May 19, 2020
Halifax, Nova Scotia
44° 38′ 43.19″ N, 63° 34′ 20.60″ W
For the first time since starting my PhD, I spent the month of April in Halifax. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I was supposed to be doing what I usually do during Halifax’s soggy spring: studying eastern Caribbean sperm whales with the Dominica Sperm Whale Project for my PhD. COVID-19 had other plans. So I’m here, in Halifax, adjusting to my new normal and wondering how the whales are adjusting to theirs.
The ramifications of COVID-19 have been rippling out for months, forcing humans to stay largely confined to our homes (and countries) for the first time in decades. Almost all of the ways we move ourselves and our goods around the planet—think cruise ships, airplanes, bulk and container ships—have come to a grinding halt. What this means for us: we’re stuck, for now. What this means for the rest of the natural world is a more nuanced story.
If you’ve spent even a little time on social media lately, you’ve likely seen the onslaught of ‘nature is healing, we are the virus’ memes. The memes are largely a satirical response to reports early on in the pandemic of environments recovering and animals returning to natural habitats (some of which have been debunked). Jokes aside, new research suggests that the global pandemic is, in some ways, giving nature a chance to catch its breath.
Compared to the mean levels in 2019, daily global carbon dioxide emissions were down 17% by April 2020. Air pollution (in terms of fine particulate matter) in 2020 has decreased in nine major cities compared to 2019; the reduction ranges from 9% in London to as high as 60% in Delhi. Other less obvious types of pollution have declined as well, including noise pollution: recent work by two Dalhousie researchers documented a significant decrease in low frequency underwater noise off Vancouver in the months since COVID-19 hit, probably due to reduced commercial shipping. Boat strikes are a frequent source of mortality for whales and ship noise has been linked to chronic stress. All things considered, now is probably not the worst time to be a whale.
The sperm whales I help study off Dominica are urban whales. They live close to the coast, where human impacts are typically high. There are boats everywhere: ferries that transport people between the islands, lucrative cruise ships that stream in and out of port, small fishing boats that zip between fish aggregating devices, and whale watching boats that take tourists out to see or swim with the whales. With many of these activities now reduced or halted, it’s likely the waters off Dominica are the quietest they’ve been in years.
I’ve spent eight months recording the eastern Caribbean sperm whales in person but, thanks to archival recordings, I’ve listened to their conversations over a 40-year span. Take my word for it: having now heard hundreds of hours of recordings, it’s much nicer to listen to the whales when boats aren’t around. My guess is the whales feel the same way.
There have been moments in the past few months where I, like many people, have felt overwhelmed, cooped up, and not in control. I find it comforting to think of the whales in these moments. We may be stuck at home, but they are still swimming the oceans, diving deep for food, talking with their families. Life goes on. Is their world just a little bit more peaceful right now? Are they reveling in the comparative quiet?
I hope so.
Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay
