Tales from the Bush
Witnessing the birth of a sperm whale
Mid-morning off the island of Faial in the Azores, and the boat’s radio suddenly crackles into life. A watcher positioned in one of the hillside observation towers has spotted a pod of six sperm whales about 1.5km to the south-west.
Our skipper Norberto Serpa opens up the throttle on the outboard motors and we reach the spot in no time at all. The whales are there but they’re moving slowly round in circles, not something I’ve seen before. Norberto cuts the engines so as not to scare them, and I slide gently into the water wearing my mask, snorkel and fins.
After swimming about 60m, I notice a big, murky cloud. It’s blood, though it looks greenish in the water, and I realise that this could explain the whales’ unusual activity – perhaps a wounded individual is being cared for by the others. The animals’ clicking intensifies, and I can see them about 20m away, huddled tightly below the surface.
I dive down and pass right under the group, and suddenly I realise what’s going on. There’s no wounded animal here – it’s a mother giving birth. Bits of placenta are suspended in the water and I can see the calf, which must have left the womb a few seconds earlier. It’s still immobile, so the five ‘midwives’ raise it to the surface for its first breath. The mother, weak from her exertions, watches from below.
Within a few minutes the calf can swim short distances. It’s starting to click too, though at a much higher pitch than the adults, just like a human child.
I’m now about 10m from the pod, and up to this point they haven’t taken any notice of me. But the mother wants to identify the stranger in their midst, so she turns and swims towards me. Her massive head gets bigger and bigger as the water churns around me and her clicking thunders in my ears. Her huge eye looks me over from only a few metres away, but I feel no aggression. It is truly extraordinary.
Other whales are now gathering, presumably because they’ve heard about the new arrival on the grapevine, and the mother swims towards them to present her calf. Incredibly she even allows it to come right up to me. The baby is fully mobile after 20 minutes, and occasionally ventures too far from its mother. But she uses her huge, toothy mouth to restrain the runaway and take it back to the surface whenever it strays.
Eventually the whales tire of my invading presence, and descend into the deep blue until they are out of sight. The new mother is the last to leave, closely accompanied by her child. I have to accept that this magical event is over, and return back to the boat, to the human realm, where I can savour the experience in my imagination.
“BITS OF PLACENTA ARE SUSPENDED IN THE WATER AND I CAN SEE THE CALF, WHICH MUST HAVE LEFT THE WOMB A FEW SECONDS EARLIER.”