A Whale of a Time

“That’s amazing”, she says. “I’ve just put our Hervey Bay trip into my calendar and Facebook has sent me an ad for whale watching!” Uh oh, here it comes. “We could go whale watching while we’re there! It’s the peak of the season!”

I have to at least show some token resistance. “But – we went whale watching in Canada.” Nanette gives me that look. “Those weren’t ‘real’ whales. Those were orcas.” I have vivid memories of sitting in an inflatable boat, while huge black and white monsters did lazy, patient laps nearby. I also recall wondering whether our cold water survival suits had a ‘bite rating’. Hmm – seemed pretty ‘real’ to me.

I try again. “Well, what about Alaska – those were humpbacks …” Again, the look. “Yes, but they were just feeding, and they were a long way from the boat.” I almost say, “and this time it will be different because …?” but catch myself in time.

So, here we are, three days later, gathered in the early morning light aboard the HMAS Harpoon, ready for our big adventure. The skipper, Johnno, is running through his spiel. “It’ll take us about an hour and a half to reach the bay, but we’re fairly hopeful we’ll spot a whale today. The good news is, with all the COVID restrictions, the boat’s only half full.” Well, hooray for that. If I’m gonna go on a fruitless search for Moby Dick, it’s best to be on a half empty boat.

Fast forward about forty minutes. Johnno has just finished telling us that the humpbacks migrate north from Antarctica to give birth in warmer waters. “Yep”, he’s saying, “after an eleven-month pregnancy, it only takes them about four minutes to deliver their one-ton calf, then …” He’s interrupted by a call of “Blow at ten o’clock!” from Conner, the young top-deck assistant. All eyes strain in the indicated direction and, sure enough, there’s a small pod of whales off in the distance.

Little by little, Johnno sneaks the boat towards the spot he thinks the whales will resurface next. “There’s a chance”, he says, “if we get near then slow down, they’ll come over to look at the boat.”

To my (and Johnno’s) great surprise, he was right, and soon two of the magnificent beasts break off from their companions and cruise in our direction. To our even greater surprise, they spend the next half hour swimming back and forth around and under the boat. From time to time, they dive. We then all watch with great anticipation until a huge dark underwater shape appears, grows more and more distinct then, suddenly, the whale bursts back onto the surface in all its barnacle covered glory.

‘Our’ whales seem genuinely interested in interacting with the group of tiny, noisy creatures waving to them from this strange floating platform. They snort and roll, and occasionally burst their ungainly heads out of the water, saturating the lower deck and anyone who happens to be standing in the wrong spot. Then, perhaps in response to some signal known only to their pod, they turn and slip away into the depths.

I look around for Nanette, vaguely remembering she had moved the lower deck to try another camera angle on her faithful iPhone. Ah, there she is. “How cool was that eh? … Um, are you ok?” She assures me she is ok – now. Apparently, a stationary boat in a heavy swell, with additional backwash from whales powering around and underneath results in what is politely called mal-de-mer.

The effects soon wear off and we’re both feeling pretty good as we head back towards the harbour. To cap things off, we overhear the skipper of a different tour calling our boat. “Hey Johnno. How did you guys go? We only saw a couple of blows and some feeding way off in the distance.” I’m actually feeling a little smug now. My idea to come on this trip was definitely the right call.