L85 ~ Mystery
The loss of any Southern Resident is sad, but this one hit me particularly hard. Looking back over my notes and photos, perhaps this shouldn’t be unexpected, because I have spent a lot of time with Mystery over the years. He’s part of the L12 sub-group in L-Pod, and over my first decade of whale watching in the Salish Sea, the L12s used to spend a lot of time doing the “westside shuffle”, meaning that I had a lot of encounters with them both from shore at Lime Kiln and while working on a whale-watching vessel from 2005 to 2011.
My most memorable encounter with Mystery happened early on, in 2004. If you’ve read my book, you’ve heard about this moment, which I still refer to as the “above water vocalization incident”. It was an August evening with the L12s heading south just before sunset. Most of the group was about a half-mile offshore, but one juvenile broke off and swam directly towards Lime Kiln Lighthouse where a few humans were gathered on shore. The whale stopped in the kelp bed off the lighthouse, and I do mean IN the kelp bed, with strands at times completely obscuring the whale. Most notable, though, were the repeated vocalizations into the air – a call known as S2iii – that continued for several minutes. Occasionally we hear above water vocalizations, but usually just a single call. It was the first and only time (so far at least) I’ve felt like a whale was trying to say something to us.
I went back and checked the hydrophone recording I was making from the lighthouse after the whale went back out and rejoined his pod, and he was making the same call beneath the surface, too. Given the late-day lighting and kelp on the whale, we couldn’t definitively identify the animal from our photographs. It wasn’t until 4 years later, using the eyepatch, a friend and I were able to confirm it was L85: the aptly named Mystery!
L85 was born in 1991 to L28 Misky. His birth led to a reorganization of that sub-group, so he was named Mystery in honor of the living mysteries that surround these animals. Sadly, Misky would die just a few years later, leaving Mystery as a very vulnerable whale, orphaned at just the age of 3. However, Mystery’s presumed older brother, L38 Dylan, took him under his wing (fin?) and Mystery ultimately survived. When Dylan passed away four years later, L85 became the last living member of the L28s, but would still associate with his presumed aunt L32 Olympia and cousin L87 Onyx.
Despite having no immediate family, Mystery always had a solid home in the L12 sub-group. He formed bonds with L12 Alexis, L25 Ocean Sun, and L22 Spirit, all post-reproductive females who had lost sons of their own. While heart-breaking to know the sad family histories of each of these whales, it was equally heart-warming to see them create a “chosen” family with social bonds just as strong.
I had the honor of watching Mystery grow up from a pre-teen to an adult, sprouting from his shorter curved fin into one of the classic, butter knife-shaped fins characteristic of so many Southern Resident adult males. The top of his rounded fin had a unique “point” on the back that always helped me identify him.
I went from spending much of my summer with Mystery and the L12s to seeing less and less of them, as their patterns changed over the years. I remember the day in 2019 when I realized with disbelief that I hadn’t seen the L12s in over a year. As a result, visits with them have become even more cherished over the last five years.
The last time I saw Mystery was in August 2023 – fitting, perhaps, that my notes describe it as a “westside shuffle day”, the way I will always think of spending time with Mystery. It was the evening we learned of the passing of Tokitae, another whale widely theorized to possibly be part of the L12 sub-group. Mystery was traveling with his surrogate mom L22, his broad dorsal fin silhouetted against the orange waters. I was sitting on the same rock where, 19 years earlier, he had approached and (I’m convinced) tried to make contact. I’ll miss you big guy.
J60
The documentation of J60 in Puget Sound on December 26th felt like the perfect Christmas gift, especially as he seemed to be the first calf for a new mother in J-Pod. The problem, perhaps, was it wasn't clear which mother. Initially traveling with J40, then later seen traveling with J16 and J42, it wasn't clear to researchers where J60 "belonged". It wasn't until the Center for Whale Research pieced together the puzzle after the fact that it was determined his mother was likely J46, a whale he was never seen traveling with. (The reasoning behind this is that J42 and J46 were visibly pregnant near the end of 2023, while J40 was not and J16 is post-reproductive. J42 was photographed as having lost the pregnancy by December 21, five days before J60 was born. J46 is thus the only probable mother.) We will never know if this was "calf-napping", calf rejection, or an attempt of other whales to help in a situation where the mother was unable to nurse, but even in his short life, J60 raised so many questions for us to ponder. It was sad to watch his decline over just a few short weeks, and by the time we saw J-Pod again ourselves in late January, he was gone.
L128
With so little time with Ks and Ls this summer, the appearance of any calf would have been a surprise, but L90 was perhaps one of the most surprising mothers of all. At 31 years old, she had never been seen with a living calf, and we had erroneously presumed she might not be capable of carrying a calf to term. As the last living member of her matriline, the birth of L128 to L90 pulled on ourheartstrings even further when mom and calf remained behind in inland waters just the two of them while the other Souther Residents departed the Salish Sea. In hindsight I have to wonder if L90 knew her time with L128 was limited, and wanted to make the most of their bond while she had the chance. Weeks after being in inland waters, L128 was seen out west in very poor condition, and when all off L-Pod returned to inland waters at the end of October, it was clear this little one was no longer present. Amazingly, L128 is the first loss of an L-Pod calf since L120 ten years ago.
Sadly, this year, there are no new whales to welcome alongside these tributes to the whales we have lost. Both calves born in the last year were lost - a tough thing to witness. But keeping the greater context in mind, we typically say 50% of calves are lost during the first year, and the Southern Residents have been beating those odds recently. Prior to J60 and L128, the last 7 L-Pod calves, 1 K-Pod calf, and 4 J-Pod calves have all survived. With abundant chum salmon runs this fall, we are hopeful to see some more successful births in the winter months ahead.