Reflecting Between Ports : Pacific Birding and Whale Watching

“For whatever we lose (like a you or a me), it’s always ourselves we find in the sea.”

e.e. cummings

Morning at Sea

With the sun rising, we opened our curtains to look out the porthole and discovered clear skies. There will be no docking and no excursions today. This is our final sea day as we cross out of America and back into Canada, heading towards Victoria BC, before...a day later, we reach our final port of call, Vancouver, for disembarkation.

With no port today, the Daily Program is once again packed with activities, including insight talks, dance lessons, theatrical performances, and other suggested diversions. Yet it was difficult to imagine spending much time indoors. If the weather held, we knew where we would be - outside, on deck, watching as we sought to hold onto our last moments at sea.

Since today presented us with no immediate reason to rush, we spent extra time in bed simply relaxing. There was no need to be dressed for a certain hour, no need to be ready to step on shore before the crowds. With that said, Sean never relaxes for long and eventually got up before me, dressed, and went in search of coffee, pastries and the day’s crossword puzzle - which he brought back for both of us to enjoy.  

With his return to our cabin, I too got up, got dressed and completed (or attempted to complete) the day’s puzzle challenge. When we had reached the point where no further answers seemed immediately forthcoming, I reached for the program to see what the day might hold.

Notes from the Navigator

Today’s Notes from the Navigator was titled - At Sea, en route to Victoria, British Columbia, Canada.  Accordingly,

“After letting go her lines yesterday afternoon and disembarking the pilot, Queen Elizabeth exited from the Sitka Sound proceeding out into the Pacific Ocean and followed south easterly courses. Today, we will be passing Haida Gwaii during the day. As night falls, we will trace the western coastline of Alaska and Canada, traversing the vast expanse with awe-inspiring views. This evening, on the port side, we will be treated to the sight of Vancouver Island, proudly stranding as the eleventh largest island in Canada, showcasing its natural wonders and captivating landscapes. In the early hours of tomorrow morning, we will venture into the renowned Juan de Fuca Straight. This legendary waterway serves as a boundary, separating the Canadian province of British Columbia from the state of Washington in the United States. We will follow our charted tracks through the strait before making our final approaches to Victoria.”

Reading it, I was struck once again by how differently journeys are experienced from how they are described. On paper, our time on Queen Elizabeth was a precise and continuous line - coordinates, landmarks, and destinations. In practice, however, each voyage, to me, came in fragments and delightful moments – the roll of the ship, changing light, new landscapes, and the excitement of seeing something beyond the railings of the deck. Perhaps I am just being overly romantic about this voyage as it comes to an end.

Some of the listed activities on board for today included:

9:00 AM Port Presentation : Victoria - Royal Court Theatre
10:00 AM Cunard Insights : Naturalist, Dr. Rachel Cartwright - Royal Court Theatre
11:15 AM Line Dancing with the Entertainment Team - Queen’s Room
2:00 PM Duo Panche - Garden Lounge
8:45 PM Masquerade Gala Night - Queen’s Room

Each of which sounded interesting, but with clear weather outside, I wondered whether we would get to any of them. Only time would tell.

Daily Routines on Queen Elizabeth

As the journey to Alaska and back had passed by, we became increasingly aware that our days on board Queen Elizabeth had settled into a different set of routines than we had on board Queen Mary 2 during our transatlantic voyages. On these ocean crossings, our time at sea had followed a fairly consistent routine – shaped by the structure of uninterrupted sea days, by the ship and by the traditions on board.

Here on QE, however, that routine had shifted into two distinct patterns – sea days and port days, each carrying its own priorities. These differences were a reflection of the variations in the voyage to Alaska, which in turn changed our behaviours. The most notable of which was how the wildlife, birds, seascape and landscapes of Alaska had pulled us outside away from the interior activities of the ship. Meals in Britannia, lectures, and even High Tea in the Queen’s Room began to feel secondary to what was taking place beyond the railings.

On Queen Mary 2, our days typically follow a regular routine. Breakfast in Britannia and time spent reading the Daily Program, followed by an Insight talk by a guest speaker. By midday, we would find ourselves out on deck walking the promenade or watching the horizon for birds and marine life. Outside, we listen to the Captain’s noon announcement, then retreat again into the ship – perhaps to read, attend afternoon tea, or explore before preparing for the evening. Nights on QM2 would lead us to dinner in Britannia, gala nights, and time in the Chart Room or Commodore Club, both of which provide a satisfying close to each day.

On Queen Elizabeth, that structure and those routines never quite took hold. In fact, they shattered. 

Here, more often than not, we wake up with the light and move quickly – making coffee in our room, grabbing a simple breakfast in the Lido buffet, sometimes carrying out onto the aft deck so that we could eat while watching the waves, or the coastline or the approach to port. From this point onward, during sea days, our day would be spent almost entirely outdoors. Hours and entire days passed as we watched for whales, followed seabirds, or simply stood at the railing chatting and enjoying the motion of the seas.

Meals became something we fit in around the landscapes and seascapes rather than something that defined the day. A pastry here, a cookie there, coffee in the afternoon - sometimes with a splash of Baileys and a slice of cake - all taken between sightings and between observations. Evenings followed much the same pattern. Though we dressed up more formally for dinner, as we always do, it became increasingly difficult to justify stepping inside for two or three hours when the light outside was changing, the sun was setting, the coastlines were still visible, or when there was even the possibility of seeing something more.

This means that even in the evenings, we chose to remain outside for as long as we could. This meant that our dinners too were simpler and from the buffet, and taken before ending the night in the Commodore Club. There, enjoying a couple of drinks, we listened the music of the on-board pianist, and we could sit and talk about everything we had seen throughout the day - sitting beside the large windows...just in case. 

Alternatively, in Port days we balanced our time between being on deck and being in towns exploring. In the end, it was not that we abandoned our Cunard routines, but that our routines shifted. On QE, it was not the ship and itinerary that structured our time, but the natural world beyond it.

Looking Outward

Today, standing on the back deck as Queen Elizabeth continued her steady course southward, we found ourselves once again drawn to the railings, watching the surface of the sea and skies above. The day was overcast, low clouds hanging heavily, though there were moments when the light began to break through, hinting at clearer skies somewhere beyond the horizon. It felt like one of those in-between days when there was the possibility of seeing more.

Around us, however, not everyone shared that sense of anticipation.

A man nearby on deck voiced his frustration aloud, repeating variations of the same complaint: “nothing to see… haven’t seen anything… no whales or any nature out here.” Others nearby nodded in agreement and added their own complaints about "sea days", as though the landscape had somehow failed to meet expectations. We found ourselves exchanging a glance, unsure what to think. Because the truth, at least as we had experienced it, was something entirely different.

Even with the amount of time we spent on deck - far more than most - I suspect we saw only a fraction of what was actually there. And yet that fraction had been extraordinary. Over the course of the voyage, we had watched the tall, unmistakable spouts of humpback whales rise from the water, followed by the slow arch of their backs and, occasionally, the lift of a tail before they slipped beneath the surface again. At other times, there had been only the briefest suggestion of life - a small, dark fin cutting the water for a moment before disappearing - in this region, likely either a humpback or minke whale, though often they were never up long enough to confirm.

There were dolphins weaving through the waves, and Dall’s porpoises moving quickly through the water – almost too fast to follow. Nearer to shore and in stiller waters we had seen harbour seals lounging on rocks, and later others hauled out on floating ice, lifting their heads as the ship passed. Even the surface of the ocean itself revealed life if you paused long enough to look - jellyfish drifting just below, their movements just beneath the wake.

And always, above and around it all, there were birds - Tufted puffins, unmistakable even at a distance once you learned their shape, bobbing in the swells or disappearing beneath the surface in sudden dives. Rhinoceros auklets, black-footed albatrosses, and common murres were often spotted flying low over the water and whitecaps. 

In addition, we spotted dozens of Bald eagles along the coast, gulls gathering in tight flocks where fish were being driven to the surface, and even a juvenile Cooper’s Hawk seen days earlier at Vancouver harbour. At any point on this voyage, one would have had to have been blind to have missed seeing an Eagle as they were on every rooftop, every lamp post and repeatedly along the coastline eating salmon. Admittedly, not every species was dramatic or amazing, but there was certainly more than abundant life for those willing to watch.

Which is why these complaints stayed with us. It again began to feel as though many on board were waiting for something specific - a scheduled moment, a guaranteed sighting, an appointed hour of what we now call “whale time.” As though nature could be reserved in advance, like a seat at dinner or a place on an excursion. As though the appearance of a whale, or a bear, or an eagle should arrive on demand when the captain or crew push a button. But that is not how this works, this is not how nature works.

Out here, nothing is given so easily. The ocean does not perform, and the coastline does not arrange itself for our convenience. What it offers instead is something unique but also far more demanding: time and the opportunity to pay attention.

Standing there, watching the ship’s wake stretch out behind us back to the north, I found myself returning to the simple notion that life, in many ways, is a reflection of what we allow ourselves to see.

Morning Enrichment

With the skies remaining overcast and a light rain beginning to fall, we finally stepped back inside the ship. After several hours on deck, the warmth was welcome. We stopped briefly to grab a chocolate cookie (or three) before making our way toward the Royal Court Theatre for the morning Insight lecture. The talk was delivered by Dr. Rachel Cartwright, the voyage naturalist whose notes and observations had already become a familiar presence throughout the journey.

Today's talk, titled The Wild Side of British Columbia, explored the remarkable wildlife that inhabits the coastal ecosystems we had been travelling through for the past several days. From killer whales patrolling the coastal waters to the rare and elusive spirit bears that inhabit remote sections of the Great Bear Rainforest, the presentation offered a broad introduction to the biodiversity of British Columbia’s coastal regions.

Through photographs, maps, and stories drawn from field research, Dr. Cartwright described the complex marine and terrestrial systems that sustain these animals. The talk was well attended, and judging by the number of questions afterward, many passengers seemed excited by the fact that the waters and forests surrounding our voyage were home to far more life than might be visible from the ship alone.

Lunch in the Golden Lion

With the rain still falling outside and little appeal in returning once again to the bustle of the Lido, we made our way instead to the Golden Lion. From the moment we stepped inside, the change in atmosphere was immediate. The Golden Lion has always been one of our favourite spaces on Cunard ships - warm, welcoming, and reminiscent of a traditional British pub. Dark wood interiors, dimmed lighting, and live folk music create a cozy environment that is hard to leave.

Today, it also reminded us of something we have often noticed on ships: passengers frequently refer to lounges and restaurants as “venues.” The word always strikes us as slightly strange. It feels transactional, almost as though one were attending a conference or moving between stops at a fairground. But on Cunard ships, at least in our experience, these spaces rarely feel like venues. They feel like places. The short were people come to settle in for a while, chat, relax and enjoy a quiet lunch, a bag of crisps, or a couple of pints.

Today we ordered a filling lunch – a fried egg with forest mushrooms on toasted country bread for me and a Fish and Chips for Sean. To that I added a slice of chocolate fudge cake - hardly a modest choice, but entirely appropriate for a rainy afternoon at sea – at least I think so. Sean alternatively added a pint of Cunard Red to his meal.

It turned out to be an excellent decision, and easily redeemed what had otherwise been a somewhat forgettable series of lunches earlier in the voyage.

Hot Chocolate, Rum and Blankets

Warmed by lunch, we stepped back out onto the decks only to discover that the morning’s rain had left everything slightly damp. The clouds still hung low over the sea, and a steady drizzle drifted across the ship - not quite heavy enough to drive us indoors, but certainly enough to make standing at the railings less appealing.

Instead, the always attentive staff outside suggested a terrific compromise.

On the central pool deck, beneath the sheltered walkway, we settled onto a lounger, and the Garden Lounge bar staff brought us a pair of thick Cunard blankets, which we promptly wrapped ourselves in. From there, we could still watch the water and the passing seabirds, while remaining comfortably out of the rain. A mug of hot chocolate appeared, followed not long after by a plate of brownies - small luxuries that seemed perfectly suited to the grey afternoon.

Bird Watching on Queen Elizabeth, 2024

As we sat there quietly birding from beneath our blanket, I could not help but reflect on how different this experience was from my earlier years working as an ornithological field researcher. Back then, birding often meant navigating marshes, wading waist-deep through cold rivers, or standing for hours in driving rain while trying to record observations in a soggy notebook. This, by comparison, felt almost decadent.

Ornithology Field Work in the Kawarthas in the 1990s

At one point, a bartender passed by and paused to check on us, asking whether we needed another blanket and suggesting - with a conspiratorial smile - that a small measure of rum in the hot chocolate might help “keep the chill off.” It was the sort of small kindness that seemed perfectly in keeping with the atmosphere on board.   And so we remained there for a while, wrapped in warmth while the rain fell steadily around us, watching birds fly low over the dark waters and feeling, despite the weather, imminently cozy.

Top Deck Whale Sightings

Eventually, the rain eased, and the air began to clear. Wanting to stretch our legs after sitting for so long beneath blankets on the pool deck, we made our way up to the ship’s upper jogging track. From there, the view opened out across the water, and as it cleared, the visibility improved enough that we could once again scan the sea with some optimism.

Before long, the familiar signs of life began to appear. Gulls hovered in loose lines over the waves, while other seabirds skimmed across the surface. Then, not far off the starboard side, something caught our attention - a sudden flash of white and a sharp movement cutting through the water.

At first glance, it looked like the fin of a small whale, but the behaviour quickly gave it away.

A moment later, the animal surged forward again, throwing up a distinctive spray of water ahead of it - the unmistakable “rooster tail” splash that identifies a Dall’s porpoise moving quickly across the surface. Once you know the pattern it becomes surprisingly easy to recognize. They move with remarkable speed and energy, their dark bodies slicing through the water while the white patches along their flanks and fins flash briefly against the grey waters.

We stood there watching for several minutes as the porpoise disappeared and reappeared among the swells.  Behind them several humpback whales soon followed!

Kelp Forests and Seals

Encouraged by the sighting, we continued wandering slowly along the deck, scanning the water as we went. More birds appeared, and not long after, we spotted the rounded heads of Eared Seals rising quietly from the water, wrapped in long strands of kelp. At times, they seemed almost tangled in the seaweed, yet the behaviour was entirely deliberate. Kelp forests act as natural anchors in coastal waters, allowing seals and sea otters to wrap themselves loosely in the floating fronds while they rest. In tidal channels and exposed coastlines where currents can carry animals far from sheltered feeding grounds, the kelp provides a kind of living mooring line. By curling themselves into these floating beds, they can sleep, groom, or simply drift without being swept away, rising periodically to breathe before settling again among the swaying blades of the kelp forest.

The coasts of British Columbia and Southeast Alaska are among the best places on Earth for giant kelp forests because several environmental conditions come together in the same place. The cold waters of the North Pacific carry abundant nutrients that are continually renewed by tidal mixing, upwelling, and the constant movement of water through narrow channels and fjords. These nutrients, combined with long summer daylight hours and relatively cool temperatures, create ideal growing conditions for kelp, which can grow astonishingly fast

Beyond their impressive size, kelp forests are among the most productive ecosystems in the ocean. Their towering fronds create complex underwater habitats that shelter juvenile fish, crabs, sea stars, and countless invertebrates, forming the base of a rich coastal food web. Many species that define the northern Pacific coast - including salmon, rockfish, seals, sea lions, and seabirds - depend either directly or indirectly on the productivity of these forests. Kelp also moderates the physical environment by slowing waves, reducing coastal erosion, and absorbing large amounts of carbon dioxide from the ocean and atmosphere.  Around these kelp beds, we also spotted large Northern Elephant Seals. 

This means, so far on this journey, that we have seen a number of different types of seals, including Harbour Seals, Eared Seals, and Elephant Seals, as well as a pair of  Stellar Sea Lions!

Exploration, Whales, and Tufted Puffins

Encouraged by the porpoise and seal sightings as well as the steady return of wildlife to the waters around Queen Elizabeth, we continued wandering along the outer decks. Days at sea often seemed to go this way - one observation leading naturally to another - and before long, we were once again watching the horizon for signs of movement. Ultimately, it was not long before we spotted our next species.

Not far off in the distance, we soon noticed the tall misty columns of whales spouting, their breaths briefly visible against the grey sky before fading back into the sea. We kept watching, hoping that it might surface again. But it was something else that caught our attention next.

Among the seabirds we began to notice drifting in the open waters were Tufted Puffins – which, given their appearance, are quite distinctive. From a distance, they appear almost entirely black, bobbing quietly in the swells like small floating bottles, but a closer look reveals the striking contrast of their bright orange bills and pale facial masks. During the breeding season, adults carry long golden plumes - the “tufts” that give the species its name - which stream back from behind the eye. Though awkward in flight and somewhat comical in appearance, puffins are superb divers, plunging beneath the surface to pursue small fish and squid. Seeing them scattered across these waters was a reminder that the productive marine ecosystems of the Inside Passage support not only whales and seals, but also colonies of seabirds that spend most of their lives far from land.

In many places, these birds gather near floating kelp forests and tidal rips, where the nutrient-rich waters concentrate small fish and plankton, creating feeding grounds that sustain everything from seabirds to whales along the coasts of British Columbia and Alaska.

As we continued watching, the larger pattern of the scene slowly revealed itself. A small cluster of fishing vessels had gathered some distance behind the ship, while nearby, a collection of whales surfaced intermittently. Around them, flocks of gulls wheeled and called above the water.

It was a familiar chain of events playing out across the sea. Where fish gather, birds quickly follow - and often whales as well, driving prey upward from the depths. One of the simplest tricks for spotting whales at sea, we have learned, is simply to watch the birds. When large flocks begin circling and diving over a patch of water, it often signals that something is happening beneath the surface. Standing there on the aft deck, watching whales surface among feeding birds and fishing boats, it felt as though the entire ecosystem and its interconnections had briefly revealed themselves all at once.

The excitement and species never seemed to end this afternoon. Each new sighting becomes clear proof that even if a day begins overcast and rainy, conditions can give way to wonder!

Masquerade Gala and Lounging on Deck

That evening, the ship was preparing for the second Gala Night of the voyage - the Masquerade Gala - an event we had attended and thoroughly enjoyed during previous crossings aboard Queen Mary 2. This time, however, the excitement of the afternoon had left us in no hurry to retreat indoors. Instead, we chose to remain outside where we could continue watching the seascape and stars at sea before we were back on land.

As such, rather than dressing for the ballroom, we wandered briefly through the Lido to grab a couple of small treats and literally lounged (and birded) on the aft deck of Queen Elizabeth as the day arced towards evening.

Settled into our chairs, we simply watched the sunset around us.

Beyond the railings, seabirds continued to pass occasionally in the fading light, and from time to time the distant surface of the water would shift in ways that made us wonder whether another whale might surface. Ultimately, however, the night was quiet, and we enjoyed the simple luxury of time with nothing to do and nowhere in particular to be.

Late Voyage Realities

Later, we made our way to the Commodore Club, where we settled in with a couple of glasses of rosé wine while IDing whales with a guidebook from the library. From the forward windows, the darkness of the ocean stretched out peacefully ahead of the ship.

Throughout the day and certainly by tonight, the tone aboard Queen Elizabeth had begun to shift. This was the final true sea day of the voyage, and the gradual process of re-entry into ordinary life had quietly begun. The lecture halls were less crowded than earlier in the journey, and conversations increasingly turned toward practical matters - flights home, ferry connections, and travel plans once we returned to Vancouver.

The decks, though quieter overall, held a few more people standing at the railings, as though they were trying to savour the final hours at sea. In the lounges, conversations went on longer, a few more drinks were imbibed, and interactions with crew seemed warmer, almost reflective.

Clearly, the arc of the voyage was behind us, all that remained was the return. Soon we would reach Victoria, and not long after that, Vancouver. The time at sea was drawing to a close, and with it the peacefulness that seems to come with being on board is also drawing to an end.

Land was now literally on the horizon.

Nautical Term of the Day - Three Sheets to the Wind - Sheets control sails; when three were loose, the ship staggered wildly. The phrase became synonymous with extreme drunkenness.