(Seventh in the series Superpod One – Where It All Began)
Day Three: It’s 11.30, and we’ve joined an expedition with Spencer, a young man with an engaging manner and a whale-watching boat. There are seven of us, and as we head out from the bay toward the open sound, Spencer is confident we’re going to see some orcas.
The whale-watching boats stay in touch with each other, sharing info on where the orcas are. I’m sitting up front next to Spencer, and soon I’m hearing crackling voices coming in on the radio saying that the K and L pods are heading south in our direction from Canada.
“That means we could be really lucky,” Spencer says. “The J pod is south of us near the point over there and heading up toward where the other pods are coming down. They may all be joining up for a superpod.”
Superpods are like orca conventions, with lots of excitement among the whales as they share information and learn about each other. Younger males and females get to meet their peers, and mothers encourage their sons to “go talk to that nice girl over there.”
We can make a few assumptions from all the splashing and frolicking we see in superpod meet-ups, but their cultures and customs have been developing for millions of years, and we have very little idea of what else they may be saying or doing..
The superpod meetup begins. Photo by the Center for Whale Research
Spencer shuts off the engine as the K and L pods draw close. About a half-dozen other boats have gathered nearby to watch them going by. “There’s one at 7 o’clock,” someone says as we start seeing the orcas surfacing, breathing, then diving again. … “Three o’clock.” … “Five o’clock.” We soon stop pointing them out … there are just so many of them … not crowded together … the expanse of water is huge and the orcas are dotted through it, a couple here, a threesome there. It’s a bit like when you’re watching a meteor shower and every few seconds another one flashes in the sky and disappears a moment later.
A photo ID of Mega (with notch on dorsal fin), L41, from one of the Center for Whale Research charts.
Scientists and orca protection people like Ken Balcomb, and whale watching pilots like Spencer, can spot many of the individual whales from the shape and markings of the dorsal fins.
“That was Mega,” Spencer says when an extra-large whale with a very large dorsal fin surfaces nearby. “He’s L 41.” He glances Spencer has a chart of orca fins compiled by Ken’s team at the Center for Whale Research, and he glances down at it to confirm what he’s saying.
A noisy nuisance
Noisy tugboat. Photo by Christina Becraft
About 10 minutes later, most of the K’s and L’s have gone by and are apparently now heading for a meet-up with the J’s. Spencer starts the engine and we follow the two pods from the north.
We slow down as a tugboat approaches, hauling an enormous container vessel. “These big boats are really hard on the whales,” Spencer says. “The noise of the engines is very deep and it travels for miles.”
The noise polluter chugs by and we’re on our way again. Soon we catch up with a half-dozen other boats who are gathering to see the superpod coming together, and just a few moments later we have J’s, K’s and L’s popping up all around us.
Coast Guard pulls up next to us to check our papers, which are all in order.
Among the boats is one from the Coast Guard, keeping an eye on the whale-watcher boats to be sure they’re all complying with regulations. They pull up next to us to check Spencer’s papers, which are all in order.
By law, all boats are required to stay at least 200 meters away from the whales, and the Coast Guard is often patrolling among the boats. But if an orca surfaces closer to the boat, that’s obviously up to them, and you get a lucky close-up. And that’s exactly what happens to us.
Meet Big Mama
Grandma J2 identifies herself with the small notch on her dorsal fin. Photo by the Center for Whale Research.
Suddenly, and completely out of the blue, an orca surfaces just a few meters from the port side of the boat. Spencer lights up.
“That looks like Granny!” he says, grabbing the dorsal fin chart to double-check. “Yes, it absolutely is.”
For those of us who’ve heard about Grandma J2, the matriarch of the J pod who’s estimated to be about 100 years old, this is the most exciting and memorable thing that could happen. For Grandma J2 to have surfaced just a few feet from our boat is like getting to meet your favorite celebrity on the red carpet at the Oscars. Priceless.
J2 pauses on the surface for a few moments more, as if to introduce herself, then dives and is gone. For our part, we’ve all gone silent, staring at the water where we saw her, and thinking of ourselves as the luckiest people alive. We’ve just met the most remarkable orca on record.
The missing family member
Lolita, kidnapped from the L pod, now at the Miami Seaquarium.
But the most poignant aspect of the trip is being among the L pod, and knowing that one of them is missing from the family group. Thousands of miles away, on the other side of the continent down at the Miami Seaquarium, Lolita has been held captive in a pool since she was abducted from her pod 40 years ago. While the rest of the L’s have each other for company, Lolita has simply a plastic blow-up whale toy in the pool with her.
Every day, she still calls out to her family, just as the other L’s do to each other as they migrate up and down the northwest coast. But instead of the great ocean with its rocky depths, tidal rips, and coastal shallows teeming with salmon and other animals, all she knows is the circular wall of the pool bouncing her echo-location calls back at her like a hall of mirrors.