Expect the unexpected

Mon beaut on the right

Though whale sightings in week one were few and far between, settling into life at the camp was sweet as. Our tents are pitched among the trees behind the lab, a few metres above the shoreline. Take a short gravel path further back and you reach a beautiful log cabin – home to Hermann and his dog Neekas. 

In the trees behind the house there is a small outhouse (or long drop), a hot outdoor shower, and to add to the blissful atmosphere there is an outdoor fire bath overlooking the nearby stony beach. 

The bath

Janie and Cohen (her golden retriever) sleep in the lab so that she can record any whale vocalisations throughout the night. The live feed from the hydrophones (sometimes with orca and humpbacks chatting and singing) fills the entire camp 24/7, and is often accompanied by laughing loons, raspy sealions, screaming eagles and howling wolves.

There was one evening where the wolves were howling and whales were close in the bight. Max, one of the interns, recorded the sounds and if you follow this link to the CetaceaLab blog the recording is available in the post 'Wolves meet Whales'. 

Click here: http://forwhales.org/blog/item/168-wolves-meet-whales

The house and the bear moss

Luckily the house includes a full kitchen in which we have cooked up many a storm with a freezer full of meat, heaps of fruit and veges, the occasional fresh salmon, and many keen to play chef. I’ve even tried a few new things, elk sausages included. It’s quite a strange thing eating meat from an animal you’ve never seen.

Casual scanning with my friend Cohen

We have a fabulous group of interns here from all over the world – Max, Jillan, and Cassie (who has already gone home) from Canada, Claire from England, a lovely Swiss couple Phillip and Katherine, Eric from America, and myself from little old Aotearoa. We rotate out two at a time to the Ulric Point outcamp on Aristazabal Island, with the remaining interns sharing the load on Gil Island. Working in 3 or 4 hour shifts, whale scans are carried out from 6am – 10pm daily. When weather and fuel supply permit, Janie or Hermann head to sea with two interns to carry out surveys in the small research vessel ‘Elemiah’.

The beach in the distance

Week one started with blue skies, light winds, and enough sun to break a sweat sitting on the deck in shorts and a t-shirt (well, in my case anyway). Rain gear? Pfft, more like bikini time. The shoreline is so enticing with clear water, giant purple starfish, huge green sea anemones and sneaky looking kelp beds holding who knows what. Never able to resist a swimming opportunity there have been several moments where I’ve raced down to the water (when there are no whales around) and dived in. Each time I seem to forget how cold it really is and immediately launch back out onto the rocks, spluttering and laughing with prickly, goosebumpy skin. Still, you have to swim. Always. 

New shelves

When we’re not on shift we’re expected to help with cooking and lend a hand with any small jobs. The Swissies have been hard at work building a wood shed and starting a small extension on the back of the house. We also get free time to read, write, hike, canoe, and Kayak (thanks to Katherine and Phillip for bringing them all the way from Switzerland). I spent an afternoon power sanding slabs of cedar wood to be used for shelves, and then varnished the end product. The beach walks are great, and the hike up to ‘The Bog’ is my favourite.  Following a steady incline through dense undergrowth, the wolf track (which is still used by the wolves as we found fresh wolf poo the other day) takes you into an open hillside with scattered trees and patches of boggy marsh. On a clear day the view of the sound is well worth having to hike in gumboots and as an added bonus there is a plentiful supply of huckleberries and blueberries to munch on.

The bog

Canoe time

Fresh wolf poo with bird bones

Claire and I are next on the Ulric shift. Time to play wild child on an island which is even more remote and the whale activity said to be unbelievable. I hope! 

Bubbles and Baleen

Today was an exceptional “holey-moley” day. One of those days that diminishes any “holey moley” day I’ve had in the past to a “wow”.

The morning started slow with lots of coffee, chatter and mammal-free scans. We heard talk on the radio of 2 humpbacks near Prince Royal Island. Janie, who I suspect was feeling a little land-locked having not been on the ocean in a few days, decided to head out in the research vessel Elemiah to get ID shots of the pair. I was lucky enough to be next in line for a boat excursion and willingly climbed aboard.  

Heading out of Taylor Bight I let my excitement grow. Would we find them and get up really close? Maybe we would see them breach? Would we get ID shots and head straight home, or get to follow them for an hour or so? After a week with only a few glimpses of distant blows, I would have been happy with anything.

As we neared Prince Royal Island, Neekas (Hermann’s dog who seems to communicate with whales on some deeper level) became more attentive and I took this as a sign to scan the horizon. I followed her gaze and sure enough within seconds I’d spotted their blows. As we approached the pair of humpbacks they fluked. Like a walking DFO catalog, Janie immediately knew it was Saucer and Herk. We edged the boat forward, and silently waiting with camera in hand I tried to anticipate where they would surface.

About 30m away I spotted a few bubbles bursting on the surface. I whipped the camera up to my face and through the eye piece I saw a bubble ring form. Before I had time to register what this meant, two great masses tore through the surface. Mouths wide open and pectoral fins flailing about in a graceful mess of flesh and baleen, the humpbacks gulped back fish and water. Within seconds of surfacing, they very slowly and very casually swam on. I was in shock.” Holey-moley” was all that would register. Did I really just witness bubble-net feeding? That was on my bucket list, but something I never thought I would be lucky enough to see.

I thought Humpbacks only used cooperative bubble net feeding when in large groups, but evidently two is sufficient. The whales dive deep and move below a school of fish or invertebrates. One whale begins to swim in a circle underneath the school, blowing bubbles as they move. The bubble ring effectively corrals and traps the fish which the whales consume as they swim to the surface with their mouth open.

We followed the whales at a close but safe distance and after a few moments the pair fluked once again. This time we were prepared. Janie quickly shut off the engine and threw a hydrophone overboard. The sound of the underwater world filled the boat as I scanned the surface for telltale signs of the next display. We heard small popping sounds, almost like throwing tiny pebbles into a stream, and sure enough bubbles began to burst only 15 metres away. Again the Humpbacks broke the glassy surface with little effort, so gentle and smooth. They closed their mouths capturing their prey and crashed together so softly, all part of the plan. This time I had the camera ready and caught the sequence in stills.

They swam along the shore a short distance, two tiny humans and two excited dogs hot on their tail, and fluked one after the other. Hydrophone overboard and eyes peeled, we waited. This time we were lucky enough to hear them communicate in a soft, drawn out tone. All I could think was “holey moley, is this actually happening?” as the bubbles surfaced and mouths emerged. They were about 10 metres away this time, and with this proximity a new sense kicked in – my sense of smell. I was reminded of the sulphur smell that fills Rotorua. At first I thought maybe it was Cohen - Janie’s excitable 2 year old golden retriever. But no, it turns out whales have bad breath. Really bad breath. Janie said when humpbacks are feeding their breath usually has a fishy smell to it, but when they first arrive and they’re bodies are still burning fat their breath can have a sulphur tang to it. Herk hadn’t been sighted yet this year so may have to take the blame.

We stayed with these whales for a few hours, watching and listening as they continued to feed only metres from shore. Occasionally we would move into the footprint to collect prey samples, then excitedly watch the continued displays while transferring scales into vials of ethanol. Such a successful trip – ID shots, vocal recordings, prey samples and a very happy intern.

The whales were aware of our presence but it didn’t seem to make a difference to them, even when Cohan growled his bear growl and barked excitedly. I said my thanks to Saucer and Herk and reluctantly turned to head back to the lab. I am still in shock, not quite believing what I saw. Looking over the photos I felt as though someone else had taken them. Today seems to be the day the humpbacks have chosen to arrive, so hopefully there is a lot more to come. I love this place.

Cetacea Lab

The water calms to still glass as we round a corner at the southern end of Gil Island and enter Taylor Bight. Kelp beds line the rocky shore which sharply rises to the foot of dense, lush green forest. Nestled in among the trees and perched above the steep, rocky shore is a small wooden structure with the words ‘Whale Point’ written between its large glass windows. This is Cetacea Lab, soon to be home for the next six weeks.

Cetacea Lab was founded in 2001 by the passionate and dedicated team of two – Janie Wray and Hermann Meuter. Both were former interns at Orca Lab, a well-established whale research based on Hanson Island, just off the northern tip of Vancouver Island. After several years of working together, Janie and Hermann ventured north in search of other sites where research was needed. Caamano Sound was originally chosen due to the large presence of Orca. After building a relationship with the Gitga’at people they were granted permission to use Gil Island and begin operations.  Humpbacks were first sighted in 2003 and Fin whales in 2006 both with yearly sightings are increasing in number.

The marine research station was set up to determine the abundance of different whale species present and the importance of the area as a critical habitat. Intra- and inter-specific social dynamics are studied along with the significance of orca dialects, humpback songs, and fin whale low frequency communication. To supplement their efforts, Hermann and Janie began an internship program bringing dedicated volunteers from May through September - when whale activity is at its highest. Boat surveys are conducted bi-weekly (weather dependent), whereas lab-based scans are carried out for upwards of 16 hours a day.  The sound is the best part about being here, starting and ending our day with the ocean. Six hydrophones positioned among the scattered islands allow for the continuous acoustic monitoring of whale vocalization. Speakers in the lab, house, and outside our tents fill the air with calming sounds day and night. 

Though these are still the main objectives, over the last 6 years their research has become part of a publically waged battle. The Northern Gateway Proposal hangs like a gloomy fog over this stretch of the Great Beat Rainforest, a region covering 250 miles of BC’s western coast and over 25 000 square miles in total. The vast coastal wonderland of fjords, densely forested islands, and exuberant wildlife is under threat of destruction. Canadian oil company Enbridge proposed a $5.5 billion (CA) project in the hopes of entering international oil trade. The oil lies in large amounts in Alberta where oil deposits are second only to those in Saudi Arabia.  Economically the benefits appear obvious: increased international trade, energy, job openings at either end of the pipeline. However, the environmental effects that face BC have the potential to be catastrophic and possibly bring negative economic implications as well.

Kitimat, a small BC community at the edge of the Douglas Channel, is where the proposed pipeline would end. Crude carriers 1116ft long would transport up to 2 million barrels of oil from Kitimat to the coast, though it’s not going to be as easy as it sounds. The channel is like a thin, winding maze with islands scattered throughout. It would be like driving bumper boats at theme parks, except the carriers would not rebound smoothly off an island. Or perhaps the game Operation, but instead of hearing an annoying buzz when you touch the sides it would be a deafening crash. Misjudging a tight corner in high waters and lapping waves would not be difficult. Even if you remove oil spills from the equation, the costs to this area are tremendous. The number of whales would rapidly diminish due to ship striking and noise pollution, effectively altering the entire ecosystem and stability of the marine environment. Many people rely on salmon fishing in these waters and I hate to think the fish we see leap from the water every few minutes would no longer be there.

After the difficulties the residents of Hartley Bay faced with the sinking of the Queen of the North in 2006, where responsibility for the ferry sinking was passed from hand to hand and to this day oil still leaks, it’s no wonder so many are opposing Enbridge. Sitting here at the window of the lab I see humpbacks pass in the distance. They are so far away yet they seem huge in the small channels. It’s almost impossible to imagine a carrier the size of 3 football fields following behind. First nations, BC residents, naturalists, eco-tourism companies and many others are doing all they can to stop this proposal from going through. The ‘not in my backyard’ mentality needs to go if we want our future generations to have somewhere to play. Any support is good support and at the very least I hope the stories I tell of my experience here will help get a few more people on board to end the Enbridge proposal and save the Great Bear Rainforest.

They say getting there is half the problem...

After a few weeks relaxing in the glorious Hawaiian Islands, the stressed and anxious feelings I left Auckland with had diminished. Although I was sad to say goodbye to my lovely hanai family once again, the tears subsided as the excitement built – I was off to Canada for the experience of a lifetime. 

My flight to Vancouver was only 6 hours long, but restless and foodless. Being the armature traveller that I am it didn’t cross my mind to check whether my fare included a meal. Arriving in the wee hours of the morning thoroughly exhausted and hangry (hunger related grumpiness), I was grateful to be issued my one-year work/travel visa without a fuss. Two more hours flying in a very small 20-seat plane was not a welcome thought, but as the plane soared higher it took my spirits with it. The view was to die for as we soared over snow peaked mountains and island spotted ocean.

Finally we arrived in Prince Rupert (PR) - my resting point for 2 nights before the internship. My first impression was one of mixed feelings. Lush green rainforest surrounded the airport, though the sky was a bleak grey and light rain seemed to leak constantly. It was beautiful, but it’s common knowledge that rain and I don’t get along (remind me again why I chose to spend 6 weeks camping in a rainforest?), and bloody hell was it cold! I’m talking hoodie and jacket and hands in pockets kind of cold. Ok, so not that cold… But for a body that had just got used to summer in the tropics, it was cold.

I explored PR the next morning after much needed kai and shut eye. It's a very small town in the middle of nowhere, built around the ocean and crab fishing. Year round it’s grey and rainy with large storms and snow in the winter, and the odd sunny day in summer (though I’m not sure if I would really count it as summer). Ravens perch on rustic buildings and seem to be more numerous then people, their shrill call filling the cold air. Walking around with that sound I felt like I was in a horror movie. Still, there is a relaxing nature to PR and the locals are lovely.

August 2^nd arrived and thankfully so did the recently repaired ferry to Hartley bay. Cassie (a free spirited young Canadian girl who was my roomie in the hostel the previous night and was also off to intern at Cetacea Lab) and I eagerly jumped aboard with our excessive luggage, face-splitting grins, and handful of chatty locals. Three hours later we arrived in Hartley Bay where Janie waited to greet us. Hartley Bay is a place like no other. Home to only about 150 people who’s weathered houses, probably once very colourful, are centered around a small refueling dock and connected by a snaking maze of wooden boardwalks. Truly a strange sight, but beautiful in a Venice-without-the-water-and-a-fraction-of-the-size way.

Janie, one of two founders and full time residents of Cetacea Lab, was an absolute angel from the get go. It took us an hour in her small boat to get to Gil Island - our home away from home - but coming around the last corner and spotting the lab amongst the trees was well worth all the travel.

Our idyllic little lab - Whale Point

A beautiful day in Taylor Bright.