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Mothers kayaking with Killer
Whales in the Straits of British Columbia
Water dripped off my cheek--was it a
tear, or the spray from the whale’s blowhole? As we paddled next
to the Orca whales, clicking and squeaking sounds surrounded us
whenever the six ton mammals surfaced in the water nearby., The
majestic male bull led in front with his immense dorsal fin towering
five feet above the water. The adolescents surfaced and dove in
perfect synchrony on my left while the whale on my right wheezed as
she came up for air. Spray from the blowhole exploded in the
sunlight as a sparkling brilliance. Kayaking in the middle of a pod
of Orcas, was a heart-pounding dream-come-true. With the radiant
sunshine, cloudless sky, and clear cool water, I knew that even
dreams don’t get better than this.
When seven female friends and I decided to go on a whale watching
kayak trip in Johnstone Strait, British Columbia, we were housewives
going on a nature tour. What wasn’t expected was that this nature
tour would lead us to a mental equilibrium on the water that could
not be found on land. Most of us had spent the last few decades
raising children in Orange County, and some were now raising
grandchildren. Not typical adventurers, but we were immediately
drawn to this trip. Maybe it was the fact that Orca whales, members
of the dolphin family, are a matriarchal society. The mother-calf
bond is very strong. Young whale calves stay with their mothers for
life. Females remain with their mothers and grandmothers even after
giving birth and are often assisted by them in raising and caring
for their young. We felt a connection with this species devoted to
family and mothers. The fact that Orcas are also called Killer
Whales wasn’t intimidating. The Resident pods of Johnstone Strait
fed on salmon, not mammals. It’s the Transient pods that visit the
Straits from Alaska who were the meat eating relatives that fed on
sea lions and other mammals. These "street gangs" of the
Orca family have been known to play with and torture their prey
before eating them. We hoped that the Transients wouldn’t cross
our path.
When Spirit of the West Adventures’
owners, John and Christine booked us on a 5 day Mothership tour, my
family thought that we were going on a Star Trek adventure aboard
the SS Enterprise, but we immediately knew that this appropriately
named excursion would be other-worldly in a different sense. The
Songhee, a 95 ft. wooden heritage vessel with six guest staterooms,
would serve as our home base. The ship would allow us to sleep in
comfortable beds, eat delicious, healthy gourmet foods and even
relax in a hot tub as we motored along the coasts of Vancouver
Island and British Columbia. The ship would also be a backup in case
our arms gave out.
Johnstone Strait is a 55 mile long
channel that separates the west coast of British Columbia from
northern Vancouver Island. It ranges from 1-3 miles wide and fingers
out to hundreds of smaller channels and inlets in a maze of
waterways. As part of the Inside Passage that extends from Seattle,
WA to Skagway, Alaska, it is well traveled by fishing boats, tugs
and ocean liners headed to Alaska. The snow capped Coast Mountain
Range borders the Strait and feeds vast river systems that run down
the mountains and spill into the ocean. Deep fjords cut through the
rocky, jagged BC coastline with hundreds of evergreen covered tiny
islands scattered all around. Here reside some of the largest and
densest timber stands left on the continent. Much of the area
appears as feral as when Captain George Vancouver and his navigator
James Johnstone first sailed through it in 1792. Peter Pan and his
Lost Boys would choose to live in this verdant pristine wonderland
and never grow up.
Upon arriving aboard in Port McNeil
on Vancouver Island, we toasted our departure when the Songhee fired
up her engines and motored through Village Channel to Farewell
Harbor on Berry Island. Dall’s porpoises, beautiful black and
white porpoises often mistaken for baby Orcas, raced alongside the
boat. A trio of bald eagles soared overhead, one a brown headed
adolescent. Harbor seals played in front of us, and we heard over
the captain’s radio another boat had spotted a humpback whale. We
watched for grizzly and black bears scavenging by the shore and
white sided dolphins playing in the waves. As if our smudged
eyeglasses had suddenly been wiped clean, colors were vibrant and
sharp when not obscured by hazy city smog. Sounds were crisp and
clear without any competing noise. And the silence was deafening.
That evening before retiring, we watched the eerie glow of
bioluminescence from the phosphorescent plankton in the churning
water.
The first morning’s heavy fog
evaporated into warm sunshine just in time for the launching of our
kayaks. After an informative lesson on safety and paddling technique
by John Waibel, our guide and co-owner of Spirit of the West, we
were helped into the single and double kayaks. With seven
accommodating, friendly staff and crew for eight women, we felt
every need and concern was attended to, including the trepidation
felt by those of us who had never paddled before. Fortunately,
kayaking requires little skill to maneuver around and we soon found
ourselves gliding past pictographs painted on the cliffs thousands
of years ago, and burial boxes containing the remains of the
Kwakwaka’wakw people. Arriving at the historic Mi’mkwamlis
village of the Mamalilaculla people on Village Island, we pulled our
kayaks on to the midden beach, a beach formed from hundreds of years
of discarded white clam shells. We heard Tom Sewid, a descendent of
the Kwakwaka’wakw, describe potlatch celebrations and tribal lore
as he stood flanked by an old schoolhouse and a tribal longhouse,
and wearing a resplendent ceremonial robe. In ancient times, the
Kwakwaka’wakw believed that great hunters were reincarnated as
wolves and Orca whales (that they call Blackfish) and we raptly
listened as he described swimming with his ancestors.
The charming port of Echo Bay on
Gilford Island in the Broughton Archipelago was the next day’s
destination. Set against a rocky cliff, the small colorful buildings
housed a gift shop with lovely handmade items, bakery, and a small
grocery, all of which seemed sufficient to sustain its population of
36 and assorted fishermen and boaters that pass through. Here live
local heros, Billy Proctor and Alexandra Morton. Billy, a retired
fisherman and logger, watched much of the wildlife diminish to near
extinction during his lifetime and is leading the battle to save
them. An easy 10 minute stroll from port past a surprisingly well
equipped school, led to his small museum containing items found
washed up on his beach--trade beads, beach glass, arrowheads and
assorted bottles. We all left with unique items purchased in his
adjacent gift store.
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Alexandra, a
whale researcher, came to the island with her husband to study and
film the Orcas. Tragically, her husband died a few years later when
his diving gear failed while filming the Orcas underwater. She
stayed to do further research, but has been diverted to lobby
against pesticide spraying, which kills salmon, the primary food
source for the whales. She’s also battling the local salmon farms
which have been the source of disease in the native wild salmon. A
devoted mother raising a family, fighting for the animals she loves,
and living on an island without electricity, telephone lines, or TV
signals, Alexandra inspired us.
The sunset kayak paddle that evening
through the islets of the Broughton Archipelago was better than
Prozac. We paddled on smooth reflective water around Insect Island (an
ominous name, but thankfully no insects were to be found) and
watched the sky’s blazing oranges and reds mix with the lingering
blues and purples of daylight as the mountain shadows slowly grew
longer across the water. Silvery baby salmon frolicked and splashed
around us. Labyrinthine waterways made it easy to become lost, but
it was easy not to care. Like the Natives, we had become comfortable
with the water as a destination, not just a thoroughfare to another
land mass. Everywhere we looked was a visual feast. It was like
falling in love: it gave me goose bumps.
On Day three, with kayaking skills
honed and armed with knowledge of whale behavior--we were anxious to
meet Orcas, the Killer Whales. Cruising south through Blackfish
Sound, we headed towards the Robson Bight-Michael Biggs Ecological
Reserve located where the Tsitika River flows into Johnstone Strait
on Vancouver Island. The 1000 acre reserve is home to about 300
Northern Resident whales. Researchers speculate that they return
here every summer to rub their bellies on the rocky beaches and to
socialize. This warden-patrolled, protected sanctuary is off-limits
to boats. As a result, tour boats pace back and forth outside the
Reserve markers awaiting the arrival of the whales.
In contrast to the tiny inlets of the
Broughton Archipelago, the enormity of the Strait made us decide to
use horsepower instead of womanpower to find the whales. On
motorized tenders, we searched for them. As if greeting us, the
first Orca we spotted spyhopped, launching out of the water head
first and, I’m convinced, waved his flippers at us. His
tuxedo-like coloring made it a very formal welcome. We listened to
their vocalizations on the hydrophone and watched a cow, with her
calf close by, head into the Reserve. Taunting the tour boats that
were unable to follow, the pod playfully breached six times upon
entering the Reserve, landing into the water with grand splashes.
Their awesome power and beauty was enough to silence all eight women,
not an easy feat. Exiting the water required these Leviathans to
move their 4 to 8 ton bodies 22 miles/hr. To prevent disturbing the
whales, boats are required to remain 100 meters away unless the
whales approach the boat, so we watched the show from a respectful
distance.
Twilight fishing was on the agenda
that evening with John and Curly, both former commercial fishermen.
Since the sun sets after 9:30 during summer evenings, we had plenty
of time to cast a few lines into the water. A couple of small
rockfish and a small striped bass were the only ones willing to be
caught, but several exciting bites kept the adrenaline pumping.
On our final full day, Captain Jim
announced that we would anchor that evening at Alert Bay, a former
commercial fishing town now suffering from the downturn in the
industry. Containing a beautiful arrangement of totem poles in a
park near the BC ferry terminal, it otherwise lacked the natural
beauty and charm of the other ports and islands. On departure day we
would disembark at Port McNeil to do a little souvenir shopping in
the small bustling town before bidding a sad farewell to our adopted
family, the Spirit of the West crew.
Putting in our kayaks just north of
the Reserve by the Sophia Islands on that final day, we hoped to
avoid the crowds and meet the whales entering the Strait. In the
heavy mist, we quietly paddled past a shrimping boat retrieving its
cages and let driftwood float past us near the craggy rocks that
purple sea stars latched on. A great blue heron soared overhead
while we watched a bald eagle raid a ravens nest. The whales were
playing hide and seek, so we returned to the ship.
Time was running out to realize my
long held fantasy of kayaking with the gentle giants. As the Songhee
did a final lap through Johnstone Strait toward Alert Bay, a pod of
Orcas startled us when they suddenly appeared around the ship.
Without time to grab a camera or hat, John launched a kayak and we
scrambled In for the paddle of my dreams. As the whales drew close,
time slowed down and the realization of the enormity of these
creatures sank in. A flip of their tail would have sent us sprawling.
Instead, these gentle creatures allowed us to briefly enter their
domain and be awed by their company. Within a few minutes, they did
a final dive and disappeared.
No celluloid proof or tangible
evidence exists to prove that this final paddle ever occurred, but
all I need to do is close my eyes to see the black fins in the water
next to me, smell the salty spray from the blowholes, and feel the
warmth of the sun on my face. The water on my cheek reappears, and
yes, it is a tear of joy.
(This article is contributed by Spirit
of The West Adventures - Editor. For more interesting travel
articles, please visit InfoHub
Specialty Travel Guide)
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