Whale Tales - K7 “Lummi”

Susan with Jim Hillaire and the Ohileq-sen Lummi Canoe Family
Photo courtesy of The Whale Museum

K7 (Lummi) has died

The Center for Whale Research has made public their concern that 98 year old K7 has not been seen in any of their encounters with K pod since their return to San Juan Island this summer.

K7 leaves behind her daughter K11, Grand-daughter K13, Great-grandcalves K20, K25, K27 and K34, and Great-great grandcalf K38.

Susan Berta, Orca Network

Lummi Tribute 9/26/8

I'm honored and humbled to be offering a tribute to Lummi, but to be honest, I didn't really know that much about her as an individual. I saw her many times traveling around with K pod but I don't recall any particular amazing things she did. I'm sure she was doing amazing things all the time, just by how she related to her family, but I don't know how you can see that.

It's hard to know what's going on among orcas. We can tell when they're traveling or foraging or partying, but that's usually the behavior of the whole group, and when that changes, which can happen very abruptly, they all tend to change at once. There's just no way to know how they make those decisions.

I don't know how to tell who's in charge. They don't beat each other up, or make threatening gestures or seem to impose their will on each other at all. They share their food but if they eat in some sort of order like wolves, I don't think anybody's seen it.

I don't think any of us can say we knew Lummi well, but we're learning. We've been learning for about 4 decades, and we've come a long way. But that's not so long ago. Lummi surely had a much longer view of history from her vantage point.

It's fascinating to speculate on the history of the Southern residents. I would love to know if orcas are aware of their ancient ancestors. But until we can ask them we'll have to piece it together based on what we know about orca natural history, changes in the local geology and our own attitudes here in the NW.

Briefly, around 15,000 years ago, give or take, as the ice melted back and rivers and streams began to flow and erode down to pebbly bottoms, and trees and brush began to provide shade and debris, some wandering pioneer salmon found their way to these beckoning spawning grounds. After many many salmon runs had thoroughly populated these bountiful streams, millions upon millions of salmon began to return pretty much all year around in interweaving pulses.

At some point some pod or matriline, probably of offshores according to the genetic evidence, and probably led by elders like Lummi, must have made a bold decision to split off from their clan and move into these inland waters, where they found a year-round buffet of tasty salmon.

Apparently there were so many salmon, such an abundance of riches, that they narrowed their diet to just a few species, mainly the biggest and finest, fattest chinook, with possibly some chum and pinks to round out their diets when chinook were scarce, unless that's a more recent addition to their menu.

Over time these traditions became deeply engrained in the whales' culture and were passed down from generation to generation, for thousands of years. It's what they do, and what only they do, to eat only the right fish, and never go near the wrong fish or seals or anything else that these top predators are perfectly capable of eating, even when it means starvation if the approved food is not available, which is what happened in the late 90's. In fact the Southern Residents' entire vocal and behavioral repertoires are completely unique and distinct from all other orca societies, which was officially established when they were declared Endangered under the ESA.

Another part of their culture is that Southern residents are the most acrobatic orcas in the world, the most likely to breach, taillob and generally flop around on the surface. But over the past 150 years, too much salmon habitat has been lost and overfishing has decimated many runs. Thousands of dams now completely block over a third of the Columbia and Snake River salmon habitat.

Even before Lummi was born, more than a century ago, the number of salmon returning from the sea began to fall dramatically. The decline accelerated rapidly in the 1970s, when Lummi was in her 60's, and in the 1990s 26 salmon runs were listed as endangered or threatened. As Lummi's influence in her pod was growing over the past half-century or so she's had to guide her family far and wide to find what's left of very scarce salmon runs.

On top of all that, our European ancestors thought orcas were vicious killers that would rip a person to shreds out of sheer killer instinct, like a shark or an alligator. So they shot at them. About a quarter of the orcas caught for marine parks in the 60's and 70's had bullet holes in them, and they were the young ones. I'm sure Lummi had bullets in her. How did she guide her family to find the few remaining chinook and still avoid getting shot by people who were trying to catch the same fish?

In 1965 the first performing orca, Namu, showed that orcas were not vicious at all, but were actually very easy to get along with, and even came up with their own crowd-pleasing performances. That right there should have changed our opinions about orcas, but when they became big stars the parks repackaged the image of the orca to once again be the vicious killer that had been dominated by the masterful trainers.

But they were never really trained at all. You can't force an orca to do anything. I've talked to trainers who tell me it's more like suggesting than training, and if you're nice to them, they do pretty much whatever you want them to. They just get it. Everything from business consultants to marriage counselors have recommended using the techniques that orcas and dolphins have taught their trainers: don't nag or threaten, simply suggest and encourage, and they'll do whatever you ask them to.

Orcas are almost always indifferent or inquisitive or friendly toward us humans. Even when their young are being netted and hauled away they still don't bite or ram or thrash people. In fact no free orca has ever harmed a human. But that isn't due to genetic programming or instinct, or habituation, or an adaptation to maximize fitness. It's not a hard-wired trait. It's their cultural tradition. It's how they are raised. Lummi learned it from her ancestors and she taught it to all who came after her.

All this makes me wonder about Lummi's role in K pod. We sometimes say she was the matriarch, but that implies that she was the leader, and we don't really know about that. If we have an image that she imposed her will on her family, that she ruled as master, I think we would be mistaken.

In just the past half dozen years we've learned a lot about orca cultures, about the fact that there are transients and residents and offshores and all the other orca cultures worldwide. And by the way, there's nowhere else in the world where these totally distinct cultural communities of orcas co-exist in plain view of so many people on a daily basis. But so far I haven't seen anyone go the next step, to talk about what culture means in terms of how they see themselves and others, like us, and how they relate to each other, and treat each other.

One thing about cultures, whether in humans or orcas, is that the only way they can work, so that everybody knows what to do, is if the members have a highly developed sense of empathy, which is an ongoing awareness of what's on the minds of others. When we communicate with people, we have to know that they know what those particular sounds or gestures mean. If you play calls from Icelandic orcas to Southern residents, they wouldn't know what any of it meant, but when Lummi sent out a call to K pod I'm sure they all knew what it meant. They have to have a highly developed sense of empathy to be able to cooperate, move together, eat, rest and play together as a culture. And there's no question they have the brain power for it.

I'm not sure what this means, but I'm just sayin' - orcas seem to have a highly developed kind of social radar, not just sonar, that allows them to sense the knowledge, thoughts, and feelings, and the health and overall mood of everyone else in their family, pod, and community, better than we can easily imagine. That would help explain how they maintain such incredibly tight-knit families and communities, and such strict adherence to rules of conduct.

Which brings me back to Lummi. When she disappeared Lummi was at least a great-great grandmother, probably 50 years past the birth of her last offspring. She knew better than most the fluctuations in habitat and where and how to find food, and she knew every other member of her family and clan intimately since they were born. I think orcas build trust constantly, that's the glue that holds them together, and I'm sure that after 90-some years Lummi was completely trusted by her family and clan.

I don't think we can use our human social systems as a guide when we think of how orcas make decisions. I think there's more of a group consensus-building process going on, a sharing of knowledge and ideas based on trust, rather than simply a single leader making decisions.

But we still have no idea what they are saying to each other. It's all apparently done with subtle suggestions probably based on the profound influence of the longest-lived, most richly experienced among them. K7, Lummi, must have been highly regarded as one of the most reliable sources of traditional knowledge and wisdom among Southern Resident orcas. May she be remembered respectfully and fondly by humans and orcas.

Howard Garrett, Orca Network

To Lummi,

K7, you were among the first orcas I ever saw in the wild. Beside Taku, you were easy to recognize. I soon learned of you being the matriarch of the K's. In 1988, Kelley Balcomb and I were watching as you brought up the rear of the pod, breathing more frequently than the others. Ken said it did not forebode well. We envisioned how you were still holding on to life, teaching and guiding, and how you probably would quietly part with your pod when you would no longer be able to keep up.

But whatever it was, you fought it off. In 1989 you returned to the Salish sea strong and healthy, in the lead together with Taku. For 19 more summers you would be returning in the lead of the pod. You have seen all members pass away of the K pod you were born into, and you have seen all members being born into the K pod you left behind. I remember you travelling the seas with Taku (K1), Sealth (K5), and Pachena (K17), and also in times when no adult male was amongst the pod. You have traveled endlessly with your family in times of bounty and times of scarcety. You have shared grief and joy. You lived to see your 5th generation.

K pod will miss you dearly: you were the one who knew what to do, their leader, their hope, and their future. They need your guidance in these difficult time. Mother of the K's: may your spirit live on in your dear ones and guide them so they may always overcome like you!

Astrid van Ginneken

LUMMI'S LULLABY
A Tribute to a Whale I Never Knew
By Nancy Johnson
9-21-08

In Salish Sea marine life plays. Haro Strait, the Whale Highway.
For Lummi’s spirit we will pray and gently send her on her way.
Chirps and whistles, squeaks and squeals. Communication - what did she feel?
A part of her heartfelt appeal were mystic songs that helped us heal.
This year we’ve watched with hopeful eyes where the horizon meets the sky.
Her shape and song we’d recognize and offer her the Nobel Prize.
In 1910, a newborn calf. Her antics made her family laugh.
Following some ancient path; keeping safe from harm and wrath.
Tough enough to fight pollution. Growing strong was her solution.
Escaping daily persecutions. Her life was her contribution.
Mother, grandma, sister, aunt. An underwater world she haunts.
The King of Salmon’s what she wants, served in her deep-sea restaurant.
Black and white and weight - five tons. She mothered other little ones.
Playing, surfing having fun. Lessons learned and wisdom won.
Matriarch, crone of the sea - knowledge and integrity.
Guide and mentor she would be. We’ve much to gain from "her story."
When will we learn to share our space? Life is precious - live with grace.
Love reflects each unique face. Act kindly in this "species race."
From autos to a rocket station. Lummi fostered generations.
We honor ninety-eight migrations; she’s worthy of our admiration.
So, sing a lullaby for whales. Oceans calm and stormy gales.
Lummi’s memory we hail. Connected hearts will still prevail.
We all release our earthly stay. Her song lives in our hearts today.
Goddess whale, for you we pray and gently send you on your way