J50 Scarlet

Photos of J50 Scarlet with Family including mom, J16 Slick

J50 Scarlet

2014 ~ 2018

Story by Andy Scheffler

By now, many of us know that Southern Resident Killer Whales are a unique population of whales, and that they are in a period of overall decline. While their population seems to rise and fall following similar rates in their preferred salmon prey, because the individual whales are well-known and thoroughly documented over the years, their stories seem more akin to the emotional roller coaster we might feel about our own families. It is interesting to note that, among other things, killer whales do possess large numbers of spindle cells in their brains, a cell which is most associated with processing emotions. So the fact that they appear to be tight-knit groups with special bonds and fiercely individual personalities is not just humans anthropomorphising them. Families led by moms, grandmas or even great-great-grandmas stick together for life with their kids, brothers and sisters, sometimes grouping up with aunts, uncles and cousins as well, and engaging in acts of celebration or mourning with the arrival or departure of a pod member.

Back in late 2014, the SRKW population was in a major birth slump, with no new surviving offspring since J49 T'ílem I'nges, who had been born in August 2012. Even more dire, well-loved J32 Rhapsody was found floating deceased in the Gulf Islands December 4 of that year, and inside her, a female calf, also deceased.

But then, like a beacon in the dark, J50 appeared. She was a miracle, she was strength, she was hope, she was joy. Deemed "Scarlet," her birth marked the beginning of a brief prosperous period of SRKW births over the next year, a bonafide baby boom. And she came into the world spunky as can be, a firecracker from the start. The daughter of J16 Slick, already 42 (est.) at this time, putting her right on the cusp of the end of her reproductive years, Scarlet's birth may have been a challenge - she was a miracle. It is known that other orcas may act as sort of 'midwives' around a birthing female, supporting her and helping to push the calf to the surface for its first breath. Whether she was stuck, born upside-down and backwards, or quite what, we will never know, but when she was first spotted, her tiny back was criss-crossed with the scars that reflect her name from the teeth of other orcas who, it is theorized, may have literally grabbed hold of her and pulled her out of Slick - she was strength. It was with great relief that this little whale was observed to be a female, which is important to ensure the SRKWs will have mothers in the future to take over from females like Slick, now perhaps the third oldest of the living wild SRKW population, who are aging out of their calf-bearing years - she was hope. Her playfulness, exuberance and joie de vivre was evident quite quickly as she was spotted frequently playing, cavorting, and jumping clear of the water - she was joy.

She also had a strong and seemingly quite loving bond with her family, especially her big brother J26 Mike. As an adult male, Mike's dorsal fin was the same height as Scarlet was long at her birth, and watching the two of them swim along together, the sheer size difference, the appearance of the protective big brother keeping the curious young calf from getting into trouble was heartwarming to watch. She also seemed to be chummy with her nephew J52 Sonic, born just a few months after she was to J36 Alki (another of Slick's offspring). I remember a day in the summer of 2015 where J-Pod was heading through Active Pass in the Canadian Gulf Islands, when bouncing baby Scarlet was racing about in the current and eventually went towards a bull kelp bed floating just below the surface. Orcas and other whales like to drape the blades and stipes of these big marine algaes over their backs and fins, perhaps delighting in the smooth texture or getting a bit of a scratch from it. Scarlet bit off a little more than she could chew, imitating her bigger, stronger family members this time though, and she seemed to get wrapped up and stuck in the kelp as the rest of the pod continued onwards. Soon her two big sisters circled back to 'rescue' her, both spyhopping on either side of her to help lift her up and out of the kelp, then twisting under her to push her up out of the water to breathe while they somehow untangled her. They all swam on, soon reunited with Slick and Mike, and headed out in the Georgia Strait. I will always wonder what kind of whale 'conversation' was going on among them all that day.

Unfortunately, Scarlet (and Sonic as well) is one of the little whale calves making up the dire statistics of mortality of young SRKW, though she did make it nearly to her fourth birthday. She was a fighter, but her complicated birth and small size may have made her more vulnerable to illness, parasites or malnutrition. A concerted effort was made to treat her in the wild via antibiotics and fish after she turned up looking thin, but unfortunately, these were not successful, and she disappeared a short time later. She is still a symbol of light in dark times, and will always be remembered fondly by anyone who had the absolute privilege and joy of seeing her as the active, spunky, carefree little calf she was. Slick, Mike, Echo, and Alki continue on plying the Salish Sea, hopefully remembering her fondly as we all are.

Andy Scheffler

J38 Cookie by Caroline Armon

J38 Cookie by Sara Hysong-Shimazu ©2013

Back in 2004 when I was working as a Marine Naturalist on a tour boat, we had an extraordinary encounter with the J22 family off the southwest end of San Juan Island.

Jpod was in the Strait of Juan de Fuca very spread out in family and small groups. The waters and and currents were calm, so engines were turned off. We watched the J22 family out in the distance, mom J22 Oreo with her son J34 DoubleStuff, and her new calf J38 Cookie. We put the hydrophone in the water and heard their vocalizations! Cookie left his mom and brother and swam toward us. Then Oreo's vocalizations increased and Cookie responded vocally and he sounded like the baby he was! My imagination said Oreo was calling, scolding Cookie to come back to her, and Cookie was saying 'in a minute mom'. Curious Cookie did take his time swimming back to mom.

Hearing the distinct difference in Oreo's and Cookie's vocalizations was extraordinary and although we can often hear vocalizations, we can rarely identify who specifically is 'talking' as the Southern Resident killer whales have life long bonds to each other, and are especially physically close in their formative years.

By Caroline Armon

Wise Elder Matriarch J2 Granny

J2 Granny Photo by Caroline Armon

Wise Elder Matriarch J2 Granny

1911 – 2016 female

by Caroline Armon

My first profound encounter with J2 Granny happened early in my career, as a Marine Naturalist on the Salish Sea. It’s summer in the year 2000. I’m standing behind a group of people on the tour boat’s side-deck as we watch Granny’s family of 4 generations swim north up San Juan Channel. Part of my job is to interpret the behavior of these Orca for the group of tourists onboard. An elder woman standing in front of me shares that she is the same age as Granny, and is also a great-grandmother. Standing next to her is a young woman, a new mother holding her baby. The baby starts to cry and the great-grandmother and I reassure the flustered mom, who is worried the baby is bothering other people, and is about to take the baby into the boat cabin when Granny leaves her family and swims up next to the boat, right below us. She slowly spy-hops raising her head out of the water and slowly turning, gazes at each of us, straight into our eyes. Then she slowly sinks back down into the water and swims back to her family. Time stops, freeze-frame moments. I don’t remember if the baby stopped crying, we were all stunned. The depth, the awareness, the sentient being we shared eye contact with in Granny’s soulful eye is indescribable, beyond words, an unforgettable encounter that endeared Granny to me and all. I wish I too could echolocate: send and receive three dimensional photographic and x-ray-like information, as Granny can. I can only imagine her perception of us humans. She recognized the distress in that crying baby, she came and comforted us. It was a dream come true for that other great-grandmother, and an extraordinary story for that baby who is now grown up. Granny responded to a natural sound of universal communication. It was an interspecies connection that still inspires my advocacy.

I have so many memories of Granny leading her family, J-pod, and all the pods — she was the matriarch of the clan of Southern Resident killer whales. She was often with the first group of whales sighted. On one perfect July day, sunny and warm, tall ships sailing in San Juan Channel, there were reports of Orca in Rosario Strait. As we approached the strait, a thick marine fog lay on the water and reduced visibility. We heard the powerful breathing of the whales echoing long before we saw them. The sun melted the fog and there were Orca everywhere the eye could see. It was a super-pod: the entire clan, 85 whales at that time, spread out in families and groups. That summer day J1 Ruffles appeared to be in the lead of the clan as they swam south along the eastern shores of Lopez Island. Then Granny surfaced in front of Ruffles and took the lead. Approaching the end of Lopez, the super-pod had to decide whether to continue south, or make a right turn into the Strait of Juan de Fuca and head west. Matriarch Granny turned right and all 84 whales followed her.

Granny seemed to give Ruffles his space as he would often be out in mid-channel while Granny and her grandchildren would be close together near shore. Another beautiful, scenic summer day, we were drifting in calm waters while J-pod families leisurely swam down Boundary Pass. As we observed a steady stream of whales, I remember wondering: where were Granny and Ruffles? She wasn’t with the first group. Then we saw she was at the end of the J-pod stream by herself, and Ruffles was another mile behind all by himself. As Granny was passing us, she abruptly turned around and sped swam back to Ruffles. He joined her and they both rapidly swam side by side, leaving a whale wake, until they caught up with the rest of J-pod. Powerful and agile, looking like the dolphins they are. (Science classifies orca as the largest member of the dolphin family, all these common and scientific names can be so confusing.) We definitely sensed Granny’s in charge, she was the clan eldest.

In the autumn of 2014, while at Lime Kiln Point State Park, we watched Granny leading the way once again, traveling north scanning Haro Strait for salmon. She turned back south and dove playfully, turning upside down and rolling around in the bull kelp beds near shore by the lighthouse. Did Granny feel the wonder from all of us by the lighthouse, absorbed by her presence? Or did she come by to grace the bride and groom and their guests sitting mesmerized on the rocks? Delaying their wedding ceremony until Granny continued on her way.

Granny heard, felt, touched, saw, and knew more than any other Southern Resident Orca. She had so much experience, awareness of ocean life, and history to share and teach her clan. She witnessed being shot at, captures and deaths of her relatives and community members, declining salmon, declining habitat, toxins in the water, and increasing noise, all impacting their lives and their acoustically oriented world. Yet she still breached and played in her last years, shared salmon with her family in her last days, lives on in the 5 generations and community she was part of, and our memories.

Monumental Matriarch, J2 Granny leading her family