Watch: Bigg's killer whales take down a massive Steller sea lion
When mammal-eating orcas find their prey, the ensuing fight for survival is always brutal, but their grace and power ensure the outcome. With video and photo gallery.
My first few decades of observing wild killer whales in the Salish Sea and elsewhere has been largely devoted to salmon-eating resident orcas, whose predatory behavior is mostly hidden from view and is not terribly disturbing to observe (they sometimes surface with fish in their mouths). It’s all a relatively benign affair.
But in recent years—especially as the presence of resident orcas has declined along with the salmon runs they feed upon—these waters have been increasingly populated by a completely separate ecotype: Bigg’s (or transient) killer whales, mammal-eating giants who prey upon seals, porpoises, sea lions, and young baleen whales. And observing them in action is a very different matter.
I had seen Bigg’s taking down prey on three previous occasions: Once, when they chased down and killed a Dall’s porpoise in Haro Strait (the water turned red); a year or so later, when I saw them hunting seals next to the shore near Grandma’s Cove; and last summer, when we observed a pod of Bigg’s hunting seals along the Canadian shoreline. In the first instance, they literally flew through the air, porpoising with astonishing power, to chase down the fastest animal in these waters. In all three cases, the only thing more jaw-dropping than their lethal strength was their overwhelming grace in the water.
Seals are small creatures next to orcas and relatively quick and easy kills for them. However, the Steller sea lions who migrate to the Salish Sea in the winter and spring months are a very different story. They’re the largest species of sea lion, weighing in at up to 2,500 pounds and 11 feet long and known for their aggressiveness. (I had previously encountered a very territorial Steller’s while paddling in B.C.’s Johnstone Strait—they’re known to spill kayaks into the sea—and it followed me for a couple of kilometers before deciding I posed no threat.) I knew that Bigg’s are known to prey on these huge creatures, but had never witnessed it.
That all changed last Sunday during a tour with Maya’s Legacy Whale Watching, with Alan Niles as our captain. In the waters north of Patos Island, we first came upon a couple of pods of Bigg’s orcas who appeared mostly to be traveling. These were the T018s—including T019B, a 29-year-old male with one of the most massive dorsal fins I’ve seen (it seemed to lean to one side from its own weight)—and the T049As, including the celebrity calf, T049A6, aka “Charlie II,” who stayed right in the middle of the mayhem that followed, his lower jaw jutting out with that well-noted underbite.
After awhile, the T49As appeared to head off toward Patos while the T018s lingered. Suddenly, they headed back in the general direction of our boat, obviously in pursuit of something in the waters—and at about the time it became apparent that it was a Steller sea lion, the T018s headed it off at the pass. The hunt was on.
For the next hour-plus, the waters around us swirled with orca fins and a desperate sea lion fighting for its life with all its might against the hungry predators who surrounded it. Some of them breached and appeared to come down on the hapless pinniped. It was difficult to tell what was happening, but eventually we started seeing red in the water, and then we could see the sea lion floating motionless on the surface for awhile before the orcas finally took it below the surface and fed.
Bigg’s killer whales seem to have a cultural gap with their resident cousins. The two ecotypes have not had any genetic interaction in over 300,000 years, their vocalizations have no resemblance to each other, and residents chase the Bigg’s out of their water when the two ecotypes accidentally meet. This is why some scientists have begun arguing for designating them two entirely different species.
I can only concur, heartily.