Tag: Science

So big, but so small: why the smallest of the largest whales are not smaller

Dr. KC Bierlich, Postdoctoral Scholar, OSU Department of Fisheries, Wildlife, & Conservation Sciences, Geospatial Ecology of Marine Megafauna (GEMM) Lab

Baleen whales are known for their gigantism and encompass a wide range in body sizes extending from blue whales that are the largest animals to live on earth (max length ~30 m) to minke whales (max length ~10 m) that are the smallest of baleen whales (Fig. 1). While all baleen whales are filter feeders, a group called the rorquals use a feeding strategy known as lunge feeding (or intermittent engulfment filtration), which involves engulfing large volumes of prey-laden water at high speeds and then filtering the water out of their mouth using their baleen as a “sieve”. There is positive allometry associated with this feeding technique and body size, meaning that as whales are larger, this feeding strategy becomes more efficient due to increased engulfment of water volume per each lunge feeding event. In other words, a bigger body size equates to a much larger mouthful of food. For example, a minke whale (body length ~7-10 m) will engulf water volume equivalent to ~42% of its body mass, while a blue whale (~21-24 m) engulfs ~135%. Thus, filter feeding enables gigantism through efficient exploitation of large, dense patches of prey. An interesting question then arises: what is the minimum body size at which filter feeding is still efficient? Or in other words, why are the smallest of the baleen whales, minke whales, not smaller? For this blog, I will highlight a study published today in Nature Ecology and Evolution titled “Minke whale feeding rate limitations suggest constraints on the minimum body size for engulfment filtration feeding” led by friend and collaborator of the GEMM Lab Dr. Dave Cade and included myself and other collaborators as co-authors from Stanford University, UC Santa Cruz, Cascadia Research Collective, Duke University, and University of Queensland.

Figure 1. Aerial imagery collected using drones of several baleen whales of various sizes. Each species shown is considered a rorqual whale, except for gray whales. Figure from Segre et al. (2022)

The largest animals of today are marine filter feeders, such as whale sharks, manta rays, and baleen whales, which all share parallel evolutionary histories in which their large body sizes and filter-feeding morphologies are derived from smaller-bodied ancestors that targeted single prey items. Changes in ocean productivity increased the concentrations of smaller prey in the oceans around 5 million years ago, enabling filter feeding as an efficient feeding strategy through capture of abundant aggregations of prey by filtering large volumes of water. It is interesting to note, that within these filter feeding lineages of animals, there are groups of animals that are single-prey foragers with smaller body sizes. For example, the whale shark is the only filter feeder amongst the carpet sharks and the manta ray is much larger than other rays that feed on single prey items. Amongst cetaceans, the smallest single-prey foragers, dolphins (~2-3 m) and porpoises (~1.4-1.9 m), are much smaller than the smallest of the filter feeding cetaceans, minke whales (~7-10 m). These common differences in body sizes and feeding strategies within lineages suggest that there may be minimum body size requirements for this filter feeding strategy to be efficient.

To investigate the limits on minimum body size for filter feeding, our study explored the foraging behavior of Antarctic minke whales, the smallest of the rorqual baleen whales, along the Western Antarctic Peninsula. Our team tagged a total of 23 individuals using non-invasive suction cup tags, like the ones we use for our tagging component in the GEMM Lab’s GRANITE project (see this blog for more details). One of my roles on the project was to obtain aerial imagery of the minke whales using drones to obtain body length measurements (sound familiar?) (Figs. 2-4). Flying drones in Antarctica over minke whales was an amazing experience. The minke whales were often found deep within the bays amongst ice floes and brash ice where they can be very tricky to spot, as they’ll often surface and then quickly disappear, hence their nickname “sneaky minkes”. They also appear “playful” and “athletic” as they are incredibly quick and maneuverable, doing barrel rolls and quick bank turns while they swim. Check out my past blog to read more on accounts of flying over these amazing whales.

Figure 2. Drone image of our team about to place a noninvasive suction cup biologging tag on an Antarctic minke whale. Photo credit: Duke University Marine Robotics and Remote Sensing Lab.
Figure 3. A drone image of a newly tagged and curious Antarctic minke whale approaching our research team. Photo credit: Duke University Marine Robotics and Remote Sensing Lab.
Figure 4. A drone image of a group of Antarctic minke whales swimming through the icy waters along the Antarctic Peninsula. Photo credit: Duke University Marine Robotics and Remote Sensing Lab.

In total, our team collected 437 hours of tag data consisting of day- and night-time foraging behaviors. While the proportion of time spent foraging and the number of lunges per dive (~3-4) was similar between day- and night-time foraging, daytime foraging was much deeper (~72 m) compared to nighttime foraging (~28 m) due to vertical migration of Antarctic krill, their main food source. Overall, nighttime foraging was much more intense than daytime foraging, with an average of 165 lunges per hour during the night compared to 53 lunges per hour during the day. These shallower nighttime dives enabled quicker surface sequences for replenishing oxygen reserves to then return to foraging, whereas the deeper dives during the day required longer surface recovery times before beginning another foraging dive. Thus, nighttime dives are a more efficient and critical component of minke whale foraging.

When it comes to body size, there was no relationship between dive depth and dive duration with body length, except for daytime deep dives, where longer minke whales dove for longer periods than smaller whales. These longer dive times also require longer surface times to replenish oxygen reserves. Longer minke whales can gulp larger amounts of food and thus need longer filtration times to process water from each engulfment. For example, a 9 m minke whale will take 50% longer to filter water through its baleen compared to a 5 m minke whale. In turn, smaller minke whales would need to feed more frequently than larger minke whales in order to maintain efficient foraging. This decreasing efficiency with smaller body size shines light on a broader trend for filter feeders that we refer to in our study as the minimum-size constraint (MSC) hypothesis: “while the maximum size of a filter-feeding body plan will be restricted by physical properties, the minimum size is restricted by the energetic efficiency of filter feeding and the time required to extract sufficient particles from the water” (Cade et al. 2023). When we examined the scaling of maximum feeding rates of minke whales, we found evidence of a minimum size constraint on efficiency at lengths around 5 m. Interestingly, the weaning length of minke whales is reported to be 4.5 – 5.5 m. Before weaning, newborn/yearling minke whales that are smaller than 4.5 ­– 5.5 m have a different foraging strategy where they are dependent on maternal milk. Thus, it is likely that the body size at weaning is influenced by the minimum size at which this specialized foraging technique of lunge feeding becomes efficient.

This study helps inform the evolutionary pathway for filter feeding whales and suggests that efficient filter feeding and gigantism likely co-evolved within the last 5 million years when ocean conditions changed to support larger prey patches suitable for lunge feeding. It is interesting to think about the MSC hypothesis for other baleen whale species that employ alternative filter feeding techniques, such as gray whales that generally use a form of filter feeding called suction feeding. Gray whales are estimated to have a birth length of ~4.6 m (Agbayani et al., 2020), and the body length of newly weaned calves that we have observed along the Oregon Coast from drone imagery seem to be ~8 – 9 m. Perhaps this is the minimum size of when suction feeding becomes efficient for a gray whale? This is something the GEMM Lab hopes to further explore as we continue to collect foraging data from suction cup tags and behavior and body size measurements from drone imagery.

References

Agbayani, S., Fortune, S. M., & Trites, A. W. (2020). Growth and development of North Pacific gray whales (Eschrichtius robustus). Journal of Mammalogy, 101(3), 742-754.

Cade, D.E., Kahane-Rapport, S.R., Gough, W.T., Bierlich, K.C., Linksy, J.M.J., Johnston, D.W., Goldbogen, J.A., Friedlaender, A.S. (2023). Ultra-high feeding rates of Antarctic minke whales imply a lower limit for body size in engulfment filtration feeders. Nature Ecology and Evolution. https://www.nature.com/articles/s41559-023-01993-2  

Paolo S. Segre, William T. Gough, Edward A. Roualdes, David E. Cade, Max F. Czapanskiy, James Fahlbusch, Shirel R. Kahane-Rapport, William K. Oestreich, Lars Bejder, K. C. Bierlich, Julia A. Burrows, John Calambokidis, Ellen M. Chenoweth, Jacopo di Clemente, John W. Durban, Holly Fearnbach, Frank E. Fish, Ari S. Friedlaender, Peter Hegelund, David W. Johnston, Douglas P. Nowacek, Machiel G. Oudejans, Gwenith S. Penry, Jean Potvin, Malene Simon, Andrew Stanworth, Janice M. Straley, Andrew Szabo, Simone K. A. Videsen, Fleur Visser, Caroline R. Weir, David N. Wiley, Jeremy A. Goldbogen; Scaling of maneuvering performance in baleen whales: larger whales outperform expectations. J Exp Biol 1 March 2022; 225 (5): jeb243224. doi: https://doi.org/10.1242/jeb.243224

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.

New GEMM Lab publication reveals how blue whale feeding and reproductive effort are related to environmental conditions

By Dr. Dawn Barlow, Postdoctoral Scholar, OSU Department of Fisheries, Wildlife, and Conservation Sciences, Geospatial Ecology of Marine Megafauna Lab

Learning by listening

Studying mobile marine animals that are only fleetingly visible from the water’s surface is challenging. However, many species including baleen whales rely on sound as a primary form of communication, producing different vocalizations related to their fundamental needs to feed and reproduce. Therefore, we can learn a lot about these elusive animals by monitoring the patterns of their calls. In the final chapter of my PhD, we set out to study blue whale ecology and life history by listening. I am excited to share our findings, recently published in Ecology and Evolution.

Blue whales produce two distinct types of vocalizations: song is produced by males and is hypothesized to play a role in breeding behavior, and D calls are a hypothesized social call produced by both sexes in association with feeding behavior. We analyzed how these different calls varied seasonally, and how they related to environmental conditions.

This paper is a collaborative study co-authored by Dr. Holger Klinck and Dimitri Ponirakis of the K. Lisa Yang Center for Conservation Bioacoustics, Dr. Trevor Branch of the University of Washington, and GEMM Lab PI Dr. Leigh Torres, and brings together multiple methods and data sources. Our findings shed light on blue whale habitat use patterns, and how climate change may impact both feeding and reproduction for this species of conservation concern.

The South Taranaki Bight: an ideal study system

Baleen whales typically migrate between high-latitude, productive feeding grounds and low-latitude breeding grounds. However, the New Zealand blue whale population is present in the South Taranaki Bight (STB) region year-round, which uniquely enabled us to monitor their behavior, ecology, and life history across seasons and years from a single location. We recorded blue whale vocalizations from Marine Autonomous Recording Units (MARUs) deployed at five locations in the STB for two full years (Fig. 1).

Figure 1. Study area map and blue whale call spectrograms. Left panel: map of the study area in the South Taranaki Bight region, with hydrophone (marine autonomous recording unit; MARU) locations denoted by the stars. Gray lines show bathymetry contours at 50 m depth increments, from 0 to 500 m. Location of the study area within New Zealand is indicated by the inset map. Right panels: example spectrograms of the two blue whale call types examined: the New Zealand song recorded on 31 May 2016 (top) and D calls recorded 20 September 2016 (bottom). Figure reproduced from Barlow et al. (2023).

We found that the two vocalization types had different seasonal occurrence patterns (Fig. 2). D calls were associated with upwelling conditions that indicate feeding opportunities, lending evidence for their function as a foraging-related call.

Figure 2. Average annual cycle in the song intensity index (dark blue) and D calls (green) per day of the year, computed across all hydrophone locations and the entire two-year recording period. Figure reproduced from Barlow et al. (2023).

In contrast, blue whale song showed a very clear seasonal peak in the fall and was less obviously correlated with environmental conditions. To investigate the hypothesized function of song as a breeding call, we turned to a perhaps unintuitive source of information: historical whaling records. Whenever a pregnant whale was killed during commercial whaling operations, the length of the fetus was measured. By looking at the seasonal pattern in these fetal lengths, we can presume that births occur around the time of year when fetal lengths are at their longest. The records indicated April-May. By back-calculating the 11-month gestation time for a blue whale, we can presume that mating occurs generally in May-June, which is the exact time of the peak in song intensity from our recordings (Fig. 3).

Figure 3. Annual song intensity and the breeding cycle. Top panel: average yearly cycle in song intensity index, computed across the five hydrophone locations and the entire recording period; dark blue line represents a loess smoothed fit. Bottom panel: fetal length measurements from whaling catch records for Antarctic blue whales (gray, measurements rounded to the nearest foot), pygmy blue whales in the southern hemisphere (blue, measurements rounded to the nearest centimeter). Measurements from blue whales caught within the established range of the New Zealand population are denoted by the dark red triangles. Calving presumably takes place around or shortly after fetal lengths are at their maximum (April–May), which implies that mating likely occurs around May–June, coincident with the peak song intensity. Figure reproduced from Barlow et al. (2023).

With this evidence for D calls as feeding-related calls and song as breeding-related calls, we had a host of new questions, we used this gained knowledge to explore how changing environmental conditions might impact multiple life history processes for New Zealand blue whales

Marine heatwaves impact multiple life history processes

Our study period between January 2016 and February 2018 spanned both typical upwelling conditions and dramatic marine heatwaves in the STB region. While we previously documented that the marine heatwave of 2016 affected blue whale distribution, the population-level impacts on feeding and reproductive effort remained unknown. In our recent study, we found that during marine heatwaves, D calls were dramatically reduced compared to during productive upwelling conditions. During the fall breeding peak, song intensity was likewise dramatically reduced following the marine heatwave. This relationship indicates that following poor feeding conditions, blue whales may invest less effort in reproduction. As marine heatwaves are projected to become more frequent and more intense under global climate change, our findings are perhaps a warning for what is to come as animal populations must contend with changing ocean conditions.

More than a decade of research on New Zealand blue whales

Ten years ago, Leigh first put forward a hypothesis that the STB region was an undocumented blue whale foraging ground based on multiple lines of evidence (Torres 2013). Despite pushback and numerous challenges, Leigh set out to prove her hypothesis through a comprehensive, multi-year data collection effort. I was lucky enough to join the team in 2016, first as a Masters’ student, and then as a PhD student. In the time since Leigh’s hypothesis, we not only documented the New Zealand blue whale population (Barlow et al. 2018), we learned a great deal about what drives blue whale feeding behavior (Torres et al. 2020) and habitat use patterns (Barlow et al. 2020, 2021), and developed forecast models to predict blue whale distribution for dynamic management of the STB (Barlow & Torres 2021). We also documented their unique, year-round presence in the STB, distinct from the migratory or vagrant presence of other blue whale populations (Barlow et al. 2022b). We now understand how marine heatwaves impact both feeding opportunities and reproductive effort (Barlow et al. 2023). We even analyzed blue whale skin condition (Barlow et al. 2019) and acoustic response to earthquakes (Barlow et al. 2022a) along the way. A decade later, it is humbling to reflect on how much we have learned about these whales. This paper is also the final chapter of my PhD, and as I reflect on how I have grown both personally and scientifically since I interviewed with Leigh as a wide-eyed undergraduate student in fall 2015, I am filled with gratitude for the opportunities for learning and growth that Leigh, these whales, and many mentors and collaborators have offered over the years. As is often the case in science, the more questions you ask, the more questions you end up with. We are already dreaming up future studies to further understand the ecology, health, and resilience of this blue whale population. I can only imagine what we might learn in another decade.

Figure 5. A blue whale mother and calf pair come up for air in the South Taranaki Bight. Photo by Dawn Barlow.

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References:

Barlow DR, Bernard KS, Escobar-Flores P, Palacios DM, Torres LG (2020) Links in the trophic chain: Modeling functional relationships between in situ oceanography, krill, and blue whale distribution under different oceanographic regimes. Mar Ecol Prog Ser 642:207–225.

Barlow DR, Estrada Jorge M, Klinck H, Torres LG (2022a) Shaken, not stirred: blue whales show no acoustic response to earthquake events. R Soc Open Sci 9:220242.

Barlow DR, Klinck H, Ponirakis D, Branch TA, Torres LG (2023) Environmental conditions and marine heatwaves influence blue whale foraging and reproductive effort. Ecol Evol 13:e9770.

Barlow DR, Klinck H, Ponirakis D, Garvey C, Torres LG (2021) Temporal and spatial lags between wind, coastal upwelling, and blue whale occurrence. Sci Rep 11:1–10.

Barlow DR, Klinck H, Ponirakis D, Holt Colberg M, Torres LG (2022b) Temporal occurrence of three blue whale populations in New Zealand waters from passive acoustic monitoring. J Mammal.

Barlow DR, Pepper AL, Torres LG (2019) Skin deep: An assessment of New Zealand blue whale skin condition. Front Mar Sci 6:757.

Barlow DR, Torres LG (2021) Planning ahead: Dynamic models forecast blue whale distribution with applications for spatial management. J Appl Ecol 58:2493–2504.

Barlow DR, Torres LG, Hodge KB, Steel D, Baker CS, Chandler TE, Bott N, Constantine R, Double MC, Gill P, Glasgow D, Hamner RM, Lilley C, Ogle M, Olson PA, Peters C, Stockin KA, Tessaglia-hymes CT, Klinck H (2018) Documentation of a New Zealand blue whale population based on multiple lines of evidence. Endanger Species Res 36:27–40.

Torres LG (2013) Evidence for an unrecognised blue whale foraging ground in New Zealand. New Zeal J Mar Freshw Res 47:235–248.

Torres LG, Barlow DR, Chandler TE, Burnett JD (2020) Insight into the kinematics of blue whale surface foraging through drone observations and prey data. PeerJ 8:e8906.

Announcing our new project: SLATE – Scar-based Long-term Assessment of Trends in whale Entanglements

By Solène Derville, Postdoc, OSU Department of Fisheries, Wildlife, and Conservation Science, Geospatial Ecology of Marine Megafauna Lab

Filling the gaps

Reports of whale entanglements have been on the rise over the last decade on the US West Coast, with Dungeness crab fishing gear implicated in many cases (Feist et al., 2021; Samhouri et al., 2021; Santora et al., 2020). State agencies are responsible for managing this environmental issue that has implications both for the endangered whale sub-populations that are subject to entanglements, and for the fishing activities, which play an important social, cultural, and economic role for coastal communities. In Oregon, the Oregon Whale Entanglement Working Group (today the Oregon Entanglement Advisory Committee, facilitated by ODFW – Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife) formed in 2017, tasked with developing options to reduce entanglement risk. The group members composed of managers, researchers and fishermen identified that a lack of information and understanding of whale distribution in Oregon waters was a significant knowledge gap of high priority.

In response, the GEMM Lab and its collaborators at ODFW developed the OPAL project (Overlap Predictions About Large whales, phase 1: 2018-2022). The first phase of the project (phase 1) was developed to 1) model and predict large whale distribution off the coast of Oregon in relation to dynamic environmental conditions, and 2) assess overlap with commercial crab fishing gear to inform conservation efforts. Although this first phase was extended up to June as a result of COVID, it is now coming to an end. As a postdoc in the GEMM Lab, I have been the main analyst working on this project. The habitat use models that I generated from several years of aerial and boat-based surveys provide improved knowledge about where and when rorqual whales (combining blue, humpback and fin) are most abundant (Derville et al., 2022). Moreover, we are about to publish an analysis of overlap between whale predicted densities and commercial Dungeness crab fishing effort. This analysis of co-occurrence over 10 years shows distinct spatio-temporal patterns in relation to climatic fluctuations affecting the northern California Current System (Derville et al., In review).

Although we are quite satisfied with the outputs of these four years of research, this is not the end of it! Project OPAL continues into a second phase (2022-2025; supported by NOAA Section 6 funding), during which models will be improved and refined via incorporation of new survey data (helicopter and boat-based) as well as prey data (krill and fish distribution). PhD student Rachel Kaplan is a key contributor to this research, and I will do my best to keep assisting her in this journey in the years to come.

Announcing SLATE!

As this newly acquired knowledge leads to potentially new management measures in Oregon, it becomes essential for managers to evaluate their impacts on the entanglement issue. But how do we know exactly how many entanglements occur during any year within Oregon waters? Is recording reports of entanglements or signs of entanglements in stranded whales enough? The simple answer is no. Entanglements are notoriously under-detected and under-reported (Tackaberry et al., 2022). Over the US West Coast, entanglements are also relatively rare events that can easily go unnoticed in the immensity of the ocean. Moreover, entangled large whales are often able to carry the fishing gear for some time away from the initial gearset location, which makes it hard to locate the origin of the gear causing problems (van der Hoop et al., 2017).

Figure 1: Graphical representation of the SLATE project representing the different tasks described below. Work in progress…

Our approach to the challenge of assessing humpback whale entanglement rates in Oregon waters is to use scar analysis. Our new “SLATE” (Scar-based Long-term Assessment of Trends in whale Entanglements, Figure 1) project will be using scar-based methods as a proxy to detect unobserved entanglement events (e.g., Basran et al., 2019; Bradford et al., 2009; George et al., 2017; Knowlton et al., 2012; Robbins, 2012). Indeed, this approach has been effective to detect potential interactions with fishing gear at a much higher frequency than entanglement reports in the Atlantic Ocean (e.g., only 10% of entanglements of humpback whales in the Gulf of Maine were estimated to be reported; Robbins, 2012). We will be examining hundreds of photographs of humpback whales observed in Oregon waters to try to detect wrapping scars and notches that result from entanglement events. Based on this scar pattern, we will assign each whale a qualitative probability of prior entanglement (i.e., uncertain, low, high). We will specifically be looking at the caudal peduncle (the attachment point of the whale’s fluke, see Figure 2) following a methodology developed in the Gulf of Maine by Robbins & Mattila, (2001).

Figure 2: Examples of unhealed injuries interpreted as entanglement related in 2010 in the Gulf of Maine. Figure reproduced from (Robbins, 2012).

Data please?

While this approach is to-date the most applicable way to assess otherwise undetected entanglements, it is sometimes limited by sample size. Although we plan to collect more photos in the field in summer 2023 and 2024, this long-term analysis of scarring patterns would not be possible without the contribution of the Cascadia Research Collective (CRC) led by John Calambokidis. The CRC humpback whale catalogue will be crucial to assessing entanglement rates at the individual level over the last decade.

Moreover, as we have been contemplating the task ahead of us, we realized that the data collected through traditional scientific surveys might not be sufficient to achieve our goal. We need the help of the people who live off the ocean and encounter whales on a day-to-day basis: fishermen. That is why we decided to solicit interested fishermen to take photographs of whales while at sea. Starting this year, we will work with at least three self-selected fishermen who are interested in supporting this program and collecting data to support the research efforts. Participants will be provided a stipend, equipped with a high-quality camera, and trained to photograph whales while following National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) Marine Mammal Protection Act (MMPA) guidelines.

And here come the statistics…

If we have some of my previous blogs (e.g., May 2022, June 2018), you know that I usually participate in projects that have a significant statistical modeling component. As part of the SLATE project, I will be trying out some new approaches that I never had the opportunity to work with before, which makes me feels both super excited and slightly apprehensive!

First, I will analyze humpback whale scarring at the population level. That means I will be using all available photos of whales in Oregon waters without considering individual identification, and I will model the probability of entanglement scars in relation to space and time. This model will help us answer questions such as: did whales have a higher chance of becoming entangled in certain years over others? Did whales observed in a certain zone in Oregon waters have a higher risk of getting entangled?

Second, I will analyze humpback whale scarring at the individual level. This time, we will only use encounters of a selected number of individuals that have a long recapture history, meaning that they were photo-identified and resighted several times throughout the last decade. Using a genetic database produced by the Cetacean Conservation and Genomic Laboratory (CCGL, Marine Mammal Institute), we will also be able to tell to which “Distinct Population Segment” (DPS) some of these individual whales belong. Down the line, this is an important piece of information because humpback whale DPS do not breed in the same areas, and these groups have different levels of population health. Then, we will use what is known as a “multi-event mark-recapture model” to estimate the probability of entanglement as a function of time and spatial residency or DPS assignment, while accounting for detection probability and survival.

Through these analyses, our goal is to produce a single indicator to help managers assess the effects of mandatory or voluntary changes in Oregon fishing practices. In the end, we hope that these models will provide a measurable and robust way of monitoring whale entanglements in fishing gear off the coast of Oregon.

References

Basran, C. J., Bertulli, C. G., Cecchetti, A., Rasmussen, M. H., Whittaker, M., & Robbins, J. (2019). First estimates of entanglement rate of humpback whales Megaptera novaeangliae observed in coastal Icelandic waters. Endangered Species Research, 38(February), 67–77. https://doi.org/10.3354/ESR00936

Bradford, A. L., Weller, D. W., Ivashchenko, Y. v., Burdin, A. M., & Brownell, R. L. (2009). Anthropogenic scarring of western gray whales (Eschrichtius robustus). Marine Mammal Science, 25(1), 161–175. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1748-7692.2008.00253.x

Derville, S., Barlow, D. R., Hayslip, C. E., & Torres, L. G. (2022). Seasonal, Annual, and Decadal Distribution of Three Rorqual Whale Species Relative to Dynamic Ocean Conditions Off Oregon, USA. Frontiers in Marine Science, 9, 1–19. https://doi.org/10.3389/fmars.2022.868566

Derville, S., Buell, T., Corbett, K., Hayslip, C., & Torres, L. G. (n.d.). Exposure of whales to entanglement risk in Dungeness crab fish-ing gear in Oregon, USA, reveals distinctive spatio-temporal and climatic patterns. Biological Conservation.

Feist, B. E., Samhouri, J. F., Forney, K. A., & Saez, L. E. (2021). Footprints of fixed-gear fisheries in relation to rising whale entanglements on the U.S. West Coast. Fisheries Management and Ecology, 28(3), 283–294. https://doi.org/10.1111/fme.12478

George, J. C., Sheffield, G., Reed, D. J., Tudor, B., Stimmelmayr, R., Person, B. T., Sformo, T., & Suydam, R. (2017). Frequency of injuries from line entanglements, killer whales, and ship strikes on bering-chukchi-beaufort seas bowhead whales. Arctic, 70(1), 37–46. https://doi.org/10.14430/arctic4631

Knowlton, A. R., Hamilton, P. K., Marx, M. K., Pettis, H. M., & Kraus, S. D. (2012). Monitoring North Atlantic right whale Eubalaena glacialis entanglement rates: A 30 yr retrospective. Marine Ecology Progress Series, 466(Kraus 1990), 293–302. https://doi.org/10.3354/meps09923

Robbins, J. (2012). Scar-Based Inference Into Gulf of Maine Humpback Whale Entanglement : 2010 (Issue January). Report to the Northeast Fisheries Science Center National Marine Fisheries Service, EA133F09CN0253 Item 0003AB, Task 3.

Robbins, J., & Mattila, D. K. (2001). Monitoring entanglements of humpback whales ( Megaptera novaeangliae ) in the Gulf of Maine on the basis of caudal peduncle scarring. SC/53/NAH25. Report to the Scientific Committee of the International Whaling Commission, 14, 1–12. http://www.ccbaymonitor.org/pdf/scarring.pdf

Samhouri, J. F., Feist, B. E., Fisher, M. C., Liu, O., Woodman, S. M., Abrahms, B., Forney, K. A., Hazen, E. L., Lawson, D., Redfern, J., & Saez, L. E. (2021). Marine heatwave challenges solutions to human-wildlife conflict. Proceedings of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences, 288, 20211607. https://doi.org/10.1098/rspb.2021.1607

Santora, J. A., Mantua, N. J., Schroeder, I. D., Field, J. C., Hazen, E. L., Bograd, S. J., Sydeman, W. J., Wells, B. K., Calambokidis, J., Saez, L., Lawson, D., & Forney, K. A. (2020). Habitat compression and ecosystem shifts as potential links between marine heatwave and record whale entanglements. Nature Communications, 11, 536. https://doi.org/10.1038/s41467-019-14215-w

Tackaberry, J., Dobson, E., Flynn, K., Cheeseman, T., Calambokidis, J., & Wade, P. R. (2022). Low Resighting Rate of Entangled Humpback Whales Within the California , Oregon , and Washington Region Based on Photo-Identification and Long-Term Life History Data. Frontiers in Marine Science, 8(January), 1–13. https://doi.org/10.3389/fmars.2021.779448

van der Hoop, J., Corkeron, P., & Moore, M. (2017). Entanglement is a costly life-history stage in large whales. Ecology and Evolution, 7(1), 92–106. https://doi.org/10.1002/ece3.2615

A Matter of Time: Adaptively Managing the Timescales of Ocean Change and Human Response

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

Ocean ecosystems are complex and dynamic, shaped by the interconnected physical and biogeochemical processes that operate across a variety of timescales. A trip on the “ocean conveyer belt”, which transports water from the North Atlantic across the global ocean and back in a process called thermohaline circulation, takes about a thousand years to complete. Phytoplankton blooms, which cycle nutrients through the surface ocean and feed marine animals, often occur at the crucial, food-poor moment of spring, and last for weeks or months. The entanglement of a whale in fishing gear, a major anthropogenic threat to ocean life that drives the GEMM Lab’s Project OPAL, can happen in seconds.

Compounding this complexity, even the timescales that research has clarified are changing. Many processes in the ocean are shifting – and often accelerating – due to global climate change. Images of melting sea ice, calving glaciers, and coastal erosion all exemplify our natural world’s rapid reorganization, and even discrete events can have dramatic repercussions and leave their mark for years. For example, a marine heatwave that occurred in 2014-2015 raised temperatures up to 2.5° C warmer than usual, redistributed species northward along the United States’ West Coast, spurred harmful algal blooms, and shut down fisheries. The toxic blooms also caused marine mammal strandings, domoic acid poisoning in California sea lions, and seabird mass death events (McCabe et al., 2016).

Figure 1. Figures like this Stommel diagram reveal the broad temporal and spatial scales over which ocean phenomena occur. Source: Sloyan et al., 2019

As humans seek to manage ocean ecosystems and mitigate the effects of climate change, our political processes have their own time scales, interconnected cycles, and stochasticity, just like the ocean. At the federal level in the United States, the legislative process takes place over months to decades, sometimes punctuated by relatively quicker actions enacted through Executive Orders. In addition, just as plankton have their turnover times, so do governmental branches. Both the legislative branch and the executive branch change frequently, with new members of Congress coming in every two years, and the president and administration changing every four or eight years. Turnover in both of these branches may constitute a total regime shift, with new members seeking to redirect science policy efforts.

The friction between oceanic and political timescales has historically made crafting effective ocean conservation policy difficult. In recent years, the policy approach of “adaptive management” has sought to respond to the challenges at the tricky intersection of politics, climate change, and ocean ecosystems. The U.S. Department of the Interior’s Technical Guide to Adaptive Management highlights its capacity to deal with the uncertainty inherent to changing ecosystems, and its ability to accommodate progress made through research: “Adaptive management [is a decision process that] promotes flexible decision making that can be adjusted in the face of uncertainties as outcomes from management actions and other events become better understood. Careful monitoring of these outcomes both advances scientific understanding and helps adjust policies or operations as part of an iterative learning process” (Williams et al, 2009).

Over the last several years, adaptive management policy approaches have been key as resource managers along the West Coast have responded to the problem of whale entanglement in fishing gear. When the 2014-2015 marine heatwave event caused anomalously low krill abundance in the central California Current region, humpback whales used a tactic called “prey-switching”, and fed on inshore anchovy schools rather than offshore krill patches. The resulting habitat compression fueled an increase in humpback whale entanglement events in Dungeness crab fishing gear (Santora et al, 2020). 

This sudden uptick in whale entanglements necessitated strategic management responses along the West Coast. In 2017, the California Dungeness Crab Fishing Gear Working Group developed the Risk Assessment and Mitigation Program (RAMP) to analyze real-time whale distribution and ocean condition data during the fishing season, and provide contemporaneous assessments of entanglement risk to the state’s Department of Fish and Wildlife. The Oregon Whale Entanglement Working Group (OWEWG) formed in 2017, tasked with developing options to reduce risk. Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife (ODFW) has guided whale entanglement reduction efforts by identifying four areas of ongoing work: accountability, risk reduction, best management practices, and research – with regular, scheduled reviews of the regulations and opportunities to update and adjust them.

Figure 2. Entanglement in fishing gear can occur in seconds and may negatively impact whales for years. Source Scott Benson/NOAA

The need for research to support the best possible policy is where the GEMM Lab comes in. ODFW has established partnerships with Oregon State University and Oregon Sea Grant in order to improve understanding of whale distributions along the coast that can inform management efforts. Being involved in this cooperative “iterative learning process” is exactly why I’m so glad to be part of Project OPAL. Initial results from this work have already shaped ODFW’s regulations, and the framework of adaptive management and assessment means that regulations can continue being updated as we learn more through our research.

Ecosystem management will always be complex, just like ecosystems themselves. Today, the pace at which the climate is changing causes many people concern and even despair (Bryndum-Buchholz, 2022). Building adaptive approaches into marine policymaking, like the ones in use off the West Coast, introduces a new timescale into the U.S. policy cycle – one more in line with the rapid changes that are occurring within our dynamic ocean.

References

Williams, B. L., Szaro, R. C., and Shapiro, C. D. 2009. Adaptive management: the U.S. Department of the Interior Technical Guide. Adaptive Management Working Group, v pp.

Bryndum-Buchholz, A. (2022). Keeping up hope as an early career climate-impact scientist. ICES Journal of Marine Science, 79(9), 2345–2350. https://doi.org/10.1093/icesjms/fsac180

McCabe, R. M., Hickey, B. M., Kudela, R. M., Lefebvre, K. A., Adams, N. G., Bill, B. D., Gulland, F. M., Thomson, R. E., Cochlan, W. P., & Trainer, V. L. (2016). An unprecedented coastwide toxic algal bloom linked to anomalous ocean conditions. Geophys Res Lett, 43(19), 10366–10376. https://doi.org/10.1002/2016GL070023

Santora, J. A., Sydeman, W. J., Schroeder, I. D., Wells, B. K., & Field, J. C. (2011). Mesoscale structure and oceanographic determinants of krill hotspots in the California Current: Implications for trophic transfer and conservation. Progress in Oceanography, 91(4), 397–409. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.pocean.2011.04.002

Sloyan, B. M., Wilkin, J., Hill, K. L., Chidichimo, M. P., Cronin, M. F., Johannessen, J. A., Karstensen, J., Krug, M., Lee, T., Oka, E., Palmer, M. D., Rabe, B., Speich, S., von Schuckmann, K., Weller, R. A., & Yu, W. (2019). Evolving the Physical Global Ocean Observing System for Research and Application Services Through International Coordination. Frontiers in Marine Science, 6, 449. https://doi.org/10.3389/fmars.2019.00449

Clicks, buzzes, and rasps: How the MMPA has spurred what we know about beaked whale acoustic repertoire

By Marissa Garcia, PhD Student, Cornell University, Department of Natural Resources and the Environment, K. Lisa Yang Center for Conservation Bioacoustics

In October 1972, the tides turned for U.S. environmental politics: the Marine Mammal Protection Act (MMPA) was passed. Its creation ushered in a new flavor of conservation and management. With phrases like “optimum sustainable population” baked into its statutory language, it marked among the first times that ecosystem-based management — an approach which directly calls upon knowledge of ecology to inform action — was required by law (Ray and Potter 2022). Transitioning from reductionist, species-siloed policies, the MMPA instead placed the interdependency of species at the core of ecosystem function and management. 

Beyond deepening the role of science on Capitol Hill, the MMPA’s greatest influence may have been spurred by the language that prohibited “the taking and importation of marine mammals” (16 U.S.C. 1361). Because the word “taking” is multivalent, it carries on its back many interpretations. “Taking” a marine mammal is not limited to intentionally hunting or killing them, or even accidental bycatch. “Taking” also includes carelessly operating a boat when a marine mammal is present, feeding a marine mammal in the wild, or tagging a marine mammal without the appropriate scientific permit. “Taking” a marine mammal can also extend to the fatal consequences caused by noise pollution — not intent, but incident (16 U.S.C. 1362).

The latter circumstances remain reverberant for the U.S. Navy. To comply with the MMPA, they are granted “incidental, but not intentional, taking of small numbers of marine mammals….[when] engag[ing] in a specified activity (other than commercial fishing)” (87 FR 33113). So, if the sonar activities required for national security exercises adversely impact marine mammals, the Navy has a bit of leeway but is still expected to minimize this impact. To further mitigate this potential harm, the Navy thus invests heavily in marine mammal research. (If you are interested in learning more about how the Navy has influenced the trajectory of oceanographic research more broadly, you may find this book interesting.) 

Beaked whales are an example of a marine mammal we know much about due to the MMPA’s call for research when incidental take occurs. Three decades ago, many beaked whales stranded ashore following a series of U.S. Navy sonar exercises. Since then, the Navy has flooded research dollars toward better understanding beaked whale hearing, vocal behavior, and movements (e.g., Klinck et al. 2012). Through these efforts, a deluge of research charged with developing effective tools to acoustically monitor and conserve beaked whales has emerged.  

These studies have laid the foundation for my Ph.D. research, which is dedicated to the Holistic Assessment of Living marine resources off Oregon (HALO) project. Through both visual and acoustic surveys, the HALO project’s mission is to understand how changes in ocean conditions — driven by global climate change — influence living marine resources in Oregon waters. 

In my research specifically, I aim to learn more about beaked whales off the Oregon coast. Beaked whales represent nearly a fourth of cetacean species alive today, with at least 21 species recorded to date (Roman et al. 2013). Even so, 90% of beaked whales are considered data deficient: we lack enough information about them to confidently describe the state of their populations or decide upon effective conservation action. 

Much remains to be learned about beaked whales, and I aim to do so by eavesdropping on them. By referring to the “acoustic repertoire” of beaked whales — that is, their vocalizations and corresponding behaviors — I aim to tease out their vocalizations from the broader ocean soundscape and understand how their presence in Oregon waters varies over time. 

Beaked whales are notoriously cryptic, elusive to many visual survey efforts like those aboard HALO cruises. In fact, some species have only been identified via carcasses that have washed ashore (Moore and Barlow 2013). Acoustic studies have elucidated ecological information (beaked whales forage at night at seamounts summits; Johnston et al. 2008) and have also introduced promising population-level monitoring efforts (beaked whales have been acoustically detected in areas with a historical scarcity of sightings; Kowarski et al. 2018). Their deep-diving nature often renders them inconspicuous, and they forage at depths between 1,000 and 2,000 m, on dives as long as 90 minutes (Moore and Barlow 2013; Klinck et al. 2012). Their echolocation clicks are produced at frequencies within the hearing range of killer whales, and previous studies have suggested that Blainville’s beaked whales are only vocally active during deep foraging dives and not at the surface, possibly to prevent being acoustically detected by predatory killer whales. Researchers refer to this phenomenon as “acoustic crypsis,” or when vocally-active marine mammals are strategically silent to avoid being found by potential predators (Aguilar de Soto et al. 2012).

We expect to see evidence of Blainville’s beaked whales in Oregon waters, as well as Baird’s, Cuvier’s, Stejneger’s, Hubb’s, and other beaked whale species. Species-specific echolocation clicks were comprehensively described a decade ago in Baumann-Pickering et al. 2013 (Figure 1). While this study laid the groundwork for species-level beaked whale acoustic detection, much more work is still needed to describe their acoustic repertoire with higher resolution detail. For example, though Hubb’s beaked whales live in Oregon waters, their vocal behavior remains scantly defined.

Figure 1: Baird’s, Blainville’s, Cuvier’s, and Stejneger’s beaked whales are among the most comprehensively acoustically described beaked whales inhabiting central Oregon waters, though more work would improve accuracy in species-specific acoustic detection. Credit: Marissa Garcia. Infographic draws upon beaked whale imagery from NOAA Fisheries and spectrograms and acoustical statistics published in Baumann-Pickering et al. 2013.

The HALO project seeks to add a biological dimension to the historical oceanographic studies conducted along the Newport Hydrographic (NH) line ever since the 1960s (Figure 2). Rockhopper acoustic recording units are deployed at sites NH 25, NH 45, and NH 65. The Rockhopper located at site NH 65 is actively recording on the seafloor about 2,800 m below the surface. Because beaked whales tend to be most vocally active at these deep depths, we will first dive into the acoustic data on NH 65, our deepest unit, in hopes of finding beaked whale recordings there.

Figure 2: The HALO project team conducts quarterly visual surveys along the NH line, spanning between NH 25 and NH 65. Rockhopper acoustic recording units continuously record at the NH 25, NH 45, and NH 65 sites. Credit: Leigh Torres.

Beaked whales’ acoustic repertoire can be broadly split into four primary categories: burst pulses (aka “search clicks”), whistles, buzz clicks, and rasps. Beaked whale search clicks, which are regarded as burst pulses when produced in succession, have distinct qualities: their upswept frequency modulation (meaning the frequency gets higher within the click), their long duration especially when compared to other delphinid clicks, and a consistent interpulse interval  which is the time of silence between signals (Baumann-Pickering et al. 2013). Acoustic analysts can identify different species based on how the frequency changes in different burst pulse sequences (Baumann-Pickering et al. 2013; Figure 1). For this reason, when I conduct my HALO analyses, I intend to automatically detect beaked whale species using burst pulses, as they are the best documented beaked whale signal, with unique signatures for each species. 

In the landscape of beaked whale acoustics, the acoustic repertoire of Blainville’s beaked whales (Mesoplodon densirostris) — a species of focus in my HALO analyses — is especially well defined. Blainville’s beaked whale whistles have been recorded up to 900 m deep, representing the deepest whistle recorded for any marine mammal to date in the literature (Aguilar de Soto et al. 2012). While Blainville’s beaked whales only spend 40% of their time at depths below 170 m, two key vocalizations occur at these depths: whistles and rasps. While they remain surprisingly silent near the surface, beaked whales produce whistles and rasps at depths up to 900 m. The beaked whales dive together in synchrony, and right before they separate from each other, they produce the most whistles and rasps, further indicating that these vocalizations are used to enhance foraging success (Aguilar de Soto et al. 2006). As beaked whales transition to foraging on their own, they predominantly produce frequently modulated clicks and buzzes. Beaked whales produce buzzes in the final stages of prey capture to receive up-to-date information about their prey’s location. The buzzes’ high repetition enables the whale to achieve 300+ updates on their intended prey’s location in the last 3 m before seizing their feast (Johnson et al. 2006; Figure 3). 

Figure 3: Blainville’s beaked whales generally have four categories within their acoustic repertoire, including burst pulses, whistles, buzz clicks, and rasps. Credit: Marissa Garcia.

All of this knowledge about beaked whale acoustics can be linked back to the MMPA, which has also achieved broader success. Since the MMPA’s implementation, marine mammal population numbers have risen across the board. For marine mammal populations with sufficient data, approximately 65% of these stocks are increasing and 17% are stable (Roman et al. 2013). 

Nevertheless, perhaps much of the MMPA’s true success lies in the research it has indirectly fueled, by virtue of the required compliance of governmental bodies such as the U.S. Navy. And the response has proven to be a boon to knowledge: if the U.S. Navy has been the benefactor of marine mammal research, beaked whale acoustics has certainly been the beneficiary. We hope the beaked whale acoustic analyses stemming from the HALO Project can further this expanse of what we know.

References

Aguilar de Soto, N., Madsen, P. T., Tyack, P., Arranz, P., Marrero, J., Fais, A., Revelli, E., & Johnson, M. (2012). No shallow talk: Cryptic strategy in the vocal communication of Blainville’s beaked whales. Marine Mammal Science, 28(2), E75–E92. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1748-7692.2011.00495.x

Baumann-Pickering, S., McDonald, M. A., Simonis, A. E., Solsona Berga, A., Merkens, K. P. B., Oleson, E. M., Roch, M. A., Wiggins, S. M., Rankin, S., Yack, T. M., & Hildebrand, J. A. (2013). Species-specific beaked whale echolocation signals. The Journal of the Acoustical Society of America, 134(3), 2293–2301. https://doi.org/10.1121/1.4817832

Dawson, S., Barlow, J., & Ljungblad, D. (1998). SOUNDS RECORDED FROM BAIRD’S BEAKED WHALE, BERARDIUS BAIRDIL. Marine Mammal Science, 14(2), 335–344. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1748-7692.1998.tb00724.x

Johnston, D. W., McDonald, M., Polovina, J., Domokos, R., Wiggins, S., & Hildebrand, J. (2008). Temporal patterns in the acoustic signals of beaked whales at Cross Seamount. Biology Letters (2005), 4(2), 208–211. https://doi.org/10.1098/rsbl.2007.0614

Johnson, M., Madsen, P. T., Zimmer, W. M. X., de Soto, N. A., & Tyack, P. L. (2004). Beaked whales echolocate on prey. Proceedings of the Royal Society. B, Biological Sciences, 271(Suppl 6), S383–S386. https://doi.org/10.1098/rsbl.2004.0208

Johnson, M., Madsen, P. T., Zimmer, W. M. X., de Soto, N. A., & Tyack, P. L. (2006). Foraging Blainville’s beaked whales (Mesoplodon densirostris) produce distinct click types matched to different phases of echolocation. Journal of Experimental Biology, 209(Pt 24), 5038–5050. https://doi.org/10.1242/jeb.02596

Klinck, H., Mellinger, D. K., Klinck, K., Bogue, N. M., Luby, J. C., Jump, W. A., Shilling, G. B., Litchendorf, T., Wood, A. S., Schorr, G. S., & Baird, R. W. (2012). Near-real-time acoustic monitoring of beaked whales and other cetaceans using a Seaglider. PloS One, 7(5), e36128. https://doi.org/10.1371/annotation/57ad0b82-87c4-472d-b90b-b9c6f84947f8

Kowarski, K., Delarue, J., Martin, B., O’Brien, J., Meade, R., Ó Cadhla, O., & Berrow, S. (2018). Signals from the deep: Spatial and temporal acoustic occurrence of beaked whales off western Ireland. PloS One, 13(6), e0199431–e0199431. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0199431

Madsen, P. T.,  Johnson, M., de Soto, N. A., Zimmer, W. M. X., & Tyack, P. (2005). Biosonar performance of foraging beaked whales (Mesoplodon densirostris). Journal of Experimental Biology, 208(Pt 2), 181–194. https://doi.org/10.1242/jeb.01327

McCullough, J. L. K., Wren, J. L. K., Oleson, E. M., Allen, A. N., Siders, Z. A., & Norris, E. S. (2021). An Acoustic Survey of Beaked Whales and Kogia spp. in the Mariana Archipelago Using Drifting Recorders. Frontiers in Marine Science, 8. https://doi.org/10.3389/fmars.2021.664292

Moore, J. E. & Barlow, J. P. (2013). Declining abundance of beaked whales (family Ziphiidae) in the California Current large marine ecosystem. PloS One, 8(1), e52770–e52770. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0052770

Ray, G. C. & Potter, F. M. (2011). The Making of the Marine Mammal Protection Act of 1972. Aquatic Mammals, 37(4), 522.

Roman, J., Altman, I., Dunphy-Daly, M. M., Campbell, C., Jasny, M., & Read, A. J. (2013). The Marine Mammal Protection Act at 40: status, recovery, and future of U.S. marine mammals. Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences, 1286(1), 29–49. https://doi.org/10.1111/nyas.12040

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.   

A larval snailfish.
A larval fish (sp. unknown) still in its egg.
A larval octopus.

Female Thysanoessa spinifera krill (photos by Abby Tomita).

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How fat do baleen whales get? Recent publication shows how humpback whales increase their body condition over the foraging season. 

Dr. KC Bierlich, Postdoctoral Scholar, OSU Department of Fisheries, Wildlife, & Conservation Sciences, Geospatial Ecology of Marine Megafauna (GEMM) Lab

Traveling across oceans takes a lot of energy. Most baleen whales use stored energy acquired on their summer foraging grounds to support the costs of migration to and reproduction on their winter breeding grounds. Since little, if any, feeding takes place during the migration and winter season, it is essential that baleen whales obtain enough food to increase their fat reserves to support reproduction. As such, baleen whales are voracious feeders, and they typically depart the foraging grounds much fatter than when they had arrived. 

So, how fat do baleen whales typically get by the end of the foraging season, and how does this differ across reproductive classes, such as a juvenile female vs. a pregnant female? Understanding these questions is key for identifying what a typical “healthy” whale looks like, information which can then help scientists and managers monitor potential impacts from environmental and anthropogenic stressors. In this blog, I will discuss a recent publication in Frontiers in Marine Science (https://doi.org/10.3389/fmars.2022.1036860) that is from my PhD dissertation with the Duke University Marine Robotics and Remote Sensing (MaRRS) Lab, and also includes GEMM lab members Allison Dawn and Clara Bird. In this study, we analyzed how humpback whales (Megaptera novaeangliae) along the Western Antarctic Peninsula (WAP) increase their fat reserves throughout the austral summer foraging season (Bierlich et al., 2022). This work also helps provide insight to the GEMM Lab’s GRANITE project (Gray whale Response to Ambient Noise Informed by Technology and Ecology), where we are interested in how Pacific Coast Feeding Group (PCFG) gray whales increase their energy reserves in response to environmental variability and increasing human activities. 

Eastern South Pacific humpback whales, identified as Stock G by the International Whaling Commission, travel over 16,000 km between summer foraging grounds along the WAP and winter breeding grounds between Ecuador and Costa Rica (Fig. 1). Like most baleen whales, Stock G humpback whales were heavily exploited by 20th century commercial whaling. Recent evidence suggests that this population is recovering, with an estimated increase in population size of ~7,000 individuals in 2000 to ~19,107 in 2020 (Johannessen et al., 2022). 

However, there are long-term concerns for this population. The WAP is one of the fastest warming regions on the planet, and regional populations of krill, an important food source for humpback whales, have declined steeply over the past half-century. Additionally, the WAP has seen a rapid expansion of human activities, such as tourism and krill fishing. Specifically, the WAP has experienced an increase in tourism from a total of 6,700 visitors from 59 voyages in 1990 to 73,000 visitors from 408 voyages in 2020, which may be causing increased stress levels amongst Stock G (Pallin et al., 2022). Furthermore, the krill fishery has increased harvest activities in key foraging areas for humpback whales (Reisinger et al., 2022). Understanding how humpback whales increase their energy reserves over the course of the foraging season can help researchers establish a baseline to monitor future impacts from climate change and human activities. This work also provides an opportunity for comparisons to other baleen whale populations that are also exposed to multiple stressors, such as the PCFG gray whales off the Newport Coast who are constantly exposed to vessel traffic and at risk of entanglement from fishing gear. 

Figure 1. The migration route of the Stock G humpback whale population. Figure adapted from Whales of the Antarctic Peninsula Report, WWF 2018.

To understand how humpback whales increase their energy reserves throughout the foraging season, we collected drone imagery of whales along the WAP between November and June, 2017-2019 (Fig. 2). We used these images to measure the length and width of the whale to estimate body condition, which represents an animal’s relative energy reserve and can reflect foraging success (see previous blog). We collected drone imagery from a combination of research stations (Palmer Station), research vessels (Laurence M. Gould), and tour ships (One Ocean Expeditions). We used several different drones types and accounted for measurement uncertainty associated with the camera, focal length lens, altitude, and altimeter (barometer/LiDAR) from each drone (see previous blog and Bierlich et al., 2021a, 2021b). We also took biopsy samples to identify the sex of each individual and to determine if females were pregnant or not. 

Figure 2. Two humpbacks gracefully swimming in the chilly water along the Western Antarctic Peninsula. Photo taken by KC Bierlich & the Duke University Marine Robotics and Remote Sensing (MaRRS) Lab.

Our final dataset included body condition measurements for 228 total individuals. We found that body condition increased linearly between November and June for each reproductive class, which included calves, juvenile females, juvenile whales of unknown sex, lactating females, mature whales of unknown sex, and non-pregnant females (Fig. 3). This was an interesting finding because a recent publication analyzing tagged whales from the same population found that humpback whales have high foraging rates in early season that then significantly decrease by February and March (Nichols et al., 2022). So, despite these reduced foraging rates throughout the season, humpback whales continue to gain substantial mass into the late season. This continued increase in body condition implies a change in krill abundance and/or quality into the late season, which may compensate for the lower feeding rates. For example, krill density and biomass increases by over an order of magnitude across the season (Reiss et al., 2017) and their lipid content increases by ~4x (Hagen et al., 1996). Thus, humpback whales likely compensate for their lower feeding rates by feeding on denser and higher quality krill, ultimately increasing their efficiency in energy deposition. 

Figure 3. Body condition, here measured as Body Area Index (BAI), increases linearly for each reproductive class across the austral summer foraging season (Nov – June) for humpback whales along the Western Antarctic Peninsula. The shading represents the uncertainty around the estimated relationship. The colors represent the month of data collection.

We found that body condition increase varied amongst reproductive classes. For example, lactating females had the poorest measures of body condition across the season, reflecting the high energetic demands of nursing their calves (Fig. 3). Conversely, non-pregnant females had the highest body condition at the start of the season compared to all the other classes, likely reflecting the energy saved and recovered by skipping breeding that year.  Calves, juvenile whales, and mature whales all reached similar levels of body condition by the end of the season, though mature whales will likely invest most of their energy stores toward reproduction, whereas calves and juveniles likely invest toward growth. We also found a positive relationship between the total length of lactating females and their calves, suggesting that bigger moms have bigger calves (Fig. 4). A similar trend has also been observed in other baleen whale species including southern and North Atlantic right whales (Christiansen et al., 2018; Stewart et al., 2022).

Figure 4. Big mothers have big calves. Total length (TL) measurement between mother-calf pairs. The bars around each point represents the uncertainty (95% highest posterior density intervals). The colors represent the month of data collection. The blue line represents the best fit from a Deming regression, which incorporate measurement uncertainty in both the independent (mother’s TL) and dependent variable (calf’s TL).

The results from the humpback study provide insight for my current work exploring how PCFG gray whales increase their energy reserves in relation to environmental variability and increasing human activities. Over the past seven years, the GEMM Lab has been collecting drone images of PCFG gray whales off the coast of Oregon to measure their body condition (see this GRANITE Project blog). Many of the individuals we encounter are seen across years and throughout the foraging season, providing an opportunity to evaluate how an individual’s body condition is influenced by environmental variation, stress levels, maturity, and reproduction. For example, we had nine total body condition measurements of a female PCFG whale named “Sole”, who had a curvilinear increase in body condition throughout the summer foraging season – a rapid increase in early season that slowed as the season progressed (Fig. 5). This raises many questions for us: is this how most PCFG whales typically increase their body condition during the summer? Is this increase different for pregnant or lactating females? How is this increase impacted by environmental variability or anthropogenic stressors? Repeated measurements of individuals, in addition to Sole, in different reproductive classes across different years will help us determine what body condition is considered a healthy range for gray whales. This is particularly important for monitoring any potential health consequences from anthropogenic stressors, such as vessel noise and traffic (see recent blog by GEMM Lab alum Leila Lemos). We are currently analyzing body condition measurements between 2016 – 2022, so stay tuned for upcoming results!

Figure 6. Body condition, here measured as Body Area Index (BAI), increases curvilinearly for “Sole”, a mature female Pacific Coat Feeding Group gray whale, imaged nine times along the Oregon coast in 2021. The colors represent the month of data collection. 

References

Bierlich, K. C., Hewitt, J., Bird, C. N., Schick, R. S., Friedlaender, A., Torres, L. G., et al. (2021a). Comparing Uncertainty Associated With 1-, 2-, and 3D Aerial Photogrammetry-Based Body Condition Measurements of Baleen Whales. Front. Mar. Sci. 8, 1–16. doi:10.3389/fmars.2021.749943.

Bierlich, K. C., Hewitt, J., Schick, R. S., Pallin, L., Dale, J., Friedlaender, A. S., et al. (2022). Seasonal gain in body condition of foraging humpback whales along the Western Antarctic Peninsula. Front. Mar. Sci. 9, 1–16. doi:10.3389/fmars.2022.1036860.

Bierlich, K., Schick, R., Hewitt, J., Dale, J., Goldbogen, J., Friedlaender, A., et al. (2021b). Bayesian approach for predicting photogrammetric uncertainty in morphometric measurements derived from drones. Mar. Ecol. Prog. Ser. 673, 193–210. doi:10.3354/meps13814.

Christiansen, F., Vivier, F., Charlton, C., Ward, R., Amerson, A., Burnell, S., et al. (2018). Maternal body size and condition determine calf growth rates in southern right whales. Mar. Ecol. Prog. Ser. 592, 267–281.

Hagen, W., Van Vleet, E. S., and Kattner, G. (1996). Seasonal lipid storage as overwintering strategy of Antarctic krill. Mar. Ecol. Prog. Ser. 134, 85–89. doi:10.3354/meps134085.

Johannessen, J. E. D., Biuw, M., Lindstrøm, U., Ollus, V. M. S., Martín López, L. M., Gkikopoulou, K. C., et al. (2022). Intra-season variations in distribution and abundance of humpback whales in the West Antarctic Peninsula using cruise vessels as opportunistic platforms. Ecol. Evol. 12, 1–13. doi:10.1002/ece3.8571.

Nichols, R., Cade, D. E., Kahane-Rapport, S., Goldbogen, J., Simpert, A., Nowacek, D., et al. (2022). Intra-seasonal variation in feeding rates and diel foraging behavior in a seasonally fasting mammal, the humpback whale. Open Sci. 9, 211674.

Pallin, L. J., Botero-Acosta, N., Steel, D., Baker, C. S., Casey, C., Costa, D. P., et al. (2022). Variation in blubber cortisol levels in a recovering humpback whale population inhabiting a rapidly changing environment. Sci. Rep. 12, 1–13. doi:10.1038/s41598-022-24704-6.

Reisinger, R., Trathan, P. N., Johnson, C. M., Joyce, T. W., Durban, J. W., Pitman, R. L., et al. (2022). Spatiotemporal overlap of baleen whales and krill fisheries in the Antarctic Peninsula region. Front. Mar. Sci. doi:doi: 10.3389/fmars.2022.914726.

Reiss, C. S., Cossio, A., Santora, J. A., Dietrich, K. S., Murray, A., Greg Mitchell, B., et al. (2017). Overwinter habitat selection by Antarctic krill under varying sea-ice conditions: Implications for top predators and fishery management. Mar. Ecol. Prog. Ser. 568, 1–16. doi:10.3354/meps12099.

Stewart, J. D., Durban, J. W., Europe, H., Fearnbach, H., Hamilton, P. K., Knowlton, A. R., et al. (2022). Larger females have more calves : influence of maternal body length on fecundity in North Atlantic right whales. Mar. Ecol. Prog. Ser. 689, 179–189. doi:10.3354/meps14040.

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

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

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

How will upwelling ecosystems fare in a changing climate?

By Dawn Barlow, Postdoctoral Scholar, OSU Department of Fisheries, Wildlife, and Conservation Sciences, Geospatial Ecology of Marine Megafauna Lab

Global climate change is affecting all aspects of life on earth. The oceans are not exempt from these impacts. On the contrary, marine species and ecosystems are experiencing significant impacts of climate change at faster rates and greater magnitudes than on land1,2, with cascading effects across trophic levels, impacting human communities that depend on healthy ocean ecosystems3.

In the lobby of the Gladys Valley Marine Studies building that we are privileged to work in here at the Hatfield Marine Science Center, a poem hangs on the wall: “The North Pacific Is Misbehaving”, by Duncan Berry. I read it often, each time moved by how he articulates both the scientific curiosity and the personal emotion that are intertwined in researchers whose work is dedicated to understanding the oceans on a rapidly changing planet. We seek to uncover truths about the watery places we love that capture our fascination; truths that are sometimes beautiful, sometimes puzzling, sometimes heartbreaking. Observations conducted with scientific rigor do not preclude complex human feelings of helplessness, determination, and hope.

Figure 1. Poem by Duncan Berry, entitled, “The North Pacific is Misbehaving”.

Here on the Oregon Coast, we are perched on the edge of a bountiful upwelling ecosystem. Upwelling is the process by which winds drive a net movement of surface water offshore, which is replaced by cold, nutrient-rich water. When this water full of nutrients meets the sunlight of the photic zone, large phytoplankton blooms occur that sustain high densities of forage species like zooplankton and fish, and yielding important feeding opportunities for predators such as marine mammals. Upwelling ecosystems, like the California Current system in our back yard that features in Duncan Berry’s poem, support over 20% of global fisheries catches despite covering an area less than 5% of the global oceans4–6. These narrow bands of ocean on the eastern boundaries of the major oceans are characterized by strong winds, cool sea surface temperatures, and high primary productivity that ultimately support thriving and productive ecosystems (Fig. 2)7.

Figure 2. Reproduced from Bograd et al. 2023. Maps showing global means in several key properties during the warm season (June through August in the Northern Hemisphere and January through March in the Southern Hemisphere). The locations of the four eastern boundary current upwelling systems (EBUSs) are shown by black outlines in each panel. (a) 10-m wind speed (colors) and vectors. (b) SST. (c) Dissolved oxygen concentrations at 200-m depth. (d) Concentration of ocean chlorophyll a. Abbreviations: BenCS, Benguela Current System; CalCS, California Current System; CanCS, Canary Current System; HumCS, Humboldt Current System; SST, sea surface temperature.

Because of their importance to human societies, eastern boundary current upwelling systems (EBUSs) have been well-studied over time. Now, scientists around the world who have dedicated their careers to understanding and describing the dynamics of upwelling systems are forced to reckon with the looming question of what will happen to these systems under climate change. The state of available information was recently synthesized in a forthcoming paper by Bograd et al. (2023). These authors find that the future of upwelling systems is uncertain, as climate change is anticipated to drive conflicting physical changes in their oceanography. Namely, alongshore winds could increase, which would yield increased upwelling. However, a poleward shift in these upwelling systems will likely lead to long-term changes in the intensity, location, and seasonality of upwelling-favorable winds, with intensification in poleward regions but weakening in equatorward areas. Another projected change is stronger temperature gradients between inshore and offshore areas, and vertically within the water column. What these various opposing forces will mean for primary productivity and species community structure remains to be seen.

While most of my prior research has centered around the importance of productive upwelling systems for supporting marine mammal feeding grounds8–10, my recent focus has shifted closer to home, to the nearshore waters less than 5 km from the coastline. Despite their ecological and economic importance, nearshore habitats remain understudied, particularly in the context of climate change. Through the recently launched EMERALD project, we are investigating spatial and temporal distribution patterns of harbor porpoises and gray whales between San Francisco Bay and the Columbia River in relation to fluctuations in key environmental drivers over the past 30 years. On a scientific level, I am thrilled to have such a rich dataset that enables asking broad questions relating to how changing environmental conditions have impacted these nearshore sentinel species. On a more personal level, I must admit some apprehension of what we will find. The excitement of detecting statistically significant northward shift in harbor porpoise distribution stands at odds with my own grappling with what that means for our planet. The oceans are changing, and sensitive species must move or adapt to persist. What does the future hold for this “wild edge of a continent of ours” that I love, as Duncan Berry describes?

Figure 4. The view from Cape Foulweather, showing the complex mosaic of nearshore habitat features. Photo: D. Barlow.

Evidence exists that the nearshore realm of the Northeast Pacific is actually decoupled from coastal upwelling processes11. Rather, these areas may be a “sweet spot” in the coastal boundary layer where headlands and rocky reefs provide more stable retention areas of productivity, distinct from the strong upwelling currents just slightly further from shore (Fig. 4). As the oceans continue to shift under the impacts of climate change, what will it mean for these critically important nearshore habitats? While they are adjacent to prominent upwelling systems, they are also physically, biologically, and ecologically distinct. Will nearshore habitats act as a refuge alongside a more rapidly changing upwelling environment, or will they be impacted in some different way? Many unanswered questions remain. I am eager to continue seeking out truth in the data, with my drive for scientific inquiry fueled by my underlying connection to this wild edge of a continent that I call home.

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References:

1.          Poloczanska, E. S. et al. Global imprint of climate change on marine life. Nat. Clim. Chang. 3, (2013).

2.          Lenoir, J. et al. Species better track climate warming in the oceans than on land. Nat. Ecol. Evol. 4, 1044–1059 (2020).

3.          Hoegh-Guldberg, O. & Bruno, J. F. The impact of climate change on the world’s marine ecosystems. Science (2010). doi:10.1126/science.1189930

4.          Mann, K. H. & Lazier, J. R. N. Dynamics of Marine Ecosystems: Biological-physical interactions in the oceans. Blackwell Scientific Publications (1996). doi:10.2307/2960585

5.          Ryther, J. Photosynthesis and fish production in the sea. Science (80-. ). 166, 72–76 (1969).

6.          Cushing, D. H. Plankton production and year-class strength in fish populations: An update of the match/mismatch hypothesis. Adv. Mar. Biol. 9, 255–334 (1990).

7.          Bograd, S. J. et al. Climate Change Impacts on Eastern Boundary Upwelling Systems. Ann. Rev. Mar. Sci. 15, 1–26 (2023).

8.          Barlow, D. R., Bernard, K. S., Escobar-Flores, P., Palacios, D. M. & Torres, L. G. Links in the trophic chain: Modeling functional relationships between in situ oceanography, krill, and blue whale distribution under different oceanographic regimes. Mar. Ecol. Prog. Ser. 642, 207–225 (2020).

9.          Barlow, D. R., Klinck, H., Ponirakis, D., Garvey, C. & Torres, L. G. Temporal and spatial lags between wind, coastal upwelling, and blue whale occurrence. Sci. Rep. 11, 1–10 (2021).

10.        Derville, S., Barlow, D. R., Hayslip, C. & Torres, L. G. Seasonal, Annual, and Decadal Distribution of Three Rorqual Whale Species Relative to Dynamic Ocean Conditions Off Oregon, USA. Front. Mar. Sci. 9, 1–19 (2022).

11.        Shanks, A. L. & Shearman, R. K. Paradigm lost? Cross-shelf distributions of intertidal invertebrate larvae are unaffected by upwelling or downwelling. Mar. Ecol. Prog. Ser. 385, 189–204 (2009).