On a pleasant, typical summer day in 2008 we trolled for salmon across mid-channel banks out of Port Townsend, Wash., in our 21-foot Arima Sea Ranger, powered by a 150-hp Honda.
My radar and GPS showed us moving with the tide toward distant Seattle as we passed Marrowstone Point, marveling at the beauty of two colorful liners passing half a mile or so to the north, headed west toward Juan De Fuca Strait’s date with the Pacific Ocean.
But even the sensitive radar didn’t show the blows – like small volcanic vents of steam between us and the ships.
Killer whales! Orcas!
It was an unusual, albeit not rare, treat to see some of the Sound’s resident pods also enjoying the day.
But then the spouts did something I hadn’t seen before – they turned our way.
Apparently bored by entertaining cruise ship tourists, the small pod bee-lined for us!
It was a thrilling, unexpected moment as we watched first with interest, then amazement, then perhaps a little apprehension as we realized they’d targeted our not-so-cruise-ship-sized target.
My mother and her partner Al gasped, my wife and our biologist daughter Molly grabbed their cameras and son-in-law Jarod, also a wildlife biologist, stared with scientific fascination as I hastily cut the outboard and raised the props out of the water.
I didn’t want to risk hurting a marine mammal, even inadvertently. It’s also a violation of federal laws.
DIW (dead in the water), we identified at least two females (at a time anyway; there may have been one or two more), followed by the tell-tale erect dorsal fin of a large male.
All three or six animals came straight to the boat.
They were probably curious.
Our curiosity was more intense. We weren’t too afraid, but were definitely pensive.
Orcas in the Sound aren’t known to attack boats, just check out what’s available for them to see in a world as strange to a sea animal as theirs is to us; or used to be anyway.
The females, or “cows,” passed close aboard on each side – nearly within arm’s reach.
But the male, “bull,” exercised his dominance, coming straight at us, blowing noisily at the last moment as he dived beneath the hull, then could be seen in the clear water passing beneath the other side before surfacing to herd his ladies on the south.
…As if to say “Nothing to see here, folks.”
The following sequence was photographed by Molly Monroe:
I’d been around orcas both before and after.
In my Navy days, taking time off from flying patrols while based at nearby Whidbey Island, I’d had one come completely out of the water; almost within a rock toss, while fishing near the island. The boat was smaller and I was alone, so the memory is etched even more deeply.
And in 2015, while helping a friend bring his 42-footer from Cabo San Lucas to San Diego, I was fortunate enough to capture the only photo of a female orca that either played in the boat’s wake or, more likely, was simply curious about all the commotion.
She jumped three times and I had my iPhone by the third. But when the rest of the crew finally scrambled for theirs, she was gone. (Too bad they don’t sell lottery tickets at sea.)
This past week, nearly a decade and a half after our close encounter, these same orcas are in serious trouble and in addition to increasing its production of hatchery Chinook salmon (“blackmouth”) for them to eat, Washington just last week tightened its rules on being near them and potentially interfering with their foraging.
All boats, both commercial whale-watchers and smaller private craft, must remain at least 1,000 yards away from all orcas. That’s half a nautical mile, although it’s generally all right to be closer to whales – just not too close.
And look again at the link for information about how to treat marine mammals.
But…will the orcas get the message?