Seeing Grey

In Iceland, whales are killed to feed tourists. But in the Faroe Islands, it is deeply rooted in their culture.

Two days ago, I was sitting on the beach where (primarily) pilot whales are opportunistically harvested each year. It was beautiful and there were school children laughing as they played in the sand, but I felt heavy. Not because I’d been walking for four hours or even specifically because of what had been carried out there for centuries.

Yes, it makes me incredibly sad to imagine myself being a part of killing and eating something as complex and wonderful as a whale. However, it is arguably a sustainable harvest, so from an ecological standpoint, may be no worse than hunting kangaroos in Australia. But is it necessary?

Who am I to judge when I am just as guilty as any other person for the ocean pollution that has caused the pilot whale meat to be so high in concentrations of PCBs, DDT, and other toxins that the Faroese government has declared the meat unsafe for regular consumption anyway?

Ironically, earlier that day, I’d found myself in a parking lot standing beside a beat up Ford Focus with a Sea Shepherd logo on it. The members of this organization actively oppose any and all whaling, even if it’s considered sustainable. Although I share the same passion that drives their controversial efforts, I am no whale warrior.

As I took it all in, I struggled to fight back tears as I tried to imagine justifying my feelings to these people who may depend on whales as a local resource for food or for their livelihood … and I wished things appeared black and white.

Maybe my efforts to be diplomatic and open-minded make me weak. Whatever it makes me, everyday, the world looks more and more grey.

Hopelessly indecisive, my eyes were drawn to a young boy across the bluff playing in the tall grass with a puppy and I found an escape in the simplicity of their joy.

A Closer Look

Last week, I arrived in the Shetlands hoping to find seabirds and seals. After a couple of phone calls, I was a bit discouraged to find out that all of the tours to sea cliffs, where many of the birds are currently nesting, were fully booked. Not ready to give up, I asked the last lady I’d spoken with over the phone if there was somewhere I could at least hike to for seabird viewing. She said it would be easier to show me than to tell me where to go, and since she was near the pier, would come out to meet me. After thanking her for her trouble and explaining who I was, she admitted that she had really come out to see how small I was and was more than happy to add me on to their morning tour. She then pointed me in the direction of a cliff lookout I had time to hike to before the tour and I headed off feeling both grateful and excited!

I had walked no more than 20 minutes before I was standing on the edge of a stunning coastline and I smiled as I looked down to see no less than 100 pairs of nesting Northern Fulmars! It seemed that many of them were still establishing or reaffirming their partnerships, and I was amused for almost an hour by their antics.

I headed back to the pier already feeling accomplished and was immediately charmed by the small boat filled with reference books, field guides, plankton tow net, and compound microscope with a camera! Yep, pretty much everything a marine science nerd would want to have onboard. Throughout the day, it was so refreshing to listen to Robbi’s (the woman I’d met earlier and our biologist for the excursion) wonderful interpretation and to learn from her enthusiasm! She was more than twice my age, but you’d never have guessed it with all of her energy! You don’t ever have to lose your passion for something if you just keep exploring and learning! It was a magical morning of sailing past high cliffs filled with several different species of nesting seabirds (shags, razorbills, guillemots, fulmars, kittiwakes, and puffins), discovering invertebrate life inside a large sea cave, and observing grey seals hauled out on large rocks enjoy the sunshine as much as we were!

I returned to the ship feeling productive and inspired. Our surroundings had felt so pristine, so raw and wild. My footage from the trip initially seemed like a great representation of an environment where marine life thrives undisturbed. As I began to study the photos more closely for their potential to incorporate in my upcoming slideshow presentations, I came across one that was a stinging reminder. At first glance, it appeared to be a healthy group of grey seals, alert and aware of our presence. I zoomed in to see a disturbing ring of bare skin around the neck of one individual that had been rubbed raw from the nylon fishing net that was visibly constricting the area. It looked sore. 

The sad part is that there is nothing that can be done for the seal, other than to hope that it is not hindering its ability to forage and that the wound is not (or does not become) infected. There are no rescue facilities in that area and the likelihood of anyone being able to approach or capture the animal and remove the rope is very low.

If there is anything positive about the image, it is that it sends a powerful message about the effects of marine debris. Although plastic pollution in the ocean environment is a much more widespread issue, the entanglement that results from discarded fishing nets is more dramatic and obvious. I don’t know if the seal’s situation resulted from its own curiosity of a fishing operation or if it did indeed get caught in a net that had been lost at sea on accident. However the rope ended up around the seal’s neck, it is an important realization that even in pristine areas, our actions have the potential to affect marine life. Our responsibility as stewards of the world’s oceans is to not only to avoid directly harming marine life or damaging the marine environment, but to be mindful of our indirect impacts. Even if we don’t fish, we have the power to hold commercial industries accountable for their practices. Often ecosystems appear healthy at first glance or the purchases that we make seem sustainable, but to be confident in this, we really have to make the effort to take a closer look and to be conscious of more than what we see on the surface or (in this case) from a distance. 

Pelagic Pondering

What a wonderful thing it is to discover something. It doesn’t even have to be something new or previously unknown, but to see something for yourself for the very first time is one of the most exciting things you can experience... If I kept a bird "life list" (which I should), I could add four to it just from today... It started yesterday morning after we’d sailed away from Stavanger, Norway and were making our way toward the Faroe Islands across the North Sea. I looked out my porthole and saw a single whitish bird skimming the air just above the water surface. I quickly dressed and headed up to an open deck. When I spotted it again, I realized I wasn’t familiar with the bird. It was surprisingly quick, so I took a few tries to get a decent enough photo with which to reference and identify the bird using my awesome iBird app. Northern Fulmar. Check. Half an hour later, I looked up from a cup of coffee to seer four Northern Gannets soaring overhead. These, I knew from my reading and watching the incredibly similar Australasian Gannet just a month ago when I was in New Zealand. I snapped some photos. Later in the afternoon, when we would have been passing the northern coast of Scotland, I was hypnotized by a swirling column of about 40 gannets circling off the starboard side of the ship. More (much-needed) photographs. Then, a comparable number of fulmars added to the wonderful commotion of wings as they expertly dipped and swerved, seemingly tracing the outlines of the choppy water surface without ever making contact. Even more photos.

Just as I told myself to give the camera a rest, I noticed a large dark bird with a strong bill that stood out amongst all the white. It looked like a gull, but meaner (if it’s possible for a bird to look that way). It disappeared. I thought perhaps it was a skua gull. I’d just read about them in my ancient Iceland natural history book and remembered that just like the frigate birds of the tropics, skuas harass other seabirds for food. The bird seemed to fit the picture I’d formed in my mind from reading the account, but I wasn’t completely convinced. A few minutes later, I saw it again. This time, it was hot on the tail feathers of one of the gannets. My lens followed them in the chase, as the (now I was positive) Great Skua grabbed the gannet’s wings, forcing it to fall to the water. When the gannet surfaced, the skua landed practically on top of its clearly exhausted victim. The gannet then dropped its beak into the water and must have regurgitated its food because the skua dipped its head into the same spot immediately afterward and then took off. 

It was awesome, not only to witness, but also to have had my I.D. question answered in such a dramatic, national geographic moment gave me such satisfaction. The icing on the cake was finding a warm nook on the forward top deck to write down my observations, only to barely pick up the pen, look up and see a flight pattern that was different from the rest … a kittiwake adult and juvenile! (ID’s confirmed by my trusty iBird app of course). I can’t describe the warmth in my heart that has become a permanent smile at the realization of what an incredible opportunity it is for me to be here on the Celebrity Infinity, not just to teach, but to encounter new things in an unfamiliar place that serve to fuel the same passion and love that I have been brought onboard to share!