Whale Said

Whales are neat. Well, that’s my opinion at least and I hope you feel the same way by the end of these short paragraphs. Recently, I’ve become so attuned to searching for whales while conducting visitor surveys on the Oregon coast that the visitors at Depot Bay ask me questions about the whales as I stand there in my ODFW hat. I graciously answer to the best of my ability, making it clear that I am far from an expert on the topic and then let them know that I am actually studying humans (but maybe we’re more or less one in the same).

Whale-watching zodiac.

I’ve been envious of the visitors who share stories about their whale watching tour in Depot Bay. It just so happens that the REU students who live next door were going whale watching this weekend and they invited the Sea Grant scholars to tag along for a discount price. I had heard a couple of months back about a whale researcher in Depot Bay, named Carrie. As it turns out, Carrie Newell was the one who generously offered the Hatfield interns a discount on a private whale-watching excursion early Sunday morning.

Carrie and the Hatfield interns spotting whales.

As if Carrie’s energy and passion for her work wasn’t encouraging enough, something that her coworker Captain Dan said out on the water really struck a cord with me. As we approached a female whale in our zodiac, she flashed her fluke and dove down, leaving everyone in a moment of silent awe. Captain Dan then started explaining to us how this whale (Ginger was her name) seems to always fluke and each of the resident whales in Oregon has their own identifiable characteristic. He said he even has suspicion that at least one of the whales intentionally tries to sneak up and startle everyone in the boat. It was then that Captain Dan said, “You know, I’ve learned a lot from Carrie and from the textbooks, but no one can teach you about the personality of these animals until you’re out here with them every day.”

Carrie Newell and her first mate Kida.

I think what Captain Dan said resonated with me for a couple of reasons. First, whales are intelligent and social animals, just like humans. Humans tend to feel a strong connection to what they can relate to. Second, I am perpetually fascinated by how little we know about our expansive ocean and find it humbling to think about. Reflecting a little more deeply on the second thought, I realized individuality defines a lot more than a biology textbook could explain. If whales really are trying to playfully spook people in a boat as Captain Dan suspects, then perhaps they really are a lot more like us than we think.

Captain Dan.

Over the years, humans and whales have had a relationship that some might call “complicated.” I think now, more than ever, through the powerful influence of media and the efforts of Greenpeace, people want to save whales and dolphins rather than exploit them as a natural resource. If we could all take the time to connect a little more closely with the environment around us, I think we might learn a lot from those who share this planet with us.

Fluke of Ginger the gray whale.

The Beginning of the End and Mental Health

Happy Sunday folks! Let’s start with some of the nitty-gritty science stuff. This Friday I completed my last fieldwork in Yaquina Bay. Amy and I took a trip upriver to three eelgrass beds where we collected water, sediment, and eelgrass samples for processing. For the first time this summer the processing went completely smoothly! Nothing got mixed-up and the new lab layout gave us tons of space (we totally reorganized this week in anticipation of a visit from an EPA bigwig). It appears that, based on our preliminary data, eelgrass is a massive reservoir of Enterococci (a fecal indicator bacteria). What’s more, the majority of this bacteria is loosely-attached to the plant via biofilms and could be easily resuspended by wave action or storm energy. This finding could have big implications on future work as storm-based water sampling could be providing skewed levels of indicator bacteria due to resuspension. This would falsely indicate levels of fecal matter in the bay. I know you’re all hooked but you’ll have to wait until my poster is complete to learn the whole story (I can’t go spoil the results for you).

Speaking of posters and presentations, there’s only 5 days until the final symposium! How’d that happen?!? This coming week is going to involve a LOT of figure-making and R script…I know, sounds like a party, right? I am actually excited to see if there are any interesting findings however! We shall see.

On a very non-Sea Grant note I want to take a second to talk about an issue that I feel doesn’t get addressed enough in our fast-paced culture: mental health. It’s not a very popular topic and it’s slightly taboo in our culture to discuss mental health; maybe it’s because we associate the term with ‘crazy’ or ‘illness.’ Regardless, it’s a topic that we should all stop and think about every so often. I think it’s especially relevant for those of us thinking about graduate school to take time and evaluate how we make our choices and if they are good for us. I don’t just mean good for us professionally but also mentally and personally. I know that I’ve felt immense pressure to go to grad school ASAP and get my degree ASPA and get a post-doc ASAP and get a job ASAP and produce research ASAP…it’s exhausting just to think about it all. The truth is that this thought process doesn’t leave much room for our own personal growth or happiness. I would argue that making choices for mental health reasons should be just as important as, if not more so, than academic reasons. Being happy isn’t a luxury that’s earned with success; it’s a right that we all should take the time to exercise in our lives no matter what are professional goals are. Invest in friendships. Forge healthy relationships. Bottom line: take care of yourself first.

Skyler’s Weekly Review – Week 8

The Buzz: Tillamook Field Work Week

Eelgrass beds of Tillamook Bay

Tillamook Field Work Week: In the world of computer systems and mountains of data to process, I often don’t get to find out where the data I’m working with comes from. Working with SEACOR has provided me ample opportunities to splash in the mud, wade through the water, handle an estuary’s bounty in the form of epiphyte goop (plants that grow on other plants) and smelly eelgrass, and perhaps most importantly see the data I use from start to finish.

Porphyra, a genus of common brownish-red epiphyte off the Oregon Coast that attaches frequently to eelgrass, can be seen here.

Buried under mats of eelgrass are a plethora of vulnerable but highly adapted animals. Poke around long enough, and you’ll find a whole other world. I have found Skeleton shrimp, colonial tunicates (some invasive), shore crabs, kelp crabs, isopods-a-plenty, bay clams and oysters taking advantage of the cover. I find something new every trip!

Eelgrass coverage, epiphyte coverage, algae coverage, and number of shoots per quadrat are typical numbers SEACOR collects for dozens of sample sites in each estuary.

Much like the golden hour of sunset, sunrise has its own hour that’s best enjoyed when you get used to waking up early enough to see it.

Sun is up. I am up.

 

The Big Blue

As a child, my mother instilled in me her love of birds. I used to sit with her field guides and identify species as they landed on the feeders just outside our windows. My mom further encouraged my fascination by allowing me to incubate quail eggs and raise both ducks and chickens. Her only objections came when I set live traps with seed near her feeders. Nonetheless, I was destined to be a birder. Of all the bird species I have encountered, my favorite remains the long-legged bird I grew up watching hunt at the lake by my house: The Great Blue Heron.

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Blue herons are large birds with wingspans reaching up to 6 feet. Adults display greyish blue bodies with long black plumes flowing off the back of their heads and thighs the color of pine bark. When they fly, their long necks coil back much like a snake ready to strike. These birds have specialized feathers on their chest that are continuously growing, similar to hair. Blue herons grip these feathers with their feet and use them like washcloths to remove fish oils and other slime from their feathers. Little known fact: there is a white color variant great blue heron found in southern Florida and Eastern Mexico. (See picture below) #NotAnEgret

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These magnificent creatures are also deeply integrated into the fabric of the food webs they reside in. The blue heron’s predator-prey interactions have shown to be quite complex. For instance, in the Southeastern United States, blue heron nest colonies are commonly found above alligator infested waters. While this might seem unusual, this is a mutualistic relationship. By nesting in the trees above alligator territory, herons make it difficult for other animals to climb up and eat their eggs. Waterbirds typically hatch more offspring than they can feed. Runts are bumped out by larger chicks and become alligator food. Furthermore, the birds’ feces adds nutrients to ground below nests, leading to a higher abundance of fish and reptiles… food for both species.

*Pictured below is a great blue heron making off with a young alligator.*

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In my mind, blue herons are the ecological masters of North America. What about bears and other predatory mammals, you say?  While these types of creatures can overpower all they encounter and have no natural predators, they are not necessarily the best adapted species for the environments of our continent. In winter months, when food is scarce, bears are forced to hibernate and wolves must travel long distances in pursuit of infrequent prey. Blue herons, on the other hand, simply fly to warmer climates where food is abundant. Wings seem to be a necessary adaptation when conquering the environments of an entire continent. Wings allow blue herons to spend their summers from Alaska to Nova Scotia and their winters anywhere from the Galapagos Islands to the West Indies.

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Wings are not the only attribute that makes the great blue heron note worthy. Birds of Prey, such as the bald eagle, also have wings, but these birds’ distribution and territory is limited by foraging strategy and diet. When bald eagles hunt, they perch on branches overlooking bodies of water and wait for a fish to present itself. In contrast, blue herons actively forage for prey in the water and feed on a wider variety of organisms, including: shrimp, crabs, aquatic insects, fish, snakes, lizards, frogs, rodents, and small birds. Their diverse diet is plentiful and evenly distributed, enabling them remain further north later into winter. This allows them to dominate territory with little to no competition.

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I have a tendency to regularly encounter these birds. I have seen them spear sea trout on the flats of gulf coast barrier islands, perch along Appalachian Mountain streams, and pluck Dungeness from Oregon’s estuaries. Every time I see a blue heron, I’m filled with a sense of security and amazement that makes me feel like a child. I like to think of them as a good omen and a reminder that my home is greater than the state I was raised in.

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I’m not exactly sure where my love for these birds comes from, but they seem to be a pretty common theme in my life. It might come as no surprise that the organization I volunteer for back home and the research reserve I was placed at through the Summer Scholars program share a particular mascot…

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An Update from the South Coast

A lot has happened since my last post. This week alone I have worked on an ODFW lamprey assessment by electrofishing Winchester Creek’s headwaters, participated in a Sea Grant funded eel grass monitoring survey, and seined for juvenile fish with visiting scientists from OSU. Most importantly, I have successfully completed all of my crab sampling in the South Slough Research Reserve. After deploying 160 traps, I processed over 2,100 crabs in just 12 days. Of these only 86 were the invasive green crabs I was targeting.

Though I had wished to collected more data on the species, my mentor and her colleagues were pleased with my results. I found green crabs in locations they have never been found before. My data also indicates the highest abundance of these crabs in the Coos estuary in the last 19 years. I am currently collaborating with a professor from OSU to publish a report on the status of the European Green Crab along Oregon’s Coast. Please enjoy the pictures below taken on my last day of sampling.

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Smooth Sailing

Happy Wednesday!

At this point, the Shop at the Dock crew (we even have matching jackets) has gotten the routine down pretty well. We set up camp, explain the program to passersby, ogle at the cute dogs on the dock, runs tours, and pack up. Every time, the event passes by more quickly than I expect!

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This vessel catches hagfish, which is an eel-like fish that produces sticky slime to defend itself from predators.

Last week’s wind left many fishermen unable to fish, due to unsafe waters. As a result, fewer vessels were able participate in Shop at the Dock and sell over the weekend. We still had a couple of vessels selling though, but hopefully next week will bring smoother sailing.

I went out on one of the tours with my mentor and while I’ve gone with her on several dock walks with her before, I feel like I learn something new every time. The tours are generally broken up into two distinct parts, beginning with information about commercial fisheries. Often times, tour guides will walk the group to different vessels and explain what it’s rigged to catch. It’s then followed by a section on how to actually purchase the fish- how to look for a vessel that sells off their boat, what questions to ask, what to look for in a good, fresh fish. And if we’re lucky, one of the fishermen will come out and answer questions, which brings out a more personal side of the industry. During this specific tour, I learned that one of the vessels was used to transport criminals to Alcatraz, including Al Capone.

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Vessels, like Ocean Lady ‘M’, will often post signs or banners to let people know they are selling seafood.

The Comment of the Week comes from a survey questions asking if there was anything else participants would hope to learn more about. One respondent answered “fleet perceptions of direction of their industry”. I think this comment was particularly striking to me because it examines the livelihood of the whole industry and touches on a more personal side of the future of fishermen. There seems to be a real interest and concern for the fishermen. In fact, many participants have expressed the desire to know more about the fishermen themselves and the history of their boats, which is really great.

There are three Shop at the Dock events left for the summer and I’m excited to see what else lies ahead. Thanks for reading!

Week 7

So far Katie and I are still working on our PowerPoint presentation for the EPA. We should hopefully be done by later this week and be able to present by next Tuesday! It is crazy how fast this summer has gone by. Next week is our final symposium for Sea Grant where we have to give a short presentation and create a poster. In our last week I’ll be writing my reflection paper and most likely helping Jody and Darryl process some more data for the project.

As for this past weekend’s adventure, I went up to Washington for the first time and visited Mt. Rainier National Park. I stayed in Yakima, Washington (since it was fairly close to Mt. Rainier) and the drive up there wasn’t at all what I expected. It was mostly desert (which now makes sense since we are on the leeward side of the Cascade Mountains) and reminded me of the landscapes in Utah and Nevada. The most shocking part was that the first day I got there, the weather hit 114 degrees Fahrenheit! A HUGE change from the steady 65 degrees in Newport. To get to Yakima I had to drive through the Columbia River Gorge. Which, if you are ever in the area, I highly suggest going to. I’m not entirely sure how much you can do there but it was surrounded by vineyards and there were many kite and wind surfers so it looked like a really fun place! As you move further towards Mt. Rainier the area becomes densely forested and reminds me more of the Pacific North West. The mountain and its surrounding land were beautiful. There were some really cool hikes that I would have loved to do if I had more time, I’ll definitely have to go back!

Mt. Rainier

Week 6

Since all of our field and lab work are done, Week 6 mostly consisted of office work. I’ve had a lot of time to start making graphs of our soil data and analyzing some of the trends. I actually had this blog post typed out a pretty long time ago and didn’t realize I saved it as a draft so I decided to just publish it now as I would have originally (oops!).

We are having some difficulties with the elevation corrections for each site so hopefully by early next week we will have that figured out. That way we can start analyzing how the soil characteristics of each site impact the hydrology in the marsh.

I’ve also started learning how to do basic operations in R. This is something I’ve wanted to learn how to do for a while and, if I can get good enough at using the program, I may be able to do some of statistical tests for our data in the program. I installed the swirl package into RStudio which is a program that teaches you how to navigate and enter data into R within the R program. So for the past few days I’ve been running through all of the courses in R that I can find which has been draining but also really interesting.

Katie and I have to give a presentation on our work this summer on August 9th for the EPA so we have started putting a PowerPoint presentation together. I’ve actually been learning a lot of great new techniques for presentations from some of the contractors and post-docs working here. Once we finish that presentation, I’ll start putting my 5-minute presentation, poster, and final report together for Sea Grant.

This past weekend some of the interns went down to Crater Lake National Park, Toketee Falls, and Umpqua Hot Springs. Crater Lake was beautiful and it is a MUST to jump in. There isn’t a ton to do at the actual lake, there is only one trail that leads down to the water. Have no fear, there are plenty of hikes, waterfalls, and yes, hot springs in Umpqua National Forest. I would love to post a picture of the hot springs since they were incredible, but none of the pictures did them any justice. There were approximately 6 small pool type areas to sit in that were nestled into the side of a cliff that overlooked a raging river. The pools became cooler as you went down the cliff face but they were all warm and a beautiful green color. Since the weather is typically pretty warm in the forest during the summer, I’d recommend trying to get to the hot springs later in the day when it cools off. On the other hand it may be more crowded later in the day, you’ll just have to give it a try!

 

Have a Goal in Sight? Throw Yourself at it.

I don’t want to resort to the old cliché, “the mountains are calling and I must go,” but I answered that call this weekend. It’s been a while since I’ve spent much time rolling ankles over stubborn roots and scrambling over precarious rocks. Despite the fact that I couldn’t find a hiking buddy, I still found it easy to justify a weekend among the peaks where John Muir felt most at home.

Hitting the trail early with a goal in view.

Back in the East, I tackled mountains every weekend I could. I come from the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains, where a two-hour drive to the highest peaks in New York State coupled with a breakfast of gas station coffee and a banana is a regular Saturday routine. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I live for the 4am mornings, finding my way on the trail under headlamp, but I’ve become so accustomed to that groggy early-morning feeling that it’s almost nostalgic.

Early morning wake up with headlamp.

Once I did some research on the Cascades of Oregon and heard you could summit Oregon’s third highest peak in a day, I was up for the challenge. My tent was already in my car so I smeared some peanut butter and jelly on bread, called it a dinner and hit the road. That night, I tossed and turned on my inflatable sleeping pad, anxiously going over the hike in my mind as if it were a documentary film.

Looking down of Teardrop pool, Oregon’s highest lake, from the loose rock trail.

Now is probably a good time to acknowledge the fact that this is my first time ascending to 10,000 plus feet of elevation on-foot, not to mention that I drove from sea-level. I’ve hiked a similar prominence before, but never to an altitude this high. My body wasn’t exactly thanking me for the elevation change as my lungs panted for air and my head pounded with an unforeseen headache.

Farther than it looks, the summit looms over this steep scramble.

Like most hikes, I had reached that low feeling on the climb where I questioned if I could persist to the summit. The strangest part for me was that I could see where I was headed throughout the entire hike, but never really had a sense of how long it would take me to get there. I’m so acquainted with hiking through dense forest until the trail spits you out above the tree line just a few hundred yards from the summit. This was different.

The final steps to the summit of South Sister.

Perception is a funny thing. On a mountain, it can take your senses for a wild ride. Unsure of when the steep, scree-scrambling climb would end, I focused my eyes on my feet, switched to autopilot and let faith take me the rest of the undetermined distance to the summit. Then, as quickly as the questionable feelings set in, I was confident and pulsing with adrenaline as I lifted my eyes. The summit view was indescribable and clear enough to see as far as Mount Rainier. My head was clear too and I questioned why I even questioned myself in the first place.

Mission accomplished!

In that moment, the summit is the quite literally the peak of the experience. But in the end, it’s about the journey and the people you meet. I was fortunate enough to make friends with a couple from Australia who became my hiking buddies as we followed the loose-cinder trail back down the south side of the volcanic peak. There’s something to be said about a cooperative crew of people on the same path with the same goal in mind.

Stopped for a swim at Moraine Lake after descending.

Week 7 – Dead in the Water: When Catch and Release Isn’t Enough

Every so often at the ODFW office, we get email updates from the different fisheries sectors in the state. Most of the time these are just the standard sport fishing estimates or public workshop announcements, but sometimes I’ll see a subject line that warrants a closer read. Something like “Fishing for groundfish closes beyond 20 fathoms to protect yelloweye rockfish” usually does the trick.

Yelloweye rockfish are a bottom-dwelling species that has been under a harvest moratorium since 2002 due to overfishing. Oregon’s population is well on its way to recovering, but this doesn’t mean that they’re completely out of the line of fire.

The recent depth closure notice is in response to a two-part problem. The first is increased bycatch as boats target other species that inhabit the same areas. As yelloweyes are a deepwater fish, moving the groundfish fishery to within 20 fathoms (120 feet) should reduce these incidental encounters. The second is a drop in the use of descenders – devices that lower the bloated fish that are caught accidentally back down to depths where the effects of barotrauma are reversed.

If you’ve ever done any deep water diving, chances are you’re familiar with this concept as “the bends.” In humans, this painful phenomenon occurs as gases dissolved in the body expand rapidly when resurfacing too quickly. Many species of fish can get a form of the bends too – yelloweyes included.

The aftermath of barotrauma isn’t exactly a pleasant scene, and certainly not a pleasant experience for the fish itself. A gas-filled sac called the swim bladder (used to control buoyancy) swells in size as the fish ascends the water column, turning the stomach inside-out and forcing it out the mouth. Simultaneously, its eyes bulge and pop out the side of its head. It’s a seemingly cartoonish sight save for the fact that this is a very real predicament for the fish. Released as is, the swim bladder will remain inflated and the fish will flounder and eventually die at the surface.

Yelloweye rockfish displaying classic signs of barotrauma. For more info on barotrauma and descenders, visit the ODFW’s Marine Resources site. Photo courtesy of ODFW.

It may seem tempting to just toss back in the water what looks to be, for all intents and purposes, a lifeless fish. But research has shown excellent survival and recovery from barotrauma in rockfish, emphasizing the underutilized potential of descenders. Frustratingly enough, these devices aren’t difficult to use at all; the typical descender consists of a clip to attach to the fish’s jaw and a weight to take it down. The ODFW is and has been actively distributing thousands of these for free to the public, but limited participation has forced the ODFW to take action.

The restriction was officially put in place on July 15. And of course, as with any potentially controversial action, there is almost assuredly controversy that follows. I took the time to conduct some informal reconnaissance on an online fishing forum, where I found quite a few varied opinions.

From supportive.

To skeptical.

With some understanding folks mixed in.

And a couple of real gems just for good measure.

The fishermen both in these online communities and all throughout Oregon have a right to be mad – but not at the ODFW. The projected increase in mortality from declining usage of descenders is what prompted this closure; had usage remained the same, yelloweye mortality would have been sufficiently low to keep the fishery open past 20 fathoms. And to be fair, I saw a good amount of support for the ODFW and read of people who would willingly volunteer their time to help give away these devices.

It’s times like this that I sit back and reflect on what I wrote back in my first post on the tragedy of the commons. The commons in reality can only exist if everyone buys into the notion of a shared resource. As a recovering stock, each and every individual yelloweye is important, making every person instrumental in maintaining the yelloweye commons. Unfortunately, the select few who overlooked this and the descenders, whether it be unintentionally or otherwise, contributed to the shutdown of the groundfish fishery for all.

I write this not to point fingers, but as an example that fishermen should be more than just people who take from the ocean – they must be the active stewards of it. The ODFW doesn’t work to prevent fishermen from catching fish, it works to protect them from themselves. The painful reality now that many don’t see is a tenuous relationship between humans and fish, one where 80% of commercially fished species are already overexploited, yet still viewed as “fishable” because the populations are somehow miraculously, albeit barely, maintaining themselves.

The mentality must change. In a perfect world, there is no ODFW, the fishermen police themselves and the resource, and at the end of the day, everyone goes home with fish in the cooler. In an imperfect world, situations like the yelloweye depth limit serve as resentful but necessary reminders of the responsibility that we all bear in looking after our natural resources.

I’ll end with a quote that I saw attached underneath one of the forum member’s comments, one who was adamantly supportive of ODFW’s mission.

A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in.

Ensuring the fisheries of the future exist starts not by adding increasingly stringent restrictions, but by teaching the community to start taking care of them now, even if there is no immediate reward. As with the yelloweye rockfish, it could be years before we see much progress, and perhaps a great many more before we see full recovery. But even if it’s just using a descender to send back that one lone yelloweye you caught today, the ocean will thank you. Otherwise, our hopes for a sustainable future are as long gone as a blown-up rockfish bobbing away on the waves.