Sunday, April 18, 1999
Keepers ready manatees for Monday move
Planes, cranes, 1,500-pound ordeal
BY JIM KNIPPENBERG
The Cincinnati Enquirer
MIAMI — Douglas and Stoneman are snorting indignantly, that much is certain.
What isn't certain is why: Is it because that's what manatees do? Or because they know that Monday they'll be hauled out of their cozy tanks at Miami Seaquarium and shipped to a new home at the Cincinnati Zoo and Botanical Garden?
It's probably the former, because manatees snort a lot. Especially these two youngsters.
Douglas, a strapping 700-pound 3-year-old, has lived in Miami most of his life. He was orphaned as an infant when his mother was killed by a boat propeller. A Miami Seaquarium rescue team pulled him out of the water near Key Largo and took him to Seaquarium in May 1995.
Stoneman, an 800-pound 4-year-old, was born Oct. 6, 1994 at Seaquarium. His parents, Romeo and Juliette, have lived here since the '50s (first together; now in separate tanks to prevent more breeding).
"I'm happy for them'
Stoneman and Douglas are named after Marjory Stoneman Douglas, the Everglades conservationist who died in 1998 at age 108.
“Look at Douglas. Isn't he the sweetest thing?” asks keeper Sylvia Espejo. “He was a very sick baby when they brought him in. He should have weighed 80 pounds, but he was only 40.
“I held him in my arms and bottle fed him every two hours and got so attached. I'm really going to miss them, but I'm happy for them.”
Until now, home has been a 40-foot tank filled with 10 feet of 78-degree water pumped out of Biscayne Bay. Sitting on a small hill overlooking the water, it's part of an off-exhibit complex that serves as orphanage, hospital and retirement village.
In the next tank, for example, four bottlenose dolphins, retired show fish, enjoy their golden years. They're so nosy they're all sticking their heads out of the water. When attention isn't paid, they back halfway across the tank, hoist themselves out of the water up to their fins, and swim back to the edge, flapping fins and sending water everywhere.
In another tank, an adult manatee clings to life. Rescued 16 hours earlier, she came in with fishing line tangled so tightly around her left fin that it was cut to the bone. Two vets worked on her all night but she was still in critical condition with a massive infection and useless fin.
The fourth tank stands empty, awaiting what Seaquarium officials know is inevitable: Another injured manatee, victim of a boat propeller or tangled fishing line.
That's home today. Come Monday it's Cincinnati, as Douglas and Stoneman go into a relocation mode, something Dr. Maya Dougherty describes as “a major production.”
No easy move
One doesn't move 1,500 pounds of sea cow easily.
Still groggy from her all-nighter with the new manatee, Dr. Dougherty goes through the drill: Early Monday, keepers will drain half the tank's water. A crane will lower a stretcher for divers to slide under Douglas.
The crane will lift manatee and stretcher from the water to a foam-lined box which a fork lift will slide into a truck. The process is repeated for Stoneman.
Then, it's off to Miami International Airport for another lift and crane job, then a charter flight to Cincinnati and more cranes and lifts. Then to the zoo and, at last, the new home.
A relocation team of up to 12 will accompany them, including Seaquarium curator Robert Rose, a vet, two keepers and a team of divers.
The cost of the operation will top $35,000, says curator Rose, with airfare alone hitting $33,000.
These guys travel in style.
“And they travel well,” Dr. Dougherty says. “As long as we keep them moist, they can go 12 hours out of the water. The foam prevents injuries in case the boxes get bumped.”
Always with a snort
It's impossible to know whether they know, but Douglas and Stoneman behave like something's up. They usually spend most days at the center of the tank. Today, they're at the side and surfacing every couple of minutes, sometimes with a high-pitched squeak, always with a snort.
When they dive down, still at the side of the tank, it's as a pair, nuzzled up to each other like 10th-graders on prom night. A social and affectionate pair, they spend a lot of time under water locked in a sort of manatee bear hug.
“You watch these guys,” Ms. Espejo says, “and you see their personalities. Douglas is shy, even though he's not acting it. He likes to go off by himself and sleep.”
He also loves the camera. Right now, an underwater photographer is swimming around taking pictures, and Douglas is in his face. Constantly.
“What can I say? The guy's a ham. He thinks he's gorgeous, and I do, too,” Ms. Espejo says.
“Stoneman is shy, too, but a little more friendly. He cuddles up to Douglas more than Douglas cuddles up to him.”
Unless someone brings on the toys.
When she has a few minutes, Ms. Espejo tosses in a coconut for them to shove around with their heads. When she has more time, she fills a PVC pipe with something noisy, seals the ends and tosses it in.
“They love to balance them on their fins,” she says.
“Another thing Stoneman likes is to lie upside down on the bottom to eat.”
Boy, do these vegetarians eat. About 70 pounds a day, much of it now floating on the surface of their tank. Lettuce leaves; sliced sweet potatoes; bananas, halved and unpeeled; apples, quartered and unpeeled — all floating in circles.
"Excellent foragers'
If they were in the wild, Douglas and Stoneman would be munching sea grass in Florida's canals and rivers. “They're excellent foragers,” Mr. Rose says. “You put two in a canal clogged with vegetation and they'll have it clean in a matter of days.”
That's also their largest environmental role: To eat the vegetation which so often clogs tropical and semi-tropical rivers and canals.
So maybe Douglas and Stoneman would like that? A life in the wild, as opposed to life in a tank 1,000 miles from home?
“They are candidates for release, but they're way down the list,” Mr. Rose says.
There are problems, she adds. Stoneman has an immune system problem that isn't bad in a controlled environment. But with other manatees, she'd be concerned.
“And neither one knows migration routes. Manatees learn routes from other manatees, but these two were raised here and never had a chance.”
That's also why Seaquarium discourages breeding. Captive-born manatees usually remain captive for life, which can be 50 to 90 years.
For Douglas and Stoneman, it means a long time in Cincinnati and a long time in Manatee Springs, a facility they'll share with a wide array of animals native to their tropical environment.
Among them: An American crocodile, so rare there are only an estimated 100 left in the wild; a rare albino alligator; free-flying birds and butterflies; alligator gar, a large fresh water fish averaging 18 pounds; a tankful of extremely ill-tempered piranha; giant prawns with claws up to 12 inches; alligator snapping turtles weighing up to 200 pounds.
But that's later. Now, both manatees are surfaced, enjoying the Miami sun, snorting (again), and eating sweet potatoes from Ms. Espejo's hand.
“Don't think this is silly,” she says, “but I always cry when we relocate one. And these two, I think they're so beautiful. I hope Cincinnati thinks so, too.”
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