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

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.