Dolphin Talk

Dr. John C. Lilly, a deep-chested, suntanned neurophysiologist, has spent a good part of the last four years trying to talk to bottle-nosed dolphins (Tursiops trnncatus), more popularly known as porpoises. So far, he has not found a common language, but already he is convinced that dolphins are far and away the most intelligent beasts on earth. Last week Dr. Lilly, 44, was hard at work supervising an elaborate new system of jetties and pools that he is constructing, partly with money supplied by the Navy, on a bay six miles from Charlotte Amalie, in the Virgin Islands.

Play Ball. Dr. Lilly first learned to admire dolphins at Marineland in Florida, where he watched them entertain tourists. He noticed that they seemed to understand spoken commands, learned quickly the rules and tactics of water polo. Dissection showed that their brains are even bigger than human brains and have as complicated a cerebral cortex, the seat of the higher mental functions. Encouraged by these observations, Dr. Lilly planted electrodes in the dolphins' brains and found a spot that gave them exquisite pleasure when it was stimulated by a feeble pulse of electricity. Their eyes lit up and the muscles around their blowholes "smiled." They became addicted to electrical delight and worked hard to get more of it. Dolphins learned in one demonstration how to operate an apparatus that yields a pleasure-giving jolt. Chimpanzees, which are probably the brightest land animals, need dozens of tries, and even humans do not always get the idea right off.

Once when Dr. Lilly was stimulating a dolphin, the electrical apparatus broke down, but a tape recorder kept on running. When he played the tape, he heard his own voice saying, "three hundred twentythree" (the footage on the tape). Then from the dolphin came the same words in a quacking, Donald Ducklike voice, but unmistakable. They were followed by a creditable imitation of the buzz of a transformer and the rattle of a movie camera. The dolphin had associated all these sounds with the pleasure-giving stimulation, and was trying to trigger it again.

"Mayday." Dr. Lilly is now convinced that dolphins have an extremely complicated language. They converse in a great variety of buzzes, whistles, rattles and grunts. Since most of the sounds are at higher frequencies than the human ear can hear clearly, Dr. Lilly plays tapes of dolphin talk at quarter speed. So far he has learned only one phrase of dolphin language: the "mayday" distress call, a sharp, up-and-down squeal that sounds like a wolf whistle.

Once he put a partially paralyzed dolphin in a pool. As it sank helplessly toward the bottom, it gave its "mayday" call, and the other dolphins rushed to its rescue. They boosted it up to the surface so it could breathe. When it sank again, one of them swam under it, scraping its tender undersurface and triggering a reflex action of its tail that shot it up to the air. The operation was accompanied by a blizzard of dolphin talk.

When the Virgin Islands installation is complete. Dr. Lilly and his helpers will spend long hours playing with the amiable dolphins and trying to converse with them. The Navy's interest in the project is in basic research; it wants to know everything possible about the sea. including the ways that sea creatures communicate. "After all," says Dr. Sid Caller of the Office of Naval Research, "submarines and frogmen are but poor replicas, hydrodynamically speaking, of what a dolphin does naturally." For instance, by swinging their heads from side to side, and uttering ultrasonic boops, dolphins can "look" through 20 ft. of muddy water and tell whether a fish is good eating. The Navy, whose own sonar is much less discriminating, would love to know how they do it.

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