As the climate warms and sea ice melts, trans-Arctic shipping routes are becoming easier to navigate, a prospect that is enticing to freight companies. These routes can cut up to 9,000 kilometers off a one-way trip between East Asia and Europe compared with shipping through the Suez or Panama Canals—shortcuts that clip roughly 40 percent off the voyage.

According to a new study, the reality of routine trans-Arctic trade could come sooner than expected. Using satellite data on daily sea ice between 1979 and 2019, the researchers found that the safe navigation season for open-water vessels in the Arctic—trips that could be embarked upon without the help of icebreakers—is already significantly longer than climate models anticipated.

With a few exceptions, most shippers avoid the hostile Arctic Ocean. But according to Kuishuang Feng, an ecological economist at the University of Maryland who worked on the new study, observational data shows that rather than being commercially navigable by the middle of the century, as many climate models predict, several trans-Arctic routes are already navigable for large chunks of the year—and they have been for a while.

The team found that open-water ships could have been traveling through the Canadian Arctic Archipelago along the fabled Northwest Passage for more than two months of the year during the 2010s. Captains wanting to travel between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans along the Norwegian and Russian coasts could have done so for even longer. This Northeast Passage was open for around three months of each year—long enough for freight carriers to make at least two round trips between ports in East Asia and Europe without any assistance from icebreakers.

According to the researchers, these routes would have only been occasionally navigable in the 1980s, and depending on the climate projections used, they were open for around two to four times longer than expected in the 2010s.

Since 1979, the area of the Arctic that is safe for open-water vessels for 90 days of the year has increased by 35 percent, the researchers claim. With this, the routes these ships can take have changed. For instance, the best path along the Northwest Passage has shifted northward from the Amundsen Gulf to a shorter route through the Parry Channel, one that was predicted to be unnavigable until the mid-21st century.

Siri Veland, a human geographer at Norce, a Norwegian research center, says that while the finding that trans-Arctic shipping routes can be used now is not new—limited commercial trips operated over the past decade by Russian, Chinese, and Danish shipping companies, among others, is proof enough of that—“it does seem that [the researchers] have picked up a few windows for navigability that maybe have been off people’s radar.”

Veland cautions, however, that “when you have the benefit of hindsight [the Arctic] looks a lot more navigable than when you are trying to forecast.” The problem that navigators face is interannual sea ice variability. Year to year, there is a high variability in the exact number of days with low sea ice, particularly at either end of the summer. This makes sending ships through the Arctic very risky, and Veland does not expect this variability to decrease for another decade or two.

But Feng did find that since 2004 open-water vessels have been able to travel through the Arctic for the whole of September. And one of his collaborators in China who has been talking to commercial shipping companies discovered that they are already going out with ships and icebreakers and testing the routes. “They just try to explore the possibilities,” Feng says.

A father and son in remote Siberia are trying to engineer an ice age ecosystem. Peer-reviewed scientific papers show they are slowing global warming.

In one of the planet’s coldest places, 130 km south of Russia’s Arctic coast, scientist Sergey Zimov can find no sign of permafrost as global warming permeates Siberia’s soil.

As everything from mammoth bones to ancient vegetation frozen inside it for millennia thaws and decomposes, it now threatens to release vast amounts of greenhouse gases.

Zimov, who has studied permafrost from his scientific base in the diamond-producing Yakutia region for decades, is seeing the effects of climate change in real time.

Driving a thin metal pole metres into the Siberian turf, where temperatures are rising at more than three times the world average, with barely any force, the 66-year-old is matter-of-fact.

“This is one of the coldest places on earth and there is no permafrost,” he says. “Methane has never increased in the atmosphere at the speed it is today ... I think this is linked to our permafrost.”

Permafrost covers 65% of Russia’s landmass and about a quarter of the northern landmass. Scientists say that greenhouse gas emissions from its thaw could eventually match or even exceed the European Union’s industrial emissions due to the sheer volume of decaying organic matter.

Meanwhile permafrost emissions, which are seen as naturally occurring, are not counted against government pledges aimed at curbing emissions or in the spotlight at the U.N. climate talks. Zimov, with his white beard and cigarette, ignored orders to leave the Arctic when the Soviet Union collapsed and instead found funding to keep the Northeast Science Station near the part-abandoned town of Chersky operating.

Citing data from a U.S.-managed network of global monitoring stations, Zimov says he now believes the COVID-19 pandemic has shown that permafrost has begun to release greenhouse gases.

Despite factories scaling back activity worldwide during the pandemic which also dramatically slowed global transport, Zimov says the concentration of methane and carbon dioxide in the atmosphere has been growing at a faster rate.

Whole cities sit on permafrost and its thawing could cost Russia 7 trillion roubles ($100 billion) in damage by 2050 if the rate of warming continues, scientists say.

Built on the assumption that the permafrost would never thaw, many homes, pipelines and roads in Russia’s far north and east are now sinking and increasingly in need of repair.

Ice Age animals

Zimov wants to slow the thaw in one area of Yakutia by populating a nature reserve called the Pleistocene Park with large herbivores including bison, horses and camels.

Such animals trample the snow, making it much more compact so the winter cold can get through to the ground, rather than it acting as a thick insulating blanket.

Zimov and his son Nikita began introducing animals into the fenced park in 1996 and have so far relocated around 200 of different species, which they say are making the permafrost colder compared with other areas.

Bison were trucked and shipped this summer from Denmark, along the Northern Sea Route, past polar bears and walruses and through weeks-long storms, before their ship finally turned into the mouth of the Kolyma River towards their new home some 6,000 kilometres to the east.

The Zimovs' surreal plan for geo-engineering a cooler future has extended to offering a home for mammoths, which other scientists hope to resurrect from extinction with genetic techniques, in order to mimic the region’s ecosystem during the last ice age that ended 11,700 years ago.

A paper published in Nature's Scientific Reports last year, where both Zimovs were listed as authors, showed that the animals in Pleistocene Park had reduced the average snow depth by half, and the average annual soil temperature by 1.9 degrees Celsius, with an even bigger drop in winter and spring.

More work is needed to determine if such “unconventional” methods might be an effective climate change mitigation strategy but the density of animals in Pleistocene Park – 114 individuals per square kilometre – should be feasible on a pan-Arctic scale, it said.

And global-scale models suggest introducing big herbivores onto the tundra could stop 37% of Arctic permafrost from thawing, the paper said.

Permathaw?

Nikita Zimov, Sergey’s son, was walking in the shallows of the river Kolyma at Duvanny Yar in September when he fished out a mammoth tusk and tooth. Such finds have been common for years in Yakutia and particularly by rivers where the water erodes the permafrost.

Three hours by boat from Chersky, the river bank provides a cross-section of the thaw, with a thick sheet of exposed ice melting and dripping below layers of dense black earth containing small grass roots.

“If you take the weight of all these roots and decaying organics in the permafrost from Yakutia alone, you'd find the weight was more than the land-based biomass of the planet,” Nikita says.

Scientists say that on average, the world has warmed one degree in the last century, while in Yakutia over the last 50 years, the temperature has risen three degrees.

The older Zimov says he has seen for himself how winters have grown shorter and milder, while Alexander Fedorov, deputy director of the Melnikov Permafrost Institute in Yakutsk, says he no longer has to wear fur clothing during the coldest months.

But addressing permafrost emissions, like fire and other so-called natural emissions, presents a challenge because they are not fully accounted for in climate models or international agreements, scientists say.

“The difficulty is the quantity,” says Chris Burn, a professor at Carleton University and president of the International Permafrost Association.

“One or two percent of permafrost carbon is equivalent to total global emissions for a year.” Scientists estimate that permafrost in the Northern Hemisphere contains about 1.5 trillion tons of carbon, about twice as much as is currently in the atmosphere, or about three times as much as in all of the trees and plants on earth.

Nikita says there is no single solution to global warming. “We’re working to prove that these ecosystems will help in the fight, but, of course, our efforts alone are not enough.”