NATURE SPOKE, I LISTENED

Growing up surrounded by farmland in Illinois, I always dreamed of the sea, so being invited to OrcaLab felt almost unreal. I was about to embark on a 2-month journey to live in the woods of Hanson Island, study orcas, and learn from a wealth of knowledge from people who dedicated their lives to this. I came to OrcaLab hoping to reconnect with nature by observing orcas but I found that I learned from them in ways I never expected and struggle now to explain with words. 

While clearing out his office, my professor, Dr. Phillip Dustan, was about to throw away some old magazines, but gave them to me instead. Among them was a Calypso Log featuring marine mammals. It was in that issue that I first read about Paul Spong and OrcaLab. Paul’s values of noninvasive research resonated with me, because I knew that if I was going to pursue science, it would only be on the terms of protecting nature and not harming it. Especially in the name of science. 

This wasn’t the first time I felt such a profound pull toward the ocean's creatures. My love for orcas started when I saw Free Willy for the first time—an experience shared by many of the assistants here at OrcaLab. I remember sitting in my home library afterwards, surrounded by books on ocean creatures, knowing then that I was going to be a marine biologist and that orcas were somehow special. That early sense of discovery and determination stayed with me, even as my path unfolded in unexpected ways. 

While pursuing my education in South Carolina, I worked with Dustan on a research project involving the use of a hydrophone, with the intent of recording dolphins. I hoped this study would prepare me for one day listening to orcas in the wild. I gained valuable experience analyzing spectrograms and studying soundscapes but nothing could’ve fully prepared me for what I was about to experience at OrcaLab. 

What actually brought me to listening to orcas wasn’t just the soundscape research I had done, it was that familiar sense of discovery I felt while thumbing through those old magazines about OrcaLab. It reminded me of the time I decided to be a marine biologist, lost in the ocean books from my home library. It felt full circle. 

Finally being able to listen to A Clan and G Clan orcas in their natural habitat was a completely new experience for me, especially when we could hear their calls and watch them rub against the beaches or pass by the lab. Each day at OrcaLab had been a lesson in patience, listening, and wonder. I’ve come to understand that what I thought I was searching for in science wasn’t just knowledge or data; it was a connection. It was about being part of something intertwined with passion and a rich history–the deep nature of Hanson Island and the mysteries of the orcas. The orcas have continued to teach me about the power of observation, presence, and curiosity. I’ve learned that not every question will have an answer, and that’s okay because it’s the constant wonder that keeps us going. My time here has shown me that true discovery often comes in the quiet moments, when we least expect it.

Listening to orcas in the wild felt like a dream and sometimes they woke me from a dream. I was introduced to the A5 pod and its matrilines, the A23s and A25s, and I watched Corky’s family experience the full freedom of their ocean home with a heavy heart.

I fondly remember the last time I saw A61 (a favorite of the new assistants because of his distinct dorsal fin and the first whale we could identify through photo-ID). He trailed behind the rest of his family by himself. It was odd to see him alone. When I realized his calls could be heard on the local hydrophone, I ran as fast as I could from the deck and into the lab to put on the headphones. To be able to hear one whale and know it was him was incredible. At the time of course, I did not know that would be the last time I saw him. I did not see the A5 pod again during my stay. 

When the A5 pod suddenly disappeared, I was surprised by the appearance of a new group, the A62s. They revealed to me who they were through their excited calls during a night rub session at Strider Rubbing Beach. It was then that I truly learned to listen. The orcas’ sounds filled my soul. To annotate what was happening I closed my eyes to focus and relied only on what I could hear. I was quickly pulled from that state and ran over to the spectrogram monitor because their calls became so ecstatic, I had to look. They physically took my breath away with their loud buzzes. Their aberrant and variable calls made me laugh.  

The Northern Residents have opened my eyes, ears, and heart. Each day brought new lessons, whether it was from identifying them acoustically or through their fleeting presence. Their constant movement reminded me of the importance of never taking a moment for granted. 

Another highlight was my visit to Earth Embassy, the forest haven created by Walrus Oakenbough, where I walked the path he once did, feeling a quiet connection to his legacy of protecting the island. 

Standing by Grandmother Cedar, I felt the weight of time and the importance of preserving these sacred places. The silence of the forest was a stark contrast to the almost constant boat noise picked up from the hydrophone network. It helped me reflect on how fragile and beautiful this world is, and how much there is still to protect.

At OrcaLab, we live between two worlds—the oxygen-rich forest behind us and the sea spray of the ocean in front of us. Much like marine mammals who are tethered to the same air we breathe, OrcaLab exists in a delicate space where land and sea meet. This environment has shown me how deeply interconnected everything is, how much we depend on the health of the world as a whole. 

As October approached and orcas left almost to be replaced by humpbacks and I spent more time watching sea lions bicker on the rocks, the small harbor seals spook the harlequin ducks in the cove, and I even had the opportunity to go scuba diving. Diving beneath the surface to see the world I had only glimpsed from above was mesmerizing. It was as though I had entered the orcas’ realm. To swim in their waters, breathe the same air, and feel the heartbeat of Hanson Island was an experience I’ll never forget.

OrcaLab has changed me in ways I didn’t know were possible. I feel fulfilled in my heart and soul, and I know I will carry the lessons learned here with me wherever I go, until I return. I will continue to support OrcaLab’s mission, always remembering the whales, the people, the island, and the sea. 

Read about more experiences at OrcaLab.