Hey, Jonah, Are You in There

Hey, Jonah, are you in there? Diane Cole, edited by Marc Silver. U.S. News & World Report Mar 14, 2005. Vol. 138, Iss. 9, p. D14

In calm water rippled by the late summer drizzle, we kayaked past sea lions, porpoises, and countless jumping fish and gazed at white and gray seabirds fluttering overhead. With each stroke of the paddle, I heard and felt the sway of the water. At the same time, I was struck by what I did not hear or feel: the racket of engines and the vibrations of motors. Our whale- watching trip was underway.

My 15-year-old son and I had just one question: Where's Willy?

Our previous whale-watching trek, three years earlier, provided instant gratification--but at a possible cost to the whales. Inspired by the movie Free Willy, Edward and I boarded a catamaran that zipped us north from Boston to prime whale-watching waters in about an hour. We thrilled to high white sprays of water in our wake, even as we tried to decide how best to use our hands: hold the nose to cut off exhaust fumes or cover our ears to block the engine's thrum?

Our excitement at spotting an abundance of sea mammals overshadowed worries about any negative effects caused by the motor or fuel. After all, the helpful guide (quick! at five o'clock! another minke whale!) assured us the crew took care not to harm or frighten the creatures. Anyway, wasn't whale-watching itself an environmentally friendly activity?

See Willy. The answer, I've learned since, is "not necessarily." The exponential growth of whale- watching as a tourist business--it is a billion-dollar industry that increased in popularity at a rate of 12.1 percent a year throughout the 1990s, according to the International Fund for Animal Welfare--has a downside. Several studies cite whale-watching--along with pollution, whale hunting, and the noise from military patrol boats--as major threats to the well-being of orcas. One concern is that boat traffic will interfere with normal behavior, says Erin Heskett, senior program officer for the wildlife and habitat department at IFAW. "Noise may mask important communications among the whales about feeding, migrating, avoiding predators."

Which is why, this past summer, my son and I went in search of a different way to observe Willy's orca relatives: We would sea kayak near a whale hangout, limiting as much as possible any disturbances to them or their habitat.

Our destination was Johnstone Strait, Vancouver Island, British Columbia, home base of about 200 orcas. The distinctive families, pods, and clans have been roaming these waters for the past 10,000 years or so. At Robson Bight, they rub their bellies against the rocks. The Canadian government has declared the area an ecological preserve off limits to humans. In other areas, the guideline is to come no closer than 100 meters--about 330 feet--to the whales.

Further making sure we would keep a respectful distance was WeGo Kayaking, the conservation-minded outfitter with whom we booked our trip. Their ecolodge--a snug, wooden houseboat where electricity is generated by solar power--was our base for four days of kayaking through inlets and fiords. The cost was about $900 a person. Before signing up, I made sure their guides were well trained not just in kayaking but in first aid--and in whale-watching guidelines. "Keeping a distance is important for the kayaker's safety as well," says Ryan Moore, director of training and education for the International Ecotourism Society. You don't want to provoke a whale.

Taxi! Getting there was itself a trek. We flew from urban Vancouver to the small fishing town of Port Hardy, rode to the even tinier outpost of Port McNeill, and then hopped a water taxi to remote Maggy Point. Our journey removed us, by stages, from city bustle to serene countryside to a watery calm presided over by shifting clouds that mixed mist and sun.

Brian Danyliw, founder of WeGo Kayaking, and his wife, Ann, greeted us and promptly showed off their "wide-screen TV": the floating cabin's sliding glass door, which opens upon a splendiferous view of cedar forest, rippling waters, and lichen-splattered rocks whose green- blue-yellow-gray-brown colors are constantly in flux, depending on the tides, clouds, sun, and moon.

The key to finding whales was to listen to a shortwave radio channel I came to think of as whale- watch central: orca spottings from marine biologists, whale monitoring groups, and kayakers like us. They aim to alert whale-watchers and to ward off boats veering too close to the preserve or aggressively following whales outside the preserve.

Ecofriendly whale-watching can be a bit frustrating. We would paddle in the vicinity of the whale reports, pick a spot, and stay still. On Days 1 and 2, we saw a bear cub foraging among the trees on a rocky ledge, several eagles, gulls, herons, and seals--but no whales. Their routes and ours had not yet coincided.

That began to change on our third day. Radio callers reported numerous orcas about 5 miles from the lodge. Off we went. As we settled on a rocky beach, we took out binoculars and proceeded to watch--and watch. By midafternoon, about a half a mile way, across the strait, a spectral spray appeared. And then another. And the merest hint of a fin. And that was it. For that day, anyway.

But our patience paid off. The next day we sat in kayaks and watched first one, then two, then three and four orcas spray and swim and surface and dive across the strait. One hundred yards away, with no noisy engines to drown it out, we could hear the whoosh of air and spray. For an hour or more, we watched them make waves as they surfaced and dived and flapped their mighty tails, even as we did our best not to make the slightest ripple. After all, we knew who lived here, and who was just visiting.

More information about whale-watching kayak trips is at www.usnews.com.

[Illustration] Pictures: DON'T CALL ME ISHMAEL. Environmentally sensitive whale watchers use kayaks to get close (but not too close) to orcas in the inlets and fiords of British Colum