Rescue

Shane wiped his fingers across his forehead, slinging the heavy sweat off the side of the boat. He shaded his eyes as he gazed toward the sun. He knew it would be another hot Southern Mississippi day. He maneuvered his boat through the marsh and listened to the sounds of great blue herons while the morning sun stretched over the Bay of Saint Louis.

Shane settled into one of his favorite fishing spots, baited his hook, and tossed it off the side of the boat into the water. It landed with a small splash below the reeds. He smiled at his perfectly placed toss and said, "There's gotta be a fish there."

The air was muggy, and the gnats were biting their way through his clothes, but the Mississippi coast was his favorite place. It was home. Shane knew his boat and the bay with all its special fishing holes well. He drew in a deep breath of fresh air, savored the brackish taste for a moment, and released it when he heard an unusual, loud sound.

Puhh ... Shhha!

"What?" Shane whispered, swinging his head from side to side, trying to identify its source.

Puhh ... Shhha!

Shane heard it again. Anxiously, he reeled in his line. Then he moved the boat around a bend toward the noise.

Puhh ... Shhha!

The sound reminded Shane of a scuba diver taking a deep breath. As he moved closer, the sound grew louder. He leaned forward, squinting against the bright sun, but the needlerush grass concealed the sound's source.

As he turned around the next grassy bend, his eyes widened at a twitchy, jerking motion in the black mud ahead. Leaning forward, he noticed a black body directly in front of him. As it lifted its head, Shane saw frantic eyes staring up at him.

"What's that!?" Shane gasped.

The animal jerked again, throwing muddy sludge with its flat tail. Shane realized he was looking at some kind of dolphin stranded on the mudflat. It needed help ... and fast.

"Where's that card?" He searched his backpack, throwing hooks onto the boat's floor. Shane plunged deeper into the bag until he finally found his wallet.

Puhh ... Shhha!

He heard it again as his boat drifted toward the marshy bank. His hand shook as he flipped open his wallet, found the card, and read: 1-888-SOS-DOLPHIN. As fast as he could, he dialed the number that would connect him to the local marine stranded-mammal hotline.

The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity until a voice came through. "The Institute for Marine Mammals stranding hotline. This is Alicia. Can I help you?"

"Uh, I'm in Bay St. Louis, and I found a ... black dolphin!" Shane said. "You found a what?" Alicia asked.

"Uh, yes, ma'am. A black dolphin," Shane replied.

"Okay," Alicia said. "I'm going to need more information from you, like the animal's description, its injuries, and your GPS coordinates. Then I can send someone out there to help."

Puhh ... Shhha!

The sound made Shane spin around and scan the muddy water. He paused for a moment and held his breath.

"Sir?" Alicia asked.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm here," Shane said.

Puhh ... Shhhaa!

A small spray dispersed above the black mound. Shane's mouth dropped open in amazement as he noticed another black lump completely on land near a patch of reeds.

"There's another one!" he nearly yelled into the phone. "Did you say you see a second dolphin?" Alicia asked.

"I think so, but this one's out of the water," Shane replied.

"Okay." Alicia looked at her phone and reached for her pen. "Give me your exact coordinates so I can get help." She took down the numbers as fast as Shane read them off of the boat's GPS navigator. "Okay. We're on our way!"

"Please hurry." Shane turned back to the black dolphin at his feet, parted the reeds, and revealed its extensive wounds. "They may not live very long."

For the first time since Shane found the dolphins, hope rose in his chest as two rescue boats came through the marsh, followed by two Jet Skis.

"Help is here." Shane smiled at the animals and then looked back up at the IMMS rescue team. "Over here!" he yelled.

The boat captain saw him immediately and steered toward Shane. Within moments, the team jumped out into the muddy water. The splashes caused the first animal to thrash from side to side as it sought to find freedom in deeper water. The rescuers rushed to the animal.

Shane noticed some confusion in their eyes. "Is it bad? Does it look worse than you thought?" He looked back over the animal's injuries.

The lead veterinarian, Dr. Connie Chevis, spoke up, "This isn't a bottlenose dolphin." "I don't understand," Shane said.

Scattered voices drifted through the rescuers as individuals attempted to identify the animal.

"It's a whale, I think," the veterinarian replied. "Maybe a melon-headed whale or pygmy killer whale. It's surely not a bottlenose dolphin, but both whale species are types of toothed dolphins. The most obvious clue is the animal's color. It's much darker than a bottlenose dolphin. Also this animal lacks a long, pointy rostrum. This whale has a broad, rounded rostrum."

Puhh ... Shhha!

Once again, the small whale floundered in the shallow water, causing mud to cake farther over it wounds.

"The wounds are really bad." Dr. Chevis looked at the animal care director. "Its chances of surviving the trip back to IMMS are slim. Even if they make it, we'll have to treat their wounds and possible infections. Not to mention the fact that scientists know very little about these animals." She shook her head and looked at the marsh around them. "And why are they here in the first place? These animals are found in deep waters. I just don't know if they can survive."

As she expressed her concerns, the whale thrashed, showing them that it was not ready to give up just yet.

Without another word, the veterinarian said, "We need a stretcher immediately. We have to try." Determination grew in her eyes. "They deserve for us to give them a fighting chance. Hand me that bag. We'll need to administer some emergency medications."

"I'm on it," another rescuer spoke up.

Shane recognized her voice at once. Alicia, he thought.

Alicia climbed into the boat and proceeded to hand out stretchers and other veterinary supplies. "Where's the other whale?" Tim, another rescuer, asked as he waded through the water.

His knee-high boots failed him as the water and mud flowed over the brim, saturating his feet. Shane watched as the rescue team acted in unison. He knew these stranded animals' survival relied on each person to act quickly on their behalf.

"Over there!" Shane pointed in the animal's direction.

Puhhh ... Shhha!

The other whale breathed as if on cue, and Tim watched the water droplets clear from its blowhole.

Although Tim tried to hurry to the second whale's side, the mud bogged him down with each step. When he finally reached the animal, he realized the severity of the situation. The whale had managed to sink almost completely into the quicksand-like mud with only its blowhole exposed.

"Heart rate is weak but stable," Dr. Chevis said at the side of the first whale. "However, its respirations are labored! We need to get it on our boat for better monitoring."

"I'm gonna need help over here!" Tim yelled.

He clawed at the mud surrounding the whale. Each handful revealed more and more of the whale until he could finally reach underneath it.

The team knew their task was not going to be easy. Each whale weighed approximately three hundred pounds, and they were sitting in deep mud. They placed each animal in a stretcher. Every time the team moved the whale a foot, their boots sank a foot into the mud. They pulled away from the suction over and over. For an hour, the rescuers hauled the animal a foot at a time, struggling to yank their boots from the mud.

Finally their hard work paid off. Both whales were lying on a mat in the IMMS boat with a care team designated for each. The teams continued checking their vital signs and reflexes.

"Heart rate seventy-two beats per minute!" Dr. Debra Moore, another veterinarian with IMMS, yelled. More readings followed. "Breaths are averaging three to four per minute!"

"We have to get moving if we want to give them a chance at all!" another team member said. "Let's get going!"

The whales sat on the foam mat, protected from the sun by wet cloth, as veterinarians assessed their condition.

The boat growled to a start and rushed back to the marina. A group of more IMMS team members stood at the dock, waiting to lend fresh hands. Each whale required six people to lift it from the boat. The next objective was to get the animals to the rescue van and transport them back to the IMMS facility.

Monitoring the whales' vitals paused briefly while each was lifted into the van. Once they were situated, every minute, every response, and every moment was recorded.

Someone said, "I'm not sure these are melon-headed whales. They seem different, but definitely not like anything we have studied or seen around here before."

The statement went unnoticed as the team checked and rechecked the whales' conditions. For now, their only focus was to keep the whales alive. After what seemed like an eternity, the team reached the Institute for Marine Mammal Studies in Gulfport, Mississippi, to find that more volunteers and staff were waiting to help.

"One, two, three." The team lifted both whales from the truck next to an above-ground pool that had been prepared for the whales.

Each whale was once again given a team and lowered onto a foam mat near the hospital. Veterinarians, staff, and volunteers proceeded to take blood, fecal, stomach, and urine samples from each whale. This information allowed the veterinarians to assess the whales' health, so they could decide how to best treat the animals. The whales were clearly members of a very rarely observed species, which meant the veterinarians knew little about them. The staff was in uncharted territory and would need all of the information they could get.

Although weak, each whale fought for freedom, thrashing throughout the exams.

"Okay! We have everything we need," Dr. Chevis said. "Let's get them back in water ASAP!" She pointed to all the volunteers and repeated, "Let's get them into the water! We need to keep them calm."

Tim said, "Okay, we need six people in the water to receive the whales and another six people to lift the animal over the edge of the pool. A second group can stay on the other animal until we are ready."

Immediately the team lifted the whales back onto the stretchers and carried them over to the quarantine pool as more volunteers hopped into the water to receive them. The whales were too weak to move on their own.

"Keep them at the surface so they can breathe. I would like volunteers to take shifts walking them around in the pool," Dr. Chevis spoke again. "It may be impossible for them to float or swim to the surface to breathe. They are also likely disoriented. Since their muscles are weak and injured, they will need us to support them. They are dehydrated, their skin is badly damaged, and they could get stressed out in this new environment. The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours are the most critical. If they live until tomorrow, they might just have a chance."

One hour passed as the volunteers continued to hold the whales at the surface. As they worked, they were careful to make sure the whales could see one another. This visual contact seemed to help the animals remain calm. Both animals continued to breathe.

The hours rolled by throughout the night while staff and volunteers took shifts holding up the whales for air. Some noticed the whales continuously watching one another and occasionally making whistling sounds. Although initially the whales were assigned numbers to help identify them, they were later given the names Marco and Polo, after the children's game, as they constantly kept tabs on where the other one was.

The Rehabilitation

"Did they survive the night?" Victoria, another rescuer, asked anxiously preparing to hear the worst.

"Yes, they did, and they are able to swim a little on their own!" Tim said enthusiastically. "We are going to try feeding them again."

Over the night, rescuers had offered fish to the whales, but neither animal opened his mouth to eat. Either from fear, shock, or some unknown reason, their mouths remained clamped shut.

"It's clear that we have to try a different approach. They're too weak and too nervous to eat," Dr. Moby Solangi said. "We'll have to hand-feed the whales today, or we might lose them."

Five team members joined the volunteer holding Polo and carried him over to Tim at the pool's edge. Fortunately, local firefighters had come to assist IMMS staff in supporting the whales.

"Make sure you hold on tight." Tim had wrapped his hands in towels and tape to protect him from the whale's teeth. "Polo's not gonna like this, but we have to help him eat if he's going to survive."

Dr. Moore nodded in agreement. "Yes," she spoke as she directed volunteers to help. "The whales' throats are different from ours in a couple of key ways. They breathe a little differently than we do, and they do not have a gag reflex. It won't hurt them, but they won't like being handled."

The six firefighters nodded and wrapped their arms tightly around Polo. Although injured, the whales were still very powerful animals. The rescue team would need extra strength to hold the whales in place as they received care. The firefighters became the perfect complement to the IMMS medical staff.

Tim pried open Polo's mouth, hesitating as the whale's pearly white teeth waited for him to put in his hand. With his free hand, Tim placed a herring into the whale's throat. Polo squirmed, causing the men to tighten their grip for a moment as he swallowed the fish.

Tim chuckled. "That's one down, but he still needs a lot more to eat if he wants to survive." He glanced down at a stainless steel bucket filled with more fish, knowing they were in for a long feeding session. Once both Marco and Polo had eaten, the team let them rest before focusing on hydration.

Like most marine mammals, Marco and Polo got their water from the fish they ate. They could not drink the ocean water, as it was too salty and could prove fatal if too much were ingested. During their rehabilitation, the whales would need supplemental water because their food had been frozen, which caused it to have less water than live fish. This left two options. The whales needed to either eat water-filled gelatin balls, a lot like Jell-O snacks but without sugar or flavoring. Or they would need to drink fresh water through a tube with the help of the rehabilitators.

For now, the rescuers needed to use a tube to hydrate the whales because they were too weak to eat the gelatin on their own. Just like with feeding, the whales' special throats ensured that passing the hydration tube was not painful. However, it would help to save their lives.

Several days passed, and IMMS team members stood around the pool, ready for the morning feeding.

Before the veterinarians announced the day's plans, Dr. Solangi stepped up and spoke, "We have confirmed that the whales are pygmy killer whales, not melon-headed whales, although they are very similar species."

The words brought a smile to his face. "This species has rarely — if ever — been successfully rehabilitated. They seemed to have strayed hundreds of miles off course where they normally live. We are learning valuable information about their biology and behavior. And if they can be released, we may have the opportunity to learn much more about these animals and their lives in the Gulf of Mexico."

Dr. Solangi pulled out a folded email from his pocket. "I have even more interesting information here." He unfolded the paper and read it aloud, "Regarding the genetics of your Feresa samples, there is a high probability that these two whales are related."

The paper crackled as Dr. Solangi folded it back up. "There is more data on their relationship, but ultimately they could be half-brothers. This makes sense to me. Marco acts like an older brother protecting Polo. Without each other, they could not hope to survive."

Dr. Solangi continued, "Dolphin and whale strandings are a big curiosity to people. We know that sometimes they are extremely sick, but at other times healthy animals will follow their sick leaders to strand on land. Even when we push them back, they will still come right back onto shore and die. These two have probably been together for a large part of their lives and are likely very close, which would help explain their genetic similarities and why they stranded together."