Whale migration in Australia: Witnessing nature’s marvel

Experiencing Australia for a wildlife enthusiast is nothing short of a dream come true. Over 45 million years of separation from Gondwana has allowed evolution to dance to a different tune here than the rest of the world. 

As an international student from a developing country living on a meagre monthly stipend in the UK, literally on the other side of the world, this dream is a far-fetched fantasy to say the least.

But life has a funny way of surprising you, and my fantasy saw the grace of realisation in the form of a travel grant supporting my attendance at the 32nd International Congress for Conservation Biology in Brisbane last June. 

Between seeing a platypus in the wild and quokka traffic on Rottnest, among many others, picking favourite moments in this unendingly eventful month-long backpacking trip would be tough to nail down. It would be unfair if I did not acknowledge the best moment in this trip.

Megafauna migration in the Pacific

In Queensland, North Stradbroke Island, located on the east coast of Brisbane, hugs Moreton Bay on the Coral Sea, a prime hotspot for witnessing whale migration.

The largest humpback whale migration with occasional southern right whale visits in the region occurs northward from the icy Antarctic feeding grounds along this Pacific Humpback Highway, up through the warm currents of the Great Barrier Reef and back again between May and December. 

My good fortune would have me present in Brisbane at the right time. 

A giant breach

With the company of three friends I made from the congress, I embarked on my way to North Stradbroke on the morning of 21 June, my lens cleaned and batteries charged. After a quick breakfast, I separated from my friends to head down the North Gorge Walk as I thought I had spotted a breaching whale from the balcony of the cafe. 

I was the only one who seemed to have spotted it, and with the day being cloudy and my eagerness at its peak, an earnest hallucination was a real possibility. With my neck and right forearm suffering the weight of my 150-500mm Sigma lens, I marched onwards, determined to record at least one whale breaching. 

The walk down brought about delightful surprises one after the other. I was greeted by a stunning view of a group of kangaroos, huddled together with the vast blue ocean in the background. 

Scenes you see on a BBC Earth documentary were right there in front of me in real time, present, and grounded. I could have stayed in that moment for the rest of eternity and died a happy man, but I am as greedy as the next person, and whale migration was on the agenda.

Walking along the cliffs, I saw what resembled a fire hydrant bursting, and moments later, a giant emerged. I missed the initial shots due to the suddenness of the moment. But I was determined to capture this odyssey in digital binaries immune to the test of time.    

Marsupials on land, cetaceans at sea

I quickly found a spot with a clear view of the ocean along the coast and turned myself into a military turret. Where one whale breached, others were bound to follow. Soon after, I was treated to what cannot be put into words: a pair of humpback whales, one spouting and the other fully breaching. 

My fingers never reacted this fast, and the shutter noises felt like a sewing machine on steroids. Did I get it? I checked the gallery, and my heart was full. It was not National Geographic quality, but I did get a decent frame, and it was mine to keep. I sat there for a while in hopes of more, but I figured I had used up my luck. Little did I know that my scepticism would soon be proven otherwise.

I was eventually joined by my friends, and what awaited us was nothing short of paradise. The giants appeared again, breaching and tail-slapping in sync. While the whales danced in the background, we were treated to a pod of bottlenose dolphins surfing in front, and eventually green sea turtles surfacing close to the reefs. 

Walking along the cliffs, I saw what resembled a fire hydrant bursting, and moments later, a giant emerged. I missed the initial shots due to the suddenness of the moment. But I was determined to capture this odyssey in digital binaries immune to the test of time.

While the water was teeming with life, Australasian gannets gifted us an airshow dive bombing the ocean, spraying salty mist everywhere. As the sky and sea played their part, the land joined in too, with us being surrounded by kangaroos and wallabies, nestled cozily within a wildlife orchestra. 

This is an experience that will stay with me till my last breath. The sheer awe of the moment. The grandiose of the world and the humbling feeling of human insignificance in comparison. I would be bold enough to compare it to Nirvana, and I would gladly die alone on that hill.

Once many, now few

It would appear that the ocean and this pilgrimage of giants are boundless, but today's reality sings to a rather sinister tune instead. The same migration my friends and I saw that day, people from the same spot would have seen thousands more pre-whaling era. While it is important to acknowledge the recovery we have witnessed over the years, our beautiful blue Earth is still plagued by core issues driving the biodiversity crisis we are facing today.

Tragedy often slips through the cracks and returns in a different outfit. What we once did through whaling, we now do through pollution, exploitation, and human-mediated climate change instead. Our oceans are choking, our skies are suffocating, and our forests are burning. The rate at which we are changing the world is to our own detriment.

The whales sing beautiful songs. They carry with them stories from pole to pole, across generations and ecosystems. They leave in their wake footprints eternal to time. Maybe our role as a species is indeed to destroy. To exploit and pillage. 

Perhaps it is through this ordeal evolution will run its course, taking resilient species across, synthesising newer ones, and leaving behind the unfortunate laggards. But perhaps our role could also be one of preservation. A reality where we coexist in respect instead. These are philosophical questions I cannot answer, but I do know for a fact that it would be a real shame if the whales stopped singing.