Everyone who knew Ken Balcomb—the great whale scientist who died this week at age 82 after a long struggle with cancer—has stories to tell about him, often many of them. My favorite is one that he liked to tell sometimes, but that other people I know witnessed on several different occasions.
Balcomb’s primary job for nearly 50 years was to keep a census of the endangered Southern Resident killer whales (SRKWs) who were the subject of his lifelong study, and he did so by taking their photographs. At times, he said, it seemed as though the orcas knew that he and his researchers were trying to gather information on them to help them and were eager to help them learn—especially when it came to the newest members of population.
When they’re first born, the sex of baby orcas is mostly a mystery to their observers, because it can only be determined by looking at the markings on their bellies in the genital area, which is different for males and females. When Balcomb showed up in his 20-foot research boat—which they all seemed familiar with—the new mothers would bring their babies over to him.
“In the case of mothers and calves, we had mothers and calves rolling up and showing us their undersides,” he told me. “I think they were aware that we were curious about what was going on, and they were aware that knowing what sex a new baby was would be part of what would be interesting to our little monkey minds.”
I know other whale scientists who sometimes accompanied him on his census-gathering tours, and were astonished by the behavior. “They seemed to know that Ken was trying to see what sex the calf was, and they would deliberately bring the calf over to his boat and it would then show him its belly, then they’d go on their way,” one scientist told me. “Damnedest thing I ever saw.”
The photos were the key to everything Balcomb did, and in many ways embody his astonishing scientific legacy. Balcomb did not invent the technique of photo identification as a source of census data for wild animal populations—that honor belongs to his friend and frequent colleague, the late Canadian scientist Michael Bigg. But it was Balcomb who first put it to work in the 1970s, and compiled the astonishing massive database about the Southern Residents piece by piece over the ensuing decades.
I described all this in my book Of Orcas and Men: What Killer Whales Can Teach Us (a book that couldn’t have existed without Balcomb’s work), in a chapter about how certain human beings have played key roles in transforming our understanding of killer whales:
Balcomb liked to describe how the animals shook him out of his scientific training, making him realize that pure data collection misses something essential about them—particularly their astonishing intelligence and the culture it produces—and the wicked sense of humor with which they comport themselves:
He also became unapologetically passionate in advocating for saving the Southern Residents from their looming extinction:
He often butted heads with people who were the targets of his withering criticism—particularly the whale captivity and aquarium industry, whose practices, he believed, were not only inhumane and cruel but also destructive on a level that the profiteers couldn’t comprehend. He was also frequently critical of federal agencies, particularly those in charge of setting salmon-related policies, especially as those policies increasingly failed to recover the endangered salmon runs that the whales depend on for their diet.
So Ken made a lot of enemies over the years, people who tended to sneer at him as “not a real scientist” because he operated outside the traditional scientific community and was clearly not reliant on corporate sponsorships. I remember the then-director of the Vancouver Aquarium slagging Balcomb when I interviewed him about the ethics of orca captivity (the aquarium had once kept captive orcas and was interested in keeping its options open) as a self-important loose cannon. “Money and ego are the motivating factors,” he said. “The activists shout money, money, money at Wometco and the Miami Seaquarium [the owners of Tokitae/Lolita/Sk’aliCh’elh-tenaut, the last surviving captive Southern Resident orca]. But Ken Balcomb’s whole living is tied up in shaking these trees and raising money to study this and study that.”
In reality, while Balcomb was constantly shaking trees, he didn’t need to fabricate issues to draw attention to the Southern Residents’ very real plight, or the reality that captivity in small concrete tanks is wildly inappropriate for animals like killer whales. He mostly just had to get the attention of the people in charge of making the decisions around those issues, and of the public at large.
When Balcomb began doing this work in the 1970s, only a handful of people were even aware of the survival challenges the Southern Residents faced even then, and even more acutely now. His life’s work, and that of the numerous colleagues and proteges he inspired and empowered, is reflected in the powerful ongoing work by multiple state and federal agencies, as well as environmental organizations and local whale lovers, to save the SRKWs.
The amazing orca database he created will always be his physical legacy—one that should never be underestimated—and pioneering photo identification as a scientific technique will always be his scientific legacy. But the powerful work of the people he inspires even still will be a legacy greater than anything ever created by his critics.
“His greatest legacy is not helping to conserve these whales or understand them, it is providing and inspiring people like me and the younger generations to keep this going. Conserving these whales and other natural ecosystems are long-term endeavors and we need to cross generations to do it,” Oregon State wildlife professor John Durban told the Seattle Times.
Whale scientist Deborah Giles of Wild Orca credited Balcomb with being her introduction to the Southern Residents, and credits him with inspiring most of the movement dedicated to saving the population.
“When I think about him, tenacious comes to mind,” Giles said. “He’s just somebody that never stopped fighting for the whales, never stopped trying to make sure that the whales’ plight was in the public’s eye and in the minds of the elected officials and our managers that are responsible for recovering these whales, and pushing for these whales to be protected and fighting for their recovery.”
Balcomb’s primary job for nearly 50 years was to keep a census of the endangered Southern Resident killer whales (SRKWs) who were the subject of his lifelong study, and he did so by taking their photographs. At times, he said, it seemed as though the orcas knew that he and his researchers were trying to gather information on them to help them and were eager to help them learn—especially when it came to the newest members of population.
When they’re first born, the sex of baby orcas is mostly a mystery to their observers, because it can only be determined by looking at the markings on their bellies in the genital area, which is different for males and females. When Balcomb showed up in his 20-foot research boat—which they all seemed familiar with—the new mothers would bring their babies over to him.
“In the case of mothers and calves, we had mothers and calves rolling up and showing us their undersides,” he told me. “I think they were aware that we were curious about what was going on, and they were aware that knowing what sex a new baby was would be part of what would be interesting to our little monkey minds.”
I know other whale scientists who sometimes accompanied him on his census-gathering tours, and were astonished by the behavior. “They seemed to know that Ken was trying to see what sex the calf was, and they would deliberately bring the calf over to his boat and it would then show him its belly, then they’d go on their way,” one scientist told me. “Damnedest thing I ever saw.”
The photos were the key to everything Balcomb did, and in many ways embody his astonishing scientific legacy. Balcomb did not invent the technique of photo identification as a source of census data for wild animal populations—that honor belongs to his friend and frequent colleague, the late Canadian scientist Michael Bigg. But it was Balcomb who first put it to work in the 1970s, and compiled the astonishing massive database about the Southern Residents piece by piece over the ensuing decades.
I described all this in my book Of Orcas and Men: What Killer Whales Can Teach Us (a book that couldn’t have existed without Balcomb’s work), in a chapter about how certain human beings have played key roles in transforming our understanding of killer whales:
Balcomb liked to describe how the animals shook him out of his scientific training, making him realize that pure data collection misses something essential about them—particularly their astonishing intelligence and the culture it produces—and the wicked sense of humor with which they comport themselves:
He also became unapologetically passionate in advocating for saving the Southern Residents from their looming extinction:
He often butted heads with people who were the targets of his withering criticism—particularly the whale captivity and aquarium industry, whose practices, he believed, were not only inhumane and cruel but also destructive on a level that the profiteers couldn’t comprehend. He was also frequently critical of federal agencies, particularly those in charge of setting salmon-related policies, especially as those policies increasingly failed to recover the endangered salmon runs that the whales depend on for their diet.
So Ken made a lot of enemies over the years, people who tended to sneer at him as “not a real scientist” because he operated outside the traditional scientific community and was clearly not reliant on corporate sponsorships. I remember the then-director of the Vancouver Aquarium slagging Balcomb when I interviewed him about the ethics of orca captivity (the aquarium had once kept captive orcas and was interested in keeping its options open) as a self-important loose cannon. “Money and ego are the motivating factors,” he said. “The activists shout money, money, money at Wometco and the Miami Seaquarium [the owners of Tokitae/Lolita/Sk’aliCh’elh-tenaut, the last surviving captive Southern Resident orca]. But Ken Balcomb’s whole living is tied up in shaking these trees and raising money to study this and study that.”
In reality, while Balcomb was constantly shaking trees, he didn’t need to fabricate issues to draw attention to the Southern Residents’ very real plight, or the reality that captivity in small concrete tanks is wildly inappropriate for animals like killer whales. He mostly just had to get the attention of the people in charge of making the decisions around those issues, and of the public at large.
When Balcomb began doing this work in the 1970s, only a handful of people were even aware of the survival challenges the Southern Residents faced even then, and even more acutely now. His life’s work, and that of the numerous colleagues and proteges he inspired and empowered, is reflected in the powerful ongoing work by multiple state and federal agencies, as well as environmental organizations and local whale lovers, to save the SRKWs.
The amazing orca database he created will always be his physical legacy—one that should never be underestimated—and pioneering photo identification as a scientific technique will always be his scientific legacy. But the powerful work of the people he inspires even still will be a legacy greater than anything ever created by his critics.
“His greatest legacy is not helping to conserve these whales or understand them, it is providing and inspiring people like me and the younger generations to keep this going. Conserving these whales and other natural ecosystems are long-term endeavors and we need to cross generations to do it,” Oregon State wildlife professor John Durban told the Seattle Times.
Whale scientist Deborah Giles of Wild Orca credited Balcomb with being her introduction to the Southern Residents, and credits him with inspiring most of the movement dedicated to saving the population.
“When I think about him, tenacious comes to mind,” Giles said. “He’s just somebody that never stopped fighting for the whales, never stopped trying to make sure that the whales’ plight was in the public’s eye and in the minds of the elected officials and our managers that are responsible for recovering these whales, and pushing for these whales to be protected and fighting for their recovery.”