From the Archipelago: Springer's Reunion

October-November 2002

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.
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by Alexandra Morton

The incurably curious Springer. Rob Williams photo

Editor's Note: This summer the eyes of the world were focused on Johnstone Strait in British Columbia where scientists, supported by a host of others (whale watch companies, fishermen, even fish farmers) attempted for the first time to return a young orphaned whale to its home pod. Alex was there at the centre of things, as usual.

The return of little Springer (A73) to these waters was one of the most fascinating events I have ever witnessed, and taught me a great deal about orcas. Two days before she arrived I positioned my boat at anchor near the pen where she was to be placed. There was a great deal of security in the bay and I wanted to make sure there was no last minute misunderstandings that could prevent me from recording young Springer as she entered the water.

In the hours just before her arrival several large First Nation seine boats also anchored in the bay and women dressed in traditional blankets lined the shore to dance and welcome her. Eerily, the whales seemed also to be preparing. Springer's family, the A4s, and close relatives the A12s, had appeared in the area a few days in advance and began pacing back and forth, spyhopping and milling.

Springer arrived late in an afternoon that was awash in brilliant sunshine and a brisk westerly wind. She was lowered off the upper deck of the enormous catamaran which had donated her ride home from Puget Sound. I was surprised how tiny she looked, barely visible in the sling. She lay still as she was placed on the deck of a landing craft. The vets took last minute blood samples and affixed transmitters on her back with suction cups. The moment she entered the water she began calling. I pressed "record".

Springer kept calling through the night beneath the stars and windy gales. At about 1am I must have dozed off, because at 1:25, I awoke to Helena at OrcaLab calling on the marine radio that she was just picking up wild A4 calls in Blackney Pass, headed my way. Almost immediately, Springer began a desperate set of frenzied calls. She began leaping high above the sides of her pen and, though it was pitch black, I could see the phosphorescence cascading off her back. The wild whales called for a bit then went silent. Springer went quiet too, and seemed to collect her thoughts. When she vocalised again it was a beautiful sequence of perfect A4 type calls. I hadn't known a two year old could speak so well. She was identifying herself as daughter of A45, granddaughter of A24 of the A4 family, of the A clan of northern residents. The wild whales seemed stunned. They remained silent.

For the next 18 hours the A12s and A4s went around Hansen Island, coming into range of Springer's voice every few hours, but not answering her. Springer's grandmother, Kelsy, went south before dawn to Campbell River, over 100km away, and did not return. Kelsy has had great difficulty rearing her young, with only two left after seven births. But young Simoom was drawn to the voice of her lost cousin. Just before noon the next day, in the company of her mother, Yakat, and matriarch Scimitar, Simoom began slowly approaching the bay with the mysterious, but familiar voice. This was the cue for the crew to prepare for Springer's release. The net was pulled up shallow and divers entered the water and held her. Simoom came into the entrance of the bay and stopped on the surface, surrounded by her children. Springer grabbed one last fish from her pen and went free. As soon as she was guided out of the net Springer's voice rang out and she sped towards Simoom, only to stop short and bury herself shyly in a kelp bed. Simoom also seemed unsure and backed out of the bay. Our hearts fell when Springer moved out of the bay towards a log.

The next morning Springer was still alone. She came over and attached herself to my boat. With the permission of the Department of Fisheries and Oceans (DFO), I took her to her family. Springer called while swimming alongside me and her family turned around and approached us. When we got close I stopped, and as Springer drifted at my side, matriarch Scimitar came to us. The next thing I saw were the rapid fluke prints of Springer fleeing to the north. Scimitar and the others had remained absolutely silent, and Springer had likely been taught that a silent whale was a dangerous whale - a transient mammal-eater that she must avoid.

All that day the wild whales and the orphan milled about in Blackfish Sound, always separated by a kilometre or more. The wild whales were faced with a dilemma. This baby was speaking their dialect, but where did it come from, was it real and who was it? In typical orca fashion they studied the situation. While at any given moment the whale movements looked random, they circled A73 cautiously, trying to learn as much as possible without vocalizing and thereby inviting her into the pod.

At 6:30 pm the wild whales entered Johnstone Strait. Whale protocol demands they vocalize when they enter this body of water. Springer heard them and that was her cue - she raced after them. She announced herself as she entered Johnstone Strait and flung herself into the group, spyhopping and rubbing. Thus I learned that sound is more important to whales than vision. The sight of Scimitar had scared Springer, but her voice had beckoned.

The next morning Springer was dropped off by the same whales and deserted in a kelpbed. She spent a terrible day going up to boats and many thought she would have to be recaptured. The next morning I encountered the three brothers that are the A36s. They were sleeping until they heard Springer. She woke them up and they approached and began feeding enroute. Springer sped towards them and they didn't miss a beat. No breaching, no excited vocals. It seemed fine with them that this baby came out of nowhere and joined their group. They were such 'guys' about this unprecedented event - no fuss. Springer headed south with them into Johnstone Strait, skipping among them.

Then the most amazing thing happened. Over 100 whales came steaming in from the west to form the biggest superpod ever recorded in July. They swept over the brothers and their young charge, and Springer, who had shaken off her transmitters by now, was lost among her own kind. Twenty-four hours later, Graeme Ellis of DFO radioed us that he had found her with young A51. A51 is Sharky's daughter of the A5 pod. Sharky had died when A51 was eleven and her little brother was two. A51 is now sixteen and she seemed to adopt Springer. On two occasions Springer wandered off towards boats and A51 retrieved her. Then the mass of whales took the baby and went back to the west.

Over the next few weeks we saw Springer with several different whales. She was seen with her grandmother, Kelsy and we heard a report of a young whale approaching boats. It appeared Kelsy was letting this baby wander too much. Then Springer found the twelve year-old daughter of her Great Aunt.

It might be that Springer has become a target of young females wanting to "play house", but it might also be that she is gradually homing in on where she best belongs. Her first adoptive mother possesses a dialect with more variation than the young female she swims with now. The best fit vocally is her grandmother, but Kelsy has not excelled as mother, and Springer might want a cosier fit.

For now this story ends on a positive note, but we won't really know Springer's fate until next summer. When the pods fragment for the winter, she will have to make a good selection, because she will no longer be able to move as easily from group to group. Her new family will have to share the meager resources of winter with their little tag-along. Springer, like all young animals, is a work in progress. Her delivery back to the wild whales has been a remarkable collaboration among people who have often been in conflict over other issues. She is a sign of hope.

© Alexandra Morton (RPBio) is a marine mammal scientist and writer in British Columbia's Broughton Archipelago. wildorca@island.netVisit her new website at www.raincoastresearch.org.