Nature calls -whale watching in Tofino
It’s supposed to be incredible, to see these enormous mammals in their natural habitat. People rhapsodise about their majesty, their mammoth size, how it makes them feel in tune with the natural world. So why, when there is a whale no more than twenty metres away, doing his best to breach in a photogenic manner, am I gazing dully out the other side of the boat? I blame it on the early start.
Well, actually, the whale watching tour began at the civilized time of 1000. Unfortunately, my own body clock woke me shortly after 0600 and there was no chance of going back to sleep. So that meant lots of time for breakfast. A leisurely breakfast in turn led to a second cup of coffee, dark harbinger of my downfall.
Tofino has several different companies doing whale watching tours, all with guaranteed sightings. The boats range from luxury covered cruisers, to inflatable zodiacs. The boat I was on was quite small, no bad seats, according to the guide. On this cloud-covered day, slightly out of tourist season, there were only six passengers, plus the guide. I was a little jealous of the children, who were allowed to sit at the front, but the guide was right, I could see everything from where I sat just as well.
On one occasion, the best view was mine. As we headed out to sea on our search for the whales, one of our party noticed something floating in the water. We slowed and circled round, giving me a clear view of a dead sea otter. Our guide started talking about the dangers of household rubbish making its way into the sea while I stared at the animal, floating on his back. Suddenly his supposedly dead eyes opened, and he was staring right back at me. In an instant, he flipped onto his belly and swam off. The guide quickly changed to a more appropriate story about increasing sightings of these little creatures, now that they were no longer being hunted!
But we didn’t come to see the sea otters. We didn’t come to see the seals, or even the bald eagles; we came to see the whales. Unfortunately, the whales had no interest in coming to see us. As we headed further and further out to sea, I began to regret that second cup of coffee. The boat was fast, but the sea was choppy. We landed on the crest of one wave, slid down the side and up again onto the next. The bouncing, which had been fun at the start began to be less fun, making me more aware of my expanding bladder. On and on we went, now long out of sight of land. The guide radioed the other tour companies frequently, but no one had found whales this morning. On and on, on and on. Finally, when there had been no sightings, the guide said sadly that we would have to turn around. I tried to disguise my relief that we would be back on dry land, near a bathroom, soon.
Bounce, bounce as we made our way home. I was sure I could feel my bladder pushing up on my stomach, my stomach pushing against my diaphragm and threatening to expel its contents. Then, horror, we were turning around. There had been a whale sighted and we were headed back along the coast on the chance that we could see it too. Of course I wanted to see the whale. However, as the other boat headed off, I wasn’t looking for the whale; I was trying not to vomit.
So now I sit apathetically in my seat, while others on the boat are leaping about with the cameras. Looking along the rocky shoreline, I see a building not far off. A building must mean a bathroom. Salvation!
“Erm… Is there any chance I could be dropped off on the beach, I really don’t feel well enough to go all the way home on the boat”
“No way, there are too many rocks there. In fact I tried a landing just yesterday for some girls who needed to pee, and didn’t like the normal set-up. We nearly wrecked the boat.”
“Oh. So umm, what is the normal set-up?”
“Off the back of the boat”
Right, marvellous. I regret my choice of “no bad seats” over and above the cruisers with refreshments and washroom. I understand why they wanted to be dropped off. Not only is the back of the boat disturbingly close to the front of the boat and the other passengers, there are also two outboard motors there. Just how am I supposed to balance? As the boat rises and falls in the ocean swell, my stomach rises and falls as well. I have no choice.
I move to the rear, dropping my tour-provided orange boiler suit and checking for other tour boats, which may not be expecting this kind of whale sighting. And it’s surprisingly secure back there, my hips settled between the two motors. At least it feels secure until the people at the front lose sight of the whale and despite strict instructions, start looking round to find it! The pilot turns the boat to search for the whale, and I feel my pelvis turning too, wedged as it is between the two motors. Relieved, and revived by the cooling breeze, I am recovered. Nausea gone, pain gone, now where has that whale got to?
Fortunately my tour has not been wasted on matters of the body, as the whale resurfaces shortly after. It is magical. We are close enough to see the barnacles on his shagreen skin and I wonder how long they’ve been travelling together, on his many migrations. I marvel at the distances he has travelled each year, between Alaska and Mexico and I listen in awe to the unfamiliar sound of breaching. It’s not like watching an animal on land, we only see him in part, and too briefly. But maybe some things are best left unseen. Perhaps some things are best left unsaid. So I apologise if you were expecting a rhapsody about rhythms of life and the naural world. My story is after all, about the call of nature.
Tags: Canada, Tofino, Travel, whale watching
