I used to think orcas were just orcas—same sleek predators doing the same sleek predator things everywhere.
Turns out, that’s absolutely wrong. Researchers have spent decades documenting how different orca populations have developed wildly distinct hunting techniques, passed down through generations like family recipes. Some groups in the Antarctic work together to create waves that wash seals off ice floes, a coordinated behavior so precise it looks choreographed. Others in the Pacific Northwest specialize in hunting salmon, using echolocation so refined they can distinguish between Chinook and Coho in murky water. In Norway, orcas herd herring into tight balls near the surface, then stun them with powerful tail slaps—a technique that requires timing and communication so sophisticated that scientists initially thought they were witnessing separate species. The Patagonian orcas do something even more unnerving: they beach themselves intentionally to snatch sea lion pups from the shoreline, then wriggle back into the water. It’s risky, it’s dramatic, and it’s taught directly from mothers to calves over years of practice.
Wait—maybe the most fascinating part is that these aren’t genetic differences. Orcas in different regions could theoretically hunt the same way, but they don’t. They develop local customs.
The Antarctic Wave-Makers Who Coordinate Like Naval Strategists
Off the coast of Antarctica, researchers have documented orca pods working in groups of up to seven individuals to hunt Weddell seals. They swim in formation toward an ice floe, diving beneath it and surfacing rapidly to create a wave that washes over the ice. If the seal doesn’t fall off, they try again—adjusting their approach, their speed, their timing. I’ve seen footage of this, and honestly, it looks exhausting. The seals sometimes cling on through multiple attempts, and the orcas just keep recalibrating. What strikes me is the patience involved, the willingness to fail and iterate. Some scientists estimate these hunts succeed only about 50% of the time, give or take, but the behavior persists because when it works, it works spectacularly.
The calves watch from a distance, learning the rhythm.
Why Pacific Northwest Orcas Refuse to Eat Seals Even When They’re Starving
Here’s the thing: the Southern Resident orcas in the Pacific Northwest eat almost exclusively salmon, particularly Chinook. They’re surrounded by seals, sea lions, porpoises—easy meals—but they ignore them. Even when salmon populations crash and the orcas are visibly malnourished, they stick to fish. It’s cultural rigidity that baffles and worries conservationists. Other orca populations, like the Bigg’s (or transient) orcas in the same waters, specialize in hunting marine mammals and have completely different vocalizations, social structures, and even physical wear patterns on their teeth. They occupy the same geographic space but live in entirely separate culinary and social worlds. I guess it’s a reminder that culture can be as powerful as biology—sometimes more so.
The Southern Residents are now critically endangered, partly because they won’t adapt.
Patagonian Orcas Who Deliberately Beach Themselves for Seal Pups
In Península Valdés, Argentina, orcas have perfected a hunting technique that seems almost suicidal. They charge at the beach at high speed, riding waves onto the gravel to grab juvenile sea lions, then use their body weight and the surf to shimmy back into deeper water. It’s a behavior found in only one other location worldwide—the Crozet Islands—and it takes years for young orcas to learn. Juveniles practice on smaller objects first, and researchers have observed them failing repeatedly, getting stuck briefly before managing to return to the ocean. There’s this one famous male, Mel, who’s been photographed teaching the technique to younger pod members. The whole process is so risky that it’s believed only a few individuals in each generation fully master it, and they become the primary hunters while others assist or learn.
The Norwegian Herring Hunters and Their Stunning Tail-Slap Technique
Norwegian orcas have developed a cooperative herring hunt that relies on a move called “carousel feeding.” They work together to herd massive schools of herring toward the surface, compacting them into a dense ball. Then individual orcas take turns slapping the ball with their tails—a blow so forceful it stuns or kills multiple fish at once, which they then eat leisurely. The tail slaps are powerful enough to be heard underwater from considerable distances, and researchers have recorded distinct vocalizations that seem to coordinate the hunt. What’s strange is that this behavior appears to be relatively recent in evolutionary terms—possibly developed within the last few hundred years or so, maybe less. It’s not instinct; it’s innovation that spread through social learning. I used to think animal cultures evolved slowly, over millennia, but orcas seem to invent and transmit new techniques within generations, adapting to environmental changes and prey availability with a flexibility that feels almost human.
Anyway, they’re still teaching us what culture actually means.
