Carolina In My Mind

This post is coming to you from 32,000 feet in the air, as we’re returning from NC to CA. Our pilot is Matthew McConaughey, or at least his voice is a dead ringer for the actor’s. I’m going with MM as the pilot, even though he SAYS his name is Robert. 

The trip was a major success, in that we found our targets as well as a few other birds we weren’t necessarily expecting. The focus was a boat trip from Hatteras Island in the Outer Banks (OBX, y’all!) out to the Gulf Stream to look for ocean birds. Here’s a map for you geographically-challenged readers.

Boat Day was Saturday, fewer than 24 hours after landing in Norfolk, VA. To reach the boat on time, we woke at the obscenely early time of 430AM EASTERN, at which point some of our friends back home hadn’t even gone to bed yet!

We met the Captain at the dock before 530AM, boarded and stowed our gear, and chugged into the bay as the sun rose. Why so early? Because in the Atlantic Ocean, there is nothing to see except other boats until you reach the Gulf Stream, which from dock is about a 3-hour trip. Why is there nothing to see? Let’s ask our old friend, Dr. Sayornis. Lay it on us, Doc!

My pleasure! Simply put, prevailing winds on the Pacific coast tend to blow offshore, and the friction produced from wind on water surface pushes surface water away from the coast in a process identified by the great and underappreciated Vagn Walfrid Ekman. This motu aquae causes water below the surface to rise up, and because the Continental Shelf is close to shore, the water that rises is from very deep in the ocean and brings up nutrients from decaying materials on the ocean bottom. Nutrients are consumed by organisms, who are summarily consumed by other organisms, and the circulus vitae continues.

In the Atlantic and generally on the Eastern edges of all continents, prevailing winds blow onshore, and as these waters generally don't contain many nutrients, there isn't a similar rich source of food and thus fewer organisms. The Gulf Stream, however, is full of nutrients brought up from the Tropics, and so is a magnet for life of all types. Including silly humans on boats. 

Quod erat demonstrandum.

My brain is stuffed fuller than last Thanksgiving’s Turducken, but I think I get it. Thanks!

Now, this boat was WAY smaller than expected. We’re used to trips on large boats that can take at least 50 passengers, but this boat was comfortable for 6 so we were VERY close to the water. And, we went 30+ miles on the ocean in this little thing! And, on our way out, in a moment of terrible foreshadowing, I noticed one of the other passengers starting to doze off. More on this later.

The first ocean life we saw was one of the coolest critters of the day. Flying Fish!

When threatened, they leap out of the water and glide 150 feet or more in the air, before plopping back into the sea. They’re gorgeous, silvery fish and very fun to watch.

At about 830AM, we reached the Gulf Stream. How did we know we were there? First, the water temperature rises significantly, as you can see from the NOAA image below (OBX is at the bottom-left):

Clumps of sargassum (seaweed) began floating by, in what was otherwise pristine water, and of course the current picked up so the Captain had to do some extra work to keep us on course.

One of the most frequently seen birds on the Gulf Stream was the adorable Wilson’s Storm-petrel.

Probably my favorite bird of the day, they have a striking black-and-white pattern, funny-looking face, cool name, and are very active. Their preferred hunting technique involves delicately dancing on the water, using their wings to almost hover as they dip in their toes. But when a curious fish comes up to check it out, the storm-petrel stabs her curved bill below the surface to catch it. This picture comes close to capturing the dance:

The best moment of the day was a feeding frenzy. A large school of small fish was being hunted by tuna, who were attacking so aggressively from below that the tuna launched themselves out of the water, into the air! And on the surface, seabirds from our dainty storm-petrel to huge Great and Cory’s Shearwaters were plucking off fish driven near the surface by the tuna. The size of this spectacle was hard to gauge without reference points, but I guess the battlefield was about 1/4 mile in diameter.

Great Shearwater doing the Electric Slide in front of the Wilson's Storm-petrel Dancers

Cory's Shearwater gliding above it all.

After this and lunch, the Captain worked valiantly to find new birds, sailing back and forth across the Stream. However, the hot weather (mid-80s with intense sun), rhythmic bouncing of the boat, and early morning began to take effect, and sleep grasped everybody except the Captain and his Mate.

Sailing must be an especially powerful soporific, as never before have I fallen asleep standing up. Doing this on a boat was probably not a good idea. Doing it while learning against the railing of said boat, a bit worse. And falling asleep standing up, leaning against the railing, while the boat was bouncing up and down as it cut through the waves at full speed probably wasn’t the best choice! But somehow we returned to dock safely.

Now, we have a quick turn-around: After doing laundry and checking in at work, our next journey begins on Thursday(!) with a return to Minnesota, and first-time-ever stops in Michigan and North Dakota.

Sail on, 
Me.