7 Things About Wild Killer Whales You'll Never Learn at SeaWorld

Orcas are among the most intelligent species in the world, making them particularly unsuitable to captivity.

Orcas in the Open Ocean

Life for killer whales in the ocean is infinitely different, and many would say far better, than a life of captivity in a concrete tank. In the wild, most orcas stay near or with their families for life, travel up to 100 miles a day, and display complex communal rituals that provide stability, cooperation and regular opportunities for the unbridled expression of sheer joy.

Orcas are smart—among the most intelligent species in the world—making them particularly unsuitable to captivity, as I explain in my book Death at SeaWorld. Few people realize that killer whales are members of the family Delphinidae, making them the planet’s largest dolphins, giant cousins to the far more common bottlenose (think TV’s Flipper) and other species of seagoing dolphins. Orcas not only have the largest brain of any dolphin, but at 12 pounds it is also four times larger than the human brain, and second only to the sperm whale in heft and volume.

Killer whales have been prowling the oceans for millions of years, and their large and complex brains continued to evolve over time. The ocean’s top predator and the most widely distributed animal on Earth after humans, they are found in all oceans, even in the tropics. Total population is estimated at 50,000-100,000, perhaps half of them around Antarctica.

In today’s vernacular, the names “orca” and “killer whale” are interchangeable, though many animal-activists prefer the former, while scientists and the display industry tend to use the latter. Before orcas were held captive they were regarded as bloodthirsty monsters (debunking this was one of the greatest contributions of captivity). And although four people have died and many others were injured in killer whale tanks, there is no record in history of any serious attacks by wild orcas on humans.

The following facts were adapted from Death at SeaWorld (St. Martin’s Press, 2012)

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Residents and Transients Don't Mix

Two types of orcas share the coastal waters of the Pacific Northwest. Residents, comprised of Northern Residents, which range from mid-Vancouver Island north toward the Alaskan panhandle, and Southern Residents, which range from mid-Vancouver Island south to Puget Sound, in the summer and fall. Residents live in tightly knit families dominated by females. Each pod has its own signature collection of clicks, whistles, creaks and groans. Transients are distinguished primarily by what they eat: other marine mammals, including dolphins, porpoises, seals, sea lions and even larger whales. They travel in small groups and their range is greater than residents. Transients do not mix with residents, having split from their cousins, genetically speaking, tens of thousands of years ago.
For Naomi Rose, (now senior scientist at Humane Society International) who studied these animals for years, transients were “kind of like the local trash family; people that nobody in town really gets along with,” she joked with friends. “If it comes down to a street fight, the transients are going to lose.” A few years later, Canadian scientist Graeme Ellis would witness something close to what she imagined. He came across a Southern Resident group, J-Pod, tearing southward toward the mouth of a bay. He spotted three other orcas swimming away quickly about 100 yards ahead and recognized them as members of the T-20 transient group. They made a run for it, trying to skirt away, but J-pod would have nothing of it. Graeme saw whitewater churning, fins and flukes flailing, the nipping of skin. The screeches reverberated through the boat’s hull. When the transients got away, Graeme followed, only to discover bloody teeth marks on their skin. “Whatever the reason,” he said, “the T-20s definitely got their butts kicked.”

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Sound Invasion

Processing sound is essential for killer whales to eat, navigate and socialize. Orcas have no sense of smell, and though their eyesight is excellent, it’s not much help at night or in deep waters. That’s where echolocation, emitting a series of clicks and listening for their echo, comes in. The clicks, which sound like a finger running over a comb, last from one to five milliseconds. When each click pings off an object, part of the sound is sent back toward the animal, where it is received through fatty tissue in the lower jaw. There it transmits to the middle ear. Each click is exquisitely synchronized so that outgoing sounds do not interfere with incoming ones.

Direction is determined by comparing the relative strength of the echo on each side. The visual and auditory regions of orca brains are set closely together and are extraordinarily integrated, producing a visual image based solely on the echoes. Orcas can even determine the species of fish they are tracking, not only by the prey’s size, but also the dimensions of its air bladder. All dolphins can differentiate between objects with less than 10 percent difference in size. They can do this in a noisy environment, even while vocalizing. And they can echolocate on near and distant targets simultaneously, something that boggles the imagination of human sonar experts.

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Females Rule

Resident orca societies, dominated by females, are populated by intensely social whales that travel in large stable groups centered on a matriarch, typically the oldest living female. Adult females are easily distinguished from adult males by their dorsal fins: The female fin is smaller and curves backward; the male fin is towering and generally triangular.
“Residents travel in matrifocal units called matrilineal groups,” Naomi Rose wrote. “A matrilineal group usually consists of a reproductive female (the matriarch), her dependent calves, her juvenile and adolescent offspring and her known or presumed adult son(s). A matrilineal group can also consist of a post-reproductive matriarch and her presumed adult son(s).”

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Momma's Boy's

“The outstanding feature” of resident orca society is that neither sex wanders from the natal family and its home range, Naomi Rose wrote in her PhD dissertation. But as young females begin having calves, they spend more time away from their mothers, eventually establishing their own matrilines within their particular pod, from which they never fully disperse. Male residents, however, are another story. They spend most of their time by their mothers’ side, from infancy through old age. They may swim off for a few hour or days to mate with females from other matrilines, but they always come back. Male resident orcas are the planet’s ultimate mommy’s boys. They are, unusually, the philopatric sex: they never emigrate away from their home territory. The lifelong bonds between resident mothers and sons run deep. Adult males spend a minimum of 40 percent of their time within one body length of their mother: at least nine and half hours every day. A male is so dependent on mom that, if he loses her, he may try to transfer that bond onto another close relative, usually a sister, grandmother, aunt, or even a younger niece. Older sons who survived their mother’s death often travel, forage and even rest up to a half-mile away from their sisters, implying that adult males without mothers “are most peripheral to and the least integrated into the matrilineal group,” Naomi wrote.

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Free Babysitting

In many mammals, having grown males hang around the females and offspring is hugely disruptive: the mother does not tolerate it and pressures males to leave. Staying at home increases competition for food and other resources. That’s where the “repayment model” comes in: The philopatric sex must offer something valuable in return. Babysitting, it turns out, was evolution’s way of charging adult orca males room and board. “The philopatric sex pays back some of the cost of having it there by caring for its parent’s subsequent offspring,” Naomi wrote in her dissertation. Having older sons babysit allows a mother to be more reproductively successful. “It lets her concentrate on her newest born, and not worry about the five-year-old calf that’s potentially going to run off and do something stupid, because the older brother’s looking out for them,” Naomi told a colleague. “It even allows her to get some ‘me’ time, which no doubt recharges her batteries and improves her health, making her a better mom.”

Another benefit: When matrilineal groups travel, they typically swim in “echelon formation,” where the youngest calf sticks next to the mother. The coveted spot allows for slip-streaming alongside the mother, and helps save energy. But it’s also a drag on the mother. If she has grown sons to share in burden, she can conserve precious energy.

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Mom the Matchmaker

If mothers benefit from having sons babysit, then what’s in it for the males? Naomi thought she might have an answer. “For resident males, there’s an advantage to staying with mom. And that’s the fact that females are very gregarious,” she explained. “When multiple pods get together, the females gravitate toward each other and have their own sewing circles, or whatever.” That intensive socializing gave their sons “instant entrée to all those unrelated girls.” The son might hook up with the daughters of his mother’s friends, or even with his mothers’ friends themselves. Naomi had seen adolescent males who were sexually mature but not yet socially mature hanging with post-reproductive grandmas. “I think it’s literally a ‘Mrs. Robinson’ situation,” Naomi said. “That female may be past menopause but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t like to have sex. And this young guy, who’s got lots of get-up-and-go but no reproductive female that’s going to give him the time of day, she’ll hang out with him.”

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Blowing Off Steam: Male-Only Style

Much of Naomi’s dissertation dealt with male social behaviors and how they fit into the larger matriarch-dominated society. What did these males do all day, and how did that help them socially integrate? The answers were closely tied to the evolutionary suppression of male orca bellicosity. One involves small groups of males engaged in temporary “bouts” of intensive physical contact, which Naomi coined MOSIs, or “male-only social interactions.” Anywhere from two to four males wind themselves into a ball of roiling black-and-white energy, slapping the surface as they rub and push against each other, or leap in the air like NBA power forwards. MOSI’s last several minutes to a few hours and usually involve non-kin. The most common behavior is socio-sexual, including “frequent body contact, percussive and aerial behaviors and penile displays,” Naomi wrote. But why would males exert so many hard-earned calories on these tangles? Naomi said her data analysis “supports the hypothesis that MOSIs are play interactions” creating “high levels of tolerance and affiliation.” MOSIs also help “relieve active libidos with fellow males, since access to reproductive females may be restricted, either by adult males, or by the females themselves.”

Photo: Dave Ellifrit/Reuters