Few scientists have thoroughly examined a portion of the Pacific Ocean floor that lies between Mexico and Hawaii, and most people will never see it. It is located approximately 4,000 meters below the surface, in complete darkness, with so little food that the sediment only slightly increases in size every year. However, life—strange, quiet, patient life—is there, just waiting to be acknowledged.
Researchers from the University of Hawaii, in collaboration with scientists from the National Oceanography Center and the University of Geneva, have confirmed the existence of four new species in the Clarion-Clipperton Zone, a remote area of the seafloor. In the process, two completely new genera were also discovered. The organisms in question are xenophyophores, which are enormous, single-celled protozoans that manage to create intricate shells out of nearby particles. One species uses glass sponge spicules almost exclusively to construct its shell. Another is almost perfectly spherical in shape.
It’s the kind of finding that, while seemingly insignificant on paper, feels profound when you consider it. Before a remotely operated vehicle from the RV Kilo Moana caught a glimpse of it during a 2018 expedition, we were unaware that there was a single-celled organism that was visible to the unaided eye and lived in one of the least hospitable places on Earth.
The Hawaiian word for ocean, Moanammina, was used to name one of the new genera. Abyssalia, the other, nods to its home in the abyss. In science, naming things is important because it indicates that they have been officially recognized, cataloged, and made real in the record. Prior to that, it was merely an image of a shape on the seafloor that no one had yet to investigate.
The scope of what remains unnamed is what makes the overall image more striking. A recent international study collected nearly 4,400 animals from the CCZ over the course of five years, spanning 160 days at sea, and identified 788 species. The majority of those species lacked official descriptions. Roughly 90% of the zone’s 5,600 species are still unknown, according to scientists. There is a backlog that is getting worse—not because the animals are difficult to locate, but rather because there aren’t enough taxonomists with the necessary training to recognize and label them.
This is the point of complexity. In addition to being fascinating from a scientific standpoint, the Clarion-Clipperton Zone is also profitable. Polymetallic nodules, which are tiny rocky formations filled with manganese, cobalt, nickel, and other metals crucial to green energy technology, are all over the seafloor. The CCZ is home to massive amounts of solar panels, wind turbines, and electric vehicle batteries, all of which are in high demand. A number of nations and private businesses are already preparing for possible extraction.
According to a recent five-year study, trial mining operations decreased species diversity by about a third and animal numbers in impacted areas by about 37%. That is significant harm. Researchers also observed that the overall impact was a little less than what had been anticipated in earlier projections. It is difficult to determine whether that is comforting or just less dire than anticipated.
It is evident that scientists are operating against a clock that they are unable to fully comprehend. Although 30% of the CCZ has been designated as a protected area, very little is known about the species that call it home. In the words of Adrian Glover of the Natural History Museum of London, “We have almost no idea what lives in those protected areas.”
That has a subtle unnerving quality. The commercial mining of a region where hundreds of species are still entirely unknown to science is a topic of serious debate among humans. The University of Hawaii expedition’s four new species—strange, patient, and waiting three miles down in the dark—are a tiny example of how much is still out there.
