Elephant Seals of San Simeon
Since beginning sea kayaking a couple decades ago, I've spent a lot of time on the water, getting to know some of the coastal ecosystems. Encounters with harbor seals and sea lions have been common, with them dotting rocks and secluded beaches along the coastline, occasionally circling my boat while trying to figure out what to make of it. The two species are related, descending from an ancient land mammal that returned to aquatic life. Biologists classify them under the same superfamily or clade Pinnipedia. While sea lions tend to be larger and noisier than the shyer harbor seals, both species are intelligent, playful and curious.
Not until I started exploring central California though did I get the chance to get to know the species of the elephant seals, commonly known as sea elephants. They get their name from their protruding proboscis (snouts/noses) and their massive size. Males can grow to over 13 feet and weigh up to 5,000 pounds. They have a thick layer of blubber to insulate them during their migrations up to the icy waters of the arctic. They are a sexually dimorphic species, where the females lack the proboscis and weigh about a quarter as much as the males. Like whales, they were once hunted for their blubber, and the Northern Elephant Seal endemic to North America was thought to be driven into extinction. Fortunately, a small population remained on an isolated island, and partly due to the the Marine Mammal Protection Act, their numbers have rebounded in excess of 100,000. On the California mainland there are still only a couple of populations left, with the beaches between San Simeon and the Piedras Blancas Light House being one of the best remaining places to see them on the mainland.
Sea elephants share some traits with sea lions and seals, such as hauling out of the water to rest, and for protection from their main predators, great white sharks and orca whales. But while they may have some behaviors in common, sea elephants' personalities are more bellicose and belligerent. Throughout their colonies the males extend their necks into the air, bellowing low pitch mating calls reminiscent of belching, a deep, pulsating, gurgling that can be heard from miles away.
During the fall they'll spend a great deal of their time sparring, practicing for the upcoming mating season, with juvenile males learning how to throw their weight on top of their opponents and going for the jugular. As they approach the winter rut, the victor earns the right to mate with a harem of up to 50 females, while the losers can become the dinner of the vultures circling overhead. When at the haul out, other time not spent fighting involves clumsily dragging their bodies through the sand a few feet at a time between resting, often climbing over top of others and crushing them in the process.
In the winter of 2013, I returned to San Simeon to photograph the sea elephants during the peak of their rut. It's the only time of year when adult males and females share the same territory, with the males returning from Alaska and females returning from the warmer waters near Hawaii. In these colder months sparring sessions become increasingly violent and bloody. During this short period males fight for the chance to mate, with the top males each guarding their harems.
The battles normally occur after another male attempts to mate with a female that a dominant male has claimed as his own. Often simply rising up and bellowing into the air will be enough of a threat to scare off the challenger, particularly when the hierarchy has already been established in previous fights. Otherwise, what follows can be brutal, thousands of pounds of bubbler slamming against each other, trying to rip into each other's flesh with their powerful jaws, with the weaker of the two being forced back into the water.
Another strategy sometimes employed by less dominant younger males is that of the “sneaky fucker,” a mating strategy sometimes seen across a wide range of species. They'll attempt to coyly make their way up the alpha bull's claimed stretch of beach, towards its harem without being spotted. Occasionally, this may lead to a quick mating opportunity, biologically rewarded by passing on its genetics. But more often than not, they'll be caught by the bull and chased off the beach.
To see these creatures only on land though gives an incomplete picture of the species. In the water they become surprisingly graceful. Their heads pull back towards their bodies, giving them the sleek torpedo-like taper of a shark. Their blubber insulates them from the cold on deep water dives, reaching depths of up to a mile where squid, their primary food, are found in abundance. They can stay under the surface hunting for up to two hours without surfacing for air.
While perhaps less exciting than witnessing the battles of large males during the rut, the months of spring reveal another more intimate side of this species, as mothers care for their newborns. During this period only the females and their young remain on the shores of San Simeon, while the males head north to feed within the colder waters of the Aleutian Islands and in the Gulf of Alaska. The females have been fasting, quickly losing weight while sustaining their pups with milk. In late spring the molting season begins. The young begin to shed a layer of skin and fur, while their mothers return to the ocean to feed and restore their body fat.
