DIVE SLATE
A
fter hundreds of underwater encounters
with leopard seals, I thought I knew a
thing or two about their behavior. This
was a huge mistake that could have cost
me my life. On the third day of my assignment to
photograph emperor penguins in the Ross Sea, I stood
next to a series of open holes and ice leads to see
where the penguins were entering the water when I
spotted the unmistakable head of a leopard seal poking
through a hole in the ice. I smiled with anticipation as
I recalled the many wonderful dives I have had with
these mysterious and intelligent animals. I felt like I
was seeing an old friend, and I could not wait to join
this much misunderstood animal in the water.
The next second and without warning, the seal
exploded from the water’s surface before my assistant
and I realized what was happening. Even though we
were 15 feet from the ice edge, the seal flew toward me,
putting his entire 600-pound mass at eye level. I had
time only to raise my arm to protect my face as his body
slammed into mine, throwing me onto the ice. I was
shocked, panicked and scrambling to get away from the
seal, which lay next to me on the slippery ice. The seal,
equally surprised, was rushing to get back into the water.
It could easily have bitten me, but I clearly saw in its eye
the moment when in the knick of time it realized I was
not a penguin. What I had not realized is that comparing
the hunting behavior of leopard seals that gorge
themselves on 8-pound penguin chicks in the Antarctic
Peninsula with those laboring to catch 70-pound adult
emperor penguins in the Ross Sea is like
comparing golden retrievers to lions.
Looking up from underneath the ice, I later
realized why that seal had confused me with
prey. Through the translucent glassiness of the
ice, I could easily distinguish the dark shape of
my assistant standing 30 feet away from the ice
edge just like the penguins do. I could not only
see his silhouette, which looked remarkably like
that of an emperor penguin, I could also hear
him moving around on the ice. It dawned on
me that as leopard seals patrol the ice holes that
emperor penguins use to enter the water, they
look for shapes on the ice and listen for sound
cues as they wait in ambush for the birds.
Weighing between 55 and 90 pounds and
standing more than 3 feet tall, emperor penguins are the
largest and most majestic of all penguins. Not only are
they beautiful, their behavior is also fascinating. Most of
what we know about them, however, revolves around
their extreme parenting behavior: the harsh isolation of
their nesting colonies and the arduous treks to and from
the sea to get food as they take turns caring, first for their
egg and then for their chick. What little we know about
this resilient bird from movies such as March of the
Penguins has left many of us yearning to find out what
happens when the penguins reach the ice edge and enter
the frigid Antarctic waters. The knowledge that the death
of even one parent will cost the chick its life made me
interested in observing the survival strategies that these
“extreme parents” have developed to avoid predation.
This was the essence of my assignment.
I sat on the ice for hours observing how the penguins
hesitated before entering the water. When they first
approach the ice edge after the arduous march from
the colony across the frozen landscape, they stand
for a little while about 30 feet from the water’s edge.
Their heart rate accelerates to more than 200 beats per
minute in anticipation of going into the water. They
know a deadly predator awaits them underneath the ice.
LIFE AND STRESS
AT THE ICE EDGE
16
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WINTER 2014
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SEACOLOGY
24
GHOST FISHING
26
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