Childhood Crush

When I was 6 years old, I fell in love. He was 3 years older than me, but he could have been 10 years older, I wouldn't have cared. I met him in Mexico City while I was on vacation with my family. He was relatively new in town; he had only been there for about a year. A foreigner from a country far away, he was definitely different in a very charming way. He didn't have to do anything to have me completely fascinated. His name was Keiko, and he was an orca whale.

My mom, brothers and I went to Mexico City to visit my mom's family. It was a great vacation, filled with lots of activities and fun day trips we kids loved. It was on one of those day trips that I met Keiko.

(You may recognize him from a little movie called “Free Willy”)

We went to Reino Aventura, his home in Mexico, pretty much just to see him. He had become the main attraction of the amusement park, and we were very excited to see him perform. And it was magical. There he was, this beautiful black and white creature, so strong and powerful that he could jump clear out of the water, yet such a gentle giant that the trainer could scratch his tongue without concern of harm. The sweetness in his eyes was so mesmerizing, but there was also a little tinge of sadness. Or perhaps he just seemed a little sad, like his bent dorsal fin. I wanted to play with him, share in his magic and hug his sadness away, make him happier. Kind of the way you feel about puppies when you’re 6 years old. But Keiko was no puppy, and he was far more captivating. He was the first animal to sweep me off my feet.

When I was growing up I wanted to be many things: writer, veterinarian, zoo keeper… and orca trainer/researcher. As it turns out, my orca dreams were not meant to be. Keiko was already on his way to freedom by the time I was a senior in high school, and then I learned there aren’t many orcas in Mexican waters. The one researcher in Mexico that could have been interested in letting me work with orcas wanted me to do lab work and no field work, and that was far from what I wanted. So I changed gears and I let that dream go. But I didn’t let go my dreams of seeing Keiko again.

When Keiko’s journey to freedom started, I daydreamed of going to Oregon to visit him (though I doubt his tank was open to the public, not even to a girl with a cool childhood story). Then he was moved to Norway to start his reintroduction to the wild, and I daydreamed of going there to see my childhood friend with a bent dorsal fin interact with wild orcas. It was going to be so great! He would splash around, introducing his new buddies to me. I would cry in utter happiness for seeing that bit of sadness gone from his eyes.

But then I saw his picture on the papers on a Saturday morning. I was excited to learn the latest from my friend, but the news weren’t good. Keiko passed away on December 12, 2003; he was only 27 years old. I was shocked and sad. I would never get to see him in the wild; I would never see him again. That time when I was 6 years old was the only time I saw him, but I remember him dearly. I clipped his picture from the paper, laminated it, and carried it in my wallet for years. I still have it in a box, but I don’t need it, I know that picture by heart.

Seeing Keiko was not an option anymore, but there was still something I wanted to do. I wanted to see wild orcas. Secretly, one of the main reasons why I wanted to do a PhD in British Columbia was their population of wild orcas. We know that didn’t happen, yet life brought us here anyways. The San Juan Islands are right next to B.C., and J, K and L pods are all here as well.

The first time I saw wild orcas it was shear luck. I’d gone to town with Evan to our Library class, but I got the time wrong and it was over before we got there. I was not happy, so I decided to take a detour back home and I drove to Lime Kiln State Park, to cheer me up. I put Evan in his front carrier and we went down the trail. There were tons of people at the lookout area, but they were mostly kids from a school group. It was a bit windy, and I didn’t want to risk Evan getting sick, so I decided not to walk all the way out and I started walking back. And then I heard something, like someone coming out of the water with a snorkel, blowing the water out of the tube. I froze. I couldn’t believe I’d heard that so clearly, so I took a few steps back toward the outlook. A beautiful female orca was coming out of the water a few hundred yards away, popping out to say hello. Well, it wasn’t that I didn’t care anymore about Evan getting sick, it was that I couldn’t just walk away now! I walked all the way out, and there they were: at least two females and one male, just swimming by. Beautiful.

Yet, a few weeks later, it got better. Josh’s parents, Chuck and Debbie, came to visit Evan and they took us whale watching. Tuesday July 06, 2010, what a beautiful day it was. Sunny and warm, the perfect day to be on the water.

We boarded the Odyssey at 2 pm and headed north for an hour and a half, all the way to Canadian waters (that’s right, Evan went international that day!) We were looking for J pod, one of the most iconic orca pods around. Granny, the matriarch of the group, is 99 years old, and she looks healthy as can be. And her son Ruffles, with his distinct dorsal fin, is one of the most recognizable males in the Puget Sound.

As we approached the area where they were supposed to be, we saw several boats moving along the coast of a Canadian island. Podparazzis*, there’s no better way to tell there are orcas around! Binoculars in hand, we finally spotted them, and then we got a little closer and binoculars were no longer necessary (not too close though; you must remain at least 100 yards away from them). There were oh’s and ah’s as they surfaced to breathe, giving us the opportunity to see their beauty.

Ruffles and Granny were at the front of the pod, we saw them first, but they were followed by the rest of the pod in several smaller groups. A couple orcas were breaching, while we looked in awe. Another group of younger orcas where clearly hunting. We could see bubbles coming to the surface before them, and them surfacing for different angles in a small circle. They would perform their little hunting dance, then swim a little further ahead, and do it again.

I always dreamed of watching wild orcas for the first time in the company of a loved one, someone I could kiss in the middle of all that happiness. When I was out on a boat in La Paz, BCS, I would sometimes wonder if we would find a transient orca and I would fulfill my dream, but then I would have a mini panic attack, because there was no one on that boat that I would want to kiss. I should’ve known better, life has a way of working out just perfectly. Not only did I have one loved one to kiss next to me, I had two. Does it get any better than that? I think not.

The captain announced it was time to leave. I looked out to the horizon, and saw Granny doing a perfect breach. The glare of sunlight reflecting on the water behind her made that image one of those that you carry with you in your heart, the ones you don’t need a picture of to remember.

It was the perfect ending to that trip. I was at peace, happy that my friend Keiko got to enjoy the bliss of freedom at the end of his life; happy that I got to fulfill that childhood dream in the company of the two men I love the most.

I have seen orcas from the coast many times since, and the thrill never wears off. They always put a smile on my face. And every time I spot orcas, I wonder if Ruffles, with his unique dorsal fin, is out there. I think I have a new orca crush…

* We heard the term “Podparazzis” from one of the interpreters at Lime Kiln State Park. I’m not clever enough to come up with that!