Spring on the Salish Sea has a way of setting the tone before you even leave the dock, and this day was no exception. Glassy water stretched out in every direction, the sun casting that unmistakable golden sheen that promises both calm seas and great visibility. Even better, a couple of early morning reports had come in from just outside Nanaimo. With towering dorsal fins already spotted from shore, anticipation built quickly. It didn’t take long before we were underway aboard Kula and Cascadia, eyes scanning the horizon, hopeful that the day would unfold exactly as it had begun. We didn’t have to wait long.

Just beyond Dodd Narrows and into Stuart Channel, a subtle but unmistakable disturbance broke the stillness of the water. A ripple, then a blow, followed by the clean slice of a dorsal fin cutting through the surface. Moments later, more fins appeared. Aly, our naturalist, quickly counted four individuals travelling together. There was a familiarity to the grouping, and with a practiced eye (and a well-timed reach for the zoom lens), she began piecing together the identification.

It didn’t take long to confirm. One particularly striking male surfaced again, his dorsal fin rising nearly six feet tall, unmistakable in both size and shape. A closer look revealed the defining notch along the trailing edge, paired with distinct scarring across the saddle patch. Stanley. And with him, the rest of the T123s.

T123 Sidney ♀ (~1985)
T123A Stanley ♂ (2000)
T123C Lucky ♀ (2012)
T123D Darcy ♀ (2018)

This family unit is a classic example of a transient (Bigg’s) orca matriline. At its core is the matriarch, the mother, who leads, teaches, and ultimately determines the movements and survival strategies of her group. Her offspring, particularly her sons, will often remain at her side for life. These bonds are strong, stable, and deeply rooted in the knowledge she passes down: where to hunt, how to hunt, and how to navigate the complex marine landscape they depend on.

Transient orca are specialized mammal hunters, relying on stealth and efficiency. Unlike their fish-eating counterparts, they move quietly through the water, often in tight formations, minimizing noise and surface activity to avoid alerting prey such as seals, sea lions, or porpoises. In this context, group size becomes critical. A pod that grows too large risks becoming less effective at hunting. This is where the dynamics shift.

As daughters mature and begin having calves of their own, we sometimes see them branch off, forming new matrilines. In doing so, they become matriarchs themselves, carrying forward the learned behaviours of their mother while adapting to their own ecological pressures. It’s a natural progression, one that ensures both the continuation and distribution of these highly intelligent predators across their range.

After spending time with the T123s as they travelled through the Southern Gulf Islands, we eventually left them to continue their journey and slipped back into search mode. The calm conditions allowed us to cover water efficiently, but we didn’t get far, about five nautical miles, before we found ourselves slowing once again. More whales! This time, however, the story was a little different.

Two males surfaced together, their tall dorsal fins immediately catching our attention. Evan and Aly worked quickly, again using a telephoto lens to confirm identities. These were not part of a typical matriline group. Instead, we had encountered something a little less common: two males living outside of the traditional family structure. Jude and Roswell.

T049A2 Jude ♂ (2007) T051 Roswell/Loner ♂ (~1981)

In the world of transient orca, this kind of pairing is often referred to as “the exception to the rule.” Jude, originally from a larger family led by his mother Nan, appears to have branched off. Nan’s matriline has grown significantly, now consisting of eight offspring, seven of them male. Without a mature breeding female within that immediate group to establish a new branch, it’s possible Jude made the decision (or followed natural pressures) to leave and travel independently.

Noah, another of Nan’s sons, shows a slightly different pattern, often travelling solo, but still frequently rejoining the family. These flexible social dynamics highlight just how complex and adaptable orca relationships can be.

Roswell, on the other hand, has earned himself the nickname “Loner,” which offers a pretty accurate snapshot of his typical travel style. Yet despite this reputation, he and Jude have formed a consistent bond. While both are capable of navigating the coast independently, they are repeatedly found together, suggesting a social preference that goes beyond mere coincidence.

These loose associations are fascinating. They challenge the idea that all transient orca social structures are rigid and highlight that individuality plays a role, even within such a tightly knit species.

With whales keeping us so close to home throughout the day, we eventually decided to broaden our scope and take in some of the other wildlife that calls this ecosystem home.

It didn’t take long before the diversity of the Salish Sea revealed itself.

River otters weaved along the shoreline, their sleek bodies slipping effortlessly between rock and water. Harbour seals hauled out on sun-warmed rocks, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. Above us, bald eagles perched high in the trees, scanning for their next opportunity, while cormorants and gulls worked the surface below, diving and circling in a constant rhythm of feeding activity. In the distance, sea lions lounged and vocalized, adding another layer to the soundscape.

Each of these species plays a role in the broader ecosystem. From apex predators like orca to opportunistic scavengers like gulls, the balance of life here is deeply interconnected. Healthy prey populations support marine mammals; nutrient cycles driven by feeding behaviours enrich the waters; and even shoreline species contribute to the overall stability of this coastal environment.

It’s a system that relies on balance, and days like this offer a window into how beautifully that balance can function.

As we made our way back toward the dock, the energy on board was unmistakable. A day that began with hope had delivered in every way, multiple encounters with orca, a deeper look into their social structures, and a wide variety of coastal wildlife to round it all out.

Stepping back onto land always comes with that familiar, slightly unsteady “sea legs” feeling, but also with a renewed appreciation for what lies just beyond the shoreline.

And on days like this, it’s not very far at all.

Photos below taken by Aly Kohlman and Evan Hessels.