Close encounters of the wild kind
Gemma Elwin Harris heads into the blue from Tarifa, southern Spain, to watch some of the ocean’s most fascinating creatures in their natural habitat
words by Gemma Elwin Harris
“The waiting is all part of the fun,” explains Jimmy, binoculars scanning the waves for a sign. “It’s the tension, the expectation.”
“A bit like Moby Dick but without the violence?” I ask. “Kind of.” He looks dubious. “Just keep your eyes peeled for something very shiny and black. Or if you see a strange wave that goes straight up at a right angle, that could be a dorsal fin.”
If you stare out to sea long enough, your eyes start to play tricks. In the distance, shifting inky shapes morph into fins, a flick of a tail. The spray from a crashing wave might possibly, at a pinch, look like spume from a whale’s spout. From time to time I start, thinking I’ve seen something, crane forward, squinting. But then, no. It’s dissolved back into the shifting mass.
Jimmy, his wife Michelle, a family of four and I have joined two experts from the WDCS (Whale and Dolphin Conservation Society) for a whale-watching trip based in Tarifa, about two hours’ drive down the coast from Málaga. Having boarded the Jackelin, a sturdy 25-metre passenger boat along with dozens of other lovers of ocean life, we’re already well into the Strait of Gibraltar. The Levante, the easterly wind, has been blasting the Costa de la Luz, whipping up the water for two days now and the boat is starting to roll and pitch. As the prow plunges, those more prone to seasickness cling to the rails, fixing their sights determinedly on the horizon where Africa rises grey and rocky out of the haze.
There are other signs we can look for, Michelle tells me, passing her Swarovski binoculars for serious spotters. When dolphins and whales slap their tails on the water, known as ‘lob tailing’, they leave behind a ‘footprint’ – a smooth disc of water on the surface similar to the skimming puddles left by rowers. A raft of seabirds, attracted by fish sent to the surface by larger creatures beneath, can be another indicator.
We’re primed, waiting to glimpse any of the seven types of whale or dolphins that live or pass through the rich waters of the Strait, where the Atlantic meets the Mediterranean and strong currents ensure plenty of marine life. Sperm whales are seen mainly in autumn, winter and spring, while fin whales cross the Strait late spring and summer. Dolphins – common, striped, bottlenose – and pilot whales (actually large dolphins, despite the name) are all spotted year-round. Last, and highest on everyone’s wish list are orcas or killer whales, which are in fact dolphins too. Top of the food chain, these predators have the wow factor. There’s the rarity as well: orcas are only sighted here in the summer.
As we head towards Africa, Dr Pierre Gallego, a marine mammals expert, explains that orcas are mainly found in shallower waters off the Moroccan coast in July and August, where they have learnt to target fishing vessels and poach yellow-fin tuna right off the line. A line, bait and stone method is used to catch the hungry tuna as they return to the Atlantic after spawning in the Mediterranean and have not eaten for two months.
Patrolling starboard side, Jimmy, Michelle and I try to stay focussed on the churning expanse as we lurch from side to side. Still no sign from beneath the waves. Impatiently, I check my watch: it’s only been about 50 minutes. It’s rare not to spot anything in these parts, nevertheless I’m starting to wonder if this’ll be one day when nothing shows.
But then a cry goes up and we jostle for position on the foredeck, straining to see where the captain is pointing. He cuts the motor and a hush falls over the boat. About fifteen metres from the side of the boat, three gleaming black fins are sinking beneath the waves. Then we see four, six, eight, maybe more.
“Long-finned pilot whales,” says Pierre beside us. As each surfaces, it sprays a rainbow mist from the hole on its back. They float just beneath the surface, fins visible, rising every so often draw breath. I’m amazed at the noise. It sounds like a prankster making a heavy breathing call – through a snorkel. The backs of their heads are funny. Oddly human, they’re small and curved.
“When they float like this, they’re just resting. It’s called logging,” Pierre tells us. “These are females; if you look at the fin, it has a smooth curve. And that one over there is probably a male – can you see the step on its dorsal before the curve begins?” A metre or so away, he points out a calf tucked between two females, smaller and much lighter in colour.
The pilot whales stay with the boat for about 20 minutes before they go on their way. As they take a short cut under the hull, we get a sense of the animals’ full length. Some of the adults in this pod must be around four metres. Pierre says they can grow up to five and a half metres. And if they don’t leap clear of the water like some other species of dolphin, it’s because they’re around two tonnes on average.
Still mesmerised, we watch the pilot whales disappear, arcing out of the water and dipping under, one a fraction after the other, smooth and rhythmic as merry-go-round horses. Then we turn tail too, chugging back to Tarifa with its sleepy surfer ways.
At the hotel we chat about our first day’s sightings over mojtos. Most of the people on our holiday have been whale watching many times and know a surprising amount. Katie, 16, wants to study marine biology at university. And Jimmy and Michelle have taken their dog-eared copy of Whales and Dolphins of The World far and wide, pages scribbled with notes from Baja California to New Zealand, Canada to the Maldives. One South American girl on our boat even changed her name to the nickname of her favourite Patagonian orca, Mel. That’s love for you.
Everyone’s nuts about dolphins but they like them just as they are: wild, in their natural habitat. The more you learn about these animals, the less you’ll want to see them behind glass in a dolphinarium of the kind found in so many Spanish resorts. Rob Lott, our guide from WDCS, points out that the charity is involved in campaigns to stop the capture of cetaceans for public display. In nature, they roam constantly and lead full, long lives – it doesn’t take much imagination to envisage how life in a tank is a stark contrast.
For dinner, we drive north-west to Vejer de la Frontera, one of the Costa de la Luz’s famous ‘white villages’ in the hills. The restaurant is in a labyrinthine old Moorish house, La Casa del Califa with lantern-strung courtyard (Plaza de España 16). As we tuck into a spread of tajines and couscous, Rob recounts tales from research trips: what it’s like to see eerie orca faces rising like ghosts from phosphorescent waters in the pitchy black; and the touchingly odd behaviour of two male orcas in British Columbia who circled an island, calling, for two whole days. “They’d been making these strange calls throughout the night which could be heard on the hydrophones. Then the next day we found out their mother had died. Researchers believe what we heard could have been an expression of grief.”
Is it something human about these animals that makes people feel such a connection? Rob has already explained how cetaceans are some of the few creatures that show signs of ‘culture’, in that they use dialects. Their complex language of clicks, calls and whistles differs from pod to pod with each pod having distinctive features in their call repertoires.
Jimmy can track his whale watching addiction back to a one-on-one moment with a humpback whale in Australia. “They do this thing called spyhopping – when they come up and take a look around? And this humpback came up and looked at me. It looked at me properly – right in the eye.” He confides, “When it looks right at you, I suppose you feel alive. Because they’re so alive themselves, so full of beans.” A soft spoken British accountant, he doesn’t seem like a man given to soppiness.
After today’s close encounter, I can understand a little of what Jimmy is talking about. There is certainly something electric about watching these animals in the wild. Then the next day on the boat, I’m lucky enough to get my own one-on-one. We come across a group of some 15 striped dolphins hanging out with several pilot whales. The dolphins are ‘breaching’ – leaping high ahead of the bow, plunging and weaving at high speed, twisting and flashing their stripy flanks, rubbing up against each other. The pilot whales, more animated than yesterday’s pod, dive down. One crashes its fluke down on the water.
As I lean between the railings for a closer look, a female pilot whale spyhops just to the right of the hull, pushing her massive body up out of the water, turning on her tail, pivoting like a submarine’s periscope to look up at the boat. For a split second she cocks a round, wise, centuries-old eye directly at me. That’s my moment; I’m smitten.
Gemma Elwin Harris went whale watching with Out of the Blue, the travel arm of WDCS. Out of the Blue practises responsible dolphin and whale watching. The Whale and Dolphin Conservation Society is an international charity working to protect cetaceans and their environment. To book a holiday or find out more about WDCS, see www.wdcs.org
what to spot in the strait
Year round
Common dolphin – The smallest cetacean in the Strait of Gibraltar, they grow to a maximum size of 1.8 metres
Striped dolphin – Quick and acrobatic, they often appear in large groups of over 300
Bottlenose dolphin – Large, at around 3.5 metres. Behaviour tends to be calm and curious
Pilot whale – Big dolphins with a flat and round head, they move slowly in groups of around 20
Seasonal
Orca (pictured) – Super predators that come to the Strait in July and August to feed on the tuna that cross these waters after spawning in the Mediterranean sea
Sperm whale – Strange looking cetacean with a blowhole on the left side of its head, this has the biggest brain of any creature on earth. Can grow up to 18 metres long. Lone adult males are seen in the Strait in autumn, winter and spring
Fin whale – The second biggest animal in the world at up to 22 metres long (largest is the blue whale). These pass through the Strait throughout the end of spring and summer
Bookmark This Post
