i (heart) odd-toed ungulates

Whale Fall (into the afterlife)

What happens when a whale dies? Answering the question in artful detail, this brilliant animation seemed a fitting post for a Halloweeny Monday. From Sweetfern Production's Sharon Shattuck and Flora Licktman, Whale Fall poetically chronicles the ocean-sustaining life after death of... a whale. Produced in collaboration with NPR's phenomenal Radiolab (for an episode themed "Loops") this haunting, compelling short was carefully filmed with live-action paper puppets and cutouts - a refreshing compliment to the current trend in stop-motion graphics. So, before you drop into a sugar coma this evening, fill your head with the dark but thriving population of crabs, hagfish, and polychaete worms that inhabit the midnight regions of the deepsea - the combination just might result in some stellar nightmares...

Big Boys, Little Ladies: Sexual Dimorphism in Fur Seals

Visiting my favorite little pinnipeds last week (the Northern fur seals at the NEAQ), I was struck once again by the extreme size difference between the males and the females of the species. At a glance, it would be easy to assume that the slick, smaller individuals in the exhibit - swirling around the pool like dark little dolphins - were juveniles. Compared to the two, massive, bristled, brown lumps sprawled at one end of the deck, the lithe little creatures almost seem another species entirely... but to assume this would be incorrect.

Sexual dimorphism* defines the phenomenon whereby notable physical differences exist between males and females of the same species (other than obvious sex organs). The ornate antlers of a bull elk, thick mane of an African lion, and proud fan-tail of a peacock are all evidence of sexual dimorphism at work. Through observation of countless species, Darwin argued that sexual dimorphism was a result of sexual selection and occurred most prominently in polygynous species, where single males have the opportunity to "win" reproductive dibs over mutiple females. Sexual selection can occur via direct competition: the larger a bull elk's antlers and more well muscled his physique, the more successfull he will be in defeating other males and gaining access to cows; or female choice: the showier and more brightly colored the peacock's tail, the more likely he will be in winning the eye of discriminating peahens. In both cases, selection favors a distinctly different morphology for males than it does for females.

*Reverse sexual dimorphism occurs when females are larger or more ornate than males (not common in mammals, but can be found in many species of insects and fish).  


Northern fur seals (Callorhinus ursinus) are polygynous. During the weeks of a breeding season, the most experienced adult males (bulls) stake claims to the most desirable spots along the beach, aggressively defending their square footage from neighborning males. As females arrive and select their choicest real estate, they become prizes within the territories - a single bull eventually holding control of up to 50 females (cows)... he'll exhaust himself displaying, fighting and mating, and he'll fast until the season is over - too dedicated to propagating his genes to risk stepping away for meals and loosing his resources. Such social/behavioral circumstances clearly favor a male's size, strength, and endurance, and as a result, the average bull is up to 5 times heavier (reaching 600lbs) than the average female (at a rough 100lbs), and with a 30-40% longer body length (*on account of the fasting, the heavier the male, the more weight he can loose without it effecting his performance). With their powerfully thick, well-muscled and maned neck and shoulders, male fur seals are a sight all on their own - set next to their mates, however, they become relative behemoths.


Hundreds of miles from their native North Pacific home, and world's away from the natural dynamics of a wild fur seal colony, the female fur seals at the NEAQ cavort and curiously interact with visitors through the exhibit glass; the boys - confidently languid - rouse only when an itch compells them to curl a flipper across their bodies for a good scratch.

The online treasure trove of wildlife imagery, Arkive.org, has a great slideshow of Northern fur seal photos (including the 2 below by photographer Tom Vezo), as well as some compelling video footage. In this clip, a large bull defends a single cow from 2 tenacious rivals. If you've ever clambored over a rocky beach and tried not to break a leg or abrade limbs in a trecherous slip, you'll appreciate how bad-ass these animals are - chasing, body-slamming, and viciously harassing each other over such dicey terrain... and on an empty tank no less! Bad. Ass. For more reading on fur seals, this article provides a thorough exploration of the role of aggression within breeding colonies - I also wrote a post in early 2010 - inspired by the same NEAQ "family" of animals, but following a fascinating tangent into early marine mammal conservation, which fur seals, coincidentally, inspired. 

Aquarium Zen & the Brilliance of Cephalopods

The octopus exhibit has always been a favorite destination at any aquarium that I visit. More often than not the beast is crammed up into one corner of it's "cave", looking completely, indignantly bored with it's life through unblinking eyes... and unlike most of the simple fish, robotic crustaceans, and literally brainless jellies and sponges that surround it, the octopus, I know, is sincere in it's expression.

Cephalopods in general (including cuttlefish, squid, and octopuses) are known for their intelligence, and octopuses specifically are some of the most crafty - their spacial learning skills, navigational ability, and tool use has been well documented. Similar faculties have been lauded in many mammal species, but are somewhat even more remarkable coming from creatures without a backbone (for comparison, fellow invertebrates include oysters, snails, and slugs...). The NEAQ actually takes pride in the story of a legendary octopus that would escape it's tank each night, crawl across the floor and hunt and consume members of a single fish species in a neighboring tank (once discovered, a heavy weight on the top of the tank lid was enough to keep the critter in). On account of this propensity for mischief, some aquariums provide their 8-legged wonders with "enrichment" puzzles: elaborate, maze-like, or well latched containers requiring thoughtful, or just amazingly dextrous, solutions to obtain food rewards. The recent story of Paul, the World Cup oracle, contained a perfect example of "themed" octopus enrichment, albeit with somewhat higher stakes...


The drawing at the top of this post is of the NEAQ's Giant Pacific octopus, Athena, during a rare moment of affection with a keeper - the disembodied hand reaching down from above is that of a staff aquarist. The suction cups on an octopuses tentacles contain chemical receptors akin to a nose or mouth (in addition to their obvious tactile reconnisance) - they're so sensitive that they can distinguish between individual humans. Athena clearly had good rapport with whomever was giving her back scratches that day, clamoring and squirming at the surface of the water when the hand was removed, then sinking into blissful suspension with it's reappearance.

Unfortunately, the life span of most octopuses, even the largest, and even in captivity, is only between 3 and 5 years. At 3 years old, Athena is getting on in cephalopod time... but she's a sight to behold, no less. Click here to read more about the wonders of suction cups, and see a GPO from the Georgia Aquarium using it's well suctioned tentacles to maneuver across the glass of it's tank.

And now for your moment of aquarium zen...

Watching Whales

This has not been a good month for the oceans... the oil spill in the Gulf is now poised to become the largest in US history, and each day's news updates - from tracking the suffocating progress of the slick as it reaches delicate shorelines, to mounting reports of illness in cleanup workers suspected to be caused by poisonous chemical dispersants - leaves me more heartbroken than the last. And in the midst of despairing over the probable loss of irreplaceable southern wetland habitats, scores of fish, mammal, bird and plant life, and potentially even landing the final nail in the coffin of critically endangered species like the Kemp's Ridley sea turtle, it occurred to me that I have lived outside of Boston, a city with some of New England's richest maritime history, for over 2 years now without having observed what is probably one of the most exhilarating marine spectacles that can be witnessed from the deck of a boat  - a whale watch.

The Stellwagen Bank Marine Sanctuary, about an hour+ off the coast of MA, attracts an abundant stream of migratory baleen whales every year; Humpback, Fin, Minke, Right and even Blue whales spend time here feasting on plentiful fish and crustaceans, on their way to summer feeding grounds in cooler Arctic waters. Mothers who have given birth in low latitude tropical waters over the winter can be seen with their calves, and multiple species are often sighted in a single trip - most tours guarantee sightings, though the quality of observation varies dramatically. 
 
Our boat headed out on a stellar afternoon, and while it was not a spectacular day of sightings, we did have some beautiful interaction with a few Minkes (shown in the photos) who repeatedly crested just below the sides of our boat, discreetly rolling through the waves, and even arching in directional changes just under the surface - the white "mittens" on their pectoral fins, and bright white bellies, made their movements underwater visible for just long enough to evoke a little chill before they disappeared into a dive. It would have been fantastic to see some breaching or surface feeding behaviors, or just a few of those most ubiquitous New England cetaceans - the Humpbacks - but I will admit to being pretty thrilled with the afternoon as it was... the Stellwagen waters were brilliant, pristine, twinkling in sunlight, and being in the presence of such gentle behemoths is humbling beyond words.
 

A number of years ago I came across fellow Vermont sculptor Wick Ahrens' incredible whales - gorgeously hand carved in wood, meticulously painted with acrylic, and so gesturally accurate they seem literally frozen in the midst of real life. Ahrens has logged many hours on and in the sea, closely observing the giants that became his passionate life's work, but his home is unquestionably in the hills of Vermont, thus he spends his day's carving from his studio in Peru, VT. From the artist's bio, "Devoted to the essential whale, (Ahrens) makes his own life a bridge between sugar pine timbers and those mysterious creatures who left the land 50 million years ago." A man after my own heart indeed.
 

(Above sculptures by Wick Ahrens', top: "Gray Whale and Calf", the largest wood whale ever made, commissioned by the Coyote Point Museum for Environmental Education; and bottom: "Stellwagen Serenade", a breaching female Humpback)

In Love with a Leopard Seal

In November of 2009 National Geographic generated a short web video/slideshow of a leopard seal encounter, titled "Face Off with a Deadly Predator" and narrated by the photographer of the images, Nat Geo contributor Paul Nicklen. The series of images (a few shown above), and accompanying story, was nothing short of incredible, and the youtube clip immediately went viral. I remember being captivated by the clip when I first saw it, viewing it multiple times in a row, so each of those jaw-dropping images came back in a rush as I listened to WNYC's Radio Lab this past weekend - as part of a show dedicated to scientific evidence of animal thinking, Nicklen was interviewed to elaborate on his profound encounter with the leopard seal, one of the most formidable carnivores in the ocean.

If you haven't already seen the youtube clip - check that out, pronto... it's amazing - and for those that have seen it, you may want to add another layer of insight into the story by listening to an archived clip from Radio Lab's "Animal Minds" show (apparently it first aired in early April, but as usual, I'm a little late to the game). Nicklen recounts a lot of his story verbatim, just as he narrated the youtube clip, but he goes into much more detail as he discusses his emotional reaction to the events that unfolded, and the genuine affection he developed for that uniquely nurturing seal with seemingly endless surprises up her speckled sleeve. It's an epic encounter, and thanks to Nicklen's skill and the power of story-telling, the rest of us can vicariously experience it in full color.
 
By happy coincidence, I too had the pleasure of studying leopard seals for National Geographic - I never made it to the Antarctic, but using as much photo reference as I could find (including some of Nicklen's earlier work) I was able to generate the following illustration, as part of a coloring book series for the kids activity section of the Nat Geo website (one of the themes was "Crittercam" marine animals, hence the small device stuck atop the bottom seal's back).  

Henry Wood Elliott & the Fur Seals

The New England Aquarium recently opened a new Marine Mammal Center, featuring Northern fur seals. The space has a few good viewing areas for getting right up close to these impish little pinnipeds, and the lighting is almost entirely natural (the exhibit is partially outdoors), which makes observation and drawing much easier. The individual sketched above was quite vocal, regularly waddling himself up to the glass and making sure he had an audience gathered before belting out a great belch of a bark. Seal and sea lion voices have always seemed startlingly improbable to me - like a cruise ship's horn from the mouth of a squirrel...  

After doing a little post-drawing research on fur seals, I came across the work of late-nineteenth century American artist and naturalist, Henry Wood Elliott. A native of Cleveland, born in 1846, Elliott served a number of years as a staff artist for the Smithsonian, traveling the Northwest coast with survey expeditions; though not professionally trained, he had a deft way of capturing the world around him in his drawings. In 1872 he was appointed by the Secretary of the Treasury to conduct a thorough scientific study of the fur seal population, and oversee their harvest, in Alaska's Pribilof Islands - fur seal populations throughout the rest of the world had already been ruthlessly decimated by hunters and the U.S. desired a practical assessment of the remaining resource (read: commercial value) within it's newly acquired territory. Elliott eagerly took the job and immediately fell in love with the landscape and wildlife of Alaska. In addition to exploring the animals at the heart of his study, much of his artwork depicted aboriginal Alaskans engaging in traditional activities - images the general public of the late 1800s had never seen. During this time, Elliott also keenly observed and recorded what would by today's standard's be considered appallingly horrific assaults on nature: Victorian era seal hunts. Below are a handful of Elliott's line drawn illustrations (fur seals, a sea lion hunt, and walruses) from his 1882 book, A Monograph of the Seal-Islands of Alaska. I get a painful, angry lump in my throat looking at Elliott's depictions of those hunts, I can't begin to imagine watching such brutality transpire in person, day, after day, after day. 
    

Elliott's survey of Alaska's fur seals was comprehensive, and enabled him to propose annual hunting quotas that could satisfy demand while preserving the future of the herd; but his management plan was quickly circumvented by greed and the seal population continued to plummet as sealers began killing at sea (unprotected territory) and cruelly preventing the animals from taking refuge on land. As witness to this steady slaughter of hundreds of thousands of seals, Elliott, a compassionate naturalist, became vigorously involved in conservation efforts to halt the hunts altogether and save the species from likely extermination (and the simultaneous destruction of native Alaskan subsistence needs). Finally, in 1905, after years of exhaustive political appeal, Elliott co-authored a landmark document with U.S. Secretary of State, John Hay, that eventually became the very first international treaty dedicated to conserving wildlife; the document would become known as the Fur Seal Treaty of 1911 and would serve as a model for future decades of conservation legislation, including the great Marine Mammal Protection Act of 1972. The painting below ("Aleutians Striking Humpback Whales: off Akootan Island, Bering Sea," undated) is in the collection of the Smithsonian's NMNH. 
   
 
These days, it isn't rare to see artists become environmentalists - or at least provide profound visual commentary on the future of humanity's increasingly poisonous intersection with nature - but my hat goes off to Elliott for blazing this trail before the concept of conservation even existed. And the fur seals rejoice.