Coming home from our daily ramble today, the toddler and I spotted a pair of golden-crowned Kinglets in the ocean spray shrub in our front yard. Of course the shrub doesn't look like it does in the linked photo; the leaves are all off and only shriveled seed heads remain, which is what attracted the Kinglets in the first place. We've got quite a collection of birds hanging out in the front yard right now, everything from a tiny Pacific or winter wren to the unidentified sparrow that scuffles by the front porch (I think it's probably a song sparrow) to the flashy little Anna's hummingbirds that are a constant, noisy presence at the window feeder and in the top of the elder tree near the front door.
While the cold snap was here a few weeks ago, I hung out a suet cage for any little birds who might not be able to find other food in the frozen landscape. The only critters who have found it so far are the local crows, who have done a good job of picking most of it out. I really don't mind the crows myself, but I'm not going to refill the cage with suet until (and unless) we have another really cold spell. The crows have plenty of other opportunities for food around here.
The SRKW have been conspicuously absent from local waters lately. Since we've been having some pretty impressive winds off the coast, I hope they are in some remote, sheltered inlet to the north where no prying eyes can find them but where the new babies aren't facing the challenge of trying to breathe in high seas. I was hopeful to hear that a number of fins had been spotted off Lummi Island over the holiday weekend, but they turned out to be transients. Here's hoping our residents show up again soon!
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Love Affair, Part IV
This is a short video I made from clips taken this summer, including the encounter with Ruffles mentioned in the last post. I shot this with the video function on my Canon Powershot camera, which only takes 30 seconds of video at a time, so it may seem a bit choppy. As you can see from the light in different segments, this video represents several different days and locations of shooting.
The first orcas in the video are members of L-pod, seen here in Haro Strait along the US-Canadian border. Ruffles is shown closer to the west side of San Juan Island, also in Haro Strait. A later sequence shows J-pod off of the "Coal Docks" at Tsawwassen, British Columbia, in the southern part of Georgia Strait.
Background music is "Song to the Siren" by This Mortal Coil, a longtime favorite of mine that seemed appropriate. (Incidentally, the first time I ever heard it was during the reunion trip from the environmental studies camp mentioned in this post.)
I recommend watching the video in full-screen mode if it isn't too pixelated on your screen. Especially during the Coal Docks sequence, you'll notice a lot more detail of the orca behavior, including spyhopping, tail lobbing, and breaches.
Looking over these last few posts I see a timeline more than the story I was really trying to tell, of the deep connection I feel with the SRKW and the many ways in which their lives have intersected with mine. I guess that's part of the challenge of keeping a blog that isn't about being a mom while being a mom! It has been very challenging, recently, to find the time and the right headspace to keep posting. Headier stuff is on my mind for the next few posts, I hope I can do it justice. Meantime, I think this video shows more what I feel about these animals than all the writing in the previous three posts on the subject.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Love Affair, Part III
(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.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Love Affair, Part II
(Continued from this post.)
After the trip to southern California, my focus on the orcas diminished somewhat but it was always there in the background. In eighth grade, I did a project on John C. Lilly and his research into human-dolphin communication. My parents were always passing along whatever news articles or books about cetaceans they thought might interest me, but as I turned my attentions to my adolescent peer group there was not so much passion for the orcas for several years.
My career aspirations changed; I decided I would be a veterinarian, and took a job working in a clinic to start down the long road to that goal. In my junior year my high school biology teacher, an amazing woman to whom I will be forever grateful, insisted that I sign up for an environmental studies camp to be held in the wilderness of British Columbia. Working part time, taking AP classes, and preparing for the upcoming SATs, the last thing in the world I wanted to do was spend a week in the wilderness falling behind. I tried to fudge the application to sound like such a rabid environmentalist that they wouldn't accept me, but as fate would have it, I was accepted and went off to a life-changing week.
I was raised with a strong conservation ethic, but one that had not really encouraged activism beyond the odd letter writing campaign. At this camp, secluded in the upper Skagit Valley and mentored by a set of phenomenal counselors, among them Thom Henley, I was inspired to become an environmental activist, to use my developing skills as a writer and educator to share information that would hopefully inspire others to act on behalf of this precious planet we all share. I came home with hopes of a career in environmental law or journalism, began to write an environmentalist column for the school newspaper, and harried my parents about making sustainable buying choices around the house.
That fall, a group of the campers decided to have a reunion in Victoria, B.C., where Thom lived. The Puget Sound contingent set sail aboard Princess Marguerite II on a beautiful Friday afternoon. We were determined to stay in the passenger cabin and conquer our homework before arriving in Victoria, so we could enjoy a guilt-free weekend. This plan worked well until, somewhere in Admiralty Inlet, one of my traveling companions spotted a dorsal fin alongside the ship. He pointed, stammering in excitement, and went racing out to the deck. Our homework completely forgotten, the rest of us raced out after him.
No, it wasn't an orca. It was a pod of Dall's porpoise who stayed with the ship, weaving around and beneath the bow, for most of the rest of our voyage. Another passenger claimed they were actually Chinook salmon (!), and upon reflection I think the phenomenal ignorance he displayed was another piece of inspiration for me to share (accurate) information about the natural world with other people. (Dall's are often mistaken for baby orcas by people who don't realize that orcas that young would never be seen traveling alone under normal circumstances, but to mistake a bow-riding porpoise for a fish?)
Having an immediate experience with wild cetaceans reminded me how much I loved them. But I didn't consider returning to my original idea of pursuing cetacean science as a career. By that time, I had come to realize that a lot of the jobs available would be either in marine parks or in the military, neither of which held any appeal for me. Somehow, living just a hundred miles away, I missed connecting with the Whale Museum or the Center for Whale Research.
I continued on to university, and continued to be an active activist, without connecting this childhood love with my current reality. In my final year at school, I took an internship with a non-profit that worked on regional water quality and marine habitat issues. That internship turned into a full-time job as an environmental educator, and gave me the opportunity to share my knowledge of and love for the place I live with thousands of people of all ages over the next decade. And as part of that job, I got to go whale watching once in a while.
After the trip to southern California, my focus on the orcas diminished somewhat but it was always there in the background. In eighth grade, I did a project on John C. Lilly and his research into human-dolphin communication. My parents were always passing along whatever news articles or books about cetaceans they thought might interest me, but as I turned my attentions to my adolescent peer group there was not so much passion for the orcas for several years.
My career aspirations changed; I decided I would be a veterinarian, and took a job working in a clinic to start down the long road to that goal. In my junior year my high school biology teacher, an amazing woman to whom I will be forever grateful, insisted that I sign up for an environmental studies camp to be held in the wilderness of British Columbia. Working part time, taking AP classes, and preparing for the upcoming SATs, the last thing in the world I wanted to do was spend a week in the wilderness falling behind. I tried to fudge the application to sound like such a rabid environmentalist that they wouldn't accept me, but as fate would have it, I was accepted and went off to a life-changing week.
I was raised with a strong conservation ethic, but one that had not really encouraged activism beyond the odd letter writing campaign. At this camp, secluded in the upper Skagit Valley and mentored by a set of phenomenal counselors, among them Thom Henley, I was inspired to become an environmental activist, to use my developing skills as a writer and educator to share information that would hopefully inspire others to act on behalf of this precious planet we all share. I came home with hopes of a career in environmental law or journalism, began to write an environmentalist column for the school newspaper, and harried my parents about making sustainable buying choices around the house.
That fall, a group of the campers decided to have a reunion in Victoria, B.C., where Thom lived. The Puget Sound contingent set sail aboard Princess Marguerite II on a beautiful Friday afternoon. We were determined to stay in the passenger cabin and conquer our homework before arriving in Victoria, so we could enjoy a guilt-free weekend. This plan worked well until, somewhere in Admiralty Inlet, one of my traveling companions spotted a dorsal fin alongside the ship. He pointed, stammering in excitement, and went racing out to the deck. Our homework completely forgotten, the rest of us raced out after him.
No, it wasn't an orca. It was a pod of Dall's porpoise who stayed with the ship, weaving around and beneath the bow, for most of the rest of our voyage. Another passenger claimed they were actually Chinook salmon (!), and upon reflection I think the phenomenal ignorance he displayed was another piece of inspiration for me to share (accurate) information about the natural world with other people. (Dall's are often mistaken for baby orcas by people who don't realize that orcas that young would never be seen traveling alone under normal circumstances, but to mistake a bow-riding porpoise for a fish?)
Having an immediate experience with wild cetaceans reminded me how much I loved them. But I didn't consider returning to my original idea of pursuing cetacean science as a career. By that time, I had come to realize that a lot of the jobs available would be either in marine parks or in the military, neither of which held any appeal for me. Somehow, living just a hundred miles away, I missed connecting with the Whale Museum or the Center for Whale Research.
I continued on to university, and continued to be an active activist, without connecting this childhood love with my current reality. In my final year at school, I took an internship with a non-profit that worked on regional water quality and marine habitat issues. That internship turned into a full-time job as an environmental educator, and gave me the opportunity to share my knowledge of and love for the place I live with thousands of people of all ages over the next decade. And as part of that job, I got to go whale watching once in a while.
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