The call of Tokitae. (Washington Post)
This story is behind the Washington Post paywall, so many (most?) of you who stumble upon this post won't be able to read it. But the story is interesting, and tells us that we have learned a lot about capturing and displaying animals since Tokitae, the killer whale pictured above, was captured and held in captivity at the Miami Seaquarium for four decades, until she recently died. We have also learned a lot about the orca, its socialization, language, behavior and status in our unstable world. Maybe you can find a free read site if you search for her name and learn the same stuff that this Washington Post story told me. Here, an excerpt:
In her prime, she was magnificent: over 7,500 pounds and 22 feet long, liquid lines of obsidian black and white, a sleek, strong body built to swim vast distances and dive hundreds of feet deeper than the 20-foot floor of the barren concrete tank where she performed every day in the center of a crowded stadium.
Her name, Tokitae — Toki for short — was given to her by the first veterinarian to care for her at the Miami Seaquarium; it was a nod to her region of origin, a Coast Salish greeting roughly translated as “nice day, pretty colors.” But to audiences packed into the Seaquarium, she was known only as Lolita.
In the beginning, Tokitae performed 20-minute shows multiple times per day alongside her companion, Hugo, a fellow captured southern resident orca. The whale bowl was small even for a single whale, but the pair shared the space until 1980, when Hugo was found motionless at the bottom of the pool. The young bull — 15 years old, far short of the 50 or 60 years he might have lived in the wild — was dead of a brain aneurysm after repeatedly ramming his head against the side of the tank. His body was reportedly disposed of at a Dade County landfill. Tokitae would continue to share her tank with other cetaceans, but she would never again be in the company of her own kind.
The grim details of Tokitae’s years at the Seaquarium are chronicled in Sandra Pollard’s book “A Puget Sound Orca in Captivity”: Tokitae’s body was marred by sores and abrasions from the concrete pool, and “rake” marks from the Pacific white-sided dolphins who scraped their teeth over her skin. Her favorite toy was an old wet suit — some theorized it might have reminded her of kelp. She was sunburned, with no shelter to shade her, and her eyes suffered from constant exposure to dust and UV radiation. Tokitae regularly performed with injuries — bloody teeth, abscesses, infections — and was kept on a cocktail of antibiotics and medications.
“Her [tail] flukes dragged on the floor of that tank,” Pollard said. “She was never able to fully submerge in a vertical position.”
As our knowledge of orcas grew, and our cultural perception of captivity began to shift, the calls to release Tokitae reached a new intensity. In 1995, Ken Balcomb, the pioneering marine mammal researcher who founded the Center for Whale Research and spent his life tracking the southern resident killer whale population, announced a campaign to push for Tokitae’s return to Washington state. Balcomb’s brother, Howard Garrett, formed a nonprofit organization to support this effort, eventually called Orca Network.
In 2018, the plight of the southern residents drew worldwide attention when an orca known as Tahlequah gave birth to a female calf who died less than an hour later. The grieving mother carried the body of her newborn for 17 days, sometimes in her mouth, sometimes draped over her head or back. Her vigil made global headlines, and many expressed astonishment to see an animal perform such an undeniable ritual of mourning.
Two years later, Tahlequah stunned onlookers again after giving birth to a healthy male calf. Giles was on the water with Tahlequah’s pod near San Juan Island on the afternoon when the new calf was first spotted, and suddenly the two other southern resident pods came charging in from the west, scores of whales soaring up and out of the water as they swam at top speed. Every member of the population was in attendance.