Category: Marine Mammals

  • Following the Warm Water: Manatees in Onslow County

    Following the Warm Water: Manatees in Onslow County

    At first, it may look like a series of smooth rings spreading across the water.

    Then bubbles rise. A dark shape moves beneath them. A broad back reaches the surface, followed by a rounded nose taking a quick breath before disappearing again.

    Along the docks, channels, and marsh-lined sounds of Onslow County, we are used to watching for dolphins, sea turtles, rays, and the passing shadows of large fish. A manatee belongs to a different picture—one usually associated with Florida’s clear springs, mangrove rivers, and groups gathered in the warm water near power plants during winter.

    Yet manatees have been appearing around Topsail Island, Surf City, and other parts of the North Carolina coast during the warmer months. In July 2024, drone footage captured several together in Topsail Beach Sound. By the following summer, the University of North Carolina Wilmington’s Marine Mammal Stranding Program reported receiving more than 100 manatee sightings from across North Carolina since 2024 (Bergin, 2024; UNCW, 2026; WECT/6, 2025).

    That does not necessarily mean more than 100 different manatees visited our coast. The same animal may be seen several times as it moves from one sound or waterway to another. More people also have phones ready to photograph an animal that might once have surfaced briefly and disappeared without ever being reported.

    Even so, the growing number of sightings gives us reason to look more closely.

    A manatee in Onslow County may still be unexpected. It is not necessarily lost.

    Farther North, but Not Entirely Out of Place

    The manatees seen here are Florida manatees (Trichechus manatus latirostris), a subspecies of the West Indian manatee (Trichechus manatus) (Reep & Bonde, 2021).

    Florida remains the center of their range in the United States, particularly during winter. Once the water warms in spring, however, some begin traveling.

    They move into rivers, bays, estuaries, and coastal waters along the southeastern United States. Some remain within Florida. Others follow the Atlantic coast through Georgia and the Carolinas. A few have traveled as far north as Chesapeake Bay, New England, and beyond (Cummings, 2014; Deutsch et al., 2003; Rathbun et al., 1981).

    Florida remains the center of the manatee’s U.S. range, but during warmer months some individuals travel north along the Atlantic coast into Georgia, the Carolinas, Virginia, and beyond. | Image credit: Manatee Migration and Facts
    Florida remains the center of the manatee’s U.S. range, but during warmer months some individuals travel north along the Atlantic coast into Georgia, the Carolinas, Virginia, and beyond. | Image credit: Manatee Migration and Facts

    North Carolina manatee sightings are therefore not new. Records of animals north of Florida go back for generations (Cummings, 2014; Gunter, 1941; Irvine & Campbell, 1978; Rathbun et al., 1981). What may be changing is how frequently they are being seen and how much of their movement we are now able to record.

    A growing Florida population may mean more animals are reaching the outer edges of their range. Warmer coastal water may allow them to travel farther north or remain here longer. Better reporting may also be filling gaps in a migration that was already happening but was easier to miss (Cloyed et al., 2025; Laist, 2019).

    One sighting cannot tell us which explanation is responsible. A collection of sightings can begin to show a pattern.

    Each report adds a location and a date. Over time, those points may reveal when manatees reach North Carolina, whether they return to the same places, how long they remain, and whether mothers eventually bring calves along routes they have traveled before.

    A Coast Reached by Memory

    Manatees do not look like long-distance travelers.

    They usually move with slow strokes of a broad, paddle-shaped tail. They may appear to drift through a canal or graze without any particular destination. Their normal swimming pace is only a few miles per hour, although they can move much faster in a short burst when startled.

    A slow pace does not prevent a long journey.

    A manatee traveling north does not need to swim hundreds of miles without stopping. It can move for part of the day, rest, feed, explore a side creek, and then continue. Some migrations are fairly direct. Others stretch over weeks or months as the animal pauses along the route.

    The path is not as simple as keeping the beach on one side and open water on the other.

    A manatee traveling along the Atlantic coast must pass through inlets, move around shoals, cross open stretches of water, and enter branching networks of rivers, sounds, and tidal creeks. Along the way, it must find water deep enough to travel, warm enough to enter, and productive enough to make stopping worthwhile.

    Many manatees return to familiar summer and winter habitats year after year. They can remember travel corridors, feeding areas, freshwater sources, and the warm-water refuges that become essential once winter arrives (Deutsch et al., 2003; Reep & Bonde, 2021).

    That ability was once easy to underestimate because a manatee’s brain looks different from the deeply folded brains of dolphins, primates, and elephants. Behavioral research has since shown that manatees can learn visual and sound-based tasks, remember what they have learned, and solve some discrimination problems at levels comparable with animals better known for their intelligence, including dolphins and elephants. Their intelligence is not simply a slower version of a dolphin’s. It is shaped around the problems a manatee must solve: locating food, reading water movement, recognizing useful habitat, and finding its way through a large and changing network of waterways (Cook et al., 2025; Reep & Bonde, 2021).

    They also experience that watery landscape through more than sight.

    The coarse hairs around a manatee’s face are called vibrissae—the same word used for a cat’s whiskers. Manatees also have smaller sensory hairs spread across the rest of their bodies. Each hair can respond to touch and movement in the surrounding water (Reep et al., 2001, 2002).

    Around the mouth, the stiffest hairs help examine, grasp, and pull vegetation. Across the body, the finer hairs may help the animal detect water currents and nearby movement, giving it information about surroundings that may be difficult to see in cloudy water. It is less like having fur and more like being covered in a field of small underwater sensors (Reep et al., 2001, 2002).

    The vibrissae do not hold a map of the coast. They help supply some of the information from which that map can be learned.

    A familiar current, bottom texture, channel, or opening between shorelines may become one part of the larger set of clues a manatee uses as it moves. Sight, sound, touch, water temperature, and memory work together rather than as separate navigation systems.

    Some of that map is learned early.

    A calf remains beside its mother through its first year and sometimes longer. During that time, it follows her between feeding grounds, resting places, travel corridors, and winter refuges. The calf is not only being led from one place to another. It is learning where those places are (Deutsch et al., 2003; Reep & Bonde, 2021).

    If a female repeatedly travels north and later brings a calf with her, a North Carolina sound could become part of another manatee’s remembered landscape.

    That does not mean every animal seen here learned the route from its mother. Manatees also explore, and individuals do not all follow the same migration. But the animal rising beside a local dock may not have arrived here by accident.

    It may be returning to a place where it previously found the right combination of water, food, and shelter.

    An Animal Guided by Temperature

    A manatee may weigh more than half a ton, but its large body does not protect it from cold water as well as we might expect.

    Unlike whales and seals, manatees do not carry a thick layer of insulating blubber. Much of their rounded shape comes from an enormous digestive system needed to break down the plants they eat (Reep & Bonde, 2021).

    When water remains below about 68°F, or 20°C, they begin losing body heat faster than they can replace it. Prolonged exposure can cause cold stress, damage internal organs, weaken the immune system, and eventually kill the animal (Bossart et al., 2003; Laist & Reynolds, 2005; Reep & Bonde, 2021).

    That lower temperature limit shapes their annual movement.

    During winter, Florida manatees gather around places where the water remains reliably warm. Some use natural springs that stay near the same temperature throughout the year. Others depend on warm water released near power plants. These refuges allow them to survive cold periods, but they do not always provide enough vegetation for the animals to remain there throughout the year (Flamm et al., 2012; Laist & Reynolds, 2005).

    When spring warms the rivers and coast, the manatees spread out again.

    They are generally comfortable in water from about 70°F to 86℉, or roughly 21–30°C. During summer, some shallow Florida bays and lagoons may reach the upper 80s or low 90s—approximately 28–33°C—while coastal waters farther north finally rise above the lower limit manatees need (Cloyed et al., 2025; Reep & Bonde, 2021).

    Florida manatees are grouped into four regional populations, each connected to a network of warm-water refuges that become essential when winter water temperatures fall. | Image credit: Laist et al., 2012
    Florida manatees are grouped into four regional populations, each connected to a network of warm-water refuges that become essential when winter water temperatures fall. | Image credit: Laist et al., 2012

    That helps explain the seasonal movement, although it does not prove that animals are leaving Florida simply because it has become too hot. Manatees already live in warm tropical and subtropical environments, and individual animals respond to more than temperature alone.

    But temperature does open and close the route.

    As the Atlantic coast warms through spring, areas that were dangerous in February become usable by May or June. A manatee can move north through a widening corridor of suitable water, stopping where it finds food, freshwater, quiet resting places, and channels it can safely navigate.

    Warmer conditions may also keep that corridor open longer than it once did. Recent models suggest that future changes in temperature and habitat could alter where manatees occur within the continental United States. For now, however, sightings alone cannot tell us how much of the increase comes from changing water temperatures, population recovery, improved reporting, or individual animals exploring beyond familiar areas (Cloyed et al., 2025; Laist, 2019).

    They tell us the animals are here.

    Understanding why takes a much longer record.

    What They Find in Onslow County

    Warm water makes the journey possible.

    Food gives a manatee a reason to remain.

    Manatees are plant eaters. In coastal and estuarine water, they graze on seagrasses, algae, and other aquatic vegetation. Their divided upper lip works almost like two short fingers, grasping and pulling plants into the mouth. Their front flippers can help guide the vegetation as they feed (Reep & Bonde, 2021).

    An adult manatee may spend several hours grazing each day. Finding a calm creek is therefore not enough if the bottom offers little to eat. So, manatees explore to find the best combination of resources.

    Onslow County’s sounds, tidal creeks, river mouths, and sheltered shorelines can provide many of the pieces a visiting manatee needs. Shallow water allows underwater grasses and algae to grow. Marsh edges offer some protection from larger waves. Inlets and deeper channels connect one feeding area to another.

    Much of this habitat is easy to overlook because its most important part lies below the surface.

    Submerged aquatic vegetation—or SAV—is the underwater grass growing across parts of our sounds and estuaries. These grass beds are already important to the animals that live here. 

    Juvenile fish hide among the blades (Orth et al., 2006). Blue crabs, shrimp, snails, and other small animals feed and shelter there. The plants slow the water enough for suspended sediment to settle, hold parts of the bottom in place, release oxygen, and absorb nutrients that might otherwise feed large algae blooms (Heck et al., 2003; Orth et al., 2006).

    Clearer water then allows more sunlight to reach the bottom, which helps more grass grow.

    It is a habitat that helps maintain the conditions it needs.

    To a visiting manatee, the same grass may also be food.

    A few summer visitors are unlikely to graze enough to remake Onslow County’s grass beds. In Florida, however, large groups of manatees can remove substantial amounts of vegetation from places they use heavily. If North Carolina becomes a regular summer destination for more animals, researchers will eventually need to understand both sides of that relationship: whether our grass beds can support repeated grazing and whether the grazing changes the beds themselves.

    What Changes What They Find Here

    For now, the larger concern may be whether those feeding grounds remain available at all.

    Underwater grass needs light. When runoff, algae, boat wakes, or disturbed sediment make the water cloudy, less sunlight reaches the bottom. The plants may thin even though the surface of the sound looks much as it did before (Burkholder et al., 2007; Sagerman et al., 2019).

    Some changes happen directly within the grass beds. Boat propellers can cut trenches through shallow vegetation. Docks shade the bottom. Development adds more hard surfaces that send runoff toward the water instead of allowing it to soak into the ground. Each change may seem small when viewed from a single property, dock, or channel. Across an estuary, those changes begin to alter how much clear, shallow habitat remains (Burdick & Short, 1999; Sagerman et al., 2019).

    Other changes begin farther away but still reach the same habitat.

    Beach nourishment can affect this connected system, but the effects depend greatly on where sand is removed, where it is placed, and how the project is carried out. Sand borrowed from the nearshore bottom removes or alters habitat at the borrow site. Sediment escaping into nearby water may temporarily increase cloudiness, and misplaced sand can bury submerged plants or other bottom communities (Peterson & Bishop, 2005).

    That does not make every nourishment project equally harmful. Beach nourishment can protect oceanfront infrastructure and restore parts of a storm-damaged beach. The ecological question is not simply whether sand is moved. It is what habitat occupies the borrow and placement areas, how closely the new sediment matches the original sand, how much enters surrounding water, and whether sensitive areas can be avoided (Peterson & Bishop, 2005).

    The recommended draft Surf City beach nourishment plan (6/6/2024) identifies offshore borrow areas where sand would be removed before being placed along the beach. Each borrow site is also part of the nearshore habitat connected to the island, inlets, and sounds behind it. | Image credit: USACE
    The recommended draft Surf City beach nourishment plan (6/6/2024) identifies offshore borrow areas where sand would be removed before being placed along the beach. Each borrow site is also part of the nearshore habitat connected to the island, inlets, and sounds behind it. | Image credit: USACE

    The ocean side of a barrier island and the sound behind it may look like separate shorelines, but they belong to the same moving island.

    Barrier islands naturally respond to waves, storms, rising water, and shifting inlets by changing shape and gradually moving. Sand is carried along the beach, pushed over the island during storms, and moved through inlets into the sounds behind it. Those movements help rebuild beaches, create shoals, and allow marshes and shallow-water habitats to form in new places as older ones erode (FitzGerald et al., 2008; Nienhuis & Lorenzo-Trueba, 2019).

    Those shallow sound-side habitats are part of what a traveling manatee encounters. The grass beds, marsh edges, shoals, and deeper channels behind the island are shaped partly by sand moving across and around the barrier island itself.

    Hard structures are designed to stop part of that movement.

    A seawall, revetment, terminal groin, or other hardened structure may protect a building, road, or inlet beside it. But the barrier island does not stop moving simply because one section has been fixed in place. Waves continue carrying sand. Storm water still crosses the island. Inlets and neighboring shorelines continue adjusting around the structure (Dugan et al., 2017; FitzGerald et al., 2008).

    When sand can no longer move naturally through one part of the system, erosion may increase nearby or the beach in front of the structure may narrow (Dugan et al., 2017; Kraus & McDougal, 1996). Changes on the ocean side can also affect the amount and path of sediment reaching the inlet, shoals, marsh edges, and shallow sound-side habitat behind the island (FitzGerald et al., 2008; Hein et al., 2019).

    That is why the current North Carolina debate over hard structures is larger than whether one structure protects one stretch of property. The question is also what happens to the connected habitats behind the barrier island when a moving shoreline is held in one place.

    The same principle applies along the sounds.

    A bulkhead may protect a particular property line, but it replaces the gradual meeting of land and water with a wall. Waves strike that wall and may scour sediment from its base or neighboring shoreline. Marsh plants lose the gently sloping ground they need, and as water levels rise, the marsh cannot move inland through a structure.

    Living shorelines take a different approach. Marsh plants, oyster shell, low sills, and other natural materials soften waves while keeping more of the gradual connection between land and water. They do not fit every location, but where conditions allow them, they can protect a shoreline without removing all of the habitat at its edge (Gittman et al., 2015, 2016).

    Marsh edges, shallow bottoms, shell beds, and underwater grasses do not function as separate pieces. They are part of the bigger ecosystem.

    Young shrimp and fish shelter in the grass. Larger fish feed on them. Birds, dolphins, sharks, and people then depend on animals produced within those nursery areas. Remove enough bottom vegetation and the effect does not stop with the grass (Heck et al., 2003; Seitz et al., 2013).

    It moves through the food web.

    The manatee is not part of that food chain in quite the same way because it eats the plants directly. But its dependence on those grasses places it within the same connected system. Habitat that feeds a manatee also shelters prey for red drum, flounder, speckled trout, blue crabs, and many of the animals people come here hoping to catch or see (Heck et al., 2003; Orth et al., 2006).

    A manatee allows us to view that familiar landscape from another direction.

    The animal may be large enough to notice from a pier, but it depends on plants that can vanish from the bottom without most people realizing anything has changed. A sound may still look open and inviting from the surface while offering less food and shelter beneath it.

    Dredging More Than a Channel

    Dredging is part of living along a coast built from moving sand.

    Inlets shoal. Channels fill. Boats need safe routes between docks, sounds, and the ocean. Removing sediment can reopen water that has become too shallow to navigate, and a maintained channel may also provide a deeper travel route for a manatee.

    But dredging does more than deepen a line across a map.

    Where dredging passes through shallow habitat, it may remove submerged grass, soft-bottom communities, shell material, worms, clams, and the small animals living within the sediment. Deepening shallow water may also change how light reaches the bottom and how water moves through the surrounding area (Erftemeijer & Lewis, 2006; Newell et al., 1998).

    A patch of grass is not simply removed from the manatee’s menu.

    The plants, shell material, and soft sediment form habitat for organisms living both on and beneath the bottom. When that bottom is removed, the community living within it is removed as well. How quickly it returns depends on the type of sediment, the organisms that lived there, surrounding currents, and whether the area is disturbed again before it can recover (Newell et al., 1998).

    Sediment suspended during the work may spread beyond the channel itself. As it settles, it can cover nearby plants or shell bottom. While it remains in the water, it blocks light and makes it harder for underwater vegetation to grow. Suspended sediment can also affect fish and shellfish, although the severity depends on how much sediment is present and how long the organisms are exposed to it (Erftemeijer & Lewis, 2006; Wilber & Clarke, 2001).

    The answer is not that dredging should never occur. Boats, commercial fisheries, emergency access, and coastal communities all depend on navigable waterways.

    The important part is recognizing what lies beneath the proposed route before the bottom is removed—and understanding that a channel cannot be considered separately from the grass beds, marshes, shellfish areas, and shallow nurseries around it.

    The same is true when we look at the coast as a whole.

    Dredging, bottom trawling, beach nourishment, hardened shorelines, docks, and development are often considered one project or one management decision at a time. The habitat experiences all of them together.

    A grass bed already weakened by cloudy water may then be crossed by propellers. A bottom community disturbed by dredging may have less time to recover if the same area is repeatedly trawled or altered by another project. A nursery area may also receive less sediment because of a structure farther along the barrier island.

    One action may cause a temporary or limited change. Several disturbances layered across the same connected system can create a larger or longer-lasting effect than any one of them would create alone (Korpinen & Andersen, 2016; Stockbridge et al., 2020).

    Protecting the coast therefore requires more than reducing the effects of each individual project. It requires looking at where those projects overlap, what has already changed, and how much working habitat remains before the next solution is added.

    The habitat that draws a manatee here is not simply warm water or one patch of grass.

    It is the connection among those places: enough food to feed, deeper water to travel, quieter areas to rest, and a route that remains open when it is time to move south.

    When Summer Habitat Becomes a Winter Trap

    The same waterway that supports a manatee in August may become dangerous by late fall.

    Manatees can detect small differences in water temperature and use those differences to locate warmer areas. That sensitivity helps them follow changing conditions, but it cannot create a warm refuge where none exists.

    Florida contains springs and heated outfalls that remain warm during winter. Onslow County does not offer the same dependable network.

    A deep canal may appear sheltered from wind and waves. Its depth alone cannot keep the water above the temperature a manatee needs.

    Because manatees have a relatively slow metabolism and little insulating fat, prolonged cold affects more than their comfort. Digestion begins to slow, appetite falls, and the animal may rapidly lose weight even though its body still needs energy to stay warm. Pale or white areas and open sores may develop across the skin, particularly around the face, flippers, and tail (Bossart et al., 2003).

    Cold stress also weakens the immune system. A manatee that survives the first loss of body heat may then become vulnerable to pneumonia, bacterial infections, and a wider breakdown of normal body functions. What begins as exposure to water only a few degrees too cold can become a chain of problems the animal can no longer reverse on its own (Bossart et al., 2003).

    The first documented live rescue of a manatee in North Carolina showed how quickly seasonal habitat can become a trap. In November 2024, responders removed a cold-stressed manatee from a canal connected to the Tar River in Greenville. The animal had remained in North Carolina after the surrounding water cooled and could no longer survive there safely. It was transported to Florida, rehabilitated, and later returned to the wild (Gurney, 2024).

    The rescue succeeded because someone recognized that the animal was in trouble and reported it.

    It also showed the narrow line between opportunity and danger at the northern edge of a species’ range. A longer warm season may allow manatees to travel farther north, but an abrupt autumn cold spell can close that seasonal window very quickly.

    Reaching North Carolina is only half the migration.

    The animal must also leave in time.

    Sea Cows Before Manatees

    A living manatee in Onslow County may seem like a new arrival, but it belongs to a much older coastal story.

    Manatees are sirenians, members of the group that also includes dugongs and their extinct relatives. The name “sea cow” comes from the way they graze, but the comparison ends there. Their closest living land relatives include elephants, not cattle (Reep & Bonde, 2021).

    The first known sirenians appeared about 50 million years ago, during the Eocene (Domning, 2001; Reep & Bonde, 2021).

    The world they entered was warmer than ours. Sea levels were high, and broad areas along the edges of the continents were covered by shallow seas.

    The earliest known members of the group did not yet look like modern manatees. Animals such as Prorastomus sirenoides still had four usable limbs and probably divided their time between shallow water and land. A later early sirenian called Pezosiren portelli had the heavy ribs and plant-eating teeth associated with sea cows, but it also had four well-developed legs capable of supporting its body on land (Domning, 2001; Reep & Bonde, 2021).

    Life reconstructions of two early sirenians from the Middle Eocene. Prorastomus sirenoides (left) and Pezosiren portelli (right) still retained four usable limbs, showing stages in the long transition from land-capable ancestors to fully aquatic sea cows. | Image credit: N. TamuraLife reconstructions of two early sirenians from the Middle Eocene. Prorastomus sirenoides (left) and Pezosiren portelli (right) still retained four usable limbs, showing stages in the long transition from land-capable ancestors to fully aquatic sea cows. | Image credit: N. Tamura
    Life reconstructions of two early sirenians from the Middle Eocene. Prorastomus sirenoides (left) and Pezosiren portelli (right) still retained four usable limbs, showing stages in the long transition from land-capable ancestors to fully aquatic sea cows. | Image credit: N. Tamura

    They were the beginning of the transition, not its finished form.

    As later sirenians spent more of their lives in water, their bodies changed around that way of life. The front limbs became flippers used for steering, handling vegetation, and moving along the bottom. The hind limbs became smaller until they were no longer visible outside the body. Their ribs and other bones became unusually thick and dense, adding weight that helped keep them submerged while they grazed (Domning, 2001; Reep & Bonde, 2021).

    By the end of the Eocene, some branches had become fully aquatic and carried the basic sea-cow shape we would recognize today (Uhen, 2007).

    But the place beneath those animals would not have looked like the Onslow County coastline we know.

    The Atlantic had not yet arranged our barrier islands, sounds, inlets, and tidal creeks into their modern positions. Shorelines lay elsewhere as sea level rose and fell. Rivers carried different loads of sediment across a coastal plain that repeatedly shifted between dry land, estuary, and shallow sea (Harris & Laws, 1997) 

    There was no Surf City Pier. There was no fixed line where today’s sound ended and ocean began.

    Around 50 million years ago, much of the southeastern United States looked very different. Warm, shallow seas covered broad areas of the coastal plain where the earliest sirenians began adapting to life in the water. | Image credit: Dinosaurpictures.org
    Around 50 million years ago, much of the southeastern United States looked very different. Warm, shallow seas covered broad areas of the coastal plain where the earliest sirenians began adapting to life in the water. | Image credit: Dinosaurpictures.org

    Warm, shallow water stretched across parts of the region. Ancient sea cows moved through those waters, grazing over sediments that would later be buried, compacted, lifted, exposed, and cut through again by waves and rivers (Harris & Laws, 1997; Vélez-Juarbe et al., 2012).

    Different branches took different forms.

    Both branches inherited a horizontal tail used for propulsion. Modern manatees have a broad, rounded paddle, while dugongs have a divided fluke shaped more like that of a whale (Buchholtz et al., 2007; Reidenberg, 2007).

    By the late Oligocene, roughly 23 to 28 million years ago, dugong relatives lived along the coast that would eventually become North Carolina. Fossils of the extinct sirenian, Crenatosiren olseni, have been reported from deposits associated with Onslow Beach (Reep & Bonde, 2021).

    A fossil found today is therefore not simply the remains of an animal that once lived near our modern beach.

    A fossilized dugong bone found on Topsail Beach. Long before modern manatees followed warm water north, other sirenians lived along this ancient coast. | Image credit: D. Ames
    A fossilized dugong bone found on Topsail Beach. Long before modern manatees followed warm water north, other sirenians lived along this ancient coast. | Image credit: D. Ames

    It is a piece of an older coastline carried into the present.

    Those ancient animals were not Florida manatees, and a manatee visiting today is not the return of the same local species. It is a distant relative entering a kind of warm, shallow habitat that sirenians used here millions of years before the first recognizable version of our coastline existed.

    That makes the animal both new and familiar.

    The back rising beside a dock belongs to a visitor from Florida.

    The larger story of sea cows along this coast is written much deeper beneath us.

    The Shadow Beside the Boat

    The most dangerous part of a manatee’s journey may be the water it shares with us.

    Manatees often feed, rest, and travel close to the surface. They do not have a dorsal fin cutting above the water like a dolphin or shark. Their gray backs can disappear beneath glare, cloudy estuarine water, or the reflection of the sky.

    Sometimes the animal itself is not the first thing we see.

    As a manatee swims beneath the surface, each stroke of its tail may leave a smooth circular swirl behind it. These rings are called their “footprint”. One appears and begins to fade. Another forms several feet away. Together, they trace the path of an animal that may remain almost completely hidden (Factheu et al., 2023).

    To a boater, those circles should mean slow down and look more carefully.

    A manatee may remain almost completely hidden beneath the surface, leaving only bubbles and a series of smooth rings—its “footprint”—to mark where it has passed. | Image credit: buggybuddy, iNaturalistA manatee may remain almost completely hidden beneath the surface, leaving only bubbles and a series of smooth rings—its “footprint”—to mark where it has passed. | Image credit: buggybuddy, iNaturalist
    A manatee may remain almost completely hidden beneath the surface, leaving only bubbles and a series of smooth rings—its “footprint”—to mark where it has passed. | Image credit: buggybuddy, iNaturalist

    A manatee can make a brief burst of speed to escape danger, but that does not mean it can always avoid a boat. In shallow water, there may be nowhere for it to dive. Even when the animal hears or feels a vessel approaching, it still needs enough time and space to move out of the path.

    A propeller can cut deeply into the back or tail. The force of a hull or lower-unit strike can break ribs and cause internal injuries even when the outside of the animal shows little damage (Ackerman et al., 1995; Reep & Bonde, 2021).

    Some manatees survive repeated strikes. The pale lines and deep cuts across their backs become permanent scars. Researchers can sometimes use those patterns to recognize the same animal when it is photographed somewhere else (Ackerman et al., 1995; Reep & Bonde, 2021).

    A scar can help us follow a migration.

    It is still a wound the animal should never have received.

    Propeller scars remain visible across the backs of many manatees. These permanent patterns can help researchers recognize individuals—but each one records a collision the animal survived. | Image credit: USGS
    Propeller scars remain visible across the backs of many manatees. These permanent patterns can help researchers recognize individuals—but each one records a collision the animal survived. | Image credit: USGS

    When Kindness Creates Danger

    A manatee approaching a dock can be hard to resist.

    It may raise its face near a running hose or move toward water draining while someone flushes a boat engine. Offering a drink may feel like helping an animal that has traveled hundreds of miles.

    The problem is not only the water it receives. It is what the manatee learns from the encounter.

    Manatees remember useful places. If a dock provides freshwater or food, the animal may return. It may begin approaching other docks and boats expecting the same reward. Instead of avoiding propellers, fishing lines, and crowded marinas, it learns to remain close to them.

    The behavior that looks friendly may therefore place the animal in greater danger during its next encounter (SC DNR, 2014).

    Never feed a manatee or offer it water. Turn off dock hoses when they are not being used. Do not touch, pursue, surround, or enter the water to approach one (SC DNR, 2014).

    Manatees are protected under the Marine Mammal Protection Act and the Endangered Species Act, but the more immediate reason is simpler: an animal traveling this far needs to remain able to find what it needs without depending on people (Baier, 2023; Marine mammal protection act  of 1972; Perry Roberts & Wieting, 2001).

    The safest manatee is not the one that trusts every boat.

    It is the one that continues to give boats room.

    Sharing the Water

    Because manatees are still unusual here, North Carolina boaters may not think to look for them.

    Summer also brings more boats into our inlets, sounds, and narrow channels. Many are operated by visitors who may be unfamiliar with the waterway, the shifting shoals, or the wildlife moving beneath them.

    Navigation rules are not separate from wildlife protection.

    No-wake and idle-speed zones are not just navigation rules. Slowing down gives boaters more time to see a manatee near the surface—and gives the animal more time to move out of the way. | Image credit: Save the Manatee Club
    No-wake and idle-speed zones are not just navigation rules. Slowing down gives boaters more time to see a manatee near the surface—and gives the animal more time to move out of the way. | Image credit: Save the Manatee Club

    No-wake zones, speed restrictions, channel markers, right-of-way rules, and safe-distance requirements serve much the same purpose as traffic rules on land. They give everyone using a shared space enough time to see a hazard, understand what is happening, and respond.

    That includes swimmers, paddlers, anglers, other boaters, and animals resting or traveling near the surface.

    A person driving too quickly through a narrow waterway is not simply breaking a rule marked on a sign. Speed reduces the time available to notice a kayak, a child in the water, a shallow bar, a floating log, a sea turtle—or the faint circles left by a manatee just below the surface.

    Watching the water means looking beyond the next marker (Calleson & Kipp Frohlich, 2007; Laist & Shaw, 2006).

    Before starting an engine, check around the hull, stern, and dock. A manatee may be resting nearby without making a sound. When underway, polarized sunglasses can reduce glare and make dark shapes easier to see.

    Watch for a rounded nose, part of a broad back, a patch of bubbles, or a trail of circular footprints. If a manatee is present, slow to idle, steer away from its path, and allow it to leave on its own.

    Do not follow it for a photograph or block it against a dock, seawall, or shoreline. If you are in a boat, keep the vessel at least 50 feet away when possible and allow the manatee to choose its own path (Langtimm et al., 2004; USFWS, 2023)..

    A photograph taken from a safe distance can still be useful, particularly if it shows scars on the back or tail (Langtimm et al., 2004) .

    Every North Carolina sighting should be reported to UNCW’s Marine Mammal Stranding Program. Reports help researchers determine whether several observations involve the same animal, identify locations manatees use repeatedly, and record how early they arrive or how late they remain (UNCW, 2026).

    Manatee sightings can be reported to UNCW at 910-515-7354.

    An injured, entangled, distressed, stranded, or dead manatee should be reported immediately to the North Carolina Marine Mammal Stranding Network at 252-241-5119 (UNCW, 2026).

    Do not try to free, move, feed, or treat the animal yourself.

    A sighting report may feel like a small thing after the animal disappears.

    Placed beside reports from other docks, piers, and waterways, it becomes part of the record researchers need to understand what is changing.

    A New Summer Neighbor

    For now, Onslow County is summer habitat at the northern edge of a Florida manatee’s range.

    It cannot provide the dependable winter warmth of Florida’s springs and heated refuges. Autumn still places a limit on how long an animal can safely remain.

    Summer may be becoming a different story.

    Our sounds offer protected water, underwater vegetation, tidal creeks, and connected travel routes. If manatees continue finding those resources here, some may return. A female may eventually travel the route with a calf beside her. A place first reached through exploration may become part of a migration remembered from one year to the next.

    That does not mean Onslow County is suddenly becoming another Florida.

    It means the familiar landscape may be serving an animal many of us never expected to find within it.

    The first sign may be no more than a circle opening across the water. Then another. A dark body rises where we expected a dolphin, takes one breath, and disappears beneath the surface.

    What happens next depends partly on the animal—where it travels, what it finds, and whether it returns.

    It also depends on what it finds from us.

    A mother and calf surface together. If manatees continue finding food, shelter, and safe passage along our coast, places reached by one generation may become part of the next generation’s remembered route. | Image credit: B. Garrett
    A mother and calf surface together. If manatees continue finding food, shelter, and safe passage along our coast, places reached by one generation may become part of the next generation’s remembered route. | Image credit: B. Garrett

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  • Dolphins of Onslow County Waters: Ecology and Shared Shoreline

    Dolphins of Onslow County Waters: Ecology and Shared Shoreline

    Dolphins of Onslow County: A Coastal Population

    There is often a moment before you see them.

    A breath breaks the air first — a soft exhale that sounds almost human — and then a dorsal fin lifts from the channel like a line drawn through moving water. The tide is falling. Gulls hover over the seam where current tightens. Fishermen pause mid-cast because everyone knows the rhythm: if the dolphins are working the edge, the fish are already gathering.

    These encounters feel spontaneous, but they are not accidents. The dolphins that surface beside our piers, marsh creeks, and inlets are not anonymous travelers passing through. Many bottlenose dolphins show long-term site fidelity and structured community patterns in estuarine systems, returning to the same places across years (Urian et al., 2009; Wells, 2014). To live on this shoreline is to share space with minds moving just below the surface — residents of the tidal edge.

    Who they are: a coastal population

    The dolphins most frequently seen along Onslow County’s waters are common bottlenose dolphins (Tursiops truncatus), a species whose “coastal” lives can look very different from “offshore” lives. Across the western North Atlantic, genetic studies show fine-scale population structure that can separate dolphins using nearshore coastal waters from dolphins using inshore estuarine waters (Rosel et al., 2009). More broadly, integrative work continues to support meaningful coastal vs offshore divergence in the region (Costa et al., 2022).

    In estuaries, photo-identification research (matching dorsal-fin markings) repeatedly shows that bottlenose dolphins can form discrete social communities with limited spatial overlap — a pattern consistent with long-term residency and local familiarity (Urian et al., 2009). In practical terms, the dolphin a child watches from a dock in spring may be seen again the following winter, and again the next year: not a rumor, but a biological possibility supported by long-term studies of resident dolphins elsewhere on the coast (Wells, 2014).

    Photo-identification doesn’t always rely solely on human matching of fin shapes; new tools such as machine learning are being developed to improve accuracy in identifying individual dolphins and whales in the wild. For example, researchers in Hawaii are using advanced algorithms to distinguish individuals from large photo libraries of dorsal fins. As technology improves, methods like photo-ID only get more reliable — which means studies of habitat overlap and seasonal return become more precise over time.

    An inside look at how scientists “read” dorsal fin shapes and markings to track the same dolphins over time.

    Reading the geometry of the estuary

    Dolphins do not simply occupy estuaries; they interpret them.

    Tidal channels function as moving architecture. Falling tides compress fish schools toward narrowing exits. Sandbars redirect flow into faster seams. Marsh edges trap prey against shallow gradients. Dolphins exploit these features with precision, repeatedly targeting conditions that make prey capture more efficient (Barros & Wells, 1998; Torres & Read, 2009).

    This is one reason dolphins so often appear where the water “looks alive” — at convergence lines, inlet throats, and channel bends. In Florida Bay, for example, foraging tactics are mapped onto habitat features that define where dolphins have spent their time, thus turning behavior into geography (Torres & Read, 2009). What seems like play from shore can be highly strategic predation.

    Bottlenose dolphins breaching off Seaview Pier, N. Topsail Beach, North Carolina. The arc of the body and column spray reflect the mechanics of propulsion - force directed through the tail, momentum carried into the air. | Photo credit: Howard Crumpler Photography, 2026
    Bottlenose dolphins breaching off Seaview Pier, N. Topsail Beach, North Carolina. The arc of the body and column spray reflect the mechanics of propulsion – force directed through the tail, momentum carried into the air. | Photo credit: Howard Crumpler Photography, 2026

    Reader Question:

    Why do dolphins seem more active on rainy or overcast days?

    Weather, light, and the illusion of play

    You may notice that dolphins seem especially active on overcast or rainy days — surfacing more frequently, breaching, or moving in tight arcs through wind-rippled water. It can look like preference, even mood. But dolphins are responding less to cloud cover than to what cloud cover does to the water.

    When the sky darkens, baitfish don’t stay arranged the same way. They may bunch together or rise toward the surface. For a predator already working those upper layers, that shift can make hunting more efficient (Benoit-Bird & Au, 2003). Wind and rain can also stir the surface and cloud the water, changing who sees whom first (De Robertis et al., 2003).

    There is also a perceptual component. Overcast skies reduce glare, making dorsal fins and splashes easier for human observers to detect. Wind-textured water highlights movement. What appears to be “more play” may sometimes be improved visibility — a reminder that observer experience and animal behavior are not always the same phenomenon.

    In short, dolphins are responding to ecological conditions. The weather alters the water; the water alters the fish.

    Two bottlenose dolphins break the surface beneath the gray horizon off Surf City, North Carolina. Overcast light and wind-roughened water can change how fish move – and how easily we notice the dolphins following them. | Photo credit: Johnny Provost, Jr., 2025
    Two bottlenose dolphins break the surface beneath the gray horizon off Surf City, North Carolina. Overcast light and wind-roughened water can change how fish move – and how easily we notice the dolphins following them. | Photo credit: Johnny Provost, Jr., 2025

    Communication and social intelligence

    Bottlenose dolphins have been studied for decades not just because they are charismatic, but because their social lives depend on constant communication in a shifting, three-dimensional world. One of the strongest findings to emerge from that research is the existence of signature whistles — individually distinctive call types that function as learned identity signals, something very much like the individual name a dolphin goes by within its community (Janik & Sayigh, 2013).

    Social learning runs just as deep. Some dolphin foraging habits spread from one animal to another rather than through genetics — passed along socially, a rare pattern among nonhuman species (Krützen et al., 2005). Mothers and calves stay together for years, giving calves time to learn not just how to hunt, but where — which channels to follow, which bends of water hold fish (Wells, 2014).

    In some populations elsewhere in the world, dolphins even use tools — carrying marine sponges on their rostrums while foraging or trapping fish inside empty shells — behaviors that are socially learned and culturally transmitted (Krützen et al., 2005).

    That learning shapes how dolphins fit into the estuary. In many tidal systems they sit near the top of the local food web, influencing the fish communities beneath them. Yet beyond those protected waters, they are not beyond risk. Large sharks prey on dolphins, placing them within a broader coastal hierarchy where even predators can become prey (Heithaus, 2001). The role shifts with scale. The ecology remains layered.

    Two bottlenose dolphins surfacing together off Seaview Pier, N. Topsail Beach, North Carolina. Close positioning and timing are hallmarks of the complex social bonds that define dolphin societies. | Photo credit: Howard Crumpler Photography, 2026
    Two bottlenose dolphins surfacing together off Seaview Pier, N. Topsail Beach, North Carolina. Close positioning and timing are hallmarks of the complex social bonds that define dolphin societies. | Photo credit: Howard Crumpler Photography, 2026

    Dolphins are not guardians

    Popular culture has assigned dolphins a role they never chose: protector. People repeat a comforting shoreline myth — “If you’re scared of sharks, find the dolphins; they’ll protect you.” But that story is not grounded in how dolphins behave in the wild.

    Bottlenose dolphins are powerful predators. They compete, establish dominance hierarchies, and can deliver forceful blows when defending calves or asserting space. Dolphin–shark interactions occur, but they are not “rescue missions” staged for humans; they are ecological encounters shaped by risk, competition, and opportunity (Heithaus, 2001).

    Wild dolphins are also capable of injuring people. Research examining human–dolphin interactions show that close approaches — and especially feeding wild dolphins — increase the likelihood of risky contact and harmful outcomes for both dolphins and people (Cunningham-Smith et al., 2006; Vail, 2016). Over time, those interactions leave visible consequences. Long-term data from Sarasota Bay show that dolphins who have learned to associate people with food are more likely to carry injuries linked to boats and fishing gear (Christiansen et al., 2016).

    The danger is not that dolphins are “evil.” The danger is assuming they share human intentions.

    Swimming near a pod does not create a protective shield. Dolphins are not lifeguards. They are wild animals navigating their own priorities in a shared environment. Respecting that boundary is what allows coexistence.

    A bottlenose dolphin pursuing prey near a recreational vessel in a waterway in Surf City, North Carolina. Foraging behavior can bring dolphins into close proximity with boats – not as companions, but as active predators focused on fish. | Video credit: Cynthia Dirosse, 2024

    Winter dolphins

    A persistent assumption is that dolphins vanish when the water cools. In reality, seasonal distribution can be more nuanced — changing with prey, temperature, and coastal movement patterns rather than following a simple on/off presence.

    Along the mid-Atlantic coast, research shows that bottlenose dolphins shift their movements with the seasons, appearing in different areas at different times of year (Torres et al., 2005). Studies focused on estuarine dolphins in southern North Carolina document similar seasonal patterns closer to home (Silva et al., 2020). From shore, those changes can look like disappearance. But winter quiet does not always mean absence. It may simply mean dolphins are working deeper channels or less visible pathways beyond the easy reach of our eyes.

    The estuary in winter is quieter, but not empty.

    Dorsal fins in winter light off Surf City, North Carolina. Dolphins may appear less active this time of year, but changes in light, water depth, and travel corridors often influence what we notice from shore. | Photo credit: Surf City Parks, Recreation, and Tourism, 2017
    Dorsal fins in winter light off Surf City, North Carolina. Dolphins may appear less active this time of year, but changes in light, water depth, and travel corridors often influence what we notice from shore. | Photo credit: Surf City Parks, Recreation, and Tourism, 2017

    Living beside them

    Living near dolphins is a privilege — and it places us within the same waters they navigate. Vessel traffic, fishing gear, and repeated close approaches can shape the lives of animals that live for decades and raise calves slowly (Wells, 2014). Studies of dolphins that have been fed or closely approached by people show that these interactions can shift behavior, making dolphins more likely to approach boats and increasing the risk of injury and conflict (Vail, 2016). Distance, in that sense, preserves the patterns people come to watch.

    The presence of dolphins is not guaranteed. It is a sign that the system still functions — prey, water quality, shoreline structure, and the complex social knowledge dolphins carry from year to year. As long-lived predators near the top of the food web, they are indicator species, reflecting the condition of the waters they inhabit — estuary, inlet, and nearshore coast alike.

    And so when a dorsal fin rises beyond the channel markers, it means more than a moment of spectacle. It means the currents are still working, the fish are still moving, and the layered relationships that shape this shoreline are still holding.

    There is always more to learn about dolphins than fits in a single post. For those who’d like to go further, this episode of the All Creatures Podcast offers a thoughtful exploration of their biology and behavior.

    References

    Barros, N. B., Wells, R. S., & Barros, N. B. (1998). Prey and feeding patterns of resident bottlenose dolphins (Tursiops truncatus) in Sarasota Bay, Florida. Journal of Mammalogy, 79(3), 1045. https://doi.org/10.2307/1383114

    Benoit-Bird, K. J., & Au, W. W. (2003). Prey dynamics affect foraging by a pelagic predator (Stenella longirostris) over a range of spatial and temporal scales. Behavioral Ecology and Sociobiology, 53(6), 364-373. https://doi.org/10.1007/s00265-003-0585-4

    Christiansen, F., McHugh, K. A., Bejder, L., Siegal, E. M., Lusseau, D., McCabe, E. B., Lovewell, G., & Wells, R. S. (2016). Food provisioning increases the risk of injury in a long-lived marine top predator. Royal Society Open Science, 3(12), 160560. https://doi.org/10.1098/rsos.160560

    Costa, A. P., Mcfee, W., Wilcox, L. A., Archer, F. I., & Rosel, P. E. (2022). The common bottlenose dolphin (Tursiops truncatus) ecotypes of the western North Atlantic revisited: An integrative taxonomic investigation supports the presence of distinct species. Zoological Journal of the Linnean Society, 196(4), 1608-1636. https://doi.org/10.1093/zoolinnean/zlac025

    Cunningham-Smith, P., Colbert, D. E., Wells, R. S., & Speakman, T. (2006). Evaluation of human interactions with a provisioned wild bottlenose dolphin (<I>Tursiops truncatus</I>) near Sarasota Bay, Florida, and efforts to curtail the interactions. Aquatic Mammals, 32(3), 346-356. https://doi.org/10.1578/am.32.3.2006.346

    De Robertis, A., Ryer, C. H., Veloza, A., & Brodeur, R. D. (2003). Differential effects of turbidity on prey consumption of piscivorous and planktivorous fish. Canadian Journal of Fisheries and Aquatic Sciences, 60(12), 1517-1526. https://doi.org/10.1139/f03-123

    Heithaus, M. R. (2001). Shark attacks on bottlenose dolphins (TURSIOPS ADUNCUS) in Shark Bay, Western Australia: Attack rate, bite scar frequencies, and attack seasonality. Marine Mammal Science, 17(3), 526-539. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1748-7692.2001.tb01002.x

    Janik, V. M., & Sayigh, L. S. (2013). Communication in bottlenose dolphins: 50 years of signature whistle research. Journal of Comparative Physiology A, 199(6), 479-489. https://doi.org/10.1007/s00359-013-0817-7

    Kalahele, K. (2023, July 21). You’ve heard of facial recognition for humans, but what about dolphins and whales? Hawaii News Now. https://www.hawaiinewsnow.com/2023/07/21/uh-researchers-develop-new-face-id-technology-identify-dolphins-whales-wild/

    Krützen, M., Mann, J., Heithaus, M. R., Connor, R. C., Bejder, L., & Sherwin, W. B. (2005). Cultural transmission of tool use in bottlenose dolphins. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 102(25), 8939-8943. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.0500232102

    Rosel, P. E., Hansen, L., & Hohn, A. A. (2009). Restricted dispersal in a continuously distributed marine species: Common bottlenose dolphinsTursiops truncatusin coastal waters of the western North Atlantic. Molecular Ecology, 18(24), 5030-5045. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1365-294x.2009.04413.x

    Silva, D. (2020). Abundance and seasonal distribution of the southern North Carolina estuarine system stock (USA) of common bottlenose dolphins (Tursiops truncatus). IWC Journal of Cetacean Research and Management, 21(1), 33-43. https://doi.org/10.47536/jcrm.v21i1.175

    Torres, L. G., McLellan, W. A., Meagher, E., & Pabst, D. A. (2023). Seasonal distribution and relative abundance of bottlenose dolphins, Tursiops truncatus, along the US Mid-Atlantic coast. J. Cetacean Res. Manage, 7(2), 153-161. https://doi.org/10.47536/jcrm.v7i2.748

    Torres, L. G., & Read, A. J. (2009). Where to catch a fish? The influence of foraging tactics on the ecology of bottlenose dolphins (Tursiops truncatus) in Florida Bay, Florida. Marine Mammal Science, 25(4), 797-815. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1748-7692.2009.00297.x

    Urian, K. W., Hofmann, S., Wells, R. S., & Read, A. J. (2009). Fine‐scale population structure of bottlenose dolphins (Tursiops truncatus) in Tampa Bay, Florida. Marine Mammal Science, 25(3), 619-638. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1748-7692.2009.00284.x

    Vail, C. S. (2016). An overview of increasing incidents of bottlenose dolphin harassment in the Gulf of Mexico and possible solutions. Frontiers in Marine Science, 3. https://doi.org/10.3389/fmars.2016.00110

    Wells, R. S. (2013). Social structure and life history of bottlenose dolphins near Sarasota Bay, Florida: Insights from four decades and five generations. Primatology Monographs, 149-172.

  • 5 Marine Myths Under the Mistletoe: Folklore and Real Creatures in North Carolina’s Waters

    5 Marine Myths Under the Mistletoe: Folklore and Real Creatures in North Carolina’s Waters

    Winter Stories Along the Water’s Edge

    Winter settles softly over Onslow County. The marshes turn the color of worn rope, the New River flows like cold steel between its banks, and the wind carries the sharp scent of salt and pine. December is the quiet season — the estuary’s heartbeat slows, nights stretch longer than tides, and the imagination grows louder than the surf.

    This is also when stories rise like mist from the water. Coastal families have passed down tales of mysterious shapes in winter surf, glowing wakes following skiffs, and ghostly sounds echoing across moonlit water. These legends don’t appear in ship logs or lighthouse reports — they survive instead in memories, dockside conversations, and the long tradition of storytelling that has shaped coastal community identity for generations (Cecelski, 2001; Carmichael, 2018).

    Yet behind every winter myth lies a real creature — moving, feeding, navigating the season’s challenges. The line between wonder and wildlife is thin along North Carolina’s coast. These are the marine myths under the mistletoe — stories rooted in an enchanted and scientifically alive winter sea.

    Mermaids of the Winter Shoals

    The shimmering ghosts of the inlet

    The Legend

    Stories collected from coastal residents sometimes describe pale forms just beyond the surf — long shapes rising from green water, a head here, an arm-like movement there, then gone. In fog or dusk, when horizon and water dissolve into the same dull light, figures appear closer to humans than animals.

    The Science — Manatees and Mirage Tricks

    Although uncommon, West Indian manatees (Trichechus manatus) occasionally visit North Carolina waters during warmer periods or anomalous Gulf Stream intrusions (Deutsche et al., 2003). Through Fata Morgana, a mirage formed when warm water meets cold air, large mammals in the water can look elongated or upright — a trick that has sparked mermaid sightings worldwide (Pinney, 2018).

    Reduced daylight, fatigue at sea, and the human brain’s pattern-seeking instincts complete the illusion.

    A legend, yes — but one that begins with a real, gentle giant in cold coastal waters.

    A pair of manatees resemble mermaids in the water
    A pair of manatees resemble mermaids swimming in the water

    The Kraken of Cape Lookout

    Monsters in the storm-worn deep

    The Legend

    When Atlantic gales hammered the coast, some fishermen believed immense tentacled beasts rose from deeper waters and brushed their vessels — massive, silent shapes that existed more in feeling than sight. Winter storms made the ocean seem alive with things too large to name.

    The Science — Giant Squid and Deep-Sea Drifters

    Off Cape Lookout, the continental shelf plunges sharply into canyon habitats that host large cephalopods. Giant squid (Architeuthis dux), while rarely seen alive, have been recorded washing ashore along the U.S. East Coast and retrieved from research and commercial nets in the broader Northwest Atlantic (Guerra et al., 2011; Roper et al., 2015; Roper & Boss, 1982).

    Winter nor’easters can dislodge deep-sea life, delivering strange shapes to shoals or leaving long white arms tangled in wrack.

    What was once interpreted as a monster was instead a rarely seen animal from the dark beneath winter waves.

    A deceased giant squid (Architeuthis dux) on Golden Mile Beach in Britannia Bay, South Africa | Image credit: Adéle Grosse
    A deceased giant squid (Architeuthis dux) on Golden Mile Beach in Britannia Bay, South Africa | Image credit: Adéle Grosse

    The Ghost Lights of Bogue Banks

    Blue sparks swirling under December stars

    The Legend

    Local night fishermen describe glowing water that erupts into blue light when a net drops or a school passes below — a phenomenon that feels supernatural under a new moon in the stillness.

    The Science — Bioluminescent Dinoflagellates

    The glow comes from dinoflagellates, such as Noctiluca scintillans, which emit bright light when disturbed. Warmer months, calmer seas and reduced sediment can make these flashes stand out like underwater meteors (Haddock, Moline & Case., 2010; Johnson & Allen, 2005).

    A natural process — but dazzling enough to inspire talk of spirits beneath the tide.

    U.S. Navy photo of bioluminesence | Photo credit: Specialist 3rd Class Devin M. Langer
    U.S. Navy photo of bioluminescence | Image Credit: Specialist 3rd Class Devin M. Langer

    The Siren of the Shoals

    Voices carried by cold seas

    The Legend

    Some boaters recall hearing a sound — a long moan or rising wail — seeming unmistakably like a human voice drifting over calm winter water. One sound can feel like a warning. Another, like grief.

    The Science — Migrating Whales and Phantom Songs

    Every winter, North Atlantic right whales (Eubalaena glacialis) migrate through waters off North Carolina, including Onslow Bay (Keller et al., 2012). Their massive bodies, seen at dusk, can resemble the curves of a human torso rising unexpectedly from the deep.

    But the haunting songs that travel tens of kilometers belong to humpback whales (Megaptera novaeangliae) farther offshore (Dunlop, Cato & Noad, 2008; Handel, Todd & Zoidis, 2012). Sound refracts through cold, dense winter water — bending, echoing, transforming — until a distant whale becomes a mysterious voice in the marsh.

    A ghost in the story.
    A whale in the science.
    A song carried home by the sea.

    A breaching humpback whale
    A breaching humpback whale

    The Marsh Giant

    A slow breath in frozen reeds

    The Legend

    In winter stillness, some describe hearing something large moving in marsh grass — heavy, careful steps that push aside reeds, a dark back slipping between creek holes. Too cold for gators, they say — so what else could it be?

    The Science — North Carolina’s Cold-Tolerant Alligators

    The American alligator (Alligator mississippiensis) reaches its northernmost range in coastal North Carolina. Even in winter, they can surface and move during brief warm spells — and they maintain openings in ice by pushing upward with their snouts (Brisban, Standora & Vargo, 1982).

    Slow movement in a hushed marsh can feel enormous.
    The “giant” is real — scaled and silent in the cold.

    Alligator in Onslow County, NC | Photo credit: G. Newman
    Alligator in Onslow County, NC | Photo credit: G. Newman

    Where Myth and Marsh Converge

    Winter strips the coast to its bones. Sound travels farther. Shapes blur quicker. The familiar becomes unfamiliar beneath cold air and low light.

    And so legends rise.

    Behind them:

    • a manatee distorted by mirage
    • a giant squid arm pushed ashore by storms
    • living lanterns beneath December water
    • whale voices refracted through the sea
    • an alligator surfacing to breathe through ice

    Folklore and biology share the same tides — wonder and curiosity driving us to explain what the winter coast reveals only in glimpses.

    Even in the quietest months, the estuary is alive with mystery that create marine myths under the mistletoe.

    Learn more about winter estuary ecology here.

    References

    Brisbin, I. L., Standora, E. A., & Vargo, M. J. (1982). Body temperatures and behavior of American alligators during cold winter weather. American Midland Naturalist, 107(2), 209. https://doi.org/10.2307/2425371

    Carmichael, S. (2018). Mysterious tales of coastal North Carolina. Arcadia Publishing.

    Cecelski, D. S. (2001). The waterman’s song: Slavery and freedom in maritime North Carolina.

    Deutsch, C. J., Reid, J. P., Bonde, R. K., Easton, D. E., Kochman, H. I., & O’Shea, T. J. (2003). Seasonal Movements, Migratory Behavior, and Site Fidelity of West Indian Manatees along the Atlantic Coast of the United States. Journal of Wildlife Management, 67(1), 1-77. https://www.jstor.org/stable/3830830

    Dunlop, R. A., Cato, D. H., & Noad, M. J. (2008). Non‐song acoustic communication in migrating humpback whales (Megaptera novaeangliae). Marine Mammal Science, 24(3), 613-629. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1748-7692.2008.00208.x

    Guerra, Á., González, Á. F., Pascual, S., & Dawe, E. G. (2011). The giant squid Architeuthis: An emblematic invertebrate that can represent concern for the conservation of marine biodiversity. Biological Conservation, 144(7), 1989-1997. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.biocon.2011.04.021

    Haddock, S. H., Moline, M. A., & Case, J. F. (2010). Bioluminescence in the Sea. Annual Review of Marine Science, 2(2010), 443-493. https://www.annualreviews.org/content/journals/10.1146/annurev-marine-120308-081028

    Handel, S., Todd, S. K., & Zoidis, A. M. (2012). Hierarchical and rhythmic organization in the songs of humpback whales (Megaptera novaeangliae). Bioacoustics, 21(2), 141-156. https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/09524622.2012.668324

    Johnson, W. S., & Allen, D. M. (2005). Zooplankton of the Atlantic and Gulf coasts: A guide to their identification and ecology. JHU Press.

    Keller, C., Garrison, L., Baumstark, R., Ward-Geiger, L., & Hines, E. (2012). Application of a habitat model to define calving habitat of the North Atlantic right whale in the southeastern United States. Endangered Species Research, 18(1), 73-87. https://doi.org/10.3354/esr00413

    Pinney, C. (2018). The waterless sea: A curious history of mirages. Reaktion Books.

    Roper, C. F., & Boss, K. J. (1982, April). The Giant Squid. Scientific American, a division of Nature America, Inc, 246(4), 96-105. https://www.jstor.org/stable/24966572

    Roper, C. F., Judkins, H., Voss, N. A., Shea, E., Dawe, E., Ingrao, D., Rothman, P. L., & Roper, I. H. (2015). A compilation of recent records of the giant Squid, Architeuthis dux (Steenstrup, 1857) (Cephalopoda) from the western North Atlantic Ocean, Newfoundland to the Gulf of Mexico. American Malacological Bulletin, 33(1), 78-88. https://doi.org/10.4003/006.033.0116

  • The 12 Days of Estuary Christmas | New River Estuary

    The 12 Days of Estuary Christmas | New River Estuary

    In the season of chilly tides and twinkling pier lights, the New River estuary doesn’t quiet down — it parties in its own salty way. So grab your cocoa, bundle up, and join us for a winter countdown of festive fins, feathers, and the ecological magic beneath the misty surface.

    (Sing along if you dare — apologies in advance.)

    Day 12: Twelve Dolphins Dancing

    12 dolphins dancing

    Bottlenose dolphins along the mid-Atlantic coast shift into cooperative foraging teams in the cooler months — synchronized movements that feel almost choreographed (Torres & Read, 2009). Their leaping, circling, and flipper-flicking tactics help herd fish just like dancers driving the story across a winter stage.

    Cue underwater Nutcracker ballet.

    Day 11: Eleven Stripers Schooling

    11 stripers schooling

    Atlantic striped bass move into estuarine channels when the water cools, fueling popular winter fisheries (Boyd, 2011).

    Cold water? Hot bite.

    Day 10: Ten Blue Crabs Burrowing

    Ten Blue Crabs Burrowing

    Blue crabs overwinter right here — burrowed into sediment, metabolism slowed, waiting for spring, or when water temperatures rise above 9℃ (Glandon, Kilborn & Miller, 2019).

    The ultimate cozy blanket fort.

    Day 9: Nine Oysters Filtering

    Nine Oysters Filtering

    Oysters continue filtering water through the winter, though more slowly — still improving water quality and boosting biodiversity (Grabowski & Peterson, 2007).

    Nature’s tiny elves never clock out.

    Day 8: Eight Croakers Drumming

    Eight Croakers Drumming

    Atlantic croaker remain common in NC coastal waters during cooler months, shifting to deeper estuarine areas (Miller et al., 2003).

    Rumble, rumble — underwater holiday percussion.

    Day 7: Seven Specks Still Striking

    Seven Specks Still Striking

    Speckled seatrout stay active in winter, especially in deeper holes and marsh channels where prey concentrates and water temperatures remain above 7℃ (Ellis, Buckle & Hightower, 2017).

    Even cold-blooded fish love a good holiday snack.

    Day 6: Six Sharks Snow-Birding

    Six Sharks Snow-Birding

    Juvenile coastal sharks like sandbars and sharpnose depart estuaries in late fall, migrating offshore and southward (Bangley et al., 2018).

    “See you after the thaw!”

    Day 5: FIVE… OYS-TER REEFS!

    Five oyster reefs

    Oyster reefs provide the essential winter housing market — structured refuge for juvenile fish, crustaceans, and invertebrates (Coen et al., 2007).

    Deck the reefs with beds and breakfasts..

    Day 4: Four Buffleheads Diving

    Four Buffleheads Diving

    These small sea ducks, buffleheads, arrive from the Arctic and forage in our coastal waters all winter long (Gauthier, 2014).

    Feathered travelers escaping the Arctic freeze.

    Day 3: Three Terrapins Burrowed

    Three Terrapins Burrowed

    Diamondback terrapins overwinter in marsh sediments, lowering heart rate and waiting out the cold (Harden, Midway & Willard, 2015).

    A brumation vacation.

    Day 2: Two Menhaden Shoals

    Two Menhaden Shoals

    Atlantic menhaden form huge winter schools offshore and near inlet mouths, fueling predator energy budgets (Orth, 2023).

    The estuary’s holiday punch bowl.

    Day 1: And a Red Drum in the Mar-sh-Tree

    And a Red Drum in the Mar-sh-Tree

    Red drum remain year-round, feeding in creeks and marsh edges even in winter low-temp slow-motion (Bacheler et al., 2009).

    Our coastal Christmas (and state) mascot.

    The Estuary Never Sleeps

    Even as we wrap gifts and check lists twice, life beneath the cold surface hustles on — feeding, moving, filtering, and keeping the New River ecosystem healthy through the darkest season.

    So here’s to the citizens of our winter waters —
    May your tides be merry and bright!

    References

    Bacheler, N., Paramore, L., Buckel, J., & Hightower, J. (2009). Abiotic and biotic factors influence the habitat use of an estuarine fish. Marine Ecology Progress Series, 377, 263-277. https://doi.org/10.3354/meps07805

    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

    Boyd, J. B. (2011). Maturation, fecundity, and spawning frequency of the Albemarle/Roanoke striped bass stock (2011. 1510474) [Doctoral dissertation]. ProQuest Dissertations and Theses Global.

    Coen, L., Brumbaugh, R., Bushek, D., Grizzle, R., Luckenbach, M., Posey, M., Powers, S., & Tolley, S. (2007). Ecosystem services related to oyster restoration. Marine Ecology Progress Series, 341, 303-307. https://doi.org/10.3354/meps341303

    Ellis, T., Buckel, J., & Hightower, J. (2017). Winter severity influences spotted seatrout mortality in a southeast US estuarine system. Marine Ecology Progress Series, 564, 145-161. https://doi.org/10.3354/meps11985

    Gauthier, G. (2014, July 14). Bufflehead – Bucephala albeola. Birds of the World – Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Retrieved November 29, 2025, from https://birdsoftheworld.org/bow/historic/bna/buffle/2.0/introduction

    Glandon, H. L., Kilbourne, K. H., & Miller, T. J. (2019). Winter is (not) coming: Warming temperatures will affect the overwinter behavior and survival of blue crab. PLOS ONE, 14(7), e0219555. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0219555

    Grabowski, J. H., & Peterson, C. H. (2007). Restoring oyster reefs to recover ecosystem services. Theoretical Ecology Series, 281-298. https://doi.org/10.1016/s1875-306x(07)80017-7

    Harden, L. A., Midway, S. R., & Williard, A. S. (2015). The blood biochemistry of overwintering diamondback terrapins (Malaclemys terrapin). Journal of Experimental Marine Biology and Ecology, 466, 34-41. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jembe.2015.01.017

    Mead, J. G., & Potter, C. W. (1995). Recognizing two populations off the bottlenose dolphin (Tursiops Truncatus) of the Atlantic coast of North America-Morphologic and Ecologic Considerations. https://repository.si.edu/server/api/core/bitstreams/9c563919-2b27-4ac4-bba1-92e7d090fd72/content

    Orth, D. J. (2023). Fish, fishing and conservation. Blacksburg: Virginia Tech Department of Fish and Wildlife Conservation.Torres, L. G., & Read, A. J. (2009). Where to catch a fish? The influence of foraging tactics on the ecology of bottlenose dolphins (Tursiops truncatus) in Florida Bay, Florida. Marine Mammal Science, 25(4), 797-815. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1748-7692.2009.00297.x