Whale Fall

Down in the depths, the thing you come to realize is that you are very, very alone.

    It’s a different experience from diving near the surface. I dove for samples when I studied under Dr. Vern. Up near the surface of the water, you are never alone. If you aren’t careful, you can look over your shoulder and find a barracuda’s watchful eye staring you down. It happened to a buddy of mine when he forgot to take out his nose piercing. He still tells stories about its short, sharp teeth, tracing his finger across the scar on his face.

He no longer has the piercing.

    Further down, you have less company. Sparse are the flora and microorganisms that can live on sunlight. Without this starting line, the food chain is disrupted. A single scavenging isopod might crawl along the ocean floor for months before it finds its next meal.

Life in the deep gathers in enclaves. Any place where bacteria and plankton can survive is usually a good sign for other forms of life. In the dark desert of the ocean floor, crushed under thousands of feet of seawater, these safe havens are often the only reprieve for miles.

 First, there are hydrothermal vents. These churn up minerals, carbon dioxide, and heat that microorganisms need to survive. Their plumes can reach father than you might expect—ocean blooms, formed by vast communities of bacteria or plankton, have been known to form miles from the vents that birthed them. Similarly, you’ve got cold seeps—heavy brine pools full of the methane that can support anaerobic respiration. And finally…

“It’s a whale fall,” said Dr. Vern. The robotic submersible fed flickering black-and-white video to the screen. The long, sleek bodies of hagfish waved from half-visible bones; a few octopuses gathered around rubbery cartilage.

“Must be pretty new if they’re still eating on it,” I said.

“You’d be right. We got here at just the right time.” She leaned back from the laptop and stretched—as much as the small observation deck of the submarine would allow, anyway. She nearly hit Dr. Custos in the face with a wayward fist; Dr. Custos, the third-time victim of the maneuver on that day, simply leaned to the right. 

Dr. Earle, in turn leaning out of the way of Dr. Custos’s head, cleared her throat. “It’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it?” Dr. Vern sighed. “Shame they’re cutting the funding to these manned dives. We’re lucky we get to be down here with the robot. Soon, it’ll just be the robot, and we’ll all be spread out in a lab instead of clustered together in a submersible.”

“Thank goodness,” grumbled Dr. Custos.

 “It’s so impersonal. You know, the first footage we got of a giant squid happened in a situation like this. A whole pod full of scientists, cramming together to get a glimpse of a cephalopod three times Dr. Earle’s height. Most people go their whole lives without seeing anything like it. It’s good luck.”

“I’m not that short,” Dr. Earle groaned, but still she smiled. It was a running joke between her and Dr. Vern.

I watched the camera trailed over the surface of the whale’s carcass, illuminating a narrow field of vision in the darkness. Groups of sea cucumbers formed a ring around the edge of the fin. Toward the edge of the screen, I could see the faint outline of the tail pan into view.

“Dr. Vern, what’s that?” Dr. Custos pointed at the screen.

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

“In the top-left corner. There’s a shadow. Can you turn the camera that way?”

As the camera pivoted slowly, the shadow grew into a looming form.

“It can’t be…” Dr. Earle whispered.

Looming in the distance, only a few hundred feet from the carcass, was another whale fall.

***

               A whale fall is not an uncommon event, but the location is nearly random. An aging whale, seeking its last breath, finds that it no longer has the strength to return to the surface. Instead, it sinks beneath the waves and drowns.

One was plausible. Two, so close to each other, was a statistical anomaly.

               Three, and four, and five, were no coincidence.

               “It’s like a graveyard,” Dr. Vern marveled. There seemed to be no end to the fallen whales: as soon as the robotic submersible reached one, more could be seen through the murky darkness. Some only looked to be ten feet long, while others stretched far beyond the scope of what the camera could see. All were in varying states of decay.

               “I’ve heard of something like this once,” Dr. Earle said. “In national parks, they sometimes find the bodies of elk or deer all in one place. Usually it’s a lightning strike—something like that.”

               “Can’t imagine the smell,” I said.

               “Visitors complain about it, that’s for sure. In most cases, park staff clean up the bodies. Sometimes, though, they leave them there. Plants spring up around them, and all kinds of species that wouldn’t normally gather together end up in the same place. Predators tend to look the other way when there’s already a dead body to be had.”

               “How kind.”

               “How effortless,” Dr. Vern corrected. “Why waste the energy to hunt something new when you could be eating? Wild animals aren’t so picky about the freshness.”

               As she spoke, the camera’s pace began to slow; when her attention returned to the keyboard, it suddenly jerked back to life.

               “Dr. Vern…with all due respect, something doesn’t seem right here,” Dr. Custos interjected. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but there shouldn’t be any reason for this many dead whales in one place. This looks intentional.”

               Dr. Vern did not look up from the laptop. “And what, exactly, would you say the intention is?”

               “I—I don’t know. Maybe it was some illegal whaling operation, or some natural disaster, or—” Dr. Custos bit the inside of his lip as if to keep some wild supposition from escaping.

               “Dr. Custos…were you thinking that something might have done this?” Dr. Earle asked.

               It was a suspicion I hadn’t wanted to voice, but it seemed that they had both come to the same conclusion. What if something—some living thing—had done this?

               No. That was impossible. Something capable of intentionally killing this many whales would have to be very large, very organized, or both. Something of that description couldn’t go unnoticed. The sightings of so-called “sea serpents” and the beached corpses of deep-sea giants were a testament to the visibility of even the depths’ most secretive creatures.

               “Oh, something did this, all right.” Dr. Vern smiled. “And we would be remiss if we left without finding it.”

               The video feed from the robotic submersible sputtered and cut out.

***

               “You’re out of your mind, Dr. Vern.” Dr. Custos’s voice took on a note of anger only thinly veiled by professionalism. “This submersible doesn’t stand a chance if it really is—some creature.”

               “I won’t entertain your fantasies of sea monsters, Dr. Custos. Reports of giant squids greater than fifteen or twenty feet in length have never been verified—your giant monster capable of dragging whales to the sea floor doesn’t exist. There’s a perfectly logical explanation for all of this, and as scientists, it’s our job to find it.”

               “I never said it was a sea monster. But whatever it is…if it’s capable of sinking a whale, it’s capable of sinking a submarine. Your recklessness is putting all of us in danger.”

               “I agree with Dr. Custos.” Dr. Earle was never one to object to Dr. Vern.

               “This could be the opportunity of a lifetime. The department has already been on the verge of pulling funding for manned research. If we go back now, what do you think will happen? ‘Well, we didn’t find anything worth reporting. Also, we broke some very expensive equipment along the way. But we found a bunch of dead whales! Please let us go back!’ It won’t happen. This could be our only chance to see it with our own eyes.” Dr. Vern turned to me. “And what do you think, Dr. Ballard? Am I outvoted?”

Dr. Vern was right—there was no evidence of a single organism capable of preying on whales at this magnitude. If there was, it certainly wouldn’t leave so much easy nutrition entirely unattended—the bones would already be picked clean. It was already too easy to imagine what might be lurking just beyond the camera’s lens; we didn’t need to add sea monsters and other flights of fancy into the mix.

               Consoling myself with these thoughts, I pushed down the trepidation in my gut.

               “No,” I said. “Let’s continue.”

***

               Dr. Custos continued to complain as Dr. Vern steered the submarine toward the location where the camera had cut out. He would file a complaint, he said—to the internal review board, to the university, to the authorities. His voice rose as the submarine sunk to the ocean floor. Occasionally, he was quiet—it was only when he turned to me and glowered.

               Dr. Earle had long since left the observation deck. She paced back and forth down the body of the submarine, every footstep leaving behind a nervous metal clank.

               “Look at that. Lots of little worms in the water. Makes you think of tube worms. Don’t you think?” Dr. Vern turned to look at the rest of us, but even I could no longer bring myself to look at the video feed streaming to the observation room’s large screen. “The biodiversity in a place like this must be incredible.”

               The submarine continued across the field of fallen whales, scattering predators and bottomfeeders alike. The ‘worms’ and other debris grew thicker in the water, blurring visibility from the camera lens.

               “We’ll stop here and take samples.”

                Dr. Vern slowed the submarine to a halt in front of a downed whale. Of all the ones we had seen so far, this seemed the freshest: only a few early scavengers clustered around its extremities. I could see why Dr. Vern chose to pause here—the corpse positively crawled with worms.

               “I’ve never seen anything like it. I wonder if they’re a species exclusive to this type of serial whale fall. Like how you only find certain kinds of bacteria near hydrothermal vents.” Dr. Vern continued to muse to herself.

               “Looks like there’s some scars on its body. Around the neck,” I said.

               “It probably ran into a fishing boat.”

Dr. Earle took a deep breath and re-entered the observation deck. Dr. Custos leaned in close and whispered something to her; she looked up at the screen, nodded, and whispered something back.

“The department doesn’t pay the two of you to stand around talking. Go prepare the sampling equipment.” Dr. Vern, whether unaware of the tension in their hushed voices or unwilling to acknowledge it, turned to deliver her orders.  

“Look. At the right side of the screen—”

“Enough with that! There’s nothing there; we already agreed on this. Now go—”

Dr. Vern’s words were cut off as the submarine lurched. Her laptop, unused since losing contact with the robotic submersible, clattered to the floor.

I looked up at the screen.

Stretching across the right corner was a large, thick tendril. It waved listlessly in the current.

“…Something must have hit the submarine. I’ll turn the cameras and check it out.”

Dr. Vern returned to the controls. I could have sworn I saw her hands shake.

“I…I can’t turn the cameras.”

The submarine rocked back and forth. This time, Dr. Earle and I both fell to the floor. Dr. Custos only managed to right himself by bracing against the wall.

               More of the tendrils stretched into view.

               “Dr. Vern! It’s time to leave. Start the engine!”

               She shook her head.

               “I already tried. Nothing will move. We’re trapped.”

***

               “It’s not a sea monster. It’s not even a single organism.” Dr. Vern tried to explain what was happening. It was, after all, what she did best.

               More than anything, I think she was trying to comfort herself. Dr. Earle had stopped listening, drawing in quick, sharp breaths as she clung to the wall. Dr. Custos had already run to find the emergency equipment.

“Those worms we saw in the water—it’s a siphonophore. Well, they’re siphonophores. Does that make sense?”

               Siphonophores—a colony of simple organisms working in tandem. During my time under Dr. Vern, I had seen at least one (a Portuguese man o’ war) wash up on the beach.

               “Don’t touch it,” she had warned me. “Even if it’s been there for days, it can still sting you.”

               “They break apart and look like little scavenger worms when nothing else is around. Then, when something gets close, they come back together and form an aggregate. Long, powerful tentacles, capable of sinking a whale—”

               “Or a submarine.” I swallowed hard.

               “The downed whales make for a perfect breeding ground for the fertilized eggs. More organisms are born, and they band together to become the ‘worms’ we saw earlier. That must be why they continue to hunt fresh whales. They feed on the bacteria.” The pace of her words increased as her hands gripped tighter on the console.

               “W-what about us, then? This submarine is made of metal. Aside from us, there’s nothing that will decompose.” Dr. Earle shook.

               Dr. Vern smiled sadly. “They don’t know that.”

Down in the depths, the thing you come to realize is that you are very, very alone. But just like my old diving buddy and the barracuda, you find that your most dangerous moments come when you unexpectedly are not.

               As the tendrils wrapped tightly around the submarine, the lights flickered and went out.