My phone rang at 12.40. “You’ve got to get here right away,” said Mariette. “The whales are just three metres from the harbour wall.”
Mariette, who lives in Scott Estate and sees the sea, is my unofficial whale crier. Just the week before, she’d been telling me about the thrilling experience of looking almost straight down into a whale’s blowhole somewhere beyond Flora Bay. I was green with envy: it was well into the season and I had yet to see a whale. I pleaded with her to let me know the next time they visited the bay.
And now she had, but I was in the city centre. I jumped into my car, grumbling at the other drivers slowing me down, and arrived at the Mariner’s Wharf parking area half an hour later.
Walking out on the harbour wall, I noticed a crowd of people, but Mariette had already gone. The whales were still there, though. However, they’d moved out into the bay and were now at least 20 metres away. Mildly disappointed, I watched them wallowing in the swells for a while, tail flukes and fins rising now and then as they rolled lazily against each other. It looked like there were three of them together in a raft, with at least two others further away. Every now and then one of them blew, the sound hollow, Darth Vadarish.
The crowd started to thin out and I wondered if I should leave too. But I was enjoying the feel of the sun on my back and listening to the excited chatter around me. Two young girls sitting on the wall nearby became part of the show. “Look at those barnacles,” said one as a whale pushed its head up for a breather. “Blistering barnacles!”
Then the unbelievable happened. The raft of three whales started drifting closer and closer, until they were right up against the harbour wall. We looked down straight onto them as they gave us the most wonderful show for several minutes.
The closest one was on its side under the water, so clear that we could easily see the massive head and body gliding past. Were they mating? Was one of them being supported by the others because it was ill?
I like to think that they were mating: I thought I caught a glimpse of an appendage linking them, like the fuel line linking a giant aeroplane to a tanker refuelling in midair. But maybe it was wishful thinking.
Who needs Hermanus? I’ve experienced much better sightings of whales right here in Hout Bay. But to strike it lucky, it helps to have your own personal whale crier. Thanks, Mariette.
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