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Heartache in the San Juan Islands: Locals Grieve as Resident Orcas Face Extinction by Jamie Hale The Oregonian, September 14, 2018

The orca calf lived for only half an hour, but the mother spent 17 days carrying its body on her nose this summer, crossing the Salish Sea from the San Juan Islands into Canadian waters and back in a visceral display of animal grief that captivated whale watchers around the globe.

Tahlequah, also known as J35, was far from the first mother to grieve. Her population of southern resident orcas hasn't seen a successful birth in three years. Over the last two decades, three-quarters of their calves have died.

Ken Balcomb, lead scientist at the Center for Whale Research on San Juan Island, said the three pods that make up the most iconic killer whale population in the Pacific Northwest have rebounded from loss before, but this time they seem to be headed in one direction.

"Extinction," he said. "They're not going to make it."

Other populations of Pacific Northwest orcas -- like the northern residents that live off the upper coast of Vancouver Island, and the transient killer whales that roam the ocean freely -- are doing fine, Balcomb said. It's only the southern residents that are in trouble.

The humans closest to the southern resident orcas consider them family, and already people are beginning to grieve. It's a heartache that tears at the cultural fabric of the San Juan Islands, where residents' lives are deeply intertwined with the creatures.

The problem is not only a dwindling food supply, but also the heavy pollution in the Puget Sound, where orcas have been feasting on salmon runs for tens of thousands of years. Orcas are apex predators, capable of hunting anything in the ocean, but the resident killer whales of the Pacific Northwest eat a diet that consists almost exclusively of chinook salmon -- a food source that has steadily declined since the 1980s.

The recent struggles of the southern residents have garnered international headlines, and locals in the San Juan Islands hope it will lead to quick action by Washington Gov. Jay Inslee and his new task force dedicated to helping the three local pods. Marine researchers like Balcomb are calling for the breaching of four dams on the lower Snake River in southeast Washington, a plan that could provide the orcas with much-needed salmon. But the idea has already galvanized fierce opposition from lawmakers who argue the dams provide a crucial source of electricity, irrigation and recreation.

"Here we are stuck in the human paradigm, and [the orcas] are stuck in the human paradigm too," Balcomb said. "There will be extinction with the current trends. We need to change the trends or just write them off."

A ‘SLOW-MOVING EXTINCTION'

Jeff Friedman steered his boat around the edge of Patos Island, where tall black dorsal fins emerged from the water. The view was phenomenal -- the Patos Island Lighthouse framed by Mount Baker -- but all eyes were on the killer whales, which were busy feasting on an unlucky porpoise.

After sharing the meal, the orcas rounded the island and swam into the Strait of Georgia, where another small pod came to meet them. As the sun sank behind Vancouver Island, the orcas rolled over one another, slapped their tails on the water, and leapt from the water in unison.

Everybody on the boat was struck with awe, Friedman included.

"It's so emotional, spiritual -- it's deep, it's a deep experience," Friedman, captain and co-owner of Maya's Legacy Whale Watching said. "Orcas are definitely my religion, and this is my temple."

Friedman, however, recognized an important distinction: these orcas were hunting porpoise. That means they weren't southern residents but transient killer whales, which eat other mammals instead of relying on salmon. They don't call any one place home, but they've been coming to the San Juan Islands more often in recent years, and while tourists might not know the difference, to locals they're not the same.

The humans who have inhabited the Salish Sea have always had a strong relationship with the local pods of orcas. But it wasn't until the 1970s that anybody knew much about the ancient, mysterious creatures, and not until after people began killing and capturing them in large numbers.

As recently as the 1960s, fishermen shot at the predators with guns and harpoons, considering them pests and a public threat. But local aquarium owners in the ‘60s and ‘70s saw value in the animals, developing techniques to capture orcas and make them prime attractions at places like SeaWorld.

The public became enamored of the beautiful creatures, which boosted aquarium profits but also caused a backlash against methods used to obtain orcas. In 1975, after mounting pressure from both activists and lawmakers, the U.S. government allocated funds to research killer whale populations in the Pacific Northwest, with one big question in mind: How many orcas were left?

Ken Balcomb, fresh from a stint with the Navy, proposed a fresh idea: documenting the local orca population by photographing each animal's "saddle patch," a unique marking underneath the dorsal fin. The method was first developed by marine biologist Michael Bigg, and Balcomb put it to use.

Starting in April 1976, he spent the spring and summer following the southern resident orcas around the Salish Sea. He learned that the population was divided into three distinct pods -- dubbed J, K and L -- each with its own social structure and behaviors, like clans within a tribe. He also got an accurate count of their population: 71 animals, far fewer than anyone thought.

That same year, Washington state declared a moratorium on capturing orcas from state waters, and in 1982, his research helped convince the International Whaling Commission to enact a worldwide ban on commercial whaling.

With protections in place, the southern resident population rebounded, reaching a population of 98 in 1995. But since then, their numbers have steadily decreased alongside dwindling salmon runs and researchers remain skeptical they will bounce back again, headed for what Balcomb calls a "slow-moving extinction."

The youngest of the southern residents, a 3-year-old female called J50, was feared dead Thursday despite weeks of scientists' efforts to help the emaciated, ailing calf. Her death would bring the population to 74, the lowest number since 1984. If calves continue to die for the next five years, Balcomb said, the population will become functionally extinct.

"You might have some living whales at the end of this century, but we're likely to have no reproducing whales at the end of a decade," Balcomb said.

Researchers like Balcomb have been coming to the islands for decades to study orcas. Most populations live in the open ocean, where it's next to impossible to track them, but in the Salish Sea their behavior is more predictable -- they follow the salmon. That fact has forged an unusually strong bond between the ocean predators and the humans with whom they share the sea.

"They are the charismatic megafauna of the marine environment around here. They absolutely captivate you to watch them," Balcomb said. "You're in the presence of something that's obviously bigger than you and maybe spiritually beyond us too -- socially they are. They're pretty awesome."

It's hard to overstate how important these particular orcas are to the San Juan Islands. Locals have become accustomed to regular sightings in spring and summer, both onshore and in the water, where the animals nuzzle the underside of their boats and swim up to their kayaks. In Friday Harbor, killer whales are depicted on murals, emblazoned on signs, sold on T-shirts, bags of coffee and in the form of plush toys.

Becki Day, executive director of the San Juan Island Chamber of Commerce, said the most common question the visitors center receives (after "where are the bathrooms?") is "where can I see the whales?" She said the extinction of the resident orcas would definitely affect local businesses.

"The community loves them, they really do. Everybody loves them. We want them to survive and not just for the business part," she said.

For Friedman, who runs about 250 whale watching trips every year, the loss carries more of an emotional impact than economic. Because even if the southern residents go extinct, there might still be orcas in the Salish Sea.

AGE OF THE TRANSIENTS

Lack of salmon may be forcing local orcas to go off in search of food, but the plentiful supply of seals and porpoise have been attracting more transient orcas to the San Juan Islands.

According to researchers, the presence of the transient orcas won't help or hurt the southern residents. The two populations are considered subspecies that speak different dialects and generally don't interact. If anything, the absence of the southern residents might allow the intruding transients more freedom to hunt around the islands.

To tourists, an orca is an orca, but for locals it's not that simple.

"As interesting as they are, and as much as we connect with them as well, the identity of Friday Harbor and this region was built on southern residents. You can't just swap out one population for another and say nothing's changed," Friedman said.

Balcomb agrees. When you go out on a boat, "you're hoping to see a southern resident," he said. The southern residents are easy for experienced whale watchers to identify, distinguished by their behavior, social structures and saddle patches, which researchers like Balcomb have long since learned by heart.

The transients, on the other hand, are strangers. Many have been identified, but nobody knows when they'll come and go or how long they'll stick around. The people who live in the San Juan Islands are used to the regularity and familiarity of their neighborhood orcas, the animals they've lived with for decades, through baby booms and, for the foreseeable future, tragic deaths.

"They are the most family-oriented animals I have ever seen -- everything is about family," Friedman said. For him, losing the local orcas is like losing members of his own family. "You can't help but break down in tears knowing what's going on and knowing how difficult it is for these animals."

For San Juan Island native Gordy Petersen, 65, it's all made for a strange few decades. In the 1950s and ‘60s, fishermen didn't think twice about shooting at orcas, he said. But by the ‘80s, locals were organizing whale watching tours just to see them. Now, there's talk of the resident orcas being gone completely.

When he was a teenager he witnessed a capture in a nearby bay, watching from a boat as captors worked to wrangle an orca.

"I didn't like that. It was fascinating, but it was sort of disturbing at the same time," he said.

Now the owner of a building in downtown Friday Harbor, Petersen still has mixed feelings about the struggle of the southern residents. It would be sad to see them go extinct, he said, but nature will fill the void somehow.

Transient orcas will still probably come, whale watching boats will still go out, and businesses in Friday Harbor will hum along, telling tourists the sad story of the orcas that once called this place home.

"Friday Harbor has been here before the whale craze and it'll be here after," Petersen said. "People come here because it's a beautiful place and that's not going to change."

WHERE TO SEE ORCAS IN THE PACIFIC NORTHWEST

Washington

Your best bet to see killer whales anywhere is on a whale watching boat in the San Juan Islands in Washington. Most tour companies are based in Friday Harbor, but Anacortes has some as well. You'll likely see southern resident and transient orcas, but you might also see humpback whales, gray whales and porpoises.

Oregon

Orca sightings are rarer on the Oregon coast, but they do happen regularly. The southern residents are known to occasionally feast on salmon runs at the mouth of the Columbia River, but you'll need some luck to see them. The same goes for transients, which show up unannounced to feed on sea lions and seals.

Canada

If your passport is current, you can cross the border and find orcas around Vancouver Island, which has whale watching outfits based in Victoria, Sidney and towns along both coasts. On the north side of the island, you can see the northern resident orcas, which feed along the Johnstone Strait in summer and fall.