Can you imagine how many hours of roadside fieldwork went into this?
We’ve just published the MIREN road survey database, and the accompanying paper led together with Sylvia Haider: 170,000 georeferenced plant records, covering 6,854 vascular plant species across 3,364 plots in 25 mountain regions spanning every continent except Antarctica.
If you haven’t heard of the Mountain Invasion Research Network (MIREN) yet, now is the time to pay attention: since 2007, a growing number of dedicated MIRENers have gone out every five years to survey the vegetation along mountain roads in their region, building what has become one of the largest standardized vegetation monitoring datasets of its kind.
Figure 1: Location of the regions that have implemented the standardized road survey protocol of the Mountain Invasion Research Network (MIREN). Pie charts are scaled by species richness, with colours indicating the proportion of native and non-native plant species.
That massive dataset is now fully open access, with all data up to 2022 included.
If your first reaction is “wow, I wish I’d been part of that” — good news, this is your lucky day. We’re already preparing for the next round of monitoring in 2027, when virtually all of these regions (and a few new ones) will go out again to see what’s changed. Want to join with your favourite mountain region? Just send us a message!
Our 3,364 plots cover an impressive range of the world’s climatic space — though you can see mountain roads get hesitant once the “real deal” begins, with no plots in the tundra (1).
Mountain tops are big, rocky canaries in the coalmine that is our planet. Up there, above the last trees, change happens in real time and out in the open: plants, rock and climate, negotiating directly with each other. If you want to see the effects of a warming world with your own eyes, a summit is a very good place to start looking.
I’ve mentioned it many times on this blog: as the climate warms, species shift upward, chasing the cooler conditions they’re adapted to. It’s one of the most robust patterns in climate ecology. But (and by now you probably know that a “but” is never far away on this blog) the closer you look, the more complicated that story gets. A new paper I had the pleasure of contributing to, just out in Nature Ecology & Evolution, digs into exactly that mess, and the picture it paints is a lot more interesting than “it’s getting warmer, so warm-loving plants are winning.”
Austrian Alps close to Innsbruck
Waiting for the long game
Detecting a slow-moving process like vegetation change requires one thing science is often failing at nowadays: patience. You need standardized data, collected the same way, in the same places, for a long time, before subtle trends become statistically visible above all the noise of local weather patterns, disturbance and plain old stochasticity.
We got there now, finally. One of the best examples of such datasets out there is GLORIA-Europe, arguably the largest coordinated monitoring network for climate-change effects, focussing on mountain summit vegetation. Since 2001, GLORIA teams have been resurveying permanent vegetation plots on summits right across Europe (and far beyond, but let’s stick to Europe for this story). In this study we used four such surveys, spanning 21 years, across 724 permanent plots on 53 summits in 14 mountain regions, from the Pyrenees to the Carpathians. On top of the vegetation data, many of these summits also carry soil temperature loggers, giving us a second, independent, on-the-ground record of how conditions have actually changed where the plants are actually growingm not just what a weather station kilometres away says. And don’t we all know how crucial I think that is!
Chasing the warmth-lovers
With that data in hand, the question we wanted to answer was as simple as it was genius: are these summit plant communities becoming dominated by more warmth-loving species – a process called thermophilization – and if so, does that track the pace of warming? It’s the kind of question that feels almost too obvious to need testing, right? Warmer summit, more room for species that like it warm. Case closed?
Strong, significant warming trend in both micro- (left) and macroclimate on and around European mountain tops
Ok, yes, thermophilization is happening, clearly and widely. Averaged across all 724 plots, the composition of summit communities has been shifting steadily towards warmth-associated species for two decades, a signal so consistent that nearly two-thirds of individual plots show the trend individually. It’s a slow process, but it is unmistakably there. And yes, both the interpolated macroclimate and the on-site soil microclimate warmed too, across almost every temperature metric we looked at. Cool findings on its own: climate change is happening, and species are responding to it. Louder now for the people in the back!
On average, summit vegetation is showing signs of warming (63% of plots show thermophilisation)
Ah, but did we now forget about the but I mentioned! That but is there in how loosely those two very real trends are actually coupled. At the level of an individual plot, the relationship between the pace of local warming and the pace of thermophilization was surprisingly weak. A single temperature metric, measured over the monitoring period, barely explained any of the variation in how fast a plots’ vegetation was showing signs of warming. Things improved a bit once we allowed vegetation to lag a few years behind temperature (four years turned out to be the sweet spot) and once we combined several temperature metrics instead of relying on just one. But even our best-performing models explained less than 10% of the plot-to-plot variation in thermophilization. Somewhat to our surprise, this held even more strongly for the on-site microclimate data than for the macroclimate – exactly the opposite of what we expected going in, given how often microclimate turns out to be the better predictor in this kind of work.
It’s not (just) the climate, it’s the neighbourhood
If temperature alone can’t explain why some plots thermophilize fast and others barely move, what does? This is where the story gets its real weight. We added two simple pieces of local context to the models: 1) how many warmth-loving species were already growing just below the top, ready to move in, and how much of the top was bare rock and scree rather than colonizable ground. Including these parameters helped the explanatory power jump substantially, to an average of 37% . And warming and colonizer availability interacted: where warmth-loving neighbours were close at hand, rising temperatures translated into thermophilization much more readily than where they weren’t.
In hindsight, that makes a lot of ecological sense. A plant community can only respond to warming with the species that are actually available to respond with. No matter how fast a summit warms, if there’s no thermophilic species sitting just downslope ready to move up, and no open substrate for it to land on, that summit simply cannot thermophilize quickly – climate change or not. Dispersal and substrate act as a kind of gatekeeper on the door that temperature is trying to open.
Thermophilisation rate interacts with the availability of thermophilic colonisers (low vs. high on the x-axis) just below the summit
What this means
None of this undermines the reality of climate-driven vegetation change on Europe’s summits, of course! The thermophilization signal is real, and it lines up with a genuine warming trend. But it’s a strong reminder that even the most simple stories in ecology hold complex and important nuances in them. The abiotic and biotic context a community sits in – its neighbours, its substrate, its dispersal opportunities – shapes how, whether, and how fast that response actually plays out. If we want to forecast how mountain biodiversity will look in fifty years, temperature trends alone won’t get us there; we’ll need to understand colonization dynamics and landscape context just as well.
Swedish Alps close to Davos
It also makes a strong case for keeping – and intensifying – long-term, standardized monitoring efforts like GLORIA. It took two decades of consistent data collection across an entire continent to even be able to ask this question properly, let alone answer it with any nuance. That’s a lot of ecologists and botanists standing on a whole lot of mountain tops over the year! Let’s make sure that we can all keep doing that.
Student taking a high-resolution GPS-coordinate of a snowbed plot surveyed for the first time back in the 1950s, in northern Sweden. Exactly the kind of science we should keep making possible
Reference: Hausharter et al. (2026). Widespread thermophilization but weak link to climate warming in Europe’s summit plant communities. Nature Ecology & Evolution. https://doi.org/10.1038/s41559-026-03150-x
Big week in Montpellier this week, as the world’s microclimate ecology and biogeography community has gathered for the third global MEB conference.
After the first edition in Antwerp in 2022 and the second in Helsinki in 2024, this year’s conference is bigger and more diverse than ever.
Just one day in, I already feel like our field has truly grown beyond its original boundaries (symbolized, perhaps, by this brave little vine from the first day’s excursion). Microclimate has permeated nearly every corner of ecology and biogeography, and its importance for improving our understanding of ecological patterns and processes is high on everyone’s agenda.
That doesn’t mean the work is done – far from it. We also recognize that the world of microclimate is remarkably heterogeneous (something beautifully reflected in the landscape of the Cirque de Navacelles, visited during yesterday’s excursion).
In many ways, by incorporating microclimate into our research, we’ve added an entirely new dimension to ecology. The challenge now is figuring out how to embrace that complexity without becoming overwhelmed by it.
Fortunately, with a room full of bright and enthusiastic minds, we’re well equipped to keep moving the field forward.
The MIREN network has turned twenty! Imagine: a global ecological network, built on friendship, enthusiasm, and a shared love for mountains, that has managed not only to survive, but to grow and thrive for two decades. In a scientific world often shaped by short funding cycles and shifting priorities, that is no small achievement.
And this truly is a year of celebration for the network. At the end of last year, we gathered in Innsbruck, Austria, for a workshop that looked both backward and forward: reflecting on where MIREN came from, while laying the foundations for where it is heading next. We also officially kicked off preparations for a new coordinated round of global mountain roadside monitoring in 2027. And now, to top it all off, a celebratory paper has just been published in Biological Invasions.
The paper tells the story of twenty years of MIREN: what the network has achieved, how it managed to sustain itself over such a long period, and what other global research collaborations might learn from it.
MIREN was founded in 2005 through the vision and leadership of Peter Edwards and Hansjörg Dietz in Switzerland, together with Catherine Parks and Richard Mack in the United States. They invited a group of ecologists to a foundational workshop on the outskirts of Vienna, where MIREN’s central aim first took shape: understanding and addressing the growing risks posed by biological invasions in mountain ecosystems.
Since then, the network has steadily expanded. Our core and longest-running initiative, the MIREN road survey, now includes data from 27 mountain regions across the globe, with 30 regions already planning to participate in the upcoming 2027 resurvey.
Map of the 27 contributing mountain regions to the MIREN road surveyCumulative number of sites contributing to the MIREN road survey
One of MIREN’s greatest strengths, at least to me, is its decentralized structure. Every region has its own ecological story to tell – and many collaborators do exactly that through regional studies and local publications. But together, these regions also allow us to answer the much larger questions that no single mountain system could address on its own. That balance between local ownership and global collaboration is rare, and incredibly powerful.
MIREN is also unusually balanced in terms of global representation. In our core road survey, nearly half of the contributing regions (48%) are based in the Global South, and the steering committee is similarly distributed across continents. Of course, important gaps remain: tropical mountains and large parts of Africa – apart from South Africa – are still underrepresented. But compared to many international ecological networks, MIREN has managed to build something remarkably global.
That global nature does come with practical consequences, of course. Steering committee meetings regularly happen either before anyone’s first reasonable cup of coffee or well past midnight. Yet those sleepy faces keep showing up, year after year. And I think that says the most about the affection people feel for this network.
MIREN meeting in Innsbruck last year and doing what we did best: scale the mountains
One of the key questions we discussed during our recent meeting in Innsbruck was how to remain relevant in a rapidly changing world – scientifically, socially, and in terms of conservation priorities. We certainly do not have a definitive answer. But a few important ingredients became very clear.
One is maintaining a healthy balance between long-standing and new members. New voices bring fresh ideas, energy, and perspectives. At the same time, the continuity provided by members who have been involved for years helps preserve the values and practices that allowed the network to flourish in the first place.
Another crucial element is the importance of meeting in person. Those moments together allow us to periodically rethink our objectives, create space for new conceptual directions, and recalibrate priorities – while still keeping MIREN’s core mission at the center: standardized, long-term ecological monitoring.
And perhaps most reassuring of all was the level of enthusiasm in Innsbruck. Many regions are stepping up their efforts, launching exciting new local and global research projects, and expanding collaborations. Beyond the original road survey, we have also made major progress with MIREN Trails and MIREN Rocks, elevating both initiatives to the same level of standardized monitoring as our “classic” roadside surveys.
Trends in the main keywords in the 99 MIREN papers over time
Twenty years of MIREN have resulted in a remarkable scientific legacy: ninety-nine papers so far – with this latest one becoming number one hundred.
So yes – there is truly a lot to celebrate.
And the nice thing is: the story is far from finished. You can still become part of it yourself. Join the MIREN road survey in 2027, participate in the MIREN trail survey in 2028, or contribute to MIREN Rocks whenever you feel like it.
Because after twenty years, the mountains are still full of stories waiting to be told.
Last week, I spent a few days just outside of Barcelona for a PhD defence. Perfect timing, I thought, to finally cross the magical boundary of 500 unique species on iNaturalist. I had been hovering just below it for a while, and to me, that number always felt like the line between a casual observer and a slightly more committed enthusiast.
The magic boundary of 500 species on iNaturalist so easily crossed
Now, oh boy, was that easy.
Just a small walk – about an hour – from the train station to the campus, and the boundary was crossed, and then some: 45 new species added to my list. Of course, finding new species is always easier when visiting a new place. But there was something else going on too. The landscape was just that little bit… messy.
Agriculture, but messy – a landscape with room for a lot of biodiversity hidden in the verges, forest edges, shrubberies and the fields themselves.
A kind of messiness that has become unfortunately rare in the Netherlands, yet is so important for biodiversity.
It was farmland, but farmland filled with corners, slopes, edges, shrubs, trees, and tiny neglected patches where wildflowers could persist. The borders between “field” and “nature” were blurry. And those blurry borders were full of life.
That kind of landscape heterogeneity is harder to find in the Netherlands nowadays. Partly because we simply lack the topographic variation of places like Barcelona, where a gradient from a dry hilltop to a wet valley can create many different habitats within a short distance. But also because our landscapes have become increasingly optimized and tidy over time. Fields are cleaner, straighter, and more intensively managed. The small irregularities that once created space for biodiversity have often disappeared.
In the fields outside of Barcelona, it was often unclear where the field ended and the border begun, and plants loved that vagueness!
And when bits of semi-natural vegetation do remain, they are frequently affected by excess nitrogen deposition. Many of these places become dominated by a few highly competitive species – brambles, nettles, coarse grasses – leaving less room for the wide variety of plants that once characterized them.
Walking there made me realize how much I miss that ecological messiness in the Netherlands. Because these messy landscapes create opportunities for iNaturalist enthusiasts trying to reach arbitrary milestones, of course, but more importantly: because they create opportunity for plants, insects, birds and nature to thrive.
Until then, I suppose I’ll keep boosting my species list elsewhere.
During my PhD, I studied plant species distributions along mountain roads. That gradually pulled me into the world of microclimate, which seemed to be one of the core mechanisms shaping where mountain plant species can and cannot occur. One of my hypotheses – supported by experimental data from my PhD – was that roadsides create warmer microclimates, potentially allowing lowland plant species to move higher into the mountains.
A reasonable hypothesis, of course, and one we brought up in many papers since. But we still had to test it.So we started installing sensors along mountain roadsides across the network. But somewhere along the way, I got distracted. I started wondering: why limit ourselves to mountain roadsides? Microclimate is crucial everywhere. That eventually led to building SoilTemp, and later the MEB network.
Mountain roadsides are on average substantially warmer than the adjacent vegetation (here: Norway)
Yet the roadside sensors stayed there, and the data accumulated.
Eventually, we retrieved the data and slowly started making sense of it. I worked on it on the side for quite a while, until others joined in and really helped push it forward (Renee and Eduardo – thank you!). And now, after all those years, the results are finally published.
And boy, are they worth it! We observed on average a 1°C shift in mean annual temperature in roadsides as compared with the adjacent vegetation 50 m away from the road. That – and that’s quite mind-boggling – corresponds to more than 200 m of elevational displacement of the temperature regime (as we found a 0.45 degree Celsius elevational lapse rate). That means that plants could find similar average temperatures 200 m higher on the mountain in these roadsides – likely quite helpful with the observed upward movements of both non-native and native species.
Elevational trends in roadside (red) and adjacent vegetation (turquoise) temperatures across all studied regions.
While we observed significant variation in these trends between regions, we especially found strong evidence for warmer annual maxima and summer mean soil temperatures along roadsides compared to the adjacent vegetation, and lower annual minima and mean winter soil temperatures on roadsides at high elevations. Overall, the results suggest that roadside microclimates are much more tightly coupled to macroclimatic fluctuations than nearby natural vegetation. In contrast, intact vegetation appears to buffer temperature extremes, making those systems less directly exposed to broader climatic variation.
Another interesting pattern emerged in winter. Temperature differences between roadsides and adjacent vegetation likely reflect differences in snow cover and snow depth. Roads are often cleared of snow, while adjacent vegetation can accumulate deeper snowpacks through wind redistribution or ploughing. At higher elevations, where snow persists longer, those differences may become especially important.
So after years of assumptions, hypotheses, and scattered observations, the numbers are finally there: mountain roadsides substantially alter microclimatic conditions, often creating much more extreme thermal environments than the surrounding vegetation. Now comes the next step: testing whether those altered microclimates are indeed driving changes in species distributions.
Lake Törnetrask, Abisko Research Station, Abisko, Sweden
Luscinia svecica
Narvik, Northern Scandes, Norway
Little red-and-white lighthouse
Narvik, Norway
Skjomen valley, northern Norway
Narvik, Norway
Lake Torneträsk, Abisko, Sweden
Laktatjakka valley
Seen from Nuolja, Abisko
Diapensia lapponica in one of our plots
Oenanthe oenanthe
Angelica archangelica along mountain road in the northern Scandes, Norway
Common heather
Luscinia svecica, Abisko, Sweden
Hallerbos 2017
Young bluebell (Hyacinthoides non-scripta) surrounded by flowers of yellow archangel (Lamium galeobdolon)
The common bluebell (Hyacinthoides non-scripta), the signature flower of the Hallerbos
Single bluebell flower surviving on a wetter spot, as indicated by the field of wild garlic (Allium ursinum)
A really wet patch of forest, with giant horsetail (Equisetum telmateia) in a field of wild garlic (Allium ursinum)
Wild garlic (Allium ursinum) in the Hallerbos flowers a bit later than the bluebells, yet this one was already in full bloom
A bumblebee visiting yellow archangel (Lamium galeobdolon)
A bumblebee visiting yellow archangel (Lamium galeobdolon)
Wild garlic (Allium ursinum)
Wild garlic (Allium ursinum)
Weirdly beautiful, the inflorescence of pendulous sedge (Carex pendula), typical for the wettest spots in the forest
Weirdly beautiful, the inflorescence of pendulous sedge (Carex pendula), typical for the wettest spots in the forest
A little stream in the Hallerbos, surrounded by endless fields of wild garlic (Allium ursinum)
The herb-paris (Paris quadrifolia), less common in the forest
Wild garlic (Allium ursinum)
Bluebells (Hyacinthoides non-scripta)
Weirdly beautiful, the inflorescence of pendulous sedge (Carex pendula), typical for the wettest spots in the forest
Another one from the wet plots: large bitter-cress (Cardamine amara)
Another one from the wet plots: large bitter-cress (Cardamine amara)
Young beech leaves, as soon as they are fully grown, spring in the understory is over
A beech forest without understory, most likely too dry and too acid for any survivors
A young beech seedling (Fagus sylvatica), looking nothing like a beech, yet everything like a tiny dancer
Young beech seedling (Fagus sylvatica)
Bluebells (Hyacinthoides non-scripta)
Bluebells (Hyacinthoides non-scripta)
Bluebells (Hyacinthoides non-scripta)
Mountain melick (Melica nutans), a grass in the most amazing green
Bluebells (Hyacinthoides non-scripta) in a rare patch of mountain melick (Melica nutans), a grass in the most amazing green
Bluebells (Hyacinthoides non-scripta)
Bluebells (Hyacinthoides non-scripta)
Montpellier 2017
The entrance to the cathedral of Montpellier
The cathedral of Montpellier
The entrance to the cathedral of Montpellier
The cathedral of Montpellier
Narcissus poetics
The cathedral of Montpellier
The botanical garden of Montpellier
The botanical garden of Montpellier
The botanical garden of Montpellier
Brackish Camargue vegetation
Brackish Camargue vegetation
Brackish Camargue vegetation
A typical lagune
Brackish Camargue vegetation
Camargue horses
Camargue horses
Camargue horses
Brackish Camargue vegetation
Brackish Camargue vegetation
Brackish Camargue vegetation
Camargue horses
Brackish Camargue vegetation
Little egret in the evening sun
Flamingo’s in the evening sun
A typical lagune
Dandelion fuzz
Grass lily
Grass lily
Dandelion fuzz
Veronica in a sea of poplar fluff
Euphorbia in a sea of poplar fluff
Poplar
Gare du Midi, Brussels
Gare du Midi, Brussels
Gare du Midi, Brussels
Gare du Midi, Brussels
Sweden autumn 2016
Autumn in Abisko
Yellow leaves of mountain birch, with lake Torneträsk in the background.
Lapporten, the gate to Lapland, in Abisko
Rain blowing over the Abisko National Park
The colours of the north: red fireweed and yellow mountain birches, with lake Torneträsk on the background
Yellow leaves of mountain birch, with lake Torneträsk in the background.
Rain on the background, the ski lift in Abisko on the foreground
The steep slope of mount Nuolja on a dramatic looking morning
The beautiful colors of lake Torneträsk in Abisko
A little stream on top of the mountain, with a view on Lapporten, the gate to Lapland
Well, that is a beautiful table with a nice view on lake Torneträsk in Abisko
Our little experiment on top of the mountain in Abisko, with a view on Lapporten
Autumn in Abisko is extremely colorfull
The ski lift with a view on Abisko National Park and Lapporten
Hiking dowhill towards lake Torneträsk
This green is greener than the greenest green: moss on top of mount Nuolja
Well, that is a beautiful table with a nice view on lake Torneträsk in Abisko
The ski lift with a view on Abisko National Park and Lapporten
The ski lift with a view on Abisko National Park and Lapporten
The most beautiful hiking trail of the world: Nuolja in Abisko
Angelica archangelica, often the biggest plant of the Arctic
The most beautiful hiking trail of the world: Nuolja in Abisko
Cirsium helenioides, the melancholy thistle
Hiking down mount Nuolja
The steep slope of mount Nuolja on a dramatic looking morning
The colours of the north: red fireweed and yellow mountain birches, with lake Torneträsk on the background
The prettiest yellow and blue: autumn in Abisko
Fireweed, Epilobium angustifolium
Campanula or bellflower, I think ‘uniflora’
Vaccinium myrtillus
Cornus suecica, the prettiest red of the world
Hieracium alpinum, alpine hawkweed
Carex atrata, one of my favourite sedges
Alpine clubmoss, Diphasiastrum alpinum
Agrostis capillaris, bentgrass
Common yarrow (Achillea millefolium)
Anthoxanthum odoratum, sweet vernal grass, fully grown and mature
Snow scooter trail
Our plot in the mids of a field of horsetails (Equisetum pratense)
Equisetum pratense
Cliff overlooking the valley with the road to Norway
Seedling of Taraxacum officinale, the dandelion, after two years of growing in bad conditions
Poa alpina, the alpine meadow-grass, with its viviparous seeds
Massive flowerhead of Angelica archangelica
Angelica archangelica
Blueberry (Vaccinium myrtillus) in autumn
A lowland marsh in Abisko in autumn
Installing the plots of our trail observations on top of mount Nuolja
Installing the plots of our trail observations on top of mount Nuolja
Tanacetum vulgare (Tansy), non-native for the high north
Autumn forest down in the valley
The valley of Nuolja to Björkliden
Summer on the Nuolja-side
A full rainbow behind mount Nuolja in Abisko
It’s raining in the west, clouds trapped behind the mountains
A strong wind blowing rain from behind the mountains to our side
A strong wind blowing rain from behind the mountains to our side
Betula nana, the dwarf birch, mini autumn forest
Betula nana, the dwarf birch, mini autumn forest
The valley of Björkliden in autumn
The valley of Björkliden in autumn
The valley of Björkliden in autumn
The valley of Björkliden in autumn
Sweden spring 2016
Although the alpine zone has been harder for invasives to access than most places, human structures like trails are often an easy gateway for the invaders to get up there. Picture from Abisko, Swedish Lapland.
Eriophorum vaginatum
The valley of the lakes
Oxyria digyna
Trifolium pratense
Bartsia alpina
Silene suecica
Melting snowpatch on a lake
Ranunculus glacialis
Salix reticulata
Western European species like the red clover (Trifolium pratense) here are often listed as non-native species in mountain regions.
Rubus arcticus
Ranunculus glacialis
A rainy hike
Dryas octopetala
Silene acaulis
Trifolium repens
Overlooking the valley of Laktajakka
Cornus suecica
Amiens
Cathedral at night
Just outside of Amiens
Cathedral seen from the frozen Parc Saint-Pierre
Nice architectural curve
House on the square before the cathedral
Enjoying silence and the morning sun
Gargoyle planning to eat the cathedral
Cathedral at night
View from my office window
Cold!
Frozen mirror
Maria without a shirt
Cathedral at night
Sunny but cold, the Quai Bélu
Cathedral with a glimpse of spring
The southern side
Almost cold enough for ice-skating
Le Club d’Aviron in winter weather
Frozen to the bone
Sun rising above the water
Sunny but cold, the Quai Bélu
View from my office window
Amiens is filled with cute little houses
Cathedral at night
Winter sun on the Place du Don
The museum behind the beautiful gates
Colourful mirror
Sweden autumn 2015
Lichen
Sweden summer 2015
View on the 1000 meter plots
Doing research on a cold Arctic morning
Plots flooded by the snowmelt
Flooded by the snowmelt
Meltwater river, racing down the mountain
After a hike, even the most basic house looks cosy. Little hut in the mountains, open for everybody
Snowbridge, maybe don’t cross…
Snowbridge
View from a cliff
Silene acaulis or cushion pink, cutest plant of the Arctic
Two seasons in one image
Steep slope
Hiking down
Narvik Kirche, church of the subarctic
Narvik Kirche
Reindeer on top of the mountain
Narvik Kirche
Summer at the church
Summer flowers
Massive waterfall
Young willow catkins
View from Narvik’s hospital, with lilac flowers
Building a bridge over the fjord will gain al drivers at least an hour
Norwegian fjord
Posing with the water, getting soaked
Minimalistic mountains
Insect investigating our reindeer antler
Catching mosquitoes with our license plate, harvest of the year!
Posing with the plot
Fieldwork on the most beautiful spot of the world
Fieldwork on the most beautiful spot of the world
Summer bridge – still next to the sadly impassable river
Rhinanthus flower in the mountains
Plateau in the valley, beautiful brown
Experimental view from my favourite plot
Salix catkins
Extremely old Betula tree
Waterfall from a cliff
Buttercup is the earliest in spring, here
Rocks!
Alpine views
Views!
Fieldwork
Jumping over rivers
Plot
Golden plover
Angry lemming
Green, the whole north is green!
Snow, so much snow left!
Minimalistic mountain moments
Fieldwork
The research center
Red clover – focal invader
Look at this tiny cute snail!
Massive floods of melting water
Bartsia alpina
Hooray, a toilet!
Dryas octopetala
Lowest elevation plots
Butterball!
That’s a lot of water
Midnight sun is the best
At the lakeside
Beautiful Bistorta vivipara
Don’t fall in the water
Midnight sun
Wild river
Art – made by ages of wild rivers
Baby firework for America’s independence day
Midnight sun at the lake
The Abisko canyon was wilder than ever
That’s a crazy amount of water!
The Abisko canyon was wilder than ever
The Abisko canyon was wilder than ever
Black and white
Stone-man overlooking Abisko
Nothing as soft as a willow catkin
Label and soil temperature sensor attached
I’d drive to the top every day
Reflections
Rocks and clouds
Brave little birch
Brewing our camping poison
Basic camping stuff
Camping in Norway
Home-made temperature houses
Roadside research at its best
Norway is crazy
Horsetail is so funny
Little creek in magical forest
Birches, birches everywhere
Beautiful rock, a gift from the river
Another roadside fellow
Lichen
Ready to rock the summer
Collecting mosses
That’s a crazy old lichen
Tiny tiny piny trees, but old, so old!
Ready to jump into the fjord?
Ready to jump into the fjord?
That’s a spiky stone!
Views on Norwegian fjords
Silene in the mountains
Cute little orchid
Skua
Attacking skua, mind your heads!
Watch out for the attack of the fierce skua!
Black snail
New plot!
Still a lot of snow to melt, but this spot was free for a new plot
Reindeer are better than people
Two seasons in one picture
Let’s see what is happening to the balance in mountains! Is this a starting avalanche, or will it last a bit longer?
Cute little hut
Climbing mountains by car
Softest moss in history
Drosera in the marsh
Hiking in no-man’s land
The clouds are coming
Abisko valley
‘Butterball’
Fieldwork in the tundra
Abisko valley
Little plot
Clouds and sun and mountains
Making soup on a campfire with a view
Little creek on high elevations
Skua on the look-out
Melting snow in a river
Rhodiola rosea and the Törnetrask lake
Beginning of spring
Flooded plots, melting snow, impassible wetness
Ferns and horsetails
Chile 2015
Lunch made by our local colleague, with funny bread (tasty as well!)
Trips to the field sites were sometimes a real adventure, especially right after snowmelt
The 3D lab 