It was a very marginal decision to venture to the far west of Cornwall yesterday. The wind from the west was too strong for an offshore paddle but I thought that there would be some shelter along the east-facing coast.
I was hoping for an encounter with one of the most mysterious of the UK’s cetaceans, the Risso’s Dolphin. Their exotic-sounding name is entirely appropriate and far more suitable than the dull alternative of ‘Grey Dolphin’.
I have only observed them eight times before in SW England over the last ten years. Seven in Cornwall, once in Devon. All but one sightings were between May and mid-July. Despite a choppy sea making viewing from a kayak tricky yesterday I was still optimistic because I have recently seen a lot of freshly-killed cuttlefish, and cuttlefish ‘bones’, floating around . Cuttlefish is what Risso’s Dolphins eat and late Spring is when they come closer inshore to breed, with the hungry Risso’s hot on their heels.
It definitely seemed like Risso’s time.
Cuttlefish, Risso’s food
There is nothing like one of these big and powerful dolphins to generate a ‘Wow, I didn’t know you got those around here’ reaction. They have a very unusual appearance, looking more like a small whale than a dolphin.
Risso’s Dolphin (pic taken off Lands End, 9 July 2019…from kayak, of course)
As I left the harbour I headed out across the bay towards Penlee point. It’s always a good idea to nose upwind on the outward leg of a trip so that you have a bit of assistance as fatigue kicks in on the way back.
Morale always takes a bit of a knock if you are paddling upwind late in the day.
Every time you stop to look around, scratch your nose or take a chunk out of a raisin and biscuit Yorkie, you are blown twenty yards back from whence you came.
Unhealthy, but very tasty, snack.
I was taking waves over the nose and being thrown about a bit so I lowered my wildlife expectations because I felt there was little chance of seeing any fins in the choppy conditions. I was just going to enjoy the thrill of the paddling and the Cornish coastal scenery, which is always inspiring.
I was mistaken. I could hardly believe it when a large, dark fin appeared away to my left followed by another. Quite a long way off, but these were big fins so visible above the waves. They were undoubtedly Risso’s dolphins as the movement was slow and the fins tall…clearly attached to a fairly beefy creature below.
After three or four breaths they arched their tailstocks and deep dived, so I powered on hoping our paths would converge. They didn’t…next time they surfaced they were far ahead in the distance.
Risso’s dolphins are notoriously difficult to follow in a boat with a large engine, so it’s virtually impossible in a kayak. They cruise faster than my kayak’s top speed and although they do progress in a generally straight line they often spend minutes underwater so are impossible to track.
Fortunately I didn’t have to pursue them, because the rest of the well-scattered pod were on the way. So I just sat and watched as another seven or eight cruised past, one or two quite close.
Everything about Risso’s is thrilling. When they first surface after a dive they have a very loud blast and throw up quite a cloud of spray. Very whale-like. In fact usually more spray than a Minke Whale!
As the largest dolphin (apart from Orca which is technically a dolphin) they are very robust, but have a strangely delicate and mermaid-like tail. One showed this off nicely when it surfaced for it’s final breath before a cuttlefish hunting trip. just in front of my kayak.
Mermaid…or Risso’s?
Another conveniently surfaced as the Scillonian thump-thumped past in the background. Unfortunately the pic isn’t quite sharp:
Scillonian and Risso’s
I tailed them at a relaxed pace as they disappeared off into the distance. I presume that two very large splashes on the horizon were Risso’s dolphins breaching. Pity they didn’t do that right in front of me.
I cruised the coast for the next four hours. Nice.
Three things happened on the way back.
First, I watched a seal relaxing…
Seal taking afternoon nap
Second, the wind dropped…unexpectedly.
Third…another pod of Risso’s cruised past. Five or six in this group. It’s surprisingly difficult to be sure of numbers even though they are up to thirteen foot long. I heard a couple blow behind me but never saw them
This one shows the multitude of scars caused by scraps with other Risso’s. A feature of the bodies and fins of this species.
Risso’s
This one, a juvenile, was almost completely grey, more like a Bottlenose dolphin.
So my efforts on a grey and unpromising day paid off. Two pods of nine (minimum) and five (minimum) Risso’s. Plus a handful of seals and three Sandwich Terns.
Events such as this not only inspire and enthuse, they also help to establish the status of the big marine creatures which is the first step in conservation and protection projects.
So it’s a really great idea, and I am very happy to contribute what I can. Here’s my previous three year’s stats:
2019: 66 Porpoise, 36 Common Dolphins, 1 Minke Whale (you might call it 2 if I include the one that came up for breath just behind my kayak, but I never saw!), 1 Humpback Whale.
Total: 96
2020: 4 Porpoise, 15 Common Dolphin,1 Minke Whale.
Total 20
2021: 14 Porpoise, 3 Common Dolphin.
Total 17
Observing these sort of creatures from a kayak is entirely dependent on benign weather. For venturing several miles offshore, which is where you have really got to be, the wind should be less than 5mph. So it’s entirely possible that you won’t get out there at all. That’s why I havn’t see much for the last two years.
This year I was hell-bent on beating my previous personal best tally of cetaceans (must be the trainspotter in me) and the forecast promised a few windless days so I was primed and ready to go. Sandwiches perfected and put in the fridge the night before.
Day 1 was a bit of a disappointment. I paddled out from Fowey but offshore conditions were a bit too choppy. A dozen circling Gannets guided me in to a pod of porpoises and that was my lot. All made worse by forgetting to get the sandwiches out of the fridge.
Day 2 was very much better. Flat calm in Mount’s Bay off Penzance. A lot of porpoises scattered about and a memorable prolonged sit in amongst a pod of feeding and very curious Common Dolphins.
video:
They were in quite a playful mood and it was the first time I had witnessed a dolphin doing a spot of backstroke.
video:
The sandwiches, which were two days old and starting to fizz, were the low point.
Day 3 was back to disappointing. I had promised my chum Mark a flat calm day with a huge offshore paddle and loads of fins. Unfortunately although there was no wind the sea surface was rippled by an inexplicable nasty little chop which made cetacean-viewing very tricky. Just four passing Dolphins.
Mark at Mousehole
Day 4 was Mount’s Bay again and inspiring, at least in the morning until the wind picked up. If only Mark had come today instead! I was on the water very early so it was almost totally silent with not an engine to be heard. It was made even more atmospheric by a moderate swell which meant that I was frequently looking UP at the dolphins.
Dolphin upstairs!
I spied a work-up of Gannets over a mile ahead. Paddling at 4mph it took me 25 minutes to arrive on the scene (so it was actually 1.7 miles). I cursed because a very noisy slow-moving trawler ploughed right through the middle of the activity just as I was arriving and the Gannets scattered. Blooming typical, as there was hardly another boat in sight.
However luck hadn’t failed me completely, and the Gannets fired up again nearby, cackling with excitement as they pivoted and plunged into the water with a mighty thoomph.
Gannet
As expected, there were dolphins beneath the Gannets, about twenty of them. I quietly paddled over to watch and spent the next two hours observing the jumps and listening to the puffs and the splashes of several feeding groups.
They would send little silver fish scattering everywhere as they surged about, and then disappear for a while as they rounded up the next unfortunate baitball.
Baitball of Sprats, Penzance
When I eventually decided to move on the dolphins decided to come too.
Dreamworld for the Lone Kayaker:
One of the benefits of offshore kayaking looking for cetaceans is that if it is a complete failure, which is not unusual, there is a lot of incidental wildlife to be enjoyed.
A sunny day in late July, especially if it is early in the morning, brings it all out.
It’s always great to see the seals:
There was a raft of Manx Shearwaters resting and preening and cooing at each other.
Manx Shearwater
As I was watching the dolphins a tiny Storm Petrel flitted past. The size and appearance of a House Martin but a bird of the open ocean and rarely seen from the shore.
Better still was a large shearwater flying a bit higher off the surface than the passing Manx, and with a lazy flight like a large slomo bat. A Cory’s Shearwater! I am familiar with this species from the Mediterranean coast of Spain but this is a UK kayaking first for me. No pic unfortunately. A real mega-sighting from a kayak.
On Day 4 I saw the fin of an Ocean Sunfish twisting across the surface towards me. Here it is through the green planktonic blurr as it swum past. Quite a big one…about a metre across.
video:
Ocean Sunfish…a fairly hefty one
A Clouded Yellow butterfly flittered past when I was a mile or two offshore. The first one I have seen this year. They are continental migrants but this was probably the locally produced offspring of the wave of immigrants from earlier in the year. Unable to resist a bit of wandering.
These butterflies are rare out to sea. Red Admirals are quite common, painted Ladies less so. Both migrants from the continent.
Also in the insect department a Hummingbird Hawkmoth zipped past heading for land…almost certainly having crossed over the English Channel from France. Excellent.
Below the surface there are a lot of Compass Jellyfish around at the mo. They are the most attractive jelly with intricate markings. This one is very photogenic with a full set of tentacles (pity about the eelgrass).
Compass Jellyfish
So I managed to observe 110 cetaceans during the Seawatch Dolphin and Whale week, beating my previous best from 2019. I maybe wasn’t quite as thrilling as seeing a Humpback and Minke from that year, but it might just have been my best ever dolphin encounter if you include the perfect super-flat paddling conditions. Video:
There are more dolphins about because there are more shoaling fish about.
Dolphins at Dawn, Mount’s Bay
It is normal for there to be a boom of pilchards (aka Cornish Sardines) at this time of year, but not very normal for the sea to be docile enough for cetacean enthusiasts like myself to be able to go out to enjoy them from our flimsy craft.
I expect to be able to nose offshore for just a day or two in January, but the sea has been becalmed for weeks. It’s just not natural…but a whole lot of fun!
It’s hard to believe this clip is taken in the middle of winter along the coast of south Devon. You’d pay a lot of money to have this sort of experience in the Bahamas…
Right at the end of the month I enjoyed the company of a small, unusually slow-moving, family group of dolphins in the heart of Torbay. Very cleverly they managed to avoid being spotted by the large number of speeding leisurecraft that were passing by rolling at the surface without a splash. More like a pod of porpoises.
However the youngsters in the group couldn’t resist the occasional bellyflop:
Pilchards seem to appear near the surface during the night, so the best time to see the dolphins close to the shore is at dawn. This is good for me, because I am one of those irritating people who is most tuned-in as the sun appears over the horizon.
This little pod were just leaving the harbour as I paddled out:
My first visit to Penzance for the year was quite extraordinary. I saw more dolphins during the morning than I had ever seen in one day before. The scene was set when I spotted some fins even before I emerged from the shelter of the harbour, before the sun had come up!
There were dolphins scattered throughout Mount’s Bay, mostly in small groups. I actually saw about 150 individuals, and that is from my kayak without any binoculars, so there could have been ten times that number in the bay.
The wind got up, as predicted, at midday. I couldn’t resist paddling over to see a feeding frenzy of gulls about a mile away. More dolphins:
I mustn’t forget to mention the three porpoises, with their characteristic explosive puff.
I was also gobsmacked to see three Manx Shearwaters cruising about as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do in January. Hasn’t anybody told them that they should be off the coast of Brazil at this time of year?
Manx Shearwater
They shouldn’t be back here till the end of March, at the earliest.
It looks as though normal service will be resumed during February, and the wind will blow and the sea will foam.
So I’ll be seeking the shelter of the creeks. I don’t expect to see juvenile dolphins dashing about like this for a while.
The sea was flat calm, but the wildlife for the first two hours of paddling out into Mount’s Bay was almost non-existent. A single Balearic Shearwater banked past in a disinterested sort of way, and the handful of Gannets, which I scrutinised closely as they flew from horizon to horizon, did not deflect from their cruise path. Nothing to attract their attention, which means no cetaceans at the surface. One did, however, come and take a look at me. Very flattering.
Then suddenly I was into a bit of action. A small pod of porpoises, which I could hear puffing before I could see. As I sat and watched in complete silence, I heard a whale blow. A long and loud breath, unlike the porpoises’ explosive little snort. When it surfaced again I thought I caught a glimpse of a fin, but it was a long way away. Instead of charging off in the direction of the sound, which I usually do, I just sat tight and hoped the whale’s wanderings while it was feeding might bring it a bit closer. Coffee and brunch bar.
Minke Whale heading away
After three or four breaths at intervals of ten to fifteen seconds it arched its back and dived. It then submerged for five minutes or more, reappearing with a very loud blast. It was only because the sea surface was so exceptionally calm I could hear it breathe at long distance. Any sort of wind and chop I wouldn’t have seen, or heard it.
Minke Whale
It surfaced a few metres behind me with a great whoosh, and then disappeared. Eventually it did a nice sequence which didn’t involve me cranking my creaky neck around:
Minke Whale
Fantastic. I will never tire of the whale-from-kayak experience. It is the culmination of a lot of meticulous planning, mainly relating to the weather. And the picnic.
As the whale continued to zigzag back and forth my attention was grabbed by a scattered pod of dolphins that appeared on the scene in a characteristically splashy way.
Adult and juv Common Dolphin. Pedal to the metal!Juvenile Common Dolphin
The juveniles were the most acrobatic as usual but this adult, recognisable by the black ‘beard’ line between its flipper and chin, did not want to be outdone by the nippers and reached for the sky. Good effort!
Adult Common Dolphin
The next posse to come past put on a real show. They were in a mad hurry to get somewhere. Hasty, hasty, hasty.
Common Dolphins
I had hardly paddled a stroke since I had first seen the porpoises a couple of hours earlier. A couple of hours of non-stop action with three species of cetacean.
Happy with that. The long paddle back was quiet, although livened up right at the end by a quiet little family pod of dolphins, which I gave a wide berth. They looked like they didn’t want to be disturbed.
PS
This post is about yesterday’s sightings.
Please enjoy a bonus video of today’s encounter with these charming little porpoises off the coast at Fowey. They are habitually shy. It’s not very often they come close enough to see them swimming underwater!
I have heard the occasional story of inquisitive Minke Whales hanging round boats at sea, and have always hoped that that might happen to me. But I never thought it would, because my fourteen foot little sliver of plastic upon which I sit can’t be that interesting to a twenty-five foot long, five-ton mega-creature. It’s the equivalent of me being interested in a wheelie-bin.
But yesterday that is precisely what happened.
Over the past five years I have seen nineteen Minke Whales from my kayak. All are absolutely thrilling encounters, but most are fleeting glimpses. My only view so far this year was a long back (plus fin) I saw out of the corner of my eye off Portscatho. A fraction of a second glimpse, and then nothing more.
They are elusive because unlike most whales they have no visible blow, and can cover very large distances between breaths.
It’s even more challenging watching these whales from a kayak because there is not a remote hope of keeping up with them (it’s difficult enough with dolphins!), so all you can do is sit tight and hope they surface nearby.
However a kayak has one significant advantage over a boat. It is completely silent so on a calm day you can hear the sound of the blow from a mile away…
And yesterday was very calm indeed, so I was on the water paddling out of Penzance Harbour before seven.
A good start: small groups of dolphins and porpoises were scattered about all over the place. The porpoises puffed and the dolphins splashed.
It was so incredibly flat that I headed way offshore, lured onwards by the Gannets that were milling around overhead, and the shearwaters that were wheeling and feeding low over the water.
I stopped to enjoy a more active pod of Common Dolphins, but was having a bit of a ‘mare behind the lens…couldn’t get anything in focus.
Dolphin sychroJuvenile Dolphin giving it all he/she has got
So I was sitting about three miles offshore, when I heard that incredible sound…the prolonged blast of a breathing whale. It was so distant I knew I would not be able to see the owner of the sound (even though it was quite large, and viewing conditions were perfect), so I engaged top gear and set off towards the noise. Nothing for twenty minutes, then I saw a long back roll slowly at the surface far ahead. Fantastic, a Minke whale.
I selected biceps sport mode and ploughed on even faster, but the whale was not being cooperative. Usually they surface three or four times in relatively quick succession, so you can predict roughly where it will appear. This one surfaced only once or twice, then would disappear for five minutes, and come up half-a-mile away. Even more elusive than usual!
At least I managed to get a ‘record’ shot:
Minke Whale first encounter
Then it just vanished.
I paddled on for a few more miles, never out of earshot of a splash or a puff of dolphins or porpoises, and then headed back. I had originally planned to follow the coast back in, but couldn’t resist the promise of another whale so kept well offshore.
Duncan and Hannah plus passengers on board Shearwater II came along to enjoy the most sociable pod of dolphins of the day…good timing, and smiles all round!
Once again I heard the whale (or possibly another individual) far away, and once again I tracked it down after a long paddle. It passed by a little way off initially:
I then just sat tight and enjoyed the scenery, and tucked into my marmite sandwiches, hoping the whale might surface nearby. It most certainly did.
As I munched I noticed a swirl at the surface ten yards away, and then another much closer. OMG, it must be fluke prints from the whale which was hanging around under my kayak.
Then it appeared right out of the middle of one of the swirls! Yikes!
Minke Whale
How completely and utterly excellent is that! Not only can you appreciate the blast of exhalation, you can hear the air going IN down a huge pipe as well! Incredible.
The whoosh of a breathing whale is one of the greatest sounds in the animal kingdom. It’s even better when it’s right here in Cornwall, and from a kayak. No background engine noises to clutter it up.
I assumed that the whale had lost interest and disappeared, but far from it. It came straight back at me:
And it just hung around, surfacing several times directly behind my kayak and challenging the flexibility of my neck vertebrae.
Unbelievably, this continued for the best part of an hour, by which time we were firm friends.
The whale saved the best till last. It had spent a long time underwater and the swirls had stopped, but I waited with camera poised because I knew it wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. I just wasn’t expecting it to be QUITE so close.
Ultra-close Minke Whale
Although the whale looks (and sounds) very large because of the low viewing angle afforded by the kayak, I suspect this is a juvenile animal. It is always the youngsters of all the large sea creatures that are the most inquisitive, and ‘playful’. Young seals often throw their heads around in the manner of a puppy when a kayak shows up and it’s always the juvenile dolphins that bow-ride with the most vigour and splash and jump the highest.
In Antarctica last year Becky and I were closely scrutinised by a juvenile Humpback (which was almost as big as his Mum!) which repeatedly swam underneath our kayak, often upside down, and surfaced a few yards away in exactly the same manner as this Minke. His mother stuck faithfully to his side and tried to be discourage him from getting too close, but he completely ignored her.
Yesterday’s whale has certainly changed my opinion that Minkes are aloof. It was about as friendly as a whale can ever be. I wonder if our paths will cross again?
On a calm day I paddle offshore. How far depends on how much fuel I feel I have got in the tank and needless to say it gets a bit less each year.
However the prospect of meeting up with a pod of dolphins always makes the effort worthwhile.
St. Michael’s Mount
So I found myself sitting far out to sea in millpond-calm conditions, listening hard for some sort of blow, having set out from Penzance shortly after sunrise. It was so still I could hear a dog barking on the shore three miles away, and the Whimbrel and the Sandwich Tern that I heard calling were too distant to actually see. If any cetacean surfaced within half-a-mile I would know about it.
But I heard no blows and I saw no fins at the surface. I did however see a chunky brown bird floating buoyantly on the surface: a ‘Bonxie’ Great Skua. It had stopped off here on migration to harass some gulls or terns and steal their catch. A real bruiser of a bird.
Great Skua
Incidentally, I never take binoculars on my kayak. There is usually too much movement for them to be of any use. I just have to use my naked eyeballs. Inevitably I see a lot less than observers with binos on a boat, but this is partly offset by the fact that I can hear a lot more than a boat with a noisy engine.
As I dug in for the eight-mile paddle back, I received a tip-off from a passing yacht that there were a load of dolphins a mile or two ahead of me. Just follow the cloud of gulls. I probably missed them on the way out because I was too far offshore. Typical!
I bumped the pace up to a fast cruise and my temperature gauge was soon nudging into the red. I was in full thermals and drysuit gear to combat the early morning chill when I set off. The sun was now burning down and there was not a breath of wind to siphon away the steam.
As I approached the area all I found were some very plump-looking gulls settling down for an after- dinner siesta. Not a dolphin in sight, although I could sense that they had literally only just left the scene.
It was a great relief to strip off a layer beside a nearby island, watched by a Purple Sandpiper and a Glaucous Gull. (Ornithology from the kayak seat is a lot easier than looking for dolphins)
With a new lease of life as my temperature reverted to the survivable side of critical, I took a final swing across the bay towards St. Michael’s Mount, just in case. Half-a-mile ahead an incoming yacht suddenly turned around and performed a slow loop. I guessed that something had attracted their attention and they had stopped to look. I squinted into the distance and just caught a glimpse of the sun twinkling off some fins not far from the yacht. Bingo.
Common Dolphins of every size
Fifteen minutes later I was watching a very active pod of Common Dolphins surging, splashing and jumping all over the place. They ranged in size from small calf to large adult, with a lot of adolescents in between. It was probably a group of dolphin mums with their extended family. (I think the males prefer to hang out alone in bachelor pods, which I have seen from time to time)
Adults in front, junior behindMother and calf Common Dolphin
This pod really gave me the run around. They were on a bit of a mission and sped off far faster than I could ever hope to paddle. They would briefly stop to feed every so often and then hurtle off again in a cloud of splashes. All I could do was anticipate where they would go next and sit in their path. This proved to be spectacularly unsuccessful apart from once when they all powered past quite close.
Excellent. I would have guessed it was a pod of about 40, but the rule of thumb when counting dolphins is to take your best estimate and double it (some say triple!), so it could have been 80, or even 100.
Amazing….when I went to bed the forecast for the following day was wet and foggy for the whole of Devon and Cornwall. When I checked again at 5am it was rain in Plymouth, drizzle in Looe, ghastly in Fowey and……sunny and still in Penzance….wwhat?
My picnic was packed in superquick time (no chance to layer mayonnaise in the sandwiches) and I got my first glimpse of Mount’s Bay at about 7.30. It was so glass calm and I was so keen to get on the water I parked beside the sea at Marazion to save a ten minute drive to Penzance harbour. As a bonus the car park ticket machine was broken.
And the next seven hours were not only a feast for the eyeballs, they were a fest for the eardrums.
It consolidated my firmly held view that watching marine wildlife is best from a kayak.
The view from the seat of the kayak is second to none. An uninterrupted vista. This might seem like a statement of the obvious, but with any other craft there are distractions. Screens to check, bits of equipment to look at. Always the danger of looking in, and looking down. When you should be looking up and out. Looking for that fin.
A sailing boat has much of the view obstructed by the sail, and there is always the temptation of slipping below, clicking the kettle and sneaking a chunk of battenberg.
In a kayak the very fact that you have to paddle means you HAVE to spend the whole time looking up, and looking ahead. There is nothing else to do.
I have droned on about how the complete silence of a kayak means you can hear absolutely everything that dares to squeak within a mile radius, and today was the perfect example of how excellent a kayak is for listening to, and watching, the current boom of magical marine megafauna. Because it was staggeringly still.
In fact of the hundred or so big creatures I saw today, all but a few I heard before I saw. Puffs, splishes, splashes, sploshes, roars (of water), breaths, blasts.
Seven different sounds from the surface of the lake-like sea.
So, here they are:
1. The thoomph of a diving Gannet
Gannet
Gannets are big birds, with a six foot wingspan.They dive onto shoals of surface fish from an extraordinary height and hit the surface hard. Despite assuming the shape of a missile as they strike the water, they send up quite a plume of spray and make quite a noise.
2. The slappy splash of a Sunfish.
Here is the normal view of a Sunfish. A sharp fin corkscrewing across the surface. But every so often they will dredge themselves out of apparent torpor and hurl themselves from the water and land back with a slap. It is a characteristic noise because they always land on their side so it lacks the depth of sound of all the other splashing creatures. I can now recognise it from quite a distance. I have never managed to photograph one breaching, although I was very close today.
3. The puff of a Porpoise.
Harbour Porpoises are the cetacean I encounter most often. They are outnumbered by Common Dolphins because dolphins go around in larger pods, but I see porpoises on many more days.
The majority I hear first, because they have a characteristic explosive breath. That’s why they used to be called Puffing Pigs off eastern USA.
Harbour Porpoise
4. The blow of a Common Dolphin
I REALLY like Common Dolphins, and a day with a dolphin encounter is very special day indeed. In fact everybody loves dolphins, and the recent seasonal surge in numbers around the coast has sparked off a huge demand for boat trips to go and see them. Certainly a bit of pestering by jetskis, some of whom have not been adhering to the rules about approaching wild creatures in the sea, and who have the manoeuvrability and speed to chase, and potentially really harass, the dolphins.
They (dolphins, not jetskis) feature in this list twice, for two different sounds. The first is their blow, which although is quieter than a porpoise (although the first breath after a dive is quite noisy), is somehow full of character. And because they go around in gangs there is a lot of characterful puffs going on!
Here’s today’s dolphins:
juvenile dolphin starting to exhale
juv Common Dolphin blowing
5. The crazy raking splash of a Giant Bluefin Tuna.
The noise is quite characteristic, and totally astonishing. Although I have heard it a lot recently, every time it generates a “what the heck was that?” response in my brain, and I have cricked my neck more often than reccommended.
It is an explosion of sound because the fish are travelling at such incredibly speed when they ambush their small fish prey from below. On this trip to Mount’s Bay I heard and saw about a hundred tuna splashes, but actually saw only about ten fish.
Tuna eruption
I have seen more Atlantic Bluefin Tuna exploding from the surface along the south coast of Cornwall and Devon in the last two weeks than ever before. This includes some really big fish that definitely cross the threshold (150kgs) to qualify them for the tag of GIANT Bluefin tuna.
Bluefin Tuna slashing the surface
Here’s a really big one. The Manx Shearwaters in the pic have a wingspan of just less than three feet, so that is some hefty fish!
Giant Bluefin Tuna
6. The controlled and polite splashing of a Common Dolphin.
Although I like the crazed manner of Giant Tuna erupting from the surface, the splash of the dolphins appeals to me just a bit more, because dolphins are more interactive with kayakers than the amazing, but personality-less, tuna.
These dolphins below are being about as splashy as they ever get, but are still less wild and thrashing than the ultra high speed tuna.
very splashy Common Dolphins
There’s a bonus sound in this video clip if you listen closely….one of the dolphins has got a bit of a squeak when it breathes.
7. The prolonged blasting blow of a Minke Whale.
Hearing the blow of a whale, in SW England, has got to be the most thrilling sound a wildlife-watching kayaker can hear, by quite a long way.
It was my ambition for many years to hear and see one, and it took many years before I did. It’s all so wonderfully ludicrous…..who on earth goes looking for whales in a kayak in Devon and Cornwall. I don’t think there are many fellow kayakers in the whale club.
Today’s whale was, not unusually, very elusive. It was beyond my paddling limit as I already had a ten mile paddle back to Marazion (and was three miles offshore). This seems to happen to me a lot…I stop for a coffee break before paddling back and hear a whale blow another mile further out.
I heard it six or seven times and just glimpsed the long back surfacing twice. This is the only pic I could manage…the tip of a fin and a swirl of water.
Slinky Minke Whale
To hear the blow a bit more clearly here’s a clip from one off Plymouth three weeks ago.
That sound is a bit special. It’s also very addictive.
Wow, what a way to shake off the shackles of lockdown. My two favourite iconic landmarks of the south Cornish coast, on consecutive days of unbroken sunshine, paddling under deep blue skies.
The trip out to the Eddystone lighthouse, which lies ten miles southwest of the mouth of Plymouth sound, is my favourite big offshore paddle. It’s a minimum of twenty-four miles there and back (launching from Cawsand), but more when you have chased around after a few sea creatures.
Yours truly at Eddystone.
This was my nineteenth expedition out to the lighthouse, eleven years after my first. I was a little bit nervous that I still had the power and endurance in the bag, given that I have recently tiptoed across the threshold into my seventh decade.
It lures me back because of its sense of adventure, and the lure of the fantastic wildlife that one might expect to bump into en route. I’ve seen a couple of Minke Whales, Common, Bottlenose and even White-beaked dolphins, Porpoise, Basking Shark, Blue Shark, Sunfish, Seals, and one of only two Wilson’s Petrels ever recorded in Devon.
So, as usual, I was full of expectation.
The forecast was flat calm until ten o’clock, then a light southerly. Perfect , a bit of assistance on the way back. I was too early to get on the water (nothing new there) and there was a cool breeze flowing like a river out of the mouth of the Tamar. This combined with an incoming Spring tide created more of a chop than I had expected. Nothing hairy, just a bumpy ride, which wasn’t great for wildlife watching. It was compounded by a small groundswell, and the constant wash from fishing boats en route from Plymouth to the Eddystone reef.
However I did manage to spot a small pod of Common Dolphins thanks to one youngster repeatedly breaching directly in front of me. Although I engaged top gear and sped after them I failed to close the gap enough to take a photo.
It took in excess of four hours to reach the Eddystone, as the tide was about as unhelpful as it could have been. I knew this to be the case, but the only other option was not to go, which clearly wasn’t an option.
I nearly leapt out of my skin when a multiple booming blast made my entire kayak vibrate. It came from the Queen Elizabeth aircraft carrier ten miles away, that had decided it was time to cruise on. What a cacophony.
Queen Elizabeth
It was too lumpy around the back of the lighthouse for a relaxing break so I just headed straight back. It’s not often not lumpy here.
I nearly ran straight into a pair of Porpoises soon after leaving the light, and then a Puffin popped up right in front of me. Photography was not at all easy because the kayak was bouncing about but I couldn’t resist risking a few shots of this immature (probably last year’s fledgling) Puffin.
Immature Puffin
Suddenly the wind dropped (and I think the flow changed direction….not always easy to predict here) and the last five miles back to the mainland were like a lake.
I dropped in to the lovely sandy beach in the armpit of Rame Head for a leg stretch (after over eight hours in the kayak seat) but it was heaving with Bank Holiday boaters so I ditched that idea and carried on. My pleasant wilderness bubble was further dented, if not burst, by the roar of jetskis coming out of the sound.
Dreaded jetskis
It was suddenly time to get home. 25.9 miles, nine and a quarter hours total.
St. Michael’s Mount is rather more relaxing because it is less than half a mile offshore. What it lacks in remoteness and starkness, it makes up with eyecatching beauty and drama. You just can’t help looking up at those little windows on the sheer wall above the craggy cliff.
what a great place
scenic overload (and Dave)
I bumped into a couple of paddling chums as I left Penzance harbour, and we formed a loose convoy, with approved sort of distancing, for a circuit around the Mount.
Simon
The sea, as forecast, was flat enough for the three and-a-half mile crossing to Mousehole, and of course I scoured the surface for fins. Was that a distant puff I heard? Yes, a couple of Porpoises popped up right beside Dave as he devoured a Twix. They were very camera shy (the porpoises, not Dave and confectionery) but I just managed to capture this fleeting fin.
fleeting Porpoise
A few Guillemots were dotted about, and a flypast Razorbill.
Guillemots
Mousehole was echoing to the sound of laughing and chattering of splashing children, perhaps appropriate for the picture-perfect little coastal village that time seems to have forgotten about, and hopefully so has Covid 19.
Back at Penzance I was surprised to see three Purple Sandpipers hanging on, still loathe to move north. Perhaps they have a taste for bright sunshine. They were not keen to perform for the lens however (initially at least).
lens-shy Purple Sandpiper
Purple Sandpiper (that’s better)
It’s a funny time of year for oceanic sealife, because offshore it often goes very quiet in May and June. There are hardly any Gannets around, which generally means not much cetacean activity. Gannets have superb eyesight and will spot fins at the surface from a huge distance. I havn’t seen one circling, which means action below, for a while. Apart from over me, that is. In fact judging by the way they sprint over to check me out as if I am the only interesting feature on the surface for miles around, the sea everywhere else must be quite quiet at the moment.
Gannet on the prowl
So not may cetaceans, but fortunately for wildlife-watching kayakers there are the birds, the coastal scenery looking at its best, and the wall -to- wall deep blue sky to enjoy.
Phew, lockdown has eased just in time get out and enjoy the REALLY sunny weather. My chum Paul always says that the third week in May is the best week of the year and I think he’s just about spot-on…..wildflowers in full bloom and birds as busy as they can possibly be with raising their families.
The Guillemots on Gull Rock are lined up like ten-pins on their tiny ledges and jostling for position. I love their primeval cackle….
They are looking at their very best at the moment, all chocolately brown and white, and I spotted a rare bridled version (a plumage variation, not a separate species) amongst the throng.
Bridled Guillemot
I didn’t get too close to the breeding ledges…..making them ‘stampede’ is completely unacceptable and can cause eggs, which are just placed on the narrow ledges with no nest to hold them in place, to fall off.
I opted for admiring them on the water instead.
Gang of Guillemots
Also nesting on Gull Rock (apart from Gulls, of course) are Razorbills, but in much fewer numbers than the Guillemots. I think they look even better than their auk cousins, decked out in velvety-black with a perfectly positioned white designer streak in front of the eye.
Razorbill
Here’s one trying to ensure it’s impeccable image is maintained….
I was a bit surprised to come across this little posse resting on a tiny islet half a mile offshore.
Sanderling snoozing (plus Dunlin, top left)
A group of Sanderling and Dunlin, moulting into their breeding plumage, no doubt en route to their breeding grounds in the arctic. Sanderlings, perhaps not surprisingly, are most at home on a sandy beach, running in and out with the waves.
Other arctic breeders that winter around the coast of Cornwall are also still around. This pair of Great Northern Divers in Gerrans Bay are reluctant to cast off their winter dress,
Great Northern Diver
whereas this one in Penzance is in full breeding plumage. Bad pic I know, but it shows off the ‘necklace’ well.
Great Northern Diver breeding plumage.
Purple Sandpipers, which specifically like to winter on wave battered barnacle-encrusted rocks in exposed locations, also have not all departed for the north.
Purple Sandpiper
Fin-tastic
OK, let’s ramp up the post-lockdown kayaking excitement a notch or two.
Seeing a fin slicing through the clear waters of the open sea is one of the greatest wildlife sightings you can have from a kayak, in my opinion. Not least because it is quite an achievement in terms of planning, and physical effort, to get out to where they might be….usually far offshore.
The last one I saw was attached to the back of a porpoise off Dodman Point on 16 March. Because I am a bit of a fin addict, I was pretty keen to find a few more, and as soon as the wind forecast for Mounts Bay, Penzance , was suitable, I was off down the A30 for my dose of extended, and legal, exercise.
Launching from Penzance harbour at low tide is currently rather tricky because there is a ship parked in the channel, the Scillonian III.
Penzance Harbour
Heading offshore I was lucky enough to hear a couple of Porpoises puffing before I had stopped for breakfast. Excellent. I didn’t watch them for long because I had moved on to the next ‘thing’…..what else might be about? I had to keep paddling out before the wind picked up (it wasn’t forecast to increase, and didn’t, but I always maintain a sense of urgency in case it does. Quite exhausting, really).
Porpoise, Penzance
Good call, another fin ahead, and this one was slightly bigger and accompanied by a little splash…..Dolphin!
Common Dolphin
It got better……the dolphin’s calf then popped up beside it.
I settled in (as much as you can in a kayak on the open sea), ate my breakfast, had a cup of coffee, and enjoyed the show.
And then I paddled on. I saw very little for the next few hours, although paddled over to investigate a small group of Kittiwakes dipping down to the surface snatching small fish. Far out to sea small fish at the surface is good news for Kittiwakes, good news for me, but bad news for small fish.
They are there because predators from below have herded them into a baitball and pinned them up against the surface to make them easier to catch. Last autumn, in exactly this place, baitballs of sprats and sandeels were being engulfed by dolphins, porpoises, giant tuna, a Minke Whale and a Humpback whale.
Today wasn’t quite so dramatic, but it was the first time I had seen this particular predator doing the herding. Sea Bass. The first one I glimpsed just below me was so big it gave me a bit of a start. Big for a Bass anyway…must have been 5lbs plus (danger of exaggeration here…it’s a fishy story).
On the way back, amazingly, I bumped into the dolphin pair again, three miles away from our first encounter. Like finding the needle in the haystack, twice.
I took lunch at Mousehole. Looking good, as always (Mousehole, not me).
Mousehole
And as usual a few seals were lounging about on the island. Including this rather glistening youngster….last year’s pup?
The Beadiest of Eyes
Although I would describe the cheese sandwiches I had hastily constructed at 4.30am as forgettable, they didn’t go unnoticed by the local gulls, some of whom might tend towards a scavenging sort of approach to life. They came close enough to allow unusually close scrutiny of their features.
How amazing is this eye? The iris looks more like a map of the moon than a map of the moon.
Eyeball that eyeball
It belongs to the local avian bully-boy and public enemy number one, a Great Black-backed Gull. Gulls in seaside towns have an appalling public image, but I personally like them very much, not least because their eyes are filled with character. The call of a Herring Gull is the sound of the seaside.
Great Black-back
Although, having said that, the sound of a Great Black-back is a rather intimidating ‘gulp’.
And finally…back to the (semi-lockdown) garden
To further uplift the spirits, here’s a couple of recent specials to round things off.
The first snake I have ever seen in the garden (in 25 years).
Grass Snake
And a Willow Warbler doing it’s best to maintain the tail end of the dawn chorus, despite being audio-bombed by a wren during its second verse.
Here’s my top twelve wildlife sightings (all from the kayak seat, of course) for 2019. The cream of 2,444 miles of paddling.
There’s so much action to pack in that the coastal scenery, which has a claim to be as world class as the marine wildlife, doesn’t even get a mention (apart from this one pic).
So here we go, in reverse order.
12. Fowey Osprey
Osprey
This beautiful juvenile Osprey was an end of year bonus, stopping off for a rest (and no doubt refuelling on a mullet or two) near the mouth of the Fowey estuary. It had probably hatched out in Scotland or the north of England, and was on its way to the main Osprey wintering ground in West Africa. I look forward to seeing it again next year (hopefully).
I usually see one or two Ospreys around the estuaries of Devon and Cornwall in the autumn, but this is by far and away my best view….and I so nearly overlooked it as it was sat completely still near the top of a tall waterside tree.
11. Barrel Jellyfish
Barrel Jellyfish
2019 has been a spectacular year for Barrel Jellyfish. They have been around in vast numbers, and for a long time. From early March to the end of October. On one day I saw more than the previous five years put together.
They are really great creatures….big and mysterious.
10. Boscastle Puffins
Puffin Pair, Boscastle
There’s a handful of breeding colonies of everybody’s favourite seabird dotted around SW England, and nowhere is more dramatic than the rocky islets off the craggy and hostile coast of North Cornwall just up from Tintagel.
There’s only a couple of pairs of Puffins at Boscastle, and there’s only a couple of days a month when sea conditions are suitable for attempting to go and see them by kayak.
9. Torridge Otter.
This is our only venture into fresh water in this review, into the home of Tarka the otter in North Devon. A superb prolonged view in early January of a dog otter fishing.
An encounter matched by it’s cousin on the other side of the pond, or more technically the OTHER pond, because this is a Pacific Sea Otter which Becky and I watched from a kayak during a trip to California in February.
Californian Sea Otter
I saw a total of six river otters in 2019…..three in the Torridge, three in the Tamar. (plus one on the Wye)
8. Harbour Porpoise
mother and calf porpoise
I really like porpoises. They are a kayak speciality, because the majority I see I have heard puffing first, a noise that would be drowned out by any sort of engine. There is no doubt they are hugely overlooked, because they are small (only four to five foot long), and they appear at the surface without a splash. Also they tend to go around in very small groups which makes them even easier to miss.
This year I have seen a total of 275 porpoises on 38 days. Down from last year ( 327 on 44 days) but I don’t get the impression there are any fewer around. If you paddle a couple of miles offshore almost anywhere around the coast of Devon and Cornwall in August, you will probably hear one puffing.
7. Micky the Harbour Seal
It is rare to see a Harbour Seal in Cornwall, and even more unusual (and probably unprecedented) to see a pup that has swum all the way from Holland and is still only five months old. Another success story for the seal rescue and rehabilitation centres.
Micky the (Dutch) Harbour Seal
6. Beaver
A handful of trips up an estuary through the patchy mist of dawn in July were rewarded with several encounters with Beavers. I had heard they were about, but I had no idea they were in this particular location, didn’t realise that they inhabited saltwater estuaries, and anyway didn’t think I would see one in daylight.
Another good example of the benefits of paddling along in complete silence (and early in the morning).
Five beaver sightings on three days.
Beaver
5. Common Dolphin
My Common Dolphin year started off in grand style with a prolonged encounter with a pod of about twenty off Penzance. It was early January but the flat calm sea and warm sun made it feel, and look, like summer.
Penzance dolphin
I will never ever get bored of seeing a dolphin from my kayak. In fact the excitement will never dip below the 100% level. Partly because it is so very difficult to do…..Common Dolphins don’t often come within sight of the shore so you’ve really got to be a long way out, and sea conditions suitable for this are infrequent even in the summer.
It’s a good news story for SW England and the efforts of the marine conservation groups that Common Dolphins seem to be increasing, no doubt because there are more fish around. This is reflected in my total for the year of 564 individuals on 23 days. (it’s actually probably a lot more than this but estimating the number of dolphins in an active and splashy pod is very difficult).This compares to 432 on 17 days last year, and 148 on 11 days in 2017.
This includes a couple of ‘superpods’ (over 50 individuals) on consecutive days at the end of August…one in Devon and the other in Cornwall.
Interestingly I only saw an average of one pod per year when I kayaked along the coast; the increase only occurred when I took to offshore paddling. I now average about 500 miles a year more than a mile from the shore specifically looking for ‘fins’.
Only one or two of this year’s pods would have been visible to a kayaker paddling close to the shore.
I can’t think of any other situation where such a large number of completely wild creatures voluntarily come so close to an observer. Even better for the dolphins, they remain completely undisturbed and unspooked because I have no engine, and a kayak is about as threatening as a floating log.
4. Bottlenose Dolphins
My first sighting of these big and charismatic dolphins for several years was in Mount’s Bay, and three miles offshore. Bottlenose Dolphins usually prefer to stay close in because they like to hunt fish that live on the seabed, but these were thought to be part of an offshore pod that live in the open sea (and feed on shoaling fish).
Bottlenose Dolphins
3. Risso’s Dolphin
This was a really extraordinary encounter on one of the most beautiful days of the year. It was hot, sunny and windless. Even the relentless swell along the north coast of Cornwall had abated allowing a relaxed twenty-mile paddle from St.Ives to Sennen. I couldn’t resist a jaunt offshore around the Brisons rocks for the final section, and was rewarded with an extended sight of a pod of eight Risso’s Dolphins.
They are big and dynamic and ran through just about every trick in the dolphin book: spyhopping, fin-clapping, lobtailing, breaching as well as a bit of logging at the surface.
Risso’s dolphin spyhopping
I was thrilled when one swam past a few feet away because they are usually quite shy, and I personally have only seen them at a distance before.
Risso’s
2. Minke Whale
Ever since I first sat in a kayak (about fifty years ago) I have dreamt about seeing a whale from the kayak seat. Because I never thought it would happen in Devon or Cornwall I have been to Greenland, USA and Mexico to try and see one, and failed.
In the last four years I have discovered that if you grind out the miles, as far offshore as you dare, you will eventually see a whale.
In fact prior to this year I have seen ten whales in SW England. Fantastic, but August 2nd 2019 was to blast any other previous sighting clean out of the water, and I still can’t quite believe it happened.
Because I saw two species of whale in the same place at the same time, without paddling a single stroke. (as well as Common Dolphin, Porpoise, Giant Bluefin Tuna).
While I was waiting for the ‘other’ whale to surface, this Minke Whale appeared close enough to give me my best ever photograph of the species. If you consider whales as a whole, Minkes are not the biggest (about thirty foot) and not the most exciting, because they roll at the surface like a giant porpoise. But heck, they are a whale, and who would believe you can see a whale from a kayak in UK.
Minke Whale
1. HUMPBACK WHALE!!!!!
This once-in-a-lifetime drama was played out in a location that I usually avoid because of the tidal currents and confused and choppy water. But conditions for cetacean viewing AND photography were absolutely perfect…flat water, and cloudless blue sky.
It was the perfect un-storm.
Even so, the chances of me being three to four miles offshore in precisely the right place at precisely the same time as a Humpback whale appears, make a win on the lottery look easy. It was the first Humpback seen in the area since the Spring, and it was only around for a few hours.
I would have been over the moon just to have a fleeting view of it like this:
Humpback
And to see the flukes come up as it deep dived was something I had always wanted to capture on film…..even better with St.Michael’s Mount behind (seven miles away!).
Humpback and St.Michael’s Mount
Waving its enormous pectoral fin about was an unexpected bonus…..
Humpback flipper
But to be sitting right in the middle of its feeding area, as it proceeded to gulp down the baitballs of sandeels and other small fish just a few yards away, was something I hadn’t anticipated.
Humpback gulp
Humpback splash
To see this sort of sight from a whale-watching boat in California or Hawaii would be the thrilling enough, but to ‘stumble’ across it in my kayak while randomly paddling around far offshore, right here on our doorstep in Southwest England, is total excitement overload.
The Lone Kayaker 