Jane Stevens at UC Santa Cruz Long Marine Lab -- Remember that cute black-coat elephant seal that was rescued on January 11? He was released earlier this month, with two other elephant seals, into his new habitat: the Pacific Ocean.

As you may recall, three black-coats, or baby seals that hadn't been weaned, were found on Santa Cruz County beaches after the first big storm in the new year. They didn't make it. But Chamomile, who was found on a beach in San Mateo County and also taken to the Marine Mammal Center, held on, despite a few scary days when he couldn't stop trembling.

Chamomile in January at the Marine Mammal Center, after eating. His black coat that he was born with is properly wrinkled for him to fill out as he grows. (Mieke Eerkens photo)

He was fed salmon oil and milk, and slept on a heating pad. Once he had gained enough weight, he was weaned from liquid food and went to Fish School. Mieke Eerkens, communications specialist at the Marine Mammal Center, explained how Fish School works: Volunteers grab a live fish with long tongs -- they don't use their hands because they don't want the seals to associate food with humans. Then they put the fish in front of an elephant seal's nose. When the seal opens its mouth -- no matter what the reason -- they push the fish in. And they hope the appropriate gene, or sequence of genes, switches on.

They know they're making progress when a seal opens its mouth as soon as it sees a fish. Next step: it follows the fish as they drag it through the water. Graduation comes when they drop a fish into the water, and the seal chases it down and eats it.

Chamomile in April, in his pool at the Marine Mammal Center, with two other weaner dudes. (Mieke Eerkens photo)

Now, at first, weaners -- baby elephant seals whose mothers have finished nursing them -- don't know a fish from a bicycle. On the wild beaches of Año Nuevo State Reserve, elephant seal mothers finish nursing their offspring, mate, and head to sea in late February and early March. They leave their rolly polly kids behind to fend for themselves. The kids hang out on the beach, lolling about in the sun (and fog) while molting their baby fur. In late March or early April, some gene or sequence of genes turns on, perhaps induced by hunger. And the weaners look at the ocean with new eyes. Eventually, timidly, they enter it. (They don't know that white sharks await them, but they'll learn soon enough.) The exact mechanism that helps them learn that a ratfish or a squid is edible while kelp and jellyfish aren't isn't known to humans, but it's been working for them for millions of years, even though only about half the weaners survive their first year.

Chamomile, Mr. Cool. Proud graduate of Fish School. (Mieke Eerkens photo)

While Chamomile was attending Fish School, he accumulated quite a few classmates. More than 40, to be exact. It seems as if some weaners have a tougher time than others in getting the "eat fish" message. Or maybe they just don't know where to find fish, and meander in areas that don't have any. Many make their way back to a beach, and lie there emaciated and helpless until a kind human scoops them up and transports them to the Marine Mammal Center, where they receive proper training.

Before his release, Chamomile weighed in at 132 pounds. Not bad for a Fish School graduate, but not at the heft of many of the weaners at Año Nuevo. Some of these little monsters weigh 350 to 500 pounds when mom finally heads to sea. Here's one of these super-weaners -- this photo was taken by Nicole Teutschel. Notice his double and triple chins.

The average weaner weighs around 250 pounds. Even though they lose a lot of weight before heading into the ocean, the healthiest still weigh more than Chamomile. But Chamomile had one huge advantage when he crawled into the ocean last month: he knows how to fish.

Still, when he and his two buddies were released on the beach, says Mieke, they took their sweet time getting into the ocean. They look a little uncertain, don't you think? The volunteers watched them for several hours. When they finally left, the three little weaners were still lolling about in the surf line.

Chamomile, not looking quite so confident as he faces the big blue raucous Pacific Ocean. (Marine Mammal Center photo)

You go first. No, you go first. No, you go first. I'm not going first. That looks way too scary. (Marine Mammal Center photo)