On May
23, 2005 while leading a kayaking expedition as a hired guide, I was
resting on a beach near on Afognak island. As beachcombers do, I began
poking through the wrack line, which consisted mostly of driftwood but
as with most Alaska beaches, included a considerable amount of plastic.
I hoped to find a glass ball, but instead came across a green plastic
frog which later turned out to be one of the legendary Floatees.
I kept the toy frog, injection-molded into a Buddha-like pose, strapped
to the deck of my kayak as a lookout. The toy seemed out of place, an
anthropogenic scar on a landscape which was otherwise pristine. It
bothered me, and it bothered my client. I began thinking of ways to
mobilize people and equipment to return places like these to their
natural state. Andy walking the beach near the abandoned old Afognak village May 23, 2005. My
career in the marine debris field started with a simple effort reduce
the impact of ocean plastics on people and animals (these plastics
included polymers found in net, line and all types of foam). At first I
thought this would be as simple as getting some grants, cleaning beaches
and ensuring the haul was disposed of properly. For a long time it was
that simple; through Island Trails Network,
which I founded a year after that fateful kayaking trip, I conducted
marine debris clean-ups using local volunteers. We started with vehicle
supported cleanups on the Kodiak road system, and graduated to
higher-volume projects in higher-impact, remote areas. This was over
ten years ago, and the marine debris program is now a familiar and
well-established element of Island Trails Network.
A decade ago,
disposing of marine debris properly simply meant throwing it in the
correct bin. Working through ITN, I had a bigger recycling bin than
most; every season we sent 40-foot shipping containers of marine debris
to a company in the scrap trader in the pacific northwest. I knew that
from there, they went to China. And so it went with marine debris, and
pretty much all the recyclables on the west coast of North America. It
was fine. Plastics problem solved.
In 2015, the Chinese stopped the import of these recyclable materials into their country, an effort called National Sword,
which effectively put a freeze on the export of recyclables in this
part of the world, causing commodity prices to plummet. It highlighted
the fact that in the U.S. our infrastructure for recycling was woefully
inadequate. It also became evident to many that the environmental and
social ethics of recycling America’s waste in China hadn’t been such a
good idea. Under U.S. laws, recycling can, indeed in must be
done better. Slowly at first, and now with a quickening pace, the U.S.
is building the infrastructure we need to recycle our own waste.
Meanwhile, 8M tons of plastic worldwide continues to enter the oceans each year. Exactly where
the waste is generated is the subject of much conversation and study.
There are point sources worth addressing, but much of the damage is
already done. For the plastics already in the ocean, the Pacific is
distributing it broadly, including here in Alaska. Here at home, my
clean-up crews were overwhelmed with the amounts of marine debris found
on each new beach, and our removal efforts kept getting bigger and more
ambitious as we recognize the severity of the problem. On popular and
social media the urgency of the ocean plastics phenomenon, little more
than a curiosity ten years ago, is now well-known. People are clamoring
for change. But the infrastructure to process all the plastic we
produce—even the post-consumer plastic that fills the recycling bins in
our cities, is still not in place. OPR
co-founder Andy Schroeder poses with ocean plastics he helped collect
in Kodiak Alaska, spring 2018. After the photo opportunity, he cleaned
this mess up. (Carol Scott photo) Among
all the qualitative categories of plastic, progressing from clean
recyclables that are byproducts of industrial processes, to
post-consumer plastics (think of the yogurt cup with traces of its
contents still inside), to something called ocean bound
plastics found in the developing world, which through some benevolent
intervention (often by NGOs) are kept from actually reaching the sea.
Among all these categories of plastic waste, the bona fide ocean
plastics that fill my yard are perhaps the worst. Plastics that have
actually crossed the sea may fouled with organics, photodegraded from
years in the sun, and if they have come into contact with the shore, may
be embedded with rocks and sand. Our product was the least desirable
to buyers, and in the wake of National Sword, no one would touch ocean
plastics.
While National Sword was being rolled out I continued
my marine debris removal efforts, and in the wake of the 2011 Tohoku
Tsunami, actually expanded them. With new regulations brewing and scrap
prices falling I found myself stashing marine debris on a donated 1-acre
lot without knowing what fate would eventually befall it. I promised
myself, and my grantors, that I would work on the “end game.” The
mountain of trash grew. And I recognized that I needed help to find an
end-of-life solution for ocean plastics.
One
such “mountain of trash” on its way from Alaska to Seattle in 2015.
Credit is due to GoAK, as well as Island Trails Network for filling up
this 30,000 sq ft barge. The haul weighed approximately 1M lbs.
Fast
forward to 2019: With the help of my co-founder Scott and scores of
talented people he has introduced me to, OPR is looking at samples of
ocean plastics under a microscope, characterizing it polymer by polymer
in the largest batches we can find. We hope to identify and share
technologies to recapture its value, through recycling or recovery
through the extraction of some usable liquid or gas. When these
technologies result in demand for ocean plastics, they will require
sorting and handling processes, which we are starting to develop now.
We hope to find new applications, new markets, and a new home for the 8M
tons of plastics which are bound to start coming out of the ocean any
day now. They must.