Misty Dolphins

The country sweltered as bright hot sunshine blazed in the azure blue sky, steaming away the rain that had dominated the summer so far. Across the country people headed to the seaside, rivers, pools and lakes. And where there were none they dug out their paddling pools, filling them with cool, clear water, the sighs audible across the country as the refreshing water bathed hot skin. People flocked to water like parched travellers searching the desert. OK all sounds rather dramatic for just one or two hot days in the year... but we are British and this is what we do!

The Wild Barley family did the same; introducing the newest member to the delights of the ocean lapping your toes, although in her case it was more like washing her from head to toe. The tiny little intake of breath as the cool water rushes over almost instantly followed with giggles of delight. When in West Wales there is one place I am always drawn to, the lure of those magnificent mammals never far away. While there is always a chance from most headlands along this coast, New Quay has to be one of the best places to try and see the bottlenose dolphins of Cardigan Bay. The dolphins and New Quay have both featured numerous times in Wild Barley over the years. This time while the sun beat down on the green Welsh countryside and even over head for a while, that mysterious, shrouding fret or haar, also known as sea fog lay thick over the water close to shore. As the morning progressed the coastline, harbour wall, houses, shops and yachts standing on their keels as the tide went out, all disappeared behind its pea soup like shroud. There would be no dolphins seen from shore this time....

Nothing for it but to head out onto a boat, all of us, the dog included. The sea itself was calm, just a slight roll and tiny dark waves breaking its surface. The fog surrounded the boat, cloaking the coast, with headlands occasional appearing from the greyness. No horizon, sea and sky merged into one. But it was not dreary, gloomy grey. The bright sunshine that was hidden above gave lightness to the grey, while the sea remained a beautiful green colour. The fog made the scene more mysterious; one could almost imagine hearing a fierce Welsh dragon breathing behind the mist...

Occasionally the sun would break through, turning the sea bright green, and revealing a rocky coastline with small pebbly bays, huge rocks and towering cliffs. Here the last few breeding seabirds wheeled from the rock, disappearing into the fog. Kittiwakes and fulmars sit high up the cliff, shags and cormorants stretch their wings while sat atop huge boulders. Bobbing on the water below small groups of razorbills and guillemots, the contrast of their black and while plumage gleaming against the green of the sea.

Razorbills

We continue on, the mist closing in once more, the boat guided only by GPS. The guide continues with her spiel, providing interesting information not only on the dolphins, but the bay, its history and geology (one just had to imagine the rock formations she was describing!) With no reference point as to where we were, we simply motor on through the pale grey, until suddenly up ahead something large and dark breaks the surface with a splash. The word 'dolphin' erupts from my lips interrupting (in the nicest possible way!) the guide. Four animals break the surface once again, heading for the boat which slows. A dark shape glides beneath the surface right alongside us, before they surface again in the wake of the boat. Eyes scan the water to the edge of the mist, searching. Then boom, two dolphins leap clear of the water in pure synchronicity. They are right on the edge of the mist. Two more breach, their forms more hazy as they disappear into the fog; a brief but none the less breathless encounter. We sit, quiet once more, searching for any sign of the group. The guide calls out; just by the headland she assure us is there, she has sighted a female and her new calf surfacing close by her side. Eyes strain into the mist. Sure enough the faint outline of rocks and coastline appears, a small fishing boat bobs nearby and there breaking the greeney grey water a dolphin followed closely by a small calf. We watch her for a while, before turning for home and heading back into the fog.

Calf bottlenose dolphins peaks above the waves next to mum

We pass closer to shore, watching the waves lap the rocks and swirl into crevices. The heads of grey seals pop up occasionally from the waves, watching us back. Further along and a heavily pregnant female lies high above the water line, soaking in the warmth filtering through the fog.

It is only a sense that we are almost back to harbour, based on time rather than position. Gazing back into the fog and suddenly four more bottlenose dolphins leap clear on the water, drawing further excited yelps from my lips. There is no time to stop. It is a last goodbye. The harbour comes into focus, appearing from the mist with its ghostly figures on top. We are soon back on dry land, the sun now starting to fight back against the blanket of fog, pushing it away from the houses and harbour. Yet it still lingers close offshore, not quite willing to give up its blanket hold on this part of the coast.

What a fabulous trip for our Wild Barley family. Robyn’s first boat trip and first dolphins (hopefully of many!) and Barley’s first trip on a boat... she is an old hand at dolphin watching from shore :)

Our trip was with New Quay Dolphin Spotting Trips who work in connection with Sea Watch Foundation.

Whale Watching in the Azores

After taking people ‘virtual whale watching’ in the Azores for the last three WhaleFest events, I felt it was finally time to set foot on the archipelago myself. But when to go? The virtual whale watching experience at WhaleFest had focused on the sperm whale. For the people of the Azores this is The whale; when they talk about whales on the island it is about the sperm whale. This is the whale they hunted until the mid-1980s, still using traditional methods. They are the whales that are intricately intertwined with the culture and history of the islands. They are the whales that are present year round. So I could go any time, weather permitting. But speak with any of those affectionately known as ‘whale geeks’ (and I count myself honoured to be included in this) and they talk of spring. Of baleen whales. At this time of year ocean giants such as blue, fin and sei whale migrate past the Azores on their way north. At the same time there is a bloom of phytoplankton leading to large numbers of zooplankton (tiny animals like krill) aka whale food! My mind was set, spring it would be with the hope of encountering these magnificent giants. 

And so we arrived on the island of Faial, first week of May, smack bang in the middle of the spring migration. The charm of the island captured me from the start; dominated by the caldeira, the huge crater of an extinct volcano, brilliant green and lush vegetation slopes down to meet dark volcanic rocks, black sandy beaches and the glistening azure blue sea. In the charming town of Horta the traditional buildings are white, with coloured borders to the windows and doors, dark shutters and topped off with red tile roofs. Those that break the trend of white tend to be painted a pale, pastel colour, maybe yellow or blue. The streets are cobbled with dark stone, and along the sidewalks patterned with white stone into writing or pictures; a windmill, boat or whale. Madeiran wall lizards scamper over walls made of volcanic rock, its surface characteristically peppered with small holes. The tree lined seafront promenade overlooks the marina where numerous yachts line up, busy but not nearly as busy as it will become. The town is a traditional stopover for transatlantic sailors, many of which have left their mark with paintings on the marina steps. Looking east over the channel the impressive sight of the eponymous Pico which for the majority of our stay has at least some cloud cover, on occasion completely obscured while even on our clearest day a band lies just beneath its peak. 

Horta (Photo: Lee Barber)

But as captured as I am by the island, it is the sea and the whales I am here for. 

My first two trips are onboard the RIB Risso with Horta Cetaceos. Trip one and our skipper Pedro expertly guides the boat over the swell and out to the south of Faial. He is guided by the lookouts, a throwback to the old whaling days, now these sharp eyed watchers call out all species for whale watchers. Pedro uses the speed of the boat to take us quickly to the locations, then slows and carefully manoeuvres us around not one but three different species of baleen whale. First a humpback whale, with tail fluke lifted in greeting it seems. Then not one but two majestic fin whales, of which I am so used to seeing at a distance, high up from ferries or cruise ships, now, low to the water I am struck by their beauty, gracefully slipping through the waves. Then from the grey blue waves surfaces a magnificent blue whale. If you thought fin whale looked big from a small boat, the blue blows them away. The blow is huge, followed by a massive head and long, long, long body. Finally a tiny dorsal fin breaks the surface followed by a short tail stock and then whale disappears beneath the vast ocean. In a word it is awesome!

The awesome blue whale!

Trip two and Pedro heads north of Faial. Conditions are not great for the spotters, with high cloud the ocean is a calm, silvery grey that makes it harder for them to spot the blows. But they are seeing something, a back of a whale, a fluke print. And so we go. We are distracted though. In the calm conditions and with Cory’s shearwaters everywhere we are distracted by a group of bottlenose dolphins and then of common dolphins. Once again being so low to the water gives me a new perspective on both of these species, a perspective I must say I loved! Finally we arrive in the area where the spotter has seen this whale. Still it is down to us on the boat to find it. Ahead I glimpse something breaking the surface. No blow, just a dark back and small dorsal fin. It is a whale but a small one. We approach carefully and are treated to views of a minke whale. A whale that is very familiar to me, but of which sightings in the Azores are more unusual. With reports of larger whales we head back. It is those majestic fin whales again. We watch as a whale surfaces four or five time’s then dives for around 6 minutes. With Pedro’s skill and experience we are able to manoeuvre close enough to give the whale space, but to allow us to see the characteristic white lower jaw on the right side. With the sun beginning to break through the cloud the sea turns an oily blue colour and on our way back to the marina we encounter the bottlenose dolphins again. The group is chilled, spread out and relaxed. They approach and through the deep blue you can see their full length as they ride alongside the boat. It is magic to be so close to such beautiful animals in the wild. 

The white right lower jaw of a fin whale

My final trip is a full day with Whale Watch Azores and whale biologist Lisa Steiner. After a night of wind and rain the day dawns with a clear sky, just the odd white fluffy cloud obscures the vast blue sky and skirts the midriff of Pico. Despite the pickup in the wind and the odd white cap the sea conditions are not bad and at times the wind drops away leaving a stunning blue ocean. This time we head right along the coast of Pico on the trail of reports of a blue whale. Once again we encounter welcome distractions. The first a totally chilled out humpback whale that simply cruised along just under the water’s surface. From the slight elevation of the catamaran’s bow we can see the almost white glow of the whale’s pectoral fins. Then we encounter common dolphins, racing through the blue waves and sweeping this way and that under the bow of the catamaran. It is one of those moments where the water has calmed and it is almost glassy in places. Further on and the distinctive movement of striped dolphins catches our eye. They speed through the water, cutting the surface with a spray of water or leaping tremendously high out of the water. Then finally we meet up with a couple of other boats and from the surface a blast of water shoots high into the air. It is the blue. What follows is an awesome encounter. Again the slight elevation allows us to see the vast blue shadow of the whale beneath the water before it breaks it to breath. The routine is the same again, surface four or five times then down for around 8 minutes. But this time, this whale raised its fluke out of the water every time it dived for its deeper dive! Not all blue whales lift their tail flukes, and not all every time they dive! With each lift of the tail a whoop would escape my lips, as unstoppable as the blue whale itself. The trip is topped off with ‘whale’ riding dolphins. As they approach vessels to ride the pressure wave the bow creates, dolphins will often ride the wave a whale creates as it moves through the water. I have heard of it, but this was the first time I had seen it. Common dolphins would surface and then just behind a fin whale would surface! 

Awesome tail fluke of a magnificent blue whale

It was a long trip back to Horta, but I felt at peace sitting on the bow of a boat, watching waves, Cory’s shearwaters and even a couple of loggerhead turtles, remembering each detail of all of the encounters I had had during my superb trip to the Azores. I can see why this group of nine islands in the middle of the Atlantic is a mecca for whale watchers and is being considered for Whale Heritage Site status by the World Cetacean Alliance. 

I will be back. Summer dolphins and the sperm whales that have eluded me this trip are calling….

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Whale Watching Off Mull

I was back on the island where I had spent two summers working as a wildlife guide. Two extraordinary summers filled with fabulous people and wonderful wildlife, from whales and dolphins to eagles, seabirds and basking sharks. I had made firm friends that to be honest feel more like family. Now I was back, not permanently but for more than the fly by afternoon visit of my previous return. 

So after so many years I was once more sat on top of Sea Life Survey’s M.V. Sula Beag, the boat I had worked on in my second season, watching as we meandered out of Tobermory heading for the Sound of Mull and the waters beyond. I gazed at the familiar sights, the multi coloured shop fronts that any kiddie of a certain age would recognise as Balamory, the houses extending up behind them, intermingled with deep green trees, the yachts and sailing vessels moored up, the lifeboat station and the small Kilchoan ferry. We pass Calve Island that sits in front of Tobermory Bay and head out into the Sound of Mull, passing the small Rubha nan Gall lighthouse. More memories come flooding back as the Sound stretches in front of us, bordered by the island herself and the mainland of the Ardnamurchan peninsula. The guide’s give their talk, pointing out what species of wildlife we might encounter and where we are heading. It is all so familiar, and yet so different, for one thing I am listening rather than giving the talk.

Tobermory © Lee Barber

As we come down the Sound past Bloody Bay and to Ardmore Point everyone it seems are looking at the white-tailed eagles nesting in the pine trees, their pale heads and brown bodies striking against the deep green needles. It is then that I turn to scan the water and cry out with pounding heart ‘whale!’ A minke whale circles, working a small area of the Sound, searching for food as we sit and watch. The sound of its breath as it surfaces makes me shiver every time. Harbour porpoise join the foray, rolling at the surface like a small, black wheel. After a while we move on, heading out of the Sound into the patch of water between the Small Isles, Ardnamurchan lighthouse and the island of Coll. The water is smooth, silky and blue as the sun breaks through the patchy cloud. Hundreds of seabirds sit or skim the waters surface, Manx shearwaters, guillemots, puffins, razorbills, kittiwakes, gannets to name a few. Tiny storm-petrels dance over the extra smooth patches, their feet dappling the surface. An Arctic skua comes racing through chasing a kittiwake, trying to make it drop its catch of fish.

Minke Whale

On reaching the Cairns of Coll, a small cluster of rocky islands off the main island of Coll, we search the mixing waters where recent sightings of whale have been good. We are rewarded with sightings of another three minke whales, their dark backs gracefully breaking the now deep blue water, rolling and slipping beneath the gentle waves.  Once more we sit and watch as the whales again work in a circle, searching for food, occasionally coming in close to the boat before reappearing further away. After a while we turn and leave the whales to the foraging, heading back towards Mull accompanied by those multitudes of seabirds. 

I can’t keep away from the sea and the next day sees me back on the boat for another trip. It is another gorgeous day, with calm seas and sunshine greeting us once more as we steam out of Tobermory and up the Sound of Mull. This time it is the sharp eyes of Andy Tait, a long term volunteer with Sea Life Surveys who spots a whale, a little further out of the Sound. But the photos reveal it is highly likely to be the same individual we had encountered the day before with the distinctive nicks in the trailing edge of its dorsal fin giving it away. Again we simply sit and enjoy, listening and watching as the whale works its way in a circle around us, before once more heading across to the waters just off the Cairns of Coll.  In almost an exact repeat of the previous trip we spot more minke whales as we approach the mixing waters off the Cairns. But it some splashing a little further off that catches our eye and as we slowly make our way over it is soon revealed as the fast, deliberate movement of a group of common dolphins.

Common dolphin

We slowly move in their direction, and part of the group breaks away, speeding over, leaping synchronously together out of the blue water, sunshine glinting off the yellow patch on their sides. They approach us, bow riding and seeming to check us out as much as the other way round. But they are busy. The rest of the group remains aloof, intent on feeding and soon those that had come to investigate us return to that all important business too. But even to share a couple minutes of their time is magic, and as we head into the Cairns of Coll for lunch we watch them at a distance storming around, moving one way and then another, leaping high out of the waves and landing with huge splashes of white water. 

Lunch at the Cairns is another highlight that brings back a rush of memories. We anchor amongst the dark rocks, dappled with white and yellow lichen and covered with tufts of grass and the delicate flowers of seapink. The turquoise blue water gently rolls up onto white beaches made up of crushed shells. It is a truly beautiful and idyllic spot. Common and grey seals lounge on the black rocks, the braver ones approaching to bob at a respectable distance watching us, before almost spooking themselves and disappearing with a snort and a splash. All around Arctic and common terns patrol the water, passing back and forth, occasionally dropping down to catch a silvery fish. 

Although we wish we could, we cannot stay and soon it is time to leave. Slowly we make our way out from between the rocky islets to open water and then back across to Mull. We see more harbour porpoise as we return and even one more distant whale. 

It has been magic to return to these waters, and once again the marine wildlife of the Inner Hebrides has not disappointed. Thank you to all at Sea Life Surveys for giving me such a warm welcome back.

I promise myself I will not leave it so long next time… 

Find out more about whale watching from Mull with Sea Life Surveys on their website (www.sealifesurveys.com)

10 years to the day

Where have the last 10 years gone? 

10 years ago today I was sat on a rather lovely boat called Alpha Beta, bobbing around off the coast of the Isle of Mull. Fresh out of university I was spending the summer working as a volunteer for Sea Life Surveys, one of the longest running whale watch companies in the UK. This particular day was my day off, but that had not stopped me hopping on board for a couple of whale watches, off in search mainly of minke whales but with a range of whale and dolphins species, seals, basking sharks and a multitude of seabirds to encounter. I remember this particular trip more than any other. It was a rather cloudy day but the sea was reasonably calm. We’d done one trip and had headed out for a second. Sitting on the top of Alpha Beta, her broad white bow in front of me, dipping and rising a little with the waves I had gazed out at the silvery grey sea and the surrounding landscape that was quickly becoming very familiar to me. The Isle of Mull stretched out to my left, to my right in the distance the low lying island of Coll hovered on the horizon. Ahead the rugged coastline of Ardnamurchan, with its impressive lighthouse towering into the grey clouds. Beyond that I could still see the characteristic outline of the Small Isles, in particular Rum and Eigg (which always reminded me of a humpback whale). We were heading in, having encountered a good number of birds, and a couple of minke whales, one of which had surfaced just in front of the boat so that I could almost see down its blowholes as it surfaced, breathed and dived. It had been a good trip. Eri, who was guiding had kept the passengers engaged, all I had to do was sit back and enjoy.

Ardnamurchan lighthouse with the Isle of Eigg in the background

It was just as we were approaching the entrance to the Sound of Mull that one of the passengers commented that he thought is saw something, way over towards the Small Isles. I looked over, scanned, and something caught my eye. Something that at first did not really register. A tall, black, vertical ‘thing’ had risen out of the grey waves before disappearing. I spoke with the skipper. There was… something there… So we turned and all eyes were trained on the spot. Once again that something surfaced, only this time there was no doubting what it was. Orca! We slowed and let them approach. Thus began my very first encounter with Orca. Not just in the UK but anywhere. Not only that but they were members of the West Coast Community, the only resident group of Orca in the UK, and with only nine members (possibly eight) and no calves in years, also the most endangered.

Aquarius

I watched spell bound as six whales approached, two with really tall dorsal fins. Most likely Aquarius and Comet, two of the males in the group, accompanied by females, likely to be Puffin and Occasus who usually travel with Comet and Aquarius respectively, although I cannot tell from my photos. Behind these came a very distinctive male called Floppy Fin, one of a very small percentage of wild Orca that have a bent over dorsal fin. Again a female travelled close to him, one I could not ID from my pictures but could have been Nicola, a female who is regularly seen with Floppy Fin and suspected to be his mother. In total there were six of them, moving at a steady pace, passing us and heading down the coast. I remember seeing Floppy Fin and the female tail slapping and milling around before also heading away.

Two of the group head down the coast of Mull

It was the best encounter of my first year with Sea Life Surveys, and probably of the second year I spent with them in 2008. I remember the smiles from passengers and crew, the elation that lasted for days and for me has never left. I am so chuffed that the very first Orca I ever saw were in Scottish waters

In the intervening years I have been lucky enough to see Orca again, and they have been very special encounters each of them; every sighting of wild Orca is. Standing on a cold, windy deck of a ferry crossing the Bay of Biscay, with a guy who just came up to have an early morning coffee and was treated to me jumping around the deck in excitement as four Orca passed quickly by. Watching a male and female through a telescope from a beach in New Zealand, not quite believing my partner at first when he said ‘I’ve got Orca!’ Two Orca filled weeks in Canada that began with watching transients hunting seals and culminated in a spectacular encounter in a kayak with Northern Residents appearing out of the mist. Three individuals cruising out of Force 8 waves north of Norway, and then a group of nine calmly surfacing in silky blue, calm waters on the journey south with one huge male breaching clear of the water parallel to the ship, much to the delight of all on deck.

Northern Resident Orca in Canada

All have been memorable and special, but I will always remember that very first sighting, 10 years ago today in a very special place with a crew of very special people. A part of my heart remains in Mull and with the West Coast Community of Orca, who inevitably will one day no longer patrol the waters of the west coast of Scotland and down through Irish waters. Perhaps before that time I will catch up with them again, and maybe even get the chance to meet John Coe, the most recognisable and well known of the community. But if not I am privileged and proud to have encountered them once all those years ago. 

Find out more about the West Coast Community of Orca at the Scottish Orca blog or the HWDT website. And why not go whale watching with Sea Life Surveys, one of the best whale watch companies not only in the UK but in the world!

A Winter's Bay

The sun rose blood red over an ocean that was silvery blue. Despite the saying red sky in the morning sailor take warning the waves were calm and the swell low. The conditions were good for sighting those often elusive whales and dolphins. With the breaking dawn spreading light over the rolling water a couple of figures stood on the back deck of the ferry eagerly scanning out to sea. Having never crossed the Bay of Biscay in February I was not sure entirely what to expect. I know that some species are present in these deep waters year round, but for others like sperm whale and fin whale it felt a little early in the season. There are sightings of these giants at this time of year but they are fewer than later in the spring and summer. Still ever the optimist and always of the mind you just never know, I was one of those figures standing in the cool morning light, watching the blood red sun rise and then disappear behind a bank of cloud, scanning the silver waves. 

As morning progressed still no dorsal fin or blow split the waves. The clouds soon vanished leaving a brilliant blue sky and azure ocean. Even though it was February the sunglasses and sun cream both came out. 

Then mid-morning and an almost squeal of delight from one of the others gave away our first sighting. Three Cuvier’s beaked whales broke the surface right alongside the ferry, their brown scarred backs rolling and then disappearing again amongst the waves. Four or five times we watched, with each surface met by accompanying squeals that for me only a whale or dolphin could produce in someone.

Cuvier's beaked whale

As the ferry continued its journey south the snow covered mountains of the Picos appeared almost like billowing clouds on the horizon, growing ever more distinct. More sightings followed; two groups of striped dolphins almost sneaked past, only to leap clear of the blue water once beyond the stern; more beaked whales were picked up at distance, their size and position of the dorsal fin giving away their identity but the distance not allowing certain identification to species level.

Striped dolphins

As more of the Spanish coastline came into view, the wind dropped further until the water was smooth and oily. A small group of bottlenose dolphins broke the surface, mother and calf clearly defined even from this distance and height.

The turnaround in Santander brought more sun and ice cream, it felt more like early summer than February. The return journey started with only an hour or so of light left. Once again the group was back on deck, willing the ferry to get out of the harbour and into the open sea once more. Although light was failing as mist and cloud gathered blocking our setting sun, perseverance was rewarded with a distant group of dolphins, silhouetted against the setting sun, and then a group of long-finned pilot whale, also dark but distinct with their bulbous, round heads and broad swept back dorsal fins. 

A wonderful end to a winters day in the Bay of Biscay.

The Journey South

We leave the wild mountains and Walrus of Svalbard behind and enter a heavy, ‘following sea’. White crests roll over the top of deep blue waves that the Saga Pearl II almost surfs down. We follow the coast south, over on the distant horizon the mountains still rise hazy blue. The conditions are not conducive to whale watching, and it is a couple hours before we see our first big mammal. A Sei Whale surfacing against the waves, lifting its head high to catch a clear breath. The wind then starts to drop, the number of white caps melting away, the waves dropping in height. Conditions were improving. Then ahead it was as if someone had drawn a line on the horizon. Slowly it approached and it seems as if the team are holding their breath, not quite believing the conditions beyond. Crossing it was like passing into a magical world, a whale watchers paradise. The wind disappears completely and the ocean becomes silky smooth, the slight cloud cover casting a silvery sheen and the sightings increase. Humpback Whales, White-beaked Dolphin and Minke Whales all in quick succession. Ahead three blows catch the eye. One then two are identified as Humpback Whale, the blow bushy, a dark body and humped back beneath. But the third is massive and thin. I catch my breath, scanning, searching, hoping to see this particular whale again. Once again a massive blow reaches into the pale blue silvery sky and beneath, not a dark body, but a pale and huge body. It is a Blue Whale. The largest animal that has ever lived on this planet we call Earth. I cannot contain my excitement, as I whoop and leap around the deck much to the amusement of the passengers. But it is not over, with the Humpback and Blue Whale still in sight another animal surfaces, this time a Fin Whale. Three species of incredible animals within the space of five minutes. Like I said, it was a magical kingdom.

A mighty Blue Whale

Still we cannot linger, and continue our journey south. Once more something catches the eye. Amongst the silvery calm, water boils, like fish at the surface but then something dark pops up. It does not roll like a whale. It is too big with too many repeated bobbings for birds. No dorsal fin like a dolphin, just a snout and rounded body. Closer inspection reveals that they were seals. But which species? Never had I seen seals behave like this, accelerating vertically up out of the water. I never pretend to know everything, that would be arrogant and pretentious. So it was with the help of a passenger that we identify these as Harp Seals. But we are not talking about one or two seals, great swathes of water boil ahead and alongside the ship as hundreds of Harp Seals surface in various groups over a period of half an hour!

Harp Seals

The following day, and no longer can we see the mountains of Svalbard. All around us the ocean extends from either horizon. It is an overcast day, showery, but importantly still calm. Following the unseen continental slope the day brings over 50 sightings. Half way through the morning an adult and juvenile Humpback Whale surface close to the ship. They are here to make the most of rich feeding grounds after an epic journey from the warm tropical waters where her calf would have been born. A frenzy of Fin Whale sightings just after lunch keeps the team on its toes, with many surfacing so close to the ship you can almost see down their blow holes. A huge blow signals what was probably our second Blue Whale of the trip, although it remained more elusive than the first. A Sperm Whale lifts its fluke diving to find the squid roaming the dark depths beneath us. Flashes of silver fish are patrolled by Minke Whales. A Sei Whale surfaces amongst the mist of a heavy shower, a Fin Whale just behind it. White-beaked Dolphin leap amongst shards of light breaking through the clouds. 

The final leg of our journey takes us back along the coast of Norway, from Tromso, through the meandering, steep sided fjords of Geriangerfjord, to the bustle of Bergen. Low lying mist threads its way through scattered islands, shrouding the feet of towering snow capped mountains. The sea once again is silvery and smooth and in such conditions it is not hard to spot the dark, black shapes of Long-finned Pilot Whale, the breach of distant feeding dolphins and the quick roll of Harbour Porpoise. Mid-morning and far ahead something black once again breaks the surface. Zeroing in and several, tall dark fins emerge from the silvery sea and with a growing sense of excitement we realise there is just one thing they can be. Orca. The mingling group of at least eight includes at least three big bulls, one with a dorsal fin immense not only in height but width. As the ship comes alongside the group one male leaps completely clear of the water landing with a huge splash and a roar of delight from the watching passengers. As the ship passes, slipping onwards on its inexorable path south, the group continues to mill with several younger animals also leaping clear of the water. Cue massive, silly grins on everyones faces.

Orca!!!

Through the steep sided, meandering water ways of Geraingerfjord and even the more muted, softer, rounded islets and islands of the fjord off Bergen, we watch Harbour Porpoise surface amongst the dark wavelets. Tiny calves surface in close synchronisation with their mothers, causing a ripple of delight amongst those the most perseverant of passengers still on deck.

The final stretch of North Sea proves more productive than the journey north with a group of five Minke Whales causing a stir at the breakfast table. Rain and wind finally close in and the team bids a final farewell to the survey deck. For the first time in a long time the sun sets fully, darkness falls and when it is light again we are greeted by white, not of glinting snow caps, but of white, sheer cliffs of chalk. We were back in Dover and our Arctic adventure is over. For now. 

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To the Arctic

The Saga Pearl II left Dover to the tune of beautiful evening sunshine, calm seas and even a couple of Harbour Porpoise. Its ultimate destination was Svalbard in the Arctic and there were four additional passengers who were highly excited about the prospect of the trip ahead. Since 2007 the marine charity ORCA has been working in association with the cruise company Saga in order to place survey teams onboard trips making their way around the European Atlantic, from the Mediterranean to the high Arctic and Iceland. In this way the charity’s collection of sightings data from various ferry routes from the UK has been complemented in areas where ferries do not regularly venture. In addition the trips are a perfect chance to raise awareness about the charity and the plight of whales and dolphins.

For four days the weather is against us, with windy conditions hampering sightings across the North Sea and when continuing up the Norwegian coast. Then in the morning light from a night where the sun never set, and with the team on deck early for the approach to the Lofoten Islands, that magic shout went up ‘Blow!’ Ahead of the ship a Fin Whale surfaced, its breath catching in a million sparkling droplets before it disappears beneath the waves. A short while later and another whale is sighted on the horizon, its blow hanging in the cold air. But to be totally honest it is the feathered wildlife that steals the show on the approach to the beautiful harbour of Leknes. While we are relieved to have our first large cetacean sightings, we are completely delighted by the reams of Puffins that stream past our bow.

Fin whale surfaces in the morning light near the Lofoten Islands

While the Lofotens are located within the Arctic Circle, the climate here is mild what with the influence of the Gulf Stream. The beaches are almost white, the waters of the harbour a clear blue green and teaming with jellyfish. Around us tall mountain peaks, some still capped with snow, rise and from their tops the majestic White-tailed Eagle soars.

On leaving this little piece of paradise the ship sails in the lea of the Lofoten Islands the ocean is like a mill pond, calm and serene. More Puffins stream by, Arctic and Long-tailed Skua’s chase and harass the Kittiwakes stealing their hard earned food. Balls of fish boil at the surface, disturbing the rippling calm with a silver flash as a Minke Whale surfaces in their midst. Turning the corner of the islands, the ship continues her journey north aiming dead straight for her ultimate destination, Svalbard. With the turn comes the wind, for so long sheltered by the tall mountains the Saga Pearl is now buffeted. She rolls up and down on a moderate swell, white horses dancing in the steely blue waves around her. As with the previous day there will be no sunset tonight but there would come a point where the team would need to go to bed…. It was almost time; the wind was cold in the eyes and the body ached from being continually buffeted. Then amongst the waves, and spray something catches my eye. I look again scanning the deep troughs and peaks with binoculars and something big and dark surfaces in my view. ‘I’ve got Orca!’ the words rip from my dry lips! The sighting is brief but lifts our spirits like only Orca can, and it is with a smile on our faces we retire to bed in anticipation of the next day.

Puffins streaming by

Once again the sun never sets and is still hovering low in the sky the next morning which dawns with much calmer seas and brings a fantastic day of whale watching with nearly 50 encounters. It starts with another four sightings of Orca brushing the horizon, followed by Minke Whales and White-beaked Dolphins. Then mid-morning we cross what seems an invisible line but beneath the gently rolling waves the sea floor had dropped, sloping away to the even darker depths. The way we knew? The whales got bigger! Now we were seeing the tall spouts of Fin Whales, the distinctive sinking surfacing pattern of Sei Whale and the majestic flukes of Sperm Whales the largest of the toothed whales and the inspiration behind Moby Dick. Ahead a magnificent Humpback Whale breaches clear of the water, its body slamming back into the waves with a massive splash; it then lifts its long brilliantly white pectoral fins up and slaps them repeatedly into the ocean. The day draws to an end, still light but none the less sleep beckons, although not before a beautiful Fin Whale surfaces less than 500 m from the ship and just behind it something smaller, a White-beaked Dolphin, an association between two cousins that share the same ancestry but that have taken very different evolutionary path ways. One now huge, with two blow holes and baleen to filter food from gulps of water. One smaller, stockier, one blow hole and teeth for grabbing slippery prey.

Fin Whale and White-beaked Dolphin surface in unison

And so the team retires from deck knowing the next step of the adventure is just a sleep away - The magical island of Spitsbergen.

'Oh Happy Whales'

The day started off gloomy, low cloud and drizzle seemed to merge with a rolling, iron grey sea whose waves were crested white. Dawn was slow to break, and came as a seeping flush of grey rather than the spectacular brilliance of gold and orange. The ferry ploughed on regardless, and for hour’s one person stood on deck blinking against the occasional drizzle and buffeted against the seemingly unerring wind. Wrapped up in warm layers, woolly hat (a Granny B special) and hood up, the hours simply slipped by in a blur of waves, rain and spray. Slowly more people joined the watch, and gradually the conditions improved. The white caps melted away leaving just dark waves behind, and while at first the clouds kept a constant cover the drizzle and mizzle disappeared. Finally after four and a bit hours, something breaks the surface. Not too dissimilar to the still constant waves, but different. Staring at the spot intently something again breaks the surface. Dolphin. A second later and the shout goes up from the back of the boat also. More dolphins, riding the wake the giant ferry creates. Leaping clear of the still grey waves the dolphins reveal a bright yellow patch on their flank, a sure sign these are Common Dolphins.

Common Dolphins in Bay of Biscay

As the morning progresses towards lunch wave after wave of groups of Common Dolphin approach the vessel, heading for the bow or passing down the side before surfing the waves of the wake. At the same time conditions improve further, glimpses of blue sky start to appear in cracks in the cloud cover.

The shout of dolphin goes up again! But these are different, larger, darker and slower the group reveals itself as a pod of Long-finned Pilot Whale, surfacing close together and in synchrony, a small calf amongst their ranks.

By lunch the sun is out and the sea is calm although small waves continue to ripple across the now blue water. The whales have appeared. Out on the horizon tall jets of condensed air hang like smoke against the blue of sky and water.

The journey is coming to an end, ahead behind the hazy cloud I know the coastline of Spain and the dramatic edges of the Pyrenees will soon come into view. Around the ferry it looks like nothing has changed, except for the weather. But beneath us the seabed has undergone a dramatic transformation. From the deep dark depths of the abyssal plain, underwater canyons and jagged slopes have risen up, and while the water is still deep these provide the perfect conditions for fish and squid to flourish. And where they flourish so does the most deep diving and elusive group of all whales, the beaked whales. Once again ahead something breaks the now blue and rippling water. But there is no leaping, no song and dance, just up, breathe, and down. Against the shimmering blue the animal is dark, but close inspection reveals a brown body, paler head and a hint of scarring. Again the animal surfaces, closely followed by a second, again it happens quickly. It would be so easy to miss, but to the experienced sea watcher the species is clear, they are Cuvier’s Beaked Whales.

Cuvier's Beaked Whale

With a final fling the day is topped off with an acrobatic group of Striped Dolphin and ice cream in sunny Santander, leaving one very happy albeit tired whale watcher.

Striped Dolphin

Virtual Whale Watching

March 15th and 16th 2014, and without even leaving the Hilton Hotel I had guided nearly 10 whale watching trips in the Azores. I had helped passengers into rather fetching bright orange, bulky lifejackets and then climb into our boat. I had given them a chat about not throwing rubbish (or themselves!) overboard, about how we follow whale watching guidelines and how we collect data, turning round and pointing to my science guide, clipboard in their hand. We had then headed off, passing yachts and other boats, heading out past mount Pico. I had told them what to look for in order to help us find whales and dolphins, pointing out that it did not matter whether it turned out to be a whale, a wave or an office chair (it happens to the best of us!) I would rather they shout out. And not before too long we had come across a huge flock of Cory’s shearwaters followed swiftly by a small group of Risso’s dolphin. Heading on and we come across our first sperm whale, the largest of the toothed whales and famed for being Moby Dick. We get even more excited as suddenly a mother and her calf surface just ahead, resting at the surface before they dive, the mother lifting her tail high out of the water. 

Lifejackets, boat and whales!

We continue on, sperm whales can hold their breathes for over an hour so she may be some time, and are suddenly surrounded by a huge mixed group of bottlenose and common dolphins. The common dolphins come so close you can see them under water and hear them whistling. As quickly as they arrived the dolphins are gone and our search continues. As we travel I reach over and scoop a plastic bag from over the side, highlighting the issues of plastic in our oceans and the problems it causes when eaten by whales, dolphins and turtles. Then there ahead, another sperm whale, a big male this time. He is huge. We watch as he breathes at the surface, you can feel the spray from his blow on your cheek, before he too lifts his massive tail into the air and dives. Camera’s click madly as out science guide gets a picture for photo ID. 

A sperm whale dives beneath the waves

It’s not over though as we now come across a nursery group of young sperm whales. Time for the hydrophone. With one passenger clasping the end of the rope we lower the underwater microphone over the side and listen carefully. Regular clicks can then be heard, sperm whales echolocating beneath us, searching for their prey. Before too long it is time to leave, the last whale lifts it tail and dives beneath the waves, we haul in the hydrophone and head for home. But never say never, as we speed a long one final dolphin leaps out from infront of us. 

One final leap of a dolphin!

And then there is land, and more boats and the harbour again. We are back. I thank them for coming, for yelling loudly everytime they saw a whale, and for listening. I tell them to go and ask whale watch operators whether they follow guidelines, pick up litter, collect data, and encourage them to go whale watching responsibly. 

This is virtual whale watching WhaleFest style. The boats are real, the lifejackets are real, the whales are real, well on the screen they are. Real water is sprayed at the kids when the whale surfaces, eliciting shouts of surprise and delight. The clicks and whistles are real recordings. You can really feel the wind in your hair as a fan surreptitiously whirls from the side of the screen. And the screen! A huge, curved horseshoe shaped behemoth of a screen that really does make you feel like you are there. 

That was my WhaleFest 2014. Now perhaps I should actually go to the Azores…..

Dolphin Delight

Ahead the water of Johnstone Strait boiled. A long line of turbulent water stretching across the far side. Even from the low kayak you could see the disturbance in an otherwise calm sea. Through binoculars, on the bow of the nearby boats you could make out dark leaping shapes. Dolphins, lots of dolphins. Steaming up and down the Strait is a group of well over 300 Pacific white-sided dolphins. 

Just over two nautical miles away, across the other side of the smooth expanse of water, the small group of kayakers cautiously paddled out of Blackney Passage. They pause a short distance from shore, not willing to go too far into the middle of the Strait where motor boats and cruise ships travel. The dolphins remain distant, a mass of white frothing water, the occasional dark body leaping clear and creating an even bigger splash.

Watching from afar

Turning, the kayakers slowly head up the Strait reluctantly leaving the dolphins away to the left. Then something ahead catches the eye, the glint of sun reflecting against a dark back, a smooth sickle shaped dorsal fin slices through the water, followed by another. Part of the group has turned and in the blink of an eye, or the dip of a paddle, crossed the Strait. The small group crosses ahead of the kayakers and then turns. Hearts beat faster, paddles slow, and swoosh three or four dolphins surface within meters.

Pacific white-sided dolphins! 

Suddenly the whole group appears around us. Dolphins on all sides leaping clear, surfacing four, five or six abreast, in perfect synchrony. Exclamations of delight burst forth, an irrepressible, instinctive reaction to so many dolphins leaping almost jubilantly around us. It is impossible to know where to look, as we crane our necks one way and then another. Then someone yells ‘beneath!’ Looking down into the dark water and beneath the kayak are dolphins! Gracefully they twist and turn, seemingly looking back up at us as we gaze down at them.

Time seems to slow, the encounter feels like it lasts a lifetime, a slow motion play of events….then almost as quickly as they all appeared the dolphins are gone. We look up, time speeds back up to normal, and we see the group once again churning down the Strait.

Another fabulous adventure with Kingfisher Wilderness Adventures....

Orca in the mist...

I am sitting in a kayak, the smooth silky water a finger tip away, behind me a huge grey boulder of the shoreline towers above. Pot marked with yellowish, reddish and orangey brown lichen, with brown bull kelp tickling the rock where it plunges into the water, continuing to the depths covered in urchins and anemones. Above and the deep green trees are shrouded by fog. Ahead the fog crowds in close, sea and sky merge, in the near distance a motor boat chugs. We wait. Patient. Well mostly. The handheld radio crackles, voices break the anticipated silence, cutting across the foggy air. Orca are coming our way. The motor boat gets a little louder, the whale watch boat, they must be close. Then hidden by the mist we hear a ‘kawoof’ followed by another and another. The unmistakable sound of Orca’s breathing! In front the steady stream of breaths passes by, unseen, but distinct… 

Minutes pass and all we hear is breathing Orca and the motor boat slowly passing us by. Then, to our right a tall, black dorsal fin looms and out of the mist a small group passes closer to shore, and closer to us.

The main group disappears, their blows getting fainter and with them the motor boat fades away. We are left alone. Four kayaks, five people and four Orca milling around… heaven! 

Here's looking at you!

Our guide drops down a hydrophone, an underwater microphone, and replacing the sound of the engine and the crackle of the radio, the wonderful calls of Orca’s echo through the air.

The mist begins to lift, bright sunlight beams through the breaks, glistening off the Orca’s backs and creating sparkles in the droplets of their breath. The world of Johnstone Strait, Vancouver Island, Canada, reveals itself, a backdrop of forested mountains, rippling calm waters and Orca surfacing in the deep blue-green sea.

Orca in the mist

This wonderful encounter was part of a kayak tour with Kingfisher Wilderness Adventures (http://www.kingfisher-adventures.com/), more adventures from this trip to follow.... Watch this space!

A day in the Bay of Biscay

The deep blue of the Atlantic Ocean stretched to the horizon, mirrored by a blue sky that was a just a shade lighter. The sea rolled, the occasional white cap broke the surface, small dark waves rippled. The ferry steamed ahead, leaving a path of pale turquoise and white water. Once again I am back heading across the Bay of Biscay.

After a quiet morning, with only the occasional adult gannet swooping by, finally comes the shout of dolphins. Common dolphins sweep past the vessel quickly reaching her wake. Surfing through the waves, they start to leap, clearing the waters surface by meters, as exuberant as those onboard watching.

Common dolphins 

Breach!

The wind picks up, more white horses are scattered across the deep blue. Still we stand, still we watch, we wait. Then from the depths… a tall, ephemeral jet of vapour, the telltale sign of a whale, followed by a large, dark, sleek body that slices out of the waves. Not just any whale. A fin whale. The second largest animal on the planet, a few hundred meters from the ferry. Again it surfaces, heading in the opposite direction, before after the third time it is lost from view.

Fin whale!

We resume our watching but it is not long before something else catches our eye. A dark shape beneath the waves… a huge dark shape beneath the waves, but not breaking the surface. This time it is the second largest fish on the planet, a basking shark! As the ship passes, the tip of its dorsal and tail fin breaks the surface, before it is also lost beneath the waves at the stern.

My head turns back to look ahead, and once again I see that ephemeral wisp of a whale blow. But where is the whale? It must be close…then whoosh! not one but two whales, an adult and a juvenile!

Adult and juvenile fin whale

Through the hazy cloud the Spanish coast comes into view, mountains still capped with snow, towering over the rocky coastline. Our whale watching adventure is almost over for the day, but not quite with one final sighting of long-finned pilot whale. They surface close together, a tight-knit group, black bodies gleaming in the sun and topping off yet another brilliant day in the Bay of Biscay.