Wales to Whales in one month

Finally hitting the Pacific Ocean was quite a moment. After a rainy day, the skies cleared as we waited for the ferry to Vancouver Island, and we felt quite proud at having crossed our first continent, east to west. It’s taken over 5,500 kilometres and more than 20 days, across three time zones and 6 provinces. We’ve gone through forest and lakes, prairies and mountains, scorching sun to snow, and now we are about as far west as you can be in Canada without hitting Japan. Vancouver Island is big and varied, about 400kms long, mild, and rainy! After a beautiful, calm crossing we pulled up the first night in Sooke, which looked good and deserted on the map. “Sunny Shores” marina and camping turned out to be a pretty grim parking lot with a lot of boats and boat spares. I for one was a bit sulky in Sooke, until Joe and I walked down to the shore and saw something big thrashing about in the water. We ignored the rules and headed down the jetty for a closer look … about thirty seals were lolling about on some logs, while 5 or 6 more literally frolicked around in the water, mere feet away from us. They seemed as curious about us as we did them. Really fascinating creatures, and altogether too human looking by half. We enjoyed the moment in peace, and warmed to Sooke instantly, then called the kids, who were enchanted. In the morning, they also found enormous pink starfish and crabs to entertain them. So, we decided to try for bigger game – whales. First we headed off to French beach, where we watched the huge pacific rollers crash in and saw a sealion surfing the waves. The only local whalewatching company had bust their motor, and it must be said Joe was being pretty grouchy as he desperately wanted to go out in a boat and hunt for whales. So, we headed back to the other side of the island, to Sidney (pretty similar to Brighton) and the only company there offering boat whale watching excursions. We get the impression we got a pretty tailor-made trip: the lady Joe spoke to on the phone said she could do a trip at 4.00pm that day, she was our guide, and there was only one other person in the boat with us – a very nice lady from Manitoba who was as nervous as me, not being able to swim (and me getting seasick!). We suited up like the guys from Armageddon, and headed out onto a floating jetty – I was now getting very worried, as even the motion of that was making me queasy. The weather had been pretty grim: rainy in Sooke, but the skies cleared to a gorgeous afternoon.

A small tin boat with open sides pulled up, and in we climbed: Joe, Rowan and Rhys right at the front (“you’re going to have to hold onto the bars up there as you wont touch the ground” says Liz, our guide) and me and Jen, plus the other lady, firmly at the back. We zipped off at about 30 miles an hour and sure enough, the front of the boat reared up and smacked down every few seconds. I clung onto Jen for dear life while the older kids shrieked in delight shouting out “bump! Bump! Bump!” and singing at the tops of their voices. I relaxed a little when sicky Jen started going “wheee!” every time we bounced up … if she was enjoying it, maybe so could I. Once you get into the rhythm, its surprisingly OK. After about 20 miles Liz cut the engines, and I thought I saw dolphin fins far off to the right. Liz steered us in, within about a hundred metres of the pod … but they weren’t dolphins, they were orcas – killer whales (“that’s a white man’s name” says Liz, with scorn). There followed an absolutely magic couple of hours. Liz knew the movements of the pod like the back of her hand, answered all our questions, but was totally unobtrusive. She knew all about this group of 70 or so giant creatures … their names and ages, sex and habits. She kept a respectful distance and we listened in to the whales chatting away through a special sea microphone. It was incredibly peaceful – watching the whales surface and dive, play in the kelp, come up for a look (called a spy hop) and make their way to the Fraser river for their nightly salmon feast. Liz repeatedly moved us ahead of the pod and let them just come on by us. At one point, the whales decided to pass either side of us, and you just didn’t know where to look first, with dorsal fins to the left and right. “This one’s going to go right by us by the looks of it” says Liz, and sure enough, right behind us was a large back and fin gliding through the water. Rhys pointed down directly to our left, under and to the left of the boat, and we looked down to see the whale glide right by, immediately next to us, feet away. It was only then you get to appreciate their size. The other thing that was amazing was the sound. The whales surface and dive, in a 30 second cycle, and blow out the blowhole. With seventy whales, a close family swimming together in 600 foot of water, the sound was breathtaking. We could have stayed for hours, surrounded by these beautiful giants, watching their sociable and cooperative behaviour. But soon the sun was setting and it got cold, as Liz had warned us. So, we started skimming back amongst the smaller islands. Rhys and Jen curled up, one in each arm, and promptly went to sleep on me, ignoring the speed and bouncing over the waves. What a day.