Resident visitors

I stepped out of my tent to grey sky and north westerly winds biting their way through the sound. A brief nap cured my lurking headache and brought on a feeling of fresh revival; a painless new start to the day. Enjoying the tingling of cold air rushing into the gaps of my clothes, I stretched a just-woken-up kind of stretch and peered through the trees to Caamano sound. My daydream was interrupted before it could reach the water’s edge as Eric ran from the shelter, long limbs leaping down the rocks shouting “Orca, Lucy, orca”.

I followed suit, flying to the shelter for my camera then down the rocks with my not so long limbs making slightly dangerous leaps and bounds. Out of Laredo Channel came the first of the orca, a group of three females and one very large male. They moved along at a relaxed speed, cutting through the glassy surface with subtle purpose and determination. We stood stark still, elated by the close proximity of these skillful predators as another male and female approached. Squeaky echolocation and social pings reached our ears from the hydrophone scanner as they travelled close enough to see the towering male dorsal wobble as it reached its peak, dwarfing the female with every breath.

Two kinds of orca are common here; Northern Resident Killer Whales and Transient Killer Whales. Although indistinguishable to the untrained eye, upon closer observation they are quite unique. The residents feed only on salmon, with a preference for Chinook, moving around noisily both above and below the surface. Transients often pass through to feed on marine mammals, travelling with stealth and minimal chatter to increase their chances of a kill. The northern residents are split into three acoustic clans – A, G and R. These resident clans are made up of smaller family pods connected by strong matrilineal bonds. Sons very rarely leave their mothers’ side, daughters and their offspring will remain part of a pod until the matriarch dies or the pod becomes too large, and distantly related families have even adopted new family members. To the trained ear the A, G and R clans sound as different as rock, pop and classical music, and within these clans each pod has its own dialect.

Within seconds of hearing the calls on the hydrophone, Hermann informed us over the VHF radio that we had whales from the G clan. Orca can be individually identified by the shape of their dorsal and the unique markings of their saddle patch, much like that of the humpback fluke or human fingerprint. We jumped back to the lab to compare our photos with those in the DFO catalog and quickly discovered we had the G17 pod. Satisfied with our encounter and findings we informed Whale Point and went about the afternoon with new hope and ginormous grins.

Two days passed with many humpbacks and a few fin whales, but sadly no more orca. Finally, as I sat eating a delightful bunch of fresh huckleberries and entering data, distant calls came over the hydrophone from orca somewhere in Camaano Sound. My spirits rose immensely, only to plummet ten minutes later when I was informed that the following morning I would have to leave the Ulric camp. I ditched the data and decided to walk along the rocks, hoping to get a closer look if the orca came from Estevan Sound and headed down Beauchemin Channel.

Luck was on my side for my final afternoon. My attempt to reach the opposite side of the bay was hindered by the high tide so after 10 minutes of rock-hopping I found myself anxiously sitting high above the water on My Rock (which I clamed earlier in the week after using it as a jump rock and reflection spot). Two black dorsal fins punched through the surface along the Wall Islet shore, almost two nautical miles away but large enough to see with the naked eye. One male travelled down the Rennison shore flanked by the smaller splashes of females, while the other male remained off the Wall Islets. With frequent breaths and sharp movements they moved with more intensity than the orca from our previous encounter, almost porpoising at the surface as is common in dolphins. This could mean only one thing, it was dinner time.

A large female led the pod with two other females, two juveniles and one male in tow. She breached, her white belly and black curves striking the surface with forceful intent. The pod caught up and there was a commotion at the surface. I was stunned, and can only guess that any prey beneath the surface were, too. My mouth-gaping silence was broken when the pod took a 90 degree turn and headed straight for me, the leading female metres from shore. I sprang back along the rocks as they made their way toward the Ulric camp, trying my best to take photos and stay in one piece. Eric and I stood transfixed as the orca slowed and gathered only 50m off shore, splashing and diving as they fed in a mush of fins and tails. There was another breach and more splashing, with the juveniles at the center of the action.

As the pod turned and casually left the way they’d come, we managed to pull ourselves together for some ID shots. The hydrophone recording hinted toward the G clan again and together identified this pod as the I21’s. We ate our dinner in silence that evening, enjoying yet another fiery sunset and absorbing the lingering energy of the afternoon’s encounter.