After our ten guests arrived, we were soon out of the harbour and into the disorientating wall of nothingness - and on top of that, there was a seriously uncomfortable swell rocking the boat like a rubber duck in the bath at the mercy of an overexcited toddler. My sea legs are good, but even I had to breathe deeply, focus on the horizon, and keep talking to ride out the worst of it...
What seemed like longer than an hour or so later, and we glimpsed our first Minke - thank the gods! - but not everyone got on it, and my primary concern before we drop our shoulders is for everyone to get views; but this one soon disappeared in the gloom and behind the rolling waves... after another lengthy ride further north-east out into the North Sea, however, there was another. And another. And another....
And so began perhaps our greatest, most thrilling and memorable few hours in all the decade's worth of trips we've sailed out there (and I/you thought last week's was special!). About five nautical miles NE of Staithes, and with much credit to Sean for instinct and sonar skills, we hit a rich, dense column of Herring spawn, and suddenly we were in a maelstrom of intense cetacean-seal-seabird feeding frenzies that almost beggared belief, at least in the North Sea, off our beloved Yorkshire coast.
At the time I remember thinking, "this is going to be nigh-on impossible to describe", and well, I was right - quite how to do justice to the following few hours is beyond my capabilities, but try and imagine bobbing around gently (yes, the swell miraculuously subsided, and the fog steadily receded) many miles from land, in perfect silence, but for the constant blowing of whales at all ranges, with a bunch of fellow enthusiasts just as excited as yourself (and that's saying something).
Humpback and Minke
Then picture those whales literally everywhere you look around the boat, in every direction and at every distance, until you realise you've easily thirty or more surrounding you... some hunting in groups, some diving under the boat, others loafing around, and still others almost colliding with the Humpbacks. Wait, did somebody say Humpbacks?
Our first sighting of a Humpback in the fog....
Incredibly, yes - not one, but two, one of which effectively stayed with us for over two hours, often just metres from the boat and almost within touching distance, clearly totally unconcerned (or, perhaps more likely, curious) about our presence, with a second, more wary individual keeping its distance. After years of patiently hoping, scanning, and persisting, here they were, feasting on what must be a beyond exceptional Herring spawning event.
For the Minkes to play second fiddle to the Humpbacks is not only unfair but (honestly) untrue, for they provided a phenomenon so outrageous not only in the show they provided, but in their sheer, ridiculous abundance. We travelled up and down the line of the feeding frenzy for several hours, stopping regularly, and at no point could we count less than 25 animals around us - indeed, somtimes more like 35-40 - in frantic, localised feeding mode.
In the cold light of day I would estimate we were in the presence of a hundred or more - which, in the cold light of day - is nothing less than mind-blowing. Whether this unprecedented influx continues, or dissipates, or even grows, who knows; maybe I'll be blogging about similar numbers and experiences next week, when I'm back on the boat. But maybe I'll never get to experience anything like it again off the Yorkshire coast, and for that, I'm eternally grateful.
(More posts to follow in the next few days regarding the fantastic seabirds and other wildlife experiences we also enjoyed on the day!).
