First Cornish Whales of the Year

Minke Whale near Land’s End

A morning of windless conditions lured me down to the far west of Cornwall yesterday. Although this weather window had shrunk to just a few hours as I left the house at 0430, I wasn’t going to be put off. It was still supposed to be smooth as silk until 9.

The toe of Cornwall is the bit of land that noses furthest into the home of the ocean’s big creatures, so is most likely to produce a cetacean sensation! So excitement levels were in the red.

As I paddled out into deep water the surface was indeed oily smooth and there was total silence apart the from occasional cackle of a Guillemot, or mew of a gull. However there were lots of Gannets on the prowl and the atmosphere felt electric so I was poised for a bit of action. Something was going to happen.

I heard some distant splashing and as I paddled over to investigate was soon intercepted by a young dolphin that couldn’t resist leaving mum’s side, just for a couple of seconds, to have a bit of fun.

The rest of the pod joined in. Seems like we were all heading in the same direction…further offshore.

These kind of kayaking conditions are very special. They don’t happen very often. You can feel completely at ease even though you are a couple of miles from land, because it’s like paddling on a lake. The smooth surface is very appealing to the eye and when dolphins are around you can clearly see them underwater.

But it’s the silence I like best, although it never is completely quiet as sound carries over water so efficiently. I could hear a dog barking on a Penzance beach five miles away. Even when there are no noises to be heard, the sea seems to make a constant low level breathy sound, or maybe that’s just my imagination…

The dolphins suddenly sheared away and my attention was drawn to a very loose congregation of Gannets that were circling with intent further out. There was no doubt something was drawing their attention and I saw a dark fin break the surface for just a bit longer than I would expect if it were a dolphin, followed by a bit of a swirl that I would not expect to see from a dolphin-sized creature at this range.

However if it was a whale I would have expected to hear it blowing. In these conditions I have often heard the blow long before the whale comes close enough to see.

Anyway, I was soon on the scene and waiting for something to surface. I kept doing the unblocky ear thing with my jaw because it was so quiet.

A black shape appeared, fin set far back…Minke Whale!

It was a small one and rolled at the surface more like a giant porpoise and had a rather disappointingly quiet blow.

Listen for yourself:

You might well be thinking that this sighting isn’t very dramatic, and I might be tempted to agree. A view of a very small whale about the size of a large dolphin lasting for about a second. It was in fact less beefy and impressive than the Risso’s dolphins I had seen in Scotland only a couple of weeks ago.

But it IS a whale and for the Lone Kayaker eyeballing a whale is the Holy Grail. Few past-times can be as absurd as looking for whales from a kayak. So it’s got to done. End of story.

I sat around and watched it surfacing here and there all over the place, never particularly close. I was hoping it might come to nose around my kayak as has happened on two…only two…previous occasions.

It was actually so uninspiring that I paddled over to watch another pod of dolphins that were just finishing off a baitball of sprats or sardines which were very much more entertaining. Apologies to any Minke Whales…no offense intended.

The dolphins were satisfactorily splashy and busy:

As they continued to do what dolphins do I tucked in to a bit of breakfast. I don’t think I’ve ever had a better vista while munching my way through a bowlful of muesli.

Cornish breakfast bar…three miles offshore

When I was stoked up with calories I left the dolphins behind as I wanted to do a decent paddle trip along the coast to make the day worthwhile, returning east with the wind behind me as it increased from mid morning.

An hour later I heard a much more satisfactory blow of a whale. A real blast. This sounded like a full-sized adult. The surface was by now a bit stippled and the whale was extraordinarily difficult to see, although I clocked it when it rolled for a deep dive.

For the next half-hour it blew several sequences and I caught distant glimpses of it. At one stage it appeared end-on only fifty metres away and I had video camera poised as I thought it was coming towards me, but unfortunately it was heading away so when it came up again it was almost out of sight.

This was definitely a different whale to the one I saw earlier, as it was very much larger. It did cross my mind that the two might be mother and calf, even though they were about two miles apart. Minke Whales seem to be hotwired to be loners so maybe two miles is a cosy family unit to them.

Early lunch was taken on one of the most beautiful beaches in Cornwall…

Porthcurno Beach

The six mile paddle back to my start point was uneventful apart from a couple of avian highlights. A Peregrine and a family of Chough.

Family Chough

Another thrilling kayaking day filled with remarkable Cornish wildlife…and with as many hours of sun it is possible to squeeze in between dusk and dawn.

Common Dolphin calf and Mum

Close Encounters on Coll.

Risso’s Dolphin approaching…and it’s nearly as long as my kayak! (pic: Henry Kirkwood)

We had assumed that our two weeks in the Hebrides would as windy and damp as our previous two visits. There was the odd day where I could cringe up a creek in search of an otter or enjoy the cheerful chatter of a colony of Arctic Terns. But it was always wind, wind, wind.

There was never a hope of venturing offshore to look for a dolphin.

This year was very different indeed. The sun shone and the winds were often so light that the sea surface was like velvet.

The beaches glowed and were as inspiring as any I had ever seen anywhere in the world.

Stunning Coll. Left to Right: Roge, Pete, Becky, Lisa, Bron, Yours Truly, Hezzer (pic: Henry Kirkwood)

The trip kicked off nicely with a Minke Whale surfacing less than half-a-mile offshore just as the Calmac ferry was approaching Arinagour, Coll’s only village. Although the sea then chopped up a little bit I felt compelled to paddle out in my kayak to investigate later in the day. I was a little uneasy in unfamiliar waters and a stiff tidal current, but enjoyed the company of a very energetic pod of dolphins which sent the sandeels scattering.

Common Dolphin, Coll. Scattering the Sandeels.

By sheer luck I happened to be glancing in the right direction when the whale surfaced. It was completely silent and I only saw it once. Always a thrill and my first kayak-seen whale of the year.

Minke Whale, Coll

The shelter of the inner bay also contained some of my favourite marine creatures. A whole load of Harbour Seals studied me closely as I slid silently past, doing my best not to frighten them. Some barked, one in the water started leaping in the manner of a dolphin, but most just loafed.

When their skins are dried out they reveal very attractive markings, as good as the most expensive polished granite kitchen work-surface.

Harbour Seals

The soundtrack of the harbour were the Arctic Terns who made a little island in the middle of the bay their base. They maintain a cheerful chatter from dawn until dusk, yipping and ‘kaaaing’ to each other constantly.

They are as beautiful as they are vocal…silky-greyish white with a black beret and blood-red beak and legs.

Arctic Tern

They have a long forked tail which gives them the local name ‘Sea Swallow’. Like Swallows they are graceful and floaty in the air and they need to be, because they migrate further than any other bird on the planet…all the way down to Antarctica.

Arctic Tern…what a beauty!

So just about everything to do with an Arctic Tern is remarkable.

They are even more photogenic when posing amongst the flush of Sea Pinks on their favourite island. This one was bringing in a sandeel as a courtship gift for a mate.

Arctic Tern

Not wanting to be outdone by the terns amongst the bed of coloured flowers were a variety of other waders. Snipe, Redshank, Lapwing and Oystercatcher were all nesting nearby.

Ringed Plover

Oystercatchers match the terns with their relentless chatter and piping, but are very much louder. There is nothing shy and retiring about Oystercatchers. They are full-on…all of the time.

Oystercatcher

The next day was quieter out to sea.

Quiet until we were just packing up to go, that is. Henry was on the shore looking through binoculars while I had been paddling around in a random fashion a mile offshore. Just a couple of Puffins to keep me entertained.

Puffin, Coll

I couldn’t ring him to say I had a numb backside and was calling it a day because there was no phone reception, so I paddled to the shore to tell him face to face (how very retro). I was just about to open my mouth when he gasped and pointed behind me. He had just seen a couple of very large fins, with his naked eye, over half-a-mile away across the bay.

My numbness forgotten, I sped off to investigate and before long could indeed see two large black fins at the surface. What on earth were they? Weird, because they were more or less stationary. Orca or Basking Shark went through my mind. As I approached I could see that they were attached to a whitish body so these were in fact Risso’s Dolphins, which seemed to be taking a nap (logging).

Risso’s Dolphin catching forty

They really are a big dolphin and the size of the dorsal fin is always a surprise.

I kept well back as I didn’t want to mess up their afternoon powernap, but they were soon on their way and heading straiight towards me.

Fab, they surged right past.

Risso’s Dolphin

Risso’s Dolphins seemed to like the deep water that was very close offshore, which was presumably home to cuttlefish and other cephalopods that they like to eat. They are known to be an offshore species, but my next encounter was about as close to the shore as you could imagine.

Henry called me (on Becky’s phone!) to say there was a pod of Risso’s on the way around the headland. I was watching an otter at the time so my arrival on the scene was delayed. As I appeared around the corner I was immediately confronted with seven very large fins heading directly towards me, so I completely froze and the dolphins, most of which appeared entirely white, cruised past. Although they were at a leisurely speed they are big and beefy creatures and my jaw was hanging slack in awe and wonderment.

Four Risso’s plus the Lone Kayaker (pic: Henry Kirkwood)

A really thrilling encounter with a super-cool and mysterious species of dolphin.

Risso’s are the biggest dolphin species in the world (apart from Orcas, which are technically a dolphin) and are unusual because they have no beak. Everyone, including me, are always amazed that they can be found in the UK…they just look so exotic!

All this excitement plus the numb posterior thing, which had recurred big-time, resulted in me paddling back towards the house for a beer. Henry however stayed on and his persistence paid dividends with a magical sighting, using his drone, of a tiny Risso’s calf beside it’s mother. Persistence good, beer bad.

Henry

The sun continued to shine and the wind stayed essentially light for the entire week. Fantastic bird sightings, and sounds, continued…Concrakes, Hen Harriers, Eagles and a pair of Little Terns…another personal favourite of mine.

Little Tern

I’m not sure I’ve ever had the pleasure of paddling across a more spectacular beach than this. Scotland at its most special.

Coll Beach (pic: Henry Kirkwood)

Spot the Lone Kayaker. (pic: Henry Kirkwood)

Magical is a word I have overused and try to avoid, but it is entirely appropriate for this little island.

pic: Henry Kirkwood

Whales all over the Place… Plymouth, Padstow and Bude.

Four Minke Whales in three separate locations around Cornwall and Devon over a four day period.

Plus a tantalising encounter four miles off my nearest beach at Bude. Unfortunately I only heard a single blow and despite straining ears and eyes to the horizon I saw and heard nothing more.

So, mega-excitement involving mega-Minkes matched only by the totally tropical conditions that have enveloped the south of UK over the last week or so.

The first whale was off Plymouth, the day before my really extraordinary close encounter with an inquisitive Minke off Fowey, reported in my last blog.

The omens for a good wildlife day were good as I eyeballed seals and a few Fallow Deer along the coast as I was waiting for the stiff offshore wind to drop.

Fallow Deer

I would have missed the quiet little pod of Common Dolphins had I not heard the deckhand aboard the Crabber PH385 ‘Shiralee’ say ‘Hello’ with the sort of intonation he would if his favourite pet had just appeared. I just knew he addressing a dolphin.

Common Dolphin, Shiralee, Rame Head

Sure enough there was a handful of fins quietly cruising along beside the little fishing boat. In sunshine and calm conditions. Superb.

As you will here the captain say in this video clip…’you can’t get much closer than that’.

I continued directly offshore towards the Eddystone lighthouse, visible as a tiny stick on the horizon ten miles away. This might have been my 22nd (or is it 23rd) trip out to that remote and iconic location, but I knew the wind was going to pick up and I probably wouldn’t get all the way.

I didn’t, but mainly because I was distracted by the wildlife. As I approached the half-way buoy I heard the puff of porpoises, the splash of dolphins…and the blow of a whale! As usual that prolonged and loud blast of air made me surge into action even though the whale was still too far away to see.

Ten minutes later I was in visual range and saw that long back roll at the surface…

Minke Whale off Plymouth. Looe island 12 miles behind.

Was it in Devon? Because a whale in Devon is a very special sight. The majority of Minke sightings are in Cornwall as they venture in from the open Atlantic.

mmm… not entirely sure it crossed the border, which is a line from Plymouth Sound to Eddystone.

I about-turned a couple of miles from the lighthouse and was briefly checked out by a pod of dolphins on the way back: (video)

Eddystone Dolphins

Eddystone Dolphin

Close to the half-way reef I glimpsed a sparkle near the horizon far to the east. It must have been sun glinting off a fin, and it lasted too long for a dolphin. Fifteen minutes of hard paddling later I saw the whale roll at the surface again and this time it was most definitely in Devon. Excellent.

To wrap up the cetacean bonanza for the day there were a few more porpoises and another pod of Common Dolphins:

Porpoise, Pont Avon

Dolphins, Plymouth

The next day was the extreme whale encounter at Fowey, followed the day after by a cetacean-free trip with Dave as we paddled the coast near Lands End. However we had arguably an even more extreme sighting. I could hardly believe my optic nerves when I found myself staring eyeball to eyeball with an otter. Along the open coast in bright midday sunshine….whhaaat?

No time for a pic unfortunately, so here’s the Fowey whale again instead:

Minke Whale, Fowey

Plus a nice pic of Dave and the tremendous granite cliffs near Land’s End:

Logan Rock and Dave

Incredibly, chum Cush happened to be flying overhead at 1000ft in a helicopter flight from Land’s End, and somehow spotted us looking like little tiny minnows in the cobalt-blue sea below:

Dave and Myself…top pic, Cush!

The following day there was a window of glass calm sea off the north Cornish coast, so that’s where I went.

A couple of miles offshore near Rumps Point, Polzeath, I heard that amazing blow again. Absolutely astonishing and my first ever Minke Whale off the north coast.

Camel Estuary

It was very mobile and it took me half-an-hour of ‘hunting’ before I even got a glimpse of it. This was all at long-range apart from one fairly close surface about 100 metres away.

I was distracted by a small pod of dolphins but ventured off elsewhere when three large eco-safari RIBS came along to look.

A mile to the north I heard another whale. Or was it the same one? It seemed smaller than the first but I can’t be sure it was a different individual. I’ll record it as one…scientifically cautious, as always.

No pics of this whale but it was great to get an image of another ocean wanderer, a tiny European Storm Petrel. A real offshore speciality.

Storm Petrel

All in all an incredible whale-fest facilitated by some equally incredible weather.

Here’s a couple of interesting Minke facts/observations I have made/mulched over the last few days:

1.Most people at sea do not notice Minke Whales. Despite being up to 30ft long, they are very easy to overlook. They roll at the surface without a splash like a giant porpoise, and spend less than thirty seconds above the water every ten minutes. I watched many a speedboat and yacht pass the whale off Plymouth the other day, and nobody saw it. No change of conversation onboard, no shout of exclamation, no change in direction (as there always is when a pod of dolphins is spotted).

2. It is often thought that Minke Whales do not have a visible blow because they breathe out underwater before they break the surface. This is in fact not the case, as you can observe, and hear, in this video. The whale does not exhale until the blowhole is well above the surface. And that is definitely exhalation, because you can hear it breathing in afterwards.

More whales soon, with a bit of luck.

Plymouth Minke

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.

Dreamland Cornwall…Whale and Otter in a Single Trip

Classy glassy

After my Sunfish sensation a couple of days ago I couldn’t resist another trip to the far west of Cornwall yesterday. Especially as the sea conditions looked absolutely perfect for a nice and relaxed day out on the water…no wind and hardly any swell.

I paddled directly offshore for an hour and regularly stopped to listen for a blow or a splash. Absolute silence, in fact I kept trying to unblock my ears by doing that yawny thing, because I could not quite believe the complete absence of audio input. A few seabirds maintained the interest. This little posse of Guillemots…

Guillemots

And a lone loafing Gannet. What a cracker…

Gannet

As usual, it was during my coffee break that it all kicked off. A modest blast of air was followed by a dark back, with fin attached, rolling at the surface fairly close by. Whaaat! I think that was a whale!

It wasn’t that big, and the lack of the usual huge blast of a breathing whale threw my brain cell into turmoil. When it surfaced again the id was still not clinched…

Is that a whale?

Fortunately it opted for a third breath and the more typical profile of a Minke Whale appeared.

Looking good for a whale

Yes, defo

I might be tempted to say the back is a bit ‘flat’ for a Minke, and maybe more like a Sei Whale, but the absence of any visible blow makes me fairly certain this was a juvenile Minke. Although it looks quite big in the pic!

I waited around for it to surface again, but it rapidly sloped off and I could hear it blowing in the distance with just a glimpse of it from afar.

Blooming excellent, but better was to come, if you are a fan of otters.

Lunchtime break was provided by an absurdly curious bull seal who was entertaining an entourage of teenage paddleboarders from the nearby beach.

To complete my circuit for the day I followed the coast closely for the return trip.

Cornish Paddling Perfection

I was so deep into that post-lunch soparific state that I didn’t immediately register the significance of the three-humped creature on the surface in front of me…

The classic three-hump profile

Oh good grief…it’s an otter. My first-ever otter along the open coast of Cornwall (and coasts don’t get any more ‘open’ than where I was now). And the last thing I expected to see at 1pm on the first day of summer.

I slammed on the brakes and watched from behind a rock. The otter surfaced after every dive with a crunchy snack as they always do. Fantastic to watch.

Otter

It then surfaced with something very much bigger and headed shorewards. I was expecting it to clamber out onto the nearest rock to consume its prey as I had seen in Scotland many times only a few weeks ago,but instead it just completely disappeared towards a jumble of boulders on the shore. Mmmm, was it feeding a family?

Dunno, because I didn’t see it again and I kept well away.

Not a bad day, all in all.

Whale, Dolphins and Porpoises. All in one Place.

Mount’s Bay

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!

Fowey porpoises

Marine Magic in the Hebrides. Day 2: Half-a-Dozen Whales, Dolphins, Porpoises, Sea Eagle.

My night under canvas was made very pleasant by the calls of migrating waders during the early hours. Redshank, Greenshank, Curlew, Ringed Plover. Unfortunately they had a bit of competition from the sonorous snores from the gentleman in the adjacent tent.

After yesterday’s twenty plus miles, I initially opted for a relaxed coastal tour around the islands at the mouth of Loch na Ceall. My early start paid off, as it always does if you want to see wildlife. An adult White-tailed (Sea) Eagle lumbered low over the water ahead of me, pursued by a very irritated Hooded Crow.

The Eagle gave a resting seal a bit of a shock, although judging by the bulge of its crop, it had only just had its breakfast.

White-tailed Eagle (and worried seal)

The rest of the seal troop didn’t seem to be too phased by the flyover of the giant Eagle. They just sat and watched and relaxed, and seemed to be enjoying the scenery.

Harbour Seal

Harbour Seal and the Sgurr of Eigg

All good stuff, but then I gave myself a gigantic kick up the pants. The open sea was millpond-calm and I really should be out there looking for the mega-creatures. That is precisely why I endured the interminable drive up the M6.

Yes, I had a bit of fatigue from yesterday, but I didn’t need to paddle all the way over to Eigg again. Going half way should give me a flavour of what was going down.

It was already getting hot, so I nosed into a sheltered creek to strip of my waterproof top. As I did so a movement on the rock only a few feet away caught my eye. A Knot. On migration south from its nesting ground in the far north, no doubt. Absurdly tame, and a bit of a charmer. Very possibly it has never encountered humankind before. It seemed a bit puzzled by me.

Knot

So I headed out into the open sea again. The surroundings seemed even more compelling than yesterday. The great slab of Eigg was straight a head with the hefty mountains of Rum looking over its shoulder. To the North was the craggy ridge of the Cuillin Mountains on Skye, and in the gap between I could see the Isle of Barra, in the Outer Hebrides, in the far distance.

Eigg and Rum

Cuillins, Skye

About three miles out I ran into a lot of action. Diving Gannets, milling shearwaters, floating kittiwakes, chattering terns. And there were the porpoises again, puffing away. Lots of them, scattered about all over the place.

Porpoise photo-bombed by Shag

In the far distance I saw the sun glinting off a whole load of fins…dolphins! They were a mile away, but angling over towards me, so I cranked up the speed and paddled to hopefully intercept.

They weren’t hanging around and eventually passed close in front of me.

Common Dolphins

Several youngsters were flinging themselves about in their typical carefree and acrobatic style. Top speed maintained all the while.

Common Dolphin

When the splashing of the dolphins subsided, I heard the blow of a whale directly behind me. When I swung the kayak round to face the noise, another blew, directly behind me again!

So I gave up manoeuvring and just sat and watched. For the next hour three or four Minke Whales surfaced repeatedly nearby. Sometimes close enough to hear the intake of breath after the blast of exhalation, sometimes so far away I couldn’t see them. But it was just the warm-up act.

Away to the south I hear a great prolonged roar of water, which must have been a whale either breeching or lunge-fishing. Too far off to see anything, so I sped off towards it. I stopped after half-an-hour. Nothing. Then another great roar and I could see a splash followed by a hint of a fin. Onwards again and it all went quiet again, apart from ‘just’ the sound of the blows of the scattered whales.

I could see what was attracting all the whales as I sliced through the glass. Schools of sandeels and small (joey) mackerel swam about beneath me.

I kept looking further to the south, and then saw a couple of visible blows as clear mushrooms of spray in the distance. I’m really not sure whether I saw any whale in the water beneath. Pity, because these were almost certainly not Minke Whales, which have an invisible blow.

Once again I sped towards the scene but saw no more sign of these mystery whales.

I couldn’t drag myself away, and my persistence was rewarded with a great lunge by a Minke Whale quite close by. Even though I had my camera pointing in esssentially the right direction, I missed the start of the action. It is just so quick and unexpected.

However, I could see the jaws of the whale open wide as it emerged from the surface, and you can see from the video, and still pic, that it was completely upside down. The white underside and throat-grooves are clearly visible.

Lungeing Minke

Upside down Minke

I knew that Fin Whales lunge at the surface on their side, but didn’t know Minkes lunge upside down!

I waited for more monumental moments but it settled back to the whales rolling at the surface like a giant porpoise. I reckoned that there were six scattered about within sight, but it was probably more than that.

After three hours, about four miles offshore, I headed in although in retrospect I should have stayed out longer. Full days with zero wind and zero swell really don’t come along very often.

Just one more nugget on the way back. I was checked out by a prowling ‘Bonxie’ Great Skua. I saw several of these at a distance harassing kittiwakes, but this one was hoping I might be a fishing boat with tasty scraps. Tasty scraps, yes. But not fish. Crunch Creams.

Great Skua

So that was about it. Seven Minke Whales, two pods of Common Dolphins, at least thirty Porpoises, Otter, Sea Eagle, Golden Eagle, Loads of Common Seals, a few Grey Seals, Bonxies and Red-throated Loons…in just two days.

Tell me where else in the world you can see that amount of stuff on a kayak. Paddling out from the shore on a self-guided trip.

The mystery of the two whales with the visible blow became a bit less murky while chatting to some fellow kayakers back at the campsite. En route back from Eigg they too had seen a whale with a visible blow, and described it as having a flat face. Sounds a bit like a Pilot Whale, or maybe even a Northern Bottlenose Whale! Tantalising.

The wonder of Western Scotland will remain long in the memory.

Marine Magic in the Hebrides. Day 1: Whale, Porpoise, Otter, Golden Eagle.

The unbelievably good weather forecast for Western Scotland, with completely calm conditions predicted, was hard to resist. So I drove 630 miles to Lochaber last weekend. Nice to see the Harry Potter Express chuffing past in dramatic surroundings as I neared my destination.

Harry Potter Express

An appropriate start to a magical couple of days.

Next morning, after getting installed in the campsite at Arisaig, I set out for the Isle of Eigg, a ten mile open-sea crossing. And as promised by Thomasz Schafenacker it was super flat-calm, so I was even more full of excitement and anticipation than usual. First up in the wildlife department was this charming little Arctic Tern:

Arctic Tern

When I was about a mile from the shore I did a big double-take when I saw that a seal several hundred yards ahead was in fact an otter. I was too slow on the camera shutter, and the lens was misted up with early morning fug. But a good enough pic to see it was a burly-looking dog Otter.

At a distance they are easy to mistake for a small Harbour Seal, until you see that tail flick up when they dive!

Lochaber Otter

The view all around was compelling. Scotland at it’s very best. Could the wildlife sightings of the day match the world-class scenery….

Yes.

Below the surface dozens of the extraordinarily beautiful and mysterious Lion’s Mane Jellyfish wafted about.

Lion’s Mane Jellyfish

They were joined by a host of Moon Jellies, and a couple of Barrel Jellies, my first of the year.

Continuing offshore the sensurround action just did not stop. It was not just a treat for the eyes, but a feast for the ears. The constant wingeing demands of young terns, and incessantly squealing juvenile Guillemots and Razorbills, and most extraordinary of all, the incredibly loud and haunting calls of a pair of Red-throated Divers.

They were so far away I couldn’t even see them. Just take a listen to this. What an amazing racket!

Loon Duet

About three miles offshore the Gannets were circling with a bit more intent, and I ran into the first little group of porpoises. Doing what porpoises usually do: appearing with a loud puff and rolling quietly at the surface without a splash. I saw one small calf stuck close to mum’s side, and a couple of times one sat ‘logging’ at he surface for a minute or two, basking in the sun.

Porpoise

I was very wary about getting caught up in strong currents associated with the very high Spring tides, which flow down the east side of Eigg, so was constantly checking my GPS to assess my drift speed. Fortunately they seemed pretty slack, but when I came across an area of stippled water that marked a current line, my ears and eyes were alert for my holy grail, a whale. Minkes do like to focus in on a bit of swirly water. Swirly water means more bait fish.

And there, about a mile ahead, was a long black back rolling slowly at the surface. Fab. I churned off in the direction of the whale but never really got close. It surfaced again away to the north a few times, just close enough to hear the blow, and then disappeared.

An exceptional sighting, in an exceptional amphitheatre.

Minke Whale in front of Skye

No sooner had I got my breath back than I ran into a pack of Manx Shearwaters resting off the northern tip of Eigg. They were having a real social with a lot of cooing going on. This is a rarely heard sound at sea, and one of the benefits of being completely silent in a kayak.

Manx Shearwater pack, Rum behind

Manx Shearwater lunchtime social

After four hours of paddling I arrived at a little sandy beach near the north of Eigg. Superb…sunny, warm and dead still. Nobody else in sight, but I felt I was being watched.

East Eigg beach

I looked hard along the top of the escarpment a thousand feet above my head, and there was a hefty looking bird sitting on a prominent rock. By shear luck a Buzzard happened to wander past at that very moment, and the large bird couldn’t resist a bit of a chase…a Golden Eagle!

Wow, I really hadn’t expected to see one because raptors don’t like flying on hot, still days because it’s just too much effort. They need a bit of wind under their wings.

Golden Eagle, Eigg

I consumed a tasteless and sweaty lunch consisting mainly of pizza I had cooked before I had left home a couple of days before. Yeuch.

Flaccid feast on the beach

The long paddle back to Arisaig was not quite so action-packed, but I enjoyed the cackling auks, chattering terns, diving Gannets and the odd porpoise.

I took a tour round the islands in the bay before finishing off. The water could not have been any clearer.

The seals were all hauled out for their low-tide rest, so I kept well away to avoid disturbing their slumber. Mainly harbour seals, but a few larger (and less attractive) Grey Seals in amongst the throng.

Harbour Seals

One of my best kayaking days ever. It couldn’t get any better tomorrow, could it?

(hint…yes it could…Day 2 coming soon to thelonekayaker.wordpress.com. Get ready to fasten your seatbelts. You’ll spend so long on the edge of your seat you will be in danger of falling off.)

THERE SHE BLOWS!!! Minke Whale (and Tuna and Dolphins and Porpoises) off Fowey

As usual I was on the water too early (dawn), because as usual I was overexcited about what the day might promise. Sunshine and light winds all day were forecast, but there was that sneaky little offshore breeze for the first couple of hours which made me hesitate to paddle too far offshore. However after onboard breakfast (muesli/Country crisp) the wind seemed to be easing so I continued out.

Nothing for an hour, then I headed over to see what was attracting the attention of half a dozen circling Gannets. Some big jumping shapes beneath…..TUNA!

Lots of splashing…..the fish which caused this blast of water in this pic below never showed above the surface…not even a fin!

Tuna Bomb in front of Dodman Point

I just sat and watched and over twenty minutes or so must have seen thirty or forty big splashes, and half that number of fish.

Bluefin Tuna

Tuna melee

Bluefin Tuna

If you are ever tempted to try to photograph Tuna, my advice would be to do something else. They are so unbelievably fast, and the camera is always pointing in the wrong direction. From a kayak it’s even more challenging, because the camera is moving around all over the place as well.

Here’s my effort to catch a bit of crazy tuna action…..

When the splashing stopped and the Gannets drifted away I continued directly offshore. I was hopeful of more finned creatures because there were generally a lot of seabirds milling about…not just roving Gannets but also Manx, and a couple of Balearic Shearwaters, and Guillemots on the water.

I caught a glimpse of a fin glittering in the sun directly ahead…..and then a load more. A pod of about thirty Common Dolphins. Doing what dolphins do best: speeding over to check me out, sploshing about the place, youngsters cavorting, then suddenly all rushing off somewhere.

I spent half an hour in their company as they were cruising in essentially the same direction as me, and during that time the sea smoothed off completely. Perfect, I was four miles offshore, and carried on out.

Common Dolphins

The next hour was quite quiet, apart from single splashes from lone tuna, and the occasional big fish breaking the surface. One was exceptionally large, so definitely qualified for the tag ‘Giant’ Bluefin Tuna.

I stopped for coffee break at seven miles out from the mouth of Fowey estuary, and spent a long time listening. There was a whole lot of puffing going on. A pod of approximately eight porpoise were busy criss-crossing around, and nearby a mother porpoise with a very small calf. You can just see its tiny fin on the left here:

Porpoise and tiny calf

Did I hear a more pronounced, and prolonged blow, further out? Not sure…it could have been my PFD (lifejacket) scuffing, or a tuna raking the surface far away.

Even so, I spent a long time listening. It was so completely calm I could hear absolutely everything. Including a motorbike in Fowey, about eight miles away.

I really wanted to see a whale to make a ‘full house’ of fins for the day, but failed to hear anything more resembling a blow so started to paddle slowly back in. And saw a long, slow moving back, far away in the direction of St, Austell. Superb…a Minke Whale!

Minke Whale in front of Clay Country

Minke Whale (Charlestown behind)

My kayak leapt out of the starting blocks as I engaged max power to get a closer view.

Conditions couldn’t have been much more perfect for watching a whale. It’s not very often this calm this far offshore.

I glanced at my GPS and it told me I was precisely 5.00 miles from the mouth of the Fowey estuary. A coincidence, because I always tell people that if you want to see a whale you have to paddle five miles out!

Anyway, I spent the next hour, more or less in the same place, watching the whale surfacing fairly close by. Two or three blows at an interval of about thirty seconds, then submerged for three or four minutes before reappearing.

Minke off Fowey

It’s behaviour was actually like a giant porpoise. Surfacing with barely a ripple, and frequently changing the direction of travel between blows.

I got to within about thirty metres of it as I watched it blow thirty to forty times. I was close enough to hear the short intake of breath after the prolonged exhalation.

Fowey Minke Whale

An excellent prolonged encounter. Just me and the whale and not a lot else for miles around…apart from some porpoises puffing some distance away.

With no seabirds to mark its location (as is frequently the case with dolphins and porpoises), this really was like finding a needle in a haystack. OK it’s a thirty foot-long needle, but haystacks don’t get much bigger than the open ocean!

Enjoy these videos……

This is my favourite, with the whale sliding past the nose of my kayak. That’s Polperro in the distance on the right.

Minke Whale off Fowey

I thought it was a single whale, because it always surfaced just about when I thought it would, and I never heard two blows closer together than about twenty seconds. But take a look at these photos…..the fin shapes look quite different, but maybe its the angle at which the whale was moving which makes them look dissimilar.

Mmmmmm….not sure.

Anyway, what a fantastic encounter with a magnificent creature. My ultimate target animal for my offshore kayak trips, and my ninth (possibly tenth!) of the season.

This photograph is not so flattering. So even whales have a ‘good’ side.

Minke Diving

Fowey was looking good, as always, as I paddled the final mile back up the river to the slipway. A great way to end a top day of wildlife watching.

Fowey

20 miles, eight hours, 1 Minke, 30 Common Dolphins, 20+ Bluefin Tuna, 12 Harbour Porpoise.

Minke Whale off Fowey

Seven Sensational Sounds of the Sea

Marazion

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.