Outreach – Geospatial Ecology of Marine Megafauna Laboratory

Learning by teaching

By: Kate Colson, MSc Student, University of British Columbia, Institute for the Oceans and Fisheries, Marine Mammal Research Unit

One of the most frequent questions graduate students get asked (besides when you are going to graduate) is what their plans are after university. For me, the answer has always adamantly been continuing to do research, most likely as a government researcher because I don’t want teaching commitments to take away from my ability to conduct research.

However, one of the most fulfilling parts of my degree at University of British Columbia has actually been teaching four terms of a 100-level undergraduate science course focused on developing first-year students’ critical thinking, data interpretation, and science communication skills. My role in the course has been facilitating active learning activities that exercise these skills and reviewing material the students go over in their pre-class work. Through this course, I have experienced the teaching styles of six different professors and practiced my own teaching. As with any skill, there is always room for improvement, so when I had a chance to read a book titled How Learning Works: Seven Research-Based Principles for Smart Teaching (Ambrose et al. 2010), I took it as an opportunity to further refine my teaching and explore why some practices are more effective than others.

In the book, Ambrose et al. present principles of learning, the research surrounding these principles and examples for incorporating them into a university level course. Some of the principles gave me ideas for strategies to incorporate into my teaching to benefit my students. These described how prior knowledge impacts student learning and how to use goal-oriented practice and give feedback relative to target criteria that the students can apply to the next practice task. For example, I learned to be more conscious about how I explain and clarify course material to make connections with what the students have learned previously, so they can draw on that prior knowledge. Other principles presented by Ambrose et al. were more complex and offered a chance for greater reflection.

Beyond presenting strategies for improving teaching, the book also presented research that supported what I had learned firsthand through teaching. These principles related to the factors that motivate students to learn and why the course climate matters for learning. I have seen how student motivation is impacted by the classroom climate and culture put forth by the teaching team. Perhaps the most frustrating experiences I have had teaching were when one member of the teaching team does not see the importance of fostering a supportive course environment.

For this reason, my favorite assignments have been the Thrive Contract and the Group Contract. Each term, the Thrive Contract is the first major class activity, and the Group Contract is the first group assignment. These assignments serve as a means for everyone to co-create guidelines and expectations and establish a positive classroom culture for the rest of the term. After an exceptionally poor classroom experience my first time teaching, I have highlighted the importance of the Thrive Contract in all subsequent terms. Now, I realize the significance I lent this assignment is supported by the research on the importance for a supportive environment to maximize student motivation and encourage classroom engagement (Figure 1).

Another powerful lesson I have learned through teaching is the importance of clarifying the purpose of an activity to the students. Highlighting a task’s objective is also supported by research to ensure that students ascribe value to the assigned work, increasing their motivation (Figure 1). In my teaching, I have noticed a trend of lower student participation and poorer performance on assignments when a professor does not emphasize the importance of the task. Reviewing the research that shows the value of a supportive course climate has further strengthened my belief in the importance of ensuring that students understand why their teaching team assigns each activity.

**Figure 1. How environment, student efficacy, and value interact to impact motivation.** The above figure shows that motivation is optimized when students see the value in a goal, believe they have the skills to achieve the goal, and are undertaking the goal in a supportive class environment (the bright blue box in the bottom right corner). If this situation were to occur in an unsupportive class environment, defiant behaviour (e.g. “I’ll prove you wrong” attitude) is likely to occur in response to the lack of support, as the student sees the value in the goal and believes in their ability to achieve the goal. Rejecting behaviour (e.g., disengagement) occurs when the student does not associate value to a task and does not believe in their ability to complete the goals regardless of the environment. Evading behaviour (e.g., lack of attention or minimal effort) results when students are confident in their ability to complete a task, but do not see the goal as meaningful in both supportive and unsupportive environment. When a student sees the importance of the goal but are not confident in their ability to complete it, they become hopeless (e.g., have no expectation of success and act helpless) when in an unsupportive environment and fragile (e.g., feign understanding, deny difficulty, or make excuses for poor performance) in a supportive environment. *Diagram adapted from Ambrose et al. (2010) Figure 3.2 incorporating the works of Hansen (1989) & Ford (1992).*

Potentially my favorite part about the structure of Ambrose’s book was that it offered me a chance to reflect not only on teaching, but also on my own learning and cognitive growth since I started my master’s degree. Graduate students are often in a unique position in which we are both students and teachers depending on the context of our surroundings. The ability to zoom out and realize how far I have come in not only teaching others, but also in teaching myself, has been humbling. My reflection on my own learning and growth has been driven by learning about how organizing knowledge affects learning, how mastery is developed and how students become self-directed learners.

One of the main differences between novices and experts in how they organize their knowledge is the depth of that knowledge and the connections made between different pieces of information. Research has shown that experts hold more connections between concepts, which allows for faster and easier retrieval of information that translates into ease in applying skills to different tasks (Bradshaw & Anderson, 1982; Reder & Anderson, 1980; Smith, Adams, & Schorr, 1978). Currently in my degree, I am experiencing this ease when it comes to coding my analysis and connecting my research to the broader implications for the field. By making these deeper connections across various contexts, I am building a more complex knowledge structure, thus progressing towards holding a more expert organization of knowledge.

In the stages of mastery concept proposed by Sprague and Stewart (2000), learners progress from unconscious incompetence where the student doesn’t know what they don’t know, to conscious incompetence where they have become aware of what they need to know (Figure 2). This was where I was when I started my master’s — I knew what objectives I wanted to achieve with my research, but I needed to learn the skills necessary for me to be able to collect the data and analyze it to answer my research questions. The next stage of mastery is conscious competence, in which the ability of the learner to function in their domain has greatly increased, but practicing the necessary skills still requires deliberate thinking and conscious actions (Figure 2). This is the level I feel I have progressed to — I am much more comfortable performing the necessary tasks related to my research and talking about how my work fills existing knowledge gaps in the field. However, it still helps to talk out my proposed plans with true masters in the field. The final stage of mastery, unconscious competence, is where the learner has reached a point where they can practice the skills of their field automatically and instinctively such that they are no longer aware of how they enact their knowledge (Figure 2).

**Figure 2. Stages of mastery showing how the learner consciousness waxes and then wanes as competence is developed.** Unconscious states refer to those where the learner is not aware of what they are doing or what they know, whereas conscious states have awareness of thoughts and actions. Competence refers to the ability of the learner to perform tasks specific to the field they are trying to master. *Diagram adapted from Ambrose et al. (2010) Figure 4.2 incorporating the works of Sprague & Stewart (2000).*

In line with my progression to higher levels of mastery has come the development of metacognitive skills that have helped me become a better self-directed learner. Metacognition is the process of learning how to learn, requiring the learner to monitor and control their learning through various processes (Figure 3). The most exciting part of my metacognitive growth I have noticed is the greater independence I have in my learning. I am much better at assessing what is needed to complete specific tasks and planning my particular approach to successfully achieve that goal (e.g., the construction of a Hidden Markov model from my last blog). By becoming more aware of my own strengths and weaknesses as a learner, I am better able to prepare and give myself the support needed for completing certain tasks (e.g., reaching out to experts to help with my model construction as I knew this was an area of weakness for me). By becoming more aware of how I am monitoring and controlling my learning, I know I am setting myself up for success as a lifelong learner.

**Figure 3. Metacognition requires learner to monitor and control their learning through various processes.** These processes involve the learner assessing the necessary skills needed for a task, evaluating their strengths and weaknesses with regards to the assigned task, and planning a way to approach the task. Once a plan has been made, the learner then must apply the strategies involved from the plan and monitor how those strategies are working to accomplish the assigned task. The learner must then be able to decide if the planned approach and applied strategies are effectively accomplishing the assigned task and adjust as needed with a re-assessment of the task that begins the processing cycle over again. Underlying each of these metacognitive processes are the learner’s belief in their own abilities and their perceptions of their intelligence. For example, students who believe their intelligence cannot be improved and do not have a strong sense of efficacy will be less likely to expend effort in metacognitive processes as they believe the extra effort will not influence the results. This contrasts with students who believe their intelligence will increase with skills development and have a strong belief in their abilities, as these learners will see the value in putting in the effort of trying multiple plans and adjusting strategies. *Diagram adapted from Ambrose et al. (2010) Figure 7.1 incorporating the cycle of adaptive learning proposed by Zimmerman (2001).*

References:

Ambrose, S. A., Bridges, M. W., DiPietro, M., Lovett, M. C., & Norman, M. K. (2010). How learning works: Seven research-based principles for smart teaching (1st ed.). San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass.

Bradshaw, G. L., & Anderson, J. R. (1982). Elaborative encoding as an explanation of levels of processing. Journal of Verbal Learning and Verbal behaviours, 21,165-174.

Ford, M. E. (1992). Motivating humans: Goals, emotions and personal agency beliefs. Newbury Park, CA: Sage Publications, Inc.

Hansen, D. (1989). Lesson evading and dissembling: Ego strategies in the classroom. American Journal of Education, 97, 184-208.

Reder, L. M., & Anderson, J. R. (1980). A partial resolution of the paradox of interference: The role of integrating knowledge. Cognitive Psychology, 12, 447-472.

Smith, E. E., Adams, N., & Schorr, D. (1978). Fact retrieval and the paradox of interference. Cognitive Psychology, 10, 438-464.

Sprague, J., & Stewart, D. (2000). The speaker’s handbook. Fort Worth, TX: Harcourt College Publishers.

Zimmerman, B. J. (2001). Theories of self-regulated learning and academic achievement: An overview and analysis. In B. J. Zimmerman & D. H. Schunk (Eds.), Self-regulated learning and academic achievement (2nd ed., pp. 1-38). Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum.

A glimpse into the world of marine biological research

By Abby Tomita, undergraduate student, OSU College of Earth, Ocean, and Atmospheric Sciences

From long days in Newport performing the patience-testing task of bomb calorimetry, to spending hours transfixed by the microscopic world that exists in our oceans, I recently got an amazing glimpse into the world of marine biological research working with PhD student Rachel Kaplan. She has been an amazing teacher to my fellow intern Hadley and I, showing us the basics of the research process and introducing us to so many wonderful people at NOAA and the GEMM Lab. I am in my third year studying oceanography here at OSU and had no real lab experience before this, so I was eager to explore this area of research, and not only learn new information about our oceans, but also to see the research process up close and personal.

After being trained by Jennifer Fisher, a NOAA Research Fisheries Biologist, I sorted through zooplankton samples collected on the R/V Bell M. Shimada from the Northern California Current region. This data will be used to get an idea of where krill are found throughout the year, and in what abundances. Though my focus was mainly on two species of krill, I also found an assortment of other organisms, such as larval fish, squid, copepods, crabs, and tons of jellies, which were super interesting to see.

A small group of larval squid and other unknown species (photo by Abby Tomita).

I also studied krill through a technique called bomb calorimetry, which is not for the faint of heart! It takes a tough soul to be able to put these complex little creatures into a mortar and pestle and grind them into a dust that hits your nose like pepper. They then take their final resting place into the bomb calorimetry machine (which can and will find something to fuss over) until it finally manages to ignite and dispose of the krill’s remains. The light that guided me through this dark tunnel was the knowledge that these sacrificial krill were taken in the name of science, with the aim of eventually decreasing whale entanglements.

Abby placing the pellet within the coil for the bomb.

That, and Rachel’s contagious positivity. In the early stages, we would spend the majority of our time troubleshooting after constant “misfires”, in which the machine fails to combust the sample properly. Bomb calorimetry involves many tedious steps, and working with such small quantities of tissue – a single krill could weigh 0.01 grams or even less – poses a plethora of its own challenges. One of my biggest takeaways from this experience was to have patience with this kind of work and know when to take a much-needed dance break. Things often do not work out according to plan, and getting to see first-hand how to adapt to confounding variables and hitches in the procedure was an invaluable lesson.

I also got to see how collaborative the research process is. We received helpful advice from other members of the GEMM Lab at lunch, as well as constant help from our esteemed Resident Bomb Cal Expert, Elizabeth Daly. It was comforting for me to see that even when you are doing independent research, you are not expected to only work alone, and there can be so much community in higher level research.

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A dominant language for scientific communication can streamline the process of science, but it also can create barriers and inequality

Dr. Alejandro A. Fernández Ajó, Postdoctoral Scholar, Marine Mammal Institute – OSU Department of Fisheries, Wildlife, & Conservation Sciences, Geospatial Ecology of Marine Megafauna (GEMM) Lab.

The English language is recognized as the international language of science (Gordin, 2015); I believe this is a useful convention that allows scientists to communicate ideas and gain access to global scientific literature regardless of their origin or native tongue. However, this avenue for sharing knowledge is open only for those proficient in English, and many scientists and users of scientific information, such as policy makers and conservationists, communicate on a daily basis in languages other than English. This inevitably creates barriers to the transfer of knowledge between communities, potentially impacting conservation and management because scientific knowledge is often unavailable in local languages.

Although in non-English speaking countries, local journals are receptive to publishing scientific research in languages other than English (i.e., their local language), oftentimes these local journals are perceived as low-quality and have a relatively low impact factor, making publishing in such journals less attractive to scientists. Therefore, readers with language barriers only have access to limited studies and are often unaware of the most significant research, even when the research is conducted in their region. This situation can result in a void of information relevant for environmental policies and conservation strategies. Ensuring that research findings are available in the local language of the region in which the research is conducted is an important step in science communication, but one that is often neglected.

In addition, scientists with English as a Foreign Language (EFL) confront the added challenge of navigating a second language while writing manuscripts, preparing and presenting oral presentations, and developing outreach communications (Ramirez-Castaneda, 2020). For example, EFL researchers have reported that one of the primary targets of criticism for their manuscripts under review is often the quality of their English rather than the science itself (Drubin and Kellogg, 2012). In academia, most job interviews and PhD applications are conducted in English; and grant and project proposals are often required to be written in English, which can be particularly challenging and can impact the allocation of resources for research and conservation in non-English speaking regions.

I am from Argentina, and I am a native Spanish speaker. I am fortunate to have started learning English at an early age and continue practicing with international collaborations and traveling abroad. Being able to communicate in English has opened many doors for me, but I recognize that I am in a privileged position with respect to many Argentinians and South Americans in general, where the majority of the population receives minimal training in English and bilingualism with English is very low. Thus, socioeconomic status can influence English proficiency, which then determines scientific success and access to knowledge. I believe that the scientific community should be aware of these issues and work towards improving equality in the process of research collaborations. Providing opportunities for students, and enhancing the availability of scientific knowledge for non-English speaking communities, particularly when the research is relevant for such communities.

In this picture I am with an international group of Fulbright scholars during the Spring International Language Program at the University of Arkansas. This is on of many activities organized by the Fulbright program to create bridges across cultures and languages.

Fortunately, there are several examples pointing towards improving equality in the scientific process, access to knowledge, and opportunities for EFL communities in STEM careers. Several journals are now accepting, or considering to accept the publication of papers in multiple languages. One example of this is the journal Integrative Organismal Biology, which provides the option for publishing the paper abstract in multiple languages. In our recent publication, “Male Bowhead Whale Reproductive Histories Inferred from Baleen Testosterone and Stable Isotopes,” we provided an abstract in five different languages, including Inuktitut, one of primary languages of indigenous groups in the area. And, international exchange programs like the Fulbright Foreign Student Program, of which I was a beneficiary between 2018-2020, enable graduate students and young professionals from abroad to study and conduct research in the United States.

In an effort to contribute to addressing these problems, I am working with a group of colleagues from Argentina (María Constanza (Kata) Marchesi and Tomas Marina) to develop graduate level coursework that will be offered at the Universidad Nacional de la Patagonia in Puerto Madryn, Argentina, with the objective to enable students to learn effective communication using English in the scientific environment. Unfortunately, these types of programs focused on EFL proficiency for STEM students are currently rare in Argentina, but my hope is that our work can spur the creation of additional programs for EFL students in STEM across the region.

I want to finish this post with the acknowledgement of the huge support I have form the GEMM Lab, which welcomes diversity, equity, and inclusivity, and promotes a culture of anti-racism, transparency, and acceptance (See the GEMM Lab DEI statement here).

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References and Additional Readings

Gordin, M. D. (2015). Scientific Babel : How Science Was Done Before and After Global English. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

Ramírez-Castañeda V (2020) Disadvantages in preparing and publishing scientific papers caused by the dominance of the English language in science: The case of Colombian researchers in biological sciences. PLoS ONE 15(9): e0238372. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0238372

Drubin, D. G., and Kellogg, D. R. (2012). English as the universal language of science: opportunities and challenges. Mol. Biol. Cell 23:1399. doi: 10.1091/mbc.E12-02-0108

Amano, T., González-Varo, J. P., & Sutherland, W. J. (2016). Languages are still a major barrier to global science. PLoS Biology, 14(12), e2000933. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pbio.2000933

Marden, E., Abbott, R. J., Austerlitz, F., Ortiz-Barrientos, D., Rieseberg, L. H. (2021). Sharing and reporting benefits from biodiversity research. Molecular Ecology, 30(5), 1103–1107. https://doi.org/10.1111/mec.15702

Márquez, M. C., & Porras, A. M. (2020). Science communication in multiple languages Is critical to Its effectiveness. Frontiers in Communication, 5(May). https://doi.org/10.3389/fcomm.2020.00031

Trisos, C. H., Auerbach, J., & Katti, M. (2021). Decoloniality and anti-oppressive practices for a more ethical ecology. Nature Ecology and Evolution, 5(9), 1205–1212. https://doi.org/10.1038/s41559-021-01460-w

Woolston, C, & Osório, J. (2019). When English is not your mother tongue. Nature 570, 265-267. https://doi.org/10.1038/d41586-019-01797-0

Letter to the Editor of Marine Mammal Science: Enhancing the impact and inclusivity of research by embracing multi-lingual science communication (2022) DOI: 10.13140/RG.2.2.29934.08001 http://dx.doi.org/10.13140/RG.2.2.29934.08001

Leal, J. S., Soares, B., Franco, A. C. S., de Sá Ferreira Lima, R. G., Baker, K., & Griffiths, M. (2022). Decolonizing ecological research: a debate between global North geographers and global South field ecologists. https://doi.org/10.31235/osf.io/wbzh2

Back to the Future: The return of scientific conferences

By Rachel Kaplan, PhD student, Oregon State University College of Earth, Ocean, and Atmospheric Sciences and Department of Fisheries, Wildlife, and Conservation Sciences, Geospatial Ecology of Marine Megafauna Lab

The pandemic has taught me that certain skills – including ones I never recognized as such – can atrophy. How do I construct an outfit that involves actual pants instead of gym shorts? How do I make a lunch that is portable and can be eaten outside my home?

These are things that I’ve had to relearn over the last year, as I increasingly leave my virtual work world and move back into the physical world. Recently, the new ways in which the world is opening up again have pushed me to brush off another skill – how do I talk to other people about my work?

The pandemic has necessarily made the world a bit more insular. A year and a half into my graduate career, I’ve mostly discussed my work within the cozy cocoon of my lab groups and cohort. In particular, I’ve lived the last few months in that realm of research that is so specific and internal that almost no one else fully understands or cares about what I’m doing: I’ve spent days tangled up in oodles of models, been woken up at night by dreams about coding, and sweated over the decimal points of statistical deviance-explained values.

This period of scientific navel gazing abruptly ended this February. In the space of ten days, I presented at my first in-person conference during graduate school, gave a short talk at my first international conference, and gave my longest talk yet to a public audience. After reveling in the minutiae of research for months, it was so valuable to be forced to take a step back, think about the overarching narrative of this work, and practice telling that story to different audiences.

A February talk for the Oregon chapter of the American Cetacean Society gave me the chance to tell the story of my research to a broad audience.

Presenting this work to an in-person audience for the first time was especially rewarding. With a physical (!) poster in hand, I headed out to Newport for the annual meeting of the Oregon Chapter of The Wildlife Society. The GEMM Lab really took this conference by storm – Leigh gave a plenary talk on the meeting’s theme of “Dynamic Oceans, Shifting Landscapes”, Lisa chaired a session and gave a talk about trophic relationships between kelp and whales, and Miranda presented a poster on the new Holistic Assessment of Living marine resources off the Oregon coast (HALO) project.

This great GEMM Lab presence gave me the opportunity to reference everyone else’s work as I shared my own, and to think about the body of work we do as a group and the coherence in research themes that different projects share. I almost lost my voice by talking for the entire duration of the poster session, and was energized by the opportunity to share this work with so many interested people.

The GEMM Lab and other OSU Marine Mammal Institute members presented alongside terrestrial researchers on the theme of “Dynamic Oceans, Shifting Landscapes”.

Just a few days later, the biennial Ocean Sciences Meeting began. Dawn presented on forecasting the distribution of blue whales in New Zealand’s South Taranaki Bight region, and several members of the Krill Seeker Lab, led by my co-advisor Dr. Kim Bernard, presented their own zooplankton ecology research.

Originally scheduled for Hawaii, this meeting was instead held virtually as a safety precaution against Covid-19. Nevertheless, the diversity of talks and time spent gathering online still gave me the sense of being part of an international ocean science community. People attended from every time zone, and watching early-morning talks while wearing pajamas with Solene, Dawn, and Quin the dog is officially one of my new favorite conference experiences.

In addition to the chance to discuss science with other students and researchers, it was great to have the opportunity to step back from our normal routines a bit. The Krill Seeker Lab did the conference-organized 5K walk together (in intermittent rain, of course) and our team even came within one point of winning the trivia contest. All the while, we were hopping in and out of poster sessions and talks, realizing that virtual conferences can be just as busy as in-person ones.

Taking a 5k-long break from watching talks! From left to right: Rachel Kaplan, Kim Bernard, Giulia Wood, and Kirsten Steinke.

Over the last two years, one of the things the pandemic has made me appreciate the most is the ability to gather. Dinner with friends, holidays with family – the ability to be together is far more tentative and precious than I realized during the “before times.” Now, as we start tiptoeing back into normal life a bit more, I’m appreciating the ability to gather for science and looking forward to more conferences in the future.

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Introducing IndividuWhale!

By Lisa Hildebrand, PhD student, OSU Department of Fisheries, Wildlife, & Conservation Sciences, Geospatial Ecology of Marine Megafauna Lab

If you are an avid reader of our blog, you probably know quite a bit about gray whales, specifically the Pacific Coast Feeding Group (PCFG) of gray whales. Of the just over 50 GEMM Lab blogs written in 2021, 43% of them were about PCFG gray whales (or at least mentioned gray whales in some way). I guess this statistic is not too surprising when you consider that six of the 10 GEMM Lab members conduct gray whale-related research. You might think that we would have reached our annual limit of online gray whale content with that many blogs featuring these gentle giants, but you would in fact be wrong…

At the end of 2021, we launched a brand new website all about gray whales called IndividuWhale! It features stories of some of the Oregon coast’s most iconic gray whales, as well as information about how we study them, stressors they experience in our waters, and even a game to test your gray whale identification skills. IndividuWhale is a true labor of love that took over a year to create and that we are extremely proud to share with you today. Before I tell you more about the website, I want to take a moment to give a huge shout out to Erik Urdahl who was instrumental in getting this website off the ground and making it as interactive and beautiful as it is – hurrah Erik!

*Equal*‘s right side with visible boat propeller scars. Source: GEMM Lab.

Like us humans, gray whales have individual personalities and stories. They experience life-altering events, go through periods of stress, must provide for their offspring, and can behave differently to one another. Since Leigh & co. have been conducting in-depth research about PCFG gray whales in Oregon waters since 2016, we have been able to document several fascinating stories and events that these individuals have experienced. Take Equal, for example, a male whale that is at least 7 years old. The GEMM Lab observed Equal on consecutive days in June 2018, where on the first day he looked healthy and normal, but on the second day had fresh boat propeller-like scars on his back. Not only did we document these scars in photographs, but we were also able to collect a fecal sample from Equal the day we observed him with these scars. After analyzing his fecal sample for stress hormones, we discovered that Equal had very high stress levels compared to previous samples collected – unsurprising seeing as he had been hit by a boat! While this event was certainly sad for Equal (although don’t worry – we have seen him many times again in the years after this event looking healthy & normal once again), it was a very fortuitous occurrence for us since we were able to “validate” our stress hormone data relative to the value from Equal when he was clearly stressed out. Find out more about Equal as well as seven other gray whales here!

You might be wondering, how we knew that the whale with the boat propeller scar was Equal and how we recognize him again years after the incident. Gray whales have unique pigmentation patterns on their bodies and flukes that allow us to re-identify individuals between years and distinguish them from one another. Additionally, scars, such as those that Equal now carries on his back, can also be useful in telling whales apart. Therefore, we take photographs of every whale we see to match markings and identify whales. This process is called photo ID. Some individuals can have very distinctive markings, such as Roller Skate who has two big white dots on her right side, while others can look more inconspicuous, like Clouds. Therefore, conducting photo ID requires a lot of attention to detail and perseverance. To learn more about the different features we use to identify individuals, check out the “Studying Whales With Photographs” page. Do you think you have what it takes to tell individuals apart? Then try your luck at our photo ID game after!

Test your photo ID skills in our whale match game!

Unfortunately, these whales do not live in a pristine environment, as is evidenced by Equal’s story. Their main objective during the summer when in Oregon waters is to gain weight (energy stores) by consuming large amounts of prey, which is made more difficult by a number of stressors, including potential fishery entanglements, ocean noise, vessel traffic, and habitat changes. We describe these four stressors on the IndividuWhale website since we are trying to assess the impacts of them on gray whales through our research, however they are certainly not the only stressors that these whales experience. Little is known about the level at which these stressors may have a negative impact on the whales, and how whales react when they experience some of these stressors in concert. The answers to these questions are difficult to tease apart but the GRANITE project is aiming to do so through a framework called Population Consequences of Multiple Stressors (read more about it here). This approach requires a lot of data on a lot of individuals in a population and as you can see from the IndividuWhale website, we are slowly starting to get there! 2022 will certainly bring many more gray whale-themed blogs to this website, and you can share in our journey of learning about the lives of PCFG gray whales by exploring the IndividuWhale website (https://www.individuwhale.com).

What is a scientist?

By Noah Dolinajec, MSc student, Vrije Universiteit Brussel, GEMM Lab summer intern

There is something special about the Oregon Coast. It’s like nowhere else in the world. When Lisa told me that gray whales are understudied on our coastline, I secretly and selfishly thought to myself, “I hope it stays that way”. Then I would have a chance to be a pioneer one day too, studying something along this rugged coast full of life, death and everything in between, that no one has answered before. Of course, I only feel this way half of the time.

Yet, the more time I spend in Port Orford, the more I realize that our coastline truly is one of those last frontiers. A place where fundamental questions have yet to be explored, where the passing of seasons brings with it a violent change in conditions. From sunny summer days on the Port Orford beaches taking in the soft glistening of sunlight illuminating Redfish Rocks Marine Reserve, to cold, dark and stormy months with no end in sight and nothing but the sound of wind curving around the bends of your home and rain puttering against the windows.

*Noah reading a book on the cliff site with a view of Mill Rocks in the background.* Source: N. Dolinajec.

But no matter the season, no matter the conditions, the Oregon Coast harnesses something truly special, truly extraordinary. A cyclical diversity of life.

Since I was a kid, the Oregon Coast has inspired me. Not always to think about wildlife, in fact, mostly in other ways. To contemplate more primal philosophical questions. At 28 years old, it’s been a longer road than expected to get to this point, working with these amazing people, in this amazing place, on this amazing project. And the more time that passes, the more failures, missteps and dysfunctional experiences I absorb, the more that I learn about what really needs to change. In the world of course, but, mostly in science.

In the past few years, as I eek closer to 30, and I begin to look back on some of the adventures I have taken in my life, I take heavy note of where I am now, sitting on a kayak in Mill Rocks sampling for gray whale prey abundance and distribution, or atop the cliff, gazing out into the open ocean waiting patiently and graciously (at least trying to be) for a small poof of water spray from the beating surface of the sea. That little poof? It may not seem like much but it’s a sign of life. Of an age-old journey, one we know very little about. And here I am, a part of it, albeit a small one, but nevertheless, forever a part of that great journey.

*A foggy view of Mill Rocks from the cliff (left) and a shot from the kayak (right).* Source: N. Dolinajec.

And without losing sight of my job, sampling for zooplankton or tracking the whales as they move across the open water, I’ve found myself thinking about the depth of being involved in such an ancient process, and considering a very important question. One that doesn’t spend nearly enough time in the day-to-day conversation of an academic…

What exactly is a scientist? And how does one become a scientist?

The academic path to the sciences is exclusionary, beyond any reasonable level. It discriminates on gender, race, experience and age. Making the sciences, which are meant as a tool to better the world and make useful contributions to society and the future, feel inaccessible for so many people full of potential but without the right boxes ticked on a form.

How many beautiful ideas have been left to decay because of the ego that science has built for itself?

*A sign that sits in the front window of the OSU Port Orford Field Station.* Source: N. Dolinajec.

Don’t get me wrong, I love science, it has given me joy that other things in life cannot. It has shown me both the complexity of the world and the simplicity of how we view it. And I believe that science can still be the future. But in order for science to command our future, to guide us in the right direction, it cannot be a hierarchy of antiquated procedures any longer. We must open our arms, our minds and our resources to take chances on students, far and wide, that may lack traditional training but instead have other skills or experiences to offer science. Science needs an overhaul. Science needs diversity.

After all, change of perspective can be a profound driver of scientific results, can it not?

Here in Port Orford, in this bizarre year of 2020, we have the beginning, the makings if-you-will, of that very diversity that I am speaking of. The four of us, ‘The Theyodelers’ as we righteously call ourselves, each come from such drastically different places in life only to meet under the same roof for 6 weeks and miraculously not only survive together, but thrive together.

‘The Theyodelers’ after the 2020 (virtual) Port Orford Community Presentation, from left to right: Dr. Leigh Torres, Lisa Hildebrand, Liz Kelly, Mattea Holt Colberg, Noah Dolinajec, Tom Calvanese, Tom McCambridge (front). Source: L. Hildebrand.

And that, that essence of positivity that we have been able to build around one another this season, is exactly what I mean when I say that science needs an overhaul.

We do not all find our way to this moment, doing science in such an inspiring place, in the same way. Some of us are born with the innate ability to see the world through objective eyes, the kind of mind that makes great science happen from an early age. And others find our way to science after being enlightened by trials and travails, failures and mistakes, missed opportunities and missteps.

No matter the journey, we all ended up here. Watching these great gray giants on their journeys.

And it all comes full circle doesn’t it?

Each of our journeys, human or whale, can lead to the very same point despite beginning at very different places. And in that diversity of experience, of life, of age, of color, is where we find our brightest moments, our grandest ideas and our future, driven by science.

New experiences, new emotions, new skills

By Elizabeth Kelly, Pacific High School senior, GEMM Lab summer intern

*Figure 1. Liz on the cliff.* Source: E. Kelly.

The gray whale foraging ecology project with OSU’s GEMM Lab has been nothing short of a dream come true. Going into this internship, I was just a high schooler who had taken zoology my previous school year. With my lack of a formal education in marine biology, let alone gray whales, I was a little daunted at the thought of going to a university field station with college students and actual biologists. When I applied for this internship, I didn’t think I was even going to be accepted for the internship, but I applied with high hopes and a lot of excitement. When I was officially accepted, I wanted to start immediately.

Despite my concerns of the steep learning curves I knew I would have to overcome, I was ready to jump right into the internship. The other interns live at the field station since they do not live locally, but I drive to the field station every morning because I live about 20 minutes away. However, this situation has never made me feel like an outsider. I spend a lot of my time at the field station and it would be hard to not get comfortable there immediately. I don’t feel sad that somebody is cooking some sort of delicious meal every night because even though I don’t live at the station, I sometimes stay for dinners. When I’m there for whatever reason, whether it be while working or eating and hanging out after a day of working or during breaks, I never feel out of my depth socially or even academically even though I am clearly younger and less experienced. The environment and team here, which is made up of scholarly individuals with lots of personality and character, is never judgemental or patronizing; rather it is inviting and the graduate student intern, Noah, and my team leader, Lisa, give off a feeling of mentorship. This has made my internship fun and given me far more of an interest and intent towards pursuing Wildlife Sciences after high school.

*Figure 2. A photo taken by Liz today on the cliff as a whale traveled from Tichenor Cove to Mill Rocks.* Source: GEMM Lab.

While there have been tedious parts of the internship with a steep learning curve, including asking many questions about whales, and learning to use different programs, tools and methods, it all pays off and comes in handy when the whole focus of the work comes through town – the famous gray whales. During this field season we have been having low whale sightings for the first 4 weeks (but our sightings are slowly picking up over the last couple days), so the waiting for the grand appearance of a whale can feel eternal. Though, when the red curtains reveal a blow out in the distance headed our way, the feeling of boredom when staring at the ocean is completely forgotten. Suddenly, everyone jumps to action – the theodolite’s position needs to be adjusted as we try to pinpoint where the whale will surface next after its dive.

*Figure 3. A zoomed-in photo from the kayak of a gray whale headstanding (a feeding behavior) in Tichenor Cove*. Source: E. Kelly.

Recently we have been collecting larger samples of zooplankton when sampling from our research kayak, and the whales have been coming in larger numbers too. Every time I see a whale while I am out on the kayak I am crippled with excitement and adrenaline. There is absolutely nothing like seeing these majestic mammals out and about in their day-to-day lives. I love when I get to see them forage, blow, shark, and even do headstands in the water. When we see them forage in a spot that is not one of our regular zooplankton sampling stations we do some adaptive sampling (sampling at spots where we see whales actively feeding), and so far the whales haven’t lied to me about where the zooplankton is. I’m very curious as to how the whales know where the higher concentrations of zooplankton are, even in low visibility (we have had plenty of that this year too). Nevertheless, they know and aren’t shy about getting what they want.

The only downfall of this internship is that it ends soon. I have thoroughly enjoyed my time with my team and at the field station. This in-the-field experience is one of a kind. Even though I didn’t think I was going to receive this internship, I really wanted it and now that I have had it and am finishing up with it, I am so grateful for the knowledge and experiences I have gained from it and look forward to the opportunities it will further grant me.

Questions that drive my research curiosity

By Mattea Holt Colberg, GEMM Lab summer intern, OSU junior

Science is about asking new questions in order to make new discoveries. Starting every investigation with a question, sparked by an observation, is enshrined in the scientific method and pursued by researchers everywhere. Asking questions goes beyond scientific research though; it is the best way to learn new things in any setting.

When I first arrived in Port Orford, I did not know much about gray whales. The extent of my knowledge was that they are large baleen whales that migrate every year and feed on plankton. I did, however, know quite a bit about killer whales. I have been interested in killer whales since I was 5 years old, so I have spent years reading about, watching, and listening to them (my current favorite book about them is Of Orcas and Men, by David Neiwert and I highly recommend it!). I have also had opportunities to research them in the Salish Sea, both on a sailing trip and through the dual-enrollment program Ocean Research College Academy, where I explored how killer whales respond to ambient underwater noise for a small independent project. Knowing more about killer whales than other species has caused killer whales to be the lens through which I approach learning and asking questions about other whales.

*Figure 1a. Killer whales traveling in a group in the Salish Sea. Source: ISTOCK.*

At first, I was not sure how to apply what I know about killer whales specifically to research on gray whales, since killer whales are toothed whales, while gray whales are baleen whales. There are several differences between toothed whales and baleen whales; toothed whales tend to be more social, occurring in pods or groups, eat larger prey like fish, squid, and seals, and they echolocate. In comparison, baleen whales are less social, eat mostly tiny zooplankton prey, and do not echolocate. Because of these differences, I wanted to learn more about gray whales, so I started asking Lisa questions. Killer whales only sleep with half of their brain at a time, so I asked if gray whales do the same. They do. Killer whales typically travel in stable, long-term matriarchal groups, and I recently learned that gray whales frequently travel alone (though not exclusively). This new knowledge to me led me to ask if gray whales vocalize while traveling. They typically do not. Through asking these questions, and others, I have begun to learn more about gray whales.

*Figure 2. Mattea on the tandem research kayak taking a break in between prey sampling. Source: L. Hildebrand.*

I am still learning about marine mammal research, and from what I have experienced so far, marine mammal acoustics intrigues me the most. As a child, I developed a general interest in whale vocalizations after hearing recordings of them in museums and aquariums. Then, two years ago, I heard orcas vocalizing in the wild, and I decided I wanted to learn more about their vocalizations as a long-term career goal.

To pursue a career studying marine mammal acoustics, I will need scientific and communication skills that this internship is helping me develop. Sitting on the cliff for hours at a time, sometimes with gray whales swimming in our view-scape and sometimes without, is teaching me the patience and attention needed to review hours of sound recordings with or without vocalizations. Identifying and counting zooplankton most days is teaching me the importance of processing data regularly, so it does not build up or get too confusing, as well as attention to detail and keeping focused. Collecting data from a kayak is teaching me how to assess ocean conditions, keep track of gear, and stay calm when things go wrong. I am also practicing the skill of taking and identifying whale photos, which can be applied to many whale research topics I hope to pursue. Through writing this blog post and discussing the project with Lisa and my fellow interns, I am improving my science communication skills.

*Figure 3. Mattea manning the theodolite watching and waiting for a gray whale to show up in our study area. Source: L. Hildebrand.*

As an undergraduate student, it can sometimes be difficult to find opportunities to research marine mammals, so I am very grateful for and excited about this internship, both because of the skills it is helping me build and the field work experiences that I enjoy participating in. Another aspect of research this internship is helping me learn about is to ask engaging questions. As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, asking questions is a key element of conducting research. By asking questions about gray whales based on both prior knowledge and new observations, I am practicing this skill, as well as thinking of topics I am curious about and might want to explore in the future. While watching for whales, I have thought of questions such as: How is whale behavior affected by surface conditions? Do gray whales prefer feeding at certain times of the day? Questions like these help me learn about whales, and they keep me excited about research. Thanks to this internship, I can continue working towards my dreams of pursuing similar questions about whales as a career.

The impact of science

By Lisa Hildebrand, MSc student, OSU Department of Fisheries & Wildlife, Marine Mammal Institute, Geospatial Ecology of Marine Megafauna Lab

What do I mean by impact? There are different ways to measure the impact of science and I bet that the readers of this blog had different ideas pop into their heads when they read the title. My guess is that most ideas were related to the impact factor (IF) of a journal, which acts as a measure of a journal’s impact within its discipline and allows journals to be compared. Recent GEMM Lab graduate and newly minted Dr. Leila Lemos wrote a blog about this topic and I suggest reading it for more detail. In a nutshell though, the higher the IF, the more prestigious and impactful the journal. It is unsurprising that scientists found a way to measure our impact on the broader scientific community quantitatively.

However, IFs are not the impact I was referring to in my title. The impact I am talking about is arguably much harder to measure because you can’t easily put a number on it. I am talking about the impact we have on communities and individuals through outreach and engagement. The GEMM Lab’s Port Orford gray whale ecology project, which I lead, is going into its 6^th consecutive year of summer field work this year. Outreach and engagement are two core components of the project that I have become very invested in since I started in 2018. And so, since we are only one week away from the field season commencing (yes, somehow it’s mid-July already…), for this week’s blog I have decided to reflect on what scientific outreach and engagement is, how we have tried to do both in Port Orford, and some of the associated highs and lows.

2018 team member Dylan presenting at the Port Orford community presentation. Source: T. Calvanese.

I think almost everyone in the scientific community would agree that outreach and engagement are important and that we should strive to interact frequently with the public to be transparent and build public trust, as well as to enable mutual learning. However, in my opinion, most scientists rarely put in the work needed to actually reach out to, and engage with, the community. Outreach and engagement have become buzzwords that are often thrown around, and with some hand-waving, can create the illusion that scientists are doing solid outreach and engagement work. For some, the words are probably even used interchangeably, which isn’t correct as they mean two different things.

Outreach and engagement should be thought of as occurring on two different ends of a spectrum. Outreach occurs in a one-way direction. Examples of outreach are public seminars delivered by a scientist (like Hatfield’s monthly Science on Tap) or fairs where the public is invited to come and talk to different scientific entities at their respective booths (like Hatfield’s annual Marine Science Day). Outreach is a way for scientists to disseminate their research to the public and often do not warrant the umbrella term engagement, as these “conversations” are not two-way. Engagement is collaborative and refers to intentional interactions where both sides (public and scientist) share and receive. It goes beyond a scientist telling the public about what they have been doing, but also requires the scientist to listen, absorb, and implement what the views from the ‘other side’ are.

2015 team tracking a whale on Graveyard Point above the port of Port Orford. Source: F. Sullivan.

Now that I have (hopefully) clarified the distinction between the two terms, I am going to shift the focus to specifically talk about the Port Orford project. Before I do, I would like to emphasize that I do not think our outreach and engagement is the be-all and end-all. There is definitely room for improvement and growth, but I do believe that we actively work hard to do both and to center these aspects within the project, rather than doing it as an afterthought to tick a box.

In talking about outreach and engagement, I have been using the words ‘public’ and ‘community’. I think these words conjure an image of a big group of people, an entire town, county, state or even nation. While this can be the case, it can also refer to smaller groups of people, even individuals. The outreach we conduct for the Port Orford project certainly occurs at the town-level. At the end of every field season, we give a community presentation where the field team and Leigh present new findings and give a recount of the field season. In the past, various teams have also given talks at the Humbug Mountain Campground and at Redfish Rocks Community Team events. These events, especially the community presentation, have been packed to the brim every year, which shows the community’s interest for the gray whales and our research. In fact, Tom Calvanese, the OSU Port Orford Field Station manager, has shared with me that now in early summer, Port Orford residents ask him when the ‘whale team’ is returning. I believe that our project has perhaps shifted the perception the local community has of scientists a little bit. Although in our first year or two of the project we may have been viewed as nosy outsiders, I feel that now we are almost honorary members within the community.

A packed room at the 2017 Port Orford community presentation. Photo: GEMM Lab.

Our outreach is not just isolated to one or two public talks per field season though. We have been close collaborators with South Coast Tours (SCT), an adventure tour company headed by Dave Lacey, since the start of the project. During the summer, SCT has almost daily kayak and fishing tours (this year, boat tours too!) out of Port Orford. The paddle routes of SCT and our kayak team will typically intersect in Tichenor’s Cove around mid-morning. When this happens, we form a little kayak fleet with the tour and research kayaks and our kayak team gives a short, informal talk about our research. We often pass around samples of zooplankton we just collected and answer questions that many of the paddlers have. These casual interactions are a highlight to the guests on SCT’s tours (Dave’s words, not mine) and they also provide an opportunity for the project’s interns to practice their science communication skills in a ‘low-stakes’ setting.

The nature of our engagement is more at the individual-level. Since the project’s conception in 2015, the team has been composed of some combination of 4-5 students, be it high school, undergraduate or graduate students. Aside from Florence Sullivan and myself as the GEMM Lab graduate student project leads, in total, we have had 16 students participate in the program, of which 4 were high school students (two from Port Orford’s Pacific High School and two from Astoria High School), 11 OSU and Lawrence University undergraduates, and 1 Duke University graduate student. This year we will be adding 3 more to the total tally (1 Pacific High School student, 1 OSU undergrad, and 1 graduate student from the Vrije Universiteit Brussel in Belgium). I am the first to admit that our yearly (and total) numbers of ‘impacted’ students is small. Limitations of funding and also general logistics of coordinating a large group of interns to participate in field work prevent us from having a larger cohort participate in the field season every summer. However, the impact on each of these students is huge.

The 2019 team with Dave Lacey who instructed our kayak paddle & safety course. Photo: L. Hildebrand.

If I had to pick one word to describe the 6-week Port Orford field season, it would be ‘intense’. The word is perfect because it can simultaneously describe something positive and negative, and the Port Orford field season definitely has elements of both. Both as a team and as individuals we experience incredible high points (an example being last year when we saw Port Orford’s favorite whale ‘Buttons’ breach multiple times on several different days), but we also have pretty low points (I’m thinking of a day in 2018 when two of my interns tried incredibly hard to get our GoPro stick dislodged from a rocky crevice for over 1-hour before radioing me to tell me they couldn’t retrieve it). These highs and lows occur on top of the team’s slowly depleting levels of energy as the field season goes on; with every day we get up at 5:30 am and we get a little more exhausted. The work requires a lot of brain power, a lot of muscle, and a lot of teamwork. Like I said, it’s intense and that’s coming from someone who had several years of marine mammal field work experience before running this project for the first time in 2018. The majority of the interns who have participated in our project have had no marine mammal field experience, some have had no field experience at all. It’s double, if not triple, intense for the interns!

I ask a lot of my interns. I am aware of that. It has been a steep learning curve for me since I took on the project in 2018. I’ve had to adjust my expectations and remember not to measure the performance of my interns against my own. I can always give 110% during the field season, even when I’m exhausted, because the stakes are high for me. After all, the data that is being collected feeds straight into my thesis. However, it took me a while to realize that the stakes, and therefore the motivation, aren’t the same for my interns as they are for me. And so, expecting them to perform at the same level I am, is unfair. I believe I have grown a lot since running that first field season. I have taken the feedback from interns to heart and tried to make adjustments accordingly. While those adjustments were hard because it ultimately meant making compromises that affected the amount of data collected, I recognize and respect the need to make those adjustments. I am incredibly grateful to all of the interns, including the ones that participated before my leadership of the project, who really gave it their all to collect the data that I now get to dig into and draw conclusions from.

2016 interns Kelli and Catherine paddling to a kayak sampling station. Photo: F. Sullivan.

But, as I said before, engagement is not one-sided, and I am not the only one who benefits from having interns participate in the project. The interns themselves learn a wealth of skills that are valuable for the future. Some of these skills are very STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering & Mathematics) specific (e.g. identifying zooplankton with a microscope, tracking whales with a theodolite), but a lot of them are transferrable to non-STEM futures (e.g. attention to detail and concentration required for identifying zooplankton, team work, effective communication). Our reach may be small with this project but the impact that participating in our internship has on each intern is a big one. Three of our four high school interns have gone on to start college. One plans to major in Marine Studies (in part a result of participating in this internship) while another decided to go to college to study Biology because of this internship. Several of the undergraduate students that participated in the 2015, 2016, 2017 & 2018 field seasons have gone on to start Master’s degrees at graduate schools around the country (3 of which have already graduated from their programs). A 2015 intern now teaches middle school in Washington and a 2016 intern is working with Oceans Initiative on their southern resident killer whale project this summer. Leigh, Florence and I have written many letters of recommendations for our interns, and these letters were not written out of duty, but out of conviction.

I love working closely with students and watching them grow. For the last two years, my proudest moment has always been watching my interns present our research at the annual community presentation we give at the end of the field season in Port Orford. No matter the amount of lows and struggles I experienced throughout the season, I watch my interns and my face almost hurts because of the huge smile on my face. The interns truly undergo a transformation where at the start of the season they are shy or feel inadequate and awkward when talking to the public about gray whales and the methods we employ to study them. But on that final day, there is so much confidence and eloquence with which the interns talk about their internship, that they are oftentimes even comfortable enough to crack jokes and share personal stories with the audience. As I said before, engagement of this nature is hard to measure and put a number on. Our statistic (engaging with 16 students) makes it sound like a small impact, but when you dig into what these engagements have meant for each student, the impact is enormous.

All of the past PO gray whale ecology teams, from left to right: 2015 (Sarah, Florence, Cricket, Justin), 2016 (Florence, Kelli, Catherine, Cathryn), 2017 (Nathan, Quince, Florence, Morgan), 2018 (Haley, Robyn, Hayleigh, Dylan, Lisa), and 2019 (Anthony, Donovan, Lisa, Mia). Bottom left: Florence and Leigh; bottom right: Lisa and Leigh.

I treasure my 6 weeks in Port Orford. Even though they are intense and there are new challenges every year, they bring me a lot of happiness. And it’s only in part because I get to see gray whales and kayak on an (almost) daily basis. A large part is because of the bonds I have formed and continue to cultivate with Port Orford locals, the leaps and bounds I know the interns will make, and the fact that the gray whales, completely unknowingly, bring together a small group of students and a community every year.

If you feel like taking a trip down memory lane, below are the links of the blogs written by previous PO interns:

2015: Cricket, Justin, Sarah

2016: Catherine, Kelli, Cathryn

2017: Morgan, Nathan, Quince

2018: Haley, Dylan, Hayleigh, Robyn

2019: Mia, Donovan, Anthony

Should scientists engage in advocacy?

By Dominique Kone, Masters Student in Marine Resource Management

Should scientists engage in advocacy? This question is one of the most debated topics in conservation and natural resource management. Some experts firmly oppose researchers advocating for policy decisions because such actions potentially threaten the credibility of their science. While others argue that with environmental issues becoming more complex, society would benefit from hearing scientists’ opinions and preferences on proposed actions. While both arguments are valid, we must recognize the answer to this question may never be a universal yes or no. As an early-career scientist, I’d like to share some of my observations and thoughts on this topic, and help continue this dialogue on the appropriateness of scientists exercising advocacy.

Policymakers are tasked with making decisions that determine how species and natural resources are managed, and subsequently affect and impact society. Scientists commonly play an integral role in these policy decisions, by providing policymakers with reliable and accurate information so they can make better-informed decisions. Examples include using stock assessments to set fishing limits, incorporating the regeneration capacity of forests into the timing of timber harvest, or considering the distribution of blue whales in permitting seafloor mining projects. Importantly, informing policy with science is very different from scientists advocating on policy issues. To understand these nuances, we must first define these terms.

A scientist considering engaging in policy advocacy. Source: Karen Brey.

According to Merriam-Webster, informing means “to communicate knowledge to” or “to give information to an authority”. In contrast, advocating means “to support or argue for (a cause, policy, etc.)” (Merriam-Webster 2019). People can inform others by providing information without necessarily advocating for a cause or policy. For many researchers, providing credible science to inform policy decisions is the gold standard. We, as a society, do not take issue with researchers supplying policymakers with reliable information. Rather, pushback arises when researchers step out of their role as informants and attempt to influence or sway policymakers to decide in a particular manner by speaking to values. This is advocacy.

Dr. Robert Lackey is a fisheries & political scientist, and one of the prominent voices on this issue. In his popular 2007 article, he explains that when scientists inform policy while also advocating, a conflict of interest is created (Lackey 2007). To an outsider, it can be difficult to distinguish values from scientific evidence when researchers engage in policy discussions. Are they engaging in these discussions to provide reliable information as an honest scientist, or are they advocating for decisions or policies based on their personal preferences? As a scientist, I like to believe most scientists – in natural resource management and conservation – do not engage in policy decisions for their own benefit, and they truly want to see our resources managed in a responsible and sustainable manner. Yet, I also recognize this belief doesn’t negate the fact that when researchers engage in policy discussions, they could advocate for their personal preferences – whether they do so consciously or subconsciously – which makes identifying these conflicts of interest particularly challenging.

Examples of actions scientists take in conducting and reporting research. Actions on the left represent actions of policy advocacy, those on the right do not, and the center is maybe. This graphic was adapted from a policy advocacy graphic from Scott et al. 2007. Source: Jamie Keyes.

It seems much of the unease with researchers exercising advocacy has to do with a lack in transparency about which role the researcher chooses to play during those policy debates. A simple remedy to this dilemma – as Lackey suggested in his paper – could be to encourage scientists to be completely transparent when they are about to inform versus advocate (Lackey 2007). Yet, for this suggestion to work, it would require complete trust in scientists to (1) verbalize and make known whether they’re informing or advocating, and (2) when they are informing, to provide credible and unbiased information. I’ve only witnessed a few scientists do this without ensuing some skepticism, which unfortunately highlights issues around an emerging mistrust of researchers to provide policy-neutral science. This mistrust threatens the important role scientists have played in policy decisions and the relationships between scientists and policymakers.

While much of this discussion has been focused on how researchers and their science are received by policymakers, researchers engaging in advocacy are also concerned with how they are perceived by their peers within the scientific community. When I ask more-senior researchers about their concerns with engaging in advocacy, losing scientific credibility is typically at or near the top of their lists. Many of them fear that once you start advocating for a position or policy decision (e.g. protected areas, carbon emission reduction, etc.), you become known for that one cause, which opens you up to questions and suspicions on your ability to provide unbiased and objective science. Once your credibility as a scientist comes into question, it could hinder your career.

How it sometimes feels when researchers conduct policy-relevant science. Source: Justin DeFreitas.

Conservation scientists are faced with a unique dilemma. They value both biodiversity conservation and scientific credibility. Yet, in some cases, risk or potential harm to a species or ecosystem may outweigh concerns over damage to their credibility, and therefore, may choose to engage in advocacy to protect that species or ecosystem (Horton 2015). Horton’s explanation raises an important point that researchers taking a hands-off approach to advocacy may not always be warranted, and that a researcher’s decision to engage in advocacy will heavily depend on the issue at hand and the repercussions if the researcher does not advocate their policy preferences. Climate change is a great example, where climate scientists are advocating for the use of their science, recognizing the alternative could mean continued inaction on carbon emission reduction and mitigation. [Note: this is called science advocacy, which is slightly different than advocating personal preferences, but this example helps demonstrate my point.]

To revisit the question – should scientists engage in advocacy? Honestly, I don’t have a clear answer, because there is no clear answer. This topic is one that has so many dimensions beyond the few I mentioned in this blog post. In my opinion, I don’t think researchers should have an always yes or always no stance on advocacy. Nor do I think every researcher needs to agree on this topic. A researcher’s decision to engage in advocacy will all depend on context. When faced with this decision, it might be useful to ask yourself the following questions: (1) How much do policymakers trust me? (2) How will my peers perceive me if I choose to engage? (3) Could I lose scientific credibility if I do engage? And (4) What’s at stake if I don’t make my preferences known? Hopefully, the answers to these sub-questions will help you decide whether you should advocate.

References:

Horton, C. C., Peterson, T. R., Banerjee, P., and M. J. Peterson. 2015. Credibility and advocacy in conservation science. Conservation Biology. 30(1): 23-32.

Lackey, R. T. 2007. Science, Scientists, and Policy Advocacy. Conservation Biology. 21(1): 12-17.

Scott et al. (2007). Policy advocacy in science: prevalence, perspectives, and implications for conservation biologists. Conservation Biology. 21(1): 29-35.

Merriam-Webster. 2019. Retrieved from < https://www.merriam-webster.com/ >

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