We turned out into the strait from Telegraph Cove and immediately were in wilderness. Snow capped peaks on the Canadian mainland rose up through fog to the north. Misty, green, forested slopes rose high up above us to the south, and the wide reaching waters of Johnstone Strait stretched out before us to the east. This was where we were headed, down the strait to a small uninhabited island across from Robson Bight, the world's only Ecological reserve for orcas (killer whales). We all settled into whatever spaces we could find among the pile of gear stuffed into my friend Jim's skiff, pulled our collars up around our necks to keep out the cold air off the water, and scanned the water hoping to see the tell tale blow, or the glinting of a dorsal fin rising up above the surface. The beauty and peacefulness of the ride, along with the knowledge that we would soon be spending the next 2-3 days working into the night to unpack and then set up our field camp, allowed us to get quite comfortable. Soon, we were pulling up to a small bay with huge moss covered trees surrounding it. A pair of eagles flew off as we approached. The motor shut off and all was silent. We just sat there listening to the incredible silence, and looking at what would be our home for the next 3 months.

After much work, our camp was set up. We each found a tent site to our liking, the kitchen had a view of the bay, there was a fire ring on the beach, and we found a beautiful grassy point that stuck out into the strait and would be an ideal spot to watch whale from. Our work site was a 30 minute hike from our camp, so this spot would be for after hours viewing and listening. I found a tent spot as close to the water as I could be. In fact, it was actually on an old wooden platform that actually reached out over the water. If it would hold, it would make for excellent whale viewing! I had brought two hydrophones, one for the research site and one for the camp. I ran wires to my tent so at night I could lie in my sleeping bag and listen to the whales as their calls echoed up and down the strait's steep fjord like walls. I was so excited, I didn't know which I looked forward to more: watching the orcas during the day, or listening to them at night! Luckily, I could do both!

One night while sleeping in my tent, I was awakened by the calls of whales. They sounded close. I began to make a recording and before I could yell to the others, a big female surfaced practically right under me! The explosive blow, along with a very close and loud call into the hydrophone was enough to wake up the others. The sounds of tent zippers opening and the flashing of headlamps added to the scene as we headed to the point. My tent was covered with whale blow! Being sprayed by a whale is considered good luck, so I guess I was good for the summer! We all sat silently in the dark on the point and watched as the orcas swam by, bio-luminescing as they passed just a few meters from where we sat. The calls blasting out of my tent just added to the scene. We were in awe. The stars reflected off of the still waters, whale blows punctuated the night air, and the calls echoed off of the canyon walls of the strait. We hugged each other, giggled, and laughed out loud looking for some expression of the joy we felt for experiencing what we had just witnessed. Slowly, we went off to our tents, a few people lingered outside of my tent as we listened to the whales slowly head off to the west, their calls becoming ever more faint. We would soon discover that that night was just the beginning of many such nights, and my tent would become a recording studio by candlelight, as I sat up for many hours, sometimes til dawn, listening to and recording the amazing sounds of the orcas of Johnstone Strait.

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Reflection of a whale

View of the whales from the cliff above