The morning presentation by Alun Anderson, the ex-editor of the New Scientist was excellent. He described the changes in climate over prehistoric, historic and recent times and some of the potential cataclysmic causes. He brought together a range of information, much of it very recent, and the outlook is gloomy. However, the afternoon cruise temporarily distracted us from Armageddon: the weather was unpromising – foggy with a heavy haar. We piled into Zodiacs much bundled, with the intention of landing, so I left behind the binoculars (visibility being 100 metres) and the video camera. What an error of judgement! After 30 seconds cruising, the Iloffe was lost in the mist. Martin had gone out alone and was reporting 30 beluga whales, but although he was showing on the radar, couldn’t be found. Suddenly, creamy humps could be seen dead ahead, but they were moving fast. Aaron decided to leave the others to find Martin and we began to feel the icy splinters of the spray. As we cruised up coast, we passed the hut built by one of the Franklin recovery teams and soon came upon Martin and approximately, roughly, in estimate – 700 (yes, seven hundred!) Belugas – adults, females, babies and adolescents. We hitched up the two Zodiacs so that the 4-stroke moved them both, the 2-stroke having disturbed the whales. After a 20 minute constant stream of grey, brown and white blubber, Patrick (see evening of Saturday 5th – he invited us to 312, next door, for ‘Paddy whiskey’) asked, “Can I ask an awkward question? What are we doing here?” So five of us transferred to Martin’s boat and the others headed back. Martin then had a great idea – he snuck into the lee of a small iceberg in the path of the ‘migration’ and pegged us to it with his Swiss Army knife. Inspired! The whales came within two body lengths, spotted us and veered round us. Dark grey babies 1.3 metres long shadowed their mums by the side or above her. They broke the surface, blew, porpoised and entertained us with their magnificent majesty until our noses and fingers were numb. Adrian’s photos are a source of great interest – we’ve chosen 16 from 318 for public scrutiny and written a limerick called ‘Out of the Mist’.
‘While the Zodiac skirted great shale
And the cold and the mist made us frail
Then the great Arctic God
Sent a wild roiling pod
Of Beluga – the ghostly white whale.’