I was unfamiliar with Victor Harbour when I arrived. Certainly, I didn’t know its reputation as a winter haunt for the Southern Right whale. It is early September and I should have missed the whale season by the best part of a month. But sometimes, you just get plain lucky.
A few days ago, a pod had entered the sheltered waters just north of the sleepy town. Locals expected them to leave any day. I have no time to waste. A short drive and I am sitting on a pale-sanded beach, watching four of them bob in shallow seas not 100 metres from the shore.
I don’t know how old they are or how big, but one is clearly a calf being watched closely by its mother. They are so close, it would take little effort to swim out to them.
Farther out, I spy two more rolling and pec slapping deeper water. And out by a granite island, a more energetic soul regularly breaches, thumping the gentle swell with almighty splashes. There are seven in all.
I sit mesmerised on that beach for hours, watching them rest and play. Immune to the cold wind that sweeps across the water, I take more than my fair share of shots. This is my favourite – mother and calf in foreground, a breaching member of the pod behind.
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