The paddle was an early one, the type where you squint your eyes at the sky trying to determine, fog or rain? As my group of kayakers began to get ready, the universe decided fog and the sun fought to burn through it, lift it, and whip it around until we could see our destination at Walpole Island.
We were in the ultimate humpback playground. We called it “whale soup.”
At our guide meeting we tell stories (only slightly exaggerated) and compare notes, adding our collective knowledge together for our next visit to each place. It sometimes feels like we are the victors of a hard fought battle, divvying up the treasures of the day.
Coming out on deck at 7:00 am and being greeted by a breaching whale is not a bad way to start things off. It gets even better when you find that this excited young humpback is being escorted by several others, each taking a turn showing off their massive flukes as they dive deep, preparing for another lunge.
I grab my binoculars and head to the bow. Sure enough, a humpback whale has just rocketed out of the water some six or seven hundred yards away.