Losing Midnight
On September 17th, we lost Midnight.
At 9pm we received word that a humpback whale had been stuck by BC Ferries enroute to Prince Rupert, close to Hartley Bay and the Fin Island Research Station. It was unknown if the whale was injured or had lost its life. At first light the next morning, Grace and Laurie were on the boat searching, stopping for every whale to look for signs of injury, hopeful that the whale was still alive. While they searched, Janie was in communication with members of the Gitga’at Oceans and Land Department, Gitga’at Guardians, Hermann of the Pacific Whale Society, Paul Cottrell, and the coastguard, relaying real-time updates of the search as she received them.
At 10:30am – Grace and Laurie saw what was unmistakably the struck whale, floating dead at the surface and in direct line of sight to where the strike occurred. The humpback whale was Midnight (BCX1940), a long-time resident male whale, bubble net feeder, and companion to many whales within these waters.
Very quickly, Brodie Danes of the Gitga’at Guardians as well as the team on the coastguard vessel the Cadboro Bay arrived to help us relocate Midnight to a beach where a necropsy can occur. By 3pm, Midnight was secured on shore.
This was an incredibly emotional day for our team. We know the whales here by name, and as unique individuals. Losing any whale is a loss of unique knowledge and culture in the population. At this time of year, male humpback whales begin to sing in these waters. It dawned on us that we would never again hear Midnight sing.
Wright Sound, the area where Midnight was struck, is known for being incredibly dense with both humpback and fin whales during the summer and fall. BC Ferries did the right thing by reporting this strike immediately, but it is clear that more needs to be done to protect whales from vessel strikes in these waters. Slow down zones, especially for large vessels, would be the best place to start.
We are comforted in knowing that Midnights story is not lost, and hopefully can help to enact positive change for whales to ensure the habitats they rely on are safe for them in the future.
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As the night progressed the swells that rocked the boat became too intense for most of the passengers. A young couple seated behind us struggled to console their newborn as he battled through his first experience of seasickness.
On a sunny morning, Janie and Chenoah vanish into the sunny glare south of me, and I am alone. They have left for a week to conduct a BC-wide marine survey, trusting me to look after the station while they are gone. For the next few days, the nearest people to me are an hour away by boat.
Even when we’re not actively scanning, the corners of our eyes and ears are always alert and awaiting the next whale. And even when we’re sleeping, it seems that our brains are “on”; any sudden noise on the hydrophone sends us leaping out of bed at night. We are always tuned in.
