California's coastal cliffs are part of the state's identity.

They frame famous surf breaks, overlook busy beaches, and support roads, railways, campgrounds, homes, and public parks.

They also fail without much warning.

And that's a real serious issue, as every year, thousands of people walk beneath cliffs that are slowly changing shape under the combined force of waves, rain, gravity, and time.

For decades, geologists understood why cliffs collapse. Predicting exactly when one would fail was another matter.

Now, a new four-year research effort led by the Scripps Institution of Oceanography suggests that this may be changing.

Scientists found that buried ground sensors detected subtle movement in coastal cliffs hours to days before five separate collapses in San Diego County.

The findings raise the possibility that an early warning system for dangerous cliff failures could eventually become as practical as weather alerts or flood warnings, although researchers stress that more years of monitoring are still needed before such a system becomes operational.

But there's good news. Here's what we, as beach and seaside users, should know.

Why California's cliffs deserve attention

About 70 percent of California's shoreline consists of eroding coastal cliffs. That's actually quite an impactful figure.

They attract millions of visitors each year, yet they also support highways, rail corridors, military facilities, universities, businesses, wastewater infrastructure, and residential neighborhoods.

As sea level rises and coastal erosion continues, the risks to both people and infrastructure are expected to increase.

The danger, however, is not theoretical.

Since 1941, at least 25 people have died in coastal cliff collapses on California beaches.

San Diego County has recorded the highest number of fatal incidents, including the August 2019 tragedy at Grandview Beach in Encinitas, where a large section of cliff collapsed and killed three women enjoying a summer afternoon on the sand.

That event helped inspire California legislation that funded the Scripps research program.

Researchers also point to future infrastructure losses.

Previous studies estimate that by 2100, cliff retreat could affect roughly 10,000 coastal parcels, 14,000 residents, 240 miles (385 kilometers) of roads, and 10 miles (16 kilometers) of railway in central and northern California alone.

Southern California, where development is even denser, was not included in that estimate.

But California is not the only place where people die as a result of landslide events.

Spain, France, the United Kingdom, and Portugal are among the more than 30 countries where fatalities occurred in these types of incidents.

Looking underground instead of at the cliff face

Rather than relying only on visual inspections, the research team decided to measure what happens inside the ground before a collapse.

Scientists installed nearly 40 instruments at three high-risk locations in San Diego County: Beacon's Beach in Encinitas, the coastal railway corridor in Del Mar, and San Elijo State Beach.

The network included buried micro electro-mechanical system (MEMS) tiltmeters, highly sensitive electrolytic tiltmeters, extensometers, weather stations, optical displacement sensors, and other monitoring equipment.

The buried MEMS tiltmeters became the project's standout performers. These sensors are essentially extremely sensitive digital levels.

Modified by the research team and attached to one-meter-long rods buried beneath the surface, they could detect tiny changes in ground angle while filtering out temperature swings and other surface disturbances.

Each sensor transmitted data every 15 minutes through a wireless network.

Although more expensive instruments were also tested, the relatively inexpensive MEMS sensors consistently detected meaningful changes before failures occurred.

Five collapses that did not happen without warning

The study captured five separate cliff failures.

In every case, the sensors recorded accelerating ground deformation before collapse.

The warning period ranged from several hours to several days.

Visible cracks also appeared along the cliff tops before each failure, giving researchers another important clue about where to concentrate monitoring efforts.

The best documented example occurred in Del Mar during April 2024.

Researchers noticed a crack about 2.5 millimeters wide extending roughly 10 meters parallel to the cliff edge.

Over the following weeks, instruments measured the crack widening by approximately 0.4 millimeters per day, a movement too small for people to notice with the naked eye.

Several rainfall events occurred during the same period.

On April 19, the sensor data began accelerating at a rate that researchers considered consistent with imminent failure, prompting them to notify coastal managers.

Two days later, at around 5 a.m. on April 21, an estimated 200 tons of rock and soil fell onto the beach below. Fortunately, nobody was there.

The data showed something important: it was not simply that the cliff moved before failing.

The movement itself accelerated, following a pattern that has long been recognized in landslide mechanics. As stress builds within unstable rock or soil, deformation speeds up before the final collapse.

Detecting that acceleration appears to offer the most useful warning signal.

Not every cliff behaves the same way

The findings are promising, but the researchers avoid suggesting that cliff failures have become easy to predict.

One monitored event behaved differently.

The ground movement accelerated, then stabilized, then accelerated again several times before finally collapsing.

Had authorities acted on the first acceleration alone, it could have resulted in a false alarm.

That uncertainty is one reason the team says much larger datasets are needed before warning systems become routine.

Beacon's Beach presents another challenge.

Unlike the sudden upper cliff failures seen at Del Mar and San Elijo, Beacon's contains a deep rotational landslide that periodically reactivates along an older slip surface.

Permit delays meant that the project's highest resolution instruments were installed late in the study, leaving too little time to evaluate their performance before another major failure occurred.

Laser mapping revealed the bigger picture

Ground sensors provide highly localized information.

To understand how cliffs behave across an entire coastline, researchers also mapped approximately 12.5 miles (20 kilometers) of San Diego County coastline every week between 2022 and 2025.

Using truck-mounted lidar systems and drone photogrammetry, the team built detailed three-dimensional models of cliff faces extending from Torrey Pines State Beach to Encinitas.

Across roughly 2,500 miles (4,000 kilometers) of repeated surveys, scientists identified about 4,300 individual erosion events.

Most erosion occurred during winter, when rainfall was highest, although some failures still happened during dry summer months.

The researchers compared every event with rainfall records to estimate how the weather influenced the collapse probability.

The analysis showed that small cliff failures were common under almost any conditions. Larger failures behaved differently.

Large upper cliff collapses made up only 3.6 percent of the database and became much more likely after heavy rain.

According to the preliminary analysis, following a day with more than one inch of rainfall, there was about a 70 percent probability that at least one large cliff failure would occur somewhere within the study area during the following four weeks.

The researchers emphasize that these numbers are preliminary because they are based on only a few years of observations.

Turning science into public safety

Detecting an impending collapse is only part of the challenge.

The report notes that California currently lacks consistent statewide procedures describing what agencies should do when monitoring indicates that a cliff may soon fail.

Researchers recommend developing coordinated warning protocols involving emergency management offices, lifeguards, the California Geological Survey, the National Weather Service, transportation agencies, and local governments.

Possible responses could include temporary beach closures, restricting access to cliff tops, continuous monitoring, additional warning signs, or controlled rock removal where appropriate.

The researchers also argue that public education deserves equal attention.

Better warning signs, school programs, public service campaigns, and beach safety information could reduce injuries even before sophisticated prediction systems become widely available.

Their work has also produced practical tools beyond cliff monitoring.

One experimental smartphone-friendly application developed during the project forecasts beach width up to three days in advance at Torrey Pines State Beach, helping visitors understand when tides and waves leave little room to keep a safe distance from unstable cliffs.

The next step

The scientists are careful not to describe the project as a finished warning system.

Instead, they see it as proof that coastal cliffs often reveal measurable signs before they fail.

The challenge now is determining how reliable those signals remain across different rock types, weather conditions, and stretches of coastline.

The team recommends extending monitoring well beyond San Diego County to locations including Orange County, Palos Verdes, Santa Barbara, Big Sur, Santa Cruz, Pacifica, Sonoma County, Fort Bragg, and the Lost Coast.

They also propose establishing a long-term California Coastal Landslide Research Center to coordinate observations, maintain statewide datasets, and improve prediction models as additional years of measurements become available.

Will there be funding for such a relevant study?

Tsunamis are relatively rare and difficult to study due to their unpredictability.

When a magnitude 8.8 earthquake struck off Russia's Kamchatka Peninsula on July 29, 2025, it immediately became one of the largest earthquakes recorded since 1900.

The quake ruptured part of the Kuril Kamchatka subduction zone, where the Pacific Plate dives beneath the Okhotsk Plate, and generated a tsunami that crossed the Pacific Ocean.

Warnings were issued for Russia, Japan, Hawaii, Alaska, the U.S. West Coast, and several other Pacific regions.

Fortunately, the tsunami caused far less destruction than events such as the 2011 Tohoku disaster in Japan, but for oceanography and marine scientists, it opened an unexpected window into how giant tsunamis behave in the open ocean.

The timing could hardly have been better for science.

About 70 minutes after the earthquake, the Surface Water and Ocean Topography (SWOT) satellite flew over the expanding tsunami.

It was the first time a satellite captured a detailed, two-dimensional view of a major tsunami generated by a major subduction-zone earthquake.

Until then, researchers had mostly relied on deep ocean pressure sensors called DART (Deep-ocean Assessment and Reporting of Tsunamis) buoys, coastal tide gauges, and computer models to understand these events.

Those tools remain essential, but each measures only isolated points in the ocean.

SWOT offered something entirely different as it painted a broad picture of the sea surface as the tsunami raced across the Pacific.

Seeing the whole wave instead of a few dots

Oceanographers often compare DART buoys to weather stations.

They provide precise measurements where they are located, but they cannot show what is happening everywhere between them.

SWOT changed that.

Its radar instruments measured sea surface height across a swath roughly 93 miles (150 kilometers) wide with centimeter-level precision.

Instead of recording a single line of data, the satellite mapped the shape of the tsunami across a broad section of the ocean.

Scientists could watch how different parts of the wave evolved as they moved away from the earthquake.

That wider view quickly revealed something unexpected.

Researchers had long modeled the possibility that a large tsunami could produce complicated patterns in the open ocean, but direct observations had been scarce.

The Kamchatka tsunami showed waves scattering, bending, and interacting across the Pacific in ways that were far more intricate than many simplified descriptions suggest.

Rather than behaving like one clean wavefront, the tsunami developed smaller wave trains and complex structures that traditional observing systems could not fully capture.

Lead author Angel Ruiz Angulo of the University of Iceland said the satellite provided a perspective scientists simply had not had before.

The broader view helped confirm that some features predicted by advanced numerical models are real and measurable in the ocean itself.

A clearer picture of what happened beneath the seafloor

The satellite observations did more than improve the view of the tsunami. They also helped scientists reconstruct the earthquake itself, something that, for instance, was not possible in 1958, the year the largest ever wave was recorded in Lituya Bay, Alaska.

Researchers combined SWOT measurements with data from three nearby DART buoys to estimate how the seafloor moved during the rupture.

Their analysis suggested that the rupture extended for roughly 250 miles (400 kilometers) along the fault and produced about 11 feet (four meters) of maximum uplift in the tsunami source region.

Those estimates differed in important ways from published seismic fault models that relied mainly on earthquake and geodetic data.

Neither approach alone fully explained all the observations. So, the solution was to blend the two.

The researchers combined uplift estimated from the tsunami data with subsidence from the seismic and geodetic models.

The hybrid source matched both the satellite observations and the buoy records more closely than either model by itself.

That result showed how ocean observations can directly improve our understanding of earthquakes occurring beneath the sea.

Why this matters for tsunami forecasts

Modern tsunami warning centers already produce forecasts within minutes after large earthquakes by combining seismic information with computer simulations and measurements from DART buoys.

Those systems have saved lives around the world.

The Kamchatka event suggests that future forecasts could become even more accurate as satellites like SWOT contribute additional observations.

The satellite data help scientists test and refine the physical models that describe how tsunami waves spread across entire ocean basins.

Better models should improve forecasts of wave arrival times, wave heights, and local coastal hazards during future events.

NASA scientists have described the observations as an important step toward validating tsunami forecast models with real-world measurements over large areas instead of isolated locations.

That gives researchers greater confidence when they use those models to guide emergency planning and warning systems.

Oceanography enters a new era

The Kamchatka earthquake demonstrated that satellites designed primarily to study water can also become powerful tools for studying some of Earth's largest natural disasters.

For decades, oceanographers have pieced together tsunami behavior using scattered measurements across vast distances.

The 2025 event showed that wide swath satellite altimetry can fill many of those gaps.

Instead of inferring the shape of a tsunami from a handful of instruments, scientists can now observe large sections of the wave directly as it travels through the open ocean.

The earthquake itself was tragic and powerful, but for ocean science, it marked the beginning of a new observational capability.

Researchers can now compare satellite measurements, buoy observations, seismic records, and numerical models in ways that were impossible before July 2025.

That combination promises a better understanding of both the earthquakes that disturb the seafloor and the ocean waves they send racing across the world's largest basin.

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com

For years, the Ocean Observatories Initiative (OOI) has quietly done one of the hardest jobs in science. And that is to watch the ocean.

The project was built as a network of more than 900 instruments and buoys that track ocean circulation, marine ecosystems, ocean chemistry, climate trends, extreme weather conditions, and seismic activity.

The system operates in some of the most remote and hostile environments on Earth, gathering information around the clock and sending it back to researchers in real time.

Now, that network is being largely dismantled.

In late May, the National Science Foundation (NSF) announced that it would begin a major downsizing of the OOI Major Facility.

Over roughly 15 months, instruments deployed off Oregon, Washington, Alaska, North Carolina, and southeast Greenland will be removed from the water.

The decision ends a project that many scientists expected to continue operating for another couple of decades.

The move has triggered concern throughout the ocean science community.

Researchers say the United States is stepping away from a rare long-term observing system at a time when the oceans are experiencing rapid and poorly understood changes.

What the OOI was built to do

The OOI became fully operational in 2015 and 2016 after more than a decade of planning, engineering, and construction.

The system cost roughly $368 million to $370 million to build and required about $48 million each year to operate.

Around 60 to 70 people worked directly on the project across participating institutions.

Its design reflected a simple scientific reality. Detecting meaningful climate trends often requires decades of uninterrupted observations.

For that reason, the OOI was designed as a project expected to operate for 25 to 30 years.

The network combined moorings fixed to the seafloor, autonomous underwater gliders, robotic systems, and highly specialized sensors capable of surviving crushing pressure, corrosive seawater, and the challenges of life in the deep ocean.

Jim Edson, a marine meteorologist who helped lead the initiative, described it as "the world's most advanced continuously operating ocean observing systems."

The information collected by the network has supported more than 500 scientific publications and has become a valuable public resource for researchers around the world.

The decision to remove the network

The National Science Foundation says the descoping effort fits within a broader strategy to manage its research infrastructure portfolio and redirect resources toward evolving priorities and emerging technologies.

Michael England, head of media affairs at the agency, told reporters that the decision aligns with a "nimbler approach" to scientific priorities and lifecycle management.

The announcement arrived as the Trump administration proposed deep reductions to federal science spending.

The administration's proposed 2026 budget included a 55 percent cut to the National Science Foundation.

According to reporting on the decision, the administration had previously sought reductions of up to 80 percent in funding connected to the initiative.

Congress restored funding on those occasions, but the descoping process moved forward.

Critics have also pointed to Project 2025, a policy blueprint produced by the Heritage Foundation.

The document specifically identified the OOI as a target for elimination and argued that climate research associated with the program should be disbanded.

The White House has not publicly tied the descoping decision to Project 2025, but the overlap has intensified political debate around the future of federal climate science.

What is being lost

The instruments scheduled for removal are spread across several strategically important regions.

Off the Pacific Northwest, the Coastal Endurance Array has provided continuous observations of temperature, oxygen levels, acidity, and other conditions that affect marine ecosystems and commercial fisheries.

In the Gulf of Alaska, Ocean Station Papa has helped scientists monitor ocean acidification and broader changes in ocean health.

In the North Atlantic, moorings in the Irminger Sea, located between Greenland and Iceland, have supplied critical information about the Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation, or AMOC.

The vast system of ocean currents plays a major role in regulating the climate.

The Irminger Sea instruments are attached to the seafloor roughly 9,200 feet (about 2,800 meters) below the surface, and form part of an international scientific effort to understand changes in the circulation system.

Scientists worry that weakening of the AMOC could have far-reaching consequences.

Research has linked a potential slowdown or collapse to major disruptions in weather patterns, sea level rise along parts of the United States East Coast, colder winters in Europe, and drought in some regions of Africa.

"Ongoing monitoring of the ocean is critical, especially now," said Stefan Rahmstorf, a professor at Potsdam University who studies the circulation system.

Why satellites cannot replace it

Many of the measurements collected by the OOI cannot be gathered from space.

Satellites are useful for observing conditions at the ocean surface. They can track temperature patterns, sea level changes, and chlorophyll concentrations.

What they cannot do is continuously measure conditions deep below the surface.

That includes oxygen levels, chemical changes, deep water circulation, and other processes that often provide the earliest signs of environmental shifts.

Researchers say this is particularly important because some of the most significant oceanographic signals develop well beneath the surface, out of view of satellites and traditional monitoring systems.

Ed Dever, an Oregon State University professor who helped lead Pacific Northwest operations, described the loss bluntly.

"It's a crippling loss of information," he said.

Impacts on fisheries, weather, and coastal communities

The consequences of the descoping effort extend beyond academic research.

Data collected by OOI instruments helps scientists and resource managers understand marine heat waves, ocean acidification, coastal flooding, and changing fish populations.

Along the Pacific Northwest coast, information from the Endurance Array supports fishing communities and tribal nations.

Jan Newton, an oceanography professor at the University of Washington, said the system helps members of the Quinault Indian Nation assess conditions affecting Dungeness crab populations.

The same network contributes to weather observations used by vessels operating in regional waters.

Scientists warn that removing instruments will reduce the amount of information available to mariners and fisheries managers.

On the East Coast, lawmakers argue that the data supports communities affected by changing coastal currents and flooding risks.

"For our watermen and farmers and our coastal community residents and businesses, changes in currents and flooding have a major impact on their lives and livelihoods," Senator Chris Van Hollen of Maryland said.

A time of rapid ocean change

The decision arrives during a period of unusual stress for the global ocean. Sea surface temperatures have reached record levels in many regions.

Scientists are monitoring the development of a powerful El Niño event in the Pacific. Marine heat waves are affecting ecosystems and fisheries. Coral reefs around the world are experiencing severe bleaching events.

At the same time, researchers are trying to understand whether major ocean circulation systems are entering a period of significant change.

Helen Findlay, a biological oceanographer at Plymouth Marine Laboratory, said sustained observations are essential because they reveal risks as they emerge.

"Without them, we are effectively choosing to navigate an increasingly volatile ocean with diminishing visibility," she said.

Findlay's research on ocean acidification has suggested that large parts of the ocean have already entered what she calls a "zone of risk" for ecosystem change.

Scientists argue that long records are especially valuable during periods of rapid environmental change because they allow researchers to separate short-term fluctuations from genuine long-term trends.

The cost question

Supporters of the descoping effort point to annual operating expenses of about $48 million.

Critics respond that the nation has already invested nearly $370 million in building the infrastructure and training the specialists required to operate it.

Rick Spinrad, the former administrator of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), questioned whether shutting down the system would truly save money in the long run.

"I'd call this penny wise, tons foolish," he said.

Others emphasize that expertise is also at risk.

Helen Palevsky of Boston College noted that collecting data in places such as the Irminger Sea required years of engineering experience and operational knowledge.

"One of the real tragedies here is that collecting data effectively at this site was a huge engineering challenge," she said, warning that specialized knowledge could disappear along with the infrastructure.

Craig McLean, who served as NOAA's chief scientist during Trump's first administration, argued that the decision weakens the country's position in global science.

"By dismantling such a system, we push the United States back yet again into a rear seat in global scientific leadership," he said.

What will remain

Not every part of the initiative is disappearing.

The Regional Cabled Array off the Pacific Northwest coast, managed by the University of Washington, is expected to continue operating.

The seafloor cable network provides information about volcanic activity, earthquakes, and related geologic processes beneath the ocean.

Even so, researchers note that the removal of most in-water observing infrastructure will dramatically reduce the breadth of environmental measurements that the broader OOI network was designed to collect.

For many scientists, the deepest concern is not what has been learned during the initiative's first decade but that the data that will never be collected during the decades that were supposed to follow.

"We've just got to the 10-year record," Ed Dever said. "Which will give you some hints, but it won't continue on."

On Portuguese beaches, an unexpected dispute has triggered a broad discussion about public beach access.

A family arrives early, plants a beach umbrella in the sand, and within minutes is told to move because the spot is "in front of the concession."

For years, many Portuguese beachgoers accepted the rule as if it were law.

Signs on beaches in the Algarve and elsewhere directed people carrying their own parasols toward specific sections of the sand, often away from rows of rented loungers and parasols operated by private concessionaires.

Then, suddenly, the country's environmental authority said the practice had no legal basis.

"It is an abuse," said José Pimenta Machado, president of the Portuguese Environment Agency (APA), during a visit to Praia do Garrão in Loulé on May 25.

"The only area that is concessioned is the rectangle that is delimited. Everything else is free use."

The statement ignited a national debate that quickly became larger than umbrellas and loungers.

At stake is an old question that many coastal countries are struggling with: who truly owns the beach?

SurferToday.com has been dissecting the topic of public beach access for nearly two decades.

The legal gray area on Portuguese beaches

Portuguese beaches are part of the public maritime domain under national law.

The Constitution of Portugal and the country's water legislation establish that coastal areas are public property intended for collective use.

Private operators can obtain concessions to run beach services, though.

They rent parasols and loungers, maintain support facilities, provide bathrooms, and often finance lifeguard operations.

But the concession does not transfer ownership of the beach itself. The confusion comes from how those concessions are organized on the sand.

Under Portuguese beach planning rules, concession areas must be physically delimited.

APA officials have repeatedly said that only the marked concession zone is reserved for commercial use.

Outside those limits, beachgoers are free to place their own parasols.

The agency also reminded operators that concession structures are generally limited to one-third of the beach area.

APA has reportedly warned some operators for exceeding authorized occupation zones or placing equipment too close to unstable cliffs.

Still, many Portuguese beaches developed informal practices over the years that went far beyond the written law.

In several Algarve beaches, signs instructed visitors not to place umbrellas directly in front of concession areas, even when those spaces remained part of the public sand.

Beach concessionaires insist they were following official guidance.

"The truth is that it seems there was never a law," André Sousa, a concessionaire at Praia do Garrão, told reporters.

"But the beach notices always said it was mandatory to comply with the existing signage."

Sousa rejected accusations of abusive behavior. He argued that operators merely followed rules approved by maritime authorities and local beach regulations.

"We never forced anyone to leave," he said. "We recommended where people should place their umbrellas."

Other concessionaires framed the issue as one of safety and organization.

João Carreira, another beach operator quoted in Portuguese media, said concession areas were designed to maintain circulation corridors, visibility for lifeguards, and access to emergency routes.

He argued that placing personal parasols directly beside rented loungers creates disorder and reduces the attractiveness of the paid service.

"There has to be common sense," he said.

The public pushback

For many beachgoers, the APA's comments confirmed a suspicion that had existed for years: parts of the Portuguese coast were slowly becoming semi-private through custom rather than law.

The debate exploded online after national television channels and newspapers reported the APA's position.

Videos of beach signs spread across social media.

Many users described being pressured by lifeguards or concession staff to move away from areas near rented parasols, especially during the crowded summer season in the Algarve.

Environment Minister Maria da Graça Carvalho sided publicly with the APA.

"The beaches are public. They always were and continue to be," she said.

APA announced that it would issue formal written guidance to municipalities, maritime authorities, and concessionaires to eliminate contradictory interpretations.

The agency also indicated that signage restricting the placement of personal umbrellas outside concession boundaries would be reviewed.

The issue resonates strongly in Portugal because beach access is woven into daily life and national identity.

The country has nearly 590 miles (950 kilometers) of Atlantic coastline and more than 600 official bathing beaches.

In 2025, Portugal welcomed an all-time high of 32.5 million guests in tourist accommodations, a 3 percent increase from 2024. Of these, 19.7 million were international tourists.

During the summer months, many urban beaches become crowded public spaces where economic differences blur under towels and parasols.

That social dimension explains why the dispute spread so quickly beyond local beach politics.

A global fight over public shores

Portugal is not alone in confronting these tensions.

Around the world, coastlines have become battlegrounds between public access and private interests, particularly as beachfront property values rise and tourism intensifies.

One of the best-known examples unfolded in California around Martins Beach, south of San Francisco.

The beach became internationally famous after billionaire investor Vinod Khosla purchased the surrounding property in 2008 for $32.5 million and later restricted public access through the only road leading to the shore.

California law guarantees public access to beaches up to the mean high tide line.

For decades, local families, surfers, and fishermen had used Martins Beach freely, paying only small parking fees to previous owners.

After Khosla closed the access gate in 2010 and installed "No Trespassing" signs, environmental groups and state agencies launched years of lawsuits.

"This case goes to the heart of California's public access mandate," Steve Padilla, chair of the California Coastal Commission, said during one stage of the legal battle.

The Surfrider Foundation, which fought the case in court, described the dispute as one of the most important public-access fights in the United States.

Courts repeatedly ruled that access had to be restored.

A similar conflict emerged in Florida in recent years after some wealthy beachfront property owners attempted to limit public use of dry-sand areas adjacent to their homes.

Beach tags in the New Jersey coastline have also generated controversy.

In Hawaii, shoreline access battles frequently pit luxury development projects against long-standing customary access rights.

The disputes share the same underlying pressure.

Beaches are public by tradition and law in many countries, but the economic value of coastal land continues to rise.

Portugal's controversy may appear modest compared with billion-dollar legal wars in California. Nobody is locking gates on the Algarve coastline.

Yet the emotional reaction reveals how sensitive the subject has become.

For many people, a line of rented parasols is a sign that public space is slowly shrinking as informal restrictions become accepted as normal behavior.

The economics of shade

Concessionaires argue that the debate often ignores the financial reality of operating beaches.

Portuguese beach operators pay concession fees and are responsible for infrastructure, cleaning, safety support, and maintenance. Many say they depend heavily on summer rentals to survive economically.

In some beaches, the most desirable front-row areas near the sea are precisely the spaces where private umbrellas create direct competition with paid parasols.

André Sousa acknowledged that unrestricted placement of personal parasols could hurt business.

"Probably yes," he said when asked whether it could have economic consequences.

"A customer paying for a lounger and umbrella may not find it attractive if someone puts a private umbrella directly in front."

The Portuguese government has historically encouraged private concessions to maintain beach services without placing all costs on municipalities or the state.

That balance between commercial operation and public access now sits at the center of the controversy.

APA's intervention suggests the government wants to draw a clearer legal boundary before the summer season intensifies.

The agency's message is simple: concessionaires may operate within their licensed areas, but they cannot control the surrounding public sand.

Whether that clarification changes daily practice on crowded beaches remains uncertain.

Meanwhile, during Portuguese summers, families will probably still compete for shade and sea views with legal arguments attached.

Scientists and weather agencies are increasingly warning that the Pacific Ocean may be heading toward a very strong El Niño event in late 2026.

Some forecasts now place the odds of a major El Niño close to certainty by the end of the year.

Nevertheless, experts still debate whether the event will reach the unofficial "super" category used for the strongest episodes on record.

That distinction matters because the largest El Niño events have a habit of rearranging life on Earth for months at a time.

They can push global temperatures higher, flood some countries, dry out others, disrupt crops, spread disease, and strain power grids already stretched by heat.

El Niño is not a storm.

It is a large warming of surface waters in the central and eastern Pacific Ocean that changes wind patterns and shifts the atmosphere itself.

The World Meteorological Organization (WMO) and National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) describe it as one of the most powerful drivers of year-to-year climate variability on the planet.

The phenomenon returns every two to seven years and often lasts close to a year. During strong events, the Pacific behaves like a giant heat engine.

Rain belts move, jet streams wander, fisheries suffer, and wildfire risk climbs in some regions while floodwaters rise in others.

The 1997 to 1998 El Niño and the 2015 to 2016 event became global reference points because of their economic and human toll.

Peru faced deadly floods and landslides, and Indonesia endured severe drought and fires.

Coral reefs around the world bleached under unusually warm oceans, and global temperatures surged.

Now, with oceans already unusually warm because of long-term climate change, oceanographers and meteorologists are watching the Pacific closely.

The WMO warned after the 2023 to 2024 event that El Niño and human-driven warming together helped produce record global temperatures and extreme weather.

The Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) of the United Nations (UN) has also cautioned that El Niño can sharply increase risks to food security by damaging crops, livestock, fisheries, water supplies, and infrastructure.

A future super El Niño would not strike every region in the same way. It rarely does.

Floods, droughts, and a planet running hotter

In parts of South America, especially Peru and Ecuador, El Niño years are often associated with intense rainfall, flash floods, and destructive mudslides.

Coastal communities can see roads collapse, drinking water systems fail, and neighborhoods buried under debris.

In Southeast Asia and Australia, the opposite problem often emerges. Rainfall can weaken sharply, crops dry out, reservoirs shrink, and wildfires spread more easily through forests and peatlands.

Southern Africa, India, and portions of Central America have also experienced drought during past El Niño events.

The damage can unfold slowly.

A failed rainy season may not become a humanitarian emergency until months later, when food prices rise, and water supplies deteriorate.

The World Health Organization (WHO) says El Niño can also alter the spread of infectious diseases by changing rainfall, humidity, and temperature.

Flooding can contaminate drinking water and increase outbreaks of waterborne disease. Warmer and wetter conditions can also affect mosquitoes that carry illnesses such as dengue fever and malaria.

The heat itself may become one of the largest dangers.

Global temperatures typically rise during El Niño years because heat stored in the Pacific Ocean is released into the atmosphere.

Scientists already expect 2026 and 2027 to rank among the warmest years ever measured if a strong event develops.

That has consequences for cities.

Extreme heat pushes up electricity demand as millions of air conditioners switch on at once.

Roads can buckle, rail systems can warp, and hospitals face surges in heat-related illness, especially among older adults and outdoor workers.

In neighborhoods with limited tree cover, temperatures can remain dangerously high long after sunset.

Insurance companies are also paying attention.

Severe flooding, storms, and wildfire losses linked to climate extremes have already driven up insurance costs in many countries.

A major El Niño could deepen pressure on property markets in high-risk regions.

What happens to homes and infrastructure

A super El Niño does not damage property through one single mechanism. It creates chains of stress.

Heavy rainfall can overwhelm drainage systems that were built for older climate patterns.

Rivers rise faster, sewage systems back up, and landslides destabilize hillsides where homes and roads were never designed to handle prolonged saturation.

Coastal infrastructure may face a double burden if El Niño-driven storms combine with higher sea levels linked to climate change.

Ports, bridges, airports, and power systems become more vulnerable when extreme rainfall arrives on top of already elevated ocean conditions.

Agriculture often becomes an early casualty.

The FAO warns that farmers, fishers, and rural communities are usually among the first groups hit by El Niño-related weather shocks.

Drought can reduce harvests of rice, maize, wheat, and coffee.

Fisheries can decline when warm Pacific waters disrupt marine ecosystems and nutrient flows.

Food prices can then ripple outward into cities and international markets.

The economic damage from past strong El Niño events has reached tens of billions of dollars globally.

Researchers argue that the financial effects linger for years because damaged infrastructure, reduced productivity, and food shortages continue well after the weather pattern fades.

How families can prepare before conditions worsen

Preparation for El Niño is rarely dramatic - it is mostly practical.

People living in flood-prone areas can start by checking whether their homes are adequately insured against flooding and storm damage.

Many property owners discover too late that standard policies do not cover certain water-related losses.

Drainage matters more than many people realize.

Clearing gutters, storm drains, and nearby water channels can reduce localized flooding around homes. In regions exposed to landslides, retaining walls and slope stabilization can lower risk.

Heat preparation is equally important.

Families should identify cooling centers, backup water supplies, and ways to protect vulnerable relatives during heat waves.

Cities across Europe learned during recent extreme summers that isolation and poor ventilation can become deadly.

Emergency kits should include more than flashlights and batteries.

During prolonged heat or flood events, medications, water purification supplies, portable chargers, and copies of critical documents become essential.

Public health experts also encourage people to pay attention to official forecasts weeks in advance.

One advantage of El Niño is that it develops slowly enough to provide warning time. Unlike earthquakes or tornadoes, its broad impacts can often be anticipated months ahead.

The role of local governments

Municipal governments sit at the front line of climate disasters, whether they are prepared or not.

Cities can reduce flood losses by cleaning drainage networks before heavy rains arrive and by identifying neighborhoods at the highest risk.

Temporary flood barriers, expanded emergency shelters, and improved evacuation plans can save lives even when budgets are limited.

Heat action plans have become increasingly important.

These plans often include opening public cooling centers, extending pool hours, distributing water, and conducting welfare checks on elderly residents.

Urban design also shapes vulnerability.

Planting trees, expanding shaded public spaces, and using reflective building materials can reduce dangerous urban heat.

Some cities are redesigning streets and parking areas with more permeable surfaces so heavy rainfall can soak into the ground instead of overwhelming drains.

Public communication may be one of the cheapest and most effective tools available.

Confusing alerts cost time during emergencies.

Clear warnings, translated into multiple languages and distributed across radio, television, text messaging, and social media, help residents act early instead of waiting until roads are underwater.

What national governments can do

The most successful responses to El Niño often begin before the worst weather appears.

Weather forecasting systems remain one of the strongest defenses. The WMO has repeatedly emphasized that early warning systems save lives and livelihoods.

Governments that invest in forecasting, satellite monitoring, and emergency communication usually respond faster and more effectively.

Water management becomes critical during strong El Niño periods.

Countries vulnerable to drought can expand water storage, repair leaking infrastructure, and encourage conservation before shortages become severe.

Regions exposed to flooding may need to release reservoir pressure gradually and reinforce dams before intense rainfall begins.

Agriculture ministries can also act early by distributing drought-resistant seeds, adjusting planting calendars, and supporting farmers with crop insurance or emergency financing.

Health systems need preparation as well.

Hospitals may require backup electricity, expanded cooling capacity, and additional supplies for respiratory illness, heat stress, and waterborne disease outbreaks.

Mosquito control programs often intensify before and during El Niño periods because warmer and wetter conditions can expand breeding grounds.

Some governments are now treating climate forecasting as an economic planning tool rather than only a weather issue.

Energy markets, transportation systems, food reserves, and insurance regulators increasingly rely on seasonal climate projections to anticipate shocks.

The forecasting challenge

Scientists are confident that El Niño conditions are likely to develop during 2026. The discussion is about intensity.

The phrase "super El Niño" has no formal scientific definition used by every forecasting agency, but it is commonly applied to exceptionally strong events with very high Pacific Ocean temperature anomalies.

Forecasts have become more sophisticated in recent years because satellites, ocean buoys, and computer models now track subsurface ocean heat in greater detail.

Scientists are also studying how climate change may influence the strength and behavior of future El Niño events.

Still, uncertainty remains. No forecast can predict every regional impact months in advance.

Some areas may avoid major disruption, while others face severe extremes.

Scientists stress that El Niño changes probabilities, not certainties. That is why preparation matters.

The strongest El Niño events tend to expose weaknesses that already exist. Fragile infrastructure fails faster; poor drainage floods first.

Communities with weak healthcare systems struggle longer, and households without savings recover more slowly.

A super El Niño would not arrive as a single cinematic disaster. It would appear through many separate events unfolding across the globe at the same time.

A heat wave in one country, flooded streets in another, and crop losses somewhere else.

The Pacific Ocean may be warming thousands of miles away, but history suggests its consequences rarely stay there for long.

If you live in a coastal area, you may have wondered why your place seems much windier than neighboring regions. The truth is, there are several reasons for that to happen.

Stand on a blustery stretch of coastline and then drive a short distance inland, and the change can feel almost theatrical, as though someone has turned down an invisible dial.

It could be God or Nature, you decide. But the reason why it occurs has been scientifically dissected by us, mere mortals.

So, the contrast, while familiar to anyone who has spent time near the ocean, is rooted in a layered set of physical processes that begin with something deceptively simple: the uneven way in which Earth's surface absorbs and releases heat.

In other words, if Earth were covered by either a flat, water-only ocean or a flat terrain without water, wind speeds would be identical in any part of the globe.

Yes, you've read it well.

Let's see. Water and land behave very differently under the Sun.

The ocean, with its depth and capacity to mix, warms and cools slowly, while land surfaces heat up quickly during the day and shed that heat just as quickly at night.

The mismatch sets the stage for a daily atmospheric imbalance.

As the land warms, the air above it becomes buoyant and rises, leaving behind a subtle region of lower pressure. Think of a hot-air balloon.

Over the adjacent sea, where temperatures remain comparatively stable, the air is denser and the pressure slightly higher.

Nature dislikes imbalance, and so air begins to move horizontally, from the higher-pressure zone over the water toward the lower-pressure zone over land.

That movement is wind, and along the coast it is not an occasional visitor but a recurring feature, cycling in step with the Sun.

Surface friction: Why wind weakens inland

But the story does not end with the creation of wind - it extends into how that wind is sustained and how far it can travel.

Over the ocean, air moves across a relatively smooth surface. There are no forests, no buildings, no abrupt obstacles to break its momentum.

In physical terms, the surface roughness is low, which means there is less friction to slow the air down.

As a result, winds over the sea can maintain higher speeds and greater coherence over long distances, gathering strength from large-scale atmospheric patterns that span hundreds or even thousands of kilometers.

By the time this moving air reaches the shoreline, it often carries with it the accumulated energy of that journey.

Coastal areas, exposed directly to this incoming flow, experience the wind in its more intact and vigorous form.

Move inland, however, and the atmosphere encounters resistance.

The ground is no longer smooth but textured with vegetation, buildings, and terrain that disrupt the flow.

Each tree canopy, each ridge or cluster of houses, acts like a tiny brake, extracting energy from the moving air and converting it into turbulence - swirls and eddies that scatter the wind's momentum in different directions.

The process, known as frictional drag, rapidly reduces wind speed near the surface. Even if the air above remains in motion, what is felt at ground level becomes weaker and less consistent.

The transformation can happen over surprisingly short distances; a few kilometers can be enough for a steady coastal wind to degrade into intermittent gusts.

Topography and the Venturi (funneling) effect

Geography often amplifies this contrast in ways that are less obvious but equally important.

Coastlines are rarely straight, and their irregularities - headlands, bays, cliffs - can channel and accelerate airflow much like a nozzle increases the speed of water from a hose.

When wind is forced through a narrower space or area, it speeds up. It's a phenomenon described by physicists as the Venturi effect.

Certain coastal locations become known for their persistent gales not just because of their position by the sea, but because their shape concentrates the wind.

Inland regions, by contrast, tend to disperse airflow across a broader, more obstructed landscape, allowing it to lose intensity rather than gain it.

Exposure to large-scale marine winds

There is also a broader atmospheric context to consider, one that extends beyond the daily swings of sea breezes.

The world's prevailing winds - those large-scale air currents and movements driven by the rotation of the Earth and the uneven heating between equator and poles - often travel long distances over open water before making landfall.

Over the ocean, they encounter little to impede them, but once they cross the shoreline, they begin to decay under the influence of friction and topography.

In this sense, the coast acts as a kind of receiving edge for atmospheric energy, while the interior behaves more like a dissipative field, gradually absorbing and weakening that energy.

Boundary layer and atmospheric structure

Even the vertical structure of the atmosphere plays a role.

The lowest layer, known as the boundary layer, is where the atmosphere directly interacts with the surface.

Over water, this layer tends to be smoother and more stable, allowing winds to remain relatively strong even close to the surface.

Over land, it becomes more turbulent, especially during the day when heating from below causes rising thermals and chaotic mixing.

The turbulence redistributes energy vertically but also saps the organized horizontal motion that we perceive as steady wind.

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com

It's more predictable than the available wind, sunlight, or water in river streams, and it's always on. Here's why the gravitational pull of the Moon and the Sun makes tidal energy such a stable renewable power source.

The ocean tides are quite simple. Generally twice a day, coastlines breathe in and out as water rises and falls.

And while this natural rhythm has been swinging for millions of years, we only learned how to turn it into electricity in the last hundred years.

Tidal energy is one of the oldest ideas in renewable power, and also one of the most technically demanding.

It sits somewhere between hydropower and ocean engineering, using predictable water movement instead of rivers or wind.

What is tidal power?

Let's get back to basics and learn a bit more about this unique power-generating method.

Tidal power is energy drawn from the natural rise and fall of sea levels. The motion on which it lies comes from gravity.

The Moon pulls on Earth's oceans, creating bulges of water and, as Earth rotates, different regions pass through these bulges, producing high and low tides.

Unlike wind or sunlight, tides follow precise cycles that you can actually check anywhere online.

Engineers, oceanographers - and surf forecasters, by the way - can actually predict them years in advance, and that reliability is precisely one of tidal energy's biggest strengths.

There are two main physical ideas behind tidal energy:

• Moving water carries kinetic energy;
• Differences in water height store potential energy;

Tidal technologies capture one or both.

The basic principle behind electricity generation

At its core, tidal energy works much like traditional hydropower.

Water moves, that movement spins a turbine, which turns a generator. The generator produces electricity.

The difference lies in the source of the water movement.

In rivers, flow comes from gravity pulling water downhill. In tides, motion comes from the constant push and pull between Earth, the Moon, and the Sun. And that makes tidal systems cyclical rather than continuous.

Now, here's the trick.

In some systems, electricity is generated when water flows into a basin; in others, it happens when water flows back out.

However, many modern designs generate power in both directions to maximize output.

A short history of tidal energy

People have been using tides for mechanical work for nearly a thousand years.

In medieval Europe, tidal mills were built along coasts. They used incoming tides to fill a basin and then released the water through waterwheels. Some of them are still up and running.

But electric tidal power arrived much later. The first large-scale tidal power station was built in France in the 1960s. It was the La Rance Tidal Power Station (see full story below).

When it opened in 1966, it marked a turning point because engineers proved that tidal energy could feed electricity into a national grid.

Nevertheless, since then, only a handful of major projects have followed, even though the slow pace is not due to a lack of interest.

Instead, it reflects the difficulty of building large structures in harsh marine environments.

The main ways to harness tidal energy

Tidal energy is not a single technology. It includes several different methods, each suited to different coastlines. There are three main approaches.

1. Tidal range systems

Tidal range systems use the difference in water height between high and low tide.

A barrier, often called a barrage, is built across a bay or estuary. When the tide comes in, water flows into the enclosed basin. When the tide goes out, water flows back to the sea.

Turbines installed in the barrier capture energy during these flows.

It's a method similar to a dam, but instead of a river, it uses the ocean's rise and fall.

Tidal lagoons work in a related way. Instead of blocking an entire estuary, they create a contained pool along the coast. It's a method that can reduce environmental impact, though the technology is still developing.

2. Tidal stream systems

Tidal stream systems capture the kinetic energy of moving water.

They look like underwater wind turbines and are placed in areas where water flows quickly, such as narrow straits or channels.

What happens is that strong tidal currents spin the blades, driving the generators.

Tidal stream technology is often seen as more flexible than barrages, as it does not require large dams and can be deployed in smaller units.

3. Dynamic tidal power

Dynamic tidal power is still a smart yet experimental idea.

It involves building long dams that extend out from the coast into the sea, without enclosing a basin.

The structure creates a difference in water levels along its length due to tidal phase differences. Turbines then capture energy from that imbalance.

No full-scale dynamic tidal power plant exists yet, but researchers continue to explore it.

Why tidal energy is so predictable

One of tidal power's defining traits is its regularity.

The timing of tides is governed by the so-called celestial mechanics. As we've highlighted above, unlike wind, which can stop suddenly, or solar power, which depends on weather and daylight, tides follow a fixed schedule.

Generally speaking, and with a few geographical exceptions, there are usually two high tides and two low tides each day. The exact timing shifts slightly due to the Moon's orbit, but it remains highly predictable (not entirely predictable).

As a result, it allows grid operators to plan around tidal generation with unusual accuracy. It does not solve all energy challenges, but it offers a level of certainty that most renewables cannot match.

How much power is in the tides?

The ocean holds a vast amount of energy, but sadly, only a fraction can be captured in practice.

Globally, estimates suggest that tidal energy could produce hundreds of terawatt-hours of electricity each year.

Some studies place the technical potential at around 1,000 terawatt-hours annually. That is a meaningful share of global electricity demand, though far less than solar or wind.

To help you, dear reader, put things into perspective: 1,000 terawatt-hours per year can power one major industrialized nation, such as Japan (1,022 TWh), Russia (1,024 TWh), or France and Germany combined.

What limits tidal energy is not the physics but geography.

Tidal systems only work well in places where water moves fast or where the difference between high and low tide is large.

Engineers call this the "tidal range." In most parts of the world, that range is too small to make large projects worthwhile.

The best sites tend to share a few characteristics. They have narrow channels that speed up water flow, or coastal basins where tides rise and fall dramatically.

Places like the Bay of Fundy in Canada, parts of the United Kingdom, South Korea, and northern France stand out.

The story of La Rance

The La Rance Tidal Power Station is known as the world's first tidal energy facility. But it was not built quickly or easily.

Construction began in 1961 on the Rance River estuary in Brittany. The idea was bold for its time.

Engineers would build a massive barrier across the estuary and install turbines that could generate electricity both when the tide came in and when it went out.

The plant opened in 1966 with a capacity of about 240 megawatts. That was, and still is, enough to power hundreds of thousands of homes.

La Rance is not remarkable just for its size but also for its longevity. The station has been operating for decades with relatively low maintenance compared to many other large infrastructure projects.

Over time, engineers improved turbines so they could generate power more efficiently in both directions of water flow.

The project also revealed the environmental trade-offs.

The estuary ecosystem changed after the barrage was built. Sediment patterns shifted. Some species declined, while others adapted.

These were valuable lessons that shaped how later tidal projects were designed.

Other major tidal power stations

A few other large facilities have followed, though none sparked a global wave of construction.

The Sihwa Lake Tidal Power Station is currently the largest tidal power plant in the world, with a capacity of about 254 megawatts. It was built on an existing seawall, helping reduce construction costs.

In the United Kingdom, the MeyGen tidal stream project represents a different approach. Instead of a barrage, it uses underwater turbines placed in fast-moving currents.

It is one of the largest tidal stream projects in operation, though its capacity is smaller than traditional barrage systems.

Canada's Bay of Fundy has also hosted several experimental and commercial tidal turbine deployments, taking advantage of some of the highest tides on the planet.

Advantages of tidal energy

Tidal power offers a set of strengths that are hard to ignore.

It is highly predictable. Grid operators know exactly when tides will occur, which makes planning easier.

It is renewable. The gravitational forces driving tides are not going away.

It has a long lifespan. Facilities like La Rance show that tidal infrastructure can operate for many decades.

It produces no direct greenhouse gas emissions during operation.

And it is relatively dense. Water is much heavier than air, so even slow-moving currents can carry significant energy. As a result, tidal turbines can generate power in conditions where wind turbines would stand still.

The challenges beneath the surface

Tidal energy's promise comes with a few relevant obstacles.

The first is cost. Building structures in the ocean is expensive. Saltwater corrodes materials. Waves, storms, and marine life add wear and tear. Maintenance is difficult and often requires specialized vessels.

The second is environmental impact. Barrages can alter ecosystems by changing water flow, sediment movement, and salinity levels. Fish migration routes can be disrupted. Tidal stream systems tend to have smaller impacts, but they are still studied carefully.

The third is location. Suitable sites are limited and often far from major population centers. Connecting them to the power grid can add further expense.

There is also the issue of timing. Tidal energy is predictable, but it is not constant. Power is generated in cycles, not continuously.

Therefore, it must be combined with storage or other energy sources to meet steady demand.

How tidal compares to solar and wind

Tidal energy often sits in the shadow of solar and wind, two technologies that have grown rapidly in the 21st century.

Solar power is cheap and easy to deploy. Panels can be installed almost anywhere sunlight reaches.

Wind energy, both onshore and offshore, has also scaled quickly due to falling costs and flexible installation.

Tidal energy, by contrast, is site-specific and capital-intensive. It cannot be rolled out across entire continents in the same way.

But it offers something the others do not: reliability in timing.

Solar depends on daylight. Wind depends on the weather. Both can fluctuate in ways that are hard to predict precisely. Tidal cycles, however, are locked into astronomy.

In a future energy system, that predictability could play a valuable supporting role. Tidal power may never dominate global electricity supply, but in the right places, it can provide a steady, dependable contribution.

New technologies

Tidal energy has moved beyond the era of giant concrete barrages. Developers are now experimenting with designs that are lighter, modular, and easier to install.

One of the most striking ideas is the "tidal kite" (pictured above). We're talking about systems that anchor a wing-like device to the seabed.

As water flows, the kite moves in a figure-eight pattern, increasing the speed of water passing through its turbine, allowing electricity generation even in relatively slow currents.

Floating tidal platforms are another development.

Instead of fixing turbines directly to the seabed, these systems are mounted on floating structures tethered to the ocean floor. They make installation and maintenance simpler, since equipment can be brought to the surface.

There are also large next-generation turbines, such as those developed by Orbital Marine Power in Scotland.

They're machines designed to operate in some of the fastest tidal currents in the world and may produce several megawatts each.

Meanwhile, tidal lagoons continue to attract attention.

Proposed projects, like the Swansea Bay tidal lagoon in Wales, aim to combine predictable energy generation with lower ecological disruption than traditional barrages.

Though still limited in number, they reflect a shift toward designs that try to balance energy output with environmental concerns.

Where tidal energy works best

As we've mentioned already, tidal power is picky about location, and the most productive sites tend to fall into two categories.

The first includes estuaries and bays with a large tidal range, often more than 16.5 feet (five meters) between high and low tide.

The second includes narrow channels where water is forced through tight spaces, creating strong currents. Several regions stand out globally:

• The Bay of Fundy in Canada, where tides can exceed 50 feet (roughly 15 meters);
• The coasts of the United Kingdom, especially Scotland;
• Northern France, home to La Rance;
• Parts of South Korea and China;
• Sections of Southeast Asia and northern Australia;

All these are regions that combine strong tidal forces with coastal geography that amplifies water movement.

Even within these areas, suitable sites are limited. A small change in coastline shape can mean the difference between a viable project and an impractical one.

Environmental questions that won't go away

Tidal energy is often described as a clean, renewable power source, but there is one thing that it is not: invisible.

Large barrages can reshape entire ecosystems.

For instance, when a dam closes off an estuary, it changes how water flows in and out. Sediment can build up in new patterns. Salt levels can shift. Fish and marine mammals may find their migration routes disrupted.

The experience at the La Rance Tidal Power Station showed that ecosystems do adapt, but not without change.

Some species declined after construction, while others found new habitats in the altered environment.

Tidal stream systems tend to have a lighter footprint. They do not block entire waterways, and water continues to flow naturally around them.

Still, there are concerns about collisions with marine life and underwater noise.

Biologists now monitor these effects closely. Modern projects often include environmental safeguards, such as slower turbine speeds and careful site selection.

The economics of the ocean

Cost remains the biggest barrier to tidal energy's expansion. Building in the ocean is expensive from the start.

Specialized materials are needed to resist corrosion. Installation requires ships, cranes, and skilled crews. Maintenance can involve sending divers or robotic systems underwater.

Compared to solar and wind, tidal energy is still costly per unit of electricity produced.

Solar panels and wind turbines benefit from mass production and decades of scaling. Tidal technology is still finding its footing.

However, there are signs of progress. As more projects are built, costs may fall. Modular designs and improved materials could make installations cheaper and more reliable.

Governments in countries like the United Kingdom and Canada have begun supporting tidal projects through funding and incentives, recognizing their long-term potential.

Given what we know, could strategically located tidal energy facilities improve our lives?

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com

What began as a pause in rough weather turned into a rare find. An island, long hinted at but never confirmed, finally stepped into view.

In early 2026, a routine Antarctic research voyage met an unexpected sight. 

A team of 93 scientists and crew members, sailing aboard the German icebreaker Polarstern, stumbled upon a small island that had gone uncharted, hidden in plain view in one of the most studied polar regions on Earth.

The expedition, led by the Alfred Wegener Institute (AWI), had been working in the northwestern Weddell Sea since February 8, 2026.

Their mission focused on ocean currents, melting sea ice, and the outflow of cold water from the Larsen Ice Shelf, an area crucial to understanding global climate systems.

A shelter stop leads to discovery

The discovery came not during a planned survey, but during a weather delay. Strong winds and waves forced the Polarstern to seek shelter near Joinville Island, at the tip of the Antarctic Peninsula.

What appeared at first to be just another iceberg caught the attention of the crew.

"The nautical chart showed an area with unexplored dangers to navigation, but it wasn't clear what it was," described Simon Dreutter, a bathymetry specialist with the institute.

Curious, Dreutter and his colleagues took a closer look. The "iceberg" seemed different. Its surface looked dirty. Its shape held steady.

As the ship adjusted course and moved closer, the truth emerged. It was not drifting ice, but solid ground.

"On closer inspection, we realized that it was probably rock," Dreutter added. "It became increasingly clear that we had an island in front of us."

Mapping the unknown

The crew approached cautiously, keeping at least 50 meters of water beneath the ship. They came within 150 meters of the island and circled it, collecting data.

Using a multibeam echo sounder, they mapped the seafloor.

A drone flew overhead, capturing images that were later processed into a detailed elevation model and georeferenced map.

The measurements revealed a modest landform.

The island or islet, if you prefer, stretches about 130 meters in length and 50 meters in width. It rises roughly 16 meters above the water. For comparison, it is slightly longer than the Polarstern itself.

The event marked the first time the island had been properly surveyed and recorded.

Hidden in plain sight

The finding raised immediate questions. Why had this island gone unnoticed? The answer lies in the challenges of Antarctic mapping.

The island had been vaguely marked on nautical charts as a hazard, but not clearly identified as land. Even more puzzling, its charted position was off by about one nautical mile.

Satellite imagery offered little help. Covered in ice and surrounded by drifting icebergs, the island blended into its environment. From space, it was nearly indistinguishable.

Dr. Boris Dorschel-Herr, head of bathymetry at the institute, explained that gaps in seafloor data can lead to such omissions.

In regions with sparse measurements, features may simply disappear from maps due to interpolation.
Science beyond the discovery

The islet's discovery came amid broader scientific work. The expedition, part of the Summer Weddell Sea Outflow Study, has been examining how Antarctic waters influence global ocean circulation.

Researchers tracked cold water flowing from ice shelves into the deep sea and studied changes in sea ice. Since 2017, summer sea ice in this region has declined sharply, likely due to warmer surface waters.

Prof. Dr. Christian Haas, the expedition leader, noted striking variations in ice thickness. In some shallow coastal areas, ice reached up to four meters thick. Farther east, it thinned to about 1.5 meters.

The team also observed unusual surface melting.

The ice often lacked snow cover and showed bluish or grey tones. Beneath it, instruments detected layers of fresh meltwater, which affect both heat exchange and marine life.

What comes next

For now, the island remains unnamed. There is no official international record for it yet. That process will take time, involving review and approval before the feature can be added to global charts.

And the AWI team might be able to name it. It's fully deserved.

Once the bureaucratic process is completed, the island's precise coordinates will be published and integrated into key datasets, including the International Bathymetric Chart of the Southern Ocean.

Lastly, the discovery also carries practical importance, as with the increase in Antarctic tourism and shipping, accurate maps are essential for safety.

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com

Sharks cruising through the clear waters of the Bahamas are carrying something unexpected in their bodies: traces of human drugs.

A recent scientific study shows that the ocean predator is being exposed to substances such as cocaine, caffeine, and prescription medications.

It sounds like an absurd and bizarre April Fool's prank, but it is real, and the discovery raises new questions about ocean pollution and how deeply human activity now reaches into marine ecosystems.

So, what have scientists actually found?

Researchers collected blood samples from sharks living around the Bahamas.

The results showed that a significant share of them had measurable levels of what scientists call "contaminants of emerging concern" (CECs).

They include cocaine, caffeine, painkillers, and other pharmaceuticals.

Roughly one-third of the sampled sharks tested positive for at least one of these substances, according to the study.

The findings confirm that drug pollution is not limited to rivers and coastal waters near cities. It is present even in areas known for relatively healthy reefs.

The study led by Natascha Wosnick from the Shark Research and Conservation Program at the Cape Eleuthera Institute (CEI) in The Bahamas focused on free-ranging sharks, meaning they were not in captivity or near obvious pollution sources, which makes it even worse and more alarming.

How do drugs end up in the ocean?

The drugs are not entering the ocean in one single way. Scientists point to several overlapping sources.

One major pathway is wastewater.

When people consume drugs such as caffeine or prescription medicine, their bodies do not fully break them down.

The residues of the substances pass through sewage systems and enter the sea, especially in places where treatment systems are limited or overwhelmed.

Tourism obviously only adds to the problem.

The Bahamas receives millions of visitors each year. More people mean more wastewater, more boat traffic, and more pressure on coastal infrastructure.

Then, illegal drug trafficking may also play a role.

The Caribbean has long been a transit route for cocaine shipments. Lost or discarded packages can break apart in the water, and the contents get released or dumped.

Taken together, all these sources create a steady, low-level flow of chemicals into marine habitats.

How sharks absorb these substances

Sharks do not need to directly encounter drugs to absorb them.

They can take in contaminants through their gills as water passes over them. They also ingest them indirectly by eating prey that has already been exposed.

The process, known as bioaccumulation, allows substances to build up over time, especially in top predators like sharks.

Even small concentrations in the water can become more significant as they move up the food chain.

Because sharks often live long lives and feed widely, they are particularly good indicators of what is happening in their environment.

What it might do to sharks

Scientists are still working to understand the full impact of these substances on shark health and behavior.

Some of the detected compounds are known to affect the nervous system in humans and other animals.

Cocaine, for example, can alter brain chemistry. Painkillers and antidepressants are designed to influence mood, perception, and physical responses.

At this stage, researchers have not confirmed clear behavioral changes in wild sharks linked directly to these chemicals. However, the presence of multiple substances at once raises concern.

Even low doses, when combined or absorbed over long periods, could affect movement and hunting behavior, stress responses, and reproduction.

However, the uncertainty is part of the problem. Researchers involved in the study noted that the long-term effects of these mixtures in marine species remain largely unknown.

Why this matters beyond sharks

Sharks sit near the top of the ocean food web. Changes in their health can ripple through entire ecosystems.

If drug exposure affects how sharks hunt or reproduce, it could shift the balance of reef life.

That, in turn, can impact fish populations, coral health, and the stability of marine habitats that support tourism and local economies.

The findings also act as a warning signal. If large predators carry these substances, smaller species almost certainly do as well.

For instance, fish that ends up in our dishes.

What can be done

Reducing drug pollution in the ocean is not simple, but scientists point to several practical steps.

Improving wastewater treatment is one of the most direct solutions. Advanced filtration systems can remove more pharmaceutical compounds before water is released back into the sea.

Better regulation and monitoring of coastal development and tourism infrastructure can also help limit untreated discharge.

On a broader level, reducing the amount of unused medication entering sewage systems, along with stronger controls on illegal drug trafficking, could cut down the sources of contamination.

But this will take time and human will.

One thing we know - our chemical footprints are spreading into places once thought remote and untouched.

Words by Luís MP | Founder of SurferToday.com

After nearly a decade of shutdown, oil is once again moving through a controversial pipeline along California's Santa Barbara County coast.

The restart marks a major turning point for a project long tied to one of the state's worst recent oil spills, and it has reopened a fierce fight between federal officials, California leaders, and environmental groups.

The pipeline is part of a larger network known as the Santa Ynez Unit.

The system includes three offshore oil platforms, subsea pipelines, and an onshore processing plant at Las Flores Canyon.

Together, they carry oil from wells located about 5 to 9 miles offshore to refineries on land.

Before it shut down, the system was a significant producer. It once supported more than 100 wells and generated tens of thousands of barrels of oil each day.

Today, Sable Offshore Corp., a Texas-based company, owns the operation after buying it from ExxonMobil in 2024.

If fully restarted, the project could again produce roughly 45,000 to 60,000 barrels of oil per day, according to company estimates and federal officials.

Where it actually runs

The Sable Offshore pipeline is a connected system that runs both offshore and on land along California's Central Coast, mainly in Santa Barbara County.

The system begins in the Pacific Ocean at three oil platforms in the Santa Barbara Channel that sit about 5 to 9 miles offshore.

Oil produced there is sent through subsea pipelines to the coast. Once it reaches land, it enters pipelines that come ashore along the Gaviota Coast, pass near places like Las Flores Canyon, where oil is processed, then continue inland across Santa Barbara County and beyond, and eventually connect toward facilities in Kern County.

The full system runs more than 120 miles.

The 2015 spill that changed everything

The pipeline has been idle since May 2015, when a rupture near Refugio State Beach sent more than 100,000 gallons of crude oil spilling onto the coast.

Oil spread across miles of shoreline, polluting beaches and harming wildlife. Some estimates say the spill affected over 100 miles of coastline and forced closures of fisheries and beaches.

Investigators later found the cause: severe external corrosion that the pipeline's safety system failed to prevent.

The incident shut down the entire offshore operation.

It also led to criminal charges against the pipeline's former owner and triggered years of stricter oversight, legal battles, and public opposition.

Years of delays, repairs, and legal fights

Restarting the pipeline has taken nearly ten years. During that time, regulators required extensive repairs and new safety measures.

Sable says it has addressed corrosion problems by increasing inspections and repair work along the 124-mile pipeline.

The company has also added new safety systems, including dozens of emergency shutoff devices and continuous leak detection.

Even so, critics remain skeptical. Federal regulators previously identified at least 92 corrosion "anomalies" along the line.

Local officials and environmental groups have repeatedly tried to block the restart. Santa Barbara County denied permits, citing safety concerns and a history of violations.

The California Coastal Commission also fined the company millions of dollars for work it said was done without proper approval.

At the same time, Sable pushed for federal oversight to bypass state-level resistance, setting the stage for a larger political clash.

Why the pipeline is restarting now

The restart followed direct action from the federal government.

In March 2026, the Trump administration invoked the Defense Production Act, a law that allows the government to direct private industry during national emergencies.

Officials argued that boosting domestic oil supply was necessary due to rising global tensions and the war with Iran.

The order allowed Sable to resume operations despite ongoing legal disputes in California. Oil began flowing again through the pipeline for the first time since the 2015 spill.

Federal officials say the project could help stabilize fuel supplies for the West Coast, including military operations.

But California leaders strongly disagree.

Governor Gavin Newsom and other state officials argue the move ignores state authority and environmental law. Lawsuits are ongoing.

A restart that divides California

The pipeline's return has quickly become one of the most heated energy disputes in the country.

Supporters say the restart strengthens U.S. energy security and makes use of existing infrastructure instead of relying on imports. They also point to upgraded safety systems and stricter monitoring.

Opponents see it very differently. They argue that the same pipeline that failed in 2015 still poses a risk, especially along a sensitive stretch of coastline known for its wildlife and tourism.

Environmental groups warn that even with improvements, aging infrastructure and offshore drilling carry unavoidable dangers.

Some also question whether the project will meaningfully affect oil prices, given its relatively modest output compared to global markets.

What happens next

Oil is now moving again, but the future of the pipeline is far from settled.

Court challenges are still underway. State agencies continue to dispute federal authority over the project. And local resistance remains strong along the Santa Barbara coast.

For now, the restart marks a major shift in the paradigm: a system shut down by a devastating spill is back in operation, driven by national energy concerns and political pressure.

Whether it stays running may depend as much on the courts as on the oil flowing through the pipeline.