Mother and Calf

The female humpback whale hovered 10 meters below the surface of the sea, motionless except for the nearly imperceptible flicks of her white-splotched, knobby pectoral fins. She looked like a funhouse mirror’s version of a 767 jet – an 40 ton, 15 meter cylindrical body, tapering gently toward the tail; her pectoral fins a set of truncated wings, and a tail fluke with tips that hung horizontally. Her skin was mottled, scraped in places, and the barnacles on her white underbelly and by her mouth were being tended to by several remoras, swimming along her skin and around her mouth. On each side, her eyes were closed; she was resting.

Beneath her, upper body nuzzling the mother’s belly, was her calf – just 10 weeks old, and already a hefty 7 tons. The calf lolled around the underbelly of the mother, then drifted slowly away, and began to ascend, turning as it went to face the five of us, snorkeling in 2000 feet of water, 2 miles from shore, and just 20 meters away from these two wondrous sea mammals. We went to look for whales, here in Vava’u, and now we were snorkeling -- barely remembering to breath -- with a mother-calf pair of humpback whales.

Jennifer in yellow, foreground

Our first encounter with the whales of Vava’u – nearly all humpbacks coming up from the Antarctic to breed and give birth – ended when the solo whale decided to dive deep and thus we missed a chance to swim with it. Jennifer had entered the water first – that’s her in the yellow-banded mask, as the whale continues to swim; and then, with a casual gliding movement, she lifted her fluke to the vertical, and slid down into the sea. When they dive, their flukes leave an flat slick of water on the surface for several minutes; experienced whale watchers can follow the “fluke prints” for a mile or so.

Diving deep -- 15 minutes below water

 Later, we spotted the mother and calf, and this time, they were willing to hang around the surface as we entered the water. We were led by a Tongan guide, and there were only four other swimmers allowed in at any one time. We slid in quietly, just 100 meters from the whales, and then swam gently toward their heads, coming to a collective stop about 50 yards away. The mother lay just below the surface, resting while her calf played around her, turning and twisting its body, getting used to the idea of its size. The calf relies entirely on its mother in the first 9-12 months, with the mother breast feeding the calf, depleting her stores of fat as the calf grows.

Jennifer in the yellow-band, mother on the surface

 These whales spend their summers in the Antarctic, feeding on krill, fattening up, before swimming several thousand miles to these warmer waters to give birth and breed. The calves, lacking sufficient body fat, would die of exposure if born in the cold waters of the Antarctic, and by the time they head back south, the calves are fat, and the mothers are weak and thin.

We spent over an hour in the water with these two whales, watching the calf surface repeatedly, learning how to move its body, practicing its breathing, and, once or twice, coming within 15 meters of us before turning slowly and descending back to the safety of its mother. Toward the end of our water time, we spotted a third whale approaching, and Jennifer watched it as it passed below the mother and calf.

Calf approaching Jennifer, in the yellow

A few minutes later, I was in the water, and the whale returned – a juvenile, perhaps 2 or 3 years old, looking to re-bond with a mother. The juvenile swam in and around the pair, with the mother protecting the calf by coming underneath the calf and lifting it with her mouth, so that the baby sat on top of the mother’s mouth. From time to time, the calf would nuzzle its mouth against its mom’s mouth, and our guide explained that whales have sensitive follicles around their mouths, and this nuzzling was a form of communication. Ignored, if not spurned, the juvenile then “spyhopped,” where it ascended vertically in the water, and, periscope-fashion, lifted its head out to peer around. After a time, unable to leverage its way into the mother-calf relationship, the juvenile swam away, consigned to independent living.

It was a magical trip, and one came away with a sense of profound respect for this community of sea creatures. Their movements transcended grace, with movements the result of the faintest flick of a fluke or fin. Neutrally buoyant, whales can hover at any depth, and have what seems like complete control over every part of their bodies, drifting and twisting in and around each other as if in a fantastic ballet. We never felt threatened, but it was clear our presence was noted; the mother would move imperceptibly to keep between us and her calf.

We expect to see more whales as we make our way south, toward the capital of Tonga; our control unit on the fridge went bust, and we’re having a replacement shipped in from Australia. No worries – we’ve got our freezer, for ice, and for entertainment, well, we’ve got the whales of Vava’u. They’re everywhere down here, and even if we don’t swim with them again, their surface antics will keep us enthralled for weeks.