The white whales fill Canada's Churchill River to breed and calve. Normal whale watching pales by comparison.
By GEORGE OXFORD MILLER
Published August 1, 2004
[Photos by George Oxford Miller]
A few of the estimated 3,600 beluga whales that migrate from icy Hudson Bay every summer swim in the Churchill River, in Manitoba.
A pod of belugas feeds near a boat of whale-watchers in the Churchill River in Manitoba.
A piece of 18th century history at the mouth of the Churchill River: The gun battery on Cape Merry and the Prince of Wales Fort guarded the area.
Churchill, Manitoba, a subarctic outpost on the Hudson Bay, is best known for the concentration of polar bears that congregate along its shoreline in October and November. But the "Polar Bear Capital of the World" has a twin claim to fame. The white bears share the glory with white whales. Every July and August, as many as 3,600 beluga whales migrate into the mouth of the Churchill River.
Unlike some whale-watching experiences where you see only a few creatures at a distance, the Churchill belugas are as accessible as the birds at your backyard feeder. We sign up to see them by kayak, Zodiac and, as a grand finale, to snorkel with them.
Kristen Westdal of Kayak Churchill takes six of us on the river at low tide. Backlit by the afternoon sun, the blow of dozens of whales rises off the water like ribbons of mist.
From kayak level, the white backs cutting through the waves look like surf crashing onto a beach. We paddle to the middle of the activity and meet a pod of about 10 whales. Intent on feeding, they charge toward us. They bodysurf in unison and gulp finger-sized capelin fish like french fries. If these were great white sharks, we'd be in serious trouble.
The whales keep coming, then at the last second they dive underneath our kayaks. Their ghostly images shape-shift in the clear water as they swim a few meters below us. To say that belugas are as white as the icebergs in their winter habitat is only half the truth. The white bodies reflect light to the surface like a laser beam from below. Tinted by the color of the river water, they glow a brilliant neon green.
The whales slow down and circle to investigate us. Our 17-foot, yellow kayaks are as long as a male beluga, except they weigh 3,000 pounds and can swim 13 mph. I'm fighting the wind and outgoing tide to keep from getting swept down river, yet even the 5-foot newborns cruise past with ease. The belugas don't hang around. After a cursory pass, they rush back to join the buffet line.
Every summer, the belugas migrate from the icy waters of Hudson Bay, considered an inland extension of the Arctic Ocean, to the mouth of the Churchill River. The river, 10 to 20 degrees warmer than the frigid bay, places less thermal stress on the calves. The whales give birth, breed and fatten up on the abundant fish supply.
We paddle to the river's mouth, which stretches 800 yards from Cape Merry to the Prince of Wales Fort National Historic Site on the opposite shore. Whales frolic in all directions. Gulls circle noisily and Arctic terns plummet into the waves to get their share of the bounty. At least 500 to 1,000 belugas join the feeding frenzy. Their white backs lace through the waves.
In contrast to the mature whales, the juveniles are grayish until they reach sexual maturity: four years for females, eight years for males. The new calves, a darker gray, ride their mother's slipstream like a shadow on her back.
The next day we join a Zodiac tour that starts with a visit to the 18th century Prince of Wales Fort, located on a peninsula overlooking the mouth of the river. Henry Hudson first entered the Hudson Bay in 1608 in search of the fabled Northwest Passage from Europe to the Orient. England claimed the territory and granted the Hudson Bay Company fur-trading rights. In 1731, the English began constructing the stone fort to protect the strategic town from the French. The massive undertaking took 40 years to complete.
Two park rangers accompany us to the historic site. Carolin Foster explains the history and Jackie Schollie packs the protection. She totes a shotgun loaded with slugs and a pistol with firecracker shots to scare off any polar bears lolling around the fort. More than 1,500 polar bears come ashore when the sea ice melts in June and stay in the area until the bay freezes over in November. Then they return to the ice to hunt seals.
"The masons quarried the stones for the fort from the outcrop along the shoreline," Foster says. "Some rocks weigh 2,800 pounds. The walls are 20 feet high and 40 feet wide. This is one of the largest stone forts in North America. Considering the harsh climate, the park archaeologist compares the engineering task to building the pyramids."
Fireweed covers the gravel peninsula with a scarlet blanket, but no bears appear. The fog rolls in giving a ghostly appearance to the fort, the first military boondoggle in the New World. Even though it bristled with 40 cannons, three French warships took the undermanned fort without firing a shot in 1772, one year after completion.
For the next two hours, we play among the belugas in the small Zodiacs. The mature whales pass gracefully through the waves with only their white backs reflecting in the light. Below us, they soar like wind-blown clouds. The smaller whales often flip their tail flukes out of the water when they dive.
Mike Marci of Sea North Tours carries a pocket-sized hydrophone so we can listen to the whale vocalizations. He drops the hydrophone overboard and plugs it into a 4-inch speaker. Suddenly, a chorus of chirps, squeals, squeaks and whistles fills the air. It reminds me of dawn in a rain forest. "Now you know why belugas are called sea canaries," Marci says.
The next morning, Wally Daudrich of Lazy Bear Lodge and Tours, treats us to the apex experience of whale watching. We don dry suits to protect us from the chilling water and join the whales in their own environment.
We motor into the river in a flat-bottom boat with a hydrojet motor. Instead of using a propeller, the motor shoots out a stream of water. Once again, a pod of whales circles, only this time the whales crowd behind us and swim in the stream of bubbles.
I plunge into the icy water and gulp through the snorkel at the shock, but soon forget the discomfort. Whales of all sizes float just a few yards below me, their bodies glowing electric green.
Belugas are one of the few whales that have movable necks. They swim on their backs and twist their heads to look up at us. Eerily, they glide past and stare directly into my eyes. Whose watching who here?
I hear the faint chatter of their vocalizations and wonder if they are echo-locating for fish or discussing the intrusion into their world. Though heavily harvested in their winter habitat by native hunters, the whales show no fear, only curiosity at our presence. Pods of 10 to 15 animals cruise around us unconcerned as we snap photos with our underwater disposables.
We swim with the gentle giants for an hour or more until the chill drives us onboard. Then we cruise along the shore and watch them feeding and cavorting in the shallows. They surface beside us and blow like an impatient truck driver tooting his horn. Ice-white mothers and gray yearlings race beside us.
With sun and calm water, we couldn't ask for more ideal conditions to see one of the world's most spectacular wildlife exhibitions. With whales in the summer, bears in the winter and an incredible nesting season for Arctic birds in the spring, Churchill is the unheralded capital of accessible wildlife for every season.
- George Oxford Miller is a freelance writer living in Clarksboro, N.J.
IF YOU GO
GETTING THERE: Access to Churchill, 300 miles from the closest road in Thompson, is by plane or train. Calm Air flies daily from Winnipeg to Churchill. Call toll-free 1-800-839-2256; www.calmair.com
VIA Rail Canada makes the 36-hour run from Winnipeg to Churchill three times a week. Call toll-free 1-888-842-7245; www.viarail.ca
