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

