Another transformation took place during J2's arc of years: Those captives performing in concrete pools revealed themselves to be not monsters but clever, sociable giants. Artists were inspired to make the animals icons of the Pacific Northwest, as they were in Indian times, and crowds were suddenly eager to visit pods in the wild. Add enough whale-watching vessels and curious private boaters on top of shipping traffic, and you get a modern controversy over whether it is possible to love killer whales a little too much, since the noise of boat engines may interfere with the whales' communication. As J2 and her relatives swim out of view, Balcomb's voice rises over the underwater noise pollution from thrumming, whining engines picked up by the hydrophone. "Think," he is saying, "of all the changes she has heard."

Killer whales depend far more upon hearing than sight. The sounds they make while hunting are high-frequency pulses generated in the nasal passages, then focused by a fatty lens in the forehead. To us this organic sonar technology just sounds like a series of loud clicks. For the whales it is a way to navigate the submarine terrain and expose prey through precise echolocation. The animals also have an array of plaintive calls, which they rely upon to make contact and convey information over longer distances. But during play, "It all turns to loony tunes," says John Ford, chief whale scientist for the Pacific region of Canada's Department of Fisheries and Oceans, "burbles, squeals, whistles, raspberries, and snorks."

As a graduate student during the 1970s, Ford noticed that every pod has its own version of the calls in terms of pitch, pattern, and the number used. Each dialect is an acoustic badge of identity; youngsters learn their pod's dialect from their mothers and older siblings. They also learn to recognize the dialects of other pods. Since killer whales want to fraternize with their nearest kin but must pick mates from among the most distantly related pods within the community in order to avoid inbreeding, they need an easy way to tell which is which in the often dim waters they ply. The calls do the job, since the more similar a dialect is from one pod to the next, the closer their bloodlines.

Mating outside the community doesn't seem to be an option, mainly for cultural reasons. Different populations don't even speak the same language or practice the same traditions. For example, Johnstone Strait, separating northern Vancouver Island from the mainland, is the core summer range for about 200 whales in 16 pods known as the northern resident community. One of their favorite activities is rubbing on certain pebbly beaches in shallow water. Whether such sites are for removing itchy skin and parasites or recreational centers where pods go to mingle is open to discussion. Either way, the southern residents living practically next door never rub. On the other hand, they are much more likely than northern residents to erupt in the showy aerial displays that Balcomb calls fireworks.