Stream to Sea: Celebrating the Orca Salmon Connection

The Southern Residents are a community of fish-eating orcas that occupy a large foraging range within the Pacific Northwest. Visualize a horizontal line dividing Vancouver Island into northern

and southern sections; these orcas are primarily found foraging south of this line, hence the term “Southern” in their name.

Along southern Vancouver Island, throughout the Salish Sea, and down the west coast as far south as Monterey Bay, California, the Southern Residents actively forage in areas where salmon are seasonally returning to their natal rivers to spawn. These rivers and their surrounding watersheds are essential to salmon survival, and salmon are the lifeblood of Southern Resident orca survival. Following these inextricable ties, we’re making the “Stream to Sea'' connection our educational initiative in celebration of Orca Action Month 2022.

Throughout June we’ll explore some of the watersheds and rivers that are essential to Pacific Northwest salmon, all that are, in turn, vitally important to the endangered Southern Resident orcas and a healthy marine ecosystem.

Follow along with us throughout the month of June to learn more and participate in a multitude of events from British Columbia to Northern California.

A Superpod, a Greeting, and a Goodbye

Photo and story by Cindy Hansen

A superpod is a time of great joy and celebration, both for the Southern Resident orcas and the humans who love them. When all three pods come together, greeting friends and family members much like we would do at parties or family gatherings, their joy and exuberance are contagious.

Years ago, on a beautiful summer day, J Pod was in Rosario Strait resting. They were traveling side by side, moving slowly through the water as one, exhaling together, and submerging together. Suddenly, they awoke and became incredibly active. We lowered a hydrophone and could hear their calls ringing loudly through the water. Then they began to porpoise south, spyhopping and breaching along the way. Something had certainly excited them! What no one had yet realized was that K and L Pods were inbound, and J Pod was on their way to a reunion. How did they know? Could their calls have carried past the islands that lay between the pods? Did they somehow sense each other’s presence? Did they have a pre-arranged meeting time and had they been resting up before the big party?

(to hear what a superposed sounds like, read John Boyd's Orca Tale from last Sunday)

Eventually we could see the blows and fins of K and L Pods getting closer, apparently just as excited as their friends. And then suddenly, all activity stopped and J Pod became silent. They began to line up side by side, almost as if they were going into resting mode again. But this was different, because the other pods were facing them and doing exactly the same thing. We realized that we were about to witness a Greeting Ceremony – one of the most sacred of Southern Resident orca cultural traditions. The two groups lined up and faced each other for several minutes, completely still and quiet. No one on the boat said a word as we waited breathlessly. And then, it was party time! The two groups came together and began rolling over each other, playing, socializing, greeting old friends, celebrating their culture in a way that only they can truly understand. The calls on the hydrophone were deafening. It was a special moment and we realized what an honor it was to witness this.

A few years later, on a drizzly foggy September day, we were with a superpod that had gathered several days earlier. We watched them interacting with one another, enjoying each other’s company. And then suddenly they began to line up with their pods and face each other. What was happening? They couldn’t be getting ready to have a Greeting Ceremony — they had already been together for days! They became quiet and still, and faced each other for a few minutes. Then they turned away from one other and swam in opposite directions. One group eventually continued west into the Pacific Ocean, while the other remained in the San Juan Islands. We were stunned! Had we just witnessed a good-bye ceremony? I had never read or heard of this happening before. And I have not seen it since. It was a one-time glimpse into a mysterious and beautiful part of their world, and evidence that no matter how much we learn about them, they will always have the ability to surprise and amaze us.

Superpods used to be a fairly regular occurrence in the San Juan and Gulf Islands during the summer months, particularly during what came to be known as “Superpod September”. But sadly, true superpods, involving every member of all three pods, have become somewhat of a rarity in the Salish Sea in recent years. There simply isn’t enough salmon here to support all of them together in one place for any length of time. And as a result, I can’t help but wonder if they are losing an important part of their culture. What if the Salish Sea is significant not just as a source of food, but as an important gathering place? Is lack of salmon impacting not only their health and reproduction, and their ability to simply exist, but also depriving them of an important part of who they are as a community? We know that as the Fraser River Chinook runs have all but disappeared, the Southern Residents are spending more time feeding off the coast. And of course we all want them to find enough salmon to survive and reproduce. But perhaps it’s shortsighted of us to assume that as long as they are finding food somewhere, even if it isn’t here, they’re fine. Perhaps, like so many of us, they have a sense of place, and there are certain special areas that feel like home. If so, we owe it to them to restore their home to a place where they can thrive. Where they are free to once again honor their culture, gather, greet one another, and sometimes even say good-bye.

Momma Says… A Short L35 Story from 1995

Clockwise top left: L1 and L35, L1 and L35, L35 Breach, L1 breach 1995, photo by Mindy Zushlag, L1 and L35 1995, L35 with rest of L pod in 1990. Photos courtesy of Dave Ellifrit, Center for Whale Research. Map below shows Turn Point, Swansons Channel and Boundary Pass.

September, 1995

L35 was always one of my favorite matriarchs in the Southern Resident Community. This might have been due to the fact that the L35 subpod (as it was called in the mid-1980s through the mid-1990s) was not always present when the rest of L pod came in and they were the least frequently seen SRs at the time. But L35 also had a cool look with her pointy fin and beautiful open saddle. We get asked all the time about pod leadership and who is making the decisions-and this is one of the only anecdotes I have where it looked like a matriarch was calling the shots.

It was an early morning on a nice late September day. I had just arrived home the previous evening from a two week NOAA cruise to Southeast Alaska. I was trying to sleep off my jet lag in the 1968 pick-up camper that I was staying in that Summer, (and for another nine Summers after that), when I heard fellow staff person Stefan Jacobs yell to me from the driveway that whales were heading north. I didn’t think I could move that quick so soon after my trip so I told Stefan to go away. I immediately felt guilty and lame about wanting to sleep in so I yelled to Stefan to go ahead and wake up the Earthwatchers who were on the boat that day. It ended up being a good decision to get up and go—it is almost always worth one’s while to get out of bed and get moving for early morning whales.

We moved quick enough to get our trimaran, “High Spirits” off the dock and to the whales while they were still in Mitchell Bay heading slowly north toward Kellett Bluff and then Turn Point. We had L pod minus the L12s, and K pod was also around. We spent most of our time with a group consisting of the L35s (L35, L1, and L54) and most of the L9s since they were the whales we usually saw the least of. The whales traveled slowly north toward Turn Point spread out in groups in pretty early morning light.

As they neared Turn Point, L pod began to group up some. There seemed to be some confusion as the whales milled at Turn Point. Some looked like they wanted to head on a more northerly direction toward Swanson Channel. L35 and L54 had begun heading northeast up Boundary Pass like the whales usually did in those days.

The whales milling nearest us began splashing just a little as they tried to point north. L35 then did a big breach before she continued pointing up Boundary Pass. As if to emphasize her point, L1 then did a huge breach —he was a huge whale—beside us in the midst of the other L pod whales. And then all the L pod whales angled northeast and began traveling up Boundary Pass…

We all chuckled at the matriarch’s wishes being backed up by her hulking son!

The whales spread back out in groups and singles as they headed up Boundary Pass. We stuck with the L35s and L9s for most of the time since it was hard to leave a group that had both L1 and L33 in it. Along with L38, these two were probably the largest adult males in the community at the time and they all had towering dorsal fins of the kind we don’t see anymore. We finally caught sight of the K pod whales present near East Point as they porpoised north toward Pt. Roberts. L pod grouped up again at East Point into a tight line up of whales. They gave us one last surprise of the day when the whole pod turned right toward the boat and passed all around and under us as they headed north toward the Frasier River. This would be my last memorable encounter involving L35 as I barely saw her in 1996.

So remember, the early birds sometime get the best whales-so learn to move quickly in the morning!

L1 Oskar, male, 1959 – 2000

L35 Victoria, female, 1942 – 1996