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Salmon are thought to remember the smell of their home streams. When ready to spawn, they often travel thousands of miles through the ocean, then upriver against the current, flinging themselves up rapids and falls, all in a relentless drive to return to the stream where they were born. Both life and death come together at the spawning ground, as one generation is born and another dies.

The Lummi, a Coast Salish tribe located just south of the Canadian border in Washington state, believe the smell of cedar guides the salmon to the streams of their birth to spawn. These powerful trees cast out a lifeline of fragrance into the water that pulls and tugs the salmon home.

Now this powerful cedar spirit calls home a different aquatic relative, one who recently died in captivity: a killer whale, or orca, known to audiences at Miami鈥檚 Seaquarium as Lolita, to animal activists all over the world as Tokitae, and to the Lummi Nation as Sk鈥檃liCh鈥檈lh-tenaut (SKAH-lee-CHUK-tah-NOT).

I have to confess, at first I didn鈥檛 think much of all the people I saw on social media mourning the death of Sk鈥檃liCh鈥檈lh-tenaut, which occurred at the Seaquarium on August 18. I thought there were much more important things Native people needed to worry about than mourning a dead whale.

I realize now I just didn鈥檛 want to think about Sk鈥檃liCh鈥檈lh-tenaut. It was overwhelming to consider her death after having spent 53 years confined in an 80-by-35-foot tank. It gave me vertigo. I recoiled from the subject and even made fun of it. But like the smell of cedar, something pulled and tugged at my heart, calling me to learn more.

She Is Our Relative

鈥淲e consider all orcas our relatives that live under the water,鈥� Lummi elder and vice president of Raynell Morris told me. 鈥淥ur name for them is 辩飞别鈥檒丑辞濒鈥檓别肠丑别苍.鈥�

Traditionally, Native people feel all things are related. The well-known Lakota phrase 鈥�Mitakuye Oyasin鈥� is most commonly translated as 鈥淎ll my relations,鈥� or 鈥淲e are all related.鈥�

I never thought about this concept too deeply. It seemed like a nice sentiment, but that鈥檚 all. Then Raynell told me a personal story about her interaction with Sk鈥檃liCh鈥檈lh-tenaut in Miami that raised my understanding of the phrase to a higher level.

I listened, slowly realizing her connection to Sk鈥檃liCh鈥檈lh-tenaut had profound meaning. Her story illuminated the subtle web of energy that underpins the world of the Lummi and in fact of all Native people. With Raynell鈥檚 permission, I鈥檓 recording it here.

The Theft of Baby Toki

To appreciate Raynell鈥檚 story, it鈥檚 important to know a little background. A week before my interview with Raynell, I attended a memorial in Tacoma for Sk鈥檃liCh鈥檈lh-tenaut, known to her human friends as Toki, short for Tokitae, an old Chinook name given to her after she was first captured.

I learned Toki was taken on August 8, 1970, from Penn Cove off Whidbey Island. She was a member of L-pod, a family of southern resident killer whales in Puget Sound. The current matriarch of that pod, a female thought to be more than 90 years old named L-25 or Ocean Sun, is thought to be either Toki鈥檚 mother or aunt. Toki was a princess.

Toki was one of nearly 300 young orcas who were captured in Puget Sound between 1962 and 1976, a practice that generated tremendous public outcry, eventually outlawed by the office of then Gov. Dan Evans. 

The brutal hunting process used helicopters to locate orca pods. Hunters in boats then dropped M-80 explosives into the water to separate the adults from the children.

During the hunt on that day in 1970, four baby orcas and one adult drowned, and seven young orcas, Toki among them, were stolen from their families. Toki is said to have been about 4 to 6 years old, but judging from her size in photos taken at the time, marine biologists currently think she was more like 1陆 or 2.

According to eyewitnesses, the adult orcas refused to leave, screaming and crying outside the netted area where the young ones had been caught. They watched as Toki was hoisted up out of the water in a sling.

The hunters hauled her away on a flatbed truck, the haunting cries of her orca family fading in the distance. Before long, Toki would be in an undersized 鈥渨hale bowl鈥� at the Miami Seaquarium. As an adult she grew to 22 feet long, performing up to three shows a day, never leaving that small tank until her death in August鈥�53 years later.

They鈥檙e Just Like Native People

Toki belongs to a special group of orcas who have lived in the Salish Sea, which includes Puget Sound, for as long as 18,000 years, according to marine biologist Deborah Giles.

鈥淢ost orcas travel freely throughout the ocean, but there are about 15 resident groups who remain local to certain areas in different parts of the world,鈥� Giles explains. 鈥淭he southern residents have been studied the longest, since 1973.鈥�

They鈥檙e called southern resident killer whales because they stay within a relatively small area from the waters off Northern California up to Haida Gwaii in Canada. Unlike other orcas, they don鈥檛 eat marine mammals such as seals. Instead, they rely only on fish. No one knows exactly how this special group formed.

鈥淢ost likely, part of it had to do with the glaciers that formed and retreated,鈥� Giles tells me. 鈥淭he animals got physically separated when the glaciers formed.鈥�

Cut off from the mammal-eating orcas, Toki鈥檚 ancestors adapted to eating only fish. Then, when the glaciers receded around 18,000 years ago, the orcas鈥� two new cultural traditions of eating only fish and remaining in one area were pretty much locked in.

Native villages along the shores of Puget Sound also grew up around this time, and tribes there, such as the Lummi, saw the orcas and felt a strong kinship with them. The social structure of the Lummi and the orcas are similar.

Both groups form clans. The southern resident orcas are members of one clan who all speak the same orca language, separate from the language of other clans. Within the clan, smaller family groups called pods exist, each with slightly different dialects of this language鈥攖he same as with Native tribes.

Southern residents are matriarchal. They are run by powerful females. This is similar to the matrilineal nature of Coast Salish tribes. Each whale pod has a matriarch who, with a slap of her tail on the water鈥檚 surface, can immediately summon all pod members. 

The most moving similarity, however, is how emotionally close orcas are to each other.

鈥淭hat鈥檚 part of what makes them so amazing,鈥� Giles says, 鈥渢heir close, close, tight family bonds and how committed they are to one another. They socially hunt and they share food, literally grabbing a fish, biting it in half, and then sharing it with another family member.鈥�

Giles has even witnessed adult orcas playing with babies by tossing them up in the air the way a proud human daddy or grandma might do. The orca babies seem to love it as much as human babies do.

The sharing of these and many other traits between the Lummi and the southern resident orcas is more than just a coincidence. It is evidence of the permeability between the Lummi world and the orca world, in which there is a blending of the two, a sharing of identities, and a recognition of each other as relatives: Mitakuye Oyasin.

Calling Toki Home

After learning about Toki and her tribe, I was primed to hear Raynell鈥檚 story. She and another Lummi elder, Ellie Kinley, had been regularly traveling more than 3,300 miles from Washington state to Florida to visit Toki at the Seaquarium.

For about 14 months they made regular visits, drumming, singing, and praying for Toki outside the entrance to her tank. Eventually, the park allowed them inside where Toki could see and hear them. They always brought cedar boughs and wreaths to leave, hoping Toki would remember the smell.

At the end of June, Raynell sang and drummed for Toki at the water鈥檚 edge. She brushed Toki with a cedar bough when she came close. Raynell believes her drumming carried a private message from Toki鈥檚 ancestors. She says Toki listened intently to the orca words hidden within the drumbeat and at one point she danced to it, spun around, and splashed Raynell.

鈥淲ater was dripping from my cedar hat. I mean, she did that on purpose, right?鈥�

Whether Toki was just being playful, or celebrating that her ancestors had secretly told her she would soon be coming home, no one can say for sure.

A month and a half later, after a sudden, unexpected illness, Toki passed into the spirit world.

鈥淲hen I got the call that she had passed, I said, 鈥業鈥檓 coming! I鈥檒l be there tomorrow,鈥欌�� Raynell recalls.

On the flight to Miami, Raynell became ill with pain so bad that she was admitted to Mercy Hospital and underwent emergency surgery. Her symptoms mirrored Toki鈥檚.

鈥淪he had lung lesions and abdominal issues. I had a partially collapsed lung and also had abdominal surgery,鈥� she remembers.

While recuperating in the hospital, Raynell looked up one day and saw the sun rise.

鈥淭hat particular day I was longing for her, and I called out her name three times.鈥�

In the radiant light of dawn, Raynell saw a vision of Toki, Sk鈥檃liCh鈥檈lh-tenaut, appearing in the sun.

鈥淎ll around her were whale people and ancestors from the other side surrounding her, and they鈥檙e telling me, 鈥榃e have her.鈥欌��

On the day of Toki鈥檚 death, her family appeared in Puget Sound. Only one among them had been alive when Toki was stolen, L-25, Ocean Sun, now in her 90s and thought to be Toki鈥檚 mom.

It was clear the gathering was welcoming Toki鈥檚 spirit back to her ancestral waters.

Toki鈥檚 Teaching

Learning about Toki and hearing Raynell鈥檚 story woke up memories of my own. I, too, had been taken from my homeland when I was a toddler.

My family moved from beautiful Juneau, Alaska, to noisy, crowded Seattle in 1960, when I was almost 3 years old. I was too young to understand what was going on at the time, and thought my mom and dad were punishing me for being bad. They took Juneau away from me, I thought, and I secretly hated them for it. I didn鈥檛 understand they had wounds of their own and were trying to save me from a similar fate.

That鈥檚 why I didn鈥檛 want to think about Toki when I first heard she died. All the anger I鈥檇 held inside my whole life about my own separation from Juneau and my mother鈥檚 culture threatened to explode as it had when I was a young man. That anger had previously led to drug abuse, crime, and even prison. I wasn鈥檛 about to let that happen again. That鈥檚 why I initially recoiled.

Toki鈥檚 death and life opened a door for me as it has for many others. It showed me how to heal intergenerational trauma. We must reconnect with our past and find out who we are. We must reconnect with our homelands. We must find our families and, if necessary, forgive them.

I am just one of many who鈥檝e been taught by Toki. Native people have suffered separation for generations due to things like compulsory boarding schools, forced relocation, and the theft of our lands.

Toki never made it home physically. However, after hearing Raynell鈥檚 story I am convinced part of her never left. The web of life never completely separated her from her family. Those bonds are stronger than the nets that caught her. They freed her with the sound of the drum and the smell of cedar.