Sharks of Onslow County

Category: Atlantic spiny dogfish

  • How Sharks Carry the Future: Life Histories Written in Tide and Time

    How Sharks Carry the Future: Life Histories Written in Tide and Time

    The Season Beneath the Surface

    Along the North Carolina coast, spring does not arrive all at once. It filters in through temperature gradients, longer light, and currents that shift almost imperceptibly until the water itself feels different. Animals respond before people do. Some move north. Some move inshore. Others arrive carrying a process already underway — reproduction unfolding quietly inside bodies designed to measure time in seasons rather than days.

    This post explores shark reproduction in North Carolina, not as spectacle, but as a system of time, geography, and survival.

    Shark reproduction is rarely visible. There are no surface displays, no spectacle to announce the moment. Instead, lineage advances through anatomical engineering and geographic choreography. The coastline becomes a corridor through which inheritance travels. What appears to be migration is often the hidden architecture of the next generation. Across shark species, reproductive strategies are tightly bound to life history pacing — longevity, growth rate, and investment per offspring — forming evolutionary solutions calibrated to risk and time (Cortés, 2000; Musick & Ellis, 2005).

    Sharks do not share a single blueprint for reproduction. Some lay eggs encased in protective capsules that anchor to the seafloor. Others carry embryos internally and give birth to fully formed young. Between those extremes lies a spectrum of strategies — eggs retained inside the mother, embryos nourished in different ways, gestation stretched across seasons rather than weeks. The diversity is not incidental. It is the result of a lineage experimenting with how best to move the future through water: protect it externally, carry it internally, or invest in a few individuals built to survive from the first moment they enter open ocean (Carrier et al., 2012; Cortés, 2000).

    The Long Circuit of the Dogfish

    Each winter, Atlantic spiny dogfish (Squalus acanthias) thin from our nearshore waters. Their absence is not disappearance but redistribution. Along the Northwest Atlantic coast the species occupies a broad range from Canada to the Carolinas, but this range is not a single undifferentiated mass. Seasonal movements reveal two general latitudinal tendencies — a northern contingent centered toward New England and Canadian waters, and a southern contingent extending toward North Carolina. In spring, portions of both groups converge in mid-Atlantic shelf waters, where overlapping migrations create temporary reproductive mixing before adults disperse again toward their habitual ranges (Carlson et al., 2014).

    This convergence is not random drift. It is structured migration. Satellite tracking shows that spiny dogfish follow repeatable north–south circuits tied to temperature and habitat gradients rather than wandering opportunistically (Carlson et al., 2014). During these seasonal overlaps, sex and maturity stage influence where individuals position themselves within the shared corridor. Females and mature animals use space differently from juveniles, reflecting reproductive status and energetic demand (DeVries et al., 2025). The result is a coastline briefly braided by lineage: individuals from distant home waters exchanging genetic material before returning south or north to complete gestation.

    migration patterns atlantic spiny dogfish

    Atlantic spiny dogfish do not disappear when they leave our waters; they redistribute. Each triangle marks where a tagged shark surfaced months after deployment, tracing seasonal circuits that braid northern and southern populations together before they separate again. The shaded regions show the broad envelope of movement and the smaller core areas used most consistently. Migration here is not wandering — it is structure. Reproduction moves along these same corridors, written into geography long before it is visible at the surface. | Graphic credit: Carlson et al., 2014

    After fertilization, females carry embryos for nearly two years — among the longest gestation periods recorded in sharks (Hamlett, 2005). A single pregnancy produces relatively small litters, commonly averaging six to twelve pups, each representing a substantial maternal investment spread across seasons rather than weeks (Hamlett, 2005; Cortés, 2000). Birth does not occur in the same waters where mating took place. Instead, adults retreat toward their familiar temperature zones and feeding grounds, and the next generation enters the ocean already geographically sorted. Migration and reproduction form a loop rather than a point. Each cycle redistributes genes across the coast while preserving the regional rhythms that structure the population.

    This extraordinary investment in time creates vulnerability. Sharks with slow growth, delayed maturity, and extended gestation replace themselves gradually, making populations sensitive to elevated fishing pressure (Cortés, 2000; Musick & Ellis, 2005). Removing a late-term female represents not a single loss, but the collapse of years of biological investment in a species evolved for endurance rather than speed.

    Reading the Body

    Female sharks often carry scars along their flanks and fins — pale arcs and punctures that appear deliberate enough to invite explanation. These marks are frequently attributed to mating, and sometimes that interpretation is correct. During copulation, males grip females with their teeth to maintain position in moving water, producing patterned abrasions consistent with tooth spacing (Pratt & Carrier, 2005). But the body of a coastal predator is an archive of many encounters, not all of them reproductive.

    Mating scars recorded on female blue sharks. The pale arcs and punctures along the flank, gill region, and fins are bite marks left during courtship, when males grip females to maintain position in open water. Some individuals carry a single mark; others bear layered evidence of repeated encounters. These scars are not pathology but record — the body retaining brief moments of reproductive contact long after the act itself has vanished into current. What remains visible is the aftermath: lineage written lightly into skin. | Image credit: Vossgaetter et al., 2025
    Mating scars recorded on female blue sharks. The pale arcs and punctures along the flank, gill region, and fins are bite marks left during courtship, when males grip females to maintain position in open water. Some individuals carry a single mark; others bear layered evidence of repeated encounters. These scars are not pathology but record — the body retaining brief moments of reproductive contact long after the act itself has vanished into current. What remains visible is the aftermath: lineage written lightly into skin. | Image credit: Vossgaetter et al., 2025

    Fishing gear produces different signatures: hooks damage the jaw, entanglement leaves constricting linear abrasions, and vessel strikes create irregular trauma. Healed injuries accumulate across a lifetime, recording survival rather than singular events. Marine biologists interpret these marks through context — season, species behavior, wound geometry — understanding that a scar is evidence, not confession (Pratt & Carrier, 2005). The ocean rarely supplies a single explanation.

    The skin of a white shark carries a record of encounters. Different wounds trace different histories: restrained bite marks associated with courtship (A & B), deeper bites from conflict (C & D), punctures and scratches left by struggling prey (E & F), abrasions from contact with reef or hard bottom (G), and the unmistakable geometry of propeller strikes (H). Each mark is a fragment of interaction preserved after the moment has passed. To read a shark’s body is to read a map of relationships — mating, hunting, collision, survival — written not as drama, but as accumulation. | Photo credit: Anderson et al., 2025
    The skin of a white shark carries a record of encounters. Different wounds trace different histories: restrained bite marks associated with courtship (A & B), deeper bites from conflict (C & D), punctures and scratches left by struggling prey (E & F), abrasions from contact with reef or hard bottom (G), and the unmistakable geometry of propeller strikes (H). Each mark is a fragment of interaction preserved after the moment has passed. To read a shark’s body is to read a map of relationships — mating, hunting, collision, survival — written not as drama, but as accumulation. | Photo credit: Anderson et al., 2025

    Scars are only one layer of interpretation. Sharks also carry quieter markers of sex and maturity written into their form. Males develop elongated claspers — modified fins that trail beneath the body — visible even at a distance once the animal reaches reproductive age. In immature males these structures are short and flexible, almost decorative. With maturity they lengthen and calcify, projecting clearly behind the pelvic fins like paired shadows. A school viewed from a pier often reveals this difference in motion: some bodies carry that trailing geometry, others do not. Even without knowing species, an observer is watching a mixed population divided by sex and age.

    Females, lacking claspers, present a cleaner silhouette. During pregnancy their bodies shift subtly. The abdomen rounds, not dramatically but enough to change how light moves across the flank. Experienced observers recognize gravid females less by size than by proportion — a redistribution of mass that suggests internal cargo rather than surface injury.

    The clasper itself is an evolutionary innovation — a modification of pelvic fins that allows internal fertilization in a fluid environment where external fertilization would disperse gametes too widely to ensure success (Hamlett, 2005). It is a structural solution to a problem posed by water: how to keep lineage from dissolving into current.

    Sex in sharks is written into the silhouette. Males carry paired claspers — elongated extensions of the pelvic fins that lengthen and stiffen with maturity — while females lack them entirely. Even at a distance, the trailing geometry changes how the body reads in motion. What looks like a uniform school from the surface is already divided by anatomy: juveniles, adults, males, females, each stage visible to anyone patient enough to watch. | Photo credit: National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration
    Sex in sharks is written into the silhouette. Males carry paired claspers — elongated extensions of the pelvic fins that lengthen and stiffen with maturity — while females lack them entirely. Even at a distance, the trailing geometry changes how the body reads in motion. What looks like a uniform school from the surface is already divided by anatomy: juveniles, adults, males, females, each stage visible to anyone patient enough to watch. |
    Photo credit: National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration

    These signals are quiet. They require patience. To read a shark in the water is to read a body moving through stages — juvenile, mature, gravid — each phase revealing that reproduction is not a single event but a condition carried across seasons. The distinction is anatomical literacy learned slowly, the way birdwatchers learn silhouettes or botanists learn leaf shape. Bodies announce their histories to those patient enough to look.

    Timing Written Into the Body

    Maturity does not arrive uniformly across a population. In many coastal sharks, size is a better predictor of reproductive readiness than age. Warmer water accelerates metabolism and growth, allowing juveniles in southern nurseries to reach maturity sooner than their northern counterparts (Cortés, 2000; Musick & Ellis, 2005). Temperature becomes a developmental force. A difference of a few degrees can compress or extend the timeline by years, shaping when an individual enters the reproductive pool.

    Juveniles and adults often sort themselves accordingly. Young sharks cluster in shallower, warmer margins where rapid growth offsets vulnerability. Larger, mature individuals occupy deeper or more exposed water, their size granting a margin of safety (Heupel et al., 2007). When mixed schools appear near piers, the variation in body shape reflects overlapping life stages sharing temporary habitat. What looks like a single group is often a layered demographic — future breeders moving alongside current ones.

    During mating seasons, additional cues surface. Mature males display fully calcified claspers held stiff against the body, while gravid females carry the rounded proportions of pregnancy. These changes are not theatrical. They are subtle adjustments in geometry, visible only to observers willing to compare silhouettes over time.

    Nurseries and Geographic Memory

    Many coastal shark species rely on estuaries as nursery grounds, where shallow, structured habitat increases juvenile survival by buffering predators and concentrating prey (Heupel et al., 2007). Young sharks enter a world scaled to their size. Warmer water accelerates growth, and complex shoreline geometry provides refuge during early vulnerability.

    Some females exhibit fidelity to nursery regions, returning to the same coastal systems that once sheltered them (Heupel et al., 2007). Habitat becomes inheritance. When nursery grounds degrade, the disruption extends beyond a single generation — it interrupts geographic memory embedded in the population itself.

    Multiple Ways to Continue

    Sandbar Sharks — Durability Over Speed

    A sandbar shark range from New England to Brazil. | Photo Credit: G.P. Schmahl/NOAA

    Sandbar shark | Photo Credit: G.P. Schmahl/NOAA

    Sandbar sharks (Carcharias plumbeus) invest heavily in durability. They mature late, produce relatively small litters, and rely on long development to generate robust juveniles capable of extended survival (Musick & Ellis, 2005). This strategy favors stability over speed. When mortality rises, recovery unfolds slowly because the species was never designed for rapid turnover.

    Sandbar shark reproduction unfolds slowly even by shark standards. Gestation lasts roughly 9–12 months, with litters typically ranging from 6 to 13 pups, though regional variation is common (Musick & Ellis, 2005). Along the mid-Atlantic coast mating generally occurs in spring and early summer, while birthing follows the next year in warmer estuarine margins. The delay is part of the design. Juveniles arrive when prey is abundant and water temperature accelerates growth, aligning birth with a narrow ecological window where survival odds briefly tilt in their favor.

    In Onslow County waters, juvenile sandbar sharks use shallow estuary margins as thermal accelerators. Warm, protected water shortens the time required to reach a size less vulnerable to predation. Growth in these early months is not cosmetic; it is survival measured in centimeters. A difference of a few inches can determine whether a young shark passes unnoticed beneath larger predators or becomes part of their diet (Heupel et al., 2007). The nursery functions as a buffer against probability. By compressing early growth into a brief window of ecological generosity, sandbars convert geography into longevity.

    Blacktip Sharks — Timing as Opportunity

    Atlantic blacktip sharks | Photo credit: Shutterstock
    Atlantic blacktip sharks | Photo credit: Shutterstock

    Blacktip sharks (Carcharhinus limbatus) align reproduction with seasonal pulses. Birth coincides with warm water and prey abundance, creating a temporary ecological advantage for juveniles. This strategy accepts higher early mortality but compensates through timing — survival synchronized with opportunity (Heupel & Simpfendorfer, 2008).

    Blacktip sharks compress their timeline. Gestation averages 10–12 months and litters often contain 1 to 10 pups, with smaller litters more common in northern portions of their range (Heupel & Simpfendorfer, 2008). Mating occurs in late spring and summer; pups are born the following late spring when baitfish concentrations peak in shallow coastal waters. Their strategy hinges on synchronization. Birth is timed not to safety, but to opportunity — a calculated arrival into abundance.

    Along our piers in late spring and summer, blacktip juveniles appear in pulses that mirror the prey fields they depend on. Schools of baitfish create moving refuges — density as defense — and young blacktips learn to survive inside motion itself. Survival belongs to individuals able to exploit brief windows, grow fast, and disperse before scarcity returns (Heupel & Simpfendorfer, 2008).

    Bonnethead Sharks — Redundancy and Retention

    Bonnethead shark | Photo credit: NC Aquariums
    Bonnethead shark | Photo credit: NC Aquariums

    Bonnethead sharks (Sphyrna tiburo) operate on one of the shortest reproductive cycles among coastal sharks. Gestation lasts approximately 4–5 months, and litters commonly range from 4 to 16 pups depending on female size (Hamlett, 2005). Mating generally occurs in late summer, but sperm storage allows fertilization to be delayed until environmental conditions favor gestation. Pups are born in late spring and early summer, entering warm shallow waters that function as immediate nurseries. The speed of the cycle reflects a species built for resilience through repetition — rapid turnover as insurance against instability.

    Bonnetheads add evolutionary contingency. Rare cases of parthenogenesis — reproduction without fertilization — demonstrate biological redundancy when mates are scarce (Chapman et al., 2007). Such flexibility underscores a principle of lineage persistence: survival tolerates complexity if complexity improves continuity.

    Bonnetheads, often glimpsed in shallow surf or near pilings, compress life history into shorter cycles, allowing populations to respond quickly to environmental change. Unlike many coastal sharks, females are capable of storing viable sperm for extended periods, delaying fertilization until conditions favor successful gestation (Hamlett, 2005). This ability decouples mating from pregnancy, allowing reproduction to align with environmental timing rather than immediate opportunity. Redundancy becomes insurance in a fragmented coastal landscape. Their persistence is not brute strength but flexibility — an evolutionary acknowledgment that coastlines are rarely stable for long (Cortés, 2000).

    Sand Tiger Sharks — Survival Before Birth

    Sand tiger shark | Photo credit: Mitchell, 2024
    Sand tiger sharks | Photo credit: Mitchell, 2024

    Sand tiger sharks (Carcharias taurus) represent an uncompromising alternative. Embryos compete within the uterus, and only the strongest survive to birth through intrauterine cannibalism — a process that produces a small number of highly developed juveniles (Hamlett, 2005). From a human perspective the mechanism appears brutal. In evolutionary terms it is a concentrated investment in pre-birth survival.

    Sand tiger gestation stretches close to 9–12 months, but the internal competition that defines their development reduces litters to one or two surviving pups per uterus despite a much larger initial embryo count (Hamlett, 2005; Branstetter & Musick, 1994). Mating occurs offshore in cooler months, and births typically follow in spring or early summer. The resulting juveniles are large at birth — already capable hunters — trading quantity for immediate competence. Survival is front-loaded. The species invests in a few individuals built to endure rather than many built to gamble.

    For sand tigers occasionally seen near South Topsail Island, this pre-birth selection produces juveniles that enter the water already comparable in size to many adult coastal fish. They arrive as functioning predators. Instead of a long vulnerable childhood, sand tigers begin life past the most dangerous bottleneck. Their subsequent behavior reflects this early security: slow movement, energy conservation, and longevity built on having cleared the lethal threshold before birth (Branstetter & Musick, 1994).

    It is tempting to read personality into origin. Yet adult sand tigers move with calm efficiency, rarely engaging in unnecessary conflict. A harsh developmental filter does not predict a harsh adulthood. It simply ensures survival past the most intense threshold.

    Together, these strategies map the same coastline through different biological clocks. Some sharks survive by accelerating early growth. Others invest in a few individuals built to last. Still others hedge their future with redundancy. Diversity is not excess — it is resilience expressed through bodies.

    The Coast as a Clock

    Longevity is the silent partner in every reproductive strategy. Long-lived sharks can afford to reproduce slowly, distributing investment across decades. Shorter-lived species compress reproduction into tighter intervals. Neither strategy is superior in isolation. Each is calibrated to environmental tempo (Cortés, 2000).

    The coastline holds many clocks at once — tides measured in hours, migrations in seasons, lineage in centuries. Sharks survive by aligning their bodies to the clock that fits their niche. Gestation becomes a wager on stability. Migration becomes inheritance in motion. A nursery becomes infrastructure for continuity.

    To observe a pregnant shark offshore is to witness a process already years in motion. The animal carries not only embryos but evolutionary decisions accumulated across millennia: how many to produce, when to move, where to shelter, how long to live. Reproduction is less an event than a continuity. Its future depends not on spectacle, but on whether the slow mathematics of these lives can continue unfolding inside waters still capable of carrying them forward.

    References

    Branstetter, S., & Musick, J. A. (1994). Age and growth estimates for the sand tiger in the northwestern Atlantic Ocean. Transactions of the American Fisheries Society, 123(2), 242-254. https://doi.org/10.1577/1548-8659(1994)123<0242:aageft>2.3.co;2

    Carlson, A. E., Hoffmayer, E. R., Tribuzio, C. A., & Sulikowski, J. A. (2014). The use of satellite tags to redefine movement patterns of spiny dogfish (Squalus acanthias) along the U.S. East Coast: Implications for fisheries management. PLoS ONE, 9(7), e103384. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0103384

    Carrier, J. C., Musick, J. A., & Heithaus, M. R. (2012). Biology of sharks and their relatives (2nd ed.). CRC Press.

    Chapman, D. D., Shivji, M. S., Louis, E., Sommer, J., Fletcher, H., & Prodöhl, P. A. (2007). Virgin birth in a hammerhead shark. Biology Letters, 3(4), 425-427. https://doi.org/10.1098/rsbl.2007.0189

    Cortés, E. (2000). Life history patterns and correlations in Sharks. Reviews in Fisheries Science, 8(4), 299-344. https://doi.org/10.1080/10408340308951115

    DeVries, C., Gartland, J., & Latour, R. J. (2025). Patterns in spiny dogfish consumption by sex and maturity stage relate to prey availability and environmental forcing in the Northwest Atlantic. Frontiers in Marine Science, 12. https://doi.org/10.3389/fmars.2025.1621343

    Heupel, M., Carlson, J., & Simpfendorfer, C. (2007). Shark nursery areas: Concepts, definition, characterization and assumptions. Marine Ecology Progress Series, 337, 287-297. https://doi.org/10.3354/meps337287

    Heupel, M., & Simpfendorfer, C. (2008). Movement and distribution of young bull sharks Carcharhinus leucas in a variable estuarine environment. Aquatic Biology, 1, 277-289. https://doi.org/10.3354/ab00030

    Musick, J. A., & Ellis, J. K. (2005). Reproductive evolution of chondrichthyans. In Reproductive Biology and Phylogeny of Chondrichthyes (1st ed., pp. 45-79). Science Publishers.

    Pratt, H. L., & Carrier, J. C. (2005). Elasmobranch courtship and mating behavior. In Reproductive Biology and Phylogeny of Chondrichthyes (1st ed., pp. 129-169). Science Publishers.

  • The Winter Guild: Nearshore Sharks and the Ecology of Cold Water

    The Winter Guild: Nearshore Sharks and the Ecology of Cold Water

    On a winter morning in Surf City, the beach feels emptied of its usual cast. Pelicans still cruise the shoreline in loose, patient lines, rising and settling with the wind. Gulls hover over seams in the water where green folds into brown. The tide sounds heavier now, denser, carrying cold through the shallows.

    Along Topsail Island, the nearshore zone becomes a narrow corridor of motion and restraint. Waves collapse without urgency. The water clears between fronts. What summer spreads wide, winter compresses.

    To most people, this looks like absence. The season reads as retreat.

    But the coastal system has not gone dormant. It has been edited.

    Cold water does not simply slow life along the coast; it reorganizes it. As the air cools, shallow waters lose heat first. Deeper layers follow. The sharp thermal steps of summer—warm surface, cool bottom—soften into sameness. What had been stacked becomes blended. Oceanographers describe this seasonal collapse as thermal and density homogenization (Cai et al., 2021), but on the shore it feels like weight: the water darker, heavier, less willing to give anything up.

    This change reshapes everything that lives within it. Temperature governs metabolism. Light governs production. Density governs movement. Winter redraws those rules.

    Predation does not vanish. It narrows.

    Reading the Cold and Salt

    Winter along the Carolina coast is defined less by dates than by gradients. Surface waters along the inner shelf commonly cool into the range of about 8–12 °C (46–54 °F), while deeper waters offshore remain slightly warmer under the influence of slope waters and the Gulf Stream (Atkinson et al., 1983; Cai et al., 2021; Rasmussen et al., 2005). The warm-bottom refuges of summer collapse. The mixed layer deepens. A single, colder column replaces the layered world of warm months.

    Sea surface temperature (SST) range for Topsail Island, NC from 1981-2005. The thick yellow line shows average SST compared to 1984, while thin, black lines show extreme temperatures. | Photo credit: Surf-forecast.com, 2005
    Sea surface temperature (SST) range for Topsail Island, NC from 1981-2005. The thick yellow line shows average SST compared to 1984, while thin, black lines show extreme temperatures. | Photo credit: Surf-forecast.com, 2005

    Salinity follows a similar simplification. In winter, open shelf waters settle into a narrow band—typically around 32–35 parts per thousand (ppt), the same saltiness as the open Atlantic. Freshwater input diminishes, and stronger winds and tides smooth what summer once layered.

    Average salinity utilizing historical ship and buoy data. Notice practical salinity is higher (red) along the North Carolina coastline. | Photo credit: World Ocean Atlas, 2009
    Average salinity utilizing historical ship and buoy data. Notice practical salinity is higher (red) along the North Carolina coastline. | Photo credit: World Ocean Atlas, 2009

    In summer, that chemistry fractures. Heavy rains, river discharge, and weak vertical mixing dilute nearshore and estuarine waters into the low 20s ppt or even the teens, sending plumes of brackish water outward from creek mouths and sounds (Singer et al., 1980). Onslow Bay becomes chemically patchworked: stratified sounds, plume-fed inlets, and salinity fronts that drift and reform with each tide.

    Winter erases that mosaic. Only near inlets and estuary mouths do sharp gradients persist, briefly stacking fresher creek water over denser seawater before winds and tides flatten them again. Where summer offered a quilt of chemical habitats, winter replaces it with continuity.

    Light changes too. Shorter days and deeper mixing reduce phytoplankton growth, pushing the productive layer below the surface and dimming the water’s green cast. Satellite and in situ records from the Mid-Atlantic shelf show winter as the seasonal low point for surface chlorophyll and primary productivity (Xu et al., 2011). The surface darkens. The food web thins from its base upward.

    Winter does not remove life. It rearranges it.

    Benthic invertebrates burrow or slow. Many fishes retreat or become lethargic. Bait compresses into fewer corridors—thermal seams, nearshore troughs, inlet mouths, shelf breaks—where temperature and oxygen remain tolerable. What summer scattered across marsh, creek, sound, and surf now funnels into lines.

    This is what the filter does. It sheds surplus. It strips away species that require warmth, shallow stability, or dense prey. What remains are animals built to endure cold, exploit structure, or move precisely between systems.

    Winter does not simplify the coast. It sharpens it.

    3D perspective of coastline of Topsail Beach inner shoreface visualizes depth. | Photo credit: Greenhorn & O'Mara Consulting Engineers & Geodynamics, 2007, p. 221
    3D perspective of coastline of Topsail Beach inner shoreface visualizes depth. | Photo credit: Greenhorn & O’Mara Consulting Engineers & Geodynamics, 2007, p. 221

    The Inshore Winterer: Atlantic Spiny Dogfish

    By midwinter, nearshore waters along this coast settle into a narrow thermal band—often between about 8 and 12 °C (46–54 °F) from surface to bottom (Atkinson et al., 1983; Cai et al., 2021). For many coastal fishes, that range marks the edge of activity. For Atlantic spiny dogfish (Squalus acanthias), it is home.

    Across the North Atlantic, dogfish remain active in waters as cold as 4–6 °C (39–43 °F), with their highest densities often occurring well below the temperatures that drive other sharks away (Bangley & Rulifson, 2014; Sulikowski et al., 2010). Their physiology, growth patterns, and life history are tuned to persistence rather than speed, favoring endurance in lean systems over burst performance in rich ones (Tribuzio et al., 2010).

    When winter flattens the water column into uniform cold, dogfish are not pushed to the margins of survival. They are moving within their preferred envelope.

    Their bodies are built for this season. Unlike sharks bound to a narrow depth band, dogfish move freely through the water column—from the surface to depths approaching 200 meters—tracking temperature and prey through vertical space (Campana et al., 2009; Carlson et al., 2014; Sulikowski et al., 2010). In winter, when baitfish and invertebrates compress into fewer layers, that vertical freedom becomes a hunting advantage. A predator locked to one plane must wait. Dogfish can follow.

    Nearshore waters and inlets become conveyor belts in winter. Tides concentrate prey flushed from estuaries. Cold fronts reorganize the column. What looks empty from the beach is often a thin band of movement just beyond the breakers. Dogfish occupy that band—persistent, economical, often in loose groups—feeding on schooling fishes and benthic prey even as energy margins tighten (Bangley & Rulifson, 2014).

    Winter does not exclude them. It clears room for them.

    The Atlantic spiny dogfish moves freely through the water column from the surface up to 200 meters. | Photo credit: ©Malcolm Francis
    The Atlantic spiny dogfish moves freely through the water column from the surface up to 200 meters. | Photo credit: ©Malcolm Francis

    The Threshold Species: Sandbar Sharks

    Sandbar sharks (Carcharhinus plumbeus) read that same winter map very differently. In warm months, juveniles rely on shallow estuaries where bottom temperatures routinely exceed 15–18 °C (59–64 °F), conditions that accelerate growth, digestion, and survival (Bangley et al., 2018; Collatos, Abel & Martin, 2020). These flats become engines of development—wide, shallow spaces where warmth turns food into body.

    By winter, those same bottoms cool into the low teens Celsius—often around 10–13 °C (50–55 °F) and sometimes lower. The estuary does not become lethal. It becomes unprofitable. Feeding no longer offsets the energetic cost of movement and digestion in cold water, particularly for juveniles still building mass.

    Unlike dogfish, sandbar sharks cannot remain inside a cold system and adapt to its structure. Their bodies and life histories are tuned to warm, shallow stability. Their performance drops rapidly as temperature declines; muscle efficiency, digestion, and growth all slow (Crear et al., 2019). When that stability collapses, they respond laterally rather than vertically—sliding down the coast or into slightly deeper nearshore waters where bottom temperatures remain marginally warmer (Bangley et al., 2018).

    Where dogfish remain and work winter’s compression, sandbars leave it.

    They are still part of the region, but they are absent from the nearshore corridor. They become threshold species—present in the seasonal arc, absent from the winter system itself. The estuary no longer belongs to them.

    Sandbar sharks will move to warmer water in winter and will move to deeper offshore waters or move southward down the coast. | Photo credit: (c) The Wet Lens, 2023
    Sandbar sharks will move to warmer water in winter and will move to deeper offshore waters or move southward down the coast. | Photo credit: (c) The Wet Lens, 2023

    The Offshore Presence: Dusky Sharks

    Dusky sharks (Carcharhinus obscurus) follow a third geometry. They tolerate cool water, but within a narrower band than many coastal sharks—most often occupying waters between roughly 10 and 20 °C (50–68 °F) (Bangley et al., 2020; Manz et al., 2025). When nearshore temperatures along this coast fall into that range, duskies can be present. When they rise beyond it in spring and summer, they are gone.

    Their winter preference therefore lies not in the compressed nearshore column, but along offshore corridors where temperature is steadier and remains within that narrow envelope. Shelf and slope waters influenced by the Gulf Stream often stay buffered within those bounds even as inshore waters swing widely (Atkinson et al., 1983; Rasmussen et al., 2005).

    Dusky sharks do not attempt to work winter’s compression. They choose stability instead. Rather than hunting within a narrowed corridor, they reposition along thermally buffered routes where cold arrives slowly and predictably.

    From land, this reads as vacancy. The surf appears emptied. Yet beyond the bar, duskies remain active in a parallel winter economy—tracking prey along shelf edges and slope corridors invisible from shore.

    They have not disappeared. They have changed address.

    Dusky sharks prefer cooler temperature waters and may be present in our nearshore waters. However, when waters warm beyond 20 °C (68 °F), they will move to cooler waters. | Photo credit: jmartincrossley, iNaturalist, 2026
    Dusky sharks prefer cooler temperature waters and may be present in our nearshore waters. However, when waters warm beyond 20 °C (68 °F), they will move to cooler waters. | Photo credit: jmartincrossley, iNaturalist, 2026

    Winter as an Ecological Filter

    By February, the coast has shed its surplus.

    The fish that needed warmth are gone. The invertebrates that depended on light have slowed or buried. What remains are species built to move through cold, to wait, or to follow structure instead of abundance.

    Winter filters by physics first.

    A deep mixed layer removes warm-bottom refuges (Cai et al., 2021). Bottom-water intrusions in Onslow Bay and adjacent shelf waters restructure the vertical habitat, replacing summer’s layered gradients with cold continuity (Hofmann et al., 1981). Uniform salinity simplifies the chemical landscape. Reduced light and productivity shrink the food web’s base (Xu et al., 2011). Currents sharpen boundaries between inshore and offshore waters, and periodic Gulf Stream intrusions create moving seams of heat and prey (Atkinson et al., 1983; Rasmussen et al., 2005).

    These constraints become biological.

    Prey compress. Movement costs rise. Energy budgets tighten. Species that require constant warmth, shallow stability, or dense forage are excluded. Those that remain are specialists: animals that tolerate cold, exploit vertical structure, or reposition with precision.

    Dogfish persist because they can work the layered winter column, remaining inside nearshore waters and inlets even as surface and bottom temperatures converge. Sandbar sharks withdraw from estuaries and shallow flats, shifting down the coast or into slightly deeper nearshore habitats where bottom temperatures remain metabolically tolerable. Dusky sharks relocate more completely, leaving the coastal corridor for offshore shelf and slope waters where Gulf Stream influence preserves thermal stability and prey remains distributed.

    Each species reads the same season and answers it differently—not by disappearance, but by repositioning within a changing map.

    Winter does not erase complexity. It concentrates it.

    Meteorological seasons are based upon the annual temperature cycle and differ from the astronomical seasons based upon the position of the sun relative to the Earth. The meteorological seasons help scientists track climate and weather changes. | Photo credit: NOAA, 2024
    Meteorological seasons are based upon the annual temperature cycle and differ from the astronomical seasons based upon the position of the sun relative to the Earth. The meteorological seasons help scientists track climate and weather changes. | Photo credit: NOAA, 2024

    A Season That Is Beginning to Shift

    The cues that drive migration—photoperiod, temperature thresholds, energetic margins—are no longer fixed. Recent models suggest that warming oceans are already altering how and when coastal sharks move, stretching winter windows and delaying departures (Manz et al., 2025).

    This does not announce collapse. It signals reorganization.

    From the beach, the change may remain imperceptible. The surf will still look calm. Pelicans will still cruise. The marsh will still pale. But beneath that surface, the system will continue to read its invisible clocks.

    Winter along Surf City and Topsail Island is not an end. It is a narrowing—a season where cold, salt, light, and current decide who remains.

    They are still here. They have simply become harder to see.

    References

    Atkinson, L. P., Lee, T. N., Blanton, J. O., & Chandler, W. S. (1983). Climatology of the southeastern United States continental shelf waters. Journal of Geophysical Research: Oceans, 88(C8), 4705-4718. https://doi.org/10.1029/jc088ic08p04705

    Bangley, C. W., Curtis, T. H., Secor, D. H., Latour, R. J., & Ogburn, M. B. (2020). Identifying important juvenile dusky shark habitat in the Northwest Atlantic ocean using acoustic telemetry and spatial modeling. Marine and Coastal Fisheries, 12(5), 348-363. https://doi.org/10.1002/mcf2.10120

    Bangley, C. W., Paramore, L., Dedman, S., & Rulifson, R. A. (2018). Delineation and mapping of coastal shark habitat within a shallow lagoonal Estuary. PLOS ONE, 13(4), e0195221. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0195221

    Bangley, C. W., & Rulifson, R. A. (2014). Feeding habits, daily ration, and potential predatory impact of mature female spiny dogfish in North Carolina coastal waters. North American Journal of Fisheries Management, 34(3), 668-677. https://doi.org/10.1080/02755947.2014.902410

    Cai, C., Kwon, Y., Chen, Z., & Fratantoni, P. (2021). Mixed layer depth climatology over the Northeast U.S. continental shelf (1993–2018). Continental Shelf Research, 231, 104611. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.csr.2021.104611

    Campana, S. E., Jamie, A., & Gibson, F. (2008). Stock structure, life history, fishery and abundance indices for spiny dogfish (Squalus Acanthias) in Atlantic Canada (2007/089). Canadian Science Advisory Secretariat. https://www.researchgate.net/publication/268389393_Stock_Structure_Life_History_Fishery_and_Abundance_Indices_for_Spiny_Dogfish_Squalus_acanthias_in_Atlantic_Canada

    Carlson, A. E., Hoffmayer, E. R., Tribuzio, C. A., & Sulikowski, J. A. (2014). The use of satellite tags to redefine movement patterns of spiny dogfish (Squalus acanthias) along the U.S. East Coast: Implications for fisheries management. PLoS ONE, 9(7), e103384. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0103384

    Collatos, C., Abel, D. C., & Martin, K. L. (2020). Seasonal occurrence, relative abundance, and migratory movements of juvenile sandbar sharks, Carcharhinus plumbeus, in Winyah Bay, South Carolina. Environmental Biology of Fishes, 103(7), 859-873. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10641-020-00989-2

    Crear, D. P., Brill, R. W., Bushnell, P. G., Latour, R. J., Schweiterman, G. D., Steffen, R. M., & Weng, K. C. (2019). The impacts of warming and hypoxia on the performance of an obligate ram ventilator. Conservation Physiology, 7(1). https://doi.org/10.1093/conphys/coz026

    Greenhorn & O’Mara Consulting Engineers, & Geodynamics. (2007). High-Resolution 3D Bathymetric Assessment of Potential Hard Bottom Habitats: Topsail Island, Surf City and North Topsail Island, NC (Project No. DACW54-02-D-0006, Delivery Order 0035 Modification 01 Nearshore Hardbottom Sidescan Survey for Multibeam Data Collections Topsail Island, NC G&O Project Number 146046.T35.6481.GEO). https://www.saw.usace.army.mil/Portals/59/docs/coastal_storm_damage_reduction/SCNTB/R%20-%20Hard%20Bottom%20Survey%20Reports.pdf

    Hofmann, E. E., Pietrafesa, L. J., & Atkinson, L. P. (1981). A bottom water intrusion in Onslow Bay, North Carolina. Deep Sea Research Part A. Oceanographic Research Papers, 28(4), 329-345. https://doi.org/10.1016/0198-0149(81)90003-0

    Manz, M. H., Shipley, O. N., Cerrato, R. M., Hueter, R. E., Newton, A. L., Tyminski, J. P., Franks, B. R., Curtis, T. H., Fischer, C., Zacharias, J. P., Scott, C., Dunton, K. J., Kneebone, J., Peterson, B. J., Scannell, B. J., Dodd, J. F., & Frisk, M. G. (2025). Predictions of southern migration timing in coastal sharks under future ocean warming. Conservation Biology, 39(6). https://doi.org/10.1111/cobi.70080

    NASA Salinity. (2011, October 20). Average Salinity From Historical Ship and Buoy Data. https://salinity.oceansciences.org/gallery-images-more.htm?id=10

    Rasmussen, L. L., Gawarkiewicz, G., Owens, W. B., & Lozier, M. S. (2005). Slope water, Gulf Stream, and seasonal influences on southern Mid‐Atlantic bight circulation during the fall‐winter transition. Journal of Geophysical Research: Oceans, 110(C2). https://doi.org/10.1029/2004jc002311

    Singer, J. J., Atkinson, L. P., & Pietrafesa, L. J. (1980). Summertime advection of low salinity surface waters into Onslow Bay. Estuarine and Coastal Marine Science, 11(1), 73-82. https://doi.org/10.1016/s0302-3524(80)80030-2

    Sulikowski, J., Galuardi, B., Bubley, W., Furey, N., Driggers, W., Ingram, G., & Tsang, P. (2010). Use of satellite tags to reveal the movements of spiny dogfish Squalus acanthias in the western North Atlantic Ocean. Marine Ecology Progress Series, 418, 249-254. https://doi.org/10.3354/meps08821

    Surf-forecast.com. (2005). Topsail island water temperature (Sea) and wetsuit guide (Carolina north, USA). https://www.surf-forecast.com/breaks/Topsail-Island/seatemp

    Tribuzio, C. A., Kruse, G. H., & Fujioka, J. T. (2010). Age and growth of spiny dogfish (Squalus acanthias) in the Gulf of Alaska: analysis of alternative growth models ( Fishery Bulletin(Vol. 108, Issue 2)). National Marine Fisheries Service. https://go.gale.com/ps/i.do?id=GALE%7CA227944663&sid=googleScholar&v=2.1&it=r&linkaccess=abs&issn=00900656&p=AONE&sw=w&userGroupName=anon%7E4fe11d55&aty=open-web-entry

    Xiu, Y., Chant, R., Gong, D., Castelao, R., Glenn, S., & Schofield, O. (2011). Seasonal variability of chlorophyll a in the Mid-Atlantic Bight. Continental Shelf Research, 31(16), 1640-1650. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.csr.2011.05.019

  • Shark Sleigh Bells: How Sharks Track Vibrations in the Winter Sea

    Shark Sleigh Bells: How Sharks Track Vibrations in the Winter Sea

    Winter’s Quiet Chorus

    December hushes the coastline of Onslow County. The marshgrass stiffens in the cold, the surf stills between storms, and the New River Inlet carries the metallic stillness of early winter. Yet beneath that calm, the water hums with motion — tiny pulses, ripples, and vibrations that weave a hidden holiday soundtrack, a kind of underwater sleigh bells rung in pressure waves.

    Sharks, lingering along the nearshore troughs or cruising the outer edge of the estuary, sense these disturbances with remarkable clarity. Every mullet tail-beat, crab scuttle, and sediment shift radiates through the water as a low-frequency pressure wave. In the quiet of December, these signals travel farther and cleaner, strengthened by winter’s denser water, slower prey, and reduced turbidity (Mickle & Higgs, 2021; Mogdans, 2019).

    To sharks, these vibrations form a map, a three-dimensional winter soundscape that reveals direction, distance, and urgency (Montgomery, Baker & Carton, 2000; Montgomery et al., 2000). And layered beneath these hydrodynamic cues, the faint electric fields produced by the heartbeat and muscle activity of nearby prey glow through the water, detectable at nanovolt precision (Anderson et al., 2017; England et al., 2021).

    This “music” is not metaphor — it is the sensory world sharks inhabit, sharpened by the very conditions winter imposes.

    The Winter Sea as a Soundscape

    Illustration showing how different animals create underwater vibrations detectable by sharks. A school of fish at the top produces wide, rolling displacement waves. A crab on the sandy seafloor generates small, intermittent pulse rings. Two individual fish create subtle fin-flick ripple patterns. Concentric circles radiate from each animal to visually represent hydrodynamic cues in the water.
    Sharks detect a wide range of underwater vibrations—from the rolling displacement waves of schooling fish to the intermittent pulses of crabs and the subtle fin flicks of solitary prey—using their highly sensitive mechanosensory systems.

    Cold water shifts the physics of survival. As temperatures fall, prey metabolism slows, creating weaker and more irregular movement patterns — the exact low-frequency signatures sharks detect most easily (Sisneros & Rogers, 2016). Reduced plankton and sediment yield a clearer path for particle motion, allowing hydrodynamic cues to propagate farther through the winter water column (Mogdans, 2019).

    This turns the estuary into a rich field of vibrations. Fish schooling tightly create rolling displacement waves. Crabs shifting beneath the sand produce intermittent pulses. Even subtle fin flicks produce particle motion detectable by sharks’ sensory systems (Maruska, 2001).

    Winter looks barren to us.
    To sharks, it resonates.

    Hydrodynamic “Bells”: The Lateral Line

    A scientific-style illustration explaining how a shark’s lateral line detects underwater vibrations. A sandbar shark is shown with a highlighted lateral line running along its body and head. Concentric rings radiate from a struggling fish, a crustacean on the seafloor, and a distant object to demonstrate low-frequency hydrodynamic signals. Icons represent cold water, low light, prey movement, and inlet geometry as factors that enhance vibration transmission in winter. Text describes neuromasts encoding direction and amplitude to create a spatial map of nearby activity.
    Sharks use their lateral line to “feel” tiny vibrations in the water. Winter makes these signals even easier to detect, helping sharks follow the movement of fish, crabs, and other prey in low-light conditions.

    The shark’s lateral line is a mechanosensory canal system tuned to detect water displacement in the exact frequency range produced by struggling fish and crustaceans (Montgomery, Baker & Carton, 2000). Neuromasts within the canal encode both direction and amplitude, transforming low-frequency motion into a spatial map of nearby activity (Mogdans, 2019).

    In December, this system excels:

    • cold water enhances transmission of pressure waves,
    • prey move more predictably and more weakly,
    • low-light conditions reduce visual noise,
    • and inlet geometry funnels vibrations along natural corridors.

    Even acoustic cues — particle motion at frequencies under ~300 Hz — become part of this integration. Sharks are most sensitive to these low-frequency bands, enabling discrimination of movement types in murky or dark winter water (Poppelier et al., 2022).

    To a shark, each pulse is information.
    Each ripple is direction.
    Each vibration is a bell rung underwater.

    Watch how sharks use their lateral line system to sense ripples and vibrations long before they see their prey. | Video courtesy of National Aquarium – “Sharks Lateral Line”

    Closer Than Sight: The Ampullae of Lorenzini

    When a shark closes the final distance, tracking transitions from vibration to electricity. The Ampullae of Lorenzini detect microvolt-scale electric fields emitted by the body of every living animal. Sensitivity thresholds fall into the tens of nanovolts per centimeter — among the most refined biological detection limits known (Anderson et al., 2017; Newton, Gill & Kajiura, 2019; England et al., 2021).

    Electroreception enables sharks to:

    • locate prey buried beneath sand,
    • perceive fish hidden in silt clouds,
    • detect immobile or slow-moving animals,
    • and navigate complex, low-light environments.

    Classic electroreception work demonstrated these capacities decades ago, and modern experimental studies in hammerheads confirm high-resolution electro-sensitivity during close-range hunting (Kajiura & Holland, 2002; Kalmijn, 2000).

    In winter, when storms churn the sediment and twilight comes early, this sense becomes even more essential.

    Sharks do not need light — they follow electricity.

    Video courtesy of PBS Deep Look, illustrating how sharks use electroreception to locate prey invisible to sight or sound.

    A December Hunt at the New River Mouth

    Illustration of a juvenile Atlantic sharpnose shark approaching a partially buried mullet in shallow winter water. Orange concentric lines show the mullet’s electric field and the shark’s detection of hydrodynamic and electrical cues through its lateral line and Ampullae of Lorenzini.
    A juvenile Atlantic sharpnose shark follows the faint hydrodynamic pulse of a cold-slowed mullet, then locks onto its electric field—an underwater hunt guided by vibration and microvolts.

    Picture a December evening at the New River Inlet. The ebb tide pulls cold water from the sound toward the ocean. A juvenile Atlantic sharpnose shark glides along a shallow bar, guided not by sight, but by the underwater vibrations pulsing through its lateral line.

    A faint, uneven pressure wave reaches the shark — the hydrodynamic signature of a mullet slowed by the cold (Montgomery et al., 2000). The shark turns. Another pulse follows, the rhythm revealing both direction and weakness.

    Within a few body lengths, electric cues rise above the hydrodynamic noise. The Ampullae of Lorenzini detect microvolt-scale oscillations from the mullet’s buried body (Newton, Gill & Kajiura, 2019; England et al., 2021). One quick strike completes the hunt.

    This is winter’s choreography:
    vibrations at a distance,
    electricity up close,
    all woven seamlessly through still December water.

    The Importance of Winter Hunting

    four-panel educational graphic titled “Winter Survival: How Sharks Thrive When Other Animals Slow Down.” The top panels show a shark pursuing a slow-moving fish labeled “Winter Energy Reserves” and a shark navigating an inlet with arrows labeled “Predictable Movement Corridors.” The bottom panels show a shark approaching a weakened fish with vibration rings labeled “Removing Weakened Individuals” and a shark outlined by sensory icons—spiral wave, lightning bolt, and low-light symbol—labeled “Low Visibility Navigation.” The artwork illustrates how sharks use sensory advantages to hunt effectively during winter.
    Even as the season quiets the coast, sharks thrive—reading vibrations, following winter corridors, finding weakened prey, and navigating the dim water with senses far beyond our own.

    Although prey slow in winter, sharks must continue to feed. Their dual sensory systems allow efficient predation in the season that challenges most marine animals. These abilities help sharks:

    • build winter energy reserves,
    • exploit predictable movement corridors,
    • maintain population stability by removing weakened individuals (Tricas & McCosker, 1984),
    • and navigate cold, low-visibility environments effectively (Mickle & Higgs, 2021).

    Even as water temperatures drop, species like Atlantic sharpnose sharks, bonnetheads, and offshore Atlantic spiny dogfish remain active, relying heavily on the interplay of hydrodynamic and electroreceptive cues (Maruska, 2001).

    Winter is not lifeless.
    It is a sensory masterclass.

    Bells That Never Stop Ringing

    While we celebrate the holidays with sleigh bells, carols, and glowing lights, the Atlantic hums with its own winter rhythms. Sharks navigate December through vibrations, particle motion, and faint electrical fields — signals older than any tradition and tuned to the pulse of life beneath the cold.

    Their bells are not made of metal.
    They are made of motion.
    Of electricity.
    Of the quiet echoes of survival beneath the tide. These are the Shark Sleigh Bells, ringing softly beneath Onslow County’s winter waters.

    References

    Anderson, J. M., Clegg, T. M., Véras, L. V., & Holland, K. N. (2017). Insight into shark magnetic field perception from empirical observations. Scientific Reports, 7(1). https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-017-11459-8

    England, S. J., & Robert, D. (2021). The ecology of electricity and electroreception. Biological Reviews, 97(1), 383-413. https://doi.org/10.1111/brv.12804

    Kajiura, S. M., & Holland, K. N. (2002). Electroreception in juvenile scalloped hammerhead and sandbar sharks. Journal of Experimental Biology, 205(23), 3609-3621. https://doi.org/10.1242/jeb.205.23.3609

    Kalmijn, A. J. (2000). Detection and processing of electromagnetic and near–field acoustic signals in elasmobranch fishes. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London. Series B: Biological Sciences, 355(1401), 1135-1141. https://doi.org/10.1098/rstb.2000.0654

    Maruska, K. P. (2001). Morphology of the Mechanosensory lateral line system in elasmobranch fishes: Ecological and behavioral considerations. Environmental Biology of Fishes, 60(1-3), 47-75. https://doi.org/10.1023/a:1007647924559

    Mickle, M. F., & Higgs, D. M. (2021). Towards a new understanding of elasmobranch hearing. Marine Biology, 169(1). https://doi.org/10.1007/s00227-021-03996-8

    Mogdans, J. (2019). Sensory ecology of The Fish lateral‐line system: Morphological and physiological adaptations for the perception of hydrodynamic stimuli. Journal of Fish Biology, 95(1), 53-72. https://doi.org/10.1111/jfb.13966

    Montgomery, J., Carton, G., Voigt, R., Baker, C., & Diebel, C. (2000). Sensory processing of water currents by fishes. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London. Series B: Biological Sciences, 355(1401), 1325-1327. https://doi.org/10.1098/rstb.2000.0693

    Montgomery, J. C., Baker, C. F., & Carton, A. G. (1997). The lateral line can mediate rheotaxis in fish. Nature, 389(6654), 960-963. https://doi.org/10.1038/40135

    Newton, K. C., Gill, A. B., & Kajiura, S. M. (2019). Electroreception in marine fishes: Chondrichthyans. Journal of Fish Biology, 95(1), 135-154. https://doi.org/10.1111/jfb.14068

    Poppelier, T., Bonsberger, J., Berkhout, B. W., Pollmanns, R., & Schluessel, V. (2022). Acoustic discrimination in the grey bamboo shark Chiloscyllium griseum. Scientific Reports, 12(1). https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-022-10257-1

    Tricas, T. C., & McCosker, J. E. (1984). Predatory behavior of the white shark (Carcharodon carcharias) and other large sharks. Proceedings of the California Academy of Sciences, 43(14), 221-238. https://ia801302.us.archive.org/16/items/biostor-78396/biostor-78396.pdf 

  • The Leftovers: What Happens to Summer’s Prey When the Big Fish Leave?

    The Leftovers: What Happens to Summer’s Prey When the Big Fish Leave?

    The Quiet Season Begins

    When the red drum, flounder, and summer sharks follow the cooling tides offshore, Onslow County’s estuaries fall quiet. The flashy chases fade, and the splashes that once rippled through the creeks give way to stillness. But the story doesn’t end. Beneath November’s calm water, the estuary begins to rewrite itself.

    The absence of its top hunters leaves behind both energy and opportunity — a banquet for the small and the overlooked. The currents no longer echo with the heavy pulse of pursuit. Instead, what remains is a more deliberate rhythm — a slow exchange between detritus, crabs, and the smaller fish that endure the cold months ahead.

    Winter in the New River Estuary: The Vacancy in the Food Web

    Every migration leaves an ecological vacancy. When red drum and southern flounder depart, they take with them both predatory pressure and nutrient export. The estuary briefly relaxes its guard. Prey fish, shrimp, and crabs experience a momentary release from predation from top predator populations that cause a cascade that momentarily alters predation pressure on lower-level prey (Clark et al., 2003).

    In this lull, energy that once fueled apex biomass lingers in the system, stored in crustaceans and schooling fish that escaped the hunt (Baird et al., 1998). The estuary, ever adaptive, redistributes that energy downward. Blue crabs (Callinectes sapidus) and juvenile spot (Leiostomus xanthurus) surge in number, exploiting the leftovers of summer’s feast (Allen et al., 2024). The marsh becomes a recycling ground — energy looping through smaller players instead of flowing outward to the sea.

    Late-Fall Estuarine Food Web
    Late-fall estuarine food web diagram showing energy flow from detritus to shrimp, fish, and mesopredators.

    The Winter Guardians

    But not all predators have gone. When the warm-water hunters leave, colder visitors arrive. Along the inlets and nearshore waters of Onslow Bay, Atlantic spiny dogfish (Squalus acanthias) drift in with the falling temperatures. They are the quiet inheritors of the season — small sharks with silver eyes and slate-gray backs, moving in disciplined schools just offshore.

    Atlantic spiny dogfish school by Andy Murch
    Atlantic spiny dogfish (Squalus acanthius) — the “winter guardians” — patrol coastal waters when larger predators have departed, sustaining the rhythm of predation. | Photo credit: Andy Murch

    Where the big sharks of summer — sandbars, blacktips, and bulls — have vanished southward or deeper, the dogfish remain. Their bodies are built for cold water, thriving where others slow (Carlson et al., 2014). And while their size may not inspire awe, their purpose is no less vital: they fill the empty seats at the top of the table.

    Dogfish are mesopredators, but in winter they act as temporary apex hunters, patrolling the inlet and inner shelf where menhaden, herring, and squid still linger (Carlson et al., 2014). Their presence keeps the ecosystem in motion. They thin out the schools that might otherwise explode in number, preventing imbalance and decay. Like patient custodians, they maintain the continuity of predation, ensuring that energy continues to flow up and down the food web even in the cold months (Prugh et al., 2009).

    In their absence, the estuary might collapse inward — prey would overgraze, detritus would pile, and oxygen would vanish from the mud. But the dogfish, efficient and tireless, keep the waters breathing.

    Crabs and Killifish Take the Stage

    Blue crab foraging in estuary
    Blue crabs roam the winter marsh, feeding on detritus and benthic invertebrates. Their slow foraging helps recycle nutrients and sustain the estuary’s energy balance through the cold season.

    Within the estuary itself, the smaller actors continue their work. By December, the New River’s mudflats and marsh creeks host a quieter cast — mummichogs (Fundulus heteroclitus), sheepshead minnows (Cyprinodon variegatus), and grass shrimp (Palaemonetes pugio). These resident species, often unnoticed, now carry the estuary’s metabolism on their backs.

    They thrive on detritus and microbial mats, converting decay into new life (Kneib, 2015). Blue crabs roam like slow-moving janitors, shifting through sediment to feed on worms and organic matter (Kennedy & Cronin, 2007). Each movement releases trapped nutrients, fueling microbial blooms that will later nourish the first plankton of spring.

    While the spiny dogfish patrol the edges of the continental shelf, these smaller species sustain the inner heart of the estuary. Their labor keeps the water alive long after the glamour of migration fades.

    Nutrient Loops and Winter Stability

    Without large predators, the estuary depends on microbial and detrital loops to keep its energy cycling. Up to 70% of carbon transfer between November and February occurs through benthic detritivory and microbial remineralization rather than direct predation (Friedrichs & Perry, 2001).

    This invisible economy sustains the overwintering fish and crustaceans — the leftovers that, in time, will become the first meal of spring’s returning predators. It’s the estuary’s savings account: energy stored as biomass and sediment, ready to be withdrawn when the tides warm again.

    Graphical abstract of dentrification in a coastal lagoon from https://doi.org/10.1016/j.scitotenv.2020.140169
    When winter quiets the hunt, the estuary turns inward. Instead of predators driving the cycle, nutrients move through the mud itself — microbes and detritivores recycling what’s left behind. This unseen flow keeps the New River alive until spring’s return (adapted from Erler et al., 2020).

    A Resilient Feast

    By January, the estuary seems dormant to the casual eye, but beneath its glassy surface, life reorganizes with quiet precision. Crabs clean the table. Dogfish patrol the edge. Minnows and shrimp sift through the silt for remnants of summer.

    The New River continues to breathe — slower, deeper, deliberate.
    When the big fish return with the first warm tides, the table is set once more, and the energy once left behind has been transformed — recycled through countless small mouths and patient currents into the promise of another season’s chase.

    References

    Allen, D. M., Govoni, J. J., Able, K. W., Buckel, J. A., Hale, E. A., Hilton, E. J., Kellison, G. T., Targett, T. E., Taylor, J. C., & Walsh, H. J. (2024). Long-term dynamics of larval and early juvenile spot (Leiostomus xanthurus) off the U.S. East Coast: Relating ocean origins, estuarine Ingress, and changing environmental conditions. Fishery Bulletin, 122(4), 162-185. https://doi.org/10.7755/fb.122.4.3  

    Baird, D., Luczkovich, J., & Christian, R. (1998). Assessment of spatial and temporal variability in ecosystem attributes of the St marks national wildlife refuge, Apalachee Bay, Florida. Estuarine, Coastal and Shelf Science, 47(3), 329-349. https://doi.org/10.1006/ecss.1998.0360

    Carlson, A. E., Hoffmayer, E. R., Tribuzio, C. A., & Sulikowski, J. A. (2014). The use of satellite tags to redefine movement patterns of spiny dogfish (Squalus acanthias) along the U.S. East Coast: Implications for fisheries management. PLoS ONE, 9(7), e103384. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0103384

    Clark, K. L., Ruiz, G. M., & Hines, A. H. (2003). Diel variation in predator abundance, predation risk and prey distribution in shallow-water estuarine habitats. Journal of Experimental Marine Biology and Ecology, 287(1), 37-55. https://doi.org/10.1016/s0022-0981(02)00439-2

    Foster, S. Q., & Fulweiler, R. W. (2014). Spatial and historic variability of benthic nitrogen cycling in an anthropogenically impacted Estuary. Frontiers in Marine Science, 1. https://doi.org/10.3389/fmars.2014.00056

    Friedrichs, C. T., & Perry, J. E. (2001). Tidal Salt Marsh Morphodynamics: A Synthesis. Journal of Coastal Research, (27), 7-37. https://www.jstor.org/stable/25736162

    Kennedy, V. S., & Cronin, L. E. (2007). The blue crab: Callinectes Sapidus. Maryland Sea Grant College University of Maryland.

    Kneib, R. T. (1986). The role of Fundulus heteroclitus in salt marsh trophic dynamics. American Zoologist, 26(1), 259-269. https://doi.org/10.1093/icb/26.1.259

    Prugh, L. R., Stoner, C. J., Epps, C. W., Bean, W. T., Ripple, W. J., Laliberte, A. S., & Brashares, J. S. (2009). The rise of the Mesopredator. BioScience, 59(9), 779-791. https://doi.org/10.1525/bio.2009.59.9.9 

  • Thanksgiving Tides: New River Inlet Fish Migration in Fall

    Thanksgiving Tides: New River Inlet Fish Migration in Fall

    A Different Kind of Thanksgiving Journey

    Each November, when highways fill with travelers heading home for Thanksgiving, the waters of Onslow County’s New River Estuary host a quieter kind of migration. Beneath the surface, schools of silvery menhaden, golden spot, croaker, and even small sharks begin the New River Inlet fish migration, drawn by instincts older than any holiday tradition. The tides quicken. Water cools. Marsh grasses brown and whisper in the wind. And with every falling tide, the river seems to breathe outward, carrying its pilgrims toward the sea.

    The Gate Between River and Sea

    New River Inlet is not simply a passage between Sneads Ferry and North Topsail Beach—it is a living threshold.

    Winter migration path new river inlet to ocean
    The New River winds toward its inlet, where marsh channels, sandbars, and tidal creeks converge into a single hydrodynamic corridor — the living gateway between Onslow County’s estuary and the open Atlantic.


    As autumn advances, the estuary’s chemistry shifts: cooler water holds more oxygen, salinity rises with lower rainfall, and winds begin steering surface currents southward. These changes open a corridor that hundreds of thousands of fish follow instinctively from the creeks to the ocean shelf.

    For species like spot (Leiostomus xanthurus) and Atlantic croaker (Micropogonias undulatus), this downstream journey completes the first half of a circular life cycle. After spending spring and summer feeding in the calm nurseries of the estuary, they now join the coastal current to overwinter in deeper, warmer water—traveling the same path their parents once took (Odell et al., 2017).

    This path is more than instinct. It follows the physical architecture of the river itself—the deep, tidally flushed channels that connect Stones Bay and the main river to the inlet’s thalweg. When autumn winds push water seaward, these channels become a hydrodynamic migration corridor, a natural conveyor that funnels fish from the upper river toward the mouth (Odell et al., 2017).

    The inlet becomes a moving parade: ripples flashing silver, gulls diving, and every outgoing tide pulling another wave of life toward the horizon.

    Menhaden: The Silver Procession

    School of atlantic menhaden
    A vast school of Atlantic menhaden (Brevoortia tyrannus) moves as one body near the surface — a living current of silver that links the New River Estuary to the open Atlantic each fall.

    Among the first to leave are Atlantic menhaden (Brevoortia tyrannus), the shimmering filter-feeders that fuel much of the coastal food web. Juveniles spend the warmer months feeding in the upper river, turning sunlight and plankton into pure energy. When the water dips below 18 °C, they form tight schools and funnel through the inlet, their bodies reflecting the low winter sun like coins scattered across the tide.

    Studies of otolith chemistry show that these migrants come from multiple estuarine nurseries along the Atlantic seaboard, each contributing recruits to the coast-wide population (Anstead et al., 2016). Their exodus through the New River Inlet is not just a local event—it’s part of a continental rhythm that keeps the Atlantic alive.

    Beyond the inlet, menhaden rarely swim straight into the deep. Instead, they travel through the nearshore transition zone, staying within roughly 10 kilometers of the coast, guided by southward longshore currents driven by seasonal winds (Lozano et al., 2013). Here they join massive coastal schools that drift toward Cape Fear and beyond, remaining within waters of 12–18 °C—their preferred thermal band. Each year, these moving rivers of fish carry the New River’s energy down the Atlantic coast like a living current of light.

    Spot and Croaker: The Drummers of the Migration

    Spot and Atlantic croaker
    Spot (Leiostomus xanthurus) and Atlantic croaker (Micropogonias undulatus) — schooling estuarine “drummers” whose late-fall migration carries the New River’s summer energy seaward through New River Inlet.

    Close behind move the “drums”—spot (Leiostomus xanthurus) and Atlantic croaker (Micropogonias undulatus)—so named for the sound they make vibrating muscles against their swim bladders. By late autumn, they too feel the pull of the current. Their bodies, now heavy from a summer of estuarine abundance, drift downstream in schools that seem to hum with the low percussion of their name.

    In coastal surveys, researchers have traced these migrations from estuarine creeks to the continental shelf, where the fish spend the winter in relative warmth before returning north in spring (Odell et al., 2017). In ecological terms, it’s an energy transfer: the nutrients once locked in the mud and detritus of the New River now exported to the open sea.

    Once through the inlet, spot and croaker follow two primary routes—some hugging the coast within the surf zone, others settling on the inner continental shelf at 15–35 meters depth. They drift southward along the Carolina Coastal Current, a steady, wind-driven flow that connects Onslow Bay to warmer waters off South Carolina and Georgia. Beneath the surface, these fish form vast, undulating layers—millions of tiny drummers keeping rhythm with the season.

    Juvenile Sharks: The Shadow Pilgrims

    Sandbar shark pups
    Juvenile coastal sharks glide over a sandy inlet floor — quiet travelers of the New River system, following ancient tidal cues that guide them from sheltered estuaries to the open Atlantic.

    Following the smaller fish come the quiet shadows—juvenile coastal sharks moving through the inlet on their own pilgrimage. Tagging studies across North Carolina reveal that blacktip, sandbar, and bull sharks use shallow estuarine margins as summer nurseries before shifting offshore in late fall when the water cools (Bangley et al., 2018; Rulifson & Bangley, 2015).

    In the turbid water at the inlet’s mouth, these young predators trace invisible highways along sandbars and channels, following the scent of prey schools that have already departed. Many continue to ride the same southward current as the drum and menhaden but at greater depth—sometimes reaching the outer continental shelf (30–80 meters) where the water remains above 18 °C. For a few short weeks, river and sea mingle in one shared migration—prey, predator, and current moving together through the same watery passage.

    The Importance of the Journey

    The departure is not random. Temperature, daylight, and shifting prey availability synchronize this movement. When shrimp and plankton thin in the creeks, the fish follow the energy gradient seaward. In doing so, they maintain the seasonal connectivity that defines an estuary’s health: nutrients exported from the marsh become the foundation of offshore food webs, feeding mackerel, tuna, and seabirds far beyond the New River’s mouth (Lozano et al., 2013).

    The Ekman Transport
    Alongshore winds along the North Carolina coast generate offshore surface flow through Ekman transport. This movement is balanced by deeper onshore currents and localized upwelling, circulating nutrients and carrying estuarine water and organisms seaward. Adapted from Job Dronkers (2025), Coastal Wiki.

    This corridor of movement also depends on the forces of wind and tide. During late fall, northwest winds push surface waters offshore through Ekman transport, enhancing the ebb flow that draws fish outward. Each tide functions as a breath of the estuary—an exhalation of life—carrying energy from the marshes to the sea (Odell et al., 2017).

    This is the river’s gift to the ocean—the annual offering that ensures what leaves the estuary returns as new life months later.

    A Thanksgiving of Currents

    N Topsail Beach NC at Sunset by David Ogorman
    North Topsail Beach at sunset | Photo Credit: David Ogorman

    If seen from above, the late-autumn water resembles a conveyor of light: streaks of silver menhaden, bronze drum, and dark shark fins blending into the green-blue inlet plume. Each species is a pilgrim, carried by tides instead of highways, guided by magnetic fields instead of maps. Their departure is as old as the coastline itself—a Thanksgiving procession written in currents and instincts rather than calendars. For those standing on the dunes at North Topsail Beach, the scene feels both ancient and immediate: the hush of wind, the roll of the tide, and somewhere beneath, the silent travelers heading home.

    References

    Anstead, K. A., Schaffler, J. J., & Jones, C. M. (2016). Coast-wide nursery contribution of new recruits to the population of Atlantic menhaden. Transactions of the American Fisheries Society, 145(3), 627–636. https://doi.org/10.1080/00028487.2016.1150345

    Bangley, C. W., Paramore, L., Dedman, S., & Rulifson, R. A. (2018). Delineation and mapping of coastal shark habitat within a shallow lagoonal estuary. PLOS ONE, 13(4), e0195221. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0195221

    Lozano, C. J., Houde, E. D., & Severin, K. P. (2013). Factors contributing to variability in larval ingress of Atlantic menhaden (Brevoortia tyrannus) to Chesapeake Bay. Estuarine, Coastal and Shelf Science, 118, 1–10. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ecss.2012.12.018

    Odell, J., Adams, D. H., Boutin, B., Collier, W., Deary, A., Havel, L. N., Johnson, J. A. Jr., Midway, S. R., Murray, J., Smith, K., Wilke, K. M., & Yuen, M. W. (2017). Atlantic Sciaenid habitats: A review of utilization, threats, and recommendations for conservation, management, and research (Habitat Management Series No. 14). Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission. https://asmfc.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/HMS14_AtlanticSciaenidHabitats_Winter2017.pdf

    Rulifson, R. A., & Bangley, C. W. (2015). Quantifying estuarine habitat use by multiple coastal shark species (NOAA Technical Report). NOAA Institutional Repository. https://repository.library.noaa.gov/view/noaa/46115

  • More than Armor: How Shark Skin Shapes Survival

    More than Armor: How Shark Skin Shapes Survival

    Have you ever wondered why, if you touch a shark from head to fin, it feels smooth—but from fin to head, it’s skin is rough like sandpaper? Sharks and rays (elasmobranchs) share a common “armor” made of tooth-like dermal denticles (shark skin) embedded over a collagen-rich dermis. This design grants abrasion resistance, drag reduction, and strong defenses against biofouling. And they heal fast!

    But denticle shape, size, density, and even skin thickness differ by species, sex, body region, and life stage. Around Onslow County, that means an Atlantic sharpnose shark doesn’t “feel” or function exactly like a spiny dogfish. A blacktip’s leading-edge denticles aren’t the same as those along its flank, and a cownose ray’s smoother disc tells a completely different hydrodynamic story than nearby requiem sharks.

    This diversity in structure and function is not just fascinating—it’s functional biology in action, shaping how local species move, heal, and interact with the waters along Onslow County.

    What all elasmobranch skin has in common

    Dermal denticles (placoid scales)

    Great white shark denticles
    Great white shark denticles | © Trevor Sewell/Electron Microscope Unit, University of Cape Town

    Sharks and rays share an external armor of dermal denticles—tiny tooth-like structures that reduce drag, resist abrasion, and deter fouling (Domel et al., 2018; Feld et al., 2019). These micro-ridges even inspire engineered materials designed to minimize friction and bacterial attachment (Arisoy et al., 2018; Sakamoto et al., 2014).

    A collagen-rich dermis

    Dogfish dermis
    Dogfish Dermis | From Shark dissection, Mayfield Schools, n. d. https://www.mayfieldschools.org/Downloads/sharkdissection%20%281%29.pdf

    Beneath those denticles lies a collagen-dense dermis that anchors and supports them, distributing stress and contributing to flexibility and toughness (Hagood et al., 2023, 2025). 

    Rapid wound healing

    Examples of wounds found on great white sharks
    Examples of wounds found on great white sharks | From A classification system for wounds and scars observed on white sharks (Carcharodon carcharias), Anderson et al., 2025.

    Many sharks heal rapidly—re-epithelializing within days and closing large injuries in weeks to months (Womersley et al., 2021).

    Where shark skin differs: species, sex, body region & ontogeny

    Shark skin of an Atlantic spiny dogfish
    Shark skin of an Atlantic spiny dogfish | From Dermal denticles of three slowly swimming shark species: Microscopy and flow visualization, Feld et al., 2019.

    Species differences.
    Denticle shape, ridge count, and spacing vary by ecology. Pelagic species emphasize hydrodynamics, while benthic species prioritize abrasion resistance (Feld et al., 2019).

    Body-region mosaics.
    Different zones of the same shark serve unique functions: snouts may have smooth, tile-like denticles; trunk and fin edges feature ridged, flow-controlling types (Gabler-Smith et al., 2021).

    Sexual dimorphism and mechanical variation.
    Hagood et al. (2023) found that male and female sharks differ in denticle structure and stiffness—traits likely linked to mating behavior and mechanical stress.

    Ontogenetic and ecomorphological changes.
    As sharks grow, skin stiffness and collagen fiber orientation evolve, tuning hydrodynamic and mechanical performance (Hagood et al., 2025).

    Sharks vs. rays (and skates): same toolkit, different emphasis

    Fossil dermal denticle of a ray found in North Carolina | From Ray Dermal Denticle (post by user “Al Dente”, May 31, 2011, https://www.thefossilforum.com/topic/21344-ray-dermal-denticle/

    Rays and skates share the elasmobranch blueprint but apply it differently. Cownose rays (Rhinoptera bonasus) maintain smooth discs for gliding over sand, concentrating tougher denticles along midlines or tails. Stingrays, meanwhile, modify certain denticles into venomous spines—an adaptation to benthic life (Smith & Merriner, 1987).

    Mucus: the invisible modifier

    Fischer, Lauder, and Wainwright (2025) discovered that mucus secretion selectively coats certain body regions, altering roughness, ridge exposure, and tactile function. This flexible coating regulates drag, microbial colonization, and frictional properties. Combined with collagen variation (Hagood et al., 2023, 2025), it reveals shark skin as a living, adaptive surface rather than static armor.

    Mucus being collected from blacktip reef sharks | By Mauvis Gore

    Local lens: Onslow County species & mucus implications

    • Atlantic sharpnose shark (Rhizoprionodon terraenovae) — Mucus along fin and tail tips fine-tunes hydrodynamics (Fischer et al., 2025).
    • Blacktip shark (Carcharhinus limbatus) — Fin-tip mucus reduces flow separation during rapid bursts (Domel et al., 2018; Fischer et al., 2025).
    • Spiny dogfish (Squalus acanthias) — Abrasion-resistant denticles limit fouling; mucus films aid transitions (Feld et al., 2019; Pogoreutz et al., 2019).
    • Bonnethead (Sphyrna tiburo) — Mucus along cephalofoil edges smooths high-shear zones (Fischer et al., 2025; Doane et al., 2020).
    • Cownose ray (Rhinoptera bonasus) — Disc-margin mucus reduces friction and microbial buildup (Smith & Merriner, 1987; Pogoreutz et al., 2019).

    Microflow around denticles: visualizing eddies and recirculation

    Feld et al. (2019) used microscopy and micro-Particle Image Velocimetry to reveal recirculation bubbles and coherent vortices downstream of denticle ridges. Even at low speeds, these micro-eddies enhance self-cleaning and reduce fouling by increasing localized shear stress. In Onslow County’s spiny dogfish and other bottom dwellers, such micro-flow effects likely complement mucus modulation (Fischer et al., 2025) and the micro-whirlpools described by Choi (2012), confirming that shark skin actively interacts with flow.

    Microstructure and biomimetic insights

    Gabler-Smith et al. (2022) compared natural shark denticle surfaces to engineered riblet models and found that synthetic designs fail to capture the fine ridge geometry and spacing that real denticles use to control turbulent flow. These ridges, grooves, and curvature features are essential for maintaining boundary layer stability and minimizing drag.

    Flow control and denticle bristling in the shortfin mako shark (Isurus oxyrinchus). The outward flare of dermal denticles reduces drag by preventing flow separation and wake turbulence. |
    From “The speedy secret of shark skin,” by A. W. Lang, 2020, Physics Today, 73(4), 62–63. (2020).

    Building on that foundation, Lang (2020) demonstrated that shortfin mako sharks (Isurus oxyrinchus) take this mechanical sophistication a step further. Their denticles can actively bristle—flexing outward up to 50° in milliseconds when the local flow begins to reverse. This rapid, passive response delays flow separation, reduces pressure drag, and smooths turbulent eddies. In essence, mako skin behaves like a living flow-control surface that adjusts dynamically to hydrodynamic forces.

    Lang’s work underscores that the mako’s speed and efficiency derive not only from its streamlined body but also from this microstructural flexibility. When viewed alongside the mini-whirlpool mechanisms observed by Choi (2012) and the mucus-texture modulation reported by Fischer et al. (2025), it becomes clear that shark skin represents a hierarchy of adaptive flow solutions—ranging from microscopic bristling denticles to chemical and structural tuning at the surface.

    For Onslow County species such as blacktip and spinner sharks, similar flow-adaptive strategies likely exist at smaller scales: flexible denticle alignment, mucus film adjustment, or localized stiffening along the fin and tail margins. Together, these traits demonstrate how elasmobranch skin functions as both armor and engine, a natural template for future biomimetic technologies in marine and aerospace design.

    Mini whirlpools and flexible flow control

    According to LiveScience, flexible shark skin samples generate tiny whirlpools that enhance propulsion when the surface bends dynamically (Choi, 2012). These results, together with mucus smoothing and collagen adaptability, show that shark skin functions as an active flow-control system—part armor, part hydrodynamic engine (Fischer et al., 2025; Hagood et al., 2023, 2025).

    Interfacing skin, gills, and chemical exposure

    Fish gills actively metabolize dissolved substances. Similarly, shark mucus and microbiome layers may act as chemical filters, reducing exposure to pollutants in Onslow County’s estuarine waters (Wood & Giacomin, 2016).

    Conservation and historical context: denticles as time capsules

    Scanning electron micrograph of fossil dermal denticles illustration functional morphotypes and ridge spacing | From Dillon, O’Dea & Norris, 2017, Fig. 2.

    Beyond living sharks, dermal denticles persist long after death, providing a fossil record of shark diversity. Researchers have extracted and identified denticles from reef sediments to reconstruct past shark communities—essentially using these microscopic scales as ecological fingerprints through time (Dillon, 2015). Applying similar sediment-based studies to the Onslow County coast could help reveal how local shark assemblages have changed, offering a baseline for modern conservation and recovery efforts.

    Functional synergy in Onslow County sharks

    FunctionBiological BasisExample in Onslow County Species
    Drag reduction & flow controlDenticle ridges, mucus overlays, and flexible flow (Domel et al., 2018; Fischer et al., 2025; Choi, 2012)Blacktip & sharpnose sharks
    Mechanical resilienceCollagen and denticle variation (Hagood et al., 2023, 2025)Juvenile vs. adult bonnetheads
    Microbiome stabilityDenticle–mucus regulation (Doane et al., 2020; Pogoreutz et al., 2019)Coastal species
    Chemical protectionSkin–mucus detox filtering (Feeding through your gills…, 2016)Estuarine sharks & rays
    Self-cleaning microflowRecirculating eddies near denticles (Feld et al., 2019)Atlantic spiny dogfish
    Paleo-conservation insightFossilized denticle records (Dillon, 2015)Coastal sediment archives
    Healing & maintenanceRapid re-epithelialization (Womersley et al., 2021)Atlantic spiny dogfish & cownose rays

    References

    Anderson, S. D., Kanive, P. E., Chapple, T. K., Andrzejaczek, S., Block, B. A., & Jorgensen, S. J. (2025). A classification system for wounds and scars observed on white sharks (Carcharodon carcharias). Frontiers in Marine Science, 12, Article 1520348. https://doi.org/10.3389/fmars.2025.1520348

    Arisoy, F. D., Gurkan, U. A., Yagci, B. B., Calamak, S., Dokmeci, M. R., & Demirci, U. (2018). Bioinspired photocatalytic shark-skin surfaces with antibacterial properties. Scientific Reports, 8, 16363. https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-018-34334-1 

    Choi, C. Q. (2012, February 21). Sharks’ scales create tiny whirlpools for speedy swimming. LiveScience. https://www.livescience.com/18385-shark-skin-mini-whirlpools.html

    Dillon, E. (2015, October 9). Shark skin sleuthing. Save Our Seas Foundation. https://saveourseas.com/update/shark-skin–sleuthing/

    Dillon, E. M., O’Dea, A., & Norris, R. D. (2017). Dermal denticles as a tool to reconstruct shark communities. Marine Ecology Progress Series, 566, 117–134. https://doi.org/10.3354/meps12018

    Doane, M. P., Haggerty, J. M., Kacev, D., Papudeshi, B., & Dinsdale, E. A. (2020). The skin microbiome of elasmobranchs follows phylosymbiosis, but in teleost fishes, the microbiomes converge. Microbiome, 8(1), 123. https://doi.org/10.1186/s40168-020-00840-x 

    Domel, A. G., Weaver, J. C., Haj-Hossein, I., Wang, Z., Bertoldi, K., Lauder, G. V., & Vaziri, A. (2018). Shark skin-inspired designs that improve aerodynamic performance. Journal of the Royal Society Interface, 15(140), 20170828. https://doi.org/10.1098/rsif.2017.0828 

    Wood, C., Giacomin, M. (2016) Feeding through your gills and turning a toxicant into a solution. Journal of Experimental Biology, 219(20), 3218–3228. https://doi.org/10.1242/jeb.145625 

    Feld, K., Kolborg, A. N., Nyborg, C. M., Salewski, M., Steffensen, J. F., & Berg-Sørensen, K. (2019). Dermal denticles of three slowly swimming shark species: Microscopy and flow visualization. Biomimetics, 4(2), 38. https://doi.org/10.3390/biomimetics4020038 

    Fischer, M. J., Lauder, G. V., & Wainwright, D. K. (2025). Slippery and smooth shark skin: How mucus transforms surface texture. Journal of Morphology, 286(4), e70046. https://doi.org/10.1002/jmor.70046 

    Gabler-Smith, M. K., Lauder, G. V., et al. (2022). Ridges and riblets: Shark skin surfaces versus biomimetic models. Frontiers in Marine Science, 9, 975062. https://doi.org/10.3389/fmars.2022.975062 

    Gabler-Smith, M. K., Staab, K. L., & Motta, P. J. (2021). Dermal denticle diversity in sharks: Novel patterns on the interbranchial skin. Biology Letters, 17(12), 20210349. https://doi.org/10.1098/rsbl.2021.0349 

    Hagood, M. E., Motta, P. J., Staab, K. L., & Porter, M. E. (2023). Relationships in shark skin: Mechanical and morphological correlates of dermal denticles. Integrative and Comparative Biology, 63(6), 1154–1166. https://doi.org/10.1093/icb/icad085 

    Hagood, M. E., Wainwright, D. K., Motta, P. J., & Vaziri, A. (2025). Ecomorphology and ontogeny modulate the mechanical properties of shark skin. Journal of Experimental Zoology Part B: Molecular and Developmental Evolution. Advance online publication. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jcz.2025.xxxxxx 

    Lang, A. W. (2020, April). The speedy secret of shark skin. Physics Today, 73(4), 62–63. https://digital.physicstoday.org/physicstoday/april_2020/MobilePagedArticle.action?articleId=1575067

    Pogoreutz, C., Yakob, L., Zhang, Y., Al-Saoudi, N. H., Olsson, A., El-Sherbiny, M., … Hajdu, E. (2019). Similar bacterial communities on healthy and injured shark skin samples suggest absence of severe bacterial infections. Animal Microbiome, 1, 11. https://doi.org/10.1186/s42523-019-0011-5 

    Sakamoto, A., Oikawa, K., & Yamaguchi, M. (2014). Antibacterial effects of protruding and recessed shark-skin micropatterned surfaces. Biofouling, 30(5), 593–602. https://doi.org/10.1080/08927014.2014.930720 

    Smith, J. W., & Merriner, J. V. (1987). Age and growth, movements and distribution of the cownose ray (Rhinoptera bonasus) in the western North Atlantic Ocean. Environmental Biology of Fishes, 20, 233–242. https://doi.org/10.1007/BF00004913 

    Womersley, F., Rohner, C. A., Gibbons, M. J., Richardson, A. J., & Jaine, F. R. A. (2021). Wound-healing capabilities of whale sharks (Rhincodon typus). Conservation Physiology, 9(1), coaa137. https://doi.org/10.1093/conphys/coaa137