My night under canvas was made very pleasant by the calls of migrating waders during the early hours. Redshank, Greenshank, Curlew, Ringed Plover. Unfortunately they had a bit of competition from the sonorous snores from the gentleman in the adjacent tent.
After yesterday’s twenty plus miles, I initially opted for a relaxed coastal tour around the islands at the mouth of Loch na Ceall. My early start paid off, as it always does if you want to see wildlife. An adult White-tailed (Sea) Eagle lumbered low over the water ahead of me, pursued by a very irritated Hooded Crow.
The Eagle gave a resting seal a bit of a shock, although judging by the bulge of its crop, it had only just had its breakfast.
The rest of the seal troop didn’t seem to be too phased by the flyover of the giant Eagle. They just sat and watched and relaxed, and seemed to be enjoying the scenery.
All good stuff, but then I gave myself a gigantic kick up the pants. The open sea was millpond-calm and I really should be out there looking for the mega-creatures. That is precisely why I endured the interminable drive up the M6.
Yes, I had a bit of fatigue from yesterday, but I didn’t need to paddle all the way over to Eigg again. Going half way should give me a flavour of what was going down.
It was already getting hot, so I nosed into a sheltered creek to strip of my waterproof top. As I did so a movement on the rock only a few feet away caught my eye. A Knot. On migration south from its nesting ground in the far north, no doubt. Absurdly tame, and a bit of a charmer. Very possibly it has never encountered humankind before. It seemed a bit puzzled by me.
So I headed out into the open sea again. The surroundings seemed even more compelling than yesterday. The great slab of Eigg was straight a head with the hefty mountains of Rum looking over its shoulder. To the North was the craggy ridge of the Cuillin Mountains on Skye, and in the gap between I could see the Isle of Barra, in the Outer Hebrides, in the far distance.
About three miles out I ran into a lot of action. Diving Gannets, milling shearwaters, floating kittiwakes, chattering terns. And there were the porpoises again, puffing away. Lots of them, scattered about all over the place.
In the far distance I saw the sun glinting off a whole load of fins…dolphins! They were a mile away, but angling over towards me, so I cranked up the speed and paddled to hopefully intercept.
They weren’t hanging around and eventually passed close in front of me.
Several youngsters were flinging themselves about in their typical carefree and acrobatic style. Top speed maintained all the while.
When the splashing of the dolphins subsided, I heard the blow of a whale directly behind me. When I swung the kayak round to face the noise, another blew, directly behind me again!
So I gave up manoeuvring and just sat and watched. For the next hour three or four Minke Whales surfaced repeatedly nearby. Sometimes close enough to hear the intake of breath after the blast of exhalation, sometimes so far away I couldn’t see them. But it was just the warm-up act.
Away to the south I hear a great prolonged roar of water, which must have been a whale either breeching or lunge-fishing. Too far off to see anything, so I sped off towards it. I stopped after half-an-hour. Nothing. Then another great roar and I could see a splash followed by a hint of a fin. Onwards again and it all went quiet again, apart from ‘just’ the sound of the blows of the scattered whales.
I could see what was attracting all the whales as I sliced through the glass. Schools of sandeels and small (joey) mackerel swam about beneath me.
I kept looking further to the south, and then saw a couple of visible blows as clear mushrooms of spray in the distance. I’m really not sure whether I saw any whale in the water beneath. Pity, because these were almost certainly not Minke Whales, which have an invisible blow.
Once again I sped towards the scene but saw no more sign of these mystery whales.
I couldn’t drag myself away, and my persistence was rewarded with a great lunge by a Minke Whale quite close by. Even though I had my camera pointing in esssentially the right direction, I missed the start of the action. It is just so quick and unexpected.
However, I could see the jaws of the whale open wide as it emerged from the surface, and you can see from the video, and still pic, that it was completely upside down. The white underside and throat-grooves are clearly visible.
I knew that Fin Whales lunge at the surface on their side, but didn’t know Minkes lunge upside down!
I waited for more monumental moments but it settled back to the whales rolling at the surface like a giant porpoise. I reckoned that there were six scattered about within sight, but it was probably more than that.
After three hours, about four miles offshore, I headed in although in retrospect I should have stayed out longer. Full days with zero wind and zero swell really don’t come along very often.
Just one more nugget on the way back. I was checked out by a prowling ‘Bonxie’ Great Skua. I saw several of these at a distance harassing kittiwakes, but this one was hoping I might be a fishing boat with tasty scraps. Tasty scraps, yes. But not fish. Crunch Creams.
So that was about it. Seven Minke Whales, two pods of Common Dolphins, at least thirty Porpoises, Otter, Sea Eagle, Golden Eagle, Loads of Common Seals, a few Grey Seals, Bonxies and Red-throated Loons…in just two days.
Tell me where else in the world you can see that amount of stuff on a kayak. Paddling out from the shore on a self-guided trip.
The mystery of the two whales with the visible blow became a bit less murky while chatting to some fellow kayakers back at the campsite. En route back from Eigg they too had seen a whale with a visible blow, and described it as having a flat face. Sounds a bit like a Pilot Whale, or maybe even a Northern Bottlenose Whale! Tantalising.
The wonder of Western Scotland will remain long in the memory.
The Lone Kayaker 