For the past three weeks, Ny-Ålesund (Svalbard), the northernmost settlement in the world, has been my home and the heart of my PhD research. It’s hard to describe the feeling of waking up every morning in a place so wild yet eerily quiet, untouched by the distractions of modern life. The village has its own rhythm. Meals are served at very strict hours (could you eat dinner at 16:50?) and all doors are left unlocked in case a polar bear wanders into the village.
Credits: Ruben Van Daele
Ny-Ålesund: from mining village to climate change observatory
With its quiet, gravel roads surrounded by a wild landscape, it's hard to imagine what it was like 60 years ago. Once a coal mining village, Ny-Ålesund was abandoned after three major accidents cost the lives of 72 miners between 1945 and 1962. The disaster triggered the so-called "Kings Bay Affair" which led to the collapse of Norway's government. But today, the village has traded its heavy mining town atmosphere for the slightly lighter one of a research station. It has found a new vitality by becoming an international hub for Arctic research and environmental monitoring, with 18 research institutions from 11 countries collaborating here.
For almost a month now, I’ve been working and living in the NERC station (Natural Environment Research Council) belonging to the UK. Nestled between icy fjords and towering glaciers, Ny-Ålesund is where scientists come to understand how the Arctic, warming at a rate three to four times faster than the rest of the planet, is being transformed by climate change. From oceanography to atmospheric studies or terrestrial ecology, this remote village has been turned into a versatile, multi-disciplinary scientific platform. A cutting-edge facility that allows us to see the very big, with its astronomical observatory, but also, the very small.
Tiny creatures, big consequences
Like the other scientists here, I've come to contribute to the understanding of climate change in the Arctic. My PhD, at the University of Gent, focuses on the invisible yet vital life hidden beneath the tundra soil: tiny organisms like protists and nematodes (ranging from 2 µm to 5 mm) that hold the power to shift carbon cycles and nutrient flows as the permafrost thaws.
Nematode viewed with a microscope. Credits: Bryan Griffiths
Nematodes are tiny worms that play various roles in the soil ecosystem. Some nematodes feed on bacteria, others on fungi, while there are also those that leech on the roots of plants. Protists, on the other hand, are single-celled eukaryotes that can either be autotrophic (like plants, producing their own energy from sunlight) or heterotrophic (like us), feeding on bacteria and other small organisms. Despite their small size, nematodes and protists form an important backbone of any soil food web, regulating microbial communities and breaking down organic matter, which directly influences nutrient cycling, plants and ultimately the entire ecosystem above.
As the Arctic is warming up, and more frozen organic matter is being exposed, these organisms control the release of greenhouse gases. The previously unavailable organic carbon present in the frozen soil suddenly becomes available for microbial decomposition, a process through which it is transformed into carbon dioxide (CO2) or methane (CH4) and released into the atmosphere. In this story, by controlling microbial communities, nematodes and protists are not just tiny side actors, they are key players. Understanding their role is therefore crucial to predicting how Arctic soils, now carbon sinks, might transform into carbon sources as the planet warms up. So even if these microscopic creatures are small, their influence on the ecosystem could shape the future of our planet. Much like a butterfly flapping its wings in some distant, forgotten corner, these tiny nematodes and protists might just set off the chain reaction that shifts the balance of this ecosystem's carbon cycle.
Well, for sure, we can’t hear the flap of a butterfly here yet. The only sound comes from the wind, whispering across the tundra, while glaciers groan and creak in the distance. It might seem as if time stands still here but somehow, every morning, the towering mountains around the fjord look slightly different, as if they've shifted overnight. They seem to lean in, like they’re trying to tell us something—perhaps a warning that beneath their serene surface, things are changing..
Credits: Ruben Van Daele
In the next episode: how do scientists study such tiny organisms so far North? If you’re too curious to wait for the second chapter, you can check out Ruben’s personal blog here.
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