Cookies help us run our site more efficiently.

By clicking “Accept”, you agree to the storing of cookies on your device to enhance site navigation, analyze site usage, and assist in our marketing efforts. View our Privacy Policy for more information or to customize your cookie preferences.

‘The Mountain Wagtail’: How Pollution and Mining Are Destroying Kyrgyzstan

News Feed
Monday, September 9, 2024

Every winter young Altyn, the protagonist of Kyrgyzstani director Begaly Nargozu’s 2023 film The Mountain Wagtail, would mount her horse, leave her village in the valley, and head to the syrt, an unchanging landscape of snow and glaciers stretching across the mountaintops of Kyrgyzstan, to help her nomadic grandparents herd their yaks. Altyn’s innocent, kind-hearted nature — nurtured by the beauty of the icy landscape and her grandparents’ reverence for it — is tested when, in the twilight of her teenage years, she moves to the capital of Bishkek to attend university. Staying with her older sister, a fully urbanized entrepreneur with a disdain for all things rural, Altyn soon finds herself confronted by all the trappings and evils of modern-day society, from substance abuse and sexual assault to domestic violence and environmental pollution. The Mountain Wagtail premiered in 2023 and has recently played at ecology-themed Sprouts Film Festival in Amsterdam and other film festivals across Europe and Asia. Nargozu says his village, like Altyn’s unnamed hometown, is surrounded by “holy mountains which hundreds of people visit every day to pray and ask for a better life.” His tale of Altyn’s journey to the city echoes the journeys of many young Kyrgyzstani women as heavy industry and mining operations turn the countryside increasingly inhospitable. “Tons of dust rise into the air each day from mining development and settle on the surrounding glaciers,” he tells The Revelator. “Millions of cubes of ice are melted, billions of tons of harmful substances are poured into rivers. Every year, there are fewer pastures and grasslands. The traditional pastoral life of the highlands is being destroyed, and so people leave the mountains and go to the cities, where living conditions are poorer still.” In addition to a lack of affordable housing, unauthorized construction, and poor waste management, Bishkek’s air quality is among the worst in the world, resulting in roughly 4,000 premature deaths each year. Contributing factors range from factory and vehicle emissions to the country’s continued and widespread use of coal. Sharing the blame is Bishkek’s landfill, originally dug by the Soviet Union, which was too small to keep up with the city’s growing population and, as a result, regularly caught fire and filled the air with toxic fumes. (After years of struggling to procure international investment and circumvent government corruption, a new landfill opened in 2023.) Historically, says Nargozu, “the Kyrgyz did not treat the mountains as consumers; they did not look for valuable materials there, blowing up anything and everything. On the contrary, they worshiped and prayed to them, living for thousands of years without major problems with nature, in harmony.” According to Nargozu, it was only with the advent of the colonization of imperial Russia that the extraction of valuable metals and toxic substances from the Kyrgyz mountains on an industrial scale began. Official film poster for The Mountain Wagtail. The distinction at the center of The Mountain Wagtail isn’t between urban and rural but syrt and non-syrt. Altyn’s village, though isolated, pastoral, and idyllic by western standards, is presented as a kind of Bishkek writ small: a sign of the future that awaits the Kyrgyzstani countryside.  Only the syrt remains free of the spiritual corruption radiating from Bishkek. Up there, accompanied only by snow, sun, yaks, and an ecologist researching the melting glaciers, Altyn’s grandparents live in unceasing peace and happiness. The only couple in the film that treats one another with kindness and respect, Nargozu’s screenplay refers to them as “celestial beings.” But they are also an endangered species. The Mountain Wagtail’s mixed reception inside Kyrgyzstan reflects the hold heavy industry has on the country and its culture. When Nargozu showed the film at the Ala-Too cinema in the capital in 2023, he says it was warmly received by creatives and the intelligentsia. Government officials were less enthusiastic, though. When the film began receiving awards from international festivals, Nargozu said they asked him: “Why spread negativity about Kyrgyzstan throughout the world? We need to be more patriotic and show only our good side.” “It looks depressing,” Nargozu says of Kyrgyzstan’s future. “Every year we export tons and tons of pure gold, yet we remain among the poorest countries of the world. Should we continue to mine gold if — instead of happiness — it only brings us closer to environmental disaster?” In search of answers, he looks to the same place Altyn does when she feels lost — the syrt: “Maybe we need to live like our ancestors, protecting nature and the traditional, pastoral way of life of the mountaineers.” In The Mountain Wagtail, he uses the color white to symbolize the natural purity of the Mongu-Ata glacier as well as Altyn’s moral purity. “Just as rivers originate from mountain lakes and glaciers, so Altyn’s spiritual purity begins with her grandfather and grandmother. She is their spiritual heir,” Nargozu says. “The film begins with the snow-capped syrt and white-topped mountain peaks and ends at the Mongu-Ata glacier and the sacred silver lake Kumush-Kol. Such is the fate of Altyn, who descends from the snow-white mountains and, having gone through a series of trials in the city, returns to her own roots, to the traditional way of life and fundamental values ​​of her people.” Watch the trailer to Mountain Wagtail below: Trailer: The Mountain Wagtail | SproutsFF24 from Sprouts Film Festival on Vimeo. Scroll down to find our “Republish” button Previously in The Revelator: The Story of Plastic: New Film Exposes the Source of Our Plastic Crisis The post ‘The Mountain Wagtail’: How Pollution and Mining Are Destroying Kyrgyzstan appeared first on The Revelator.

As mining operations destroy millennia-old glaciers, Kyrgyzstani director Begaly Nargozu’s new film reflects a disappearing landscape and culture. The post ‘The Mountain Wagtail’: How Pollution and Mining Are Destroying Kyrgyzstan appeared first on The Revelator.

Every winter young Altyn, the protagonist of Kyrgyzstani director Begaly Nargozu’s 2023 film The Mountain Wagtail, would mount her horse, leave her village in the valley, and head to the syrt, an unchanging landscape of snow and glaciers stretching across the mountaintops of Kyrgyzstan, to help her nomadic grandparents herd their yaks. Altyn’s innocent, kind-hearted nature — nurtured by the beauty of the icy landscape and her grandparents’ reverence for it — is tested when, in the twilight of her teenage years, she moves to the capital of Bishkek to attend university. Staying with her older sister, a fully urbanized entrepreneur with a disdain for all things rural, Altyn soon finds herself confronted by all the trappings and evils of modern-day society, from substance abuse and sexual assault to domestic violence and environmental pollution.

The Mountain Wagtail premiered in 2023 and has recently played at ecology-themed Sprouts Film Festival in Amsterdam and other film festivals across Europe and Asia.

Nargozu says his village, like Altyn’s unnamed hometown, is surrounded by “holy mountains which hundreds of people visit every day to pray and ask for a better life.” His tale of Altyn’s journey to the city echoes the journeys of many young Kyrgyzstani women as heavy industry and mining operations turn the countryside increasingly inhospitable.

“Tons of dust rise into the air each day from mining development and settle on the surrounding glaciers,” he tells The Revelator. “Millions of cubes of ice are melted, billions of tons of harmful substances are poured into rivers. Every year, there are fewer pastures and grasslands. The traditional pastoral life of the highlands is being destroyed, and so people leave the mountains and go to the cities, where living conditions are poorer still.”

In addition to a lack of affordable housing, unauthorized construction, and poor waste management, Bishkek’s air quality is among the worst in the world, resulting in roughly 4,000 premature deaths each year. Contributing factors range from factory and vehicle emissions to the country’s continued and widespread use of coal. Sharing the blame is Bishkek’s landfill, originally dug by the Soviet Union, which was too small to keep up with the city’s growing population and, as a result, regularly caught fire and filled the air with toxic fumes. (After years of struggling to procure international investment and circumvent government corruption, a new landfill opened in 2023.)

Historically, says Nargozu, “the Kyrgyz did not treat the mountains as consumers; they did not look for valuable materials there, blowing up anything and everything. On the contrary, they worshiped and prayed to them, living for thousands of years without major problems with nature, in harmony.” According to Nargozu, it was only with the advent of the colonization of imperial Russia that the extraction of valuable metals and toxic substances from the Kyrgyz mountains on an industrial scale began.

Official film poster for The Mountain Wagtail.
Official film poster for The Mountain Wagtail.

The distinction at the center of The Mountain Wagtail isn’t between urban and rural but syrt and non-syrt. Altyn’s village, though isolated, pastoral, and idyllic by western standards, is presented as a kind of Bishkek writ small: a sign of the future that awaits the Kyrgyzstani countryside.  Only the syrt remains free of the spiritual corruption radiating from Bishkek. Up there, accompanied only by snow, sun, yaks, and an ecologist researching the melting glaciers, Altyn’s grandparents live in unceasing peace and happiness. The only couple in the film that treats one another with kindness and respect, Nargozu’s screenplay refers to them as “celestial beings.” But they are also an endangered species.

The Mountain Wagtail’s mixed reception inside Kyrgyzstan reflects the hold heavy industry has on the country and its culture. When Nargozu showed the film at the Ala-Too cinema in the capital in 2023, he says it was warmly received by creatives and the intelligentsia. Government officials were less enthusiastic, though. When the film began receiving awards from international festivals, Nargozu said they asked him: “Why spread negativity about Kyrgyzstan throughout the world? We need to be more patriotic and show only our good side.”

“It looks depressing,” Nargozu says of Kyrgyzstan’s future. “Every year we export tons and tons of pure gold, yet we remain among the poorest countries of the world. Should we continue to mine gold if — instead of happiness — it only brings us closer to environmental disaster?”

In search of answers, he looks to the same place Altyn does when she feels lost — the syrt:

“Maybe we need to live like our ancestors, protecting nature and the traditional, pastoral way of life of the mountaineers.” In The Mountain Wagtail, he uses the color white to symbolize the natural purity of the Mongu-Ata glacier as well as Altyn’s moral purity.

“Just as rivers originate from mountain lakes and glaciers, so Altyn’s spiritual purity begins with her grandfather and grandmother. She is their spiritual heir,” Nargozu says. “The film begins with the snow-capped syrt and white-topped mountain peaks and ends at the Mongu-Ata glacier and the sacred silver lake Kumush-Kol. Such is the fate of Altyn, who descends from the snow-white mountains and, having gone through a series of trials in the city, returns to her own roots, to the traditional way of life and fundamental values ​​of her people.”

Watch the trailer to Mountain Wagtail below:

Trailer: The Mountain Wagtail | SproutsFF24 from Sprouts Film Festival on Vimeo.

Scroll down to find our “Republish” button

Previously in The Revelator:

The Story of Plastic: New Film Exposes the Source of Our Plastic Crisis

The post ‘The Mountain Wagtail’: How Pollution and Mining Are Destroying Kyrgyzstan appeared first on The Revelator.

Read the full story here.
Photos courtesy of

Man, machine and mutton: Inside the plan to prevent the next SoCal fire disaster

Local fire crews are launching a sweeping effort to prevent future wildfires in the Santa Monica Mountains. It entails using both animals and machines to create fire breaks — a controversial solution in Southern California.

Nine months after one of the worst fires the region has seen in recorded history, a helicopter carrying two of the most consequential politicians in the fight against Southern California’s wildfires soared over the Santa Monica Mountains. Rows of jagged peaks slowly revealed steep canyons. The land was blotchy: some parts were covered in thick, green and shrubby native chaparral plants; others were blackened, comprised mostly by fire-stricken earth where chaparral used to thrive; and still others were blanketed by bone-dry golden grasses where the land had years ago been choked out by fire.Amid this tapestry was a scattering of homes and businesses with only a handful of roads snaking out: Topanga. The dangers, should a fire roar down the canyon, were painfully clear at a thousand feet.“If there are any issues on the Boulevard…” County Supervisor Lindsey Horvath said into her headset, trailing off.“The community is trapped,” said Wade Crowfoot, California Secretary for Natural Resources, finishing the thought.Over the same mountains where the Palisades fire roared, the supervisor and secretary were observing the state’s nearly 675-acre flagship project to stop the Santa Monica Mountains’ next firestorm from devouring homes and killing residents. Crews from the Los Angeles County Fire Department and the Mountains Recreation and Conservation Authority, a local land management agency, were cutting a miles-long web of fuel breaks in the Northern Santa Monicas between Topanga and Calabasas. In the spring, they hope to perform a prescribed burn along the break. Just northwest, on the other side of Calabasas, Ventura County Fire Department deployed 500 goats and 100 sheep to eat acres of invasive grasses that are prone to conflagration. A fire crew walks in the Santa Monica Mountains during a wildfire risk reduction project on Oct. 8. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times) It’s just a fraction of the work state leaders and local fire crews hope to someday accomplish, yet the scale and speed of the effort has already made some ecology and fire experts uneasy. (The goats, however, have enjoyed virtually universal praise.) While many firefighters and fire officials support the creation of fuel breaks, which offer better access to remote areas during a fire fight, fire ecologists warn that if not done carefully, fuel breaks can make the landscape even more fire-prone by inadvertently replacing chaparral with flammable invasive grasses.Yet, after the Palisades fire last January, many state leaders and residents in the Santa Monicas feel it’s better to act now — even if the plan is a bit experimental — given the mountains will almost certainly burn again, and likely soon. Goats help clear vegetation in the Upper Las Virgenes Canyon Open Space Preserve as part of a wildfire risk reduction project. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times) In March, Gov. Gavin Newsom signed an executive order streamlining the approval process for these projects. Instead of seeking multiple permits through separate lengthy processes — via the California Environmental Quality Act, Coastal Act, Endangered Species Act, and Native Plant Protection Act (among others) — applicants can now submit projects directly to the California Natural Resources Agency and California Environmental Protection Agency, which ensures compliance with all of the relevant laws.Consequently, the state has approved well over 100 projects in mere months. Before, it was not uncommon for projects to sit in limbo for years awaiting various approvals.In April, the state legislature and Newsom approved the early release of funds from a $10 billion climate bond that California voters approved last November for these types of projects. The Santa Monica Mountains Conservancy, which received over $31 million of that funding, awarded just over $3 million to L.A. County and Ventura County fire departments and the MRCA to complete the project.On Oct. 8, Horvath and Crowfoot watched from a ridgeline northwest of Topanga as crews below maneuvered a remote-controlled machine — named the Green Climber after its color and ability to navigate steep slopes — to chew up shrubs on the hillsides. Others used a claw affixed to the arm of a bright-red excavator to rip out plants. Los Angeles County Supervisor Lindsey Horvath flies over the Malibu coastline during a tour of a wildfire risk reduction project in the Santa Monica Mountains. (Myung J. Chun/Los Angeles Times) The goal was to create a new fuel break on a plot of land that is one of the few areas in the Santa Monicas that hasn’t burned in the last seven years, said Drew Smith, assistant fire chief with the L.A. County Fire Department. “Going into the fall, our biggest vulnerabilities are all this right here.”Left alone, chaparral typically burns every 30 to 130 years, historically due to lightning strikes. But as Westerners began to settle the region, fires became more frequent. For example, Malibu Canyon — which last burned in the Franklin fire, just a month before the Palisades fire — now experiences fire roughly every eight years.As the fire frequency chokes out the native chaparral ecosystem, fast growing, extremely flammable invasive grasses take over, making it even more likely that a loose cigarette or downed power line will ignite a devastating blaze. Scientists call this death spiral the human-grass-fire cycle. Stopping it is no simple task. And reversing it, some experts fear, may be borderline impossible.The state’s current approach, laid out by a panel of independent scientists working with California’s wildfire task force, is three-pronged.First: home hardening, defensible space and evacuation planning to ensure that if a monster fire starts, it causes the smallest amount of death and destruction. Second: Techniques to prevent fire ignitions in the first place, such as deploying arson watch teams on high-wind days.Third: Creating a network of fuel breaks. Fuel breaks are the most hotly debated, in part because fuel breaks alone do little to stop a wind-driven fire throwing embers miles away.But fire officials who have relied on fuel breaks during disasters argue that such fuel breaks can still play “a significant tactical role,” said Smith, allowing crews to reach the fire — or a new spot fire ignited by an ember — before it blows through a community. A Los Angeles County Fire Department excavator with a claw grapple clears vegetation in the Santa Monica Mountains. (Myung J. Chun/Los Angeles Times) But Dan Cooper, principal conservation biologist with the Resource Conservation District of the Santa Monica Mountains, said there’s little scientific evidence yet that indicates fuel breaks are effective.And because creating fuel breaks harms ecosystems and, at worst, can make them even more fire prone, fire ecologists warn they need to be deployed strategically. As such, the speed at which the state is approving projects, they say, is concerning.Alexandra Syphard, senior research scientist at the Conservation Biology Institute and a leading Southern California fire ecologist, noted that the fuel break the Santa Monica Mountains team is creating near Topanga seems to cut right through healthy chaparral. If the fire crews do not routinely maintain the fuel break, it will be flammable golden grasses that grow back, not more ignition-resistant chaparral. A remote controlled masticator — called the “Green Climber” — mulches flammable vegetation in Topanga to keep flames at a low height. (Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times) And the choices land managers make today can have significant consequences down the line: While fire crews and local conservationists are experimenting with how to restore chaparral to grass-filled areas, in the studies Syphard has looked at, once chaparral is gone, it seldom comes back.For Cooper, the trade-offs of wildfire risk reduction get at a fundamental tension of living in the Santa Monicas. People move to places like Topanga, in part, because they love the chaparral-dotted vistas, the backyard oak woodlands and the privacy of life in the canyon. Yet, it’s that same environment that imperils them. “What are you going to do about it? Pave the Santa Monicas? A lot of the old fire guys want to make everything grass in the Santa Monicas because grass fires are just easier to put out,” he said. “We need to learn how to live with fire — in a lot more sober way.”

Merrily we bring microplastics into the wilderness with our hiking shoes, study shows

Research comparing Adirondack mountain lakes in New York suggests foot traffic is significant source of pollutionHiking shoes and outdoor gear are likely a significant source of microplastic pollution in the wilderness, new research that checked for the pernicious material in several Adirondack mountain lakes in upstate New York suggests.Researchers measured microplastic levels in two lakes that are the among highest sources of water for the Hudson River – one that sees heavy foot traffic from hikers, and another lake that is far away from a path and rarely touched by human activity. Continue reading...

Hiking shoes and outdoor gear are likely a significant source of microplastic pollution in the wilderness, new research that checked for the pernicious material in several Adirondack mountain lakes in upstate New York suggests.Researchers measured microplastic levels in two lakes that are the among highest sources of water for the Hudson River – one that sees heavy foot traffic from hikers, and another lake that is far away from a path and rarely touched by human activity.The samples from the lake that sees heavier foot traffic showed levels that were about 23 times higher.Soft-soled trail shoes and synthetic clothing “appear to be significant contributors to microplastics finding their way into these remote, otherwise pristine waters”, said Tim Keyes, a Sacred Heart University data scientist, who independently worked on the project with his company, Evergreen Business Analytics, and the Adirondack Hamlet to Huts non-profit.Microplastics are tiny bits of plastic either intentionally added to consumer goods, or which are products of larger plastics breaking down. The particles may contain any number of 16,000 plastic chemicals, of which many, such as BPA, phthalates and Pfas, present serious health risks.The substance has been found throughout the human body, and can cross the placental and brain barriers. Among other issues, microplastics are linked to chronic pulmonary inflammation, which can lead to lung cancer.Previous research found that as much as 70% of microplastics in ocean samples were from apparel. Meanwhile, the substance has been found in clouds and in precipitation samples.Keyes in 2023 sampled for microplastics in Lake Tear of the Clouds, which sits at about 4,300ft (1,300 meters). It sees heavy hiker traffic because it is adjacent to a trail segment that is part of several larger trails.Keyes sent the sample to an independent lab that found 9.45 particles per milliliter (mL). Because the area only had hiker traffic, “it was surmised that microplastic pollution was being brought to the area largely by airborne deposition”, the authors wrote, meaning primarily via precipitation.Now they suspect they were wrong. The authors returned two years later in early 2025 to sample Lake Tear, as well as Moss Pond, which the paper describes as “a remote, trailless body of water” at a similar elevation.The independent lab detected about 0.73 particles per mL in Moss Pond, and about 16.54 particles per mL in Lake Tear – a roughly 23-fold difference that suggests the hiker traffic is playing a major role. Lightweight trail shoes can shed microplastics similar to tires, which are another source of pollution, Keyes said.“It’s a pretty clear indication given the stark difference in microplastic levels between the sister body of water that’s a bushwack away compared to Lake Tear, which is on this thoroughfare for hikers that sees tens of thousands of people annually,” Keyes said.Sami Romanick, a microplastics researcher with the Environmental Working Group non-profit who was not involved with the study, said the research’s methodology and design were sound. She agreed with the conclusion that the contamination was likely caused by hiking gear.“It’s a reasonable explanation that’s supported by the data,” Romanick said.The authors say the findings are meant to generate awareness and underscore why industry should produce clothing and shoes that will shed fewer microplastics. Hikers should consider wearing hard-rubber-sole shoes that release less plastic compared with soft soles, and wear synthetic fiber clothing underneath those made with natural fibers.

The Whispers of Rock is a personal journey through aeons of geology

In her new book, earth scientist Anjana Khatwa writes a love letter to Earth's rocks and mountains, offering a passionate blend of science and spirituality

The rocks of the Jurassic Coast in the UK span 185 million yearsJames Osmond/Alamy The Whispers of RockAnjana Khatwa, The Bridge Street Press (UK); Basic Books (US, out 4 November) IT IS easy to take rocks for granted. How often do we think about the materials that make up the pavements we walk on, or the origins of the pebbles we pick up while sitting at the beach? And how often do we realise the importance of geology when it comes to nature writing and the hard-hitting conversations now happening about our warming world? Any action concerning climate change and the future of our planet needs to incorporate how we interact with the components that make up our world. How fortunate, then, that we can gain such an understanding from earth scientist Anjana Khatwa and her new book, The Whispers of Rock: Stories from the Earth. Billed as an “exhilarating journey through deep time”, it is a love letter written with such passion that you can’t help but be moved. Khatwa has devoted much of her life to spreading the gospel of geology, and here she offers clinical, scientific substance to back up her extraordinary depth of feeling. Throughout the book, she is methodical in her explanations of subjects such as how mountains, craters and slate are formed, while also weaving in fascinating details. We learn that the Taj Mahal in India, an iconic symbol of love, was constructed with ivory-white Makrana marble, the origins of which date back to when several primitive land masses collided nearly 2 billion years ago. A recipe incorporating those tectonic movements, cyanobacteria, photosynthesis and calcium carbonate led to the rock used in this extraordinary monument, a much more complex process than might be realised at first glance. Once she has established their scientific foundation, Khatwa brings the stories of rocks and minerals to life – and does so far more sensually than any school geology lesson I can remember. In Petra, Jordan, she pushes the reader to take heed of the negative space where rock has been cut back to form buildings, and the beauty that can emerge in unexpected places. Among sandstone and quartz, the rocks whisper “these patterns you see are the traces of rivers of old”, she writes. These are Khatwa’s friends, and soon these “story keepers of time” become ours too. “ A recipe incorporating tectonic collisions, photosynthesis and more led to the marble used in the Taj Mahal “ Khatwa’s love of rocks emerged as a child, when she walked over solidified lava flows in south-east Kenya. In her book, she takes us with her around the world and across aeons, all the way to her home of 20 years in Dorset, UK, where the Jurassic Coast World Heritage Site and its 185 million years of geological history are her neighbours. On this journey, we come to learn how rocks have shaped her and our world alike. We visit Stonehenge’s massive sarsen stones on Salisbury plain in the UK, uncover the science and mythology of the pounamu greenstones in New Zealand and follow the racial and political history of the Black Belt, a region of dark, fertile soil in the US South that was dominated by cotton plantations, following the forced removal of Indigenous communities. But what makes this book really stand out is Khatwa’s personal touch. She offers us vulnerability, sharing her own experiences of motherhood and faith, while not shying away from the fact that the environmental sector in which she works is one of the least diverse fields in the UK. She describes how she found herself “moulded into a different person by the whiteness of the environments I worked in”, with her cultural and spiritual identity taking second place to her scientific self. This book is a must-read for anyone trying to balance that duality, as well as those who wish to understand it. We cheer Khatwa on as she holds on tight to her rocks and navigates spaces of belonging and unbelonging. The Whispers of Rock is so packed with information that every chapter requires you to step away and process it. Khatwa is also deliberately provocative, admitting from the beginning of the book that its alliance of science and spirituality may cause discomfort and consternation in some readers because it just isn’t what people are used to. But this potentially divisive approach is a catalyst for a truly thought-provoking odyssey. Dhruti Shah is a freelance journalist based in London

Swimming Drone Explores Underwater Mountain in Lake Superior

Filmmakers and researchers are using drones to explore an underwater mountain in Lake Superior

Known to some as the “Freshwater Everest,” if you want to explore this mountain, you don’t go up, you go down.In the middle of Lake Superior, near the boundary between Canadian and US waters, sits the Superior Shoal, a mountain that’s completely underwater. The shoal is about 4 square miles of volcanic rock that rises up from the bottom of the lake to a height nearly three times that of the Statue of Liberty. Its peak wrests about 30 feet below the surface. Now, filmmakers and researchers are exploring it with underwater drones. They want to see if it’s a hotbed for aquatic life that could offer a refuge for species facing obstacles elsewhere in the Great Lakes.“This is an area that has very, very rarely been explored on camera,” said Zach Melnick, a cofounder of Inspired Planet Productions, which he runs with his business partner and wife, Yvonne Drebert. It’s not the only underwater incline in the Great Lakes. Others include Stannard Rock, a reef in Lake Superior north of Marquette; a knoll outside Tobermory, Ontario in Lake Huron; and Midlake Reef in Lake Michigan, between Muskegon and Milwaukee. And it’s not the only “Superior Shoal.” There’s another located in the St. Lawrence River off the shore of New York. But Drebert and Melnick believe the Superior Shoal in Lake Michigan is the largest known underwater mountain in fresh water. Documenting aquatic life with a swimming robot The filmmakers had been curious about lake protrusions after exploring one that appeared to be an outlier of aquatic life while filming their series and related documentary, “ All Too Clear: Beneath the Surface of the Great Lakes.” Those works dive deep into how invasive mussels in the Great Lakes are gobbling up essential nutrients and devastating organisms, from plankton to whitefish.When a researcher they’d worked with in the past, Michael Rennie, got a grant to explore the Superior Shoal, they “sort of begged him,” Melnick said, to let them come along.Rennie is an associate professor at Lakehead University and a research fellow at the International Institute for Sustainable Development-Experimental Lakes Area. Now, with the help of the filmmakers’ cameras, he’s looking into whether the Superior Shoal might be a hotspot for life, which he said is often the case for similar seamounts found in the ocean. What they’re essentially studying, Rennie said, is “how the physics of having this giant mountain in a bunch of water that’s swirling around all the time interacts with things like nutrients, and with the growth of algae, to promote the abundance of fish that we seem to be seeing out there.”Melnick and Drebert are operating special cinema-grade cameras to monitor aquatic life like zooplankton, algae and fish. The drone they use is called a Boxfish Luna and it can go around 1,600 feet deep, about the length of five football fields.“Think of aerial drones, take all that cool technology, and put it in a robot that you’re shoving underwater,” Drebert said. “But our drone is a little bit special because it can swim in any direction, just like a fish.”Usually, it takes a little while for fish to get used to the swimming drone, Melnick said, but fish near the Superior Shoal seemed to be curious.“The trout out there were ultra amenable to being on camera,” he said. At one point, while the team was livestreaming video, they tried to measure fish with two laser points. The fish chased the glowing red dots the same way cats do. They also saw hydra, which are kind of like freshwater anemones, attached to rocks, giving the effect of a garden.“They are little tiny aquatic animals that wave in the wind,” said Drebert. “They use their little hairy tentacles to pull food, like little zooplankton and critters, out of the water.”Rennie said the data collected on the recent trip has not been fully analyzed yet. But, if research shows that the Superior Shoal is a magnet for aquatic life, then maybe it and places like it could serve as refuges for near-shore populations dealing with environmental or human-caused problems.“And, if that’s the case, then I think we’ve got really good arguments to be made for maybe we should think about affording these regions a higher conservation status,” Rennie said. Melnick and Drebert are planning to use footage taken from the Superior Shoal in a documentary they’re developing about lakemounts as well as a wildlife docuseries they’re working on. This story was originally published by Bridge Michigan and distributed through a partnership with The Associated Press.Copyright 2025 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.Photos You Should See – Sept. 2025

Suggested Viewing

Join us to forge
a sustainable future

Our team is always growing.
Become a partner, volunteer, sponsor, or intern today.
Let us know how you would like to get involved!

CONTACT US

sign up for our mailing list to stay informed on the latest films and environmental headlines.

Subscribers receive a free day pass for streaming Cinema Verde.
Thank you! Your submission has been received!
Oops! Something went wrong while submitting the form.