Carbon Discredit

After its rebuke by Spanish authorities, the Weatherbird spent several more days languishing at sea before retreating 300 miles north, to the Portuguese resort island of Madeira. It would be the final stop for Planktos. In mid-December, the company, whose stock had plunged from a high of $2.56 in early summer down to just a few cents a share, announced that it was "winding down" operations because of "unanticipated events in the Canary Islands" and a subsequent "inability to secure sufficient funding for the continued operation of [its] business plan." In early March, the Weatherbird was sold to an oil-exploration interest.

The same week saw much better news for Climos, the second San Francisco company with plans to seed the ocean with iron. On March 5, CEO Dan Whaley announced that Climos had secured $3.5 million in a first round of venture capital. Among the investors was PayPal founder Elon Musk, now chairman of the electric-sports-car company Tesla Motors. The company's first cruise could come as early as next year.

Meanwhile, months after Planktos's demise, George remains staunchly unapologetic about his methods and bitterly contends that a conspiracy of "radical environmental groups" (he lists among them Greenpeace, the World Wildlife Fund, Friends of the Earth, the Natural Resources Defense Council and the Environmental Protection Agency) "swift-boated" his company. Local Sea Shepherds spotted the Weatherbird in Bermuda, where it had stopped to refuel in November, he says, and alerted activists, who rallied to keep the ship out of the Canaries. "[They] lied to government officials and stated that we were some evil organization intent on dumping toxic material into the ocean," he says. The local scientists who had planned to work with Planktos were helpless to do anything in the face of such united opposition, according to George, who says that many established scientists had planned to work with him but were hesitant to make their involvement public for fear of being blackballed by colleagues. (For his part, University of Las Palmas scientist Santiago Hernández-León, whom George says originally invited Planktos to conduct its research in the Canaries, says that he never had a formal agreement to work with the company.)

If there's a single thing George and his detractors can agree on, it's that many environmentalists will never be convinced that large-scale tinkering with the ocean is a good idea. "There are only two ways that we're going to solve climate change," says Greenpeace scientist Johnston. "Reduce the amount of energy that we use, and dramatically change the methods we use to generate it. I don't think any quick geo-engineering fixes are going to work."

Back in San Francisco, Climos is fighting that mindset, attempting to assure investors, environmentalists and the public that iron fertilization is a worthwhile endeavor. So far, the company's chief science adviser, Margaret Leinen, is proving to be an impeccable advocate. Until recently, Leinen was the assistant director for geosciences at the National Science Foundation, where she helped distribute a $700-million basic research budget and became well-known and respected in the scientific community. She's also well-known and respected by Dan Whaley. He's her son.
Unlike Planktos, Whaley explains, Climos will work with scientists to design expeditions that make use of the established research fleet. He promises to conduct environmental-impact assessments and secure the relevant government permits. Climos has developed the industry's first code of conduct, which is posted on its Web site, and recruited a board of independent scientific advisers. Finally, unlike Planktos, Climos will not sell carbon credits until the science is proven.

"You don't just drive around in a boat and throw iron off the back," he says. "The quantification of real sequestration from this, the understanding of what the impacts and tradeoffs are, if any, is something that requires a fairly deep collaboration with the scientific community. Instead of reaching out to that community, Russ George thumbed his nose at them."

Of course, the slow approach seems like a tougher way to make a buck. "I keep telling people, we're three to five years and $50 to $100 million away from knowing some of these answers," Buesseler says. "That might sound like a long time and a lot of money, but in the scheme of hundreds of millions of tons [of carbon], hundreds of billions of dollars a year in markets, and a problem that's not going away, that's a small amount to pay."

"People say they don't think it'll work," Leinen says, "so why are they worried about doing the experiment? If it doesn't work, nobody will sell any credits. Why not identify the way forward rather than just say, 'Let's not even do the experiment.' I think that's a non-scientific attitude."