Ocean Watch

Monday, September 28, 1998

Washing oiled seabirds
doesn’t usually help them

News of oil-soaked seabirds ruins the day for most of us Hawaii residents. First we mutter curses at ships and oil companies for fouling our waters and threatening our marine life, then our hearts ache for those poor suffering birds.

The recent spill off Barbers Point reminds me of two times I tried to help such oiled birds. The first bird I did not wash; the second I did. I don't know which experience was worse.

The first bird I found at Midway Atoll. I was walking the beach there one morning when I came upon a Laysan albatross covered with oil. The bird's white chest feathers, usually so luxurious in this species, were streaked black and standing up in dirty cowlicks. Globs of tar hung from the bird's face, beak and feet.

I hurried back to tell the refuge manager, ready to roll up my sleeves. "Sorry," he said when he heard my story. "We don't have enough help here to wash every oiled bird that shows up."

I was shocked. I knew this man. He was compassionate and loved wildlife. What could he be thinking?

"This often happens from ships dumping at sea," he said. "We just can't wash all the birds. It's hard to do, and they don't do that well with it anyway."

"I'll do it myself."

"Susan. Let the bird go."

Later, the manager checked the oiled albatross. He thought it was too soiled for us to clean, plus had doubtlessly swallowed tar in its attempt to clean itself. It was doomed, he said.

He was right. The albatross died.

A couple of years later, I was working on Tern Island, another atoll in Hawaii's northwest wildlife refuge, when I found a masked booby bird also severely oiled.

This time, when I reported my find to a different refuge manager, he decided we should try cleaning it.

Following the oiled-bird protocol, we filled laundry tubs with warm water, added detergent, then caught the bird and started washing.

Two hours later, our backs were aching, we were soaked with scummy water, and the bird seemed no cleaner than when we began. The oil had turned to sticky tar balls rolled firmly in the booby's feathers.

We worked on that unhappy bird for a couple more hours, washing, rinsing, washing some more. Finally, late that evening, the manager called a halt. "I don't know how much it can take," he said, looking at the exhausted creature.

We dried the booby with towels, tube-fed it, then placed it in a covered box.

I thought it a miracle the next morning when I found the bird still alive. I reached in and ran my hand over the bird's chest feathers and was dismayed to feel about the same amount of gluey oil in them as when we first brought it in. Also, the wing feathers were now completely bedraggled.

We agreed that the best thing we could do for this animal was to let it go. We placed the box upside-down in the warm sun, picked it up and backed off. The frightened booby flew off immediately, but not normally. It likely landed in the nearby lagoon where a tiger shark had a bird for breakfast.

So I learned the first manager was right: Washing oiled seabirds doesn't usually help them. And neither does cursing oil companies or passing ships. Accidents and incompetence happen in every business every day -- and always will.

The real way to help our birds is to admit it's our own lifestyle that is hurting them. Those of us who love our marine life should each consider how we can use less gas, and how we can support alternative sources of energy for electricity.

It's not as interesting as washing birds, but it will probably do them more good.