July 11, 2007

We’re headed in.

Several of us stayed up until midnight last night, chumming for sharks and jigging for Humboldt Squid, and we caught exactly one of the former (a small Blue) and two of the latter.  That might seem slow but the night was lovely and lots of small fish and a few smallish squid, and one small diving bird (a small auk of some kind) enlivened the water within our halo of lights.

This morning’s set brought several small Blue Sharks and one hefty Mako who left us with a satellite tag.

The trip has been perfect in many ways—interesting, great people, terrific animals around us, and great weather.

I hope that a few decades from now the youngest on our crew—16-year-old Matt Ramon—and the students working with us, will still be going on research cruises, still opening the wonders of new understanding, and still be able to say they saw at least as much as we have this week.

And now my attention shifts, again, homeward.  It’s with equal anticipation that I return as that I came.  And that is saying something.

July 9 and 10, 2007

Makos in the north, baby Blue Sharks in the south.  That’s part of the pattern we’re seeing.

Yesterday morning, our first set—in 900 meters of water only about 15 miles from Santa Monica Bay—garnered a Shortfin Mako of about 200 pounds and a five-foot Blue Shark.

The Mako—a tough customer—got outfitted with the two kinds of electronic tags, as I described earlier in the trip.  The combined price of the two tags is $5,500 per shark.  It’s a commitment to science that must not be wasted when it comes time to use the information to manage fisheries.

More of the Makos are bearing wounds from Humboldt Squid, and one of the Blue Sharks coughed up a couple of squid beaks.  It’s a violent world in every dimension.

This morning’s breathless dawn found us in a slick molten-looking sea 40 miles off San Diego.  The overcast that had broken yesterday returned, turning the water slate gray under a dense ceiling.

Whales and dolphins have kept us in good company all week.  While we were setting this morning a pod of big, blunt-headed, high-finned Risso’s Dolphins followed a Minke Whale’s appearance.  The afternoon brought Short-beaked Common Dolphins.

We’ve moved south of most Makos and are into water where swim the tiniest Blue Sharks I’ve ever seen.  Many of our hooks come back bare or with bait bitten in half, apparently from sharks too small to get hooked.  The sharks we caught were mainly under three feet.  And though we lost the largest Blue of the trip—nearly nine feet long—we also caught perhaps the smallest Blue Shark of this tagging project:  less than two feet from nose to tip of tail—virtually newborn.

In all, we tagged 21 Blue Sharks today.

We’re now off Anacapa Island, under the first blue sky all week.  Mainland mountains are just visible in the haze.

Last night we spent a couple of hours jigging for Humboldt Squid and caught two “small” ones that were the largest squid I’ve ever seen alive.  Today, no fewer than three of the Makos we caught had squid sucker marks on them.  Because the marks were concentrated on or around the head, it appears the sharks are attacking the squid and not vice versa.

The seas have built during the day, with a 5-foot breaking swell coming from the west, yet no wind.  It’s still comfortable; the crests are far apart.

This area is alive with dolphins, and several times today we were treated to the sight of Common Dolphins in schools of dozens, ripping through the surface like tuna, followed by flocks of gulls, pelicans, and Sooty Shearwaters trying to get in on whatever small prey fish the dolphins were chasing.

The morning set garnered two sizeable Blue Sharks in the 6- to 7-foot range, and five Shortfin Makos around 4 to 5 feet.  The afternoon haul brought five Makos and another Pelagic Ray.

The morning’s last Mako must have just been hooked when we hauled it; it was not tired, not mellow, and not at all pleased.  It did not go easy into the cradle, thrashing and slamming so wildly that four people had to hold it down before Erick got the blanket over its eyes.

The afternoon swell caused the ship to pitch sufficiently that the cradle and platform were frequently plunged underwater, soaking the scientists working on their knees and bellies, reminding us that the ocean is, foremost, a wet place.

July 7, 2007

Just a few miles away, the high-rising shoulders of Catalina lost themselves in low-hanging overcast.  The dawn sea looked pewter—moody and lovely.

Fishing was excellent but catching was slow, to paraphrase an old joke.  Our morning haul-back brought just two small Blue Sharks.  We did see an Ocean Sunfish (Mola mola) and glimpsed the swift fin of a Minke Whale (rhymes with kinky) and a big Risso’s Dolphin, and later a pod of Common Dolphins came streaking through the waves, shadowed by a retinue of Elegant Terns.  In other words, non-stop grace and wonderment, as usual.

On the afternoon haul, something simultaneously auspicious and ominous:  one of the braided cable leaders came up chewed through.  I would not have thought that possible.  It’s hard to imagine something capable of doing that and still being interested in sucking in one of our 10-inch mackerel, rather than, say, eating a sea lion, but odd stuff happens at sea.  The set brought two Mako pups.  Suzie invited me to do the tagging, which I duly did for the pups.

Then on one of the last hooks hung a larger Mako, about six feet long and about 170 pounds.  The larger animal would get the two kinds of electronic tags, and because applying these takes some practice, Suzie took over again.  She led the animal toward us with the leader, and as the cradle dipped into the sea she pulled it over the perforated metal and yelled, “Up!”  The water drained away and the Mako began thrashing, but we pounced on it as Erick Onate-Gonzalez put the thick blanket over its big black eyes, pulled up its pointy nose, and into the jaws of death inserted the ventilator hose.  Quite a job description.

One of the electronic tags bolts to the dorsal fin and transmits its presence to satellites when the shark is traveling at the sea surface, thus tracking its cross-ocean travels. 

The other tag looks a little like a cigar on a stalk that is anchored into the  muscle; it records temperature and depth, then releases itself at a pre-programmed time (about eight months from now), floats to the surface and tells satellites the story of the shark’s vertical travels between the surface and the cold, dark depths.  It’s incredible technology, revolutionizing our understanding of how animals use the ocean.  Turns out that though Makos frequent the surface, they often dive to a thousand feet, rarely twice that. 

While Suzie applied the tags, Erick held the head, kept its eyes covered and kept the ventilator in place.  That job takes nerve and concentration; you can’t get distracted or be caught by surprise if a shark this size suddenly thrashes.  I help “control” the tail, but in fact the shark stayed passive most of the time.  I had the distinct sensual pleasure of having my hands on that beautiful sleek, cobalt skin, with its fine-sandy teture, and the strong, thick keel at the tailstock’s base.  An exquisite, living sculpture; evolutionary art.

At one point as we rolled the shark slightly to check sex (male, indicated by its two penis-like misnamed “claspers”) the Mako started squirming and was working itself up to some violent thrashing.  Anyone who has caught them on rod and reel knows Makos are capable of literally spinning out of control.  I noticed that the blanked had slipped off its left eye, and when Eric quickly flapped it back on, the shark’s whole body instantly relaxed, its muscular tension utterly dissipating.

When Suzie yelled “Down!” and the cradle entered the water and we shoved that Mako forward, it took off like a shot.

And where do the sharks we’re catching in these relatively protected waters go?  The tracking affirms that these sharks range widely up and down the California Current, west to waters north of Hawaii, down off Mexico, and generally becoming vulnerable to fishing boats from other countries in the open ocean.  No sea is an island.

In the early 1990s there had been a small commercial fishery for sharks here.  It had a temporary permit, and the permit was not renewed because the area proved to be a shark nursery.  Thus this survey was born.  Would that such wisdom prevailed world-wide.

In the last two decades the number of sharks killed has skyrocketed, draining the sea of many of its most compelling predators.  I’ve seen the difference; the number of sharks we used to see in the 1980s was much greater than now.  Everyone I know who has a history at sea says the same, as do a series of recent scientific studies.

Tens of millions of sharks have been killed annually, mainly for fins used as a thickener in soup, mainly since the 1980s.  The number killed is almost certain to decline, not because international fisheries management—still dysfunctional over vast swaths of this planet—is likely to get its ass in gear anytime for the benefit of sharks, but because the sharks will grow progressively scarcer.

In the present survey, there’s some evidence of decline in this population but the trend is unclear.  Year-to-year variability, based in part on weather and water quality (for instance, blooms of toxic red tides) affects number of sharks caught.  So uncertainty remains about this shark community’s trajectory.  More time is likely to clear the picture.  But slow declines can be hard to detect for years, until real problems accumulate.  That’s a problem in itself, because it delays action.

For example, many populations of albatrosses have been declining at rates of around just 1% per year (coincidentally, mainly  because of incidental drowning in poorly regulated long-line fisheries.)  It took too long for scientists to determine the declines were real, sustained, and significant.  But over the course of just one working career for the scientists who were monitoring albatrosses, declines of 1% annually became population emergencies threatening some albatrosses with extinction.  And yet in the last decade some real progress has been made in reducing albatross deaths.  Bright spots include Alaska, Hawaii, New Zealand, the Falklands, South Georgia Island, and the Southern Ocean.  That progress matters; it may yet save threatened albatrosses.

It also suggest that despite the history of most fisheries management worldwide, there remains hope for sharks.  Certainly, these sharks we’re catching, many of them quite young, constitute hope with a mischievous grin.

July 6, 2007

The day dawned on a calm and overcast morning, my favorite sea weather, easier on the eyes than a million shards of sunlight shining like broken glass up from the water.

We’ve moved to a spot about eight miles southeast of Catalina.  Where we fish is pre-determined by a sampling regime, not necessarily because we’re looking for the best spot to catch the most.  So our catch rate varies.

The air was cool, in the 60s, as we made the morning set.  I baited about half the hooks and handed them to the clipper-person.  Someone put a lineup of “late” Beatles classics in the PA system.  All you need is love, 200 hooks, and several tubs of thawed mackerel, and the work goes smooth.

We caught a few sharks in the morning but the afternoon set was our most active yet, with a baker’s dozen comprised of Blue Sharks and one Mako.  I remain impressed by the crew’s skill in sliding sharks into the cradle and then gaining control by grabbing them just behind the head. 

It’s a bit hair-raising, and the phrase, “If he hollers, let ‘im go!” popped into my head.  The males are particularly rambunctious—a bad personality trait when combined with several rows of daggers in a vice.  And while the Blues often blink to protect their own eyes when being bossed around, the Makos often swivel their eyes to watch who’s doing what.  So far I haven’t seen a shark attempt to defend itself orally, but of course the risk exists; one bite would be too many.

The afternoon’s Mako, a sleek nearly five-footer, had something I have never seen before, or even heard of:  wounds from a Humboldt Squid.  The Mako’s sides carried marks from rows of suckers, and slashes seemingly from the squid’s beak!

Suzie Kohin says such wounds just started showing up here for the first time last year.  The big squid, which can weigh 75 pounds, have been expanding their range northward, invading California waters as they’ve warmed in recent years.  Even in their more traditional range, the squid are more abundant because the fish that prey on them as juveniles—such as sharks and tunas—are overfished.

Who attacked whom?  Dunno.  The squid are notoriously aggressive—but so is the Mako, which regularly eats squid.  My guess is the Mako attacked, and the squid defended itself.  Either way, the encounter was violent, with intent to kill—like many in the ocean.

Thursday, July 5, 2007

We’re still operating near San Clemente Island, between 5 and 10 miles from the shore.  We’ve seen some Bottlenose Dolphins and distantly breaching whales.  These waters between the islands and mainland, relatively sheltered as they are and well-lardered with small prey like mackerel and squids, serve as nursery to the sharks we seek.

We set our longline across a place called Emery Knoll, a hill that comes up to 1,800 feet from water 3,300 feet deep.  There’s virtually no continental shelf off the West Coast, and these depths seem extreme compared to the East Coast, where, this close to shore the water would be less than 100 feet deep, and you have to go 75 miles offshore to reach water 600 feet deep.

Out of 200 hooks, we’re catching about four animals per set.  Longlines are notorious for catching lots of unwanted creatures.  But our longline has caught only what we want.  That’s because the wire cable of the line and leaders scares away shyer fishes like Swordfish and tunas.  We’ve caught only Blue and Mako sharks, and one Pelagic Stingray.

The stingray is a strange animal to be a wanderer of the open ocean.  It looks like it should be a bottom dweller, and it’s hard to imagine it catching open-water prey, which it apparently does by cloaking it with its wings.  It’s also dark above and dark below, which would seem to make it an easy mark for Makos.  Whether they indeed attack or avoid the stinger-equipped rays, I don’t know.  Our captive is being studied by one woman on board, and is spending an extended visit in a large plastic box about 4′ x 4′ x 4′ on deck.

One thing true of longlines in many places is true for us too:  we’re catching a lot of babies.  But we’re interested in catching babies.  Each of the Blue Sharks we’ve caught and tagged has been quite small, under three feet in length.  But very pretty.  The blue of the sharks is the color of the open ocean.  It’s just gorgeous.

The Makos have ranged around 30 pounds, but with some larger.  We’ve seen two that were a little over 100 pounds and one well over 200 pounds, about seven feet long. 

Among my favorite animals, Makos are ballistic missiles, bullet headed, huskily torpedo-shaped and one of the few warm-bodied fishes.  They are fearsome and lovely in the extreme.  This juxtaposition, and the intensity with which they display both extreme menace and extreme beauty, make them addictively compelling creatures.

One of the little Makos came up dead.  Nobody  likes this; we’re here to tag and release after all.  But the animals aren’t wasted.  From the small Mako that died the scientists collected the brain, eye muscles, and stomach for an enzyme study.  Its gills carried parasitic copepods that were sucking off some of the shark’s blood, causing the gills in that area to look enlarged and anemic.  The copepods seemed to gather where water-flow was least.  It was pretty interesting.

As for the rest of the animal, our galley steward grilled the meat in steaks.  It tasted so good, it made me sad.  Years ago I thrilled in catching Makos on rod and reel, occasionally killing one for the table, and stocking my freezer with delicious steaks.  We had some great barbecues back then.  Those feasts are taking on the patina of “old days” memories.  The taste of these Mako steaks was like a sudden whiff of a scent from childhood.  It made me realize how much I missed those times.

I have caught a few Makos in recent years but for nearly a decade have released them all, because in the Atlantic where I fish, larger Makos have become scarce.  In fact all the larger shark species in the Atlantic have declined precipitously due mainly to commercial overfishing.  Some, like Dusky and Hammerhead sharks, are so scarce we simply don’t see them anymore. 

I still see people bring Makos to the docks, but everyone knows the fishing isn’t what it was, and I just don’t feel right killing them anymore.  But I miss the days when I felt I could take a Mako for the table now and then.  The world seemed richer, and it was.