The early hours of the 8th were punctuated by the occasional grunt from a humpback and the chirps of Pacific white-sided dolphins. At 3:54am, both the humpback and the dolphins grew louder and more excited, while their vocalizations filtered in from the remote hydrophone on Parson Island.
The rising sun transformed the sky into a landscape painted with wide strokes of bright red and orange. This beautiful scene was enhanced at 6:06am by a group of four Bigg’s orcas travelling through Blackney Passage. The T060s ventured into Parson’s Bay searching for a meal and swimming through liquid gold. Dall’s porpoises, Pacific white-sided dolphins, and Steller sea lions were also present at this time but they all seemed to evade the stealthy orcas. It was sad to see a whale watching boat come flying around the “corner” so early in the morning to encroach upon the orcas’ space.
While the orcas were in Blackney Passage, a pair of crows took advantage of the low tide by picking small green sea urchins from off the rocks right in front of the Lab. They flew off with them to make a stack on a nearby tree or rock, respectively, before returning minutes later to continue their eager foraging. While these crows had nothing to do with the Bigg’s orcas, both were searching for food, at the same moment, in the same marine environment in the bright glow of the morning.
At 1:04pm, the T060s returned to Blackney Passage on their way into Johnstone Strait, where they then turned to head east along Vancouver Island. Later in the afternoon, a bald eagle sat regally on the rock just next to the remote camera at Strider Rubbing Beach. Then, a picturesque scene was witnessed through the remote camera at Robson Bight: as salmon leapt repeatedly from the water in the foreground, hundreds of seagulls took flight in the middle, and a black bear foraged on the estuary shore in the background.
After a delicious dinner prepared by this summer’s cook, Fiona, everyone–Lab assistants and the film crew alike–gathered in the central area of the main house to listen to Helena tell the story of A12. A12, or Scimitar, was a matriarch of A1 pod and the mother of current matriarch, A34. Sometime after A34, or Simoom, had her own babies, and after A12’s sons A31 (Pultenay) and A33 (Nimpkish) had died, A12 set off on her own. She eventually started traveling regularly with A32, A37, and A46, the three sons of the late matriarch A36 (Sophia), also of the A1 pod. Scimitar was always seen with these motherless sons until her death.
There was not a dry eye in the room, as Helena talked about the importance of matriarchs in orca societies through the ways they pass key information to their children and grandchildren. This then made it even more devastating to think about the tragedies that orca families suffered during the capture era of the 1960s and 70s on the coast of British Columbia. Many female orcas of an entire generation lost the opportunity to become matriarchs in their own right, including Corky who has spent over 55 years living in captivity while her younger siblings A43 and A60, whom she has never met, have lived free, even swimming through Blackney Passage numerous times this summer and in years past.
Words by Mary Margaret
