Orca Safari-First in-water encounter November 13th 2017

I awoke to the vibration of the Sula preparing to leave the dock and got dressed in my base layer of woollies but opted for the professional-grade exposure suit today. A nice, insulated, waterproof and windproof flotation overall in a shade of Arctic fire-engine red.

I climbed the exterior ladder to enjoy the wind in my face up-top as we searched for whales to befriend.

At around 10 am we found the spot. The Sula pulled into the bay heralded by screaming gulls.

Photo credit: Nikon Donna N.

We saw so many whales we didn't even know where to look. Killer whales, Humpback whales, Fin whales, Herring flying at the surface and all of us on board gawking and clicking cameras and one of us bursting into tears. That, would be me. It was so beautiful.

Some of the Orca were feeding, some were travelling, some were playing and some were curiously popping their heads up to check us out. There was no time to lose, we had to take this gift of an opportunity on a practically windless day with calm seas and no amateur operators competing to swim using methods that our Orca expert would disapprove of.

Photo credit: Donna N.

Into the gear and into the aluminium boat we went knowing pretty much nothing about what was about to happen. Other than one guest and our Orca expert no one had dry-suit experience. No one had been aboard the Hårek (the aluminium boat) yet either. This would be the coldest water ever to touch my face. These would be the toothiest, apexiest predators that I had ever approached and yet, I felt somehow ready.

Photo credit: Donna N.

It was literally sink or swim. I sat at the end of the ladder and was the first in my group into the water. I felt no fear.

Then Gijs, the driver yelled "GO!"

What follows is a William S. Burroughs-style stream of consciousness vomit of feelings and words and retro-linear embellishment of the event as I experienced it at the time and as I remember and record it now, nearly a month later:

I slipped in and felt the water on my face...meh, not anywhere as painfully cold as I had anticipated. Kick, kick, look down. Mama Orca with baby closely connected. It was literally the first thing I saw underwater. I shall never forget it. EVER.

Visibility was poor and good at once. The water itself was clear but there were many particles bigger than plankton, like sequins falling off an antique gown, the scales of freshly killed Herring churned everywhere. Cartoon-like half-eaten fish with their backbones exposed floated by our masks.

Lifting my face out of the water to get my bearings, I see a dorsal fin six feet high slashing the surface and arching back under the chop. Instinctively, like a spectator at a tennis match I changed my perspective to follow the motion and resumed watching through the prism of the sea. The diving male Orca could not be more graceful and delicate chasing a single fish and slurping it into his mouth as if it were a strand of spaghetti.

My main perception of the whales at that time was straight from my limbic system.

AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
BIG!!
AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
BIG!!
AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
BIG!!

I have never been scared by the whales at all but they are massive and fast. 6 to 8 tonnes, up to 65 km/hr. Imagine crossing a highway and dodging Mercedes-Benz Sprinter Vans whizzing by. That's about how massive and fast.

Anyone among you who have snorkeled or used an underwater mask for diving know that they magnify things to a certain degree. A Barracuda seems extra toothy, Parrotfish scales are beautifully defined, Pufferfish faces are just that much fatter and cuter. It takes some experience to get a handle on judging size and distance accurately.

Take that visual cognitive dissonance and apply the same disclaimer as the one on your car's passenger side-view mirror "Objects in mirror may be closer than they appear" and the result is:

AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
BIG!!
AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
BIG!!
AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
BIG!!

The only fair way to convey it without resorting to my cave-man level of description is this video link to the Facebook page of Pierre Robert de Latour of that actual in-water experience.

The Orca were everywhere. Males, females, young, juvenile and fully-grown all cooperatively feeding on the sparkly, spinning bait-ball. When the group moved past us, we had to re-position.

It was back to reality for me. No more cosmic at-one-with-nature-at-peace-with-the-universe dream state permitted. We needed to quickly board the aluminium boat and catch up to the Orca.

Getting back into the boat was very different than in tropical diving because we had to leave our fins on and climb the ladder backwards! Huh? At the top of ladder, we were expected to shuffle back and pivot onto a wooden bench then slide back along the bench to make room for the next person embarking. Oy. It did not help that the fins slip on the ladder rungs and that as Mr. Lawetz my H.S. physics teacher explained: two objects cannot occupy the same space. To wit, my ass and the handrails of the ladder.

The Frenchman hollering "Sleep on the woods" didn't help at all. He was trying to tell me to slide blindly backwards onto a wooden bench that I didn't even know existed. So I got yelled at again "Too slow!" sadface. My ego was bruised. I felt sorry for myself but at the same time, I really didn't care. I had just swum with Arctic Orca and if even if I never did it again, you could never take that image of the Mama Orca and her baby away from me.