Tromsø. Orcas and whales and orcas and whales

 
 

She sprays water once, twice, three times. Then she peeks her rounded head above water and makes her moves, oblivious to the countless pairs of eyes she has on her. She’s the first in dozens of orcas we’ll be seeing today, and she, as all others, is perfect.

I say ‘she’, but I’m not sure. Earlier they screened a few short videos in the comfy rooms here on the boat. They gave an overview of most whale species that populate the Tromsø waters at this time of the year, humpback whales and orcas being the most common. There was a whole chapter on dorsal fins and flukes, and how these body parts help identify each species. I loved it. I'd love to know everything about fins and flukes and which species has which, but I’m not yet as proficient as I’d like to be.

For a split second, as the video ran on screen and I got dressed to go out on deck again, I was teleported back to Svalbard, the boat trip to Billefjorden, and the poster of whale and bird species hanging on the wall by the cafe. I thought back to our guide Hans, to this day one of my most favourite encounters ever, and all the questions I asked him about this and that whale species (‘How do you distinguish between all of them?!’). I felt like I was back in Svalbard while also being here in Tromsø. I recognise this feeling: it strikes every time. I feel like I’m already nostalgic about today even though I’m barely halfway through it. I feel today as I felt that day in Svalbard and as I will feel next time I’ll be out at sea in the Arctic, whenever that will be.

As soon as our boat and the two sister boats we sailed out of Tromsø with arrive at the ‘hotspot’ where we’re likely to sight whales, everyone appears out on deck. Ten minutes, and two humpback whales, one after the other, just barely brush the water surface. There they are. They’re massive, gigantic, yet so light, effortless in their swift motion. I’m in trance – how am I going to take my eyes off of them to photograph them?

Then orcas appear, and of course I recognise them from their unmistakable dorsal fins! I’m obsessed with orcas’ dorsal fins. I keep staring at each one of them, marvelling at their absolute perfection: a shiny black, pointed triangle. I only get momentarily distracted when an eagle circles over the boat. I don’t know what I should focus on anymore: the sky? The sea? A few minutes of compulsive shooting ensue, but soon enough the eagle is gone, and I return my full attention to the sea.

That’s also when a humpback whale flaps its gigantic flukes against the water surface. I’m this close to taking The Shot as she (she?) does that, but I soon realise I’m going to miss it. I’m so stunned by the sight of it that it takes me half a second too long to come to and focus the camera. I’m left with the tip of her flukes only, but I know that being here to see this matters more – and it does.


A few hours later, when we’re almost back in Tromsø, I’m on deck again. As I lean against the iron railing of the boat in the immense silence of the sea, I try to put together all the pieces that made up today’s puzzle of beauty.

I realise that some days sound like exclamations. It happens with the most special days, those you find particularly hard to confine within the constraints of plain words, let alone whole sentences with a logical structure. With exclamations, though, one word says it all, two if you put a little ‘oh’ or ‘ah’ right before the word itself. So simple, yet so effective.

Today has been an exclamation of a day. There were ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s at the pink sunrise sky, more of them (these more like ‘ooooh’s’) at the rough, angry sea, waves tall enough to cause a few people to trip on their way to the cafe or get soaked as they stubbornly stood on deck – or, in rare cases, both things at the same time.

There were mesmerised looks, eyes incessantly glued to the immensity of the snowy mountains lining the fjord as far as the eye could see. Solemn-looking like soldiers on duty, these mountains tower over all things below with their rugged outline, yet never look down on any of them – unlike people. People should be more like mountains: they should learn from them.

There were more exclamations at the sunset light, the pale yellow hues reflecting on the ripples of the then calmer water surface, the miracle of blue hour, the first shameless stars, peeking out through the clouds even before daylight was gone.

Above all, there were the loudest ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s of the day, the breathless ones that echoed on deck when the boat got closer to (but respectfully distant from) the area of the fjord where humpback whales and orcas swam free and wild. There was no other way to convey such powerful beauty than by ooh-ing at all of it: the 2-metre-tall dorsal fins (orcas!), flukes so wide that they look gigantic even at a great distance (humpback whales!).

Everywhere I felt the true, whole perfection of an ecosystem that thrives on its own, the true, rare joy that comes from feeling like you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, and the familiar voice in my head that tells me, as it does every time I’m in the Arctic: ‘Oh how I love being here’.

 
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Tromsø. The Lights, or Homage to Amundsen