The Orca were heard long before they could be seen.

On the flat waters of the Johnstone Strait sound seems to skim over the surface like a stone. You can hear a blow echoing miles away. In late August, salmon are in town and have set the upper links of the food chain in motion. Orca eat Salmon, and the Inside Passage is a twenty four-hour cafe. For those interested in whales, this is the perfect time and the perfect place.

Some call them Blackfish, or Killer whales. Old salts still refer to them as Grampus, a name attributable to their white chins. Despite their reputation for ferociusness, Orcinus Orca is actually a highly social creature that cares for young and old, and that stays in the same pod with the same individuals for life. The Orca are playful, highly vocal and rarely aggressive despite being the ten-ton carnivore of legend and myth.

Until the early eighties they were routinely killed by fishermen or captured to serve as props in aquatic theme parks. Fortunately the enviornment authorities finally recognized them as highly evolved, and endangered species and today they are protected by international law.

In captivity they might live twenty years. But in the wild, they often reach eighty years old and more.

I had been paddling for four days and each had seen them far off on the horizon. They often approach kayaks, and had done so to me in the past, but it had been years since I was really close to one of these awesome creatures in his natural habitat.

On my first kayak trip I had been no more than a mile from this very spot, it was the first day out when a pod of three transients came at me like a black and white freight train. They must have been doing twenty knots when I first spotted them about a mile away, and in the time it took to pull out a camera, they were almost in my face. The two females broke towards shore and avoided me entirely, but the bull came straight on. His dorsal looked about ten feet tall that morning, and when he surfaced in front of my boat, his mouth was wide open and all I saw were tongue and teeth. I squeezed the shutter and got a shot of him, but have no memory of doing so. Taking the photo was an instinctual reaction. That first encounter was so frightening, it still only comes back to me in fragments and flashes.

Ironically, it was this very encounter that brought me back to area again. I was so intrigued by this monster that could easily have killed me and yet only gave me a curious once over as he slipped harmlessly by. I have spent the past several years seeking out similar encounters. The more I have learned about Orca, the more I realized there was to know.

These whales are surprisingly intelligent. They have a highly developed, complex language, they care for their young and old, they mourn their dead and they coordinate their hunts in a manner that implies a rather complex thought process.
Orca live in a society. The Alpha female rules the pod and the Alpha bull protects it. They leave the pod to mate, but return when finished and spend their entire lives together. These mammals are very high on the food chain, and not because of their brawn. They think! And that makes them fascinating and captivating.

I have never heard or read of an attack on man or kayak, even though transients whales have been known to come up onto the shore to take a mammal for a meal. Aside from the initial shock of that first encounter, I have never felt threatened or endangered in their presence. I have shared their domain for several years now and feel at ease among them. That is why I was drawn to return again, hoping for yet another close encounter.

Four days in a kayak is a long time when you are over six feet tall. I was stretching out a cramp in my leg and taking a drink of water when I heard the familiar "whoosh." A large black dorsal was coming right at me from three oí'clock, about five hundred yards out.



I kicked my rudder hard right, dropped the water bottle and reached for the camera. Then I heard the second "whoosh," and a third. Suddenly, whales were blowing all around me. They seemed to be converging on my boat, and for a split second I experienced that phenomenon known to kayakers as terrifying euphoria. I had waited a long time to see them so close, but never expected to have dozen of them thundering down on me like waterborne eighteen-wheelers at full speed.

The beaches of this area are mostly small loose rocks. I happened to be just off a rare cliff wall rising about fifteen feet high. It ran for about two hundred yards. Dozens of Orca were converging on this wall, and I was in their path. They were busy driving a school of salmon ahead of them into the confining waters under the wall. The salmon, in their panic to escape, were ramming headfirst into the rock, knocking themselves senseless. The Orca zipped left and right, picking off the dazed Salmon. Dorsals sliced through the water like so many black knives. Many came close enough to touch, but I was not about to stick out a hand while these carnivores were feeding. Logic does not always dominate the brain during moments of high adrenaline input. But, I had enough sense to keep my hands inside my boat, despite the urge to pet them as they passed.

My took several hard impacts as I basically tried to stay still and predictable. Once the initial wave of these ocean huntersd passed me, it was obvious that I was in the middle of a natural phenomenon very few people would ever or could ever experience. I was there in a pristine and beautiful environment watching as a great struggle of life and death played out before me.

Salmon broke the water in all directions only to be snapped up in mid flight. I saw several fish grabbed midair but was not quick enough to capture any of these maneuvers on film. In fact at this point I was not even trying. I was simply being in the moment, totally in awe of what was unfolding before me. This battle went on for the better part of an hour.

As the frenzy began to subside I watched four Orca line up parallel to the wall and turn their flukes toward it. They commenced to slap the water with their tales making large waves that crashed against the rock.

They were using the water to dislodge remaining salmon hidden in the cracks.

As the final stragglers rushed from their hiding places, dark shadows rushed to take whatever the initial assault had missed. Until, once again, the sea was quiet.

Following the Orca, there was a pod of Dalls porpoise, cleaning up the last remains. Porpoise often swim with Orca and there were plenty of fish to go around. Spouts of water were kicking up everywhere as the hapless fish ran for their lives. The Dalls were ballerinas, arcing out of the water, taking a Salmon in their mouth, and diving back in one smooth motion. The porpoise formed a ring, keeping a respectful distance from their larger cousins who were in obvious and undisputed command, but allowing no victim to escape.

By now the entire event had taken on the aura of a grand play with myself in the center. So engrosssed in the wonder of what was happening around me, I had totally forgotten about taking photos.

I tried to pick out the biggest bull to see how he conducted himself during all this. While there were two or three around, they just did not seem to be in charge. Somewhere close by but out of sight was the alpha bull, silently watching.
I turned my boat slowly, trying not to disturb the water anymore than necessary. I simply did not want to draw any attention to myself at this time. Then I saw him, there he was. He was about a half mile out, and had not been part of the hunt at all.
He calmly swam back and forth, watching over things, making sure his cows and yearlings executed the hunt properly while he kept his distance. He was either already well fed, or so into his role as protector, he let all those tasty morsels pass. He was perfectly aware of my presence even though I had not seen him until the hunt was almost over. His toleration of me being between him and the pod was proof he considered me no threat. He was broadside to me with head slightly elevated, enough for his small black eye to make contact. I felt he knew what I was thinking at that moment. We understood each other. I could watch as long as I did not interfere. I had in effect just been allowed to witness a highly secret ceremony and the chief of the clan was telling me it was time for me to move on.

I began to paddle slowly, away from the bull. Females and yearlings passed by me spraying me with their blow. The pod was reforming around the bull.

As quickly as it began, the hunt was over.

I counted 18 dorsals on the surface. I guessed they were just sitting there while heads were being counted to make sure no one was left behind. Suddenly the large female brought her flukes up and smacked them down. With that the pod turned and headed north. When they surfaced, a few minutes later, they were far ahead of me.

I sat quietly for a few minutes, trying to absorb what had just happened. They were fully aware of my presence and had tolerated it, even though they were engaged in the deadliest activity of all, the hunt and the feeding.

I had been given an incomparable gift.

Since that day I have often thought what it might be like to one day actually communicate with these creatures. Then it finally hit me: it had already happened.
They had communicated with me. The entire hunt had been a communication by executing it with me in the center. They allowed me to see an inner part of their life that only a handful of people have ever or will ever witness. When an outsider is allowed into a closed society, it is the high form of welcome and confidence. When it happens between species and traditonal enemies, it is a unique and ethereal experience. I can only hope one day to truly understand these creatures that not only share our planet, but also allow me to peacefully share their innermost domain.

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James Michael Dorsey is a freelance photojournalist, a frequent contributer to the Christian Science Monitor, Sea Kayaker Magazine, and both the Alaska and China books of the Traveler's Tales series. He is also a volunteer photographer for the National Wildlife Federation and Cetacean Society and has been interviewed on National Public Radio for their "Savvy Traveler" program. This is his first article in Marblehead Magazine.