Ehattesaht First Nation hosted a complex and large rescue effort to free a two-year-old female orca calf, named kwiisahi?is, or Brave Little Hunter, from a lagoon.CHAD HIPOLITO/The Canadian Press
For five weeks, Ashley John stayed away while her community was immersed in the drama surrounding a trapped, orphan killer whale calf.
As an active member of the Ehattesaht First Nation band council, Ms. John’s detachment was unusual. Her community hosted the large and complex effort to save the young female whale, which had become stuck in a lagoon near the village of Zeballos after its mother had died from being stranded on a sandbar. Ms. John said she couldn’t bear to see the orca, young enough to still be nursing, in distress.
On April 25, however, Ms. John felt a tug in her heart. It was the eve of a dreadful anniversary: 20 years since her little sister was murdered in Zeballos. She decided to finally travel to the lagoon to meet the whale named Kwiisahi?is (pronounced Kwee-sa-hay-is) by her people.
The night wove together her grief for her lost sister with her need to help this lost young animal.
“I felt it was where I needed to be,” she said in an interview this week. “I wanted to be close to Kwiisahi?is.”
The Ehattesaht are part of the Nuu-chah-nulth tribe, which is guided by the principle of hishuk ish tsawalk, or “everything is one.” Feeling a spiritual connection with all living things is at the core of their culture.
On April 26, 2004, Zeballos, on the west coast of Vancouver Island, was shattered by the brutal death of Kayla John, a 13-year-old girl who is remembered by her family as a kind and devout teen who loved small children. Her killer was sentenced to life in prison, but her family’s pain is unending.
Kayla’s father, Simon John, now the elected chief of the Ehattesaht First Nation, was immersed in the complex rescue operation seeking to free the young killer whale, whose name translates as Brave Little Hunter. As dozens of outsiders descended on the small community, Mr. John explained over and over that his community carries a responsibility to help the orca: In a culture that sees a spiritual connection between all living things, killer whales in particular are counted among their ancestors. Nuu-chah-nulth families pass on stories over the generations that feature transformations from whale, to wolf, to human.
Of course, there are everyday challenges that demand attention in such a small and remote First Nations community: The Ehattesaht need to build a daycare and more housing, as a start. But for five weeks, those issues were set aside to focus on the plight of Kwiisahi?is.
During the rescue operation, Mr. John would sometimes visit the lagoon in the predawn hours, seeking connection with loved ones who had passed. “I would go there and the only thing I could see was my mother, my daughter, my great-grandmother – this is what I was thinking about when I’d go there and pray.”
Elected council member of the Ehattesaht First Nation band council, Ashley John and community member Auntie Victoria Wells holding seal meat for the young orca whale that was stuck in a lagoon near the village of Zeballos after its mother had died from being stranded on a sandbar.Ashley John/Ashley John
The day his surviving daughter, Ashley John, arrived at the lagoon, a crew was preparing to head out to feed Kwiisahi?is. Doing so posed a risk, they all knew, that the killer whale could become habituated to human contact. But they were buying time until the moment it could be freed and, they hope, connected with extended family.
“When I arrived, there was a bucket of seal meat, still warm. I dipped my hands in there, and put war paint on everyone,” Ms. John recounted. Out on the lagoon, she joined in feeding the young whale pieces of seal, as its mother would have. The crew managed to lure the orca close to the mouth of the channel. Kwiisahi?is remained at the spot for hours, circling, still unwilling to try to thread the narrow passage that had acted as a barrier since she first entered the lagoon on March 23. The water there is only deep and calm enough for a whale to pass through for a brief period each day.
That night, a handful of people stayed awake to monitor the calf. But at 2:30 a.m. on April 26, Ms. John was alone on the bridge above the channel. The anniversary of Kayla’s death had arrived. And, when the tide reached its high point and the water was still as glass, the young killer whale slipped under the bridge, finally returning to open water.
“I had this incredible feeling of her being free, and Kwiisahi?is being free as well,” Ms. John said. “My heart is happy.”
The calf has since been spotted out in the tidal waters of Esperanza Inlet, just on the edge of the open Pacific, where it is hoped she will find and join a pod of other Bigg’s killer whales. Kwiisahi?is has been approaching vessels, however, raising concerns that she may come to harm. The Ehattesaht are still watching over her, discouraging boaters from lingering in the area until she moves on.
Mr. John hopes the saga of Kwiisahi?is has given his community an opportunity to revive their culture, to create their own modern stories. “People are looking for culture or spirituality from a story told 200 years ago: The story is right now.”
Over the past 20 years, he has focused on living with purpose, and hope, even when the memory of what happened to Kayla – who was sexually assaulted, strangled and buried in a shallow grave – makes him want to throw up.
On Sunday, the community of Zeballos will gather for a march as part of Red Dress Day, which honours the thousands of missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls in Canada. It is a harsh reminder that Kayla John’s death was far from an isolated event. Indigenous women are 12 times more likely to be murdered or go missing than other women in Canada, according to a national inquiry report issued in 2019.
“Whatever happened 20 years ago to my daughter, is still living in B.C.,” Mr. John said. “Everybody owns this challenge of our time.”
He sees deep meaning in the timing of Kwiisahi?is’s departure while his oldest daughter was keeping vigil on the bridge. “What the whale gave me, is the reason why we should talk to our ancestors,” he said. “It is their will that we live well today, in every aspect of who we are.”
Justine Hunter