This time of year I talk a lot about whale watches as a great way to see seabirds you can’t easily see from land. The reality is that I haven’t been on a whale watch in years. It’s been so long that I still thought they cost $40. But last week I finally got out on a whale watch boat to see what’s actually being seen out there.
The trip was a thank you to Mass Audubon’s beleaguered seasonal shorebird biologists after several months of abuse from dog walkers and other irate, slightly inconvenienced beachgoers. We headed out of Plymouth on a Captain John boat, bound for Stellwagen Bank, that vast underwater plateau and national marine sanctuary north of Provincetown famous for whales and fishing. What followed was one of the most birdless, but also most exciting whale watches I have ever been on.
We didn’t see zero birds, but we sure tried. On the way out of Plymouth Harbor, a federally endangered Roseate Tern called overhead, just audible over the big boat’s engine. Twenty minutes later, we thought we saw a gannet way off to the south. Most gannets are still near the breeding colonies like those on the Gaspe Peninsula of Quebec right now, so they aren’t a guarantee, even from a boat. A Wilson’s Storm-Petrel or two showed distantly as well, but most of the bird-oriented folks strapped with nice binoculars didn’t even catch them.
Our first whale showed a little more than halfway between Plymouth and P’town, a young humpback. We checked him out, then moved on, not knowing he would later become the star of the whole trip. Closer to the bank we saw the usual fleet of a few dozen tuna boats parked in one small area, many showing the odd paraphernalia of this fishery, like high flying kites attached to live bait and what are basically bobbers the size of mooring buoys.
We caught fleeting glimpses of some actual tuna working under a shoal of panicked menhaden right next to the boat. Some fish were likely hundreds of pounds, and the poor baitfish were leaping into the air en masse to avoid their jaws. As I recorded with my phone in hopes of catching a breaching 700-pound tuna, the scene grew quiet. Then, out of nowhere, a massive fin whale lurched sideways into the frame, gulping the luckless fish by the hundreds.
All told we saw several humpbacks, most feeding invisibly at the bottom between surface appearances, and two fin whales. A couple of Cory’s Shearwaters were the sole representatives of the ocean-wandering seabirds guild – we saw no marauding jaegers stealing fish from terns; no Sooty, Manx, or Great Shearwaters; no phalaropes or Sabine’s Gulls or other hoped-for offshore oddities.
As we motored back across Cape Cod Bay, the whale watching over for the morning, I was talking to someone at the rail. Over their shoulder, I saw a whale shoot into the air and land with a massive splash. Only a few of us saw it, but the crew didn’t miss it – the captain swung the boat around and waited. It was the lone humpback from earlier, in what is normally the doldrums between P’town and Plymouth.
Over the next 15 minutes this young whale performed like it owed Captain John money, executing one spectacular, twirling breach after another, all within spitting distance of the rails. Even the seasick kid praying for death earlier in the trip seemed impressed. We also got our best seabird views on the return trip - some charming little Wilson’s Storm-Petrels were pattering over the oil slicks left by predator-munched menhaden, finally offering close views.
The moral of the story is, you may not see hundreds of shearwaters and other seabirds, but it’s always worth getting out in a boat. Sometimes the whales are pretty cool, too.
