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Dolphin Watch
High five sea style
By ANN WEAVER
Article published on Thursday, Sept. 25, 2008 |
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![[Image]](/content_images/092508_out-01.jpg) |
| Photo by ANN WEAVER |
| Front Slash launches from her ringside seat into a full body bow and slides back into the brine. Perhaps it was a signal to the bottlenose bull competitors to back down, like an elephant matriarch flapping her dominant ears at quarrelsome young bulls. |
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When biking or boating, I guess I’m not surprised that people wave at each other; we can afford fleeting friendliness in neutral territory.
What surprises me is that it’s mostly the ladies who wave. Are females reared to be sociable? Or do we operate from an ancient psychological heritage of greater social receptivity?
From my primate studies, males and females respond differently to newcomers. Males go on alert, poised for fight or flight. Females mainly shift their attention to the situation without other obvious leanings towards launchings.
Consequently, when two adult female bottlenose dolphins and their calves joined seven bottlenose bulls in riotous competition one September day, it made me ponder female social receptivity and the effect of female affect.
One female was DD1 with her vulnerable calf Doodle. The other was Front Slash with her calf Scarface, a three-year-old male who still swims at mom’s side. We’d found Front Slash and Scarface earlier that day.
Front Slash is a long-standing skeptic. Skeptics are dolphins who’ve yet to habituate to our boat despite regular exposure.
Habituation is the process of ceasing to flee from a harmless stimulus. Among people, habituation takes place, for example, when a neurotic stops responding to imagined fears. Among animals under intense scrutiny, such as free-ranging animals in field studies and captive animals on public display, habituation is essential for detailed observation.
Habituating free-ranging animals takes time, patience and respect for the animals’ personal space. Because successful fieldwork depends on habituation, I study how individual dolphins do or do not become habituated to our boat.
Some dolphins got it right away, like P. Most took their time, like Q. Some never really do, like many bulls. Yet in my experience, habituation comes instantly when it comes. One day you’re still observing from a distance, the next day you’re part of the club. I doubt that they suddenly recognize the boat. Rather, it appears they suddenly accept it.
To say Front Slash remained “unmoved” by our presence is a figure of speech. She’s repeatedly tested our ability to get the photographs that document our work without direct harassment. In fact, it’s only because of her dorsal fin’s signature slash that we’ve been able to document her at all, always from a considerable distance.
Four years of patience and respect paid off. Front Slash became habituated this summer.
One September morn, she and Scarface searched a hidden cove. As calves are wont to do, Scarface sprinted over in an “interested pass” and then resumed his search. In the distance, a second dolphin searched the sea walls. “That’s probably Front Slash.” Accordingly, Capt. John Heidemann made no move to approach.
Without warning, the distant dolphin approached and paralleled us at close range; certainly it was Front Slash’s choice to do so.
“Wow! Front Slash never does this! Maybe she’s finally come around!”
Her behavior may seem unremarkable. Dolphins delight boaters like this all the time. For our study, it was tangible progress.
Around noon, we watched an antagonizing episode of ‘playing in traffic’ when dolphins socialize regardless of slow or fast moving boats all around them.
Seven bulls were steeped in competitive conflict in the raceway, the longest expanse between no-wake zones in the study area. If boaters hit full throttle, they hit it here. Bordered by extreme shallows, the raceway is treacherously narrow. Boats thunder past each other at chillingly close quarters, part of the game I suppose.
In the midst of this maritime madness, bulls Brick, Square Scoop, BNSB and Nose writhed around Contender and two new dolphins. Bodies lunged and cartwheeled in and out of position. A chase would ensue off the road but wrenchingly resume back in the midst of boating chaos. Good thinking, guys!
Playing in traffic is a great mystery of dolphin psychology. Granted, brawls are preoccupying. Brawlers might be expected to forget or neglect where they are. Yet from the Carolinas to Florida, I submit playing in traffic is not accidental.
Does the roar of passing boats invigorate hot heads like loud music at a nightclub? Do bubble paths from boat wakes stimulate like a Jacuzzi or change the odds by fogging the playing field? Is it a form of fitness display? “See?! I can dodge you, penetrate enemy lines AND duck the boats!” Do the competitors shove each other into on-coming danger?
Observation was hair-raising. You fear for the dolphins’ safety. You go on high alert to sprint clear of boats bellowing by, ungraciously staying their own course. Heidemann tersely dodged an endless stream of screaming boats; I think he counted 18 in 20 minutes. I lurched recklessly between scribbling data and photography.
Thirty draining minutes into the fray, Front Slash and DD1 pulled up. Like people, dolphins are drawn to brawls, weaving on the sidelines as if ringside.
We only realized they’d arrived because Front Slash arched off our bow without warning. Hey Lady! Like running into each other twice in one day, her behavior was like a dolphin version of “High Five!” Then she turned to the business at hand.
She launched from her ringside seat into a full body bow and slid back into the brine. Aerial behaviors serve as social commentary. Was it a signal to the competitors to back down, like an elephant matriarch flapping her dominant ears at quarrelsome young bulls? In any case, that’s what they did. By ones and twos, the competitors slowly fanned out and went their separate ways.
The final question of social attitude was the identity of competitors who swam off with Front Slash and company, the three we’ve seen the least: Contender and the two new dolphins. Apologies? Lady’s choice? Off they swam into translucent noon seas without answering a single question. Mine was a rueful wave good-bye.
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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Article published on Thursday, Sept. 25, 2008
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