January 5, 2000

The "Lynns" ornithology group (Left to Right): Erik Chapman, Michèle Rosenshield, Bill Fraser, Donna Patterson, and Pete Duley.

Last night I touched base with Bill Fraser about joining his group for a day in the field. Bill is the Principal Investigator (P.I.) for the seabird component of the Long-Term Ecological Research (LTER) project and senior research scientist on Station. Pending weather, he said that a full day of work was planned for Humble Island. As part of their study of seabird feeding habits and success, Bill and his group were planning to attach radio transmitters to Adelie penguins--25 units in total. Donna Patterson also had to rig another type of transmitter to a giant petrel and to check on the egg and hatching status of birds on Humble. In addition, Pete Duley, Michèle Rosenshield and Erik Chapman each had a number of rounds to make, checking "repro," or reproduction, sites within the penguin colony. Both penguins and the petrel had to be dry for the tape mounted transmitters to stick to feathers--so, much would depend on whether or not it would be snowing or raining. At 10:30am Bill said that things looked good, and we should plan to leave in 30 minutes. Steve and I had everything ready. We followed the "Lynns" out to Humble Island in our zodiac. Shoals of brash ice meandered across Arthur Harbor. The mix included quite a few medium sized bergs that had calved from the Marr Ice Piedmont. To the south and east the sun broke through the clouds and Mt. William could be seen. In the other direction a grey band of clouds menaced. It would be an interesting day...

Adelie penguin with chick. (Note the pinkish guano from the krill on which they feed).

We pulled up to the rocks and boat mooring at Humble Island and climbed ashore on the heels of the "Lynns." A group of elephant seals was hauled out at the top of the initial rise to the saddle of the island. They were packed tightly against one another like sausages; they snored and snorted, opening a wide eye as we passed. Mostly they were unconcerned with our presence. The stench from the seals and waft from the Adelie colony blew over the island. As I write this hours later, there are traces--olfactory memories--clinging to my palette! There is something unforgettable about the smell of a penguin colony. But, after a time, I get wrapped up in observing and listening and don't mind. The chicks are growing at an incredible rate: big, grey fuzzy creatures with pot bellies and large pink feet. Bill surveys the community, noting pairs of adults and numbers of chicks. Adelies usually lay two eggs. There are many healthy young and a number of runts whose pelage is thin. Some nests only have one chick and others still have unhatched eggs--probably dead, at this point. Already, a few of the young birds have started to gather in small groups: crèching its called. Bill points out that the chicks at the promontory of the island are slightly more developed than those lower down into the colony. He speculates that this may be a function of snow cover and its pattern of retreat. In over 20 years of field work, he has an acute eye for detail in observing the subtle changes and nuances in the community.

I listen to the soundscape. The din is impressive: the colony hums, punctuated by ecstatic ratchets of reunion. The chicks' voices are beginning to develop from singular peeps to a slightly modulated quaver, a pleading that anticipates adult calling. The elephant seals chortle, roar and bellow and make a kind of bubbling sound which resonates deep in their throats. I wonder about what sort of infrasonic components may exist in their vocalization. Today, I will not undertake any recording--but rather tune in to the landscape and plan for a return trip.

Donna Patterson (left) places a radio transmitter on the back of an Adelie while Pete Duley (right) cradles the bird in his lap.

Donna, Pete and Michèle set up the transmitter shop on an outcropping of rock. They will place radio transmitters on 25 birds--a fairly even mix of females and males. Bill will scout the colony to try and grab individuals: preferably one of an adult pair at a nest. Erik will also scout and work as penguin wrestler, bringing the birds to the rocks for transmitters and returning them when they have a rig mounted on their back. It is a tricky time, in that adults rotate nesting duties and most nests are guarded by only one adult, while the other forages. For a brief spell, both are at the nest. For the chicks' sake, it is best to nab one of the adults while the other is standing by, minding the chicks. In this way, the young are protected from skuas and from wandering off through a maze of unfriendly neighbours. Steve and I stand by with a towel in the event that Bill takes an adult and leaves the chicks untended. In our turn at nest guarding, we toss a towel over the chicks and they simply go back to sleep--protected and warm. In one of my turns, I was amazed at how much heat these little guys generate. I cupped them with the towel and could feel their warmth radiating a full two inches above the towel!

An Adelie, back on the nest with a radio transmitter on its back.

The radio transmitters are placed on the backs of the penguins, slightly below the shoulder blades and along the spine. The units are about 2 inches long with an antenna extending another several inches towards the tail. Bill and his group are interested in monitoring how long individuals forage--how long they are away. In this experiment, 25 penguins will be tracked. Every 20 minutes, a data logger on the island will turn on automatically and scroll through all 25 discrete transmitter frequencies to check and see who is around and who is not. It is a simple census count, conducted 24 hours a day. The process will continue until all the young have fledged--in about a month from now. Finding out how long individuals are away from the nest and correlating this information with other surveys of what and how much penguins eat will reveal more about how these extraordinary creatures survive in such an inhospitable environment.

Giant petrel on Humble Island.

The transmitter work took about 3 hours. We retreated to the boat launch area for a brief respite and then regrouped for the next items on the agenda. Erik and Pete had some reproductive site surveying to do with the Adelies. Donna turned her attention to her passion--giant petrels. Giant petrels are related to the albatross. They are very large birds with a wide variety of mottled white, brown and grey colorings. There are about 474 nesting sites of giant petrels in the general vicinity of Palmer Station. This is up dramatically from years past. However, other parts of the Antarctic have witnessed a decline in numbers. Donna has been studying giant petrels for the better part of the of the last decade and the community on Humble Island has come to know her very well. So well, in fact, that they recognize her and allow her to approach at close range and to even handle them, their eggs and their young. Steve and I followed Donna on her rounds of the island's nesting population. She told stories about each bird we encountered and spoke to each of them--telling of various personality traits and foibles, "This one is a sweetheart, but her mate is a real psycho, Norman Bates. You have to watch out for him..."

Donna Patterson weighs and measures a newly hatched giant petrel, while the proud parents look on.

In her dealings with giant petrels, Donna was always mindful and cautious. We sat beside one male, while Donna and Michèle placed another type of radio transmitter on his back. She carefully reached under him and removed his egg for safe-keeping, while substituting a fake egg. While setting up this work, the bird sat and watched. Donna was careful to pass tape, scissors, transmitter, etc. right in front of the bird's face, "They like to see what is going on. We don't work behind their backs if we can avoid it." The petrel's massive bill probed her coat sleeve; she scratched his throat and held his bill lightly in her hand and went about preparing the transmitter. Then, since the device had to be mounted behind, on the back, Michèle placed a little hood over his head, while Donna worked the unit into position. No fuss, no muss! Off came the hood and, voilagrave;, he was ready to go. The transmitter is used to track the wanderings of these birds as they forage far from home. This year, one was found to have roamed over 700 miles from Humble Island to find food--one way! Donna says that it generally takes 2-3 years for a bird to get used to her.

A new member of the giant petrel community on Humble Island.

As we made our rounds, we encountered 3 newly hatched chicks and several who were working their way out of their egg--little peepholes had formed in the ivory colored egg shell. One pair let Donna remove their chick for us to admire--a ball of white fluff with delicate translucent blue legs. The downy coat was fluffy and soft with bits and pieces of egg shell still dangling from its plummage. "Here, smell this," she exclaimed, thrusting the chick into my face. I was surprised by the sensation--particularly after spending most of the day between an Adelie colony and an elephant seal wallow! The chick smelled sort of sweet and vaguely of fish. Not what one would have thought, but quite pleasant...

Michèle Rosenshield (left) and Donna Patterson (right) with a radio transmitter on an adult male petrel.

In reflecting on Donna's relationship to her community of birds, I was reminded of E. O. Wilson's biophylia hypothesis--the notion that we, as a species, are innately drawn to life and to life-like processes. It is this curiosity and seeking to touch, literally and figuratively, that makes us what we are--human. The visceral connection with the "others" is rare and involves assigning greater importance to the concept of trust and what that can mean between us and another species. These giant petrels are not pets, but wild animals. Steve and I ambled back across Arthur Harbor, smiling in wonder at what we had been privileged to witness.