Hello everyone, I’m Elizabeth Zwamborn, a Pacific Northwest based biology professor and cetacean researcher. I study group life and other aspects of behavioral ecology in Long Finned Pilot Whales off of Canada’s East Coast.
But today I want to tell you a different story about a very unexpected encounter that took place in a large submarine canyon, known as the Gully. The gully lies about 100 nautical miles offshore of Nova Scotia. Before I go further, I’ll note that this research survey was conducted under permits from Fisheries and Oceans Canada.
It was the summer of 2024, and we were midway through a research expedition aboard the sailing vessel Belena, hoping, like many times before, to find and study the Northern Bottlenose Whales that call this canyon home.
As anyone who works at sea knows, the weather can be fickle, and she wasn’t particularly kind to us on this trip. We already had weathered one storm behind Sable Island, then ran back to shore and tucked into the port of Canso to wait out another. We weren’t even sure if wed make it back offshore, and the Gully seemed further away with each forecast update.
Eventually, we did make it back out there, and that’s when things got interesting. We had a decent first day of weather for Northern Bottlenose Whale research, but it did not last, and we all went to sleep that night knowing that things were expected to get a little bit hairy.
The next day, the sun rose. It was the end of June, my birthday. In fact, I wrote in my journal that morning, ‘it was the best of days, it was the worst of days.’
I think that really encapsulates the highs, and lows quite well. The winds were rising again. Another gale forecasted for that evening. But we were determined to make the most of that pre storm lull.
Shortly after breakfast, a group of Long Finned Pilot Whales appeared, around 40 individuals in total, socializing and slicing through the seas around us. What a birthday gift. That magical brief encounter was suddenly interrupted by a worrying sound from the boat. Something you never want to hear when you’re that far offshore. A maintenance issue. We’ll leave the details for another story.
Thankfully, it was one that could be solved fairly easily. With the crisis averted and our cortisol levels dropping once again, we resumed the survey. In the last part of the marginally good weather, Bottlenose Whale sightings were a little bit leaner that day. The conditions weren’t great, but I stayed optimistic.
Ironically, it was while sitting in the cockpit during my watch that the real surprise surfaced. One of my crewmates had asked me for the lyrics to the Gully Shanty, a sea shanty we’d had written back in 2021 that I’ve introduced on this podcast before during a story in northern bottlenose whales. •
I had just finished reciting it when I spotted a dorsal fin out of the corner of my eye. I remember thinking, what kind of dolphin is that now? But within seconds, I saw it, the unmistakable white eye patch of an Orca. And ’Ill admit I made a bit of a ruckus, a pretty loud one. I think everyone on Belenaimmediately knew there were orcas in the area.
It’s a nice thing about being a marine biologist is each time we see whales is just as special as the very first time we did. We love what we do. We spent the next 30 minutes with this small group of orcas, about half a dozen individuals.
Despite the rising wind, we managed to get some photos. They weren’t particularly curious, but they did pass close enough for ID shots on a few occasions.
What struck me the most as, someone who has seen many orcas in other parts of the world was just how variable some of their markings and other characteristics were. One had a strikingly small eye patch,whereas the rest appeared to be fairly average in size.
Others had wide, stout dorsal fins while the remainder had far narrower ones. Certainly more, variation than I expected, especially, in a small group. But in talking to those who work with North Atlantic Orcas, I later learned that this is not unusual in certain populations.
Eventually, we let them drift away through the waves, spotting a few other species before the winds once again picked up. I grabbed a quick nap. We were in for another rough couple of days before the storm really took hold. I woke up to the smell of baking. Here amidst the rising winds, my crewmates had made me a birthday cake. There was some joking about slipping Gravol into the cake itself.
As the sun neared the horizon, we spotted a few more Bottlenose Whales. And then once again, those distinctive dorsal fins on the horizon. The orcas had returned. We saw them not only once but twice in the same day. Without trying to look for them or stay with them.
This time they were feeding, surrounded by birds, spy hopping, showing other surface active behaviours. As the sea darkened and,the swells grew, we watched for a while. Given the rough seas as well as the fact that we can confirm they were the same group we had earlier. We stayed at a distance. Then, as the weather closed in, we drifted slowly apart.
I had waited more than a decade to see orcas in the North Atlantic. It was the first time they had ever been documented on a Northern Bottlenose whale survey to the Gully by our particular lab. Though there has been one or two other sightings over the years by others. Unlike, the Pacific Northwest, where orca sightings are common, in Nova Scotia, a handful of reports a year is considered lucky.
So on this strange and stormy birthday, part gale, part gift, I got my wish and they came tall, dark dorsal fins and white eye patches out, in the wild heart of the Gully.
-Elizabeth
This post was adapted from a voice recording in episode 82 of the Whale Tales Podcast, listen here
Leave a Reply