The fire burned, filling the air with an aromatic haze. The log drum boomed with syncopated rhythms. Button blankets glittered in swirling motion as dancers swayed and gestured to the lyrics of ancestral songs. Totemic creatures glared from carved houseposts, as if judging the dancers. This was the Gukwdzi, or Bighouse at Alert Bay. Alert Bay has long been a ceremonial centre of the Kwakwaka’wakw people of northern Vancouver Island and the surrounding territory. Ceremonial life began a slow rebirth when the Bighouse was built here in 1963. Since then, the house has probably seen more potlatches than any building in history! Built strictly for ceremonial purposes, the house admits few outsiders. It was our rare privilege to see the kids of the Atlatlala dance group learning and performing their traditional dancers in this remarkable setting.
Earlier, we visited the ‘Umista Cultural Centre. This museum holds potlatch regalia judicially stolen during the dark days when potlatching, the social foundation of life on the Northwest Coast, was outlawed. Now the masks and other regalia are “’umista.” or returned from slavery. They inspire modern artists, educate indigenous people and their guests, and serve as a testament to the strength and tenacity of the Kwakwaka’wakw people and their traditions.
Today was meant as a day for spectacular cultural, rather than natural history. But a surprise was in store. During dinner, as we were cruising into Queen Charlotte Sound, the engines abruptly slowed to idle. A floating snag to avoid? Engine trouble? No, the officers had found more killer whales. It was hard to imagine topping yesterday’s frolicsome whales, but we tumbled up to find a very different experience. These were not the cuddly fish-eaters, but the more dramatic and sinister eaters of warm flesh. And they were in hot pursuit! Dall’s porpoises, among the ocean’s speediest creatures, flashed along the water’s surface, leaving roostertails of spray. And killerwhales were just behind them, shooting out of the water like missiles from a submarine. The scene appeared chaotic from our vantage point, with whales leaping without perceptible pattern or design. Yet no doubt from beneath the waves these “wolves of the sea” were engaged in a carefully coordinated attack. Then suddenly the mood changed. The whales ceased their high speed maneuvers and swam with languid placidity. Had we seen a kill? Had the porpoises escaped? We couldn’t tell. We got fantastic views of the whales; often they swam just under the bow, so that we might have jumped onto their backs. But it wouldn’t have been a good idea. A whale surfaced and suddenly there was a bright blossom of scarlet in the water. The whales had been carrying their drowned prize uneaten for about ten minutes. As dusk fell, we turned indoors excited yet sobered. It is rare to see the beauty and brutality of nature so intimately and dramatically writ.
Earlier, we visited the ‘Umista Cultural Centre. This museum holds potlatch regalia judicially stolen during the dark days when potlatching, the social foundation of life on the Northwest Coast, was outlawed. Now the masks and other regalia are “’umista.” or returned from slavery. They inspire modern artists, educate indigenous people and their guests, and serve as a testament to the strength and tenacity of the Kwakwaka’wakw people and their traditions.
Today was meant as a day for spectacular cultural, rather than natural history. But a surprise was in store. During dinner, as we were cruising into Queen Charlotte Sound, the engines abruptly slowed to idle. A floating snag to avoid? Engine trouble? No, the officers had found more killer whales. It was hard to imagine topping yesterday’s frolicsome whales, but we tumbled up to find a very different experience. These were not the cuddly fish-eaters, but the more dramatic and sinister eaters of warm flesh. And they were in hot pursuit! Dall’s porpoises, among the ocean’s speediest creatures, flashed along the water’s surface, leaving roostertails of spray. And killerwhales were just behind them, shooting out of the water like missiles from a submarine. The scene appeared chaotic from our vantage point, with whales leaping without perceptible pattern or design. Yet no doubt from beneath the waves these “wolves of the sea” were engaged in a carefully coordinated attack. Then suddenly the mood changed. The whales ceased their high speed maneuvers and swam with languid placidity. Had we seen a kill? Had the porpoises escaped? We couldn’t tell. We got fantastic views of the whales; often they swam just under the bow, so that we might have jumped onto their backs. But it wouldn’t have been a good idea. A whale surfaced and suddenly there was a bright blossom of scarlet in the water. The whales had been carrying their drowned prize uneaten for about ten minutes. As dusk fell, we turned indoors excited yet sobered. It is rare to see the beauty and brutality of nature so intimately and dramatically writ.
