My White Whale, Part 2
Read part one here.
Another early start. Another long drive to Monterey Bay. And with it, another chance to encounter one of the ocean’s most intelligent and formidable predators—the orca.
Today, something felt different. I couldn’t say why, but my expectations faded the closer I got. A thick mist engulfed the coastline, making me wonder if we’d see anything—never mind killer whales. Still, I joined Fast Raft Ocean Safaris again, hoping for the best.
As we motored out of the harbor, the fog began to lift, revealing the usual cast of sea birds, otters, and sea lions. … But our focus was fixed on something bigger.
Out on the open ocean, the water was eerily calm—barely a ripple of the surface. The sea blurred with the overcast sky to produce an endless wall of gray. It wasn’t the dramatic golden light photographers dream of, but the stillness felt strangely perfect. The lack of contrast made for effortless auto-focus—ideal conditions for photographing anything that might break the surface.
We hadn’t been out long when our captain received a tip over the radio. A pod of orcas had been sighted—just four miles away. Immediately, the mood shifted. We ignored the blows and flukes of some humpbacks to the right and pressed forward. I held my breath, hoping they’d still be there when we arrived. Those next few minutes stretched forever. But then—towering black dorsal fins sliced through the water ahead, and a rush of relief hit me. For the first time, I was witnessing these extraordinary animals in the wild. And here, in the waters of my home state, the moment felt all the more special.
I hadn’t given much thought to what they’d be doing, but this pod was in a playful mood. They moved effortlessly through the water, surfacing just long enough to flash their unmistakable black-and-white markings. And then came the sounds. Sharp tail slaps against the water—possibly a form of communication. But the real highlight was a young orca launching itself out of the water in an effortless breach.
Our guide, Captain Kate, identified them immediately. This was a family of seven transient killer whales. The matriarch, CA51A, known as Aurora, led the group, traveling with two of her older offspring, CA51A2 and 3, also known as Andi and Dipper, and her brand-new calf, just a couple of weeks old. Andi and Dipper had calves of their own, and the pod was accompanied by Aurora’s uncle, Jimmy, CA50B.
For a while, we moved with them, quietly observing. I kept wrestling with the decision—photos or video? More often than not, I went for stills. And then, as suddenly as they’d appeared, they slipped away, vanishing beneath the waves.
The rest of the trip was filled with more incredible wildlife—Risso’s dolphins, California sea lions, and a particularly competitive group of humpbacks. But nothing could top the orcas.
As we turned back toward the harbor, I felt elation and gratitude after finally seeing these enigmatic predators. But now that I’d found my “white whale,” I had to ask—was I satisfied? Was this the end of the chase? Not even close. If anything, this just confirmed I’d be back again soon.
