LAST EDITED ON 07-26-05 AT 09:47 PM (EST)Yesterday I loved my job. I watch whales every day, Orcinus Orca to be exact. Alright, so it is a bit more complicated than just watching Killer Whales, but even doing research on these wonderful animals is a pure joy. As I track them in their own element from the Noctiluca, I’m always in awe of the emerald green water, the not-too-salty ocean air, all framed by evergreen covered islands. The biggest distraction tends to be a daily visit from the resident bald eagles. At worst a day will be washed out by rain or turbulent conditions, however, those are quickly forgotten by the time I see J1--the oldest of our resident whales at 54--surface with his glorious dorsal fin reaching seven feet above the water.
Today was not one of those days. The conditions were perfect. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and hardly a ripple in the morning surf, yet I doubt this day and its images will ever leave me.
Like most Fridays, Julie, Ann and I left the dock at a quarter after six this morning. We didn’t find any Orcas until ten o’clock, when we heard there was activity at Hein Bank. As we approached twenty minutes later, a call came over the marine radio from a local whale watching vessel, the Ossprey. There was suspicion of Orcas playing with a porpoise nearby. This would be the second time in a month this highly unusual behavior was seen from residents, who are only known to feed on salmon and squid. Three weeks ago a few whales killed a dolphin after half a day of toying with it—toying or torture depending on one’s point of view I guess. Another research vessel picked up the body, finding only shallow teeth marks on the animal without any other injury.
I hadn’t seen any of that interaction, but was eager to find them this morning to record what was going on and which whales were involved (as my area of study is behavioral, this was an important event to observe). At 10:22 we joined the group one mile offshore. I quickly identified the four culprits from the Pod: L-5 (Tanya) is a 42-year old female, L-73 (Flash) is her 20-year old son, L-67 (Splash) is a 21-year old female and the mother of three year-old L-101 (Aurora). Finally the boat came to a stop 50 yards away from the splashing. At first sight of the porpoise, I felt nothing toward it. It was just a playmate for my friends, like when I give my dog a new squeaky toy to pull the stuffing out of. Of course I was glad they had yet to de-stuffify this little guy.
Considering the cousins of these seven-ton “killers” have been known to prey on everything from grey whales to great white sharks, it was amazing how delicately they dealt with the defenseless porpoise. L-73 swam underneath it, giving the unsolicited piggy-back ride; L-67 and L-101 corralled it with their noses; all enjoyed splashing it with their tails and pectoral fins. It reminded me of toddlers playing too aggressively with a week-old kitten.
This proceeded for about two hours. During which time the other two researchers on the boat and I realized the dolphin was very young. So young that I could see part of the umbilical with the zoom lens on my camera. This meant birth was within the last 24 hours. It also became clear this was a female dolphin. A female dolphin who wouldn’t likely live to see another sunset.
After the others became bored of their plaything, only L-5 was still interested. She played cat-and-mouse with the porpoise, letting it swim for a bit then slapping it with her tail or pushing it with her nose. I’m not sure of the exact moment, but around this time we started to notice—really notice—the unguarded, helpless little creature. At 12:35, two hours after we first started watching the whales, they had all disappeared. On any other day I would follow them to record behavioral data. Today, however, I was expected to pick up the carcass for necropsy since no other research vessels were on the water. This would have been fine except for the fact that the whales left before this resilient day-old baby was ready to die. We decided to name her Plucky.
Now the wait began, along with the attachment. We followed Plucky as she swam alone for the first time. Without my whales to fawn over, my thoughts were on Plucky alone. She swam in circles, confused circles, eventually running into the boat with a loud, pitiful clunk. As she darted back and forth aimlessly I couldn’t help but wonder how afraid she must have been. At least to this point in life there’d always been someone or some 'thing’ around her, be it her mother or the killers. Now it was both an ocean of possibilities and a sea of hopelessness. By this point she was likely hungry, traumatized, and who knew how injured.
Since her breathing was not well developed she stayed fairly shallow in the water. Instinct was the only directive she had to surface for air at all. While this made it easy to follow her, it wound up being the most difficult part of all. We watched her swim into the emptiness, then into the emptiness in another direction. I could see the teeth marks in her fragile skin each time she came near the boat. The longer our new friend stayed afloat the more my mind sank into thoughts of her brief, now isolated life.
After an hour following Plucky, she became tangled in a bed of kelp. Freed from it, she quickly found another. I was sure this would be her end. Minute by minute she fought through to get a breath of air. Each time I saw her tiny nose emerge amidst the slimy brown seaweed my heart broke for her more and more. Finally she made her way out, but was now swimming extremely slow. My eyes were moist with grief for her as I sensed her struggle nearing its end.
It was just before two o’clock and poor Plucky was hardly moving much at all. I could study her at will now, skin still in folds, dorsal fin not even upright from birth yet. We would soon stop the boat and lift her lifeless body from the water. Yes, it is nature and the circle of life, but damn it for getting personal. I know how close a social structure these mammals create. I understand that porpoises spend their entire lives swimming alongside mom. I couldn’t help thinking about the childless mother out there somewhere, and all the horror of Plucky's truncated existence. Brokenhearted, I peered into her onyx eyes as we began to head for shore. In the end, the dead smile on her face seemed to reveal a sense of long-awaited peace.
I have no idea if sunsets are as beautiful under the water, but I hope Plucky enjoyed the only one she ever saw.
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