Desperately seeking… killer whales in Canada

For me, that experience alone made the trip worthwhile, but for the rest of the group the lack of orcas became a growing source of concern as our six-day journey neared its end. We could not even listen for their clicks as our hydrophone had broken, and the deteriorating weather did nothing to lift our spirits.

Poor Mel felt the pressure. She had banked on finding orcas at the “rubbing beach” where we spent our fourth night – an area where the whales go to remove old skin by scraping along the shingle beneath the shallow water – but none showed up. On our penultimate day we spent two hours paddling furiously against the tide and wind after spotting a spout in the far distance, but it was like chasing a mirage. We returned to our camp sodden and dispirited – and by this point, with few dry clothes left to change into. That night we ate a rather miserable supper as the rain thudded against the tarpaulin beneath which we sheltered. Our spirits were at a low.

Yet more water drummed down on our tents as we packed up the following morning. Cold and miserable, we set off back to Telegraph Cove. The islands and mountains were shrouded in fog. Our surroundings were so uniformly grey that we struggled to tell where the water ended and sky began. After so much exertion and discomfort, we complained bitterly about the noisy motor launches that sped day trippers past us to witness the pods wherever they had been spotted last.

Then salvation arrived. Just short of Telegraph Cove, a boat slowed as it passed our bedraggled fleet. The Good Samaritan at its helm informed us that a pod of orcas was only a mile behind, and headed our way. We turned and waited, peering anxiously into the gloom. Half an hour elapsed. Our spirits began to deflate once more. But then we saw them – seven orcas swimming up the middle of the channel, rising and falling gracefully from the water, as if to flaunt their black and white markings. Smoky columns of moisture whooshed from their blowholes, their dorsal fins slicing through the water.
Paddling hard, we stayed abreast of those majestic creatures for the best part of an hour. We revelled in their proximity, giving silent thanks that we were at their level and in their element rather than passively observing from some intrusive tourist boat. We forgot the cold and wet. We were thrilled, exhilarated and thoroughly elated. Even the greyness of the day, the utter lack of any primary colours, suddenly seemed magnificently atmospheric.

With an exuberant final flourish the leading whale slapped its great tail five times on the surface of the water, and then they were gone, heading who knows where. We turned for home, our mission accomplished, all gripes forgotten, and a palpably relieved Mel out in front. We had travelled thousands of kilometres and waited six whole days, but to see one of nature’s most magical sights made it feel like time well spent. All it took was a little patience.

The author paddled with ROW Sea Kayak Adventures. A six-day trip starting and finishing in Port McNeill.

Main Image: A female orca breaches in front of another killer whale (Shutterstock)