We are visiting the beautiful San Juan islands off the coast of Washington state. This body of water you see in the picture is the place where many boats gather every day to try to see orca or humpback or minke whales. In particular, there is a pod of orcas that routinely swim up and down this passage hunting salmon. Many regulations have been put in place to try to protect the whales from harassment but even with the regulations it has to be disturbing to have so many boats chasing them. I feel sorry for the whales.
This form of eco tourism is really popular right now. As long as it is carefully regulated it doesn’t seem to be doing any harm. There is a local cetacean study program here on San Juan Island that monitors how the whales’s behavior might be affected.
I was lucky enough to spend the summer studying marine biology here on the island many years ago. One afternoon I was sitting on the cliff overlooking the water when I heard a whale blow right in front of me. I looked down and there was an orca swimming close to the shore. He had just surfaced to breathe. The sound was unlike anything I had heard before. A leviathan had blown out all the air in its lungs rapidly, in front of me. The sound was resonant, deep, and somehow moist. I was in awe.
I had seen an orca at Seaworld before, at a time when such things were not forbidden. Somehow the experience of seeing this whale in the wild was much more moving. I was seeing him in his natural habitat, swimming freely, going where he wanted. His power and grace, his size, and how quietly this wild whale slipped through the water are embedded in my memory.
Would it have been the same if seen from a boat, surrounded by whooping tourists? No. His passage so close to the shore was a choice. Maybe he had come over to look at me! Well, I can imagine, can’t I?
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