Over and over, for hours on end, humpback whales propelled themselves skyward. Our heads were on pivots as splash after splash, from horizon to horizon created a visual roar. When they were close to our vessel, full bodies could be seen. A mother and calf lay together crashing their pectoral flippers and thrashing tail stocks and flukes. Five or more times a pair of adults rocketed from the sea, so close we could see their ventral pleats and rostrums ornamented with lumpy "stove-bolt" hair follicles. They were joined by a third in an unusual performance of a "triple breach."
Humpback whales are famous for their intricate and repeated "songs especially on the breeding grounds where we now are. Our hydrophone team, far from the ship in a zodiac, listened and listened but no vocalizations were heard. For at least this afternoon, it seemed that body language was the communication mode of choice with the message conveyed in a much more forceful way to our eyes, than any clicks, squeaks or songs the whales might also use.