Whale of a time

I’m not good with boats. Boats bother me. They’re not my thing. All that ocean. All that unknown depth. I get sea sick and I prefer to be on solid earth. But whales. I’m drawn to whales. I have been whale watching off the south and west and east coasts of Australia and off the west coast of Canada. I’ve seen humpbacks and southern rights and killer whales and plenty of dolphins. Mostly my whale watching has been done close to shore, where the land is clearly visible and the seas relatively smooth.

I first heard of the Bremer Canyon off the south coast of Western Australia a few years ago. A deep, deep canyon on the ocean floor just off the edge of the continental shelf, it draws apex predators. A large pod of killer whales, orca, live there. From January to April they are regularly found in an area whale spotters call The Patch, a five nautical mile square patch of sea, nineteen nautical miles off the coast. Beyond that time, they spread out so are not as easy to find.

There’s only one way to get amongst orca that live nineteen nautical miles off the coast. Boat. So, a couple of days ago, fortified with anti-nausea medication and a strong resolve, I boarded the WA Whale Watch boat to go and see the orca for myself. The sky was heavily overcast and the onshore breeze steady. ‘It will be a bit rough as we go out,’ the crew said. ‘Just stay seated until we get out there. It will take about an hour. If you want anything put your hand up and we’ll come to you.’

I stayed seated and looked out to the horizon. Five minutes after we left the harbour, the young girl sitting in front on me was heaving into a spew bag. The crew were amazing in their care and consideration and diligence as they dealt with everything, their sea legs confident on the rolling boat.

It took a bit over an hour until the boat slowed its rapid passage and we were told to look out for signs of orca. ‘Look for birds circling and congregating or for ‘blows’,’ the crew told us. Blows are the sprays from blowholes that whales make when the come to the surface and breath. The birds, mostly shearwaters soaring and dipping among the waves with dramatic skill, hang around the whales looking to scrounge scraps of meals.

It didn’t take long before we saw our first orca. A small family group. Black and white and beautiful. Smooth and shiny. The boat stopped and we sat, rolling on the waves as the orca came up to investigate, swimming around the boat, turning over under the water and looking up to us, their white bellies showing. A couple of albatrosses glided around, their two metre wide wingspans hard to believe even as they flew past.

As well as ferrying tourists out to watch the orca, the crew research the whales. They can tell individuals apart and are gathering information that continues to add to the body of knowledge about these deep ocean predators. The family group that we spent the afternoon with was a different one to those they had seen for most of the season. The crew’s delight in this was infectious, as was their delight in seeing a young calf amongst the pod.

Suddenly, the orca raced off ahead. About eighty metres away from us there was a burst of red-brown in the sea spray. A thrashing of tails. The water broiled with energy. The birds circled. The boat moved a little closer so we could see what was going on. Clearly the orca had hunted something. A slick of red-brown spread out across the water. The crew soon identified that what we were witnessing was the orca hunting and killing a dwarf sperm whale. It had never been seen before in the Bremer region. The red-brown slick was from a substance the dwarf sperm whale emit when stressed or threatened. This one certainly had reason to be stressed. The orca tore it apart, the whole family joining in on the feast. They moved the kill along and for the next hour feasted on it. The shearwaters and albatrosses joined in, flying in to grab a few mouthfuls and retreating. The albatrosses sat on the ocean, bobbing like ducks on a lake, their great wings folded. The shearwaters never landed but stayed on the wing the whole time.

It was fascinating to see, but eventually the roll of the boat got to me. By the time I succumbed to seasickness, plenty of others had already shown there was no shame in it. I was okay when the boat was moving. The steady roll as the boat skipped along through the waves was fine, but the inconsistent roll and pitch as the swell and waves rocked and tossed us as we circled around the pod soon got to me. It was quite a rough day and, as one crew member said to me, ‘It is the Southern Ocean.’

After they’d eaten their fill, the orca family turned to fun and games. We stayed and watched the play for a while but it was time to head back. We left them to it and bounced back through the waves. I felt better once the boat was moving along again, better still once land came into sight. By the time we disembarked I felt almost well again, although truth told my seasickness left me feeling light headed and depleted. A solid meal and a good night’s sleep restored me and already the memory of the seasickness is fading, while the memories of the orca are deepening. They hunted a dwarf sperm whale right there in front of us! No one had ever seen that happen in that area before. I wonder what they are doing today? One day I’ll go back and see them again. I just have to wait for all memories of my sea sickness to fade. And I’ll try to pick a dead flat calm day next time and maybe take more anti-nausea medication.

I didn’t take any decent photos during my whale watching trip, partly because I was too sick to look at a screen partly because I was too interested in being present to what was happening with the orca. The photo above was taken by my husband. For spectacular photos of the hunt, check out The Daily Whale on the WA Whale Watch website.

Thanks for reading. Until next time,

Jill