Resident visitors

I stepped out of my tent to grey sky and north westerly winds biting their way through the sound. A brief nap cured my lurking headache and brought on a feeling of fresh revival; a painless new start to the day. Enjoying the tingling of cold air rushing into the gaps of my clothes, I stretched a just-woken-up kind of stretch and peered through the trees to Caamano sound. My daydream was interrupted before it could reach the water’s edge as Eric ran from the shelter, long limbs leaping down the rocks shouting “Orca, Lucy, orca”.

I followed suit, flying to the shelter for my camera then down the rocks with my not so long limbs making slightly dangerous leaps and bounds. Out of Laredo Channel came the first of the orca, a group of three females and one very large male. They moved along at a relaxed speed, cutting through the glassy surface with subtle purpose and determination. We stood stark still, elated by the close proximity of these skillful predators as another male and female approached. Squeaky echolocation and social pings reached our ears from the hydrophone scanner as they travelled close enough to see the towering male dorsal wobble as it reached its peak, dwarfing the female with every breath.

Two kinds of orca are common here; Northern Resident Killer Whales and Transient Killer Whales. Although indistinguishable to the untrained eye, upon closer observation they are quite unique. The residents feed only on salmon, with a preference for Chinook, moving around noisily both above and below the surface. Transients often pass through to feed on marine mammals, travelling with stealth and minimal chatter to increase their chances of a kill. The northern residents are split into three acoustic clans – A, G and R. These resident clans are made up of smaller family pods connected by strong matrilineal bonds. Sons very rarely leave their mothers’ side, daughters and their offspring will remain part of a pod until the matriarch dies or the pod becomes too large, and distantly related families have even adopted new family members. To the trained ear the A, G and R clans sound as different as rock, pop and classical music, and within these clans each pod has its own dialect.

Within seconds of hearing the calls on the hydrophone, Hermann informed us over the VHF radio that we had whales from the G clan. Orca can be individually identified by the shape of their dorsal and the unique markings of their saddle patch, much like that of the humpback fluke or human fingerprint. We jumped back to the lab to compare our photos with those in the DFO catalog and quickly discovered we had the G17 pod. Satisfied with our encounter and findings we informed Whale Point and went about the afternoon with new hope and ginormous grins.

Two days passed with many humpbacks and a few fin whales, but sadly no more orca. Finally, as I sat eating a delightful bunch of fresh huckleberries and entering data, distant calls came over the hydrophone from orca somewhere in Camaano Sound. My spirits rose immensely, only to plummet ten minutes later when I was informed that the following morning I would have to leave the Ulric camp. I ditched the data and decided to walk along the rocks, hoping to get a closer look if the orca came from Estevan Sound and headed down Beauchemin Channel.

Luck was on my side for my final afternoon. My attempt to reach the opposite side of the bay was hindered by the high tide so after 10 minutes of rock-hopping I found myself anxiously sitting high above the water on My Rock (which I clamed earlier in the week after using it as a jump rock and reflection spot). Two black dorsal fins punched through the surface along the Wall Islet shore, almost two nautical miles away but large enough to see with the naked eye. One male travelled down the Rennison shore flanked by the smaller splashes of females, while the other male remained off the Wall Islets. With frequent breaths and sharp movements they moved with more intensity than the orca from our previous encounter, almost porpoising at the surface as is common in dolphins. This could mean only one thing, it was dinner time.

A large female led the pod with two other females, two juveniles and one male in tow. She breached, her white belly and black curves striking the surface with forceful intent. The pod caught up and there was a commotion at the surface. I was stunned, and can only guess that any prey beneath the surface were, too. My mouth-gaping silence was broken when the pod took a 90 degree turn and headed straight for me, the leading female metres from shore. I sprang back along the rocks as they made their way toward the Ulric camp, trying my best to take photos and stay in one piece. Eric and I stood transfixed as the orca slowed and gathered only 50m off shore, splashing and diving as they fed in a mush of fins and tails. There was another breach and more splashing, with the juveniles at the center of the action.

As the pod turned and casually left the way they’d come, we managed to pull ourselves together for some ID shots. The hydrophone recording hinted toward the G clan again and together identified this pod as the I21’s. We ate our dinner in silence that evening, enjoying yet another fiery sunset and absorbing the lingering energy of the afternoon’s encounter. 

Flying Saucer

It was whale survey day for the girls at Cetacea Lab. The hydrophone in Squally Channel was picking up feeding calls so Janie, Claire, Kathrin and I jumped on Elemiah. We approached the southern end of Ashdown Island and boy was it busy. Blows here, blows there, blows everywhere. It was whale city (as my mum would say) and we were right in the centre. All four of us wearing silly excited grins, more than stoked to be out there. 

For an hour or so we took ID shots; approaching whales, noting location, time and conditions, then waiting for them to fluke. We came to a pair who were traveling slowly and lunge feeding. We carefully inched forward when they took a dive, and seeing their flukes Janie said one of them was Saucer - the whale I'd seen bubble net feeding in week one. I was delighted at the re-sighting. They surfaced again, lunge feeding only 20 or so metres from our boat, then disappeared again beneath the surface. 

Seconds later, a massive body launched out of the water and fell with a thundering crash. Breaching whales are spectacular from a few kilometres away, so to be only 20 metres from such a display was insane. In that moment of surprise I realised the real size and power of these seemingly lazy animals. Whether it feels good, brings joy, or is some form of communication, we just don't know. But boy am I glad they do it. 

All speechless, we stood gaping at the wake rolling our way. Fortunately for us a few seconds later another great mass appeared. This time the whale only got half it's body out, but flopped down with an immense crash. Whales often breach twice, then take a break, and if you're lucky they'll have another go. We waited on the outskirts and sure enough after a steady fluke we witnessed another two breaches right in front of us. We moved into the foot print after the second, and found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow; a chunk of whale skin shed during impact. Janie was ecstatic as she'd always wondered if Saucer was male or female and this skin was the key to that genetic information. 

Later as we headed to the shore of Ashdown for Cohen (the whale dog) to have a quick pee, we came across Web - the biggest humpback I have ever seen. She is just ginormous. We cut the engine as she cruised right by the shore then past our boat. Janie has seen her return here year after year and over the last ten years she has mothered three calves. Sadly Janie said she believes this giant old woman may be nearing the end of her time in the ocean. She drifted off and fluked very slowly, and as if she'd heard Janie and wanted to prove she still had it in her, Web soared up out of the ocean only a short distance away.

More ID shots, more breached, and more ocean endeavours made for a fantastic girls day out. 

The show starts at 6

Life in a tent means the sun is your alarm; waking at light thirty, and retiring at dark thirty. It seems the Ulric Point whales followed a similar pattern. Often we would crawl out into the morning haze, blurry-eyed and still half dreaming, to be snapped awake by a loud tonal blow from a humpback whale just off the rocks. Every evening we had front row seats to ‘The Great Whale Extravaganza’. Be it orca, humpbacks, or fin whales, it was never a disappointment and always something new.

One evening while cooking dinner, Claire and I were talking about how great it would be to see some breaching up close with the sunset in the background. We were digging into our tea when a mother humpback and her calf cruised around the corner from Beauchemin Channel. We grabbed the binocs, camera and data sheets and stared at the spot we’d seen the blow. They surfaced again, the mother heading toward us as the calf fluked toward the bay. The sun was just beginning to dance on the sea sending splatters of orange into the blue. Drifting gently past us, the mother began kelp rolling with pectoral fins flailing lazily. She turned and headed NE, out into the depths and in the direction of her calf which we hadn’t seen since the first blow.

Morning fluke

They surfaced again about 100m offshore, shooting flames from their blowhole as the vapour caught the sunlight. They were heading back West now and evidently decided to travel in style. A great mass lurched out of the water, all tail and body and no head, hammering down again with a thundering splash. Though it wasn’t the breach display we’d been talking about, a tail slapping show was just as exciting. Crash after crash after crash they went, the mother slapping and flicking while the calf followed beside. Why they were doing this we are not certain, but I was definitely hoping it wouldn’t end.

Tail slapping, or tail flicking

Tail slapping

Sunset blows from the mother and calf pair

Luckily, it wasn’t over yet. They neared the shore of Rennison Island, crossed the sunset with blows alight, then looked like they were going to head back down Beauchemin Channel. Here they surprised us yet again, turning north and back across the sunset. This time it was the calf’s turn to show off as it rolled and pec slapped it gave us a little wave goodbye.

Juvenile humpback waving goodbye

Wannabe Wild Child

Eddie the Eagle

Only 8 days had passed when Janie announced that the following day Claire and I would be relocated to Ulric Point. My excitement went through the roof as from what I’d heard the whale displays there were mega awesome. Claire had already spent a week at Ulric earlier in the season, and by the sounds of it ‘basic shelter’ and ‘remote location’ were not an exaggeration. I was ecstatic, for me this meant it was time to play wild child.

Though we’d been very lucky weather wise, this south facing shelter can cop strong winds packing more than a chill so I packed extra warm clothes, my gumboots, and all the necessities. Or so I thought. Halfway to Aristazabal Island we slowed to follow a pair of very sleepy humpbacks. After almost an hour they finally woke up, and luckily fluked. The fishy smell of humpback breath filled the air, and with the first whiff I realised I’d forgotten one thing; my toothbrush. I took this as wild child challenge number one: make a toothbrush. By the end of the boat ride I had a Plan A, and also a Plan B involving sticks and the destruction of my loofa.

The magnificent shelter at Ulric Point

We pulled up to the northern shore and out of the shelter popped Kathrin and Philipp, the lovely Swiss, whose place Claire and I were filling. Heaving our packs, food bins and water containers up the rocks, Plan A began and ended with one awkward first conversation.

“Hey, I’m Lucy, nice to meet you guys” I said with too much enthusiasm. Kathrin replied, with less enthusiasm but no less sincerity, “Hey, I’m Kathrin and this is Philipp”. I smiled and continued before I chickened out, “So I was wondering if I could maybe have your toothbrush?” An awkward pause followed, Kathrin looking completely confused and myself a little embarrassed. “I forgot mine. I think I could make my own with a stick somehow, and you are more than welcome to use mine since I left it in the lab” I blurted out, making things even more hawkward. “You can definitely say no if you think that’s disgusting” I added in an attempt to sound a little less feral. After a few Swiss words passed between the couple, Kathrin fished out her toothbrush and I accepted it gratefully, assuring her I’d boil it first and repay her somehow. (I’d like to note that we are now great friends and have laughed about this on many occasions, and I did clean the second hand brush before I used it)

My lovely little home

We made ourselves at home cooking a delicious meal on the propane burner and enjoying the first of many cups of tea. The view from Ulric was one I could never get tired of, especially in the evening all sharp and alive with ever-changing streaks of orange and bubbles of pinkish-red. Our neighbor eagle perched high in her tree with watchful eyes, taking flight occasionally and plucking fish from the sea with muscular legs and large talons. Eagles are such authoritative, strong, and wise looking predators and I was surprised to hear an ill-fitting shrieking call come from our friend.

The real fun began early the following morning. Each day data was collected from 6am till 9pm, with 15 minutes of thorough scanning through the Big Eyes followed by 15 minutes of light scanning. We shared the load taking 3 hour shifts, our breaks were usually spent making tea, cooking, exploring, entering data when power levels allowed, or on rainy days I often curled in a ball by the food bins and hid from the cold wind. The shelter was powered by one solar panel which we shifted throughout the day to capture the most sunlight.

Our vhf radio was our only form of communication with the outside world. We had one with a broken screen and one that was newer which drained a lot of power. The old one was left on Whale Channel – for communication between Ulric, the lab, and the house. Occasionally they’d call us for updates but if there was ever mention of delicious meals or hot showers at Whale Point then my selective hearing was put into gear.

My delicious salmon

Some days the scans were empty for hours, the silence disturbed only by the ever-present fishing boats cruising leisurely past. Each time we jotted down their location and cursed them at the thought of all the extra data entry they caused. The only day I was happy to see them was when they threw a big, fresh salmon to me on the rocks. Dinner that night was incredible, and I had the joy of filleting and cooking it myself. I cursed them less from that point on. There was a day or two where we didn’t leave the shelter at all as there were so many whales we needed someone on the Big Eyes and the other with binoculars to keep track of them all.  But when we did get a break, the exploration was in full swing.

Deer tracks :)

The wild child games began and I loved every minute. With bear spray in hand I explored the coast, finding adventure at every turn. I quietly followed wolf prints which were following deer prints, I rock-hopped and tree climbed, I found small cliffs to jump off into the sea, and higher ones to beat them (though not really that high). My attempt at building a raft using driftwood and washed up fishing rope would have been successful if not for the unexpected early departure. In my head I heard Sir David Attenborough narrating every experience. I will never get tired of that voice. Unfortunately there were no bear or wolf sightings, though at night the knowledge of being the only two humans on an island with many large mammals became quite daunting. One night after hearing lots of rustling in the bushes (probably just birds or minks) I had to take the bear spray to bed with me. I kept thinking “not so tough now are we, Luce”, but at least I felt a tad safer.

Essentials

Although many fantastically mind-blowing events took place, Ulric had a way of turning the ordinary into the extraordinary (or less boring at least). As water was limited to the few containers we brought, and Claire and I were devoted tea drinkers, we conserved where we could. Dishes were done in tide pools, sparing the washing liquid, and dried on the deck. This added a refreshing salty flavour to every ‘clean’ utensil. Cooking was a novelty; the small burner proved a challenge at times though my camping apple crumble was (surprisingly) a success. Even making coffee was a challenge as the Swiss broke the French press, but an old yoghurt container filled to the right point made a pretty good brew. The most interesting of all ordinary activities was bathing.

No shower, no bath, no warm water - except a small pot worth if you can be bothered boiling it. Some people didn’t bath at all, but after 2 days I felt the need. The sea always draws me in and, although it was still very cold, salty became a synonym for clean and numb toes were almost a refreshing thought.

Anemone and Starfish as big as my hand, one of the many things drawing me into the ocean.

The whales, oh the incredible whales.

So many, so large, so close and so beautiful, they deserve their own post. Stay tuned for a rundown of the epic displays observed at Ulric.

The Ulric stone balancing challenge