Paddling the Sound

The morning has a purple hue. Mist sits atop the dark glassy water, hiding the whales I can hear breathing across Blackfish Sound. In front of me, islands curve gracefully out of the ocean, blanketed in the forest green of pines. Huge groups of small, pale jellyfish pulse beneath my kayak, pulled by the current.

The sky is overcast. White fluffy clouds with no definition of where one starts and another begins. Small birds flit about, likely looking to prey on the fish disturbing the mirror-like water. I love watching them. You never know where one is going to pop up.

Small black and white fins pierce the surface around us periodically, silent as the animals raise their seemingly cubed bodies out of the surface for a breath before disappearing again. Porpoises enjoying the quiet of the morning. Their little breaths are so small that I can't hear them through my gentle paddling.

There are no boats, save for the group of seven brightly colored kayaks making their way across Blackfish Sound. We started the trip yesterday, but it already feels like we've spent years together. The people around me are deep in conversation as we attempt to keep our kayaks in a line, side by side.

I wouldn't have it any other way. This area screams home to me more than any place in the world ever has. Though it's frequently used by boaters, this place is wild, almost untouched. This is true nature. It fills my soul with it's beauty. It feels like strings of this place are wrapping themselves around my heart and threatening to never let go. And I want to hold on to them with all of my power.

More humpback blows sound in the evaporating fog. In my daze, the sound of the guide's voice reach my ears. He's explaining the physics of sound to another of our group. 

Sound travels well over the water. That's why we can hear whales in Blackney Passage a few miles to our right. Once we hear a whale, it's too late to look for it, even when sound travels as fast as it does. In the seconds it takes to reach our ears, the animals have already dipped beneath the surface of the ocean.

But sometimes, you see the blow before you hear it. A huge stack of what looks like smoke rising out of the sea. Makes them easy to spot. After three or so breaths, their huge, black flukes come out of the water in a perfect silhouette. Just for a moment, until they dive vertically into the depths.

Humpback whales can easily travel miles and miles. But if I know anything, it's that they go back and forth across the same stretch of sea, never really leaving their chosen feeding site. They also have the capability to stay down for an hour, but I haven't seen more than a ten minute dive before.

The mist evaporates and the sun shines, glinting off of the small ripples my kayak makes. Shore looms in front of us, brown and orange, contrasting the ocean below us and the trees growing out of the island's rich soil. 

Now the only thing that is missing is the killer whales. At this time of year, they frequent this area for the salmon. They left the day before I arrived for this trip. I'm hoping against hope they show up. Their black fins cut effortlessly through the water and their calls fill the underwater world. I'm ever hopeful that they'll choose to show up.

But for now, I'll enjoy the magic tugging at my soul.