Are you working with environmental or biodiversity data and willing to help us out?
At the Microclimate Ecology & Biogeography (MEB) network, we believe that open, reliable, and collaborative data exchange is the cornerstone of understanding and predicting biodiversity and microclimate dynamics.
As part of the Forest-Web 3.0 project (funded by Biodiversa+), we’re exploring new ways to make environmental data sharing more effective – and we’d love your input!
We’re collecting insights from researchers working with environmental or biodiversity data to learn:
What works well in current data-sharing practices
What challenges you face
How we can make sharing easier, fairer, and more collaborative
Your anonymous responses will directly help us design new tools that support both FAIR (Findable, Accessible, Interoperable, Reusable) and CARE (Collective Benefit, Authority to Control, Responsibility, Ethics) data principles.
By participating, you’ll help us strengthen the open science foundation of the MEB community and shape the next generation of user-friendly data-sharing platforms.
Microclimate data are finally finding their way more routineously into ecological models – and rightly so. Hooray for that! The growing availability of in-situ measurements is helping us bridge the gap between the coarse world of macroclimate and the fine-scale environments that organisms actually experience. But as more researchers start integrating these data into distribution models or other ecological questions, a new issue has arisen, and it’s one we have to deal with soon: what do we actually do with all this detail?
When faced with high-frequency microclimate time series, the temptation is often to reduce them to a familiar set of summary statistics – mean temperature, perhaps minimum and maximum values, or that so-familiar set of bioclimatic variables that we are so used to be using. Yet, those choices strip your microclimate data of its power. The real story lies in its variability, its seasonal contrasts, and the way it interacts with snow, vegetation, and topography. In other words: the fine-scale thermal landscape is more than a few summary statistics.
So, what do we do then?? A good starting point is to explore a broader range of summary statistics. Yes, this can feel like stepping into chaos – dozens of potential variables, each telling a slightly different story. Like trying to cook a soup with everything in your pantry — from chocolate chip cookies to bean sprouts.
But here comes our recent paper in Oikos – expertly led by Kryštof Chytrý – with a recipe to avoid disaster. As with the right tools, the complexity becomes manageable. A straightforward cluster analysis, for example, can help reveal sets of variables that move together. Rather than drowning in endless variation, you’ll see that many microclimate metrics are strongly correlated, allowing you to identify a few meaningful clusters that capture most of the relevant information.
Across the slopes of Mount Schrankogel – a mountain fast becoming a symbol for microclimate research, make sure you remember I warned you – more than 900 sensors and vegetation plots capture the microclimate of a unique ecosystem. With this unprecedented dataset, we took a stab at how microclimate variability translates into ecological meaning.
Depending on your study system, these clusters will likely make ecological sense. In snow-affected regions, for instance, winter and summer temperatures tend to form distinct groups, each shaping species distributions in opposite directions. Spring and autumn may emerge as their own transitional cluster, with temperature dynamics that reflect phenological shifts. Meanwhile, variables capturing variability — the day-to-day swings, or microclimate buffering capacity — form yet another cluster, particularly important when studying ecological stability or resilience.
The broader message here is one of balance. We shouldn’t oversimplify microclimate data into a handful of familiar metrics, but neither should we be paralysed by the complexity. Using our new summary statistics – even after reducing them through cluster analysis – consistently outperformed traditional bioclimatic variables in capturing ecological variation. There is a pattern in the noise, and finding it takes that extra analytical step, as we describe in this paper.
This is more than a technical issue; it’s a conceptual one. As microclimate data become increasingly available, the community needs to converge on best practices for summarising, selecting, and interpreting these variables. Our choices here will shape the next generation of distribution models, biodiversity forecasts, and ecosystem predictions.
I see this paper as a conversation starter, but a very important one. We now need similar analyses across diverse ecosystems to test whether these clustering patterns hold up, and if parameter simplification is achievable everywhere. But there’s reason for optimism: modelling species distributions with only a few climatic variables seems to be a viable strategy. It’s just that the most suitable variables may often be different from those that are commonly used nowadays.
Reference: Chytrý et al. (2025). Reconsidering climatic predictors for high-resolution niche models of alpine plants. Oikos. https://doi.org/10.1002/oik.11545
I’ve always been intrigued by ecological scaling – it’s literally in my title: Assistant Professor in Ecological Scaling.
One of the main reasons we care so much about scaling is that ecological theories don’t always hold up when we change scales. What seems true in a single valley, forest plot, or mountain slope can fall apart when we zoom out to continents or the globe. That mismatch often gets us into trouble when trying to generalize from our favourite local case studies to something that has real global relevance.
A classic example: homogenisation
The theory goes like this: when ecosystems are invaded by non-native species, they start to look more and more alike. We call this biotic homogenisation – a reduction in beta diversity, meaning less variation among communities. It’s often linked to lower ecosystem functioning, and by extension, poorer ecosystem health.
Native mountain vegetation tends to be highly distinctive, yet the introduction of non-native species is expected to erode that ecological uniqueness. Here, a highly biodiverse spring meadow in the Scandinavian mountains.
So far, so simple. Except the evidence is a little bit messy. Some studies find strong homogenisation, others don’t. We suspected that part of this inconsistency comes from differences in spatial scale – not all studies are asking the same question in the same “ecological zoom level.”
Scaling up with global replication
To test this idea, we turned to one of our favourite tools: globally replicated monitoring. Thanks to the Mountain Invasion Research Network (MIREN), we could explore patterns of homogenisation – and its opposite, differentiation – across 18 mountain regions worldwide. The findings of this exercise – led by Meike Buhaly – are now published in Global Ecology and Biogeography.
Our hypothesis (perhaps a bit naively in retrospect) was that homogenisation would dominate across all scales, though we expected it to weaken with elevation.
Study design, showing how we compared beta diversity within gradients (local), between mountains (regional), between regions on the same continents (continental), and between continents (global)
Yet that was, surprise surprise, not what we found. At the global scale, the classic theory held neatly: non-native species homogenized communities. Plant assemblages across continents became more similar (lower beta diversity) once non-natives were included. But when we zoomed in, the pattern fell apart. At local and regional scales, homogenisation and differentiation were almost evenly balanced. And even more intriguingly, the pattern split along continental lines:
In the New World (the Americas and Australia), homogenisation dominated.
In the Old World (Europe, Asia, Africa), differentiation was more common.
Patterns of homogenization and differentation across scales in our dataset.
The pattern depends on where (and how far) you look
In the New World, we found consistent homogenisation across local to continental scales, particularly in lowland plant communities. This likely reflects both the high number and shared history of non-native species: many are widespread across entire continents, occurring in more plots than native species.
At higher elevations, however, in some regions this pattern reversed. When non-native species became rare and patchy, this lead to community differentiation instead, especially in the Andes and Rocky Mountains.
The Eurasian mountains told a different story. There, non-native species actually caused differentiation at local and regional scales, even though some were shared across regions. At the continental scale, these same shared species produced a faint signature of homogenisation, but much weaker than in the New World.
The consistent differentiation we found in Eurasia might simply reflect an earlier invasion stage. With fewer non-native species and fewer widespread invaders, communities still differ strongly from one another. But as non-native species continue to spread, homogenisation may increase into conditions that mirror what we already see in the Americas and Australia.
Dandelion in the Chilean Andes – a pretty common site in the Americas and one of the reasons we observed homogenisation in the New World.
Scaling reveals nuance – again
So, as so often in ecology, the story depends on scale. At large, continental scales, non-native species clearly homogenize plant communities: ecosystems across continents begin to share the same species. But when you zoom in, that signal becomes patchy. Homogenisation dominates in regions with long invasion histories, while newer invasion fronts still show differentiation.
It’s a pattern that fits a familiar ecological theme:
a little change might be positive – but a lot can be profoundly transformative.
More information: Buhaly et al. (2025). Global Homogenisation of Plant Communities Along Mountain Roads by Non-Native Species Despite Mixed Effects at Smaller Scales. Global Ecology & Biogeography. https://doi.org/10.1111/geb.70137
Translation of the submission for the pop-sci writing competition ‘Vlaamse Scriptiepijs’ by team member Sarane Coen
With the River Meuse flowing far below, I search for the way up to the top. With fingers and toes, I follow a route of small cracks and ridges in the rock wall. For me, these are holds; for plants, they are habitats. Where I grip, they fight to survive. That thought stuck with me.
Am I, as a rock climber, a threat or a treasure to the ecosystem I love so much?
With that question, my master’s thesis research began. I returned to the rocks. This time not only as a climber, but also as a scientist.
Bursting biodiversity
At first glance, cliffs may seem like barren walls. But in reality, they burst with life. Rocks are rich ecosystems full of rare species that endure extreme conditions: steep faces with almost no soil, nutrients, or water.
For me, these are holds; for plants, they are habitats.
Cliffs offer a wide range of living conditions because they vary greatly in height, structure, and orientation toward the sun. These differences create a diversity of microclimates. North-facing walls or deep, shaded crevices remain much cooler and moister than sunny south faces. Cliffs thus form a mosaic of tiny habitats where each species finds its ideal place to live.
Research on a high level
Helmet, harness, rope, check! One last look into the depths and ready to descent. With my research material, I dangled along the steep rock walls on the banks of the River Meuse in the Belgian Ardennes to collect data.
To understand how climbing influences these ecosystems, I looked at the plants on unclimbed walls and lightly and heavily climbed walls. Within one-square-metre plots, I recorded which species were present and how much space they occupied. I also measured the characteristics of the rock itself: surface structure, slope, height, and sun orientation. In total, I conducted these measurements across 248 separate square meters, spread over multiple cliff faces. Bit by bit, I untangled not only my ropes, but also some ecological questions.
Climbers, unexpected buddies of biodiversity!
The structure of the rock surface turned out to be crucial. Smooth walls offer little opportunity for plants, no matter how often they are climbed. The more cracks, ridges, and holes a rock has, the more suitable microhabitats it provides — and the more plant species can find a place to grow.
A bit of disturbance can make space for more biodiversity.
And climbing? Moderate climbing intensity did not harm biodiversity — it even seemed to enhance it. Lightly climbed cliffs hosted the highest diversity compared with both unclimbed and heavily climbed sites.
The type of plants explained this pattern. On unclimbed cliffs, I mostly found dominant, competitive species that monopolise nutrients and water. On climbed cliffs, more disturbance-tolerant species appeared. Climbing partially reduced the dominance of the competitive species, giving others a chance to establish themselves. A bit of disturbance can make space for more biodiversity.
Safe spaces for the future
These results reassure me as a climber. Fortunately! Because these fragile cliff ecosystems may play a key role in the climate and biodiversity crises. Their variation in microhabitats with different temperatures makes them cool refuges for species that can no longer tolerate the heat elsewhere. At the same time, they serve as stepping stones for southern species expanding into the warmest niches beyond their usual range.
Further research can help us understand how cliffs buffer or amplify the effects of climate warming on biodiversity. Understanding the impact of human activities such as climbing is a first step. And the fact that certain human disturbances can sometimes be secretly beneficial makes it all the more fascinating.
So, both as scientist and a climber, I can contribute to biodiversity. And cliffs turn out to be a refuge, for passionate climbers as well as for vulnerable plant species too.
Translation of the submission for the pop-sci writing competition ‘Vlaamse Scriptiepijs’ by Sarane Coen
Last week, we wrapped up De Oorzaak with nothing less than a bang. With in-depth stories featured in De Morgen, striking results on the table, and a “tour across Flanders” that brought us to Antwerp, Ghent, and Leuven, the project ended on a high note. The closing events weren’t just symposia – they were the grand finale of a citizen science project that has kept us occupied for the better part of two years. Each evening was a meeting point between science, citizens, and policymakers, weaving data and lived experience into one story about noise in our cities.
The full team on stage, accepting flowers for two years of intensive work with and for the whole of Flanders
Noise is more than just an irritation – it shapes how we live, sleep, and feel. The results from De Oorzaak make this crystal clear: almost half of all measurement points were, on average, above 60 dB during the day – a level already higher than the World Health Organization recommends. Unsurprisingly, traffic was the worst culprit across the board. But we also saw how local noise sources – like tourist boats or tram rails – can have gigantic impacts on daily life in specific neighborhoods.
And those numbers are only part of the story. Behind them are the voices and experiences of people who live with noise every day. At the symposium, participants shared endless varieties of stories – some tragic, some creative, all deeply personal. They showed just how differently noise can affect lives, and how much effort it takes to raise awareness.
The consequences are clear, as shown by our data: the more noise we are exposed to, the more annoyed we become. Annoyance spills into reduced sleep quality, and ultimately into a diminished quality of life.
🗺️ If you don’t have a subscription to De Morgen, you can explore this beautiful interactive map of Lden values and noise events at each measurement point, including AI-detected sources binned by the peak noise level per event, as made by our data wizard Ablenya Barros: https://ablenya.github.io/Oorzaak/Sensors_noise_events.html.
Yet there is also hope – and it’s green. Across the data, one message stood out: nature helps. Green spaces and natural sounds soften the harsh edges of our urban soundscapes. Even when the decibel levels are not lower, the presence of rustling leaves, birdsong, or flowing water transforms how we experience sound. Nature doesn’t necessarily quiet our environment – it restores us.
The next question is: what will we do with this knowledge? At each evening of the symposium, policymakers were confronted with that exact challenge. The most striking message came from the city counsillor of environment in Leuven, who put it simply: this is the new normal: citizens now have the data to show there is a problem – giving them a lot more power again. But solutions will not be easy, and they never have been.
Power to the people – giving them the data to contextualize their environment.
So where do we go from here? The evidence is clear, the stories are real, and the momentum is growing. If we want healthier cities and better lives, the answer is again clear: we need more green in our cities.
There is much much more depth and nuance to this story than I can tell here and now, but we hope we can get back to you about all that! For now, check out this first post here: https://www.uantwerpen.be/nl/projecten/de-oorzaak/nieuws/.
Long-term followers of this blog know I’ve always been fascinated by species distribution changes. We’ve tracked non-native species moving into mountains and cities, studied how mountain plants travel up and down slopes along roads, and explored how microclimate – and changes in it – affects all of this.
But all of that focuses on recent changes, what we call contemporary climate change. What we often forget is that the world has been dynamic for millions of years, and species have been moving up and down, and left and right for just as long. So, we asked ourselves: could we learn from these past dynamics to better predict the future?
https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0006320725005361That’s exactly what Yuheng Chen tackled in his master thesis – now expanded into a full paper in Biological Conservation. Yuheng, now a PhD student in our group at Utrecht University, has with this paper completed quite a journey on a topic that has kept my head spinning: looking far back in time to understand the forces shaping species today. And let me tell you, looking that far back is not easy.
The core question was simple enough: are species used to climate change or not? Species that evolved in regions with strong past climate fluctuations might be better at coping with future change, whereas those from historically stable climates might be more vulnerable. In other words, a species’ history shapes its present ecological niche, which in turn affects its future range size.
To explore this, we went (well, virtually, for me) to China. We identified 2,933 plant species endemic to China, which conveniently avoids issues of artificial borders and inconsistent data across countries, while still benefitting from the huge variety of climates and ecosystems across the country. Using species distribution models, we mapped their current ranges, measured their sensitivity to climate, and predicted how those ranges might change by the 2070s under two climate scenarios.
Next came the exciting part: comparing regions where species diverged long ago (‘divergence hotspots’) with areas that have experienced big climate swings since the Last Glacial Maximum (‘paleoclimate-change hotspots’). Museums are regions where species diverged a long time ago – they’re ancient centers of diversity, like living archives. Cradles are regions where species divergence is more recent – they’re hotspots of new evolutionary activity.
Here’s what we found:
Species from stable, long-term refuges (‘museum areas’) are projected to lose range under future warming.
Species from climate-fluctuating regions might actually expand their ranges.
Figure 1.The divergence and paleoclimate change hotspots of Chinese endemic higher plants. Figure 4A recognizes museum (ancient divergence center) and cradle (recent divergence center) based on species divergence time using null-model test. Figure 4B and 4C recognize refuge (stable precipitation and temperature center) and exposure (precipitation and temperature change center) based on paleo precipitation change since LGM, respectively. The provinces corresponding to the hotspots are also marked in the map.
Interestingly, there was no difference in predicted change rates between species from old (museum) versus new (cradle) divergence hotspots, but paleoclimate exposure mattered a lot: species from areas that experienced strong past climate change are predicted to do better than those from stable refuges.
Figure 2: predicted changes in future ranges for species with different origins. There was no difference in predicted change rates for species from old (museum) versus new (cradle) divergence hotspots, but there was a clear difference for species exposed to either a lot (exposure) versus very little (refuge) paleoclimatic change.
These findings highlight how evolutionary history and past climate experiences shape both current distributions and future responses. They also give us a clue about the winners and losers under rapid climate change, and stress the importance of identifying areas that are long-term refuges versus regions accustomed to taking a punch. While mostly exciting from a theoretical perspective, this knowledge is also important for designing future-proof protected areas.
Lake Törnetrask, Abisko Research Station, Abisko, Sweden
Laktatjakka valley
Eriophorum vaginatum
Little red-and-white lighthouse
Trifolium repens
Luscinia svecica, Abisko, Sweden
Narvik, Norway
Lake Törnetrask, Abisko Research Station, Abisko, Sweden
Oenanthe oenanthe
Angelica archangelica along mountain road in the northern Scandes, Norway
Skjomen valley, northern Norway
Laktatjakka valley
Lake Torneträsk, Abisko, Sweden
Lake Torneträsk
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
Dryas octopetala
Salix reticulata
Eriophorum vaginatum
Bartsia alpina
Western European species like the red clover (Trifolium pratense) here are often listed as non-native species in mountain regions.
A rainy hike
Oxyria digyna
Silene suecica
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.
Ranunculus glacialis
Cornus suecica
Trifolium pratense
Overlooking the valley of Laktajakka
The valley of the lakes
Rubus arcticus
Silene acaulis
Trifolium repens
Ranunculus glacialis
Melting snowpatch on a lake
Amiens
Cathedral seen from the frozen Parc Saint-Pierre
Sun rising above the water
View from my office window
Frozen mirror
Sunny but cold, the Quai Bélu
Nice architectural curve
Colourful mirror
House on the square before the cathedral
The museum behind the beautiful gates
Cathedral at night
Enjoying silence and the morning sun
Just outside of Amiens
Amiens is filled with cute little houses
Frozen to the bone
Sunny but cold, the Quai Bélu
Winter sun on the Place du Don
View from my office window
Almost cold enough for ice-skating
Cathedral at night
Cathedral at night
Maria without a shirt
Cathedral with a glimpse of spring
The southern side
Cathedral at night
Gargoyle planning to eat the cathedral
Cold!
Le Club d’Aviron in winter weather
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