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!

Animal Ambassadors

Day two, after arriving in Vancouver and I'm on a small craft in search of killer whales in the Strait of Georgia. The weather was incredibly calm, resulting in the smooth seas that allow for easy spotting. Despite this and reports of earlier whale sightings, it still took us 45 minutes to find them. And then, there they were. A single dark figure, slicing stealthily through the water somehow instantly dissolved the chill from the cold air and the the tired eyes from nearly an hour of intense scanning. Shortly after, we were alongside a group of about six orcas: four females, one male on his way to maturity, and (to our delight) a calf. 

The calf was fast when surfacing, giving us very brief glimpses, but enough to reveal a remnant yellowish tint to the white patterns of its skin. The group was traveling leisurely, but in no apparent direction. Although we respected their distance, they didn't necessarily respect ours and several times appeared unexpectedly underneath or on any given side of the boat. It was exhilarating to hear the power in their exhales and humbling to witness the awareness in their eyes with the occasional sideways spy hop when the whales surfaced to breathe. 

At one point, another group unexpectedly joined the one we'd been observing and we were surrounded by at least a dozen whales for a few minutes. There was silence from the boat and silence from the water as the whales then separated just as quickly as they'd come together. To witness these animals in the wild and forested scenery of Beautiful British Colombia for the first time was truly special and so incredibly different from the way I'd encountered them in captivity. I fell in love all over again, but this time, I also came away with deep respect. On the way back to the harbor, I told the Naturalist onboard how grateful I was, not only for the experience, but for the footage I would now be able to share with others to hopefully instill the same love and respect for these unique animals. 

I also mentioned that I'd planned to visit the Vancouver Aquarium the next day and asked if she'd recommend it. "Of course I would," she said, "I work there." What are the odds? Her passion for the wildlife in the waters of BC became even more apparent the following day when I met her at the aquarium entrance for a VIP tour. Not only does the facility have many colorful fish and invertebrates on display, it is also home to an assortment of marine mammals. I was particularly fascinated by their pairs of Pacific White-Sided Dolphins (which I have never had the opportunity to observe in the wild) and their Harbor Porpoises (which at less then two meters in length, rarely allow anything more than brief glimpses of their tiny dorsal fins). 

She may have lost parts of her pectoral fins from entanglement in fishing gear,
but she kept a whole lot of her agility!

All four of these whales had been rescued and rehabilitated by the aquarium, but could not be re-released into the wild. It was obvious that my new friend and fellow Naturalist would have wanted nothing more than to see them roaming through the waters extending from the coastline where we'd seen the orcas the day before, but was happy that they were getting the best life possible while also serving an important purpose. I stood in front of the harbor porpoises and watched a couple of young girls excitedly rattle off facts that they'd just learned about the animals from another staff member. I suppressed a laugh as one of the porpoises responded to the girls, whose faces were now glued to the viewing glass, by quickly surfacing and swimming in a fast circle, then returning to face them and stare back just as intently. Meanwhile, the other porpoise was on the other side of the tank, seemingly much more interested in an object on the bottom than the girls. 

It was then that I was reminded of something I'd learned many times throughout my studies ... just as we cannot generalize about the individual animals (particularly intelligent ones), we can't generalize about their circumstances. Not all captive situations are the same. In the case of  these four whales, with little chance of survival in the wild, a positive alternative has been to serve as ambassadors to their species and to allow for research, with the ultimate goal of inspiring the understanding and love that forms the foundation of a conservation ethic in humans. However, today we know that many of these amazing animals do provide the incredibly special opportunity to be witnessed in the wild. 

These issues are not always black and white, they are more often grey and it is our responsibility, then, to hold aquariums, marine parks, research facilities, and even ecotourism companies accountable for their ethics and mission, and to distinguish what is carried out for the sake of education and research from what is purely entertaining and profitable. 

Last Chances

I am saying farewell to the warm waters the tropical Pacific for awhile to start new adventures in colder climates. But I couldn't leave without taking full advantage of my short time in Hawaii last week ...

In Maui, I kept up with my tradition of going out on a boat with the Pacific Whale Foundation. Not ten minutes out of the harbor, we encountered humpback whales that were also making the most out of their last days in the islands. Three males seemed to have been short of luck with females this season and were aggressively competing for the attention of one of the few remaining females with a calf. 

Fighting with bubbles and brute force, the victor will escort the pair to their feeding grounds in Alaska. For the other competitors, better luck next year! Because for both the whales and I, it's time to say goodbye (for now). 

Late season competition.

South Pacific Treasures

Sooty Shearwater joining us in the Equator crossing.

Crossing both the International Dateline and the Equator on a cruise across the South Pacific Ocean is still difficult to process ... but I can't ponder the amount of ocean I've covered without feeling majorly "one-upped" by the incredible birds and whales that regularly travel such distances by their own strength and inherent abilities to ride winds and waves. While we must prepare for weeks for such a voyage, often needed a few days to adjust to the conditions found on the open sea, these incredible creatures (that I've had the joy of rattling on about onboard the immense Celebrity Solstice cruise ship) are perfectly at home in even the roughest weather.

Meet the locals.

In New Zealand, we were greeted by the robust figures of Bottlenose dolphins leaving the blue green surface of the waters surrounding the bay of islands. Having arrived after a large storm, we were amazed by the color and variety of shells that had been thrown up to cover the shorelines. Many of the treasures we inspected reminded me that even the small creatures that we can easily overlook are amazingly adapted to their habitat.

The spinner dolphins of Moorea went along nicely with the romantic profile of all things Tahitian, as they carried on swimming close and rhythmic, sometimes turning belly to belly, even in our presence. The magic continued with rays, fish, coral, and other reef life we found in abundance in the lagoon of Bora Bora. On the last days at sea before our arrival in Hawaii, we were joined on our equator crossing by the some of the same species of birds that we'd seen in the distance spanning between New Zealand and French Polynesia! What a feat indeed!

One man's turkey vulture ...

Driving through Northern California in the rain, approaching the Shasta National Forest, my eyes were drawn (more like yanked) from the road as two golden eagles swooped in low over the freeway. Time seemed to slow for those few seconds that they were flapping wildly, apparently paying no attention to the speeding cars below. I was mesmerized, but the moment was broken by my mom's exclamation: "Those birds were so big!!!!". I laughed. She'd seen them too, as if anyone could have missed them. Her excitement was yet another reminder of where my own enthusiasm comes from. I proceeded to tell her everything I knew about the raptors and we remained in awe for awhile. Back on land, for the past month or so, I have been getting my wildlife "fix" by searching for birds of prey at all times. Not just eagles, but I get overly excited every time I see an American Kestrel or a Peregrine Falcon. Maybe too excited?

I hadn't thought so until I was back in the car with a friend on the Central Coast, when I spotted a Red-tailed Hawk perched stoically on the top of a lone pine. It was my first "spot" of the day and I may have shouted. My friend smirked. "There are hawks evvvvrywhere, you know." She was obviously not impressed. I was slightly annoyed. Sure, there's nothing like the first time you see something, but that doesn't mean the 200th time you see it, you're over it! I decided to keep the rest of my sightings to myself.

About a week later, I was on the road again (alone this time), when I had to stop abruptly to avoid hitting a man standing in the middle of it with an expensive-looking camera. I followed his lens up to the top of a telephone pole where it was focused on a turkey vulture. The bird had his wings spread out and was equally focused on its audience. I heard a short sigh escape my mouth that clearly expressed my feeling of impatience. It's just a turkey vulture, I thought. As I swerved around him and looked back at him in my rearview mirror, subconsciously hoping he'd realize how silly he was and get back in his car. I saw the vulture fly away and the man's camera drop from his face to reveal a look I was all too familiar with.

I had to laugh at myself for being a hypocrite. Maybe the novelty of things can wear off, even for me.  The previously cliche saying that 'one man's trash is another man's treasure', now made sense. His  vulture was my hawk or my mom's eagle. While you may not go out and buy a book about ground squirrels to find a reason not to overlook them after reading this, at least for me, I am going to try and be grateful that there are wild things that are common. After all, it seems that only when they are rare do we really understand why they are worth appreciating.

Juvenile Red-tailed hawk