Honolulu Star-Advertiser © Susan Scott
August 8, 2011
When an adult male orca dives beneath your kayak, is it reasonable to feel a tinge of fear? The question crossed my mind last week as I sat, barely breathing, listening to the whale’s whistles and wondering where the big guy would surface.
For years I’ve seen photos of people kayaking with orcas in the Pacific Northwest, but I never pictured myself doing it. The locations were remote, the expedition prices high and the air and water temperatures cold, a real negative to a long-term Hawaii resident. And even if I did manage to get myself into a sit-inside kayak in killer whale waters, there was no guarantee the animals would show up.
Susan Scott Orca in Johnstone Strait.
Then two weeks ago, after a family gathering near Seattle, my husband Craig suggested we cross several bodies of water on ferries and drive 300-some miles to paddle around, at great expense, in freezing waters and maybe see an orca. How could a girl say no?
The outfitter was in Telegraph Cove, a tiny community along British Columbia’s Johnstone Strait, which separates northeastern Vancouver Island from the Canada mainland. Salmon is abundant in the strait and serves as the main food of the resident orcas.
Orcas are of two types: residents, close-knit family pods that stay in one area; and transients, open-ocean roamers with fleeting relationships that hunt marine mammals. The term “killer whale” came from old-time sailors and whalers who saw orcas hunting other whales.
Orcas spotted in Hawaii’s waters are transients. Since 1994 only 20-some sightings of killer whales have been recorded in Hawaii, the most recent on July 24 off Kauai.
Whether resident or transient, each orca pod has its own dialect, and in that, individuals recognize and communicate with one another.
The voice of the male orca swimming under our kayaks was loud and clear because our guide dipped a hydrophone below the surface. Hear and see photos of some Johnstone Strait orcas:
The answer to my question—should I be nervous while floating in a tiny plastic boat above an 8 ton, 30-foot-long killer whale—is no. Through the echolocation system common to all dolphins (orcas are giant dolphins) the male knew the exact location of our kayaks. Besides that, orcas have no interest in either eating us or tossing us around for play. For reasons known only to the whales, orcas have never attacked humans in the wild.
I knew that, but still. Sitting in a kayak next to an orca family fishing for salmon, while the male cruises below, is enough to give anyone a moment of pause. I had time to ask myself a second more sensible question: Why did I wait so long to do this?