(continuing from here)
About halfway through my college years, I had a remarkable dream in which I encountered a group of orcas swimming close to the shore. In the dream, people were wading in to touch them, which annoyed me because I felt that was not respectful to these magnificent and intelligent animals. But I was drawn to them, so I went into the water and approached one, asking its permission to make contact with it. Suddenly all the orcas appeared to me as humans. They took me away with them, in the water, and we traveled to an undersea grotto where they offered me food and the leaders of the pod (three female orcas, as it happened, although at the time of the dream I had no idea that orcas had a matrifocal culture) formally offered me their friendship. I returned to shore to find my mother, who was asking me where I had been and saying I had missed the orcas, and I realized that while the orcas had appeared human to me while I was with them, I had appeared as an orca to other humans during that time.
This was a first of a continuing series of dreams in which the SRKW appear and interact with me. Sometimes very specific individuals appear, sometimes not; sometimes there is specific communication with them, sometimes not; sometimes I encounter them as human, sometimes not. I have since encountered a lot of northwest indigenous lore about very similar orca experiences, and have met a number of other people who have had similar dreams. When I first read the Haida Storm Boy legend, it made the hair on my neck stand up because elements of it were so similar to my dream experiences. I get a little shiver just thinking of it now.
In the autumn of 1997, L-pod, one of the SRKW population's three family groups, paid a long and unusual visit to Dyes Inlet near Bremerton, WA. It was an uncommonly lovely fall, with long stretches of calm, clear weather than coincided with much of the whales' month-long visit to this tiny inlet. They were besieged by boaters wanting a closer look, and as it happened, the organization I worked for had a friend with a whale watching boat who took us over for a magical day with them. During this month I had a number of very vivid orca dreams, one of which seemed to predict part of the experience I had on that boat with L-pod a few days later.
As my work responsibilities grew, it became my job to coordinate and lead field trips for some local school groups. Sometimes, these field trips were on boats, not always for the purpose of whale watching but we did occasionally see them. On one such trip, we encountered J-pod. We were watching the pod swim past the boat when suddenly J-1 "Ruffles," so called for his distinctive rippled dorsal fin, turned to swim right at our boat. He surfaced directly below where I stood, then dove beneath the boat. I ran over to the other side and watched the length of his entire body passing beneath me as he rose to surface again. That was all, and yet, that moment will be etched in my mind and my heart until the day I die. From that moment on I felt a profound connection with Ruffles, and was not at all surprised when he became a regular dream visitor.
About halfway through my college years, I had a remarkable dream in which I encountered a group of orcas swimming close to the shore. In the dream, people were wading in to touch them, which annoyed me because I felt that was not respectful to these magnificent and intelligent animals. But I was drawn to them, so I went into the water and approached one, asking its permission to make contact with it. Suddenly all the orcas appeared to me as humans. They took me away with them, in the water, and we traveled to an undersea grotto where they offered me food and the leaders of the pod (three female orcas, as it happened, although at the time of the dream I had no idea that orcas had a matrifocal culture) formally offered me their friendship. I returned to shore to find my mother, who was asking me where I had been and saying I had missed the orcas, and I realized that while the orcas had appeared human to me while I was with them, I had appeared as an orca to other humans during that time.
This was a first of a continuing series of dreams in which the SRKW appear and interact with me. Sometimes very specific individuals appear, sometimes not; sometimes there is specific communication with them, sometimes not; sometimes I encounter them as human, sometimes not. I have since encountered a lot of northwest indigenous lore about very similar orca experiences, and have met a number of other people who have had similar dreams. When I first read the Haida Storm Boy legend, it made the hair on my neck stand up because elements of it were so similar to my dream experiences. I get a little shiver just thinking of it now.
In the autumn of 1997, L-pod, one of the SRKW population's three family groups, paid a long and unusual visit to Dyes Inlet near Bremerton, WA. It was an uncommonly lovely fall, with long stretches of calm, clear weather than coincided with much of the whales' month-long visit to this tiny inlet. They were besieged by boaters wanting a closer look, and as it happened, the organization I worked for had a friend with a whale watching boat who took us over for a magical day with them. During this month I had a number of very vivid orca dreams, one of which seemed to predict part of the experience I had on that boat with L-pod a few days later.
As my work responsibilities grew, it became my job to coordinate and lead field trips for some local school groups. Sometimes, these field trips were on boats, not always for the purpose of whale watching but we did occasionally see them. On one such trip, we encountered J-pod. We were watching the pod swim past the boat when suddenly J-1 "Ruffles," so called for his distinctive rippled dorsal fin, turned to swim right at our boat. He surfaced directly below where I stood, then dove beneath the boat. I ran over to the other side and watched the length of his entire body passing beneath me as he rose to surface again. That was all, and yet, that moment will be etched in my mind and my heart until the day I die. From that moment on I felt a profound connection with Ruffles, and was not at all surprised when he became a regular dream visitor.
My work, focused on preserving Puget Sound habitats, brought me in ever closer contact with other whale researchers, and I began to learn the more intimate details of the lives of the SRKW population: their nicknames, their habits, their personalities. Whale watch boat operators told me stories I will never forget, like the story of the orphaned unweaned calf whose uncle and brother were observed trying to chew salmon up into food the baby could digest. (This is especially noteworthy when one considers that orcas have no molars. Their teeth are designed solely for gripping and tearing. Stop and think for a moment about the thought process that was necessary for this helping behavior, and realize just how intelligent and emotionally connected to their relatives these animals are. Not very different from us, at all.) I learned that SRKWs live their whole lives with their mothers, that they eat almost nothing but salmon, that they have individual calls to identify their family groups, and that every fall and winter they pass right in front of my house.
Growing up, I never knew this, because they are nearly always on the far side of the water, where unless one knows exactly what they are looking for with a powerful spotting scope or binoculars, they are virtually invisible. I started watching more carefully, and was rewarded by more frequent sightings.
And then, last year, a dream truly came true: I was asked to be a naturalist aboard one of the whale watching boats in the San Juan Islands. I spent part of each week in the incredibly beautiful waters around the islands, sharing my love and knowledge of SRKWs and the other flora and fauna in the area with hundreds of passengers, seeing them recognize the magic of this place and these creatures who embody the essence of it. I learned to identify many of the orcas by sight, using the distinct combination of their dorsal fin and saddle patch. And I spent many days with Ruffles.
One day with him stands out in particular: the pods were spread apart foraging in Haro Strait, only a few whales here and there. My boat happened upon Ruffles and stayed with him for a long time. He's a favorite among the whale watchers, both because he is so easy to identify and because he clearly doesn't mind the vessel traffic and is known for his close passes. We cut our engines to drift while we watched him approach along our port side and pass in front of the boat. Suddenly he turned and went back down the port side toward the rear of the boat, still a couple hundred yards away. He passed behind us, made a sharp turn and came up alongside our starboard side, surfacing literally so close I could have reached out to touch his dorsal fin. Again I felt that sense of deep connection with him. Some of our passengers were disappointed that we hadn't seen more whales that day, but I felt transported by the experience for the rest of the week.
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