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By Casey Clark, Vertebrate Ecology Lab

Each year, humpback whales migrate between their feeding areas in high-latitude places such as Alaska, California and Antarctica to their breeding areas in more tropical regions such as Mexico, Hawaii, Central America, and the South Pacific.  This means that during the winter, all of the animals should be in the breeding area and none should be in the feeding area.  It turns out that this isn’t true.  All around the world, people have seen humpback whales in feeding areas during the winter when they are expected to be in the breeding area.  This leads to the following questions:  Who are these animals that spend their winters in the feeding area?  Are they mostly males? Females?  Juvenile animals?  Why would they give up their chance to reproduce for the year?

It was these questions that led me to choose my project.  For my master’s thesis at Moss Landing Marine Labs, I will attempt to answer at least some of them.  To do this, I will look at the animals off the coast of central California, an important feeding area for humpback whales that breed off the coast of Central America.  I will be looking at the sex-ratio (the number of males present compared to the number of females present) and the proportion of juvenile animals (the number of young animals compared to the number of adult animals) in this area throughout the year.  By seeing how the sex-ratio and the proportion of juvenile animals change from summer to winter, I will be able to determine who is using the area in the winter.  For example, if the sex-ratio is 1:1 in the summer (1 male present for every 1 female present) and 1:2 in the winter (1 male present for every 2 females present), I will know that there are more females than males using this area in the winter.

The different sexes and age groups of humpback whales are known to migrate to the breeding area at different times.  Adult males are the first to begin the migration to the breeding area, followed by non-pregnant females, juvenile animals and finally pregnant females.  This pattern would suggest that female animals in the late-stages of pregnancy remain in the feeding area longer than most other whales.  This theory is supported by observations from the feeding area and during migration, but it has never been confirmed that pregnant females remain in the feeding area longer than most other members of the population.  I will test this theory by determining the pregnancy rates of females found in the feeding area in the late fall and early winter.  If a greater proportion of these females are pregnant than would be expected, this theory would be confirmed.  The identification of this area as critical habitat for these pregnant whales would have profound implications for their conservation and management.

Stay tuned to find out how I find the whales, and then collect samples with a crossbow!

by Jasmine Ruvalcaba, Phycology Lab

edited by Brynn Hooton

We’ve all heard the giant kelp Macrocystis can grow up to one meter per day.  So, how do phycologists, people who study seaweeds, measure growth of different species of algae?  With most, you can use a ruler of some sort.  For instance, Dr. Graham, advisor of the phycology lab,  has a National Science Foundation grant going right now to look at effects of climate change on intertidal and subtidal species.  One factor he looks as is algal growth.  To do so,  we punch holes in the vegetative blade with a regular, run of the mill one-hole puncher near the base of the seaweed, and then each month go back to the same plants, and punch a new hole.   We  measure from the base of the blade to new the punch, from the new punch to the  old punch, and the old punch to the tip of the blade. Wow, sounds like a lot to do underwater, right?  Practice makes perfect.

That method is great for species that are fleshy and can grow centimeters per day, but how do you measure growth with calcified species, that grow very slowly?  That’s what Paul Tompkins and I, Jasmine Ruvalcaba, are doing as a part of our thesis research.  Paul studies rhodoliths, which are calcified red algae that form “beds” over soft sediments all over the world.  I am studying their relatives, the articulated species.  In a nut-shell, we soak our plants in stains anywhere from 5 minutes to days, depending on what type of stain we’re using, and let the stain mark the alga’s outer cell walls.  After the plant is stained, we then put it back in clean seawater and let it grow.  Any new parts of the plant that have grown after we took the plant out of the stain should be visible, and we know how long it’s taken to make this new growth.  So, here is what we see…..

Keep in touch to read about my future adventures with coralline algae!

Authored by Deasy Lontoh, Vertebrate Ecology Lab; Edited by Brynn Hooton-Kaufman

You may remember my story from last year, when I traveled to the Jamursba Medi beaches to see and learn about leatherback sea turtles. Well, this past summer I was able to go back. I spent about three months from June to August all the way across the Pacific, in the Bird’s Head Peninsula which is in the northwest coast of Papua, Indonesia. It’s close to the equator, so it’s hot and humid!

This time, I went back to collect data for my thesis. I am studying the variation in reproductive output of leatherbacks that migrate to different foraging locations.  In other words, I want to know if where they go to eat before the nesting season influences how many eggs per clutch they lay, how many clutches of eggs they lay, how many years there are between breeding seasons, and how many hatchlings hatch.  In general, leatherback turtles lay three to eleven clutches per breeding season, and their breeding seasons occur every two to three years. Unlike birds and mammals, leatherback moms do not guard their nests or provide food for their hatchlings. Instead, they lay multiple clutches of eggs spaced out over time and space to ensure that at least some the hatchlings make it to the sea.

To gather all of this information may sound simple, but it takes a small army of people walking the beach nightly. I worked closely with State University of Papua students and alumni who monitor leatherback activities during the breeding season. Some of them were getting their first field experience, and others were collecting data for their undergraduate thesis project. In addition to general nightly leatherback monitoring, they helped me find my focal females. These are a proportion of the nesting females that I focused my data collection on. The beaches of Jamursba Medi are long, so each person is usually responsible for patrolling a stretch of beach about 1.5 – 2 km long from about 9 pm until 4 am. We go back and forth with only 15-30 minutes rests in between so as not to miss any turtles nesting.

When we encounter a focal female, we wait until she starts laying eggs to collect data. To identify each individual female, we insert a PIT tag, a small uniquely coded chip, into her shoulder. We also measure her carapace length and width, and collect a very small skin sample from the base of her hind flipper for stable isotope analysis. Using stable isotopes, I can figure out where she migrated from before arriving at the nesting beach.

Some of the clutches from my focal females were carefully moved into a hatchery. Many clutches in Jamursba Medi don’t hatch because pigs and dogs eat the eggs. For some clutches, sand temperature is too high, which causes the developing embryos to die. By moving them into a hatchery, we protect them from predators and high sand temperature. During clutch relocation, eggs were removed from the nest, which allowed us to count the number of eggs in a clutch, and measure and weigh a sample of 20 eggs. When these eggs hatched, we counted the number of hatchlings that emerged, and measured and weighed another sample of 20 hatchlings. We transported hatchlings down by the surf line as soon as we were done measuring them. We tried to find and encounter each focal female three times during the breeding season to discover differences in the number of eggs laid, the size of eggs, and the size of hatchlings among clutches.

We did A LOT this past summer! The work was physically exhausting, but the experience was well worth it. The friendship with the local students and villagers truly enriched my experience. Thank you for letting me share my stories with you! Tune in for future posts!

by Kyle Reynolds, Benthic Ecology Lab

In the midst of all the daily rigors of grad school life (endless sample processing, data analyses, literature reviews, etc.), forward progress seems sometimes to move like a snail through molasses.  One rarely gets the chance to step back from it all and gaze upon the big picture.  Instead, you’re usually so exhausted after yet another 14 hour field day, 8 hours of microscope work, or weekend spent studying for exams that you tend to forget that there will in fact be fruits of your labor…

Well, my bug-eyed, brain-frazzled, bone-weary grad school friends (and those of you students-to-be), I’m here to remind you to keep your eye on the prize and enjoy the ride.  Science is one of very few professions that encourages pure creative thinking, allows for raw discovery, and, in the process, envelopes you into a tight-knit community of passionate, like-minded people.  Brick by brick, its process and results expand and add to the conventional wisdom of humanity.  Of course you know this… it’s what attracted you to this pursuit to begin with… but I know how easy it is to lose sight of this fact during the day-to-day ‘drudgery’.  Well, let this be your public service reminder:  you are so lucky to be part of this!

I can say this now, one year after graduating from Moss Landing Marine Labs.  Now that a chapter of my thesis has been published and become an actual contribution to our knowledge of how the world works.  Now that I’ve had a chance to slow my pace, get in some painting and gardening and realize…  Hey!  Wait!  I need another fix!  I’m not ready to get off this ride yet (or ever) – this stuff is addictive!  There really are no words to describe the feeling of finally seeing your hard work published and, yes, even referenced by others in your ‘community’.  This must be why there are very few ex-scientists out there.

And so, here I go, back into academia to get my next fix.  Much like Michael Corleone, “Just when I thought I was out… they pull me back in.”  Only willingly… very willingly.  Don’t look at me like I’m crazy.  You know you’ll do the same thing.  Keep your eye on the prize.

by Erin Loury, Icthyology Lab

Put your tentacles up – it’s Cephalopod Awareness Days 2010, everyone!  Fellow marine scientist blogger Danna Staff (a cephalopod enthusiast and newly-minted Ph.D. from Hopkins Marine Station) is hosting this week’s festivities at her Cephalopodiatrist blog.  I figured it would be fitting to celebrate October 8th, Octopus Day, MLML-style with a tale of two Erins and their eight-armed encounters.

The first is a repost about Erin Jensen’s octopuses. Erin defended her thesis in April, titled “The Effects of Environmental Enrichment and Problem-Solving on the Brain and Behavior of Octopus rubescens.”  While she spent most of her time stumping octopuses with mazes and food puzzles, and subsequently dissecting their brains, she also moonlighted in octopus husbandry – or at least, attempted to.  When one of her octopus test subjects wiggled its way out usefulness in her experiment by promptly laying eggs, Erin realized there was little she  could do but enjoy just how goshdarn cute they were. While none of the babies survived past a few days, we did get some video of them doing their bouncy thing – check out the full post here.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_LmXdGRzrqM&feature=player_embedded]

And then there’s me, the second Erin.  We in the fish community can appreciate cephalopods as much as anyone.  Even fish love cephalopods – they make great snacks!  Here’s a photo straight from the gopher rockfish gut files, aka my thesis on gopher rockfish diet.  Though true octopus lovers may shed a tear at this assortment of consumed critters, consider that an animal’s ecological role is also worthy of celebration.  So here’s to a tasty link in the food chain!

by Shandy Buckley, Physical Oceanography Lab

In April of this year I flew off to sunny, warm Hawaii to participate in a research cruise for my former school, the University of Hawaii, Manoa. As the plane took off from San Jose in a cold morning rain I had little idea of what to expect, science wise. On my arrival in sunny Hawaii I quickly learned that the cruise was funded by the US Air Force, (and specifically an agency called DARPA) to observe a glider do something where no one else could see it. The details were vague, to the point that until the evening after we’d left port none of the ships crew, nor myself knew where we were exactly going or what DARPA stood for. We took to referring to it as the ‘Department of Defense Against the Dark Arts’, and the giant satellite tracking antennae on our deck as the ‘death star’.

Silly names aside, my job aboard the ship was to collect atmospheric data using weather balloons. Before leaving land I was trained by the UHM meteorology department to launch weather balloons and convince the attached instrument to listen to me. The instrument, all going well, would profile the atmospheric density (pressure, temperature, humidity) to over 30,000 meters. Once on station, 1,000 nautical miles west of Hawaii, I would launch a balloon every 6 hours and take meteorology readings at the surface. On land I was referred to as the balloon technician.

The title of “Chief Scientist” was bestowed on me jokingly one night at dinner and stuck through the entire cruise. The reasons for such a prestigious title were two-fold. First of all, I was the only person on board associated with a research institute who was there to collect research data. The rest of the science party consisted of 4 very intelligent technicians contracted or hired by the Air Force whose job on board was to collect satellite data transmitted from the glider.  Second of all, as the only woman on board, I was given the Chief Scientist cabin. And that is how a first year graduate student becomes Chief Scientist.

Being at sea for 16 days, literally 1,000 nautical miles from “civilization,” on a 200-ft ship with 20 men is an interesting and very educational experience. The other people on board had a lot to teach me. The lead technician led me through the basics of communicating between the scientists and the bridge in the middle of the night, and how to launch a large unwieldy object without following it over the side of the ship. Every morning I would go up to the bridge and the Captain would patiently guide me through a sun sight with the sextant. By the end of the trip the GPS and I were mostly in agreement. Being out at sea was an incredible experience and one I would recommend to anyone with an interest in packing as much learning and action into as little time and space possible. The stars were gorgeous, the people were interesting, and the food was great.