The Extraordinary Life of K7 Lummi

Photos by Cindy Hansen left to right; K7 Lummi with family members. K7 Lummi 1910 (est) – 2008. Members of Lummi canoe family at memorial for K7.

Lummi, K7 was the monumental matriarch of K Pod, and one of the most easily recognizable whales in the Southern Resident community, with her beautiful saddle patch and the double notches in her dorsal fin. She was estimated to be 98 years old when her remarkable life finally came to an end. Just imagine all that she experienced in her decades of traveling the waters with her family. In her estimated birth year of 1910, Sir Wilfred Laurier was Prime Minister of Canada, William Taft was President of the United States, the waters were free of industrial chemicals, Pacific Northwest rivers were flowing freely, and salmon was plentiful.

Over the next century, Washington State and B.C. Ferries began transporting passengers throughout the Salish Sea, shipping traffic and recreational boater traffic increased, DDT and PCBs were invented and then later banned, and overfishing, habitat destruction, and the construction of dams led to a precipitous decline in Pacific salmon. Lummi witnessed her family members first being shot at and used for target practice, then rounded up and kidnapped for a life of captivity, and finally being loved and appreciated by people from all over the world.

To me, she always seemed like a unique kind of matriarch. While Granny was demonstrative, and made it very clear that she was in charge, Lummi seemed to calmly and gently lead her family through all of the births and deaths and changes taking place around her. In 2005, she took in teenaged Onyx L87 after the death of his mother and allowed him to join her large family, demonstrating that, for these whales, family is more than who you are born to.

When Lummi died in 2008, a memorial was held for her at Lime Kiln Point State Park. Non-profit organizations, naturalists, researchers and whale lovers gathered together to celebrate this extraordinary life, and a canoe family from the Lummi Nation performed a blessing to send her on her way. The event was powerful, elegant, and serene, much like the whale herself. Now, whenever I see K Pod, I think of Lummi. I remember her beauty, her strength, her devotion, and her legacy. And I see her spirit in the family members she left behind.

Summer Solstice Superpod

Summer Solstice Superpod, 2008. Photo and story by Bonnie Gretz

6/21/08:

In the afternoon, I was out on Western Prince. First we met up with some of J pod near Cattle Point, and then most of J, K and L pod grouped up, including Ruffles, Granny, and Faith. They began to get very active, with spy hops, breaching, and some hanky-panky! They then formed a ragged line and rolled by us, at least 20-25 orcas, all breathing and diving in unison in the glass smooth water...those giant KAWOOFs echoing across the Strait and into my heart! More enormous breaches, cartwheels and fooling around, and lots of chattering on the hydrophone. That evening was Orca Sing at Lime Kiln. At first we saw the whales quite far out with the water still flat calm, and the Olympic Mountains shining in the setting sun, but then, as the choir led us in the Hallelujah song, they started coming closer and closer and closer, and very active with breaches and spy hops, maybe looking at us and listening? My heart was full of joy and love and peace, and a great sense of community with both the whales and the people. I moved over to the north side of the lighthouse and saw one female come very close to the rocks in the kelp, and she tipped her dorsal fin over toward us, as if to say "hello people". They slowly moved north, with their blows back-lit by the summer solstice evening light. My diary reads: "Hard to put into words the feelings of this evening....'wonder'- not in the sense of questioning, but awe and gratitude...oneness with everything around me."

L82 Kasatka

L82 Kasatka, born 1990 . Photo and story by Ariel Yseth

What I love most about Kasatka is her calm, quiet presence. She is the oldest daughter and is really starting to take the reins of her matriline when her mom allows. She doesn’t make too big of a fuss of anything. She’s often the calm, steady whale in the lead. I’ve been watching The Crown on Netflix lately, and Kasatka definitely reminds me of the young Queen Elizabeth II character in those regards. She only has one child at this moment, her son Finn, and you can see her sweet, steady personality really shine when they swim by. There’s nothing overtly exciting (no tail slapping or rolling around each other), but the two of them will often surface closer together than most other moms and sons. Most of the time it’s not just Finn, but her younger brother Takoda and sister Jade as well following her as another mom figure. I look at her and I can just hear Dory narrating, “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.”

When I took this photo of her, I was coming off of a really difficult year. One thing that got me through was the hope that I’d see Kasatka that summer. That was a stretch because L pod doesn’t come inland very often anymore and the odds of seeing one specific whale are slim. I prayed the night before this trip that I’d see her. I got to the island the next morning with my sister and as we sat on Cattle Point Road to look at the lighthouse, I kept looking back with the strange feeling that Kasatka was nearby. Her family hadn’t been seen in months and there were no reports of Southern Residents that day, so I dismissed it. Then, less than an hour later, someone reported members of L pod at Pile Point— just behind us. My sister and I raced to nearby Grandma’s Cove knowing full well that the whales might go north to Lime Kiln. But I had a feeling in my gut that Kasatka would come my way. That was the most calm I’ve ever felt while waiting for whales. A few minutes after getting to the point with no word on which way they went, we heard their exhalations getting louder and louder. I held up my binoculars and saw a confident, steady leader heading right toward me—it was Kasatka.

I never cried so hard seeing as whale as I did that day. After a tough year, my spirit and soul were at their breaking point. Kasatka and I were born the same year, and I really feel like she is the other half of my soul. When I look at her, I feel complete. In that moment at Grandma’s Cove, she healed me.