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Adopting A Killer Whale

By becoming a member of the B.C. Wild Killer Whale Adoption Program you will be directly supporting research on wild killer whales. Continuing research will lead to a better understanding of the whales, their place in the ocean ecosystem, and the conservation measures necessary to protect them.

Killer whales, or orcas, are found in all the world's oceans, but nowhere are they more accessible for viewing and studying than in Canada's west coast waters.

Learning everything we can about killer whales is the best way to protect them.

* How do new pods form?
* Where do resident killer whales go in the winter months?
* Why do 50 per cent of newborns die in their first year?
* How do killer whale dialects develop over time?
* Are killer whales particularly susceptible to environmental toxins?
* Is increased boat traffic affecting killer whale behaviour?

Researchers in Canada and the U.S. have been investigating groups of killer whales that frequent the area annually for more than 25 years and are trying to answer these questions and others. Once widely feared, killer whales are now understood far better than they were only three decades ago.

Some of the projects funded by the program include:

Population genetics: Dr. Lance Barrett-Lennard at the Vancouver Aquarium Marine Science Centre has been using DNA analysis to answer questions like how do resident killer whales avoid inbreeding and how do female killer whales know how to choose a mate.

Acoustics: Killer whales rely on sound to communicate and to navigate through the water. Researchers are studying the sounds killer whales make to learn more about their social structure and monitor their movements along the B.C. coast.

Photo-identification: Photo-identification is one of the most useful tools of whale biologists. It is an invaluable method of monitoring the health of British Columbia's killer whale populations.

Adopt a wild killer whale for yourself or someone else. A gift membership in the B.C. Wild Killer Whale Adoption Program is a unique and thoughtful gift for people of all ages.

The B.C. Wild Killer Whale Adoption Program is hosted by the Vancouver Aquarium Marine Science Centre, a non-profit organization. All contributions go directly to research and conservation of killer whales in the wild. Contributions are tax-deductible both in Canada and the USA to the extent of the law.

How Do I Adopt a Whale?
To symbolically adopt a whale and support our field research program, you simply choose the type of adoption package that suits you best, and select the whale or whales you would like from a list of transient and resident killer whales living off the coast of British Columbia. Choosing your whale is the hardest part. Some people select a whale born in the same year that they were or the year their child or grandchild was born. Others select whales because they like the sound of their name. Still others choose their whale because its picture appeals to them. To get started on adopting your whale, click here.

What Do I Get with My Adoption?
With all packages you will receive a photograph and biography of the whale you've chosen, an adoption certificate, and the most recent issue of our annual journal, the Blackfish Sounder.

Staying Uneaten in the Wilderness

Have you been hiking a favourite trail lately and noticed a fair number of prey animals about? Well, it is not your natural personality, or musk deodorant, or happenchance at work.

A researcher at the University of Calgary, in Alberta, Canada, has found a correlation between the number of humans who use a trail and the number of predators who are active in the area.

Using digital camera traps around trails in the Canadian Rockies, the researcher found that, if more than 18 humans used the trail each day, predators disappeared in significant numbers. More than 32 humans per day and the number of prey increased.

The findings are all together not rocket science but do help to support the notion that wild predators, such as bears, are wary of humans, and will shy away from any meeting if given the chance. Knowing that an area is frequented by humans will register with them and they will wander off to areas where human contact is less likely.

Prey animals do not associate humans with predatory actions and are less concerned about ending their days on bone china. Before all you deer hunters head for your rifle lockers and book a flight to the Rockies, the researcher also found that prey animals either can read signs or calendars that advise about the opening of hunting season, or some internal mechanism causes them to migrate away from the area during open season.

So, if you are looking to see friendly wildlife, and at the same time not be viewed from the bushes as a main course, find 17 friends to go hiking with.

Yukon: Dempster of the Mounties

"I'm one of the Arctic brotherhood, I'm an old-time pioneer.
I came with the first -- O God! how I've cursed this Yukon -- but still I'm here.
I've sweated athirst in its summer heat, I've frozen and starved in its cold;
I've followed my dreams by its thousand streams, I've toiled and moiled in its hold."
Robert Service

It took exceptional men and women to challenge the north. To be a member of the North West Mounted Police was to accept both the worst and the best that the Yukon offered. Reward came in the form of service and the visceral freedom of space and landscape.

I learned of William John Duncan Dempster from his granddaughter, Beth. Beth guided with, and for me, for over 20 years. The more I heard of his story, the more I saw the same qualities of quiet resolve, caring, and professionalism in Beth that made WJD Dempster’s tenure as a North West Mounted Policeman in the Yukon very special.

Dempster came to Canada from Wales. He joined the NWMP in 1897 and was posted, over the years, in various Yukon communities. He served exclusively in the Yukon, retiring with the rank of Inspector in 1934.

It was incumbent on each NWMP post to provide written details of official business to headquarters periodically. In so doing, they also provided a source of mail delivery and outside news to locals. It was with this responsibility that Dempster was elevated to national attention in 1910.

One of the mail runs was from Fort McPherson in the MacKenzie Delta to Dawson City, a distance of about 800 miles each way. Countless rivers, creeks, treeless valleys, mountainous terrain, and snow cover made the route complicated at best during the winter. In 1910-11, Inspector F.J. Fitzgerald, with three constables, left Fort McPherson in late winter for Dawson City. They died on the trail. Their story is remembered as the “Lost Patrol” and is worth the read. (See bottom of post).

Corporal Dempster, along with two other constables and a First Nations’ guide, were charged with finding what happened to Fitzgerald’s patrol. Dempster’s patrol left Dawson in February, 1911 in an extremely cold period where temperatures dropped well below freezing (he recorded one day at -80 degrees F with wind chill). Signs of a tragedy began to appear as he discovered abandoned campsites, gear, and dog remains. It became evident that Fitzgerald had become hopelessly lost. On March 21 and 22 he discovered all four bodies.

Dempster was ordered to make the route a safer one. During 1912-13 he established food caches, shelter cabins, and trail markings for future travel. In 1920 he covered the route in 14 days by dogsled, a record held to this day.

When he retired in 1934 he was the most well-known and respected Mountie in the Yukon. He died in 1964 at the age of 88.

In 1958 the Canadian Government decided to build an old weather road across the Arctic Circle from Dawson City to Inuvik. In honour of his contribution in the north, the road was to be named the Dempster Highway. Construction was stopped in 1961 but renewed again and officially opened on Aug 18, 1979.

Although he did not live to attend the opening, William John Duncan Dempster knew before his death that the highway would be named for him.

Bibliography:
NORTH, DICK. 1978. The Lost Patrol. Anchorage: Alaska Northwest Publishing Company.

Bowron Lakes: Oh, Double and Triple Nuts!

Nuts II: The Tent Crashers

Squirrels are very territorial and will do all that it takes to protect their property. This has been very evident with squirrels chasing each other about, on the ground, up and down trees, in the areas we camped along the Bowron Lakes.

It was a beautiful sunny day when we made camp on Spectacle Lake, one of the lakes in the chain. As is the case with canoeing guides, off time is scheduled to relax from the duties of the day. I retreated to my tent for some reading and the luxury of an afternoon nap.

The quiet of the moment was interrupted only by the occasional refrain from a loon or chattering disagreement between squirrels. Ah, heaven! I began to read, realizing that the heaviness of my eyelids would soon carry me off to sleep. As my awareness of what I was reading was being replaced by Jaime Lee Curtis's invitation to join her in my dream, I was startled to consciousness by something on my tent wall.

A squirrel had squeezed under the protective fly covering, ran up the side of the tent, over the top, down the other side, and out. I hardly had time to mentally absorb what was happening, when a second chattering squirrel, followed in chase of the first one. Too bad he wasn't able to catch up to the first squirrel I thought, as the dust up would have presented a UFC (ultra fighting) moment.

Senses returned, I couldn't help but break out in open laughter as to what had just happened. I couldn't wait to tell the story to others in the group. Wait a minute! My attention was drawn to a series of holes created by sharp claws on the fabric of my tent. The walls and dome of the tent bore the reminder of the paths used by both squirrels.

I was really annoyed to spend the remainder of the afternoon with a seam sealer glue closing the many little claw holes, rather than with Jamie Lee Curtis.

Nuts III - That was One Huge Squirrel!

It was a particularly dry and sunny canoeing trip on the Bowron Lakes. We had made camp and all were enjoying the warmth of the sun and the holiday from the rain gods.

I had completed some duties and was returning to my tent for some R&R. My attention was drawn to two squirrels, one of whom was chasing the other up one tree and down another, and along the ground. It provided an unanticipated source of entertainment.

I stood watching when, in a sudden, the path of the chase came directly towards me. The chasee and chaser were oblivious to my presence. As the chased squirrel came within a meter, it became aware of my human rather than arboreal nature and hence not an appropriate escape option. It set its tiny skidding feet in a dusty, stopping action to prevent a collision. The chasing squirrel, which was just on his heels, had little time to react to the sudden stop. It fully collided into the rear end of the chasee, sending both squirrels head over heels into my boots. Fur and dust flying, both came out of their aerial somersault, landed on the ground facing in opposite directions. Any thought of one squirrel dominating the other was quickly set aside as each raced off to avoid one hell of a bigger "squirrel". Oh well, it would provide one great story for their nutlings and grandnutlings in the future.

Bowron Lakes: Oh, Nuts!

Although encounters with bears, moose, and other large animals have left more impacting moments in my years of guiding, the more comical ones often involved much tinier denizens. Three of my favourite stories were of the bushy tail variety, and all happened along the Bowron Lakes.

The Bowron Lakes are a series of large and small lakes connected by portages, streams, and rivers. Set against the backdrop of the glaciers and mountains of British Columbia's Cariboo region, it is considered by many to be the quintessential lake canoeing experience in Canada and is ranked as one of the world's ten best.

Many years ago, before metal food caches on the ground were added to the campsites along the Bowron Lakes, caches were usually wooded platforms set between two accommodating trees, some 5m/15' above the ground and located a short distance from our campfire and tenting area. The trees were also set some distance from other surrounding trees to prevent access via any kind of jump. Further security was provided by stove piping placed at the base of the supporting trees and above the platforms, to prevent any animals from climbing onto the platforms. We would access the platform by raising a wooden ladder, left on the ground, at each cache. What animal could possibly breech such an intricate defensive system?

As our day came to an end, the guides would bring the food, and the like, to the platform, climb the ladder, and secure it for the evening. The remainder of the evening was left to sitting around the campfire to enjoy conversation and the stillness and quiet of our wilderness setting.

This bucolic setting was interrupted at one of the campsites by the incessant chirping of a squirrel. It just went on and on! My assistant guide went off to see if he could locate the source of the irritation and throw a pine cone at the offender. He returned a short time later with a smile on his face, while the chirping continued unabated. He beckoned us to follow him. All ten of us followed as he led us to the food cache. And there, sitting atop one of our food dry bags on the platform, sat one really pissed off squirrel. He just kept on chattering. He probably climbed the raised wooden ladder while we were getting another item to place on the platform. Since there was no option for him to get down once the ladder was lowered, his frustration became heightened, and he announced it with his continued chattering.

Amusement aside, we reset the ladder, vacated the area and listened from a distance. Quiet returned and we assumed that he had taken advantage of the ladder and hustled on home. We went back to see if he had indeed left. Yes he did. Before lowering the ladder, I climbed to the platform to insure that everything was okay. That little ...........! He had bitten through our snack dry bag and eaten a good portion of our dried fruit and nuts.

All I could envision for the rest of the evening was this bushy rodent lying on his back in his tree trunk home, with a huge smile and distended tummy. If Mother Nature was at all fair, I hoped that he would suffer from one big tummy ache for a few days.

In the next posting, I'll relate the other two short stories.

West Coast Trail: How to Use a Forest Fire for Rescue.

"Good plan Beth! The forest fire should bring attention to us and we'll be able to evacuate her" - but we'll get back to this part of the story shortly.

Evacuation is always a possibility when guiding groups. Rough terrain can lead to sprains, strains, twists, pulls, and breaks. Fortunately, over 23 years of guiding, I have had to evacuate only two hikers. One of these was along the West Coast Trail, and it provided a great story.

I was guiding with Beth Dempster, one of our best and seasoned guides. When hiking through the twisting rain forest sections of the West Coast Tail, Beth would take lead and I would take the tail. This method offered optimum safety for our charges. Lead can identify upcoming hazards and control pace, while the tail would monitor the slower members of the group.

During one of these sections, I decide to take a quick break for a visit to the "little boy's forest". Returning to the trail, I picked up my pace to catch up with the group. I heard noise up ahead and assumed it was some other hikers traveling in my direction. As I came around a bend in the trail, I was surprised to see our group retreating towards me with some haste. One of the female hikers was limping quite noticeably. This didn't look good, I thought, offering up the obvious.

"Black bear up ahead!", came the warning.

I didn't see Beth with the group. Was she okay? Any seasoned, honest guide will tell you that a concern for one's partner is firmly rooted in the fear that you will have to do all the meal preparations and clean-ups on your own, if the other guide is injured, or eaten by a bear.

Beth appeared. A sigh of relief! She informed us that the bear eventually left the trail for the underbrush. We waited awhile to allow the bear space and time to disappear completely, then we continued on our way.

The woman who had tripped over a root in her eagerness to get out of the "kill zone", as she called it, insisted she could continue with the hike. Her knee, although tender, did not show signs of anything serious. We reached our beach campsite for the evening and settled in.

Cold compresses and loving attention seemed to work fine on our injured companion.

The next morning, when we checked on her condition, the knee had ballooned. She found it extremely difficult to get around, or to even bend it. Beth and I conferred away from the group and decided that one of us would have to stay with her until the swelling went down. We would then slowly hike back to a water crossing where we could have a First Nations ferryman take us back to his village. From there, we could get her to a medical facility by road for further assessment.

We decided (that's guide talk for "I" decided) that Beth would go on with the rest of the group. We were about 3 days hiking to the end of the trail. This would mean that Beth would have to do all the work alone, something that she mumbled incoherent words about. Maybe all this could be avoided if we could attract the attention of some fishing vessels some distance offshore, she opined. I felt that they were too far away to be attracted to any of the flares that we carried for emergencies. Nonetheless, Beth was intent on trying it. We all stood on the beach beside her as she sent the flare high into the air. Unfortunately, in activating the trigger mechanism, she affected the trajectory, and the flare arched overhead and into the rain forest behind us rather than into the ocean. "Good plan Beth! The forest fire should bring attention to us and we'll be able to evacuate her". Beth could not see the humour in my comment, a serious flaw in an otherwise exceptional woman.

Fortunately, the wetness of the rain forest prevented the flare from igniting any vegetation. It was back to the original plan.

The group headed out on the trail as the woman and myself stretched out on the warm sands offered up by a sunny day on the trail. Any feelings of guilt were quickly warmed out of my psyche. We would wait the day there before hiking (limping) a short distance to the ferryman's boat for evacuation. Once I was able to arrange medical assistance, I would return to the trailhead, hike back in, and meet Beth to finish our tour of duty.

No more than 30 minutes had passed when I heard, from around a headland, the recognizable whip!whip!whip! of a helicopter. I quickly sought out the flare pen and fired off a flare, careful not to bring down the helicopter as it flew over us. It continued on its way. Drat, I thought! They weren't going to stop. The copter then flew out over the ocean, made a sweeping turn, and returned to the beach. It hovered there for a minute or two. We later found out that the pilot was assessing the danger of attempting a landing on the beach. It was wonderful to see it finally descend and land some 50 meters from where we were sitting.

The copter was from the 442 Coast Guard Rescue Squadron, stationed just up the coast. The tail section opened and a crew member made his way over to us. I described our situation and asked if they could get us to some help. Sure. We grabbed our gear and headed over to the copter, up the rear ramp, and settled on a bench seat. No luxury here.

I was excited about the prospect of a helicopter flight, as I had never flown in one before. This excitement was somewhat tempered by the the fact that the copter shook like a dog trying to off load a body full of fleas. I was convinced that it was trying to dislodge every nut and bolt that held it together.

I looked out the small portal window as we flew over the ocean, parallel to the West Coast Trail. We were heading to Bamfield, the small town at the end of the trail, where I could arrange medical help and transportation back to Vancouver for our injured hiker. Wow, I thought! This was so cool! It would take us all of 15 minutes to cover the distance that Beth would cover over 3 days.

A crewman came over as we flew, and fitted us with headphones so that we could communicate over the shaking and rattling of the copter. He had to fill out an evacuation form for his superiors. I asked if they flew the route daily. No, he said. They were on a special assignment to pick up an elk's head in Victoria, for the officer's mess on base. I laughed. I thought he was pulling our legs. No. He gestured to the front of the copter, to a large orange garbage bag situated between the pilot and co-pilot. There were two large antlers protruding from the orange bag. I nodded in acknowledgment - the privilege of rank!

We reached Bamfield and the help that we needed. The next day I hiked back to meet up with Beth and relate one heck of a story.

Swiftwater Bill Gates and the Klondike Goldrush

Another of my favourite stories while guiding on the Chilkoot Trail and Yukon River was about a scoundrel of legendary proportions - Bill Gates. No, not Mr. Microsoft, but "Swiftwater" Bill Gates.

The Klondike Goldrush was a magnet for men and women driven by need, commerce, or adventure. Of those who did triumph over the hardships of the Chilkoot Trail and the Yukon River, and reached Dawson City, very few realized their dream of fabulous wealth. One who did, was a flamboyant character named Swiftwater Bill Gates.

Swiftwater Bill left his work as a boatman (hence his nickname) in Idaho and worked his way north to Alaska. His first bit of good fortune was to be there in 1896 when word arrived that gold had been found in the Klondike. He quit his job as a dishwasher and immediately set out for Dawson City.

Claim “Thirteen Eldorado”, not far from the original discovery claim, had not lived up to its expectations. Bill partnered with six other prospectors and was able to lease it. After digging and working shaft after shaft, the group became quite dispirited and ready to abandon all hope. Then, they hit paydirt. Bill became a millionaire by today’s standards.

There was nothing inconspicuous about Bill. He enjoyed the luxuries and attention that instant wealth brought him. He would walk the streets of Dawson dressed in top hat, white shirt, and coat.

Managing his wealth was not in his constitution or perhaps, even, his ability. He loved women and he loved to gamble, both anathema to holding on to wealth. He would make large impulsive bets that he lost. He would invite dance hall girls to the claim to pan for all the gold they wanted. Whether legend or truth, Bill’s love for women gave rise to one of the great stories of the Klondike Goldrush.

Bill fell for Gussie Lamore, a dance hall entertainer. He wanted to marry her and even promised her weight in gold if she would oblige him. He found out that Gussie was not completely faithful to him. Gussie loved eggs and Bill would seek his revenge by purchasing every, short in supply, egg in Dawson City just to deny her. Gussie eventually left Dawson and returned to San Francisco. Bill would seek her out there in 1897.

Here’s an abbreviated version of Bill’s love life after searching out Gussie: he found that Gussie was married with a child, so he married her younger sister Grace. He couldn’t get over Gussie, so they divorced. Not long after, he impregnated and married a 16 year old named Bera Beebe. Just as she was expecting their second child, he abandoned her and sought Gussie once again, this time in Montana. Gussie was still unavailable, so he took up with another Lamore sister, Belle, although there is no record of them marrying. In 1901, he married his 14 year old step-niece Kitty while still married to Bera. He was arrested in San Francisco for bigamy but charges were stayed. He divorced Bera and remarried Kitty. He divorced Kitty in 1906. Two years later he married an 18 year old, Sadelle. In 1915, Bera‘s mother eventually caught up to him and had him arrested in Seattle for bigamy. He managed to avoid jail time by bribing key authoriries.

While all this love stuff was happening, Bill was spending prodigiously, and eroding his fortune. Bill, however, had a knack for landing on his feet. He found time during all this to gain further fortune in the Nome and later Fairbanks goldrushes.

After avoiding jail in Seattle, he sailed for Peru. Not much is known about his years there. Apparently he continued to search out gold and ended up owning a huge silver mine. He was murdered there in 1937, circumstances unknown, but one would have to assume it was over a woman!

Nootka Sound: The Story Of John Jewitt - Part III

After nearly 3 years in captivity, the Lydia, under Samuel Hill appeared in Nootka Sound on July 19, 1805. Hill was aware that Jewitt and Thompson might be among these natives. The chiefs met to decide what they should do with Jewitt and Thompson. Some suggested they be killed, others that they be released, and still others who thought they should be taken into the forest and kept there until the ship sailed. Maquinna decided to visit the ship and assess the danger and possibilities of trade. He was discouraged by some chiefs who felt that his life would be in danger. Maquinna felt comfortable enough with Jewitt’s assimilation and friendship to ask Jewitt to write a letter of introduction to the captain. "Dear Sir, the bearer of this letter is the Indian king by the name of Maquinna. He was the instigator of the capture the ship Boston, of Boston in North America, John Salter captain, and of the murder of twenty-five men of her crew, the two only survivors being now on shore - Wherefore I hope you will take care to confine him according to his merits, putting in your dead lights, and keeping so good a watch over him, that he cannot escape from you. By so doing we shall be able to obtain our release in the course of a few hours."

When Maquinna asked Jewitt to read what he had written, he went over each line, fabricating a new narrative, saying that he had instructed the captain to give Maquinna molasses, biscuits and rum and that he had always been well treated. "He said 'John, you no lie?' After closely examining Jewitt's face, Maquinna said he believed Jewitt and left in a canoe, carrying the letter to the Lydia's captain.

Hill read the letter and had Maquinna detained. When word reached the village that Maquinna was being held, some chiefs wanted to kill Jewitt. Most feared that if Jewitt and Thompson were not released, Maquinna would be killed. They pleaded with Jewitt to save his life. A trade was finally arranged and Jewitt and Thompson were taken out to the Lydia.

Maquinna, who was in irons, and Jewitt, spent a sleepless evening together. They talked about the time they spent - "John,you know when you alone, and more than five hundred men were your enemies, I was your friend and prevented them from putting you and Thompson to death, and now I am in the power of your friends, you ought to do the same by me." Jewitt needed no convincing as he had already convinced Hill to release Maquinna.

The parting was very emotional for both men -"Then, grasping both my hands with much emotion, while the tears trickled down his cheeks, he bade me farewell, and stept into the canoe, which immediately paddled him on shore. Notwithstanding my joy at my deliverance,...I could not avoid experiencing a painful sensation on parting with this savage chief, who had preserved my life, and in general treated me with kindness, and considering their ideas and manners, much better than could have been expected."

They were to see each other one last time when the Lydia returned to Nootka Sound in November.

The Lydia did not return to Boston until it had completed its trading mission in 1807.

Return to civilization was not an easy transition. John Thompson died in either Havana or Philadelphia in 1815 or 1816 (different accounts collide). Jewitt married and had 5 children. They settled in Connecticut. He never seemed to be able to distance himself from his days in Nootka Sound. He published his diary and traveled around New England selling it. The narrative was rewritten in 1815 by Richard Alsop, a well known author of the period . The title did not exactly role off the tongue : A Narrative of the Adventures and Sufferings of John R. Jewitt; Only Survivor of the Crew of the Ship Boston, During a Captivity of Nearly 3 Years Among the Savages of Nootka Sound with an Account of the Manners, Mode of Living, and Religious Opinions of the Natives.

Jewitt’s book became an invaluable window for historians and ethnographers into the customs, daily life, spiritual beliefs, and traditions of early west coast natives.

Jewitt was never able to settle down. He continued to travel and sell his book until January of 1821, when at the age of 37, he died of unstated causes.

Maquinna was last seen in 1825. He would have been around 70 years old, still greeting ships and interested in trade.

Nootka Sound: The Story Of John Jewitt - Part II

Note: This is the second in a three part series. Read earlier post to better appreciate Jewitt's story.

Jewitt and Thompson responded very differently to their captivity. Thompson hated the natives and was very bitter with his situation. Jewitt, on the other hand, did whatever was necessary to ensure he would survive his captivity, including learning their language. "I had determined from the first of my capture to adopt a conciliating conduct towards them, and conform myself, as far as was in my power, to their customs, and mode of thinking, trusting that the same divine goodness that had rescued me from death, would not always suffer me to languish in captivity among these heathens."

Over time Jewitt endeared himself to Maquinna and his family. His ironworking was much treasured by the chief and Maquinna would put Jewitt and his skills on display to maximum benefit during trading sessions with other villages. "I became quite an object of curiosity to these people, very few of whom had ever seen a white man. They crowded around me in numbers, taking hold of my clothes, examining my face, hands and feet, and even opening my mouth to see if I had a tongue... having undergone this examination for some time, Maquinna at length made a sign to me to speak to them. On hearing me address them in their own language, they were greatly astonished and delighted... "

Jewitt’s survival, and in turn Thompson’s, was very dependent on satisfying Maquinna, as well as hoping that his very powerful master came to no harm. Word had spread about the Boston massacre to other traders, with the result that they stayed away from the area. Jewitt and Thompson were viewed as potentially damaging as they had witnessed the massacre. “ ....some of the chiefs cared little what became of me, and probably would have been gratified with my death."

Maquinna expected that Jewitt become more culturally assimilated. He was forced to marry a native wife, dress in native garb, paint himself, and even adopt native spiritual beliefs. Although he accommodated these demands, he continued to practice his Christian faith by secretly going off into the forest on Sundays to pray in solitude.

An interesting development over time was what is today referred to as the Stockholm Syndrome - captives begin to express positive feelings towards their captors and their motives. "These injuries had excited in the breast of Maquinna an ardent desire of revenge, the strongest passion of the savage heart... Unfortunately for us, the long-wished-for opportunity at length presented itself in our ship...And here I cannot but indulge a reflection that has frequently occurred to me on the manner in which our people behave towards the natives. For, though they are a thievish race, yet I have no doubt that many of the melancholy disasters have principally arisen from the imprudent conduct of some of the captains and crews of the ships employed in this trade, in exasperating them by insulting, plundering, and even killing them on slight grounds."

Jewitt became more and more resigned to his captive fate. He had, whenever possible, written letters that he passed on to chiefs during trading visits. He hoped that one of these might be handed to another trader by this chief. This was not a particular dangerous thing to do as the natives did not read.

Nootka Sound: The Story Of John Jewitt - Part I

A rich marine environment, coupled with protected waters, islands, and beautiful sandy beaches, draw sea kayakers and hikers to Nootka Sound on Vancouver Island’s west coast. Historically, the area was also site of Captain Cook’s visit in 1778, a continued struggle by Spanish and English interests for control of its rich trading opportunities, and the fascinating tale of John Jewitt.

Jewitt was a 19 year old English blacksmith, who signed on with an American trading ship, the Boston, appropriately, out of Massachusetts. His role was to produce iron goods that would be used in the trade with native peoples. The young Jewitt could not have anticipated the adventure that awaited him as the Boston sailed into Nootka Sound in March,1803.

Protocol called for the chief to come on board a trading vessel to welcome the captain to his territory. So it was that Maquinna (Ma-queen-a), a Mowachaht chief, and one of the most powerful and wealthiest chiefs on the west coast, extended a welcome to John Salter.

This was old hat for Maquinna as he had been welcoming Europeans to his shore since the days of Cook. He made huge profits as the middleman between the trading vessels and other native villages. He certainly made an impression on Jewitt - “...a man of dignified aspect, about six feet tall in height and extremely straight and well proportioned: his features were in general good, and his face was rendered remarkable by a large Roman nose, a very uncommon form of feature among these people; his complexion was of a dark copper hue, though his face, legs, and arms were on this occasion, so covered with red paint, that their natural colour could scarcely be perceived; his eyebrows were painted black in two broad stripes like a new moon, and his long black hair, which shone with oil, was fastened...over with white down, which gave him a most curious and extraordinary appearance. “

An exchange of gifts between the two leaders was customary to cement goodwill between them. On Salter’s part, he presented Maquinna with a double-barreled rifle. Maquinna used the rifle to shoot some ducks, which he presented to Salter in a subsequent trade meeting. One of the locks on the rifle had broken. Salter accused Maquinna of breaking it through overuse, and called him a liar, among other choice insults. Maquinna knew some English from his years of trade. Along with the tenor of its delivery, he was aware that he was being insulted. Jewitt – “ Unfortunately he understood but too well the meaning of the reproachful terms that the captain addressed to him. He said not a word in reply, but his countenance sufficiently expressed the rage he felt though he exerted himself to suppress it. I observed him, while the captain was speaking, repeatedly put his hand to his throat and rub it upon his bosom, which he afterwards told me was to keep down his heart, which was rising into his throat and choking him."

The next day Maquinna returned to the Boston with several of his chiefs and gifts. They were asked to stay for dinner, probably as a conciliatory gesture by Salter. Jewitt was at work below when he heard a commotion on deck. He left his work to see what was going on. As he reached the top of the stairs, he was grabbed by the hair. Fortunately for Jewitt, the native lost his hold, just as he swung his axe. Jewitt was hit in the forehead and collapsed unconscious to the deck below.

A short time passed before Jewitt, with one huge gash and headache, came to, and crawled up to the deck to see what had happened. He was immediately confronted, and his life threatened by natives holding knives. He surely thought his time had come. Maquinna addressed Jewitt by name. Maquinna had seen Jewitt’s work and realized his worth to him - "John - I speak - you no say no; You say no - daggers come!" He asked Jewitt if he was prepared to be his slave and make iron goods as requested. Jewitt answered yes to all Maquinna’s questions. He was then led to observe and identify the 25 severed heads of the crew, arranged in a neat line.

Another crew member, John Thompson, a sail-maker, was found hiding below deck. Thompson was ordered to be killed by Maquinna. Jewitt intervened and told Maquinna that Thompson was his “father” (Thompson was some 20 years older than Jewitt) and that he would commit suicide if his “father” was killed. Rather than lose Jewitt’s services, Maquinna reluctantly spared Thompson’s life.

The Boston had all items of worth removed and was then scuttled to hide any trace of the massacre. If word was to reach an American or European ear, trading vessels would no longer come or a retaliatory strike would follow.

Part II - Life Among the Nootka to follow.