Nestled between the US state of Washington and Vancouver Island, the San Juan Islands are a vibrant haven for North American wildlife. Here, all of the world\u2019s remaining 74 southern resident sub-species of orcas find sanctuary, surfacing daily from the depths of the Salish Sea.<\/p>\n
Out at sea watching the whales is Dr Deborah Giles, an orca scientist, with her colleague, Eba. Eba is a brown and white rescue dog with a remarkable nose. Found as a cold, wet, five-month-old puppy on the streets of Sacramento, she has been detecting whale scat \u2013 or faeces \u2013 since the age of four.<\/p>\n
SeaDoc Society\u2019s Deborah Giles steers her research boat across the Salish Sea. Photograph: Maya Yang\/The Guardian<\/p>\n
Dressed in a bright orange lifejacket \u2013 and sometimes goggles \u2013 Eba perches atop Giles\u2019s research boat, scanning the wind. When she catches a whiff of orca faeces, she raises her nose, sometimes whimpering or wagging her tail to point Giles in the right direction. Orca-detecting dogs have become an unlikely ally in the fight to save the whales.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe wanted to use Eba because it allows us to stay really far away from the whales and not stress them out,\u201d says Giles, a member of the marine conservation organisation SeaDoc Society.<\/p>\n
Through the study of whale faeces, researchers can uncover a wealth of biological insights from a single sample, including diet, hormone levels, exposure to toxins, pregnancy, gut microbiome composition and the amount of microplastics in their system, as well as the presence of parasites, bacteria and fungi.<\/p>\n
We consider the orcas, or blackfish, part of the whole web that connects us as a tribe to all living thingsSteve Edwards, Swinomish tribe <\/p>\n
Eba wears a collar adorned with a small strip of lime green and black neoprene to work. It was once part of a toy belonging to Tokitae, or Toki, a southern resident orca taken in a mass capture<\/a> in 1970. She spent 53 years in captivity at the Miami Seaquarium before dying in 2023, just months before a planned return to her native waters.<\/p>\n Also known as Lolita, and named Sk\u2019aliCh\u2019elh-tenaut<\/a> by the Lummi Nation tribe, her story<\/a> became a rallying cry for orca conservation. When she died, her longtime trainer gifted the strip of wetsuit to Giles \u2013 a quiet tribute to a whale who should have come home.<\/p>\n Tokitae, a southern resident orca, performing in her stadium tank at Miami Seaquarium, where she spent 53 years in captivity. Photograph: Miami Herald\/TNSTokitae was one of six orcas captured in August 1970. She died in 2023, shortly before a planned return to her native waters. Photograph: Wallie V Funk\/Wallie V Funk Papers and Photographs, Center for Pacific Northwest Studies, Western Libraries Heritage Resources, Western Washington University.<\/p>\n Once Eba locks on to a scent trail, Giles scoops the floating faeces and processes it in a small wet lab at the boat\u2019s stern. A centrifuge separates faecal matter from seawater and the sample is sent for lab analysis.<\/p>\n Data from these samples has revealed key insights into the challenges facing the southern resident orcas.<\/p>\n They\u2019re an ecosystem indicator. Everything causing their decline is our fault so it\u2019s our responsibility to help them recoverDr Deborah Giles<\/p>\n Where there was once a thriving population of the whales in these waters, the group now faces mounting threats. A sharp decline in Chinook salmon \u2013 their primary food source \u2013 combined with increasing toxicants and disruptive vessel noise, have pushed them to the brink of extinction.<\/p>\n Unlike the mammal-eating sub-species Bigg\u2019s killer whale<\/a>, which number about 350, and the northern residents, with more than 300, southern residents are the smallest orca ecotype in the eastern Pacific Ocean.<\/p>\n They are genetically and culturally distinct from other populations, and like the northern residents feed exclusively on fish. Once plentiful, their population has declined nearly 20%<\/a> since the late 1990s.<\/p>\n This is particularly concerning to those who treasure them the most. Across the islands, the whales are celebrated. Images of their black and white bodies grace shop windows, T-shirts and cafe walls. But their presence runs deeper. For many Indigenous communities, including the Swinomish tribe, the whales are considered kin<\/a>.<\/p>\n Whale monitoring used to involve invasive techniques such as firing barbed biopsy darts and satellite tags into their animals\u2019 dorsal fins. These pictures show show swelling and unhealed barb sites on a whale a year and a half after the tracking tag fell out. Photograph: Whale Museum<\/p>\n \u201cWe consider the orcas, or blackfish, part of the whole web that connects us as a tribe to all living things,\u201d says Steve Edwards, chair of Washington state\u2019s Swinomish Indian Tribal Community.<\/p>\n Alex Ramel, a Washington state representative and whale advocate, agrees. \u201cThey are just part of the culture and the community. Every time we read about one of the southern residents being washed up or a baby being born and not making it, it\u2019s a topic of conversation in our community.\u201d<\/p>\n In January, one grieving mother made headlines<\/a> when seen carrying her dead newborn. It was her second loss since 2018, when she famously pushed her deceased calf for more than 1,000 miles<\/a>. Earlier this month, another southern resident was spotted pushing her dead calf around<\/a> with its umbilical cord still attached.<\/p>\n For Giles, who has studied the whales for two decades, their plight is symptomatic of deeper ecological damage. \u201cThey\u2019re an ecosystem indicator,\u201d she says. \u201cEverything that\u2019s causing their decline is our fault so it\u2019s our responsibility to help them recover.\u201d<\/p>\n Whale monitoring used to involve invasive techniques such as firing barbed biopsy darts and satellite tags into the animals\u2019 dorsal fins<\/a>. In 2016, one such effort ended in tragedy when a whale died five weeks after tagging<\/a>, probably due to a fungal infection introduced at the wound site.<\/p>\n Even less harmful methods, like using telescoping poles to collect breath samples, can be disruptive. \u201cHaving a boat at 30ft is very close. That would most likely elicit a stress response,\u201d says Giles. \u201cIf it\u2019s constant, they have this elevated stress level.\u201d<\/p>\n Now, scent-detection dogs like Eba, coupled with new technologies, are expanding the toolkit for non-invasive conservation practices.<\/p>\n