Hey, Jonah, are you in there?
In calm water rippled by the late summer drizzle, we kayaked past sea lions, porpoises, and countless jumping fish and gazed at white and gray seabirds fluttering overhead. With each stroke of the paddle, I heard and felt the sway of the water. At the same time, I was struck by what I did not hear or feel: the racket of engines and the vibrations of motors. Our whale-watching trip was underway.
My 15-year-old son and I had just one question: Where's Willy?
Our previous whale-watching trek, three years earlier, provided instant gratification--but at a possible cost to the whales. Inspired by the movie Free Willy, Edward and I boarded a catamaran that zipped us north from Boston to prime whale-watching waters in about an hour. We thrilled to high white sprays of water in our wake, even as we tried to decide how best to use our hands: hold the nose to cut off exhaust fumes or cover our ears to block the engine's thrum?
Our excitement at spotting an abundance of sea mammals overshadowed worries about any negative effects caused by the motor or fuel. After all, the helpful guide (quick! at five o'clock! another minke whale!) assured us the crew took care not to harm or frighten the creatures. Anyway, wasn't whale-watching itself an environmentally friendly activity?
See Willy. The answer, I've learned since, is "not necessarily." The exponential growth of whale-watching as a tourist business--it is a billion-dollar industry that increased in popularity at a rate of 12.1 percent a year throughout the 1990s, according to the International Fund for Animal Welfare--has a downside. Several studies cite whale-watching--along with pollution, whale hunting, and the noise from military patrol boats--as major threats to the well-being of orcas. One concern is that boat traffic will interfere with normal behavior, says Erin Heskett, senior program officer for the wildlife and habitat department at IFAW. "Noise may mask important communications among the whales about feeding, migrating, avoiding predators."
Which is why, this past summer, my son and I went in search of a different way to observe Willy's orca relatives: We would sea kayak near a whale hangout, limiting as much as possible any disturbances to them or their habitat.
Our destination was Johnstone Strait, Vancouver Island, British Columbia, home base of about 200 orcas. The distinctive families, pods, and clans have been roaming these waters for the past 10,000 years or so. At Robson Bight, they rub their bellies against the rocks. The Canadian government has declared the area an ecological preserve off limits to humans. In other areas, the guideline is to come no closer than 100 meters--about 330 feet--to the whales.
Further making sure we would keep a respectful distance was WeGo Kayaking, the conservation-minded outfitter with whom we booked our trip. Their ecolodge--a snug, wooden houseboat where electricity is generated by solar power--was our base for four days of kayaking through inlets and fiords. The cost was about $900 a person. Before signing up, I made sure their guides were well trained not just in kayaking but in first aid--and in whale-watching guidelines. "Keeping a distance is important for the kayaker's safety as well," says Ryan Moore, director of training and education for the International Ecotourism Society. You don't want to provoke a whale.
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