Hannah Harrero and Stephanie Insalaco-Wyner, geographers from Florida, comment on differing methods of monitoring the resilience of seagrass meadows in Florida’s ‘Mosquito Lagoon’, following a number of extreme weather events. Florida’s Indian River Lagoon has been an ecosystem in decline going back to 2011, when harmful algal blooms led to a severe decline in
Heidi McIlvenny, PhD researcher from Queen’s University Belfast, comments on seagrass meadows in Northern Ireland and how seagrass meadows can recover but only if we tackle the pollution at its source. I spent last summer wading through seagrass meadows across Northern Ireland, from the sheltered waters of Strangford Lough to
In an article for Halloween, Grace Cutler, one of Project Seagrass’ Interns for the 2025-26 academic year, explores the frightening reality of continued seagrass loss as a result of anthropogenic activity and how this in turn threatens seagrass’ role in supporting people and planet. Werewolves are struck down by silver
Beneath the surface of the Chesapeake Bay, a subtle but dramatic shift is taking place as eelgrass gives way to its warmer-water relative, widgeon grass. A new study from researchers at William & Mary’s Batten School & VIMS shows that this seagrass swap could have ecological impacts across the Bay’s
Hannah Harrero and Stephanie Insalaco-Wyner, geographers from Florida, comment on differing methods of monitoring the resilience of seagrass meadows in Florida’s ‘Mosquito Lagoon’, following a number of extreme weather events. Florida’s Indian River Lagoon has been an ecosystem in decline going back to 2011, when harmful algal blooms led to a severe decline in seagrass, the foundational component of shallow coastal ecosystems. Seagrass meadows stabilize sediments, improve water clarity and provide critical habitat and forage for species ranging from invertebrates to sea turtles and manatees. Seagrass also generates a significant amount of economic activity in the state of Florida. The loss of seagrass in the Indian River Lagoon System undermined fisheries, tourism and wildlife, ultimately leading to the starvation of more than 1,200 manatees from 2020-25, peaking in 2021-22. Mosquito Lagoon is part of the Indian River Lagoon system that spans 28 miles (45 kilometers), running from Cape Canaveral in the south up to Ponce Inlet in the north. As in the rest of the lagoon system, years of nutrient pollution and recurring algal blooms had diminished seagrass cover to nearly zero by the early 2020s. By most accounts, Mosquito Lagoon had crossed a critical ecological tipping point. In the fall of 2022, hurricanes Ian and Nicole struck Florida’s east coast within six weeks of one another, bringing intense rainfall, storm surges and coastal erosion. In the immediate aftermath, seagrass declined even further. But a few months later, in the spring of 2023, seagrass began to return. Satellite imagery revealed rapid and widespread regrowth. Hannah and I are geographers who study environmental change. Our research documents this unexpected recovery and examines what it may reveal about ecosystem resilience in heavily degraded coastal systems. One of us, Hannah Herrero, is a Volusia County native who grew up around the lagoon. She returned to her hometown at the outset of the COVID-19 pandemic. It was there that some local guides and fishermen she’d known for years suggested that our team should use satellite imagery to look at the state of collapse in the lagoon. The study we designed as a result used satellite imagery and machine learning, a type of artificial intelligence that uses advanced algorithms to learn and predict patterns, to track seagrass dynamics in Mosquito Lagoon before, during and after the storms. This approach allowed us to observe change at a scale and frequency that is difficult to achieve using only traditional field survey methods. Florida Manatee Tracking seagrass from space Monitoring seagrass coverage “the old-fashioned way” involves going into the lagoon and laying out transects, straight lines that cut through a landscape, so standard observations could be recorded. We would then have to boat or wade all along those lines to measure seagrass extent and locations and create digital maps manually to show where it is present. As you can imagine, this is a time-intensive process that’s limited by how far you can boat or swim in a day, and by financial resources. So we decided to use satellite imagery instead. This method is not without its own challenges—water turbidity, or cloudiness, seasonal variability and the patchy nature of vegetation that grows on the bottom of the lagoon all make it difficult to observe seagrass growth directly on the imagery. To address this challenge, our study used imagery from NASA’s Harmonized Landsat–Sentinel program, which combines data from multiple satellites into a consistent record of photos of the same areas taken frequently over time. We analyzed imagery collected between September 2022 and January 2024, focusing on periods before and immediately after the hurricanes and throughout the subsequent recovery. We applied a type of machine learning model called Random Forest to classify each image into seagrass and nonseagrass categories. The machine learning algorithm is informed by training samples collected in the field, but once the model has learned the signature of seagrass, it is able to then apply the classification model to the rest of the lagoon and across time with limited human input. We can then validate this classification. Heading into the field First, we had to train the model using hundreds of GPS points collected in the field over multiple seasons. This step helps to ensure that satellite classifications align with on-the-ground conditions and are accurately interpreting the images. Over several weeks during the summers of 2020 through 2023, our team spent many hours navigating Mosquito Lagoon in a small skiff designed for shallow depths, recording seagrass presence. It wasn’t always easy — Florida summers are intensely hot and humid, and Mosquito Lagoon definitely lived up to its name. But we got to see a wide variety of wildlife, including manatees, dolphins, sea turtles and alligators. And occasionally, on lucky days, we even spotted a roseate spoonbill or reddish egret. Our experience in the field highlighted why this system matters: Mosquito Lagoon is a remarkably vibrant place, teeming with wildlife. These long days on the lagoon, surrounded by its biodiversity and immersed in its unique sense of place, are what anchor the remote sensing data to on-the-ground ecological conditions and make the resulting models credible. The authors wade into Mosquito Lagoon to track seagrass growth as they train their AI model. Captain William B. Wolfson, Grassroots Guide Service, New Smyrna Beach, FL What we found Our analysis reveals three distinct phases of seagrass coverage. First, seagrass declined sharply following hurricanes Ian and Nicole. By December 2022 and early 2023, satellite imagery showed virtually no detectable seagrass across the lagoon. Then, in March 2023, we identified a statistically significant shift. Seagrass began to reappear, initially in small, scattered patches. Finally, during late spring and summer 2023, seagrass expanded rapidly. By July 2023, it covered more than 20% of the lagoon—levels not observed in more than a decade. Coverage then declined again during the winter of 2023–24, as expected based on seasonal growth cycles. But even our last observation, completed in January 2024, showed seagrass covering 4.3% of the lagoon, substantially higher than pre-recovery levels during the winter season. In spring 2026, seagrass in Mosquito Lagoon has remained at stable levels. Although it still experiences fluctuations due to algal blooms, seasonality and other changes in the ecosystem, we have not seen a
Heidi McIlvenny, PhD researcher from Queen’s University Belfast, comments on seagrass meadows in Northern Ireland and how seagrass meadows can recover but only if we tackle the pollution at its source. I spent last summer wading through seagrass meadows across Northern Ireland, from the sheltered waters of Strangford Lough to the exposed coast at Waterfoot Bay. I was collecting seagrass leaves and testing them for nitrogen pollution. Every meadow I visited sits inside a marine protected area – a stretch of sea that’s been given legal protection to safeguard the wildlife living there. And every single one was polluted beyond the limit for healthy seagrass. Seagrass meadows are among the most valuable habitats in our coastal waters. They store carbon, nurture young fish and shellfish, stabilise sediment and buffer shorelines from storms. They are also woven into the heritage of coastal communities who have fished and foraged around them for generations. But they are disappearing worldwide, and nitrogen pollution from farming, sewage and urban runoff is one of the biggest reasons why. It’s easy to assume that designating an area as “protected” keeps the habitat inside it safe. My research shows that, for seagrass, this assumption is dangerously wrong. Physical protection from anchors and dredging means little when pollution flows freely across the boundary from the land. What matters most for seagrass is not lines drawn on a map, but what happens on shore. To understand how much nitrogen pollution seagrass is absorbing, we can measure nitrogen content in the leaves themselves. Seagrass continuously takes up nutrients from the surrounding water, so the chemistry of its tissue works like a long-term pollution record. And my results showed that every meadow in Northern Ireland exceeded the pollution limit. But knowing the pollution level is only useful if you know how much is too much, and what it means for the health of the meadow. To answer that, we pulled together data from 13 countries across the northern hemisphere and found a clear pattern. A catshark shelters among seagrass. Shannon Moran / Ocean Image Bank When nitrogen in the leaves rises above 1.8%, seagrass starts to suffer and loose plant growth. Above 2.8%, the decline accelerates rapidly, and in this danger zone small increases in pollution trigger disproportionately large plant losses. Think of it as a traffic light system: green is below 1.8% where meadows can cope; amber is between 1.8% and 2.8%, where managers should be watching closely and acting to reduce pollution; and red is above 2.8%, where urgent intervention is needed before the damage becomes irreversible. The starkest example of a meadow in the red zone comes from Dundrum Bay, on the County Down coast. According to government assessments, it’s healthy. But my data tells a different story. Nitrogen levels here were nearly double the pollution limit of 1.8%. Surveys over the past decade paint an even bleaker picture: where lush meadows once thrived, dense mats of green algae now smother what little remains. This meadow has likely crossed a tipping point, and may never recover even if we clean up the pollution. A few miles up the coast we see a very different picture. At Castle Espie, beside a wetland reserve in Strangford Lough, a seagrass meadow is thriving. The plants here belong to the same genetic population as struggling meadows elsewhere in the lough. But the difference is that the reserve’s reedbeds and willows act as natural filters, cleaning the water that runs from the land before it reaches the sea. The same species with the same level of marine protection, but dramatically different outcomes. The difference is what happens on land. But current monitoring methods aren’t designed to spot this kind of trouble before it’s too late. An early warning system Current monitoring methods tend to measure how much seagrass is still there. But by the time a meadow visibly shrinks, the damage may already be done. The tissue chemistry approach we used picks up stress signals much earlier, while there is still time to act. The nitrogen thresholds my research identifies could give environmental agencies a practical early warning system: meadows at or above 1.8% need closer watching, and those at or above 2.8% need urgent action to reduce nutrient pollution from catchments. Seagrass meadows can recover but only if we tackle the pollution at its source. That means better management of urban and agricultural runoff, investment in sewage treatment and recognising that marine conservation cannot stop at the high tide mark. If we lose these meadows, we lose their carbon stores, their fish nurseries, the coastal protection they provide, along with a piece of our coastal heritage. More information: This article is republished from The Conversation
In an article for Halloween, Grace Cutler, one of Project Seagrass’ Interns for the 2025-26 academic year, explores the frightening reality of continued seagrass loss as a result of anthropogenic activity and how this in turn threatens seagrass’ role in supporting people and planet. Werewolves are struck down by silver bullets, vampires are defeated with wooden stakes; the environment is protected by seagrass. While it may not be as dramatic, the narrative that aligns seagrass as the ultimate solution to combating the environmental crisis is popular. As someone studying this remarkable habitat, it’s easy to see why. The only marine flowering plant in the world, seagrass offers numerous ecological benefits, supporting both our planet and humanity. Despite this, we risk ignoring the crux of the issue by relying on these green solutions. We keep polluting. It is because we continue to pollute our environment, be it through greenhouse gases, plastic pollution, or general waste production, that the very things that help to prevent the environmental crisis, are dying. A Natural Water Filter? While seagrass may not clean water bodies, it increases particle deposition rates by slowing the speed of waves and allowing more time for particles to sink to the ocean floor. Particles can then become trapped in the seagrass meadow and are prevented from ending up elsewhere in waterways. This process has been shown to capture excess nutrients, waste products, and even pathogens. A study conducted in the greater Seattle Metropolitan Area showed that mussels placed in seagrass habitats had 65% less relative abundance of some pathogens when compared to mussels placed in habitats without seagrass. Yet, the most apparent threat to seagrass, identified by UK researchers, is water quality. Like most plant species, seagrass can function in polluted water quality up to a point or ‘threshold value’. Similar to how humans can eat a certain number of toffee apples until it becomes too much and we get a sugar crash. Once this threshold is exceeded, seagrass will decline and, in some severe instances, disappear from the environment entirely. One such instance can be seen in the Chinese province Hainan, where researchers found that a dissolved inorganic nitrogen concentration of 8μM or above will cause seagrass meadows to disappear. This is because an excess of nutrients in water bodies, like nitrogen, stimulates the production of algae which blooms on the surface of the water and prevents sunlight from reaching seagrass beds. Additionally, some nutrients like ammonium and sulphides can have direct negative effects on seagrass growth. Fortifying our Coastlines Imagine a castle that is under attack. If it is strong and maintained, the castle will be better at defending itself against intruders. However, the next time it is under attack, there are holes and weak points left in it from the previous battle. Over time, this castle falls into disrepair and becomes a ruin, leaving it unable to protect its inhabitants. Seagrass is similar. Its inhabitants are our coastlines. Coastlines today are facing threats on all fronts. Sea level rise, extreme storms, and erosion are just some of the problems they experience. With that said, some have considered using seagrass as a way of minimising the impact of storms causing erosion in these areas. Through their matted root systems, called rhizomes, seagrass meadows have been shown to improve the stability of sediments and reduce wave energy before it reaches the shore in some hydrodynamic systems. Yet, seagrass is also harmed by these storms. Meadows that are struck by intense physical disturbances can be uprooted or die back, initiating a positive feedback loop where meadows in decline are more vulnerable to disturbances. This means when the next storm hits, seagrass not only will be more susceptible to decline, but they are also less able to protect our coasts. What About Carbon? Carbon storage is a phrase often thrown around. It may be the key reason why people are interested in seagrass as an answer to climate change. With anxiety surrounding our warming planet on the rise, this isn’t unprecedented. However, seagrass may not be quite the antidote we think it is. Recent evidence has shown that following disturbances, carbon stored in the soil of meadows may be re-released into their environment as carbon dioxide. Such disturbances can range from direct physical effects, such as dredging and construction work, or indirect global threats stimulated by climate change. A 2011 marine heat wave struck the West-coast of Australia, causing the reported loss of over 1000 km2 of seagrass in Shark Bay. Another instance of mass seagrass loss occurred in the Gulf of Mexico, where two seagrass species (Halodule wrightii and Syringodium filiform) disappeared following sea level rise in 2014. Without seagrass, the carbon stored in these soils is easily remineralised and released back into the environment. What’s Next? Thankfully, the main factor contributing to seagrass decline appears to be anthropogenic impacts such as dredging, overfishing, and agricultural runoff. This means that with changes in how we do things, we can stop the death of seagrass. However, this means seagrass mustn’t be painted as a plaster to patch up the pollution of the planet. To help seagrass, we must reduce pollution, reduce nutrient runoff, protect seagrass so it can protect us! References Ranking the risk of CO2 emissions from seagrass soil carbon stocks under global change threats Extreme climate events lower resilience of foundation seagrass at edge of biogeographical range Too hot to handle: Unprecedented seagrass death driven by marine heatwave in a World Heritage Area Rapid sea level rise causes loss of seagrass meadows Seagrass ecosystems as green urban infrastructure to mediate human pathogens in seafood Toxic effects of increased sediment nutrient and organic matter loading on the seagrass Zostera noltii Losses and recovery of organic carbon from a seagrass ecosystem following disturbance Continual migration of patches within a Massachusetts seagrass meadow limits carbon accretion and storage Mediterranean seagrasses provide essential coastal protection under climate change
Beneath the surface of the Chesapeake Bay, a subtle but dramatic shift is taking place as eelgrass gives way to its warmer-water relative, widgeon grass. A new study from researchers at William & Mary’s Batten School & VIMS shows that this seagrass swap could have ecological impacts across the Bay’s food webs, fisheries and ecosystem functions. Published in Marine Ecology Progress Series, the study reveals that while both seagrass species offer valuable habitat, they support marine life in very different ways. The researchers estimate that the continued shift from eelgrass to widgeon grass could lead to a 63% reduction in the total quantity of invertebrate biomass living in seagrass meadows in the bay by 2060. “Several factors including water quality, rising temperatures and human development are threatening eelgrass in the Chesapeake Bay. In its place, particularly in the middle Bay, widgeon grass has expanded due to its ability to tolerate warmer, more variable conditions,” said Associate Professor Chris Patrick, who is also director of the Submerged Aquatic Vegetation (SAV) Monitoring & Restoration Program at the Batten School of Coastal & Marine Sciences & VIMS. “However, the two grasses provide structurally distinct habitats that shape the animals living within.” All grasses are not created equal While working with Patrick and earning her master’s degree at the Batten School & VIMS, lead author Lauren Alvaro engaged in extensive fieldwork studying seagrass meadows in Mobjack Bay. Her team surveyed and compared habitats consisting of eelgrass, widgeon grass as well as mixed beds. They documented everything from burrowing clams and snails to crabs and fishes to get an idea of life living within the sediment and among the grasses. The findings showed that while widgeon grass supports more individual invertebrates per gram of plant material, eelgrass meadows are home to larger animals and have more plant biomass per square meter. As a result, eelgrass supports a greater total animal biomass per square meter. “Our findings suggest that we’re likely to see a fundamental shift in the structure of the food web that favors smaller creatures as eelgrass is replaced by widgeon grass,” said Alvaro. “The eelgrass meadows produced fewer animals, but they’re bigger and more valuable to predators like fish and blue crabs.” Much of the difference is due to the physical characteristics of the two types of seagrasses. Widgeon grass beds have a greater surface-to-biomass ratio due to their narrower leaf structure, which provides more area for small invertebrates to cling to. However, eelgrass’s broader leaves provide a type of canopy favored by animals like pipefish, blue crabs, and larger isopods, which are small shrimp-like crustaceans. The bigger picture The researchers extrapolated their findings and estimated that current seagrass habitats in the Chesapeake Bay support approximately 66,139 tons of invertebrate biomass living in the sediment and among the grass beds and produce 35,274 tons of new animal biomass each growing season. Termed “secondary production,” this is the biomass the habitat makes available to higher levels of the food chain. If seagrasses continue to shift as expected, by 2060 secondary production could be reduced by more than 60% under a scenario where no further nutrient reductions occur. Nutrient runoff into the Bay is the largest threat to submerged aquatic vegetation. Even in a best-case nutrient management scenario, the Bay could still lose approximately 15% of secondary production biomass. “Within the limits of our study, it wasn’t possible to determine whether it was the meadow’s physical structure, the meadow area, or available food sources that contributed to greater numbers of fish in the eelgrass meadows,” said Alvaro. “This makes it difficult to accurately estimate fishery-level impacts of changes in meadow composition, but several lines of reasoning support an expectation of reduction in numerous commercial and recreational species.” The study adds to a growing body of research documenting the effects of changes in foundational species influenced by a warming planet. The authors cite similar research involving Florida’s mangroves and a worldwide shift from coral to algae-dominated ecosystems. As states within the Bay’s extensive watershed work to maintain and improve the health of the estuary, the team hopes their findings will help inform management decisions and restoration strategies. Protecting and restoring the remaining eelgrass and better understanding the role of widgeon grass may help preserve ecological resources for future generations and provide a buffer against future shocks. More information: This article is republished from PHYS.ORG and provided by Virginia Institute of Marine Science. Lauren Elizabeth Alvaro et al, Changing foundation species in Chesapeake Bay: implications for faunal communities of two dominant seagrass species, Marine Ecology Progress Series (2025). DOI: 10.3354/meps14901
