J
uly 1st, 2019. The morning was
bright as I hiked with my dad, my
aunt and her family on the coast
of Northern California — the so-called “Lost
Coast.” The day was warm and only a few wisps
of clouds were visible in the blue sky along the
edge of the coast. The smell of salt filled my
nostrils. The shushing sound of the powerful
Pacific Ocean toiling against the rough, dark
rocks and sandy shore joined with the soft
whistle of the wind to create a soundtrack of
white noise, punctuated by the seagulls’ harsh
cries.
We arrived at the Punta Gorda Lighthouse,
a lone figure standing along the wild west
coast, not long after detouring around a rattle-
snake sunning itself in the middle of the trail
along the top of the beach.
Just past that lighthouse, lying out on the
fine gray sand of the beach, were a colony of el-
ephant seals. They didn’t appear to be the most
graceful of creatures with their enormous stat-
ure, blubbery bodies and huge bulbous noses.
And while I typically can identify most animals
quickly, I was at first puzzled because I had
never seen these creatures in person before.
The Northern Elephant Seal makes its home
off the coast of Mexico and Southern Califor-
nia, while its larger Southern cousin makes
its home in the cold waters of Antarctica. The
Northern Elephant Seal, a colony of which I
found before me, can weigh over two tons and
can easily crush a human. Growing up on the
coast of Northern California and hiking there
now, the only marine mammals I had ever
encountered were sea lions, which are much
smaller with sleeker bodies, longer flippers
and cute, pointy noses. Yet, as I realized what
I saw in front of me was in fact the Northern
Elephant seal out of its natural habitat, I found
myself drawn to these majestic creatures, de-
spite the clownishness of their appearance.
With a demanding curiosity, I crept closer
to them, keeping a large log between myself
and the mostly slumbering giants. One indi-
vidual seal close to me opened her eye, then
closed it again, deeming me too small to be a
threat. My family watched the seals from a safe
distance away, warning me warily to stop being
reckless. I waved away their concern as I cir-
cled cautiously around the colony. These giants
can move quickly over land when they want to,
their blubber rippling like water as they lum-
ber forward. I was slower on the loose, dry
sand, my shoes dragging no matter how lightly
I tried to step. I watched in fascination from
around the curve of a grassy hill as two males
fought, their sharp teeth gouging into each oth-
er’s already-scarred flesh. I counted around 40
individual seals, in awe of their presence and
large quantity.
What were they doing there, far away from
where they were supposed to be? I remem-
bered when a Great White Shark washed up
on the beach and how it’s not uncommon to
see sea lions, but I couldn’t recall ever hearing
of elephant seals this far north. And when I had
backpacked this same trail with my father and
brother in the past around the same time of
year, they certainly weren’t there.
Later that day, we talked to a park ranger
who said they in fact had come farther north
from their usual beaches and began showing
up in Punta Gorda “around a year ago.”
While this statement may appear insig-
nificant to some, its implications stayed with
me. Later that summer while studying at St.
Peter’s College at Oxford University for an
abroad program, I did some research. The
most helpful source I found on the subject
was a book titled “Elephant Seals: Popula-
tion Ecology, Behavior, and Physiology.” One
map in it showed the locations of rookeries,
or elephant seal breeding colonies, as of 1991
and their alleged historical locations. The his-
torical rookeries extend south to Mexico and
north past San Francisco, but not to Punta
Gorda.
Within the 28 years between 1991 and 2019,
the elephant seals migrated about 280 miles
north of their historical northernmost rookery,
about 10 miles a year.
But why was this so?
I guess the circumstances were right for me
to be thinking about this question, as my study
abroad program that summer focused on an-
thropogenic climate change. At some point, I
made the connection that it is climate change
that is affecting the patterns of these animals.
It’s well established that climate change is
causing rising atmospheric temperatures. But
oceans absorb a lot of the heat that would oth-
erwise be absorbed by the atmosphere. The
Environmental Protection Agency shows a re-
cent rise in ocean heat content above the 1971-
2000 average, which is consistent across differ-
ent measurement sources.
There is evidence that distributions of ma-
rine mammals are changing as climate chang-
es. It is possible that as ocean temperatures rise,
the elephant seals are moving farther north to
waters that are more comfortable or which
provide better access to food sources.
And while this one instance may serve as
a key indicator of the significance of climate
change, its impact on living organisms is not
confined to the oceans, nor is it confined to ani-
mals. Plant distributions can also be affected by
climate change as temperatures and precipita-
tion levels change.
Even the smallest of creatures can be af-
fected by temperature changes, as shown
by one of the EPA’s climate change indica-
tors, Lyme disease. Occurrences of Lyme
disease have been rising steadily since the
1990s. Lyme disease is caused by a bacteria
called Borrelia burgdorferi, which can be
carried in a certain species of tick called a
deer tick. Ticks infected with this bacteria,
when biting a human or animal, can trans-
mit Lyme disease. The illness causes skin
rash, fatigue and joint pain; if left untreat-
ed, the illness can cause Lyme arthritis and
nervous system complications. Deer ticks
are active when temperatures are above 45
degrees Fahrenheit and prefer areas with
85% humidity. Global warming is expand-
ing the range of deer ticks, increasing the
prevalence of health hazards in humans
and animals by spreading Lyme disease to
new populations and areas.
T
his occurrence has important im-
plications for the state of Michi-
gan. In July 2020, it became
clear that Lyme disease is becoming more
prevalent in Northern Michigan and other
parts of the state.
Unlike humans, who regulate the envi-
ronment to survive, animals and plants and
even bacteria rely upon climate to provide
hospitable conditions. If the environment
in which they can live expands, so will their
distribution patterns, and if the
environment is no longer hospita-
ble, they will move to a place that
is hospitable. As shown by the el-
ephant seals I encountered a year and a half
ago, the results of climate change are hap-
pening right before our eyes.
Climate change does not only affect the
climate; it has the potential to affect species
of animals and plants and as a result, the dis-
tributions of diseases like Lyme disease. By
paying attention to such signs and not dis-
missing them as unexplained coincidences,
we acknowledge the impact that we as hu-
mans have on the natural environment.
When I think of the far-reaching conse-
quences of anthropogenic climate change, I
think of the time I saw the elephant seals.
The changes that are occurring are far more
than changes in the weather — they affect
the ecology of the places we live. And re-
gardless of what we consider ourselves to
be, we are animals, too. We can brace our-
selves for the impact of climate change by
recognizing when our actions have affected
the environment, and respond adequately
by anticipating what other consequences
climate change may have.
Our disconnection from the environment
ends when we encounter animals where
they’re not supposed to be, when the plants
that grew in a place before don’t grow there
as well anymore because of drought, when
a disease spreads to a new region. We are
not as separate from the environment as we
may think, and the consequences are ap-
parent in strange, seemingly innocuous oc-
currences — like the elephant seals on the
beach.
After lunch on the hill above the el-
ephant seals, we headed back the way we
had come, the lighthouse being the prede-
termined turning-back point of our hike. It
was almost as if, without knowing it, we had
come all this way just to see the elephant
seals: an anomaly of climate change that
may become a norm in the years to come.
Signs like these are a lighthouse, guiding
our ship through treacherous waters so that
we don’t hit the sharp rocks of the coast and
sink. It is our decision whether to pay atten-
tion to them or not.
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
16 — Wednesday, January 27, 2021
statement
PHOTO BY RACHEL MCKIMMY
A lighthouse beacon for climate change:
what an encounter with elephant seals taught me
BY RACHEL MCKIMMY,
STATEMENT
COLUMNIST