Burney's Seminar

Hi Folks:

I have decided to start a blog where those with an interest in pinniped field research, and a moderate sense of humor and a tolerance for the grisly and bizarre can share stories.  I was inspired by a get together in Santa Cruz California celebrating the career and experiences of Dr. Burney LeBoeuf, my friend and mentor for the last forty years.  I was thrilled to renew acquaintances with several people whom I had no seen in over thirty years and to make new ones with folks who shared the same love of the field.

Time was too short to even begin to share stories about the places where we worked and the animals we came to know, often as individuals and the adventures we had while experiencing the wildness of nature up close, often for days or weeks on end.

I began my pinniped field research, like many people at the seminar, at Ano Nuevo Island off the coast of San Mateo County, California.  In the early 1970's we were beginning to discover the workings of the reproductive behavior of the northern elephant seal, Mirounga angustirostris.  These huge seals breed on the island in the winter and, to get to know how their society operated, we watched them during all daylight hours - and occasionally in the moonlight - for the three months from December to March.  We all literally lived amongst the seals for weeks on end surrounded by their sound and smell.  Their presence was everywhere.

Ano Nuevo Island was once a U. S. Coast Guard station and the buildings there date from the 1890's.  The station was abandoned in the late 1940's when the light was automated.  Only a couple of years later, California sea lions, Zalopus californianus broke down the doors and began occupying the imposing Victorian residence.  They have now lived in the house longer than the coast guard.  Unfortunately for the structure, they are far worse housekeepers than the previous occupants.

When we lived on the island in the early 1970's we stayed in the large, barn-like structure called the foghorn house and a small, cramped concrete bunker called the blockhouse.  The large fresh water cistern just outside our door was our source of drinking water until we found a dead rabbit floating therein. 

We overlooked the seething harem of elephant seals on the east side of the island (Area 17) from a sturdy blind.  All day we would record their conflicts and liaisons to determined who was dominant to whom and how this effected their reproductive success. This was the basis of our work in those early years.  The blind log reads like a condensed soap opera of elephant seal life.

As I said, I want this blog to be a place where we can share stories about our lives in the field and to that end, I want to tell you the story of an elephant seal named 704.

Seven-O-Four was only a SA-4.  He was sexually mature, but unable to breed due to the size, aggressiveness and dominance of his older rivals.  He was about twelve feet long, had an ample, but still immature snotter and was barely scarred.  All in all, he was a rather unremarkable subadult.  I think I remember that he was brown in color.  The thing that makes 704 stand out in the minds of all who encountered him was that he hated people.

Now most elephant seal males, whether they are eight-foot-long immatures or sixteen-foot alpha males have no opinion at all about humans.  They could care less about you.  If you were in their way, they would simply run right over you.  If you stood aside, they would pass by like a locomotive on a track.  If you put a tag in their flipper, they would wake up, turn around and most likely go back to sleep.  If you were aware of them, it was easy to keep out of their way.  Not so, 704.

He was the only male elephant seal who would actively come after you.  If you were standing on the periphery of the harem he would charge directly for you.  If you moved to the side, he would change his path to intercept.  You had know where he was at all times or pay the price.  One of the first things we would ask each other was, "Where is 704?"

Apparently he was frustrated at not being able to participate in the yearly elephant seal orgy and somehow decided that humans were the seat of his problem, and that he would give them no quarter.

My colleague, Ron Whiting was down amongst the seals one time, trying to read a tag with his binoculars.  He was concentrating on the business at hand when 704 snuck up behind him and knocked him down.  Ron was lying on his back, looking up as 704 reared up a full eight feet above him and, with a fire in his eye. He was just about to smash his towering bulk down to his eternal enemy, poor Ron.  Fortunately Ron was able to kick out with his boot, hitting 704 in the tooth and stopping his deadly intention.  Both escaped without injury, at least physical injury.

The one thing I remember was that 704 used to lie on the path to the outhouse, which was about one hundred feet from the blockhouse.  If he was directly in the path, you could see him and either detour around him or relocate him by swatting his snotter with a piece of plastic pipe.  One dark night, after drinking my share of wine I had to relieve myself.  I grabbed a three-foot-long piece of plastic pipe known as a snotter swatter and looked down the path.  It was clear, but as I approached my goal, I heard a snort and immediately knew that 704 was lying in ambush nearby.  At first I thought of going into the outhouse and shutting the door but the image of 704 attacking the tiny building and sending it hurling over the cliff with me inside made me change my mind. 

As I confronted the cunning beast, he reared up to his full height, inflated his snotter and was about to give me a great bellow when I smacked his inflated nose with the pipe.  It made a hollow thumping sound and 704 got the most curious look on his face, lowered himself down, retracted his snotter and turned and fled.  I peed on the open ground.  I was not going to sit in the outhouse while 704 was still around.

Please send along other stories about 704, or any other noteworthy pinniped that comes to mind.

Rex Passion (Richard Gantt)