I pressed my hand against the weathered glass of the research vessel’s window, tracing the boundary between sea and sky. Below us, the waters of the North Pacific stretched out, seemingly ordinary, serene. But Dr. Karla Monetti, a marine ecologist with the Pacific Coastal Institute, knew better.
“What you’re looking at,” she told me as we peered out at the deceptively calm ocean surface, “is the return of something we hoped wouldn’t come back—at least not this soon.”
That “something” has scientists concerned: the reemergence of a massive marine heatwave in the North Pacific Ocean, commonly known as “the Blob.” First documented in 2013-2015, this phenomenon has returned in 2024, bringing water temperatures up to 5°C above normal across a vast expanse of ocean stretching from Alaska to California.
Standing beside Dr. Monetti on the research vessel last month, I witnessed firsthand the monitoring efforts tracking what could become one of the most significant ocean warming events of the decade.
“We’re seeing temperature anomalies that rival what we observed during the 2014-2016 event,” explained Dr. Monetti, pointing to the real-time data flickering across her tablet screen. “The difference is that now we know what this might mean for marine ecosystems and coastal communities.”
The original Blob devastated marine life along the Pacific coast. Warmer waters disrupted food webs, leading to massive die-offs of seabirds and marine mammals. Commercial fisheries collapsed as species like salmon and cod struggled to find nutrition in the altered ecosystem. Harmful algal blooms proliferated, contaminating shellfish and closing beaches.
For Haida Nation fisher Jacob Williams, the memory of the previous heatwave still feels raw. “We lost nearly everything,” he told me as we sat in his workshop in Old Massett, where he was repairing fishing nets. “Not just the catch that season, but something deeper—a connection to patterns that had sustained our community for generations.”
Williams recalls how the warmer waters drove away the salmon his family had relied on. “When something that predictable suddenly becomes unpredictable, it shakes your whole world.”
The current marine heatwave began forming in late 2023 and has intensified throughout early 2024. According to Environment and Climate Change Canada, ocean temperature data shows warming patterns that closely mirror those observed during the previous Blob event, though with some notable differences in spatial distribution.
Dr. Amelia Chen, an oceanographer with Fisheries and Oceans Canada, explains that while the previous Blob was primarily attributed to persistent high-pressure systems blocking normal wind patterns, the current heatwave appears to be supercharged by background warming from climate change.
“What makes this particularly concerning is that we’re starting from a warmer baseline,” Dr. Chen explained during our video call from her Victoria office. “The ocean has already absorbed so much heat from human-caused climate change that these marine heatwaves are happening in waters that were already warmer than historical norms.”
The science of marine heatwaves has advanced considerably since the first Blob event. Researchers at the University of Washington have developed improved modeling techniques that help predict not just the temperature anomalies, but their ecological impacts. These models suggest the current heatwave could persist through 2025 if atmospheric conditions don’t shift significantly.
Walking along Vancouver’s Jericho Beach on a surprisingly warm April morning, I met Dr. Rafael Santos, a marine biologist monitoring intertidal ecosystems. He knelt beside a tidepool, pointing out subtle changes already visible to his trained eye.
“See these barnacles? They’re showing stress patterns we wouldn’t normally observe until mid-summer,” he said, gently touching the tiny creatures. “And these mussels—they’re gaping more than usual, a sign they’re struggling with the higher temperatures.”
For coastal communities from Alaska to California, the return of the Blob isn’t just a scientific curiosity—it’s an economic and cultural threat. The commercial fishing industry, still recovering from the impacts of previous warming events and pandemic disruptions, now faces another potential crisis.
Lisa Martinson, who runs a family-owned seafood processing facility in Prince Rupert, expressed her concerns as we toured her operation. “We’ve been trying to adapt since the last heatwave—diversifying the species we process, investing in more efficient refrigeration. But there’s only so much adaptation possible when the entire ecosystem shifts.”
Indigenous communities along the coast, whose cultural practices and food security are intimately tied to marine resources, are particularly vulnerable. Yet they’re also drawing on generations of traditional knowledge to respond.
Melissa Johnson, a marine resource manager with the Nuu-chah-nulth Tribal Council on Vancouver Island, described how traditional ecological knowledge is being combined with Western science to monitor changing conditions.
“Our elders have observed subtle shifts in ocean patterns for decades,” Johnson told me. “Now we’re partnering with research institutions to document these observations alongside instrumental data. It creates a more complete picture of what’s happening.”
Scientists at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) have established an early warning system for marine heatwaves, similar to hurricane tracking systems. This approach aims to give communities and industries more time to prepare for potential impacts.
The current marine heatwave isn’t occurring in isolation. The Pacific Northwest has experienced a series of connected climate extremes in recent years—from atmospheric rivers causing catastrophic flooding to heat domes that shattered temperature records and claimed hundreds of lives in 2021.
Dr. Monetti believes these connected crises demand connected solutions. “We need to address both the immediate impacts of these heatwaves and their root causes,” she emphasized. “That means developing ecological forecasting tools that help communities adapt in real-time, while simultaneously reducing the greenhouse gas emissions driving long-term ocean warming.”
As our research vessel made its way back to harbor after collecting samples and data, I asked Dr. Monetti what gives her hope despite the challenging outlook.
She pointed to a group of students on deck, carefully cataloging specimens. “These young researchers were just starting school during the last Blob. Now they’re helping us understand this one. The knowledge we’re building—that’s what gives me hope.”
For communities along the Pacific coast, the return of the Blob in 2024 is both a renewed challenge and an opportunity to apply lessons learned from past experiences. As warming waters reshape marine ecosystems once again, the response reflects a deepening understanding of how climate change is transforming our relationship with the ocean—and with each other.
