Dolphins Again…At Last!

November has provided lean pickings for the Lone Kayaker.

My camera has made very few excursions from the cosiness of its dry-bag.

The weather hasn’t helped. Most of my paddling trips have been along the rivers and up the estuaries to provide a bit of protection from the wind. I’ve seen a few Kingfishers, a handful of seals and several otters which is always a thrill.

Most have been fleeting glimpses although during the one prolonged view of a otter fishing in the River Torridge my camera decided to go on strike.

Out along the coast I have encountered the occasional porpoise and witnessed a tremendous dogfight between a pair of peregrines and a woodpigeon. Clouds of feathers flew everywhere but amazingly the woodpigeon made a successful escape into a chink in the cliffs.

All of which I failed to capture on film.

The big kick up the pants came a couple of days ago.

Fantastic Fowey

A day which promised blue skies and oily calm seas. BIG excitement.

I didn’t decide my launch location until I was in the car heading for the south Cornwall coast. It had to be Fowey…such an easy kayak put-in and only a mile paddle to the open sea. There are no real tidal currents to worry about so I could spend as much time as I liked far from the shore in about as relaxed a manner as possible.

As I emerged from the mouth of the estuary I checked in with the National Coastwatch Observers at Polruan and paddled directly offshore.

It was all worryingly quiet. No Gannets, very few gulls and no sound of any splashes or puffs. I kept stopping but all I could hear was deafening silence.

Until I reached about four miles offshore, that is.

That’s where things suddenly started to hot up. I paddled over to investigate a little flurry of Kittiwakes that were circling around a fizzing patch of water.

Pilchard baitball

It was a compact baitball of small fish which looks like Pilchards (aka Cornich Sardines).

Also in attendance were a large numbers of auks that were scattered about, croaking in a strangely primeval manner.

They were mainly Razorbills…

Razorbill, looking smart in winter plumage

With a handful of Guillemots thrown in for good measure, and comparison…

Guillemot

I was intrigued by a very small, pale floaty bird which I thought may have been a Phalarope, but it turned out to be a Little Gull. I’ve only seen two or three of these before from the kayak seat…

Little Gull

A short distance further out the BIG action started to kick off.

The silence was torn up by an explosion of water behind me which I knew must have been a tuna. I swung round just in time to see an enormous fish, far bigger than a dolphin, jump clear of the water.

In keeping with my photographic failures of the last month, I spectacularly missed the opportunity for the big pic and just managed to snap the spiky fin as the fish disappeared. It didn’t reappear, needless to say.

Where a tuna was.

I was relieved when I heard a small posse of Common Dolphins approaching, with their characteristic polite and delicate splashing…in great contrast to the explosive chaos of the Tuna.

Even better, they were swimming towards me so all I had to do was wait.

Dolphin and the Dodman

As usual the little group came over to investigate the weirdo in the mould-covered kayak and then seemed to lose interest and moved on.

Dolphin and Fowey

But then they seemed to have a change of heart and came back to the side of my kayak, as though they had decide that I might be an item of interest after all.

In the manner of puppies waiting for the ball to be thrown, they seemed to be egging me on. So I stoked up the boilers and cranked up the speed.

The dolphins responded as I had hoped and somehow got some enjoyment out of my pathetic pressure wave. They seemed to be gliding along beside me without twitching a muscle.

I spent a prolonged period staring eye to eye with one adult dolphin as it cruised effortlessly just below the silky smooth surface. As it tilted on its side to get a better look I tried to convey a similarly relaxed expression even though I was twanging every fibre of my being in paddling fast enough to keep their attention.

Dolphins are far to clever to be fooled, however. They took pity on me, probably when they saw the veins on my temples starting to bulge, and dashed off to look for a fishy snack.

A memorable minute of dolphin magic…

Yesterday the mini-dolphin bonanza continued, this time off the South Devon coast in Torbay. The see was bursting with little silver fish. Kittiwakes were circling everywhere with Guillemots, Razorbills, Gannets and a few Divers joining in the feast.

Where there are feeding seabirds, there are usually porpoises and/or dolphins. On this occasion it was both!

Juvenile Dolphins attacking small shoal of baitfish in mouth of Torbay

Fowey, Fizzing with Fins

No time to wallow in jet lag. A super-flat sea off Cornwall cannot be ignored even though we only lurched in through the front door from our Orca-spotting trip to Canada late the previous night.

Fowey was my chosen destination…access to the open sea is close if one is feeling a bit jaded and it rarely disappoints when it comes to wildlife.

Last Saturday was no exception.

Five hour trip, fifteen miles paddled, three pods of porpoises, three pods of dolphins, three tuna ‘explosions’.

Common Dolphin, Fowey

It was so calm and quiet that I heard all of these before I saw them…porpoises puffing, dolphins sploshing, tuna ripping the surface apart.

Tuna ripping it up

This is why I love the silence of the kayak, any engine noise would have drowned out the sounds of the sea. And the sound is 50% of the fun.

I paddled five miles directly offshore, had a cup of coffee and then headed back. That is when most of the action occurred.

I thought my ears were malfunctioning when I heard about twenty quiet puffs all very close together. Paddling towards the noise revealed about fifty dolphins in a tight pack. They were cruising about in a very relaxed and peaceful manner.

Their leisureliness was entirely in keeping with the ambience of the day.

It’s usually porpoises that are more chilled and the dolphins more animated.

Today they performed a big-time roll reversal. A pod of porpoises came charging directly towards me. Listen to those Puffing Pigs puff in this video.

It is unusual to see porpoises making much of a splash, but they were clearly late for lunch and were soon feasting on a ball of unseen baitfish nearby. The scraps kept the local gull population happy.

Porpoises feeding at Fowey

I sat around watching the action for quite a while because I felt sure that the mini-feeding frenzy would not go unnoticed by the tuna that I had seen earlier. They are a mega-aware predator with super-tuned senses and would not miss an opportunity like this.

Sure enough a couple exploded from the surface nearby. I’m tempted to say this one looks a bit startled.

Atlantic Bluefin Tuna showing the whites of its eye.

It was just a tiddler, only about six foot long.

All this was the perfect jetlag antidote…no time for moping about having an afternoon nap…it was just too exciting.

With some extremely photogenic scenes…

NCI Polruan on the right.

Risso’s in a Rush…at Fowey!

Risso’s Dolphins. Mum ‘n junior.

A couple of very early-morning dashes to Fowey during the last ten days demonstrate nicely all that I find thrilling about wildlife watching from the seat of a kayak. They also highlight the challenges and why chasing after highly mobile sea creatures in a tiny craft powered by chicken-wing arms is a really stupid thing to do.

Fabulous Fowey

Very early morning has been necessary because there have only been a couple of lulls of just a few hours when the wind has not been blowing hard. Wind makes the open sea a kayaking no-go. It’s not just for reasons of safety…a choppy sea makes seeing the fins difficult and a moving observation platform doesn’t help.

It’s a one mile trip under the gaze of the town of Fowey to access the open sea. It must be my favourite ‘urban’ paddle in the whole of Devon and Cornwall. Their is always so much going on and today a sumptuous cruise liner, ‘Silver Shadow’, had just arrived and was tying up in the middle of the estuary. Sleepy-eyed, pyjama-clad punters leaned over their balconies to take in the lovely scene.

Silver Shadow at Fowey

There’s wildlife too, above and below the water. A nice relaxed build up to the potential excitement to come.

Sleepy Heron

Compass Jelly

As I exited the estuary into open water I unconsciously engaged top gear because the sea was super-flat and I could see a lot of Gannets milling about in the distance.

Gannet looking…always looking

Milling Gannets means fish which usually means big fish-munchers under the surface as well.

Early morning Offshore Heaven

A mile or so offshore I thought I heard the puff of a porpoise so stopped paddling and cleared my earholes by doing that jaw thing. Even though kayaking is incredibly silent the quietest of sounds, such as a distant porpoise puff, can be masked by the slight splashing of the paddles and the scuffing of clothing during the paddling motion.

As I drifted to a halt it was really, REALLY, silent. And there was that puff again, so far away I knew I didn’t have a hope of seeing the porpoise which are small and have fins only about four inches tall.

I was about to set off in the direction of the puff when I heard a series of loud sploshes behind me. Distant and powerful. When I swung round I saw a succession of splashes which I initially thought were waves breaking on the distant headland. It was only when the splashes proceeded across the bay that I realised they must have speeding mega-creatures and judging by the size of the impacts when they hit the water…they were BIG.

Mysterious splash

My adrenaline levels maxed out so quickly it made my eyes bulge and the chicken wing arms whirred into action as I tried to close the gap on the speeding creatures that I had yet to see. What on earth were they? The splashes were far too big to be dainty and streamlined Common Dolphins. They were more like the raking swoosh of a hunting Giant Tuna, but Tuna rip the surface apart in a chaotic manner and do not progress in a specific direction like these splashes were doing.

I had never seen anything like this before.

I could see I wasn’t going to close the gap on these fast-moving creatures. They must have been moving at twenty mph. I kicked myself for being too far offshore. Typical! I usually don’t get to see stuff because I am not far enough out.

I just managed to get close enough to see glimpses of the creatures poking out of the plumes of spray.

Hefty creature, hefty splash

I stopped paddling and fired off a few shots with the camera as they powered past in front of me. Although I had a fair idea that these were Risso’s dolphins, it was only when I reviewed the pictures later that I saw their blunt noses which confirmed their identity. I was staggered to see in the photos that there were some tiny calves accompanying the thumping great adults. Astonishing! How on earth can those little creatures power along at that sort of speed?!

There’s a little tacker in their as well!

Maybe it was a training session for the youngsters. Who knows?

Whatever, it was something I have never witnessed before and I was very envious of the gentleman in the yacht who had just emerged from Fowey as the pod of about twenty Risso’s ploughed close past in front of his bow.

Although I’m not entirely sure that he noticed them.

Speeding past the yacht

I lost sight of them as the splashes disappeared into the distance. They just kept on going…fast.

Incredibly, exactly the same thing happened four days later. Incredible because I had never seen Risso’s at Fowey before during dozens of previous visits.

The sea was even calmer and this time I heard the blows of the dolphins rather than seeing the splashes, as they were proceeding across the bay at a much more leisurely pace.

The blows sounded very powerful and I could estimate that there were about twenty in the pod even before I could see them. Probably the same group as four days previous.

Risso’s with calf, Fowey

Once again I was too far offshore and once again I only managed to close the gap enough for me to see them passing in the distance. It would be so much more sensible to have a boat with an outboard engine. The trials and tribulations of marine wildlife watching from a kayak!

Just like before, I only noticed that their were tiny calves accompanying the big fins when I reviewed my pics later.

Incidentally, Risso’s dolphins fins really do have the wow factor. They are up to twenty inches tall, so bigger than the fin of a Minke Whale. In fact they have the biggest fin of all the local cetaceans.

Phew, all pretty exhausting, but thrilling stuff.

But the action wasn’t over yet. A quiet little pod of Common Dolphins cruised past in the orange glow of the early morning.

Dolphins at Dawn

And to wind up proceedings I sat in the middle of a pod of about ten porpoises as they merrily puffed around doing their busy porpoisey thing.

Porpoises being porpoisey

I missed a seriously impressive photo opportunity when this porpoise jumped clean out of the water. Autofocus didn’t quite have time to react!. Grrr. A porpoise in mid air is a rare event.

Missed Opportunity. Never mind, only another 30,000 miles to paddle till it happens again.

Photography from the kayak seat isn’t particularly easy. Neither is paddling out to sea looking for marine magafauna in a tiny human-powered craft.

That’s why I enjoy it so much.

ps…oh yeah I forgot another bonus of early morning paddling. It’s before the jetskis wake up…

Jetski at Fowey

‘ve made a couple of dashes to Fowey recently to make the most of a few hours of early summer morning calm before the wind picks up. The weather is exceptionally disturbed at the mo so careful planning is the key to success.

My efforts have paid off with two very memorable ten-mile circuits of the bay which nicely demonstrate all that I love about offshore kayaking.

First Fins of 2023

Porpoise, with a smile, on collision course

2nd January, yesterday, was forecast to be a day of sparkling winter sunshine. Just one blue-sky day to interrupt the endless run of wind, rain and monochrome dreary greyness. I can’t remember when the last one was, and there is no sign of another for the foreseeable.

So a coastal kayak trip was not an option…it was a necessity.

Torbay was the venue as it is so reliable in terms of protection from winter swells and consistency of wildlife encounters.

We were a motley trio indeed. I cut a thoroughly unprofessional image in my Gumotex inflatable kayak* which I thought would be easier to lug about following a hip replacement only a month ago. Simon looked slick in his Disco although he too was nursing an injury (or two). Isabelle probably cut the sportiest image on her SUP.

*although it is astonishingly seaworthy

Snack time already?

A very large number of seals were enjoying a hint of warmth in the winter sun in the heart of the harbour.

Hat-trick of Grey Seals. Dead to the world.

Given our state of questionable fitness and post-festive paddling power, we initially headed into the protected water of the inner bay.

For me, having spent a large part of the previous month flicking between Bargain Hunt and Homes under the Hammer, it was an absolute thrill to be out on the water. Even better when one of my favourite seabirds, a Great Northern Diver, popped up from a dive right beside me.

Great Northern Diver. What a beauty!

Poking about amongst the barnacles which encrusted the old jetty was another of my winter favourites, a Purple Sandpiper. A little bird with a big personality. Knowing that they have flown thousands of miles to get here makes them even more appealing. Like the Great Northern Diver this bird may well have come from Iceland.

Purple Sandpiper

Astonishingly there was one more bird from the north which may too have flown from Iceland. This was the rarest…a Long-tailed Duck. Known as an Old Squaw in North America.

Long-tailed Duck

It always makes me smirk when the British name is so scientific and a bit dull, in comparison to the more spontaneous sounding American name.

The same applies to the American name for the Great Northern Diver, the ‘Common Loon’.

All was going so well in terms of thermoregulation and enjoyment of the day that we decided to take a look out by the headland for some dolphins. Our urgency was fuelled by a report from Henry, who was installed on top of the cliff, that he thought he had seen a ‘blow’ far to the southwest. If it was indeed a blow, it was probably a Humpback.

Eyes in the Sky. Henry (right) on the cliff top.

We saw no whales and no dolphins, but enjoyed a great display from the resident porpoises who rolled and even surged all around. 50% of the fun of a porpoise encounter is hearing their explosive little puff as they breathe…a speciality from the silence of a kayak…or SUP!

At least half-a-dozen, probably double that number.

Porpoise in a hurry. They usually roll with barely a ripple.

If the year continues in this sort of a manner, it’s going to be a good one.

Loon with a Drip

The McFlurry Challenge…Last Chance for Glory.

After a near miss on the previous day with otter, seal, porpoise, dolphin, whale and a bonus Puffin but no eagle, I had rather given up hope of the complete McFlurry.

Even so I was on the water early and paddling out of Mallaig harbour, trying to avoid a confrontation with the mass of boat traffic including Calmac Ferries which looked like they meant business.

Mallaig Harbour

Once again there was no wind and the sea was smooth. The only down side to the weather was that it wasn’t actually sunny and a bit of cloud clung to the tops of the nearby hills.

My plan was to paddle the three miles across the mouth of Loch Nevis to the super-remote Knoydart peninsular. I could see a few tasty-looking sandy beaches in the far distance which needed to be lounged upon.

However I was only half-a-mile offshore when I was distracted by the wildlife. This is not unusual, but the scale of the spectacle was quite remarkable.

The background noise was provided by a mass of Guillemots and the occasional Razorbill.

Razorbill

Their was an incessant chatter between the squeaky juveniles and the more raucous-sounding parents. Interestingly none seemed to be able to fly because they were all moulting their flight feathers. There was actually no need to fly anyway because they seemed to have as much food as they needed just down below.

Have a listen to the noise. Must be exhausting as a parent.

Above the water the Manx Shearwaters wheeled around. Nice to see them en masse in front of their island home, the Isle of Rum, in the background. 100,000 breed there.

Manx Shearwaters and Rum

Manx Shearwaters (in front of Skye this time)

I was very surprised to see a single Balearic Shearwater zip past. Didn’t realise they made it this far north.

A porpoise puffed and a whale blew loud behind me so I swung the kayak round to watch the action. I am forever cranking my neck around when I hear exciting stuff behind me and have cricked it on numerous occasions, so am a bit more self-preservative now. Restraint is not my strong point when a whale is around.

However it was all very relaxed. Two Minke Whales spent half an hour criss-crossing the area in a very leisurely manner.

Minke Whale

I lost track of where they went when I was mugged by an exuberant pod of Common Dolphins which appeared from nowhere.

One pair were particularly jumpy.

This was all totally tremendous and exactly what I was hoping for when I drove the 635 miles from home in West Devon a couple of days previously. I never expected to see all these marine mega-creatures only a mile from the coast, however.

The dolphins settled down a bit and made a perfect foreground to the Knoydart hills behind:

Common Dolphins, Loch Nevis

After soaking up the scene with a cup of coffee and a Viennese Whorl I continued across the neck of Loch Nevis towards Knoydart. This is a truly magical place as there is no road access, so there are virtually no people.

Fantastic for wildlife. When I camped here in 2014 and was supping a cup of tea in my tent, a Pine Marten bounded across the beach a few yards away. The first one I had ever seen.

It was the same today. The unmistakable slow motion bulk of a White-tailed Eagle came in to land on a promontory straight in front of me. Looks like a youngster.

Juvenile White-tailed Eagle

Hang on a minute! I’m on for a Mcflurry! I’ve seen porpoise, dolphin, whale and eagle…only need to see seal (piece of cake) and an otter (rather more tricky).

And it’s not yet 10 o’clock. Challenge on!

I should point out that all six of the monumental wildlife species that I have selected for the McFlurry Challenge are creatures which roam the open ocean or open sky. So it’s impossible to know where they are going to turn up. Failure is almost guaranteed. Seals are the exception because they are quite common around the coast here. I threw them in because I didn’t want to go home with nothing.

Otters are enormously difficult to observe, especially when you are specifically looking for them. They are not uncommon but are unbelievably slinky. They are super-shy and preferentially nocturnal but in really remote locations like this they will come out in early morning or even during the day if it very quiet. Anywhere that a dog will show up they will avoid completely.

They also prefer low tide so that the can slither through the cover of waving fronds of kelp. It was currently high tide.

To make things worse, conditions didn’t feel at all ‘ottery’ to me. They seem to feel much more inclined to venture out on a dark and dreary day with a bit of drizzle. It was currently dry and bright.

Anyway, I was going to do my damnedest to find an otter, so I tucked in tight to the coast and paddled along slowly and completely silently.

Lovely to see a couple of beautiful Red-throated Divers fly in, crooning in an exceptionally loud and wailing manner which suited the wildest of environments perfectly.

Red-throated Diver

I could see the silhouette of a couple of hauled out seals on a mini offshore island, so paddled over to investigate, keeping a respectful distance as usual. It’s completely unreasonable to frighten them into the water.

I certainly didn’t disturb this one. He was absolutely flat out and loving life!

Harbour Seal in relaxed pose

Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed the slightest swirl in the water between me and the seal…it was a blooming Otter!

Coming straight towards me…

Otter approacheth

I slammed into super-stealth reverse gear and managed to keep out of the otter’s panic zone. It started to dive for food and was completely unaware that I was sitting in my kayak, completely enthralled, less than twenty metres away.

Otter munching a crunchy thing

If the otter sensed I was there it would crash-dive and be gone for good. Not so the juvenile Harbour Seal that arrived upon the scene. The are as inquisitive as the otter is wary. They just can’t help it.

Harbour Seal with puppy-dog eyes.

This individual was bursting with personality and seemed a bit irritated that I was paying so much attention to the otter. Couldn’t take its eyes off me.

Harbour Seal, Knoydart

As I had been distracted by the seal the otter had slunk on to the island and was having a snooze. Video:

Otter having a nap

In typical restless otter fashion it was only ever completely still for a few seconds before it changed position or had a bit of a scratch. Cracking set of gnashers…

For just a minute it took a tip from the hauled out seal and stretched out on its side completely flat out. Legs all over the place. As relaxed as I have ever seen an otter.

Super-relaxed Otter

I had been watching it for forty minutes and was absolutely determined to depart without it being aware of my presence, so paddled away without making the slightest splish.

McFlurry Challenge completed!!

It hadn’t taken all day, it had taken precisely two hours and twenty-eight minutes from my first sighting of a porpoise to when I saw the Otter. Unbelievable, though I say it myself.

Maybe I should have made it more difficult.

Precise timings, as recorded on my photographs, were: Porpoise 0841, Dolphin 0920, Whale 0939, Eagle 0957, Seal 1108, Otter 1109.

Just one more mysterious marine creature to add to today’s list. The mesmerising Lion’s Mane Jellyfish:

Lion’s Mane Jellyfish

That makes it a Jelly McFlurry!

The McFlurry. My Greatest Challenge Yet.

The McFlurry Challenge: to observe and photograph a Seal, Porpoise, Dolphin, Whale, Otter and Eagle in a single day. From a kayak. In the UK.

Minke far, far away

It is a concept inspired by the McNab, a sporting challenge detailed in a John Buchan novel which involves catching a salmon, shooting a stag and blasting a brace of grouse between dawn and dusk on one day.

It is the perfect combination of ludicrous and slightly nerdy, so is right up my street.

Ludicrous because it is doomed to fail. You need to be far out to sea to see a whale, close in to land to see an otter and looking up to see an eagle, but not any of the others.

A still day and smooth sea surface is absolutely essential for a chance of success. Any sort of chop reduces the chance of see a fin at the surface significantly, and any wind makes hearing the puff of a porpoise, the splash of a dolphin or the blow of a whale more challenging.

Conditions were looking irresistible in Western Scotland last week. Light winds (in blue) for five days!! What?! Unheard of.

Mallaig forecast 26-31 Aug 2022. Looking Good!

So I headed up north and the day after leaving West Devon I was slicing across a glassy sea just after sunrise towards the jagged Cuillin Ridge on the Isle of Skye.

Over the sea to Skye

In total silence and complete stealth mode, I looked hard for a slithery creature. Otters never venture far from dry land because they take their bigger prey ashore to crunch it.

There was plenty of distraction in the ornithological department. A personal favourite of mine is the Black Guillemot, because they are just so perky. They are now dressed up in their non-breeding plumage:

Black Guillemot

How beautiful is this Ringed Plover, that breed on the islands around here.

Ringed Plover

It was also lovely to hear the cheerful chatter of terns, both Common and Arctic, who will very soon be heading south. It’s hard to believe that these delicate little Arctic Terns have the longest migration of any bird and will be quartering the Antarctic seas in a month or two.

Juvenile Arctic Terns

The first McFlurry ‘tick’ of the day were the seals. Harbour Seals and plenty of them. Hauled out on the rocks as well as snorting and splashing and generally being disruptive all around me.

This pair appeared very serene, however:

Harbour Seals

I weaved around a few small islands but my eye was drawn towards the smooth open sea that beckoned me on. Maybe the otters will have to wait till later. I’d just have one more look around the next corner before heading offshore.

Hah! Would you believe it? An otter popped up right in front of me in the clear water and busily crunched through a snack. McFlurry on!

Otter

Sunshine, smooth water, stunning backdrop, super cool creature. Superb. It was worth the 635 mile drive already.

I watched the otter fishing for twenty minutes. I was right on the edge of its wariness comfort zone and every so often it ‘logged’ on the surface and stared hard at me, so I very, very gingerly backpaddled out of harm’s way.

This is a nice little video for any of you who are wannabee otter spotters. It is quite easy to confuse a small Harbour Seal with an otter at a distance. Here’s the definitive difference. When the Harbour seal (in the background) dives all that can be seen is a back rolling smoothly through the water. When the otter dives it always flicks its tail up.

I gave the busy otter a wide berth and headed out to sea without disturbing it, pointing my kayak towards the island of Eigg, eight miles away. This was my destination for a light lunch of two day-old sandwiches (bad) and maybe an eagle (good).

Destination: Eigg

All was quiet for the best part of an hour as I really got my teeth into the offshore zone. I ran into a whirl of shearwaters with Guillemots and Razorbills sitting on the surface, parents being relentlessly squealed at by their offspring.

A little pod of Porpoises puffed their way merrily through the middle of the throng.

Harbour Porpoise

Lovely, lovely. Three down, three to go. I hadn’t even had my coffee yet!

I paddled onwards and outwards in low gear. There was absolutely no hurry and more time out here means more chance of seeing the stuff.

When I stopped to reach for the coffee thermos I heard the blow of a whale directly in front, shortly followed by another directly behind. Although I looked hard in what seemed to be the right direction I saw nothing when they surfaced again. It was so calm the sound travelled further than I could see.

I was thrown into a bit of turmoil when I heard a mass of splashing approaching from the south and saw a load of dolphins leaping out of the water.

Stay with the whales or check out the dolphins. I opted for the dolphins because they were just so dynamic:

Common Dolphin, Eigg

Common Dolphins just can’t resist throwing themselves around!

Common Dolphins, Isle of Eigg

Dilemma. Should I go back to look for the whales, or carry on to Eigg? Although time was mine, I didn’t want to add too much on to my planned 22 mile trip. Plenty enough for an old geezer.

So I ploughed on. Good move, because when I was a couple of miles from the island I saw a long black back roll slowly at at the surface in the far distance…a Minke Whale.

The excitement filled my muscles with rocket fuel and I powered towards the distant location. I needn’t have bothered, because I heard another whale blow behind me. Maybe even a third. So I just sat and watched and waited.

Minke Whale, Eigg

Initially they surfaced far away, but I was hoping that one might appear a bit closer.

It did. A lot closer…

Minke Whale, Eigg

Nice to be able to see the Minke’s characteristic white ‘mittens’ on its pectoral fins. This is only the second or third time I have ever been close enough to observe this feature.

Minke’s white mittens (Skye behin

It was absolutely thrilling to experience these mega-beasts in such a super-scenic amphitheatre, and I struggled to drag myself away. However I had a McFlurry Challenge to complete and if I was going to see an Eagle, it was going to be hanging around the escarpment on Eigg.

It was good to have a bit of a leg stretch on the island. The lunch was definitely not so good. The only upside was that the lettuce had liquefied into a sort of alcoholic soup which was an unexpected bonus to an otherwise inedible meal.

North-east Eigg. About as remote as you can get. Cuillins of Skye behind.

I spent an hour scrutinising every crag of the escarpment till my neck ached, but saw no eagle. Pity, because this time a year ago I saw a Golden Eagle exactly here.

I was getting a little bit edgy because the cloud was thickening and a few spots of rain were falling, which had not been forecast. It was going to take me two to three hours to get back to dry land across the sound, so I headed back.

A bonus on the return trip was this scruffy-looking Puffin. It was an adult in non-breeding plumage and probably came from the nearby Island of Canna which is their nearest breeding colony.

Puffin

That was it. No Eagle, so my McFlurry attempt had failed. However I did manage to achieve the second tier of attainment…a Puffin McNugget.

Puffin, Seal, Porpoise, Dolphin, Whale and Otter.

There was always tomorrow for a second attempt. The rain had cleared and the orange sunset promised a fine day…

Sunset over Rum

Did I succeed or did I fail? Find out in my next blog.

Coming soon.

‘The McFlurry Challenge…Last Chance for Glory’

Seawatch Foundation National Whale and Dolphin Watch 2022. Blow by Blow.

Common Dolphins

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:

And all the other amazing creatures of course.

The Blow of the Whale

Paddling a kayak across the open ocean up to ten miles from dry land is not everybody’s idea of a fun day out. It’s maybe not a surprise I have yet to come across another paddler more than a mile from shore.

Also, being stopped and questioned by the Border Authority in a customs cutter would suggest it is not a normal activity i.e. an activity done by one who is normal.

It is certainly worth the considerable effort, however, if there is the remotest chance of hearing the greatest natural sound on the face of the planet, the monumental blast of air of a whale.

Finding a whale in Devon and Cornwall is like looking for a flea on a woolly mammoth, but if you don’t get out there and look, you certainly won’t see one.

For all it’s huge disadvantages (no engine, very slow, very small, no fridge stocked with beers) a kayak has one monumental advantage over every other craft…you can hear absolutely everything/anything. It is completely silent so you can hear a whale blowing from a mile away on a still day, probably further.

As cetacean (whale and dolphin) season is about to kick off in SW England, I have been putting in the hours and churning out the miles during the calm weather of the last week. I only venture offshore if the sea is calm with no whitecaps. Any sort of breaking wave, even a small one, means the noise of a puffing porpoise, a splashing dolphin or a breathing whale is drowned out. Also fins are very much more difficult to see when there is a chop.

My first ‘big’ paddle was a bit of a disappointment in terms of wildlife. Tuesday was my first trip to the Eddystone rocks for the year, nearly nine hours in the seat without getting out.

Eddystone

The sea was completely smooth so I could have heard a pin drop a mile away, but five porpoises and a single distant jumping dolphin was my meagre wildlife ‘haul’ for the day.

Porpoise and Rame Head

Fortunately my day trip to the far west of Cornwall on Friday was very much more productive and a satisfactory culmination of a lot of huff and puff.

A window of light winds was forecast for the middle of the day and I wanted to be three miles offshore (an hour’s paddling) in my favourite cetacean hotspot for when the wind dropped. Looking out from the shore with binoculars before I set got my pulse racing….a feeding frenzy of plunging Gannets and the glint of dolphin fins beneath.

Needless to say (because this happens all the time), the dolphins had all disappeared and didn’t see a single fin on the paddle out. Why don’t I learn? Looking through binoculars on dry land and then trying to find them in a kayak is not good for the blood pressure. The distances involved are very deceptive, and the only optical equipment available to a kayaker is what lies either side of their nose.

Anyway I had managed to get one thing right. The wind dropped out completely at exactly the moment I arrived at my ground zero. Perfect. I could hear the seals bawling on the island five miles away.

I was still feeling smug when I heard two thrilling noises simultaneously. The short puff of a porpoise directly behind me and the prolonged blast of a whale directly in front. I just caught a glimpse of the tip of the whale’s fin disappearing below the smooth surface far ahead.

I knew I had a bit of time before the whale came up again so swung round to look at the porpoise. It turned out to be a mother and a calf, and the mother looked very strange with a lot of white on her. It took a while to get a half-decent pic which shows she is partly leucistic (lacking in dark pigment).

Leucistic Porpoise (you can see its ‘piggy’ eye)

Leucistic Porpoise

Lovely to see the little calf stuck to her side.

Mother and calf Porpoise

I could see loose baitballs of sandeels below my kayak which the porpoises were probably hunting, causing a stippling on the surface like light rainfall. I suspect the whale was after them as well.

There are vast numbers of sandeels along the coast at the mo:

Sandeels

Anyway, the whale took an age to resurface and by the time it did it had gone out of sight.

So I paddled slowly in the same direction, and listened hard. The next two sequences of blows were far away, and then it started to head back. It surfaced a hundred metres ahead so I was prepared with camera poised for the next blow…but it didn’t do another..grrr.

For the next hour it zig-zagged backwards and forwards at quite long range and was generally very elusive. I was beginning to wonder if it was deliberately avoiding me.

Elusive Minke

Wrong. All had been completely silent for a few minutes when there was a sudden swirl right beside the nose of my kayak followed by a mighty blast and the roll of the full-sized adult Minke Whale, at least thirty foot long, passing just a few feet away. My kayak wobbled with the swirl of the tail flukes and my pulse rate spiked alarmingly.

Time for a Jammy Dodger.

As I munched the whale briefly checked me out. It surfaced relatively close by and then slowed right down before appearing again.

Fairly close Minke, and it looks like a whopper!

You can see in the video below that it wasn’t as far ahead as I had anticipated ( so had stalled, to give me a sonar check perhaps).

Minke Whale, Penzance

I stayed on for a while longer and did I hear another blow far behind me…and maybe another further to the east? Not sure at the time, but read on and the answer is probably yes!

The wind was forecast to pick up in the early afternoon so after nearly three hours watching the whale, and hearing dozens of those fantastic blasts. I angled inshore for a lazy lunch on one of the best beaches in Cornwall.

Lunch beach perfection

I don’t like being offshore when it is choppy, especially in a very exposed location such as this with a stiff tidal current made even stiffer by the high spring tides. That’s why I headed in.

I paddled back to the car park close to the coast. Irritatingly, and not obeying the forecast, the wind dropped away again mid afternoon so the offshore water was completely and utterly smooth. I was very tempted to head back out but was hesitant after 21 miles and nearly eight hours of paddling. I could see the local wildlife-watching boats stationary a mile or two offshore, as if watching something intently.

After loading my kayak back on the roof I took one last snoop at the sea through my binoculars and saw the back of a whale roll at the surface.

I learnt later that six Minkes had turned up! What???!!!

Should’ve gone back out, clearly.

There was a good background cast today, not least the half dozen porpoises.

A couple of juvenile Peregrines were squealing on the cliff, sitting in the shade of a rock. Peregrines hate lack of wind and bright sunshine.

Juvenile Peregrines

Also a nice spread of post-breeding dispersing/migrating birds: a Kingfisher along the open coast, a pair of Sandwich Terns passing, a little flock of Black-tailed Godwits three miles offshore that yelped as they flew past, and best of all my first Great Skua (Bonxie) of the season which flew over to check me out.

Bonxie

So this was my second whale sighting from my kayak of the year and very much better than my first, which I never heard blow.

It’s a thumbs up AND a smiley face (that’s not a grimace) from me.

Wildlife Gems of June in Cornwall and Devon

No, that’s not me

Although it’s been a bit of a disappointing month as far as paddling offshore in search of marine megafauna is concerned, there’s been plenty of other nuggets of natural history to enjoy. The sea has been very quiet in terms of surface activity and despite churning out a lot of offshore miles I have only seen a couple of pods of Common Dolphins dashing past.

Dolphins approaching…fast. (Brixham)

Just one came over to say hello, very briefly.

A single friendly dolphin

I think they were chasing mackerel but at least one pod were after Launce. The gulls tidied up the leftovers.

Herring Gull with launce (greater sandeel). Dolphin behind. (Penzance)

Porpoises are still thin on the ground as well… just four encounters at three locations along the south coasts of Devon and Cornwall.

Simon and hasty Porpoise (Brixham)

However this quietness is typical for the time of the year. It’s all part of the annual cycle of the sea. The plankton bloom of the spring fuels the baitfish boom which is currently in the process of kicking off.

Maybe it already has. A couple of weeks ago off Fowey my heart missed a beat when I saw a huge dark brown shape just below the surface ahead of me. What I initially thought was a Basking Shark turned out to be a vast baitball of sandeels. They had been herded together by a shoal of Bass that were lurking nearby.

June got off to a cracking start on the very first day of the month with my first ever Otter along the open coast in Cornwall or Devon (having seen hundreds in the rivers/estuaries), and a juvenile Minke Whale during the same trip. Reported in my last but one blog.

Minke Whale, Penzance. June 1st

For the action for the rest of the month I’ll let the images do the talking.

All pics taken from the kayak seat, as usual.

Puffin (Lamorna)

Puffin (Lamorna)

Shelduck Family (Torridge)

Pair of Seals bottling (Dartmouth)

Oystercatchers (Taw)

Motley Crew. Tim, Jess, Becky, Mark, Emma (Bude)

Mousehole

This month has started off well too. My ultra early start for a bit of otter spotting on the Tamar paid off with a view of my first ever July Otter in Cornwall this morning. Just as it was getting light, through the mist of dawn (and bleary eyes).

Otters are very much more difficult to observe during the summer because they are essentially nocturnal and there are more people about (in kayaks!) to make them even more reluctant to venture out during daylight hours. So I was very pleased with this. I would have completely missed it if I hadn’t heard it crunching a fish in the middle of a bush!

Whitenose the Otter…July 1st

Looks like a dog otter and it’s got a white nose. Hopefully I will see it again sometime.

The Laugh of the Loon

One of the great joys of paddling around the coast in the middle of winter is the chance of an encounter with a Loon.

Loons (as they are called in the USA, they are known as Divers this side of the pond) are arguably the most attractively marked of all the breeding birds in the UK. They nest in Scotland and other countries further north, and migrate south in the autumn.

Here’s the three species that visit the coast of Devon and Cornwall during the winter:

Red-throated Diver (aka Red-throated Loon). Looe, October 2019

Black-throated Diver (aka Arctic Loon). Roseland April 2018.

Great Northern Diver (aka Common Loon). Mevagissey May 2018

To see one of the Diver species in full breeding plumage is unusual in the south. For most of their stay they are clothed in very much more modest winter garb.

They exploit slightly different niches along the coast. Great Northerns have a taste for crabs and flatfish so favour big open bays. They can dive deeper, further and longer than any other diving bird so although their favourite snacks are on the sea bed they don’t necessarily need to be close to the shore. They are the most numerous of the three species.

Red-throats eat shoaling fish so are quite happy far out to sea. They seem to prefer the north Cornish coast and particularly my local patch between Bude and Hartland Point (which is just over the border in Devon). I have seen them in flocks of over 100.

Black-throats are the most scarce, and favour a couple of bays in South Cornwall, where they hunt for small fish.

I was very pleased to come across my first close-up Great Northern in Mevagissey Bay a couple of weeks ago.

Great Northern Diver, Mevagissey

In fact it was part of a small flock of Great Northerns, which is unusual. At the time I was straining my eyes staring into the far distance to see if I could see any fin or splash appear beneath a circling Gannet which was about a mile away. I was convinced there would be a porpoise below but it was just too far off to see.

My attention was diverted by a soft, repeated call and I saw a dozen Loons sitting on the surface only a hundred yards in front of my nose.

Great Northern Divers, Mevagissey

They appeared to be taking time out… resting and preening and having a quiet chat. Probably all the local birds gathered together for a bit of a social. Listen to that very subdued and personal soft calls:

Divers at Mevagissey

I never carry binoculars on my kayak. I spend enough time staring through the lens of my camera, and that is challenging enough. There is usually far too much movement of the kayak to make observation through binoculars any value.

Even so, using my naked eyeballs, I could see that one of the Divers looked significantly smaller and leaner than the rest, and appeared to be more wary as it loitered at the back of the group. I immediately suspected that this was a rare Black-throated Diver, even though I have ever only seen one around the Cornish coast twice before.

My suspicions were confirmed when I glimpsed its white flank patch, which is diagnostic:

Great Northern Divers and Black-throated Diver (at the back).

The two Diver species provided a guide-book-type contrast-and-compare snapshot when they slipped past each other:

Black- throated (left) and Great Northern Diver

But best of all was the contact calls of the Divers. I have heard this laugh quite frequently, but usually as a single call and usually far away across the water.

I have never heard it repeated at such close range.

It is undoubtedly a call between one member of a family to another, and I think it is a parent to an offspring. I’m not sure what makes me say this because most of the calls of families on migration are the youngsters making demands of their parents. Sandwich Terns are a good example: the juveniles spend the entire time from the UK to the Med squealing at mum and dad.

See what you think in this video. It just sounds like a parent to me…

Laughing Loons

A great encounter with some of my favourite birds.

It’s interesting that my trusty old bird identification book states that these particular birds are ‘silent at sea’. No doubt because when it was written there was nobody paddling around in a kayak watching them, and they were always too far from the shore for their laugh to be heard from a shore-based observer.

To add to the ornithological excitement, a Peregrine was watching the show from a perch on the adjacent cliff.

Peregrine

To round the afternoon off nicely, the porpoise which I was willing my eyes to see at enormous range an hour before, surfaced with a puff close to my kayak. The Gannet was still in attendance, circling overhead.

Mevagissey porpoise

Happy New Year.