Battle of the Whales

I knew it was only a matter of time before the tremendous and unnerving power of the ocean reclaimed its place in my dreams. Last night it arrived with gusto, providing a marine spectacle unlike anything I have yet experienced. I was with my sisters at a seaside resort, helping the middle sibling scout out a venue for her wedding reception. From the deck of a docked cruise ship, I leaned over the railing into the seething brine and saw a school of common bottlenose dolphins (Tursiops truncatus) gambolling just beneath the surface, their silvery lengths ghosting to and fro. I pointed them out to my sisters, whereupon our attention was then drawn to a much larger animal closer to shore. It was a killer whale (Orcinus orca) grabbing something from the beach and dragging it into the waves, unmistakable with its panda-like white eye patch and towering dorsal fin. This image was no doubt implanted in my mind from a rewatch of David Attenborough's The Trials of Life, of which the killers hunting seals is the signature image.

Before we had time to be suitably impressed by this largest member of the dolphin family, it was suddenly dwarfed by a pair of larger jaws that opened beneath it. The killer whale was scooped up and raised above the surface of the sea, floundering as helplessly as its own prey had been just moments before. The water churned and boiled as the newcomer rose into view, still attempting to swallow the orca. It was a gray whale (Eschrichtius robustus), a medium sized baleen whale once known as the 'devil fish' from their fighting prowess when hunted. Despite being considerably larger than the killer, even this mighty maw was not wide enough to gulp down its formidable prey. The killer whale, undisputed lord of its own domain, was unaccustomed to such rough treatment. What followed was a battle unrivalled in the annals of maritime history

Drawn by the blood, the killer whale's brothers came to his aid. They lunged at the gray whale, tearing out chunks of blubber. Despite the onslaught, the gray was unwilling to let go of its catch, and continued to toss it around like a rag doll, now more out of spite than any hope of consuming it. To balance the scales, more 'devil fish' appeared on the scene, wallowing like leaden submarines, blowholes gushing with hot vapour, churning up the sea with their rage. We stood and watched the battle from comparative safety, until it occurred to me to try and capture this astonishing spectacle. As is usually the case in dreams, my camera was unresponsive, and I failed to obtain any pictures. It was unclear who the victors were, for the ferocity of the fight had turned the water into a boiling cauldron of blood and spume.