was a prime example of open-flow communication between oceanographers and fishermen in order to advance collective knowledge: it helped us as scientists think about new questions for future research to back up the fisherman’s observations.

After graduation

After graduation, I started a position at the University at Alaska Fairbanks at the Alaska Center for Climate Assessment and Preparedness (ACCAP). I work to document the local impacts of extreme weather events on communities, from storms to wildfires to harmful algal blooms. Through this role, I once again had the opportunity to present in Nome in October 2025, this time about coastal flooding. I integrated information from scientific articles, storm damage reports, and The Nome Nugget, the local newspaper, to create a full picture of the impacts of fall storms and coastal flooding in the area. We also hosted open office hours, where people provided valuable anecdotes about their own storm experiences. We recorded some of these conversations and created audio clips about storm impacts for the ACCAP website.

All forms of climate science are inherently linked to natural resources, public health, and infrastructure needs. Through my experience working with CICOES and NOAA, I rediscovered why I do science in the first place: for people, especially coastal communities vulnerable to the impacts of climate change. Wherever my career takes me, I can only hope that this remains an integral aspect of my work.