If a humpback whale was to go through the rigmarole of American airport security, he would be presenting his tail to them for scanning. We as humans, usually have our retinas and fingerprints scanned to make darn sure that we are who we say we are. In other words, a whale’s tail is as good as his fingerprint for all the intents and purposes of identification.
A whale’s tail is also referred to as a fluke and it is a unique and very powerful piece of equipment. The fluke is the rudder, brake and propeller for the whale. It moves in a vertical plane, pushing the enormous whale through the water with powerful thrusts. As well as locomotion the tail is used for communication and protection. Whales sometimes slap the water in what appears to be jovial exuberance. At other times this repeated slapping is used as a warning to predators to keep their distance or incur a heavy penalty if you venture too close. A 40 ton whale with a fluke of 4m wide is quite literally a lethal weapon. You do not want to be on the tail end of an agitated whale. To do so is suicide or at the very least, partial maiming.
The whale fluke has become somewhat of an iconic image, being used in so many instances from jewellery to branding of myriad of products and services. On close examination of this impressive appendage, many interesting shapes and creatures are actually to be found living on this fantastic fluke. Barnacles are commensal creatures that live their lives on their whale host. The barnacles can be helpful in identification as sometimes large aggregations are found on particular areas of the whale’s tail. The barnacles are an additional ally in a whale’s armoury. If a whale faces attack from a predator not only is the fluke an enormous aid, but the razor sharp coating of the barnacles will tear the skin of the whale’s foe. At times the barnacles will come off the whale’s fluke and the discolouration will also be useful in identifying the whale.
In Northern Vancouver Island, BC, a group of scientists, naturalists and whale enthusiasts have banded together to identify the humpback whales that spend their summers in the area. Each whale has had its fluke and also its dorsal fin photographed countless times. The best photos are used in cataloguing and identification of each humpback individual. Some whales have been named based in the fluke appearance. ‘Argonaut’ is so called because it has what looks like an ‘A’ notched into its fluke. Another whale called ‘Yahtzee’ looks like it has a dice sitting on its fluke ready to roll. Lesions, scarring due to entanglements with fishing equipment, close encounters with propellers and predators all take their toll on the integrity of the whale’s fluke.
The underside of the fluke is used to identify the whale as the colours and patterns tend to be more highly variable on this side than on the dorsal surface. Colouration on the ventral side of the fluke can range from an almost exclusively white side, through to a mix of white and grey, while others are more uniformly dark grey. Some flukes have an almost frilled edge which looks like some very feminine patterning while others have an almost straight edge to their tail. Combining these various attributes gives the keen eyed whale identifier plenty of information to figure out who is who.
This non invasive method of identification has done wonders for getting real data on whale populations and social dynamics. Incredibly with the humpback whale alone over the past decade, the numbers of whales in Northern Vancouver Island are increasing. The humpbacks seen and identified has risen from approx two animals in 2002 to over 50 catalogued in the past couple of years. Every whale tail we see is a beacon of hope for this beleaguered species and for its entire kin.
Suzanne Burns 2014.
Humans used to think the world was flat and also that the earth was at the centre of the Universe. Until recent times it was also widely believed that whales lived a similar lifespan to humans. However, not only has it been discovered that whales can live longer than us, they can live potentially up to 200 years of age!
The Bowhead whale has been instrumental in this theory being revised and staggering our perception of cetacean longevity. This whale is a right whale and has the largest mouth of any creature in existence. It is stocky and weighs in at a hefty 75 to 100 tonnes and can reach up to 20m in length.
This whale has been hunted traditionally by Inuits for food as well as been taken in serious numbers due to commercial whaling. It was initially thought that these whales lived to 60 to 70 years of age but two factors have radically changed this belief. A whale that was caught in Alaska in 2007 was found to have a very old harpoon point embedded between its neck and shoulder blade. On analysis it was discovered that the harpoon point was used in the 1880’s and fired from a bulky shoulder gun. This method was phased out shortly after by a more user friendly darting gun. The whale’s blubber protected it from the lethal effect of the harpoon point and went on to live a very long life. The second successful hunt of this whale and the involvement of scientists uncovered this spectacular secret.
The study also of the amino acids in the eyeballs of the whales over the past 10 years or so have also backed up this discovery. Various bowheads that have been hunted by Inuits in recent years have had their eyes studied and the whales have been successfully aged. Also six other whales have been found with similar harpoon points in their bodies since 2001.
The reason behind the whales longevity is purported to be due to their slow metabolic rate. They are large, slow moving creatures that live in very cold Arctic waters. Food can be scarce and their prey which comprises of plankton and krill can be hard to come by. This combination of extreme conditions and a challenging lifestyle has created a creature of exceptional merit and wonder. Call them what you may, Old Man of the Sea, or maybe the Nanas of the Ocean, but these are some seriously long lived whales. Long may they live!
Suzanne Burns 2014.
Underwater mammals in the waters of Azores solve their childcare issues in a spirit of mutual cooperation
By Philip Hoare, 10th July 2011. The Guardian.
Sperm whales may be the biggest predators that ever lived, but they have childcare issues too. The solution? A very big babysitter.
Here in the Azores, where I’ve spent the past two weeks diving with sperm whales off the island of Pico, a resident population of these remarkable mammals search for their main source of food: squid.
While the sperm whale is a natural submarine, able to dive a mile in depth for up to two hours, young calves still suckling their mother’s milk (which is 60% fat, with the consistency of cottage cheese) cannot undertake such deep plunges. So while their mothers hunt for food, calves are cared for communally in what amounts to a cetacean creche. This accompanying image, taken by the accomplished underwater photographer Andrew Sutton, shows whale altruism in action. Only one of the four juveniles with this large female is hers; she may not even be genetically connected to the others.
João Quaresma of Espaco Talassa, our Azorean skipper, told me that to see four young with one female is unusual. “Calves start to feed themselves at around three or four years,” he says, “but they’ve found whales up to the age of nine still suckling.” Studies by scientists such as Dr Hal Whitehead of Nova Scotia University have shown that sperm whales organise themselves in highly complex societies, communicating in discrete dialects of sonar clicks, passing on culture learned matrilineally. Such behaviour reinforces what we are beginning to discover about the intelligence of these whales, which possess the largest brain of any animal.
Operating under special licence from the Azorean government which determines strict care for the whales’ welfare, Andrew and I snorkelled with this group, watching them silently twisting and turning around one another in a physical expression of social solidarity. It was a salutary moment. In the 20th century, our species came close to driving the great whales to extinction. This week, the International Whaling Commission meets in Jersey to decide the fate of cetaceans around the world. Conservationists hope that they’ll make the right decisions. Sometimes whales need more than a babysitter to help them – even when she’s 12 metres long.
An adult male orca is an impressive beast and one not to be trifled with. Six tons of flesh, bone and blubber constitute this imposing dolphin. For all of his potential brute force and physical abilities, this male has a surprising secret, he is the ultimate Mummy’s boy.
He will live out his whole life in the family fold with his mother charting his course. Daddy is nowhere to be found. He was a romantic interlude many moons ago that lasted no more than an aquatic tryst. The young male progeny will go from a playful young buck to an impressive bull that will dwarf his mother. Adult females usually weigh between 3-4 tons, Their dorsal fins are less than half the size of the males prodigious 1.8 m (6 foot) fin which is so large that it provides a daunting spectacle on rapid approach.
Orca society is matriarchical and functions in a somewhat similar way to elephant society. The mother is the figurehead or matriarch of the family. She is responsible for keeping the family unit cohesive and for establishing feeding and migratory patterns. Her longevity and knowledge is pivotal in keeping the family together and for finding resources. Surprisingly, mothers tend to long outlive their sons and there is an interesting, albeit unfortunate reason for this.
In British Columbia, Canada there are 4 distinctive orca ecotypes, transient orcas that only eat mammals, resident orcas that only eat fish (one Northern and one Southern population) and offshore orcas that eat mainly sleeper sharks. For transient orcas in particular, there is a tendency to bioaccumulate large quantities of toxins in their body tissues. Being a top predator results in a toxic load accumulating in their bodies from the prey they are consuming over the course of their lives. When a female gets pregnant and gives birth, her first baby gets a particularly heavy hit from the toxins in its mother’s body. This is exacerbated by her milk, more toxins get passed unwittingly to the oblivious baby. This consequently diminishes a female’s toxic load over the course of her life each time she has a baby. Males are unable to offload this toxic burden so become more heavily loaded over time. Males tend to die younger as a result, with an average lifespan of 30 years, whereas wild females average 50 years, with some living into their 80’s and 90’s.
The male orca that has lived alongside his mother and siblings obviously has needs of his own but how are these satisfied when he is kept busy fishing for the family as well as babysitting? Luckily Mum has some other orcas that she knows who have some eligible lasses for her son to go and have some fun with. When the opportunity arises and one family happens to come across another then it is game on! When the male is sexually mature (usually from the age of 15) he will be free and ready to court a lucky lass from an unrelated family. Their encounter will be brief, he will go back to Mum and the rest of his family, as will she. If his conquest becomes pregnant, her family will help her raise her baby. The male that she tangled with will go back to his family and help raise any new babies his mum or sisters will give birth to.
The matriarch will go through menopause in her forties just like we do but will continue to live on and dote on her family and grandchildren. It has been found that even grown males who lose their mothers tend not to fare so well, and many even die after losing her. It is believed a combination of protection, companionship and assistance are important factors in maintaining the well being of the orca unit. And we thought our family bonds were strong?
Suzanne Burns 2014.
For 10 weeks, from June to August 1965, the St Thomas research centre became the site of Lilly’s most notorious and highly criticised experiment, when his young assistant, Margaret Howe, volunteered to live in confinement with Peter, a bottlenose dolphin. The dolphin house was flooded with water and redesigned for a specific purpose: to allow the 23-year-old Howe and the dolphin to live, sleep, eat, wash and play intimately together. The objective of the experiment was to see whether a dolphin could be taught human speech – a hypothesis that Lilly, in 1960, predicted could be a reality “within a decade or two”.
Even dolphin experts who today hold some of Lilly’s other work in high regard believe it was deeply misguided. Media coverage has focused on two things: Howe’s almost total failure to teach Peter to speak; and the reluctant sexual relationship she began with the animal in an effort to put him at his ease. She has not spoken about her experiences for nearly 50 years (to “let [the story] fade”), but earlier this year accepted an interview request by the BBC producer Mark Hedgecoe, who thought it was “the most remarkable story of animal science I had ever heard”.
The result, a documentary called The Girl Who Talked to Dolphins, is set to premiere at Sheffield Doc/Fest and then on BBC Four later this month. Various films and documentaries have dissected some of the baffling, entertaining and ultimately tragic animal-human language experiments offered up by the Sixties and Seventies, most recentlyJames Marsh’s 2011 feature Project Nim, about a chimp raised in a New York family. But what makes the dolphin house story unique is the intensity of the period of interspecies cohabitation. Howe and Peter lived in complete isolation.
Prof Thomas White, a philosopher and international leader in the field of dolphin ethics, believes the experiment was “cruel” and flawed from the outset. “Lilly was a pioneer,” he says. “Not just in the study of the dolphin brain; he was an open-minded scientist who speculated very early on that dolphins are self-aware creatures with emotional vulnerabilities that need an array of relationships to flourish. That should have made him think: ‘I really shouldn’t be doing this kind of thing.’ ”
Lilly, who had gained the scientific establishment’s respect with his work on the human brain, became interested in dolphins in the Fifties, after performing a series of “inner-consciousness” investigations on himself in which he floated around for hours in salt water in an effort to block outside stimuli and increase his sensitivity.
His 1961 book Man and Dolphin was an international bestseller. It was the first book to claim that dolphins displayed complex emotions – that they were capable of controlling anger, for example, and that they, like humans, often trembled in response to being hurt. Some dolphin species, he said, had brains up to 40 per cent larger than humans’. As well as being our “cognitive equal”, Lilly speculated they were capable of a form of telepathy that was the key to understanding extraterrestrial communication. He also believed they could “teach us to live in outer space without gravity”. He also proposed that they could be trained to serve the Navy as a “glorified seeing-eye” (a theory that became the basis of the 1973 sci-fi thriller Day of the Dolphin, despite Lilly’s best attempts to halt production).
But Lilly did little to burnish his credentials in the early Sixties when he started exploring the psychological research possibilities offered by lysergic acid diethylamide (LSD). He took it himself, often while floating in his isolation tank. Lilly later pinpointed 1965, the year of the dolphin cohabitation experiment, as the year he came to “no longer regard the scientific viewpoint of total objectivity as the be-all and end-all”. It wouldn’t be wildly speculative to suggest that Lilly was – by today’s standards at least – not in quite the right frame of mind to be leading the dolphin project.
Looking back at his memories of the mid-Sixties in his autobiography, an impressionistic account in which he writes of himself in the third person (“He felt that he was merely a small microbe on a mudball, rotating around a G-star, two thirds of the way from Galactic centre…”), it is also apparent how removed he was from Howe’s work.
He writes: “In the midst of his enthusiasm he [Lilly] attempted to speak to [Howe] of his experiences.” Howe, in her early 20s, was not sympathetic. “If you want to do your experiments on solitude and LSD, please keep them in the isolation room. I am not curious or interested.”
Howe was among many keen young staff members he employed from the island. Only the bravest stayed with him any significant length of time; as Lilly noted in The Mind of the Dolphin (1967), the Tursiops (bottlenose) – chosen for study because its brain size was comparable to man’s – was larger and more powerful than most humans. They grew irritable and angry when mismanaged. Howe’s talent for communicating with the dolphins was exceptional and, as Lilly noted, her dedication was unmatched by anyone else in the faculty. “I will not interfere with that,” he wrote.
Still, he prepared the experiment. Following a week-long trial period, Lilly decided 10 weeks was the maximum time frame that both human and dolphin could survive comfortably in confinement. Objectives, regulations and a daily timetable were clear and precise. Howe’s aims were threefold: to make notes on interspecies isolation, to attempt to teach Peter to “speak”, and to gather information so that the living conditions might be improved for longer-term cohabitation.
On June 15 Howe moved in, her hair cut to a quarter-inch boy crop. All she needed was a swimming costume and a leotard for the cooler nights. The entire upstairs of the lab building and the balcony had been flooded with salt water 18in deep, which Peter could swim around in and Howe could wade through. A desk hung from the ceiling, and her bed was a suspended foam mattress that she later fitted with a shower curtain so that Peter’s splashes did not soak her through the night. She would live off canned food to minimise contact with outsiders.
“It was perfect,” she remembers today of her domestic dolphinarium. Early entries in her diary at the time reveal that, like a nervous new housewife, she made the best of things: “Cooking is fine. Cleaning is interesting… Each morning most of the dirt is neatly deposited at the foot of the elevator shaft. All I have to do is suck it up.” As for her companion, he spent “a good deal of his time in front of the mirror”, she noted. She was amused to find that during rare moments of contact with the outside world (mostly on the telephone) Peter talked “very loudly and in a competitive way” over the top of her.
Although he could be rambunctious, the archive footage of his lessons featured in the new BBC documentary reveal Peter to have been a curious, dedicated student. Lilly’s team had already established that dolphins could adjust the frequency of their squeaks and whistles to mimic human sounds, and claimed that during his time with Howe, Peter learnt to pronounce words such as “ball” and “diamond”, and to tell the difference between certain objects.
Howe was a creative, commendably patient teacher; when Peter struggled with certain sounds, particularly the “M” in her name, she came up with the inventive method of painting her face in thick white make-up and black lipstick so that he could clearly see the shape of her lips moving. “His eye was in [the] air looking at my mouth. There was no question… He really wanted to know: where is that noise coming from? What is the sound?” she remembers. “Eventually he kind of rolled over so that he would bubble [the ‘M’ sound] into the water.”
To those who lived and worked with Peter, his progress was perhaps clearer than it was to the outsider. The average viewer, on watching the BBC documentary, might conclude that the experiment was a failure. Kenneth Norris, an influential marine biologist, said of Lilly: “He started out as a capable scientist, but nothing he did was subject to measurement or truth, and that’s what scientists live by.” Experiments since 1965 have proved that dolphins have high levels of self-awareness and can understand human sign communication – but there is still little evidence that a dolphin language exists.
However, Peter’s linguistic progress was seemingly what kept Howe going when their relationship grew strained. Fed up and clearly exhausted by week three, she wrote at length about Peter whining and making loud noises night and day for no apparent reason: “I will do anything to break this… I lost my temper and nearly yelled at Peter… I am physically so pooped I can hardly stand… depression… wanting to get away… my mind is not all on the job.”
John C Lilly, pictured in 1977
Lilly, responding to Howe’s feedback, recorded his concerns. “This is a dull and small area… Isolation effects showing,” he wrote. Howe’s diary of week five is predominantly concerned with a new issue: “Peter begins having erections and has them frequently when I play with him.” Her frustrated efforts to deal with his “sexual needs” and advances – which had become so aggressive that her legs were covered in minor injuries from his jamming and nibbling – had left her scared. “Peter could bite me in two,” she wrote. But she was reluctant to hamper progress, and, in a spirit of pragmatism, decided to take matters into her own hands. As the narrator in the documentary tactfully puts it: “Margaret felt that the best way of focusing his mind back on his lessons was to relieve his desires herself manually.”
Sex among dolphins is a “normal way to establish a bond”, White says. “Dolphins are mostly bisexual, sometimes heterosexual, sometimes homosexual, and quite frequent – eight to 10 times a day I’ve been told – so it’s a very different culture that we’re looking at.” Peter’s sexual advances wouldn’t surprise any marine biologist. But what astonished Lilly was the complexity of the way Peter and Howe’s relationship developed from thereon in.
“New totally unexpected sequence of events took place,” Lilly noted excitedly. “I feel that we are in the midst of a new becoming; moving into a previous unknown…” As Peter became increasingly gentle, tactile and sensitive to Howe’s feelings he began to “woo” her by softly stroking his teeth up and down her legs. “I stand very still, legs slightly apart, and Peter slides his mouth gently over my shin,” she wrote in her diary. “Peter is courting me… he has been most persistent and patient… Obviously a sexy business… The mood is very gentle, still and hushed… all movements are slow.” Today she talks about the whole experience philosophically: “It was very precious. It was very gentle… It was sexual on his part. It was not sexual on mine. Sensual, perhaps.”
Howe’s writing also reflects her increasingly protective feelings towards Peter, and at the end of her diary she admits that Peter’s attentiveness helped her overcome her “depression” and “fits of self-pity”.
In a neat romantic twist, it all ended happily for Howe. She left the lab to marry the project’s photographer, John Lovatt. Though dismayed to lose her, even Lilly was pleased: “Her intraspecies needs are finally being taken care of.” She never returned to work for him. Soon after the experiment, Lilly’s funding began to dry up, and with his second marriage in tatters he left to explore mystical interests in South America.
As for Peter, the lab’s vet Andy Williamson remembers his concerns as the experiment came to a close: “It was great [Howe] wasn’t going to be damaged… but as a veterinarian, I wondered about poor Peter. This dolphin was madly in love with her.”
The unexpected consequences of the experiment highlight one of the persisting problems with the “short-sighted” scientific approach to animal intelligence, says White. “We focus on language as the primary indicator of intelligence. Dolphins, like humans, are very sophisticated emotionally as well as intellectually. From an ethical standpoint, that’s what we should be looking at.”
Humpback takes seal under its flipper to cheat predators
by Philip Hoare
The Guardian, Thursday 26 November 2009
There are plenty of stories of cetaceans saving humans. Indeed, Jonah was rescued by a whale when he was thrown overboard, and there have been tales of dolphins assisting swimmers in distress or shielding them from circling sharks.
Killer whales, however — themselves a species of dolphin — didn’t get their name for nothing. Early Basque whalers called them whale killers when they saw them attacking other whales. Hunting like a pack of wolves, orca know no fear. They’ll tear the throats from grey whale calves, and have even been known to take chunks out of sperm whales — the largest predators that ever lived.
But here’s a sight to gladden the eye. Earlier this year, Californian scientists Robert L Pitman and John W Durban sailed to the Antarctic in search of killer whales. They were looking for a possible new species, known to hunt Weddell seals — one of the plumpest of the pinnipeds (the suborder that includes seals and sea lions) — by washing them off ice floes with their wake.
That’s what was happening here — until a group of humpback whales arrived on the scene. Unlike orca, which are odontocetes or toothed whales, humpbacks are mysticetes, harmless leviathans with only baleen plates in their mouths.
Doubtless open-mouthed themselves, Pitman and Durban — along with a film crew from the BBC Natural History unit — watched as one seal, swept into the water by the orca, swam towards the humpbacks.
As the killer whales moved in, the plucky pinniped leapt on to the vast ribbed belly of a humpback, and nestled in the animal’s armpit. Not only that, but when a wave threatened to return the seal to danger, the humpback used its massive flipper (at five metres, the longest in the animal kingdom) to nudge it back on.
“Moments later the seal scrambled off and swam to the safety of a nearby ice floe,” wrote the scientists. They believe the seal triggered a maternal defence mechanism in the humpbacks. Whatever the truth, it’s a heartening tale. But spare a thought for the orca. They’ve got kids to feed, too.