It’s the perfect morning for whales. We’ve decided to depart at 8AM instead of 6—a small mercy, afford us by delayed departures of the whale watching boats from town. COVID has slowed everything right down, and this morning, it’s in our favour. The sea is glassy calm, its colour deepening slowly as the pastel hues of dawn blossom into a rich blue sky. It’s a morning of sacred silence, the inward draw of a long, deep breath, thoughts suspended like peripheral clouds, luffed only by the gentlest whispers of wind in the uppermost branches of the trees along the shore. We need more words for morning, I think. The view is its own poetry; retroactively putting words to serenity feels like some kind of sacrilege. 

Sunscreen application shakes me from my sentimental reverie. We glide forward, accelerating, and skirt out around the west coast of Vargas towards Ahous Bay, where our pace slows; we’re looking for grey whales, and we want to ensure we don’t miss them. We’re unlikely to find them here, Satch tells us, as he hasn’t seen them here for a few weeks now. The seem to gravitate towards the bay to bottom feed, stirring up sediments settled on the the seafloor. That food source appears to have lost its appeal; we note their absence and head off, our eyes peeled for blows. 

This morning’s excursion is, in keeping the the emerging theme of my summer, rather a dual-purpose one. The research component of our trip is ongoing, part of an effort to ID and understand the behaviour of the Pacific Coastal Feeding Aggregate, a 243-member sub-group—and recently designated sub-species—of the Eastern Feeding group, a population of grey whales whose range spans the west coast of North America and consists of ~20,000 members. The educational aspect of my trip this morning is equally exciting—I’m working to solidify a lesson plan and design accompanying activities for school groups interested in spending a half-day on the water. 

We spy our first whale, a youngster Satch and Claudia, who lead CCFS’s efforts in grey whale monitoring, don’t recognize. It’s feeding, and we capture some photographs as it appears at the surface between dives. I’m amazed—the smallest sliver of the dorsal ridge, used to ID the whale based on unique markings, belies the magnitude of the creature just below the surface. 

We move south again, and spot another six or seven whales, also feeding. By now the whale watching boats have caught up with us, and we don’t stay long. It will take Satch and Claudia several hours to make IDs, and I’ve got the task of transcribing the day’s activities into…well, more activities!

By Sarah Rosen, Education Program Coordinator and CSJ Student

This research is made possible by financial support from the Tides Foundation.