BOOK REVIEW / NONFICTION : Swimming in the Mysterious World of the Killer Whale : GONE WHALING: A Search for Orcas in Northwest Waters <i> by Douglas Hand</i> ; Simon & Schuster : $20, 256 pages

Back in the early ‘60s, when the so-called killer whale was still regarded as a bloodthirsty creature of near-mythic power and mystery, the director of the Vancouver Aquarium decided not to try to capture one for display.

Instead, as we learn in Douglas Hand’s “Gone Whaling,” he contented himself with commissioning an artist to sculpt a life-sized statue for the edification and amazement of visitors to the aquarium.

The sculptor, however, was a bold and enterprising fellow who promptly harpooned a killer whale to use as a model. Ironically enough, the whale survived the attack and it ended up on display at the aquarium as the very first of its species in captivity.

Moby Doll, as the killer whale was dubbed, lasted only 90 days--but the docile nature of the unfortunate whale changed the fate of its species.

“Because Moby Doll had behaved so gently, resigned or perhaps just in shock, his capture touched off a thirst for more,” Hand explains. “Between 1965 and 1973, 48 killer whales were captured in British Columbia and sold to aquariums and oceanaria.”

“Gone Whaling” is something of a mystery quest, a highly intimate narrative of how the author “went looking for whales” in the Pacific Northwest. At the same time, it’s an account of how the killer whale itself--also known as an orca, the shortened version of its scientific name Orcinus orca --moved from Native American folk tradition to amusement park superstardom and then into the ambiguous realm of scientific inquiry and heightened environmental consciousness.

By far the most interesting stuff in “Gone Whaling” is what Hand tells us about the nature and habits of killer whales.

Orcas, he explains, are classified as “the largest oceanic dolphins.” They are “voluntary breathers,” which means that an orca will drown if it falls asleep, and they have virtually no bladders, which means that they urinate almost constantly.

And they live in tightly knit, multi-generational family groups called “pods” in which the dominant role is played by the mother.

Orcas are expert hunters, Hand concedes, and they will devour everything from salmon to blue whales, the largest mammals in the world. But they are not wanton “killers.”

“What has been found true of the wolf is also true of the orca, which is that they eat because they are hungry and rarely eat more than they need to survive,” Hand writes. “However, despite their skilled hunting, there are no accounts of an orca actually attacking and killing a human and never any reason to fear them as a man-eater.”

Rather less appealing, however, are the humans whom we encounter as we follow Hand from museum to aquarium, from scientific laboratory to artist’s studio, and from island to island around the Northwest. He introduces us to Native American artists, aquarium directors, museum curators, marine biologists, eco-activists and assorted other whale-watchers and whale-worshipers, none of whom is quite as endearing as the whales themselves.

And then there’s Douglas Hand himself. He strikes the familiar stance of the hard-bitten and hard-driving investigative reporter--jaded, skeptical, always probing for unpleasant truths and bad motives, and yet suffused with a heart-of-gold sincerity that allows him to see beyond the crass and the corrupt and behold the inner beauty of whaledom.

For example, Hand muses aloud on why the orca engages in the characteristic leap that is so familiar to Sea World audiences. Biologists, he reports, have rejected the notion that the killer whales are merely jumping for joy out of sheer playfulness. But Hand insists that the scientists are wrongheaded and maybe just plain wrong.

“As I watched the orca, it was impossible to keep myself from imagining the pure pleasure of leaping into the air and soaring with them,” he writes. “When they were free of the water and poised at the peak of their jump, I believed they felt as I did as a child when I threw myself off the high dive.”

Indeed, Hand has a habit of injecting himself into his narrative in rather curious ways.

“Gone Whaling” is one man’s journey through history, art, science and politics, all in search of the secrets of what Hand persists in calling “mystery whales.” At the end of his quest, Hand is back where he started--he now knows a great deal more about the orca, but it is the sense of mystery rather than the scientific truth that Hand embraces and celebrates.

“I ran it over my tongue a few times and I said it aloud: Mystery whales,” Hand concludes. “I liked the sound of it. I sniffed the air and stuck out my tongue. It tasted delicious.”