Orcas: Between Close Kin and Sea Monsters

Human fascination with the ocean’s greatest predator throughout history

Since ancient times, humans have expressed both admiration and fear toward orcas—first in stone and, much later, in words.

In the first century AD, Pliny the Elder used the Latin term orcae in his Natural History to describe these formidable marine predators. In one account, he placed orcas off the coast of Gades, present-day Cádiz, attacking large whales and their calves. His description reflects the conflicting emotions these animals have inspired for centuries: fascination with their coordinated hunting strategies, but also fear of their extraordinary power.

Long before the writers of antiquity described them, however, cetaceans already held an important place in human representations.

In Korea, the Bangudae Petroglyphs—now part of the UNESCO World Heritage Site of Bangucheon—are among the most remarkable prehistoric records of the relationship between humans and cetaceans. Their engravings depict different whale species and scenes associated with whale hunting, revealing their importance to ancient coastal communities.

Thousands of kilometres away, in present-day Peru, we find an even more intriguing representation. In Palpa, the Piedras Gordas Orca forms a giant geoglyph approximately 65 metres long. The animal is portrayed with supernatural and human characteristics: one arm holds a trophy head, a fish appears in front of its mouth, and several human heads are represented inside its body.

For the Paracas and Nasca societies, the orca was apparently not simply an animal of the ocean, but a powerful mythical being connected to their symbolic universe.

From the stones of Asia and the Americas to the texts of Mediterranean antiquity, the same figure emerges again and again: an animal capable of inspiring fascination, respect, and fear all at once.

Sea Monsters or Relatives?

But was the orca always considered a sea monster?

On the northwestern coast of North America, the Wedding Rocks petroglyphs, associated with the ancestors of the Makah people of Ozette, depict faces, marine animals, and figures identified as orcas. Many of these carvings have been dated to approximately 300 to 500 years ago.

Among several Indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest Coast—including the Haida, Tlingit, and Kwakwaka’wakw—stories about orcas have also been passed down orally from generation to generation. Orcas may appear as ancestors, shape-shifting beings, inhabitants of another world, or relatives with whom humans can communicate.

In the Haida story of The Two Brothers of Tiiaan, preserved through oral tradition, we find an extraordinary assertion: orcas understand human language.

We do not need to interpret these stories literally to recognise their importance. They show how peoples who lived alongside orcas for generations observed their behaviour and developed a relationship with them that extended far beyond fear of a great predator.

Why Don’t Orcas Consider Us Prey?

An adult orca can exceed six metres in length and is an apex predator capable of hunting an extraordinarily diverse range of animals. Depending on the population, its diet may include fish, rays, sharks, turtles, dolphins, and even large whales.

And yet, there is no confirmed case of a wild orca killing a human being.

Recent interactions between Iberian orcas and sailing boats have generated headlines around the world. However, striking a rudder or interacting with a vessel does not necessarily mean that the animals are attempting to attack the people on board. The reasons behind this behaviour remain under investigation.

This raises an inevitable question: why are we not part of their diet?

Is it simply because none of their hunting cultures recognises us as prey? Or is there an older and more complex relationship between our two species?

The Shore Pact

This latter possibility lies at the heart of a provocative hypothesis proposed by biologist and science communicator Fernando López-Mirones in his book Spania, el secreto de las orcas.

He calls it the Shore Pact.

López-Mirones proposes that, thousands of years ago, human communities around the Strait of Gibraltar may have benefited from cooperation with orcas during bluefin tuna migrations. He takes the hypothesis further, connecting this possible cooperation with the development of ancient maritime societies and even contemporary interpretations of Atlantis.

There is no archaeological evidence proving that such a pact existed, much less establishing a connection with Atlantis.

It may sound like an extraordinary idea. Yet some documented interactions between humans and orcas would probably also sound like legends if they had not truly occurred.

When an Orca Offers Its Food

A recent scientific study compiled 34 cases of wild orcas offering prey or other objects to humans between 2004 and 2024.

The recipients were sometimes aboard boats, sometimes in the water, and on two occasions even standing on shore. The orcas offered fish, mammals, birds, invertebrates, a sea turtle, and even a piece of seaweed.

Perhaps the most intriguing detail is that, in 33 of the 34 encounters, the orca remained nearby for several seconds, apparently waiting for the person’s reaction.

The researchers remain cautious. They suggest that these behaviours may be related to curiosity, the exploration of another species, or even some form of interspecies prosocial behaviour.

We do not know what an orca is thinking when it places prey in front of us.

But we know that it happened.

Old Tom and the Law of the Tongue

There is an even more remarkable historical precedent.

In Twofold Bay, in southeastern Australia, humans and orcas participated for decades in an extraordinary relationship centred around whale hunting.

The orcas located the whales and helped drive them toward areas where whalers could hunt them. Afterwards, the humans allowed the orcas to feed on certain parts of the whale before retrieving the carcass.

This arrangement became known as the Law of the Tongue. The most famous of these orcas was Old Tom, whose skeleton is still preserved in Eden.

But this story did not begin with European whalers.

Long before their arrival, the Thaua people, part of the Yuin Nation, maintained a profound cultural relationship with the orcas, which they called beowas.

To them, the orcas were family.

One Dreaming tradition tells that Thaua people could return to the sea as orcas after death. Their oral traditions also describe humans and orcas hunting cooperatively. The Thaua sang to call the orcas and accompanied them during the hunt.

Suddenly, the idea of a “pact” between humans and orcas no longer seems to belong exclusively to the realm of imagination.

Societies Beneath the Ocean

Perhaps part of our fascination comes from recognising behaviours that feel surprisingly familiar.

Orcas live in complex societies, many organised around maternal lineages. Calves remain with their mothers for years, while other members of the group participate in their learning.

Not all orcas hunt in the same way. Techniques are learned, food preferences are passed down, and groups possess distinctive vocal repertoires.

Some behaviours spread temporarily among individuals and later disappear—something researchers have compared to cultural fads. One well-known example was the practice of wearing seaweed on the head, observed among orcas in the northeastern Pacific.

Orcas can also learn new sounds and possess a sophisticated echolocation system that allows them to investigate their surroundings and locate prey.

We do not need to turn them into humans to recognise something extraordinary: orcas possess culture.

Perhaps that explains why so many peoples who lived closely alongside them did not describe them simply as animals.

They described them as societies.

As families.

As inhabitants of another world.

As relatives.

Guests in Their Home

Some of these stories belong to science, others to history, and others to traditions passed down through generations. Not all of them can be demonstrated in the same way.

Together, however, they help explain why orcas continue to inspire such profound fascination in us.

Gods, monsters, guardians, predators, or relatives: perhaps every culture has found a different way to understand one of the ocean’s most complex animals.

Whatever our interpretation may be, one thing should never change.

When we enter the ocean, we are the guests.

Observing a wild orca does not mean chasing it, touching it, or forcing an encounter. It means maintaining a respectful distance and allowing the animal to decide.

If we can observe without interfering, and it is the orca that chooses to approach us, then we have received one of the greatest privileges the ocean can offer: a wild animal choosing to share its space with us, even if only for a few moments.