I’m getting in a bit of a panic. It’s Seawatch Foundation’s National Whale and Dolphin Watch this week and I am always keen to contribute with some sightings, as seen from the kayak. For the last two years I have managed to see a whale (both Humpback and Minke) plus a load of dolphins and porpoises.
But this year the weather looks decidedly dodgy and not really suitable for the sort of offshore paddling required for observing cetaceans from a tiny little boat like mine.
So when I awoke at 4.30 this morning I decided to nip down to Bude, my nearest beach, and make the most of the last few hours of smooth sea.
I was soon enjoying the fulmars and shearwaters zipping past my ears, and agape at the vast swarms of Moon Jellyfish down below.
A couple of miles offshore at last I saw a fin breaking the surface. Instantly recognisable as a Sunfish, as it was tall and thin and corkscrewing the fish along at quite a speed. It was quite a big fin, about a foot long, so I scrambled my camera gear and set off in hot pursuit, giving it a wide berth as sometimes these creatures are very spooky.
I positioned myself directly in front of its line of travel and waited. Sunfish are often seen lying flat at the surface waving their fins around as if about to breathe their last. This one was quite the opposite and was moving about as fast as I have ever seen one move.
It submerged as it got a bit close for comfort (for it, not me)…
I then overtook it again, which wasn’t easy as it was licking along at about four mph, and took another clip. This one’s in slomo…
Bude Sunfish
An excellent encounter with the most bizarre-looking fish in Cornish waters, if not the world. This was one of the larger individuals I have seen, nearly a metre across.
‘Tis a long haul out to that little stick on the horizon. Twenty-four miles return trip from Cawsand minimum. Further if you have to deviate off line to investigate a flock of seabirds, which I always do.
It’s even more of a challenge if you are paddling a recreational sit-on-top kayak, and are not a spring chicken.
However a couple of days ago the forecast was as good as it could possibly be for a top day out Eddystone-style. Sunny, no wind, no swell, and baking hot.
A mile out from the coast I heard the familiar puff of porpoises. About five of them, but I only saw three. The sound carried so far the others were out of sight. A promising start.
Early morning Porpoise
My next encounter was on a different scale. A giant navy vessel slid past in front of me, really quite close. I heard every word of it’s tannoy which was about a crew member testing positive for Covid. Aaargh, it’s impossible to get away from the dreaded virus, even three miles offshore.
Fortunately I was soon completely immersed back in nature as I paddled over to investigate a feeding frenzy involving gulls, shearwaters and Gannets. As usual the activity had subsided by the time I rocked up but it was excellent gliding silently through the resting birds, which show absolutely no fear of my kayak (or me). In amongst the Manx Shearwaters were two rare Balearic Shearwaters, my first of the year. Nice.
Manx ShearwaterBalearic Shearwater
As I supped a cup of coffee in amongst the throng, an immature Gannet cruised over directly towards me and twisted and dived with a splosh only a few metres away. I thought for a minute it was after my custard creams.
The beady eye of an immature GannetJuvenile Gannet diving
Surprisingly the wildlife above the surface went a bit quiet for the approach to the lighthouse, although I saw a pod of dolphins racing away from me in the far distance.
There was a lot going on below however. More Compass Jellyfish than I have ever seen on one trip before. They are beautifully marked and probably my favourite jellyfish. Enjoy this little video…it’s like one of those mindfulness moments in Springwatch.
Compass Jelly
More interesting still were the vast shoals of Bass around the reef beside the lighthouse.
Eddystone Bass
I sat around beside the lighthouse for a while before heading back. It is a very iconic destination for a kayaker, and does justice to the concept of ‘remote’. My kind of place.
The old geezer’s still got it…just
The paddle back was slow against the tide. It was also very devoid of wildlife. Just a handful of porpoises but no other blows despite me listening hard across glass smooth waters.
The surprising highlight was a visit from the fastest and coolest-looking motor ‘yacht’ in the UK, called Maryslim. I couldn’t resist a photo of its wave-piercing design and sleek lines as it sped past in front of me. It then slowed to a crawl and the pilot enquired if I was OK, as I was ‘rather a long way offshore’. I thanked him for his concern and replied I was happy as Larry, was looking for dolphins, and that I liked his boat.
Maryslim Superyacht
Maryslim then sped off and was a dot on the horizon next time I glanced in that direction. a couple of minutes later.
I arrived back at Cawsand over nine hours after I had set off. My average speed of less than three mph would not impress any serious sea kayaker. But as far as I’m concerned the longer it takes the more time I have to enjoy the adventure. What’s the rush?
The entire coastline is developed and the sea is packed full of boats of just about every description. It is the main breeding ground of jetskis in SW England.
And currently it looks even less like nature had intended because there are half-a-dozen cruise ships mothballed in the bay. They make the multitude of hotels on the waterfront look like beach-huts.
So not the sort of place that a kayaker in search of wilderness might hang out. Wrong actually. Because it is always choc full of wildlife.
An encounter with cetaceans is almost guaranteed as their is a resident pod of Harbour Porpoises. They hunt along the (fairly obvious) current interface at the mouth of the bay, and their precise location is usually highlighted by a circling Gannet or two.
On my last visit to the English Riviera, I spent an hour or so watching the Porpoises while I was waiting for Simon to arrive. They were foraging off the end of the headland where the tidal current is most swirly, which means more fish for the porpoises to eat. Unfortunately the end of the headland is also the focal point for every boat entering Torbay from the south. Trawlers and other fishing boats from Brixham, sailing boats, Gin Palaces, Tourist boats and of course jetskis.
The odd kayak is definitely bottom of the peck order and in terms of eco-footprint is more of a problem as a large chunk of plastic pollution than a disturbance to marine life.
The Porpoises seemed remarkably tolerant of the relentless passage of boats and surfaced quite close to some heavily-engined craft. Of course this is only an impression, because they might just have been having a really awful time, and needed to be in that location to find their next meal. It would have been easy, however, to clear off somewhere else not very far away where boat traffic would have been very much less.
Interesting, anyway.
Simon
When Simon turned up we did a bit more Porpoise-watching, with one popping up with a blast only a few feet behind me. In fact they were nearly always just behind me, which is fairly typical and why I so often have a sore neck.
I was pleased to get a photo of one which just about shows the eye. Quite a rarity as porpoises are not very ‘showy’.
The Eye of the Porpoise
The (fairly) regular pod of Common Dolphins were not on show today. They can range over a huge area and so are difficult to track down, especially from a kayak. That’s part of the fun.
I have yet to see a whale in the Torbay area. My son, Henry, saw one off the headland during a recent visit, his first for a year. A Minke Whale gradually worked its way closer in until he could here it blow! Fab!
Simon and I explored the cliffs to the south. Remarkably the Guillemot colony was deserted. I knew that the half-grown chicks, the ‘Jumplings,’ hurl themselves off the ledges into the water when they are less than three weeks old and only half grown. But I had forgotten it was THIS early in the season.
Another feathery sign that the breeding season was over was this rather smart-looking adult Mediterranean Gull. These are becoming steadily more common having ‘invaded’ from the near continent. Probably a result of climate change.
Mediterranean Gull
An early-morning Otter-spotting paddle up the Tamar estuary was unsuccessful (they usually are), but I had a charming close encounter with a family of swans who seemed thrilled to finish up my bowlful of breakfast muesli.
I love the way the ‘Pen’ (the mother swan), carefully presents the muesli in the water for the cygnets to pick up, and then mutters with a caring sort of pony-like whinny.
Her table manners leave something to be desired, however.
Mixed bag of weather, mixed bag of kayak trips, mixed bag of wildlife.
It’s been a fairly typical English summer, and choice of paddling venue has, as always, been determined by the wind. A sheltered patch of water is an absolute necessity if you want a relaxed day with some paddling companions. There is nothing like battling into a headwind to extinguish light-hearted kayaking banter.
Fortunately there are some superb sheltered creeks dotted along the south coast. The upper tidal limit of the River Tamar is twenty miles from the open sea, and provided an excellent afternoon’s adventure in the company with Jeremy and Jane, and Ginny in the back seat!
Jeremy, Jane, Ginny
This is a normally very quiet section of water, but today it sounded more like a railway station from the Victorian era. A dozen steamboats were chuffing up the river, the smell of coal hung in the air, and all the occupants were enjoying themselves enormously ( I noticed the odd wine glass, well-filled, glinting in the sun).
Steamboats on the Tamar
Hot in pursuit were a posse of paddleboarders.
Paddleboard posse
On the south Cornish coast Tim and Jess had a close encounter with an inquisitive seal. It is interesting to observe that, when in the water, the look in this seal’s eye is 90% curiosity, 10% wariness. Rather different to the otters I was watching a few weeks ago in the Hebrides, which are 90% wary, 10% inquisitive.
We were careful to keep well away from a handful of seals resting on the rocks. When out of the water they feel very much more vulnerable and it is totally unacceptable to disturb them, whether in a kayak, on a paddleboard, or in a boat.
Jess, Tim and friend
When we enjoyed a family paddle trip around the clear green water of the Salcombe estuary, the air was filled with the purr of very expensive speedboats, and flap of sails.
Yes they may be slow and yes, they may be tiny, but I will always prefer a kayak because of the complete view and the complete silence. This provides by far the best experience of the surroundings. No droning engine and no instrument panel to worry about. All this stuff was very evident as we drifted down the river. Nobody else noticed the diving Gannet, or the kestrel hanging in the air, stock still, just above the coast path. Aside from the wildlife, it’s great to be able to hear the whoops and shrieks of enjoyment of children on the beach carrying across the water from a mile away.
Team Salcombe
I was full of excitement when a day of light winds and sunshine was forecast because it opened the door for an offshore trip. Much as I enjoy estuary and coastal paddling, the wildlife of the open sea is what really floats my boat.
But unfortunately I made a major bungle. I drove straight past Penzance Harbour, my usual launch point for a trip round Mount’s Bay and put in at Lamorna Cove which was closer to deep water and the usual wildlife hotspot of the area. So I missed the large pod of Risso’s Dolphins that were lounging about half a mile from the shore. Grrr! By the time I rocked up they were gone.
Never mind, I enjoyed sitting in amongst a huge raft of about a thousand Manx Shearwaters. Being ‘out with the Manx’ in a kayak is a very special experience, because they never come very close to the shore.
Manx Shearwater raftManx Shearwater
I made up for my mega dolphin miss with a good cetacean-filled morning in Torbay . The fertile waters of Torbay, driven by the dynamo of the Berry Head tidal current, are the most reliable site in South Devon if, like me, you a bit obsessed with ‘fins’.
On a calm day it would be a surprise if you didn’t hear the personality-filled puff of a porpoise. Like this one:
Torbay is also about the most reliable location in South Devon for a chance of seeing Common Dolphins. The pod I encountered on this particular day were initially totally uninterested in me or my kayak, but I managed to encourage a couple of inquisitive and playful juveniles to come over for a spot of bow-riding when I stoked up the boilers and piled on the speed.
As usual being out with the dolphins in a kayak was a complete thrill. The last ones I saw were from a large ferry en route to the Hebrides a couple of months ago. Every one on the deck cheered each time one leaped in the stern wave, but it’s about a hundred times better watching them from sea level, looking directly into their eye as they surge along side. The experience is enhanced by being able to hear every splash, puff, squeak and often a wheeze as they jostle for position to get a better look at the weirdo in his little blue kayak.
June is Jellyfish season but it never really happened this year. There is a scattering of Moon, Compass and Blue jellyfish about, but I have yet to see one of the hefty Barrel Jellyfish. It’s all part of the annual variation and fluctuation of the ocean, One year might be a jellyfish boom, the next a jellyfish desert.
Our Scottish adventure was not quite over. When we arrived at the ferry terminal in Ullapool, having just arrived back from the island of Lewis, we drove an hour north to stay with Alison, a friend from Devon who owns a cottage at the foot of the Stoer peninsula.
Although the wind was still gusty, I ventured out in the kayak to explore the local coast. It got off to an exciting start, with a Whooper Swan standing on the beach where I was about to launch. It was the first one I had ever heard whoop.
The coastal waters were choc full of wildlife. I was closely studied by a heap of Grey Seals hauled out on a flat rock, but kept far enough away to avoid spooking them.
Grey Seal, Stoer
In the water I was shadowed by a pair of a different variety…Harbour Seals. They seemed to keep their distance from their larger cousins. I’m not sure how well the two species get on.
Harbour Seal, Stoer
There was quite a meaty groundswell coming down from the north, which thundered on a reef as I paddled past, making me feel a bit uneasy. There were long lulls between the sets of waves, and I nearly got caught as I sneaked through a shortcut between the rocks. However I was dead keen to get to the shelter beneath the hefty cliffs of the peninsula which I hoped would provide some prime sightings, and the only way was past the exposed reef.
Hostile Reef
To my absolute amazement, as my little kayak rose over one particularly large swell, I caught sight of a couple of otters swimming over the next wave. They were several hundred yards offshore and in the most disturbed patch of water, but clearly completely at home because I saw their tails flick up as they dived for a snack.
Diving Otter
They were very difficult to watch, and almost impossible to photograph, as the kayak was bouncing about all over the place and I had to keep an eye out for the next foaming wave. They suddenly disappeared and I sped on towards the quieter water beneath the cliff.
Here I was greeted by the Jurassic-style cackling of nesting Fulmars a colony of Razorbills on the cliff.
Razorbill
More unusual (for a sassenach like me, because they are not found in the south) was the impossibly high-pitched whistling of little parties of Black Guillemots that were floating about. This call is a bit of a departure from the primeval style of call that most seabirds have, and sounds more like a shrew. Despite this they are very smart-looking birds and full of personality, enhanced by their Scottish name of ‘Tystie’.
Black Guillemots (Tysties)
Right off the end of the point of Stoer, which I was reluctant to navigate because the sea conditions were unpleasant, sat a Puffin, which completed my full-house of auks (Razorbill, Guillemot, Tystie, Puffin) for the day. A thrilling view, as ever, and it came exceptionally close to check me out.
Puffin, Stoer Point
It was time to head back. As I sprinted past the nasty reef again I heard the loud, whistling, ‘chip, chip’ of an otter. It was the only natural call that was not drowned-out by the sound of the waves. I paddled cautiously towards the noise and a hundred yards ahead could see a tiny head swimming towards the shore. It stopped calling and climbed out onto a rock shelf and started to clean itself up. I could only just see it because I had to keep way offshore beyond the surf.
From previous experience of hearing an otter ‘chirping’, in the rivers Tamar and Torridge, I knew it was a pup calling to it’s mum, so watched the near shore very carefully. Sure enough I saw another otter slink into the water and start diving for a snack. Whether this was mum, or a sibling, I’m not sure.
I sat absolutely still and the otter made its way directly towards me, eventually surfacing only a few yards away. When it dived I backed off and cleared out so I didn’t give it a nasty shock next time it popped up.
Otter, Stoer
It was another tremendous encounter with the shyest of all the UK mammals, and a good demonstration of how a kayak is the best, and most unobtrusive, way to observe them. Otters are a never-ending source of fascination to me. When they sense my presence they stare hard in my direction. The glint in their eye is 90% wariness, but their is just a little hint of curiosity in their as well. This is particularly the case with the cubs.
Unbelievably, there were more superb sightings to come!
As I arrived in the smooth waters of a sheltered beach a pair of Red-throated Divers (aka Red-throated Loon) came croaking overhead and pitched in belly-first just in front of me. These beautiful birds breed in small freshwater lochs up in the hills and commute backwards and forwards down to the sea to catch fish for their offspring. Another Scottish speciality.
Red-throated Diver
And all the while, during this whole morning stuffed full of the wonders of nature, a succession of Bonxies (Great Skuas) were on the prowl along the coast. They are not much to look at, but they are the boldest and most aggressive of all seabirds and the local waders, particularly Oystercatchers, go absolutely bonkers when one flies past as their offspring are very much under threat.
They are a particular favourite of mine….another one!
Bonxie on the prowl
That was the final fling in the far north….the pleasure of gridlock on the M6 was beckoning.
The Lone Kayaker 