Excerpted from A YEAR WITH THE SEALS: Unlocking the Secrets of the Seaâs Most Charismatic and Controversial Creatures by Alix Morris. July 2025, Algonquin Books. Published with permission.
The construction of dams across the Pacific Northwest, which funnel fish into âpinch pointsâ like the ladder at the Ballard Locks, presented a unique challenge for wildlife managers who were tasked with protecting marine mammals and managing fish stocks. At the Ballard Locks, pinnipeds had discovered an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet. How could officials prevent a few opportunistic, and federally protected, marine mammals from wiping out entire populations of fish? What happened next inspired one of the most controversial amendments to marine mammal protections in the U.S., and it all played out in the heart of downtown Seattle.
IN MID-APRIL, SHORTLY AFTER arriving in Seattle, I headed south down Interstate 5 to Point Defiance Park in Tacoma, where Iâd arranged to meet with a man by the name of Steve Jeffries. Now retired, Steve was a former marine mammal research scientist at the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife. In addition to his marine mammal knowledge and experience, I was hoping to learn more about his role in what was arguably the stateâs biggest pinniped conflict of all time.
I wasnât sure how hard it would be to find Steve among the parkâs many visitors that morning, but I shouldnât have worried. There was only one Jeep in the lot with the license plate âBLUBBER.â Steve was in his early seventies, tall with gray hair and a beard to match. As we walked along a pedestrian path by the water, he recounted some of his early work with harbor seals. We approached a breakwater where harbor seals occasionally hauled out at low tide, although there were none in sight that morning.
âLook out over Puget Sound,â said Steve, nodding toward the water. I followed his gaze. To our left, deep blue water surrounded emerald forested islands and peninsulas, with large waterfront homes nestled between the evergreens. To our right was the Port of Tacoma. Industrial-sized vessels crowded in the harbor while smoke plumes billowed from factories. Behind the thick veil of smoke and haze rose the snow-capped Mount Rainier. It was a city at odds with itselfâthe battle between nature and industry.
Just then, a small, sleek head popped up beside the breakwater. We watched the harbor seal for a few minutes as the sky darkened overhead. Minutes later, large raindrops smacked against the concrete path and Steve and I ran toward our respective cars, agreeing to reconvene at a nearby pub. It was there that Steve recounted the Battle of Ballard.
IN THE EARLY 1980s, Steve was working as the stateâs marine mammal biologist when he was called in to help address a growing concern at the Ballard Locks. A particularly beefy California sea lion (which are nearly the same size as gray seals, with males weighing up to seven hundred pounds) had started showing up at the locks during the winter migration of steelhead trout. A local fisherman reportedly said at the time that the sea lion looked like his pal Herschel down at the dock (possibly a dig at Herschel, or the sea lion, hard to say) and the name stuck. Herschel appeared quite oblivious to the human and boat traffic that frequented the locks, and made himself right at home at the base of the fish ladder, gulping down an impressive number of fish. After a year or two, a few more âHerschelsâ joined in. Observers were hired to stand watch by the fish ladder and record the sea lionsâ behaviorâhow much time they spent at the locks, how many fish each animal consumed, and whether it was the same sea lions returning each time.
Since marine mammals were federally protected, the only course of action for federal and state officials was to find a nonlethal way to keep the sea lions away from the locks. Steve knew the task wouldnât be easy. Pinnipeds are highly intelligent creatures, and the Ballard Locks had become a choice feeding station.
âYou know that scene in Jurassic Park with the velociraptors?â Steve asked me, as we sat across from each other at a booth in the pub. I remembered it wellâtwo kids are hiding in a kitchen with the door closed, while a raptor stands just outside, looking at the handle. Eventually, it figures out how to turn the handle to open the door. âThese animals are smart,â he said. âItâs all about the reward theyâre seeking.â
Steve and his fellow wildlife officials began their assignment by testing waterproof firecrackers known as âseal bombsâ to deter the sea lions. For years, fishermen had used these startle devices to keep seals and sea lions away from their nets and gear. Steve would light the fuse and hurl the seal bombs, which were about the size of his index finger, into the water from a nearby platform. Others would throw them from boats. At first, they seemed to work; the sea lions stayed away from the locks. But a few days later, the animals were back.
The sea lions were quick to figure out that the people who threw the firecrackers dressed in bright orange work suitsârequired attire for wildlife officials working on the waterâso they simply avoided the area when they spotted any orange-clad humans. âAs soon as they saw the lighter, they knew what we were going to do,â said Steve. When he pulled the lighter from his pocket, the sea lions would jump into the water and swim twenty yards awayâabout the exact distance Steve could throw the seal bomb. After the explosion, theyâd quickly return to the ladder.
The team then set up acoustic deterrentsâhigh-decibel devices that operate like underwater airhorns. The devices are thought to be quite painful for marine mammals (so painful, in fact, that those particular devices are no longer used in wildlife management). But it wasnât long before the sea lions learned to swim with their heads out of the water when they entered the noise blast zone.
Another idea was to play recordings of killer whale vocalizations. Puget Sound was frequented by two populations of killer whales, one of which preyed on marine mammals, including sea lions and seals. If the sea lions believed there were preda- tors nearby, theyâd presumably head in the opposite direction. But when they played the recordings of the killer whales, the sea lions began swimming toward the sounds. As it turned out, theyâd inadvertently played the vocalizations of the wrong populationâ instead of the killer whales that preyed on sea lions, theyâd played vocalizations of the killer whales that feed exclusively on chinook salmon. The sea lions were likely hoping to nab some leftovers.
It was a comedy of errors, playing out right in the middle of the city. Residents and visitors were delighted by the free entertainment, and the sea lions soon amassed a devoted fan club. People bought sea lion T-shirts, kept tallies of the score (Officials: 0, Sea lions: 6), broadcasted the updates on local radio programs. The public was openly rooting for the wily animals that seemed to be outsmarting wildlife officials.
But the fisheries and marine mammal officials trying to address a complex situation were less than enthused by the growing attention. While Steve was the point person for the state, the entire effort was being overseen by the federal fisheries service. Joe Scordino was the deputy director of the Northwest region of the National Marine Fisheries Service, and the point person for the feds. âIt was challenging,â said Joe, when I spoke to him later on the phone. âBecause on the one hand, we had people laughing at the locks. And on the other hand, we had people concerned about the resource, essentially calling us a bunch of idiots.â Unlike the spectators rooting for the sea lions to continue outsmarting the humans, this latter group was frustrated that the officials couldnât get rid of the sea lions in a more expedient fashion.
Joe, Steve, and their teams had tracked which animals were consuming the most fish and therefore had the biggest impact on the steelhead runs. Unlike the situation on the East Coast, where there was a whole host of variables to consider when it came to fish declines, wildlife officials on the West Coast perceived pinniped predation to be the primary cause for the large scale, rapid decline of steelhead. âThe only difference from earlier years was the presence of sea lions,â said Joe. And while there were quite a few sea lions in the area, they determined, based on close observation of individual sea lion behavior at the fish ladder, that only half a dozen animals were responsible for 90 percent of the fish removal. Six hungry, clever sea lions wiping out entire generations of fish.
Meanwhile, the situation was getting increasingly dire. There were other steelhead trout runs in Washington, Oregon, and California, but this was the only urban steelhead run in the world. Steelhead was also the state fish of Washington and a traditional food resource for tribes in the region. But the run at the Ballard Locks was declining at an alarming rate. As the situation at the locks ramped up, Joe began fielding calls from congressional offices across the country who had been paying very close attention. It had become clear that this battle between marine mammals and commercially important fish might have implications for the future of the Marine Mammal Protection Act. âWe were kind of proving that the law needed to be changed,â said Joe. The congressional offices offered more and more money to address the problem. âI told them that money isnât the issue here. The issue here is weâve got to get rid of these animals and the law doesnât let us do it.â
One politician offered to fund the creation of a killer whale decoy, but Joe explained that there was no way a group of highly intelligent, and highly motivated, sea lions would be fooled by a decoy. But a few Seattleites took it upon themselves to test the strategy anyway. They bought a life-sized fiberglass killer whale from a fish farmer in Scotland who had attempted to use a similar decoy to scare seals away from his fish pens. âFake Willyâ was shipped across the Atlantic Ocean, then driven cross-country on a flatbed truck. A Seattle radio station blasted rock and roll music as the fiberglass killer whale was raised and lowered into the water outside the ship canal. Steve described it as âa black-and-white salamander with a dorsal fin.â Just as Joe had predicted, the sea lions looked at it, barked a few times, then continued swimming toward the locks.
Some local politicians were becoming increasingly concerned about the status of the fish. In addition to steelhead, multiple species of salmon passed through the locks. And while the sea lions migrated south to their breeding grounds off the California coast during part of the spring and summer months, Pacific harbor seals lived in the area year-round. What would stop them from feeding on the fish, especially as their populations continued to expand? They were also concerned that if salmon and steelhead were added to the endangered species list, the restrictions associated with that would negatively impact farmers, loggers, and anyone else working the landscape near the geographic zones.
At the same time, Joe was receiving calls from politicians with constituents on the animal rights side, and not just on the West Coast. âThere were many on the East Coast watching what was going on,â he said. âThey didnât want to see us change the law to allow for the killing of [sea lions] because they didnât want any killing of seals, especially with the gray seal problems on the East Coast . . . They were very protective.â
There were plenty of marine mammal defenders on the West Coast as well, and for them, the idea of killing these creatures because of a scenario that humans created was beyond hypocritical. We had destroyed the ecosystem, and the sea lions were simply doing what sea lions do: eating fish. Yet now they might be killed for doing just that.
But in Steveâs view, the challenge with the Marine Mammal Protection Act, as it was written, is that it didnât account for what happens when marine mammal populations recover. In the case of the Endangered Species Act, when wildlife like bears, moose, or deer, for example, reach a certain population threshold considered to be stable, they are âde-listed,â which effectively means states have the authority to impose controlled hunts. But the Marine Mammal Protection Act allows for no such option. âIf I would have had a say, I would have named it the Marine Mammal Management Act,â said Steve.
At the same time, managing species that spend half of their lives underwater, as opposed to terrestrial species that wildlife managers can more easily monitor, presents a whole separate challenge. As Steve had pointed out, there was so much happening beneath the surface. Eventually, officials at the Ballard Locks attempted to physically remove the sea lions using a method Steve called âtrap and haul.â They captured the sea lions in cages and drove them from the Ballard Locks as far south in Washington as they could go, but the pinnipeds just swam right back to the locks. They then decided to transport the animals even further. Since the California Coastal Commission wouldnât allow the sea lions to be released in California state waters, Joeâs office authorized Washington state officials to move the animals to federal waters instead. Over Californiaâs objections, Steve and his team loaded the six sea lion offenders into horse trailers and drove them more than twenty hours south along Interstate 5 to Santa Barbara, where several live news crews eagerly awaited their arrival. Steve shared a photo from the journey that shows the caravan of sea lion trailers, flanked by law enforcement, driving down a freeway lined with palm trees.
Steve and his crew then loaded the sea lions onto a boat and brought them out to Channel Islands National Park, over twenty miles off the coast of California and just a short distance from their breeding grounds. More than one thousand miles separated Southern California and Seattle, but it wasnât enough. Within a month, four of the six sea lions were back at the Ballard Locks. âItâs laughable now,â said Joe. âAt the time, it wasnât.â
While the wildlife officials continued testing various deterrent tactics, some enthusiastic members of the public began trialing their own methods. Someone put a âjiggly manâ on a nearby dockâthe kind used at car dealershipsâto scare away the sea lions. But instead of being frightened, a few of the animals began hauling out on the dock right next to it, warming themselves beside the heat-generating box motor that blows air into the nylon balloon. One person suggested bringing in a great white shark to eat the sea lions. Joe flatly rejected the more ludicrous ideas. âIt was like, give me a break,â he said. âBut I had to write all of this up every time one of these ideas came in. It was very frustrating.â Officials tried barrier nets positioned further downstream from the fishway, which merely shifted sea lion predation to the nets instead of the ladder. They tried shooting rubber bullets at the pinnipeds with crossbows. Nothing worked.
As these efforts were going on, a group of animal rights activists began appearing at the locks, determined to prevent the removal of the sea lions. In one incident, an activist chained himself with a bike lock to one of the cages intended to capture sea lions. But as the situation progressed, the altercations became more intense. According to Steve, some of the most extreme activists began to threaten state and federal wildlife officials, as well as members of the Army Corps of Engineers who were operating the locks but had no involvement in pinniped removal. Officials began wearing bulletproof vests as a safety precaution.
Finally, in 1994, after Joe and Steve had exhausted every nonlethal method they could think of to deter sea lions from the locks, Congress issued an amendment to the Marine Mammal Protection Act. Under the terms of the amendment, NOAA Fisheries could authorize the lethal removal of sea lions in a highly regulated way. There was considerable political interest and concern over any potential abuse of the new legislation. The only way to secure its passage was to require a massive amount of documentation to demonstrate that an individual animal had a significant negative impact. The legislation also required the input and approval of an independent oversight task force comprised of representatives from animal rights groups, fishermen, scientists, and conservationists. The regulations were so strict that both state and federal resource managers found them to be offensive. As Joe saw it, the implication was that wildlife officials were overly eager to kill marine mammals, when, in his case, it was a final resort option to save the steelhead. Steve had a similar perspective. âI didnât get into this business to be killing seals and sea lions,â he said. âMy whole career was spent studying these animals. Theyâre fascinating.â The public seemed to divide along the extremesâwith some advocating for killing all of the sea lions at the locks, and others urging officials not to kill a single animal. âBut they donât know the middle. They donât know whatâs going on in the middle.â
It wasnât until two years later, in 1996, that the state of Washington was granted lethal removal authorization under the terms of the new amendment. After nearly fifteen years of testing nonlethal deterrents at the locks, they had obtained a license to kill.
Finally, they were ready to move forward. âWe had the animals, we had the drugs, we had a vet on the line,â said Steve. âWe were going to lethally inject if no one else stepped up.â Joe was all too aware of how politically charged the situation was. He moved with extreme cautionâcareful to overcommunicate every decision. He was eager to make it clear across all levels of government that they were preparing to exercise their lethal authority. He had been fielding numerous calls from the Department of Commerce, the same department that had approved the permit to begin with, asking him whether their own agency had really granted authority to kill sea lions. Joe believed the calls were in response to a legal push by the Humane Society to halt the process, which had prompted government officials in Washington, D.C., to claim they knew nothing about the decision. By then, the Department of Justice was also heavily involved, preparing for a lawsuit filed by animal activist groups.
Joe had been arriving at his office around five oâclock each morning in the weeks leading up to the lethal removal date to manage an overwhelming amount of paperwork. Several federal agencies, including the Department of Justice, were heavily involved at that point. They knew that as soon as they took action, they were going to get sued.
On the morning of the scheduled removal, Joe arrived at his office before the sun was up. Heâd barely removed his coat when the phone rang. On the other end, to his surprise, was Leon Panetta, President Bill Clintonâs chief of staff. âIt was a very short call,â Joe recounted. âI was told, âThis is the White House. Stop everything. Donât do anything to those sea lions. Weâll get back to you.â That was the end of it.â
As they later discovered, Vice President Al Gore had gotten wind of the news and had managed to pull a few strings at SeaWorld. While Joe and his office had already reached out to zoos and aquariums across the country, including SeaWorld, to see if theyâd be willing to adopt a few aggressive, elderly, testosterone-fueled sea lions on death row, all of them (quite understandably) had declined. But after a call from the vice president, SeaWorld appeared to have had a change of heart. The sea lions had received a vice-presidential pardon. Their death sentences were commuted to life imprisonment.
Not long after that, in early April of 1996, the federal government issued a press release with the headline: âNational Marine Fisheries Service OKâs Permanent Home for Seattleâs Sea Lions at SeaWorld in Florida.â The animals were FedExed, in an aircraft that had been set up to accommodate marine mammals, from a holding facility at Point Defiance in Tacomaânot far from where I had first met Steveâto Orlando.
It may sound like a happy ending, but it was far from it. The sea lions didnât adjust well to their new lives in captivity. The most voracious (and thus infamous) of the group died from an infection months after his arrival at Sea World, and the others died not long after that. As for the steelhead, by the time the federal approvals were finally granted, it was too late to save the fish run. The steelhead population that migrated through the Ballard Locks had been destroyed. Meanwhile, similar challenges were playing out further south on the Columbia River, along the border of Washington and Oregon, where sea lions were gathering to prey on salmon. Between 2008 and 2023, wildlife officials have removed over four hundred California and Steller sea lions from the Bonneville Dam and Willamette Falls Dam on the Columbia River. The vast majority of these animals were killed by lethal injection, and a handful were placed in zoos and aquariums. In recent years, the situation has begun to heat up once again at the Ballard Locks. Only this time, the salmon culprits are harbor seals.
A YEAR WITH THE SEALS: Unlocking the Secrets of the Seaâs Most Charismatic and Controversial Creatures (Algonquin Books; on-sale: 7/15/25)
Alix Morris is a science writer in midcoast Maine. Her work has appeared in the Boston Globe Magazine, Smithsonian, Sierra Magazine, MIT Technology Review, Down East Magazine and elsewhere, and she has graduate degrees in science writing from MIT and global health from Johns Hopkins. Her first book, A Year with the Seals, is supported by a grant from the Sloan Foundation.
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