Surveying the Sanctuary

Fulmar docked in Sausalito. Photo: MojosCoast

By Susanna Beck

The morning fog had already burned off by the time we arrived at the dock in Sausalito.  Six am rays of sunshine glistened off the glassy water while the crew lumbered sleepily around the deck. 

Today was the day I had been waiting for.  A chance to leave my office work behind and tag-along with the researchers as they did their routine survey of Sanctuary wildlife aboard the trusty research vessel Fulmar.  With a dry erase marker, I happily added my name to the ship manifest velcroed to the entryway and listened diligently as Eric, the first-mate, barked safety instructions for those of us green to the boat. 

As we motored through the harbor and out into the Bay, I could see the distinct line in the water marking the changing tide.  But as the Golden Gate Bridge bade us farewell and we headed into the infamous 'Potato Patch,' a torrent of changing currents threatening to swallow anything in its path, things really got moving. 

A count at ‘bird rock,’ just west of Rodeo Beach, was the first order of business.  We climbed to the observation deck at the bow of the boat and with over-sized binoculars slung clumsily around my neck, I watched as my colleagues counted a blur of common murres, cormorants, gulls and pelicans.  The sound of their counting clicker kept a steady beat against the rolling waves sweeping us from side-to-side.

As we ventured further North, it became clear that this would not be the smooth-sailing cruise I had hoped for.  The Fulmar protested the incoming swells with sudden vertical lurches followed by nose dives into the next trough.  I clung to the sides of my captain’s chair like a child on her first roller coaster.

The team prepared for the first transect line, a straight path we would follow while counting birds and marine mammals.  Emma, the data recorder, connected the computer on the observation deck and the 4 researchers took their evenly spaced places along the bow.  I listened as they divided the tasks: ‘starboard-side marine mammals and crab pots’; ‘port-side seabirds’ and so on. 

Once ready, Emma used the intercom to give the captain the ‘okay’ to start the line.  Off we went, thankful to be leaving the idyll state that had made us even more vulnerable to the whims of the ocean.   

I fought against my Dramamine-induced eyelids to continue to observe the observers.

“Western Gull.  Feeding.  Zone 1,” a researcher shouted over the wind.

“Harbor Porpoise.  Swimming.  Zone 3,” another researcher yelled.

Struggling with the lurching screen, Emma entered the data into the computer.  One after the other, they yelled out their sightings, taking pause only for Emma to catch up.  Finally, the intercom buzzed with a message from the bridge.  We had reached the end of the transect line, the captain said, and the water was too rough to do another.  We were heading back to port.

Somewhat disappointed that our voyage would be cut short, I secretly looked forward to the steady land that awaited me in Sausalito. 

The inland heat hit us like a wall as we sailed back into the safety of Richardson Bay.  Pleased that I had survived the trip without keeling over the rail, I reflected on the importance of what we had just accomplished. 

The information collected today will contribute to the database that stores the many stories each transect line in the Sanctuary has to tell.  Days just like this one will help us identify changes in species abundance and distribution, one “Humpback Whale. Breaching. Zone 2.” at a time.

 

All photos: MojosCoast