Cheetah's tall fin has rounded scallops on the trailing edge. These scallops make him easy to recognize at sea.
Animal behaviorists get paid in many wild and wonderful ways. Regardless of the species I study, my biggest paycheck is absolute absorption.
Whether I ponder primates, elephants or dolphins, I become rapt. Maybe the word is wrapped. Observation returns me to the awe and wonder I felt as a child. In this chaotic world, contemplation is plenty payment.
But I got a really wild paycheck this January: I heard the sounds of a dolphin hunting in the dark. Through a process of likelihood and elimination, I made an educated guess that it was probably Cheetah. And I was right. It was a mother lode for an animal behaviorist.
It was the darkest time of the night … around 4 a.m. Our open windows embraced the sea’s sweet breath. I dozed, reveling in the sounds outside.
You‘d think it would’ve been quiet. Mother earth is never quiet. Sounds arrive from enormous distances. You can hear them at night. They’re drowned by human hubbub during the day.
Warbles wafted in from early birds. Crows croaked. A man coughed. Relentlessly, water slapped seawalls like quiet background bongos.
And somebody was in our finger.
In Florida, fingers are narrow watery cul-de-sacs between parallel rows of land for coastal homes like interlaced fingers on a map.
The somebodies were dolphins. Too dark to see who they were, I listened instead. I laid in my bed and made bets about what was going on outside.
There were gentle intermittent splashes. I bet that these stress-free sounds were compliments of cavorting calves. There were distinct splashes too, like watery thuds. They meant someone was hunting. Considering probable sea wall hunters and who’d been around of late, I bet on Cheetah.
At first light, the dolphins slowly assembled and left the finger. I smiled as a wad of calves wrestled out of sight. My jaw dropped as Cheetah’s tall distinct fin was the last to leave. Wow. It was like winning the lottery when you’ve worked your whole life. The 1,200 observation hours behind my bet vanished as I pocketed my treasured paycheck.
To the work-a-day world, of which I am also a part, studying animal behavior is an unusual way to spend time: monitoring the lives of free-ranging animals for the greater good of all. With help, I monitor 180 dolphins by surveying a study area at sea several times a week.
The problem is measuring the potential impact of a major bridge reconstruction project on dolphins who used the area as much as humans. Born officially upon receipt of a federal permit from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, we have legal permission to approach dolphins closer than the mandated 50 yards. Without a permit, people who draw closer are actually breaking the law (www.noaa.gov).
Data collection, the amazing part, is based on identifying individual dolphins.
Most of us know animals from pets at home or going to the zoo. Unnecessarily but customarily, zoos exhibit animals in small groups. You see one or two elephants or a trio of monkeys. These small numbers make it hard to see that each animal is distinct like each person is distinct. When you learn a species’ physical Gestält, you see animals as the individuals they are. It’s a real kick when you no longer see ‘a monkey’ but instead see Drella the capuchin or Golda the bonnet macaque like you see Mike at work. I’ll never forget when San Diego Zoo gorilla keeper Gale Foland got a birthday card with a gorilla on it … and he recognized that gorilla.
To exercise your eye, start with color patches on parrots, tusks and ear tatters on elephants, whisker patterns on lions or faces on primates.
With bottlenose dolphins, we use pictures of dorsal fins to distinguish individuals by unique tatters, nicks and notches. Cheetah’s tall fin has unique round scallops.
some percentage of the dolphin community is individually recognizable this way. The remainder is not, like youngsters who’ve yet to develop personalized sets of scars. These data estimate the total number of dolphins and establish species as threatened, endangered, or holding their own.
From the process of generating a photo identification catalog of John’s Pass dolphins from 40,000 photographs, boat captain John Heidemann and myself no longer say, “Hey, a bunch of dolphins”. Instead, we say, “Its Tanks and Face with little Baby Face” or [bulls] “N and DD2.”
I wonder what they’ve named us.
Colleagues who study cetaceans by sound can even recognize dolphins by their distinctive whistles, a higher level of individual recognition. Marine mammalogist Rachel Smolker tells how she learned this in her book To Touch a Wild Dolphin.
Yes, it was Cheetah driving fish that night. Passion drives me. The animals call me back constantly. The study of animal behavior never fails to feed.
Join the Contemplation Club. Live the privilege of consciousness. You might find what you’re looking for. Remember, your efforts will be for the greater good of all. And you get paid.
Dr. Weaver studies wild dolphins under federal permit GA1088-1815, National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Send her an e-mail at acweaver@tampabay.rr.com or visit www.dazzlingdolphins.com.
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